Chapter 28

Rusalka

Mags sat cross-legged on her bed, the Daedalus Orb balanced on her lap, its surface catching the dim light of the cabin’s small lantern. The gentle hum of Skithbladnir moving through the sky was a steady backdrop, a comforting reminder of the crew above and the vast world beyond. She exhaled, steadying her nerves. This was her third attempt tonight, and she could feel herself getting closer.

Whether he had intentionally tipped her off or not, Scarmiglione had led her in the right direction—there was a puzzle in this orb, one she hadn’t seen before. Within the orb was an actual, invisible maze. At least, I think that’s the puzzle.

She closed her eyes and reached out, not with her hands but with her intent. She let herself feel the aetheric field radiating from the orb, like the warmth of a sun that wasn’t quite there. The sensation prickled against her skin, and she focused on it, drawing in just a small thread of aether. The familiar tug on her mana came next, like a faint burn in her veins as the mana was depleted in order to channel that thread of aether. Then, she produced aura, a faint glimmer of energy pooling in her core. Slowly, carefully, she pushed the aura back into the orb.

The surface shimmered, and two symbols flickered into view—the spiral and the square, pulsing faintly, as if the orb were alive. This time, she knew what to do.

The spiral was the start, her entry point. She focused her intent on it, holding her breath as a thin strand of aura extended from the symbol, like a fragile wisp of light, suspended in the orb’s glassy interior. It moved slowly, creeping toward the center of the orb, but she was careful not to rush it. Rushing was what had gotten her into trouble during her last two attempts.

“Steady,” she whispered to herself, her fingers trembling slightly as they hovered over the orb.

The thread of aura stopped, right where it had before—an invisible wall blocking its path, perhaps a few centimeters off of the inside surface of the orb. Mags gritted her teeth, the frustration bubbling up, but she shoved it down. It felt like her mind was pushing against a literal wall, wanting her to move but being stuck, futilely attempting to propel herself forward. She knew this feeling. It was the same as when she’d tried to force the orb earlier—when it had reset, erasing all her progress. No. Not this time.

She took a slow breath, refocusing her intent. The thread of aura wavered for a moment, as if sensing her hesitation, before it suddenly expanded, snapping at a sharp right angle—following whatever invisible force that hindered its previous path forward. Mags almost lost control, but she caught herself just in time. Sweat dripped down her temple, her heart pounding in her chest as she willed the aura to move along this new path. She watched, wide-eyed, as the line continued for another centimeter or two, and then—nothing.

The symbols blinked out, and the orb went inert.

Mags let out a ragged breath, staring at the glassy surface. The thread had vanished, the maze resetting itself. The frustration gnawed at her, but she pushed it aside, blinking the sweat from her eyes. She could feel it now—the puzzle wasn’t just about controlling the flow of aura; it was about navigating this invisible maze inside the orb. And every mistake, every push in the wrong direction, would send her back to the start.

She wiped her brow with the back of her hand, her fingers trembling as they hovered over the orb again. The maze wasn’t impossible—just maddeningly complex. She had to learn to feel her way through it, recognizing when she hit those dead ends. If she pushed too hard against a dead end, she’d fail. If she didn’t push enough, she’d get nowhere. To make matters worse, her progress was erased each time, forcing her to memorize the paths of the invisible maze.

Mags stared at the orb, its blank surface betraying none of its secrets. She could almost hear Malacoda’s voice in the back of her mind, telling her to focus and keep her intent trained on the simple, singular task in front of her. But this wasn’t simple. This was control. Precision. And patience—something she was still learning.

“Well,” she muttered, wiping her hands on her pants and straightening her back. “Let’s try this again.”

She focused on the orb, drawing in another thread of aether, her body thrumming with the power of it. The symbols reappeared, pulsing like silent guardians of the puzzle, daring her to try again. The first few inches were easy now, familiar. She hit the wall again, but this time, she didn’t push. She waited. Slowly, she felt the aura thread expand, tracing the right angle before pushing forward again.

Her heart raced as she moved further into the maze than ever before. The line of aura twisted and turned, and each bend felt like a victory, each step forward a quiet triumph. But the maze wasn’t done with her. Another invisible wall stopped her progress, and this time, no matter how she coaxed the aura, it refused to move. She was blocked again.

