Sailing Ether Tides

Ch: 23 Fire On The Mountain

A few short, busy days later, Adventure yacht Moonrise and her captured, formerly haunted warship sailed out of the protected harbor of the long abandoned island. They sailed into the gathering darkness, sunset at their backs; with the kids at the aft rail, waving merrily at the two ancient beings standing on the shore.

“Those kids are weird as can be…” The jewel spangled crab women sighed, cuddling closer to the driftwood idol that was her beloved’s physical form.

“Why do you think they wanted us to wait until nightfall, before igniting those awful things?” She asked softly, shuddering at the memory of the six pickled human corpses in her husband’s obscene ‘wine cellar’ lost deep in the volcano’s silent caverns. He shrugged silently, too engrossed in the fresh, clean winds of magic blowing over the island that he was; at long last.

As the sun finally vanished and the moons draped their oddly warm and comforting gaze over the land, the volcano spirit flexed a faint glimmer of his terrible power.

The mountain shook ever so slightly, causing a small chip of flint to fall from the roof of his cavern, deep within his dark and silent, cavernous heart. It plummeted fifteen yards down, before striking a forgotten bit of iron rubbish, left behind by the long dead cultists who’d installed the horrid ring of cadavers, deep in his insides for their own dark purposes. That tiny spark, the merest flicker of light in the unending dark was all that the volatile fumes needed.

Six enormous glass cylinders, their enchantments undone and lids removed, were slowly off-gassing in the ancient lava tubes and vents, filling every crevice with the choking miasma of flammable, eldritch liquor. One miniscule glimmer was more than enough to set a beautiful catastrophe in motion.

The kids had scrambled through him, guided by fae lights and will-o-wisps conjured by his will, all the way down to that long sealed and deeply troubling magma chamber. He hadn’t paid much attention to their crafts, preferring to focus on his mate; as they worked to unwind the misaligned magic that had dragged her across the void… and landed the love of his eternity in his arms.

As promised, they had cracked the vile soul bottle array, opening each jar and releasing both the spirit and the potent vapors of the occult liquor preserving the poor wretches. Also as promised, The adult otherling, Becky and a human mage girl named Ivy had supervised the carving and erection of a strange stele of carved basalt, securely placed in a chamber of its own.

It was fashioned by Wilf, with painstaking care. For two long days he tapped, chipped, ground and polished the tough stone of the monument, before it was ready to install; deep in a secure and comfortably stable cave on his mountainside.

Gemma had writhed with discomfort for a few moments, as their softly whispered ritual drew to a close, until, with a soft, crystalline chime, an occult door somewhere finally closed… With his beloved still in his arms and once more smiling at his worried, wooden face.

#

As they sailed off into the darkened sea, a soft whooshing sound swept down from the open vent at the top of his cinder cone, accompanied by a gout of livid, bright orange and red flame.

Both spirits watched with befuddled amusement, as the flame leapt higher into the sky; hurling explosive bolts of musically whistling, magical energy up among the stars. Sparks and glittering trails of light and vapor erupted from the long dormant cone, blasting the sky with a violent display of harmless pyrotechnics.

The rush of fire, heat, energy and magic through his long, convoluted circulatory system made the complex tracery of ancient glyphs on Ignis’ skin glow and smolder, as they had when he was a fiery young lad, back when he’d allowed himself to be worshiped as a god by the island’s mortal folks.

Gemma noticed the ruddy flush of heat in his body and wriggled closer to him, as they sat on the sand together, watching the display til the sun came up.

“I think I’d like to have mortals here again…” Iggie murmured warmly, wreathed in fragrant smoke that smelt of ancient forests and the deepest places of the earth.

Gemma smiled and whispered in his ear. “I’d love that, my sweet.”

The hoary old spirit grinned so wide, that a small fissure opened, deep within him, letting a flow of hot, fresh magma flood his lower chambers. Steaming rivulets and streams began flowing from his sides, as hot water bubbled and churned in the depths.

“Those kids gave me some ideas…” He murmured, as hotspring pools slowly filled, scattered all over his verdant, fertile lowlands. “Yes… We’ll lure some mortals here; I’d forgotten how entertaining they can be.”

