Elias pulled the cloak tighter around his body as he stepped out onto the deck. Bitter cold winds pulled at the thick woollen material, reaching deep into his bones despite the heavy coat he wore beneath it.
The hard wooden deck, normally empty but for the crew working the rigging and manning their stations, had sparse clusters of people already gathering. They talked quietly amongst themselves or looked out into the darkness that surrounded the ship despite the noon-day sun high above.
Pushing back a shiver, Elias ducked his head against the wind and hurried across the deck to grasp the polished rail. He hooked the line tied around his waist to it and breathed a sigh of relief.
A snort of derision pulled his attention from the rail, and he glanced across in irritation at the large, hairy fellow who stood seemingly unbothered by the wind or cold.
Perhaps, Elias thought with a wry smile, it was because the man appeared more than half sheep with the amount of wool he wore, from vest to trousers, and a shaggy blonde beard that covered half his face.
Dark eyes looked out from beneath bushy brows, lines creasing the corners as he placed hands on his hips, drawing attention to the lack of rope tied around his waist.
“Too stubborn to look to your safety?” Elias asked.
“Nej, lad.” The large man patted his thick middle with an equally large hand, and guffawed, drawing curious glances from those others clustered nearby. “Not yet found a wind strong enough to lift me from my feet. Even out here, in this cold, empty place.”
He lifted his chin towards the darkness and Elias resisted the urge to glance over the rail and into the emptiness surrounding them.
The ship was an island of light in a vast darkness, with only the deep hum of the mana-engine vibrating through the wooden planks and the incessant crack of the sails as the wind blew against them.
It left Elias feeling small. A little scared. Not helped by the utter fear of heights that had plagued him since he was a child. A fear that had made study at the Arcanum difficult at the best of times.
Elias rubbed absently at his left wrist, clenching and unclenching his hand as though trying to restore feeling. He licked dry lips and stepped across to the other man.
While not small himself, the big man was a full head taller and half again as broad. Elias couldn’t help but feel like a child standing beside an adult, a thought that brought heat to his cheeks as he lifted his chin almost defiantly.
“Your name, sir?”
The other man’s bushy brows rose at the tone, and he snorted once again before replying.
“Bjorn.” His chest puffed out. “Bjorn the Bear.”
“Elias Ward.” He held out a hand, slim fingers engulfed in a firm handshake from the larger man. “You’re Skarn?”
“Nej,” Bjorn said, brows furrowing and eyes flashing with a touch of anger as he shook his head. “Stonefjell.”
It was Elias’s turn to raise his brows as he nodded slowly. He felt the urge to apologise, the Vard people took pride in their clannish origins to extremes, but the big man was already turning his gaze outward, into the darkness.
The two of them stood in silence, the low howl of the wind almost drowning out the sounds of the engine. It was a sign, Elias knew, that they were approaching land. The winds were always strongest when they crashed against the islands, much of their force and fury thrown back out into the void.
Around them, the deck was filling as more of the passengers came out, eager to catch first sight of their destination. Nearly all attached themselves to the rail with thick lines, and every one of them was wrapped in thick clothing against the cold winds.
“I see it,” Bjorn breathed, leaning forward. He lifted a meaty hand to point and Elias turned, staring into the darkness.
Then he saw it too.
A soft glow in the distance.
Ashfall.
The murmur of the crowd grew, excitement palpable as the adventurers and seasonal workers caught sight of the island. Too far to make out detail, but close enough to know their near three-month journey was at an end.
Their chance of fortune and glory close enough to practically taste.
Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
It was an excitement that Elias shared. Without thinking he took a step towards the rail and leaned forward, hands gripping it tight enough to whiten his knuckles. He stared without blinking, mind filling with visions of what was to come, and a tremble ran through him. Not from the cold this time.
“You seek your fortune, nej?” Bjorn asked. “You’ll go beyond the gate?”
“Yes,” Elias agreed, without turning around. “I’m going beyond the gate.”
The big man gave him a cursory glance, taking in the worn boots and grey trousers that had once been black. The dye faded with time and many washes. The plain linen shirt beneath the black coat, and the leather bag that hung at his hip.
His lack of weapons told Bjorn nothing, since passengers were not permitted to carry them aboard ship. The lack of ornamentation told him much, and the way his hand pressed against his left wrist told him everything he needed to know.
Bjorn’s lips twisted into a sneer. “Witch.”
Elias twisted his head, looking back at the man and cocked a brow. “Mage,” he corrected, almost primly.
“Nej.” The Skarn’s head shook, beard long enough to braid blowing freely in the wind. “You are witch.”
