Elephant Pond 8:

Fear the shadow of thy name

By the time his father finally roused from his slumber, Morgan was almost asleep himself. Several hours had passed since they’d been captured, at least eight Morgan had guessed but he couldn’t tell whether it was actually night or if his own fatigue was warping his sense of time. Regardless he had been fighting to keep his eyes open until his father sat up on the cot Morgan had laid him down on.

He watched him groggily blink away the sleep and the reality of their new situation set in. They were in a small room almost made entirely of wood, the only exception being the set of iron bars that kept them from leaving it. A lit lantern from the hallway ahead of them illuminated their cell, as it swayed to the rocking of the ship, revealing a pirate seated at the end of the rows of cells identical to theirs when it swung his way.

The cell was barely big enough to fit Typhon and his son partially due to their size, and partially due to how small the cells were by any standard. It was cramped and bare enough that Morgan had wondered if the person who made it had gone out of their way to grant the prisoners as little comfort as possible. The wooden flooring was rough and riddles with countless splinters, the cots they laid on were too short and too narrow for either of them, with no pillows or blankets and a small wooden bucket of to the side that Morgan hoped wasn’t for what he thought it was.

“Morgan, where are we?” Typhon asked. Even after what should have been a full night’s rest he still looked exhausted, the circles under his eyes were deep and dark, and he moved his head and arms like they were burdens. Morgan supposed that was the cost of using a supreme weapon to the extent that he had.

“The pirates captured us after we fell. We’re in in the holding cells of one of the ships, on the sixth level,” Morgan answered and then added, “You should have seen the looks on their faces when they finally got their hands on us...I’ve never seen people seem so fulfilled by doing something so obviously wrong.”

“They know that it’s wrong, but they also know it’s profitable. That’s how this world works. Either way, we’ll get through it,” Morgan’s father said, clapping him on the back meekly. He had just woken up imprisoned, after fighting to the point of exhaustion for them to escape, yet he was able to ease Morgan’s worries or at least attempt to.

“You said we’re on the sixth floor?” he continued.

“Yes, I saw them as they walked us down, there are five other floors above us; the first is where the pirates’ themselves sleep. The rest hold cargo, all sorts of things from supplies and weapons to treasure, and even people like us, with a guard watching over each floor. The more valuable the cargo, the lower they put it, hence why we’re on the lowest, I guess,” Morgan said motioning down the hall in front of them to the guard. He was seated just before the stairs leading to the level above, casting glances at Morgan and Typhon ever so often.

“Where are your mother and Tory?”

“Right beside you,” Maya called from a cell to their left. Maya’s face appeared behind the bars and then Tory’s below hers; she looked like she’d been crying.

“I told you this trip was a bad idea,” Maya said softly. She didn’t say it like she was accusing him, more like she was reflecting on the fact, and wishing she had decided otherwise.

“I’m sorry. I was just doing what I thought the kids needed. I promise I’ll keep you all safe.” Typhon said and Tory nodded.

“It’s okay, we’re together and alive. And you did your best; better than most sea smith could.” Maya consoled.

"Maybe if I hadn’t turned my back on the forge and Avitide after making Tide Reaver, if I’d made something stronger, it could have turned out differently. Even if I could just change my last choice…”

Morgan was sure he was referring to the moment he had decided against letting the wave crash onto the pirates. Morgan wasn’t sure even now if he’d made the wrong choice, but maybe time would tell.

“It’s gone, we can’t change it now.”

“Quiet down there!” yelled the guard.

Maya and Tory shrunk away from the bars and Typhon settle back into his cot. Morgan could see him thinking again, formulating.

“Even if we do escape, how would we get back to Khantani? Our boat is in pieces somewhere underwater,” Morgan inquired.

“We can’t escape, Morgan,” his father said solemnly.

“What?”

“We can’t escape. There’s no way out that’s safer than just staying put.”

“You want us to stay here and be delivered to someone who will force us to work for them the rest of our lives?”

“Even if we managed to miraculously escape this ship and evade the pirates we couldn’t before, we’d have no choice but to island hop back to Khantani. That means journeying across isles and having to fight, actually fight, monsters for days with no food or weapons. I’ve been in isles before, Morgan, we’d never make it.”

“Isn’t trying better than never going home again?”

“I’m saying it’s not worth trying. Even If we did manage to fight our way through, how many of us would actually be able to enter Khantani again? You know our law. Harming or killing even once means you become burdened forever and you won’t be able to set foot in Khantani again. All of us, maybe besides Tory, would likely be burdened before we’re even half way there.”

Morgan sat in silence, his mind racing, scavenging for options. This just seemed too cruel a fate for him to accept.

