Secrets of Knusaijax Teaser

Deep in the bowels of the Knusaijax Underdark lies the Makah’rye, a magical object of the creation of the world, of stories told around fires, of legendary powers to heal and to save. For hundreds of years, it has remained unused - indeed, virtually untouched - out of fear of the incredible power that it brings. The stories hold that, when used, it will tip the world off of its axis, causing unfathomable destruction, and, within two fortnights of its use, the world would come to an end - and so for thousands of years, the Makah’rye has passed from hand, leaving nothing but the sparkle of myths told about the time when it was held, being tossed from owner to owner with little but awe, and no chance of it ever being used.

Until me.

---

“Bane!” I called up the mast, my ardent footsteps ringing across the surface of the water in the narrow port. Bane wasn’t his real name, of course; everyone in the crew had a title, a name that they were known by on the ship and that they were famous - or I should say notorious - by. Only I knew the real names of most of my crew, and Bane, my steadfast first mate, was no exception. Indeed, there was no exception, except for me - I needed none. My name, Cordelia Vataea, keenest pirate to sail the seas, dedicated to the protection of the magical items which dotted our land, was likely more famous than any of the crew could hope to be.

Bane leapt nimbly off the rigging and slid down the mast, smooth black from years of careful, meticulous polishing. His boots snapped on the deck as he landed, and without bothering to dust himself off, he saluted and inclined his head, a sailor’s smile living on his face as it did whenever we were on board.

“Prepare the ship, as quickly as possible.” I said. “Our course is set - to the island of Knusaijax.” 

His expression of surprise, surprise flavored with excitement, was mastered in true sailor fashion as he nodded briskly. It was for good reason - to any normal person, this request would have sounded preposterous - almost as if I had spoken only to begin a fairy tale, or told him that we would open the sails to fly up into the clouds. It was almost mythological in the haze of reverence that enveloped it - and it only served to witness to the near-mythological nature of the Splendor herself that there was no doubt in his mind. For, indeed, Bane simply smiled in acquiescence and saluted, not a hint of perplexion showing on his dusky complexion, and turned sharply to holler a couple other crewmates to him as he strode off in the direction of the helm. 

After all, my ship, the Splendor, was very likely larger and sleeker than every ship within a fifty-mile radius, and made so by years of carefully crafted fame - one couldn’t help looking at the Splendor and being intimidated, and for good reason. She was my pride and joy, and the pride and joy of anyone on shore or on the seas who cared to keep the magical treasures that this world had to offer. For years, she and I, along with the members of our legendary crew, had served as the right hand of history, recovering and protecting the objects that held all the magic in the world: scouring the globe for the lost, bargaining for the found, and using whatever leverage we had as persuasion for the coveted. What we would do without even the slightest bit of magic, I do not know, but when those plunderers and charlatans who design to wreak havoc on the power that these magical items hold see the silhouette of the Splendor on the horizon, it is enough to make one imagine. Indeed, Captain Delia and the Splendor had only to enter another era of magic by charting this impossible course, the course to Knusaijax.

Letting out a short breath of excitement and climbing the stairs to the fo’c’sle, I stood perched up against the ship’s railing, surveying the skies and the horizon. If I was any judge - and I trusted my judgment like I trusted the presence of my right hand - it would be a night full of beauty for setting off.  One thing that’ll go right, I thought with a thrill. I had a tingling feeling there wouldn’t be a lot of those during this voyage.

Our helmsman, Shale, was perched on the taffrail near the helm, reading the air around him with an impervious expression of calm and eagerness. His tunic and deep maroon trousers - the hallmark of our crew - fluttered in the breeze that was wafting in from the horizon, and he seemed to know as well as anyone that it boded well for sailing. 

Hearing my footsteps on the deck behind him, he turned around, standing straight at attention with a countenance lit with anticipation. “Captain.” he said, respect and camaraderie mingled in his tone. My mouth twitched upward into a grin as I scanned his eyes and the purpose behind his excitement.

“Tonight, if possible.” I said, answering his unspoken question. “We will leave at the first tinge of dusk.” The dangers of sailing at night were nothing if not routine for the Splendor and her crew - it isn’t true, as many unfortunate plunderers alleged, that she only works in the dark, but it is the very essence of a ship of legend to emerge out of the mist, almost as if she had just punctured a barrier in the winds of time.

