Human Keira gets seasick.

Not just seasick, but ocean-sick, lake-sick, and river-sick. Basically, if human Keira looked at a boat, she started getting green. That never stopped me from getting aboard, of course. I love boats, they just don’t love me back. As a result, I think I’ve thrown up in every ocean on planet Earth, several of the seas, at least two dozen lakes, and I have painfully memorable experiences on both the Thames and the Rhine on my record as well.

Elven Keira does not seem to have that problem. I keep waiting for it as I stand at the back of the ship heading for the new bit of Qeth across the wide Graceful Sound, but my stomach is steady. Maybe it’s that additional [Fitness] point working in my favor, maybe it’s the [Nimble]. Maybe elves just don’t get bothered by that sort of mundane thing. Whatever it is, I can’t say I mind it as I watch the port of Oosal recede, and the fresh sea air begins to pull at my hair.

It reminds me a little bit of the Doubtful Sound in New Zealand: the high mountains rising up right out of the water, stony gray cliff-faces decorated with bright greens and waterfalls. It’s the sort of natural beauty that doesn’t seem quite real, and that I could try for years to put into words and never come close to succeeding.

“It’s awe inspiring, isn’t it?”

I glance over at Meg, who has settled beside me, leaning forward against the railing. She’s wrapped a brightly colored silk scarf tight over her head and around her long, thick braid, which seems like a great idea; I’ve pulled by own hair back as well, but pieces still whip around my face.

She smiles at me, but where Flynt would have pressed his shoulder against mine, she keeps a little distance.

“It is,” I agree.

“We need to get you out of the south. I think you’d love Ruska. It’s a beautiful city. A real city.”

“Oosal isn’t a real city?”

She gives me a look, mouth pressed together in a tight, hidden smile. “Don’t tell Flynt I said that.”

“Our secret.”

“Oosal is nice, don’t get me wrong. You can’t beat the mountains down here. The water. It has great energy, and when the weather is beautiful, it’s really beautiful. But Ruska is metropolitan. It just feels different. There are street cars and a real shopping district and beautiful old homes. Huge parks. The palace. Right in the center of the city.”

“I’ve been reading about Qeth’s political structure. I have to admit I don’t really understand how the royal family actually works. Where I’m from, it’s usually inherited, that doesn’t seem to be the case here. There’s a council?”

Meg nods. “They’re appointed from the council of ministers every decade or so. More of a figure head sort of situation.”

“It sounds like the Four Families have a lot to do with who is appointed.”

“Everything to do with it. There are eight councilors from each of the mapped cities throughout Qeth. They’re appointed by the city government, which is typically appointed by whichever of the Families ostensibly controls that city.”

She shifts her weight and leans more heavily into the rail, glancing down at the water below. There are what look like dolphins trailing in the light wake: shining pink opalescent bodies reflecting sunlight through a couple feet of water. She points them out with a smile..

“So there’s the Stormbringers in the North," I say, "Hearthstones in the South, Dawnguards in the East, and Terravins in the West, right?” I pause a moment, then scoff. “Stormbringer. What a name.”

“Right?” She shakes her head. “Have you been able to read much about them?”

“I found a book about their family history in the Emporium, but I haven’t been able to read it yet. It’s in the pile though. Trying to catch up, you know, not seem so out of place.”

“It’s pretty interesting, actually. Their ancestor is a woman named Sydra. She rallied the humans of the North together in the early days of the Dragon Wars. She was an astounding tactical mind, fiercely charismatic too. She led the people to victory over the dragons in the North with such brutal efficiency that they started to call her the Thunderbolt.”

“Oh. Like Athelstan.”

“Who?”

“A legendary king where I come from.”

“Ah. Similar story, I would imagine.”

“More or less.” One of the dolphins jumps out of the water, and a couple others follow before they begin to peel off as the boat catches a stronger wind and begins to turn a little toward the north.

“As she gained her reputation, it started to be said that Sydra’s retinue brought the storm with them. That morphed from there, and by the time her son, a man named Reyce, fought alongside Kellnor in the final battle, her family and closest companions had taken on ‘Stormbringer’ as a surname.”

“You really know a lot of the history,” I say, turning away from the city view behind us to look into the boat.

The wind is chilled and salty and stings my eyes a little bit, but it’s invigorating too. I love being on the water—I love it even more without the seasickness. I watch Flynt at the bow with Tyrus and Gendric, while Jonas is nowhere immediately visible—he must be down below decks.

