CHAPTER 5-IT'S ALL OR NOTHING NOW

The water stole his air when it collided with his chest. Busco sank into the sapphire water, salty fingers penetrating his nose and poking at his eyes. He returned to the surface, his eyes stinging and sinuses burning. The golden rays jabbed at him like a sword, as he swished his drenched hair about. The humid heat baked the cold water pooling on his chest. He snorted the last of the sea-water out from his nose, his feet balancing delicately on the sharp, uneven stones beneath him. He turned back to the beach-head, where the nervous Khol stood anxiously, feeling the gentle waves splash against his hooves.

“Come on Groken, it's not so bad.” He called back.

A piece of human shaped debris floated past him, lying flat on his back, letting the current take him. Busco watched Artifae, feeling a sense of serenity at seeing his friend half submerged in the sea. He looked back and saw Khol hesitate, looking back to the moving workers and sailors still on the beach.

“Just run in. It's not that cold.” Busco shouted, as Artie pushed himself up, bobbing in the water.

“You're sure there's n-n-nothing in there?” Khol shouted back, faintly.

“Just dive in already, you big muss.” Artie shouted, laughing.

The two watched Khol suck in his breath, stepping back, and running full pelt into the water, the stones crunching under his mighty stride. With a yell, he stumbled and fell face first into the water, sending a wave of cold water at the two boys. The minotaur disappeared, replaced by large sinking bubbles, until he jumped back up, gasping and shaking from the water.

“It-it-it-it's sol c-c-c-cold!” He shouted.

Busco and Artie laughed, waving their hands beneath the surface, feeling its sensations between their fingers, the gentle brush of vegetation and debris that drifted past them. Busco felt his legs sink, the cooling caress against his skin and muscles.

This isn't so bad. So long as I can still touch the ground.

The trio dried themselves with their cloaks, feeling the sticky warmth on their chests, even as the sable clouds began to roll in. Artie had locked steely eyes with Deniz, the Gorillon foreman, and rushed back to work, while Busco and Khol took their time making their way through the clearing. By the time they reached the settlement, there were small spots of rain appearing on their shoulders, yet the heat still remained.

The main settlement was half a mile away from the beach-head, and had been cleared of trees. There was a river, over thirty feet wide, that winded itself north before feeding into an estuary. There were numerous leather tents, and multiple cabins, with more under construction. The largest building was very central, even boasting two stories already despite the roof not being finished yet. Everything was built from dark wood from the lumber of the cleared trees nearby. There were talking figures by it, of various species and in different fashions; from merchants, politicians to sea-farers. It seemed to be the central government building for the settlement, but their destination was a smaller tent.

Under the dark-green leather, the medical tent was hanging low, but wide. There were half a dozen beds, straw mattresses without frames, laid out, but only one was occupied. Sir Douglas was sitting upright, bare-chested, with a bandaged wrist. His hair was undone, spilling towards his shoulders in gentle waves, giving him the look of a younger man. Besides him were two figures-one was the distraught Sareta Chebe, who had taken off her hat and jacket amidst the heat, who watched the two enter with a relieved smile. As they held aloft the canopy for their tall frames, the outside world disappeared, replaced with the gentle drumming of accelerating rain on the tarp. As they entered, Busco became suddenly aware of the smell of salt-water being dragged in, mixed in with the smell of anti-sceptic balms.

Opposite to Sareta, still winding the bandages over Sir Douglas's wrist, was the only medic on the new continent. Ruroro was one of the River Elementals, with an ethereal teal glow to her skin. She hovered her webbed hand over the bandages, feeling the energy flow through Sir Douglas's wrist. Her hair was clear, like perpetually running water, flowing downwards towards her back. She was adorned in a green vest and cargo trousers, with thick black boots. There were spots of dark green and brown pigment all along her arms and shoulders.

“We're going to have to put it in a sling for now.” She said directly. Sir Douglas only groaned in response.

Khol pushed himself in under the cover, bumping clumsily against Busco. One of his horns caught on the tarp, tearing it, forcing Ruroro to whip her head around quickly, tsking as she did.

“Be careful with that if you're coming in.”

“Oh, I'm-i'm-i'm-i'm so-”

“Groken.” Sir Douglas croaked. “Why don't you go see Master Ganders? I'll be outside in a bit.”

Khol looked sadly at Busco, and then to Sareta, who both gave him reassuring smiles, as he ducked out and wandered back into the rain.

“Great, another thing that needs repairing.” Ruroro muttered, closing her aid-box.

“He didn't mean to. He's just clumsy.” Busco said defensively.

Ruroro muttered, taking her box and standing up, swiftly heading for the exit. As she did, she coughed grotesquely into a fist.

“What's her problem?” Busco asked, walking to her stool and seating himself.

She turned, catching him with bright but dark eyes, like pools of mud with green flashes of algae in their depths. The River Elementals lacked any external ear appendages, with orifices in place of them. She held one of her almost amphibian fingers and wagged it sternly at Busco.

“I came here to help people out, and all I'm doing is plucking out splinters and nursing ego's back. Still, I don't have time to fix a constantly tearing tarpaulin. Who's gonna fix that? It's just me here.”

She ended her tirade with a thick cough into her hand that led to more, and Busco saw there were dark pools under her eyes, a common trait for most River Elementals, that made them look sick or tired. She turned and pushed up the sheet and walked into the rain.

“I'm not surprised no-one else wants to be in here.” Busco muttered to himself.

Sir Douglas sat up, wincing.

“How are you feeling, Sir?” Busco asked.

“I'm alright. Just a fractured wrist bone. Shouldn't get in the way too much if I'm careful.

“Is there anything I can get you?” Sareta asked quickly, searching his face with her eyes.

“No, I'm fine. Ready to get up now.”

