ACT I

The concert hall ricochet the conversations of the many, my ears pounding to the nuance of random talk, bits and pieces patching up to make an obscure story. A brief word here and a loud gaudy cry there, mind racing with elation as the excitement of everyone else fed on the coming performance. I took a seat where I could, picking somewhere along the middle row of the lower floor, taking a peer up at the top balcony careening above. The rich paupers of royalty and money dotted the seats; a sense of class eloquently beaming from their prideful poses, a sense of segregation taking place.

Where I sat was fine, not far away but not so close to where your eyes have to dart about to take in the spectacle. No, this was just right. An older lady took a seat to my left, what looked like her husband, wrinkled and crippled, hobbling behind her. There was cheer in her voice as she helped him sit. From the glimpse of the two and the way she spoke, I could tell she was the conversation bearer. He only nodded at every pointless statement she made.

The room filled more and more. The many rows of the decent sized theatre began to pack to claustrophobic levels. The lights on stage rotated by pulleys as the stage hands began to work and set up the atmosphere. I watched as the towering canisters, with flames lit inside, rotate to shine upon the crowd. They worked as giant lanterns, beaming a broad loom across the room. The men up on the catwalk above the stage started to place color glass across them, in turn changing the area in blue, red, green and yellow hues.

“So fancy!” Shouted the lady beside me, marveling in aw. I have seen fancier, I thought, getting comfortable in my chair. The curtain was still drawn, red velvet tenderly joined together to hide away performers. The scuffling above grew more as men and women bustled to there position, readying for the event that was promised to be the story of a lifetime. By now the room grew quieter, the colors swirling about catching the eye of many. A small child in front of me reached out hand, trying to grab one of the floating lights painting his fingers; tips canvassed in deep green.

I had to keep in mind most of the people are new to spectacles like this. Commoners not used to the splendor of art, perhaps, I questioned, this would be lost on them. But this was a free event for anyone to enjoy and the people were going to take advantage of it. Music began to play drowning out the last few talking. An upbeat romp with a mixture of trumpets and piano. Suddenly the curtains were drawn by and the lights went back to normal.

“Fare thee well, princes and princesses of yonder crowd!” Yelled a man jumping from behind the drawing fabric, voice high and tone dry. “Tis be the performance you have been so eagerly waiting for!” The man was dressed in showmanship, head to toe adorned with different degrees of tincture. His floppy front jingled as he turned from side to side, lively and to some degree a nuisance. The bells lining his hat, prongs drooping in all directions, chimed to each bounce of his step. He was tall, lanky and resembled the likes of a stick bug. “I am Jaspius the Jester and boy do I have a story for you!”

He clapped his hands and struck a goofy pose, giddy smile straining his face. Brief laughs followed, but was hard lived. On cue another curtain hidden behind the other began to split apart. Stage props, more lights and a single man, short in stature, stood at the ready with cane in hand. “I present you Ramut! Teller of tales and Chronicler of kings!”

The room engulfed in cheer, some folks standing in appreciation. The man, from the looks of it a Dwarf, hobbled towards the edge of the stage, one leg stiff and in need of assistance from his cane. As the crowd died down and Jaspius' bells became more audible, the Dwarf cleared his throat and began to speak. “I have served the Ruby Rise in prime, immortalizing to record the days of each king I have served. I have had the pleasure to endure the lives of three of them, but it is the chronicle of two which I endulge upon you.” He took a step to his right, giving a show of vision of the backdrop put together by cutouts designed to intrigue.

What loomed behind was the making of a castle sitting atop a hill. Around it was large stone walls at the bottom, city building peeping barely over, the whole imagery in terms of scale was spot on. The cardboard looped outwards and around making it look three dimensional. At the bottom was mats of green, symbolizing grass, with a single paper tree protruding out at the corner. The lights above turned from the audience, leaving behind a bitter darkness. It hit stage, blindingly bright at first as it covered hidden mirrors on the sides causing the room to turn a pitch white. But after that second it touched the props, the buildings and castle starting to sparkle bright red, jewels dug into the sheet reacting brilliantly.

People gasped, it was beautiful to say the least; even if it were fake. “The Ruby Rise,” Ramut started, “This is where our story starts its journey.” Jaspius cooed in excitement, giving an energetic leap in his spot.

“Fervor chills from a lions roar, Sovrono begets a harmonious core. From twin cubs opposing faces, to a single pride to rival all nations. Child grows to man in unlikely of cases, bringing together champions of all races.” Jaspius continued his theatrical onslaught, grand and over done. Ramut gave a sideways glance at his other, catching a spot to speak in his place.

“You get ahead of yourself storyteller. We most start from the beginning.”

“Very much so!” Jaspius squealed, darting off stage then back into view in a blur. “Where to begin! Where to begin!” In his hand now was a book. Blue and sturdy, rather large but to my eyes, it looked hollow. Most likely he is just going off memory. “How about here!”

As words flowed from the Jester's mouth, hooks lowered to snatch the background in little slits cut in them to catch hold. As they rose, more fell, this time a room of royalty with what looked like a door frame leading out to a balcony. Everything fell perfectly in place and it brought a smile to my face thinking that the production was going to be better than I imagined.

“Little prince rose in the morn, wide eyed and, bushy tailed, a day embraced warm. Seizing the day step by step, covers flew off in a disorganized wreck. To him rising sun brought with it a clencher, today was the day for an adventure.”

With each phrase came a reaction. In a makeshift bed rolled out on stage by men coated in black to blend, or at least show they were not part of the play, was a sleeping prince rising from slumber to act out. The actor rose from his bed while Jaspius continued to spew rhymes. He walked over to the door frame and went through it to nestle against the balcony.

“Aye, this is a great place to start.” The Dwarf spoke, still on stage. He turned back to the crowd, everything standing at a still. “Would you like to take a journey with us? To partake in the Ruby King legacy?” The answer in my head was pretty clear. Yes please: I was intrigued.

2: CH1: Farewell to the Ruby Rise

FAREWELL TO THE RUBY RISE

Rotelio

 

“The crown adorned sparkled with intensity, red jewels of ruby segment, pointed horns, symbolizing every passing generation of peace. Royal blood lines dating centuries have watched over the Ruby Rise and the lands of the Rubino Pianure, a vast sea of grassy plains and bountiful jewel mines in the narrowed hills. To be heir to throne is a godsend as no man has laid eyes on the Ruby Rise and wished to be somewhere else. For every man and woman has a throne to sit on; coated in crimson sparkle.”

--Jaspius the Story Teller

 

 

The Sun rose over the vast distance, rays of light slowly bleeding across the great plains of the Rubino Pianure. The still dusk of a nights slumber lumbered away as a tidal wave of dawn splashed forward. It crept across the mildew soaked grass, bringing a charming warmth that seemed to perk plant life upon touch. First the curtain of light hit the wall; the neighboring towers brimming of enchantment as the top stations radiate stones began to quiver and burst forth an array of sparkle. The giant crystals voiced loudly a glow to mark the symbol of the city. The few night guards among the towers and scaffolding, stretch and yawned to bring comfort of an ending shift.

The sun continued its parade into the inner city, hitting the buildings causing the jewel encrusted roofing to gleam to the dawning of a new day. Rotelio watched as a fading shadow began to vanish, a thin sheet of night being replaced by the glow of sun and in turn the city lit up. Soon bright rays hit the upper terrace of the palace eliciting the balcony and the large rubies decorating the railings and upper doorway to sheen bright. Rotelio looked down across the lower and middle sects of the city of the east and south side. Watching as the Mage tower begin to churn.

The solar panels making up its roof caught the light, coursing it through subtle pipelines rounding the bricked walls; gears of old creaking into existence. The roof began to open up, mirrors parting at each side, letting up a rising platform. The platform stopped above the mirrors, a single man standing on it. Above him was a rather large bell, shimmering gold and brass, well polished and ready for toiling. Before long, the squinting man, fighting back the sun with cupped eyes, grabbed a hold of the bell rope and began to give it hefty tugs. The city echoed with its bellows, five rings accounting the fifth moon and praise for the fifth honorable month dedicated to Phontos, proprietor to pride.

Bodies began to appear on the well paved streets below, children and early risers pouring in droves from the mansions, housing units and vast neighborhoods. The sound of morning greetings, local gossip and laughter erupted as the days routine took fruition. Immediate joy filled the air, a lack of tension retaining from a life long pledge to a kingdom for generations. No worries, no sorrow; owned joy. People were meant to live in prosperity, everyone an equal footing and an equal chance to gain. Anyone welcome to live in the Ruby Rise, falls in love with the Ruby Rise.

Rotelio leaned against the hard balcony support, stretching gently across the edging. A half smile creased across his face. He continued to watch the people go about their business, fond over the date when these people would be his. When he would become the new king. Ever since when he was a little boy, listening to his fathers tales of wonder and grandeur, his place in line for the throne has been a welcomed event. From stories of the first king Alvise the Strong, to his late grandfather Lodovico, the history of a country founded on a principle of equality was fascinating.

But not just that, but also the struggles it takes to start a nation. The revolution, ceasing ownership to the monarchy of the former Comlian empire, the battle of Jagged Paw against the Knolls of the Wilder plains, to the slaying of the emerald dragon that plagued the lands in the nations infancy. Though Rotelio had always though the latter was just old wise tales to scare children. As they would say, 'Eat your veggies, eat it green or the dragon jeweled will come in mean.'

Rotelio could recall these rhymes from nonna Giada; Linus would be scared silly afterwords. Linus has always grown with the same stories and tales, perked ears and wide eyed to soak in all that needed to be heard. But in the back of his mind ever since he was little he knew Rotelio would be the future king. His brother Linus has always been envious of this, disgruntled when the topic ever comes into play, but with bitten tongue he would always back down from the challenge or refuse to act out. The day of playing King with Linus and Luana were still fresh in his mind. Standing tall in quilt forts, 'overseeing' the furry townsfolk of stuffed animals. Reprimanding that one bad teddy to the cell, was always fun.

Linus of course would be looming at the edge of the fort, folded arms, fudged lips puckered to show dissatisfaction. He would not accept second best, whether it means being a Chiffron of the knights order or a head ranger of the Rangers Guild. No, the raving boy would often attempt a coup, kicking down the fort was his standard affair, spoiling the fun for everyone. Luana though was always the middle ground. Supportive and calming, she would pledge allegiance in a heart beat, throwing praises at the would be king. Linus would get loving hugs and strong words of kindness to quell temper tantrums; only then taking part in the games. There was always only one person who Linus would listen to without hesitation. His other half, his twin sister.

Daydreams were brought to end when he heard a soft knock at the door. He turned around, looked through the door frame of the balcony and across the rather large bedroom. Slowly it creaked open, first strands of black locks drooping in between the crack, then the face showing presence as it opened with every inch. “Brother you awake?” Came a voice, one solid baby blue eye peering in his chamber. “You may enter,” Rotelio called back. Luana walked in the room, quietly closing the door behind her then briskly walked across to where he stood, the folds of her night gown gliding along with every step.

She wore a thin ebony night dress, shoulders and upper back exposed to the elements, two straps rounding to criss-cross on the small of her spine to keep it all connected. A sash sown into the fabric held together the separation that streamed down the front; tops of her bosom, creamy white skin, turning rosy red from the morning chill. The sash was tied around the waist, the ends of the it lapsing down to the floor, wiggling about as if two green tentacles danced about in rhythm. Her gown flowed with every step, waving like the calm of the shore, the light of the fabric floating with even the gentlest of breeze.

She stopped next to Rotelio, hands folding over the railing and took gaze across the horizon. “I tell you, you have the best view in the entire palace.” Rotelio smiled and wrapped an arm around her shoulder, embracing her in a semi hug. “If you love it so bad, you can have my chamber while I'm gone, just keep it prim and proper and we won't have any troubles.” He gave a playful tap on her nose with his wrapped hand. She gave a warming sigh as she snuggled up to his chest; the morning chill still lingering. “Why must you go with father. It is bad enough I must miss him dearly. Now you?”

“He thinks it will be a valuable lesson. A taste of my future.” Luana looked up at her big brother, listening intently. “ I know but still, Gods only know how long all of you will be gone.”

“I dare say not that long.” Rotelio replied, unbuttoning his cape with his free hand and garnishing it across Luana as a blanket. She nodded in thanks. “Besides, you will have Linus and that mage to keep you company.” Emphasizing distaste at the word mage. Luana gave a frown, clasping the cape closer to keep warm. “Linus spends his days as of late chasing maidens and beauties of the city. Melchiorre, keeps to his studies for most of the day only to come out for lunch in the central gardens.”

“So the horny toad and the eagle won't come out to play?” Rotelio retorted, only to worsen Luana's glower. “No, he insists on chasing skirts more,” her gaze went back out across the expanse, towards the mage tower, “With Melchiorre being the principle historian of the branch of knowledge, he always has a steady surplus of information to chronicle. I do enjoy his teachings though, I am glad father endorses the college and allowed the mages to speak outside of the tower.” Rotelio released his arm around Luana.

“Blasphemous words at that.”

Luana rolled her eyes in disagreement, watching as a few brown roped apprentices were coming down the flight of stairs at the front gate of the tower. “I have never understood your distrust for the arts of magic. It is a blessed gift from Defuscious herself, but you still hold strong the silencing of their tongues?”

