Chapter 12: Chapter 11: Entrance

What they got from the demon’s corpse was morbid and interesting. Its tendrils were strong and incredibly elastic. One of the dismantlers recommended using them as ballistae strings. The claws weren’t just sharp, they kept their edge even after scratching stone. The scales were the real prize, though. Sharp, solid, and light enough to carry, there were enough scales to have an axe or buckler made for everyone who fought, and then some. Nirk, hobbling around from his injuries, had the biggest smile when he held up the cleaved skull he’d decapitated from the demon. He kept saying he was unsure if he should use it as a helmet, a pauldron, a trophy, or bring it as a gift for Molod’s family.

It was when they cut open the demon that many questions were answered. Not all of them, but quite a few. The dismantlers, covered in blood, were talking over one another as they took the demon apart, pointing at specific sections of the creature’s anatomy. Rael tried to follow along, but they couldn’t tell one goopy bit from the other. Finally, the dismantlers cut open whatever worked as the monster’s stomach, finding three partially digested bodies closer to its mouth. Not whole, mostly crushed and torn apart, but they still had jewelry that helped identify them. Greem’s blood-brother and two other hunters, with what was left of a couple pickaxes.

“They probably went looking for the demon, found its cave, and decided farming its resin would be better.” Edith explained at the longhouse. “The operation was doing well, until they realized that it was eating people.” The Shieldmaiden was standing, fists flat against the table. The silver torcs of the accused lay before her on a cloth. “Someone had the bright idea of hiding the emergency flags, probably so they could buy time to farm more resin.”

“Only it backfired when the demon ate them.” Greem said softly, eyes focused on his blood-brother’s torc. “Why was he such a fool?”

Edith held up a shard of resin to the candlelight. Rael, Derrol and Kip watched from behind the Shieldmaiden, the flickering of the flame dancing in the amber material, glittering like a diamond. “It is beautiful. Same color as amber but…” Edith slammed the shard against the table. When she removed her hand, the shard was intact, and the table was indented. “It’s much harder. Could be used as jewelry or as weapon materials.”

Greem was staring at the hole in his table.

“That was an ancient willow table.” He said blankly.

“Hush up.” Edith rolled her eyes. “We’re not taking it with us.”

Greem swiveled his head.

“‘We?’”

“Yes, ‘we.’” The Shieldmaiden nodded. “It’s not safe to leave all of you here. With our recent casualties, we have enough space on our ships to take all of you to the Stone Circle.”

Greem’s expression fell from grim acceptance to one of fear and despair.

“The Norns are going to flay me.”

“As much as your village was a devastating failure,” Greem flinched at Edith’s harsh words, “nobody could have anticipated a demon. Nor could they expect you to not trust your blood-brother.”

“So what do we do now?” Greem sighed, sinking deeper into his chair.

“You walk outside, call a Thing, and tell everyone to gather the essentials and prepare to leave.”

Greem bit his cheek, his gaze lingering on his blood-brother’s distorted torc. “What about—”

“We leave them here.” Edith spoke with finality. She wrapped the torc in a cloth and left it on the table. “Their names will be stricken from the records, and no burial rites will be given. Their greed has condemned the people of this village to this fate; their memory is tainted.”

Greem nodded sadly and stood up to leave, nodding to all of them in turn. He stopped in front of Rael.

“Dragonward, I’ve heard from some of the warriors that you were of great help in slaying the demon. My vill—” He caught himself. “My people owe you a great debt.”

Once he left, Kip collapsed into a chair, still exhausted from the battle.

“Gah, I hate politics.” He wiped sweat from his brow. “All the standing around and not talking…”

“Not talking was hardest for you, eh?” Derrol chuckled.

“Shaddup.” Kip laughed hoarsely.

“Enough lollygagging, you two.” Edith grabbed them both by the shoulders and pushed them towards the door. “Captain Derrol, I expect you to lead the effort in getting our men to pack up. I don’t care if they already opened some barrels of wine, we don’t want to linger long. Captain Kip, I want you to help the villagers. Make sure they only take what they can carry with them, I don’t want some idjit insisting we take his bed. If they want to buy some space on the ships, make sure it’s expensive.” She pointed at Rael. “And you…go take care of Azmond.”

Rael followed the other two outside. There already was a hubbub of activity as the villagers began to dig through their things, looking for valuables and personal trinkets. There were too few people to really call it a swarm, but people didn’t seem to have time for emotions. Stern faces, gaunt bodies, and twitchy gazes spoke of weeks under siege by an unseen enemy. Despite dragging the body to the village, the people were too tired to rejoice. For them, it must have been weeks since the village felt like home.

Azmond was carrying a huge, dog-like skull, following a young girl with blond, curly hair. Slinking behind him from a distance were Jasp and Pequit, heads swiveling between looking at Azmond and each other. Azmond spotted Rael, gasped, and waved his free arm frantically as he balanced the massive skull in the crook of his neck.

“Rael! Rael!” He patted the girl’s back a few times. “Bleffy, that’s Rael. They’re the one I told you about!”

Bleffy’s eyes lit up and she rushed over to Rael. Her eyes practically sparkled when she looked up at Rael.

“You’re Rael?” Bleffy hopped in place excitedly.

“…Yes?”

“Azmond says you’re even better at tag than him! Can you play with us?” The little girl practically vibrated with excitement, an amber-colored stone glistening from her neck. Rael put down the skull and rushed to her side.

