In The Mist Of The Erie Isles

By Mantrid Brizon

Episode Thirty-Two: Last Rites

“H-he... He’s dead...” Valan sniffles.

“Only in body. His spirit is still with us.” Lutala replies in a soothing voice.

“And what good is that?! We can’t talk to his spirit!” The gunman growls.

Bowing her head, Lutala remains silent as the long-haired human brushes past her. He grumbles as he shoves open the door, storming out of the cabin. Draeolynn quickly follows his lead. With the soul shard in one hand, Lutala reaches out and gently closes Trellan’s eyelids and mouth, before turning his head and posing him as if he was sleeping peacefully. After a short pause, Kirsta wipes a tear from her eye with the back of a finger.

“Well... We should probably tell them...” She murmurs.

Irzain moves around the bed, stepping away from Trellan’s corpse, which he stares at in a state of perpetual shock. As he passes by the healer, the Lahnyt reaches out a clawed hand and rests it atop his bicep, gaining his attention.

“We did as he asked. There’s no shame in this.” Lutala turns to Irzain.

“... Isn’t there?”

Pulling his arm away, Irzain also leaves the cabin. He looks around the deck, taking a moment to collect himself. To his left, Valan gives Draeolynn a kiss, before letting her head below. Meanwhile, he climbs the steps to the pilothouse. Irzain can only imagine how Steingar will react to the news. Leaving the cabin, Kirsta walks by him, also heading for the lower decks. As the scribe makes his way toward the watertight hatch, he freezes in place.

“NO!” Steingar roars from the helm.

Pushing past Valan, the Helngar races down the steps and flies by Irzain to view Trellan’s body. With a melancholy sigh, Irzain finally traverses the stairs, reaching the landing near the lounge. He pauses at the base of the steps as he listens to the others in the room nearby.

“Oh no!” Jarae gasps.

“Poor Trellan. I’m going to miss him.” Mairlynn whimpers.

“What’re we going to do now?” Jarae asks.

“I don’t know.” Draeolynn mutters.

“We should stick to the plan. We’ll drop that healer off like we promised-”

“Some healer...” Mairlynn grumbles, interrupting Kirsta.

“And then we’ll head to Vaspania and see if we can learn more about Irzain.” The blond-haired woman finishes.

“It’s just not going to be the same without him...” Jarae remarks.

“I know.” Kirsta somberly sighs.

Making his way toward his cabin, Irzain glances into the lounge as he passes by the archway. Kirsta stands behind the bench and just before the dining booth, where Mairlynn, Jarae and Draeolynn sit. Mairlynn rests her head on her arms, while Draeolynn gently rubs her upper back. None notice him as he walks quietly by. Entering his cabin and gently closing the door, he lies atop his cot, staring at the ceiling. The Arona-Dahl begins to turn as someone pilots the craft toward Ogden, the island where Lutala’s family live. As his mind wanders, he begins to feel his strength draining from him.

It’s as if a siphon was plugged into his spirit, and his energy drawn out. Was this a result of the ritual? His eyes begin to close; all he wants to do is rest. Drifting off to sleep, Irzain is immediately bombarded with images. Walking the halls of Nirthen’s temple, Naoma by his side, Irzain looks toward his purple and black furred Helngar lover.

“Are you worried?” He finally asks her.

“For you...”

Stopping in the hallway, he reaches out a hand and grabs her wrist. She glances down with her glowing, turquoise eyes, before turning them toward him. She stares deeply into his emerald spheres, looking into his very essence.

“Why? ... Is it because of the rumors?”

“I don’t think they’re rumors, darling.” Naoma murmurs, a hint of fear in her voice.

“King Vashalak would never do that.”

“Wouldn’t he?”

The stone-faced Naoma stares down at her human lover. Irzain stands in shock, temporarily frozen by the thought. Though he can’t recall the details, he knows in his dream that the implications are colossal and egregious.

“No king would! It’s immoral, and the people wouldn’t stand for it!” He eventually replies.

“The people...” She snickers. “What could they do? They don’t even know the truth! And if they did, how could they stop him when he controls all of the Helngarian divisions?!”

“... You think they’d support him and carry out such a wicked plan?!” He speaks in a near whisper.

“Why not?! Icefang is the Chief-General, and he’s just as bigoted and zealous as that monster... He doesn’t know your kind the way I’ve come to...” She coos, tenderly stroking his cheek. “There’s no hope here, not anymore. We should just leave the Isles, while we still have the chance.”

