Going felt quick over the Boiling Sea. Even without any Skill use, I could maintain Raik’s strong rhythm, very occasionally reaching for [Vigour] when the waves became choppy. My Strength and Dexterity, for a while at least, made up for my lack of experience, and we moved over the waves neatly and steadily.

Soon, we lost sight of the Coral Town of Zhai-Khul. Quickly covered in sweat, I removed my tunic and tied it about my head — mostly because I’d seen long-distance rowers do that in videos. Sitting in my loincloth, labouring with the oars, I felt like I really belonged.

At points, Raik would bark some command, and indicate a direction, and glancing over my shoulder, I’d match his strokes and we’d make quite drastic changes to direction, and after a half-minute each time, an underwater geyser would shock up an eruption, pulsing steam into the air and soaking us in near-scalding water, which then quickly became cold on our skin.

We never lost sight of the west coast; horizon-far pale blue sand dunes and bundles of white needlegrass or other hardy plants passed us by and let us know just how far we had come. The suns, one red and one white, moved glaring and cruel up over our heads, and then down again over the ocean — west to east.

At this, I remembered the new Skill I had access to from levelling [Vigour] Level 2 — [Vigour : Endurance]. Reaching for it took a moment, parsing the difference in the small burnt orange glints of light within the stream of my inner power, but I found it. Compared to the usual burst that I associated with the Skill, the effect was much more subtle, but as I continued to row, I realised the labour became easier — much easier.

We’d switch on intervals. I would row for a few hours, then swap places with Alator and set up with my back against the stern, down a few gulps of warm water from a skin, eat some flatbread, and pick blisters from my fingers. Alator, as I should have guessed, took to rowing like a natural, but every thermal blast up had him start and shake frantic for a moment. Once I felt like I’d rested — that is, when I felt the mirky waters of my inner power clear and flow steadily — I’d manoeuvre my way to the mast thwart, where Raik sat, and take over for him. The old coral-folk would then slump down against the stern himself, retreat into his shell a little, take a few sips of the water, then a few swigs of the rum in his coat pocket, then settle into a short nap.

Then, once Alator was dripping wet, glowing as if oiled, his long red hair sticking to his neck, and he’d start grunting with the effort, Raik would offer to take his place. I knew he was glad to switch, but he’d light-heartedly refuse every time.

As the suns settled into a deep, stark red on the first day, I noticed that Raik made a couple of drunken mistakes — an oar would slip from his grip, or he’d lose his footing on the boards at our feet and kick my bench. His shoulders had drooped, his eyes darkened, and a steady stream of drool poured from one side of his mouth, dripping down his body.

Suddenly, a rumbling underneath vibrated through the hull, rocking through my knuckles.

“Woah!” Raik shouted. “Grasp the gunwale!”

The three of us shot our hands to one side of the dinghy as the deep black-blue sea churned beneath the boat, then we were THROWN up as an explosion shocked from below and a searing plume of steam and spray burst from beneath. The ship left the surface of the water for a moment then crashed back down heavily, and the water from the vapour column and the sloshing waves spat at our arms burning hot.

We gripped tight so as to not be unceremoniously dumped overside and covered our heads as the vessel slowly righted itself back and forth. Stinging sulphur racked my lungs from the black depths and I reflexively reached for [Vigour] to hype myself up.

When it had passed, and the Boiling Sea had returned to its regular amount of peril, Raik belly-laughed and threw up his hands.

“Guess that’s it for me, tonight!”

“By Jove, be more careful!” I shouted. He just continued laughing, his breath stinking of booze.

“It’s too dangerous to sleep out ’ere, and besides, this boat ain’t big enough for us all to sleep in — we’ll make to shore,” he said, and turned us west.

Within a few minutes of difficult paddling, during which I pumped another [Vigour] into my veins and out-paced his tipsy rowing, we scraped the boat onto the blue sands and all tumbled out onto the solid-ish ground.

“You two did splendidly — your firs’ day on the waves!”

Both of us panting, skin slowly cooling from the awful heat in the coastal breeze, Alator and I lay on the gentle slope, the hot water licking our heels. With my wet hair drying by the last light of day, I leant my head back onto the warm Breathing Sands, only to be reminded of its namesake — that ghastly rasping noise, like a death rattle or someone sleeping fitfully with the worst flu they ever had, started to grate against my brain.

Despite the day’s exertion and momentary panic, my muscles and bones still twitched. They felt stiff and, in comparison to the last few days, unused. That, and the horrible breathing sound from beneath, had me itching.

I jumped up to my feet, stretched violently the same way I had the night before, leapt up to the height of the nearest dune, and scanned the horizon.

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The blue sands ahead shimmered purple in the red of the setting suns, the dimming stars settling onto them like jewels in a crown, and through the dying light I saw another nest of the oversized desert scorpions, called Dune Reavers, perhaps three or four. A lick of energy popped in my mind and I gripped the pole of my new spear, jumped and slid down the other side of the dune, and took off at a sprint towards them.

The Analysis Card told me nothing I didn’t know, and the weaknesses were all pretty rote.