He made to move and she made to catch him as if he were falling.

“I'm serious, I'm fine.” He said gruffly.

“I just want to help.” She said, flinching slightly. “After all...”

Busco held his tongue, fighting against the urge to drill in the guilt. He looked at Sir Douglas, expecting a stern, venomous glare, but what was there was soft and reassuring.

“You don't owe me anything, Sareta. A knight's duty is to protect those in need. I'm just glad I was able to.”

Busco watched as the glaze of fear and anxiety began to dissolve and vanish from her. Her eyes began to glisten.

“Although next time I ask you to stay away, I need you to stay away, understood?”

She nodded, wiping at her eyes. She looked at Busco, as if noticing him in the room for the first time.

“I'll leave you two to it.”

She stood up gracefully, stepping past Busco and outside. Sir Douglas reached for his tunic, noticing the strange look Busco was giving her.

“You shouldn't blame her. I don't.” Sir Douglas said, pushing his left arm into one of the sleeves, and dragging it over his head.

“I guess.” Busco said, feeling strangely annoyed.

“She was careless. We all are, from time to time. Especially when we're young.”

Carefully, he pulled his bandaged arm through, and pushed it over his coarsely haired chest. Before they disappeared. Busco saw faint ghosts of scars along his side and stomach.

“I don't know. There's just something about her that bothers me.” Busco said, wringing his hands softly.

Sir Douglas chuckled lightly.

“I noticed. Something about her upbringing.”

Busco met his cool blue eyes, less vibrant than his own, but swimming with archaic knowledge.

“She has a naivety to her, sure. I grew up in the Lynchlands, like you. I never saw the houses of Arnesfeld until I was already a man. It staggered me to think of having your own house, not to be in one of the stacks with a hundred other families.”

He pushed his left hand onto the bedding raising himself to meet Busco at eye level.

“At the end of the day though, she's never left New Peridios before, just like you, and just like me. This is a whole new world for all of us.”

“I know.” Busco said, rubbing his forehead. “I was just thinking about when she was talking before, about how her only experience of magic was people using it as a service for her. My mother was a waitress, and my father was a builder. He has similar magic to me, so they used him in the tunnels connecting the Lynchlands to Matala'ana. Just feels like we're all in service to the rich, and they have no idea how any of it works.”

Sir Douglas watched the young student, feeling the hidden anger beneath the surface. Busco felt his cheeks redden.

“Sorry, Sir. That came out of nowhere. You have other things to worry about.”

“No, it's okay. It's a good thing to be angry about.” He placed a firm hand on Busco's shoulder, kindness seeping through his eyes.

“It's not an easy life, to come from where we have, the poorest parts of town. Especially as a Nocterran. You and your family would have endured hardships I couldn't fathom even if I tried.”

Busco found himself nodding, validation sweeping itself through his chest.

“The hatred, discrimination of who we are and where we've come from, often-times it comes from above, but it can stop at the bottom. Who we chose to be kind to and protect, that defines a man. When I joined the Old Order, I swore an oath to protect everyone and anyone I could. You, Groken, your master, and even her, at the cost of my life and body. As long as I can, I will. Those who can, have an obligation to help. That's what I've always believed.”

“Even if they don't deserve it?”

Sir Douglas shrugged, releasing his grip on Busco's shoulder.

“What someone decides to do with said help defines their character, but less so than that of someone who chooses to give it.”

Sir Douglas stood up with a groan, stretching his back. Busco continued to sit, watching the old knight.

“It's the same with forgiveness.”

Busco felt something in his chest. Behind his eyes was a roar of fire and the glint of a silver dagger.

“Now, I'm going to find somewhere I can go to the toilet at. You should get some rest. I'm sure your master will want to head back to the castle soon.”

Busco nodded, standing up, resuming his stance of looking down at the old dog.

“Okay. Thank you Sir.”

Sir Douglas smiled gently at him, and turned to gather his affects. Outside, the rain had calmed, and the clouds began to slowly dissipate. The crowds began to resume, coming out of their tents and cabins. The soft ground gave in under his boots, a new type of song for him to hear. He watched as the crowds billowed around him, and found his gaze falling on the larger building again. In the mix of it all, was Gybalt Ganders, talking calmly to a large Black-bear adorned in a velvet robe. Along his claws were numerous gold rings, and a chain hung around his neck. In between his two ears was a matching hat made of similar material to his robes, and a pair of spectacles were balanced on his snout. He gesticulated frequently, flamboyantly so, as Busco approached the two.

Master Gybalt turned to Busco with a half-smile. The bandage was still on his head, but he looked well rested, much younger than his grey hair and beard would say. Upon seeing Busco, he beckoned him to meet with the two.

“Master.” Busco said, bowing his head slightly, suddenly glad to see him moving about.

“Busco, I’d like you to meet Mahaan Blare, the one who discovered the coast here. Mahaan, I’d like you to meet Busco Quinn, a student of mine.”

Busco straightened himself up. The bear was taller than he, though not as much as Khol, towering over the old human between them. Mahaan stared down through his spectacles with curious eyes. The hair around his muzzle and eyes had grown grey, and there was a sag of skin around his neck. With a jewelled claw, he rubbed his chin.

“A student, you say?” Mahaan growled. “One who might help you with the way-stone?”

Gybalt shook his head.

“No. As I said, it would require a colleague at the academy. One of the same school of teaching as I-“

“Hmmm. A pity.” Mahaan said absently. “A teleportation network would greatly increase the number of migrants to Promise Coast.”

“As I said, creating a way-stone takes a tremendous amount of communication and ability to create. Without the usage of comm-stones or a through-line, I wouldn’t be able to co-ordinate with the mage on the other side.”

“To create a portal, right?” Busco said, attemtpign to assert his own knowledge.

