Sailing Ether Tides

Sailing Ether Tides

Ch: 26 It’s Not Easy Being Green

That night, Amy and the boys kept things very low key, adamant that Becky’s rest be undisturbed. The ‘party’ amounted to a quiet meeting between the village elders, their spouses, Dannyl, Ivy and Amy.

“The filthy things appeared a week ago. We brought everyone in after they harassed an outlying farm. Lucas lost some chickens and sheep…” Tobias Marcan said quietly.

“And his poor dog.” Bethany Marcan insisted. “Pommeroy chased them off and never made it home… he saved who knows how many lives!”

“Yes, dear. We’ll be putting up a monument in the square for midsummer.” He soothed his wife gently. “He was one of our puppies…” The burly woodsman turned mayor sighed sadly.

“I assume you sent a message to the authorities?” Dannyl insisted gently, as Amy’s eyes started welling up. He neatly headed off a sudden plunge into dog funeral plans and kept them on track. “The duke must be notified, if not.”

“We sent a message with a fast boat… luckily the little wretches can’t swim.” The mayor smiled grimly.

“Otherwise I think they’d have tried to attack the town.” He nodded to a ring of canals and paddy farms around his village wall, still just visible as the sun set.

“Crawdadies.” Rio muttered quietly from over by the wisteria arbor. “Gobbs are afraid of murky water cause crawdadies can’t resist them.” He smiled at some dark thought of his own.

“I suspect it’s some quirk of goblin pheromones… They’d get swarmed within a few dozen heartbeats if they entered the water.”

“How do you know that, Rio?” Amy demanded.

“Papa says flesh is just flesh…” He mumbled awkwardly. “We only used them for bait…”

“Aww, gross!” Amy cried loudly… and then she clapped her hands over her mouth, as if that would undisturb any sleeper she might have bothered with her shout.

“You could beat a kettle drum over her head tonight, Amy. Becky is out of it.” Frank sighed as he sat down in the circle by the fire pit in the garden. “She’ll be fine tomorrow, at least by midday.”

“We’re going to talk about this tomorrow, Rio. I don’t want any goblins in my storage… ‘flesh is flesh’ indeed! And papa wonders why the pantheon is leery of him…” Amy scowled at Rio constantly for the rest of the night.

#

Once the ‘Warp Engine’ system was proven, Gary’d built a slightly larger model for Seahorse and full scale version to run Moonrise… and then refused to elaborate further on the matter ever since.

When pressed on how it worked, or when asked to similarly equip other vessels, he’d staunchly declined to speak on it.

“You’re not ready, yet.” Was all he would say

Dragonfly, Angie and Rolf’s personal boat was a wedding gift from the Ward family, powered by Seahorse’s transplanted Wardco Ringmotor™ engine system. It could deliver crushing, dangerous speeds… at a truly punishing Mana and Stamina cost to the boat’s pilot. That silent, smoothly accelerating engine could easily drain The young ducal heir’s vital energies dry in moments, if he got over enthusiastic.

To that end, Rio was at the helm, his nearly boundless recovery ability and long familiarity with the Ringmotor™ let him cruise downstream faster than a sprinting horse, without becoming a useless heap of snoring meat.

The pair had set out two hours before dawn, intending to meet the party sailing upriver behind them to spread the news. Rolf had impressed upon Rio that they should be careful and take it slow…

Even so, the young Adventurer was on the ragged edge, his Mana and Stamina hovering near ten percent, judging by the small glowing crystals mounted in the cheek guard of his helmet.

One each of the five yellow and blue gems were lit up, and only dimly. Yellow for Stamina and blue indicating his Mana level. On the other side, under his left eye, all five red jewels were illuminated, indicating Health was tip top.

“I see a bowlight ahead.” Rolf called back to the lad at the tiller. “Two ships, that’s them.”

With a soft sigh of relief, Rio eased back on the thrust, letting his pools slowly start creeping back up. “Cover your eyes, I’m going to signal them with the lights.” The exhausted Adventurer apprentice murmured.

Brilliant illumination streamed from the figurehead, carved in wood and painted jewel bright, in the image of a lace winged, emerald green dragonfly. The light blasted from the faceted glass eyes of the sculpture, showering the darkened river with a radiant glow.