She cursed under her breath, but this time she didn’t let frustration take over. She didn’t force it. Instead, she closed her eyes and let the memory of the maze settle in her mind. She’d gotten further. She’d hit another wall, but now she knew where it was. That was progress.

Slowly, she let the aether dissipate, the orb going dark again.

Mags leaned back against her pillow, exhaustion settling in. The effort had drained her, and her head throbbed from the strain of focusing so intensely. But she couldn’t help but smile. I’m getting a hang of this! Each attempt brought her one step closer to conquering the Daedalus Orb’s challenge, and to learning real magic from Malacoda.

As the ship creaked softly around her, she cradled the orb in her hands, the smooth surface warm against her skin. Tomorrow, she’d try again.

Her eyelids grew heavy, and she let herself drift, the orb still nestled in her hands. The symbols flickered in her dreams—spirals and squares and invisible walls. She would find the path. She would solve the maze. Eventually, her dreams of the orb, of those invisible walls explored by threads of glowing aura, were replaced. Dark corridors, and a green door that beckoned her to find out what secrets waited on its other side.

image [https://i.imgur.com/7P7JEZo.png]

Mags sat cross-legged on the deck of Skithbladnir, the Daedalus Orb resting in her lap like an old friend. She exhaled slowly, feeling the aetheric field hum around her. Her focus tightened as she funneled a thin stream of aura into the orb, guiding the fragile thread through the maze she had spent days unraveling. The invisible walls twisted and turned in maddening directions, but each dead end she hit taught her something new. She was getting faster, more precise. Over the past couple of days, she had managed to map out a significant quadrant of the orb’s maze.

A soft tap on her shoulder broke her concentration. She nearly lost her grip on the orb but managed to steady it at the last second. Malacoda loomed over her, his expression unreadable. He wrinkled his nose, holding back a sneeze.

“How’s the puzzle coming along?” he asked.

Mags glanced up at him, a small smile tugging at her lips. “Halfway there, I think. It’s tricky, but I’ve figured out how to feel the walls before running into them too hard and re-setting the entire thing. I’ve also learned how to backtrack without re-setting the puzzle.”

Malacoda chuckled, folding his arms across his chest. “Impressive. You’ve made more progress than I expected.” He crouched beside her, eyes flicking to the orb as the faint symbols glowed, the aura thread stretching through the maze like a spider’s silk. “Most don’t get this far.”

Mags was absolutely perplexed by that statement. If that’s true, when did he expect to actually train me in these three short months? From what she learned of Malacoda, he had probably hoped to shirk the duties of training her in Soulsinging altogether. Had the Daedalus Orb truly been a task she was meant to fail?

She tilted her head, studying his face. “Does that mean we’ll start my Soulsinging lessons once I finish this thing?”

Malacoda’s mouth twitched into something like a grin, though with him, it was hard to tell if he was genuinely amused or just humoring her. “That depends on how fast you finish it.”

Mags sighed, rolling her eyes as she let the aetheric thread fade, the orb’s surface going blank again. “There’s always more tests with you, isn’t there?”

“There is a method to my madness, kid. In order to become a strong Soulsinger, you need a strong foundation. If we build you up before your foundation is solid, we’ll only be able to build you up so far.” Malacoda stood, giving her a pat on the shoulder. “Keep at it. You’re not far off.”

She watched him walk away, frustration simmering beneath her skin.

image [https://i.imgur.com/7P7JEZo.png]

A few mornings later, Mags found herself sitting across from Calcabrina at breakfast as she often did. The sharp smell of roasted cava filled the air, and she absently prodded at a plate of bread and salted fish, her thoughts still lingering on the orb and how much progress she had made. Her other lessons had been progressing smoothly—her body had adjusted to Malacoda’s grueling physical training, and she was continually impressing the stone faced Libicocco. Rubicante always seemed pleased with their conversations, though Mags still didn’t quite understand what progress she was making there, if any.

“You’ve been quiet,” Calcabrina said, her voice a soft rasp that cut through the gentle hum of the ship. “Tired?”

