David Mcintee - The Light of Heaven

"Fair enough."

Margrave shuffled uncomfortably. "And any sea devils."

"Sea devils?" Crowe tried not to sneer. "Now you're superstitious."

"Careful, I'd say, rather than superstitious. Believe me, I've heard many stories that have made me think twice about the existence of such things. I hope this doesn't put you off — "

"Don't worry, Captain; it'd take more than some bedtime story to put me off earning a living."

The gangplank had bounced slightly under Travis Crowe's boots as he crossed from pier to deck. He'd been on enough ships before, plying the coastal routes round Freiport, Allantia and even as far around as Turnitia, but he had never liked them.

This ship had two sturdy masts and rode higher in the water than anything Crowe had sailed on before. The Belle was carrying supplies and ballast, and more than enough men, but he didn't see any cargo to trade. He should have taken that as a warning sign and left immediately, but a trip out of Freiport was all that mattered to him. Every ship Crowe had ever been on before had carried cargo from one port to the next. He'd never been on a ship that had left a port unladen.

He stowed his gear below and then went to find Margrave. The stocky captain was in his Day Room, talking to a baggy-eyed blonde man who was squeezed into a chair too small for him. Two hooded men were standing behind him. After a moment, Margrave noticed Crowe and shook his hand in both of his.

"I'm glad you made it. We'll be sailing in a couple of hours." His eyes crinkled as he smiled and slid the ship's crew book across for Crowe to sign on. "You won't regret coming along, I promise."

"Yeah, that's good," Crowe began. "I hate to be a pain, but, what are we carrying?"

"Carrying?"

"Cargo. I assume we have some. That's what the likes of me are protecting, usually."

Margrave looked at the silent figure in the chair and his standing companions, and smiled weakly. "Not… exactly."

"What Captain Margrave means to say," the man in the chair said, "is that my companions and I are the cargo, such as it is."

"You must be worth a lot."

"Not particularly, but later in our voyage, perhaps." He smiled. Crowe took an instant dislike to him. He was clearly a smartarse of the first order.

"This voyage is not one of mere trade, but exploration." Margrave said. "Farran here is searching for a particular place. It is in that respect that he is the… cargo."

Crowe looked at Farran. He seemed familiar somehow and Crowe had a vague recollection of seeing him in a tavern once or twice. "He need any special protection?" He asked.

"Not at the moment, but it's always possible, especially once we find what he seeks."

"Treasure, you mean?" Crowe tried not to laugh. "I wouldn't have thought such fine businessmen would have fallen for dockside tales."

Farran stood. He was taller than Crowe and broader. "What we seek isn't a matter for you. Just keep us alive, soldier."

"Your friend here paid me enough to get you that."

Margrave looked between them. "I must say, I hadn't expected such hostility. Please, let us concentrate on the journey. It will be most dangerous and we will need all our wits about us."

Crowe nodded and left the room.

Crowe was no sailor, but he knew that no-one was paid to board a ship who didn't work a full day. The bos'un had set him to swab the afterdeck as the Belle was swept out to sea on the Down Tide. The complex layers and squat spires of Freiport began to shrink as the Belle moved out into the Allantian Channel.

As the beginnings of an eclipse darkened the day, Crowe had taken his rum ration at the rail to watch the land fall away behind the ship and Farran appeared beside him. Farran's pale skin and blonde hair took on a strange look under the light of Kerberos.

"You seem very concerned about things that shouldn't concern you. And people that shouldn't concern you."

"I've seen enough Brotherhood priests in Freiport and other places to know one when I see one."

"You don't strike me as a follower of the Final Faith, Crowe. Especially since Sandor Feyn speaks so highly of you."

"Feyn's usually a good judge of character. If I was with the Faith, Feyn would never have given me a second thought."

"I'm glad to hear that." Crowe didn't like that tone. It was the sort of tone that implied if Farran didn't like Feyn's judgement, he might try something stupid. He leaned on the rail and Crowe caught a glimpse of his linked-circle tattoo. The symbol of the Brotherhood was inked onto the base of Farran's neck. "Yet you're not one of us?"

"I'm me, lad, not one of someone else."

"Now, that comes close to heresy. Turning against the Lord Of All."

"By the terms of the Faith, maybe. I've got nothing against the Lord, just against men and women who claim to speak for him."

No-one who hadn't been to sea could imagine the storms that battered ships out there. Hundred mile-an-hour winds whipped the seas into a screaming frenzy and the waves towered over the ship. Crowe didn't think there was anyone aboard the Belle who hadn't spent the whole week throwing up. Even the most experienced hands were losing every meal they ate.

That was bad enough, but then a few days later the ship passed by the Sarcre Islands and approached the Stormwall. This was an impassable barrier, according to every sailor on board. Margrave himself was of the same opinion, but the Brotherhood man, Farran, merely smiled infuriatingly whenever the subject came up. Now that they were actually here, however, he had no choice but to give his counsel on the matter.

He did this by summoning his two silent companions. They had been sequestered in the hold and everyone aboard had heard the chanting and smelled the strange scents that emerged from there. Powerful magic was being worked in the hold.

"My friends," Farran began, "you are about to make history. This ship will be the first ever to pass through the Stormwall." He ignored the disdainful laughter that was stifled all around. "You have each been given a set of words," he went on, and Crowe looked at the slate he had been given. The syllables on it were random as far as he could tell. "When my colleagues begin their great work, you must all recite the words, over and over until we are through. My colleagues are depending on your concentration to help power the spell."

The crew had been excited in a way, to be a part of the workings of a real spell. As strange and acrid vapours began to rise from the hold and sweep around the ship, the crew began to chant the strange words.

"Ha rey soon-pa," they began, repeating it over and over.

As the air around the ship began to thicken, the sea began to behave strangely. It was coagulating and then shaking itself apart, until it was like sand bouncing on a drum skin.

"Change words," Farran called, as the two hooded magicians floated across the deck to each end of the ship.

"Toh da che," the crew began to intone, "Ta che doh."

As they chanted, the magicians pulled at the threads of power and used grand gestures to guide them. Ahead of the ship, the sea began to fall away, as if it had been scooped out. Soon, a tunnel, large enough to let the ship flow through, curved down under the furious but now impotent Stormwall.

The noise inside the tunnel of water was unbelievable, both because of the sound of moving water itself, the chanting and the screaming of the clouds and lightning of the Stormwall. Men screamed too, certain that the ship was sinking, or being crushed to matchwood by the Stormwall. The more men began to scream, the less they chanted and the ship began to rise as the tunnel began to implode.

Finally, the ship was excreted from the tunnel before it collapsed utterly. The sea surged back into the space, now astern, where the tunnel had been. It slammed shut with an enormous booming crash.