013 – Signal

***

“I thought I told you to leave those ghosts alone?” Malisent said.

A group of the gaunts stood at the gap in the wall, unwilling to leave the settlement but unable to resist the sight of warm flesh. They groaned and worked their jaws anxiously. I watched from a safe distance.

“I’m observing. I want to see the specters pop out at the gloam.”

“You’re avoiding your lessons is what you’re doing. You have a long way to go before you can call yourself a swordsman.”

Now that we were on solid ground, Malisent decided to intensify my training. She had me doing basic drills with her sword for hours on end. I had to swing it this way and that until the movements became second nature. Strythe’s experience helped me. He had done these same drills countless times. The training brought with it vague memories, impressions of standing in a yard with other sweaty men, blistered hands, yelling instructors, brutal sparring sessions, and slicing apart dummies made of straw. These images repulsed me.

Strythe was a spark. He had a potential for magic, but had never managed to enkindle his soul fire. His previous training did not include real magic. So my current lessons involved relearning the basics of swordsmanship while simultaneously establishing a foundation in magic. Swinging a blade and cycling mana.

“It’s almost midday. Time for a break,” I said.

“You are the laziest disciple I’ve ever had.”

“How many is that?”

“Just you. I don’t have the patience for teaching. I’m only granting you lessons because we’re stuck together. Once we get back to the cult, you’ll receive normal training with the other lunkhead disciples.”

“Oh. Oh no.” I hoped those memories were not accurate.

I had two jobs during our stay here: train and keep watch for ships. So I did my daily drills atop the lighthouse roof looking out across Brimwater Gulf for the white sails of passing ships. Malisent considered me too frail to help her hunt. She had rowed out in the morning to gather food and returned before the gloam with a brace of fish. These sea fish were larger and healthier than those from the Spitpoison. I was no connoisseur of slimy animal flesh, but the taste was obviously superior. This area was a bountiful fishing ground.

The sky rapidly darkened, changing from light blue to clear black and unveiling the dome of twinkling stars. We watched the undead. The gaunts swayed in the shadows and then slumped over. A glowing mist rose off the inert bodies like steam. The mist coalesced into pulsing spheres which then sprouted appendages, arms, legs, and heads. The specters took a rough human form with no fine details. Their only features were black slits marking where their eyes should have been. The mournful specters circled in the air. They could move more gracefully than the gaunts, but still would not leave the settlement.

I dashed in and grabbed hold of one of the inanimate corpses. The dried, stringy flesh did not weigh much. It scraped against the ground as I pulled the body out through the gap.

“What are you doing?” Malisent gasped.

“A little experiment,” I said. I hauled the corpse a few meters outside the zone of undeath. “To see if the specter will come out to reclaim its body. Or if it will die in the sunlight. And if it does come out, will the gaunt be free to go where it pleases, or will it run back inside.”

“You’re going to wind up as a necromancer at this rate,” she sighed.

We waited until the gloam ended and the sunlight returned. No specters exited the settlement. The body remained dead and still. One of the spirits, with no body to take over, drifted back toward the center of town. It disappeared out of sight.

“Interesting.”

“Is it? I just see you goofing off with some corpses.”

“The specter didn’t come to inhabit the body. So it must not be tethered to it. In fact, the specters floating around did not return to their original hosts. They took whatever was the closest, like a game of musical chairs.”

“What does that mean?”

“It suggests these bodies are just temporary puppets for the spirits. Destroying gaunts won’t get rid of them. The specters’ real anchor is something in the middle of town. They can’t go past the wall because they’ve reached the end of their leashes,” I said. “That’s just a theory, though. The real explanation might elude me.”

“Save your idle speculation, disciple. None of this undead business matters. The dark lord will dispose of this place as he sees fit. You need to work on your forms and stances.”

Malisent prodded me with a stick. She had fashioned two wooden rods, each about the length of a sword. I dreaded what she intended to do with those things. It would likely end with me getting a lot of bruises.

***

The passing days should have rendered me a walking corpse not much different than the gaunts inside the settlement. I didn’t have enough to eat. I performed arduous drills. I slept on a cold brick floor without even a blanket. The rain and sun beat down on me. And now an insane woman swatted at me with a wooden stick for sparring sessions. This mode of life should have withered me to a husk, but for some reason, my sparse diet of fish and seaweed didn’t cause me to lose weight. The mana cycling in my body helped sustain me, and my inner fire brought an outer glow of health.

If only people would have known about magic in my era when the world’s ambient mana level was a thousand times greater. We could have all lived in perfect health. We could have been immortal. What a tragedy that this great discovery happened after the fall of the metropolis and the scattering of mankind. And what a waste that it was used for fighting.

In the morning, I performed drills on the top of the old brick tower. Every hour or so, I would pause and scan the horizon. Strythe’s eyes were sharp from days spent outside; he probably never read a book in his life. Far off in the water, I saw a tiny wedge of white. I squinted to make sure it was what it looked to be. A minute later the white fleck moved a bit east in the direction of the winds. It was a ship.