Mags blinked, looking up from her plate. “A little. It’s just . . . the Daedalus Orb. I’m close. Real close.”

Calcabrina’s lips quirked into a half-smile. She took a sip from her mug, the dark liquid steaming in the cool morning air. “You should pace yourself. We’ll be landing soon, and you’ll need your energy.”

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“Landing?” Mags straightened up. “We’re arriving in Wrifton? Already?”

A dry chuckle came from Rubicante, seated nearby with his ever-present cup of tea. He sipped delicately, as if the rest of the world didn’t exist. “No, little one. Not yet.”

Mags frowned, glancing between them. “Then where?”

Calcabrina exchanged a glance with Rubicante, and it was the first time Mags saw something close to amusement in both their expressions. Rubicante set down his cup, fingers tracing the rim as he spoke.

“We’ll be visiting a close friend of the Captain’s,” Rubicante said. He gently placed the porcelain tea cup onto the table. “She will be hosting a portion of the crew for the remainder of your training, while the rest of the crew aboard Skithbladnir attend to some business for the Captain.”

“Who is she?” Mags asked. “And that doesn’t answer the question of where we’ll be landing.”

“A large island off the coast of the Ovethian Continent called Rusalka. It sits in the northern reaches of the Demas Tul, and isn’t a part of any of the Crowns,” Rubicante said.

Mags’ knowledge of geography had greatly expanded during the first several lessons with Libicocco. The Ovethian Continent was home to two Crowns—Olendar and Broceliande—which were separated by the Uruth Region (there was a lot of dispute over who Uruth belonged too, and several battles and wars waged over that very question). The Ovethian Continent was surrounded to the south and west by the Demas Tul, one of the largest seas in all of Iardyss. To the east was the A-M-Z, which was largely considered to be part of the Uruth Region, and the Green Sea. While other continents and islands were positioned north, south, and west of the Ovethian Continent, scholars could only speculate what existed beyond the Green Sea.

“But what is Bijel Garden?” Mags probed. That name was unfamiliar in her early geography lessons.

“It’s a settlement that sits atop the western peak of Rusalka,” Rubicante said.

“A settlement of one,” Calcabrina slyly added from behind her steaming mug of cava. “If you don’t count its visitors, who come and go like the weather.”

Rubicante nodded. “Yes, yes, I was getting there.” He turned to Mags. “Bijel Garden is home to the Temple of Weles, and the one who tends to its shrines. She is a seer, an oracle, and few are brave enough to brave a journey to her halls. Power attracts, but fear wards.”

“And this oracle is a friend of the Captain’s?”

“She is,” Calcabrina said. “I actually lived at Bijel Garden for a short time before joining the Ghost Hounds. It’s a beautiful place!”

“I must warn you, Mags,” Rubicante said. The tea cup that had been sitting before him was now nowhere to be seen. Mags hadn’t notice any sleight of hand. “Your host will be someone who must be respected and feared. I would tread carefully during your time at Bijel Garden.”

Rubicante nodded politely then, excusing himself from the table.

Mags turned to Calcabrina and raised an eyebrow. “Should I be concerned?”

“She’s not that bad,” Calcabrina said. “She’s an old friend of the Captain’s and will only provide us with the utmost hospitality. I sometimes miss the short time I spent at the Temple.”

“Who is this oracle—this old friend—really?”

Calcabrina leaned back, a wry smile tugging at her lips. She sipped her cava again, as if savoring Mags’ curiosity. “You’ll meet her soon enough.”

That was all she got. A cryptic answer, as always. Mags pushed her plate away, mind whirling with questions. She decided there was nothing to do but make sure her things were packed and spend the additional time practicing with the Daedalus Orb.

image [https://i.imgur.com/7P7JEZo.png]

Mags joined Calcabrina and several other Ghost Hounds on Skithbladnir’s top deck after the girl had knocked on her cabin door to inform her they had arrived at Rusalka.

From the air, the island looked like a bloody eye emerging from the dark waters of the Demas Tul. It was the first time Mags had ever seen the sea, and the sight was both alien and breathtaking. The salty tang of the ocean filled the air, the scent mixing with the ship’s ever-present hum. As Skithbladnir began its descent, a light breeze broke through the airship’s natural barrier, cool and refreshing on Mags’ skin.