“At least this way we’ll be able to stay together,” Typhon continued. “Whoever we’re being delivered to likely just wants us to smith for them. Besides, I’ve learned that in the outside world, or here I should say, there are many ways we can persuade people in the dull kingdoms, as sea smiths. I’m sure we will be able to buy or barter our way out of servitude and return home, we just need to be smart and patient. ”

Morgan laid back on his cot and turned away from his father, the now familiar restlessness returning to his limbs.

“I get it, it sounds terrible but just be careful of what you do and say for now and I’ll take care of the rest. We’ll be questioned soon, don’t offer up any more information that necessary, but don’t make it too obvious you’re withholding it either.”

When he was done Morgan neglected to respond and they didn’t speak the rest of the night, instead Morgan lay awake staring at the wooden ceiling. He already missed staring up at the fish in the Barrier Reef.

The next morning they were brought breakfast by a different pirate, one who had apparently switched out with the first overnight. They ate a meager serving of hard bread and cheese that did little to appease their hunger, especially since they hadn’t eaten since breakfast the day before.

The pirate over seeing them returned an hour later, with four sets of manacles of varying sizes and approached their cells.

“Hands out.”

Morgan looked at his father for confirmation and he nodded.

He clasped the manacles around Morgan’s wrists, followed by his father, mother and sister. They were heavy and dug into his wrists but it bothered him more was seeing his little sister struggling with them.

As they were ushered up the levels, Morgan watched his father peer into the other cells for the first time, and grimace at the faces that stared back or the state the prisoners were in until they stepped onto the deck.

Although the crew of the ship was present, they didn’t have the dedicated audience they had the evening before. Most of the crew was occupied with manning the ship, scrubbing the deck and various other duties. The only people that eyed the family as they walked onto the deck were Captain Ransom with two of his crewmates, the Captain of the boat they were on and an older man with green eyes and greying locks bundled under his hat. A few steps behind him were two men and a woman in iron armor with red capes.

“Good morning, I apologize for the late introduction. We had to get onto the Scab Channel immediately to stay on schedule,” the brown skinned man said, “ My name is Captain Bora Many, Captain of the lovely ship you’re standing on, Daiah’s Locker and this is Captain Dagon Verse, captain of the Black Dagger,” he said motioning to the older pirate.

“And our leader,” Bora added and Ransom grumbled.

As they were talking Morgan could tell they were still in fact on the Scab channel, by the speed they were passing isles by. It was an extremely fast ocean current that went all the way through the knife isles. The only issue was some of the largest and most notorious sea creatures used the current as well, making the exorbitantly expensive blue pearls, necessary. They were essentially artifacts that granted vessels the same blessing Avitide granted sea smiths, the ability to be ignored by all but the most aggressive sea creatures.

“Remind me again why we can’t keep the sea smiths to ourselves? We could have them mass produce weapons for us. We could make a fortune selling swords that can level mountains and invulnerable armor, or use them to take a few fortunes for ourselves,” Ransom fantasized.

“I’d heavily urge you to reconsider trying to betray our benefactor, Ransom. Especially given their reputation,” Dagon scolded.

“I’ve warned you before not to get your throat cut for a coin, Ransom,” Bora chimed in with a grin.

“Four sea smiths is a coin most armies would die smiling for. And who am I to say that I’m worth more than an army?” he answered and the other captains laughed.

“Alright, on to business,” Bora said clapping his hands together. “Firstly, I’d like to caution you that any and all lies will be very quickly and severely punished. We’ve wasted enough time here because your brethren chose to die rather than cooperate, so don’t waste any more of it with lies. And secondly in the instance you ever get tired of your cell and decide to risk doing something about it, our Harcovian friends here will be eagerly waiting to fulfill your requests,” Bora said motioning to the armored soldiers, “courtesy of our benefactor of course.”

“Let’s start simple,” he continued, and met each of their gazes before pointing to Typhon. “What are your classes?”

“My wife and I are Elementalists, sea smiths who can enchant and enhance weapons and armor with the elements. My son is a Naturalist which means he can use the remains of mystical creatures and plants, to make his own, and my daughter hasn’t had the chance to have her class determined yet.”

“And you do that by?” Bora said urging Typhon to elaborate further.

“Basically we do it by imbuing or altering the materials with runes as we forge the weapon, runes being symbols that can represent anything and everything from fire to a fish, to abstract concepts like death.”

“Is that how you made that spear that made waves, by enchanting it with power of the sea?” Dagon inquired.

“Yes.” Typhon confirmed, and Morgan tried his best not to react in a telling manner. What he’d said wasn’t entirely wrong, but Tide Reaver was also made of the remains of a Blood Reaver.

“And each of your classes has access to these runes that the others just don’t?” asked Bora.

“Well, classes for sea smiths aren’t rigid societal roles like the Harcovians’ over there, our classes are more like vocations. Or maybe closer to fields of study to understand and manipulate the magical world through, so the most basic runes like earth or plant are common knowledge to all, but the more advanced are reserved to the respective classes.”