“Please, Rael?” He gave his ward the biggest puppy dog eyes he could muster, tearing Rael’s eyes away from the girl’s necklace.

“How about when we get to the Stone Circle. We’ve got to finish up over here.” The shoulders of the two kids slumped. Rael clapped their hands together, getting their attention. “But…if you two can help the others carry their stuff to the ships, I’ll, uh…” Rael looked at their expectant faces. Azmond was easily entertained. Some roughhousing, a bit of tag, and snuggling after a long day of running around kept his spirits high. ‘But I don’t know anything about Bleffy. Probably the same thing I could bribe Tipple with.’

“…Buy you two some sweets when we get there.”

“Yes!” Bleffy fist-pumped and ran over to help more adults move their things. Azmond looked confused but ran after her. A woman resembling Bleffy approached Rael. There were bags under her eyes, and she walked as if the weight of the world was on her shoulders.

“She’ll hold you to that, you know. She likes rogromme, honeyed pear, and apple tarts the most.” Rael nodded, eyes lingering on the woman’s own necklace. The woman noticed, quickly hiding it. “A gift from my husband. Late husband.” She sighed. “I was still hoping he’d come back.”

“He gave you and Bleffy those resin shards as gifts?” Bleffy’s mother nodded.

“It’s rare for an Aspirant’s village to exist for long. Usually, a Jarl somewhere dies, and the Aspirant becomes the Jarl of the village as his old followers compete with the new for positions beneath him. New Jarldoms are seldom born, but when they are, it is because they provide something the other Jarldoms cannot.” The woman held a hand where she’d hidden the resin shard. “Kl—My husband brought us those shards about a month ago. He said this was his promise that Greem would become a Jarl equal to Feldon, Trygyve, or Moryn.” She clenched her jaw as she got misty-eyed, expression downcast.

“And then?” Rael asked.

“People started to go missing. I should have seen the signs. My husband was anxious for a few days before, he too, disappeared. I felt it strange that his hunting group did not go searching for him but dismissed it as caution on their part.” Her knuckles were white. She looked up, tears finally flowing down her reddened cheeks. “That damnable blood-brother of Greem’s knew. He had to know, but he let that creature keep feeding. And now, my husband’s name is gone. My daughter’s future is poisoned, because her father was too ambitious for our own good.”

Rael followed her line of sight, witnessing villagers give Bleffy the cold shoulder as she offered to help them. They only acquiesced when Azmond insisted, and even then, Bleffy shrunk under their glares. Rael’s heart twisted in their chest, recognizing the looks Bleffy was receiving. A young Raela had grown strong, tempered in the blaze of a bitter village. But it was not something Rael would wish on any other child.

Bleffy’s mother sighed, picking up the dog skull and balancing it on top of the wooden chest she dragged behind her. “I knew what I was getting into when I wed him. ‘Velma,’ he told me, ‘I will only return from the raids with the head of prey worthy of you’. True to his word, he came back covered in fresh scars holding this warg skull.”

Rael felt a shiver climb up their spine when they realized what manner of creature the skull belonged to. A monster she’d never seen, but one that occupied the shadows of their nightmares for the duration of their trip on that damnable slave ship. Before another monster took its place.

“Sounds romantic.” Rael said in a tone that spoke volumes to the contrary.

“Wasn’t it?” Velma sighed, oblivious to Rael’s not-so-subtle opinion. “I must be going. Thank you for getting my little marigold into doing something productive, Dragonward.”

“Please, call me Rael.” They held out a hand. Velma looked at it curiously. A small smile crept onto her lips.

“Thank you, Rael.” She grasped Rael’s hand and shook it.

Rael was about to go help Azmond and Bleffy but found Pequit and Jasp still hanging back. ‘Let’s see if I can intentionally bring out Ruen’s abilities.’ Rael walked on the balls of their feet, awkwardly avoiding dead branches and uneven ground. Slowly, they snuck up on the two, foreign muscle memory taking over until they moved as quickly and silently as an owl. Occasionally, their mind and body fell out of sync, but they eventually realized the trick was not focusing too hard on moving. Until they reached right behind Jasp and Pequit, breathing down their necks. The two jumped up and turned around, color fading from their faces.

“Dragonward.” Jasp bowed his head. Pequit looked at him, then at Rael, and mimicked him stiffly.

“Jasp.” Rael stood up straighter. He was sightly hunched and avoiding making eye contact. A twinge of guilt prickled at their conscience. “I…uh…wanted to apologize for earlier.”

“Pardon?” Jasp cocked his head as Pequit gaped.

“I should have trusted you to try your best, even without threatening you. It’s just it was dangerous, and I thought…” Rael stopped, shaking their head. “Never mind. The point is, I overreacted when it came to protecting Azmond. We’ve been through difficult events, and I’ve sort of taken him under my wing…an unknown place with unknown danger brought out the worst in me, and I’m sorry.”

         Jasp smiled timidly. “I accept your apology, Dragonward. You were only doing your duty.”

         “Thanks for looking over Az, by the way.” Rael nodded. “Did he give you any trouble?”

         “Aside from running around and climbing everywhere, none.” Jasp cocked his head in thought and continued. “He did manage to convince that girl to play tag with him, which got the other children together into a big game. Pequit and I had to rush around and prevent them from running into the forest.”

