Elemental Ascension, page 12
“Me too,” Ash replied and slapped Kite hard on the shoulder. “I'm sorry about that.”
Reverie smiled. “It's alright. We're alive, aren't we? You did your best.”
“My best wasn't good enough,” he said. “Is Raven safe, too?”
Deerbolt nodded and moved aside to allow Sarronious to get back to work. He pushed through, knocking into Ash purposefully to express his disdain, then barked orders at a bunch of her deckhands to return to the Grace and check for damage.
“I deserved that.”
“He'll cool off,” Deerbolt told him. “What's important is we're all still in one piece, and we can set sail at dawn.”
“So soon? What about the First Watchtower?” Reverie asked, surprised she didn't want to stay and help them rebuild.
“We're needed elsewhere,” she told her, “and the Guard may not want us here when they bury their dead.”
“I see,” Reverie whispered, then led Kite back to the barracks. “We should gather our things.”
When they had gone, Ash turned to Deerbolt and sighed. “Alright, tell me the truth. We're in deep trouble, aren't we?”
Deerbolt shrugged. “I think we would be worse off had you not intervened, personally.”
“You're not serious?”
“Deathly.”
“But I killed three people, knocked down a thousand and something-year-old wall, and almost destroyed your livelihood.” Ash rubbed his head with his knuckles. “I can't be their new favourite Elemental.”
“Without you, the Order would have killed thirty, maybe more. They'd have blown more of this fortress to smithereens and the Grace would have been pillaged, burned, and sunk. You and I would be dead, if not captured and imprisoned for slavery or worse. The Guardsmen here are smart—they know you saved them,” she finished, her mouth pressed into a thin line.
“Doesn't make me feel any better,” Ash said.
Out of the corner of his eye to his right, Ash saw the bodies of the three drowned Guardsmen being wrapped in cloth and laid out for mourning.
In the tradition of the watchtowers, their bodies would remain close to the location of death, so those fighting alongside would have a chance to pay their respects. This period usually only lasted a day or two, before they were ceremonially cremated on a large wooden pyre. A Salamander Elemental often helped with that stage, but the First Watchtower hadn't had a Guardsman with the ability for many years now. They also hadn't had a death in half as many, so it hadn't mattered much that the flame came from a firepit or a torch rather than one of their brothers.
Now Ash was here, he considered offering his services because it was the least he could do. But, after Deerbolt's earlier remarks, he wasn't sure their killer would be welcome at the funeral, let alone the one to send them to Akasha or wherever their souls were destined to go.
“I'll gather my remaining crew and have them bring supplies to the Grace for our voyage to the Northern Trading Post.”
“What about Raven?” he asked.
Deerbolt scowled. “What about him?”
“Is he coming with us? The library—”
“Don't worry about the library. Raven keeps his most precious editions locked away.”
Ash was relieved. His shoulders relaxed. “Will you be sad to leave him behind again? Why not bring him with us? He's knowledgeable, he could help to train me.”
“No, Raven is too set in his ways and he's happy here,” she whispered, then winked. “He's been through enough, anyway. Raven and I will see each other again. I'm sure.”
Ash lowered his head, hoping that was true.
Deerbolt inhaled sharply, grinned, then said, “No more moping around here. Hop to it, Scoundrel, we have work to do, and we sail at dawn.”
She gave his backside a firm pat, jolting him from his depression. Ash's brow lifted and he sucked his lips, wide-eyed and wondering if that gesture was intended as anything but a motivator.
Ash watched her leave and re-adjusted his grip on the book, then checked the key was still safely around his neck. The ribbon was sodden and stuck to his skin, but the key dangled in place, glowing whenever Ash thought about using his powers, or of times he already had. It was as if he and the key were made for one another, and that ancient bit of metal could read his thoughts. The key was the key to his Tetrad inheritance, it seemed.
The key is the key, Ash remembered Raven saying, and only when he truly embraced who and what he was, knowing it could protect those he loved and make a real difference, did its abilities ignite.
