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	Chapter 10
	10 ------ The following weeks passed by with little surprises. The Grey Eagle passed two land masses, which Fane had been told were the southernmost of The Four Isles. They appeared different somehow to West Ryadell and the land mass of around Midport. The islands were more easily visible upon the horizon, as they were taller in height, with mountains and cliffs visible from miles out at sea. Even the clusters of pine-like trees could be spotted from such a distance, which wrapped themselves like green cloaks around the mountain-sides, like a beard worn by a giant face. The peaks now, at this late time of year, were sprinkled with dustings of white snow, which seemed to encroach also upon the lower hills, frosting some clusters of greenery with a discernable kiss of the coming winter. They were the heart of the war, these Four Isles and their surrounding waters. Three isles were already occupied by Human armies, and one was presided upon by Eskans, allies to Humanity. Although Kormere, the one which they passed later in the day, was still under contention by Tenakos people, who defiantly refused to give all of their land over to either of the surrounding nations. Originally, they were designed to be a gathering of diplomatic territories, in place with the hopes that world war never again tainted the land of Sheol. But around thirty years, The United Human Empire broke this diplomacy with the invasion of both Kormere, and from then on, there had been little peace in the north of the world. Human-kind and her allies had slowly taken parts of North Minua also, pressing Tenakos and Furalian nations back out of Repea and its mountainous country, as well as parts of Furalia and even Newhaven. Kortak, the Furalian of the four isles lasted up until just one year ago before it was finally overwhelmed by invading forces. And so The Grey Eagle was in dangerous waters at this stage of its journey, especially with her recent escapades at Midport, not yet a month past. Fane spent much of his time talking with Sec and Kern. Most nights were spent drinking stolen rum, and gambling with racing bugs (Fane had managed to talk Kern into constructing a track, which was responded with a barrage of cursing, and then sudden agreement). Sec would sit on his bed and say very little as the other two Dreyhood cheered and wailed their bugs to victory. Fane was sure that Kern was cheating half of the time by using illusions to make his bugs seem like they were going faster, but he couldn’t prove it, and it seemed of no consequence considering that the stakes were the very same thing they could steal for free anyway. Fane tried once to start a conversation with Gwynia, but she seemed distant and strangely awkward around the boy now. She was cold, as if discouraging his interest, which he had probably let slip during their mental connection. Kern tried on many occasions to get the boy to go and try to “woo” her while he was drunk, but the pitfall was always discouraged by Sec, who was the voice of reason on such instances. As the Four Isles disappeared over the curve of the world, Fane found himself alone on deck, with nothing much to do. It was too early to drink and gamble, and Sec was resting in their quarters, so Fane came up with an idea which probably wasn’t a great one. He knew he could not get into the room where Kitselle was being kept, but he really wanted to speak to her, so he decided upon an alternative; he would talk to her using his mind. He smiled as he walked towards her room, quite enticed by the idea of again testing his powers. Oddly enough, a year ago he would have been afraid to use his magic … but now, he found himself enjoying it. Even the unpredictability of it he found attractive, rather than daunting or frightening as he would priory have seen it. He slipped into a vacant cabin which was adjacent to the strange girl’s. It was probably one of officer’s quarters, or perhaps that of Muirayn or Gwynia. He latched the door from the inside and went over to sit by the wall nearest to Kitselle’s room. Cell – he corrected himself. As he had done before he followed the steps that Tyrius had taught him. First he built up a centre of calm, of control, of tranquillity and fortified preparation. Once he had that in place, he tested his Unseen Hand, feeling the invisible muscles of it tense under his control. It felt stronger now, as if the use of it had also made it more powerful, as it would do with a real arm. It was a slight change, but a change never-the-less. At last, when he was prepared and his nerves were calm, he directed his energies outward, using the power in a way he was very used to; he emitted an emotion of tranquillity. Before he had used this to calm animals; but now he used it to calm a human being. He found her almost instantly. She was sitting still, her energies confused, afraid, but oddly detached. He had connected with animals while they were sleeping before, and this is how it had felt … as if they creatures were in a dream state, a world of illusion. But Kitselle was not asleep. As The Hand grazed her consciousness, she sat upright, and her energies changed. In the same way the dead wood had felt, Kitselle had a feeling all of her own. She felt like fire under the palm of his hand; dangerous, angry, bitter and hungry to consume. The fire felt desperate to escape, desperate to consume those that had it under control. But much more dangerous than a fire, this energy was cold and patient, and there was discomfort when he touched her consciousness; like placing bare skin on a blade that had been buried in snow for a week. It burned, not physically of course, but it burned in the way a sharp insult might burn. How she had become aware