         “Those kids have way too much energy.” Pequit huffed. “It’s as if they haven’t been outside in weeks.”

         “They probably haven’t.” Rael responded. “The demon has been picking people off about a month ago. Staying inside was safer.”

         “So it was a demon.” Pequit gasped. “I’d only heard whispers from those who returned…There hasn’t been a sighting in over a century!” He grabbed Rael by the shoulders and shook them. “You must tell me more.”

         Rael shook him off and pushed him back. “You’ll learn everything from Meayetti. She was there, disguised as Captain Kip.”

         Pequit winced. “That does explain her absence…did render Kip unconscious and replace him, or…?”

         “From what I gather, she replaced him after he went behind the encirclement to recover.” Rael narrowed their eyes. “Does she normally do that? Pull secrets from people by knocking out their friends and pretending to be them?”

“[Presdigitation] is a foundational spell of hers. She tends to use spells derived from it a bit too much, sometimes to our detriment.” He furrowed his bushy eyebrows and snapped his fingers. “Why, a few weeks ago, I was sweet-talking this fascinating trader from Doub, only to find out Meayetti had replaced her for some inane reason! I told her—”

“I get it, she’s a handful.” Rael interrupted. “Is there any way to get her to stop?”

The skald shook his head somberly.

“She’s a stubborn contrarian. Tell her to be quiet, she’ll speak up. Tell her to explain, she’ll shut her mouth. Asking her not to sneak around for secrets is like asking a fish not to swim or a bird not to fly.”

“Great.” Rael sighed, biting their knuckle.

“If I may, Dragonward,” Jasp stepped in. “Maybe you should consider taking away the power she has over you. A swamp panther will pursue its prey until it drops. But if there is no more prey…”

“The panther gives up.” Rael finished quietly. “You’ve given me a lot to think about, thanks. No need to keep looking over Az.” Rael left the two to help Azmond, their thoughts muddled and turbulent.

Riggers unmoored the ships and were pulled back up in swaying winds, grim faces lightening as the ships sailed further away from the now abandoned village. The captain’s quarters of the three airships were used as medical bays for those too injured to work on the ship, the able-bodied villagers taking their places among the ships. They were the first brought up.

As it turns out, a few barrels of wine had already been opened. Unwilling to leave behind the barrels, they were brought up to the ships before everyone had gone aboard. It worked as a great motivation for those left to get aboard quickly. More cups were shared, and the mood lightened enough for the Faulk to sing small chanties together across the three ships.

Rael held their own cup close to their breast, looking at their reflection in the dulling evening light. Aside from Rael and Azmond, three people already knew of their pasts as slaves. Many more knew that they had a secret to keep. How much longer could the two of them keep it? What if there were other survivors who could identify them?

Slavery was always something Rael had heard about in their youth at Tulip’s Hold. It was always something that happened to others. Prisoners of war, the indebted, criminals. They’d been told as a child that if they were bad, the evil Bergin or Faulk would steal them away to work in their mines, on their ships, or in their beds. Only girls were threatened with the last option.

It was only a matter of time before more people would learn of their past. But Rael had allies now. Neither Feldon nor Edith seemed to hold their past against them, and even Meayetti, as insufferable as she was, hadn’t treated them differently. It was only a hint about their past to her. Was it better to let the secret fester between Rael and the rest of the crew, or would Rael allow the wall between the Faulk and themselves to crack apart? This separation that Rael kept between themselves and everyone but Azmond felt like another way to keep themselves safe. After all, if they couldn’t trust their family, who could they turn to? Rael was lost in their mulberry reflection, the singing and dancing rising up around them fading into the background of Rael’s awareness.

‘Were they ever my family?’ The thought came to Rael at that moment. They’d only seen glimpses of what other families were like. Others didn’t compete for their parent’s love because it wasn’t a prize to be given, but something freely given. Raela had walked on eggshells her whole life, keeping themselves far from their father for fear of triggering his temper. Her mother viewed her children as an annoying chore she was forced to deal with. Her father had his favorite, the firstborn Yolfis, and a twisted pride in his quantity of children, rather than who they were. Rael sipped the wine, the cool liquid sliding down their throat and quelling their inner fire.

‘Would they have fought demons by my side, as these Faulk have? Would any of them have risked their lives to help me?’ Rael’s thoughts stilled. ‘Tipple, maybe. But that’s it.’ Rael chugged the last of their wine and stood up, making their way to the front of the slowly moving boat. The cheering faded somewhat as they pushed their way to the crowd to sit in front of the skalds playing their instruments. The crew had their eyes on them, nudging their laughing fellows, hushing them to pay attention. Rael clanged their tin cup on the floor besides them, the skalds stopping their tune in surprise. All attention on the boat was on Rael, and the other two boats had their own parties quiet down in attention.

Rael almost shrunk under the attention, stomach twisting in knots. Until they saw Bleffy staring at them from her mother’s lap, waving vigorously. And Rael found their voice.

“Every story has a beginning.” Rael began slowly, focusing on Bleffy to avoid acknowledging the crowd looking directly at them. “The greatest ones have storied beginnings of legions of noble ancestors. Faulk stories most of all, for who else could claim to be aided in battle by the ghosts of those long since gone?”

There were a few cheers, crewmen slamming cups together.

