THE GREAT CABIN

The Lady Val'shar had been at sea for the past forty-three days. Leaving the docks of Kilmoric on the high tide, the wind at her back and expecting to be in Calemion before the month was out. But the rough seas and new, inexperienced crew members had slowed the vessel down, along with irritating its captain, the tiredness on his face plain to see as he slouched in his chair.

Three loud thuds reverberated on the great cabin's heavy wooden door, creaking the thick door frame and making the ironmongery flex and fill the room with a hundred distinct tones of metallic clattering. Each sound absorbing into the oak and larch of the great cabin. Leaving only the roar of the ocean and distant shouts and moans from the crew, working the deck outside.

Captain Kre looked up from his slouched position behind his desk, his eyes sunken and bloodshot red, hidden behind deep circles of black. He paused for a moment before answering the knock at the door and took a long drink from the tankard in front of him, wiping the spillage from his matted beard with the back of his hand. The drink glazed his eyes over, disguising the weariness from within them.

“What is it! What do you swines want?” Captain Kre barked, his voice rough and hoarse as if his words were just dust from the sandstorms of Sira.

“We... we... we have the prisoner Captain, as you ordered.” a nervous voice responded from the other side of the heavy door.

The ship heaved to one side, distant voices rising in a crescendo.. Barrels and stacked boxes tumbled around the captain’s room as candles swung in their restraints. Water seeped in from small seams and cracks in the wooden walls as the ship righted itself, the Lady Val'shar moaning as her supports took the weight.

Captain Kre straightened in his chair. Whether the drink was taking effect or the news of the prisoner’s arrival had stirred him. His eyes sharpened as he pulled his lip over his teeth, a grimace spreading across his face.

“What are you waiting for? Bring him in! I told you five bells ago!” Kre snapped, though it had been less than two bells. Keeping them on their toes wasn’t the worst idea, he mused. The High Lord Arcana had forced three dozen of his adepts into the crew, and Kre didn’t trust them. He didn’t trust the High Lord, either.

Two of his original crew, Seamon and Sled, had already gone missing during the voyage. Deaths weren’t unusual in these waters, but this time there was no blood, no snapped lines—just gone. He’d interrogated everyone, even his own men, but found nothing. Still, he’d bet his last dram of rum that there was more to it. Seamon and Sled were seasoned sailors, used to far murkier waters than these. Something was off, and it wasn’t just the cook’s broth.

The wooden door swung open and a gust of fresh salty air whisked around the great cabin, flickering the candles in their holders, the light dancing off the walls as the wet, musty air inside blew away. Two burly crewmen stood in the doorway, holding up a half-naked young man between them.

They had fastened weathered metal shackles to each of the young man’s wrists. Stretching his arms above his head by rusted chains that were secured to each shackle. The prisoner’s arms suspended over his head like in a pose one might make if they were diving into the ocean. Except here. The young man’s head hung limp. There was no grace or conviction. His feet twisted to one side, as his knees and shins scraped along the damp wooden floor, as if a dead carcass were being pulled from the slaughter.

“Sit him there,” Captain Kre ordered, pointing to a chair opposite his desk. “And make sure those bindings are tight. I reckon this one’s as slippery as an oiled-up Faye.” He eyed the two men with thinly veiled contempt

The crewmen dumped the young man into the chair. One of them stayed behind, pressing the prisoner’s shoulders firmly into the seat. The other crewman removed one shackle from the young man’s right arm, fed it through a large metal ring bolted to the floor, and clasped it back onto the young man’s wrist, locking him in place.

Captain Kre sniffed the air with satisfaction, a smile of wicked pleasure on his face, showing just a fraction of his yellow teeth. He was intending to have some fun with this prisoner, after all, it was another four days to Caelmion, and the bread wasn’t the only thing getting stale on this voyage. Some amusement would clear that up..