As Shale nodded, his resolve and eagerness hardening into the efficiency that was indispensable on the ocean, I paced past him to the end of the rounded forecastle, taking in the crowded, muggy village and straining to see if I could spot the smoke pluming from the modest cottage where Anastasia lay. I wonder how the doctors will say she’s doing this week, I mused, light irony evident even as I thought it to myself.

I rested my elbow on the railing and turned my head over to the right, drifting off into fantasies of sailing and mystery and with the soft plumes of smoke from the distance to distract me - but my thoughts almost magnetically drifted back to the voyage at hand, and I laughed after a moment, clapping my hands onto the wooden railing and pushing myself upright. I had been procrastinating - down underneath the fo’c’sle in my quarters, stacks and stacks of maps still lay strewn around and disorganized, and there was no way that I could begin the voyage without having organized them first. I had time - nearly a day until embarking - but I needed to do it soon, or else I’d be working late into the night over a tossing sea.

The door to my quarters was directly below the fo’c’sle, and I descended into the familiar space with ease. The quaint room supplied me with a nice vantage point, both to the sea and the land behind me and also to the happenings of the main deck and the helm, where many of the men liked to relax. It was a comfortable little room, hardly luxurious, but inviting in a bookish, captainy sort of way; bookshelves lined one of the rounded walls, and a mahogany canopy bed with a trunk sitting at its foot lay on the second. Maps, mostly hand-drawn or torn from books, lay on every available surface, giving the entire room the smell of fresh parchment, and the north wall, across from the door, sported a large latticed window that now depicted a view of the docks and their sunburnt sailors, hefting their thick hempen baskets of fish from boat to boat to sell to villages down the coast. 

Leaning against the curved wooden wall, I gazed out the window, absentmindedly shuffling a stack of maps at the desk under it. A fisherman haggled loudly with a local merchant to buy a boatload of fish, while a woman with two young children looked on disapprovingly as she hustled the duo along. I tapped the papers on the table, and set them down, turning around in the dim light. 

Before I went for the Makah’rye, I gathered all of the information I could find for the return journey after its use that I knew would be impending afterward. I couldn’t find much - mostly folktales and legends - but the one piece of information I could seem to find seemed very promising; a story that told of a map, drawn by some explorer whose name has been lost to time and legend, of the volcanic island of the ancients that was Knusaijax. Without such a map, I could sail the globe for years - a thousand sailors’ lifetimes - without finding so much as a hint of the island that has only been seen in fairy tales.

I had spent months upon months in a time void of treasure-seeking gleaning any maps, following any trail or scrap of information, for any island I could find that seemed remotely related - but I never succeeded in finding one that led directly to it. Never, that is, until one day, when I had returned to my home village after exhausting all of my ingenuity on the farthest reaches of the globe, only to overhear two ladies speaking in whispers in the corner about their proudest genealogy - the genealogy, traced back through the city of Omiez, to the very person who drew the legendary map. It was told in laughs and whispers, but the very thread of hope was life to me - the stakes were so high that any path might be my only chance.

I caught a glimpse of a map on my table that was supposedly of the inside of the Underdark, the fabled system of caverns on the inside of the volcano of Knusaijax. I picked it up, examining it. The edges were a bit burnt by something, and I had to squint to see the writing. I took up a magnifying glass off of my desk, holding it up against my eye. A plume of dust blew up, and I blinked, clearing my eyes. If it was correct, then I would have to sail a boat made of pure moonbeams into the mouth of the volcano, and the molten rock would carry me down to the entrance of the ancient burial chamber of the natives. I laughed quietly, and, tossing it into a pile, picked the next one up off of the mahogany surface. One glance at the title, and it joined the stack; it was a map to an obscure island called Kaijani that was nowhere near Knusaijax.

The next one consisted of instructions to sink the island into the sea, which would really quite defeat the purpose of my mission, and wasn’t helpful anyhow unless I could find the place at all. I tossed it onto the fledgling pile. The next few on the stack were about the culture of the natives, which may have been useful, if I was not planning to avoid them at all costs. I tossed them both onto a new stack and settled back into my chair, resigning myself to the next few hours of map-sorting.

---

When I had finally finished sorting through the maps, the sky had started to become the dull grayish-blue of dusk, and my eyes ached from staring at the yellowing paper in the dim light. Letting out a sigh of relief, I stood up, my back aching, surveying the now-slightly-cleaner captain’s quarters. I glanced around, and in one smooth movement, I picked up  a dagger and sheath from the desk, strapping it quickly to my belt, then tucked a shuriken into my collar. Rarely did I go out into the village unarmed, for when the villagers see a pirate, they automatically think to distrust, and besides, it wasn’t as if I hadn’t made any enemies, noble as my work was.