“I’ve noticed two exceptions, although it may be three now. Bjorn Dragonward was found as a babe, raised by a mother bear. Ruen Dragonward was rescued from the Venellian torture pits as a young man. And now there’s me.” The only sound was sizzling meat on heated stones and wind dragging through rigging, the people enraptured by Rael. “I often got into fights because of how much people disliked my greedy smith of a father. Joke’s on them, my family disliked me more.” Rael paused, hurting as the statement left their mouth. There were some unsteady chuckles as people supped their wine, quietly chewing on spiced meats and Rael’s words. “They sold me into slavery a few months ago. It was on the slave ship that I met Az.” Quiet blanketed the ship, people looking at Rael in surprise. Rael smiled at the memory of the young boy struggling to walk around in his iron mask, guided by the gentle Wollow. And as the memories flowed from a trickle into a stream, the words spilled out of Rael mouth with greater and greater ease.

They talked about how Wollow got them all to work together on a plan to escape, how they took control of the ship through subterfuge and strength, and how they got the ship’s crew on their side. All while carefully omitting Rael’s status as a Meta. With every minor victory, Rael’s audience cheered. Every setback, they winced. When Rael revealed how Caldon had revealed the smuggler’s ship to Bergin, there was an outcry that pierced through the foggy night. But when it came time to reveal Yannis’ appearance, Rael stopped. They looked inside their empty cup, then up at the light of the moons. Azmond was snoozing on their lap, corners of his mouth stained with sauce.

“I’m not sure how to explain what happened next.” Rael avoided looking at their audience, quite a few leaning tipsily out of their seats. “I’m not sure you’d even believe me. I barely believe it myself.”

“Demons?” Someone uttered within the crowd. Rael putting a hand over Azmond’s head as he scrunched his face in his sleep, gently rubbing the base of his horns with their index finger.

“Not quite.” Rael ignored the murmuring. “We don’t know why, but the Rainbow Fire…stopped. Then something came. It was bigger than our ships. It grew from the seas like a claw trying to rip into the sky. When its eyes opened, it was different than what we saw in the eyes of the demon we slew. There was intelligence, thought. And hatred.” Rael shivered, pulling Azmond closer towards themselves. “So much hatred. It spat out balls of flesh, which tore into the ship in crew. Or contorted themselves into new creatures, twisted abominations of flesh. The thing had given birth to what must have been a hundred demons in seconds.”

The Faulk looked at one another, whites of their eyes reflecting in the moonlight as they whispered among themselves.

“Are you implying—” Pequit gulped from behind Rael.

“I don’t know.” Rael said. “We called it that. We fought the demons, but the bigger monster destroyed our ship and Bergin’s. Rael and I clung to some rigging, and as the wind took us away, we watched the Rainbow Fire come back, destroying whatever the hells it was. Or maybe it was all a fever-induced hallucination.” Rael shrugged. “But I know Az saw the same thing I did. Make of the story what you will. We’re going to bed.”

Rael carried the Child of Dragons, gently snoring in their ear, into the captain’s quarters. The crew parted to make way, their own troubled expressions following them as they disseminated into their own spots to sleep. Rael set Azmond down in his hammock, but his hand grabbed onto their tunic, refusing to let them go. Rael smiled softly, nestling his head into the crook of their neck, and letting sleep take them. Somehow, even with Az sleeping on top of them, Rael felt lighter.

<><><> 

Rael was dreaming again. They’d begun to recognize it when the memories of their predecessors would visit them in their sleep. It was more real than a dream, in a way. Dreams were personal, chaotic, and relied on feelings and impressions to push a narrative. The memories were raw, visceral. They could feel sea spray hit Bjorn’s face as he held the prow of his ancient, seabound drakkar just as they could see a busy city on the horizon. ‘Napjta.’ Bjorn’s thoughts slid against Rael’s own, his excitement at what to come mixing with nervousness.

The sails were taut, the wind pulling the ship at such speed that it felt as if they were jumping over each wave. A bigger wave than most made his crew stumble, but Bjorn stood as firm as the mast.

“Father!” Someone called from behind him. Rael felt the smile stretch his mouth wide, wind whistling through his missing teeth. A young man passed the tiller and rushed to Bjorn, moving to the sway of the waves like a sailor fifty years his senior. When Bjorn’s eyes met his son’s, his smile faded. “Must we do this?”

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Bjorn thought he was scared, but his steely red eyes met Bjorn’s without flinching. ‘Not even a man grown, and yet nearly my height and unafraid. Good.’ Bjorn sent a silent glare to the members of the crew scowling behind Jormun’s back.

“Aye, child.” The captain thumbed his axe, checking its sharpness. “We have nothing to gain from fighting our kin. Everything to gain from them.” Bjorn pointed backwards to the city that waited for them.

“They are innocent in this.” Jormun clenched his sharp teeth and shook his head vigorously, nearly shaking his red hair loose from its braid.

“Wrong, boy.” The captain stood straighter, looking down on his son. “They hired Faulk to kill Faulk. They used our desperation to shed the blood of our kin, deepening the cracks between our tribes.”

“They don’t deserve this.” Jormun reiterated. “Those who made those decisions are gone now.”

“But their gold, their silver, and their iron remain.” He turned around, seeing only the city. “With that, we can forge a new future. Begin uniting the Faulk.”

