A strong rocking motion woke Pari. It took her several moments to realize that she wasn’t dead.
Her head felt like it was being crushed, her throat was so dry she couldn’t even swallow, and her stomach churned. Even her body was burning up.
She forced her eyes open and then immediately shut them against the sunlight. Then she vomited and blacked out again.
When she woke again, the vomit had dried and crusted on her mouth. Her head was down, pressed against a rough wooden surface. And she was swaying again. The air felt damp, and it seemed darker than before. A cool wind blew against her skin and that’s when she realized that she didn’t have any clothes on.
She tried to sit up, but a wave of nausea hit her hard and she almost blacked out again. Without thinking, she cast treat poison on herself.
Almost instantly her head started to clear and her stomach didn’t feel like it was trying to turn itself inside out. Thank god.
She followed the spell up with vivify, which made her feel even better.
Pari sat up and looked around in horror. What the—?
She was on a boat—a single-masted sailing ship, maybe 50 or 60 feet long with a big square sail which noisily flapped in the wind over her head. All around her was an endless expanse of fog and water.
But she wasn’t alone.
Four men regarded her curiously. The oldest-looking sailor grinned at her. “So you’re not dead after all?”
This wasn’t happening. It couldn’t be happening.
Pari closed her eyes and took a deep breath, trying to calm herself.
But when she opened her eyes, she was still on a ship. Still buck naked. And still being stared at by four grimy-looking men.
“I need something to cover up with,” she croaked. Her throat was still dry and she could barely speak.
The sailor said, “Your bag is right over there. We didn’t touch anything.”
She looked down to where the sailor pointed and saw a big linen sack. Inside were her clothes, boots, and pouches. She quickly removed everything from the sack and there amidst her stuff was a little scrap of paper with a handwritten note. It read:
“Sorry babe. All’s fair in love and recruiting. -Z.”
That bitch! She drugged me!
Rage swept over her as she pulled on her clothes and inspected her possessions. She would take Zoë out, no matter what. Pari was well aware that there was no PvP in the game, but there must be other ways.
“It looks like your rash has cleared up,” the sailor said.
“What?”
“Your rash. The people who paid your passage said you had been afflicted by a horrible rash—so bad that even the touch of cloth caused you considerable pain. That’s why you weren’t wearing any garments. They said the salt air would fix you right up, and I reckon they were right.”
“Well, they were lying to you. I didn’t have any rash. Those people were torturing me. Was there a woman with pink hair?”
“Why, yes. I remarked to Eadric here that you don’t really see that color of hair and he thought she might be a fae of some sort.”
“She’s not a fae. She’s a villain.”
“But why would a villain go to the trouble of paying us to take you to Northfleet?”
“Northfleet? Are you serious? Where are we now?”
“Just three hours out of Lorque. We’ll be clearing the Bay of Favin within the hour.”
“So we’re not in the ocean yet?”
“Soon, miss.”
“No, not soon. I need to get off. Immediately. You need to take this boat ashore.”
The sailor shook his head. “It’s all rocky cliffs until we get to Port Arlin. There’s nowhere to dock.”
“Then get me close. I’ll swim.”
“You’d never make it. These waters are infested with gorgon eels, boneslicers, mordecans, and who knows what else. Besides, we’ll be in Port Arlin in a few hours.”
She didn’t want to hear that. She really didn’t. Her eyes swam with tears and she slumped back down on ship’s deck and sobbed for a good long time.
The sailors gave her space, and she tried to think about what she would do next.
No way around it, she would have to contact Lazarus. She would have to admit that she lost the sage and had been suckered by the Golden Hawks. And then she’d have to make her way back to Holgate. It was a good 40 miles from Port Arlin. That meant a full day on the road. What the hell day was it? Tuesday? No, yesterday was Tuesday. Today must be Wednesday. She wouldn’t be back to Holgate until Thursday.
Lazarus would be furious. Maybe he’d even boot her out of the fellowship. She always knew that he thought Iniya was the smart one. Lazarus had only let her join Wood and Silence to get Iniya. Panic welled up in her, and her mind started to race.
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Now that Iniya was gone why would Lazarus even keep her around? Especially since she was screwing up so badly.
She felt like she couldn’t breathe. Her arms and legs started to tingle, and spots floated in front of her eyes. She pulled herself into a ball and squeezed her eyes shut, willing her heart to calm down before it exploded.
She’d have no fellowship. No friends. She was going to be totally alone. She was a total screw up.
Pari looked out at the churning water. What if she just jumped overboard? Started over? It was making more and more sense to her. Even if she couldn’t be with Iniya, she could restart with a clean slate. She’d still have nine months to play. You could do a lot in nine months.
“Demon’s blood!” the older sailor cursed. “Raiders ho!” He pointed out in front of the ship where a mass of storm clouds were rolling in, pouring out rain and thunder. There, barely visible, among the clouds was a warship—sailing right towards them.
“What is that?” Pari asked.
“Storm Reavers,” the sailor said. “They’ll torture and murder all of us men, but they’ll do even worse to you.”
Pari’s blood ran cold. Storm Reavers were some sort of undead, or nearly undead, pirates. She had heard stories about their depravity. They would flay the skin off their victims, and eat their flesh, and burn whatever part remained alive.