Reaching out, Naoma takes hold of his hands, holding them gently in hers. Her thumbs stroke his flesh so softly, and the warmth in his heart burns a little hotter.

“Please... I love you, and I don’t want us to suffer.” She pleads.

“And I love you, too!”

“Then let’s go!”

“I-I...” He stammers.

“Let’s just go. We can pack our things tonight!”

“But what about the others?! Are we to just leave them behind?! Are we to abandon our duties?! What about the knowledge stored here?!” He retorts, hoping for any valid excuse to stay.

“That doesn’t matter! Unless we erase it, Vashalak will find it and use it to his advantage. If we destroy everything, we only risk becoming his final option. He’ll hunt us to the ends of the world for it, and you know it... Unless you want to be together in death, and then the secret won’t help anyone.” She somberly explains.

“What if... We destroyed the records first, and then we left? Maybe we could still do some good?! Maybe we could tell King Albrecht and trade it for asylum?!”

“Oh, you...” She softly chuckles, flashing a little grin.

“We can’t just abdicate without doing something. We can’t be that selfish.” He sternly replies.

“Always thinking of everyone but yourself... That’s one of the many, many, many reasons why I love you.”

Leaning in and letting go of his hands, Naoma wraps her arms around him. She kisses his lips and face over and over, her long, tapering, prehensile tail swaying with delight behind her. He holds her close, rubbing her back as she clutches to him like a stuffed doll.

“If that’s what you want to do, my love, then we can do that. But what about the guards? They’ll stop us. We can’t even leave without them escorting us.”

“I’ll figure out a way to get rid of the guards. Maybe if I forge a letter, when we get our next shipment I can “receive” it, then once they’re gone, we can destroy the records and plan our escape.” He explains.

“You’re so clever. Another one of the many, many, many reasons why I love you!” She giggles.

Boots echo throughout the hall as the guards make their rounds. Turning back, their joy is cut short.

“We’d better hurry, though...” She murmurs.

Jolted awake, Irzain opens his eyes to find himself staring at the ceiling of his cabin. He feels his stomach churning and begins to rise, however, no sooner than he swings his legs over the edge of his cot, he’s thrown to the floor. The wood creaks as the ship bashes into a powerful wave.

“By the Seraphs!” He exclaims, the fear making his pulse rise.

Pushing himself up, he stumbles toward his cabin door. Opening the latch, the door swings open and he falls back, thrown by another powerful wave. The storm’s severity is such that he fears at any moment the Arona-Dahl might break into pieces. He manages to make his way from his cabin and through the hall, finding the other cabins all empty. Their doors sway and slam, into their frames and against the walls, as the ship rocks so violently to and fro. After an arduous march through the swaying hallway, he reaches the lounge.

There, he finds many of the others. They sit, trembling and crowding into the dining booth, using the table and corner bench, which are affixed to the floor, to keep them locked into place. Grabbing hold to the frame of the archway, his emerald eyes widen with horror at the sight through the rear windows. The ship rides the waves, barely holding onto the water as it bucks them like a wild stallion. Water rises nearly to the windows as the ship moves along a wave, before disappearing entirely as they move along the peak.

“What the hell is going-”

Before he can finish his sentence, the ship tilts with the waves, throwing him backward. Falling along the hallway, he rolls into a support beam, violently twisting his ankle and striking his shin so hard that he worries it might’ve broken. Groaning in pain, he hobbles toward the lounge as soon as the ship experiences a reprieve, a short patch of calm seas. Entering the lounge, he throws himself down atop a bench, across the room from the filled dining booth. He holds on tightly, enduring yet another assault from the ocean. Kirsta, Jarae, Mairlynn, Draeolynn and Lutala huddle together, looking toward him.

“Where’s Valan and Steingar?!” Irzain yells over the cacophony of the storm.

“In the pilothouse!” Mairlynn shouts back.

“They’re trying to get us through the storm!” Jarae yells.

“I hope they hurry it up! I can’t take much more of this shit!” Kirsta roars.

They hold on for dear life, enduring what feels like an eternity of thrashing waves. Everyone except for Lutala trembles like a leaf. Finally, the ship and her crew are spared. The afternoon sunlight grows stronger as they pass through the blackness of the storm. With the danger behind them, each of the women sits at the booth, shivering. Even Irzain shakes from the shock and slowly dissipating fear. Mairlynn reaches a tremoring hand into her blouse, feeling between her small bust. Retrieving her Leinehn Egg, she flips the golden cylinder over, looking at the clock’s solitary hand.

