Breaths hasty, and a heart that thumped as if to break free from her chest, Saphiria diverted her gaze from the red-robed man across the cargo hold to the spot where Dimitry vanished. The surgeon’s overload. Those engorged circuits. Did blue blood escape his body, leaving him for dead? A powerful impulse shoved her forth, demanded she shake the surgeon’s shoulder, inquire about his health, discern if he would live!

But she didn’t.

Not only could she not treat overload, but an act so frantic and reckless would endanger them both. Although Saphiria’s dispelia scarf could disperse his invisibility magic, revealing the true extent of Dimitry’s horrific ailment as she approached, doing so would expose her identity as a Zeran Servant.

Over a dozen stomped across the ship’s deck above. Among them were the Church’s knights. If any of them descended into the cargo hold to witness such a sacrilegious sight, Saphiria would be enslaved once more. Precious would be sacrificed. Dimitry would suffer a fate more tortuous than death.

Saphiria’s arms trembled more than they ever had. How unlike her. She should remain focused! And yet, without the collar’s enchantment to numb excess emotion, her attempts to force the worry into submission only loudened the chattering of her teeth.

Something unseen darted into Saphiria’s hood.

The familiar jingle of faerie wings; they belonged to Precious. She tugged on her collar. “It-it’s Dumitry. He told me to come and—and you have to help him!”

“What happened?”

“I… I think he’s dying.”

“Like the time we hid him in the forest?”

“Way worse! Lots of blue bile was leaking out.”

Racing thoughts screamed at Saphiria to check on Dimitry, to kill the sole witness to their crime, to flee the cog, but she vented every irrational impulse by gnawing on her lower lip. Dimitry’s condition was worsening. If too much blue bile escaped, he would never awaken. Every moment was more precious than the last.

Saphiria could dally no longer.

Her best chance lay with the old man sitting across the cargo hold. Just as Bryce mentioned, his red robe resembled a court magician’s apparel. If he was indeed an experienced wizard, he could treat overload with ease. But many questions lingered. Why didn’t the old man report Dimitry to the Crimson Knights for the hundred and fifty gold bounty? Did age-fog cloud his mind? Was he hiding, too?

“What is that robed man feeling?” Saphiria whispered.

“Intrigue, hesitation, a-and panic.”

“Is he scared of the ‘disappearing man’?”

“I-I don’t know!” Precious said. “Just hurry and do something. Dimitry is… he’s…”

The corrupted creature was right. Time wasted ruminating on countless minutiae would doom them all. Saphiria swiftly decided on a bribe and an implied threat to guarantee the man’s assistance.

Careful to avoid provoking a potentially deadly wizard with sudden movements, Saphiria stepped closer to the ladder to block off the only exit. Her eyes locked onto the robed passenger. “Can you treat overload?”

The old man moved a pipe away from his mouth and blew a cloud of smoke. “A strange question for a criminal to ask.”

Saphiria’s shoulders tightened. He knew everything.

“We wish you no harm,” she said. “If you are an experienced wizard, we will pay a sizable sum for your services and your silence.”

“To think a boy was the disappearing man all this time. While I am curious as to his obscure magics, I prefer not to make my presence known. Consorting with delinquents attracts unwanted attention. Surely you understand that much, little miss.”

“We offer you five gold.”

“If I needed gold,” he said, “I would have spoken to the Crimson Knights when they passed.”

“Eight gold, and we’ll supply all the vol you need for the treatment.”

“My apologies, little miss. Pretend I saw nothing.” The old man leaned back and shut his eyes as if to fall asleep.

Not another wheeze whistled from where Dimitry lay. Did swollen circuits constrict his neck? There wasn’t much time!

Saphiria stepped forward. “I think my friend is dying!”

There was no response.

“Please help us.”

The old man sat unmovingly.