Trying not to make eye contact with passing Guardsmen, Ash removed himself from the fortress grounds and headed downhill to the Cerulean Grace. He left behind the damage he'd caused and the lives he'd taken, but held his head high as he thought about the evil he had prevented, and would continue to if he could perfect a few more incantations. He hadn't tried to use his Gnome powers yet. He wasn't sure, but he may have tapped into his Slyph powers when he pushed the Grace back out to sea. Either that, or Raven had been assisting from somewhere high and dry.
I didn't get to say goodbye, he realised, peering back over his shoulder at the devastation. But it didn't matter—he and Raven had already exhausted the extent of their relationship. The old man had given him everything he needed to keep Deerbolt safe from this point forth, and for that, he would be forever grateful.
I never was that great at saying goodbye, anyway.
Chapter Eleven
A Cartomancer's Curse
Ash boarded the Cerulean Grace and braced himself. Would he face a broken mast, more holes in the deck, a damaged mascot or worse, a hole in the ship's hull? A breach would mean they'd take on water, and she couldn't sail to the Northern Trading Post if they'd sink or capsize. Deerbolt wouldn't risk it.
He was surprised to find the ship in one piece, except for the odd bump and scrape to the wooden panelling and a rip in one of the lower masts. Items were strewn everywhere, barrels had spilt and everything was soaking wet, but otherwise, the Grace was ready and able to sail at dawn.
Sarronious halted Ash as he hopped up on deck, de-tangling his foot from the last rung of the wooden rope ladder and groaning.
Could this day get any worse?
“I need to speak with you.”
Ash barged past him, cuddling the damp book to his chest. “Not now.” He sighed.
“I said—”
“I heard what you said,” Ash snapped, storming towards Deerbolt's cabin, between two deckhands busy tidying the poop deck. He dodged boxes and chests on his way there, all of which should have been secured with the rest of the cargo.
“We need to talk.”
“Aye, she's expecting me, Sarronious.” Ash grumbled.
“No, you and I need to talk.”
“About what?”
Ash didn't bother to turn around. He continued walking to make it absolutely clear to Sarronious he didn't have the time nor patience for his games. He knew the smitten First Mate would do everything in his power to have Ash banished from the voyage after the stunt he pulled, though it was accidental. Then, he'd be in with a chance at wooing the Captain, who he so obviously loved.
“About what you did back there.”
“It was dumb, and I'm sorry. Deerbolt is over it. So should you be.”
“I'm not trying to berate you,” Sarronious finally said, and Ash stopped abruptly.
Wait, he wasn't? This gigantic, over-protective sailor wasn't about to hold him responsible for damaging the First Watchtower's defences and ruining their lives?
“I wanted to thank you,” he said, a little sheepishly.
He didn't want the other men on board to hear him give in to this reckless Elemental—Sarronious was all about asserting dominance and power over them.
“You saved our lives.” He swallowed hard, then corrected himself. “You saved her life. Takes a brave man to reveal he's a Tetrad—something that could get him killed or make him a target, for selfless reasons. I wanted you to know we all appreciate it.”
Ash didn't know what to say, so he opted not to say anything. He nodded and half-smiled.
“For what it's worth, I don't think what you did was dumb, Ash. I think it was incredible, and something none of us have ever seen, nor will ever see again. Tetrads are—”
“We're rare.”
We, Ash thought. He owned it.
He grinned. “I'm not in full control of the other elements yet, but I'm learning.” Ash adjusted his grip on the book and tapped the cover. “A gift from Raven.”
“Is that how you were able to form the tsunami?”
“Hmm,” Ash responded, then shuddered at the memory of its enormous weight heading straight for everything he knew and its intent on destroying his new life, however brief it had been.
Ash set off walking, but Sarronious stopped him again.
“Is the girl alright?”
“You mean Reverie?” Ash asked.
“Aye.”
“Safe and well. She and her husband should already be onboard, or heading this way soon. They are still our priority, don't worry.”