“An hour...” She remarks.

“That’s all?!” Draeolynn gasps.

“It felt like days!” Jarae exclaims.

“That’s the sea for you. The biggest bitch in the world.” Kirsta chuckles, trying to shake off her visible fear.

“Praise be to Yashuva.” Lutala murmurs, performing a strange motion with her clawed hands.

The others, unfamiliar with her deity, raise their collective brows.

“You seemed awfully calm during all of that.” Jarae remarks.

“I have a well of inner peace to draw from.” Lutala smiles.

“So... Are those rumors about your race true?” Kirsta turns to her.

“Yes, but there are other things that replenish my well, so to speak.”

The sound of the watertight hatch opening draws their attention. Footsteps echo throughout the stairwell, and soon both Steingar and Valan enter the lounge.

“It’s about time!” Kirsta growls at them.

“See how much fun that was?!” Valan quips.

“And we saved so much time!” Steingar smirks.

Sitting upright, Irzain finally notices the terrible pain in his ankle and lower leg. Groaning in agony, the others are quick to view his injury. Seeing his shattered ankle, Irzain feels a queasiness overwhelming him. Mairlynn and Draeolynn both gasp, and Kirsta covers her mouth. His injury is far worse than hers was, when she fell from the rope ladder. Without hesitation, Lutala pushes past them. She drops to her knees and raises her hands, which promptly take on a soft-white glow.

She grasps his leg and ankle gently, and Irzain cries out from the strange sensation. His flesh, purple and swollen, begins to lighten and shrink. His obviously broken ankle reforms, the bones clicking as it mends. Beads of sweat form on his forehead. Once she’s finished, the glow from Lutala’s palms cease and she rises to her feet.

“That will be a bit sore for a while. The nerves take a little longer to mend, even with magic.”

“That was impressive!” Jarae remarks.

“Thank you.” Lutala chirps.

“If you two ever think about doing something as reckless as heading through a storm again, remind me to kill you.” Kirsta smirks.

“Noted.” Valan smiles back.

“Forgive me if this sounds selfish, but-”

“Don’t worry, Lutala. We’re almost at Ogden.” Steingar interjects.

“Already?!” She gasps.

“Arona is a very special ship.” Mairlynn replies.

At Steingar’s insistence, the crew leave the lounge and climb the stairs, all while discussing their strategy. With his nerves still mending, Kirsta has to help Irzain hobble his way up the steps. Reaching the main deck, they find a landmass in the distance, a landmass that Lutala instantly recognizes as her family’s home. With his injured leg and gargantuan bounty, the others insist that Irzain remain behind. Draeolynn also volunteers, still fearful of another conflict, as does Mairlynn. Kirsta and Steingar, having promised to take Lutala home, insist upon taking her all the way to the front door, and neither Valan nor Jarae wish to remain behind.

A grateful Lutala thanks each of the crew with a gentle grasp of their hand. Upon reaching Valan, he begrudgingly touches her, and though he doesn’t pull away or act rudely to her, everyone can see his unease. Before reaching the island, they retrieve Trellan’s body from his cabin. They’d roped it to a table affixed to the floor to prevent the corpse from being damaged during the storm. Again, at Steingar’s insistence, the crew wrap his body before giving the old Vizhek a burial at sea, gently dropping his corpse feet-first into the ocean below.

After a tearful goodbye and a short eulogy, the whole of the crew are eager to leave their pain behind them. Some focus on their new mission, such as Kirsta and Steingar, who prepare the skiff and their weapons for the trip to shore. Others shake the anguish with different distractions. Irzain ponders his dream, hoping for another awakening of memories, Jarae whittles the finishing touches to her coal figurine, and Mairlynn takes it upon herself to search Trellan’s cabin, positive that an elf his age would’ve left a will and testament behind.

Standing at the top of the steps leading to the pilothouse, Irzain leans against the railing as he watches the little skiff zooming away. It zips along the still water, using both spring power and a gust of wind in her sail. Lutala’s eyes scan the crew as she sits near the front of the boat, taking note at the care with which they prepare their weapons. With four wheellock pistols hanging from a rope harness Kirsta had fashioned, she grips tightly to her crossbow pistol. Steingar holds the shaft that controls both the throttle and rudder in one hand, and his ornate, gold plated wheellock in the other, his exotic blade sitting in a leather sheath at his side.