There was a glimmer in the eyes off all onboard. This spark of hope was what united them all beneath this disgraced captain. Too many had lost friends, family, and lovers to the constant battles between the Faulk. Too many were stuck, bond by oath and blood to different sides.

“We’ve lost too much. I cannot let Xythael’s legacy end.” Bjorn said softly, letting the wind tear away his words. The city grew closer, enough for them to see fishing boats bobbing in the docks.

“Xythael wouldn’t want this.” Jormun’s hearing was sharper than his crimson horns.

“Are there any who would challenge me for the position of captain?!” Bjorn called out, not even turning around. He knew none stood save his son. “And you, child?” Bjorn turned his head to meet Jormun’s gaze with one eye. His heart thumped in his chest. The captain could fight against ten warriors on his own. But a fae-touched, no, fae-born? It was hard enough when Jormun only reached up to his shoulder.

“No, captain.” His son averted his gaze and backed away. Bjorn was a bit disappointed; the Faulk looked down on a coward. Others might see his progeny as one such craven, but they were fools.

“Are you afraid, boy?” Bjorn asked as Jormun stood by his side.

“I just wish there was a better way.” Jormun sighed. “One where nobody got hurt.”

“You are soft, boy.” Bjorn said. “Xythael showed us that true peace can only exist under overwhelming strength. It is who wields that strength that determines right and wrong.” The city bell began ringing in alarm, the people, no bigger than ants in Bjorn’s eyes, began scrambling. “They’ve only just realized what we’re here to do.” He raised his axe in the air. “Men, at arms!”

Tomes were summoned as the Faulk warriors prepared themselves for a bloody fight. Bjorn’s and Jormun’s Tomes appeared; a large grizzly bear and a man resembling Bjorn himself. Men rushed into position with bows, positioning themselves in two rows along the ship’s starboard side. At the docks, men in armor held spears and large, rectangular shields and at the ready. Behind them were people in robes, hefty books sparkling with arcane might. Balls of lightning and fire hovered above them, growing larger with every passing second.

“Ready anchors! We work in [Harmony]!” Bjorn shouted, the spell encompassing all aboard. At once, the ship no longer became a collection of different people, but a single organism united in a shared rhythm, a shared song, a shared dream. “Archers, cast spells and draw!”

The Faulk cast spells on their arrows. Not just their own, but their neighbor’s as well. Spells layered over the arrowheads, not just increasing their penetrative power, their speed, and their sharpness, but adding a plethora of effects to whomever would be wounded. The mages flung their spells towards the ship.

“Tack! Drop anchors! FIRE!”

Three orders. A single mistake would spell their doom. But they’d practiced this maneuver a hundred times before, and they would live to practice it a hundred times more. The ship glided seamlessly through the water, turning just in time to avoid the magical explosions and the anchor dropping enough with the changing wind to slow the ship a few meters away from the docks. A hail of enchanted arrows, reaching the identical heights, in identical arcs, landed among the soldiers, tearing through shields and into their bodies. Screams of agony were quickly silenced as the arrows exploded, burst into flames, or pushed poison into their bodies. Madness spread among the ranks, the mages trying to bring back order. But it was no use. The troops were already confused and in disarray.

“[Great Leap]!” The crew chorused together as they leaped onto the docks.

Blade met flesh in a frenzy, the Faulk warriors tearing through the enemies like wild animals. At the front was Bjorn, his axe cleaving though limbs like they were dry tinder. A soldier thrust his spear towards him, but Bjorn side-stepped, pulling the weapon from the befuddled youth’s hands. The soldier looked at him for a moment in surprise, then rushed forwards to tackle the captain. Bjorn slammed the heft of the youth’s own spear into his neck, sending the man down in a choking mess. Another soldier sliced at him with a sword, Bjorn catching the blade on his axe. The man jumped back to avoid Bjorn’s strike and was run through with his friend’s spear for the trouble. A third soldier charged, spear-first, dancing around mangled bodies and his fleeing allies. Bjorn deflected the tip, letting the spear go over his shoulder and delivering a mighty swing into the man’s neck. The man gurgled, eyes losing focus as blood welled through his jerkin. Bjorn pulled out his axe, letting the man fall and looked around. He had only lost one man, whereas the bodies of his foes littered the docks.

“Morkin!” Bjorn called his first mate. “Go to the merchant’s district and cause as much damage as you can! Only take as much as you can carry!” He patted the man as he led a dozen men up the eastern road. “Jormun! Go to the craftsman district and free them of whatever they’re making. Make no mess and be quick!” Bjorn felt a tingle of worry in his breast as he watched his son nod and lead another dozen up the western road into Napjda.

“As for the rest of you louts,” Bjorn turned to the remaining thirty men, “we’re going directly to the mansion! And we’re taking anything that looks valuable!”

They roared in approval, charging after Bjorn when he rushed up the northerly road, the palace at the center of Napjda an alluring beacon of riches and alcohol for the frenzied Faulk. Screams rang out through the city as fires erupted from the merchant’s district. Bjorn and his men ignored the panicking city-dwellers, the crowd shifting around and away from the raiders. A group of guards rushed from an intersection, pausing in surprise at the sight of the Faulk. Bjorn barreled through them, knocking three men to the ground. His Tome-bear followed, crushing a hapless guard’s skull underneath its weight, splattering his brains across the cobblestone road. The soldiers had no chance to react, the troop of raiders tore into the contingent with axes in swords before they had a chance to ready their spears. A few ran. Bjorn motioned for ten of his men to follow. They would rejoin them at the ship.