This was the Remora Saphiria knew. It was the same Remora Saphiria endured the past eight years and the one where only a passing surgeon would risk his life to help another. But now Dimitry lay dying. Fortune blessed only those with the overwhelming force to defend themselves and that which they treasured.

Saphiria possessed such force.

And she wouldn’t hesitate to wield it.

She schemed around her two best weapons against a mage: a dagger and a dispelia scarf. The tools were suboptimal, but used well, even they could incapacitate a powerful head channeler in Father’s army. A bigger issue was getting close enough to apply them.

Although not all mages fought wars, any wizard proficient enough to treat overload could dominate a battlefield as small as this cargo hold with the precision of his magic. Dodging every spell would prove difficult. But it wasn’t only the spells hurling from his palms’ cores that Saphiria would have to avoid, but also those from the weaker cores on his back, soles, and even his nape. Advanced mages could cast spells from most of their body. Only once Saphiria locked the old man in an angle where he couldn’t hit her with a spell could she relinquish him of vol and force him to treat Dimitry.

Choosing a distraction to cover her advance, Saphiria grabbed a vol pellet and a loose silver gadot from her pocket. She dashed forth.

“Propelia.”

Gleaming silver flew from her palm and raced across the cargo hold. However, before the coin could pierce the old man’s forehead, it clanged against an unseen barrier and fell to the plank floor with a soft clink.

Were those the effects of protectia? It was the only spell that could form midair barriers, and yet the old man didn’t open his mouth to chant. Could he be a mumcaster?

A powerful opponent and a capable wizard.

The perfect person to treat Dimitry.

The old man’s arm swung sideways to aim at Saphiria, but she dodged faster than he could move. Or so she thought.

Fire set ablaze several strands of her hair.

“Illumina,” Precious whispered.

Blinding light erupted from the old man’s eyes. His outstretched arm swerved wildly, and after being unable to align with Saphiria, the palm aimed down instead.

The plank flooring became slick like ice—slipia’s effect.

Saphiria’s legs stumbled from a sudden loss of traction, so she slid forward on her knees instead. She pulled her dagger from its sheath and tossed the well-balanced blade forward.

The hilt’s blunt end smashed into the wizard’s closed hand, spilling all the pure vol he held, each green shard colliding into planks with a dense metal thud.

Before the old man could reach into his robe for more vol, Saphiria kicked away his arm. She partially untied her scarf such that half still covered her collar, pulled in close, and wrapped a loose end of the gray-glowing cloth around the wizard’s hands. The dispelia enchantment assured that he could accumulate vol in his powerful palm cores no longer.

Saphiria withdrew the utility knife from her cloak, held the blade to the wizard’s throat, and stepped on the back of his boots, prying them off with a swift shove. Dark green pellets erupted from one shoe. Her target’s hidden vol supply—those he intended to absorb through the cores of his feet—was now gone, too.

With horrified eyes, the wizard watched the last of his vol roll away.

“Is everything alright down there?” Bryce yelled from the deck.

“Everything is fine!” Saphiria said.

“I can go down and check!” a young man said. Judging by the metallic ringing of his footsteps, he was a Zeran knight.

Avoiding the wizard’s upper back cores, Saphiria leaned over the old man’s shoulder and whispered. “Tell them that everything is fine.”

“L-little miss, I—”

Saphiria pressed the knife to his neck. “Tell them that everything is fine. Now.”

“Everything is perfectly fine!” the wizard shouted. “Don’t bother yourself with us! We’re just having a jolly old time getting to know each other!”

“Don’t get too friendly down there!” Bryce said. “Save some energy for later. We got a long trip ahead of us.”

“Little miss,” the wizard whispered, “be more gentle, will you? My elbow is still ringing from that kick, and when did you even cast illumina? Judging by that collar and your talents, you’re no regular girl, are you? To think everyone only talked about that boy.”

Saphiria hadn’t the time for prattle. She shot another glance to the spot where Dimitry had vanished.

His body remained unseen, and the planks where he lay no longer creaked. He was still…

He was still.

