Threads

“This is a waste of time, they won’t see us and they have no reason to help us,” Brandon scowled and cast an angry look at the entrance to the temple. “This nonsense of threads and tapestry, you know it’s not real don’t you? All foolishness from the time before.”

Penolina closed her eyes, struggling to bring her emotions under control. They’d already been through this argument, several times if the truth be told, yet here they were again thanks to the words he’d heard time and again from their uncle. “They will. They have to. It’s part of the old laws and since the Raiders were thrown out of the system, the old laws are now adhered to once more.” Old laws, they had both been born after the Raiders had taken control. Now, with the Queen back in place on Chronos, the temples were open again, the laws back in place and they had a place to take their problems. “Everything changed when we regained control of our world. The Queen…”

“Is on Chronos.”

“Yes, but she brought back the old ways.” With a few minor tweaks but they were still, according to many she’d spoken with, in the spirit of the laws that had governed their world before the invasion. “Those laws give us a chance to seek help, something he has no right to deny us.” Though he had tried his best.

“It won’t help. He’ll have been here and spoken against us. I mean, we’re kids and…”

“We won’t be soon, which is why we need to speak out now.” Within two months she would be of age, and he would follow suit within fifteen months. “Once we’re eighteen we have the right to see to our own holdings. The temple is the only hope we have without going to the capitol and you know he’ll never release enough money to allow us to travel that far.” She nodded at the white stone building with its heavy black doors. “He wouldn’t think that we know about this option. Why would he? It’s only recently that such information has been taught in the schools again.” Schools they had been pulled from not long after the Raiders had left. An attempt to keep them ignorant of the changes that were occurring all around them?

What else could it have been?

The man was intelligent, she’d never denied that, but his motives… she shuddered at the thought.

“Fine, but when they laugh at us don’t expect me to take it well, sister mine.” Brandon grumbled and ran a hand through his sandy hair. “It will only be worse when we return home and Uncle Jacob is waiting for us.”

“They won’t laugh.” Please let me be right, please goddess let your servants listen to us and aid us. Was it a formal prayer? She didn’t know, that knowledge had also been denied them. What little she’d been able to find out had been through quick talks with older men and women and stolen knowledge from other sources. Even the servants at home were wary about sharing information with them, knowing if they were caught then they would be out of work.

It would have been, she believed, different in the capitol. Here the families, and through them the heads of families, held sway over the small communities. If you were let go from service to a family, without a reference, the odds of finding decent work without moving away from the area, were slim at best. It was a harsh, cruel way of existing, one that Penolina had never agreed with.

She grasped her brother’s hand and smiled. He was taller than she was, and hadn’t yet reached his full height, yet he would always be her little brother. “We can do this, have faith in yourself, in us. We’re stronger together than he has ever been willing to accept and that is to our advantage.”

He looked down at their linked hands even as his shoulders slumped. “Let’s get this over and done with.”

He didn’t believe her, didn’t want to have faith in what they were about to do and she knew why. If it didn’t work, if they were turned away or worse, reported to their uncle, then their lives would become a living nightmare. He would separate them as a means of punishment, keep them apart until they were adults, but then what?

As adults he couldn’t control them, not in the same way, unless they failed to grasp their power and make use of it before he found a way to strip it from them. Any attempts that Brandon had, quietly, made to find out more about the changes ahead of them, had been met with subtle dismissals and changes in topic. She, of course, hadn’t approached Jacob directly. Her careful probing questions from those who had been in service with the family since before the invasion, had revealed just how little the siblings had been taught about their rights.

It was one thing to have rights and protections, it was another to know they existed so you could actually use them - and Jacob had taken steps from the very beginning to prevent them from learning about their family, the history of their holdings and then the return of the old laws of inheritance.

He will have us signed into service somewhere. Maybe the temple for me, and military service for Brandon? No, not the temple, but a marriage I want nothing to do with? What will happen when I fight such a marriage? Will he kill me or find another way to silence me? Could he simply kill me off and be done with me?

