Fae are notorious tricksters, generous in equal measure with boons and curses. The fae claim the same of humans. Astrid explained that this is because the two lack understanding of one another, fooled by the idea that speaking the same language means that communication is easy.

“Even people can misunderstand each other. We do it all the time. I’ve seen enough couples separate for the silliest miscommunications.” The Norn scoffed. “The differences between fae and humans is greater than between any two humans. At least, most humans.”

Astrid refused to elaborate on that, waving her hands and smiling knowingly as she always did. She continued to explain that the fundamental differences between humans and fae were more than skin deep. Humans could lie, or change, or die. Fae were beings of thought made manifest. They could not lie, but they could still deceive. They did not change or die, only hibernate, or fade away.

Humans fascinate them because of their capacity for change, to conceive of new ideas, to develop as a civilization. Most fae wouldn’t be able to recognize a child they’d made as a friend when they matured, because they couldn’t conceive of a person changing. More troubling was that these same fae did not understand the permanence of death, nor the fragility of human bodies. Which is why their pranks could be so dangerous.

Furthermore, their magic was drastically different than that of humans. Tomes were required as foci for magic, to channel a human’s intent through prepared forms of magic. Emphasis on intent. It was nearly impossible to force a person to cast a spell if they didn’t want to, but fae? They oozed magic. They couldn’t help it. Fae magic was constant and chaotic, as immutable as gravity. The key difference was much of their magic happened without their knowledge, relying entirely on what the fae believed.

Once, it was considered bad luck if a black cat crossed your path. Eventually a fae believed it to be true, and it manifested itself into reality. Now, black cats are widely feared because they do bring bad luck…so long as a fae sees a cat cross someone’s path. And since fae believe themselves to be the stealthiest beings in existence, nobody really knows when one is watching.

“Most alchemy is mundane.” Astrid snapped her fingers to summon a series of gourds and boiling flasks with a collection of mushrooms, herbs, and vines to mix into medicine. “Poisons and drugs, basic reactions and transformations of matter that can easily be reproduced. The nutty stuff happens when you convince a fae that an ingredient is special.”

Plants like vigoroot, garlic, and mistletoe were fae-touched because some brave fool had convinced fae they could make humans strong, resistant to disease, or virile. There were many plants that made people virile. Rael chalked it up to human priorities.

Alchemy shone when one mixed these fae-touched ingredients with certain minerals, salts, spirits, and metals. Depending on how a fae perceived each part of an alchemical product, these mixtures could create a variety of effects. There was tale of an alchemist who used moonwort and garlic to make a powder that turned a bear into a human woman. The bear-turned-woman was still wild, having killed and eaten the lonely alchemist, but it was still an incredible feat.

All the rumors about alchemists suddenly made sense. Why boil a cauldron of animal parts and herbs under the moonlight? Why speak in rhyme as you mixed, proclaiming to the world what the potion would do? Why monologue constantly? Because the fae were listening, and they were a very gullible audience.

Astrid was right; Alchemy was the art of bullshitting. Convincing fae to the point that their beliefs worked in your favor.

“Which is why I teach you here, in the dreamscape. The only place fae cannot reach.”

Astrid pushed away all the complicated sigils she’d drawn in the air to explain the relationships fae perceived between different ingredients. It mostly came down to color and shape but was also affected by where the materials could be found and what they did.

‘I think.’ Rael’s head was still spinning from the amount of information Astrid had pushed on them. Eventually, she must have noticed Rael wasn’t getting much more from their life lessons turned academic lessons.

“Remember to cast the [Dreamwalk] spell every time you go to sleep. You’ll need to figure out how to leave your dream on your own, but you should be able to will yourself into the Illiterate Library or the dream of anyone close to you. Physically or emotionally.” Astrid grabbed Rael’s hands and enclosed them in her own. “Now take a deep breath.”

Rael sucked in a lungful of imaginary air.

“And let it out through your nose. Relax. Unclench yourself.”

The youth gently pushed their breath through their nose, letting the familiar meditative process drain the tension from their body.

“Open your eyes.”

Rael groggily opened their eyes, finding themselves in Bak’s hut once more. Blinking the sleep out of their eyes, they got up and looked about the room. Youngest, Middlest, and Eldest were helping Shaman Bak prepare dinner, the air thick with the smell of roasting catfish. Three of the whiskered fish sizzled on a slab of soapstone above the hearth. Despite the heat of the fire, magic kept the hut comfortable.