“You must have rowboats,” she said. “We have to escape.”
“We have one, but as I said, there’s nowhere to land.”
“I’ll take my chances.”
“It would be of no use.” The sailor shook his head. “Make peace with your gods, miss, for we are doomed! Doomed to hell!”
The Reaver ship was closing quickly, moving at an unnatural speed.
Pari grabbed the sailor by the shoulders. “Get a grip on yourself. Where’s that rowboat?”
The man twitched oddly as if he was having some sort of seizure. His eyes glazed over and his head slumped.
“Where’s the rowboat?” Pari screamed.
The sailor snapped out of it. He looked directly at Pari and calmly said, “I have a plan. I know how to save you.”
Out of the corner of her eye, Pari could see that the raiding vessel was even closer.
“My men and I will take the rowboat and lure them away,” the sailor said. “You get below. There are places in the hold in which you may hide.”
“I don’t understand.”
“We were chartered by mages from Durrow—before you came aboard. Their cargo is in the hold. Hide there. You’ll be safe, I know it.” His eyes flicked up.
Pari turned and saw that the Storm Reavers’ ship was upon them. It loomed up tall through the fog, and shadowy figures swarmed on the deck, readying grappling hooks.
“Now, miss! Make haste and conceal yourself below! It’s your only chance!”
He called for the other sailors to jettison the rowboat, then wished her good luck.
Fear clawed through Pari, but at the same time she had a small sliver of hope that the sailor’s plan might work. The Reavers didn’t really care about cargo; they cared about killing and torture. Maybe the sailors really could draw them away.
There was a splash on the starboard side of the ship as the rowboat was lowered into the water. The sailors shimmied down ropes off the side and made their escape.
At the same time, there was a chorus of guttural cries from the Storm Reavers. They had spotted the sailors trying to escape, and now they whooped and sung out battle cries as they flung themselves into the water and began swimming after the rowboat.
Pari raced down into the hold. Shafts of soft light from portholes cut through the gloom providing her with just enough light to make out a large spherical shape set right in the center of the hold. The sphere was six or seven feet tall, with a cloth shroud draping over it. As her eyes adjusted to the darkness, she saw that the sphere was surrounded by a few dozen large crates that were marked with arcane symbols burned into the wood.
This must be the mages’ stuff. But what was it all?
She went around to the back of the large shrouded sphere and looked for a place into which she could squeeze herself. But as she brushed by the shroud, she caught a glimpse of what it was covering. She saw a polished metal surface dotted by rivets. Lifting the shroud further, Pari exposed an oval glass hatch set into the side of the sphere.
At that moment, she heard shouts from up on the deck. The Storm Reavers were onboard. Damn!
She tugged at the handle of the hatch and it opened—slowly. The door was very heavy, but Pari used all her strength to get it open enough so that she could squeeze inside.
As she pulled the hatch shut, a horrific creature slammed itself against the hatch’s window. The Storm Reaver looked like some sort of zombie, with shredded decaying flesh hanging from a sunken skull, and dead eyes.
It battered the hatch window with bloody hands, screaming and gnashing its jaws.
Pari frantically turned the locking wheel on the hatch and prayed it would hold. She fished out one of her glowstones and held it up to illuminate her surroundings.
She was in some kind of cramped chamber with all sorts of valves, control surfaces, levers, pipes, and riveted sections. Opposite the hatch was what looked like a control console made of carved wood inset with various brass gauges, meters, buttons, switches, and handles. The tech looked out of place for a medieval setting—that was for sure. It looked more like some kind of steampunk diving bell.
Bang! The sphere rocked as more Reavers slammed themselves against the hatch. They had torn the shroud completely off and she could see their leering faces through the hatch window. This was not good. Not good at all. The glass wouldn’t hold forever.
Pari looked around again and decided that the sphere could really be some sort of diving bell or micro-submarine. Why else would it have all these reinforced and riveted sections?
She turned back to the console. These controls had to do something.
All of a sudden she heard scratching and pounding from the other side of the sphere—then the top. The Reavers were all over this thing.
Screw it.
She started flipping switches and pushing levers and buttons. At first nothing happened, but then she heard a deep rumbling sound that she could feel in her bones. Glowing lights flickered all across the console, winking on and off.
Without warning, the sphere lurched over, throwing her into the opposite wall. She struggled back to her feet and saw that her forearms and elbows were scraped and bloody.
Then the sphere rocked back the other way, knocking Pari from her feet again. It must be the Reavers. What the hell did they think they were going to do?
But then a high pitched whine assaulted her ears, and she saw a flash of light through the blood-smeared hatch window and then howls and screams from outside.
After a few moments, all the sounds ceased. It was dead quiet. No more banging or scratching. The sphere stopped moving as well.
Pari moved closer to the hatch window, trying to catch a glimpse of something. Were the Reavers gone? Or maybe they were trying to lure her out.
The console still flickered with light. Gauges and meters danced and a round display that looked kind of like a compass started spinning crazily. Whatever this thing was, it looked like Pari had activated it.
There was another blinding flash of light outside the sphere and then the chamber lurched again. But this time, it didn’t stop. Pari tumbled like a sock in the dryer as the sphere plummeted downward through the hull of the ship and into the depths.