“I think they see us, Rio…” The knight in the bow muttered, as he blinked eyes that were dazzled, even through his eyelids. When his vision cleared, Sir rolf noticed the boy was a little bit slumped over, snoring softly. Oddly, his hands were still on the tiller and eyes open, steering a steady course in his sleep.

The older man chuckled wryly and gently took the tiller from his big… ‘nephew?’ He wondered briefly, then shrugged and moved the lad onto a nearby bench, to sleep until they met with Julius Rummel’s ducal pleasure barge.

#

“... about a hundred and fifty, some few might have slipped away.” Rolf reported to duke Julius in the cozy, plush lounge, with a cup of very fine tea in his hand.

“The kids bottled them up pretty tight; they took the leaders and most importantly, they got all the mages and casters.”

“Troubling…” Jules muttered sourly. “Goblins, that could get nasty fast. Any other signs?”

“They had a werebat witch and a coven of three harpies… demon summoners.” The blonde lord grumbled to the much taller duke. They were of an age, in their mid twenties, young men, but they both bore the signs of experience and hard lessons in their bearing and on their scarred, warrior’s hands.

“My kids stuffed the summons back in its reliquary, but that they had one at all is deeply concerning.”

“We have been seeing more activity as well, goblin raiders slipping through the high mountain passes in small groups, mostly.” Jocomo grumbled his agreement, from a plush velvet settee with Gabbie snuggled close to his side. “If this is a sign of things to come, we will have work to do on our return.”

“Tell me more about this ‘summon’ they were in possession of, what do we know so far?” Gabbie urged gently, her musical voice and relaxed posture belied by a hard edge to her gaze when she posed her request.

“Franklin Knubble, one of our apprentices stifled their magic and released their torture victims’ souls, before their ritual could call it forth.” Rolf muttered quietly.

“They captured a few sheep and a farmer’s pet dog, this time… but it could just as easily have been a person in their clutches.”

“It’s… secure?” Duchess Emma asked gently. “You’re certain it didn’t escape?”

“Positive. It’s being handled by Wilford and Amy; considering where we are going, whatever it is, it’s in for a bad time.” Rolf chuckled darkly. Grim looks on every face soured the young lord’s amusement quickly, as they considered the ramifications.

“Now come on… you know him… He’s been reclusive and unwell for a while, but he’s still the same person.” Rolf grumbled at the gathered nobles and notables in the lounge. “He’s my friend and comrade.” He insisted firmly. “You’ll see.”

“Well said, lord Belen, well said indeed.” Her grace, duchess Grace said smoothly, cutting the gathering tension with effortless… grace.

Her tranquil and elegant movements as she poured the tea eased their minds, as did the aromatic steam that washed over the small group. “A journey to see old friends and celebrate should be a joyous one… just as this unlooked for victory is cause for celebration.”

“I really should have gone to visit on one of your trips, Grace… Now, after so long it feels awkward.” Julius muttered unhappily. “I feel like he must have… changed… after all that.”

All eyes turned to Rolf, who shrugged helplessly. “He’s still the same… Perhaps a little stranger, but far less powerful.” The burly blonde lord soothed the company, though his face landed on a self satisfied and slightly obnoxious smirk at the end.

“His kids, however… They are shaping up very well indeed.” Rolf muttered with unalloyed pleasure. “Watching them in action is absolutely terrifying; especially considering he has four more, just coming into their own powers.”

His smug smile lingered for a while, stinking up the place with those damn dimples he and the rest of the Belens so enjoyed showing off.

“You really are insufferable, Rolf.” Duchess Emma giggled at last. “Come along Grace, let’s go peek in on Rio, the poor dear. He’s tucked in a stateroom, just this way.” The two duchesses giggled together and crept away to check on the exhausted lad, like a pair of excited teenagers.

When they departed, Gabriella Rex, empress of Light sighed and leaned on her husband. “They’ve grown so much, and I hardly got to visit at all.”

“Empress of my heart… we couldn’t have maintained the illusion of military tension between the duchies and the empire, if you constantly made state visits to Wheatford.” Jocomo whispered softly.

“State visit, smate visit!” She sassed her husband in a very reasonable and well considered manner, as befits the empress of countless souls. “We could have hopped on a boat and been there and back…”

“Shush, my love. Your terrible witch friend will no doubt understand the political realities.” Jocomo sighed sadly. “Even if he is a blasphemy against all that is holy.”