Youngest noticed Rael wake first, waving shyly and hiding her purple eyes behind locks of strawberry-blond hair. Her rings clinked together as she called for the attention of Middlest, chopping vegetables next to her. The assistant nodded in Rael direction and rolled her eyes as she inclined her head towards the lounge chaise facing away from Rael.

Azmond was leaning over Astrid, who was loudly snoring on living room couch. He was dangling a piece of twine on her face, giggling every time her face twitched under the light tickling.

“Az.” Rael repressed a smile as the child hid the twine behind his back in surprise.

“You’re awake!” He almost cheered, quieting down when Astrid let out a particularly loud snore. “Bak said she was helping you heal. Do you feel better?”

Despite their nap, Rael was still sore. Their head was stuffed with alchemy formulas. Their heart was heavy with tumultuous emotions warring for dominance. And yet, when they saw Azmond’s expectant face, the rigors and pains of the day melted away. For all the pain, all the confusion, all the politics…it was worth it if it meant Azmond could be happy.

“Yeah.” Rael pulled Azmond to sit next to them, tousling his hair like always. “How was your day?”

Astrid stretched and smacked her lips as she woke up, roused by the smell of fish and the sound of Azmond talking. Watching Rael beam as they encouraged the Child of Dragons brought a smile to her own face. Youngest passed the plates of catfish and collard greens in front of each of them before she sat down with her fellow assistants. The shamans watched the pair talk about Azmond’s new friends and the games he played with them, the child waving his arms wildly as he recounted sliding down the inside of one of the Omrads. They wanted to treasure these moments and engrave them in their memories.

It is on the eve of war that the logs burn in cozy hearths for the last time. It was for these little moments, the little, simple ones with those you love, that they fought. These memories are what give them warmth on the nights where the only fires burning were within the forge or on the battlefield.

A week passed.

Preparations were nearing completion. Norn Thurid boasted that they’d put a weapon in the hands of every man, woman, and child. As a result, the Stone Circle smithy never slept, working though day and night to fulfill Thurid’s promise. Rael poured water down their throat, then all over their head, the water refreshing them in the hot din of the smithy. The Dragonward stood in front of their anvil, the forge blowing scalding air towards them, the water evaporating off them in moments. For but a moment, the aches of the last few days were pulled away by the moisture. Until another wave of heat from the bellows sapped them of the small moment of joy.

Rael let their curiosity push them into using [Dreamwalk] a few nights after they first used it. Despite their misgivings, Rael found themselves wanting to know more. Norn Astrid was polite, unwilling to push Rael further. She was likely distracted by her own duties. As a result, Rael only had enough practice walking in their own dreams, finally able to escape the memories that plagued them every night. The spell was much harder to master than others; they could leave their own dream easily enough, but they couldn’t control where they went. Often, they’d fall into some fragmented mess of a dream, wander around confused, and wake up with only the briefest impressions of the dream. Still, it provided them a chance to take a break and think over the events of the day.

The brief respites allowed the Dragonward to quickly fall into a routine that made it seem as if the days had melted together. Rael would wake, eat breakfast, and head over to the smithy to work for most of the day. Then the night shift would replace them, and Rael would come back, eat dinner, and collapse into bed to explore their dreams once more. The pain of messing up their magic became lost in a sea of soreness, an odd relief.

All of Stone Circle was in a frenzy of movement: loggers and hunters took airships south to find good wood and plentiful meat outside the Disputed Lands. The ships sagging with materials would come back, drop off their bounty, and leave again. Shipwrights would carve hulls, leatherworkers tan armor, cooks make preserves, shamans make potions, and the blacksmiths would melt down every scrap of metal for their sleepless forges.

Every available blacksmith was there, beating metal into swords, axes, and spear tips. Entire teams of Faulk worked the bellows, pressing their entire weight on levers to push air into the forges of dozens of artisans. Grinding screeches, booming hammers, and roaring flames worked in an orchestra of fire and steel; this great machine oiled by the sweat of their brows aimed to make enough weapons for every Faulk in the Jarldoms, and more.

Rael had joined them since the start of the week, and Azmond joined soon thereafter, his new friends busy helping their families on their own tasks. His unusual strength came in handy, carrying ingots and unfinished weapons to the tables that needed them. He quickly became a mascot among the smiths, his boundless cheer and willingness to help eroding any initial discontent at letting a child take up space in the smithy. It had the added benefit of muffling Smith Gault’s litany of curses aimed at the apprentices that failed to meet his expectations.

He rushed in holding a crate that he had to crane his neck to look over. Norn Thurid, who had been running between the shipyard and the smithy for the past week, looked inside the crate and grunted. She pointed to one of the smelters sourly, no doubt upset about the subpar iron. It had become apparent early on that the Faulk always needed more steel. They quickly burned through their stores, requesting people to give up any spare iron they had. Even then, the promise of a weapon for everyone proved to be too tall a task. Thurid was eventually convinced to only arm the men and women, though she grumbled about it.