“Correct.” Mahaan said, now studying him with much less interest. “Perhaps this is something you will speak to your colleagues about back in the city, mister Ganders?”

“Sure.” Gybalt said with a forced smile.

“Very well.” Mahaan mused as he passed the two of them, his exquisite robes rolling in the wind until he disappeared into the crowd.

Busco looked at his master with a puzzled glance.

“Promise Coast?” He asked.

Master Gybalt chuckled, moving away from the building, and towards the thicket of trees. Behind it, Busco could hear the running of water.

“Blare’s decided that’s what this settlement will be called. Or future city as he calls it, and he will be its governor.”

He laughed again.

“He’s nothing if not ambitious.”

The two walked towards the foliage, as the trees became shorter, and the bushes became taller.

“Have you checked in with Sir Douglas?” His master asked him.

“Yes master. He seems well.”

Master Gybalt raised his eyebrows.

“In good spirits?”

Busco only nodded.

“Did he say something that bothered you?”

Busco took a moment, staring through the thicket towards the rolling river. It was almost mud coloured, and moving deceptively fast. He could feel his master’s eyes, coursing past clothing, flesh and bone.

“No, Master.”

Master Gybalt continued to study him, before finally giving way, and following Busco’s stare into the water. There were much fewer people here, save for a few who filled buckets and washed clothes. On the other-side of the river, the bank was mirrored, with thicker clusters of bushes and a denser coalition of trees.

“Can you drink the water?” Busco asked naively, cutting the silence.

“As Sir Douglas says, you shouldn’t drink water from anywhere you can’t see the source of, but yes, it is fresh-water. It will be the main source of water for Promise Coast for a while.”

Busco laughed.

“Promise Coast. It’s a Hel of a name.”

Gybalt laughed in return.

“Just wait to you hear what he’s named the river. The Blare Water.”

The two laughed together, perhaps for the first time. Afterwards, Master Gybalt sighed deeply, and passed a reassuring look to his student.

“Sir Douglas told me you handled yourself well with the creature, and the wall. He said he was impressed with how you used your magic.”

Busco fidgeted, suddenly embarrassed, as Gybalt bared down on him with a heavy stare.

“Were you taught in the art of Hran-Thu?” He asked his student.

“A little.” Busco answered carefully. “My father is an active member of the Nocterran community they have in the Lynchlands. Every Sunday we'd go to hear the Stone Sage preach, and afterwards we'd have classes.”

His eyes began to glaze as he remembered the smell of sweat and dirt in the white halls behind the chapel. The art of Hran-Thru was an aggressive martial style, focused on strong strikes and defensive curls, all while utilising the earth magic most Nocterrans possessed through heridetary means.

“I rose a couple of rings. My brother, Havrok, was the second highest ring. He took it a lot more seriously than I did. I wasn't into the fighting so much.”

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He let his mind drift to when Havrok held his black ring around his waist, only one year away from going to brown. The delight in his parents eyes that he tried to match, but felt it fall away when he saw the hatred, and the anger in his brothers eyes.

“That's what drew you to the academy.” Master Gybalt assumed.

Busco nodded.

“It wasn't the fighting that I was good at. What I was good at, they said, was using the earth to my advantage. I didn't win a lot of my spars, but I impressed the Stone Sage. He wanted to train me, to be like my brother, and I think it was hearing him say that, that made me want to go to the academy.”

Gybalt nodded sagely, feeling every word and listening to every intake of breath Busco took.

“Master Se saw that. Even more than the Elementa masters. She knew what it was I had to listen for. She basically told me to forget everything they taught us at the chapel about fighting, and now I think I understand it.”

“I thought you might.” Gybalt said, casting his gaze over the river. “The earth here is different, isn't it?”

“It is.” Busco nodded, almost gleefully, but fighting to remain stoic.

“She was an incredible teacher, Master Se.” Gybalt said fondly. “She had a way of understanding people, in her own abrasive way. She could read people like a book, and she often used that to irritate them. Not to me, though.”

Busco studied his master, seeing the adoration in his eyes, and brought his own gaze into the mirror of water. The brown current began to turn silver, and he saw Master Se for the first time, with her arms folded, waiting impatiently for him to follow her. She was of the Theropodii, a race of reptilians. The Theropodii were descended form carnivores, with front facing eyes, and long jaws filled with sharp teeth. Her claws were long and her tail always swept unpredictably behind her, threatening to batter whomever was in her wake. Yet, despite the maroon scales and orange eyes, there was a kindness to her gaze. It was of a curiosity few possess; one of the world and the people who inhabit it.

“Soon you'll be assigned a new teacher, Busco. Perhaps when we return to Astral.”

Busco whipped his head around, his eyes behind flint, but Gybalt did not meet his stare.

“It's one thing to miss and to morn, but you're still learning.”

“I'm supposed to just move on? Just forget all about Master Se?” Busco asked hoarsely, coaxing Gybalt to finally meet his eyes.

“It's not about forgetting, Busco. It's about taking what she taught you, and applying it. We're always learning, Busco, not just in school.”

Gybalt turned his back to the river, but did not make to move.

“I knew Se a lot longer than you did. I will miss her everyday, but I don't hold anything to my chest.”

He turned, and gave Busco a soft smile.

“She's still with me. Every time I think of her, she's still with me, and every time I ask for her advice, I know what she would say.”

Slowly, he pushed his way past the bramble, and began to make his way towards the camp. Busco remained still, held in place by a crushing force.

That's because you don't know. You probably still think it was an accident.

Busco unclenched his jaw, feeling it tightly fused. He released his fists, feeling the humidity spread along the back of his hands. He forced his feet ahead of him, but his head was bent low, his brow pushing towards his chin. He needed to find somewhere quiet. On this new continent, he suddenly felt too crowded.