#

Wilf had the blasphemous musical instruments laid out on his workbench on a clean white shroud, embroidered all around with spells of containment and restraint. Likewise, his workbench was covered in chalk markings and surrounded by an arcane barrier of braided monster spider silk.

The ‘Circle Of Fifths’ was another Ward family speciality, a mystical barrier and metaphysical bulwark, crafted of monster spider silk, knotted and braided in a mind bendingly complex weave that incorporated a number of spells in its structure, somehow.

The device was then decorated with talismans, charms, ink drawn sutras, monster bone and tooth trinkets and tiny glowing paper lanterns, all strung up on freestanding wooden stanchions. At the center of all that, Wilf stood in multiple layers of magical restraint, as he studied the awful things.

“Yeah, these are new made, less than a year old.” Wilf muttered to Amy, who sat nearby with a still groggy Becky. “Someone is practicing the dark arts, out there, really dark stuff.”

“Necromancer, demon cult or something else?” Amy asked gently, with a nervous glance at her aunt.

“Definitely something else.” The young artisan answered firmly. “The thing they were trying to call is a ravenous, mindless hunger, all claws, teeth and wings… but it would have only been able to manifest for a few minutes. This is a weapon, a terror weapon that would probably consume the summoners too.”

“Triumvirate cultists.” Becky sighed sleepily. “Breakaway hardliners dedicated to Craft, War and Order… They have been troublesome around the edges of human lands. Pestering Beast’s folk too.”

#

The sun was just breaking through the fog, on ducal pleasure yacht Driftwood. The tall, gleaming craft was all pale blue and white paintwork and bright polished brass, as she plowed up the river, under the guidance of three talented wind and water workers. The imperial trader luffed a set of sails into Driftwood’s breeze, while her own propulsion mages worked their spells to speed the two vessels along.

“Do you think they’re just deadenders, kicking and fussing over the loss of their Contracts, cults and positions in society?” Lord Pangbourne asked calmly, in the lounge. “Or do we perhaps have something more concerning growing in the hinterlands?”

“If a human agency or cult is aiding these creatures…” Rolf grumbled, disliking this train of thought intensely. “We here in this group have a better idea of what occurred on the night of the madman’s moon than most. Yet I find myself guessing at exactly what occurred and why…”

“Even Becky and Shai know nothing more than we. He refuses to elaborate, beyond vague claims.” Grace sighed sadly.

“Perhaps we will learn more, or at least find out more about what we don’t know, this midsummer.”

“Has anyone tried pressing the children for answers?” Jocomo asked calmly, before Gabbie swatted him across the face with a pillow.

“Don’t any of you dare!” She hissed at the group, especially Jocomo. “You’d best not try and interrogate poor Rio, who wore himself out bringing us this news!”

“I suspect that if we keep our ears open and mouths closed, we will learn far more than any direct questions could ever reveal.” Rolf spoke calmly to the entire room.

“I propose that we all share any nuggets we glean, pooling our information together.”

Gabbie and the two duchesses nodded enthusiastically, as did most of the men. Only Jocomo seemed reluctant. “Sharing intelligence is like sharing one set of undershorts. Someone’s arse is going to get chafed.” He grumbled sourly.

#

Around third bell, Rio’s earcuff crackled and hummed back to life, while he was lounging on the bowsprit, pointedly not answering any of the questions the nobles were desperate to ask, yet had not given voice…

“Hey, Checking in… All good here, I’m on Duke Rummel’s yacht.” He murmured quietly.

“Duke Jules, how many fighting hands do you have on this boat?” He asked casually.

“Ten marines, ten sailors, the captain and three officers… and my guard of six… My guests have their retainers and bodyguards along.” He replied, as his eyes narrowed at the young man.

The empress looked over to her steeply raked, three masted frigate, dressed out as a swift merchant trader. “I have a dozen imperial seamen aboard, six elite marines and my guardian Whispers… Along with my three pirate princesses.” Gabbie blushed a deep purple plum color and smiled winsomely. “They came along to meet Amy specifically, they are all huge fangirls.”

“Amy wants to beat the woods around town and make sure we didn’t miss any of them. She really wants to make sure that these guys are done for…” He winced and held his ear cuff out from his tender lobe for a moment.

“Yeah, Wilf’s hopping mad too. I guess they were up to something really nasty… this is going to get ugly.”