No, he didn’t have that power anymore. Not with the change in laws, but did he know that? More importantly, did he accept it?

Yes, of course he knew and refused to accept the change in laws. His true power rested in the understanding that the siblings remained ignorant.

They paused at the base of the steps. For years the white stone had been left untended, those in service to the temple had kept to the shadows knowing that their lives were in danger if they made themselves known. The stories of the invasion were still a part of living memory for many, and she recalled more than one priest or priestess dragged out of hiding to face punishment.

Death.

She shuddered at the memory of the one execution she had been forced to witness. A middle-aged man with wild hair and sorrow filled eyes. He’d screamed, oh by the gods how he’d screamed. It hadn’t been a quick death, no such mercy had been granted him and she, like all of the others commanded to stand through the event, had heard every blow, each cry and the final announcement that life had been extinguished.

How many others had died in other communities and cities around the planet? Had the same horrible fates befallen those of the Orders on the other four homeworlds? Chronos, she knew from stories, had suffered terribly beneath the yoke of the Raiders. Gaea and Thanatos had survived but it had not been an easy thing. Mars had fought, every step of the way, but they were a warrior people born and raised. The Raiders had controlled the system but Mars, out of all of them, had defied them.

A small door, within the left hand side of the large double doors, opened before they reached it and a man in a white robe stepped out into view. The cowl covered his features in shadows, his hands hidden within the sleeves but somehow she knew he was looking at them, observing their approach in silent patience.

“We could turn away, no one would say a word about it.” Brandon leaned in, his voice a low whisper.

“No, we’re going to do this.” She tightened her grasp on his hand.

“But…”

“Welcome, enter and ask, we are here to help those who serve our Lady of Fate. She of the spinning wheel, loom and shears.” The priest stepped aside, lifting his right hand to bid them enter. “All are welcome here as long as they enter in peace and respect our Lady.” His voice was calm, warm and welcoming, not at all what she thought a priest would sound like.

He’s a man, just like any other man.

Young, by the sound of the voice, or at least not old. His face was still hidden by the cowl but his hand lacked the wrinkles that might come with age, nor did she see any sign of liver spots. Not that age mattered, but there was something about his voice that pulled at her.

“Thank you,” she murmured and glanced back at her brother. “We’ll be safe here, I promise you that. They won’t hurt us.” Let him believe me.  If he didn’t, she’d find a way to calm him down, but if she was wrong about the situation, about how they would be treated, then - well, she didn’t know what she would do.

“Your sister is right, young lord. You are most welcome here and you will be safe among us.” The priest followed them into the temple, pulling the door closed behind them.

Darkness consumed them and her heart skipped a beat in the moment before a dozen soft lights flickered into life ahead of them. She blinked adjusting to the change in illumination, thankful for the gentle glow offered by the candles. Few places used candles or lamps these days, why would they need to when power was so easy to use. Yet the temple was old, predating the time of power lines. Now, of course, technology kept most things hidden out of the way, but with buildings like the temple would it be easy to lay the lines needed to bring the power into the building?

“We use the older methods out of respect to those who built the temple, though there are small modern lights offered in some of the offices. Those are, of course, seldom used. We keep them only for visitors who would be ill at ease with candles or oil lamps.”

She frowned at the words, trying to think of who might have a problem with candles. Perhaps those who were unable to move without assistance? The lack of light might make it difficult to see where they could put their feet, or use their mobility devices. She nibbled on the inside of her lip as they followed the priest further into the temple.

“We are here for…”

“Wait, you will be able to explain once the senior priestess is able to speak with you.” The man looked back over his shoulder, his smile warm and genuine. “She may, of course, already know what the issue is and have answers waiting for you.”

She swallowed hard and looked away. Of course, she should have remembered that from the little she had read about the temple.

“How could she know?” Brandon pressed.

“Because she is the priestess. Our Lady Fate may have shared that information with her, it happens from time to time.” The priest shrugged. “I am, I’m afraid, still in the middle stages of my training so it will be some time before such information may be shared with me.”