Shutting the door to my quarters behind me, I strode across the deck, checking once more to ensure everything was in order. The gangplank was still down from the crew’s and tradesmens’ endless walking back and forth to supply the ship, and it jounced as I stepped down it and onto the well-worn path. Dust kicked up around my tall leather boots, and a flock of chickens scattered as I walked through, seeming to be wary of me even over their piles of grain. 

I came upon the village quickly, and it wasn’t long before I was hemmed in on both sides by whitewashed wooden cottages, vendors peering from behind their shaded stalls and bustling housewives herding their children to the door. With the deep maroon of my captain’s jacket seeming to flash like scarlet in the sun, I felt rather inconspicuous, but I did not mind; it was a part of our life, a part of our job on the seas.

It wasn’t long before I came upon our cottage. It was nothing special; no reflection of the curious personage who had lived in it, with an equally curious combination of absolute secrecy and total public knowledge, for the past few years. The door, like its neighbors, was made of thick oak with heavy steel bands encircling it, and had two matching paned windows on either side of it. Peering in, I saw that the figure on the cot was alone, and there didn’t seem to be anyone else in the room, and so, pushing open the door, I stepped quietly inside. The floor was as hard-packed and dusty as the roads outside, but my boots were silent as I walked over to the small cot where Anastasia was lying. On the white fabric of the cot, she looked even younger than her fourteen years - her wispy, blonde hair was spread out over the pillow, and her face was turned slightly to the side on the pillow, giving her, as usual, the gentle appearance of sleep. 

When I was fifteen, only a year older than Ana is now, our parents - ever the epitome of dedication to the arts and the history of magic - passed away in a library fire in the stately nobles’ city in which we had grown up. I was an energetic, steely girl, and the reclusive life of our girls’ school that our parents had sent us to in their final provisions seemed to torture me. For one melancholy year, Anastasia and I were carted to parties and balls, and while Ana was much more laid-back than I was, I knew that it had never been the life that either of us were meant for. I did, therefore, what any reasonable teenager in my position would do - I ran away to sea. 

Even though Ana adored the sea almost as much as I did, while I started taking longer and longer journeys on the brigantines and merchant ships that docked at our port, Ana was forced to stay in the Academia - and because she had never had the constitution for the sea, there was no way for me to get her away from that world that proved every day to us that we were meant to be somewhere else. As soon as I could, then, once I had earned enough money as a shipmate to support us both, I rented a small cottage near the docks, and Ana, who, unfortunately for her in some situations, was and still is fiercely loyal to me, insisted on coming. After a few years, we moved to a town further down the coast, and I continued to voyage constantly, as long as Ana continued to insist she did not mind. 

Our newfound freedom took an unexpected turn, however, when I came home to the cottage one day and found Ana crumpled on the floor, her hair collecting dirt from the bare floor. Nothing I or anyone did could possibly awaken her, and while the doctors of the town stood by and wrung their hands, I boarded the Splendor and sailed halfway around the world to retrieve the Makah’rye, which I knew would bring her back. When I returned, nothing had changed, and the village doctors had given her up for lost, but as soon as I unleashed the power of the Makah’rye, she had stirred and almost opened her eyes. Just as my hopes were soaring, her eyelids fluttered back into sleep again - but something was different, and the attendants and I both knew it. 

However, I had used the magical stone out of what I felt was necessity - and now the stories about it, never doubted but always a distant dream, were starting to come true. It had created the world and held it in place, and now the absence of its immense power was destroying the world. It tipped on its axis, causing oceans to rush forward and land to fall and crumble, and islands around the known world were being ripped and shaken by its impact. The nations’ fate rested upon my shoulders because of what I had to do to save my sister, and because of that, in this voyage to end all voyages, the voyage to the island of Knusaijax and the Makah’rye’s twin stone Aiitne, I was determined to succeed - not that I, or the world, had another alternative.

The sound of stealthy footsteps behind me startled me out of my reverie. I leapt around and glimpsed a shadow playing on the wall of the doorframe behind me, seeming to slowly move forward. Sliding as far backward as space allowed, I pulled out my knife, crouching down; in the dusky light filtering in through the window, I could make out a figure standing between me and the door, holding something over his or her head. I twisted my grip around the leather-bound handle, shifting my weight to position myself between the attacker and Ana.

