-The Wanderlust-
“Why didn’t you go with them?” Winsom asked. He wore his broad brimmed hat with the kind of confidence Callan imitated. The two were sitting on the balcony of the Forgotten Refuge—Jordan and her two companions were little more than smudges in the distance, three figures wandering down into the untamed southern heart of Ealias.
A path Callan had already taken, before venturing into the sea at Winsom’s recommendation to find the lost white ship that could travel more than just the Elisian coasts.
He had briefly said goodbye to Jordan before she left, and he had resisted the urge to pull her in for an embrace. After all, he didn’t know when their paths would cross again. She had been focused on the prophecy and the impending journey, but he thought he caught a glimpse of sadness as they had parted ways, her for the Forgotten Trio, him to the Forgotten Refuge.
“You know as well as I do that I’ve already counseled with the Forgotten Trio. You and Eithan gave me the same instructions, the same map.”
He didn’t mention that the map hadn’t helped him find his way to the Forgotten Trio.
“And you went alone, even though we volunteered to accompany you. Why?”
“And break your sacred trust with the ancients? I wasn’t worth the risk.”
“But you now know the way better than almost anyone else alive. You could have been an irreplaceable ally and made their quest much simpler.”
“No,” Callan said ruefully. “Jordan never would have let me. She’s just as stubborn as I am, and finding her way there will mean more to her ultimately than the knowledge she gains from the three ancients.”
Knowledge he carried in his chest like his own sunsword—powerful and rare, yet kept sheathed, waiting for some future time and place.
Whisten shrugged his lean shoulders and asked, “And where will you go next? Deporta I imagine?”
“That was what I had intended, but I don’t think I’m ready to say goodbye to the sea yet…”
“So you found her?” Winsom’s eyes were shining with uncontained excitement. “The massive white beauty you sailed in on was the legendary ship?”
“Yes,” Callan admitted. “And she was everything the legends describe and much, much more. The Heightened.”
“One day I’d like to go aboard a vessel like that,” Winsom sighed.
“And I can promise that one day you will. I’ll take you myself.”
“So will you take The Heightened back out? Or are you looking for a more nondescript ship to say your goodbyes to this part of Ealias before reassuming the Forlorn throne?”
“I’ve never spent any kind of time aboard the Wanderlust…” Callan trailed off, running his hand through his loose curls, trying not to think about Jordan and the hazy path she and her two companions would soon be taking.
Yes, a distraction would be good before returning to Deporta and his responsibilities there.
“I thought you’d never ask.” Winsom grinned. “I have just the job for you. Now that I’m temporarily down two warriors and Orenda wielders you could play a useful role. That is, as long as your Orenda is as powerful as I’ve heard… Red has been known to exaggerate, after all.”
“I don’t think you’ll be disappointed,” Callan smiled. “When do you and the crew leave?”
“Tonight, actually. I hadn’t expected to run into another Guildedsun until I was an old man. But it’s customary to send those searching for the ancients with companions, and Red and Sareth will be worthy and helpful warriors and friends on Jordan’s journey.
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“Tonight the Wanderlust will be hunting down the dreaded Rustedheart.”
“The lifter vessel?”
“The very same.”
***
Callan was impressed—Winsom’s talkative crew could be as silent as the dead when they wanted to be. Everyone was dressed in various shades of black to blend in with the dark waters below them and the darker sky above, everyone but Winsom.
He wore his bright orange cloak with pride, a long, light sword at his waist and several knives hidden on his person. He and the crew had been hired out to capture, not kill the marauders, but that didn’t mean they’d prey on the ship without taking defensive measures.
The Rustedheart was one of the fastest ships on the water, beside the Wanderlust—and, of course, The Heightened, but Callan didn’t think it fair to compare divinity with wood and sails. She had successfully kept multiple Trucesan trading ships from arriving at the harbor with their goods intact.
Callan could feel his Orenda churning eagerly inside him, like a wild tempest eager to rage through the land. Since he and Jordan had encountered the sulfins, Callan’s Orenda had remained dormant, barely contained by sheer self-will. But now, the chance to use his Orenda to fight, to protect the Trucesan captains and their cargo—
He fought back the urge to summon his Orenda and studied the sword at his waist. It was similar to the captain’s. Winsom was certain the marauders aboard the Rustedheart would be armed and wouldn’t come willingly. If it came to blade against blade, Callan could only hope Jordan’s instruction would make a difference.
A wealthy informant had leaked the location of the Rustedheart tonight to Winsom, offering to pay the captain handsomely for the lifters’ capture. Winsom had roguishly agreed, but only if he was allowed to keep the fabled vessel and begin a small fleet of his own.
“Still twenty minutes, Cap’,” Berren said solemnly, his voice hushed even though they were the only ship visible on the open sea in all directions.
“Blast! We might not make it there before the Rustedheart ships off. And once she’s moving she’s almost impossible to catch. Tried to catch her once myself… if she’s already moving when you spot her, you’re better off shoving off any valuables to save the marauders the hassle and meekly returning to harbor.”
“I might be able to help,” Callan interjected. “Would you mind, Captain, if I sailed the Wanderlust to the lifters’ supposed location?”
To Smiley, Yinc, Berren, and Darr this was unthinkable, and they took turns either glaring at Callan or studying him with jealous admiration and contempt, but Winsom was unfazed by the curious request.
“If you can send us across the waters any faster to reach the Rustedheart before it evaporates into the mist, be my guest.” He gestured to the captain’s wheel, and Callan took it, instantly noticing the difference between The Heightened and a vessel much smaller than her.
The gift practically summoned itself, the wind adjusting the sails and blowing harder to urge the Wanderlust to greater speeds. Callan did his best to contain the gift and its effects so the crew wouldn’t be spooked by the sudden change in weather. The satin waves softened until they were almost hovering over the black waters.
“You sail pretty well for some guy Winsom picked up,” Smiley observed congenially.
“But no one should sail the ship but the rightful captain!” Berren insisted in a harsh whisper, still determined to keep quiet even though the lifter ship was still not in sight. Callan was tempted to tease the man by crying out and shattering the silence that fell as heavily over them as the humid mist enfolding them in a wet, weighty embrace, but he bit his tongue, tasting blood, as an apparition rose up before them like a shade.
Sails the color of dried blood, a red so dark it bordered on black. The Rustedheart rose far taller than the Wanderlust and also sported a black body. In the faint light cast from the stars above them Callan was able to pick out the ship’s name, emblazoned on the side facing them. It was clear the lifters had stolen and repurposed the ship. The first half of the ship’s original name had worn away, leaving only “heart.”
There was no sign of the crew—it almost seemed like the large, foreboding ship was sailing herself, a dark hammer wedged into the sea.
“Callan, sail us into the Rustedheart’s shadow, right up against her starboard side. We’ll have to board—the Wanderlust is designed for speed, not combat.
“Smiley, distribute the boarding equipment. Berren, I want you to remain aboard our ship in case the lifters get jumpy and try to skip away. Yinc, you’ll be one of our brawlers. Go topside with Callan and capture anyone you can find. Disarm, don’t kill. Each of the men up there is worth their weight in coin. That, and I don’t fancy having blood on my hands, even if it’s less than innocent.”
“And what will I do?” Darr asked, puffing out his chest in an attempt to look important.
“You’ll be the bait,” Winsom said simply before going belowdecks to fetch thick ropes and gags for the marauders.
Darr gulped.
“Just think,” Smiley beamed, “you’ll finally be able to live up to your name!”