“I need you to treat my friend. There’s not much time.”

“Little miss, I’m just a geezer trying to get—”

“And he’s just a surgeon,” Saphiria’s voice cracked. “He doesn’t mean you any harm, and if you help him, neither will I.”

The wizard sighed. “Was the boy the one that freed you?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“The mischief kids get into for love. Wish my wife cared about me as much as you do that boy. If anything, she would pay a hundred and fifty gold gadots just to get rid of me!” He chuckled and lifted his arms. “It’d be hard to help if you don’t unravel this scarf.”

“Can I trust you?” Saphiria asked, relying on a faerie’s advice.

“I’m afraid you have little choice.”

“He’s not trying to mislead you!” Precious whispered.

With shaky hands, Saphiria released the wizard and shoved her scarf into her tunic. She rushed towards Dimitry. As she got closer, his body gradually regained its color, fading into existence. Spots of blue bile emerged from bulging circuits and merged into horrific streams that leaked down his arms.

Oh no.

No no no.

She knelt beside Dimitry and shook his shoulder. “Tell me about gemstones, foxes, anything. I want to hear it all.”

There was no response.

“I’m s-still sensing some emotion,” Precious whispered. “He’s not dead yet!”

The wizard hovered overhead. A handful of pure vol pellets clinked in his palm. “Little miss, since you’ve forced me into doing this, I want something out of it.”

She scowled. “Is your life not enough?”

“Let’s not be rash, now. I’ve lived a long time and have never seen magics as curious as that boy’s. I must learn more about it. To do that, I must guarantee his life. Doesn’t that sound fair to you?”

“He’s not lying,” Precious said. “Let him help!”

Saphiria’s gaze traveled from the old man’s white beard to his exposed feet. There wasn’t a way to know how Dimitry would respond to the wizard’s demands, but when the only other choice was to let the surgeon die, she couldn’t refuse. “Do anything untoward, and you won’t see tomorrow. It’ll be painful.”

An alarmed chuckle escaped the wizard. “If only a beautiful girl would threaten someone for me.” Without a chant, lustrous green pellets vanished from his one hand, while the other traced Dimitry’s arm.

The turgid circuits ensnaring the surgeon’s wrist stopped convulsing, as did the cores protruding from his palms. Bile oozed no longer. This result must have come from a relaxia honed over decades of focused training. A wizard this skilled could serve a countess at minimum. Perhaps even a royal. Who was he?

Despite countless questions, Saphiria’s attention did not leave Dimitry. “Will he live?”

“A boy this young should be just fine.”

Waves tranquil and cool flushed across Saphiria’s limbs, dissipating the fervent rush of moments past. But calm couldn’t come. Not yet. On the deck above were members of the Church. To avoid arousing their suspicion, Saphiria had to take full advantage of the wizard’s talents—for her and Dimitry’s sake.

“Pardon me,” she spoke politely to avoid irritating the man who could kill Dimitry on a whim.

The wizard’s wrinkled palm hovered over Dimitry’s chest. “Be at ease, little miss. I’ve done this before.”

“I am grateful for your assistance, but there is another matter I wish to discuss.” Saphiria tugged on her collar of salvation. “A mage who can cast spells without a chant can melt steel with magic. I want you to remove it.”

“I figured you would ask.” The man tugged on his white beard. “How about this? If you refrain from killing me and keep this incident a secret from the Church, the crew, and the boy until we reach Coldust, I’ll remove that nasty collar. What do you say?”

The wizard hoped to guarantee his safety and anonymity throughout the voyage by dangling freedom from Zeran persecution over Saphiria’s head.

A fair trade.

Although having to withhold information from Dimitry troubled Saphiria, if her silence could free them both from persecution, she wouldn’t hesitate. “Very well. As long as you uphold your end of the bargain before we arrive and do us no harm, none shall come to you. I vow so upon my life.”