In one startling motion, the assailant lunged toward me, swinging a heavy, roundish object at my head. During my travels, I had had extensive experience with foreign weapons - but the only thing this looked remotely similar to was a somewhat stubby warhammer. Squinting through the dark, I tried to figure out who my assailant was as he sent another blow swinging toward my head. On instinct, I ducked my head toward him, raising my knife hand, and the object bounced off, leaving a gritty, black substance on the flat of my knife. Glancing at it quickly, I realized with a start that it was coal, which meant the heavy object was - could only be - I looked up. 

Sure enough, the shadow of the weapon wielded over my head flashed into the light with a glint that could only be that of an innocent kitchen frying pan. Dropping my knife to the floor with a clatter, I burst out in laughter, enough to make the woman hesitate and peer out at me from under her makeshift weapon.

“Bless me, it’s young Cordelia!” she exclaimed. “A thousand apologies - do pardon me; I had no way of knowing it was you!” I shook my head, permitting myself to chuckle a few more times before I smiled and assured her that no apologies were necessary.

She set the heavy, blackened frying pan on the stove with a grunt. I couldn’t help but add, “I am so glad to find that my sister is so well taken care of - it seems as though I could not be leaving her in more enthusiastic hands.” Her shoulders eased back as she relaxed, and she sighed, approaching the bed without hesitation. She brusquely dusted some dirt off of the woolen blanket, and I watched, half in relief, for I truly was glad that the matron was here to care for Ana while I was gone, and half with a pang of jealousy, for I regretted that I was not the one to be around to care for her. Would the matron’s face be the first face she saw when she awoke - if she even awoke at all? I shook my head vigorously.

“Matron,” I said, making her look up with a start, as if she had already forgotten I was there.  “I wanted to make sure that you are able to care for Ana until I come back, even if that is not for a few months.” She nodded eagerly. 

“Of course, Miss Vataea. I would never leave little Ana for anything.” she said. I smiled. As much concern as I had for Ana, I could never imagine nursing someone day in and day out - it simply wasn’t a part of my character, and I knew that played a role in my leaving the Academia for the sea. I was confident, however, that the matron would have said the opposite were our situations reversed. It was wonderful, in short, as Ana might have noted, to have ‘each in his own position, all things in their place’. I suppressed a laugh as the matron’s expression turned vacant again.

After wishing the matron a farewell and wishing a farewell to the stone-still Anastasia one last time, I stepped back out onto the nearly empty streets. It was properly dusk now, and I knew I had to get back to the Splendor soon if I wanted to keep my word to my crew. I was not one to be tardy, and setting out on a voyage was no exception. Besides, I could not deny that I was itching to be back out on the open ocean.

It took no time at all to be back on the ship, and since the crew had left the gangplank down out of respect for me, there was nothing particularly exciting about my return journey. I was almost disappointed that I hadn’t had to break onto my own ship - which, I owned to myself with a laugh, only showed to me how eager I was to embark. I strode over to the mast, gripping the rigging with one hand. Quickly as a cat, I scampered up first one net then another until the only thing supporting me were single ropes, hovering out over a hundred feet of pure air and sea breeze to the deck. Holding on with just one hand, I leaned out over the edge, peering off into the horizon. It was just as clear as I had speculated this morning. Satisfied, I let myself go, catching myself with a rollicking swing on the lower rigging and sliding down until my feet hit the deck. 

Bane was on the fo’c’sle, and knew, without my even saying anything, that I was ready, beyond ready, to finally shove off. He grinned - if you could call the extension of an already-fixed smile a grin -  and nodded with unconcealed excitement. I walked past him into the hallway of the crew’s quarters, and, knocking twice loudly on the first door, went down to the end of the hallway as doors flung open and burly sailors rushed out of each. As near-legendary as the Splendor is, many people are never surprised to know that she is designed unlike any other ship that sails the ocean - and one of the main features that streamlines her so is the hallway: a narrow, short little thing, made dark by the lack of outside-facing walls, that housed all of the crew’s quarters, five tiny rooms in all with a few men in each.

I turned around and stood in the shadows at the back, watching with a thrill as the few who weren’t working spread over the deck to see the shore move further away, before dashing out myself. Almost before I was settled at the edge of the deck, where I usually started every voyage, Bane was atop the forecastle, yelling orders at the top of his husky voice. The clanking of chains sounded through the night air as the anchor rose out of the water, and the limp, lifeless sails snapped as they flew open with a gust. I glanced up at Shale. His eyes were shining with excitement, yet he was perfectly calm at the wheel, both hands resting on the handles, prepared to swing it whichever way the breeze might dictate. 

