Chapter 2

“Overly dramatic as always, Wil. Instead of just predicting our doom, maybe you want to explain why we should all prepare for the end?” Mara said, pushing against Wil so that he stumbled from the desk.

Losing his support, he tumbled onto the cabin floor, where he lay moaning again. Arms over his eyes, he rocked back and forth on his back, his whining growing louder.

“For the love of…Martin, can you fix him please?” Annabelle exclaimed, throwing her hands up into the air and walking away from the pathetic mess in front of her.

Martin strode forward, divine mana already gathered as he lay a cool hand on Wil’s flushed skin. The wave of healing mana swept through his body, easing his seasickness. For the first time in a week, his head was clear, and his stomach settled.

Feeling renewed, Wil climbed back onto his feet before gripping Martin tightly by the collar.

“What in the nine layers of Hell was that! You let me suffer all week when you could have cured me in a second!” Wil roared, shaking the cleric violently.

“It’s temp-or-ary!” Martin tried to explain, his teeth rattling with every shake, breaking up his words. “Drain-ing, Need-for-emer-gency!”

“Wil, focus!” Annabelle called out, her hand over her head to try to keep the headache from building. “You can murder Martin later. Explain!” She ordered pointing to the violently rocking glass forecaster. Gale was still funneling mana into it, since no one had ordered him to stop.

“Alright. Stop that!” Wil said irritably, slapping Gales hand out of the way. The black rock slowed and began to gently drift towards the middle of the container again.

“With all due respect, Mr. Brookmoor, Gale is trained and educated in weather forecasting. From what Miss Quentin has described, you seem to be less…knowledgeable in that area. Why should we trust your assessment?” The captain said, as Wil leaned over the desk and looked at the glass container.

“You’re right, I don’t know a thing about the weather. But I can read glyphs and runes better than Gale. Look, this forecaster doesn’t have much to do with predicting the weather, not really.” Wil said, looking at the floating rocks, reading the runes was easier now that his head wasn’t splitting in half from the ship’s motion.

“You mean to tell me, this expensive weather forecasting device, that I paid a small fortune for, doesn’t do the one thing it’s designed to do?” Annabelle hissed out, narrowing her eyes.

“Easy! Calm down. That’s not what I meant. Alright, Runes 101. Predicting the future is hard, incredibly so. The heavens are tricky to understand, and even the gods can’t give us mortals an accurate idea of what will happen before it does. Weather forecasting looks for signs, natural phenomenon to observe, and their predictions are based on that.” Wil stood straight, lifting the fragile glass container from the desk so everyone could see. Like a lecturer in the Academy, he continued his explanation.

“Something like this? It obviously can’t read the wind or water currents to forecast. So, instead, it reads the ambient mana in the air and water around it. Based on those amounts, it can give you a pretty solid idea of what to expect the weather to be.”

“So…it doesn’t predict anything?” Gale asked, confused. He had been trained by the Association to use weather forecasting devices and could even manage some simple spells to control the wind or lessen rain.

But understanding runes and glyphs were beyond his education. He never knew how the diviner worked, just that it did.

“No, not really. It’s easy to understand once you can read the runes. Storms always draw more ambient mana into them, they rile up the natural energy in the environment. These beads and rocks floating here? They don’t matter at all, just a way to easily identify what the runes on them do.”

“Clear bead? It’s going to be good weather. Because the runes are weak, any ambient mana will activate them, causing the bead to float to the top. Too much mana, they won’t activate at all.” Wil explained, pointing the clear glass bead floating the center.

“They’re all like that, with each having stricter requirements for activation. As for the black rock here, the ruins on it are the strictest, requiring strong ambient mana in the surrounding waters for it to float.”

“A lot of the mana in the Azure Sea has been drawn inwards to fuel the storm, so the glass read clear skies for days. But now, the mana is being pushed outwards, filling the ocean and causing the black rock’s runes and glyphs to activate.”

“There you have it, weather forecasting in a nutshell.” Wil finished, placing the forecaster back on the desk. Channeling a shred of mana, he guided it into the glass, causing the runes to flare briefly before the black rock floated upwards. It started to spin rapidly, creating a whirlpool in the water.

“And the spinning?” The captain asked. His frown had shifted to a scowl at the rotating stone.

“The runes are on the stone are overloading. They weren’t meant to contain that much mana, but lack a limit on their absorption, causing the spin to bleed excess energy. I wasn’t joking when I said that we’re in trouble. The glyphs are robust, designed to handle more ambient mana than I’ve ever seen occur naturally.” Wil said, before looking up at the captain.

“You’ve never seen it spin before, but, in the past, when the black stone only floated, how bad were the storms?” Wil enquired, a knot of fear forming in his stomach at the captain’s expression.

“Rough, but manageable. The Drake is finely built, and I trust my crew. We can ride out a black rock storm.” Edvard responded, looking to his first mate as he answered. The second in command, an older, well-tanned woman, nodded her head.

“What’s your assessment, Mr. Brookmoor. How much worse is the storm you’re expecting?” He asked, turning back to Wil.

Looking over the runes on all the stones, doing some quick calculations in his head, Wil estimated what it would take to overpower the enchantments on the forecaster. Not liking what he came up with, he turned to captain.

“It’s…nearly impossible to say. But I would expect that whatever is coming, it’s stronger than anything you will have ever traveled through before. Plan for the worst, Captain, and hope for the best. That’s all I can offer.” Wil said, cutting off the flow of mana to the glass container.

Nodding, the Captain didn’t wait for a moment before leaving the room, his first mate following. Wil could hear the man’s powerful voice shouting orders from outside the cabin. Gale and the rest of the crew scrambled to prepare, leaving Wil, Quentin, Mara and Martin alone in the cabin.