#

“Blood feud.” Wilf said coldly, then crossed his arms and would say nothing more; he did continually rub at a set of layered, puckered white scars on his right wrist. They appeared to be a twinned pair of puncture wounds; to the woods wise, they would appear not unlike the bite of the greater black deathadder… Though no one ever survived even a single bite from one of those rare serpents.

“That’s it. He won’t be moved on this. Until we’re certain they are wiped out we can’t leave.” Amy said just as firmly as her much larger brother, with Frank, Maya and Benny lined up behind her.

The adults’ eyes all turned to Rio, who shrugged and stepped in line with his team. “Team Ragamuffin all the way.” He muttered.

Duke Julius’ six marines had marched down the town dock behind a spiffy, shiny, young ensign of the ducal navy and moved into a warehouse requisitioned for their use.

The team of hard bitten veterans would remain to secure Bywater town against any further threats, and give their young officer a bit of scuffing up in the field, as all such youngsters needed.

Ensign Walter Enfield Winthorp Erganz the fourth took poorly the news that the young Adventure greenies planned to stay on and seek his prey, independently… He dealt with it poorly indeed.

“…a slight to my honor and undermines my command athority…” He fumed at the duke’s bodyguard lieutenant, Bronwynn ‘The Hammer’. Most men would be courteous to a lady with a name like that, especially if she was leaning on a very businesslike sledge hammer of oddly elegant craft. The thing was etched with whorls, glyphs and sigils from alien languages and alphabets unknown to any sage or scholar. From the grip, studded with bronze nails for a positive grip, even when things get ‘moist’ or ‘splattery’, to the hefty, case hardened head it was a subtle, sublime work of art.

Bronwyn’s Reasoned Argument: Enchanted sledge hammer, Spiritual enchantments, Rarity; unique. Rank, copper.

Effect: Ring My Bell; hardened, resistant and armored targets suffer enhanced damage and may pick up harmonic vibrations. Harmonic vibrations will weaken hardened structures or target significantly with each impact. Ridgid, crystalline or imobile targets or objects suffer increased effects.

Effect: Maxwell’s Silver Hammer; This weapon is capable of striking immaterial, spiritual or ephemeral entities, constructs or substances. This weapon is highly inimical to outsiders, undead, the incorporeal and constructs.

Further details occult. Consult a witch for further information.

*When all you have is a Hammer…*

The young lordling was still going on and on about the ‘dignity of his house’ and ‘command prerogatives’. He was starting to feel like a hammer problem.

“My lord, this comes from the duke. Team Ragamuffin is independent and is most emphatically not in your chain of command.” She grumbled directly into the dapper young naval officer’s face, fogging his cap’s brightwork with her breath.

“Please address further complaints to the duke.” As she marched back up the gangway, the young lord was almost certain she muttered something about hammers and nails…

#

The ducal vessels hung around for three long days, as Team Ragamuffin quartered the woods around the town, searching as far afield as their combined travel gifts would allow, by land and water. No trace of any stray gobbs, harpies or other unseelie fae lurkers could be found, beyond the local residents.

There were a few fae entities in the deep woods and mires that were on the less civil and gregarious side, but their natural abhorrence of iron and men served to keep them far from the lands where humans dwelt.

Troggs, mudmen, Leaffolk and spriggans preferred swampy, inaccessible and remote places; the better to be left alone. Minor, solitary fae beings of the land would invariably hide if men came near, as they had for so very long.

Rio’s flute could call them out, so long as the others remained still and didn’t draw any weapons, or even pull simple iron objects out. The merest glimpse of a cast iron cookpot would send them fleeing for their deepest hidey holes. Likewise, the chaotic, turbulent energies pouring off of Rio, Wilf and Amy would spook them, if any of the three came near or became agitated.

Dryads and the more powerful fae could tolerate being near an open gateway into the eternal void, the essential ether. Less potent entities found themselves tossed about in a tempest of wild, unconstrained magic… to which mortals remained largely oblivious.

Franklin Knubbel’s aura whispered of deep, shady groves and undisturbed woodland pools, brambles of ripe berries and wildflowers blooming in meadows untouched by man. His shadow smelt of the darkest of the hillside thickets, dim, earthy and mysterious, calling the spirits, pixies and lesser sprites of the forest to him.

He sat in a shady dell, resting his bottom on a camp stool crafted without the touch of iron tools, from a single haunted, formerly demon possessed manzanita tree. His flute of golden, rock maple; harvested from an elder dryad’s favorite tree with her permission and carved by a mad witch from another world, possessed a pitch unlike any other.