Among the excitement, I satisfied myself with scanning the ships around the harbor. My gaze caught upon a new sloop, which I had noted before, rocking in the waters directly on our starboard side. I kept careful track of all of the ships in our waters, and although I had taken note of it earlier, I had not given it careful thought. Now, as the Splendor’s sleek black hull glided through the water, I had time to study it. As I watched, in the dark lamplight, I noticed two men standing at the edge just as I was with their backs to me. I leaned against the edge of the deck, listening to hear their voices.

“Aye, one could hardly help but wonder on the unfortunate sister of the Splendor’s captain.” one said, and, in a flash, I was at the side of the ship. “Some say she was cursed by an imp for dabblin’ in the dark arts, if ye know what I mean…” his voice trailed off. Quicker than a flash, my dagger was out of and back into my pocket, the threat assessed and dismissed, nothing but information exchanged. 

Almost as if in response to my unspoken command, the Splendor was already scratching the edge of the foreign ship, but I merely turned away, meeting Bane’s questioning gaze with none of the frustration I was feeling even the slightest bit evident on my countenance. The Splendor had just rocked to a halt, barely shaving the side of their sloop, but the bustle of the crew behind me hadn’t ceased even the smallest bit, and she cut through the muddy blue of the port toward more open waters.

“They know something about Ana.” I said. “They couldn’t tell me much. There are rumors going around now that Ana was dabbling in the dark arts.” I scowled. “I know those two aren’t personally behind them, but sailors like them are the mouthpieces of gossip, and the fact that it’s spreading so quickly can’t be a good sign.”

“Do you think Ana is safe with the matron?” Bane asked immediately. My mouth twitched in a half-smile.

“I’m sure.” I replied.  “When I came in, she tried to attack me with a frying pan… and she has reasons for wanting to make sure Ana is in one piece by the time I get back.” Bane raised an eyebrow.

“Was that a threat?” he asked glibly, surprise - not a native emotion to a steely sailor such as him - only the tiniest bit evident in his voice.

“Not in the least.” I said quickly. “She enjoys being a popular woman, and Anastasia is nothing if not extremely famous.” I grinned. Bane returned a smile in response, the matter closed with nothing lost and insight gained, and I pushed off the taffrail to head back into my quarters.

Closing the door behind me, however, I pushed my piles of sorted maps aside, revealing my plethora of ancient-looking books, and dug through them, scanning the titles. Grabbing a few, I settled into my chair, where I spent the rest of the night.  “The dark arts, dismissed by many as a tale invented by mothers to scare obedience into their children, manifests itself in many different forms…”

---

I sat on my knees on a cold, hard stone floor, a hot fire flickering at my back. Anastasia is next to me, her hands resting on her neat dress, the fabric pulled taut by her crossed legs. I fidgeted, trying to mimic her elegant posture. Somehow my legs did not want to cooperate. Sighing, I fixed my gaze on our nurse, who was sitting in a wooden chair in front of us, watching us sternly. 

“If you want to hear the story, Cordelia, you must sit still.” she admonished. Anastasia shot an annoyed look at me, like she thought the nurse wouldn’t tell the story anyway. I knew she enjoyed regaling us with tales of dark places and fantastical objects. I wondered which it would be this time, the Makah’rye or the weird tales of the ancients? Or maybe the tale of the witch and the evil Beast? I settled down on my knees.

“Long, long ago, on the first island that God rose from the sea, there lived an ancient tribe of primal warriors.” the nurse began in a whispery, croaky voice. Anastasia sat, already enthralled, the flames on the nurse’s face in the dark room flickering and giving her a ghostly glow. “They possessed two magical stones; one with the power to heal, and one with the power to kill. These stones - ah, these stones were the pride and joy of the ancient natives, and they were to guard them with nothing less than their very lives. The first, the Makah’rye , had the ability to heal any injury, cure any disease, rouse any sleeper. The one thing - the only thing - that it could not do was wake the dead.

“The second stone, on the other hand, the Aiitne, had the power to cause death towards everyone who wielded it. It was a dangerous tool - but, in the right hands, it had the ability to keep the tribe alive and flourishing.