Meg shrugs, continuing to stare out behind us. “I find history interesting. And I think it’s important to know where everything comes from, why things are the way they are.”

“And the Stormbringers, they’re the most powerful of the Four?”

“They’d have you think that.”

“They’re not?”

“I wouldn’t know, honestly. But I’d put my gold on the Terravin.”

“They’re the elves, aren’t they? Why them? Elves aren’t exactly respected.”

“They’re feared.” She glances over at me. “You haven’t noticed that?”

You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

“I don’t feel fear when people glare at me across the street,” I admit. “I just feel… disdain.”

“Ezmerine Terravin, the current head of the family, is extremely powerful, even outside her family’s status in Qeth. They have a lot of natural magic. I think Qeth relies a lot more on Terravin magic than we all want to admit, and I think that’s why attitudes toward the elves are what they are. That. And elves are insufferable.” She looks at me and grins.

“Oh, and humans are so much better,” I say.

“Hey, I didn’t say that,” she replies, laughing softly.

I grin back at her as I lean my elbows back on the railing. “You don’t laugh a lot,” I observe.

She shrugs a shoulder. “Sometimes it’s hard to.”

“Why is that?”

“I don’t know.”

“Yes, you do.”

“Well. It’s complicated,” she says in a sigh. “I lost some people very close to me not too long ago, and it’s been difficult to… come to terms with it, I guess.” She clears her throat. “But, what am I talking about. You’ve lost a lot, too, recently, haven’t you? Come all the way here with just the clothes on your back.”

“And my magic bag of random shit, don’t forget.”

She scoffs. “How could I? I feel like it’s the unsung sixth member of our group.” She flicks at it as it sits against my hip.

“I’ve been trying to think of a name for it,” I reply, dryly. “How about Herman?”

“Herman?” She raises an eyebrow. “You can do better than that.”

“Marv?”

“Is it just old man names on the table?”

“Not only. Could be Myrtle. Dot? Trudie?”

“I feel like we’re missing some obvious candidates,” she says.

“I’m open to suggestions.”

“I’ll think of a few.”

“Not so obvious, then, are they?” I grin and she rolls her eyes at me. I inhale slowly, holding it a minute. “I’ve been thinking about it a lot. Not the bag name. I mean, about what brought me here. I left a lot behind me. Sometimes I think I should feel guiltier about it than I do.”

“You’ve made it sound like you didn’t have much of a choice.”

“I didn’t,” I agree. “Not really. But I could still be… I don’t know. More bothered about it? I don’t miss home as much as I think I probably should.”

“Don’t should yourself,” she says, sounding very much like a friend of mine from LA. “Everyone grieves things their own way, Keira. Sometimes being bothered about it just won’t get you anywhere. You know?”

“Yeah. I do. And you’re right. Doesn’t mean I don’t feel bad about not feeling bad. I have family back home, people who care about me. People who will be wondering what happened to me. It was just so sudden. And it can’t be an easy thing to deal with. The not knowing.”

“Do you have any way to get a communication to them?”

“No. I don’t see how.”

She draws a breath herself and turns, matching my pose leaning back against the railing. The wind blows her braid up over her shoulder and she smooths it down to keep it from smacking her in the face.

“That’s why you’re in this, though, isn’t it? To get you a way back.”

I nod. “It is. And why are you in it? You haven’t said.”

She smirks slightly and shakes her head. “And I’m not going to.”

“I thought we were bonding, Meg. You know mine.”

“I’ll tell you mine, when Flynt tells us his.”

“That’s not fair. He’s never going to tell us.”

“He hasn’t even told you?” she asks, skeptically.

I shake my head. “Though it has been about five minutes since I last pestered him about it.” I glance at her. “Of course, you know what I realized?”

“That it doesn’t actually matter what everyone is being offered?”

“Well. That. But also, we don’t actually know Jonas’s. Have you noticed that he always artfully changes the subject whenever it’s brought up?”

“I have, actually. Though I know his.”

“Of course he told you.”

“He doesn’t have to. I know him too well is all.”

I sigh. “I wish we all knew each other better. I spend all my time around you all, I literally trust you all with my life, and yet we don’t trust each other with our secrets?” I raise an eyebrow but she just shrugs again. “You don’t find that weird?”