“Get out, you swines,” Captain Kre shouted, turning to the departing crewmen and adding. “One of you, bring me a bucket of the lady’s wet breath. It blows a gale outside tonight and if she doesn’t have ice in her veins, let Thassadia herself strike me down. Hurry! Don’t have me waiting again.”

The crewmen scrambled out the door, one returning in mere moments with a bucket filled with icy seawater. He placed it next to the chair with the young man in it, glancing up at Captain Kre as some water spilled onto the floor. The Captain snarled at the crewman, even though he never noticed the spillage. Looking sheepish, the crewman bowed his head and backed out of the room, closing the door behind him.

The captain drained the contents of his tankard, his beard catching more than his mouth, making it glisten in the room's candlelight. He let out a refreshing yawn and neglected to clean himself this time.

“So what have we here?” Captain Kre said to himself, enunciating each word as he looked at the young man sitting in the chair. The young man was barely more than a boy—slim, but with muscle beneath the ragged clothes that clung to him. His dark black hair fell in waves to the nape of his neck, and not a hair grew on his face. “A mother’s boy, maybe, but that scar won’t do you any favors,” Kre chuckled to himself.

The chuckle turned into a cough that rasped in the back of his throat. His eyes narrowed as he ran his fingers through his wet beard, massaging his chin. With a deep inhale of resolve, the Captain reached inside his desk and pulled out a green metallic collar, engravings ran around the out and inside of the collar in a spiral pattern intertwining one another. A darker green clasp wrapped around the device like a serpent, locking it in place.

He stood, using the desk to steady himself as the ship rocked beneath him. Walking around to the prisoner, he grabbed the young man’s head by the scruff of his hair and examined the scar across his face. Without another thought, Kre snapped the collar around the boy’s neck and locked it.

“No point taking any chances. Vermin’s everywhere these days,” Kre muttered. He reached for the bucket of icy seawater when, to his surprise, the young man lifted his head and smiled.

The captain’s nostrils flared, part because of the smiling fool now looking at him and part because he’d wanted to wake this young stowaway with a taste of the lady's wet breath. He wanted to startle this young stowaway. He wanted to see the shock turn into dread at the realization of his current situation. Now, though, the moment, his fun, lost, spoiled by this smiling “At last, we meet, Captain,” the young man said with a confidence that seemed misplaced, given the chains around his wrists. “I had hoped to reach Caelmion without our paths crossing, but luck, as always, eludes me.” He smiled wider, showing teeth far too white for a stowaway. “Nonetheless, here we are. You’ve quite the ship—the Lady Val’Shar, isn’t it? I don’t think I’ve ever seen a vessel this size navigate the rocks at Calemion. You must have a skilled crew.”

Captain Kre stepped back, eyes never leaving the young man, and circled around to his desk. He sat down, his face hardening as he studied the stowaway. This half-naked whelp, chained to his ship, should be trembling with fear—yet here he was, calm, speaking as though they were old friends.

The ship sank again; the room groaning as the wind blew the candles, teetering on the verge of extinguishment. A flash of light filled the room as an enormous boom roared from every direction. Water poured in through the seals around the windows, several puddles now joining on the floor, covering the last dry spots of any timber. The candles regained their flame, illuminating the great cabin again..

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Kre forced away his uncertainty and tried to match the young man’s confidence. “I am Captain Kre, and this is my vessel—the might of the oceans, the sword of the sixteen seas, The Lady Val’shar.” He leaned forward, eyes narrowing. “You, boy, are her newest prisoner. And I am the one in control here, not you. So, tell me—who are you?, and why were you hiding on my ship? don’t lie,” he added, his voice dropping to a low growl. “I can smell a liar like a Razor Jaw smells blood in the ocean. And if you do lie, the sea beasts will be the least of your worries.”

The young man didn’t flinch. He merely kept smiling, as though the captain’s threats were nothing more than idle talk. The ship creaked, moaning as its timbers strained. As the sound faded, the stowaway’s grin softened into something more genuine. He looked around the room as though seeing it for the first time.