His heart thundered in his chest as they approached the palisade. Soldiers stood firm in front of the portcullis, shields up and spears pointed directly at the raiders. Archers notched arrows from the top of the walls, ready to draw. The two groups paused. Sweat beaded Bjorn’s brow as his gaze remained firm and unrelenting.

“Captain…” One of his men whispered. “Did we really need to go to the governor’s mansion? Surely, we can gain more elsewhere.”

“No.” Bjorn hissed. “We must show that we are swifter and more dangerous than lightning, unrelenting as the waves. We need to prove to everyone that they are only safe by our mercy. So that when they see our ships, they do not come to meet us with weapons and spells but seek shelter from our storm.”

“How are we supposed to get through them?”

“With a gift.” Bjorn palmed a glass ball glowing with pink light. “The boy’s mother gave me three to protect him. This is the last one.”

His men stood firm, even as a shiver of fear passed through them. Faefire. The archers drew their bows. The spearmen took a step forward. And a glowing pink orb landed among them. Bjorn’s men shut their eyes tightly, trusting their captain to lead them.

Crack!

A bright pink light, a fire spreading through them faster than any normal fire. All who saw it were blinded, save Bjorn. He stared into the light, the intense flames that boiled the eyes of all who bore witness would only flicker softly for him. He was almost lost in the images the flames painted, using the dancing, burning men as a canvas. When he first met her. When he showed her his ship and his village. Her curious, beautiful face as they ate together. Embracing her. Loving her. He had bedded many women, but even now her calls to him struck a chord in his heart, echoing a part that desperately craved companionship. He was tempted, so very tempted, to let the memories take him and burn away his mortal form. To join her in the feywilds, away from danger, away from the madness of the world of men.

The fire surged, a pink wave of emotion and destruction erupting through the soldiers, sloughing flesh from bone in seconds. Their screams were laced with cries of ecstasy and confused giggling. Their armor melted into charred flesh as the cobblestone liquified beneath their feet. Those who still had breath in their lungs and intact mouths called for others to join them. There was only light, pain, and the spectrum of human joys and vices, burning to the smell of cinnamon, honey, and cozy hearths. Bjorn steeled his heart one last time.

“[Great Leap!]” The Faulk jumped over the smokeless fire, landing among the blinded archers, and cutting them down like stalks of wheat. Once the palisade was slick with blood, the Faulk turned their eyes to the mansion.

“Only kill those who attack. Leave the rest to tell tale of our might.” The captain ordered his men. “Five minutes.”

They stormed through the mansion like wild animals, tearing down tapestries and smashing precious vases. Maids and butlers squealed in fear, the raiders laughing as they ran. The kitchen was raided for silverware, the rooms ransacked for gold candlesticks and jewelry. Bjorn found the governor’s room, kicking open the door with ease. The desk was a mess of documents, papers littering the floor between it and the bedroom. A secret door was ajar there, leading into a dark passageway. Bjorn ignored it, instead observing the room with a critical eye.

‘He couldn’t take everything. The papers are important, and nobles typically have a sigil ring. Taking too much would have slowed him down, so aside from the coffers, there should be something of his own here.’

Bjorn felt confident that some of the others would raid the coffers, and he wasn’t keen on taking the lion’s share. The richer his men, the more would follow him.

He pulled down an ostentatious painting and tossed it on the bed. Nothing behind the painting. He began tearing away every painting from the walls, his bear ripping into the floral-print wallpaper. His Tome-bear flipped the bed, the chandelier tinkling as it was torn from the ceiling by the mattress. Bjorn smiled. Aside from a few rubies and emeralds nestled within the chandelier, there was a small alcove beneath the bed. It looked like a box would have fit there, no doubt full of precious gems and promissory notes. Gems could be sold, but the notes were worthless to Bjorn. The gold bars that remained, however, were an unexpected boon. He stuffed a few into his specially crafted knapsack, wincing at the extra thirty kilos of weight.

There was a shriek from the room next to his. Bjorn sighed. A side effect of the faefire. He left the governor’s room, entering the other room where one of his men was tearing the clothes off a maid. Rael’s consciousness burst from within Bjorn’s memories, tearing themselves free at the sight of a lascivious Faulk trying to have his way with a woman.

“Brak!” Bjorn’s voice was hard. “We do not have the time.”

Brak growled, spittle flying from his lips as he hunched over the crying woman. His eyes cleared when they met Bjorn’s and he hastily pulled up his trousers. “Sorry Cap’n. The smell of the faefire…it got in me head.”

“And you’ve wasted your time satisfying your loins.” Bjorn scowled. “There’s some gold in the governor’s room. Take three bars, leave the rest for anybody who wants them.”

The Faulk left in a hurry, Bjorn staring at the sobbing woman. Rael raged inside his head, pushing at the bounds of memory to get him to apologize, do something, even if they knew it would ring hollow. But he just left. He met with the other raiders at the entrance of the mansion, noting a few with loosened belts and others with fresh bloodstains. Bjorn’s Tome-bear roared, a call for all the others to finish their raiding and leave. Within a minute, the last of the Faulk left the mansion, carrying a big bag that he passed to Bjorn’s Tome. The gains from the coffers. They opened the gate and ran back towards the ship. Something was different.

