Michael Chatfield
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Ilus Rises: Chapter 10 Part 2 of 2
🕑 Added 2024-01-22 12:00:05 +0000 UTC“I’m good at fighting and I think that I’m just looking for something else that I could be as good at.”
Desari turned thoughtful, her eyes dropping to the deck.
Petor checked the progress on the rowing boats and the ships.
“What about you? Why do you do this?” He turned his head to look at her.
Desari bit her lip, inhaling and looking up at the top of the nearest mast.
“I’ve been fighting for all of my life. I think that there was a time where I wanted nothing but to run away from everything so that I would never need to fight again. The simple fact is, if you want to have something most of the time you have to fight for it. If that be physically or otherwise. Even learning is a fight.” A smile spread across her face. “I love reading. I love learning. I love gathering information so that I can combine thoughts and ideas together, everything clicking together into a solid whole, fumes and threads becoming something solid and tangible.” She raised her hand a cyclone of water and air swirling together.
“There is so much to be learned. I understand fighting and I am well versed in it, it is a part of me. I think I have come to reconcile that learning and fighting are not separate things. Discovering new things, seeing new things, it sets my heart aflame. Out here, seeing this all, being a part of it all,” Her eyes ran over the ships and the waterplane, drinking it all in.
“I never thought that I would see such things, that I would be a part of them. I hope for safety and security for the people of Ilus and those within it. Though I understand that in these worlds we straddle and the planes weaved through and against them. One must have the strength to secure their independence of thought.” She sighed out her frustations. “I wish it was not the case, but I am not so idealistic to not see the reality around us.”
“Wars are the failures of leaders, paid for in the blood of their followers and people,” Valter’s voice carried over the waters and up the two decks separating them.
Petor nearly jumped out of skin as he looked around. Desari turned on her starboard railing and leaned over.
Petor moved to her railing and leaned over too.
Valter stretched out his back a bucket in one hand and a brush in the other.
The upper deck of the pirate ship still two decks below Mesurial’s.
“My father trained me in the ways of fighting as he did my brothers, we all served in the army and we were proud of it. I nearly died on the day I earned my core. Our army was routed and I climbed out of the dead and headed back to my city. It had been raided. The defenders able to push back the enemy but the city was ravaged. In the fighting buildings had been destroyed, people killed. My wife and daughter were among them.” He knelt down again to fill in more runes. “My son was alive, but loss and sadness turned to anger and hatred, turned into a cause. I was summoned to the capital, where I was transformed by the Sacrophytes, and united with my Sarcophagi Immortalias. As time went, the anger gutted out, the hatred a hollow thing. It had been years, I was a stranger to my son who followed in my footsteps.” He shifted along the runes. “I wish I had just remained a smith tinkering with runes. Raised my boy, maybe if I had been at home instead of called to action I would have saved my family.” He rested back on his heels. “Though if I had done that, then I would not have had the chance to destroy Xander, to free my home and my people from war. To bring an end to it all. He was the reason they died, his power grabs turned out country into a weapon made only for war. I aspire to be the smith that builds. Though I know my skill in battle is a hard won ability and while I hope to put it down one day I will use it as the tool it is.”
Valter grunted, pushing himself upright.
“I have seen more things in these last few weeks than I have in lifetimes. Wonderous as terrible. Everything is a mixing of the two. My horizons and knowledge have expanded and I am excited to learn more.”
“Aww, you just like hanging out with us,” Mya’s voice carried through Mesurial. “And there ain’t nothing wrong in fighting to defend the things that you care about. I’m fighting to get back to the people I left behind and make sure that they’re okay. Along the way I’m going to do everything I can to get stronger so that I can protect them and make those that persecuted them—pay. For there will be a reckoning.” she said with casual finality.
“There ain’t nothing wrong with being proud of your abilities. Each of us has trained to survive and put down those that would threaten us or those that we care for. There isn’t anything wrong with that. Once you learn violence you learn its terrible price. Some times death is all that some people deserve.”
Petor nodded with the others and looked back over the ship’s stern.
“Well I guess it’s time to confuse the locals.” Petor stretched and moved to the stern.
He formed a cone of will and enforced his body with mana.
“Morning!” His voice fairly boomed over the waters and made the rowers and crew in the ships shudder and one jump up, fouling his oar in the others.
Petor snorted and dialed down the mana enforcing his body.
“’Bout near needed new britches!” Mya complained through the ship.
Petor dropped the mana. “Everyone’s a critic.” He increased it again.