“And your powers?”
Ash frowned. “What about them?”
“Can we expect any further... accidents?”
Ash screwed up his nose and shrugged. “Let's see, shall we?”
“Aye.” Sarronious grinned, then headed off to assist with the clean-up, leaving Ash alone with his thoughts, and a huge smile on his face.
He sat for a while in Deerbolt's cabin, trying to prepare what he was going to say to her when she arrived. Before leaving the First Watchtower, she wanted to find Raven and say goodbye, and somehow find a Gnome to help rebuild the defences of the external wall. There weren't any Elementals in the Guard there as far as she was aware, but if she could get word to one of the nearby hamlets or even far enough inland to Liberty, she could send for help.
Though the thirty-foot moat was now overflowing with seawater, if the Order returned to find and kill them, the Guardsmen would have a harder time defending the fortress without a way to keep out the Astrals. In an army formation, Astrals could suck the energy from a battlefield in seconds by conjuring a spirit from the Lingerverse to do their bidding. To their enemies, it would create a lifeless vacuum, ripping the air from their lungs and strangling them to feed that spirit.
Feeding a spirit did nothing to affect their death, however. Once a soul had died, there was no way to bring them back to life no matter how much energy they consumed when an Astral opened that window. What it did was quite the opposite and self-defeating. An Astral conjured a Lingerverse spirit by weakening the barrier between the Land and Akasha, allowing them to reach in and pull a soul at random. The soul's energy in the Lingerverse existed on another plain, and so whilst it had no effect on the soul's capabilities there, it gave an Astral a boost in strength and confidence here. Using that energy meant the soul would be weaker, so they needed to feed on the energy of another living thing through proximity. Doing that boosted the soul's energy, which boosted the Astral's energy, which then drained that soul again.
Sadly, no matter what that soul did to survive the Astral's enslavement, they would always be weaker when they were finally released, if ever. By choosing not to release a soul, the Astral was dooming them to break down and disappear completely from existence.
No more Land. No more Lingerverse. No more Akasha.
Nothingness.
It was a barbaric act. Unfortunately, some Astrals didn't care about the consequences of using the same soul for too long. They allowed them to expire before moving on to another. But, the most skilled Astrals—those who tended to either work higher in the Order's government or refuse to join the Order completely—knew it was safer and easier, even, to soul-hop from one spirit to another.
The Lingerverse's plain ran parallel to the Land's, but it was not visible to anyone unless they were able to use Sciomancy to peer through the barrier between worlds and listen in on the rumours and memories those souls held. Some took secrets to their grave, but those secrets were easily accessible to Sciomancers. When an Astral soul-hopped, they could move around normally and conjure spirits to aid their business as they did so, then leave them behind and rapidly claim another. This form of Alchemy prevented those souls from tiring or vaporising, whilst still fuelling the Astral's energy and benefiting from the spirit's influence all the same.
Ash hoped Deerbolt had been successful. He didn't want to be on the fortress's end of an attack from so many angry Astrals of the Order.
He wasn't alone for more than an hour before Deerbolt returned to her quarters.
He smiled. “Had an interesting talk with Sarron—”
Without greeting Ash, she let down her hair and took off her boots, which were caked up the soles and laces in mud and seaweed. Ash wasn't able to finish his sentence before Deerbolt was on him, her lips pressed tightly to his and her arms wrapped around his neck. He pulled her to him and felt her chest relax against his.
She kicked back with a bare foot and slammed the cabin door closed.
◆◆◆
The sun seemed to rise in a blink, and the light burned Ash's eyes when he stepped out of the cabin at midday. The Cerulean Grace was well on her way to the Northern Trading Post, and the crew were excited to replenish their supplies of ale and bread, fruit and weaponry. Some of their items had been washed overboard during the tidal wave, and some had been destroyed by water in other ways.
He missed turning over and seeing Deerbolt's peaceful sleeping face beside him. Her long black hair was plaited again which meant she was already deep in giving orders and commanding her crew. The Grace was picking up speed; she wasn't wasting any time putting distance between them and the Order's ship. So far, they hadn't seen its sails on the horizon.