May? “Thank you, we - we’ve not been well taught about the functions of the temple or the way you serve.” Penolina admitted and squeezed her brother’s hand.

“That, sadly, is not uncommon, though we are working with the schools once more and our doors are open to all who might seek answers.” The priest stopped by a simple door and looked back at them. “Are you ready?”

Brandon tugged on her hand. “We should leave.”

“No, we shouldn’t. He will know we have come here. If we leave we place ourselves back in his grasp and you know he will have no mercy to show us.” Brandon would be safer than she would be as their uncle had fallen under the sway of the raiders. At least that was the impression she had gained in meeting and talking with others of their age range in the past six months.

“He won’t hurt…” Brandon’s words trailed off. “He would - wouldn’t he?”

“Yes.”

Brandon pulled his hand free. “No, I don’t want to hear that, don’t want to believe it.”

It didn’t matter what her brother wanted, the truth was undeniable. He’d been sheltered, in many ways, but she hadn’t. Their uncle had embraced the Raider’s beliefs of women being secondary, lesser and not worthy of succession, rights or even a say in their own lives. That had been one of the reasons they had attacked the temples. Women had equal power within the temples…

“She will see you now.” The Priest smiled and opened a heavy wooden door.

“Thank you,” she couldn’t trust their uncle the way Brandon wanted to.

“Penolina, you can’t be serious about this.”

She didn’t stop, didn’t look back at him as she walked into the room.

“Pen!”

He’d either follow her or he wouldn’t, it no longer mattered.

“Welcome,” a warm female voice greeted her. “Please, be seated. I welcome all here, especially those who need answers.”

Penolina’s gaze narrowed. The woman was small, slight, almost child like in size and build. She stood in front of a large fireplace, with a merry blaze crackling behind her. Her hands showed no sign of age, but were smooth and clear. Her voice hinted at youth but the cowl hid her features. This was no woman who had served for the years she assumed would be required in order to attain such a rank. How could this be the priestess?

“Do not be fooled, child. I’m far older than I look,” she gestured to the chairs. “You and your brother should sit, we will be a while, I think.”

Her brother? She glanced over her shoulder. Brandon stood awkwardly in the doorway, heat flushing across his cheeks. Fine, at least he’d made up his mind. Without a word she sat down, waiting for Brandon to follow suit and claim one of the other chairs. He did so, but only after scuffing one foot on the floor and slumping down into the chair near her.

“The Lady warned me that you would be coming and the matter is a troubling one.” The Priestess stepped away from the fire and settled into a large, well padded chair on the other side of the fire. “Penolina and Brandon Usher, only children of Lord Fion Usher and Lady Helena Usher. Currently under the care and guardianship of Jacob Usher, younger brother of Fion.”

Penolina gripped the arms of the chair. “How did… did someone warn you that…”

“As I said, the Lady told me that you would come. She has spoken, in length, of your problems and the turns that life has presented you, just as she is aware of the plans your uncle has for you.” The woman pushed back the cowl and met Penolina’s gaze. “You were brave to come here, knowing that he has you followed, but the Lady blocked his spy this time and has kept the man busy. That will allow us to speak without rushing, to explore the options and prepare you for the choices ahead.”

Penolina closed her eyes, trying to find a moment to bring her thoughts back into some form of order. The woman knew too much and it only made sense if she did, indeed, have a connection with the Goddess, but doubt clouded her mind. What if this was nothing more than a game begun by their uncle? Had he reached out to the temple in case the siblings sought assistance here? No, that wasn’t the sort of thing she’d have expected from him yet he had proven to be duplicitous in the past.

“You expect me to believe a deity told you all of this?” Brandon exclaimed.

“No, I don’t expect you to believe, I simply refuse to pretend that I learned this information any other way.” The priestess sighed.

Had she been faced with such statements before? After the way things had changed during the occupation it would make sense that people would question those serving the Gods. “Please, we do not mean to offend, Lady. There is much we have to learn that has been hidden from us. The invasion tried to destroy our heritage and we were born and raised after the invasion.”