This has been a debate that has crossed paths between the two of them numerous times before, always ending the same. Stalemate with a touch of bruised egos. Do I not miss the days where she would just wholeheartedly agree with me, he thought.

 

“Defuscious was a harlot whose offering to Panthora were blessings that corrupt nature and putrefies the order that is brought by the pantheon of the gods. Magic can not exist without chaos as it takes the very essence of what we know and twists it to the whim of man.”

Rotelio could see the counterstrike burrowing in Luana's lips. “Whether magic is a invocation or a curse, the mountains it can move for the betterment of the races of man and humanoids alike is a astonishing.” Her face brightened at it perceived wonders, believing her truth with heartfelt words. “I watched as Timoteo, healed one of our citizens of burns that had covered his body. All he did touch him and channel the energies of life into a cleansing balm. Think of the restoration and creation that can come from it.”

He rose a hand to stop her from saying more, hand not far from mouth. “The creation of destruction is what comes from it. You know the history of the Doppia Mezzaluna, more precisely the warring ages where magic was the match that lit our lands into flames. If not for the silencing of the towers we would have never found peace.” He took his free hand and swiped it across the expanse in front of them, “Almost a millennium of prosperity, tranquility and unity.” Rotelio took a look at Luanas face, a reflection of what he thought he probably looked like, a riled up know it all ready to return words. But he wasn't a hundred percent into it-- not today, not with his mind swirling at the prospect of the things to come. “But let us end this discussion fro the day; I would not wish our parting ways filled with scoffs about our religious etiquette.”

“I'm sorry brother, you are right. Today is an important day, I did not mean to spoil it with debate.”

“It is alright, I know you mean well-- even if it is misplaced.” He felt like he had to get that last jab in but passed it off as light with a playful smirk and upbeat tone. There was a great deal of sincerity in her words though. Rotelio turned to enter the chamber, leaving the balcony behind. Luana followed closely, gentle strides matching his robust steps. “So, are you ready for the voyage? Have everything packed?” Luana asked.

He strolled over to the lavish bags resting near his bed. A row of lion skin carriers filled to the brim with attire, royal necessities and not so necessary luxuries. “What do you think?”

“Are you planning on coming back?” She questioned teasingly at the rather obtuse amount of carry-on the prince was going to tote. “When you are as fashionable and high maintenance as me you have to make sure you are prepared.”

“Do you feel you are? Prepared that is.” She tugged on one of the bags noting the weight, barely able to lift it inches off the floor. “When am I not.” He replied cockily. There was another knock at the door,; both turning to it in reaction. Rotelio gave his acknowledgment to enter.

An iron clad knight stepped into the room, her body lowering into a bow as she came into their presence. Her armor had the crest of the family on the right pauldron and gauntlets. It was the emblem of a sun, streaks of fiery flames shooting out from north, south, east and west. In the middle was the face of the great lion,Alabasdor, kindred spirit that led the first men of the Doppia Mezzaluna to the western lands of Luna Isola. She wore full body armor, only the neck and head was exposed. Her suit gave off a slight silver gleam, well polished and maintained, looking brand new and unused. Probably never has been used in any form of dirty work, whether it be blood, dirt or field.

Around her tasset was a rectangular cloth that drooped down to lower knee. On it was the banner of the Chiffron's, a mixture of crimson red with white impress and border. The actual design was the families crest sitting at the top, followed by a set of hands with lowered middle joints pressed together with pointer fingers rising up, bent slightly to form an acute diagonal line, touching at the tips. The thumbs protruded horizontally making what looked like the base, rounding out and also touching one another. The rising fingers rested on the end of the flames shooting from the south of the sun as if holding up the star itself. The hands represented the house, the city,. From outside the walls, given good distance, if you put your hands together as such as depicted on the banners of the Chiffron it would form the shape of the city of the Rubino Pianure.

She held her stance for a good second, a salute of prestige resting against her chest; a half standing hand ousted out as if in prayer . “My highness, sovrano Leandro wishes you make his acquaintance at the causeway. The carrier wagons will be here soon.”

Rotelio returned gesture with the Chiffron salute, two fingers and thumb extending upwards pressed against the heart. “Thank you, I will be down momentarily. Fetch someone to gather my things.”

She bowed and saluted once more, “Prince.”

The knight rounded on her heels and disappeared back out into the hall. “I hate that you must leave so early. I would hope to have small talk over breakfast one more time.”

“It is best we start early. The voyage will be long.” He replied all the while adjusting his tunic and belt. “How do I look?” She gave a smile and gestured to herself hinting the gown she still wore,“Ready to take on the day-- unlike me.”

Luana approached him from behind, tugging the cape she still clung on to from across her shoulder. She draped the couplings to meet at the neck, fastening it with quick ease. She then proceeded to flatten out the folds and wrinkles that creased from her handiwork. A stroke here, a press there and it was good as new. He turned around and gave a nod in thanks.

“Go get dressed,. At least see father off in something not so revealing.”

The comment struck hard, hands covering up areas not suitable for family peeking, “Is it that bad?”

Rotelio shook his head, “No I am just teasing you. Still go get dressed.”

Luana self concisely glided out of the room, looking a bit more smaller scrunched up. As she left the room, Rotelio let out a brisk sigh. He was going to miss his baby sister, strolling around the palace, city, horse backing the vast plains. Even the small things like their petty arguments. He kept to heart though that it would be temporarily, that home would always be across the ocean blue.

With reassured calm washing over his mind, he gave a final once over of his attire, looking as presentable as he could before leaving, closing the door in his wake.

 

 

 

 

 

 

The morning cool had passed away leaving with it the rising heat that was beginning to settle into its routine. Rotelio stepped down the garden flight, passing by the blooming roses, tulips, honey suckles, the vast array of greenery mazed about the east keep. He took a moment to seize a sight of the meadow rue patch that grew near the wall by the Dobokon tree. The light sprinkles of grass was towered by the purple tops, thin stalks bellowing up, separating and then meeting once more as its pedals reach out to pat its neighbors.

How he wanted to take a moment and sit underneath the tree, letting its thick branches shade him from a coming summers scorch and reminisce of days curled up to a good book, reading to baby sister. The purple meadow rues were in strong this year, their numbers expanding and their territory broadening. Soon they would be mingling with the Dandelions to the left and the Wild orchids to the right. For a moment he felt a similarity in his life. Soon, he would be meeting many flowers as they converged into one.

His ears perked as he heard horses whine on the other side of the small outcropped wall that separated the gardens from the palace front doors. The carriages must be here, he thought.

Leaving behind his thoughts he came around the end of the dirt path and came through the overpass into the front. Rotelio caught sight of the carriages, three fine wagons of wood and iron come up the slope of the hill from which the palace sit. Horses neighed in pairs, burly men sitting at the end of each compartment straddling black leather straps that roped around the harness of each stallion pulling it along.

His heart leaped slightly at the closing journey, his broad walks striding even broader as he approached the now settling carriages. “Highness,” one of the men began while adjusting himself to suit to whom he spoke, “good morning.” Rotelio approached the side of the horse, taking hold of under its neck while beginning to stroke the mane. “Good morning to you as well. Is everything ready for departure?”

A toothy grin lined from cheek to cheek, “Yes my highness, we depart as soon as needed.”

“Good,” he replied, “Father should be present soon.”

It was not long after that the doors of the palace opened. Two rows of knights marched at either end of the grand stairwell. They formed a vanguard alongside the king, a chiseled man draped in gray robing and the Magistrate of the Chiffron's named Bulard. They descended the steps in good speed, all the knights keeping pace to border the bottom of the stairway to stop at salute as the king with his two companions reached the paved road leading to the waiting transports.

“Sovrano,” Rotelio spoke with honor, giving salute, “I am ready.”

Leandro approached his son and wrapped his arms around him. “Eager to rise, eager to please.” The king took a hold of his sons saluting hand, “No need for pleasantries, son. We are of equals. Blood one and the same.”

Rotelio only did so to present, placement in public. With onlookers, he thought it was not only respectful to show the authority of his father, that he knew the chain of command. His words did make him feel better though, a sense of pride engulfing his heart. His hand soften and dropped back to his side as his father finished his hug and returned to the upright. “You are looking well rested, I assume you are ready to leave so soon.” “More than ever.”

hand clasped across Rotelio's shoulder, “All too true. But don't be so hasty as to say goodbye to that which is old, yet treated you right.” Bulard approached from the side, his armor clanking to the motions. “The Ruby Rise will be in good hands, Sovrano.”

The king turned to look upon his trusted right hand, “I have no doubt in that, Bulard.” He took a bow, giving in the the compliment.

Rotelio, growing up, had Bulard as a constant figure in his life. If anything he was a second father to him. He taught him things that Leandro would not teach him. The way of the sword, deep tactics, militaristic side to an monarchy at peace. While it was minimal, mostly second hand information from simply watching from afar or the brief question answered, this periodical study let him glimpse into the life of a king.

Bulard's position as sovrano's adviser as well as the Chiffrons in general was debatable as to its usefulness. Peace was a constant. Combat, warfare, acts of the sword, were rare or outright nonexistent occurrences. What is the point of a knight without a body to plunge a blade into? Leandro once explained it was not about bloodying your weapon, it is about upholding prestige. The knights of the Ruby Rise were a symbol of honor and civil duty. When the people see a parade of gallant men and women who have openly devoted their life to the king and country, it stirs patriotism, ideals of grandeur, with a hint of common peace. It puts the peoples mind at ease that there is law, order and civil protection.

The age old tradition of the order was forthright, mostly passed down through bloodlines but with dedication someone who has no ties to the order could make a name for themselves. While not an overly rigorous routine, the knights dedicated delved into etiquette fit for nobility, physical and mental training and political knowledge. A Chiffron is capable enough to both stick the pointy end into the best spot as well as point out on a map where the Dunladon Twins were. The seeking of perfection, claiming the sun in the sky, in a sense becoming godly, was the ultimate aim of the Chiffrons. It would explain why the orders numbers were low, topping at around maybe five hundred.

Up on top of the stairway servants began to come down toting, in some shape or form, luggage for the travels. Rotelio eyed his bags, one young boy struggling to carry it over his shoulders. They parted in between the knights line up, gave gracious courtesy to the family and began to load them into one of the carriages. The king approached the young boy who was struggling to upload it into the passenger car, taking a hold of one end of the bag while the boy grabbed the other. With the extra muscle it easily went into place, the young boy giving thanks for the help.

“Are you planning on coming back?” Leandro asked turning to Rotelio. Where have I heard that one before, he thought. “Preparation is key, father.”

“Yes, true enough,” the king replied, “but the man over burdened sinks the fastest.”

Rotelio rolled his eyes. At least in his mind. It was another one of his fathers analogies. He could swear he has this big book of quotes that he has read intensively, waiting for a day to let one loose. “The man who attempts to tame the lion ill equipped will fall victim of the den. You also said that, Sovrano.”

For a minute he thought, maybe he crossed a line, perceived tension building up in his head. But with a smile from the other his mind was diffused. “It warms my heart well knowing you listen to your dear old dad. See, there is hope for you yet.” Bulard gave a chuckle, a hidden joke lingering somewhere between words. A sense of red enveloping cheek. Rotelio did not respond. Often he would strike back with a snide remark, but with the commoners and knights among as witnesses he felt best pressed to keep mouth shut.

“Father!” A call came from the distant, a hasty Luana, now dressed properly, making headway down to beleaguer him with hugs. Her frame smacked into him with a crash, a bear hug of epic proportions taking a hold, father, in play, let out a coo of suffocation to fend off her vice grip. “Luana, sweetie, you are knocking the breath out of me.” She let loose a bit, but her face did not leave chest. He managed to free an arm to caress the back of her head, fingers running through long locks. “You miss me already I see.”

She let out a sigh, going back to the upright, Leandro hands cupping the ends of her shoulders. “Can I not come?” He let out a sigh of his own, “We have discussed this dear. Your place is here.”

“But you have never been gone this long before. How does one bear grief to wake up each morning with an empty seat at the table or when I need guidance I will have to remind myself you are not here to show me right from wrong. This is unwelcome change.”

His grip firmed, drawing her a bit closer, “It is change for the short term. The table will never be empty or the halls or the throne because in spirit I will always be here,” He pressed a finger against heart, “right and wrong is up to you, while I will always give you the words to keep company, I may not always verbally speak it.” Luana listened carefully, a few tears building in the corner of her eyes, the bitter in her words aching.

“You are bright, daughter, you are always seeking knowledge to better your life and those around you. Don't lose that, in turn you won't lose what I have taught you.”

The mood was sullen, Rotelio grimacing to the heartache she must have felt. . Judging from charts, distance and degree of longevity, three blood moons would surely pass. Half of spring would drift by, leaving the closing scorching summer to ride behind his return. But he would be back and tell his tale, that he has already promised her.

“Now then, lets not say farewell, but till next time.” He rose from his embrace, Luana wiping a tear away. The king gave a warming smile and one final touch, wiping away a streak from the other eye. Rotelio could tell from the look on her face the pain was fading away. Luana snapping back to her surroundings, noted that Linus was nowhere to be seen. “That no good Linus not come to see you off?”

