The old priest had felt the approaching storm in his bones three days before the winds changed. The sun had risen to a bright clear sky, another warm summer day. Then the wind shifted and before noon dark clouds stretched across the horizon.
He watched from his dormitory window as the townsfolk below rushed to prepare for the storm. At this point his joints ached so much he’d only been able to make it to a seat by the window with the help of one of the young lads, a boy named Abbus.
“More tea?” Abbus asked, stopping by his room to check on him.
“I’m quite fine,” father Damar answered kindly.
The boy hesitated, wanting to help the old man but not quite sure what he needed. Perhaps thinking he just needed company. “Looks like it will be a terrible storm,” he proffered.
Damar gave a thin smile. “Looks like an ill wind out of the Rorq,” he replied. “Come to sap the strength from these old bones.”
Abbus stared out the window at the dark clouds. The ocean had begun to roil, the waves increasing in strength as it approached. “It’s from the southeast. My ma says no good winds ever come from the southeast.”
“Wise woman,” Damar agreed. “The storm that brought the Masrayyim came from the southeast. And they broke the Alwonish and conquered these isles. What great terrors does this storm bring?”
The boy didn’t answer. The old man assumed he’d be making a shocked face. To compare the Masrayyim to a great terror would sound blasphemous to such young ears. But Damar was old enough to remember when the Nine had come. And the horrors they wrought as they conquered the isles, before stripping them of their resources and taking the peninsula on the mainland to the north.
But there were no great warships racing out ahead of the storm. Only numerous fishing boats, and a few larger freighters, rushing to make it to the safety of the harbor. Most would make it. A few were likely too far out, and would likely need to race south to make it around the tip of the island to make it to the leeward side.
He prayed silently to the old gods, the ones his people had worshiped before the nine, for the ships that had likely been caught in the storm. And for the souls of those onboard.
“On second thought, I think I shall take another tea,” the old priest said to the young lad. “By the time you get back you can help me to the desk. And shutter this window before the storm.”
Munet could see the island directly ahead, still fully in the sunlight of what had been a beautiful afternoon. The ship she was on was already bathed in shadow from the storm clouds to their aft. And rain had begun to pour as the ship rose and fell into the waves.
The ship dropped into the trough between the swells, its bow plunging into the rising waters of the next wave. It sent spray showering over the deck. It soaked through her already drenched coat. Because the seawater was warmer than the stormy air, the water actually worked to warm her up.
“Thou should go below deck, my lady,” the ship’s captain said to her as he rushed to order his men about. “The sea can wash away even the most experienced sailor.”
She didn’t answer him, instead her eyes remained fixed on the large island ahead as they crested another swell. It’s green rolling hills, and rugged rocky landscape. Her destination. Home, if it could now be called that. So close, and for this storm to rise up and torment them. She should have known the Rorq would not give up its captives so easily.
“My lady,” the captain called again, sterner this time. “Thou should heed my words. Go below deck. Thou would be safer from the storm.”
“None of us are safe from the storm,” she told him. “It seeks to swallow us up whole.”
The captain, a sun scorched man with numerous tattoos and piercings and a ghastly scar across his face that left him with a permanent snarl, towered over her. Yet he looked down at her with worry and trepidation. “Trust in the skills of my crew. We shall get you safely to Carnleigh.”
The sound of the old name for the island warmed her heart. But then another great spray of ocean water drenched her again. “I have deep trust in you and your crew,” she said kindly. “But this storm is beyond any of your skills. The Rorq churns it up to catch me.”
The captain made a gesture with his hands, one she suspected was religious. Probably a ward against evil. It would not help.
The ship crested the next swell. She saw the island ahead. Carnleigh, as the Alwonish once called it. Khaanli in the tongue of the Masrayyim and the Nine. Too far out. They would not reach it before the storm took them. The ship dropped down towards the ocean. Its bow pointed nearly straight down and all she could see now was the dark gray waters as the ship plunged towards the sea.