“You are as new born babes in all of this.” The woman agreed. “I take no offense at your words. I simply ask that you both listen with open hearts before you make a decision.”

That they could both do, though Penolina knew she would have to guide Brandon in this. Out of the pair, he was the more hot headed, having been given far more leeway in his behavior and choices. “We will try, Lady.”

“I ask for nothing more than that.” The woman nodded, a small smile touching her lips. “Brandon, it will be harder on you in the days and weeks to come. You will have to come to terms with the changes that the return of the Queen has triggered. The rights of women have returned and there are those who fight it, who wish to keep their ties with those of Ontour, but that is not how we were before the invasion and not how we should be going forth.”

Brandon began a protest but Penolina reached over, took his hand and squeezed.

“No, let him speak, child. He is entitled to his words just as you are.” The priestess chided.

Brandon snorted. “This is ridiculous. You can’t expect me to take you seriously.” He rose and paced away from the chair. “Either our uncle has contacted you or someone working against him. With your words about women having a voice, and how that goes against everything he believes in, I’d say it was one of his rivals who has put you up to this.” He stalked away to the door only to return again. “Yes, the stories tell us that before the invasion things were different, but no one would have believed the words of a mystic.”

“Then why were we forced to witness the execution of a Priest?” Penolina struggled to keep her emotions under control. Didn’t he see what was happening here?

“That was a means of controlling the people. Uncle Jacob explained it to me. There had been attempts to overthrow the rightful rule of the Ontourians and…”

“Are you listening to yourself?” She turned to face her brother, taking a deep breath before she continued. “Rightful rule? It was either an invasion or it was legal. It can’t be both, brother.”

He paled and shook his head, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. “I’m just - I’m too young to know everything that led up to the invasion, even Uncle Jacob said that. He told me I’d understand soon enough.”

“And in the meantime you were to listen to him, let him lead the family and keep me in line before I made the mistakes of my gender and believed myself equal to men. Is that it?” Oh, she knew the words. She’d been hearing variations of them for years now. “Things are much better here since they all left. Even you have to see that. There’s more food. People have returned from the camps - not all, because some died there.” Or had been executed but Jacob had denied such things had happened.

“Very few died, only those too sick to save. Many left with the Ontourians, seeking a better life away from the system. They saw the troubles that would return when the Queen reclaimed her throne and…” he paused, frowning. “There haven’t been that many problems, have there?”

Relief washed over Penolina “No, dear one. There haven’t been. Those who supported the invasion have been the only real cause of trouble.” Did he see it or had he just stumbled over reasoning. “There’s so much that’s going on right now as our world, our system struggles to regain its path. People died, went missing, knowledge was denied to us as were the priests.” She nodded toward the Priestess. “The lady here will have spent time hiding as so many of those sworn to the temple did.”

“We fled but remained close where we could,” the woman confirmed, her voice tired and sorrow filled. “Then there were the servants of the temple. They were persecuted as well, hunted down as a means of tracking the priesthood down. Their families were removed from their homes, used as a means of pressurizing the servants and we lost so many of our number. Too many to count yet as the numbers are still being gathered.”

Brandon paled and sat down, the chair shifting as he dropped his weight into its confines. “I didn’t know.”

“Few do.”

Silence claimed the room, giving them time to think. Wood crackled in the fire and soft sounds filtered past the walls but no one spoke.

“Your uncle wishes to keep your property, and thinks to use Brandon as a means to form a new bond with the Ontourians. He’s of age to enter their training program and he has the means to get him off world.” The woman explained. “His plans for you, little sister, are far worse. He had thought to wed you into a family that shared his leanings, but has found a means of disposing of you. He pushes to have you committed into the hands of less than ethical doctors, to have your mind stripped so he can continue to hold sway over the family. This will leave your body intact, fit for breeding - which he plans on using his own seed - but your mind reduced to that of a child so you cannot speak against him.”

