Kalandra Meyer had been alone for what seemed like a hundred lifetimes. All she could remember was being trapped in the impossibly dark and oppressively humid dungeon. The restraints that affixed her arms to the cold iron chair were immovable. When the Prophetess first invaded her mind, she’d tried to fight back but, with each pull at her chains or shout into the dark, her energy was sapped.

It would take days of recovery before she could even speak and days more until her body could gather the strength to move. The iron chair was freezing but, the room was hot. The air was thick yet, it seemed she could never get a full breath of it. She was constantly on the edge of collapse but never granted the mercy of unconsciousness.

Countless times, the cycle would continue. When her strength was regained, she would struggle and attempt to break free, only to be drained again. Finally after she’d lost count of her attempts at escape, she relented. This prison was designed to reward struggle with misery. Apathy would at least mean she could keep her faculties… for what little benefit that afforded her.

The lack of comfort wasn’t the worst part. It was the crushing loneliness. In a real prison, she could at least rest assured someone was alive in there with her. The screams of tortured victims, the cries of the broken, the guards bringing you a pitiful meal. But here, nothing. The only sound in the room was dripping water. It echoed off invisible walls, never ceasing, never caring.

This day, or perhaps night, as it always had, the dripping continued. Darkness filled the formless room, thick as the stifling air. She’d lost all sense of time or hope. Now, she sat, blank faced; removed.

A cool breeze suddenly swirled through the air. Then, it was gone.

Sitting in the same state for what could very well have been a thousand years had honed her to the same sensations. Nothing ever changed. The breeze was like a punch in the gut. Layers of haze and hopelessness fell away from her mind and she was instantly alert. Her eyes darted left and right and saw nothing but darkness. She knew what she’d felt though.

Through the quiet, a very distant rumbling started to vibrate the floor beneath her iron chair. At first, it was is if she were hearing machinery from miles away through a cave wall. The sound continued to grow in intensity. Soon, the entire room felt like it would fall apart around her as it bucked and jolted.

The ferocious sound and violent shaking should have frightened her, but it had been a long time since she bothered to feel fear. Sadness, yes. Hopelessness, yes. But not fear. Death from whatever this was was preferred to an eternity of nothingness.

Her heart pounded in her chest with anticipation.

Then, the sound ceased. The room was flooded with bright white light.

For a few moments, the light was too intense. Unable to move her arms, she could only close her eyes as tightly as possible. Suddenly, a soothing baritone reached her ears. The sound of another human was a sparkling oasis in a hopeless dry desert. “Hello there. My name is Jim. Can you understand me?” the voice asked.

The relief in her heart was beyond description. A voice, no matter how unknown was welcome in this place of nothingness. She chanced to open her eyes. Ahead of her, the blurry image took form. It was a man. Malice or ill intent were not to be found in his eyes. This was no servant of the Prophetess. He smiled and asked again in his soft voice, “Can you understand me?”

It had been so long since she’d spoken. Nearly as long since she had bothered to form a thought that might be translated into words but, she did understand him. Slowly, she nodded her head. Tears poured from her eyes. If she died now, at least she’d seen another person.

The man smiled. His eyes were kind but, there was weariness behind them. He reached out a hand toward where she was sitting and said, “Let’s get those restraints off of you.” Suddenly, the shackles on her arms and legs were gone. Not just broken. Gone. He reached down and grabbed her hand in his own. It was warm; real.

“What is your name?” the man who called himself Jim asked. She realized, she’d have to actually speak. As he helped her stand slowly to her feet, she tried to conjure up the words. Even moving her mouth felt foreign. Finally though, she spoke, slowly, “My n….name is...my name is..is Kalandra. Kalandra Meyer.”

Jim smiled again and replied, “Kalandra Meyer, welcome back...to freedom. Her constructed world vanished, and the a small infirmary appeared. She was back. She was free.

***

“You know,” Henry commented as he parried another rapid strike from Jim’s practice sword, “I dare say, you’re getting better at this. Batting away a sideways slash that would no doubt leave a normal man bruised, Henry jolted behind his slower human opponent and swatted him on the backside with the flat of his sword.