“I have already spoken to him.” He replied. One of the servants came over, bowing in his presence.

“Sovrano, everything is packed.”

“Thank you.” Leandro, turned to Bulard and the knights. He stepped over to Bulard to exchange some quick words in whisper. The Magistrate, changed tunes afterwords to pass orders to his men. “Delphina! Raul! To attention!” Two of the knights stepped out of line and came in front of Bulard, faces and bodies stiff and stalwart. Rotelio noted that one was female, the same female who had came into his room earlier today. He knew of her, she was the daughter of Bulard, most likely an up and coming maester in training. The other, Raul, he had seen at the garrison. An older man in his forties, but could run circles around people half his age.

“Sovrano has requested your immediate service. You shall accompany him to Falce di Luna. Gather your gear, ready your horses and meet your Sovrano at Sungoccia port by nightfall. Everyone else is dismissed to their choirs.” The Chffrons gave their salute, a sting of clacking metal ringing in ear. In coherent unison they parted the courtyard, making way through the bushel of the left gardens. Why was he requesting those two was beyond him, Rotelio thought, as far as he was told the voyage would be untroubled. No need for bodyguards.

“They will serve you well, Sovrano.” With that, Bulard gave his respects, beating his chest with fingers upright, his legs racketing together. “I have never doubted your words, old friend.” Leandro said. When there was no more words to be spoken, he rounded heel and marched off.

Leandro and Bulard have had council for a lifetime. In his younger years Bulard had served as personal confidant to the previous king, Leandro's father. The Chiffrons father was at the time the head Magistrate and general adviser. In both of their passing, when sons took to lineage, the destined bond was kept chained. History has repeated itself but it was not just from affirmation that made them strong.

Personalities allowed them to bounce off ideas amongst them with ease. Similar ambitions, adamant will and a passion for the details allowed the two to merge as one single unity to push on the peace of the Ruby Rise. Gray beard bore wisdom and age but even with his ample years of life, the knight has still the rugged nature of a warrior; a need to keep appearances for his peers.

The other man, robed in the gray drabs of a mage, walked past everyone and entered the front carriage, cutting beside Rotelio, The smell of earthy roots entered his nostrils. It was no fragrance he has ever smelled. Most likely alchemy stains of some kind, odors strong hammered in like nails into plywood. Dangerous witchery if you ask me, he thought, already picking out another ride in his head. He noted, a large jug tied his belt, dangling on a thick leather noose.

The hasty man disappeared into the carriage, servants moving away to leave the wagons. Leandro, led Rotelio to the front carriage, the one with the smelly man, and coaxed him on board. Luana watched on, hands tied together at waist, nervously twitching as they rubbed together. Her anxieties were returning.

“It will be an all days affair to the port. Our ship will be set to depart by dusk.” The prince, moved away from the door, shuffling over to the far seat, glances exchanged from the other, his father hopping on behind him. “Till next time, Luana. Keep your brother in line for me will you.” She nodded, tears returning, but standing steadfast. “It will be so.” With that the door closed and Rotelio can hear a faint sigh escaping his fathers breath. “Fear not Sovrono, the Eagle will keep his gaze firmly on that one.” Said the man in a strong, deep voice.

“I trust he will. Regardless she will stay in good company. Both of them. Nothing ever happens this city, sometimes I even question if these people even need a watchful leader.”

The wagon shook with a jolt from behind, followed by the sounds of clops against the hard pavement beneath. They had begun to move. Rotelio looked out his window and saw road before them narrowing down the cliffs of the palace. The horses led them down the slopes and winds of the hill, the thick skirt of the lions rock, offering a steep natural defense to nestle a castle on. From here, the levels of the city bowed low, cropping around the rugged edges in a circular fashion.

“Your place as a living monument is more so for the morale of men than the desire of domain.” The prince gave the supposed mage a jagged glare, unsure if he was questioning his fathers position.

Leandro though kept calm in the face.

“Even the smallest of cog gone missing causes a machine to creak to a halt. I will admit to the unpretentious role I bear, but affirm to my place as a symbol.” He paused, checking to see if his son was listening, “I am the garb that covers a kingdom. Without me, without the great houses, this nation is like a loose man bearing cheeks to the sun, indecent, exposed, with no class to spare. Every kingdom is the same to its core, the only thing that really makes them stand out is the clothes that it wears.”

He always knows what to say, Rotelio thought, secretly cheering in his head. But more words flew from the others lips. “Have you ever been to the Mountains of Murkra?”

“I can not say that I have.” He returned.

“Ever been anywhere outside of your slice of the world?” He asked calmly, the voice echoing in sincere wanting. Leandro only replied with a simple no.

“Royalty does not make the domain, the people do. The landscape, the geography, the fine line drawn in the sand marking what yours is yours makes up the structure. Culture, song, dance, the hymns of mortal sown on the foundation of godly praise and cheerful whim drives men to perform duty to country-- not throne. Unequal families bring with it loathing, equal footings crushes noose choking out the voice to speak back. Kings and Queens are only good for warring times, someone to strike the first blow and rally forth. But you my friend are a dying breed in a world unfit for kings.”

The man did not let off, only stopping momentarily to catch breath, “I have seen the lands of afar across the other continent. Rajah, Tzar, Baron, Caliph, whatever name a leader wishes to take upon themselves, all live a similar life as you. Cozy in a keep, making mundane decisions for a people who can manage on there own. You say they would be naked, but I disagree. You are the crown nothing more. The culture is the garb. That is all the clothing you need.”

Rotelio was appalled, mouth agape. Did this mage not know his place? Is the blasphemous teachings of the mages that bodacious? He was biting tongue, ready to slip a heavy dose of verbal lashings but his father must have sensed it. He placed a mighty hand on his leg, pressuring his thigh and the heft of his anger with it. “Your reputation precedes you. I have heard you were brash, tendencies strikingly brutal.”

“Words have heavy weight, they crush those not strong enough to hold them.” He replied.

“Very much so. Fear not though Tomasso, I can carry boulders.” This struck a blow of laughter out of the mage, Leandro following suit. This melted the tension, but Rotelio still held a bitter taste for this Tomasso. He looked out the window, the palace was a backdrop on the hill top, the expanse of the city streets winding in all directions, people parting the path to let the carriages pass.

Many of the people stopped to bow, young ones waving with toothy grins. The Sovrano waved to his subjects. Playing his role, he thought with a hint of sarcasm, regardless of what the mage believed these people needed a king. And they had one; a great man at that.

They made their final trek through the city down Setas street, leading up to the south gates. The buildings of the Ruby Rise glittering like crimson diamonds, white walls of the uniformed city expressing its gleam all the more. He caught a young woman, half out of a second story window, flapping a sheet out of the it; smiling. Then, two young boys laughing and playing tag down one of the back ways, darted across some barrels filled with grain, before jumping back to ground and disappearing around a bend into what looked like someones arms. A brawny man, packing a giant sledge matted against his arm strolled into a blacksmiths; most likely the owner. These were his people. All smiles, all happy, whatever the duties they perform.

He could hear the gates creak open, Rotelio craning neck backwards to view out the corner. The guards using muscle in rotating the crank shafts connected by the pulley system. “Have you ever been outside the city, boy?” Tomasso questioned, the prince veering back quickly from the sudden remark. For one he already wasn't happy he was not address appropriately. He was even reluctant to answer, not really wanting conversation with him. “Yes to ride in the plains. I have also hunted a great lion. A tradition of ours,” He bragged with pride.

“Good to know you're not as sheltered as I thought.” Rotelio marked the insult in his head but made no reply. He simply watched as the wagon parted through the shadows of the great gate, the sun blocked in that moment before coming in full force on the other side. The gates closed with a slow draw, as if it was depressed in saying goodbye. But eventually the calls of the city died with a thud. Trumpets blared in concord on the walls, watchmen tooting horns to give final farewells.

As the city faded into the background, all you could see for miles were the rolling grass of the Rubino Pianere. Rotelio heart skipped a beat without warning. This was it, he was going to see what lies on the other side of this sea of grass. Adventure was calling.

The rolling hills to the north sparkled, ruby mines acting as sirens to those fancy of stone. Wheat crops dotted the way south where the water settled making irrigation easier. Every other farmstead you could see men riding stallions, herding livestock among grazing zones. Big beefy buffaloes plodding on Their fur was untamed and dripping everywhere, even over their eyes.

Rotelio used to be afraid of them when he was real little, he called them the dark spawn of Domodias, the creator of animals, fearing the horns of these beasts of burden. Only when Luana had convinced him of their peaceful nature did he raise hand to reluctantly pet it. Its dull eyes giving little care as it continued to mull over its chew. The embarrassment that a girl of younger age had more courage to make friends with a beast than he was turned into playful jokes. Even till this day he can not go without hearing a snide remark when they are brought into conversation.

He was caught up in daydream, dragged on by the thought of wonders and marvels he had seen in pictures come to life. The vast blue sea, the island, the mingling of cultures coming together in beautiful tradition. A realm where men could tell tales of hope, peace, journeys, somewhere that wouldn't leave you homesick for it would have a piece of home for you.

A rock in the spokes, a bump in the road snapped him back, eyes darting from window to father. He was talking to Tomasso; sounds now recollecting. He did not realize he had actually dazed off, head previously propped up next to the window seal.

“Three hundred Devori's should cover the cost of upkeep, if you wish to expand the bottom floor.”

“That seems fair enough, when we return I will inform the scribes to start planning the underlay.” Tomasso, replied, nodding in agreement.

Leandro noted his son, “I had thought you dozed off.” Not quite, Rotelio thought.

“Just getting into a steady mindset, father.” Tomasso chuckled, “Not often does one get to witness the council of kings. It has a hefty gravity to it.” Yes, Rotelio let dwell in mind, the council of kings. The meeting of all the leaders of the two continents converging to keep the peace under any means. Once every fifty years and he was going to take part in it. The day was coming and the Gods fared another few decades tranquility. The young prince smiled as he drifted back off into daydream, shims of gold sparkling on crowns adorned.

3: CH2: Blue Skies, Blue Seas

CHAPTER 2: BLUE SKIES, BLUE SEAS

Tomasso 'Stonewall'

 

“No one has seen hardships like the sages of earth, trapped in lofty towers forced to look down upon their captors. Justified confinement from leaders of a new age voice anguish to shackle feet to soil and snippet to tongue. One mage, one indomitable keeper of the planet sought to cleanse and bring grasp back to nature. Sealed away, sent away, the aftermath he left was the eclipse of the old days and blinding rays of new. For everyone faced hardships in those days but only the mages continue to bear torment from that moment in history." --Ramut

 

 

Blue clashed with blue for supremacy. The clear azure skies, void of clouds or aerial distractions caused weight to seem irrelevant. Topside was capsized, the body uneasy to if up was up or down was up. Reassurance was brought back from the sploshing waves gently caressing the hull of the ship. The slight hint of different hue laced the horizon, tying up a convergence of blues to form a line straight ahead.

It was like walking on water. The Leonheart cut through the still tides across the vast stretch of ocean.

Calm, unnerved and patient to the likes of this little vessel using it to reach its destination. It welcomed them and even talked to the wind in lending a helping hand. A nice breeze had picked up, pushing well into the sails, causing the pace quicken.

The unending, enigmatic sea acted as the plains of home. Flat, rolling on for miles. Ripples emerged from the jumping fish that lashed out to catch sun for a brief period. Fishing nets were left hanging over the edges ready to catch any foolhardy skippingtail too curious for its own good. By now some of the nets had filled with a few flopping fish, but most saw nothing but net.

Fifteen days at sea. Fifteen days to see as much blue as he could. Their voyage to the isle was soon to be over and the peace of the ride was going to end. To him nothingness could offer abundance because when you scratch the surface you can find life beneath the outside coating. Not just the physical representation but the mental and spiritual aspects as well. This sea of similarity offered amnesty to dwell in thought away from the burden of law.

Tomasso gave a thank you to the planet and all its moving parts. Without them, without its comforting embrace there would not be substance to bear life. Lest the fool he would be if he soon forgot that. Mother nature was a parent whose womb birthed many a element for the creations that sprouted from it. Animals, plants, humans and the other races deemed civilized were layered like a fresh onion. Nature was the only one true 'god.'

He looked down at his hands, focusing, somewhat straining, feeling energy course up his joint to his wrists then settling at the palms. It was warm, pleasurable, addicting. The jar attached at his belt, the one he never left home without, quaked and pulsed. For a moment, even if it was a trick of the eyes, his hands glowed a faint yellow, little rays spitting upwards. His hands began to shake, tremors causing his fingers to twitch at the numbing sensation.

In the blink of a eye it all came to a stop as if a frame of time was lost in that fractured minute. His mind reeled, the strain of the stress it toiled on his body causing his muscles and brain to ache. He rubbed the scalp of his smooth, well shaven head, trying to ease the pain. He was already missing it though. The comfort, the connection to the life force he felt. It always feels different when you actually dive into it instead of just getting the tips of your toes wet.

The pain started to subside, his body returning to a norm. He grabbed hold of the railing of the ship and stared across the beautiful ocean. His thoughts perplexed and swirled, lost in a trance, focusing on the energy that he felt, the voice of the world squirming deeper in. The whispers, faint but alluring, words in tongue unfamiliar and vague yet retained as if he understood everything anyway. 'Take care of me,' it spoke.