“Then one day, the chief’s own son got ahold of the Aiitne. Crazed with a thirst for power, for his father had ruled over their people for thousands of years, he took the stone, and, one night while the tribe lay asleep, struck down the chief with a single, vengeful stroke. In grief, the people of the tribe tied the fateful stone to the traitor’s neck and flung them both into the mouth of the great volcano, ensuring that the way the deceitful son lived would be the way he died. As the son and the stone fell into the mouth of the molten rock, the stone was said to light up like lightning, and it gave off a force of power so strong that the sea heaved and islands everywhere rose from the depths. The people of the ancient tribe were scattered to every land, and they began to build a new life apart from their brothers.

“In this way, the nations of the world began. And although the Aiitne had lost its power as it lay in the depths of the fiery volcano, legend has it that the only remaining members of the ancient tribe stay on the island, guarding the sacred volcano and the precious stone that lies within. And stories still say, if you listen closely enough, that the Makah’rye is out there, laying dormant since the world was made by the Aiitne - but if it were to be used, the energy it released without the balance of its brother would revoke the energy emitted by the Aiitne, and the world would crumble again into dust, not leaving even the natives alive.”

We sat stone-still, hypnotized by her voice reverberating off of the stone walls about the daring of the chief’s son and by the cataclysmic effects of the deadly Aiitne. Before we had a chance to reawaken, the nurse scooped us each up, laying us in our respective beds in the room we shared together. Her skirts swished as she walked briskly around the room, blowing out the lantern and stepping silently out.

We lay in silence. I was sure Ana was asleep when I heard her quiet voice slipping through the darkness from the other side of the room. “Do you think the story’s real, Delia?”

I rolled around to face her, watching her pale face wait in expectation. “I think it is.” I said. “Wherever would they get the story from if it wasn’t?”

---

I woke up with a start. Rolling over, I flung my arm over my head almost without thinking, trying to block out the dark - one of the watch bells had to ring soon - and it was far too early for me to reasonably awake. 

Giving up all hope, however, of falling back to sleep after a few more moments, I rolled over and flung my feet off of the bed, pulling on my worn and familiar leather boots. Almost in the same motion, I grabbed my overcoat, pulling it on over my head, and my satchel, slinging it over my shoulder. In the two steps that it took from my bed to the round mirror that served as my vanity, I was raking my brush through my thin hair, trying to account for all of the knots I had accumulated over the night.

Sure enough, as I coaxed the last snarls from my hair, a bell started pealing through the darkness - another quirk of the Splendor. I didn’t have to strain to hear it. Eight bells, on midwatch. That would be about 4:00 by land reckoning. Shaking the sleep out of my bones, I stood up taller, examining my appearance. In the dark, I looked as poised and dangerous as the most amazing legend told about me - I could even see it myself. Satisfied, I opened the door, my eyes adjusting effortlessly to the darkness. Sailors were hustling about, those on watch eager to return to their quarters, and those in their quarters eager to return to watch. The second mate, Deuce, had the command of midwatch tonight, and as he ushered the last man into the hallway, I approached him.

“Captain.” he said, the heels of his boots clicking together. “What can I do for you?” 

“Thank you, Deuce. It’s truly a beautiful night out - was everything peaceful?” I asked, our standard formula for rising and reporting.

This time, though, Deuce paused for a second before answering my question. “Peaceful enough,” he said. “Captain, it seems to me that the sea’s behaving…differently than we’re used to. Is this as usual? May we expect it…this early?” I bit my lip, my mind sharpened slightly with determination against my as-yet-vague opponent. 

Without changing my facial expression, my mind unspooled, and I answered, “No -” I paused - “but it is of little consequence.” He nodded, grimacing against the unspoken rule that he already knew - there was no backing down - and when I looked at him and volunteered no further information, he saluted again.

“Thank you, Captain.” he said, and snapped his heels together on instinct, turning and disappearing down the dark hallway toward his chambers, and in a matter of moments, I was sure he would be taking the brief rest that the sailor’s life allowed.

In contemplation, I paced over to the Splendor’s ornate railing at the edge of the deck; my fingers pressed against the smooth edge of the cold wood as I leaned out over the sharp waves of the ocean, sea foam and its briny, salty smell hitting my face at the same time. I watched the sea for a moment - not black, as many unfortunate sailors alleged, but a deep blue, with silver tones where the licking waves met the beams of the moon. 

Uncoiling a rope I held in my satchel, I held one end, letting the other uncoil into the water. I watched it swirl in the currents for a few moments, which were, as Deuce had noted, different than usual. I grimaced. That should be impossible. The sea, changing current patterns this close to land? To any layperson, to anybody but me and the crew who knew the current story of the Makah’rye, it would seem delusional. I recoiled my rope, placing it back in my satchel, and strode back to my cabin.