“Good morning.” Ash beamed.
Deerbolt handed him a cup of tea and blushed. “Sleep well?”
Ash lowered his eyes and grinned. “Did you?”
They stared at one another for a few minutes in silence—a private, cheeky conversation ongoing through their body language—before Deerbolt gestured at a young woman Ash hadn't met.
“This is Brogan.”
Ash shook the woman's hand. She had a firm grip, and was taller than him, though she wore heeled boots. A long, ochre coat graced her thin body, and wavy blonde-brown hair covered the collar and decorated her shoulders beneath a hood.
“She's a Cartomancer.”
Surprised, Ash tore his hand away. “Uhm...”
“Don't worry,” Brogan said, taking no offence. “I'm not an Oracle. Touch does nothing to aid my gift. Shall we?”
Ash glared at Deerbolt through dark, narrow eyes. “Shall we what?”
“I'm going to finish your reading, Ash the Elemental.”
“Finish it? You and I have never done business, Brogan,” he reminded her, glaring at Deerbolt.
“Cartomancy is both a blessing and a curse. I am ready and willing to give this a try if you are.”
“Give what a try?”
Deerbolt chuckled. “She's going to read the rest of the Oracle's predictions for you, Ash. I've already warned her you can be a handful.”
Ash's lips down-turned. “You can do that?”
“Your fortune is your fortune no matter who reads it,” she explained, winking. “Hate the message, not the messenger.”
“I borrowed Brogan from her travels to the First Watchtower. She was there to see Raven,” Deerbolt said.
“Oh, you know Raven?”
Brogan nodded. “Aye; he's an interesting guy.”
“Understatement.”
She laughed. “Raven and I go way back. I once had a few questions about Elemental magic, and Raven was my first choice. Your Captain has permitted me passage to Land's Edge lots of times. I hitched a ride at the last minute to get away from the chaos. I hope that's okay?”
“It is if your cards can tell me I'm not a dead man.”
Deerbolt put an arm around the Seer and the two women giggled over something Ash wasn't yet privy to. He wasn't sure he liked or trusted this stranger, despite Deerbolt promising she was a friend, and of Raven's, too.
“I decided not to stay at the Watchtower when I saw what you'd done to it,” Brogan started, then continued through Ash's protests, “and then I saw Deerbolt coming through the gate and asked if I could come.”
“I thought she could be helpful,” Deerbolt said, then kissed Ash on the cheek and went straight back to work. “Be nice, Ash.”
“I'm always nice.”
Brogan gestured for him to head back to Deerbolt's cabin, where she could lay her Tarot cloth and the cards atop the bedspread. He told her about the four cards the marketplace Oracle pulled before he'd set sail at Blackheart Dock, but he needn't have bothered; Brogan had already removed them from her deck and laid them all in the correct places. To the side, she'd placed the Fool. It identified Ash overall—as he had acted so far. Then, in the centre, she placed the Hanged Man, crossed with the Chariot. His current situation, and that which blocked his path now. To their left, to represent his past, she selected Justice.
The next card to pull would go above the others, and represented what Ash was conscious of. Brogan fanned the cards and allowed him to select his own. They worked better when they could identify their user.
“Judgement,” she said. “Do I need to explain?”
Judgement was a beautiful Tarot card, depicting the Fool releasing their inner spirit. In this Seer's deck, the Fool was a woman, but it varied depending on the Cartomancer and the artist who'd designed the cards for them. If they inherited a deck from a relative, which happened occasionally, Seers would normally enlist someone to make them a pack from scratch. A deck needed to belong to the Seer to truly read their fortune, and the fortunes of those seeking the Seer's help. Second-hand decks were useful, but not connected to the Seer enough to give a deeply personal reading. So, they were often vague.
Judgement here was an emerald green colour, with a woman who looked like Reverie releasing all the negative things she thought about herself.