Jim stumbled forward and rubbed his right cheek. From nearby, some of the gathered crew members laughed and cheered him on. Kalandra also stood, at the fringes of the group, quietly watching. It had only been a day since her release from the Prophetess’ control. Normally very shy, she’d latched onto Jim.

He had tried to warn her away, insisting that he made for lousy conversation. She didn’t care. He had saved her and she would follow him to the ends of Ruin. Besides, she wasn’t fond of conversation herself. Being around someone almost as quiet as she was set her at ease.

“You going to let him kick your ass? Literally?” Taruh shouted from the front of the crowd. New laughter rang out among those gathered.

Harol, the lead deckhand had even taken a break from his usual duties to watch. The man was a walking machine, void of most emotion, focused on whatever task he felt was most important. Today though, he couldn’t pass up a chance to see Henry in action. “Hey! Do clockwork men have balls?” he shouted. “Find em and go for a cheap shot, Jim!”

Jim was breathing heavily. The practice swords were made from hard Pecan wood, meant to simulate weight and strength of steel as closely as wood could. His sword arm was tiring and his reaction time was lengthening. The sparring match had been hopeless from the start, he knew, but repeated matches against the frighteningly fast clockwork man was doing wonders at honing his skills.

Jim had always been confident with a blade. Unlike the other awakened among the crew, his powers were not much use in the sky. As an awakened of earth, his usefulness required… earth. Since most of their engagements were kilometers in the air, he’d purposed to sharpen his swordplay abilities.

He continued to circle his opponent as the crowd cheered him on. Bets were passed around and taunts were flung at both opponents. Knowing that no human could hope to best Henry in a duel, the bets weren’t placed on a victor but rather, points. If Jim could land five blows to Henry’s fifty, it was considered a victory for Jim. He was at three.

Seeing another potential opening, Jim thrust his sword toward Henry’s midsection. The thrust was batted away. Jim expected the move however and used the sudden sideward momentum to spin and slash low. In any form of swordplay, a spin was considered foolish. Fun to watch on stage perhaps, but impractical in a real fight. Jim was counting on it.

He dropped to the deck and rolled sideways in a threesixty degree arc. Henry sliced through the air but, Jim had already gone too low. His preposterous move was met with a satisfying clang of wood on brass as his sword met Henry’s mobility ball. The crowd erupted. More crewman crept out from below deck to watch the spectacle. Henry, being his usual jovial self laughed at Jim’s audacity.

“Haha. You never cease to amaze, Jim” he taunted. “It makes sense that you would resort to...childish tactics.” Henry darted to Jim’s left and slashed at his leg. Jim stumbled sideways to parry and was thrown off balance in the process. Taking advantage of his opponent’s misstep, Henry continued around and struck twice before Jim could respond. Again, the crowd cheered.

Taruh, who had been keeping score shouted, “Fourty-eight to four, Henry!”

Jim was spent. His lungs heaved to gather oxygen from the rarified air. Over the months, he had adjusted to life at high altitudes but, he still had limits. The ship rocked gently under his feet as he regained his footing. “Is that a hint of anger I sense?” he taunted back.

Henry laughed and shook his metallic head, “No, just disappointment. I thought I’d taught you better. It seems, you need another painful lesson.” Before Jim could respond, Henry thrust at his left shoulder. His blow was parried but, his next attacks were already thought out. A slash to the right was met with another successful block but the thrust to Jim’s left pelvis was not.

Jim bent over in pain and shouted, “Damnit Henry. That was too hard!” The crowd was in hysterics, shouting, “Final blow, final blow!” Henry shrugged and leaned down to Jim. “Sorry about that, I'll make the last one quick,” he replied. But, Jim wasn’t ready to lose.

Jim’s stance shot straight again. His hand shot out as the sword was instantly turned into a projectile. The last effort of a desperate man. His sword sailed through the air and impacted Henry’s right shoulder. With a loud clang, many bets were suddenly lost.