Horror sliced through Penolina with a cold blade. Her stomach clenched, body tightened and throat closed. She brought her hands up to her face, covering it as she shuddered. No matter what she thought of her uncle, she’d never once thought he would debate taking such cruel and evil steps. To be stripped of her mind, of her ability to fight back, that was worse than any prison she could think of. Death would be a kinder fate.

“How can such a thing be legal?” Brandon, his voice a ghost of its normal youthful energy.

“It is not, but there are those who remain who have kept up some of the practices encouraged by the Ontourians. Though such mind stripping was rare even when they were here, it was used as a punishment or as a means of controlling a family and the lands they laid claim to without killing off the line and leaving it in chaos.” The priestess explained, her voice oddly calm. “This doesn’t mean that you will meekly accept the fates he has planned out for either of you.”

Penolina lowered her hands, still shuddering as she blinked away shocked tears and met the steady gaze of the older woman. “What can we do?”

“You have entered the temple, which places you under my protection.”

“I knew it, this is just another way of taking what is ours.” Brandon snapped and jumped out of the chair.

I swear, he does that once more and I’ll tie him down! She scowled at her brother. “Sit down. You’re being foolish. The priestess would never do such a thing, nor would we allow it.”

He frowned and looked back and forth between his sister and the priestess. “Then why bring it up?”

“Because you are safe here, and cannot be removed from the temple by force. That, at least, is something we have managed to reestablish since the departure of our unwanted guests.”

That was one way of describing the Ontourians.

“So, we can stay here but what good will that do us?” Penolina forced her voice to remain calm. She didn’t want to be trapped in the temple though she would be safer here than she would be if they returned to their Uncle’s house.

“You stay here until the authorities send someone, but you would have to send a request for assistance to the capitol.”

Brandon groaned. “If we had the ability to do that, we wouldn’t have come here. I don’t even know whom to contact!”

“No, but I do and I have the means. The temple, like all temples, has a communications room. We kept our equipment hidden during the invasion but they were returned to the temples when the invaders fled.” The priestess smiled. “Sometimes the power of the Lady comes not from foretelling and the tweaking of threads, but by the placing of options before an open mind, which I know your sister lays claim to. It is not all mystical words and powerful predictions, but the offering of knowledge and help with the first step.”

Communication. A computer terminal, or something older, it didn’t matter as long as it worked. For the first time true hope flowered and the weight of the walls their uncle had built around them, began to ease. “It’s that simple? A call to an office?”

“Simple yes, but it will also not be quick. It might take hours, or even a day before…”

“Only a day?” She blinked and squeezed Brandon’s hand. “That’s nothing, lady. Not after all we’ve been through.” A day, a single day within the temple and then it would be over.

Brandon swallowed hard and for the first time her younger brother let down the walls. Tears slipped down his cheeks, though he scuffed them from his face. “It will be over. We will be free…”

“Should you wish it.” The priestess bowed her head. “All I can do is lay out the option, the choice to take it is always within your hands.”

A call, a message, then at most a day of waiting within the walls of the temple and then they would be free to choose their own path, to spin their own threads for the great tapestry under the care of the Lady of Fate. 

Cluiun

Cluiun is an Erien setting story that ties in with Moment's. 
Art word by Samuel Pray, created using Daz 3D, Photoshop and Filter Forge. 

The Cluiun stood near the wheel and inhaled, tasting the fresh breeze and salt air. This was the life he had wanted yet would have been denied to him, had his father been successful. Hells, if his father ever found him, ever found a way to drag Cluiun back, everything Cluiun had worked would be stripped away from him. Fortunately, only one person knew for certain that The Cluiun and that missing boy were one in the same and that man was one Cluiun knew would never betray him.

No man could ever ask for a truer friend.

He turned, letting his gaze move over the men working on the deck. Each man knew their place, the task assigned to them and the banter that passed between them was relaxed, the conversation of men who knew and trusted their colleagues. They weren’t the best of crews, he wasn’t foolish enough to believe that his crew would never be bested, yet he was proud of them. For the most part they had sailed together for at least two years now under his captaincy, and some had been with him prior to that, serving on other ships but only Joran had been with him for the seven years since they had fled their assigned roles.