“Don’t worry we’ve done all the killing part now. Your buddies might need some help with their mast issue,” Petor said.
“We’ve been sent over to help with caring for the extra ships,” A voice said, hard to hear against the waves.
“Gonna have to speak up! Use your big boy voice, from the bottom of your diaphragm!” Petor searched for where the voice was coming from.
“We’re here to help with the ships!”
There you are. The man looked like an alleyway tough, tattooed up and with the bulk and standing of someone who knew how to threaten another with it.
Petor jumped up on the railing and patted his stomach. “From the Diaphram! In air out with the words!”
“We’re here for the ships!” He was going a bit red in the face now with the yelling.
“The ships are nice! Yes!” Thank you very much!”
The tough yelled to the people in his ship and the other. They were all elbows and knees, oars in every direction.
“Watch your head! Oar! Dang that nearly took out Joe!” Petor called out, bobbing and weaving like he was on the ship, causing more confusion.
“Have you come to be our supplementary crews under the seaman charter of Azerbal?” Petor rolled the made up name over his tongue. “We can’t offer you much terms, but when you die we sure can use your bodies to good use! Short tenure of ten years.”
“We’re not joining your crew!”
“Well by ownership we have these two ships, and your captain is good enough to send you over as tribute for us saving you,” Petor put on his best ‘confused ‘ voice and looked at Desari. “Its all in the charter. Come on, only ten years. I know its unpaid but you can fish for your own food!” Petor waved them forward.
The crews oars were still as an argument broke out among them.
Petor sat down on the railing and waved his feet back and forth.
“That merchant ship is closing still,” Desari said.
“Thalios said that they increased the level of their cores from us killing all of the pirates,” Petor said.
“They fought them as well so they got added into the pool. Pirates will do a lot more fighting and be stronger than a group of merchants.”
“How long on your painting project?” Petor asked.
“Another ten minutes,” Mya said.
The arguments wound down and the thug got back up, the ship shaking under him as he got his feet planted.
“We are here to help man those ships under master Zilthor’s merchantile company.”
“We’re always looking for more ensla-ermm willing souls,” Petor yelled and cut the mana and the cone. “Hey Mya you think you could get some of the dead wandering around, the worst looking ones? Desari get some of the nasty air headed their way, slow them and keep things pungent.”
A few dead moved to the rear of the ship, working back there, in full view of the rowing crews who started gagging, one tried to make it to the side of the ship, but threw up on his fellow.
That set of a cascade of stomachs nicely.
“Ahoy there!” A voice called from the closing merchant ship. That was moving to go between Spindle and Mesurial.
“How yah doing?” Petor called out.
“Five minutes, getting back to the ship,” Mya said.
“Thank you for the assistance, we were wondering if you needed help looking after them ships?” The voice asked.
“We’ll have them all sorted out shortly! Not a problem.”
Petor spotted the man, his skin having a blue tint, wearing a large hat, a humanoid lizard next to him, speaking rapidly.
“We can offer crews to help you man the ships,” The captain said, none too enthusiastically.
“Seems there’s a bit of confusion! Are you giving us the crew under the seaman charter of Azerbal?” He stretched it out, fighting to remember the full name.
“I’m not sure what that charter is about?” The captain said, sounding interested.
Sounds like a non-com that’s guiding someone down a path.
“Well it was written up at the heroic battle of Azerbal. Similar situation really. So there were a group of sailors, like your fine selves. They were set upon by attackers you see. And well, things did not go well. I think that it was five ships against their three? Maybe it was fifteen against three?”
Petor tapped his chin.
The two rowboats that had moved up first were listening to the byplay. Probably wondering if they were about to be sent off to a life of servitude or just confused as to what the fuck was happening.
The three hauling the merchant ship hadn’t stopped, but their pace was slowing. He just needed to keep them chatting for a bit. The longer they were talking, the less action they were taking.
Just saved their asses and now we have to play mind games to loot the ships we smacked up.
“Numbers never were my strong suit,” Petor continued. “The battle was immense, the innocent sailors against the shoals, fighting with all they could, trying to outrun the enemy ships.
The ships continued to harass them and working to sink them. Then on the horizon several ships appeared.
Great massive things, the kinds of things that give veteran sailors the willies! I dunno if the bastards shooting the sailors were military or if they were pirates. These massive ships, like five masted buggers. Hundreds of meters long.” Petor was waving his arms around now. He glanced back, wondering if there were ships bigger than Mesurial out there. “Things that would make our ship look like a toothpick!”