Despite the majority of them being stripped of their winnings, the crew cheered at Jim’s desperation move. It was his first time ever scoring five hits before Henry reached fifty. A spiritual victory if nothing else. Henry, laughing at the preposterousness of it all, rolled over to the heaving Jim and lightly tapped him on the shoulder with his blade for the fiftieth point.

With the match concluded, Jim lay on his back for a minute and caught his breath. Soon, the crew returned to their normal duties. Kalandra had been assigned by Harol to attend to mess hall cleaning duties. All new crewmembers had to work their way up to the more desirable positions. Glancing over one more time to ensure Jim was alright, she disappeared quietly through the door below the quarterdeck.

The deck was quiet again aside from the steady breeze and low hum that accompanied their dual steam powered propellers. Thin wispy clouds drifted by overhead as their ship continued its journey west.

Henry reached a metallic hand down and helped Jim to his feet. Sweat was pouring down his face, but he was all smiles. He hobbled over to the portside railing and rested on his forearms, watching the dune sea crawl by below. Squinting, he could make out a small line of landships, no doubt on a trade run to Freeport from somewhere in the south.

Landships were the bulk trade vessels of choice in ruin. Even a small cutter could haul three times the cargo weight of a similarly sized airship. Despite the ongoing post-war purge in the conquered lands of the Federation, trade from the south was alive as ever. If the reported guerilla action within Alliance territory was making a difference, it didn’t show.

Henry rolled alongside Jim and slapped him on the back. “I think I’m a bad influence on you, Jimmy boy,” he joked. You’re becoming a downright dirty fighter.” He turned and leaned back against the rail. Metal screeched as he attempted to mimic the human habit of crossing one’s arms.

Jim flinched at the sound and replied, “I’ve always fought dirty. In my prior career, there was no other way. It’s more likely, you’re growing too confident in my failings.” He leaned over the railing a bit further, trying to catch the cool breeze on his sweat drenched head. It had taken some months and a few frightening battles but, most of his fear of heights was gone. The Liberator was his home now.

Henry laughed. His voice always sounded oddly metallic when he did. As if the machinery holding his ether cube was not designed for it. Shrugging, he replied, “I suspect, you’ve been underestimated plenty of times in your life. It’s too bad Sandra wasn’t around though. Now, she is almost a challenge.”

Jim sighed, “You and I both know, where Vachir goes, she goes.” Earlier that day, Vachir and Sandra had set out ahead of the Liberator in the small cutter landship normally stored below-deck. The plan was set for them to arrive in Freeport a day early and arrange docking rights for their airship...likely through a series of bribes.

While docked, they would take on supplies and the crew would enjoy a few days of leave. During their stay, Vachir would meet with the Protectorate ambassador to the Unaligned League - a nebulous alliance of most free ports and trade towns not associated with the empires of Ruin.

According to Emat’s prophecy, the next clue to the key’s location was located deep in Protectorate territory. Unfortunately, their cities were strictly off limits to outsiders except for rare exceptions. It was a long shot but, Vachir hoped he still held some weight with the northern empires.

Henry interrupted Jim’s thoughts, asking, “Why do you suppose that is?”

“Suppose what is?” Jim inquired.

“Why do you suppose she follows him around like a lost puppy?” Henry asked.

Jim laughed and replied, “More like a lost tiger. That woman is a walking death sentence for anyone who happens to get on her bad side.” Henry nodded and Jim continued, “It’s likely some sense of duty to him. Neither of them likes to talk about their Federation days but, get enough alcohol in someone and, even the strongest willed soldier opens up.”

“Oh?” Henry asked, “do tell.”

Jim shrugged and replied, “There isn’t much to tell. A month or so ago, after our raid on that Alliance convoy, they celebrated a bit to hard and got pretty smashed. The conversation eventually led to their time as soldiers. Seems they served together for something like twenty years before, you know… the last battle.” Henry’s shade darkened as he nodded. The glow in the distance of the capital city fires still burned fresh in their memories.

Jim continued, “They’ve saved each other’s lives a dozen times over in just as many battles.”

“And you don’t think all that time in the heat of battle would have resulted in a closer relationship?” Henry asked with a hint of mischief in his voice.