“They’ve pulled together over this last voyage.” Joran climbed the steps, his blue-grey eyes dancing with mirth. “Admittedly with a few smacks along the way, but they’re a decent crew.”

“Aye, that they are.” Cluiun agreed, his gaze pausing on one of the youngest members of the crew. “He’s pushing himself too much today though. I don’t think he’s taken a meal break all day.”

Joran glanced back. “That’s Karl - kid has been pushing hard since he joined the crew but you’re right. He’s not taken a meal break as yet today.” Joran waved at one of the older men working on the deck and then pointed at Karl. The grey haired man looked over and then nodded, curling up the rope he’d been working on before approaching the youngster. “Frank will make sure he takes a break.”

Of that Cluiun had no doubt. “Good, we don’t need someone collapsing because they were stupid.”

“As opposed to collapsing through blood loss. Got it,” Joran smirked.

Cluiun bit back a chuckle. “Yeah, well that’s a valid reason, wouldn’t you agree?”

“Maybe, depends on the reason. I mean, if the man cut himself, he’d be in trouble, but a wound honorably taken, that’s another matter entirely.” Joran mused, pausing for a moment. “It would need to be an actual wound, not a knick or paper cut. There’d have to be witnesses, wouldn’t you agree?”

How the man kept a straight face was beyond Cluiun. “We’d need to consider the source.”

Both men fell silent as Cluiun headed to the railing, letting his gaze drift toward the shore. “Weather looks good, no signs of a storm coming in.” Cluiun rolled out his shoulders. “No aches reported from the older members of the crew either, unless you’ve heard something.”

“No, nothing.” Joran confirmed.

“Good,” something moved through the sky, marking a slow path upward. He shifted his weight, trying to get a better look at it only to shake his head. “I have a bad feeling about this.”

“Odd, that looks like smoke,” Joran murmured as he moved alongside of his Captain and leaned heavily on the railing. “Not something normally seen here. Not this close to shore at least.”

“Maybe, but it could be just a camp fire.” His gaze narrowed. Joran confirmed his suspicions, a small tendril of smoke curled upward from the distant shore, tinted by the setting sun, but still enough to draw his attention. He frowned, leaning on the wooden railing along side of Joran. Something large and dark sat at the bottom of the smoke, though they were too far away to make out any details. The area wasn’t known for settlements and the amount of smoke didn’t add up for a single camp fire, nor did the shape that was the source of the smoke, despite his words.

“True enough,” Joran smiled and turned his attention to the crew, calling out orders. “But that’s a lot of smoke for a camp fire, even a bloody big camp fire Captain - and we both know it.”

“Aye, we do.” A fishing vessel? That would explain the location. Had one been attacked by pirates or a rival fishing crew? Neither was unheard of but again there was too much smoke for a small craft. It had to be something larger and each swell of the waves drew them closer to the source of the fire. Curiosity itched the back of his neck and he rubbed it with his left hand. “Well, it’s been going for sometime, whatever it is. Too late to do anything about it, wouldn’t you agree?” Who was he trying to convince? There was always a chance that something could be done. That a life might be saved that would otherwise be lost.

Yet something about the situation sat ill with him. Running into rescue someone - it wasn’t his style. Sure, he might throw them into a fight if there was a reason, such as he’d been paid, or he knew someone involved in the fight, or it seemed like a good idea at the time or… Fine, he’d done it before, yet this time something felt wrong. He was no coward, never had been one to run from a fight, yet his instincts pulled him in two directions, each side warring with the other for control.

“Aye, Captain.” His friend spoke softly, his tone formal and detached, lacking the warmth and undercurrent of friendship that normally existed between them. “Most likely you’re right and it’s all over and done with, save for the shouting. Wouldn’t do us any good to go rushing into a mess that’s non of our concern. Better to stay away from it all.”