The old man shrugged. “As if I’d provoke a reckless lass like you.”

When Dimitry regained consciousness, the first thing he did was suppress the urge to vomit. Stomach contents clamored at his lower esophageal sphincter, prodding for the first chance to burn up his throat and escape through his mouth. A relentless rocking urged it forward. The kind that came from sailing in the open sea.

Dimitry hated boats.

The first sight to greet him was a relieved pair of indigo eyes. Saphiria rested the back of her hand on his forehead. “How are you?”

“I’ve been better.” He massaged his aching temples. “Is it safe to assume that you saved my life again?”

“Maybe a little.” Saphiria smiled a beautiful yet hesitant smile. “How can I not repay the man who sacrificed himself to keep his accomplice hidden?”

“You’re an angel.”

“What’s that?”

“A wonderful person.”

After a moment spent in contemplative silence, Saphiria leaned in to whisper. “We’re joined by a Zeran shield, a bishop, and a trainee priestess. All three are on deck. They didn’t recognize you or me as heretics. Precious is hiding underneath my tunic. She says the old man sitting across from us is friendly. Including Old Man Bryce, nine sailors are on board.”

The Church was still here? Not the best news to receive after waking with a migraine, but at least word of his assault on a bishop didn’t reach this far. Governmental and religious authorities must have used separate intelligence couriers. Town criers referring to him as the disappearing man rather than a heretic supported that conclusion.

Dimitry gave a strained nod. “Thanks for the information.”

“You’re very welcome.”

“Oh-ho! Told you the boy will live!” a voice like that of a cheerful old man said. “What do you say to that, little miss?”

Saphiria performed a small bow. “I’m in your debt.”

The old man chuckled nervously. “Perhaps I should be the grateful one.” He combed four fingers through his long beard as he approached. “Besides, it’s not you who owes me the debt, but this boy here.”

So the robed man was an experienced wizard after all. Although shocking that his aged and wise countenance matched fantasy sage stereotypes, given the massive time investment necessary to learn spells, educated elders dominating the magic industry made sense.

Dimitry wished to inquire about his ‘debt’, but before the question could take form, the urge to vomit struck again.

His sore arms strained to push off the cargo hold’s floor. He flew up the ladder, dashed across the ship’s deck, and keeled over its timber railing. Although he wished for sweet release, nothing ejected into the dark blue waves below.

“First time sailing?” a boisterous voice asked.

Dimitry glanced sideways to see a young man holding a human-sized steel shield. He wore a set of glowing armor that covered every part of his body aside from his face, which had dark green eyes and a confident grin that might make teenage girls swoon. Was he the Zeran shield Saphiria referred to?

Another nuisance.

“No… just not feeling too well.”

“That’s too bad. By the way, we haven’t met yet.” He held out his hand. “My name is Reece Wilbur, but people call me Big Reece or Race. You can call me either. Some prefer Race because it’s easier to say and just slips off the tongue, ya know? Whichever is comfortable for you is fine for me.”

Dimitry reached to give the overly verbose kid a handshake. “Has anyone introduced me to you yet?” He needed to know before spewing lies.

“No, all I saw was you lying around covered in blue bile. They said you were practicing magic all day while waiting for the ship to set sail. I admire your grit. Personally, I’m not patient enough to learn spells. All I seem to be able to do is hold up this shield and protect people that are!” Reece laughed, moving his face closer to examine Dimitry’s. “Your eyes. They remind me of something I heard while passing through Estoria. What was it again? Something like…”

Icy muck sludged down Dimitry’s spine. Burdened with a migraine, he wasn’t prepared to engage in a verbal struggle for his life. “My name is Arnest. Nice to meet you.”

“Now I remember!” Reece clapped. “Wasn’t Amalthea searching for someone with your pale green eyes, Arnest?”

“The Crimson Knights that boarded earlier said the same thing, but after examining my face, it turned out they were looking for somebody else.”