The merchant’s district was still burning, and although there was some faded screaming and cries for help in the distance, the streets by the mansion were empty. No soldiers, no people, just an eerie silence. All the doors were shut tight, and windows were barred shut with furniture.

“I don’t like this.” One of his men said. “A few people doing this is normal. But all of them, and so quickly?”

“We got what we came for.”  Bjorn stated, leading the way.

They passed a few more blocks. Bjorn could have sworn some thing was following them, hiding just beyond his sight. A loose tile shifting on the roofs above. A pitter-patter in the alleyways. The glint of something moving in the stark noon shadows. Those who could cast sensory spells detected nothing. Bjorn chalked it up to nerves, but his instincts whispered to be careful. When they turned a corner, they paused, but kept running.

Nobody said anything, but they recognized the body. Mauled beyond recognition, it lay against a wall, hands locked on axes in a deathgrip. A layer of blood covered the wall around him in a splatter, a small trickle running down the road gutters for a couple meters. He was missing his braid—his death rites were already done.

Bjorn didn’t look back. A few of his men did. That’s when they attacked. Three jumped from the roofs, landing on the distracted men, and tearing into the nape of their necks with their massive jaws. Just as the raiders turned around to avenge their fallen brethren, two more bounded from the dark alleyways. They each grabbed a man by the leg and shook them vigorously, tearing muscle and bone from their bodies.

Spells flung towards the massive beasts, sparking and washing off their hides as if they never existed.

“They’ve got antimagic collars!” Someone called.

The raiders stopped casting spells, instead cleaving into the wolf-like creatures with steel. Even then, their hides were thick, the blades leaving light cuts on their muscled bodies. The chaotic melee was not one they could afford to waste time on. Bjorn charged one of them, trying to slam his axe into its skull. Just as it was about to land, the creature twisted out of the way, facing him with a very human-like smirk. Intelligence flared in its eyes, Raela and Bjorn shivered in tandem. A warg. It looked like a massive wolf, except its snout was shorter and jaws wider. Bjorn rushed again, purposefully overextending his reach. The warg fell for it, ducking underneath the swing and leaping up for his neck. The captain caught its snout and pushed it to the ground. Just as he was about to deliver a deathblow, a pair of jaws grabbed him by the shoulder and brought him to the ground. Another Faulk tried to stab it, but it jumped over them both to attack another that was about to injure another member of its pack. The first warg shifted out of Bjorn’s grip, smiling evilly when it looked at him. Just as it was about to bound for his neck, his Tome-bear swiped at it with a meaty claw.

A warg howled in pain, and the first glanced away. The Tome-bear charged and the warg easily leapt out of the way. A feint that exposed the bear’s neck. The warg dived on the bears back, its collar sparking as its jaws clenched at the bear’s throat. The injuries and the antimagic would soon prove too much for the Tome, as it sporadically faded out of existence, its bags falling to the ground. Bjorn was on his feet now, delivering a devastating cut into the warg’s spine. It whined in pain and fell to the ground, the Tome-bear dissipating. The captain raised his axe to deliver a deathblow…and summoned his Tome again to intercept the warg that tried to ambush him again. Bjorn and bear struck as one, and two corpses lay still.

He stood tall, labored breath. “Report!”

His crew looked over one another and called out information. Seven of his men were injured, and ten were dead. Towards the end of the fight, one was pulled, screaming, into an alleyway. ‘No doubt a trap. Whatever these creatures are, they’re smart.’

“Recover what we can. Speed takes priority.” Bjorn left the bags of gold coins his bear had dropped, instructing instead to take the dead’s loot. They would not die for nothing.

Men who had lost limbs grit their teeth and let fire close their wounds. Emergency splints were made, spells were cast to make prosthetic legs of wood, stone, and shadow. Bjorn personally cut the braids of all the fallen, wrapping them around the necks of their bags full of plunder. Stowing them on his Tome-bear, he signaled his men. They ran, the injured grimacing with every step. Behind them, the howls of dozens of wargs echoed throughout the streets.

“Now’s the time to use your magic, men!”

Magic spread through the limbs of the raiders, increasing their speed and nullifying pain. They turned another corner to find a similarly bloodied Jormun and his group. The young man smiled and waved. A shadow passed over him.

“Son!” Bjorn cried.

The warg landed on Jormun’s back, causing him to stumble forward. It opened its mouth in a vicious grin and chomped down on his neck…only to be pulled off and be put in a chokehold by Jormun, who was still focused on his father. The beast struggled, but the strength that had brought down a bear was no match for the scaled man’s steel grip. In one deft movement, Jormun snapped its neck and let the body drop.

“These are strange wolves, Captain.” Jormun rallied his men behind him and jogged ahead of Bjorn. “Smart and ruthless. I’ve never seen a breed like this.”

“They are wargs.” Bjorn was taken aback by the unfamiliar voice. There was an old man with crippled legs, one of three people carried by Jormun’s men. “The result of cruel experiments by the former prince.”

Noticing Bjorn’s expression, Jormun explained. Bjorn ran by his side, preferring to focus most of his attention on any further ambushes.”

“You said we would need to forge a new future.” Jormun chuckled. “I found us some blacksmiths.”

