Elemental Ascension, page 8
From behind her back, she pulled a halberd mounted to an iron bar instead of the expected eight-foot-long wooden pole. It was sharp and deadly—perfectly shaped and sized to wield in close combat.
“How about that?” Ash gulped. He was useless with anything other than his longsword and dagger. “An illegal weapon to go with an illegal Elemental.”
“We should be prepared for anything. I'm loading the ship with whatever we are offered.”
Sarronious had retrieved Ash's weapons after they were abandoned, sprawled on the deck of the Cerulean Grace. He placed them in Deerbolt's chambers for safekeeping, which she relayed to Ash. Here in this fortified dream, Ash prayed to the Gods he wouldn't need any of them. Though, looking around, he was sure to find something to defend his party at short notice, anyway. Like that halberd.
“That one is a gift for my new, official First Mate,” she said, gesturing with her left shoulder where the mound of tradesman lingered. “He's earned the position.”
“Is that why he is acting as your bodyguard? After everything I've done for you, your crew and your ship recently, I expect him to hate me less.”
Deerbolt sniggered and lowered the halberd. “Sarronious doesn't hate anyone, and he agrees you're on our side now. Hard not to after witnessing those heroics.”
“And you know this how?”
“I ordered him to.” She shrugged. The two of them burst into laughter. “Come with me, I want you to meet someone. I think he can help you.”
“I'm beyond help, Deerbolt.”
“Most here thought the same about themselves at one point.”
“That why they spread rumours this place is abandoned?”
“Aye,” she said, “and so the Order's resistance have a safe place to plan a way to overthrow their power.”
With a tug on his arm, Ash's legs followed before his head could question who the stranger was. Sarronious wasn't far behind, keeping a few hundred yards away but always within rescuing distance.
In the years they were apart, Ash expected Deerbolt to have laid with other men, fought countless battles, but also, potentially, produced an heir. Sarronious was awkward and feeling jealous, yet loyal and fearless nevertheless. He wondered if Deerbolt had ever considered offering herself to him, yielding to her desire for family; she wanted a son to raise according to the old customs, those her father and grandfathers before him, dating back to the Dragon era of Alchemy, practised. Remaining in her employment allowed Sarronious to become the alternative she could turn to for comfort and release, perhaps, though it was obvious now that she never had.
Deerbolt pushed through two thick, brown wooden doors. Carved into their smooth surface was a history of the First Watchtower's many celebrated armies of the past and their triumphs.
“You'll find them in many of the shared spaces here,” Deerbolt said. “They're very old.”
At some point, there were sworn Guardsmen defending this tower. Fire-breathing, scaled Dragons decorated both doors, but if the watchmen were no longer sworn to the Isle of Dragonborn then who, Ash questioned, did they fight for now besides themselves?
The doors revealed an empty, echoey room save for wooden pillars, benches and scuffed tables. It was the castle's great hall where the men filled their stomachs and laughed through their strife. Few dined or lifted their heads as Deerbolt led him to the far side and through a velvety-red curtain. It opened into a smaller, mustier nook lined with bookshelves. Tapestries and charcoal artwork decorated the bare walls and a single partial stained-glass window overlooked the lawns between the kitchens and, further afield, the latrines.
“Ash the Elemental, I'd like you to meet Raven of the First Watchtower. Raven, this is the Alchemist I was telling you about.”
She winked, leaving Ash and the cloaked, stout man alone to breathe the same stale air. Ash extended a hand in greeting and cleared his throat to further introduce himself. Raven went about his business, flicking through leather-bound books and loose-leaf pages which consumed a small desk and most of the floor space around it. Ash frowned. He was about to back up through the curtain again when the man parted his thumbs and smallest fingers on both hands, clumping the remainder of his fingers together, then flicked them swiftly in Ash's direction before he could register the incantation. A gust of air lifted him by the armpits and carried him backwards to a rickety wooden rocking chair. Over every stone paving slab, Ash's boots dragged and bounced, sending shock waves up his legs and turning his stomach to jelly.
The wind lazily deposited him and gave the chair a nudge, kick-starting its smooth rocking motion.