I raced to get the signal ready. The sun was high in the sky, so the light of the fire would do no good. Only a large plume of smoke could attract attention. I blew the coals hot and then heaped on piles of driftwood and dry straw to work up a blaze. Then I added materials for the smoke: thorny shrubs, plants stalks with thick resin, dried seaweed, and ripe glue-gourds. A pillowy cloud of gray smoke rose up into the air.

Malisent was out gathering food, but she would also see the smoke and know that rescue was near. I watched the ship intently. At this distance it was hard to see it move or determine if it got closer or moved further off.

I fanned the flames to make bursts of smoke rise up the column. It was almost midday. Once the gloam came, the signal might be impossible for the sailors to spot. It looked as if the ship were passing us by without changing its course.

The sun slid behind the moon. Soon only the stars and the thin ring of the moon’s atmosphere glowed in the sky. A darkness deeper than night covered the land and sea. The burning coals of the fire did not light up more than the top of the light house.

With nothing else to do, I stood at the edge of the roof with my arm raised high. I sent mana into the lumestone in a steady rhythm. It glowed bright, died down, and glowed bright again. Its pure light shone up through the rising smoke. For hours I did nothing else, as if it were another grueling drill assigned to me. I hoped that someone out there on the ink-black waters would see the distress call.

When the sun reappeared on the western edge of the moon, the tiny ship had grown larger. A sleek, two masted schooner slid into the entrance of the harbor. She had two gaff-rigged sails and three headsails connected between the mainmast and a long bowsprit. The ship cast anchor in the center of the harbor and furled the sails. The sailors had no native pilot to guide them through the waters and did not want to run into some unseen shoal or sandbar. I had no way to reach them without the rowboat, so I waved again from the top of the lighthouse.

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The crew of the ship lowered a small dinghy into the harbor. Seven men climbed in and rowed over to the rocky breakwater connected to the lighthouse. Rescue had arrived. I ran down the stairs to meet them.

Five of the men hopped out of the boat to meet me, four sailors and a man I assumed to be their leader, another magical swordsman.

I could tell he was a swordsman due to three things. First, he had a sword. The other sailors carried sharp hatchets at their sides. The second clue was that the man dressed like a total madman. He had on a pink velvet coat and a silk cravat. A dozen colorful feathers stuck out of the headband of his hat. Weird costumes seemed to be the rule for swordsmen. Beyond those facts obvious to all, he had a quality only a fellow mage could detect: a magical fire burned within him. He gave off a similar energy to Malisent and the other two witches. Of course, that went both ways; he knew I was a mage as well.

“Wow. Am I glad to see you. Any longer on this rock and I thought I’d go crazy.”

“Greetings, stranger. I’m Captain Slezeanor,” the man said with a slight bow.

“Hello. My name is Ar– Uh, they call me Strythe.” I went to shake his hand then remembered that custom had gone extinct, especially among swordsmen who could zap each other with a touch.

“This is a perilous ruin to make a dwelling, friend. Monsters abound and dark spirits lurk in every shadow. Few would dare venture here. Tell me, what brings you to such an isolated corner of the world?”

Malisent had instructed me not to tell anyone about my origin. Claiming to be one of the Ancients was against the law because the facts conflicted with modern people’s absurd legends. And no one liked ghosts. After seeing the specters in the settlement, I could understand why people had a bad opinion about us. So avoiding those dangerous topics was a wise precaution.

“I’m a cultist,” I stated. “My colleague and I got stranded in this wasteland a few weeks ago. We lost our supplies and have been struggling to survive. I’ve been watching for ships and hoping someone might see the signals.”

“A cultist you say? Interesting. And you’re not alone?”

“No. I’m stuck here with a witch. You could say she’s my teacher, I suppose, and I’m her student. But that isn’t exactly official.”

“Very good,” the captain said. He smiled and nodded to his sailors, who had remained silent thus far. They thumbed the edge of their axes. “What style of swordsmanship are you learning?”

“I’m learning the ‘wooden stick style.’ I’m still just a beginner.” I held up my practice stick.

“Ha ha. Yes. That’s a style we all must master,” Captain Slezeanor said. “It’s rare to find people in remote spots like this. When I saw the flashing lights over the lighthouse, I assumed it was some ghostly occurrence, as this ruin is known to be haunted. Finding two swordsmen was the last thing I expected. Do I understand correctly, that you would like to arrange for passage away from this hermitage?”

“Absolutely. We’d like to return to civilization as soon as possible. My colleague should have seen the signal fire as well. I’m sure she’ll be back shortly.”

Malisent rowed in from the other side of the breakwater. The crewmen watched in terror as she hopped from the boat, mounted the boulders, and came full into view.

Weeks in the wilderness had transformed Malisent into a shocking sight. She was dressed in filthy rags that barely covered her body. Her hair had gone incredibly wild and now swirled around her in black coils, half concealing her face. At the moment, she looked more like a monster than a normal person and did not make a great first impression. The sailors’ eyes practically bugged out of their heads.