Valan attaches the ammunition bar to his one-of-a-kind harmonica pistol, and Jarae holds a compact pistol in one hand and a crossbow pistol in the other. All of them appear on edge, making the unarmed Lahnyt healer somewhat nervous.

“Are you expecting trouble?” She finally asks.

“No.” Steingar replies, staring straight ahead at the island.

“We’ve just learned not to become complacent. Anything can happen.” Kirsta replies.

“Ogden is a very small island, with only a modest village there. The Lord doesn’t even live in a castle, but a two-story wooden house.” Lutala replies.

“Did you grow up there?” Jarae turns to her.

“No. My family emigrated to the Isles when I was a young girl. Ogden became their final home after I’d graduated from the guilds and chosen to live on Owegal to help the poor and the desperate who lived there.” Lutala replies.

“Very honorable of you.” Kirsta nods her head at the Lahnyt woman.

With her warm smile ever present, Lutala nods back. She glances between the others, her gaze finally landing upon Valan. With a little scowl, he turns his head away; he actively avoids looking at her, appearing exceptionally mistrustful of her. Riding in silence, they soon reach a small beach, complete with a wooden watchtower and a set of docks. Many small boats line the docks, with ropes anchoring them to the structure. Lowering the skiff’s sail and disengaging the spring from the motor, gradually releasing the tension just as Trellan had taught him, Steingar guides the craft into an open space at the docks.

Everyone immediately notices how quiet Ogden is. The only sounds they can hear are the ambience of the ocean’s waves, and some birds chirping in the distance.

“Is it always this quiet here?” Kirsta asks.

“Not that I recall, but I’ve only visited this place a few times in the past two years.” Lutala answers.

“I don’t like the feel of this place.” Valan murmurs.

“I hear that... It seems... I don’t know... Dead.” Steingar agrees.

With their weapons in-hand, they make their way inland. Heading for the nearest building in the modest town, they discover a house. With the door ajar, they look amongst each other for a moment. Just as Steingar begins to call out, Valan releases an impatient grumble. He holds out his free hand and pushes the door open.

“Valan, what the hell?!” Kirsta growls.

“Anyone home?!” He yells out, stepping into the house as if he owned it, pistol in-hand. “Hello?! ... Anybody?!”

Looking back at the others, he shrugs his shoulders. Looking nervously about, they eventually join him inside; Jarae moves first. The crew explore the small dwelling, finding it utterly abandoned. A bed has the straw of the mattress jutting from beneath the cloth sheet that holds it together, and the wool blanket is crumpled at the foot of the bed. On the table are empty wooden plates and unused pewter knives and forks. Atop the wood burning stove is a pot, with a rancid substance inside of it. Holding a hand over her nose, trying to overcome her powerful sense of smell, Jarae leans over and peers inside.

“By the Seraphs!” She exclaims, wincing from the sight and the stench.

Valan leans over, trying to hold his breath. Inside of the pot that was once a beef stew are hundreds and perhaps thousands of maggots. They wriggle about as they feast of the spoiled food.

“Ugh...” He turns away.

Walking back to the door, Steingar and Kirsta step outside, quickly followed by Lutala. Valan pauses to look over the house, standing in the center of the room. Jarae stays with him. Leaning against a table, it shifts and she hears a clanking. They look toward the table as Jarae finds a small bag of vasariks, mostly copper but with a few coins of silver. She glances to Valan, who gives her an anxious look. Who could leave without their currency, especially when they lived in such a modest home? As they make their way from the home, Jarae pockets the bag of coins. Finding Kirsta and Lutala standing outside, Steingar emerges from another house.

“That one’s empty, too.” He says.

“Thiiiiis brings back some bad memories...” Kirsta remarks under her breath.

“Abandoned towns?” He raises a brow.

“Yeah... I saw something like this not long after I first met Irzain.”

“You never did tell us about your time with him.” Jarae remarks.

“Maybe someday...” Kirsta murmurs.

House after house, they find nothing of value. Jarae and Valan collect whatever gear they find useful, along with the meager vasariks of the former residents. As the group finds the tavern, they see their first sign of a real struggle; the door is broken, having been bashed from the hinges and latch, shattered by what could only have been a compact battering ram. Steingar, Jarae and Lutala enter the structure to investigate, but Kirsta hangs back. As Valan passes her, she reaches out and grabs his bicep. He pauses and turns to her, but remains silent.