#

Baron Theloius Dunham, lord of Port Fallon was a busy man… fifteen years after assuming his new title, the place was still a mess. His landholding vassal knights had handled the transition poorly, as had most of the self styled ‘merchant lords’ of the city.

Tony had taken pleasure in breaking the larger merchant consortiums and bringing his vassals to heel with a diligently applied program of highly detailed, viciously exacting tax audits.

The duke had occasionally loaned Tony his personal accountant and auditor for the job; a jocular, pleasant, middle aged woman of common birth. She bore the slightly abstracted look of a person whose intellectual development might have been delayed, yet she displayed an uncanny facility with numbers, figures, minute details and the law.

That was all well and good, save that Kelli hid a dark secret in her shadow…

A terrifying spirit entity, wrought of naked darkness and possessing a cold, calculating will of its own. He had to admit, Kelli and Ellie were a terrifying team; the demon of shadow and the slightly stout, seemingly childlike and innocent mortal woman…

Ellie was not among Tony’s favorite beings, as a shadow entity of the chaotic and unknowable ether; pulled to the mortal realm by a ritual of summoning and blood magic… with five year old Kelli as the intended human sacrifice required to manifest a demon in flesh. Her uncanny and chaotic nature chilled his soul, whenever she came near him, no doubt a remnant of his long association with his former deity.

Kellie’s parents had sold her for magical experimentation, when her disability became evident, uncaring of her fate, once they had a few coins in their hands.

Whether sold to an amoral wizard, a flesh peddler, or as in this case, to a demon summoning end of the world cult, the fates of such children were seldom known.

The inscrutable demon had turned on its summoners for reasons of its own and become the tiny, developmentally challenged child’s caretaker.

Or so it claimed, when interrogated by his duke and the senior clerics and mages of the domain. Over Tony’s strong objections, the duke had retained the creature as his personal accountant and financial hit woman.

Tony’s own investiture as baron had occurred around the chaotic time and unguessable spiritual events that had hurled the madman’s moon into the night sky…

Several clerics, their cults and a number of merchant houses and nobles had hatched a plot to murder the duke’s mad wizard, while his grace was busy installing the new baron of Port Fallon.

They had succeeded, and been utterly destroyed as a group, in whatever sorcerous backlash the madman’s death had unleashed on the world. Fireworks and explosions had upended the night sky, the pantheon and the social order of the known world, leaving only chaos behind.

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When the god Order… went away; Ipet, lady of Justice and protector of Children had slipped into his dreams, offering to fill the wrenching void in Tony’s soul… but that only solved his problem.

Incensed and furious, the duke had rooted out the deeply hidden plot among several noble and merchant houses, involving clerics and corrupt officials who nearly fell all over themselves in eagerness to pin all of the blame on the plotters who had died that day, out by the city wasteworks.

Now, fifteen years after the furious duke had begun his highly successful, largely bloodless purge, slowly and steadily rooting out plotters, schemers, corrupt officials and abusive lords, using the woman’s strange gifts…

Tony had to admit the upsetting, dual being was brutally efficient at finding and proving financial crimes and ferreting out abusers…

Just the rumor that she might be visiting one of duke Belen’s vassal cities could make the unscrupulous break out in the terror sweats, all over town. Those ruminations brought a cold, hard smile to his handsome, scarred and still youthful face.

He hid his mixed feelings and embraced the woman warmly on the dock, in full view of the public.

She’d unsubtly disembarked from the duke’s personal yacht, Dragonfly; dressed in her full uniform of the ducal tax service, resplendent in gleaming brass buttons and silvery, spider silk braid. Her shako cap, with a bright green tassel and even more silvery braid shone and glittered in the sun, as she waved the captain a cheery goodbye.

Tony’s wife, Adelia had no such reservations, embracing her friend and squealing with excitement, in a manner unbefitting a baroness. No one had the brass to comment, or even allow themselves to be seen taking note of the display, under the eyes of the enormous baron; who famously doted on his tiny wife unabashedly, at all times.