“And what of the third class?” asked the largest of the Harcovians behind Dagon, grinning as if he’d caught Typhon in the act. The pirates hadn’t seemed to pick up on it before, but Harcovians as fellow tribesmen of the Knife Isles had known that each tribe had three classes.

The question prompted a raised brow from Ransom and Bora.

But he continued as if it were his next talking point that he was just getting around to. “They are Animists; those who can bind spirits and the souls of the dead to their crafts to summon them or channel their powers. However, binding the soul of a human or anything with a similar level of intelligence is taboo.”

“You sure he isn’t lying about all of this? He seemed awfully happy to give up that much information so willingly” interjected the soldier again. “I’d be happy to make sure he isn’t.”

Typhon’s brow furrowed and his tone grew hard and derisive: “I’m not willingly offering the information. I just actually value the lives of my wife and children, but maybe that’s not something a savage like you understands.”

Morgan’s father had made many over simplifications and hidden even more details, but this must have been what he meant by withholding information, without making it blatantly obvious. Yet his contempt towards the Harcovian’s accusation solidified the act in a way that showed in the pirates’ expressions, a skill he could have only perfected in the years he’d spent in the outside world, among prying dull men just like these.

“Regardless, Ransom isn’t entirely wrong then, we have them with us now, we could have them make a few weapons for us to sell and a few to keep before we deliver them,” Bora said to Dagon.

“That’s not possible,” stated Typhon, which prompted a measuring gaze from Bora and Dagon.

“And why is that? You,” Dagon asked pointing to Morgan.

“We can’t make our weapons outside of our forges,” Morgan replied.

“We have a forge below deck, nothing extravagant but working just fine,” Bora offered.

“Not a regular forge, we need our forges, Deep forges. And even if you had us make one, they have to be square pits in solid ground, several times bigger than those cells you have us in and take days to properly prepare even after that. Not to mention we’d need actual materials to make the weapons with,” Morgan was trying his best to dissuade them since making weapons for his captors was the last thing he'd want to do, but he hadn’t said a single lie.

“That’s truly a shame, I guess we’ll have to leave it be.” Dagon commented as he stared at Morgan.

Ransom scoffed and Bora sighed, “I’ll find something for the sea smiths to do. May not sweeten the deal as much as swords that can destroy mountains, but the deal is plenty sweet enough.”

“Who are you taking us to? We have the right to know,” Morgan said.

“You’re talking to the people who took your freedom away about your rights?” Bora laughed. “That’s enough for now, take them back,” Bora said waving down the pirate who brought them.

When they settled back into their cells, Morgan and his father sat in silence again. Morgan had thought it over a dozen times the night before; he knew his father was right. It was much safer for them to accept their fate for now and work for the mysterious benefactor that had hired the pirates, and hope to barter for their freedom later on. But accepting it still didn’t sit well in his stomach, it still made him feel cold and small.

“Boy, are you people really from Khantani?” whispered a voice. It came from the second cell down to their right, where Morgan saw an older man’s hands wrapped around the iron bars but the angle didn’t allow him to see any more of him.

“Uhm..yes.”

“A shame truly, I’d hoped they would have given up and left, it pains me to see other tribesmen imprisoned by these monsters,” his words were so slow and mournful that they were undoubtedly genuine.

Typhon tilted his head, the statement had his attention.

“Other tribesmen? Where are you from?” Morgan asked.

“I’m from The Plains.”

“I’ve never met a plain-walker before, but I’ve heard many good things...from my father. How did they even capture you though? I heard plain-walkers were strong.”

“We are...but my mind isn’t the greatest and when they came they held a woman hostage. They told me to submit else they’d kill her and her son.”

“That’s a shame. What is your name?”

“My name is.....D, at least that’s as much as I remember.”

“...Well D, my name is Morgan. Are the rest of these people from the Plains too?”

“Only the one beside me, the rest are from outside the isles, dull men with bounties on their heads.”

“I’m from Black Veil, and don’t call us dull, old man.” a man said. Morgan hadn’t even considered the possibility of there being other captives aboard the ships. If this ship had been among the ones Typhon had considered destroying, he would have innocent or relatively innocent blood on his hands.

“White Coast,” a female voice called and others murmured either of the places.

“Hold on, you're from White Coast and you’re this far down the Isles?” Typhon asked. White Coast was a large coastal city of ordinary men just outside of the Knife Isles. It was plagued by pirates, scavengers and smugglers all of them making meager livings off of what little floated off from the isles and were likely where their pirate-captors were from as well.

“Yeah, we aren’t going to White Coast,” she answered. “We’re headed down the Isles to Korenth.”

Typhon and Morgan shuddered at the name.