He saw a clearing, perhaps one that ran perpendicular to the Beaten Path, and strode towards it, daring any one of the crowd to bump into him and incite a confrontation they might regret. Through the swarm of words, he heard his name called, clear and consistent. He turned on instinct, and grimaced when he saw the huge hand of a minotaur waving above a gaggle of workers.

He increased his pace, making his way for the wall of trees when the stomping behind him grew louder and louder.

“What?” He hissed at Khol.

Khol bent his back, recovering his breath.

“Oh good, you heard me.” He said cluelessly.

“Leave me alone, Khol, I'm going for a walk.”

“Great, I'll come with you.”

Busco gritted his teeth but held fast against the thoughts in his head. His teeth became a barrier for the hurtful truths that threatened to burst past them. Awkwardly, the two pushed past branches, Busco ducking easily, but Khol complaining loudly when a tangle of leaves became trapped in his horns.

“Ow! Are you sure this is a good place to walk, Busco?”

“If you don't like it, stay at camp.” Busco grumbled.

He heard Khol murmur defeatedly, and continued to press his hooves against the roots and leaves of ancient trees. The light began to diminish.

“So, I have to talk to you about something.” Khol asked, pushing past a large branch.

Busco sighed. There was a great metal weight in his forehead, dragging him down. He pushed past another branch, and a small opening around a large tree emerged. The light was almost non-existent here, but what did exist cast golden stripes on the trunk and floor. There was a host of flying insects here, that the two swiped at, but to no avail. One left a great buzzing sound in his ear as it almost flew into it.

“Okay, so-he-he-he-here's what I wanted to talk to you about.” Khol said, swatting away, his small ears twitching beneath his horns. He straightened himself out, pushing his chest out, breathing daringly, preparing himself

Busco turned, placing his hands on one of the large jagged arms of wood that sprang from the tree, feeling its silver surface, but recoiling after noticing the amount of ants that populated it. He clapped his hands together, and saw Khol in his confident stance.

“What?” He finally asked.

“What do you think of Sareta?” Khol asked quickly, the traces of nerves in his voice evident.

Busco clenched his jaw, not the least bit surprised, and pretended to muse upon it.

“That she's a spoilt rich kid who thinks the world should behave exactly how she wants it to? That she's entitled and annoying?” He spat.

Khol looked horrified, causing Busco to smirk cruelly.

“Why? What do you think of her?” He asked, little more than a taunt.

Khol bent his head down, his tail whipping in front of him, and he cradled it with both hands, ringing it gently.

“I-i-i-i- don't know. I-i-i-i-i- I think she's nice.” He said bashfully.

Busco scoffed.

“You like her, right? Is that what this is about?”

Khol blushed under his coarse fur.

“X-almighty, Khol, you've known her for what? A day? You don't even know how old she is, she's an Eve, she could be fifty for all you know.”

“She-she-she's twenty-one, actually.”

“Right, and you're sixteen.”

Khol released his tail sulkily, kicking his hoof against a rock.

“I don't know. I just thought she was nice.” He said sadly.

Busco tsked and shook his head angrily.

“Yeah well, you're an idiot.” He said, blinded by persistent rage.

Khol shot his head up, the tinges of anger and betrayed seeping into his great brown eyes.

“Why are you being like this?”

“Why? Because I have more important things to worry about than this. I came her to be alone, Khol, and you're following me here to ask me about your weird crush, and I don't want to hear about it.”

Khol began to bristle.

“Ever since we landed her you've been nothing but mean to me, but you're not like this.”

That was it. That was the hammer that broke the barrier.

“You don't know anything about me!” Busco shouted, his teeth clashing against each-other like swords.

Khol's eyes began to soften and his face began to sink.

“I thought I did.” He said mournfully. “You're my best friend.”

Busco felt the icy armour around him crackle and break, revealing what was beneath. His teeth were sheaved and his hands released themselves.

“Me?” He asked Khol softly.

The minotaur rubbed at his eye with his wrist. He turned to go, pushing past one of the branches. Busco made to call out to him, but the words never got past his throat, as he watched the great lump trudge through the bushes, the last few moments replaying in his head and sending a strike of agony through his head. He sank against the tree, ants be damned, and let his body fall to the floor. There was so much pressure in his head, he thought it was going to explode. The anger and the sadness hardened into a resin behind his eyes, and began to seep through his tear ducts.

“Busco?” Came a voice behind him, so sudden he jumped to his feet.

As he watched with a pounding heart, the Desert Eve peered through the leaves.

“Oh X-almighty, you nearly gave me a heart-attack.”

“Are you alright?” Sareta asked, gently pushing herself through the branches.

Busco nodded, clearly in pain.

“I didn't mean to eavesdrop, I swear, but you know.” She said, embarrassed, as she pointed to her elongated ears.

“Oh.” Busco said, deflated. “You did?”

She slipped herself through the bushes gracefully, wrapping her delicate hands around the larger branch, watching him carefully. She was absent of her jacket and hat, wearing a black shirt and shorts. He shamefully pulled his robe sleeve over his fingers and wiped at his mouth, feeling the pressure begin to subside. He tried to think of something to say, some way to build a defence for himself, but nothing was coherent. She spun on the trunk she was cradling and laid her arms over the large branch that diverted itself from the trunk, and rested her chin peacefully on her arms, The rain began to increase again, bouncing gently off of the leaves around them.

“What are you doing out here?” He asked, finally.

“The same as you, I suppose.” She mused. “I needed some space to think.”

Busco sniffed, rubbing at his eyes with the heel of his palm until he saw spots.

“I guess you heard what he said about you.” Busco grunted, and Sareta chirped in response.

“Yeah.” She said awkwardly. “That was sweet of him.”

Busco scoffed.

“He's an idiot. He knows you're too old.”

