By the time they arrived back at the warehouse, the sun had already begun to soften the sky. Minus a few directions from Laine, the crew was quiet as they ferried into the docking bay.

The journey back was long and arduous. They had weaved deeper into the storm until the Sombernaughts had broken off their chase. The Brinebreaker, as worthy as she was, was too battered to move quickly across the water. They had continued southwest until they reached the southern tip of the island and then slowly sailed the coast back up to Kellek’s watch.

It had taken them the full day and following night to get back home.

No Vellen Kellek. No skald. No Briv.

They tied off and disembarked.

“Take two days lads. I’ll have something for us by then.” Laine’s voice sounded hoarse as it echoed off the walls of the otherwise silent warehouse.

Everyone grunted in ascent. Klof, who had come to on the voyage back, was the first to leave, nodding to Wellynd before running off out of the warehouse. He was surprised his friend had the energy.

Bilge patted Wellynd lightly on his bandaged shoulder “Not a great first shift eh Welly? Not lookin’ forward to tellin’ Briv’s brother. Bastard ‘imself woulda loved that he made me uncomfortable.”

Filch, who was holding what appeared to be a broken arm, gave Wellynd a wink before syncing up with Bilge as the pair limped towards the door.

“We’re gonna go see Ursa” croaked Bilge, grabbing his brother under the arm “anyone else comin’?”

“I’m fine. Ima take care o’ a few things.” called out Henry, who still stood on the main deck of the Brinebreaker. Laine, who was walking towards Wellynd, gave a grunt of ascent. Filch and Bilge disappeared out the door without another word.

The walk back to Briarberry cottage was almost silent as well. No one in the town had woken up, except the smith; the dull, infrequent sound of hammer on steel suggesting that the old man was still shaking off the dregs of sleep.

It wasn’t until Wellynd arrived in the back kitchen of Briarberry cottage that he said anything.

“What were those? What in all of Estioch are Sombernaughts?”

Laine took a long drag from his cigar and pulled out the chair, exhaling a laboured breath as he sat down into a comfortable slouch.

“They chase the storms. Come from somewhere south. Beyond Elaudri’s domain. You never see em’ this early though. I should have.”

“How do you know they’re called Sombernaughts?”

He flashed a sad smile before spitting out a piece from his cigar “That was Henry’s idea. Southern Melyins from the plains call those southern oceans the Jatta Bara’lo, or Domain of Gloom in Artan. Henry thought it was a clever name. I’d have to agree.”

“Okay, but why have I never heard of them?”

The captain closed his eyes and let the smoke swirl around him.

“Sailor’s rules. It’s a tough world out there Welly. Despite what the magisters and those folks at the observatories say, there’s a lot we don’t know. And normal folks deal with enough worryin’ about war and making it through another season. Nobody wants to hear about monsters if they have no chance of runnin’ into them. The sombernaughts don’t come onto the land, and they only show up in the deep sea when the storms are raging, so they’re no threat to anyone but fools like us. It’s not the last thing you’re going to encounter on the seas. I probably should have gone over this before we made ya officially part of the crew, but it’s kind of a rule to not talk about what we see out there when we’re on land. Probably tempting fate with this conversation right now.”

Wellynd’s eyes widened.

His uncle flashed a devilish grin. “Mainly superstition, Welly. But the sombernaughts are real enough. I haven’t seen them in close to ten years though.”

Wellynd sat down in the chair opposite Laine, the painful relaxation of defeat washing over him.

“Briv…”

“Yeah. Good man. Skilled Fulmin. Okay sailor.” he chuckled to himself and shook his head at the final epithet.

“I tried to do something to help, but I couldn’t. Not sure how much use I’m gonna be on the ship. If I was able to…”

Laine held up his hand “Briv’s gone lad. It’s no one’s fault but the ones who killed him. We’ll miss him. But that’s how things go. We won’t be doing anything in Vellen Kellek for the next few months, so we’ll worry about findin’ another Fulmin then.”

Wellynd nodded silently, looking down at his hands. “I need to figure out what’s wrong with me.”

