Laine Albright was a lot of things. A seasoned captain. An early riser. A devout gardener. What he wasn’t, however, was considerate of other people’s sleep.
Or at least, not his nephew’s...
The intolerable banging had been plaguing Wellynd for at least a half hour. He wasn’t sure if it was the hammering that caused the pounding in his head, or some sort of hangover from the sheer exhaustion he felt from his trip to Revenshore.
He had almost taken up Alara’s offer to stay another night at the inn when he’d arrived back in Reven’s Crossing. But, as much as he didn’t feel like spending the day walking halfway down the island, he wanted to be back in Kellek’s Watch for today.
Today they were supposed to go delving into the mine. It would probably be the last time Wellynd and his friends would do something together.
At least for the foreseeable future.
Rolling over, Wellynd pulled the pillow over his head. Klent’s twisted face flashed in his mind. He’d been unable to forget that countenance of anguish carved into the stone.
Shaking the image out of his mind, he stretched out his legs and threw the pillow off the bed. His ears still felt off after the explosion, or whatever it was, at the dock.
They had made it out of Revenshore bay before the Vertan soldiers had locked it down, but even as they sailed across the channel to the island, Wellnd could make out countless black and bronze sails just cresting the horizon behind them. He’d asked Leofer how they had learned of the attack so quickly, but the Captain had just shrugged his shoulders.
The sun had already set on Kellek’s Watch when he’d reached the front door of Briarberry Cottage yesterday evening. Laine had still been up, pacing around the den, pouring over maps, the room heavy with smoke. Wellynd had given him a brief overview of the previous two days’ events.
The captain of the Brinebreaker had, like Leofer, only really shown concern at Wellynd’s recounting of the attack on the Vertan ship. Nothing else, not even the Mox’s threats seemed to have phased the man, but after Wellynd had described the sky lighting up and the way sound had been pulled from the air, Laine had paced the room several times, pulling on his cigar with every breath.
When Wellynd finally finished his story, his uncle had few words to say.
“You should get some rest, Welly. We’re probably going to have to put a pause on your deliveries to Revenshore for now. We’ll talk in the morning.”
Wellynd turned over and looked at the small window of his attic room in Briarberry Cottage. The sun reflected off the dust dancing around the small room.
Clambering out of his bed, he walked over to the wash basin, plunging his face into the tepid water he’d brought up the night before. He held his head under the water as long as he could, only pulling back up when his lungs started to burn. As he rubbed his hands down his dripping face, he pulled open his eyes to stare at his reflection in the small, dirt-stained mirror pinned to the wall.
He’d left out one detail in his recollection to Laine. He didn’t mention what had happened with Klent in that alley.
What even happened?
Wellynd didn’t know magic could even do that. He’d certainly never seen anything like it. He’d heard many stories from Henry who fought in the Umbral Wars, about powerful Koshai; the way they could shape fire, or slow whole battalions of men with some invisible force. He’d even heard stories of the great Artan Builders in Vel Megnum who could construct forts in only a handful of days.
But encasing a man in stone? It felt like something out of a nightmare.
He sat on the floor with his back up against the bed, staring at the crisp blue sky through the small window. A sparrow flitted by, a Sulfhawk in tow.
Did he make that happen? There was no way anyone else was in that alleyway.
A trickle of excitement made his chest heave. He knew it was wrong. Klent was a horrible man, and Revenshore was probably a better place without him, but no man deserved to die like that. Suffocating in stone, gasping in darkness, waiting to die.
But, if it was him, it meant not all was lost.
How had he done it? He squeezed his hands together and winced as he remembered Klent’s foot slamming into his stomach. He’d been so focused on suppressing the pain that everything else was a blur. He let his eyes drop down to his pack, half open from him tossing it against the wall, when he fell into bed the night before.
He hadn’t seen the stone he’d bought when he’d returned to the alley the morning after.
Crawling over to his bag, he pulled it open and dumped it onto the wooden floor. Several loud thuds rang out as the stones Laine had put in there spilled out into a pile. Wellynd tugged on his cloak and fanned it out into the air.
Thud.
The strange rock fell to the floor.
It had been with him during the encounter with Klent.