“Look, uhm... I-I never got the chance...” She hesitates.

“Are you alright?” He quietly asks.

“Shut up for a second. This is hard for me.” She grumbles.

“Alright.”

“I never had the chance... To thank you for what you did. You saved my life back on Nirthen.”

“It’s okay.”

“No, it’s not. I treated you like dirt.”

“Well, I did hit you. I regret that, by the way.” He replies.

“Maybe I deserved it...” Kirsta glances away. “Anyway, just know that things are different. You did right by me, so I’ll have your back. Whatever we find on this island, just know that I won’t leave you again.”

With that, she lets go of his arm. He can see the tension within her; she’s not used to apologizing and endearing herself in such a manner. With a little smile, Valan gives her a confirming head nod. The two of them then join the others inside. They find a bloodstained floor, broken doors, overturned chairs and bent pewter mugs. It looks as if the tavern was the epicenter of a skirmish. Steingar glances back at the pair.

“This place is dead. Whatever happened here, I think we missed it.”

“Agreed. Something bad happened. They didn’t even bother to take the vasarik chest.” Jarae interjects, slipping the small, wooden coin box into a satchel that hangs from a strap slung across her body.

“W-we should find m-my parent’s house. It’s at the edge of town.” An increasingly anxious Lutala presses them.

Leaving the tavern and traversing the ghost town, they follow the Lahnyt as she takes them deeper and deeper into the jungles of Ogden. Following an earthen trail, which looks well-maintained, they soon come across a stilted house, sitting atop a platform roughly seven feet from the ground. The single-story home appears undamaged, and the front door is closed. Racing up the steps, Lutala can hardly contain herself. She’s overwhelmed by the fear and anxiety, the desire to know the fate of her parents and siblings. Bursting through the front door, she calls out to them, but to her horror, this home is also empty.

“No... Oh no... Please, Yashuva, let them be safe.” She whimpers.

Stepping into the house, the group spreads out. Standing near Lutala, Valan looks at the dinner table, which bears festering, half-eaten meals of chicken and rice. Jarae searches a few drawers, but this time she finds no coin purses or cash boxes; this home has been deliberately cleared out. Steingar notes that a few tools are missing from placeholders on the wall, while Kirsta finds clothes missing from cupboards and a primitive looking armoire. Lutala brings her clawed hands to her face, covering her snout. She closes her eyes tightly and begins to weep.

Valan and the others turn back to her, then glance at each other in silence. They have no idea what to say or do to help her through her pain, fear and sorrow. Suddenly, Lutala whirls around and grabs onto the person nearest to her. It’s Valan. He jumps as if startled, but controls himself as Lutala cries loudly, pulling him in and embracing him. She shoves their bodies together, and he can feel the ample size of her impressive bust smooshing into his chest. At five-foot-six, she’s only marginally shorter than him, the perfect height for an embrace. As her tears soak his burgundy shirt, he gently slips his arm around her body, feeling the curves of her elegant waist.

“Shh... It’s going to be alright. I’m sure they’re safe.” He speaks softly.

“Please, God... Don’t let them be dead, Yashuva... I’m not ready to walk this world alone.” Lutala cries.

Kirsta and Jarae approach. Only Lutala’s obvious sorrow quells the jealousy that burns in the Jaliscan’s eyes. They reach out and rest their hands on the Lahnyt’s back, trying to comfort her. Finally, she lets go of Valan, who promptly steps aside. While Kirsta and Jarae comfort the heartbroken healer, who becomes increasingly certain that her mother, father and younger brother and sister are no longer among the living, Valan walks across the room, standing beside Steingar. The Helngar warrior looks over his human companion, who has increasingly become a trusted friend to him. To Steingar’s surprise, Valan appears to be shaking.

“Are you alright.” He leans in and whispers to Valan.

“Y-yeah... I’m... I’m fine.”

He glances back to Lutala, then at Valan, wondering why her touch was so unnerving to him. Though he wasn’t actively looking, Steingar saw her form when she pushed herself against the human’s front. That, along with her intriguing colorations and smooth, perfect skin, make her a very attractive female to the Helngar; knowing Valan as he does, he’s certain he should feel the same. Why then was he so affected? Steingar can only imagine that it has something to do with whatever happened to the human on Bremen.

“This house was obviously looted, but the rest of the town wasn’t, and some of the items taken were very personal, like clothes.” Jarae begins.