“They are not Faulk.” Bjorn grumbled, trying not to be distracted by the allure of the approaching docks.

“Maximillian, Joffrey, and Gloria have agreed to teach us and craft for us for ten years.” The young man stated, emphasizing their names. “So long as we treat them as guests.”

“A much better deal than what we had before.” A middle-aged man explained, wiggling his mangled feet. “Get too good at making something in Napjda, and they’ll make sure you never leave.” The howling got louder, and he looked around nervously. “So maybe we should hurry?”

The run back to the docks was tense, but uneventful. What they found there was disheartening. Only half of Morkin’s men had returned, far more injured than either of the other two groups. They were setting up the rigging and nervously looking around for any foes. When they saw the others arriving, they beckoned them to hurry. Morkin wasn’t among them.

No words were said. The Faulk and their new friends hastily clambered in the boat, pulling up the anchor. The wind was against them and the boat was heavy with ill-gotten riches. But they were leaving behind friends with whom they’d shared ships, ale, and homes. Bjorn knew that feeling, when you grabbed an oar and your muscles pulled with someone who was no longer there. The soreness of their muscles was drowning in the ocean of pain in their hearts. They rowed, oars slapping against the water in disorderly beats before a new rhythm began to form. A howling, screaming city burned behind them.

“What happened?” Bjorn asked one of Morkin’s men, who lay on the captain’s deck with the others who were too injured to row. He was trying to flex muscles that weren’t there, the ghost of his arm starting to haunt him.

“We…we got there. We started a few fires, took some trinkets. People were running around. Easy pickings. Then came a whistle. Two short bursts. And the people all screamed louder than before. Strangled, desperate screams. They all ran inside, sometimes even into burning buildings.” He swallowed and looked up to his captain. “I saw a mother abandon her child, captain. Left the poor kid outside. Thought she was mad. Then the beasts came. They attacked us, but they played with whoever was left outside.” He shuddered. “The boy had a piece of his leg torn off, and he cried and shrieked. But then the creature let him go. Let him stumble away…then jumped on him again. Tore another piece of him off. Just a nibble. Let him run again. And again. And again. Until the boy had more wounds than skin and he could barely move. The monster just tore the kid’s head off. Cap’n, I swear it looked at me when it did it. It looked at me and smiled.”

Bjorn didn’t know what to say. Neither did Rael.

“Hatred and violence are all they know.” A woman said. The craftswoman, Gloria, sat with the injured. She was looking at Napjda. “The former prince fancied himself an alchemist. He wanted to create troops that would kill anything without question. Faster and stronger than any man, and resistant to magic.”

“He found it.” Bjorn said.

“He did.” Gloria nodded. “At first, he thought he could just encourage animals to violate women. That’s what happened to most female slaves in Napjda. Found excuses for misbehavior and then…” She waved weakly.

“That sounds like it shouldn’t have worked.” Bjorn frowned.

“It didn’t.” Gloria said. “Not until he found a Meta woman.”

Rael recoiled. Not at the revelation, but at the thoughts that passed through Bjorn’s head. Because for a moment, he was tempted to ask more. The thought lingered in his mind, ruminating on the effectiveness of the warg. He thought to himself how he could unite Faulk with an army of warg at his beck and call. Images of wolf-warg, panther-warg and crocodile-warg decimating his foes danced in his mind. All he needed was a Meta woman.

         Rael woke with clenched teeth, their heart beating faster than a hummingbird’s.

<><><> 

The bell rang on the deck. The crew opened their bunks blearily, crawling from underneath the benches of their peers. People hung from the mast, the rigging, and an adventurous few even slid down the sides of the sail to land on the deck. The veterans and the green, the villagers and the crew, the young and old clambered to get a view.

Azmond pulled a disinterested Rael to the front of the prow, the crew making way for the Child of Dragons and his ward. They smiled as Rael’s bored expression bloomed into one of awe.

On a rocky hill was a city unlike any in the world. Stone houses with wooden roofs surrounded its base, a clear line where civilization stopped and nature began marked by megaliths taller than the ship they sailed. Massive, calcified roots entwined themselves in the hill, homes carved into every nook and cranny. Around these roots were ropes thicker than Rael’s waist, anchoring titanic almond-shaped baskets to the craggy hill. The baskets were woven with great branches, swaying gently in the wind, connected by massive nets and bridges that spanned each one. Each basket was different: one with somewhat loose weaving was lush with fruit trees and packed dirt, another with tight weaving was more peppered with homes much like the nests that hung from the grand mangrove tree in Feldon. One of the biggest had massive gaps between the weave, showing several large floors bustling with activity. This one revealed how the baskets were floating, a massive calidaerum holding the entire structure up.

There must have been ten of these giant baskets, with an eleventh being woven around a burgeoning calidaerum. All the while, people walked across the swaying bridges and climbed the nets, a commotion of activity erupting as more and more people noticed Feldon’s ships approaching.

“Quite a view, eh?” Kip chuckled at Rael’s open mouth. “Y’might wanna close your mouth. Wouldn’t want a mouthful of gull.”

Rael’s mouth snapped shut.

“Like you weren’t the same when you saw Stone Circle.” Derrol said, standing by him.

“Did he get a mouthful of gull?” Rael asked.

“Nah, he choked on a fly.” Derrol smiled as Rael laughed and Kip sputtered.

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