Sareta raised her head defensively.

“Hey, I am not too old.” She said bitterly.

Busco chuckled darkly, scratching at the back of his neck as raindrops continued to drip down his back.

“You know what I mean. He's a teenage student. We both are, but he just fell for you because you're the first female to give him any attention.”

Sareta stood up straight.

“You know, you don't deserve Khol as a best friend.” She said venomously.

Busco pushed himself up along the trunk.

“I didn't ask him to be my best friend, I didn't even know we were best friends.”

“You didn't?” She said, scoffing. “How? It's obvious!”

“We were just partnered together at school. He was so dorky and clumsy, I wasn't asking him to latch on to me.”

Sareta crossed her arms, looking at him with dissatisfaction. Busco looked her in the eye, suddenly under a spotlight, and unable to do anything but shrug.

“I wasn't looking for friends. I have a lot going on.”

It was Sareta's turn to tsk at him.

“I don't think that matters Busco.” She said, relaxing her voice slightly.

“Why?” He asked, frowning.

“He came to you, he looks up to you. Even I can see that.”

Busco pinched at the skin on his forehead.

“I don't want to think about this. I've got other stuff to worry about, without upsetting him.”

Sareta sighed, placing her hand delicately on the trunk.

“You're lucky to have a friend like Khol. I never did.”

Busco straightened his neck.

Save me the sob-story.

He turned to silently leave, back towards the settlement.

“What brought you out here?” She called to him, causing him to turn his head. “Don't say your master or a boat or anything funny. You came here with them for a reason, but not for the same reason as the others.”

Busco felt his shoulders relent.

“I'm...I'm looking for someone.” He said slowly.

He could hear her light footsteps on the undergrowth stepping towards him.

“Someone who hurt you?”

“No.” He exhaled. “Not really. They hurt someone close to me.”

“When you find them,” She asked carefully. “Are you going to kill them?”

Busco turned to look at the settlement, but there was nothing there, just a blurred painting of what a still life should be. Outside, the sun began to bare down once more.

“Yeah. I am.” He said, as stoic as he could be.

“Busco,” she said, almost desperately. “Wait a second.”

She stepped closer to him.

“I'm not sure what I'm doing here.” She said, almost a plea. “I know I'm not cut out for this kind of thing, but I'm learning. I promise, I am. I feel terrible for putting Sir Douglas in the way of trouble, I really do, but I know he's forgiven me.”

“So what?” Busco growled, the anger beginning to bubble inside of him again “You think I want to forgive him for what he did to her? I don't. I want to find him, and I want to kill him. Painfully.”

She gaped at him fearfully, not recognising the beast he had transformed into.

“You don't have to.” She whispered, he only snarled in response. She placed a hand on his shoulder, one that he shrugged off.

“You have friends here. You should focus on being with them, helping them, rather than hurting someone else.” She said, bringing the confidence back into her voice.

“You don't know what this is like! To lose someone you care about. Oh, everything's so great and fine and lush in Arnesfeld, where everyone can pay to make everything better, but it's not like that in the stacks, the Lynchlands, or anywhere else in the world!”

She waited for him to finish, but was clearly wounded.

“My life hasn't been so easy, just because I'm from Arnesfeld. You shouldn't judge people for where they came from.”

Busco snorted.

“Right, because no-one in your family would judge me, or Khol, or Sir Douglas because we came from the Lynchlands?” He stared with forced determination into her eyes, and she did not relent.

“I left, Busco. I left because I wanted to meet people outside of Arnesfeld.” She stepped past him, and pushed towards the bushes, and turned her head, looking at him sadly.

“I know you're angry, Busco. All I'm suggesting is to try and replace the hate.”

“With love?” Busco scoffed, folding his arms.

Sareta only nodded, as she dissapeared from the dark grove. Outside, the rain finally stopped. The velvet curtain of the evening draped along the shoreline. Far beyond the sea, the horizon was a deep black. Behind them, the Silver Tooth, the mountain where they had been to and from, glittered against the last of the light.

“Everyone's been talking about the monster you guys saw.” Artifae said, unleashing a stone into the water, listening to the satisfying plop against the indigo water.

“Yeah?” Busco said, picking up a handful of stones, inspecting each one, and dropping the unsatisfactory ones.

“Yeah.” Artie said, chuckling. “Some of the workers are too scared to leave the camp now, even to take a dump.”

Busco laughed lightly, taking a perfectly flat stone and attempted to skim it across the waves.

“The mountain-hunter, they're calling it. Some want to go out, see if there's any more to hunt like that one Master Gybalt obliterated.” Artie continued,

Busco sent him a confused look.

“He didn't obliterate it. He teleported it. Don't you remember? That's his thing.”

“Right.” Artie said, unleashing another stone as far as he could into the untold darkness.

The pair wiped their hands, and stood still for a moment.

“What was it like? Fighting against something like that?”

Busco became statuesque, remembering the hot breath and smell of carrion on his cheeks, the sheer force of will pinning him down. His throat became dry, as he remembered what it was like to stare into the void that became that monster's throat.

“Like nothing you can imagine.” He said quietly as his friend continued to watch him.

“I've been thinking about going with them.” Artie said after a pause. “Learn how to hunt things like that. You never know, there's probably even bigger and scarier monsters than that I can learn to kill.”

Busco shot him a serious look.

“Don't talk like that. You have no idea what's out there.”

Artie only shrugged.

“It'd beat making huts for stinking old sailors.”

“What did you expect when you came out here? Some grand adventure?”

“Yeah.” Artie said nonchalantly, and Busco felt the anger begin to simmer in his stomach again.

“X almighty, you sound just like that girl.” He turned, crunching up the sloping stones and onto the sand as Artie gracefully kept up with him.