“Yes. I think what must’ve happened is they packed up and left in a hurry.” Kirsta agrees.

“Y-you... You really think so?” Lutala sniffles, looking toward the women.

“I do.” Jarae nods.

“Now, dig deep into that well of peace you have, and pull yourself together. Stand like a warrior and get through this.” Kirsta says with a simultaneously stern and loving tone in her voice.

“But... I’m a healer and a priestess.”

“Minor details!” Kirsta smirks, resting a hand on her shoulder.

With Lutala’s spirits somewhat lifted, they begin to explore the house in more depth. Leaning against a table after finding nothing of value, Steingar turns toward Valan.

“I hope the others are having as interesting a day as we are, buddy.”

“I’m sure Irzain is busy fighting Mairlynn off right now.” The human quips.

“Or Draeolynn.” Steingar chuckles.

Sitting at Trellan’s desk, Mairlynn digs through stacks of papers, her eyes scanning them for clues. Unlike Jarae and Kirsta, who are barely literate – Jarae is still learning the alphabet with Draeolynn’s help – Mairlynn had been taught to read and write decades ago. When her disease became readily apparent, she needed the skill in order to learn more about herself and her rare ailment. With her ruby eyes scanning the stacks of papers, she looks for anything useful. Titles and deeds, land grants, the previous owner of Arona-Dahl, should there be any. As she sifts through the paperwork, the cabin door creaks open. Glancing over her shoulder, Draeolynn enters with a plate of fruit and fish in her hands.

“Hi... I brought you something.” She says, holding up the plate.

Mairlynn sits in silence, staring blankly at her.

“So, uhm, what’re you doing?” Draeolynn asks as she steps inside, closing the door behind her.

“You know what I’m doing...”

“Okay, so if you don’t feel like talking, how about eating?”

Draeolynn sets the plate atop a stack of papers, irritating the child-like Falmun, who promptly moves the papers from beneath the plate.

“You need to eat. I haven’t seen you eat anything since we picked up that blue girl.”

“I haven’t... Is that food going to kill me, too?” Mairlynn snaps back.

“Don’t be like that. I said I was sorry for poisoning Tormin.”

Mairlynn sits at the table in silence, continuing to scour the papers for anything important. Draeolynn stands near the table, watching her for a moment.

“Sooo... Uhm... Have you found any-”

“Just stop, Drae...” Mairlynn turns in her chair to face her. “I get what you did, okay? I do. Tormin was a piece of shit, cheating on me, abusing me; you made it stop. I get it.”

“Oh!” The redheaded Falmun breathes a sigh of relief.

“But it also hurt me. It’s the reason I’m sitting here. I understand why you did it, but I’m not ready to forgive you... Now please, go away and let me work.”

With a little frown on her face, Draeolynn silently nods her head, her long pig-tails swaying. She turns around and slowly shuffles her feet as she leaves. Closing the door behind her, Mairlynn sits alone. She sighs and turns toward the table, resuming her work. Every so often, she glances at the plate. Eventually, she reaches out a dainty hand and picks at the food left for her. After hours of diligent work, she discovers that Arona was constructed from a hull, built on the mainland by a company contracted by Trellan. The old Vizhek didn’t own any lands or hold titles, nor did he seem to have any family.

“How could you live for one hundred and sixty-eight years and never get a woman pregnant?! I know you liked women, old man.” She murmurs to herself.

Clearing out the final drawer of the desk, Mairlynn looks down at the wooden panel at the bottom. Grumbling in frustration, she closes her eyes and rests her forehead against the desk.

“This. Is. Hopeless.” She sighs.

Opening her eyes, she uses her dainty foot to kick the bottom drawer closed, only to hear a rattling from within. After a brief pause, she opens the drawer once more and feels inside. The bottom panel slides forward and back, with the drawer unmoving. It’s fake! With a delighted smile, she slides the panel up and slips her slender fingers behind the gap, pulling out the piece of wood and revealing a hidden compartment. Inside are papers, bundled like a scroll and tied with red ribbon. Moving away from the table, so as not to confuse the papers, she unties the ribbon and unrolls the parchment.

“The Last Will & Testament of Trellan Zhenzuyo,

In the event of my death, I would like my remains to be left with the sea. Contained in these scrolls is the title to Arona, which I would like to remain with Steingar, so long as he agrees to never forcefully remove Valan from the ship...”

Mairlynn’s ruby eyes grow as wide as saucers.

“Wow... You had a weird last name!”