Tomasso would do just that. With the power granted by the all mighty Panthora he would wield it well and keep her from harm. For Panthora is the one true god.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The sun began to drift father westward, the day grinding slowly to dusk. Tomasso had been caught up in meditation, mind at ease and drifting in a sea of his own. As he was out, unsure of his surroundings, the deck hand worked around him, toiling to the daily routine. A knock into his lower back jostled him to turn around.

A young man of short stature was not minding his surroundings, the blunt end of a mop pulling back to the damage it may have caused. Tomasso looked down, the man now recollecting what he had just done. A slight gasp and a nervous apology choked out of his lips, Tomasso, to him looking like a rather large angry beast. But the mage only nodded his head and walked off, the other following his gaze as he disappeared down to the lower deck. He shook off a sigh of relief.

Tomasso trudged through the lower quarters of the ship, the men using the same hallways parting to let the rather large mage pass through, some with discerning glares. He felt a need to speak to the king in private while he had a chance. This was not an opportunity that was not presented often back home and in a way he felt like the king was cornered with no where to run. Now would be the time to strike on prey. This was of course his main reason for convincing the king to let him take this voyage.

Around a corner, through a bend, he passed down the extravagant halls of the Leonheart, its hearty innards offering a great sense of opulence. The wood was made of the finest Dobokon trees. Smoothed, laminated, glossy and decorated with designs of chiseled waves arched along the floors and opposed on the top. Most rooms of the galleon were used both to provide comfort but make use of space. The crew quarters were not merely hammocks of vessels used by lowly fishermen he had seen on the south continent. No, the crewman slept well on soft mats of wool, tucked into bunks rising up in columns of three.

Besides the captains cabin built into the bow of the ship, there was four other rooms located at mainmast and farther back given to 'special' people. The King, the prince, one to the two knights and finally, the mage. This was indeed a first. Given treatment to rival royalty. A smile crept across his face just at the thought of it.

The ship was multicolored. First a heavy tone of crimson symmetrically running from the bowsprit to the poop deck, lumping up and down as the decks went from high to low to high again. Across the main strip of the ship a thick black line ran around from stem to stop at the rudder. Finally, below the line was another coat of crimson, most of it submerged beneath the waves blue.

Masts were always at the ready, the three working as a mighty trio to snatch a ride from mothers blow. The Leonheart was the magnificent flag ship of the navy, its symbol the roaring head of the great mane Alabaster trumped the ship across. This was only one of seven galleons who have served as new shiny toys to the Camilo family; the family in charge now.

Tomasso approached his room, by now halfway to his destination. Across from it a light flickered through the doorway opposite of his. The wonder knights, he thought, probably having a candlelight visage. They must have the windows blocked off, day should still be piercing through. Fighting, to just move on and ignore what was going on inside, his feet came to an abrupt halt. The other half won, curiosity gripping and leading him to hunch outside of the door frame.

His eyes cut straight, eyes adjusting well in the darkness they had created. He could see the two on knees in between the narrow of their beds, leaning over a makeshift alter. It was a nightstand with a red cloth placed over it, armaments and fragrances to appease the gods were lined in bottles at their feet, the older of the two chanting a muffled prayer. Their bodies molded with the swaying flame, arching to and fro, basking the devoted in a luminous flare.

“Phontos, pendulum of pride, O' sanctum of victory announced high, give us reason to boast chest to weather storm and give cheers to victories seized. This day we honor in you, fifteenth day of Phonto's, for when the cycle breaks, we beset the podium of wisdom for which to reside in you.” Tomasso caught this phrase as Raul rose his hands up to catch the sun as if it was there. His tone changed to mellow, words flowing the language of the priesthood; a dying tongue for the common man. Delphina followed sentence after sentence.

He fought hard in not interrupting them. Waste of time, his mind struck, urging him to coarse any noise to break their vows. But he couldn't muster the will, thinking if the shoe was on the other foot he would hope others would have courtesy to not bother him. So he left the two to their prayers doubts of their claims falling flat. For he knew better than to put trust in imaginary beings.

By now he was at the other end of the ship, the thick carved door of the kings room in front of him. He gave a heavy thump to the door, waited a moment then followed it with another set of knocks. Finally the door opened, Leandro adjusting his evening wear, most likely unprepared for any company at this time.

“Tomasso,” Leandro spoke.

“Stonewall,” Tomasso corrected.

“Are you wishing to speak to me?” The king backed a bit from the door when Tomasso began to simply push forward. Leandro let Stonewall pass by, closing the door with a click of the lock. The room was rather extravagant. Banners of country and crests of the families hung from the walls. On the far wall was a rectangular window that took up most of the section letting a great deal of light inside, but not enough to become too much. The lights of the outside world bathed the opposing side. A clock of antique design settled on the other, chirping away the passing seconds. He had a bed lathered with the finest of quilts and pillows, tables and nightstands to stash foods, beverages, trinkets for use and finally a rustic chest at the bottom of the bed to store clothing or valuables. That said, Tomasso noted that this room was not no more bigger than his, just better furnishing.

“Business is what I seek.” They both took a seat at the table in the center of the room, the King eloquently poising himself, while Tomasso got more comfortable, leaning back in his seat, arms propped up where he could. “If that is what you wish. Brisket?”

He pushed a plate forward, but the other turned it down with a shake of his head. “Not here for pleasantries. Just business.” Leandro gave a nod and folded his hands on the front of the table.

“The guild has put a lot of thought in our pursuit of expanding our order. They have asked me on their behalf to speak to you about certain areas that need improvement.” The king didn't lose his demeanor, his stare deep but modest. “And what did you have in mind?”

“First,” Tomasso began, “We seek to leave the walls without supervision and permission. Even the simple task of fetching water from the outside wells of the city can be trifling. So much red tape to cut through just for life giving water? That needs to be fixed.”

“Why do you not drink from the supplies of the city? Would seem more logical.”

Tomasso frowned, “We would if we were allowed. By decree of your nations laws we are to only get provisions from designated areas. Like water, food, clothing. Yes it is logical but forbidden.”

Leandros brow furrowed for a moment, “Then I will look into the matter, change this to where you can get the supplies you need more immediately.”

A pause broke out, the Mage giving him a once over. He could not tell if he was being genuine with his words. There has been many a time in the past when the towers have asked for leeway. Instead it only brought them stricter code. This was the reason why not much has been said till the lines had grown more and more tighter. But he could tell this man was more inclined to listen, though listening does not equal action.

“Say you were to set this law into motion and give us more free reign to help ourselves to the same objects the commoners have. How would you impose your control over their thought on the matter?” Tomasso knew there would be backlash to something like this. Even after all these years the people had a rather strong opinion against the mages. Tolerate would be the appropriate word. All it took was one incident.

Stonewall continued, “The war of sages is still fresh in the history books. People want to keep the peace, that I understand, but it is done so in a very misguided way. The towers for centuries have been brought to the heel of all of the kingdoms because of the actions of men almost a millennium before us. Even your god Alexndrios would not sentence such punishment.”

“My people do not punish you--” The king started but was soon interrupted.

“We are prisoners to a tower, given false freedoms which settle little in our minds. We can what? Walk around your streets? Be disowned by the people who house us? We weren't even allowed to utter a noise outside our cage until your father broke the solemn code of the Abidas Conviction. Think on what he suffered afterwords. On what you could suffer if you try the same.” He stopped speaking, letting the front legs of his chair to screech across wood. He leaned forward, meeting the gaze of his rival, cupping his own hands beneath his sculpted chin. “To put this clear, we want the same things that are allowed to everyone else.”

Another pause struck, the ticks of the clock striking a new hour. A bird perched on a branch popped out of a slot hidden behind two springing doors, little gears making the wings stretch out from its sides every time it broke free from the confines. Stonewall's gaze did not leave though and the king backed down.

He slumped back in his chair a bit, breaking away from any hostilities. “My father was a grand man.” He played with the necklace adorned around his neck, a silver pendant straddling on his chest. It was shaped in the likes of an upside down question mark. Somewhat like a hook of a fishing line. “He broke what seemed like a long, long era of traditions. He believed strongly that even though we are at peace, that does not mean we simply give in to it and not progress further. To improve.” Leandro stilled his hand and lowered it back down, “And I agree with him.”

The tension recoiled back into Tomasso, feeling that he may have gotten overworked. He only did it with passion for his kind. “Yes, he was a grand man.”

“I remember the day he took the copy of the Abidas Conviction that we kept in the cathedral. Like a man possessed he took it in hand and ripped it asunder. Right there. Right in front of all the Sistines. Never have I seen so many women heartbroken by one man in all my life.” Leandro laughed at his own joke, “He urged on in speech a turning of a new day. A day would truly mark us as equals. Even to the point of denouncing his position as Sovrano.”

I'm sure it was inspiring, thought Tomasso, unfortunately not there to see it. At the time, he imagined, probably still in his native homeland. “Like I said, see what befell him.”

“It is so. Though he stayed in power the rest of his life, the people never looked at him the same. They could not muster the same devotion to change as he did. Most people saw it a step in the wrong direction. He kept the new copy intact once it was sent over from Serenity, but crossed out one law to encourage the idea he had planted.”

“Yes, the ability of speech. I know.”

Leandro nodded and agreed, “He gifted you a voice.”

The comment felt heavy handed. A gift? In his mind it shouldn't need to be given in a shiny, nicely wrapped and trimmed package. It should have been a trinket well worn many a year ago. But he felt it was best to back off from saying anything much. There seemed to be some progression made at this point.

“When I became successor, I took some of the morals he possessed from grave. I remember not long after my inauguration, the people, in a large mass, came to the first of many councils to strike a plea to undo reform. They wanted the comfort of the old ways, fearing the voice your people now had. At first I was ready to go on a whim, travel the easy route and give in to their demands.”

Stonewall roared in, “Rip our tongues out, more or less. “

Leandro hesitated, “In a sense yes.” He groped on his beard, tugging it in thought, “But my fathers words echoed in my mind. I knew what must be done. So I turned a deaf ear and kept to what my father started.”

This history lesson was good in all, he thought, but not what he had came here for. Tomasso again was beginning to lose his patience, feeling some what dragged away from the topic he was seeking answers for. Only given what they had done but not what they could still do. It was time for more strong-armed negotiations.

“Then finish it.” His eyes lit up; voice clear and to the point.

“It will be finished, but things like this take time.”

He scoffed, hand becoming a fist on the table, “How much longer? Another century? No, we are done waiting.” As the words left his lips they rang of a threat, but were not meant as so. But the king did not bend in retaliation. “We are tired of this,” Tomasso finished.

“Then fight for it.” He seemed to slump back farther in his chair, as if all proper etiquette left him in a moments notice. His whole body language went from postured to laid back. The king let out a sigh, “Teach my people with the voice you have.”

This caught Tomasso off guard. This was a side of the Sovrano he had never seen. It felt like he could now approach him without having to hold back and watch his words-- as if he was even trying anyway.

“Am I imagining things? Did my ears hear correct? It sounded like I just received endorsement from a king. First for everything.” He let out a single 'ha', slapping the table with his fist. He then returned to lazily sitting in his seat, arching back as far as he could without falling over. “If only it was that easy. We do our best to show our ways are not harmful but it seems like the Ruby Rise is filled with baby cubs.”

“You give too little credit to my people. They hear you but they just fear you.”

“No,” He felt need to correct, “They fear the past. It is different.”

“True.” was all Leandro could rustle.

“So lets get to the point. What will you do on your part?”

His gaze left for a moment to think, then returned with vigor. “I will help show my people that some change is good. And you?”

“'And me' what?” He retorted, confused from the question.

“What will you offer to the table?”

“The blessings of Panthora. The gifts of the mages, used to make your people see and believe that nature is the one true king. No one else.” Stonewall didn't want to seem like their was a hidden agenda in his actions. He was just being straight forward. He really felt that if given the chance, the mages could convert the masses to the rightful ways of life through toddling generations like the age of the Camilan empire. Offer prosperity through the life blood of the planet.

Leandro smiled, “I think the pantheon would disagree with you.” Screw your gods, Stonewall thought, but bit his tongue before they flew out of his mouth. “You realize this is where you will fail. If the members of your order seek to reform not to live in unison. This will not help make you equals as they now will see you as defilers of what is sacred.”

He was right, most mages since given the ability to speak outside the towers have taken to preaching their studies, calling out to take the wool from over their eyes and throw them away. The teachings of the church, stating that Defuscious was the creators of the art of magic or, to be rightfully known to those that are able to wield the power, elementals, is bonkers to the likes of the tower. This was the word of the church versus the word of the sages of old, the problem lying that the pantheon was the main belief on the twin continents. But to take on the church was a foolish endeavor. It would cause an uproar with the people. No, as most mages saw, it was best to start with the people and have them turn on the church. Either way seemed impossible with the smeared reputation of the towers.

Stonewall shrugged, “We are not just seeking freedom. Bottom line. We seek to change the poorly placed words of praises the kingdoms have.”

“Fair enough,” Leandro replied, “Do keep in mind though I am fighting for your freedoms as humans not your right to govern. So, when I speak to my people next I come to them as liberator of religious suppression. Even if I do feel your religious view is full of shit.” The last statement came out of nowhere and was unexpected. But it caused a ripple effect of surprise, brief anger, excitement then laughter from him.