Fiend :

Dune Reaver, Level 2

Stats :

Str 2, Dex 4, Con 5, Mnd 1

Attacks :

Pincer, Poison Sting

Loot :

Chitin Fragments, Reaver Venom Gland

XP :

12

By the time I’d reached them, swift flying over the sand, the yellow fiends had moved apart, acting solely for self-preservation — no pack instincts amongst them.

[Battle Tactics] lit up my mind and [Weapon Mastery] brought electricity to my fingers as I jabbed the spear and crunched through hard carapace. After a couple had fallen, a third leapt at me within jagged legs and thin, long claws. I batted it aside with the butt of the weapon and plunged the bronze spearhead through its belly as it quivered on its back. A fourth skittered quickly away, shimmered its whole body for a moment, and disappeared beneath the sand.

// SYS : You gained 36 XP for defeating three Dune Reavers. You now have 41 and need 115 total for the next Level. //

Not wanting to stick around, I pushed the long blade through the three carcasses and heaved them up over my shoulder. Carrying them like a sack on a marching pole, I brought them back to Alator and Raik at the ship, and set about looting three Reaver Venom Glands and three Chitin Fragments.

Item :

Reaver Venom Gland

Rarity :

Common

Description :

Soft translucent orange salivary gland, contains a reservoir of Reaver Venom

Item :

Chitin Fragment

Rarity :

Common

Description :

Orange and coral scorpion exoskeleton

More of the you work it out type items. I assume the venom gland can set poison onto weapons. The chitin is hard and dense but too small for armour unless I had hundreds, can’t think of a good use of that other than chucking it at enemies. . . .

“If we built a fire, are these any good to eat?” I asked Raik, indicating the scorpions.

Wide-eyed, swaying slightly on his feet, a wet smile crept from ear-to-ear. He stomped over to me, stepped on one of the scorpions, then tore off a leg. Fingering around for a second, he brought out a thin line of semi-clear white meat and slurped it down his long, leathery neck raw.

“No fire needed!” he said.

The taste was a little like burnt shrimp, not too offputting, but the texture was slimy and unsettlingly soft, and I only managed a few mouthfuls before I gagged and threw the rest to the side, which Raik gleefully ate.

I’ll settle for the seaflour flatbreads.

The old coral-folk then climbed into his ship, pulled the sails over himself, tucked his legs and head a few inches into his shell, and found a snoring rest.

With the Breathing Sands at my back and the stars overhead, feeling the Experience pour in and my muscles settle on my bones, my last thoughts of the day were of the home I’d known for the last four years of my life after being kicked out by my mum; the low ceiling and musty, electric-heated four walls of the MegaCorp bedroom. The thoughts were short and my memory of those long, screen-dominated nights watching absolute mind-numbing nonsense were fading quickly as Barbican continued to make its relentless, dangerous, exciting impression.

The next day passed very much the same way, except an hour or so in, we assisted Raik in fitting the sail to the mast and boom. It was full and stretched with a strong wind for most of the day. Between that and my use of [Vigour : Endurance], the effort of rowing was lifted a great deal.

When the suns were setting and Raik’s burping, wrinkled head started to sag, I insisted we make it back to shore before any possible catastrophe. Tipsy, he grinned and shrugged. We ran the ship aground out of the hot, black waters and onto the purple-ish sands again, and I took off onto another cusp, but that evening, I couldn’t see any fiends around.

We dug soft beds into the caked shore and lined them as much as we cared with dune-grass.

“Tough to sleep without any exertion in combat.”

“These days are blessings, Talbot, lie yourself down,” Alator hissed.

I did as I was told, but after unsuccessfully tossing and turning in the sand, I jumped to my feet, bounced on my toes a little, and started jogging.

Night in the desert was shockingly cold, but after a while racing between heights and sending the odd blast of [Vigour] into my thighs, I warmed up nicely. Eventually, panting and dreary, I managed to sleep.

The next day, the west coast changed. From our vantage on the sulphurous Boiling Sea, the endless rising and falling dunes of the Breathing Sands began to level; silver-blue peaks relenting to low, rolling hills covered in golden soil. Leafless trees like tall bones with twisted branches like skeletal fingers were set at odd intervals, and multiplied until their pale trunks became a sad, but thick and full, forest.

A couple of hours after noon on the third day at sea, a tall, looming white shape neared from amongst the dead or dying wood, then another and another.

“The . . . Ribs of . . . Hulgar,” Raik grunted between tugs, over the lapping waves and hissing steam, following our gazes.

One-by-one they came into view, gleaming like great shards of bone, jagged and faintly translucent in the blue-hazed light, stretching skyward from amongst the brittle trees, and quickly, the pale blue sands were out of sight behind us. As the day wore on, we began spotting signs of life: man-sized serpentine lizard fiends with green and grey mottled skin stood on hind legs to watch us pass, or snap at unseen insects, before dropping to four long legs and retreating into the shade of the pale wood.

Presently, we heard a SCREAM from the treeline. Blood-curdling, mortal, human (?), female, pained.