The blazing sun didn’t give Clythia and her companions a moment’s respite as its rays pounded on their heads the second their feet vaulted onto the unmistakable sand of Island Nyat.
A servant approached Clythia, carrying a parasol, easing the stinging from her scalp.
Everyone was taking in their surroundings, some of them pointing at the upright monoliths a few feet away, before multiple soft grindings of sand snagged their attention.
Glythia was approaching them, his companions trailing behind, not that far in number from Clythia’s. They were carrying sacks, water skins, and canteens wobbling at their sides, taking in their environment and staring at Clythia and her companions with weariness, gobbling them up from head to toe—as if they were strange creatures that had dropped from the skies.
The Prime’s figure looked less formidable, with no shadow or looming darkness present to exaggerate his mountainous body since it was noon. He was wearing a tunic garbed with leather and a blond sash wrapped around his waist. The choice of attire was the same for his men and women, save for his guards, who were wearing bronze armor—a cheap shot.
The balmy air was enhancing the sharp, salty stench of the sea, sending nausea to flip her stomach.
As Glythia neared, her chin angled upward, his height towering over her, his loose blonde hair like a dancing white flame swayed by the rhythm of the wind.
“It’s good to see you,” his face split into a broad smile.
“Likewise,” Clythia gave him a forced grin. “We need to get going.” A strong whoosh of wind, heavy with salt, forced its way through her nostrils. She forced down a bile, covering her mouth.
“Are you all right? You’re turning green,” the Prime peered at her. “You have been here before, though.”
“I know that,” she snapped. “The heat and salt are not an appealing combination.” A huff left her throat. “We have been here when it was dark and the air cooler. Do I need to point out the obvious?”
“You have to brace yourself then,” his eyebrows shot up in amusement. “The ocean is the only thing we will see before Nadir.”
“Cocky bastard,” Clythia muttered, well aware his canine ears had caught on the insult.
He didn’t seem to mind, his gaze shifting to the horizon. “Morven will be arriving soon.”
“He is late. Why do we have to wait for him? I’m sure he will find his way to Nadir on his own.”
“Morven has the fastest ship in all of Zyvern,” the Prime’s eyes swept over Clythia’s companions. “And I don’t see any sign of a ship from you.” He tilted his chin at her. “Any sign of anything... Where is your packing?”
Clythia lifted her fist, showing the bead on an orange ring that was hugging her middle finger. “It’s in here.” The Prime’s scouring eyes noted the same ring on the fingers of the arcane travelers. “Including the ship we are going to travel with. So, I say we go. Now.”
Surprise lit the Prime’s face. “I’m impressed with your very efficient method of packing. But how fast does your ship travel?”
“Like any other fast ship,” Clythia shrugged.
“It will take us three to five weeks to reach Nadir with an ordinary ship. But with Morven's, we will arrive in less than two days.”
Clythia was very displeased by the information. “And why is his special? Does he have a magic to make it fast? Because we can do that too.”
“Yes, I trust in your abilities, but sailing a ship with unnatural speed will require constant use of magic. I know a thing or two about that. And we know its consequences.” He grinned at her, a contrast to the sorrow twinkling in his blue eyes. “Morven’s ship relies on a different ability beyond magic. You can ask him when he arrives. You know how he likes galivanting around the skies; I think he got it from his adventures.”
They were gazing across the mass of shimmering blue for a while, but there was no disturbance, except for the occasional crashing of the waves.
Clythia was growing impatient by the minute, muttering curses at the vampire king.
Finally she retreated her eyes from the ocean and ordered her companions to pitch tents.
With a tap of their respective rings, tents began popping out of the orange bead, and nestled on the sand perfectly, a myriad of colored canopies huddling within the small space. Clythia did the same; the largest tent, hued violet, sprung out beside her.
All the while, the werewolves were gawking at them, jaws dropped, immobile, as the mages were busy making places for themselves.
Clythia entered her tent, swatting the sandals off her feet eagerly before she sprawled on the soft futon matching the tent’s color.
She must have dozed off, thanks to the suffocating heat, when a yellow-haired servant emerged through the tent flap and informed her that lunch was served.
A series of kang tables were arrayed horizontally, with a variety of meals served on them, the aroma swallowing out the salt in the air. Clythia took her place at the head of a table, and following suit, the scholars and innovators settled on either end, with Vina and Casarda taking her immediate left and right.
