Silence

Silence is a Tyme setting story by Terri Pray
Artwork by Samuel Pray created using Dax3D, Filter Forge and Photoshop

Her hands clenched, nails digging into her palms, jaw tight as she tried to shut it out. It didn't work, the high-pitched screech of a voice that rose and fell at odd points in time, continued to plague her. Brenda closed her eyes, breathing slowly in through her nose and out through her mouth, counting under her breath to twenty before she gave up. She glanced up, watching the play of clouds across the sky. Large, white, fluffy, they stood out against a brilliant blue sky. Trees rustled behind her, heavy with deep green leaves, the first hint of apples here and there, and bright blue flowers growing beneath their glory.

Beautiful.

A place of peace in an otherwise busy world.

Her gaze shifted, for a moment, to the outline of the high temple of Thanatos, a mix of elegant spires and black stone. Like the park it was one of the few places she could relax, away from the stress of it all.

"Are you listening to a damned word I'm saying?"

Brenda flinched.

"What do you think this is? A fucking game?" The woman continued to pace her way through the small park. "This isn't a joke. I've spent the last three days trying to get an answer from you people and all you have to tell me is the results aren't in yet."

She had to remain calm. Losing her temper wouldn't help. The woman wasn't the type to care who she upset or what she did, as long as it got her what she wanted.

"Fuck you! Get me your goddamn supervisor! Now!"

Brenda reached for her sandwich, breaking off a small piece before she tossed it toward the gathering of birds. The largest broke off, lifting into the air before it dived down onto the piece, pinning it to the ground before he attacked. Small beak tearing the bread apart with obvious glee. A dozen other birds followed him, pushing and shoving in an attempt to grab a piece, their calls ringing out, adding a natural background noise she could live with. An hour a day, that's all she ever managed to steal for herself out here. Her lunch, five days a week, a break from the office and the constant jostling for power that took place between the men and women working there. Oh, sure, they'd try it on each other, that was just a part of their nature, whereas she was a welcome distraction.

High heels clicked their way along the path, long legs, an expensive business suit, perfectly coiffed hair and an attitude that made it clear that she didn't care who got in her way, she'd walk over them, through them or on them, as long as she got what she wanted.

Don't look at the woman, it won't help the situation.

Brenda glanced at the birds and then back at the woman, despite her desire to ignore the loud presence, and frowned. She paced, her steps angry and determined, never faltering as she advanced along the path toward the birds. Would she give them a chance to move?

The click, click, click sound drew closer and the first of the birds lifted from his place, taking flight, circling once before it found a safer place among the trees.

Tension built across Brenda's brow, crawled down her neck and into her jaw. She shot the woman a look, one the suit wearing, loud voiced, intruder ignored. Just as she ignored the fact that the park was a quiet zone. You had a call, you placed it on pause and moved elsewhere, out of the park.

Not according to this woman. Either she hadn't seen the rules or, more likely, didn't think they applied to her.

"Nasty, dirty things," the woman hissed, kicking at the birds as they scattered, lifting into the air in a cloud of colorful feathers and noise. "Shouldn't be allowed."

Brenda's fingers clenched on the box holding the remains of her lunch.

"No, not you." The intruder hissed at the person on the other end of the call. "Are you a supervisor?"

Brenda looked away from the woman. She wasn't there. No one was there with her. It was just Brenda and the birds, nothing else mattered.

"Then get me a goddamn supervisor!" The woman turned, stalking back down the path. "What the seven hells is wrong with you people?"

Perhaps they were tired of dealing with people like this woman? She looked back down at the path, at the remains of the crumbs. Sooner or later the birds would return, but with the way the woman paced, she'd walk back through the flock, scattering them again.

What had they done to her?

Brenda scowled at the woman, her gaze fixed on the communicator. The rules were clear, the silence code enforced here, but where was an officer when she needed one?

"If you think I'm going to call another number, you're insane. Escalate the call, you know how to do that, don't you? Or do you need written instructions!" The woman's voice rose to a shrill scream.

Brenda pressed her hands against her ears, covering them. Shut up, the woman had to shut up. Didn't she understand why people came to the park?

Pain, pressure and tension warred behind her eyes. Her chest tightened, sweat beaded across her brow and across her breasts.

"If you hang up on me, I'll call back again and again until you deal with this mess!"

