The Harmony was anchored a league offshore, at a safe distance from the fighting. It had been close enough to the bayou to give Vayra a quick escape, if she had needed, but plans had gone sideways and there was no way of communicating. Plenty of the crew would be annoyed that they missed the battle.
Vayra, Elder Gheita, and a pair of Redmarines rowed out towards their ship on a small longboat. It bumped against the Harmony’s pale wooden hull, coming to a rest just beneath the ladder. Vayra let the marines lead, then followed close behind them.
The ship was beautiful. Every gun port was carved ornately, and the railings were each a sculpture. Even the rungs of the ship’s ladder were decorated with lines of gold filament.
She was almost glad the galleon hadn’t gotten anywhere close to the battle—for a moment. But ships weren’t just meant for display, and she had one of the fastest in the galaxy. It would be a shame if she didn’t use it.
It was time to head…home, she tried, but the word sounded odd in her head.
She climbed up to the ship’s main deck and navigated around the crew. Most of them turned to look at her, even the extra marines who patrolled the deck—who were usually stoic. They probably wanted news about the battle.
She climbed up to the quarterdeck, where she spotted Captain Pels and the navigators, who stood at a short table behind the wheel hub.
“Vayra?” Pels exclaimed. “Back, finally? We thought the God-heir might actually have gotten you!”
She tried to smile, but it was hard. It wasn’t too far from what had happened. She told him, “There was a battle. On the ground. I took out Nalla, then tried to help out. They…they burned Leansfield.”
“Of course they did.” Pels shook his head, grumbling to himself. “Alright, then. Seeing as you’re back, I take it you were assigned some place else, and need a ride?”
She chuckled. “A ride? I…I am supposed to command this ship, you know.”
“And I’m the captain.” He smirked, then stepped away from the table and walked to the wheel hub. “Maybe when you reach your Commodore stage, I’ll let you steer. So, where are we heading?”
“Thronehome,” she said. “I’m supposed to be…training.”
“Aye, and that’s a good thing, too. I’ll see if we can’t get you there ahead of schedule.”
[https://static.wixstatic.com/media/f3a882_2bcdeab6626a49c1bc2fa21d230a67c6~mv2.png/v1/fill/w_560,h_281,al_c,lg_1,q_85,enc_auto/ship%20better.png]
The Harmony set sail immediately. The ship prowled towards the Stream, slowly picking up speed. As soon as its prow brushed into the iridescent water and the ocean began to slope upwards, it picked up speed.
Once they had ascended a mile or two above the surface, they switched to gossamyr sails and caught the arcane winds.
By the time they reached the upper atmosphere, Vayra emerged from the infirmary, newly patched-up by the ship’s surgeon, Mr. Spawlding. She looked back at Ramesworld, now a blue, cloud-shrouded orb behind them.
The Harmony dropped its Streamrunning fins, and the stars whipped into a blur. The planet disappeared behind them.
Once the sailors settled down and the deck cleared—there was no need for as much crew to maintain the ship while they were on the Stream—Vayra settled down near the bow, on the almost empty forecastle. She sat cross-legged behind the very front railing, Stream water misting over her head and shoulders.
“Aright, Phasoné,” she whispered. “We’ve got a few weeks. Let’s try this again.”
‘I’m ready.’
“But…what do we need to do during the Quartermaster stage? It’s still…iffy.”
‘You’re supposed to be pushing your Arcara out through your channels into your bones and muscles, setting the groundwork for the true enhancement of your body when you climb to Master’s Mate. You can’t build a house without a foundation, and the enhanced body needs your flesh to be made ready.’
“Yeah, but I don’t know how to get any of it out of my channels. When I cycle it, I just make more. We’re purifying more and more mana every day, and soon, our core will have to advance…”
‘Even when you haven’t laid a single brick of foundation…’
“Should I stop cycling?”
‘I wish I had the answers for you, Vayra, but…God-heirs, we pass through Quartermaster and the low stages when we’re very, very young. For those of us who have ascended to become true Gods, it has been centuries since we had to do your kind of advancement.’
Unauthorized use: this story is on Amazon without permission from the author. Report any sightings.
Vayra tilted her head and caught her breath, interrupting her cycling pattern. “How long—no, how old are you?”
‘I’ve been in the realm of Gods for over eighty years. Before that…I spent four, five centuries as a God-heir, climbing the ranks and eventually, waiting for the godhood of my starlight Path to be passed to me.’
Vayra nodded slowly. She hadn’t taken Phasoné to be so old. The Goddess certainly didn’t behave like a five-century-old Immortal.
‘Now, I can still hear your thoughts…’
“Don’t worry. I’d rather you have a personality, rather than ‘stuck-up old elder’.” Vayra chuckled. “Well, maybe you have the stuck-up part down, but not the old and wise and emotionless mentor part.”
‘Most God-heirs and Immortals, despite their age, aren’t as wise as you’d think,” said Phasoné. ‘We spend so much time in trance-like states, meditating in cycling chambers and bathing in Stream water and absorbing spirit energy. Just to absorb vast amounts of mana and advance to the higher realms.’ The Goddess paused. ‘We’re climbing an endless mountain. That mountain, nature itself, chose you to keep us from abusing those who couldn’t climb.’