In a nasty bit of skulduggery, Adelia had suggested a loud and notorious dockside arrival, followed by a stealthy departure for county Kinnis, that the baroness and her friend might journey to visit the Wards together in secret. They could enjoy a nice trip, while simultaneously giving heart palpitations and nightmares to any corrupt functionaries that might have slipped through his net.

Tony smiled at the thought of what the notorious and mysterious ducal agent’s disappearance into his city would do to his local nuisances and crooks. Best of all, his wife was going to count Liam’s domain, while he was to remain here… in a city completely empty of Wards. He almost giggled with delight at the thought.

#

Sir Rolf collected the baroness and Kelli, dressed in common clothing suitable for a journey and shuffled them aboard Dragonfly, just after sunset. She was less a yacht than a boat; wide bellied and low, she had a shallow draft, more in line with a small cargo or fishing vessel, than a typical ducal pleasure craft.

She was built for utility, comfort and stability; a capable little boat for cruising canals, rivers and the shallow sea. She ran without sail, oars, Wind or Water, cruising along at a steady clip fueled by his mad friend’s bizarre arts.

Twenty five feet long, with a low superstructure over a single, large cabin that could be partitioned with clever folding screens, they were in for a pleasant and comfy journey on duke Rummel’s waterways.

Angie leaned on her husband’s arm and sighed, while Ester stood at the bow, letting the wind blow through her silver blonde hair, as they followed the coast south, heading for Port Clement. Sailing all the way to Mudwallow Bridge town with so many close friends aboard… the prospect felt like a dream.

Adelia was in the fore, working at the galley; something smelt good already. Kelli and Elli lounged in the spring sunshine, sprawled bonelessly across a rooftop chaise, playing a recorder to the water birds they slipped otherwise silently past.

#

“It’s embarrassing…” Gary complained at his wife, as they lay down to sleep. “I just can’t do it… this never happened before.”

“It do happen to all men, occasionally, me lad.” She sighed. “Tis no great matter. Sleep lad, I love thee, no matter how big nor small it may be.” She yawned and snuggled closer, throwing her leg over him possessively. “I do love the man, not his erection.”

“But, what will everyone think?” He moaned. “They’ll pretend not to notice; but I know they’ll be pitying me behind my back!”

“Nae lad, they would nae, tis only our friends an relations…” She petted his tummy gently, hoping to soothe him off to sleep, that just made things worse… or perhaps better. “Fie lad, none do care how big yer house once was… we shall find room for them all… now gimme that stiff cock o yours, ye japing fool!” She grumbled and fussed, as she wrestled her way on top of her sulky boy.

“An a lass must stay up late tae hear yer complaining, she must find summat tae entertain herself!”

He flailed ineffectually and wriggled to ‘escape’ her grasp, which naturally only further compromised his position, leaving the boy at her mercy.

The wicked grin on her husband’s face, whenever she turnt the tables on him was one of her favorite things… She was too busy with another of her favorites to continue playing verbal games. Instead, she pressed her lips to his and shut her fool up for the evening.

“I’ll sew up some tents.” He murmured into her hair, when she was done with him, a while later. “It’ll be fine.”

“Shush lad, else I’ll most likely slay thee, come morning.” She whispered his favorite dire threat into his ear, as he drifted away into sleep.

“As you wish..” He murmured finally.

#

Count Liam rode down to the modest, two story inn beside the lake and paused, looking over the formerly dismal plot of land where the river joined the lake. The barren, desolate ruin of a forgotten, would-be necromancer lord was gone entirely, replaced by his brother’s garden and home.

From the cheery, red tiled roof, to the wide, high, river stone foundation it was alive with moss, vines, flowering creepers and ivy. Rather than decrepit or neglected; it seemed a natural and eternal part of the landscape, as though it had been as much grown, as built.

The garden sprawled over an acre of fruiting trees, flowering shrubs, garden beds and hotspring pools. A column of steam rose from the house and yard, drifting into the sky, as if to signal weary travelers.