Munet said a prayer silently to herself. Mother of Waters who birthed all life, watch over the souls of these men who now go to their death. They were sure and true in my service. They are good men. Keep them from the Rorq and the darkness that lies at its depths. Do not let them be tormented for eternity because of me.
The ship’s bow dipped into the ocean and the waters rose up around the ship. She heard the mast crack as the rush of the water slammed into it. She closed her eyes mere seconds before the ship plunged underneath the sea.
She felt a great pain in her side. She opened her eyes. Sunlight blinded her. She used her hand to shade them and could see a few stray clouds blowing past. The sun was sinking westward. It was well into evening.
The pain in her side came back. Something sharp poking her in the soft spot between the ribs and her hip bone. She shifted and the pain went away.
She’d been washed up among the rocks, against a sharp outcropping. She sat up taking in her surroundings. The sea was still roiling from the storm that had passed. But she’d been washed up high above the crashing waves onto a small ledge.
Her cloak was gone, lost in the plunge into the sea. So was one of her boots, a foot now bare to the elements. She wore the other but she took it off and dumped a good amount of water from it. She checked to make sure she was in one piece. Miraculously she had no broken bones, no cuts, and no abrasions.
She stood up and looked out to sea. There was no sign of her ship, or any of its crew. Her heart sank as she knew they'd all perished in the storm. Hopefully their souls had been taken in by the Mother of Waters. The alternative was too dismal to consider.
She checked the rocky outcropping and saw that it was easy to climb. She pulled herself up, climbing the rocky cliff face until she stood among the grasses of the island of Khaanli.
“Home at last,” she said out loud. But what kind of home had she returned to?
Despite the years she’d been gone she still recognized the island. She knew where she was. Turning to the north she began following the shore cliff, knowing that there was a town a day's walk. If she trekked all night she would be there by midday tomorrow.
“And then what?” a voice asked her.
She whirled around, but there was no one there. Only the wind and the grass and the sea. “Go away!” she commanded the voice. “You won’t talk me out of this. I’ll have my justice.”
But there was no answer, only the crashing of waves on rock and the wind through the grass. She realized she was yelling defiantly and nothing, so once again she turned back north and started walking again. The voice didn’t come back. But she knew, eventually, it would.
He watched from his dormitory window as the townsfolk below rushed to prepare for the storm. At this point his joints ached so much he’d only been able to make it to a seat by the window with the help of one of the young lads, a boy named Abbus.
“More tea?” Abbus asked, stopping by his room to check on him.
“I’m quite fine,” father Damar answered kindly.
The boy hesitated, wanting to help the old man but not quite sure what he needed. Perhaps thinking he just needed company. “Looks like it will be a terrible storm,” he proffered.
Damar gave a thin smile. “Looks like an ill wind out of the Rorq,” he replied. “Come to sap the strength from these old bones.”
Abbus stared out the window at the dark clouds. The ocean had begun to roil, the waves increasing in strength as it approached. “It’s from the southeast. My ma says no good winds ever come from the southeast.”
“Wise woman,” Damar agreed. “The storm that brought the Masrayyim came from the southeast. And they broke the Alwonish and conquered these isles. What great terrors does this storm bring?”
The boy didn’t answer. The old man assumed he’d be making a shocked face. To compare the Masrayyim to a great terror would sound blasphemous to such young ears. But Damar was old enough to remember when the Nine had come. And the horrors they wrought as they conquered the isles, before stripping them of their resources and taking the peninsula on the mainland to the north.
But there were no great warships racing out ahead of the storm. Only numerous fishing boats, and a few larger freighters, rushing to make it to the safety of the harbor. Most would make it. A few were likely too far out, and would likely need to race south to make it around the tip of the island to make it to the leeward side.
He prayed silently to the old gods, the ones his people had worshiped before the nine, for the ships that had likely been caught in the storm. And for the souls of those onboard.
“On second thought, I think I shall take another tea,” the old priest said to the young lad. “By the time you get back you can help me to the desk. And shutter this window before the storm.”
Munet could see the island directly ahead, still fully in the sunlight of what had been a beautiful afternoon. The ship she was on was already bathed in shadow from the storm clouds to their aft. And rain had begun to pour as the ship rose and fell into the waves.