“Yeah, what's with that Eve girl? You think you could introduce me?” Artie asked with a wicked smile. Busco turned to meet him in the eye.

“Yeah, if you both promise to stay out of our way. She almost got Sir Douglas killed because she wanted some grand adventure,”

Busco turned to walk, as Artie stayed, stung.

“Hey, what's with you?”

Busco bristled, turning slowly.

“I'm so sick of everyone acting like this is some game, back in school or whatever. It's serious out here, and I've got to-”

He stopped himself, the words trapped behind his bottom teeth, as Artie looked on, concerned.

“What's going on, Quinny?”

Busco looked around, not seeing anyone he recognised, and gestured with his head to a secluded part of the beach-head, and they stood by some trees that swayed gently in the wind. A small crab fled from their boots, and the two were alone. Artie continued to look at his friend gravely, the most serious the two had ever been together.

“Artie, we're friends right?” He asked.

Artie looked cofnused, stung and surprised all in one roll of his facial features.

“Yeah, of course.”

“I need to tell you something. Something I haven't told anyone else. Something you absolutely cannot tell anyone else, got it?”

Artie nodded slowly, but Busco did not answer right away. Still scanning the darkening beach, the words auditioning in his head and falling to the way-side until he could come up with the perfect summation.

“I found out who killed Master Se.” He said cautiously. “He's here. On this island.”

Artie's eyes grew wide until they were likely to push themselves away from his head.

“Killed? What-you're, what?” Artie bumbled, and Busco continued to fix his stare at him. “But that's not possible. It was an accident, right? Everyone knows that.”

Busco felt his jaw clench one more, the foundations below beginning to give.

“I was there Artie. I saw the flames that took her in the hall, and when I went to help her, there was a figure. A man, I think. He was tall, with silver hands.”

The wind whipped through them, an invisible flail. The sounds of the ocean grew dim, and the two friends existed alone, on a beach within infinity.

“Silver hands?” Artie whispered, feeling the words decay on his tongue.

“I thought it was a trick of the light or something at the time, but now I know it's true.” Busco nodded. “Apparently he wasn't alone, however. There was a secret trial, one that I was allowed to give testimony for, but not allowed to witness.”

“What? What are you talking about?”

“The guardsman captured someone else, who was imprisoned secretly. A Consumer.”

“A Consumer?” Artie hissed, shivering. “Creepy.”

Busco nodded.

“The Consumer was sentenced by a panel of judges, all appointed by the council. I gave my testimony that there was a different figure, the one with silver hands, but it wasn't considered that it was anyone else. They took what I said and applied it to this guy, but I know he wasn't a Consumer. Too tall, for one. He was sentenced to life in Braddock's Dungeon, and everything was swept under the rug. Not even a statement was released, and the official statement to the rest of the academy was an unfortunate accident, caused by this poor Consumer guy.”

“But how do you know it wasn't them? What makes you so sure they weren't the one with silver hands? Gloves, gauntlets, magic or something?”

“A feeling.” Busco said slowly. “At first.”

Artie watched him, dumbfounded,

“I got some information.” Busco said dangerously. “From The Whisper.”

Busco watched the colour drain from Artie's face, as he knew it would, for he had just said the most dangerous name in the known world.

“No.” Artie said, the ghost of a whisper. “Busco, tell me you didn't.”

“I had to.” Busco said solemnly.

“No.” Artie said again, looking to the ground, then to the sea, then around for spies, then back into his friend's eyes. “Are you insane?”

Busco shrugged.

“What else could I do?”

“What else?” Artie said, more furious then Busco had ever seen him. “You've just signed your own death warrant.”

“It was a trade.” Busco said shortly. “Information, for-”

“For a favour.” Artifae finished bitterly.

“Eventually.”

Artie took a step back from Busco, his head lost in a cloud of thought.

“I can't believe this. This, Busco, this is the worst thing you could have done.”

Busco felt his fists clench.

“I had to.”

“Stop saying that. Please” Artie pleaded. “No-one, and I mean no-one, knows who this guy is, but he knows everything, they say. He could be an immortal spirit, a demon, or just some guy with connections, but he's the Hel-damned spectre of death, Busco. If he wants you for a favour, you're never getting out of that, he's got you for life.”

“He's here, Artie. The man with silver hands who killed my master.” Busco said, bracing himself against the expected onslaught. “His name is Sylo Teht.”

Artie stepped back again, kicking at a small rock, sending a plume of sand towards the shingle.

“And if he did? If he is here? You really think you're gonna kill a trained assassin, or whatever?”

Busco felt himself freeze, feeling his fingers enclose around an unseen dagger.

“I'm gonna find out why he killed Master Se. Then I'll find out what I'm gonna do.”

“This is stupid Busco. This is so, so-”

“Imagine if someone killed your mother, Artie, or one of your siblings. What would you do if you were the only one who knew who killed them?” He said with finality.

“Master Gybalt brought me here for a reason, and this is it.” Busco turned, fighting against the rage that had been threatening to burst through his veins all day.

“This is it, Artie. It's all or nothing now.” He said, wandering back towards the settlement.

There was laughter in the night.

The darkness that fell upon the Ajivan coast was all consuming, unlike anything that could be replicated in the city. The sky melded with the sea, and all became black. Fires had been lit all along the coast and settlement, with groups huddled around the warm air. Lanterns had been attached to the cabins, and below them swarms of moths and flies circled each-other in endless rhythm.

“Maybe we should let them.” Master Gybalt said, his face draped in orange and red, a playful smile beneath the sinister hues.

“What? Soil themselves or find the monster?” Sareta asked, inciting another bout of laughter from the group, particularly from Khol.

“Seeing some of them sailors,” Sir Douglas said, digging into his tin can with a spoon for the last remnants of his stew, “I'd reckon they'd do both.”