“I am Raven the Slyph,” said the man before Ash could ask, “born of the hamlet Raven out by Serpent's Sea and the Second Watchtower, at which I lived for thirty-seven years.”
Ash raised a single eyebrow. “Your name is Raven, and you lived in Raven?”
The man turned then and lowered the hood of his cloak. He was shorter than Ash by a foot and balding, but greying by the ears and, Ash noted, in his once blue eyes. Ash's narrowed as he studied the man's drawn facial features and wondered if his quaking fingers affected his study at all.
“Aye, I struggle a little,” Raven added, beating Ash to his own words above the creaking of the chair. “Captain Deerbolt and I keep no secrets. Upon her arrival, she told me immediately of the handsome scoundrel, Ash and his... skills.”
Ash wrung his hands together. “She said I was handsome?”
Raven snapped his fingers and swished his right arm from the elbow; he pointed first to the bookcase, then to Ash's lap. A dusty thick encyclopaedia slid out of place. Without warning, it thrust itself against Ash's chest with a THUNK! and stole the wind from his lungs.
“Umph!” Ash coughed and wafted at the choking particles. “Maybe a warning next time you throw a leather-bound block of parchment at me?”
The cover was engraved with four Elemental symbols. At centre right there was an ornate-looking lock intended for an antique key. The lock was metal and heavy, rusting in the nooks. Ash ran his fingers across it, then turned the whole thing over to inspect it.
The book's pages were yellowing at the edges. Handwritten in curly calligraphy along the spine was a faded title, detailing what appeared to be a Tetrad reference system, whereby each worn section of the book had been indexed for Salamanders, Undines, Slyphs and Gnomes.
“Is this what I think it is?”
“Aye,” Raven replied. “The pages of this book sublimely detail the fluid bodily motions, hand gestures and facial expressions best-suited to summon and control each of the four elements with ease.”
Ash pictured scholars studying the pages and replicating the incantations, though he imagined mostly Elementals mastering a single element. Tetrads were uncommon and feared this far north.
“Keep it. Look after it,” Raven ordered, then dug deep in his pockets to retrieve the matching key. It hung on a faded black ribbon.
“Did Deerbolt ask you to give this to me? I'm not even sure I am a T—”
The man blinked hastily and hushed Ash. “Don't say that word here. Take care of this. It's... special.”
The unceremonious Slyph turned to organise the rest of his books in the makeshift library, running his fingertips confidently across the various textures and smiling. This man did not need steady hands to appreciate the craftsmanship behind each leather-bound edition, and he said nothing further to Ash after the warning. The chair continued to rock and Ash scowled, utterly taken aback by the curt advice and random, unexpected gift. Cradling the book in one arm, resting it on his hip, he then stood to protest.
Raven the Slyph barely moved, but Ash suddenly flew through the curtain and down the centre of the great hall, squealing and gripping the giant book with both fists as it pulled him along.
Deerbolt stuck out her boot and tripped him as he approached the final bench, catching the book mid-air when he accidentally let go and launched it over her head. The Elemental ploughed head-first through the open doorway, through two incoming watchmen on their way to eat, and onto the lawn outside.
When she emerged, laughing hysterically, Ash was sprawled on his back. His eyes were wide and terror-stricken.
“I hate that guy.”
Deerbolt stepped over Ash's torso. “He's the reason I'm a Velocal,” she said and winked. “I think he's great.”
◆◆◆
Ash asked Captain Deerbolt, “How do you know Raven?” as they stared out at the starry sky.
The ocean was calm tonight. If not for the gently crashing waves against the shoreline and the sloshing of the Cerulean Grace's hull in the harbour, the water would lay utterly still like polished onyx—hard enough and safe enough to dance upon, shining as the moonlight tickled the surface. Occasionally, if they steadied their breathing and closed their eyes, a graceful cooing drifted inland—the soothing sounds of water serpents, mutated from Dragons, and the sea's natural, untouched state became their lover's soundtrack. From their hexagonal rock outside the First Watchtower's defences, Ash and Deerbolt's evening stroll came to a peaceful end away from the great hall's drunken singing and the torches on every wall.
