ARC 2 - VIRTUE

CHAPTER 9 - JUSTICAR'S VOYAGE

Nora woke in a mad scramble to free herself from her hammock. The small ropes refused to free her and she tumbled onto the wooden floor with a foot still dangling above. She struggled out of the awkward position and threw on her sword belt. Bare feet gripped wooden stairs as she clambered up the stairs without a thought for her boots. On the deck of the Sea Witch the fresh air brought a moment’s reprieve, but a bubble rising in her throat demanded her move to the edge of the ship. Salty spray splashed up the hull and the smallest of droplets reached her pale face while she hung over the railing. She gripped her blonde hair in a fist behind her head while her stomach emptied itself.

It wasn’t her first time on the open water, but this time was far worse than the last. The seas had churned for two days straight in the aftermath of the storm they’d barely beaten out of harbor. She’d been unable to hold down more than a few gulps of water in that time and despite her exhaustion sleep evaded her, instead replaced by a constant urge to wretch regardless of how little she ate.

“That’s quite the sword, Justicar.”

Nora wiped her mouth on her sleeve and turned to see the Angel standing further down the deck. Had he already been there when she came up? Or did she miss his approach while she was bent over the side of the ship? She eased herself up from the railing and turned to rest the small of her back against the smooth wood.

“Thank you,” she replied and suppressed a final heave from her stomach. “It was passed down to me from my father.” Then, with the realization of the Angel’s age, added, “Do you know it?”

“Of course,” Uriel said matter-of-factly. “I made it.” Nora’s eyes widened and her hand absently went to the hilt. “I’m more interested to hear what you know of it. It’s name, at least?”

“The Sword of Morning,” Nora answered, “though I admit I don’t refer to it by name very often.”

She’d always assumed that the weapon was from the time of the Void War, most relics were, but the confirmation of it came with a sense of wonder. What’s more, it’s maker stood before her centuries later and still very much alive. To admit to not paying the blade the respect it was due…a touch of shame crossed her face.

“Worry not, I don’t take any offense,” Uriel said and leaned onto the railing with folded arms. One of his muscle-bound limbs was different than the other, the skin slightly darker and more leathery, but both were covered in swirling black tattoos. “Names are an odd thing,” the Angel continued. “Weapons certainly aren’t alive, not even ones made with Light, yet somehow a name seems to give them some additional…substance.”

“I’ve heard others say the same. Just an illusion of the mind, though,” she noted. The Angel’s thoughts seemed rhetorical, but the conversation was the only thing keeping her mind off her illness. Besides, no one else had been able to help her—if Uriel didn’t have the answer then no one would. “This blade has always been the same for me, called by name or not. It’s…frustrating.”

“And how does it frustrate you?” The Angel said with a quizzical look.

“I can call the Light from it, but never give it back.” Nora frowned and glanced at the sheathed sword on her hip. “Someday it will be empty of that power and be no more useful than any other blade.”

A broad smile graced the Angel’s lips. “Oh, I wouldn’t worry. I doubt you’ll be able to use all that the blade carries in your lifetime,” Uriel said warmly. “Do you have any thoughts on why you can’t imbue it with your own strength?”

Nora scowled. Was this a game? She respected that a craftsman would take pride in their work, but was it too much for the Angel to give the information freely? All of the things she’d tried over the years had failed and now a literal legend dangled the answer in front her. With a deep breath she quelled both the nausea and agitation that rose from within.

“Why do you think it has its name?” Uriel offered.

Nora massaged her sore cheeks, biding time for an answer. It helped with the fatigue she felt through her face, but didn’t take the foul taste out of her mouth. “Something to do with the light that comes with each morning?” she shrugged.

Uriel stroked the short black beard that came to a point beneath his chin. “Perhaps more has been lost to time that we thought,” he muttered. Then, more loudly said, “You have the wrong interpretation of the name. It wasn’t named for the rising sun, but for the memory of loss.”

Nora chewed on her lip absently as her mind carried her through the possibilities. If it was named ‘mourning’ and still had to do with the Light then that would mean…

She let out a small gasp. “The Light inside is that of its previous wielders.”

A faint smile flashed across Uriel’s lips. “Good. Very good, indeed.” He turned back to gaze out at the horizon. “I was not permitted to give humanity the full power of the Heavens when I forged weapons, so each came with a limitation. You are correct that the blade will not take your strength. Not yet, at least.”

“And when I die…”

“The next will be able to use the memory of your affinity,” Uriel confirmed.

Nora drew the blade and titled it back and forth in her hands, letting what little light of the moon that peeked through the clouds glide along the polished metal. “Father,” she whispered.

Satisfied for the time being, the Angel took to humming something that might have resembled a shanty, though the notes were lower than a normal melody. With a newfound respect, Nora sheathed her sword and matched his outward gaze. She’d take the soreness in her legs from too long spent in a saddle over the uncertainty she felt in her gut from an ever-swaying deck any day. It was a wonder sailors ever adjusted to the roll of the ship at all. Uriel’s song helped somewhat, its sound familiar in a way that brought a steadiness to her mind.

“And the whole thing came crashing down,” a woman’s voice sang, finishing the tune.

Captain Atherton made her to them, unphased by the rocking of the ship. Raven hair touched the captain’s shoulders and she wore a black three-sided hat of the same color that miraculously stayed atop her head at all times no matter how strong the wind might blow. Her blouse was tight to her skin, but the black overcoat with golden detailing gave her the illusion of added size as she strode across the deck.