Once inside, I pushed books and maps aside, searching for the calculations I had made days ago. If I was already seeing signs of a disturbance caused by the Makah’rye being used…I bit my lip as calculations ran through my head. I didn’t dare think too far about it. The books I had read gave me at least four weeks. From the way things were going, I would be surprised if we had two and a half.

I tossed down my papers after a moment, scanning in vain for something they didn’t have to give me. I rarely pushed my crew or my ship to the limit, but if I ever would do it, now would be the voyage. And yet that thought gave me, underneath the necessity of speed and infallible accuracy, an undeniable thrill of excitement - I had discovered years ago that my passion was the unification of magic and the sea, and not even the most ambitious plunderer could ask for a more fruitful opportunity than this. Opening my door and striding down the narrow hallway that led to the crew’s quarters, I knocked on the door to Bane and his cabinmate, Dusk’s, quarters. At my knock, Bane promptly opened the door, apparently not yet asleep from midwatch. I stepped out into the hallway, inviting him to accompany me. He shut the door silently behind him.

“I regret to say this, Bane, but I can already tell we are going to positively have to speed the voyage. We…I had calculated that we had almost four weeks. We need to make it to Omiez and to the island in…about half that time.” I winced as he winced. Having been a sailing man his entire life, he understood my request. If I was asking to cut the voyage time almost in half, he knew it would have to be dire. We could not count on the wind to help us, or for unfriendly forces to let us pass, or on the ultimate stamina of my crew. A voyage time is projected for a reason. To cut it in half is almost unheard of.

He stared at me, trying, I was sure, to analyze my expression. I kept it blank: determined, but confident. I trusted my crew with my life, and they were my friends above anyone else, but especially when their well-being was at stake, I had learned long ago to not let on more than I wanted to deliberately. Bane broke eye contact first. 

“We can try, Captain.” he said.

“No.” I said immediately, a knee-jerk reaction. “Effort is the salve for a wound, but right now we need the injury gone as if it was never even there. Bane, you understand - there is everything riding on this.” Slowly, he nodded, and I could see the wheel of his understanding and determination revolving and changing, settling.

He nodded, his smile back. “Aye, aye, Captain.” I watched him. After a moment, I nodded in turn, and he bowed his head slightly to me, turning then and walking away. Back in my quarters yet again, I searched again through my maps. If I was seeing signs from the change in the magnetic pull caused by the use of the Makah’rye already, we would have a difficult voyage ahead, especially as we got closer to my destination, the island of the natives, where the dormant Aiitne lie. 

We would have to tread carefully; I knew this. I couldn’t let myself be lulled into unsuspecting calm by the minor magical objects that I had been scoping recently, the trinkets hidden in the vaults of the rich after which guarding my back was an everyday endeavor. No, this was a power that was told about around the world by dark bedsides and solemn readings; one that everybody knew about, and nobody dared to touch. I was not dealing with a simple stone that was imbued with power. I was dealing with the powers that made the world, and I was about to destroy it single-handedly. If I wasn’t careful, this could all go sideways – literally. 

My plan? -  my plan was to sail to Omiez, the wind under our sails the fastest that we could possibly survive, and locate, with near-impossible swiftness, this map about which I had overheard; from there, the long part having been done, to Knusaijax, where I would pierce the veil of years of mythology to resurrect the Aiitne from the home to which it never belonged and restore it to its own life, righting the wrongs of not only the present but the past as well. And yet even that, even when laid out in its simplest form, was nothing but fraught with hidden complications and undercurrents of trouble. 

I could hear Bane shouting out orders above me. I heard two bells for the morning watch, which meant it was about 5:00. Sure enough, the glint of dawn had begun to show above the horizon, and the pink tinge of the clouds had bled onto the black deck. 

---

(Some portions have been omitted from this sample.)

I swung up onto the mast, starting to scale the rigging. 

By the time I had reached the crow’s nest, my spirits had lifted considerably. Hawk was sitting comfortably against the mast, looking almost like the statue of a barrelman. His was the countenance that looked so lethargic and bored - but at even the slightest bit of distraction, his keen mind would make a note, and leave no disturbance unrecorded.

I hoisted myself up to his level. “Hawk?” I asked. 

He looked down as if he had seen me coming before I had even begun climbing the mast, which I was sure he had. “Yes, Captain?” he asked, his salute coming up out of habit. 