Gault managed to explain to Rael over the bashing of hammers. The Faulk may have loved their weapons, but they were prone to losing them. If a weapon went overboard, nobody was going to get it. He sighed wistfully at the thought of the graveyards of weapons scattered beneath the seas. He was so lost in thought, he almost beat the small wavesteel shards he was working on into uselessness. He caught himself in time, cussing under his breath about his stupidity.

An imposing figure strolled in, her hair fluttering back from the gusts of hot air. Shieldmaiden Edith’s commanding presence caused most of the work to stop, until Thurid slammed a hammer on one of the larger anvils. The blacksmiths nodded to Edith, some even bowing their heads. Azmond put down the crate near the smelter and waved wildly in her direction. The Shieldmaiden acknowledged them but kept her eyes on Rael. Norn Thurid walked over to the giant woman, holding something large wrapped in silk.

They talked to one another, the Norn repeatedly offering up the bundle to her. But each time, Edith pushed the gift back and shook her head. Although every blacksmith continued to hammer and sharpen, din almost seemed to quiet down, as if in some unspoken agreement between all the onlookers to try and listen in. Finally, the Norn stepped away from the Shieldmaiden and let her pass. Edith made her way to Rael, perhaps the only person completely focused on their work when Edith came in.

“Rael.” Edith’s voice broke their focus, almost causing the blade they were sharpening to fly off the grindstone. Rael looked up in surprise, nursing a nick in their finger. “Grab your things, we’re taking you to your first battle.”

“Already?” Rael frowned. ‘Weren’t we supposed to start attacking tomorrow?’

“Bergin scouting ships have been spotted entering the skies above the eastern Jarldoms.” Shieldmaiden pointed her thumb towards the docks. “It’s time to wet your blade.”

A shiver went up Rael’s spine. ‘Breathe.’ They pushed down their anxiety, clearing their mind as Astrid taught them. They clenched their teeth and set their gaze forwards, unaware of the worried look Azmond gave them from across the smithy. They patted Gault on the shoulder.

“Can you tell Bak to take care of Azmond for me?”

“Why can’t I—Right, right.” Gault almost complained, before Rael’s glare let him know they still held his actions against him.

“It shouldn’t take long.” Edith put her hand on Rael’s shoulder and began leading them away. “Two or three days at most.”

The damp air outside of the smithy should not have been so refreshing. Rael inhaled as deep as they could, relishing the cool (relatively) weather. Edith hurried them along, taking large strides.

“Why didn’t you take the greatsword Norn Thurid offered you?” Rael said as they approached the dock Omrad. “Every other candidate has picked up a special weapon for either themselves or their greatest warrior.”

“I prefer the axe.” Edith responded curtly.

“I asked Jarl Feldon. He says you’re better at the greatsword.” Rael tried to look in the woman’s eyes. Her face was stony and solely focused on Feldon’s ship. “I personally made the wavesteel blade. I even waited for the other Jarl’s weapons to be done so I could find the best enchantments for it.”

‘It’s not stealing ideas if they’re showing it off.’

Rael wasn’t just curious. They were sad that Edith wouldn’t accept the gift. They’d worked hard on the sword. It was the best bit of wavesteel they’d made; delicately synthesized, carefully quenched, and meticulously sharpened. 160 centimeters long with a slightly thicker base and a rounded point. Absurdly long for anyone else, but a mighty weapon in Edith’s hands. Rael had hand-picked the enchantments, to Smith Cernos’ chagrin. Until they told him who it was for, which is what sparked his interest. That’s when he made his own recommendations, going so far as to point out which enchantments worked best…then enchanting it personally.

“When you get as good as me, the type of weapons don’t make a difference.” Edith’s eyebrow twitched as she looked forwards. “Might as well use the fun ones.”

The Shieldmaiden set her jaw much the same way Rael did. Stubbornly and silently. The pair walked like that until they crossed the gangplank onto Feldon’s ship. Edith angrily kicked off one of the moorings, prompting the crew to move faster to pull up the sails and ready the oars. Captain Derrol stared at Edith and motioned to her as if to ask ‘What’s her problem?’

Rael looked at him, equally confused and mimed a ‘I have no idea’ as Edith stomped off into the captain’s quarters. Moments later, Jarl Feldon came out, looking a bit worse for wear. The crew kept working. Rael knew better, noting a sidelong glance here and a perked ear there.