Reece bellowed a hearty laugh. “That’s great! I thought I was going to have to tell the captain to turn this ship around.” He laughed again.

Dimitry exhaled a heavy sigh. Fortunately, Reece was an idiot.

A young girl, no older than eight years old, ran past several crewmen. Her bite-sized white robe swept across the boat’s deck until she reached Reece. She hid behind one of the knight’s iron-clad legs, peeked out at Dimitry, and retreated shyly.

Dimitry smiled at the girl, and she waved her little hand back at him before retreating again. So that was the trainee priestess Saphiria mentioned. Religious indoctrination never looked so adorable.

“Sorry about her,” Reece said. “Selene doesn’t speak much around strangers. She’s a lamb deployed with us for an assignment in Mainefield. It’ll be her first time defending a heathen barrier. Say ‘hi’, Selene.”

She peeked out, waved, and hid again.

Lamb? Was that the official term for a trainee priestess? Why would they deploy young girls to fight a war against stone monsters? The idea irked Dimitry, but he couldn’t resist crouching and waving back at the girl. Her innocent smile melted his heart.

Hopefully, war wouldn’t take it away.

“It was nice meeting you, Reece. You too, Selene. I’m going back to the cargo hold.”

The blonde man pointed at a woman in her mid-thirties standing alone near the ship’s mast. “Are you sure you don’t want to meet the bishop? She’s not the friendliest, but she reads a mean prayer.”

Dimitry forced a grin. The last thing he wanted to do was talk to more people from the Church. “Maybe some other time. I need to go get some rest.” He stumbled back to the cargo hold.

“Feeling better, Arnest?” Saphiria wore a sly smile.

Being called a dead man’s name felt strange.

“In some ways, yes.” Dimitry turned to face the old man who now smoked a long pipe. Both white, its mist melded with the man’s long beard. “You said something about a debt earlier?”

The old man exhaled a cloud of smoke and patted the layered plank hull to his side. “Sit, boy. I want to hear all about that spell you used. I’ve seen nothing like it.”

Although the wizard saw him cast invisall, Dimitry preferred to stay silent. Divulging excess information led to trouble. Still, besides paying off his ‘debt’, now was an opportunity for mystical edification. The tome in the dark hall—did an experienced wizard like the old man know anything about it? Perhaps they could exchange information.

“Have you ever heard of tomes that teach magic?” Dimitry asked, wincing as he lowered into a sitting position.

The old man let out a wad of cool smoke smelling of burnt mint. “Of course I have. Every novice thinks they can learn spells from some giant book without a mentor.” A cough interrupted his full-bellied laughter. “Children and their silly dreams. You’re not going to tell me that you learned magic that hides you from sight with one of those, are you?”

A giant book? The tome Dimitry used in the dark hall had only a single page. Were they talking about two different things? He had to make sure. “I used a book with glowing blue characters.”

Pipe falling out of his mouth, the old man hesitated before speaking. “You what now?”

“They twisted on the page when I read them.”

“My boy, are you well?”

That confirmed Dimitry’s suspicions; the old man knew little about it. “Then again, they say I hit my head somewhere. I have trouble remembering things about myself and this world.”

“I see. The name’s Ignacius.” The old man glanced at Dimitry with a narrowed eye. “If you remember anything else about this ‘tome’, I would like to hear about it. And, if you could show me that spell one more—”

“Unfortunately, I can’t. Every time I use it, my body convulses and shakes.”

“I saw.” Ignacius tapped his pipe against the cargo hold’s layered plank wall. “I never saw a single spell do that to a person, even if they were overloaded. But it only makes your magic more intriguing. Say…”

“Say?”

“This trip won’t be long, so I won’t be able to do too much, but if I treat you the entire trip, will you cast that strange magic for me?”

An agreement that served as an opportunity to heal Dimitry’s wounds and learn more about medical treatment in this world. What was not to love? “I’ll agree to that.”