“I hope…I don’t have to take so long,” Vayra said. “We can’t take that long, if we want to face Karmion before he destroys Velaydia.”
‘It’s a good thing you’re the Mediator, then. If you couldn’t advance quickly, then what would be the purpose of your existence?’ Phasoné sighed, her exhale rattling around Vayra’s mind softly. ‘The Mediator Form, when you can hold it for long periods of time, will help you do more than just punch above your weight. It will give you the means to ascend quickly. And to hold it for longer, I figure we’ll have to push through this bottleneck.’
Vayra nodded. She stayed silent for a little while, and so did Phasoné, until, after a few minutes, Vayra decided that she should keep trying to push her Arcara out of her channels.
She spent the rest of the day trying to get the Arcara to spread out and reach a little further away from the channels it ran along.
If her mind and imagination was her best tool for Arcara manipulation, then it would only be natural that she could push it outward with her mind. Problem was, she didn’t know what to imagine, nor the proper breathing technique to pair it with.
By the time the evening bell rang, she had made no progress.
‘Don’t push it,’ Phasoné said. ‘Your core is…halfway to advancing, maybe more. The more you cycle, the closer we get.’
[https://static.wixstatic.com/media/f3a882_2bcdeab6626a49c1bc2fa21d230a67c6~mv2.png/v1/fill/w_560,h_281,al_c,lg_1,q_85,enc_auto/ship%20better.png]
The next day, Vayra wandered the ship, helping with tasks and trying not to think about anything. It could wait until they arrived at Thronehome.
Even though she kept herself busy, it didn’t make her feel any less guilty that she wasn’t trying, so halfway through the day, she tried isolating her Arcara just in her chest and experimenting with how she could manipulate it.
The stubborn, white lightning that she envisioned in her mind refused to leave its channels.
Her first self-assigned task was helping the cooper fix some of the barrels. The Harmony was still being refitted to modern navy standards, and its cargo hold wasn’t as tight or sectioned-off as a modern warship. The cargo barrels still rolled around, especially when they sailed on the Stream, and some had started to leak, scattering their contents all across the hold. The last thing they needed was an infestation of mice.
While she helped with the barrels, Vayra also noted the ship’s cat, a young tabby who watched them from the shadows. A few times, Vayra tried clicking her tongue to see if she could convince it to come over, but it only watched with its curious green eyes.
‘I’m sure, if you wanted, you could find an actual sacred beast to have as a pet,’ Phasoné told her. ‘Not a mangy bilge hairball.’
“Not a cat person?”
‘More of a Odalusian Peacock woman myself.’
“Figured you’d love something super exotic and rare…”
They both shared a chuckle (and earned a concerned glance from Mr. Baravi, the cooper), then got back to work.
In the evening, while she ate, Vayra helped the armourer and his crew repair some muskets. They had set up a small forge on the main deck, and while the gunsmith was responsible for fashioning new parts, everyone else helped in some way. Vayra watched for sparks and made sure the deck didn’t catch on fire.
“I heard there was a battle, sis,” came a voice from over her shoulder. She glanced back for a moment, and spotted Bremi. He wore a pristine yellow coat, now, and a straw hat with a wide brim. He was a midshipman, now. Clean, well-fed, and professional. “And I hope you took out the God-heir.”
“Sorry you missed it…” she said, looking forward again.
“More than happy to be your getaway drivers—” He cut himself off, then cleared his throat. “Sorry, gotta cut down on the undercity slang.” He leaned closer and whispered, “Most of the other midshipmen are from important kinships. Some of them even have fair spirit potential.”
Vayra snorted, then said, “Looks like you’re fitting in just fine.”
“I do hope so!”
She smiled, then patted him on the shoulder. He’d grown taller than her, now, but he was still lanky as ever, and he’d always be her little brother.
“So, getting back to Thronehome, huh?” Bremi asked. He nudged her playfully. “Gonna meet up with Mr. Glade—or, um, Mr. Charl?”
“If he’s at the Order of Balance temple, then I…might cross his path,” she said, silently hoping that she would see more than just a glimpse of him now and again.
“Cross his path?” Bremi rolled his eyes. “Oh, come on. You and him were alone for a good long while. Hell, if the stories you told me were true, you two were alone for a few weeks in a tiny little ship…you can’t convince me you two didn’t have a little kiss now and then…”
Vayra snorted. “What…what kind of things are the other officers filling your head with?” She couldn’t ignore the rising heat in her cheeks.
“Hah, so it is real! Sis has a crush, sis has—”
“Shush, or I’ll hang you off the bowsprit when we get to Thronehome. Glade is a friend, and I’m happy to be able to see him again.”
“Whatever you say…”
Sighing, Vayra walked around to the other side of the makeshift forge. But, though she protested, she had to admit, out of all the things she dreaded about Thronehome, Glade wasn’t one of them.