“I should change my clothes on the Grace.” Ash continued when she offered no reply. “Won't you tell me where you got them, at least?”
“A friend of a friend owed me a favour. He's the tailor here. I've known him for years.” She smiled at a distant memory, then continued. “Before you and I met, I traded with the Second Watchtower in the west. Business dried there, as did our welcome when the Order purchased most of the fortresses, including the Second Watchtower.”
“The Second Watchtower fell?” Ash asked, astounded the Guardsmen there would allow it to happen. “I didn't know.”
“It's been down, oh, maybe twelve years now.”
She sighed and tilted her head to the sky, where Ash spotted shooting stars and constellations. Her eyes lowered, saddened by the shift in the Grace's luck and, therefore, her crew's routine.
“They forced us to trade further south. First, in Serenity. It was so humid. Work was tough and exhausting, and some of my men travelled inland to the Southern Trading Post. I sent our youngest and most able through the mountains to the Weeping Hills for respite and to re-stock, but some of them found women or alternative employment. We moved east then, where Blessed opened their purses; the higher tax rates and trouble had yet to creep so far through the mountains. The Order was living mostly in Raven, the Phoenix Marshes and the Gravelands too of course, destroying hope and joy and the earth. Few realised they held such power, but their egos were growing.”
“Did you not consider retiring ashore?”
“Well, property along the east coast was appearing in Astral names, and it worried me. They hate other Alchemists, but some hate Humans more!”
“You're a Velocal, though. They still have a use for you,” Ash interjected. “Not us Elementals, however.”
“No,” she said, shaking her head. “The Grace is where I belong.”
“I remember how bad it was,” Ash added. “Some of the Guard was pulling extra shifts to protect Dragonborn's coastline, in case the Order got any ideas about invading the island. Open Country saw its fair share of rejects from the west, and traders often brought word of squabbles for land and jewels both inland and at sea. They never tried anything, luckily.”
Deerbolt was pleased to hear it. “The Grace picked up replacement deckhands somehow for those we'd lost in Serenity, and we pushed up to Blackheart Dock. The first journey lasted several months because we were unsure of ourselves and the territory. It took us maybe five months to realise we had an unlikely stowaway.”
“That's how you met Raven.”
“Aye,” she replied, smiling. “And five months is a long time to evade capture when you're eating someone's food! He did well to blend in. Such a frightened Elemental he was. Because the Order didn't want him; they couldn't use him.”
“Because of his shaking, I'll bet.”
“It has worsened but believe me, that did not make him any less useful or capable. Today, his incantations are still accurate, I promise. When I heard Raven's story, I was sickened. An Astral in Raven had chased him out, threatening to suck the life out of him if he returned. They wanted only strong, healthy Elementals working there, so I offered Raven a position on the Cerulean Grace as our cook. Sure, we could have used him to speed up the ship, forcing our sails to work harder, but I wanted to protect him.”
“You did the right thing.”
“I hope so. He stayed with us a while longer, officially, until we docked here at the First Watchtower before our final voyage to Dragonborn. That's where I met you.” Deerbolt grinned. “Since, whenever we come back either to visit or to trade, he and I are able to catch up and he teaches me about Alchemy, promoting my well-earned title as a Velocal. Naturally, he knows all about the mysterious Elemental I once loved, and now about the young friends of his I am harbouring.”
Ash chewed his bottom lip and wrung his hands together. The temperature was dropping, and soon they would need to make their way to the Grace, or back to the Keep.
“You must trust Raven to risk our lives.”
“Aye, because he's more trustworthy than even I! Raven is a kind, loyal and loving soul. Sometimes he is a little rough around the edges and for that, we forgive him. He's managed the Keep's library for a long time. He knows the books word-for-word. The one he gave you will be a goldmine of information if you read it cover-to-cover.”
Ash chortled. “Well, I tried the key.”
“Oh?”
Ash scowled, then said, “Doesn't fit.”
She grinned. “I'm sure it does. Give it a wiggle.”