The ship dropped into the trough between the swells, its bow plunging into the rising waters of the next wave. It sent spray showering over the deck. It soaked through her already drenched coat. Because the seawater was warmer than the stormy air, the water actually worked to warm her up.
“Thou should go below deck, my lady,” the ship’s captain said to her as he rushed to order his men about. “The sea can wash away even the most experienced sailor.”
She didn’t answer him, instead her eyes remained fixed on the large island ahead as they crested another swell. It’s green rolling hills, and rugged rocky landscape. Her destination. Home, if it could now be called that. So close, and for this storm to rise up and torment them. She should have known the Rorq would not give up its captives so easily.
“My lady,” the captain called again, sterner this time. “Thou should heed my words. Go below deck. Thou would be safer from the storm.”
“None of us are safe from the storm,” she told him. “It seeks to swallow us up whole.”
The captain, a sun scorched man with numerous tattoos and piercings and a ghastly scar across his face that left him with a permanent snarl, towered over her. Yet he looked down at her with worry and trepidation. “Trust in the skills of my crew. We shall get you safely to Carnleigh.”
The sound of the old name for the island warmed her heart. But then another great spray of ocean water drenched her again. “I have deep trust in you and your crew,” she said kindly. “But this storm is beyond any of your skills. The Rorq churns it up to catch me.”
The captain made a gesture with his hands, one she suspected was religious. Probably a ward against evil. It would not help.
The ship crested the next swell. She saw the island ahead. Carnleigh, as the Alwonish once called it. Khaanli in the tongue of the Masrayyim and the Nine. Too far out. They would not reach it before the storm took them. The ship dropped down towards the ocean. Its bow pointed nearly straight down and all she could see now was the dark gray waters as the ship plunged towards the sea.
Munet said a prayer silently to herself. Mother of Waters who birthed all life, watch over the souls of these men who now go to their death. They were sure and true in my service. They are good men. Keep them from the Rorq and the darkness that lies at its depths. Do not let them be tormented for eternity because of me.
The ship’s bow dipped into the ocean and the waters rose up around the ship. She heard the mast crack as the rush of the water slammed into it. She closed her eyes mere seconds before the ship plunged underneath the sea.
She felt a great pain in her side. She opened her eyes. Sunlight blinded her. She used her hand to shade them and could see a few stray clouds blowing past. The sun was sinking westward. It was well into evening.
The pain in her side came back. Something sharp poking her in the soft spot between the ribs and her hip bone. She shifted and the pain went away.
She’d been washed up among the rocks, against a sharp outcropping. She sat up taking in her surroundings. The sea was still roiling from the storm that had passed. But she’d been washed up high above the crashing waves onto a small ledge.
Her cloak was gone, lost in the plunge into the sea. So was one of her boots, a foot now bare to the elements. She wore the other but she took it off and dumped a good amount of water from it. She checked to make sure she was in one piece. Miraculously she had no broken bones, no cuts, and no abrasions.
She stood up and looked out to sea. There was no sign of her ship, or any of its crew. Her heart sank as she knew they'd all perished in the storm. Hopefully their souls had been taken in by the Mother of Waters. The alternative was too dismal to consider.
She checked the rocky outcropping and saw that it was easy to climb. She pulled herself up, climbing the rocky cliff face until she stood among the grasses of the island of Khaanli.
“Home at last,” she said out loud. But what kind of home had she returned to?
Despite the years she’d been gone she still recognized the island. She knew where she was. Turning to the north she began following the shore cliff, knowing that there was a town a day's walk. If she trekked all night she would be there by midday tomorrow.
“And then what?” a voice asked her.
She whirled around, but there was no one there. Only the wind and the grass and the sea. “Go away!” she commanded the voice. “You won’t talk me out of this. I’ll have my justice.”
But there was no answer, only the crashing of waves on rock and the wind through the grass. She realized she was yelling defiantly and nothing, so once again she turned back north and started walking again. The voice didn’t come back. But she knew, eventually, it would.