Jim thought about it for a moment and shook his head, “Honestly, I don’t know. I’m no expert on people or romance.”

“Speaking of which,” Henry asked, “I noticed Captain Rychist wasn’t there to watch your beating. Trouble in paradise?”

Jim sighed, “always.” Turning toward the forecastle, he stared at the door to the captain’s cabin. Since their nearly disastrous raid the day before, both had been avoiding each other. She knew what he was going to say and he knew the argument that would ensue. He still had to try.

Taking a deep breath, he continued, “Well, Henry. If I don’t make it out alive, speak well of me at my funeral.”

As he started toward the door, Henry grabbed him by the shoulder and commented, “Perhaps you should clean yourself up first. You know...pretty corpse and all that.”

***

“Dammit, Jim. I’m sick and tired of you treating my like a brittle desert flower. I don’t need your coming to my rescue every five minutes and I don’t need you choosing my missions for me. I knew the risks going in and you -”

“Are you really that oblivious?” Jim interrupted. “There’s a child growing inside you. Our child. This isn’t about you. It stopped being about you or myself the moment we found out. Throwing yourself into harm’s way goes way beyond personal decision.”

He threw himself backwards on the bed of their small space aboard the Liberator. He closed his eyes and tried to quell the anger that was building up inside. “This has become a problem we can’t just give up on and walk away from.”

Alia stormed across the cabin and thrust a finger toward Jim, “You are the problem, Jim. You find problems in everything; fault in all I do. I’m not a child. In fact, I’m much older than you. As for our...baby,” there was something alarming in the emphasis, “I’m not going to let it get in the way of my duties as a captain. If it lives, it lives. If not, it wasn’t meant to be.”

Jim had gotten to know Alia very well over the past four months. She was many things but, none of them were superstitious. He rubbed his temples in frustration and sat up. Shaking his head, he asked, “Since when did you start believing in things like fate?”

Alia sniggered in disgust and turned toward the door. Before should could get far, Jim stood up and protested, “No. Not this time. You can walk out on any other fight but, not this one.” This argument was getting him nowhere fast.

He decided to take a gentler approach and tried again in a voice of forced calm. “Alia, when you mentioned our child, I couldn’t help but notice a bit of...disappointment in your voice.”

She stopped but continued to face the door. He’d struck a nerve. Her response was hushed. “No, Jim,” she replied gently. “I’m not disappointed. I...No. That’s a lie. I am disappointed.”

Jim’s heart sank at her words.

She continued, “I’d always assumed that I could never have children. After so long as a breeder, so many lost children, I was barren. For a long time, that didn’t mean anything to me. Raising a family was the last thing on my mind. I had a ship, a crew, responsibilities.” She didn’t sound entirely convinced of her own words.

“But then, I came along and messed all that up,” Jim commented dryly.

Alia turned to face him. Her face was still red but, her anger was bleeding away into sadness. “You don’t understand,” she replied. “I was happy that I couldn’t have children. It meant that I was one less person at risk of spawning more slaves for that bitch. Without the ability to conceive, I could deny her that one small thing.”

Jim crossed the cabin and placed his hands on her shoulders. “Is that what this is about?” he asked. “You’re afraid of conceiving some sort of monster?” He waited for another angry protest but, it never came. Alia stared ahead, stone faced.

Finally, she nodded and replied, on the verge of tears, “Yes, Jim. I’m afraid, ok? Is that what you wanted to hear? Captain Rychist is afraid.” Again, she turned away from him, unable to face him as she added, “What if she did something to me while I was under her control? What’s to say our child won’t be-”

Jim crossed the room and turned her around gently. Placing his hand on her face, he replied “Alia, anything that comes from you could be nothing less than perfect.”

She smiled and replied, “Careful putting me on such a high pedestal. When I fall, I could really hurt myself.” They both chuckled.

Well, it’s a spiritual victory. That’s two for the day, he thought.

“Please just promise me one thing,” Jim asked.

“What’s that?” Alia replied cautiously.

“Until the baby is born, no more off-ship adventures.”