“Don’t worry. She’s not as bad as she looks.” I said, trying to calm them down. That wasn’t true though; she looked about as feral as she really was. She carried her sword resting over one shoulder.

“Greetings, Mistress Swordsman.” The captain swept off his hat and gave an exaggerated bow.

“Are you the master of that ship?” she asked.

“I am. Captain Slezeanor the Peerless Rake of Mount Rosejoy. At your service.”

“And I’m Malisent the Vigilant Eye of Dawn.”

I had never heard Malisent refer to herself as ‘the Vigilant Eye of Dawn’ before. It sounded absurd to me. Both of the swordsmen had meaningless, overblown titles which were the verbal equivalent to their garish clothing.

“My lady. I humbly put my self and my ship at your disposal. Should you wish it, we will transport you from this ruin to a setting more fit for such a beautiful lady.”

“That’s very generous of you, captain. Circumstances compel me to impose on you. I must accept your offer.”

“I am thrilled to have a swordsman of your renown on my humble ship. However, in truth, I am not from Sandgrave and am therefor regrettably unfamiliar with your name and reputation.”

“No need to apologize. I’m also a foreigner here as well. I hail from the far north.”

“So far away. The northern climes are too cold for my blood. The milder weather of the southern coast suits me far more.”

“What business do you have in the south?”

“I am a merchant trader. I visit the many small outposts that dot the coast, places much like this settlement before it fell to the undead. The local people sell me valuable goods, which I transport to the civilized nations, where collectors buy those rarities for high prices. Although the continent is a fearsome wasteland, it produces many commodities: herbs, spices, medicines, perfumes, metals, gems, woods, furs, silks, ivory, and other luxuries in great demand.” He counted these things off on his ringed fingers. “Perhaps I can show you a sample of my items. A new set of clothing, perhaps…”

Malisent nodded to the captain. The two swordsman acted polite and friendly, but they didn’t approach within two sword-lengths of one another. They smiled but remained wary. True to her new title, Malisent didn’t blink.

“Then let us return to the Fleuron. I shall escort you at once, my lady. And also your…”

“Servant. Don’t mind him. He’s recently had a head injury and lost half his wits,” she said.

“I see. How unfortunate.”

We climbed into the dinghy. Malisent sat next to the captain at the tiller. I sat at the bow in the spray of incoming sea water. The six sailors rowed in earnest. They were a rough looking bunch of men who instantly disproved my theory that all humans in this age were attractive. They would have been an ill favored group even before experiencing harsh lives at sea. The sun and wind gave them leathery skin. Many were missing eyes, teeth, or fingers from accidents. All of the men shaved their chins and whiskers, but grew out giant sideburns, which may have been the fashion for sailors in this era.

The sailors said nothing among themselves, but cast uneasy glances toward the captain’s new guest. Malisent had spooked them. I didn’t know what normal people thought of magical swordsman, but they would be crazy not be afraid of the blade wielding psychopaths.

We embarked on the Fleuron. She had one flat weatherdeck with a cabin and pilothouse at the stern. The crew and the cargo intermingled in the lower deck. Sailors hung up their hammocks in any convenient spot. The captain’s cabin was the only section with any privacy; wooden bulkheads partitioned it off from the rest of the ship.

Captain Slezeanor took Malisent to his quarters, presumably to offer her a change of clothing. I was left outside with the grimy sailors and the first mate. Yixigo was a stout, gray-haired man who oversaw the crew’s day to day activities.

“Why do you have so many crewmen?” I asked him. “You only need three or four people to operate a ship like this.”

“Ah. That’s because we need many stout hearts to brave these direful waters, and many sharp axes to fend off the monsters.”

I had to take his word for it. He would know better than me. I had been on sailing ships in the past, although in my era they existed for sport and leisure, not for transporting cargo. The basics had not changed, but the Fleuron used different materials in her construction. She had no polymer lines or sailcloth, no aluminum or carbon fiber ribs, and no back up engine for use in calm weather. Everything here was wood and cloth.

In my day, we also had many airships that used sails. The lev coils would lift them up, and the sails would propel them like a kite. Those craft had a completely different arrangement of the the hull and sails, however, and would look alien to modern sailors. That type of airship would no longer be possible with so little mana available.

“What’s the next scheduled stop?”

“There’s no schedule. We go where the wind takes us and stop when the notion strikes. We gain and lose at adventure.”

This whole system was out of whack. Modern people didn’t have a sensible logistics network at all. And without radios for long distance communication, it would be impossible for them to organize one. Outposts couldn’t send orders to the cities; cities couldn’t rely on remote production. How trading functioned left me scratching my head.

“Then where are the winds likely to blow next?”

“They carry us eastward along the coast. We’ll soon reach Sandgrave to unload some of our loot.”

“Good. I look forward to reaching a civilized place.”

“Ha ha. Ya’ might be in for disappointment then, lad. The Sandgrave Peninsula is a bit rough around the edges. Don’t expect the comforts of island life down in the south colonies.”

It couldn’t be worse than camping next to goblins, devil-birds, specters, and gaunts.