He turned it in his hand. To be fair, it looked even less impressive in the morning light pouring into the room. He rubbed his finger across the smooth side and over onto the rough edge.
Something was different.
There had been a sharp edge on the rough side of the stone. Wellynd had remembered rubbing his finger over it. That edge was now gone. As if someone had taken off a small piece and smoothed it over.
He rubbed his finger along the edge. Did he somehow use some of the stone?
Only one way to find out. He closed his eyes and began to pull, like he did in the blue tent.
The now all-too-familiar pain erupted in his chest. Ignoring it, he focused on directing the hot energy that entered him toward the stone.
Too excited to wait, he peeked open his eye. A wave of disappointment washed over him.
He had hoped, at the very least, to see violet mists, the stone glowing in his hand, or something to signal what had happened in the alley, but the room was still, unchanged.
This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.
Wellynd tried again, this time pushing until he could no longer bear the pain. He opened his eyes. Nothing.
He turned the stone in his hands; it was cold, unchanged.
He let it drop to the floor and it bounced off the wooden boards with a muted thump. If whatever happened to Klent was a result of the stone, he had no idea how he’d done it. Apparently, even the effect he had produced in the tent wasn’t easily repeatable.
Wellynd looked around at the rest of his belongings splayed out on the floor. He eyed the book he had stolen from the Observatory. Maybe there was something in there.
The hammer from outside started pounding again and Wellynd let his head droop. It was as if Laine was telling him to get going. He’d have to take a closer look at the book later.
He groaned as he pushed himself up off the ground. The trip to Revenshore had left him with more questions than he could answer right now. Today was for his friends. He could muck about with the stone and investigate what happened that day after they left.
Throwing on a fresh shirt and trousers, he made a mental note to pick up some new clothes from the tailor in town. He’d have to burn his bloody clothes and wash his cloak when Laine wasn’t around.
Wellynd raced down the stairs and into the kitchen at the back of the house. He grabbed an apple and a chunk of bread off the harvest table, voraciously devouring the bread and placing the piece of fruit in his pocket. Making his way out the door he scanned the yard until he saw Laine, aligning a panel of wood against the fence.
“Hey, thanks for waking me up. I didn’t have a long day yesterday or anything” said Wellynd, walking over to his uncle.
Laine didn’t look up, instead positioning the nail and hammering it several times. Wellynd stood and waited, tapping his foot, until his uncle finished.
The man stood and faced Wellynd, smoothing his wavy black hair back and out of his face. His stubble beard, much like the rest of his hair, was streaked with white. He wore a pair of dark brown canvas overalls, his usual gardening attire, a stark contrast to the usual billowed shirts and loose trousers he wore when sailing.
He nodded back toward the fence.
“Damn greks keep getting into the veggie patch; they’re eating all my carrots.” he finally replied, taking a long drag from his cigar.
“Right, well, next time try to hammer a little quieter, eh?” Wellynd replied.
Laine took another drag from his cigar and puffed it out, scrutinising the curling smoke for an answer to a question he hadn’t asked.
He looked down at his nephew.
“So you going to tell me what happened with the clothes in your pack or should I just assume that you’re fine and dealt with it?”
Wellynd paused for a moment before setting his face “How did…it was nothing, someone tried to jump me when I was out for a walk. I dealt with it.”
Laine nodded. “We aren’t going to have any Vertan patrols coming around asking questions, are we?”
Wellynd shifted his eyes “No, as I said, I dealt with it.”
The weathered sailor grunted and tossed his cigar into the garden, pulling another out of his breast pocket and lighting it up with a match.
“I thought more about what you said about that attack on the Vertan ship. Part of me thinks Kip might have had something to do with it. It doesn’t bode well for business, that’s for sure. Either way, we should start stockpiling for the rest of Storm season while things cool off on the Mainland. Take the rest of the week off, and, after your friends leave, we’ll get you working on the Brinebreaker proper.”
“Really?” started Wellynd.
“Yep. I’ve had a word with Conrin; your friend will be joinin’ ya.”
Wellynd piqued “Klof? Really? that’s great” Maybe this would bring his friend out of his funk.
Laine nodded “So there’ll be no excuse for either of you to be mopin’ about anymore. There’s always work to be done. Henry figures ya both might make decent gusters. We’ll have to see.”