“Then we are of like mind then!” He let out in between mighty howls.

“Now then,” Leandro tried to get out over Stonewall's booming voice, “You made it seem like this was the first of many topics?”

By now he had finished, “That indeed. Lets move on shall we.” A big grin enveloped his face.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The clock went off for the third hour since he had been in the room. The same damn bird popping out to cackle the loss of more time. Tomasso stopped as it snapped him from his rant, choking a bit on his words. “Let us call it a day Stonewall,” said Leandro, wiping some sweat from his brow. “We will pick this up another time.”

The discussion had its heated moments. The brashness from both men coming out in some form or another. By now he had a frown on his face, there was more he wanted to discuss. “Come now, surely you have handled more in your court.”

“Not anything like an unruly mage,” he replied with a smirk. “Don't fret on the ride back you may borrow my ear once more.” Tomasso raised a hand across the table, looking for a shake. The king returned it, a sense of physical empowerment witting for supremacy. “Deal.”

They both rose from their seats, Tomasso stretching from the long talk, not once leaving his seat. His joints popped, letting the body release the stiffness. Leandro took a seat on his bed, “Now would be a good time for a nap.”

The other chuckled, “I think old age has struck you.”

“I'm not that old.” By now, he felt like he had made somewhat of a friend of Leandro. Words were not as cautious as they were once were. There now was a deeper understanding and a bond that had been built to steady the vast differences that separated them. He only saw him as a pompous snob of a noble, unreasonable and bent on a certain way. Trifled, lacking in any sensible notion, quick to temperament coin to purse. A lot like the greedy Tzar's of the south. No, he stood corrected. When he managed to lift his own veils did he see a different sight. This was a man actually willing to make a difference without losing his values in the process.

There was a brief hesitation, lapsed in thought as to whether this man would uphold his end. If he did, would it help? It is not the most easiest task to form your will on those already set in their ways. His people constantly jumped at ghosts. Shadows of an era where the towers were a center point of the Camilan empire. All it took was one mage to rise up and the rest had to suffer.

But, as thought lingered further, if they feared them to that extent they would have tore the towers down a long time ago. Then again maybe that same fear caused them from doing just that. It was in the aftermath of the war that brought a empire crashing to the ground and splitting two continents asunder, did the people really ban together for a common cause. To suppress a threat so peace might thrive. To lock away a skeleton in a closet. Shackle a beast.

He angered himself at the thought. I'm no beast. I deserve the same founding principles of peace as they do. This is what we fight for. To not be dogs on a leash; not to do tricks like 'speak' when they give permission.

Stonewall took one passing look as he approached the door. This man is willing to play with flames and set a fire to a new generation. He could sense a bit of doubt in his words. Maybe there was a reason why things have upheld for so long? That the best course is submission? If I give them freedom, will history and the balance shift once more? In truth, these were things that could not be answered unless presented in reality. To see the outcome, they first needed to be given the chance. Even if it was one man leading only one of the nations. But, we have to start somewhere.

“Thank you, Leandro,” He muttered without warning, the others face perking to what he had heard. Words like that did not come easy. There was a bit of strain in his voice, but he managed to force it out. He didn't wait for a reply, he opened the door, walked through and closed it behind him.

Back in the hall not much had changed. It was empty, quiet, a different pace than the ruse of the debate. He began to walk down the hall but did not get far before he heard something jostle around one of the corners of an attaching hallway. Instead of investigating he simply ignored it and passed by. Tossing it up to a crewman working or something along those lines. What he did catch out of the corner of his vision as he continued his march was the prince, leaning up against the wall, arms folded and just standing there. But he did not stop.

He could hear the rustle of feet behind him, a shadow rounding across his shoulder, jumping in his path. They walked in silence, his new companion keeping his strides matched but distant. By the time they were down at the other end of the hall, Tomasso grew impatient and turned around. “What, boy?”

The prince had a scowl on his face, crossing his arms once more, vibes of resentment ever present. His eyes turned to slits and his lips pouted slightly. Tomasso, in turn, rolled his eyes, thinking of how this boy is coming off as a spoiled snob. He did not respond though. “I ask again. What, boy?”

“It's your highness to you, mage.”

“It's Stonewall to you, brat,” Tomasso snapped, giving up on this conversation already. He turned back around and continued where he was going, nearing his room. It must have struck a chord in the prince, he charged forward and got in front of the mage, blocking the door with his body.

“Mind your place,” He threatened, voice throaty. . Really though he didn't care and simply stepped forward. The prince reacted uneasy, jerky and nervous. He sidestepped not holding his ground, letting Stonewall take a hold of the knob of his door. The boy must have grown a pair. Probably since dear ol' dad is not near by to spank him for speaking out. He looked down at Rotelio, rising over him by a foot and a few. There was distrust in his eyes, something burning. Hate? Loathing? Maybe a mixture of conformed distaste that has boiled into a fervor.

“Why is it you do not give my father respect?” The question halted his advances.

“Respect is earned. Besides, I never said I didn't respect him.”

“Then why do you not call him Sovrano?”

Tomasso had his back turned to him at this point, but craned his neck to meet face with Rotelio. “He is no king of mine. As far as your people see it we are not one in the same. My brothers and sisters are force to dwell in a kingdom without being part of it. So I am not a citizen. Therefore why call him Sovrano when he is not my king?”

Rotelio did not comment on his words but instead on something else, “I heard you talking to my father, you seek new freedoms.” Stonewall, regarded the change in topic. Probably felt there was no victory in that line of conversation. “Yes, we do,” He replied stressing the 'we.'

“What makes you think he will give it to you?” The question was weighty. True, how did he know? Really, he didn't and may not ever know till they either get it or not.

“I just have to take your fathers word for what it is worth. Besides, how would you know about that?”

Rotelio grimaced, caught in a trap. “I overheard it. You two weren't the most subtle about discussing the matter. I didn't even have to strain to hear you with that big booming voice of yours.”

Tomasso let go of the handle, “You were not invited to converse, so your opinion and words mean little to me. Besides, take your own advice for once and mind your place. Leave the political fanfare to the adults.” He didn't feel like debating with the prince. He knew the outcome. Just an exchange of blows to a fight with no prize at the end. More resentment to carry and a commotion that could possibly ruin any advancement he had just made with his father. The other scuffed the floor with a slight jerk, a frown appearing. His arms lengthening at his sides, fists forming to reaction.

“I am not a child! I am well into my years. So don't treat me as so.” His voice was tense, caught up in his own vendetta. Tomasso only smiled at the riled up royalty.

“You haven't given me any reason not to see you in any other light.”

“And you haven't given me a reason to see you as more than a filthy, no good curse.” Rotelio hollered loudly and assertively. There was a deep misguided loathing hardening into the youths mind. But, he thought, really no different than how he felt on occasion. It was a bit funny in that perspective that really they were just opposing spectrum’s with similar ideals. But of course he was right and the prince was wrong.

Stonewall turned around, walking away with a snicker. He could feel the anger on his back as the scuffle of Rotelio's feet picked up.

“Don't walk away from me!” He yelled. Yep the temper tantrums of a boy, he thought.

Stonewall ignored him still, striding past the stairwell leading back up to the deck. Instead he took one of the two passageways around it, leading to the section of the ship behind the stairwell. A single double door stood, circular holes of glass cut into each door. The rattle of metal, clanking noises followed by the sound of fire ticked in chaotic harmony voiced work. An aromatic smell wafted from the room. Meat, maybe sweet potatoes, drawing in patrons with its mouth watering familiarity. From the windows he could see men adorned in white uniforms bustling about. He approached the room and pushed the double doors open.

Inside was a kitchen, decorated in white and black paneling. The floors were marble, a pattern of symmetrically proportional squares dotting diagonally, changing the pace of the room from the normal wooden flooring into something more familiar of home. The men paid little mind to the visitor, one offering a fleeting glance before continuing his work. One man strutted past with a bag full of flour, heaving it over his shoulder. They cooked together, stoking the fires of their war to feed. Pots, pans, kettles and dishes boiled, fried, baked and served appetizing meals. The flames created smoke and smoke rose to open windows where it could bellow out to offer reprieve from the suffocating waste.

The chefs battled on, platters filling up with exquisite appetizers, entree's and main courses, while the desert was just now being pulled out of the oven. Sweet potato pie, waving a steamy finger to coil in the sweet tooth. Their was a lot of food being prepared, but it was at Leandro's orders to feed the crew as he would have been fed. Dinner fit for a king. This was the reward for a days work.

The doors behind him thudded together, Rotelio peeking over his shoulder. “What are you doing?”

Again Tomasso ignored him, taking a left, making his way past one of the chefs pumping on a dairy churn. He went through an entrance way, stopping to look around at the supplies in front of him. The boy nearly bumped into him because of his sudden appearance around the corner, busy watching the cooks bustle about.

Tomasso rummaged through the boxes, sacks, crates and barrels, moving objects about at his leisure. Vegetables, fruits of many flavors, toppings and creams to spice the taste stocked the shelves, most of little interest to the scrounging mage. Finally, shifting his way to the back, pushing aside some heavy barrels and almost spilling over a container of cornmeal did he begin to start collecting jars of black spice and rolls of tin cooking sheets.

“Here hold this,” He said, throwing the bundled sheets. Rotelio clumsily caught them, fumbling hard to keep them tucked in his armpit. Then came the jars, clanking together as he brought them into his fold. Stonewall continued to eye around, going 'aah' upon finding something useful. String, some pipes, another weird powder that he was sure the boy probably never even seen at its basic ingredient, only viewing it combined into something actually editable. There was a definite look of confusion on his face. Trying to ask and figure out what was going on was futile, the mage was closed lip on the matter.

Rotelio puffed, threatening in motion to drop everything, “Stop playing games, tell me what you are doing!” Tomasso didn't stop, feeling around the top shelf for anything in particular. But he did reply, “Do you really find me a curse?”

He didn't miss a beat, “Yes. History will vouch for me.”

“Does it now?” He questioned, still rummaging around, pocketing some wrapped up spongy dough. “So what do you see when you look at me?”

Rotelio adjusted the growing weight he was carrying, “A threat to civilization. Someone tapped into the powers of the gods, manipulating, corrupting the balance of life.”

“I have never harmed your people.” He replied. Stonewall looked around one final time, checked what he had then noted in his head that he was done.

“Because we have laws in place to keep it that way. If we don't keep you under check you could. It is bad enough you now are allowed to speak. Allowed to get into my head.” Stonewall laughed hard, but sarcastically.

“Yeah, I'm going to take over your brain, boy. Better watch out.” He approached Rotelio, looming over him. He nervously flinched, the words that just came out of Stonewall's mouth shook him even if it was jokingly said. All he did though was grab everything away with one massive bear hug, soaking up all the objects that were slipping from Rotelio's grasp.

Rotelio let the air pump back into his lungs, the feeling of struggle lifting away. Tomasso could tell that manual labor was lacking in the daily routine of the prince. Even his figure was puny with scrawny limbs and an underweight figure. “You may make short of this but, to me, this is a serious issue.” Rotelio said, drawing close to the on the move mage.

The chefs looked on in distaste but simply grit their teeth at the sight of the two pillaging the pantry. Back in the hallways, the two rounded the path, made work of the stairs and finally sucked in the night air. By now the sun was a fleeting sight, barely peeking over the horizon. They made it to the bow of the ship, Tomasso laying everything on the ground.

The growing darkness made it a bit hard to see, but the crew steadily combing the decks began to light up the lanterns built in pedal stools along the ships railing. The blues of the sky and sea had melted away and joined as one. Becoming black, suppressing, engulfing the ship in a new way. The flames of lanterns fought back, silhouetted and enhanced by the howling moon, bringing along its own blazing glory.

Tomasso fiddled with the mixture of items in front of him, teething the plastic off the dough. Afterwords he began to stuff the raw dough into the bottoms of the iron tubes, gunk filling on one side of them. “You view us as a blight, that is okay though, because you do it for all the wrong reasons. I am going to teach you differently.”

He started to pour the black spice and white powder into the other ends of the tubes.

“Teach me? Scholars have taught me all I need to know. That you are dangerous without our intervention.” He carefully walked to a better view point, scared but also intrigued as to what the mage was doing.

“Your scholars fills you with opinions. Its unjustifiable distrust for a generation well beyond what the people feared.”

“But there is good reason. All it takes is one of your kind to push for power. It happened before, it will happen again.”

Tomasso continued to pour his flasks into the tubes, “And what of humans in general?”

“What about us?” He questioned with a scowl, carefully watching him fill them up to the brim.

“Humans, Dwarves, elves of the Askunder, beasts with any form of intellectual thought can change the world if the voice is willing. You nitpick at one event in history but you easily sweep away the rise and falls of many empires founded on the principles of expanding power.” The last pipe was filled. He had them all standing in a line. He began to wrap them with the cooking sheets.

“Humans are capable of many harshness, whether they be meek or strong. Your country was founded on a revolution, a cry for freedom from a tyrant king that taxed his people to high waters. What came of it? Bloody battles along the borders of today, grass soaked red with the will of man. They sought their rights and they died for it.” He paused taking a look at Rotelio, “So the living can endure on with new beginnings.”

