The Harmony was anchored just offshore of Riverleech. It floated in a bay alongside a few cargo ships, shrouded by the mist of a nearby waterfall pouring into the ocean. As a galleon, the Harmony was one of the fastest ships in the galaxy. But its draft wasn’t shallow enough to sail into such a small port, so it had to sit out in the open.
Vayra, Glade, and Nathariel rowed out to the Harmony on a small boat. Or, Nathariel did most of the rowing. He paddled on both sides, letting Vayra and Glade rest after the long day of sparring. But they had still been instructed to try to help…
As they rowed out to the ship, Vayra dipped her hands in the ocean, absorbing wisps of Stream water that flowed down into the bay and taking some mana into her body. It didn’t help the headache or push away the dehydration, but at least she had some mana to cycle, now.
Though, cycling alone would not push her towards the Lieutenant Stages. She had to funnel power into her soul and develop that—according to Nathariel, it was the true source of Spiritual senses.
Only when the soul was ready would she trigger her advancement.
So, as they rowed, she cycled Arcara up to her head. Finding the soul and envisioning it wasn’t as easy as finding the core. There was…something up there. A cloud of grayish matter that pulsed when she fed it Arcara.
And it did absorb the Arcara, almost like it had when she had managed her first advancement—months ago. It used it up, and with every little slice of purified mana she fed it, it grew more solid.
This soul was somewhere near the top of her neck, where she felt a tingling sensation if there was another God-heir around. But she’d long grown numb to the sensation, having been around Nathariel for weeks now.
Apparently, he was veiling his core. If he wasn’t, she figured it would probably weigh down on her a lot more.
When they reached the hull of the Harmony, she had nearly topped up her mana. She realized that she had her eyes closed, and they had been for quite some time, because the sun had mostly set and the ship’s lanterns were flickering to life.
The crew lowered a set of hooks and hoisted the little rowboat out of the water. They lifted it up to the ship’s main deck, and Vayra stepped off.
The deck was occupied only by a maintenance team, who paced the edge, varnishing the railings. A lookout stood up on a platform at the top of the foremast, and he called for Captain Pels as soon as Vayra stepped off the rowboat.
The Captain climbed up from belowdeck in a matter of seconds, spun around in a circle, then jogged across the deck to meet Vayra and Glade. He stopped in front of them, his yellow coat swaying in the breeze. “You’re back real soon, eh? I thought it was to be at least a month or two.”
“It was supposed to be,” Nathariel grumbled, leaping out of the rowboat and landing with a graceful flourish. “But Velaydian high command has different ideas for us. We need to head to Harvest Sanctuary, and as fast as we can.”
Pels scratched the back of his head nervously, nudging his hat up. “I know a good many planets, but that’s not one I can point out on a map. Knowing you three, it’ll probably be in Elderworld space…”
“Right on all accounts,” Nathariel said. “I doubt it will be peaceful, but we will have a full complement of Redmarines, as well as a squad of Order of Balance Adepts.”
Pels cleared his throat, then bent over and peered between them. “They…wouldn’t happen to be hiding behind that rowboat, would they?”
“They will be here in the morning, captain,” Glade said. “You have the rest of the night to prepare, then in the morning, we will depart.”
“The ship has been restocked, right?” Vayra asked.
“As best as we could manage on this little grassball.” Pels stood up straight, then began to tap his fingers while muttering about barrels of preserved meat and hardtack. “We can be ready to sail by morning, and if your makeshift army can’t make it in time, then we’ll leave without them.”
~ ~ ~
Vayra retreated below deck as soon as the preparations began—she’d just get in the way otherwise. She ran down to the common area, dodging sailors who were strapping down barrels and tying up the cannon carriages. A horde of seamen pushed a crate across the deck, then used a capstan to lower it down to the cargo hold.
When Vayra arrived at the common area—a small atrium in the center of the cargo hold, where there were no boxes or barrels—she found it mostly empty. Only a handful of younger boys and some off-duty midshipmen waited there. The three eldest boys played a game with dice, which Vayra didn’t understand the rules of, all while the younger ones watched them.
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Bremi was one of the dice-players.
“Oh…hey, sis!” he chirped, offering a small wave. “You want in?”
Vayra stepped over and put a hand on her little brother’s shoulder. “You better not be using any real money…”
“No money! Just rum rations.”
“Ah.” She opened her mouth, ready to protest, but stopped herself. “I’m sure you could do to lose a few of those now and then.”
“You say that like I’m losing!”
“Are you?”
“Well…yes, but—”
“Then we’re good.” She turned away and walked to the edge of the common area. “I’m just staying out of the way.” She could cycle Arcara, and knowing the schedule they were on, she definitely should have. But after a long day, her channels were strained, and pushing herself harder now would be counterproductive.