“It’s far too long before sunrise for the two of you to be awake. Are my rooms not to your liking?”

“Angel’s don’t require sleep, Captain,” Uriel said without taking his eyes from the sea.

“I see,” Captain Atherton said before turning her attention on Nora. “I’d repeat the question to you, Justicar, but your face gives away your reason—you’re white as gull shit. Give it another day or so and you’ll adjust.”

“I hope so,” Nora mumbled. Watching the captain perfectly alter her stride to match the angle of the deck had only brought awareness to how much they were moving. Nora’s stomach began to gurgle again.

“Another five nights and we’ll reach the Ring of Storms,” Captain Atheron informed them. “Certainly won’t be pretty if you don’t have your sea legs under you by then.”

The captain looked ahead of the ship, surveying the sky. A thin layer of clouds masked their view of the stars, but they’d been promised it wouldn’t matter. The Sea Witch had made this journey enough times that the whole crew could do it drunk—a boast Nora was relieved to discover wouldn’t be put to the test on this particular trip. Even so…

“Great,” Nora muttered. She’d known they’d have to cross through the band of squalls that encircled the islands of Motu, but had been suppressing the dread that came with the knowledge.

“Be careful now,” Captain Atherton said as she turned to head back to the helm. “Everyone thinks the sirens sing at dusk, but it’s the twilight hours before dawn that their melody enthralls best.” The captain was halfway across the deck before she stopped and glanced over her shoulder. “Are Angels immune to the song of the sea as well?”

Nora thought she heard Uriel chuckle, but it was impossible to tell over the crash of the waves against the ship’s hull. “Is there something I’m missing?” she asked once the captain was well out of earshot.

“Captain Atherton has expressed a certain curiosity about the Angels. Specifically, if we have any weaknesses,” Uriel explained.

Nora frowned. “Why would she care about that?”

“Oh, it’s nothing more than a jest - something to pass the time at sea,” Uriel said calmly. “Please, don’t let it trouble you. I know you were assigned as my protector, but we’re not in any danger—yet.”

Nora would’ve loved for it not to trouble her, but keeping tabs on the Angel had proven hard enough, even on the relatively small space that was the Sea Witch. It was one thing that the Ascended didn’t require sleep—that was a disadvantage she could do nothing about. It was another thing entirely that the muscled man seemed to actively try and separate himself from her. Up until this very moment they hadn’t even spoken besides an introduction at the Citadel during their mission brief with the Highlord.

Nora sighed a little too deeply and a dry heave followed the end of her breath. She cursed the sour taste in her mouth and stared out at the horizon. The line where the sky met the sea was only distinguishable by the waves that constantly broke—

She vomited again, no more than a few drops of bile. A deep ache set itself in her gut. Heaven’s damn this mission, she thought. Why did we have to cross the sea?

The voidling leapt at her, but she gracefully dodged to the side, nearly bisecting it with her sword as she did so. The Angel had been right, the number of Void were increasing as they neared their goal. None of them were hard to kill, not individually, but she could see how even the most capable warrior could be overwhelmed were they not careful. The idea of her father meeting his end surrounded by the monsters filled her with rage and sorrow. She broke her mind free of the thought in time to find more of the creatures bearing down on her.

The ground trembled as holy fire cracked the rock and spewed upward, melting the carapaces of the voidlings it touched and leaving them thrashing as they died. Uriel rose from his kneeling position and the tattoos on his arms faded back to a dull black. With the immediate threat removed, Nora gave a nod of thanks and sheathed her sword.

The slope was gentle enough that it was more of a tiring walk than a true climb, but she was thankful she’d chosen the lighter leather of the Justicar’s traveling attire over full plate. They hadn’t gone more than a quarter way up the slope before Uriel led them into a smooth tunnel wide enough for half a dozen men to stand shoulder-to-shoulder. Even so, Nora now realized why taking a full complement of Templar wasn’t part of the plan. For one, a ship to transport one hundred-odd men was far more expensive than two cabins for a single Justicar and her “companion”. The tunnel also didn’t lend itself to the Templar way of fighting. The two of them were much stronger when given room to operate. So long as the Angel didn’t mistakenly burn her to a crisp she could focus entirely on keeping herself alive against these vile creatures. Uriel certainly didn’t seem to need much of her protection.

“How much further to our destination?” she asked once she’d lost sight of the tunnel’s entrance behind them.

“To the center of the mountain,” Uriel informed her. “It won’t take long if we move quickly, which I recommend we do.”

Nora raised her brow at the suggestion.

“These tunnels are carved from lava, Justicar. We do not want to be in one when the mountain wakes.”

That did seem like a good reason to hurry. Nora nodded deeper into the tunnel and Uriel took to a light run, his tattoos turning to a faint gold that illuminated the walls around them. As they moved the pieces came together in Nora’s mind. The aspects of the Archangels were well known, but those of the Angels had either been lost to time or purposefully withheld from nearly all written work. It was only because the Highlord had seen fit to inform her that she made the connection. Uriel was the Aspect of Flame and required what he called World Blood to re-ascend. Now, as she tailed the Angel through the tunnel, she began to imagine the power he sought.

Before them there was a flash and the sound of a thunderbolt cracking against rock. Uriel’s tattoos flared to a bright white and Nora drew the blade from her side. She grinned as white-hot fire spewed from the Angel’s hands and tore through the portal. The Sword of Mourning glowed as she called forth its Light and the steel cut through the Void as though they were but blades of grass.