Even Busco managed to smile at that, despite the weight that had collected beneath his scalp.

“Perhaps we should recommend Busco to them, as protection.” Master Gybalt said, peering over the smoke.

Busco smiled to himself, as Khol clasped his shoulder.

“Then who would we have?” Khol said gleefully.

“Sir Douglas.” Busco said, feeling his cheeks begin to burn. “Or Master.”

“Well, I suppose we're lucky it's the three of us then.” Sir Douglas said, smiling.

“While we're here Busco,” Master Gybalt said, “It might be a good idea to spar with Sir Douglas.”

Sir Douglas made a murmur of agreement as he scraped the last of his stew.

“I'd be interested to see how well trained you are in Hran-Thru, Quinn.”

Busco shifted, embarrassed to have the attention brought to him.

“I don't think that would be a great idea with your injured arm, Sir.”

“If Sir Douglas is using his left hand, it might actually be a fair fight.” Master Gybalt said, and the group laughed.

Even Busco felt his tension release, smiling into the fire between them. Behind them, was the clattering of tin and glass as Artie stepped behind them, over the log were Busco was sitting, and clumsily through himself down, sighing.

“Looks like we're in luck.” Artie said, excitedly, brandishing his glass jug filled with a dark liquid.

“Oh no.” Sir Douglas said quietly, licking his spoon clean.

Artie cackled as he poured the viscous liquid into one of the six cups and passed it to Busco, as Khol tried to peer at what was inside. It smelled like some sort of chemical cleaning agent, not something Busco wanted anything to do with. Artie eagerly poured them out into small measures and handed them out, with only Sir Douglas declining.

“What is this?” Sareta asked, wincing as she sniffed it.

“Ship-shine.” Artie said, pouring himself a measure, gleefully. “It's what the sailors have been making from the plants and sugar here. They put it in barrels on the ships, and it's usually ready after one trip back to the city, then one trip back here.”

“Is it good?” Khol asked, gingerly sniffing it with his large snout, and snorting in response.

Artie took a large sip of his own, gritting his teeth and twisting it into a smile.

“You don't drink it for the taste.” He said happily.

Gybalt smiled and raised his tin cup to Sir Douglas, who shook his head, but held with a grim smile. Busco raised the cup to his lips, and as the cloying liquid passed, felt his lips and throat immediately burn. He pulled away from it, feeling his lungs begin to burn, fighting against a cough that eventually burst out through his teeth. Sareta took a dainty sip, pulling a mortified face at the taste. Khol, however, took a more brazen gulp, and immediately spluttered and coughed, shaking his head fiercely, while the others laughed.

“Th-tha-that's...actually quite nice.” He said hoarsely.

“No it isn't, you liar.” Busco said, and Artie laughed, offering to refill Khol's cup.

“Don't drink too much. We still have a mission to continue tomorrow.”

“Are you guys going back to the castle?” Sareta asked, almost hollow.

Master Gybalt nodded, swallowing a small sip of Boat-shine.

“Ar-are you not coming?” Khol asked, cradling his cup as the fire crackled and sparked.

“No.” She said, bashful. “I'm actually staying to help with Ruroro.”

Busco raised his eyebrows.

“Really? You're staying with her?” He asked.

“She's actually really nice once you get talking to her.” She said happily. “I think she was just in a bad mood when you spoke to her, Busco.”

“River Elementals are known for being eclectic.” Sir Douglas added. “If you believe in such stereotypes, of course.”

Busco nodded, staring into the dark liquid that turned amber beneath the fire-light.

“When are we leaving?” He asked.

“As soon as we're ready tomorrow.” Mater Gybalt answered, finishing his drink.

“More, Master?” Artie asked, and Gybalt nodded.

“You don't have to call me Master, Artifae, if you're not a student.” He said, as Artie stood up to refill. He paused a second, before nodding and refilling his cup.

“Where did you get this stuff, anyway?” Busco asked.

“Ah.” Artie said, sitting back down, and pouring himself a hefty measure. “I traded a shift for it tomorrow. Just moving some logs and materials around, shouldn't be too hard.”

“It will be if you keep drinking that stuff.” Sir Douglas said, poking the embers with a stick, causing embers to flee and dissipate in the night air.

Busco finished his drink, continuing to wince.

“You want more?” Artie said, his face relaxing greatly.

“No, not right now. I gotta go.” Busco said, feeling his head beginning to spin as soon as he stood.

He stepped clumsily in the darkness, leaving the laughing group around the fire behind him, feeling a relaxed smile pull at his cheeks. He stumbled towards an empty stretch of trees, preparing to lift his robes up, when he saw someone in the shadows.

“Who's there?” Busco asked, steeling himself.

Slowly, a figure stepped out from between the trees, almost invisible, save for the dim light of distant fires. It was the strange fellow from the boat, wrapped in an indigo coat. Beneath his cowl, it was impossible to see what was there, but whatever it was had been watching him. The purple wraps were still present, coating his face and arms. Busco felt his fists tighten.

“Who are you?” He asked, trying to embolden his voice. The figure continued to only watch. “What do you want?”

Finally, the cloaked figure began to talk.

“I know what you're looking for.” The voice said, a gravelly hiss.

Busco stood, swaying in the warm breeze. The figure was smaller than who he remembered from around the burning halls of the academy.

“Show yourself. Let me see your hands.”

He sunk his foot into the soft earth, calling upon it.

“He's here. I've seen him.” The voice was almost serpentine.

Busco was too stunned to think, to move.

“You're a Nocterran. I know Nocterrans...You all have a distinct smell.”

Busco tightened with anger, ready to strike.

“Enough with this cryptic nonsense. You better start talking some sense, and quickly.”

The figure hissed wordlessly, clacking its tongue against its teeth, turning to disappear into the night. His hands were grey, but not silver.