“What’s a toothpick?” The Captain asked.
Definitely stalling for some reason. The lizard fella was not liking this one bit.
“It’s a piece of wood, thin bit that you use to pick food out of your teeth! So umm, ships and then the fighting no-no they just appeared!” Petor snapped his fingers and pointed it at the Captain. Cutting his cone and empowering himself with mana.
“Mya, how much longer?”
“We’re about done!” He heard feet against Mesurial’s hull.
He formed the cone and enhanced himself again.
“So the ships, they come in all powerful like. They kill off the bad guys. Then the sailors they don’t have nothing left, they pledge themselves to the crews that came in to help them. Service for ten years, no pay in order to thank them. Though we don’t have much room aboard our ship and we’ll be putting the other ships away.”
“Away?”
“Just have to wait and see.” He cut the mana stuff. “Mya?” He turned back, Valter pulling himself up on to the ship.
“Ready,” Mya said, looking over the railing at the ships. They looked cleaner than when they’d found them, the external damage patched in places.
White runes covered the shisp, carved into the wood and painted over. The crew standing on the main decks.
“Well, you were all bastards, thanks for the power of your souls,” Mya said.
She injected power into two bottles in her hands, delicate runes carved through the glass. A wailing tore free from the throats of the undead. Their connected souls burning up as they were burned away into white power that spread into the runes, causing them to glow.
The ships shuddered, contracted and shrank, slowly, then faster and faster, turning and pointing at the mouths of the twin bottles in Mya’s hands, threads of vapor connected the ships as they were dragged by an invisible wind, now about the size of a rowboat and getting smaller before they shot out of the water, they compressed through the mouth of the bottles and expanded within, water filling the bottom third of the bottle as the ships bobbed upon it, totally miniaturized.
The last of the souls spread to the bottle and Mya shoved in two carved corks.
The started to turn and push at the sails, filling them.
“Don’t run into any more pirates! Hope you have a good rest of your trip!” Petor called back. Mya stored the bottles away, jumping up to the helm, grabbing it and setting her feet down as she kicked off the rope holding it steady.
The lizard man talked rapidly to the captain.
“Are you heading to misty cove?” The man yelled.
“Might be, not sure,” Petor said back.
“My employer would like to take care of your docking fees if you do. Under the name Zilthor! Just ask for harbormaster Krev,” The man’s voice grew, fighting the wind and the growing distance.
“Might take you up on that!” Petor called back. “Safe travels.”
“And you too, thank you for all you did! Who are you?”
Petor’s face split in a grin. “We’re the four horsemen!”
Petor looked back to the ship, Valter must’ve been down below. There’s still all them cannons to reload.
The wind swept around the ship and into the sails, pushing them onwards.
Mya turned the helm of the ship. “Might take us a bit longer, but got more goods to sell now.”
“I’ll head down to help Valter with the guns,” Petor said.
“Have fun!”
Desari grinned as she kept drawing on the wind and water.
***
“Head after them,” Zilthor said.
“Back to Misty Cove?”
“Yes,” Zilthor looked around the ship and to the Spindle. “We’re in need of an upgrade.”
He didn’t like the way the trader said, it, something else in his voice. Though it would get them back to land. Instead of the two weeks of travel ahead of them.
The pennants at the top of the masts showed a weak tail wind created by the Mesurial. Just how much damn wind is their mage throwing at the thing?
“Hoist the sail that we can! Signal to the Spindle, follow Mesurial.”
He turned the helm, the rudder cutting into the water as he brought Silver Oar into Mesurial’s wake.
Crew moved around, moving to the sails quickly. Eager to be back in the shallows.
Caelum was in with the others hauling up sail.
“Caelum lad, get up here when you’re done hauling that rope.”
The boy stuttered what he was doing, getting a few pats from those around him.
“A-aye aye captain!” He had a great big grin on his face, his paleness from before coloring with a blush.
Crixim gave him a tight nod and surveyed his ship. She’d need some repairs once in Misty Cove, but she was still afloat and they were among the living.
He shuddered, the day feeling like a fever dream. The grittiness of his eyes, the gunpowder in his nose and gills making it all too real.
Zilthor left the poop deck, collecting people from their jobs to speak with them. Crixim held his tongue, he was the boss and how he took people away from their job on the ship was up to him.
“Only four crew,” Zilthor chuckled under his breath.
Crixim hid his grimace. I hope they’re not headed for Misty Cove.