There was silence between them. Hopefully he had given Rotelio some food for thought. He could hear the wheels turning in the others head. Eventually he said, “Are you saying the towers will revolt to get what they want?”

Tomasso hesitated to jump right into that question. That is not what he exactly meant but could now see how he could perceive that. “I would hope it would never come to that.” He let out a sigh.

“Mages would win.” Rotelio spoke straightly. Tomasso caught a glimmer of something else in his eyes. Something lighter than the usual aggressions he had been receiving. “You could burn a whole city down with a handful. How could we compete with that?”

“Sure, I know of a guy who could make you explode from the inside out. Doesn't mean he is going to.” He gave a chuckle, “You could strike me down here. But what stops you? Because your moral compass is telling you its wrong. Just like mine is telling me the same.” He took a moment to tear through the end of the cooking tin to start on the next pipe. “Don't forget we all bleed the same.”

Rotelio stopped once more to scratch over the words given to him. Tomasso assumed this was most likely the only full fledged conversation he has ever had with a mage. Even if done in a lopsided way, he could commend that the prince was looking to question his beliefs. Even if he wasn't aware of it. There must be an underlying reason why he sought to pursue conversation.

“You mentioned Murkra on our trip to the port. Are you from there?”

Flashbacks of home jumped about his head. The bluffs, the tower there, the very strict code they had to follow by the Tzar's orders. The public humiliation they faced on a constant bases caused him to grimace. Pain shot up his back, the scars left by the public whippings aching at the memories. “I am.”

“What was it like there?” The question left a sting, bringing up the vast bad that came with the reminiscence. But, trying with all his might, he focused in on the good times. The people who he called family, the hardships that only made him stronger. “Every place I have been has a different feel, a different story. Murkra resides in a harsh climate surrounded by deserts, mountains, little areas that can upkeep life. You have to be just as harsh as the lands that hold you. You have to fight it, embrace it, nurture it, to have any hopes of survival. It can bring out the worse in man but also the best. Because with struggle does it really define your inner ambitions and personality.”

Rotelio seemed to get more relaxed as the conversation flowed on. Thinking maybe the change of topic was subduing him. “Is that why you left?”

“I left because of suppression. I find it funny, what you call peace is really forced submission to me. Is it really peace, for me and my fellow brother and sisters, when your head is in the sand with a heavy boot holding you down? That is Murkra in a nutshell.” Tomasso noted his movements were more aggressive as he wrapped another iron pipe up. He reminded himself to stay calm.

“I have to tell myself sometimes that there, that savage land, is ten times worse than the place you call home.” Rotelio's gaze softened and drifted away. Maybe out of guilt or sadness for something that seemed so cruel. He knew nothing of the outside world, barely anything of the savagery that comes from the actions of places far from the borders of the Rubino Pianure.

“We have tapestry hanging up in the art gallery. Fine quilted cloths depicting the city of Rakazar. It looked so majestic resting up across the peak of the mountains, separated by the earth bridges that protected its sides. Off the outskirts, away from the walls, sits a lone tower, surprisingly sturdy nestled on an alcove of a single cliff, dangling freely. Is that the tower you are from?”

Yes, Tomasso remembered, that was it. The tower of Rakazar. Pushed at the edge of the cliff. Broken away by a single, small, rocky pathway as it stood on its own rock formation. Because of where it stood, it was in prime form to break away at the slightest brush of earths movement. In fact, there had been times where the mages had to intervene, to steady the mountains themselves from destroying their home with an avalanche or break in the foundation it sat on.

“That is the mage tower, yes.” He replied.

“It looks breathtaking. I imagine the view is spectacular. You could see all of the Vanderfell from there.”

Tomasso lifted himself back to standing, all the iron tubes now decorated in tin, full of powder and spices, sealed away at both ends. He walked over to the edge of the deck, placing the canisters across the railing, lining them so the cylinders would not roll around. “You grow tired of the same view when you know what comes with it. Hardship beyond what you deserve. To a tourist though, yes, it is a eyeful of beauty to take in.”

He beckoned Rotelio over, hinting for him to hold a few of the pipes. He did so reluctantly, as Tomasso reached into his pocket and pulled out some string. Taking one end he wedged it as deep as he could into the dough side of the tube, letting the rest flop down from gravities pull. He then moved on to the next one, doing the same. “I recommend you go. See yourself what life is like there or anywhere, really. I promise you, it is different than the paintings, tapestries, maps and books you have seen. Nothing is like experiencing it yourself.”

There was an agreement on his end, “I so wish I could.”

By now he had finished. All of them ready for show. Rotelio backed away as Tomasso did, taking pride in finishing his work. “So are you going to tell me what we just did?”

A smile came across his face, “I am going to dazzle you with my art form. My culture.” He nudged the prince back, making sure he was a decent distance away. “I know you view mages as bringer of destruction but I implore you to reconsider. We can create, better and simply awe.”

Tomasso walked up to the ten pipes, stopping a short distance from them. He began to rub his hands together. At first slow, then faster and faster. His hands began to glow a bright yellow that hummed in the pale darkness. Rotelio's jaw dropped.

He focused. Clearing his mind, thoughts, singling in on the flow in his hands, calling forth to tap into the energy of life. The life stream. When he felt the pulse, he reached out grabbed it and let it take control. With hands outstretched yellow beams darted from his fingertips hitting the strings hanging out. They lit up in a blaze, a trail of sparks arching upwards. They all roared in unison, a growing expectation to what was coming lingering at the pit of his stomach. He continued to strip himself of ownership, letting the flow take root.

As the sparks reached the top of the tubes it disappeared into the dough. Before long the dough began to quake, bubble and pop as if they were cooking. Then, out of nowhere, the tubes started to move, rustling at first

then suddenly jerking away and taking to the sky. First, they skirted across the water, then became specks in the night as they curved up and flew far from the ship. Like that they were gone, vanished in the sea of black. Rotelio had a confused look on his face as Tomasso turned to him.

“What was the point in that?” He stammered, still dazed.

“Watch,” Was all he replied, taking a stand next to the others side, both looking up and beyond.

Amidst the faint glimmer of stars was a sudden bang. A gigantic explosion of new stars erupted in space. They twinkled brightly, filling the empty void into a full fledged galaxy. But it just wasn't once. No, it was twice, a third time, as the expansion grew dotting in all directions as the containers blew up and sprinkled away to the breeze.

It was breathtaking to Rotelio as he felt inspired to just sit, looking up, eyes catching the sparkle of the expanse. The booms and crackles of the explosions echoed, causing even what crew that was left on deck to get caught up in the spectacle. The white dust lingered for awhile in the sky. It slowly dropped back to earth, making as if the stars themselves approached. Soon it was over, the empty settling back in.

“That was amazing!” Was all he could muster.”

“It is not done yet.” With that, the sky burst out in a distant glow. First, a container exploded to the expanse on the left, then one on the right. Then, finally in the middle, one more ruptured, this one different. As if fated, every little speck of ingredient conformed to paint a picture. Mixed with white and yellow, a shape of a lions face spread in a sea of spice. Its fangs were shown, mouth open as if roaring to the moon. It sounded just like that to.

“These are they types of gifts we wish to bring to everyone.” Rotelio did speak. He was too far gone in the wonders in front of him to say anything. Stonewall felt a presence of success today. He had planted seeds today in the mind of a king and a youth. Now he was hoping to water and watch them grow to bear the fruit he so longed to taste. Freedom.

4: CH3: Whim of the Gods

WHIM OF THE GODS

Sistine

 

“ Dreams are the gateways to the gods.“

--Abidas Prophecy

 

 

 

The skies swirled, cycling into a single spot as it wrapped, diluted and disappeared into a vacuum. The ground rumbled, quaking and jutting the barren wasteland around. The air became stagnant, suffocating. She found it harder to breath as she clasped her chest, eying about looking for any possible exit in an ever expanding surrounding. There was none. Stuck, in a foreign land.

The ground was mushy as if wet. The earth was a moss green, waving like blades of grass in a breeze. But something was different about it. This unnatural moisture reminded her of water. As if it was a big puddle, to say the least. The best she could explain to herself was that it was a dense swamp without the foliage. She could feel her feet sink into the bog, liquid sloshing between her toes.

There was a tower, tall, looming over but casting no shadow. It spoke in pain, aching from the rumblings. It shined bright at the top, lights brightening far, golden beams twirling in two's around and around. Pieces of it fell off. A brick here a brick there, like a mountain getting ready to avalanche. Two wooden doors, barred to the teeth, marked an entrance, but that was not all.

Guarding its doors was a lion big and strong, pridefully boasting its shoulders out. It sat at attention, big mane folded out along its head, chest and shoulders. It was both structure and demeanor that made it seem powerful. Elegant. But there was something wrong, Sistine thought, it had no eyes. Yes, the lions eyes were sealed shut, swollen, red. It roared, not in pain but just for show.

Sistine approached carefully, unsure as to why her feet carried her closer. She was afraid, contrastingly at peace about it as well. One step after another she narrowed the already small distance between them. The lion did not flinch; neither did she. Even, after fighting uncontrollable actions leading her to it, standing right in front of the beast did not make it waver from its spot or bat an eyelash.

She reached out a hand and touched the tip of its nose. It sniffed, licked a bit, then lowered its head in submission. Her hand glided across its mane, twirling the hairs, brushing through it with a fierce but gentle stroke. It went past the ears, down the nape of its neck then came to a rest at the large of its back. “There, there,” She spoke, whispering into the lions ear. Why she was comforting it she did not know. It seemed more than capable to take care of itself at this point.

It stayed calm, even purred slightly, cooing to her words. The lion turned its head to meet gaze, as if it could. A well structured, proud face looking deep within her. It sent shivers down her spine, body flushing from this sudden rush she felt. It was hard to explain. Grasping her heart, mind, spirit, toying with it as she experienced a sudden burst of emotions.

From head to toe she felt numb, eyes rolling into the back of her head, fingers and arms twitching impulsively. What is this? She thought, legs getting mushy. Sadness, pain, happiness, comfort, contradictions intertwining together to create a friction in her brain. It was a tidal wave of pains and pleasures. It was ecstasy.

Scars began to appear on her body. One on her bicep, another along the bottom of her heel. Her feet grew sore, fingers bruised and cut while inside she felt a change, like knowledge was pouring into her mind taking in places, events, growing alongside things she already knew. She felt like she just integrated many years of hardships into body in a mere second.

She dropped to her knees, the lion still looking on. Her body grew more and more warm, fevered and sweaty. She tried to look down, take count of what had happened to her skin, but couldn't. Her nerves felt paralyzed, stiff to any movement she tried to force. Behind the lion she could see the vast distance but something was wrong with it as well. It began to grow smaller, closing in on them. Her eyes shot left and right, taking in as much as she could see, mind racing to the claustrophobic levels increasing rapidly. It was darkness and it was closing in fast.

“Gods save me!” She screamed, but it didn't feel like it even left the comfort of the cowl she wore. The ever closing blackness continued to swallow all of the wasteland a mile a minute. The gods had seemed to have abandoned her, leaving her to a closing demise. But she pleaded on both verbally and mentally. The lion just laid down, unafraid, unaware. “Get up! Save yourself!”

She began to here screams. Howls of pain and anguish in every direction. They were tearful, loud, as if they were dying. Sistine tried to raise her hands to her ears but couldn't. She still could do nothing, but be tortured by the sound of wails and succumbing nothingness. It was not far now. The wall of despair, faces of black smoke now appearing in it, outlines of mouths, bellowing thunderously. Her screams vanish amongst theirs, drums beating in canals, feeling as if they were going to explode form the noise.

Rubble fell around her, the tower falling apart at a rapid rate. Bricks and mortar began to surround her as if forming a tomb. Dirt clots arched up from the impressions, this is turn caused her to gag from inhaling it. It tightened around her neck, the lack of oxygen, the despondency, the want to just give up. She wanted so bad to just let it take control and end it all. Remove this wretched state and bring it to climax.

It seemed to last forever. This torture. But at the same time it was so sudden, Sistine could not get a feeling for the time. Was this minutes, hours, seconds? It was shaken and gone in a moments notice, until in the very end when the darkness swallowed it all up. Gone, just like that.

The screams died out. So did any sign of life that she could see or hear. The smell of death wafted up her nose. As if many corpses were decaying or burning around her. It was something she had never smelled before but it just clicked in her head. Sistine could just feel the destruction around, she did not have to see it.

She couldn't tell if she managed to finally close shut her eyes or this was it: nothing at all. Sistine tried blinking to adjust to the blindness but it was futile. Stuck on her knees, exhausted from the ordeal she could only breathe heavily and pray for a change. She knew no change was coming.

There was something unusually wrong about this pitch darkness. She could see clearly the lion appearing to her left, still laying in place as calm as it can be. But the tower, the world around, vanished in the abyss. Before she could dwell too much on it, something caught her attention. In the blackness, as if appearing out of a smog, she could see the outline of a entity approaching.

She could see the silhouette of a body, muscular, rather large. Arms were at its side, legs moving in slow pace, the whole of its body coming and going amongst the smoke. Sistine guessed it was a he; shaped tough and toned.