She was about to slump down against a wall of barrels behind her, when Bremi said, “Did you hear? Orlas had her kittens!”
“Hm?” Vayra looked around the common area, trying to find the ship’s cat, but she didn’t see any sign of it.
“We made a bed for her.” Bremi pointed over his shoulder with his thumb—up at a pillow atop a stack of crates. “The kittens are in there, and if you listen carefully, you can hear them.”
Vayra walked over to the other side of the common area, curious more than anything, and pushed up to her tip-toes to view the pillow. But Bremi was getting taller than her, now, and he could reach higher places. To get a good look, she had to climb up onto a crate.
Orlas, an orange tabby cat, lay curled up at the edge of the bed, with three dark-speckled orange-tortoiseshell kittens nestled in front of her. Every one of the kittens could fit in the palm of Vayra’s hand, if she had tried—but she didn’t dare to take a mother’s kittens away. They writhed around a little, brushing up against the mother and mewling like cicadas.
Orlas, though, didn’t flinch. She stretched out a paw towards Vayra, as if begging for help.
“I’m not much good in that department either,” Vayra whispered. “Sorry, girl.”
‘I distinctly remember warning you not to get close to a young animal, lest you end up forming a soul pact with it,’ Phasoné said.
“Warned? I…suppose you said something about it. But would it be a bad thing? Orlas is pretty nice.”
‘It wouldn’t be with Orlas,’ Phasoné reminded her. ‘One of the kittens. And not necessarily a bad thing—but we don’t need to be funnelling Arcara into a little animal while we’re on such a tight advancement schedule.’
“How tight is it?” Vayra asked.
‘I’ve planned it out. You must advance to Third Lieutenant by the end of the week. Then, I give you a month at each stage of Lieutenant, and the rest of the time to reach Captain.’
“Getting to Captain is that big of a leap?”
‘It will require more than just brute-force Arcara purification. Nathariel will guide you through the steps it when you get there.’
~ ~ ~
The next morning, a rowboat full of Redmarines arrived at the Harmony. The marines all climbed up to the main deck, where first, they greeted Vayra with a bow—at that, she did her best to look confident, though she wanted to turn away and disappear below deck—then formed a line along the opposite railing. They held their muskets on their shoulders professionally.
On one side, the two marines who Vayra knew by name, Kertogg and Tressdot, were whispering to each other out the corners of their mouths. They were bickering quietly about something. Vayra resisted a smile.
Then, the Order of Balance Adepts climbed aboard. There were five of them, and they were all middle-aged. She scanned their spirits one-by-one, and they all looked at Nathariel. They must have felt the spiritual scan, and they must have thought it was him.
All five of them were either Quartermasters or Master’s Mates, which was pretty good, as she understood the Order of Balance hierarchies. They carried longswords at their hips, which Vayra assumed meant they had a domain over the sword, just like Glade. Most had a scar of some kind, and one even had a hook-hand. They marched over to the Redmarines and fell into rank just in front.
“This is nice and all,” Captain Pels whispered, “but the sun is getting pretty high. We need to get on the Stream.”
“Get your sailors moving,” Nathariel instructed. “We’ll see what we have to work with.”
“I’d have appreciated it more if we had an entire fleet to work with,” Pels grumbled. Overnight, he had been briefed on the full extent of their task. “Take the entire planet for ourselves, and see what we can make of it—without having to compete with everyone else in the galaxy.”
“And pit the Velaydian army against hordes of hungry God-heirs?” Vayra shook her head, then tilted her head towards the marines. “I don’t give us good odds.”
“Alright, then. We’ll do it the hard way.” He shrugged, then made a hand signal to the lieutenants. “Go inspect your troops, why don’t you?”
Vayra, Glade, and Nathariel walked along in front of Adepts and marines. As soon as Vayra stepped in front of them, the marines pulled off their hats, and the Adepts saluted—they had no hats, only black coats and white hair.
“Alright,” Vayra said. “First instruction: enough with the formality. It’s going to make this really awkward and hard, and I’ve already got one lump dedicated to being formal to me all the time.” She nudged Glade with her elbow, but he only bowed his head. She rolled her eyes.
The sailors began to scurry around on deck, dodging the marines and Adepts as they climbed up the masts and unfurled the sails. Signal whistles began to blast all the way along the deck.
“Matters of the Mediator’s training are in my hands,” Nathariel instructed all the Adepts. “You are here only as extra guards and extra support. Is that clear?”
The Adepts dipped their heads, but they all glanced at Vayra. “If she wishes it.”
“She’s fine with it,” Vayra told them. “I appreciate all of your skill, and all of you coming along, but Nathariel is my teacher.”
They saluted her again. Apparently, the command to be less formal had worn off already—or it was just a habit.
She muttered, “If we keep this up, it’s gonna be a long journey…”