She continues to read.

“In the event that the soul shard is used, please see instructions on page three... And for the love of the Seraph’s in Heaven, don’t break it!”

Lowering the pages, Mairlynn turns toward Trellan’s bed, where the soul shard sits atop the mattress, the golden light swirling about within the black gemstone’s hollow core. Meanwhile, back on Ogden, Lutala and her companions search the abandoned home of her family. After a painstaking search, they turn up nothing. Sitting at the dinner table, which Jarae had since cleared of the rancid food, they take a moment to think.

“And you don’t know of any place they could’ve gone?” Kirsta asks her.

“Not without a note of some kind. We had no family in the Erie Isles, besides each other.” Lutala answers.

“Maybe they left with friends, or with the rest of the town?” Steingar suggests.

“With the state we found that tavern, I’d hope it was with friends.” Valan remarks.

“Maybe they had a secret plan? Something for emergencies?” Jarae poses.

“I don’t know of any... Secret...”

Lutala suddenly pauses, her red-orange eyes growing wide. She turns in her chair, glancing over her shoulder and looking back at the stone fireplace. Rising to her feet, she walks toward the fireplace, staring intently at the mantle.

“Is something wrong?”

“I just had a thought...” She replies.

The others soon follow her. Lutala reaches out and rests her hands atop the mantle, sliding her thin, blue fingers over the structure.

“When my father built this house, there was an error made in the fireplace chimney. They fixed it, but covered the blemish with a large stone. I used to use it to hide notes meant for my brother and sister. Whenever they’d done something that mother and father wouldn’t like, they’d ask me for help using the hidden notes.” She explains.

Feeling around a six-inch diameter stone near the leftmost corner, it subtly shifts, grinding against the other stones. Her long, tapering tail sways, her anticipation growing as she slowly pulls the stone away. There, tucked within the space behind it, is a small slip of parchment. Overcome with emotion, Lutala drops the rock.

“Ow!” Steingar steps back.

“Sorry...” Lutala murmurs in a dry monotone, fixated upon the note.

“Yeah... It’s fine.” He grumbles.

Taking out the small scroll, she unrolls the paper and heads for a window, using the sunlight to read the thin black letters on the discolored sheet.

“Lutala, if you find this, we’re leaving Ogden. We didn’t have time to write to you; a whaler stopped for supplies and we’re leaving today, before the Crown comes here, too. There are rumors that soldiers are killing the Jaliscans and Lanhyt, and conscripting human and Falmun men into the army, under threat of death. Don’t ask what happens to the women. We learned this from a man who claims to have survived a raid on the nearby island of Tulban. A fisherman confirmed that it’s abandoned now. Tensions are high and we won’t take the chance, not with Crown Sloops sailing nearby. If you ever find this, we’ve gone to the capital city of Vaspania with the whaler. From there, we’ll sail back to our homeland. Stay safe. Love, Natral.”

Setting the slip aside, she rests her clawed hands atop the mantle and hangs her head, breathing a sigh of relief and thanking the strange deity once more. Valan and the others look over the note. As the most literate, Valan understands the entirety of the message.

“Who’s Natral?” He asks.

“My brother.” A relieved Lutala answers.

“Well, it looks like they made it out before the Crown came and took everyone.” Valan remarks.

“It makes sense, considering the missing clothes, money and tools.” Jarae agrees.

“Yes. I just need to look for them at the capital city... Would you perhaps-”

“Yes, we would.” Kirsta immediately answers, cutting Lutala off.

“We wouldn’t ever leave you here like this. It’s not right.” Steingar adds.

“Thank you.” Lutala flashes a faint smile.

After collecting a few knickknacks for her comfort, Lutala and the crew depart from her family’s abandoned house. They hike through the jungle trail, seeing nothing of consequence before returning to the skiff. Riding the little boat back to the Arona-Dahl, Steingar is quick to call a meeting. He finds Draeolynn and Irzain in their respective rooms, and promptly directs them to the lounge, where the others are already waiting. Directed by Draeolynn, he finds Mairlynn in Trellan’s cabin.

“Hey, Mairlynn?”

“Yeah?” She turns toward the Helngar, papers in-hand.

“I need everyone in the lounge. We’re having a meeting.”

“Hey, I need you to see this!” She holds up the papers.

“Later. Get to the lounge.”

“But-!”