The lion perked up at its approach, teeth chattering in disdain. He hunched, readying as if it were to pounce.

A horrid feeling sunk to the pit of her stomach when the figure became more visible. It was no human at all. It was a beast, bloodied, frightening as if it came right out of Summit.

The horns were the first thing she noted, curved, rising high, spanning what seemed like two feet. It was attached to the head of a jagged monster, two black beady eyes lurking through at her. His face was a blood red, bony cheeked, cleft and dense. He was shirtless, barbarian like features made him look terrifying as veins and tensed muscles growled of someone who could rip you in half. His fingers tightened, rippling with hatred, anger filling his heart.

He stopped for a moment, gaze fixed on the helpless woman. Chest began to punctuate faster, deeper intakes of breath drilling his nostrils louder and louder. It became more aggressive, body shaking with a pure emotion or instinct. It acted out, his fist beating against his chest, grunts lashing out at each press of his fist. Like that he began to charge, increasing his speed, a roar gritting through his teeth as he closed in the distance.

Sistine struggled hard, body seizing about. This can't be it, she thought, wrestling hard with herself. I need to move, she continued to plead. She felt a kick of flashbacks. The churches, the other Sistines, moment of birth till moment of her coming death. It knocked her hard, bringing tears to her eyes.

It got closer and closer, foot after foot crunched beneath bare, powerful stomps. His roar grew closer or just louder, his menacing eyes piercing her and making her body go cold with fear. There was nothing she could do. She barely was able to muster words to express her feelings. All she could say was a resounding, “No!”

As if it were a second wind, the lion let out a big roar to drum up her own voice. It was impressive, she could see the sound waves wiggle as it coned from the mouth, subduing the approaching beast. It keeled down to a knee, fist stamping hard into the nothingness, its deftly war cry brought to a whimper. The lion did not stop, it yelled hard, raising its body high, growing unnaturally from great beginnings to something even mightier. It towered high, the beast shrinking-- or the lion getting larger, whichever, there was a switch in the balance of the forces in play.

She felt the tension leave her, the roars becoming something of a trumpet, music to her ears, giving her vigor to overcome the suppressing weight bearing her down. She battled herself, while looking over her shoulder she saw the beasts beginning to trade blows. With a scream of her own, pushing harder, straining her body she pushed for the energy needed to stand.

The lion was on top, biting down on the horned monster. Teeth crackled against one of the horns, two hands reaching up to try and choke out the offender. Paws swiped furiously into the lower guts, tearing it asunder. It was bloody, but it gave her relief. She tried to focus harder, getting her mind off her surroundings. “Be strong,” She spoke to herself, “Be strong!”

Sistine tried to tap into herself, trying to convince herself she was strong. Her body ached and cried out in pain but she pushed on. You need to run, she thought, you need to get out of here! It took every inch. Only with that did she break free, snapping through the invisible wall pinning her in place.

It was like stepping through a door, things changed from one scenery to another, but at the same time stayed familiar. Darkness was all she felt, she could not escape it. All she could see was tattered pieces, as if glass, shattering, falling around. She felt weightless, dazed, confused in the darkness that she now swam. No, she was falling to, to where, unknown, but her mind told her she was. The lion was gone. The creature was gone. She felt gone. All of it gone as the darkness engulfed her.

 

 

 

 

 

Sistine's head shot up like lightening. She could feel it, the pain, the suffocation draining her. She looked around and saw nothing but darkness, but at least it was a different kind. She was back in her cabin, covered in the bed given. Her intakes was raspy, body shaking and beats pulsating with uneven thumps. Sistine noted she was sitting up, arms resting at elbows, back scrunched upward. She let her head hit the pillows, giving a sigh of relief, the last remnants of the dream fading away.

It felt so real, she thought, wiping her hand across her brow, a pile of sweat peeling away. The lion, with hand extended out as if running through the fur, felt so real. She had never seen one in person. Only tales, words painting an image of what one would look like. She imagined, questioning the images of the lion in her dreams. She never knew of them to be blind, though.

And what of the darkness? The red beast? The falling tower? Her brain perplexed the issues, trying to coax some reasoning to it all. She was falling short, unable to firmly cease the whole. Did it have meaning, she questioned, dreams are the gateways to the gods.

The beast looked like a guardian of Summit, the prison to those that defy the pantheon. They were usually resembled as tormentors, keepers of the punishment beset upon the wicked. They themselves were depicted as shackled as well, also prisoners to to the dark abyss of the peak.

Summit was a place no human wanted to go. Sitting on the crags of the high mountains, those sentenced were forced to look down upon the people they loved, people who still valued and enjoyed life while they experienced tortures unimaginable. This was home to the absolute evil. Men and women triffled with the ideals of doing harm to the world. In the caverns, tunnels deep, there was plenty of room to welcome more and more souls for eternal damnation.

Then there was the tower. It looked so familiar but she could not put her finger on it. It resembled a lighthouse, guiding across that swamp. It was large, majestic but seemed so unnaturally poorly built. What was causing it to fall apart? Sure, the ground broke around, seismic quakes straining to knock over that house of cards, but it did not seem like enough to crash down something so well structured.

Her breath began to slow, the shock diminishing, letting her muscles relax once more. Eyes began to droop again, mind boggled but wheels slowly churning to a halt. Body felt ready to push back to sleep; the waves outside swaying her back into coma. Then she heard it. The voice. 'Come outside,' she thought she made out.

Her right slit back open, peering around trying to get a feel of anyone’s presence. No one was there, goosebumps gathering on her nape. It began to feel colder, the warmth of the covers vanishing away. She shivered, the dim flow of smoke escaping her mouth with each breath. “Hello?” She croaked, noticing her throat dry.

There was no other answer.

Maybe I am hearing things, she tried to convince herself, rolling over on her side. But there it was again, like clockwork, a voice seeping into her ear like a chilly caress. This time she shot up, covers flying off. “Hello?” She asked again.

Sistine, feet touching frigid wood, stood up. She looked around the room one more time. Checking under the table, beside the cabinet, dresser, every little nook and crevice she could from the spot she grounded cautiously.

“Come outside.”

It was definite that time. Audible and very much real. She felt nervous, thinking of the dream, wondering if she still was dreaming. This time it sounded like it was outside her door, calling for her to leave. This is not a good thing, she danced in head, afraid to leave stance. But, like before, she felt an uncontrollable urge to walk, approaching the door in a few short strides.

Her hand pressed against the knob of the door, turning it ever so slowly. It creaked open at the hinge letting anyone on the other side know of her arrival. She stood in the hallway, a familiar sight waiting for her. Doors lined on both sides of a hallway, other sleeping quarters nestled in pairs dotting along until the very end. At the end was a large double door. She could hear the snores, ruffling of men in the other rooms but no one was out in plain view to see.

“That is right, come outside.”

It was distant now, at the other side of the hall. Sistine, fixed her night gown, letting it snug firmer against her, grabbing hard around the shoulder, criss-crossed. She started down the hall.

Glances were past into each room, being wary of shadows and spooks to attack at any moment, but nothing could be seen in what little light she had. She could only make out the figures of the sleeping crewmen, as she continued her sneak down the passageway. There was nothing of note that happened. She reached the other end without any harm done, a sigh of relief escaping lips. But the door leading outside stood tall. Harrowing, grisly, shadowy fingers reached out to toy with her mind.

“Come outside.”

It sent shivers down her spine but she could not stop now. The knob turned sharply, door slowly letting up, the cool of the brisk wind making hairs stand up. Sistine charged in, ready to get it over with, the pace killing her.

At first the cold wind punched her, making skin reel with displeasure as it stung. It was unnatural for this time of the year and especially the locale. She tightened even harder to the thin gown she wore. While it was conservative, leaving a lot of room for imagination, it was nothing useful to fight back the onslaught of chills.

The moon was in full, hanging high but struck her odd as it was blood red. It was not that time of the month yet, the blood moon only appearing at the end, marking the new phase of the moon and therefore the month. It should be a good week and a half away, she thought, wondering if she had slept the whole time away. The stars were away, only the still coating of red soaking into the deck and mast.

There was no one at the upper deck. Void of any life to coax her out here. She felt silly at the premise that she let herself be tricked to come out. A faint laugh escaped lips as she turned on her heels to go back inside and escape the cold. But without warning it struck again. The voice. This time it was louder, booming, different.

“Sistine! Do not walk from me!” She froze, eyes shot wide and body unnerved by the powerful words chaining her to spot. It was very manly, deep, bellowing out like thunder.

The door slammed shut, a faint click of a lock tearing a piece of the feeling of safety from her, body tense and mind racing. She slowly turned around, not wanting to see who was speaking to her, but saw no other alternative. The area was empty, save a few items like barrels and tarps.

Still she saw no one. She walked down the stairs leading to the lower part of the upper deck, searching about but coming up empty.

“I am here!”

This time it sounded like it was above her. She looked up, seeing the faint details of clouds lingering high. They were black with a tint of crimson. Suddenly they began to move, swirling together like in her dream, but this time forming and coming in closer and closer. They stopped right above the ship, expanding the greater portion of it. It began to protrude eyes, a slit for a nose and a hole for a mouth. It resembled the likes of a black mask; huge scowl bringing forth gloom. “Sistine! 'Tis I, your god!”

Her mouth dropped, and so did her knees. They scraped against the roughness of the salted wood, but she had no time to worry about any damage. No, the godly voice blaring, a cloud with a face talking down at her, was what she need to keep attention upon. And so she did, awestruck.

“Malamuke...?” She choked out. Malamuke was the breath. He was the god of both sky and dreams. She could not believe it. Were the gods actually communicating with her?

“I bring to you vision, Sistine. A glint into the fabric of time and what we seek from you in it.”

The dream, she thought, bits and pieces returning. “Your course has been set. You have a voyage in the coming storm.” The cloud moved with each word as if it were a real face. Expressions appearing and vanishing and reappearing with each gab of the jaw.

“But where do I start?” She asked out, gaining a better control of her throat.

“Crescent Island. From there everything will fall into place. You will know what you must do. You have to.” There was a bit of unease in the clouds this time, as if pleading. But all traces of it vanished when he shouted, “You must!”

The water rippled and smashed harder into the ship, the very ocean churning in anger. It swelled, bubbled, moved about like it had a mind of its own. “I will!” She screamed in fear, the strong current rushing through now, snagging on her hair. It blew deep black locks around, whipping and blinding her as she squint to see. “I will!” She continued.

Nature changed course, everything seemingly backwards. The wind gusted in the opposite direction nearly knocking her over, catching specks of ocean in its terrible whirl. The sea shot upwards like icicles forming across the water. Rising high above the ship then submerging once more, appearing in groups of chaotic waves. By now the vessel shook, squirming every direction trying to keep its balance.

“Do not fail us!” Malamuke threatened, “And don't question our authority or you will suffer the consequences!” It grew worse, faster, more threatening. The ship crackled to the right, Sistine fighting to grab hold of something. Barrels, crates and she began to slide as the ship rolled. But another wave smashed in from the opposing direction sending it flailing in its path, letting it even itself out. Behind her she could hear a tsunami bellowing up between the Scorching clasps of lightening, crimson, filling the night air.

She tried to turn around, battered and soaked. Her body quaked in fear. Near the ship, towering way above was a giant sea serpent. It gnashed its large jaw together, twelve rows of razor sharp teeth grinding together causing an unpleasant sound, like utensils to a plate, making a high pitch shriek.

The head was humongous, gills dotting across the neckline, opening and closing with each suck of breath. Twin frills made up its ears, gigantic spikes coming backwards like flippers on a fish.

It was a deep blue and green with an underbelly slimy and white with indention’s making up some kind of long expanding abdomen. Scales were hard and treacherous, as if they could cut or grind you to pieces. Its back had a line of ongoing fins that started at the lower part of the head then traveled downwards, stopping every other foot then picking back up with another set.

Her mind could not fathom what she was seeing. She only begged, in chalky whispers, why did she deserve so many monsters hounding her in one night? First blind lions and Summit beasts and now wrathful gods and sea serpents? This can not be real, she thought, sitting up on her butt and trying to scoot as far away from the creature. Her back hit the railing, body still moving as if she was making progress.

“O' sea blurred, hoarse to carry load. Phantoms sink deep, rising up to ankle cold. Folly is my heart to know of your blunders. I beset you death, last moments to regret your endeavors failed, forgotten like the air that fills your lungs. Shiver child, embrace Summit. For the shackles of grimy corpses will be your home to plummet.”

She could not believe it. The sea serpent talked fluently. It even had a very feminine sound, echoing across the distance. It felt like the words pressed into her mind, noting that the jaws of the serpent did not move. No, this was some kind of divine word articulated to rebound in her mind.

“Trudent,” She started, images of stained glass of the Sistine clicking. She recalled the symbol of the god of sea being the serpent, “Spare me! I don't want to go there!”

Its head shot forward and at her. For that brief moment, she could tell this was it. To be disemboweled by the likes of this creature. Eyes shot open wide, throat squeaking out a high pitch yelp, arms flailing forward as if it were able to stop its approach. She closed her eyes tightly, the last image was the creature narrowing. She held her breath and waited. Waited for that burst of time to be over.