His sweet, tranquil flute sang a song that the forest denizens couldn’t resist; evoking the trickle of spring melt down a frozen waterfall, songbirds at courtship and the very essence of springtime.

The rest of the team watched from the periphery, sitting very still and being quiet… All things Team Ragamuffin was notoriously bad at, in general. In this case, they sat rapt, watching as a small swarm of flickering lights, half seen shadows and shifting, imperceptible shadows clustered thickly around their comrade, whispering in his ears and touching him gently.

“Confirmed, there’s no more goblin or harpy activity in the region…” Frankie said softly, when he rejoined the group a half hour later. “There’s a clan of flying fox people three days up the mountains from where the marsh ends… so maybe a week’s journey away, but they’re fruit eaters, true vegetarians and notoriously peaceful… according to my gnome buddy, Sniflivitz.”

A stout little fellow in a bright white band collared shirt and workman’s dungarees doffed his jolly yellow, brimless cap and bowed to the company. He chattered a greeting in his language of soft whistles, coos and trills, which Amy translated silently for Maya and Benny, the only non weirdos in the party.

“Hello humans! How pleasant to meet you… Oh, my… You are all very large…” Becky dutifully translated for the ten inch tall man; who flushed a bright, flaming red, before he ducked out of sight among the bracken ferns and mossy stones, with a squeak of profound embarrassment.

“They’re a little flighty…” Frank murmured apologetically, once the little fellow was safely away and they were marching for their home, just down the road from Bywater Town.

“You better get in character, Amy… your fangirls are all watching.” Rio whispered with a grin, as they stepped out of the dark, woodland trails and onto the wide, well traveled roadside.

The little village of temporary dwellings and its attached pier were bustling and busy, swarming with people. The ducal yacht and the imperial frigate were moored side by side, with Moonrise and the two skiffs taking up most of the rest of the space. Townies strolled the gardens, on the way into or out of the trading post, shopping in small groups. Off duty sailors and marines were scattered around taking advantage of the baths, as well as lookie loos and sightseers, come to see what the mad little village was all about.

The crowd gave the little meadow something of a country fair atmosphere, with children, young folks and oldsters all out in the sunshine after a few stressful days and nights.

On the deck of the frigate, a young woman in the uniform of an imperial naval captain called to her comrades. Soon there were three young women, all in captain’s uniforms, standing at the rail watching the group of youngsters intently, as they came home from the woods.

On cue, the Ragamuffins began to swagger, strut and boisterously jackass each other about, while Amy ruled over her unruly flock, proud as a peacock in her bright coat of cobalt blue. She twirled her flaring, long coattails; stirring them in the breeze and showing off the startling, crimson and gold damask lining.

At the edge of the woods, the rest had swiftly changed out of their sensible, workaday gear and dressed in colorful, ridiculous pirate finery, suitable for a farcical play on the stage. Gone was the functional, if exotic armor of trapdoor silk and sculpted wooden laminate plates; they were replaced with flowing sashes, blouses with flaring sleeves that danced in the shore breeze and colorful silk caps, adorned with exotic feathers, strange animal teeth and barbaric fetishes carved of monster bone or shell.

Maya sported a cunning pegleg illusion, with her actual lower extremity tucked up in her loose pirate pantaloons of striped linen,with bright green silk piping at the cuffs and seams.

Benny sported an ersatz hook-hand and two eyepatches… because he was a big goofball, sometimes. The patches were costume pieces, enchanted to allow full, unimpeded vision, through some magical trickery that was probably best left unexamined.

They kids trooped over to the tall river stone house with the red tile roof and marched inside, loudly calling out piratical stereotypes and cliches like: ‘Yarr!’ and ‘Shiver Me Timbers!’ for no obvious reason.

Captain Hermione Talisker, of her imperial majesty’s own navy sighed, when the deranged group of kids vanished into their improbable, if not impossible little home.

“I really hope they are just fucking with us…” She sighed to Bethany and Elaine, her peers and comrades in the empress’ pet pirate princess project.

“I dunno… that big one had two eyepatches… no one would just… wait, two?” Bethany flushed bright red under her dark olive complexion and sat back down, too embarrassed to go on.

Elaine scoffed and snorted at Bethany and flopped back into her hammock with a sigh. “They’ve got to be taking the piss.”

#