“I never said that. I find all of this a little weird. But I’m curious where it goes. And I like all of you. I like that it’s clear what we get from each other. I like that we’re all on equal footing, for the most part. We’re all in it together. None of us is more special than the others.”

“What do you mean?”

“Oh. I guess that we don’t have big destinies. No one of us is destine to save Qeth, or become king, or raise a dragon, or anything like that.”

“That we know of.”

“That we know of,” she agrees. “But, look at us. Think about our little group. We’re just… trying to figure it out. Anything that we do? It’s because we pull it off together. I like that. We’re not Chosen.”

“I think you read too many stories,” I say.

Meg smirks and shrugs. “Maybe.”

It's not that I don't know what she means. Practically-speaking, it doesn’t really feel like we’re going to be pulling swords from stones or destroying the One Ring or fulfilling some great prophecy. I mean, I grew up in the outer suburbs of a middle tier city and became a market researcher. It’s hard for me to think of myself as anything more than a cog in the wheel of a greater story. I’m certainly not going to be changing my real world by any stretch of the imagination.

So while not one of us is average or normal, that much I think is clear, the thing is that even if we do find this Stone, we won’t be the ones using it or keeping it out of the wrong hands—we’ll be giving it to the people who will.

That certainly makes it feel like we’re meant to be the support staff. The Bothans. The lower deckers. The ones who make it so that the chosen ones or the bridge staff can do what needs to be done. We’re just five randoms who ran into each other one day. We’re stepping stones. Story devices.

Right?

But then, I think about the [System] and the path it is urging us—or, at least, me—down. It is starting to feel increasingly like the start of a game, when the player character discovers something only they could. And there’s part of me that can’t help but wonder if the book I (supposedly) found at random is my version of the beacon on Eden Prime.

The [System] has a story to tell, a mission to complete, and like Meg herself has said—this world isn’t necessarily subtle in setting things up. I’m being guided, and I’m taking them with me. I don’t know how I feel about that. Sure, things didn't go particularly well for the Bothans, but do I really want to be the Main Protagonist in an Epic Quest? The Skywalker, the Shepard, the Frodo, the Mighty Nein... with their trials and their traumas? Not that I may have much of a choice.

There's a heartbeat where I almost tell her. She won't believe me, I know that—Flynt didn't, when I half-heartily tried to tell him back on Day One, and I frankly wouldn't believe me in her position anyway, which is why I haven't said anything yet. But it would be nice to tell someone, to get it off my chest, maybe even have someone to figure it all out with.

But Meg taps at the worn wood railing, interrupting whatever I might have said, and she levers herself up to her feet. “Well. I am going to go get out of the wind and take a nap below deck. You should rest up, too.”

“I should, but I can’t sleep on boats.”

“Suit yourself.”

She carefully navigates the deck, ringing around the masts and disappearing through the trap door in front of the wheel. I wish I’d paid any attention to sailing at all in my life; if I had, maybe I’d know some technical words beyond things like bow and starboard, but all I really know is enough to stay out of the way.

I glance off the side toward the other shore, slowly getting closer. It, too, is mostly cliff face from this distance: great mountains rising up out of the water, some tall enough to be capped by snow. The sun casts shadows in their craggy faces, giving them eerie purple dimension. Gendric and Tyrus both said there was a fishing village on the other side where we could rest for the night before heading out, but I can’t see it yet, it’s all just misty impressions.

I feel Flynt looking at me and meet his gaze. He smiles slightly and lifts a couple fingers in a very subtle wave as he leans against the front railing near Tyrus, the wind tugging through his hair.

I wonder what he’s thinking about all of this, and for not the first time, I wish I had a better sense of what he is all about. Jonas says what he thinks, and I understand Tyrus more than I’d like to admit, not that he’s particularly complicated; also, as much as Meg plays it close to the vest, I think I get her, too—more or less.

Flynt’s a weird question mark for me. Thinking about it, I know at least as much about the taciturn Meg as I do about him, even though I live in his home and am with him even more than I am with the others. His presence is comfortable and I feel at ease with him, but he’s often a little guarded, and I can’t help but wonder why.

I look back his way, but he has his back turned to me. Maybe I’ll ask one of the others about it, though I’m not quite sure who. Probably Meg—she’s the only one I can count on not to actually tell him I’m asking.

Slowly, I make my way up the deck and settle in next to him, resting my elbows on the railing. He smiles slightly, but we don’t say anything as we watch the other shore come ever closer.