He was in the captain’s personal quarters, a room no bigger than that of a comfortable inn. Barrels littered around the edge of the room. Several candles in crude metal frame boxes hung from the framework. The flickering of the candles making the shadows from the barrels dance around as if a fire of black and orange raged on the walls..

A large desk covered with maps and plates of half eaten food filled up most of the room with two chairs, one on either side. Behind the captain, a row of narrow windows ran across the top of the wall just before the ceiling started. The rain was obscuring the view from outside. Only a small dim light, some distance away, peered through. Water poured in from the seals around each small window and ran down the wall, soaking into the wood and making the wall look much darker than the rest.

A storm was raging outside and the great cabin was feeling the effects. It was as if it was soaking the ship from the inside out. Every inch of the great cabin soaked right through. The larch and oak seemed to cry salty tears under the strain. The fresh air that had filled the room only moments ago was now returning to the musty smell of damp.

Finally, he spoke. “My friends call me Ragan, Captain. And you may do the same.” His tone was casual, even warm. “But before you make any assumptions, let me clarify a few things. First, I am not a young man. In fact, I’d wager I’m twice your age, give or take a few years. It may not seem that way to you, but I assure you, it’s the truth. You should keep that in mind.” He tugged slightly at the chains binding his wrists. “Secondly, Captain, you are mistaken. You are not the one in control here. Far from it.

Captain Kre roared with laughter, slamming his hands down on the desk. Plates of half-eaten food clattered to the floor, and a rolled-up map darted across the table. His laughter soon turned into a fit of coughing, and he had to take several long breaths before regaining his composure.

“Well, haven't you got a massive pair, boy? Big enough to hang you by, too, if I wanted. But not yet. First, tell me this, old man—who do you think is in control here? I’ve got you chained to my ship, sword at my side, with a hundred men ready to obey my command.” He pulled his sword from its sheath, placing it on the desk with a clatter. His fingers tapped the hilt. “If not me, then who?”

Ragan’s smile didn’t waver. “Like my age, Captain, not everything is as it appears. In this world or indeed others”

"I am no fool, boy. Who hasn’t heard the name Ragan before? You would have to be more stupid than a thief with his hand in a thirsty sailor's rum barrel, not to know that name. I know the many names of Ragan, Ragan the unscorched, the Slayer of Saville, the False Prophet, the plague Bringer of Moss Side, the Bastard of Baarack. Damn, every citizen of the Caelmion empire knows that wretched name. " He sneered. “That name is cursed across the empire.”

"Huh, Ragan? The man is a traitor of Vermulia. He has wiped out entire armies, slain kings even claimed to speak with gods. Yet you, a runt dressed in beggar's clothes, caught I might add, by two of the dumbest men I have ever had the misfortune to sail with.”He shook his head. “No, you’re not him. You’re using a name that’ll get you through the door and hoping it’ll save your skin.”

"It makes no difference who you are. You either die here on my ship as a worthless beggar boy or at Caelmion, as Ragan the Unscorched, the most wanted man in all Vermulia. A small part of me hopes you speaks the truth boy. The bounty I would receive from handing you over to Arcana would buy me the Ocean itself."

The smile on Ragan’s face faltered for a brief moment. His eyes clouded over, a faint silver haze passing across them. He pulled at his chains again, his fingers curling as if holding something unseen. A small blue flame flickered into existence in his palm.

Kre leapt back, brandishing his sword as though it were a shield. But the flame quickly fizzled into smoke. The collar around his neck shone bright green, and the engravings glowed a crimson red. Ragan let out a scream, trying to grab the collar from his neck, but the restraints holding him to the deck snapped tight. Cuts appeared on his wrists at the edge of the shackles “That pain you’re feeling,” Kre said, stepping forward, “comes from that collar around your neck. It’s not some cheap imitation, either. That’s a genuine Brieanic Collar—a relic from the Celestial War. I’ve seen it drain the life from stronger men than you.”