Cluiun scowled, not liking the formality. Odd, he should have become used to it by now, whenever there was a chance that one of the crew might over here, Joran would err on the side of caution, but there was more to it than the crew hearing them. He glanced at Joran and then back at the shoreline, taking a moment to form his words. “They can’t hear you, not up here at least.”

“When we’re at sea you’re the Captain, or Cluiun. You can bug me about calling you Cormac when we’re in port.” Joran shrugged, his voice pitched low. “That’s the way its supposed to be so that’s the way it will always be. Discipline must be maintained. Just as the choice to investigate what’s happening on the shore is yours and yours alone. You have my support, even if my own opinion differs from yours.”

Discipline. They weren’t part of anyone's navy, nor would they ever be, and yet the ship was run with the same iron hand. No voting on a captain or quartermaster. No dividing the spoils unless the Captain said so. Most of what the ship collected was used for her maintenance, and weapons were provided by the ship and her Captain, not brought on board by men - and occasionally women - who served on board.

He smiled at the thought, his gaze fixed on the coast. His choice. In that, Joran was right. He might speak to his old friend, digging into his thoughts in order to have a better understanding of the situation, but as Captain he made the final decision.

“Why do you think they stay?” He nodded toward the crew without taking his gaze away from the smoke. He didn’t want to discuss the fire and what might be going on there. The more attention he paid it, the greater the chance that he would be pulled into the mess, yet still the niggling itch at the back of his neck continued to grow. “They don’t have the same rights as they would with a true independent ship.”

“You mean pirate.” Joran chuckled and shook his head. “Say what you mean and mean what you say, Wolf.”

“Aye, something like that.” Wolf, the name suited him, though he’d fought it for years. He didn’t look over at his old friend. Joran had been with him for years. No, truth be told they’d been friends together, grown up in the same village until the day they’d both made the choice to leave.

Choice, some choice. Stay and follow the path they picked out for me, or leave and follow mine own.

There had been something else though, a push he hadn’t been able to identify. He’d woken without reason in the middle of the night, knowing that he had to leave. That any and all doubts he’d had about his choice had now died. Cluiun shook his head and allowed his focus to return to the source of the smoke.

The order was on the tip of his tongue but he swallowed it back. He couldn’t, wouldn’t put his crew at risk for - for what? A fire that marked the end of something, not the beginning? Crew that was all ready dead, or held captive? To dive into a fight that wasn’t his to deal with?

The coast was normally safe enough. The nearest village along the coast was easily fifty miles away, though there were villages inland from what he could remember. Not a place he’d visited but there had been mentions of it. Farmers, orchards, hunters, a castle or two. Small noble families who relied upon the farms in the surrounding area and the fishermen and women who supplied poor and noble alike.

The fire would draw people in from the farms. Riders would be raised from the nearest noble home, armed men and women sent to investigate, another reason why it was likely a matter that he should leave well alone.

Another curl of smoke, dark mixed with light, reached up toward the sky, adding a fresh wave of inky blackness to the sky.

They could find a safe place to anchor for the night and then, come the morning, investigate the remains of the fire. There was no reason why they needed to anchor for the night, the sky offered no hint of a storm, nor were there any other signs of danger that might send them inland for safety.

They needed to find a port. In truth, it had been too long since they had headed for a safe port, well a port that would welcome the arrival of the Cluiun and his crew. More often than not civilized towns turned them away, some nonsense about them being pirates. Or at least a crew with a less than civilized reputation. Not a fair assessment, they’d never attacked a town along this coastline, or any within several days sail. The same couldn’t be said of the ships that made their way out to sea, they were fair game as was the nature of his work, but the actual ports themselves. No, only a fool would attack them without just cause.

Whatever the cause of the fire, it wasn’t his concern yet his gaze kept returning to the plume.

“That fire’s too big to be a camp fire, or even several camp fires.” Joran returned to lean against the railing. “The color of the smoke is wrong as well, that’s wood that’s been treated with tar.”

Which meant a boat or, more likely given the amount of smoke, a ship - a real ship, not a fishing vessel. “Indeed.”