Laine looked at him curiously, taking a long drag of his cigar before nodding slowly. “Probably.”

It was hard to discern what that meant coming from the grizzled sailor.

“Ursa told me she can’t teach me her craft. I’m guessing that means you won’t either?”

Laine laughed. “As far as I know, it’s pretty hard to hurt anyone with what I do. Only yourself if you’re stupid enough. No, we’ll still give it a try, but you still need to figure out what’s wrong with ya.”

Wellynd stood up and stretched.

“I’m going to get a few hours of sleep.”

Laine nodded before standing up and hobbling off into the parlour. He’d probably spend the next few hours pouring over trade routes before falling asleep in his chair.

Good. Wellynd wanted him to be asleep when he left. He knew what he needed to do.

~

The rock slipped beneath Wellynd’s foot as he scurried along the ridge of a rocky pass. He’d left the path that headed to the Mine several hours ago, and the sun now loomed high in the mid-afternoon sky.

A bead of sweat dropped from his brow onto the rocks below him, the cold blustering winds threatening to set a chill. He’d packed a heavier bag than usual, and the trek had been challenging because of it.

The rocky slope in front of him settled far down the mountain in wide hilly plains, the grass trimmed short and struggling to regrow from the several evenings’ frosts that had subdued their roots.

He felt for the stone in his coat pocket as he took careful steps onto the hillside.

Before setting out in the late morning, he’d skimmed Eikonic Principles. As far as he could tell, the book contained no information that aligned with his experiences. He’d found a chapter that discussed the efficacy of different compounds on kose that contained a few diagrams of strange brass devices, but there was no mention of pain when channelling kose or strange rocks that mitigated this pain.

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But, obviously, the stone was doing something.

Rocks tumbled down the hill as his feet disturbed the untravelled path, but he set his eyes forward to a rocky outcropping of the mountain that looked to level out into flat ground.

The day when he’d stilled the rocks in the air he’d had his stone. So too did he have it during his encounter with Klent, and during his training sessions on the beach.

But of all those times he’d used the stone to wield kose, only in the mine had he encountered anything greater than a few motes of that strange silver kose. There, he’d been awash with it. He needed to know what that felt like again. Maybe he could figure out what it was.

After reaching the outcropping and clambering up the side, he set his bag onto the flat ground.

Stretching, he walked to the edge. Here, the grassy hillside formed a steeper valley, beset with a small river that ran into a grove of trees as the ground began to level out.

Bertrand’s dad had said they’d been on the other side of the mountain when they emerged from the prospector’s tunnel. But on which side of the mountain, Wellynd wasn’t sure.

Unbuckling his pack, he pulled out his waterskin and drank from it. Despite the cold, he’d worked up a sweat that would need to dry before the sun set.

The tall yellow reeds that lined the river rustled in the breeze, their slender stalks bending and swaying in gentle rhythm.

At first, the motion seemed like nothing more than the wind teasing the grass, stirring it in soft waves. But as they continued to shift, the movement took on an odd, almost deliberate pattern that seemed too purposeful for the mere whim of the wind.

Hidden among the stalks, the head of a goat slowly peeked out. It chewed on a stalk near its feet, bleated, then moved to drink from the river.

A moment later, another joined its herdmate and drank from the river. Soon, there were five in all.

Just what Wellynd was hoping to find.

While he couldn’t be sure if the goat he’d seen at the opening of the cave on that fateful day was in this herd, he felt it was a fair signal that he may be getting close.

He observed the herd for a moment longer before shifting his gaze to the mountain ridge. Tufts of grasses lay in patchwork along the steep slope, and he spotted a goat grazing from such a spot, standing assuredly on the steep incline.

He could stop and rest here for a while. Set a fire. Dry out his clothes and maybe prepare a meal.

But, he felt something urging him forward.

Wellynd was doubtful it was anything more than his excitement at the idea of finding, at the very least, a promising section of the cliffside to search along.