“Hmm. Raven's intimidation attempts were not wasted on me in the five minutes we 'spoke'. I think he cares for you too, and it's clear he is an intelligent—if arrogant—man. If he's playing games...”
Deerbolt winked. “I'll be sure to tell him you have been sufficiently warned.”
She crossed her knees and leaned forward, picking imaginary dirt from beneath her nails as she painfully remembered what it was like for Raven in the early days, before Astrals governed the Land and controlled not only what her ship could carry and when, but how many of the jewels she earned she could legally retain.
Before moving on from Raven, her men were starving. They were depressed and lonely, working on ships like the Grace because the Astrals that governed them limited their options. For a Captain, Deerbolt was lenient and kind, allowing leave and paying fair wages, despite this pushing her deeper into diabolical poverty. Some turned her down at first because she was a woman before they saw with their own eyes that bad luck followed only the superstitious.
“Elementals were rewarded and celebrated before the Order became a cult,” she said. “Now, I support the resistance whenever I can.”
Listening intently, Ash understood why the Gravelands and the Phoenix Marshlands were now out of bounds. The Grace hadn't returned in many years and Deerbolt could only imagine the effects of the Order's narcissism on the local, honest tradesmen. It was all Astral territory now, where the richest and most influential members of the Order ruled, taxed, enslaved and murdered in the name of Gods no Human or Alchemist had seen in thousands of years. And after driving most working-class Elementals north to villages such as Liberty, which sat at the base of a mountain range where fresh, crystal water flowed from the snowy caps, crops in the west all went untended by the Gnomes and Undines and died. Elementals and Humans fled in fear, finding safer, more affordable homes in the east, because in the eyes of an Astral of the Order, they were inferior.
The Gravelands shrivelled, useful only to the Slyphs to power their windmills. The further north Elementals travelled across the Land, the colder but calmer it was, even in the Open Country nearest to Land's Edge.
Ash was pleased Deerbolt had never considered returning west—not for jewels, at least. As far as he knew, she had no family or friends living there either.
“When the marketplace Oracle read your Tarot cards, he gave you two options.”
Ash sucked the top of his mouth, then shrugged. “As the Chariot, yes. But, the Hanged Man blocked my present.”
“Did he tell you the Chariot's meaning?” Deerbolt asked him. “Cartomancy is one of the first things Raven taught me to understand.”
“In short, it's whether I live or die.” Ash added, “To stay in Blackheart Dock and accept my fate—death by curse—choosing the white horse depicted in the image. Or, to follow the black horse—you and the Grace—and sail across the sea to Dragonborn to help an innocent woman heal an archer's sight. To beg for forgiveness and perhaps win a reversal of the curse I'm sure they believe has killed me already.”
He paused and looked across the fields where wildflowers and weeds intermingled, blowing in the breeze. Their stems entwined, their petals and seeds scattered, and Ash watched the natural freedom of it all with envy.
He shivered and tapped his head. “I am consciously aware the greatest chance of victory lies on this journey, with the black horse.”
“You think they will kill you on sight now that you're a Tetrad? Won't they lend an ear to your plight first and give a dying man a fair trial?”
“If the Guard help me, it will be after I offer myself to them and beg for mercy... if I have the stomach for it. But, there's the Hanged Man,” he grumbled and picked at the blades of grass between his bare feet in deep thought.
“You're still punishing yourself.”
“Aye. I was once above kneeling to avoid death. Sacrificing pride and surrendering dignity is worth more now, though. I have more to lose than I did a week ago. I've always been a Tetrad, and someone saw in me what I never could. I can't hang around any more.”
They sat together in silence for a few minutes, listening to the distant echoes of music and joyful singing within the fortress's walls. A warm glow emanated from the barracks, causing them both to shiver in response to the breeze's nip.
Deerbolt's breathing steadied as she relaxed into their personal conversation. It took Ash a while to trust her enough when they first met, and to open up about his troubles. She'd expected nothing less from him this time. His vulnerability called to the nurturing side of Deerbolt, stamping down the independent, scrappy fighter she usually portrayed.