Some of the guards surrounded them, carrying parasols, as the servants shoveled food onto their plates, with Afia pouring wine into silver chalices.
“Where are the werewolves?” Clythia asked distastefully.
“On the other side,” Casarda pointed towards the monoliths with her chin. “I must say, the monoliths and the shining well are beautiful.”
“Tell me you were not stupid enough to approach the well,” Clythia's tone was coated with warning.
Vina snorted. “Oh, the werewolves were more than stupid; one of them climbed up the steps and was only two feet away when he was hurled backward by an invisible force.” A chuckle rang out from her throat. “No one had taught the barbaric werewolves not to test magic they don’t understand. Then again-” Another chuckle.
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“He cracked his neck at the most comical angle you can imagine, neck twisted like a doll’s, jaw hung open as if he were a lady moaning before climaxing,” Casarda said, struggling with laughter that finally burst out.
Vina didn’t scold Casarda for the obscene remark; instead, she carried on with the tale, her face settling into a stern expression, though her eyes were twinkling with amusement. “And now they are conducting a wolf funeral.” The last two words together sounded like a gobbledygook.
Clythia scrunched her face, feigning ‘false’ pity, then guffawed laughter left her throat. Casarda was laughing harder, and Vina joined with a collected chuckle, earning curious eyes from the table.
“This journey could be more fun than I thought,” Clythia said with an expectant voice, taking a bite of bread.
It seemed the misery of non-mage species was the bonding ground for the ladies of DavinSaw and Clythia. The three ladies, who didn’t see eye to eye in their land, were now picking on and thrashing the MakeFortians, gossiping about the werewolves’ whimsical attire, the outdated canteens and sacks they carried, and the accent they spoke with.
A wailing of werewolves reverberated, ceasing discussion and laughter around the table.
After a moment or so, Glythia, flanked by two guards, arrived. His face was grim, fury dancing on his features at the feigned nonchalance among the witches and wizards, who now were retiring to their tents or taking a walk as if nothing of importance had happened.
“My condolences, Glythia,” Clythia said, leaping to her feet, wiping her mouth with a cloth, done with her meal, not a smear of sorrow etched in her tone.
“The least you could do was attend the funeral,” Glythia gritted.
Her glare fixed on him. “It’s not my fault you haven’t warned your subjects not to approach the well. You are putting your blame on the wrong person, of course, the right person is dead so...”
A muffled chuckle rang from behind her. Glythia’s eyes darted to the source, his cheek turning crimson. He spun on his heels and disappeared into the ‘wolf territory’, with a hair-prickling growl like a dog denied a piece of meat.
Truth be told, she hadn’t warned hers either. But exploring strange magic one didn’t understand was bad juju, something that was drilled into the minds of witches and wizards since they understood the concept of magic.
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Morven didn’t arrive, so they were all forced to stay the night there. Clythia, despite her blissful nap during the day, was struggling to be conquered by the evasive sleep. Hence, after tossing and turning, she went out of her tent.
The sky was embellished with a drizzle of stars, some twinkling brightly, others fading out. A crescent moon had graced the black canvas, not a full moon, thankfully, or the silence would have been displaced by a ruckus jiving of the werewolves.
It was all quiet, save for the ocean waves. The chill, despite being bone-throbbing, was thousand folds better than the heat of the day. Some of the tents had lights in them, and others were winked out.
A groan and a muffled moan, the slapping of skins, and creaking emitted from one of the scholar’s tents. Clythia froze when what was happening clicked; disgust rolled in her stomach, her feet leading her away to the shore.
She settled on the sand, the silk nightgown gliding against her skin as she shifted against the textured grain beneath. Water lunged over the shore, dousing her feet and sending a shiver through her body.
The salt was not as stomach-flipping as it once was, still, it wasn’t the best aroma to inhale but a tolerable one.
Clen was probably snoring away his exhaustion from his night out, cuddling with his mistresses. Tomorrow he would be off to Sravask; he would focus on his education, which was good. She had done this for him, but she felt like a complete idiot for doing so.
She hadn’t had the faintest idea of why she was in the middle of hostile weather, gobbling in salt as though it was an expensive perfume from Idra, and taking the werewolves or, worse, the upcoming vampires as companions. In any case, those two knew the purpose of their trek.