Tears burned in Brenda's eyes, pain lanced - sharp needle points - into the back of her eyes and she hissed, trying to breathe through it. She wouldn't lose control, not this time, this woman wouldn't push her to breaking point. She was stronger than this, better, she'd learned to control her temper but the migraines were another matter. God, she needed silence, blessed peace and quiet, just enough time to resettle herself before she returned to work.

"You piece of shit!" The woman pulled the communicator away from her ear and glared at the small piece of plastic. "You hung up on me, you ignorant…oh it's on. It's so on."

"No more," Brenda whispered. "Please, no more."

It wouldn't stop, no matter what, the other woman wouldn't stop. Anger, aggression, frustration, they rolled off the stranger in dark, sullen waves. Pain and nausea mixed, turning Brenda's vision into a kaleidoscope of mud touched colors with flashes of brilliant white.

"This isn't over," the woman growled at the communicator and stabbed a finger at the control. "Hang up on me, will you? Let's see how this works for you."

No, no more, she couldn't handle it. Peace, silence, relaxation, that's what she came here for, not this, not the shrill cries, the angry words, the ignorance and hatred that emanated from the woman and her conversation with the stranger on the end of the line.

Stop it, don't let it happen. Go to the temple, they can help, can bring it under control again.

Vibrations ran through her body, her vision narrowed, pinpoint focused on the communicator. Light blinded her, bright, sharp, needlepoints that pierced through her eyes and into her skull. Pressure exploded through those points, burning a path until she gasped and rocked back on the bench she had claimed as her own. Fire and darkness consumed her, eating her from the inside out only to vanish, die in the moment between one heartbeat and the next.

A scream, high and pain filled, broke through the daze that followed and she blinked, trying to focus on the source.

The woman curled on the floor, one hand stretched out, the melted remains of the communicator smoking in the palm of her burned and blackened hand, the scream fading, easing into hysterical sobs and gulps for air.

Brenda rose, rubbing one hand against her temple as she turned and walked away from the woman, following the path out of the park before she activated her communicator. Her gaze fixed on the Silence ruling at the top of the park regulations and a slight smile tugged at her lips. "Hello, yes… can you sent a medical team to River Park…yes, I'm afraid there's been a small accident… stay, no I'm sorry, I need to be elsewhere…. Where? Oh, the temple. Yes, that's right, I'll be right there if you need me."

Where else could she go now, except to the only place that would grant her the silence she needed…

Threat

Threat is a historical Shadow Sprawl story, continuing the current story arc. 

Shandria turned, magic, energy rippling around her fingers, flaring a path across the skin close shield she had built. Her nostrils flared. Humans, males, the scent was undeniable, but there was something else out there. Males with a touch of magic in their veins. She inhaled deeply, tasting it even as her teeth ached, canines extending. She frowned and took a step forward, closer to the entrance. Had the others not tasted what was in the air?

Perhaps that was why Agriana had sent only one of the women to the entrance to check on the rest of the support that had taken position there? Did she know about the danger that the magic offered? Or had she assumed that the magic in the air was that carried by the Daughters?

Hold on love, I’m coming. Please, you must hold on for me.

Alexandrious.

Relief surged only to crumble at the next set of noises. It was one thing to hold on when there had been a single man, perhaps two, attacking them, but now this? It was too much.

No, she couldn’t think that way. She wouldn’t give up. Not now, not ever. His mental voice was strong and when she reached out to touch the connection she smiled. He was coming for her, the distance closed a little more with each touch but he was still too far away to be here within a candlemark or two.

Did they have longer than that?

However long it took, she would remain on her feet, strong and ready to deal with whatever the First Sons were about to throw at them.

“We’re all going to die here,” Rachel turned, her face pale as she returned to the small group at a run. “There’s too many of them and the attacks, they seem to come from all directions at once. I don’t understand what’s happening out there. We don’t have a chance. They’ll kill every last one, even the children. Lady, there’s nothing we can do.” She swallowed, trembling openly.

“No, we’re not going to die.” Agriana advanced on Rachel, her robe whispering across the stone floor as she moved. “We are the Daughters of Lilith, bound to her service, protected by her power. They’re humans, mortals, weak and foolish. I will not let our people fall because of a group of hunters. Is that clear?”

“They have weapons and we’re not warriors, we rely on our magic. It won’t be enough, not this time. I tried searching for them, as you have taught us, but there’s something blocking my attempts.” Rachel ducked her head, rubbing one hand over her eyes. “No matter how hard I tried, something blocked me. I don’t know how they’re managing to keep me out, it’s like no magic I’ve ever felt before.”