He tapped the collar with the tip of his sword, and the air filled with the sound of faint, discordant chimes. “I used it on a water bloodborne once, until the fool used it to destroy herself. Thought I’d take it off, eventually. I never did.” He chuckled darkly. “You’re not the first to scream wearing that collar, and you won’t be the last.”

Ragan, panting and bloodied, looked up at the captain. His teeth, stained with blood, shone red in the candlelight. “I’m honored, Captain,” he rasped, still smiling through the pain. “But I fear you’re mistaken. I’ve been persecuted across worlds. This life, the last, and perhaps the next. But here… I can do something about it. And I think you might be able to help me.”

The Captain turned from Ragan, laying his sword back on the table, picked an empty tankard up off the floor and sat down behind his desk, and started absently cleaning the stains on the tankard with his thumb.

“Why, in all the seas, would I help you?” he growled. “Let's not forget the fact you claim to be the most wanted man in all of Vermulia for a moment. But you’re a bloodburn—a blight on creation.. I'd rather ram the Lady, head first, into the rocks of Cyan Cove before I'd help a bloodburn. And then the Imperial Arcanist Order, they’d chase me across the world, have me flayed, displayed on a tower of some godforskaen temple. "

“Bloodburns, Broken, Vermin. Will I never be rid of such names? I think Captain, you yourself would like an end to all of Arcana's ruthless tyranny.” Ragan’s eyes clouded again, just for a moment,his smile wavering for a hair's breadth. The collar did not glow this time. He adjusted himself in the chair, pulling slightly at the chains binding him. “You hate the Arcana, don’t you, Captain? That extra crew they sent along—doesn’t seem like it was your choice.”

Kre paused, narrowing his eyes. Ragan pressed on. “You’re sailing for Caelmion. Three days with good wind, perhaps less. If, by then, I don’t convince you to help me, then do as you wish. Throw me overboard. Kill me. I don’t care. But if I do convince you, well, then you can hand me over to the Arcana and claim your bounty.”

The Captain filled his tankard, leaned back in his chair, and swung his legs onto the table, sending another dish crashing to the floor. He ruffled his fingers through his beard, pinching his lip between thumb and forefinger. His eyes narrow in contemplation. After a few moments, he lifted his sword and pointed it across the table at Ragan.

Finally, he lifted his sword and pointed it across the table at Ragan.

“Very well, convince me. But I warn you, boy—I bore easily. And if I don’t like your tale, I’ll string you up at the mast. I’ll give every one of my men five free lashes with the whip, you’ll bleed to the bone before this voyage is out” Captain Kre drawled, his voice dripping with venom, his mere words enough to poison.

The ship rocked from one side to another. Becoming more rhythmic, Ragan pulled a little harder at his chains. The sharp, jagged edges of his shackles digging into his wrists. Blood ran down his hands and fell to the floor, washing away with the sea water that flooded in from under the door.

The ship rocked again, more gently this time, as the wind howled outside. Ragan pulled at his chains, blood running down his wrists and mixing with the seawater seeping into the room. Despite the pain, he smiled once more.

“Oh, I think you’ll find my story… entertaining,” he said, his voice calm. “What were those names you called me earlier? The Plague Bringer of Blackwell? That one always stings. No truth to it, of course, but why not blame me? It makes for a better story.”

Ragan leaned back, letting his hands relax. “My tale doesn’t begin with my birth, Captain. It begins with my death. Far away, in a different time, in a place where a thousand languages were spoken—but not one of them exists today. Not a whisper of them remains in this world.”

He paused, his voice softening. “There were languages so beautiful, a single word could bring a man to his knees. Words of such power, they could humble a king or shake the heavens. All lost now.”

He sighed, leaning forward slightly. “But I digress. As I said, my story begins not with a birth… but with an end.”

“My story starts the day I died…