A footstep, crunching against the sand, spun her head to its source, shattering the thoughts of her son with it.
Glythia was approaching, a pair of blue light orbs where his irises should be—or his irises, animating towards the shore with his alpine figure. His gaze was peering towards the horizon, an indistinguishable line between the night sky and the ocean.
“King Morven has arrived,” his tone was grim, as if he was struggling to convey the message to her, avoiding eye contact completely.
It seemed the Prime was still pouting because of her indifference towards his dead werewolf... if she had known wolves were so dramatic... she stifiled a snort of disbelief as her gaze snagged on the empty ocean.
Dark shapes were looming above the straight line, growing in size, cylinders making way for rising rectangles and triangles, animated flaps, and ominous shapes until an unmistakable silhouette of a ship formed.
Clythia had only blinked when the ship was darting towards the shore with fascinating speed, as if the masts were its wings fluttering with the wind the ship had conjured.
Clythia took a step back, dread coiling in her not to be overrun by the soaring ship. But as the ship approached the shore, revealing faint yellow light glinting on the wooden deck, it slowed down, inches away from the shore. A gangway wedged out of the ship and slammed onto the sand with a thud, sending grains floating.
A lean figure, with a spiked coat, appeared out of the cabin, the lights revealing his sharp jaws and slick hair, seemingly identical to the sky—though it triumphed for being raven black—a stark contrast to his ashen skin, marking him as Clythia’s least favorite ruler, the Vampire King, Morven.
As much as she tried to catch a whiff of a footstep, the vampire was taking the steps down the gangway with no creak or thud, akin to a ghost gliding, feigning the action of walking to mock the living. Goosebumps raked all over her body until she visibly shuddered, the small action drawing the coal-black gaze of the vampire onto her.
But instead of addressing her or the Prime, his neck craned back to his ship. “Kay, wake the fuck up. We have arrived.”
King Kay appeared from one of the cabin doors, wearing a heavy cloak that was the best option to fight the chill. What was Clythia thinking when she roamed out of her tent in a nightgown? Remembering how sheer her fabric was, she wrapped her arms around herself.
The human’s eyes scanned the surroundings as he took the steps down, his footsteps audible—that’s how anyone walking should sound like!
Clythia was surprised by the presence of the human king, as was the werewolf. When she glanced towards Glythia, he was following Kay with an intense gaze. Her eyes then darted back to the human. It must have been an illusion caused by Glythia’s fiery blue eyes because when she stared at Kay’s eyes, they appeared ashen. She blinked, and they were hazel brown once again.
“You are late,” Clythia said with a clipped tone, glaring down the vampire, though he had a few inches on her.
“I am a vampire; you can’t expect me to travel during the day,” Morven replied as Kay joined him. “And the human also decided to travel with us, so...” He finished his sentence with a shrug that said, Here we are.
Kay beamed, his white teeth faintly visible against the moon’s glow. “Hello, werewolf,” he waved his hand towards Glythia. “Hello, witch,” his brows danced up.
Four more people came down the gangway, and none of them were vampires, but humans, two males and two females wearing similar furry coats like their king and tight leather with boots.
“Welcome,” Glythia’s voice rang out. “We will set on our journey when dawn breaks. Until then, make yourselves at home.” He gave them a smile. A genuine one. Weird.
“I can’t travel at night,” the vampire snapped. “Or haven’t you been listening?” The werewolf growled at the remark, closing the distance between them. “So we will do it my way,” Morven continued, unfazed by the snarl. “If you all want to travel on my ship.” His eyes flicked around, landing on Clythia, then the tents forward, and back to the Prime.
“You don’t need to use those sharp teeth of yours on a werewolf,” Clythia was about to put her hand on her waist, but then remembered that her nipples would be poking through her clothing. “You already have plenty of options,” she pointed towards the huddled humans, “if you use them wisely for the remainder of the journey.”
Clythia had barely taken her gaze off the vampire when one of the human girls darted towards her, and a fist flew to connect with her jaw, sending her head flipping to the side.
A second passed. Then two. Then three.
Clythia let go of her arms, nakedness be damned. Her hand was grappling at the air, the human began floating off the ground, clawing at her neck as an invisible rope willed by Clythia was squeezing her windpipe.