Elias’s hand twitched towards his wrist, almost without thinking and he turned his back to the railing as he looked up at the big man, lifting his chin pridefully as he sensed the potential danger he might face.
While there were no weapons allowed on the ship, he was sure the man could lift him and throw him over the rail with barely a grunt at the effort. An endless fall to the Black Below, did not appeal.
“You are not of the Kingdom,” he said, voice hard and cold. “But this is a Kingdom ship, and you travel to a Kingdom settlement, so you must make your peace with the fact that we are not just tolerated, here, but a part of society.”
The big man took a half-step forward, hands curling into fists that resembled all too well giant hammers. “A witch burned a village, when I was a lad. We found her, sitting amongst the blackened timbers that were all that remained of the houses, her naked body covered in the blood of the children she had slaughtered.”
His voice was tight with anger, hands shaking with the need to be used, to strike out.
“We tore the wyrm from her flesh, and only then did the madness fade from her eyes.” He hawked and spat, the wind carrying away the fluid before it hit the deck. He didn’t notice, eyes fixed on the mage before him. “She wept and begged the Lost for forgiveness as she was cast into the black.”
Elias, his pale, blue, eyes fixed on the Skarn’s, didn’t waver. He forced his hand to stillness, refusing to touch his left wrist as he spoke carefully, his reply.
“A fate she did not deserve,” he said. “Her actions were not her own.”
Several heads were turned their way, amusement on the faces of some, concern on others. Curiosity on all.
Bjorn seemed to realise their attention was on him and with a shudder that shook his great body, he unclenched his hands and stepped back. His once warm eyes burned with anger; his lips twisted. in disgust
“Keep away from me, witch, else you’ll share her fate.”
With that, he turned and stormed across the deck. Elias watched his back, brows furrowed as he shook his head slowly.
Elias knew it was fear of the power that magi commanded that saturated the lower islands. Their cold, dark and barren homes leaving them isolated from the more enlightened lands that filled the centre.
There was little reason for merchants to travel down further into the darkness of the void, and it was resentment and jealousy, for the wealth and fortune of the centre, that drove their dark, barbaric ways.
“Ignore him,” a voice said from behind him, shaking him from his reverie and he spun towards the sound. “The barbarians can barely read, let alone understand the workings of society.”
A woman, younger than he, though not by much, with eyes that twinkled with laughter, and a smile that seemed brighter than the Lumin lamps, stood before him. Her smile welcoming, though the hand resting on the hilt of the dagger at her belt suggested not too welcoming
“Not all are as welcoming as the Kingdom,” Elias murmured, bowing his head in greeting. He introduced himself, holding out his hand, which she took after only a short pause.
“Clara Vale,” the young woman replied. “A pleasure.”
Elias took in her thick wool vest, and trousers. The knee-high boots with a heel high enough to sit comfortably in a stirrup and her hair cut short so that should it not be tied back it wouldn’t blow about her face in the wind.
He noted the dagger at her belt. She was not crew, and no passenger was allowed to carry a blade, especially not the type of men and women the ship carried towards Ashfall. That told him something.
“You are the mysterious, gryphon rider,” he said, eyebrows rising. “I was not aware you ever left that beast of yours.”
Her grin widened and she nodded, pleased to be recognised for her craft. “Aye, that I am.”
“A pleasure to meet one of the Crown’s Flying Corps.”
“Aye, to you too, wizard.” Her voice was filled with laughter and she shook her head, stepping over to stand beside him at the rail. “My father told of his time in service to the King. Without the mage cadres, the Skarn and Iben would have won many a battle more than they did. I, for one, take no issue with you.”
She glanced around at the gathered people and cocked a brow, as she snorted. “Though many here may share his feelings more than mine.”
Elias just shrugged. The mages were an integral part of society. The mana-oil they produced powered the artefacts they created. Those myriad devices that allowed a comfortable life for so many.
He could understand their fear and distrust, but those at the Arcanum had taken measures to limit the risk. To control it. With rules and regulations that came with stiff penalties and sanction.
With a gentle touch to his wrist, Elias couldn’t help but be reminded that it was those rules and regulations that he was breaking.
“You are going beyond the gates to seek your fortune?” Clara asked, studying his face in the golden glow of the lamps.
“I seek knowledge,” Elias said, after a moment.
That answer didn’t seem to please her and she shrugged, face falling before turning to stare over the rail at the distant speck, growing bigger with every minute. They would reach the island before nightfall, and then, there would be no turning back.
Not for Elias.
No matter the risk.
Of every ten men that ventured beyond the gates, only four would return. It was a place of incredible danger and risk, but the chance for fortune drove many despite that.
But not, Elias.
For him, fortune was a bonus, but it was something else he sought.
And he was willing to risk everything to find it.