Wellynd blanched “Even with my…”
“Don’t go off, now. We’ve got a few options and more than enough time to help you figure it out.”
Wellynd, uncertain of how to react, just nodded his head. He wondered if Laine would teach him his craft. Whatever Laine’s craft was. He never talked about it and Wellynd had never seen the man do anything that looked like magic. The only peculiar thing about Laine was his remarkable astuteness. Nothing escaped the man’s scrutiny.
Laine let out a grunt and turned around, walked over to a small pile of lumber and picked up another piece. This is how conversations usually ended with him. Without another word, Wellynd stepped onto the gravel path and set out.
Making his way into town, he was immediately met with a rather rare sight in Kellek’s Watch. The streets were bustling and the few taverns were alive with sounds of laughter and music.
Wellynd had almost forgotten that it was a holiday; the Feast of Arthus. He craned his neck and looked up above the mountain beyond the west side of town. Arthus hung in the air just above the peak.
Revellers pushed by him every which way. Other than tavern hosts and healers, no one would be working. Wellynd made his way up the street, watching the people scurry by, smiles plastered to every face.
“WELLY! LAD!” screamed a brash voice.
He turned to see two hulking figures stumble towards him, large tankards in each of their hands. Filch and Bilge, two of the deck-hands on the Brinebreaker.
“Filch. Bilge. Having a good day off?” replied Wellynd, nodding at the beer.
“Hah! Yer Uncle wanted us hauling crates mate, can ye’ believe him? An whats he doin? huh? trimmin’ roses?” roared Filch.
Wellynd laughed, “Yeah something like that.”
“We said ‘not on the day o’ the feast Cap’n! You can’t make us! We got ale to drink and lasses to mingle’” continued Bilge, spilling half the tankard onto the ground as he stretched out his arms in an utterly confusing gesture.
Wellynd looked around “Looks like you’re only doing one of those things” he quipped.
Filch roared, smacking Wellynd on the back. “yu’ll af to watch that quick tongue o’ yers when yer on the boat, Welly. The Cap’s informed us o’ the news. You n’ that friend of yours, eh? On the waves with us! Hah! no mo’ sailin’ along for free. Bout time you come have a pint with us lad, ain't it Bilge?”
“Wha? Ya I fink so” slurred Bilge, who was staring at a group of revellers who had just walked by.
Slowly stepping backwards, Wellynd took advantage of the momentary confusion “Next time, guys. I’ve got plans with my friends today. I’ll see you down at the warehouse next week?”
Filch, who was now too staring at the crowd, groaned and looked back at Wellynd “Don’t remind me, lad. Today we drink to Arthus! King of Ale!” Arthus was not King of Ale, but Wellynd didn’t correct him, and the two set off towards the large group, who had just filed into the Boar’s Rump Inn.
Not wanting to get caught in any more drunken traps, Wellynd set into a jog on his way up to Neera’s place. He found her standing out front, her long hair tied into a braid, a small pack slung over her shoulder, watching the passersby with a grin on her face. She beamed and waved when she saw Wellynd approach.
“Heya! How was the trip to Revenshore, Welly?” she said. Even on his approach, Wellynd noticed that she wasn’t wearing her apprentice’s medallion.
Wellynd stopped in front of her, replying “Well. A lot happened. Let’s get out of town first. Where’s Bert meeting us?”
“At the base of the steps. Klof will meet us there too.”
“Klof’s coming? How’d you convince him? I haven’t been able to get a word out of him since the exams...”
She adopted an innocent look, fluttering her eyes “I just cried about how me and Berty would be going away and had no clue when we’d be back.” she straightened her face “although to be fair, he still seemed reluctant. I think his dad being there helped seal the deal. I got the impression he’s pretty disappointed in the way Klof’s reacting to all this.”
“Hmm. Yeah. I got the same feeling when I saw him the other day.” Wellynd pondered “But this is good news. And anyway, it looks like we’re both going to be sailing for Laine after you two leave. Hopefully that’s brought his spirits up.”
“Great! You’ll finally get to see the world!” she said, overenthusiastically. “Shall we?”
“Yeah. It’s exciting.” he replied, mimicking her overenthusiasm “we shall!”
In stride, the two set off up the road toward the mine.