of his presence was beyond him. But she spoke a word out loud, though his ears could not hear it. Quickly he directed his attention to attempting to pass her thoughts in the form of words. In the same way a puzzle piece fits into the right place of an unfinished puzzle, his Unseen Hand connected instantly with her mind, and locked. Hello. He said to her, the thoughts flowing out of him much more easily than they had done before with Gwynia. There was no snap this time … no inexplicable burst of energy as something inside took over. It was as if he had unlocked a rusted safe the previous time, and now the key was able to turn more smoothly in the lock. (Please don’t be afraid.) He said to her. (I’m not afraid.) She said back. Fane was sure this wasn’t possible, that she could converse with him like this. (Good.) (I hear voices in my head by they aren’t mine. You’re that boy.) (I’m Fane.) He said. (How can you talk to me like this?) (I’m just thinking.) He realised that somehow the connection formed must allow him to hear the words that she thought within her mind. In the same way he could send them, he could also receive them now. With each word she sent, there were many thousands of whispers chorused in the background. Fane guessed that they must have been her shielded thoughts. (Get away from me.) Her thoughts said. (My thoughts are my own.) He was thrown slightly off balance by her manner, but held firm control over his gift. (I wont go anywhere I’m not invited.) Fane said. (I wouldn’t know how, even if I wanted to.) She didn’t reply to this, but her energies were uninviting and cold. She didn’t trust Fane, and rightly so. (Look, we’re in this together.) Fane sent, barely even thinking about how he was sending thoughts so easily now. He was sure it wasn’t supposed to be this easy … perhaps he was just talented? (We are both captives by the same people, and I only want to help.) (You can help by leaving me alone. Get out of my head. Get away from me!) (Wait, please! I need to speak to you. We’re going to escape before they take us to where we are going. And I wont leave you here … we will all escape together.) (I don’t need your help. I’ll get out of here on my own. You come near me and I’ll kill you.) Fane broke the connection momentarily. He was perplexed by the attitude of this girl. Something had happened to her to make her this way, and it was more devastating than being captured by mages or guilds. There was a reason she had been driven to murder, and it wasn’t a pretty one. It had driven her, also, to the edges of insanity … he could feel it by the chattering of unheard voices in the background, by the whirlwind of murmurings and crying which spun about her perplexed and wrathful psyche. Fane’s determination renewed by the sympathy he felt for the girl. Pushing his thoughts back to the control of his magics, he continued to talk to her using his mind. (Then you will have to kill me, because I’m not going to leave you here alone. When the time comes, I will get you out. And if I am killed as payment for my kindness, then so be it.) He wasn’t sure if he believed he was that brave, but he thought his bravado would perhaps be enough to soften the girl’s hard edge. (I will kill you just like I killed my uncle. I’m warning you.) She said back, the unnerving background voices rising to a confused chorus of wails. (That’s up to you. What’s your name? Your real name I mean?) (She swore at the boy with all her will, all her thoughts. It came at him like a flock of diving eagles, talons outstretched, seeking to drive a predator away from a nest of eggs. They were only words, but they hurt … for some reason they hurt his very mind.) Fane stood up and released control of his magic, feeling shaken and upset by the girl’s ungrateful and fiery reaction. Behind him a voice said: ‘Quite charming isn’t she?’ Fane wheeled, startled by the voice. He exhaled with relief when he saw that it was just Muirayn. ‘Did you manage to talk to her?’ Muirayn asked. Fane sighed, rubbing his head. ‘None of your business.’ ‘She’s frightened.’ Muirayn explained. ‘That’s why she’s as volatile as she is. I don’t think she’s evil … she’s just been through a lot.’ ‘What, exactly?’ Fane asked, resting his back against the neighbouring wall and staring up at the ceiling. ‘Who knows. I’d imagine that she was abused, or worse. When she defies us with her words, her voice shakes. She’s frightened, and not naturally violent, I don’t believe. She says very little, and gives away even less.’ ‘She nearly killed you.’ Fane said. Muirayn shrugged. ‘I would have done the same in her position.’ Fane frowned, looking at Muirayn directly, ‘And did you?’ He pressed. Muirayn stared at him without as much as a twinge of emotion on his face. ‘Did you try to kill any of them? When they came for you?’ Fane was being bold, he realised, but it was easy to be bold with words rather than actions. Words rarely got you killed. Muirayn sighed. ‘No. I tried to fight them off, but it was no use. It doesn’t matter now. I have come to believe in Tyrius … in The Order and what they stand for.’ Fane noticed the word “they” and held on to it. Muirayn was not sure that he was on the right side of this particular argument. He had doubts, and Fane might be able to use that one day. ‘Haven’t you ever wanted to return home?’ Muirayn nodded, sitting on his bed. ‘Of course I have. But the consequences are too far-reaching for me to be selfish on the matter. If I returned to see my family, they would realise that I was still alive, and they would search harder for me. If they found out about The Order, then the end result could be a war between the kingdoms of the Sheol and the magic users of Southkeep.’ ‘Why would that be so bad?’ ‘Sheol needs The Order, Fane. History has proven that time and again. Mages and sorcerers arise with power that they have neither the will nor the self-control to wield with any sagaciousness. They turn to selfish gain, because that’s what the magic does if you use it unwisely. Eventually, they lead armies against one another, or they seek out more power to satisfy their insatiable lust for it. Either way, people get killed, sometimes thousands of people.’ Fane shook his head. ‘I’ve yet to see proof of that.’ Muirayn sat crouched over, with his elbows resting on his knees and his hands clasped together. There was a long pause, and finally he said. ‘You will.’ Fane stood where he was for a moment more and then the silence gave him the cue he needed to leave. He stepped towards the door. ‘Fane.’ Muirayn called after him. ‘Don’t try talking to Kitselle again, or I’ll lock you up in chains, just like Kern.’ Fane nodded. Then he left. --- Fane trudged through town attempting to shield his head from the shockingly torrential downpour of rain by using his thin waistcoat. It was less like rain, and more like a river being thrown over him from out of the sky, he decided. His clothes were drenched and clung to his skin with wrinkled, puppy-skin lines. He had given up trying to shield the bread he had just bartered for his Mother, and held it loosely under one arm as it-too was soaked through. There was of course nobody else outside in this kind of weather. Only he would be stupid enough to leave to walk into town when a looming range of black storm clouds chased down his tail. But there was one other person. He saw her now; she was sitting at a doorstep, attempting to hide under the cover of the small roof outcropping, but not being particularly successful. It was Sec’s house she was sitting outside, so Fane naturally guessed who the girl was as he came to her side. Nealla looked up through darkened ringlets, plastered to her forehead and rose-tinted cheeks. She gave the boy a sad, wide-eyed look and then a slight ironic smile crossed her lips. ‘Run out of bathwater in your house?’ Fane asked dryly. She poked her tongue out at Fane and then gave a small giggle. Even soaked to the bone she was pretty; her ruffled and usually modest clothing clinging to her petit form, hugging even her flat stomach and the underside of her humble breasts. No, Fane corrected, the soaked to the bone factor only served to make her even more pretty. ‘I was locked out. Everyone went out and I forgot to take a key with me when I went down to see Bo’.’ Fane nodded. She was with Boseraphim now, officially. They were courting and were always together. It had hurt Fane a little at first, loosing to his brother in such a way - but it was his brother, so he had made himself get over it quite quickly. He slipped out of his waistcoat - with some difficulty - and wordlessly held it out for Nealla to take. It was the gentlemanly thing to do, and she gave him a surprised look of admiring thanks in return as she took the garment. It wasn’t going to dry her off any, but it would at least safeguard her feminine modesty. She wrapped it around her thin torso, leaving her arms cuddled up inside the protective barrier, and thanked the boy with a genuine smile. Fane looked around, ‘We should find some shelter until the rain passes.’ He realised he was shouting over the heavy downpour. ‘At this time of year there’s a real danger of browstones.’ *1 ‘I was going to go to your house, but it’s quite a walk, and…’ Fane nodded. He looked around, trying to think of somewhere that they could use as shelter from the cold downpour. They could go into one of the shops, that was an idea, but he didn’t know how long the rain was going to last, and he would prefer somewhere less intrusive. He spotted a shed up on the hill, and the door appeared to be open. It was obviously a farm shed, but it would be comfortable, and dry, and he was sure that the owner wouldn’t mind. He pointed up to the shed and Nealla nodded, rising to stand. The two ran up the hill, bowing their heads against the strong pelting. Their boots made huge waves as they struck the puddles on the cobblestones, and sank deep into the muddy fields, further dirtying their apparel. As it happened, they made it just in time. Just as they slipped into the barn, the rain had begun to solidify, and slowly it turned to hailstones, rattling the wood of the shed as they pummelled it mercilessly. The two teenagers laughed through heavy breaths, grinning at their victory over the elements. Fane looked around at their new shelter, noticing that the place seemed to be a hay barn. It was clean, and there were fresh bails of hay in which to lay or sit. Fane took a moment to strip out of his soaking shirt, wringing it in a tight worm-like chain and enjoying the resulting pitter-patter of falling water on the wooden flooring. He looked up and Nealla was staring at him. ‘I could catch my death by sitting in that thing for any amount of time.’ He explained. Nealla looked away quickly, a strange expression on her face - perhaps a blush. Fane had always been attractive to girls his age, he knew this, but he had rarely taken his shirt off in front of one. He hadn’t realised it until now, but he felt no embarrassment. Why should he? His body was thin and healthy, toned with attractive lines across his abdominal and around his pectorals. Not muscular by any sense of the word; but healthy, strong, and manly in a young sort of way. He smiled slightly as he glanced away from the girl, pleased to discover yet another trick he could use to woo the ladies. He considered for a moment suggesting that Nealla do the same … as a joke, if nothing else. But stopped himself; reminding himself that it was wrong to flirt with his Brother’s girlfriend. They both sat awkwardly for a while, staring out of the open doors, mesmerised by the falling of the increasingly-large hailstones. Some of the rocks hit the ground with such force that they made marks in the earth, and some smashed into the thatched roofing causing such a loud sound that Fane thought the ceiling might cave in. The two youths stared in wonder at the awesome display of nature’s forces. The hailstones could likely soon be classed as browstones, which were notorious for lasting hours on end. Reclining in the hay, he started a conversation. First they talked of the weather, of family health and general life in the village. But the small talk was over quite quickly, as the two quickly found that they connected quite well. It was that way sometimes when he met a person, for some reason, he just connected with them. It was as if they were on the same page of a book; each had similar personalities, ideas, senses of humour. In this instance, they even paused at the right times, allowing one another to speak. He found Nealla interesting to talk to, so the conversation quickly turned to deeper matters. ‘Do you think you’ll ever marry him?’ Fane asked. He was talking about his brother. ‘I don’t know.’ Nealla said, laying face-up in the hay, staring thoughtfully at the ceiling. Her hair was drying off slightly, and it curled in frizzled twists. ‘He’s a good man. But sometimes I don’t feel like he’s on the same continent as me.’ ‘How do you mean?’ Fane asked, his eyes piercing as he wore the practiced expression of somebody hanging on every word of the other. He knew what she meant, but asking it made him seem more interested. Besides, he wanted her to open up. ‘He daydreams.’ Nealla explained. ‘Sometimes it’s not only that though, it’s like he’s entered his own thoughts, and he wont let me in. I can’t even tell what he’s thinking half the time; he doesn’t even show it in his countenance.’ Fane nodded, ‘I know what you mean.’ He did. Fane too daydreamed, but in a different way. With Fane it was a daydream of imaginary fairies and what-if situations, it was escapism. But with Boseraphim there was no escapism involved; it was the careful deliberation of reality and the morals, the pain, and the struggles involved. This one difference between the two brothers was the one thing that Fane felt set them apart. ‘Of course you do, you must see it all the time, being his brother. But why are you so different?’ Fane smiled, allowing a small chuckle pass his lips so she could hear his laughter while she was looking away. ‘We aren’t so different at heart, not really. But Boseraphim lets things get to him, where as I just laugh it off.’ Nealla looked at him with cozy, doe-eyes. ‘I like that about you.’ She said softly. Warning bells rang in Fane’s head. Far, far off they chimed, but he could still hear them. She likes you, the warning said, she’s actually considering you as an alternative to Boseraphim. You should put your shirt back on now to show that you aren’t one to betray your brother in such a way. But, as usual, Fane pretended not to hear the alarms so that he could maintain innocence in his own conscience. No, he didn’t plan on courting Nealla, but the heart, as they say, is treacherous. ‘Boseraphim is a good man.’ He tried weekly. But even as he said it he knew that the statement wasn’t meant to turn her attentions away from himself, but rather to create the illusion that Fane was a nice boy, with morals, who loved his brother. This would only serve to make her try harder. Nealla stared off into space, ‘He is. Oh I know he is. But sometimes I feel like he doesn’t even want me.’ Fane forced shock into his voice, ‘What? What makes you think that?’ ‘Well, he’s not the one here with me now, is he?’ Fane shrugged, ‘That’s just co-incidence.’ Nealla nodded, ‘Yes, but my point is that he’d much rather hunt or read than spend time with me. Sometimes I don’t see him for weeks at a time, and we’re supposed to be courting.’ Fane knew this to be an exaggeration, but he let it go. ‘I’m sure he’s just busy recently … he has a lot on his mind. Permanently. He’d be insane not to want you.’ There was silence. He shouldn’t have said that, but it felt dangerous – even exciting. Fane could feel Nealla’s eyes burning into the side of his skull. ‘Do you?’ She said at last. ‘Do I what?’ He asked innocently, dancing a familiar dance. ‘Want me?’ She said softly. There was a confidence issue there, he could tell. She just wanted attention, and she was hoping Fane would be the one to give it to her. Fane sighed, and looked her in the eyes, ‘I don’t think it would be proper for me to answer that. You are my brother’s girl.’ ‘Woman.’ She said. He was sure her breathing deepened, as if she was subtly thrusting out her chest to evidence this statement. It wasn’t so subtle as she might have imagined. Fane laughed out loud, trying not to stare at the soaked woman, ‘Yes. Yes, that’s very true.’ There was another moment of awkward silence. Fane knew that the subject would change, but it would be back. He stood up and looked around the barn, looking particularly at the crates. ‘Who’s farm is this?’ Nealla considered this for a second. ‘I believe it to be Seonroy’s.’ ‘Doesn’t he run a small vineyard patch in his farm?’ ‘Uh… yeah I think so. Why?’ Fane smiled, ‘A little wine would help warm us up a bit.’ She grinned, ‘Stealing?’ she said, widening her eyes for the split second she uttered the word. Fane shook his head, ‘I’ll buy him some wine back again.’ And he meant it. Fane was no thief; his parents had raised him well enough. He went to the back of the barn and as he had expected, he found a number of crates. It was likely that they were ready to be shipped to neighbouring towns, or perhaps taken down to the market area to be bartered or sold. Prying a few nails loose with his finger, Fane peaked inside the first one. Eggs. He muttered, but moved to the next box, determined now to find some wine. After he had opened two more crates he found what he was looking for: the box was stacked full of glass bottles of white wine, packed in with ample straw to protect them from being smashed. Seonroy wouldn’t even notice that they were missing until Fane came to him with a replacement bottle in a few days time and explained that he had been caught in the storm with nothing to drink. Not a great excuse, but Seonroy was a young farmer, and had always liked Fane and Boseraphim, so he was sure he would be forgiven. Two hours later, the conversation had steadily grown deeper and deeper. Such things as the meaning of life and where monsters had come from had been the discourse, as well as more inane, random drunk tangents such as what it would be like to be a chicken. Perhaps the most creative discussion had been the posed question: ‘do you think the sea falls through the bottom of the world and then comes back as rain?’ The two teenagers had too much to drink by this point. Finally, inevitably, the conversation came back around. ‘Do you think I’m pretty, Fane?’ ‘Of course.’ He said, the wine allowing him this much freedom of speech. ‘If I wasn’t your brother’s...?’ She left the question unfinished. Fane nodded, knowing this would come. ‘But you are.’ A steely resolve settled over him, despite the swimming of his drunken head. He had done much to encourage her attentions, but it was all just a game. He didn’t want to betray his brother, not really. ‘And so I won’t answer your question.’ ‘You wont say it?’ ‘No.’ She crawled across the hay to close the gap between them, a seductive smile on the corner of her lips. ‘Then don’t say it.’ She said, placing an arm on Fane’s bare shoulder, leaning in. Her eyes sparkled with the hazy mist of intoxication, and the soft glow of desire softened the corners of her face. Her scent filled his nostrils; although damp, she still had a perfumed aroma of lavender, and something else that he had only ever smelled on her. It was her scent. It made his stomach knot with the fringes of encroaching lust, and a fog welled up in his heart, dispelling reason or self control. ‘I wont.’ He said, still hesitating, still fighting an inner battle of reason against want. Even as he said it, he did not turn away. ‘Then don’t.’ She said; her voice melodic and soothing, a siren’s song. And then, in his world, it was only her. There was no barn, no rain, no Brother. There was only her eyes, her scent … her lips. The kiss lasted far longer than it should have. She slipped a hand over his cheek and pulled him in closer as they locked together in a single moment of stolen passion. He too reached out and took her waist, embracing her, feeling the warmth of her body under the initial chill of her damp clothing against his bare torso. And then reason flooded back in a wash of sanity. He pulled away, perhaps too quickly, and slipped backwards off of the hay and onto the hard floor with a dull thud. ‘I …’ he stammered, scrambling to his feet, ‘I shouldn’t have done that.’ She sighed, resting her head on her arm as she reclined on the soft bed of hay. He stood up, dusting himself off. ‘I hadn’t meant to do that.’ ‘Oh but you had! You’ve been trying to make me do that from the moment you took off your shirt.’ She laughed, and this time it didn’t sound as nice as it usually did. ‘Come back to me.’ She said; her free arm opening to beckon him back to her embrace. Fane shook his head. ‘I wont. I’m sorry.’ ‘I don’t want your brother, Fane, I want you.’ Fane again shook his head, this time more firmly, ‘You do want him. I’m just a distraction.’ He slurred slightly, the alcohol still taking affect. ‘We can make love, here and now, on the hay. And later, I’ll leave him for you.’ She said. Her eyes were filled with want, her manner demanding. ‘But I won’tleave him.’ He replied. Recovering his still-damp shirt, he turned and walked outside. It had stopped raining sometime in the past hour. --- Fane sat down in front of his Brother, his head bowed in shame. His face was grave and pale as he struggled to find the words. Boseraphim looked deep into him as if staring at a collector’s art piece hanging on a gallery wall. ‘Fane, its okay, just say it.’ His face was stern, but warm with a familiar fondness. He wore a slightly nervous expression, which was betrayed by the faint flicker of doubt in his eyes and the faint worry lines around his forehead and nose. Fane stammered, and then stopped. He drummed his fingers on the table. ‘Are you in some kind of trouble?’ Fane shook his head, staring at his fingernails as they rested on the table. ‘Because if you are, I’ll help you, you know that.’ ‘It’s not that.’ Fane said, his heart aching even to say that little. Boseraphim sat and waited patiently. ‘Do you want to write it down?’ He said after a little while. Fane shook his head. He took a deep breath and looked up slightly, past the left arm of his brother. The shame would not allow him to look into Boseraphim’s eyes. ‘I…’ He began, ‘Me and Nealla. We had wine, and…’ ‘What did you do?’ Boseraphim said, his tone carefully level; perhaps dangerously so, like the stillness of a cat before the pounce. ‘We kissed.’ Fane said, not allowing his brain to keep up with his mouth. ‘I’m sorry, Bo, I… I’m really sorry.’ There was more silence, this time for over thirty seconds. Fane dared not look at his brother’s face, he dared not move a muscle. He simply stared at the wood of the furniture. ‘Look at me.’ Boseraphim commanded. Fane couldn’t. ‘Fane! Look at me!’ He said angrily. Fane willed himself to do so. What he found there was not what he had expected. His brother was looking at him with compassion, even love, and there were tears in his eyes. ‘Thank you for telling me. Most people wouldn’t have said anything at all.’ Fane blinked, ‘You … you’re not angry?’ Boseraphim clenched his jaw slightly, ‘Yes, of course I am. But … Fane, listen to me. You are my Brother. My Brother! Do you understand?’ Fane did. That was why he felt so ashamed. ‘No … you don’t understand. You mean more to me than she ever could. You are my blood, and no woman should ever come between blood.’ Fane’s eyes welled up as he said this. Boseraphim continued: ‘If you want her, she is yours. I won’t stand between you. Yes, you did a stupid thing, and I’m angry at you, but I’ll get over that. If you ask it of me, Nealla is yours. Understand: you are my Brother.’ Fane swallowed hard against the emotions the words instilled. His brother was the best man he knew, and he proved this time and again. As much as he wanted Nealla, he knew then that he could not have her. Boseraphim’s insistence made it even more apparent, because to take Nealla now would be to spit on Boseraphim’s kindness. ‘I don’t want her.’ He lied. ‘Okay.’ Boseraphim said solemnly, ‘But she is no longer mine.’ There was a flicker of disgust as he said this. ‘I never loved her anyway. So if in the future you decide that you do want her, then she is yours, if she will take you. And nothing further will be said on the matter, do you understand?’ Fane stared at his brother. His mouth opened, but he couldn’t find the words. He was afraid that if he found the words, they would escape in tremulous babbles. He did not know if he believed that Boseraphim would in time forgive him for his betrayal, and Fane knew full well that he didn’t deserve it, but he hoped. Only time would tell. --- It took them a little over another week to reach Eye Coast. Fane could see the land as they skirted it, sailing closer to this part of the world than to the lands owned by Humans. It was a largely flat area, by the looks of it, with a great deal of forestation gracing the coastal front. He had of course heard all about Eye Coast. The country was legendary. ‘War has not yet come to this part of the world.’ Muirayn was saying, standing with Fane and Sec as they looked out at yet another new part of Sheol. ‘Give it time.’ Said the Captain as he brushed past them. Muirayn nodded. ‘Sadly, he’s right.’ Sec looked up at the taller man. ‘Is it true that all races live here?’ ‘That’s what I heard too.’ Fane announced. ‘That’s right, my friend.’ Muirayn explained, ‘It’s changed hands so many times, that people just started lingering here and calling it home. It’s not the most fertile of lands in the known world, so there hasn’t been a lot of argument over it in particular. It’s not hailed as racial home to anyone, so it became a sort of a trading ground to most of the races. Technically, its part Eskan, part Tenakoshan, but the governments each formed a sort of republic. It’s the only place in the world like it, where all races are welcomed … well, that’s how it works on paper. Obviously people still have their prejudices. Especially Tenakoshan and Eskan peoples, but even those two old enemies have been at peace in some parts of the world, more recently.’ Fane flicked a shaving of stray wood off into the sea. It made a small ripple in the waters which was quickly engulfed by more important waves, sweeping the disturbance off into itself as if to deny the fact that it had ever happened. ‘I’d imagine that this place will be next when Humans have finished taking Rupea and The Four Isles.’ Muirayn shrugged, ‘Either this, or Furalia. It wouldn’t surprise me if they turned their attentions on E’eska too.’ ‘But they have always been allies, Humans and Eskans.’ Sec said. ‘As much as a pair of killers or thieves can be allies. Sooner or later, Humans are going to see E’eska as their closest rival, and they’ll sail into her lands too.’ ‘Humanity is strong enough to do that?’ Fane asked with some exclamation, Muirayn and Sec both laughed at Fane’s lack of military knowledge. They looked at each other and shrugged in unison. ‘I’ll take that as a yes?’ Sec rubbed a hand over his short cropped hair, ‘Humans breed more quickly, and they’ve had a long time to build armies, out of the way, in Ryadell. Everyone else has been in a constant battle with one another. Humans are rumoured to have the largest land army in the whole of Sheol. They are greedy pigs too.’ Muirayn didn’t say anything to correct Sec, nor did he seem like he agreed wholly with the stereotyping of Humanity. ‘So wouldn’t the Eskans in charge of Eye Coast turn us all into slaves if they found us?’ Fane queried. ‘Not likely.’ Muirayn said, ‘The Eskan half of the Eye Coast republic doesn’t have much interest in slavery. It’s bad for business if they start making any travellers into slaves. Besides, we’re closer to the Tenakoshan half of the republic now.’ Neither Fane nor Sec had ever seen the Tenakos. They were rumoured to be strange creatures, massive in size and ferocious by nature. Muirayn gave them a glance, ‘Tenakoshans won’t either. They hate slavery; it goes against everything they believe in. They might burn us alive and eat us for breakfast, but they won’t make us slaves.’ He laughed heartily, throwing his head back in laughter. ‘That makes me feel much better.’ Fane said weakly. Muirayn opened his mouth to say something further but then stopped himself. He squinted at the sea, his mouth left ajar as he stared. Both boys followed his gaze and they too saw it instantly; it was a small speck on the horizon still, but it was there. Fane could have sworn it looked like a … ‘A longboat.’ Muirayn said. ‘Coming directly for us.’ --- Tyrius reached down and pulled the stranger up onto the ship. Everyone on board stared at him with either wonder or bewilderment, and some with both. The stranger was not human. He was grey all over his body, with golden scales lining his edges; up over his arms and around the temples of his head and the sides of his neck. He was bald, without visible ears or a nose; only eyes that were clear white and devoid of pupils. Like a third arm, was his massive tail that emerged from the rear of his garments and snaked over the railings to steady himself as he stepped aboard. He was neither muscular nor thin, indeed his body type was hard to describe or even to judge, as his form seemed to expand slightly every once in a while, specifically when he performed something that would perhaps include the use of his muscles. One moment he was average of build, and then next muscles would seem to rise up from under his skin and expand his girth like some threatened aquatic monster. He was a Meunos. Or Meunosian, or perhaps a Meunion, Fane could never remember which way you said it. They were a mysterious race of peaceful beings found at the southernmost part of the world. He knew quite a bit about them, as he had read books and stories that had included them quite often. He had only seen a few in his life, and only from a distance. ‘Toenattus Julumadli. Luha pius nomatio rabla lis Southkeep rablalispulum?’ The Meunos said in a strange language the likes of which Fane was familiar with, but could not place it. Coming from this man’s mouth it reminded him of The Song. It was an interesting language, even soothing to hear. ‘What did he say?’ Fane whispered to Muirayn. Muirayn kept his eyes on the exchange between Tyrius and the Meunos while he whispered back: ‘I think he asked if he is worthy to come to Southkeep with us.’ Tyrius responded in the same strange language, and then a series of short replies proceeded between them both. ‘I think they know each other.’ Said Muirayn. Tyrius turned to the gathered crowd and spoke loudly: ‘Friends. This is Oro. He wishes to join The Order of Inato and come with us to Southkeep.’ ‘How does he know about The Order?’ Gwynia demanded, suspicion in her voice. ‘His House is named Inato. He is a descendant of the founder; of Inato himself. He has recently discovered his gift.’ ‘Really now? And how did he find us?’ Tyrius turned to the Meunos and spoke again in his language. After a short conversation he turned his attention back to the crew. ‘He says a man came to him as he crossed the country on his way to a port town, and the man told him where we could be found.’ There was a concerned look on the face of the mage leader. It could almost be translated as fear, but it was sterner, more guarded. But behind his clenched jaw and deeply furrowed brow, he seemed to know something that he wasn’t saying. ‘A man!?’ The Captain exclaimed. ‘How would he know where in the middle of the ocean we are? Hell, I’m the Captain, and most of the time I don’t know where we are.’ ‘Well that’s re-assuring.’ Fane muttered. Tyrius and Muirayn exchanged edgy looks, and even Gwynia seemed to know something of what was going on. But none of the mages volunteered any information on the matter. ‘What did this man look like?’ Gwynia asked, still looking out to sea with solemn eyes. The Meunos man faced Gwynia and spoke in a basic Ryadellian dialect. ‘He was beardless, mistress. That is all I remember.’ Sec muttered something behind Fane and one of the sailors took up the suspicious accusation, ‘Yeh! Why on Sheol did ‘e trust a random stranger telling him such things? Sounds a bit fishy to me, Sirs.’ Tyrius held up a hand and explained in level tones: ‘Honesty, and likewise trust, is everything between the Meunos. They rarely lie, and they rarely mistrust, even their worst enemies. Oro Inato would have assumed the stranger was telling the truth, for to disbelieve him is to dishonour him.’ Sec said: ‘A surprise that his race has survived as long as they have.’ Tyrius frowned at the boy, ‘Don’t mistake trust for stupidity, Sec Rell. When they have reason to believe that a person has reason to lie, then they are more cautious. In this instance, it is likely that he judged the stranger’s deceptive motivation to be lacking.’ Muirayn moved in a step closer to Tyrius and whispered a single word. Tyrius nodded sadly. ‘Then is it wise to allow the Meunos to stay?’ Muirayn said, a little more loudly. Tyrius folded his arms, ‘It’s too late now.’ Fane’s brain caught up with his eyes and he realised what the single word had been. Putting two and two together, the title that had occurred in his dream weeks before fit like a puzzle piece into the equation. The lights had the same reaction back then, the same fear, the same dread. Perhaps it had not been a dream after all? ‘What’s a guardian?’ Fane asked stupidly, blurting it out and realising that it had been a mistake as soon as the first letter found itself leaving his lips. The entire crew, save only Sec, all turned to stare at the boy. Some stood with open mouths, some with frowns, but all were perplexed. There were mutters as some of the crew repeated the word, and others still hushed them into silence, warning of the bad luck that speaking such words would draw upon. Fane looked at them, surprised the word had such an effect. The Captain near enough growled at the crew as they sank back into their primitive shell of superstition, ‘Guardians are a children’s story, you idiots! There’s no such thing!’ But the look on Muirayn’ face said otherwise. ‘It’s never been proven one way or the other.’ He said; his voice unsteady. ‘Rumours and odd wives tales, that’s all. There’s no need for alarm, the boy is just having a flight of fanciful daydreaming.’ He grinned, but somewhat unconvincingly. Tyrius muttered a few words to Oro, but the Meunos shook his head negative. ‘Our friend says it was just an ordinary Human.’ The huge mage said. ‘That’s what they look like!’ One of the crew accused, ‘Ordinary!’ ‘Stop it, all of you!’ The Captain snapped, his eyes wide, daring anyone else to speak on the subject. ‘We’ll have no more talk of Guardians, not on this ship. You want to talk about Guardians, then do it in the water.’ He gestured one, large, bushy hand towards the calm ocean. The crew immediately grew very quiet. ‘Now, is it possible the man could have been a mage hunter, or perhaps an agent of the Human Empire?’ Tyrius asked Oro in Ryadellian, who seemed to understand a little of the language. ‘It is possible, Sir. With all the trouble in the village near here –’ ‘Trouble?’ Muirayn cut him off. Oro nodded in one slow bow of his smooth head. ‘A monster, Sirs. Man eater. It has been …’ He searched for the word, ‘… killing? Massacre. All the villagers. Nobody knows how to stop it.’ ‘What kind of monster can cause so much trouble by itself?’ Muirayn pressed, obviously not entirely trusting the Meunos man, which Fane thought was not a good idea, especially considering the customs of the strange people. Oro seemed to take a moment to find the correct word, and finally gave up and resorted to his own language. Immediately, Tyrius audibly growled a groan of vexation. ‘We can’t stop for supplies for another few days.’ Tyrius announced, already walking towards his cabin. ‘What did he say?’ The Captain demanded, forgetting his place, ‘What kind of monster is it?’ But the giant had already gone inside, ducking under the door frame with a determined expression. Fane looked at Muirayn, ‘If it’s such a dangerous creature to those people, then why don’t we help them? Perhaps only you and Gwynia and Tyrius can save those people, and maybe the rest of the villagers nearby?’ Muirayn run a hand through his long blonde locks, defying the wind as it attempted to push his hair into his face. He gave Gwynia a pleading look. ‘It’s not our way to get involved.’ Gwynia explained. ‘Not your way? But those people are dying!’ Sec said in anger. ‘It’s my way to go and help those people.’ ‘You’ll do no such thing, child.’ She said spitefully, ‘You go where we go.’ ‘What use is magic if we can’t use it to help anyone? Why even learn how to use it? Why, you are as guilty of killing those people as the monster itself, if you refuse to help them.’ ‘Sec…’ Fane interrupted his friend. ‘No, Fane.’ Sec snapped. ‘If we were being taken away so that you could learn to help people with your gift, then I’d understand. I wouldn’t like it, but I’d understand. You claim that magic corrupts, and that’s why you kidnap people, but if you refuse to help those in need – those whose lives are in danger, then you - you are already corrupt.’ ‘Silence your prattle before you embarrass yourself any further, little man. You know nothing of what you speak.’ Muirayn now came to Gwynia’s side, ‘You don’t understand. If we got involved in every squabble, every incident, how do we know we are fighting for a good cause? How do we know that we aren’t aiding the wrong side? How do we choose, with our mortal imperfections, which fight is the good fight? Things aren’t always so black and white, and eventually you need to draw a line.’ The young mage held the entire crew’s attention as he spoke, wielding an inspirational authority that he seemed unaware of. ‘Yes, helping those people would be a good thing, but then others would know about our existence, and would come to finish us … or worse, they would expect our help in future. Eventually, all races of the world would ask for our aid in their own personal battles and wars, and if we gave it to them, then we would emerge murderers. There are always two sides to the story, and no war in the history of Sheol has had a righteous cause or an evil side. In war, there is no right or wrong … there is only war.’ ‘Yes.’ Oro Inato chimed in, unnecessarily. It was said that the Meunos peoples had a similar opinion in regard to war. ‘But this is no war, it is a slaughter.’ Fane said as Sec’s words failed him. ‘Is there no way to help them in secret?’ Muirayn replied: ‘I admire your desire to do what you believe is right. Both of you. But there is no way. Besides anything else, this monster cannot be killed. What it wants, it takes. It feeds and it kills for as long as it wants, whoever it wants, and all you can do against it is flee.’ Again Oro murmured his agreement. Fane shot him a quick glance, pondering over the strange manners of the creature. ‘Muirayn, what is this monster?’ The Captain asked. ‘It’s name - in Ryadellian - is “Torman”, Captain. It can’t be killed by sword or by magic. It’s one of the most powerful of all breeds of monsters.’ A few of the crew seemed to recognise the name of the creature, and those who did seemed to take a step back, even at the mention of the monster’s name. Sailors were known to be superstitious, and Fane had a feeling that it would be a difficult journey from here on. *2 ‘There’s trouble in this part of the world.’ Oro said. ‘Even the forests and grass die. Desert and death emerges to claim this place. We sail on quickly.’ ---------------------------------------­-- *1 Browstones were like hailstones, but bigger, and harder. They only rained in this area of Sheol, and only in the Spring season, nobody really knew why exactly. But they were dangerous, and when they came, everyone went inside and stayed there until they finished, or risked injury and death. *2 Indeed, a crew which consisted of a sizable portion of Furalian sailors was doubly prone to superstition. Furalians, it is said, are the most superstitious of all the races of Sheol. Everything in their day-to-day lives is all but governed by the notion of luck, charms, and “spirits”.
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