“Do we take a look? Or are you set on moving on. As I said before, Captain, the choice is yours and we’ll abide by it.”

Cluiun frowned. Something tugged at him, a push to direct his ship to head for land, but what good would it do? Yet the pressure remained. If there was a ship that had been beached and now set on fire, then there was nothing he could do about it. The smoke made it clear that it was all ready too late to help the ship and its crew.

If there’s anyone left alive. Which there won’t be. Whoever was behind that attack would have finished them all off - and he was making excuses again. Ones that didn’t sit well with him.

It wasn’t his concern. “No, we’re due at Ravensbluff before the end of the week,” he turned his back on the smoke. “Not our circus, not our monkeys.” Turn back, look at the smoke, find out what’s going on. No, better to ignore it and focus on his own crew, their next job and the next one after that.

“Aye, Captain.” Joran straightened and made his way down to the main deck. “Get those ropes stowed away!”

A dozen men moved at the order. This was his crew, men who had served with him before he took command of the ship, and men who would continue to serve with him unless they were killed or sought a berth elsewhere for whatever reason. He trusted them, they trusted him and that meant not making foolish mistakes like ordering them into potential danger for a ship and crew they didn’t know.

Pirates, raiders, whatever was behind the smoke on the beach, it wasn’t his concern. Nothing he would risk them for.

Yet the pull remained. An invisible thread that connected him to the shoreline.

Look.

This time he knew that the voice hadn’t come from him. It vibrated through him, tugging, pushing for him to turn and investigate.

Turn and look. This is why you are here.

He shuddered and walked to the top of the steps that led down onto the deck, his voice ringing out clear enough to be heard by the majority of his crew. “Head for shore.”

“Captain?” Joran turned, frowning only to nod. “Aye, aye, Captain.” He moved sharply through the gathered men. “You heard the Captain. Get this scow turned. We head for the shore! Ready the dingy’s, we need two prepped, crew armed for trouble.” He pushed one man away from the bucket he was sat by. “Up and at ‘em!”

Cluiun closed his eyes. It wasn’t the first time he’d felt the presence behind that voice, but it was the first time it had spoken directly to him.

I don’t know who or what you are, but you better have a damn good reason for putting my crew at risk.

You are needed as witness.

Witness, this was all about seeing something? He scowled but didn’t countermand the order he’d given. If he ever met the source of that voice - well, he’d explain, in detail, how little he enjoyed being pushed around.

I know, why do you think I chose you.

Chose… no, he didn’t want to think about that. He’d had enough of people trying to plan his life for him, no way in the seven hells was he going to let some vague voice try take control of his life now.

The voice remained, thankfully, silent.

Maybe he was going mad? Had he been out in the sun too long? Sure, yeah, that made sense. Well, it didn’t matter now. The decision was made and changing it would sit ill with the crew. A Captain had to appear to be in control no matter what happened, even if he regretted the decision down the line. Make it. Stick to it. Deal with the consequences and the gods be damned.

“Dim the ship lights, they might not have seen us yet.”

With the blazing light of the fire there was a chance, however slim, that any attackers would be focused on the blaze and anything they’d stolen from the wreck. Dimming the lights decreased the risks for the crew and with the men taking soundings as they approached the shore, they would remain safe unless one of the men made a mistake.

Which is why he routinely had three men on either side of the ship, and two off the prow, taking readings. One man might make a mistake, multiple men reduced the odds in their favor. Something he’d learned the hard way before he’d become a captain in his own right. That ship had run aground, but at least Cluiun, and Joran, had been shown the wrong way to handle such situations. Lions, the Captain they had both served, had died during that incident, and some of the crew had then gone on to sign on with Cluiun - perhaps because his swift actions had reduced the amount of deaths, but he’d never taken the time to ask.

Nor would he ever.

Cluiun, despite his misgivings, moved back to the railing and watched as they drew closer to the shoreline and the fire. Night had all but claimed the sky, leaving the fire on the shore as the only true source of light. A guiding beacon that beckoned them inland for good or ill…

TBC next week.