Closing the door, he leaves her in the room. She races to follow him. Running outside, she suddenly remembers the soul shard. Returning and collecting the beautiful, black gemstone, she dashes through the watertight hatch and down the stairs. Inside the lounge, she can hear the others already talking; they’ve started the meeting without her. Ignoring the slight, she steps inside and stands near the dining booth.

“So, the plan is simple. We go to the capital city on Vaspania, Draeolynn and Lutala can go about their business, and we’ll hunt for more clues as to Irzain’s past. Any questions?” Steingar casually remarks.

“... You called a meeting to tell us that?” Jarae raises a brow.

“Well, I didn’t want there to be any confusion.” He replies.

“What was there to confuse?” Valan chuckles.

“Hey, guys?!” Mairlynn tries to interject.

“We already knew all of that!” Jarae retorts, ignoring the dainty Falmun.

“I like being thorough!” Steingar defensively replies.

“How long do you think it’ll take for us to get there?” Kirsta asks.

“With the amount of Pitania infused coal that we have left in the storerooms, we can race there at full speed. Maybe two or three days?” Steingar shrugs.

“Hey, I have something!” Mairlynn chirps.

“Two or three days?!” Lutala gasps.

“She’s a fast ship.” Steingar smirks.

“It took over a week to reach Owegal from there, when I last visited Vaspania for supplies.” The Lahnyt remarks.

“Hello! Something important!” Mairlynn waves the papers above her head.

“Not now, Mair.” Kirsta glances to her. “We know that Captain and his ship are going there, too. They have to be.”

“Kristoff Mayweather... I’m certain that we can beat him there with ease. That Sloop-Of-War is no match for the Arona-Dahl, even with all of those extra stops we made. Hell, that storm will likely delay him for days! We won’t have any issues.” Steingar comments.

“Unless we head through another storm and sink to the bottom.” Irzain retorts.

“That was a one-time thing!” Steingar retorts.

“Yeah. We’ll be more careful now.” Valan assures them.

“Are you people going to listen to me?!” Mairlynn whines.

The crew continue to banter back and forth, leaving her out. Growing frustrated, she storms out of the lounge, papers and soul shard in-hand. Looking down at the swirling light within the gemstone, she’s suddenly struck with an idea. Trellan left the instructions, and while she may not be as clever as Valan, or as tall and strong as Steingar, perhaps she can follow them? Maybe she doesn’t need anyone’s help? Racing down the steps, into the very bowels of the ship, she looks for the device written of in Trellan’s instructions.

Reaching the boiler room, the heat causes her to sweat almost instantly. Struggling through the discomfort, she walks carefully around the steel machines, never daring to reach out to steady herself. Sitting just before the turbine is a little pedestal, not far from the secret compartment that originally held the stone. It appears as a shaft of metal, with a strange material, like a cross between linen and pitch, covering thick bundles of copper metal. They reach deep into the floor, before emerging again and forming the odd pipes that line the walls and ceilings of the interior of the ship.

Atop the pedestal, there is what appears to be a circular crown, with jagged teeth sticking into the air. A cover, like an upended second crown, hangs above the pedestal. Following the instructions to the letter, she moves the upended crown out of the way, places the soul shard into the crown atop the pedestal, and pulls the upended crown back over the gemstone. With clamps that dangle freely from the hanging device, she latches them to the pedestal, locking the soul shard between what is now obviously a specially designed bracket.

Looking around the pedestal, she finds a series of buttons and levers. Using the faint light from one of the strange overhead panels that consistently glow a soft amber hue, she presses a series of buttons before pulling down the levers. The onyx plate in the corner begins to hum, causing her to glance over her shoulder. Inside the lounge, the conversation continues unabated.

“How long do you think we’ll have before Captain Mayweather reaches the capital city and tells the Crown everything?” Irzain asks.

“I don’t know. Maybe a week after we get there? Beyond that, I’d only be guessing.” Steingar replies.

“That’s not a lot of time to do whatever it is we need to do.” Kirsta remarks.

“Hopefully, we won’t need that much time.” Valan interjects.

“I just want to get there and charter a ship before it’s too late.” Draeolynn comments.

“You’ll be alright, Drae. You and Lutala both.”

“I hope so, because-”

A strange, loud humming draws everyone’s attention, pulling their eyes toward the onyx plate at the far end of the lounge. It glows brighter and brighter. To their shock, a shape takes form above the plate.

“HAHAHA! I’M ALIIIIIVE!!!”

“... TRELLAN?!” The crew collectively gasps.