‘Who knew the Faulk were such gossipmongers?’

Jarl Feldon motioned for Rael and Derrol to follow him. He walked up the stairs to the aft of the ship and stood behind the wheel. He gripped it tightly, eyes following every movement in the drakkar. Rael followed his gaze, counting the crew set up their chairs and pull out the wind-oars, pushing through the gaps on each side of the two-hulled ship.

Ten oars were raised high on both sides, the large fin-like horns lowering as each one was manned by a pair. Everyone had their place; the strongest closer to the back to help steer, the lightest towards the front to allow for easier altitude climbs, and those with the most appropriate spells for using the wind oars near the outside so their magic didn’t have to go as far.

Forty men on the oars. Twenty riggers ready to pull up the mast and cast the sail. Jarl Feldon’s personal ship was more than twice the size of the other two ships that came with them to Stone Circle. However, much like Feldon himself, the ship was dwarfed by the others still moored at the Omrad.

“Cast off!” Jarl Feldon bellowed over the noise of myriad other ships getting ready on the Omrad.

The last ropes were spooled, and the ship pushed off the Omrad, sailing through the air slowly…until they put down the oars. Once, it had confused Rael how the Faulk could use the oars to push themselves through the air. Some of the crew unleashed their spells into special holes in the wind-oars’ handles, expelling air through the horns that would push them along. It didn’t explain why they could row without using these spells. After Norn Astrid’s revelations about the fae, Rael realized that it was likely that the oars worked because the fae believed it should. It explained why all the oars were made of the same leathery material rather than wood or canvas like the rest of the ship. A shaman had likely convinced the fae that a specific material would act that way.

‘The secret to alchemy, right in plain sight.’ Rael thought bemusedly.

They sailed southward, the Stone Circle disappearing into the fog behind them. Once they were far enough away that the rocky hills were completely dominated by swamps, Feldon held up a hand.

“Raise the mast!”

The oars stopped rowing, resting parallel to the ground like dragonfly wings. Rael moved to join the riggers pull up the mast, but Derrol held them by the shoulder and motioned for Rael to just watch. They weren’t sure why; they’d helped pull up the mast a couple times before. Feldon held out his hand and angled it slightly to match the direction of the wind. He slowly turned the ship until the northern winds were directly behind them.

“When you raise the mast,” Derrol whispered, “Make sure you’re facing away from the wind. Or directly towards it if you want to stop.”

With a heave of ropes straining pullies, the mast was smoothly lifted out of the central groove and turned about to lock it into place. The boom was lowered from the mast, the main sail flapping wildly until it was tightened. The jib was pulled up, swelling with air. Next, the boom was released, and the triangular sail caught the wind, pulling them forwards at a breakneck pace. Feldon finally relaxed, releasing one of his hands from the wheel.

“We’ve got a good gust. Lock the wind-oars into position!” He called.

The oarsmen angled the oars so that none blocked another, allowing the ship to catch the most tailwind possible.

“Normally, I’d like to sail as close to the wind as possible.” Feldon explained to Rael. “But the tailwind allows the crew time to rest before battle.” He pointed to several brightly colored bits of twine throughout the ship. “Since we’re so close to the ground, we can take advantage of turbulent air currents to turn quickly. We get up higher, the ship will have less grip on other currents, making it harder to turn.”

“The Bergin’s larger ships and square sails would make them faster at higher altitudes, then?” Rael asked.

“At the cost of making them slow to turn and incapable of catching smaller air currents.” Derrol nodded. “Great for carrying troops, not so good for scouting or hit and run attacks.”

“Which begs the question: what are they trying to gain by sending ships over our territory?” Feldon added as he turned the wheel slightly to follow the wind. “They can’t see through the fog. They have no clue what landmarks to use. So what is their purpose?”

“They did find Hightown.” Derrol said glumly. “Maybe they found a way. Or worse, maybe there is a traitor.”

Rael looked between the two frowning men as an awkward silence settled between the two.

“I’d rather not entertain any of Jarl Erikar’s theories.” Feldon shook his head. “Accusing Jarl Trygyve of betrayal while he isn’t here to defend himself is…wrong.”

“It doesn’t have to be Trygyve.” Rael huffed. “It could be Erikar.”

“We have no evidence to make such a claim.” Feldon said coldly. “Do not let personal feelings get in the way. It is best we begin making plans on how we will assault the Bergin ship. They were last seen heading toward—”

The door to the captain’s quarters burst open, an irate Shieldmaiden carrying a white-haired child by the scruff of his shirt.

“Hi Rael!” Azmond waved.