“No, we don’t have warriors in our number and that’s a mistake we will address when this is over. We have to fight back, if magic is all we have then that is what we will use and we will show these hunters that we are not to be taken lightly. What women we have who know how to use slings or any other forms of weaponary, need to be prepared to help defend our home.” Agriana gestured to the women, moving with them toward the entrance. “As for anyone else, we need to move them to a safer area. The children, they need to be moved. Get the young ones to the back, keep them safe.” She snapped at the Priestess. “Move. Now! We can’t afford for them to be taken.”

Shandria nodded, her attention turning back to the source of the scent. Agriana had her people under control and the safety of the children was, thankfully, her main concern. That she realized some of her mistakes, such as the lack of warriors, was something she hoped Agriana and her people would live long enough to correct.

Survival. That was all that mattered in this moment.

Shandria moved, tasting the air again, one step then two more, the scent calling to her, tugging her closer to the entrance. Was it really there or was it nothing more than a mix of other aromas that combined to deceive her? Rachel, she’d said that her attempts to find the attackers had been blocked, but what if hers worked? Her ability to use earth magic would play in her favor, though she had seldom worked the type of earth magic that would be needed without an anchor or a form of support, normally in the shape of her husband. “Your magic won’t be enough this time around. We must work together, build up the shields before we use anything more than defensive magic.” Would they listen to her? It didn’t matter, she had to do this even if she had to do it on her own.

“Combine energies,” the Priestess called out, stopping only for a moment before she hurried away. “Agriana, you know how to do this.”

The leader of the Daughters let out a low growl. “Shandria, are you willing to work with me?”

“Yes,” no, not entirely willing but it was the right thing to do. Did the woman mean work with, or bond with power wise? Either was an option. Power, they’d need all they could lay their hands on if they were to stand a chance. She’d worked with her mate, and a handful of others within the family, but that was it. Working with Agriana should be possible but how strong they would be in such a union, she didn’t know.

Still, it was better to try and perhaps succeed, than to not try and die along with the rest of the Daughters. Time, all she had to do was buy them a little time until Alexandrious came for them. With his help, she could tap the full extent of her magic, including the earth magic that lay within her grasp.

“Second thoughts?”

“No, nothing like that,” only doubt that she would be able to work with the woman.

“Then we will do this.”

“Yes, of course.” She paused long enough to take a calming breath. “Not here though, we’ll be better off doing this closer to the entrance. Personal shields will help, as long as we’re not having to split our attention.” She offered a hand to Agriana. “It will be easier this way as we’ve not worked together before.” Would that be enough to lower shields so they could work? It had to be.

“It shouldn’t surprise me that your male has kept you to himself.”

“I don’t understand.” What was she talking about? She'd worked with more than her husband in the past, it was just rare as she had a strong bond with her man.

“If you had worked with others, you’d know there are better ways than the joining of hands. Your power is strong, I can sense it without even trying. Had your husband not kept you to himself, then the shared power would be far stronger. You’d be able to link with me across distances greater than you could ever be able to imagine.”

Shock rippled through Shandria and a cold shiver worked its way down her spine. Doubt clawed at her, but this was neither the time or place for such weakness.

“Still, if that’s all you’re able to do to work with me, then so be it. We have no time to discuss this, not when we have unwanted visitors ready to destroy all we have built here.” Agriana glared at the hand and then at Shandria. Only then did the older woman slide a hand into hers. The shock of power was instant. Shields dropped and reformed around both of them, stronger than before, far stronger than the shield that had existed around Shandria prior to that moment. A shudder ran through her body and she stared at the older woman. She’d never experienced a magical connection that strong before, not even with her beloved.

Could Agriana and the rest of the daughters be right, at least in some small way? Was her magic, her power, somehow suppressed by the bond with a man?

No, don't think that. She's had more experience with her magic, I've had other things I've had to focus on. The healing side of magic, the earth magic they've turned their back on. That's all this is, a difference in the type of power we use.

“What? Did you think that I lacked the power to form real shields?” Agriana snorted, eyes rolling even as they began to walk toward the entrance.

“No, I simply didn’t expect the merging to work this well.” Shandria centered herself as they walked. Cries, blood, the scent of death and fear all mixed with the lingering aroma of magic touched blood. “Can you smell that?”

“There are a lot of scents out there, Shandria.”