“I would like to know - have you seen any sea life behaving oddly recently? I noticed some dolphins that were moving differently than their usual patterns.” Hawk gazed into the distance for a second, trying to remember.

“Aye, I do recall seeing that pod pass by,” he said slowly. “There was a school of fish swimming before them, and so I thought they were just chasing their prey. I didn’t think much of it at the time. Do you think it’s of importance?”

I nodded my head. “It could turn out to be of extreme importance. Thank you, Hawk.”

I might have given my gratitude a moment too soon. As soon as the words were out of my mouth, the mast seemed to shudder underneath me, and I looked down just in time to see the hull of the Splendor give a horrific jolt. The usually stoic Bane had seen something that we could not, and was, I could tell even from here, vibrating with tense energy, yelling orders at the top of his lungs. Sailors raced around like suntanned figurines on the deck below, flying to and fro across the deck.

I glanced back up at Hawk, who was staring rigidly at the sea in front of us. I followed his gaze - and immediately wished I hadn’t. The usually predictable pattern of choppy waves on the sea had given way to a sick-looking heaving - the sea roiled in huge surges, as if a giant had grabbed the fabric of the sea and shook it, and the rough sea was rising up as one into huge waves that could easily engulf an entire village. 

I looked back at Hawk, whose face had turned a sickly ashen. “Hawk, get down to -”

The ship lurched forward. From the mast, it seemed as if we were going to keep tilting right into the roiling sea, and spray flew up into my face, making the ropes slick under my fingers just as the mast heaved back through its upward arc. My nimble fingers slipped, missing the ropes, and I began to fly toward the deck. Almost as soon as I began to fall, however, my hands grabbed at the rigging again, this time holding fast, my fingers tight in a lock around the rope.

I looked up from the ropes, squinting through the mist. As my gaze jolted upward, something large flew past my face. Almost on instinct, I reached out and grabbed the rough fabric of the object, leaving my grip, and my life, hanging by the backs of my knees on the latticed rope. Panting, I lay upside down, staring at the rough face of Hawk, which seemed to be slack and lifeless. Before allowing myself to panic, I hoisted him upward, just as the ship gave another terrifying jolt. 

Difficult as it was to keep my grip on Hawk’s tunic, the sleety rain almost pried my fingers off the slick ropes - I could barely keep my eyes open from the driving wind and rain, and I could just barely hear Bane frantically shouting orders beneath me. I had only one thought - to get down to my crew - and yet, clinging to the rough, wet hemp of the rope with one hand and the dead weight of Hawk with the other, it seemed as if the entire sea was set on preventing me from doing just that.

Knotting my legs around the mast, I hoisted Hawk up on my shoulders. Looking down, I knew that there was absolutely no way I could climb down the ropes - the higher ones had somehow started to ice over, giving the sharp material painful edges, and the ones that hadn’t were still sharp and slick - and even as I watched, in a matter of seconds, a sudden, unnatural fog had crept in, giving me no more than five feet of vision in a halo around my head. 

Whispering a tense prayer, I released my hold on the rope, gripping the mast with my slender, calloused fingers. I began to crawl down, my fingertips numb and my arms raw and red from chafing against the icy mast, my experienced sinew seeming to be serving me no better than water. To this day, I flinch to think about that trip to the bottom of the mast - more dead on my feet than words can begin to tell, I fell the last fifteen feet, using the last of my energy to land just so, preserving my legs and Hawk’s life. Laying the unconscious Hawk on the deck, I grabbed my satchel rope - I had had enough of rope for one day - and lashed him to the mast. 

A shout from behind me grabbed my attention. With a sickening feeling in my stomach, I saw pieces of black wood being tossed by the thrashing sea. I flew over. Sear and another sailor that I couldn’t see were straining at a rope, trying to get the sail down. My lungs and muscles burning, I ran over, grabbing the other end and starting to haul. Pulling on hidden reserves of energy and relying on adrenaline, I yelled out a rhythm. If the sail didn’t go down, it would catch the howling winds of the storm and throw us every conceivable place - including into the sea. As I shouted over the wind, pulling against the chafing rain, a sickening crack sounded above me, and life seemed to be reduced to slow motion.

Splinters flew through the air as the mast shivered and split in two, leaving nothing but a jagged stump where the proud wood used to be. It whistled through the air, plunging into the ocean with what I am sure would have been a tremendous splash, and as the sea rose up in the next second to meet the polished bow of the mutilated Splendor, I squeezed my eyes shut and wrapped my arms around the mast.

The impact came precisely one second later.