Rusalka was nearly a perfect circle, its western edge formed by towering white stone cliffs, while pristine white sand beaches lined the rest of the island’s perimeter. The center was a sea of wine-red foliage, the treetops so thick they obscured anything below. Mags stared in awe—she had never seen trees that color before.

“Sanguine Trees,” Calcabrina said, noticing her gaze. “They get their name from the color of the leaves. Like blood.”

The ship’s hull dipped lower, and with a gentle splash, Skithbladnir touched down on the water near the island’s southwestern shore. Mags’ eyes remained fixed on the crimson canopy, her heart racing with the thrill of what lay ahead.

A presence punctuated the air, like a chill wrapping itself around her and sending shivers down her spine. Mags turned to find Sarto standing behind her and Calcabrina on the quarterdeck. Her pale face was calm as always, but her ringed, golden eyes were focused on the island below them, distant and filled with some other purpose. She blinked and turned her attention to Mags.

“Rubicante and most of the crew will stay here with Skithbladnir,” she said, taking a position beside them at the airship’s stern. “Mags, you’ll be coming with me, along with Malacoda, Libicocco, Calcabrina, and Scarmiglione. The rest of your training will take place on the island.”

Mags blinked. The idea of staying on Rusalka, this strange island covered in blood-red trees, didn’t sit quite right with her. Just as I was getting used to life aboard Skithbladnir. She had barely been able to keep up with the twists and turns of her training so far—she should have expected something new to be tossed her way, keeping her on her toes. She glanced at Calcabrina, who gave her a brief nod, the subtlest movement of her head.

“We’ll be going now, actually” Sarto said, leading them below deck. Mags was caught off guard by the immediacy of the news and opened her mouth to protest, but no words escaped her lips.

Mags followed, Calcabrina by her side as they followed Sarto.

They descended into a room she had never seen before. It was dimly lit, the smell of hay and saltwater filling the air. Six large creatures occupied the stable—skyfins, like enormous turtles, each the size of a cow, their leathery shells glistening under the faint lights. Their broad, fin-like wings were tucked in, their eyes placid as they observed the group entering the room.

Two members of the Ghost Hound’s crew were in the room, fastening chests and bags to the backs of three of the turtle-like skyfin. “All of your essential belongings have been gathered and will travel with us to the island,” Sarto said, gesturing to cargo.

The two Ghost Hounds bowed their heads respectfully to the Captain before exiting the room.

“These will take us to shore,” Calcabrina said, running her hand over the shell of one of the beasts.

Mags felt her heartbeat quicken as she eyed the creatures. I didn’t know skyfin could look like this. Although she had only seen skyfin a handful of times, she had never been this close to one, and certainly never ridden one.

Malacoda, Libicocco, and the masked Scarmiglione eventually joined them in the small, stable-like room. Malacoda was tucked tightly into his cloak and was practically being dragged along by the miniscule Libicocco, looking as though he’d just had one of his naps interrupted. Scarmiglione whistled a jolly tune, bringing up the rear.

The group split into two groups: Malacoda, Libicocco, and Sarto mounting one skyfin while Calcabrina, Mags, and Scarmiglione climbed onto the other. The third skyfin carried a bulk of the cargo and belongings, having several additional chests strapped to its shell. As they settled into the saddles strapped to the backs of the turtles, a large hatch at the rear of the ship creaked open, revealing the dark expanse of the sea below.

“You’ll want to fasten the belt attached to the saddle,” Calcabrina called back to her over the wind that screamed into the open hatch. She gestured to a belt that pulled from one side of the saddle, over her lap, and was fastened tightly onto the opposite side of the saddle. Libicocco was also strapped in by a similar belt. Malacoda looked like he couldn’t be bothered by doing so, and was settling into a comfortable position, already dozing off. Mags quickly followed suit, scrambling to pull the belt tightly across her lap.

She pulled on the belt, tightening it as much as possible, feeling herself pulled in against the hard leather of the saddle. And just in time, too.