Did she not understand? Or was this something only she was picking up on? It didn’t make sense. The woman was powerful, the bonding of their magic proved that, yet she said nothing about the magic scented blood. “There are more than just First Sons out there.”

“Of course there are. We have some of our own people out there. Women of power, along with their males, but it’s not enough. Not this time.”

“There’s other magic involved.” She wouldn’t lie, especially not now. “Magic used in the attack, and that’s why they’ve been able to get this close to us.” What had happened? She’d never heard of the First Sons using any form of magic. Had one been born to that order with another bloodline mixed in with that of the hunters? It was possible - unlikely but possible nevertheless. They prided themselves on keeping their bloodlines pure.

“Impossible.” Agriana snorted. “Focus, girl. I’ve got people out there. We need to rebuild those defenses.”

“I’m aware of that. Shields, need to adjust them. We need to locate the main force.” The shields flickered and surged as they worked together. Two men struggled with a small group of women close to the entrance of the cave. “Coming from the left, over the rise. Men. Four of them. Archers.”

Where was the magic coming from?

Everywhere.

Four women and a single male struggled against their attackers, two human males with short swords. One attacker lay dead close to the group, along with a young woman and two young males who were obviously members of the Daughters family.

“Monsters!” One of the human men screamed, slashing through the air with his blade.

The single male remaining member of the family group cried out, hand pressed to his chest, blood flowing around his fingers.

“No!” One of the Daughters screamed. She reached out for the dying male only to be yanked back out of danger by one of the other women barely in time before a sword slashed down, cutting through the air where the woman had been a moment before.

“We’re running out of time.” Agriana growled, hand tightening on Shandria’s. “With me, I need you to focus with me. Push them back. Now.”

She didn’t need to think, the reaction was instinctive. Shandria thrust forward, sending a boulder of rolling energy toward the two humans. It struck, the ground rippling beneath their feet, tossing the men aside with a violence that lifted them into the air only to crumple to the ground in groaning heaps of sprawled limbs.

“Get inside!” Agriana screamed at the group. “Now, get inside and we’ll rebuild the walls.”

Did they have time to rebuild them with the constant threat hammering down on them? Shandria kept her doubts to herself as the survivors of the group hurried past them, into the main caves. She had to do this, had to buy them time.

“We lost Rebecca and her male, Alian.” One of the women paused, face pale, blood marking her left cheek. “Not sure how many others… did Rachel?”

“She’s safe.” Agriana pushed the woman into the cave. “We’ll grieve later, once this threat is dealt with.”

If there was time, they’d all grieve, heal and move on, but only if they survived the oncoming darkness.

Blood, the smell of it filled the air. Human and vampire alike but still, behind that, close to the caves but not close enough to belong to either the dead or the injured men nearby, was the lingering scent of magic touched blood.

The first wave of energy lashed out, invisible but powerful, striking the combined shields just as Shandria focused on the lead group of men. Three of them, dressed in the simple garb of the local people, full beards, dark eyes, tanned skin and flashing blades of bronze. Arrows flew ahead of them, hitting the ground at Shandria’s feet. She hissed, shields flashing with fresh energy as both women focused on the wall of protection. Sweat beaded across her brow as she merged her magic, fully, with that of Agriana’s.

“Don’t let them break the walls.” The older woman ordered.

“Don’t intend to.” Shandria winced as the next wave of arrows sliced through the air, only four of them but still enough to make her flinch and take a step back. How many more of them were out there? It didn't help that she couldn't identify the full force of the threat lined up against them.

“Don’t move!” Agriana yanked her forward. “We need to stay in position. It’s the only chance we have to keep the walls up.” Her grip tightened until Shandria winced. “There’s magic out there, they’re using it to….”

“I know.” She’d warned the other woman about that, but there was no point in mentioning that small detail. “We’ll hold. He’ll be here soon, all we have to do is hold the wall until then.”

Cold, uncaring laughter spilled from Agriana’s lips. “You’re holding out for a man, the help of a male who has brought you down to his level? A man who has kept you locked within his power? Isn't it time you shed the shackles he's placed on you?”

She inhaled, forcing herself to remain calm, even as she reached out, searching for her husband, the one person who knew her magic, her abilities, better than anyone else save herself. “No, I’m waiting for the man I know will fight by my side and do everything in his power to make sure we all get out of this in one piece.”

"You're a fool."

"Maybe, but I'd rather be a fool with something to believe in, than one without hope."

Hope. It was the only thing she had left right now…

To Be Continued

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.