Alia took a deep breath and collected herself. “Ok, Jim,” she relented. “No more wild adventures until after the baby is born.”

Jim didn’t quite know what to say. With feigned surprise, he asked, “Did I just win an argument?”

A smile crept up one side of Alia’s face. It was one of the quirks he loved about her. “Don’t push your luck, mister,” she warned.

Sitting back down and raising his hands in surrender, he added, “Now that that’s over, there is one other thing I’d like to do to ensure our child is healthy.” Alia raised a suspicious eyebrow and crossed her arms.

Patting on the spot next to him, he asked, “Would you mind laying down for a minute?”

Alia rolled her eyes, “Sex? Really? Jim, I really don’t think now is the time to-”

“No no no,” he interrupted. “Not that. Although that would be pretty great...”She punched him in his arm and they both laughed. He tried to push that particularly appealing thought out of his mind as he continued, “As you know, awakened of earth have the ability to heal others. But, I believe I can also...well, I don’t know the right word for it but, diagnose?”

Alia tilted her head and asked, “Diagnose what?”

Jim replied, “Do you remember the cave back after we escaped the Prophetess’ ambush?”

“Yes,” she answered. “Where you healed me and I returned the favor by kicking your ass.”

Jim shook his head and replied, “I recall being on the giving end of that ass kicking.” They both laughed and, he received a few more punches in the arm.

“Ok ok!” he shouted, hoping to salvage some of his already sore sword arm. “What I was getting at was, I didn’t just heal you. Somehow, during the process, I gained an intimate understanding of every injury to your body. It was as if I could feel each wound and transfer the pain to myself in order to heal it.”

“What are you getting at?” she asked skeptically.

“I think I can...diagnose our child.” Alia shook her head immediately but, he continued. “Whoa whoa, hang on. This is different than healing, Alia. It doesn’t cause me harm. It’s simply a way for us to ensure the baby wasn’t injured back on that ship when you were struck. Also, as you know, I have the ability to remove any control the prophetess might have on another’s mind.”

He thought back to his earlier experience with Kalandra and the other fire awakened, Rashid. The mental toll it took during each cleansing made him respect the late Doctor Hanson even more. The man had freed the many among the crew of The Liberator, one by one, long before Jim had joined them.

He continued his plea with, “If she does somehow have a hold on our child, I can break it. Our baby will not be a ‘monster’ as you fear. Not if I have anything to say about it.”

Alia sat in silence for a moment and considered his proposal. Finally, after what he assumed must have been a conflicted inner monologue, she nodded. “Ok,” she replied. “But, please, be careful. The youngest person Benjamin ever cleansed was sixteen. I don’t even know if you can get into the mind of a three month old unborn child.”

Jim smiled and nodded as Alia lay down next to him. Placing his hands above the small bump that would undoubtedly grow to be quite large in the next six months, he closed his eyes and concentrated.

The sensations that flooded him were beyond visual but not quite a physical feeling. It was as if he simply knew every part of Alia’s body. He could sense a slight pain in her lower back. No doubt, from being thrown into the bulkhead by the awakened priest’s lightning. He resisted the urge to heal her and continued his search. As he traveled through her body, he didn’t quite know how to move beyond it and into the developing child’s small form.

As he continued to search, he picked up a faint heartbeat. It was far too rapid to be Alia’s. And, there was something else. Something he didn’t expect. Suddenly, he was overcome with emotion.

Although he was travelling through her body with awakened powers, he was faintly aware that tears were forming in his eyes back in the waking world. As if down a long hallways, he could hear Alia’s concerned voice asking, “What’s wrong Jim? You’re crying.”

Willing himself back into the present, he slowly opened his eyes. The world was a blur until he wiped away the tears. In front of him, Alia’s face was white with horror. “Oh gods, what is it? Is it dead? Oh no no no I can’t-”

Jim shook his head and smiled. “No,” he replied, “They’re not dead. And they're free from any control. Far from it in fact.”

Alia’s eyes widened, “They? Are you saying..”

“Yes,” Jim replied. “You’re pregnant with twins. Two girls and, I’ve no doubt, they will be a beautiful and healthy as their mother.”