With a sudden, graceful movement, the skyfins launched into the air, soaring out of the open hatch, one after the other. They glided silently over the water, the wind rushing through Mags’ hair as they cruised toward the island, only occasionally skipping across the dark waves. Mags screamed in both fear and excitement as butterflies exploded in her stomach. She eventually garnered the courage to let go of her belt with one hand, letting the wind rush through her fingers. She savored the cold spray of the sea against her cheeks.

This is awesome! “Woo hoo!” she shouted in exultation.

In front of her, Calcabrina laughed.

When they reached the beach, the creatures landed with a splash, their fins folding in as they settled into the water, gliding smoothly toward the shore. The sand was pale and soft beneath their feet as they dismounted. Mags couldn’t help but glance back at the sea, its vastness stretching out behind them, endlessly shifting and mysterious.

The six of them unloaded their various belongings from the skyfin, carrying them to a clearing in the edge of the red-leafed forest. “Someone will be sent to fetch our belongings,” Sarto told them. “We’ll head inland from here,” she said, already moving toward the thick forest of red foliage. “Stay close.”

They entered the Leshi Forest, the towering Sanguine Trees casting everything in a crimson hue. The leaves crunched underfoot, the air cool and thick with the scent of earth and salt.

Mags found herself transfixed by the color. The deep, blood-red of the leaves was mesmerizing. The trunks of the trees were a stark, bleached white, extending from the ground like the bones of giants. It was just so different than anything she’d ever seen in the Ulava Woods.

After what felt like hours of trekking through the crimson woods, they emerged into a clearing dominated by a gigantic stone hand, its fingers curled upwards, as if grasping at the sky.

“This is the Left Hand of Weles,” Libicocco explained, her voice low, almost reverent. “It marks the entrance to the hallowed grounds. Bijel Garden sits at the summit, and it is home to the Temple of Weles.”

Mags tilted her head back, trying to take in the sheer size of the stone hand. It was easily taller than any building she had ever seen. The fingers alone were as wide as full-grown trees. The dark, almost black, stone stood like liquid shadow in a space otherwise dominated by the reds and whites of the Leshi.

Sarto gestured to a series of stone steps carved directly into the mountainside. “This is the way to Bijel Garden.”

“The steps are the final phase in the pilgrimage some take to the Temple of Weles,” Libicocco said. “One thousand steps, to symbolize the thousand days Weles stood entangled in a standstill with his brother Vala. It was in that very conflict that the Zircunwit faith says Weles cast Vala down from the heavenly realm. But Vala took a small victory in the conflict with his brother. He wounded Weles, blinding him in one eye, such that he could occasionally get away with carrying out evil deeds in the mortal plane without Weles’ scorn.”

Malacoda yawned. “How could religion even make a fight between gods sound boring?”

Mags fought back a chuckle. Calcabrina, who usually had a sense of humor to rival Malacoda’s, was silent as she stared up the steep, stone stairway. Mags remembered that the other girl had called Bijel Garden home for a time, and that the one who still called it home was a powerful friend of the Captain’s. Perhaps it was wiser to bite her tongue for the time being.

They began the ascent, the steps steep and worn with age. As they climbed, Mags’ legs began to burn with the effort, but it was a comfortable burn. She had Malacoda’s training to thank for that. Prior to the conditioning, she would have been breathing heavy with the effort.

As they crested the final flight of steps, the temple grounds spread before them.

It was like nothing Mags had ever seen before. The buildings were open-air structures, held up by white stone columns and topped with domed roofs. Behind them rose towers constructed of similar ivory stone. Red-leafed ivy crept along the walls and pillars, blending into the surroundings. And beyond the temple, the sea stretched out endlessly, a vast blue expanse that shimmered in the late afternoon light. The view was breathtaking, the cliffs dropping off into the ocean with no warning, the entire island feeling as though it were perched on the edge of the world.

Mags stood in silence, taking it all in.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Calcabrina breathed, joining Mags at the top of the steps.

“It is,” Mags admitted.

Sarto led the group toward one of the temple’s main halls, her footsteps echoing against the stone floor. As they crossed the threshold, Mags noticed Malacoda and Libicocco exchanging uneasy glances, though neither said anything. She couldn’t help but feel the tension in the air, as though something unseen was watching them.