The house was Gary… sculpted of his will and inextricably bound to, and deeply reflective of, his very soul. He carried it with him, wherever he roamed; ready to be conjured from shadows, the light of the sun and moon, natural energies and the boundless depths of a human soul shattered into endless fragments of itself.

Over the course of their shared adventures, the place had slowly grown, as his mad brother’s powers had grown, becoming larger, more expansive and less bound to mortal reality.

Once his brother’s home had been a sprawling ‘motel’ with beds for nearly two hundred souls, the grounds and gardens stretching a mile in any direction; subject to his mad brother’s gentle madness, whims and Will. No longer, now it was a splendid country inn; such as a weary traveler might fondly wish to find, as evening closed in on a lonely road. Welcoming, cozy, inviting and pleasantly homey, but not exceptional at first glance, beyond being extraordinarily picturesque.

The sight bought back fond memories of youthful adventures with his remarkable companions; this was Gary and Shai’s house, as it was when the two had first become… more than lovers, more than mates.

No more stately towers and spires, reaching for the sky in silly, childish whimsey, simply because his beloved daughter wished for a ‘princess castle’, on a whim.

Even so, it felt like home, diminished and damaged, as his brother was, but still the place he felt most at ease, wherever it should happen to stand today. Tawny squeezed his hand fondly as they trotted down the gentle slope to the lake shore, and home.

Magnus, his wife’s beloved old pony chuffed and whickered in excitement as he smelt the steam and the familiar aromas of the garden, something was always flowering in Gary’s yard.

The man himself was in the garden, erecting a number of canvas tents on the broad lawns. Bare to the waist and sweating vigorously, he heaved a long wooden pole upright and dropped it into a carefully dug post hole. He hammered a few stout sharpened stakes deep into the earth, securing his construct temporarily.

The old scars on his body were less noticeable, under his deep bronze tan; though the network of old, pale lines on his abdomen and the outlines of oddly shaped muscles beneath his skin were still unsettling to look at.

He waved at the pair and began hauling a slender, silvery line of cable, secured somewhere in a towering magnolia tree nearby. Canvas and ropes, wooden stakes and a vigorously applied sledgehammer were slowly turning the garden into an encampment.

“Hey!” He gasped when they rode up to him. He gave Magnus a good scratching around his jawline, before embracing the count’s steed just as warmly. He gave a happy cry of:

“Audrey!”

And leapt into the tangled, roughly dragon shaped mass of vines and flowers Liam rode, vanishing into her leafy form completely for a few long seconds.

“Gary… please get out of my familiar… people will talk.” Liam murmured around a soft chuckle.

Audrey the rendroot bush gave a polite cough, as she vomited the fool boy out onto the lawn, in a heap. Tawny dismounted, while Liam strolled out of his mount in a way that was a little odd, even by Gary’s standards.

They stood over their friend and comrade as he collected himself. Audrey busied herself, rooting down in a well tilled garden bed for a rest in the sunshine with floral perfume flowing off her in waves. The sweet, green, summery scent of new growth and fresh leaves signaled her immense satisfaction with her chosen spot; it smelled a little self congratulatory as well… smug, and confident.

Quick as you please, Magnus was off in the stable with Sandi, the dust brown pony. He’d trotted off, still in saddle and bridle as soon as Tawny’s sandals alighted on the lawn, eager to spend some quality time with his colleague. The two equines re-appeared, while Gary was still getting up off the lawn, after finally recovering from a fit of exhaustion induced giggles.

“Gary… It’s time to pull yourself together; Sandi has her curry brush out.” Tawny said softly.

Liam peeked in the stable and grinned at his slowly rising brother. “Sandi racked and hung all the tack for you, all that’s left is the grooming, Gary.” He mused thoughtfully, as both ponies began nudging him with her head; like a fussy cat, demanding pets..

The mare had a curry brush in her teeth, as she forcefully shoved it into the musician’s hands, accompanied by whinnying equine chuckles of mirth from Magnus.

“I’m still the horsies’ valet?” He groaned in faux outrage and indignation, while the brush in his grip whisked over the stallion’s golden legs, eliciting soft chuffs of pleasure from his old friend.

#