Collapsing heavily in a chair, Wil covered his face with his hands, dread causing him to break out in a cold sweat.

While the others joined him in chairs of their own, Annabelle went to a nearby cabinet, pulling out a bottle of strong spirits, and four glasses. Pouring a generous portion into each, Wil downed it as soon as it was in his hand.

The burning liquor drove some of the icy feeling away, numbing the worry he felt slightly.

“It’s alright. Captain Edvard and his crew are the most experienced sailors in Elbing, and the Drake was built for the Azure Sea. We’ll get through this.” Quentin said, trying to comfort her friends. Not speaking, Wil quietly poured himself another drink, downing that one as well.

“Wil…is there anything you could do to help. I mean, you got us through Grand Falls.” Mara enquired, her eyes boring into him. It broke his heart that she had so much trust in him, and he was going to disappoint her.

He thought he would grow used to disappointing people, he had so much experience at it by now.

“Sorry, Mara. I’m afraid I’m fresh out of miracles.” Seeing her face fall, he continued, not wanting to crush her hopes completely.

“But I think I can help a bit. I’ll need to look at the enchantments on the ship, maybe I can give them a temporary boost or something.” He felt terrible to see her face light up with hope at his lie, he doubted if his basic knowledge would help at all for the complex wards on the Drake. But he would try.

Downing his third glass, Wil nodded at the others before leaving the cabin, going to look for Garman and Bell. He needed a hand reaching the wards and he didn’t think that pair were doing anything constructive.

Stomping down the stairs, gripping the railing tightly to keep upright against the ship’s gentle motion, Wil descended into the crew quarters below deck.

The Drake was over three hundred feet of beautifully crafted and enchanted wood, with three levels below the main deck.

The first was the crew and guest quarters, the second the galley and storage for ship materials and resources. Mostly easy to access, everyday items.

The third and lowest was the storage hold, packed to the brim with goods from Illyria, bound for sale in Lund. Silks from the south, eastern ales and wine and western steel making up the bulk of it.

With one hand on the wall, Wil made his way through the narrow hallway. Despite the ship’s massive size, every bit of space was needed. Unfortunately, for someone over six feet tall, like Wil, he was forced to slouch as he went, careful not to bump his head on the wooden crossbeams.

He could smell Bell’s room before it was even in sight. The mixture was somewhere between stale ale and fragrant, cheap eastern wine, filling the hallway.

Bell was one of Wil’s few friends, and a reliable companion, but the man was a drunk. If there was a lull in the action, the old man would drink himself into a coma, staying below deck until someone came looking. Aside from Garman, this was the first time since they left port that anyone had.

Bell’s room was at the end of the hallway, the door wide open as he could see a beam of light shining from the room’s window, lighting the hallway’s wooden floor.

Suspicious silence filled the air of the hallway and Wil dreaded whatever was about to happen as he peeked his head into the room.

The smell hit him like a slap in the face. Obviously, the pair were long past cheap wine and ale and were now drinking pure poison. Eyes watering from the odor of the strong alcohol, Wil ducked his head out of the room again, trying to regain his sight, his vision blurred with tears.

“Junior! Get in here, you baby. Can’t handle a bit of weak grog?” Garman yelled, his words slurring together.

“Puts hairs on your chest, lad!” Bell’s voice joined in.

Taking a fortifying breath of relatively fresh air, Wil steeled himself before re-entering the room.

The small ship’s cabin was surprisingly clean and tidy, brightly lit from a window, the view of the Azure Sea stretching out beyond the clear glass. A narrow bed lined one wall, the sheets tucked in with Garman sitting on it, a mug in his hand. Against the other wall was a wardrobe, desk and chair, currently occupied by a very red eyed Bell.

“God’s Bones, I’d be less concerned about chest hair and more worried about having a stomach left from that venom you’re drinking.” Wil said, reaching forward and taking the mug from Bell. Taking a whiff, he started coughing from the assault on his lungs.

“Holy Hell, where did you get this? That’s at least a 100 proof!” Wil exclaimed, shaking his head.

“120!” Bell said with pride. “Made it myself, got a distillery set up in storage.” Taking the mug back from Wil, he took a large gulp while grinning at the younger man.

“And I’m guessing Annabelle doesn’t know about that? Gods above, Bell, you could burn the ship down with that.”

“Nah, just a bit of watery grog. Not even the good stuff, had to weaken it a bit to make it last.” Garman offered, leaning back against the wall from where he sat on the bed.

“Look…” Wil started to speak, thinking about how to talk sense into the pair, before deciding to drop it. “Screw it, we don’t have time for that. I need your help down in storage, I need to look at the wards and I can’t move everything by myself.”

“The wards? Why do you need to look at them, lad? Seems to be working just fine, we’d feel it if they weren’t.” Bell questioned, looking at the walls around them. Faint scrawls could be seen in the wood, hard to see, but they would carry defensive energy throughout the ship in an emergency.

“They’re working fine, I just need to see if they can be improved somehow, boosted temporarily.” Wil explained.

“Expecting trouble, Junior? Messing with the wards is bad business, could blow yourself up.” Garman enquired. His time on the walls of Aachen had taught him a lot about magic wards, and all the ways they could kill you if tampered with.

“No choice. That thing that Annabelle wanted me for? We’ve got a storm coming, worse than even the captain has ever seen before. We’re going to need the wards as strong as we can get them.”

“Well Lad, why didn’t you say so from the start!” Bell climbed to his feet unsteadily. Walking up to Wil, he gave him his mug before grabbing another, and a jug of clear liquid. Filling his own glass, he walked out the door, leaving a confused Wil behind.

“What’s this for?” Wil asked, holding up the mug he’d been handed.

“If we’re going to die, Junior, we shouldn’t do it sober.” Garman said, gripping his shoulder and guiding the younger man out of the room.