“Hey!” Busco called, stepping towards it.

“Busco?” A deep voice called behind him, followed by the stomping of hooves.

Busco pulled his eyes away from where the figure was.

“Who were you talking to?” Khol asked, concerned.

“No-one.” He said absently sitting himself down, his thoughts were of hands, grey and silver. Khol drained another cup, wincing comically loud and shaking once more, eagerly holding out his cup for more, as Gybalt watched, concerned.

“I think that's enough, Khol.” Sir Douglas said seriously.

“Oh come on, Sir.” Artie complained, pouring out a measure anyway. “One more won't hurt.”

“I'm afraid it will.” He replied, staring into the flames.

“What's the matter, Sir? Do you not like it?” Sareta asked innocently.

“Oddly enough, I can't imagine I would.” He said wryly. “In any case, considering what we've seen here so far, I would say it's best if one of us had a clear head tomorrow.”

Master Gybalt grinned at the old dog.

“I appreciate you for helping me get my money's worth out of you, captain.” He said coyly.

Sareta's ears pricked up at that, as she cradled her drink with both hands.

“You're a captain, Sir?”

Busco and Khol both looked at him with renewed interest, and he nodded solemnly, absently poking the fire.

“Of a ship?” Khol said suddenly, swaying slightly. Sir Douglas was the only one to chuckle.

“No, not of a ship, Groken, it's a rank in the Old Order. It goes, initiate, rookie, journey-man, sergeant, lieutenant, captain, chaplin, commander, and then chaplin-commander.”

“You missed out cleric, and cleric-captain.” Master Gybalt added numbly.

“There are other branches in the Old Order yes, but for the bulk of us, those are the ranks.”

“Sounds similar to the academy.” Busco said.

“Probably similar to a lot of things.” Master Gybalt said, only half of his grin was visible by the shadows.

“So, you're pretty close to the top then, Sir?” Busco asked.

Sir Douglas only nodded, twirling the stick within his fingers slowly, not daring to look at any of them. Master Gybalt watched him gravely.

“Who is the top dog now, Sir Douglas?” Artie asked, reclining on his log.

“There isn't one.” He replied quietly.

“No Chaplin-Commander?” Busco asked curiously.

Sir Douglas still shook his head.

“So who runs it now?” Sareta asked, leaning forwards to study his face through the ember filled smoke.

“I suppose that would be me, the last captain.” He said, little more than a mumble.

“But you're not a Chaplin-Commander?” Busco asked, frowning.

“No.” He responded sadly. “To be anointed as a commander, or any rank above, must be by someone at the highest rank of a branch, and there aren't any of those left now.”

A silence fell upon the group, but it was endemic to only here. Across the coast were the echoes of songs and laughter. Busco shifted uncomfortably on his seat, feeling the rough bark dig into his buttocks. Artifae drank quickly, while Khol swayed in the wind, the others stared into the fire.

“I guess that's not so surprising.” Artie said boldly. “I'd always heard the Old Order was dead anyway.”

Sir Douglas slumped, wounded, and Gybalt sent a furious steel look at the Westerner who only continued to drink.

“What happened to them, Master Douglas?” Khol slurred, still swaying.

Busco smiled at him, but then turned to see the old knight, whose face was painted red and gold by the flames.

“You said something before, about a paladin turning from his path. Was that something to do with it?” Sareta asked carefully.

Sir Douglas stared into the burning void, suddenly alone. When he finally spoke, his voice was low and transcendent.

“Helder Schwarz, the Black Salamander, was a captain, like me. Before me, I should say. It was a commander who turned him, and half of the order. They turned on us. It was a bloody war, a civil war of sorts. Many of my friends were killed, brothers and sisters. Those of us that survived, turned away from the path. It was forsaken in many ways.”

The group watched him, transfixed.

“It was the last Chaplin-Commander, a great Evean warrior called Sanyi Cua. He promoted me with his dying breath, to rally the last of the knights against the uprising.”

“Sanyi Cua.” Master Gybalt repeated, feeling the memory flow past his lips. “A stoic but diligent knight. Perhaps more preoccupied with the politics relating to the council of New Peridios than his order, if I remember correctly. If he had been...”

Sir Douglas turned to study Gybalt's passive face, his own wrought with grief and regret.

“No-one could have seen the uprising coming. By the time the war had broken out, many who wished to stay true to the old code had left. It was never an even fight, for those best skilled in blade-craft were the dissenters. After Sir Sanyi's death, I was left with a rabble of priests, healers and infirm.”

“But didn't the guardsmen help?” Sareta asked, perplexed.

“They were bound not to interfere, even at the cost of innocent lives.”

“By who?”

“The government.” He sighed. “As much of it was burnished under as possible. Battles were blamed on gangs, the decline of the order on planned obsolescence.”.

“What does that mean?” Artie asked, screwing his face up.

“It means something that was always planned to fail eventually.” Master Gybalt answered. “The New Peridios council tried to argue that the Old Order was redundant, as there were no enemies to fight, a waste of tax-money and council funds.”

“Hence why your commander was a politician?” Sareta asked.

Sir Douglas gave her a questioning look, but nodded sagely.

“The Old Order gave me meaning. Purpose, as it did for everyone who came to it. It wasn't about fighting enemies. It never was.”

He pushed the stick he wielded fiercely into the flames, embers cackled and flew up higher and higher.

“So why did the others rise against you?” Busco asked.

Sir Douglas only stared at him, the flames swirling in his ocean coloured eyes.

“I think that's enough.” Master Gybalt said sternly. “We should be up at day-break tomorrow to prepare ourselves.”

Artie laughed.

“To Hel with that, I'm gonna get some more Ship-shine, anyone want any?”

Khol was the only one to eagerly raise his hand.