Nothing happened. The roar of the sea clogged her ears still, rain-- or ocean spray splattering her face. Her hands continued to stay extended, hiding her face. She could feel something different; not wind, but an exhale blanketing her body in steamy warmth. She dared not look, fearing the beast lingering above. But was it gone, she questioned, urging curiosity to take control.

She opened an eye. First seeing skin pale white from her forearms. She slowly moved it out of the way, but the mighty structure of the sea beast towered in view. She could see a black soulless iris stare back, only a few feet from her. But it was enough to make her heart jump in ribcage.

“Please,” She begged with a stammer, not wanting to let her arms completely down. “I will do as you ask.”

The serpent stared on, looking boldly into Sistine. She didn't know what to think, what do to. She was at the mercy of the gods, caught in a game of scare tactics, seeing who could come out on top. This made her think of the teachings. How wrathful the gods could be. Many a flood, storm, natural occurrence had cleansed the lands in the past. In her case, the present. But she remembered the kindness they could show. The gifts to sustain and flourish under their careful guidance.

Unfortunately for her, she ended up with the two most vengeful gods. They were not known for forgetting a grudge.

As she stared back, she could catch a glimpse of the serpent looking away. It took a gander up towards the sky. It nodded at whatever it saw before locking gaze once more. “Count blessings, woman of the cloth, your reckoning extends beyond this blood moon. Get up, precede, turn back to fear. The jaws of death clench away tonight.”

She let her hands slowly drop, chest furiously beating. The railing was still not giving her enough distance between her and the other. But at least she felt more at ease as one could be around a carnivorous monster licking its lips.

“Thank you.” She spoke tensely and on edge, “Thank you.”

“Cheered am I to soak in devotion. We will not block you from redemption, instead bequeath you guidance.”

The storm died down. The wind quelled its temper tantrum. The serpent reeled back, leaving the area of the boat, peacefully lowering to a nonthreatening position. She looked up, saw the clouds dissipate, the blackness in the sky vanishing as if it never was there. As her eyes wandered back across the bow of the ship it was gone. Trudent's pet had went back into the deep. Or was it even there?

She wiped her forehead, felt the moisture of all the droplets coating her. Sistine did not dare move. She was afraid to. She was too caught up in relishing what had happened to force bones to work. No, she was tired. So tired her body was shutting down, the shock of this night catching up.

The night skies hue began to allure to something new. The stagnant bloody stain that engulfed all around with the glow of the moon dissipated. The silver luminescent aura began to replace it, bringing with it warmth on a summers, humid, twilight. This was a comforting feeling compared to the onslaught of the freezing gusts.

The grains of the sandman was irresistible. Sleepiness began to wash over. First the numb, second the weight then finally the daze that followed. It came at a good pace, rip tiding until she drifted back into dreamland, uncertain of what was to follow.

 

 

 

 

 

“Wake up...” She heard, muffled and faint. “Wake up...” She struggled to open her eyes, forming small slits to take in a blurry facade. She could make out with the help of a dim light coming over the bow the outlining of a man. He was waving a hand in front of her face. He snapped his fingers and caused her to jolt forward, wakening suddenly. “What are you doing out here?”

Sistine felt disorientated. Her body bobbled, willing the strength to break the daze. “What?” She asked throatily. Her esophagus was scratchy and dry. Dehydration was setting in.

“Do you not know where you are?” An arm wrapped around Sistine's waist and axilla. She was hoisted up on her feet, nearly falling over as she briefly attempt to stand on her own. The other, voice becoming more audible and recognized as captain Rymes, held her tightly.

She was out on the deck, near the railing. Just like before she fell back to sleep. She gazed in wonderment, trying to make heads and tails of what had happened. Was it a dream or not? She felt a whirl of thought making her feel sick. She fought the vomit building up.

“I—I,” She stuttered, feeling the heat from her forehead, “saw the gods.”

Rymes frowned, as he carried her over to the steps leading up to the top part of the upper deck. “Sure you did.”

He sat her on the bottom stairs, giving a sign to wait as he disappeared around a corner. He reappeared a moment later, carrying with him a bucket of water. He took seat next to her, grapped a cup floating in the bucket and fed her some of the water. She slurped it down as if it was the best drink she ever had, not stopping till it was all gone.

Sistine let out a sigh of relief, he in turn placing it back in the bucket. “Thank you,” she gestured. Rymes waved it off like it was no big deal.

“I am certain what I saw.” Though really, she wasn't that sure.

She formed the words in mind, trying to figure the right way to explain it but it came out dry and confusing. “There was a animal-- a lion. He had no eyes and he fought this beast right off the pages of the Abidas Revelations. Horned and gruesome. Then, the gods spoke to me. Called me away. The wind carried its speech, pulling me farther across the sea.” The words stumbled from lips, even in her head it sounded crazy. There has been no written record of a Sistine receiving a dream this vivid in ages.

“Uh huh,” was all he returned, a quizzical expression lining the captain's face.

“I don't expect you to believe me. But I know it to be true. They are calling me to Crescent Island.”

He shook his head, “Well, you have a long way to go. We swim to the mainlands.” He was right, they had already set course to the southern continent. She was on board a merchant vessel carrying spices and fabrics from the port city of Narthrim to Balzara. They had been trekking for some time now, maybe. Sistine was not acquainted to the sea faring life, unable to judge the exact location of where they were. They were most likely half way there. She thought.

This assurance was stinging her ears. Urgency grasped chest, making her feel ill. The thought of the gods actually bringing threats to fruition caused her heart to leap abound. “No,” she muttered, “I need to go now.”

Rymes stood up, his first mate Palmer approaching, “Palmer, set the sails half mast. Get the crew out to swab the deck, we must have had a passing storm, some of the waves washed a lot of kelp and grime aboard.”

The rather overweight man gave a silent salute. Sistine though, felt anguish wash over her. “Wait!” All three went still. The captain grudgingly beckoned his first mate back over.

“Please, we need to change course. I sense something is going amiss here. We need to go to Crescent Island. Please.”

The captain rubbed the back of his neck, “We have a payload to deliver. I can't just order this ship abound every whim of the gods. No offense, but the gods in my eyes have abandoned us.”

She pleaded once more, “I understand your doubts but I need you to trust me. The gods are still there. I have felt them this night. We must change course.” She stood up, finding new strength.

Rymes mulled it over but his stance did not change. “The answer is no. If it's important enough they can wait another few weeks. Find another ship to take you.” He turned around, cursing under his breath why he even let this Sistine ride along, regretting his decision. Palmer followed in his wake.

She felt powerless again, slumping back on the stairs, fearing the worse to approach. She was imagining it now. The serpent rising back from the depths, getting ready to crash down on this meager merchant ship. They had no weapons, no means to fight something that big. Who did?

What was she to do? Raid the ship and take control? What could one female do against a ship full of robust sailors? If gods wanted this done they needed to give her the necessary tools to fend. But maybe the captain was right. Maybe the gods could wait. But was it worth the possibility to chance it?

Palmer had disappeared into the bowels to fetch the crew for their morning routine. The captain lit a fat cigar and placed it in his mouth, puffing smoke into the warming morning. He was gazing across the bow, taking in the rising sun.

Sistine knew what to do. She had to convince him to turn around. But how? She pondered, watching him take in the tobacco. There had to be a way to convince the captain in a way he would understand. Something crossed her. At first it seemed manipulative, treason for someone of the cloth, but in the circumstances presented, it may be her only viable solution. What was the one thing that men like these will bend over backwards for? That was how she was going to approach the situation.

Sistine marched over to the bow, standing at Rymes side. She waited a moment, letting the captain take a sight of her. He eyeballed cautiously, taking in the woman still in her gown. The short strands of black hair bowled around. Bangs drooped to one side, resting lightly over her right eye. He took note of the facial features. Smooth, innocent, but had a calming vigor to her cheeks and bridge of her nose. Her cheeks were rosy, just a touch beyond the whole, a sense of embarrassment constantly nerving the complexion.

Two cerulean irises pitifully and wearily whimpered dissatisfaction, trying to speak to him through an emotional level. He shook the feeling in his head, nearly succumbing to the perceived beauty. He knocked the notion that she could contort his thoughts so easily. “The answer is still no,” He strained to say, muffled with his full mouth.

She hated to be shut down so quickly but she needed to stay vigilant. “Lend me your ear, please,” Sistine said in her softest voice.

He did not reply, but looked away, puffing harder on his cigar, a circular ring floating outward. She took this as a cue. “I see you have fallen out with the graces of the gods, whether by your choice or theirs. But, this is beside the point. Instead let me, let the church, offer you reward for your hard work.”

The captains ears perked, “Go on.”

Snagged, she thought, carrying on, “I have ties with Serenity. We all know that the coffers of the church are immeasurable.” Which in truth they weren't that big. He just didn't need to know that. “If you help me, you will be helping the gods. The gods are very generous to those that bring their glory and they often invoke wealth through us.” She grabbed a hold of Rymes shoulder, catching his attention and bringing him to meet her gaze. “All you have to do is sail me to the island. That's it.”

Ryme's once sullen face became intrigued. An eyebrow was perched up, hand fumbling with the bud dangling from his trap. “How much are we talking?”

She smiled, “This job you're on is measly paid. It would be drowned in the gold that could come from helping me.”

He pondered it over, looking across the horizon. “What about the client I work for? He would surely be upset about this.”

“No need to worry. It is every persons duty to place higher want to please the gods than to please themselves. The people of Balzara are known for their religious devotion. I imagine this man would be no different.” She seemed to have sold the ideal, turning to completely take in her visage.

“Okay, okay. You win.” He said, throwing the cigar over board and walking off. Rymes let out a whistle, placing his two pinky fingers in his mouth. The creaks of wood signaled the coming crew, pounding down the flight of stairs in swarms. Some struggled with shirts and other pieces of clothing, still getting dressed. Palmer led the charge.

“Men, change course, we plot for new territory.” He grabbed a hold of Palmer's shoulder leading him away, “Fetch me my charts and tools. We have found us our early retirement.” Palmer did not know what he was referring to, but it didn't matter. He smelled coin and it lit his smile ablaze.

“Aye, Aye, Cap'n.” He scurried into the captains quarters. His men began to lumber to work, hoisting, directing, setting the ship to appropriate speeds and direction. These men were dedicated and ready to proceed on a whim. Just like she was.

She had gathered some information about this crew upon venturing with them. At first, it scared her to think about it when she found out. She found out that these blokes were ex pirates, through rambunctious conversations . Or at a least the majority of them. Rymes was a seafarer of the Dwillit isles to the west of the Twin Continents. He plunder many a vessel back in the day in his younger years, inheriting the flagship 'Grandeur' from his father.

But it was setbacks that changed everything. A near death experience in a battle with the navy, the loss of his treasure to a mutiny, losing their flagship in a flash storm, these changed his heart and got him yearning for more honest work. His reputation was destroyed though, no one wanted to hire a pirate as famous as he. So, he set course with his old crew here to make a new home and a new name. Rymes, Palmer, many of these men wore bloodied hands but cleansed them with the salt of the sea. Now, merchants by trade, they cargo supplies across to aid businessmen of varying degrees.

Sistine commended their dedication. She felt, in a sense, their lives were not that much different. Watching afar, seeing them toil to their work, it made her think of the churches, Serenity, the spots dedicated to the divine. Just like these people she went from one life to another. Farmer's daughter wooing the bachelors of her hometown, playing with hearts of men. Teasing, manipulating items or whatever she wanted from their possessions, giving only the bare minimum in return to meet their sacrifices in gaining what they wanted from her. Seducing them to come back for more, time and time again. Looking back, she could see the harm she did to not just them, but to her as well. They may have lost a lot in attempting to gain, but she lost an emotional connection and dignity.

It was the recruitment process that saved her. Sistines knocking door to door, seeking members to entice into the fold. When she first saw them, approaching down the dirt path to their homestead, she at the time living with her dad, did disgust fill her body. In a way, she once thought, these devoted were no different than her. Whoring themselves out, but not for their will but the cause of another.

Something urged her though to sit and listen. She preached, oh did she preach salvation. It felt like she saw right through her, saw every little piece of the puzzle missing. This Sistine promised hope, fulfillment, spiritual enlightenment. All it took was to give up her name, say goodbye to her past and take up the teachings of the Abidas Five. On a whim she agreed. Leaving dear ol' dad, teary eyed but thankful behind and all the suitors she led on.

This, she thought, leaning back and watching the sailors, was made them one and the same. Obtaining enlightenment in different ways. She through the gods, these men through their captain.

Sistine pondered across the calm seas, looking across where she thought Crescent Island rested.

Was this it? The moment promised to all Sistines. Each devoted are offered one moment in their life to prove how loyal they are. Whether it be big or small a task is laid in front of them and if they complete it, they are given a seat in the choir. Where they can praise the pantheon eternally, singing and humming the hymns of the gods. Adorned in gold, jewels and many fashionable attire rich and sparkly.

It sent goosebumps up her arms just thinking about it. The materials she could gain by giving up hers first. All it was going to take was this task, this moment to appease them and bring forth wealth in her life after death. The calm of the ocean did not compare to the thrashing of her spirit, yearning to just be their and set this into motion.

For now she did not worry about the dangers, the warnings in her dreams. No, her thoughts were centered on the reward after. Glistening gold robes with a scepter to match.