Packing up, he hefted the heavy sack onto his shoulder and took off, eyes set past the goat to the flattest section of the mountain face that he could see.

He stepped cautiously up the slope, testing the precarious rocks with half his weight and watching as the traitorous ones tumbled down, creating small rock slides into the grasses below.

Successfully hopping over another section of crumbling stone, he grabbed onto a rocky ledge and tried to pull himself up onto the plateau. His bag weighed him down, his left arm slipping from its grip to the ledge.

Pain seared down his right arm as he strained to keep himself from letting go. With great effort, he threw his left arm back up, doing his best to ignore the bite of his wounded shoulder, and heaved his leg up onto the ledge.

He rolled over, throwing his bag further onto the plateau, his body tingling as his heart slowed its rapid pace.

When he looked up, he saw that the lone goat had taken notice of him, having walked a few steps closer, chewing on a tuft of grass as it examined him with multiple tilts of its head.

“Are you the guy I saw a few months ago?” Wellynd asked, grudgingly pushing himself back up onto his feet.

The creature bleated and skipped off.

Apparently not.

He grabbed the bag and dragged it across the plateau to another edge. Scanning his surroundings, he couldn’t make out anything that looked like an opening. This may turn into a multi-day expedition, he thought.

He was going to have to examine different parts of the hillside more closely.

Another goat skipped by him. He turned around to take a look at the rest of his surroundings.

“That’s odd” he said aloud, his voice joining the chorus of wind echoing off the mountainside.

Just north of him, settled right into the hillside next to the plateau, was a large arrangement of rocks. There were rock piles everywhere, but none of them had such a peculiar amount of large stones like this one.

He approached the pile and threw his pack down. Clambering over a few stones Wellynd tried to find an opening.

Nothing stood out, so he began to lift up some of the smaller stones.

Even these were heavy, and he soon realised he’d hurt himself before he got anywhere. He stepped back, wiping his hands as he surveyed the pile from further away.

This was definitely made by someone, he thought.

It looked unnatural. Somehow.

After several minutes of examination, Wellynd figured out that many of the stones were resting upon a much larger boulder. He scanned the area around him until he spotted a thick branch that had rolled down the hillside from one of the few trees stubbornly growing out of the side of the mountain.

Taking the stick, he coerced it in between the smaller stones, sliding it down and underneath, he felt the long branch hit something softer.

Awkwardly positioning himself so he wasn’t standing on any of the boulders himself, on what he was almost certain was a piece of bedrock, Wellynd started to rock the branch back and forth, careful not to push too hard and break his lever.

It took over a quarter of an hour of considerable effort, but eventually, he felt like the base rock was loose enough that it should shift positions with one more push.

He wiped the sweat on his brow that had quickly grown cold in the icy winds that were now pelting the mountainside, as the sun sunk behind the mountain.

He scanned the landscape. A few goats hopped between rocks or scaled different parts of the mountainside, but there was no sign of anyone else.

He didn’t expect there to be anyone, but he knew it was probably best to exercise caution. If one of Snellium’s prospectors or, even worse, a Vertan patrol happened to see him, explaining the cave and why he was there would not be easy.

Satisfying his caution, he gripped his lever and pulled hard. The boulder jiggled free, but instead of falling safely down the hillside, the entire structure of stones collapsed inward, the weight of them ripping at the soil on either side, revealing a hole significantly bigger than the one he had seen before.

But this had to be it. Wellynd peered down into the hole and frowned.

Amidst the blanket of rocks that had rolled down into the cavern, he saw several pieces of wood. He could also make out several torn pieces of paper and even the sparkle of glass.

What had they put below their sealed entrance? Some sort of reinforcement? Whatever it was, it clearly wasn’t very effective.

Grabbing his pack, he stole one more glance around him before climbing down into the cavern.

The light still poured in from somewhere up above, but it was much dimmer than when he was here last. Whether it was because the collapse had altered something in the cave, or just a result of being later in the season, he wasn’t sure, but he grabbed the wooden torch off the side of his bag, and began to wrap it in a piece of cloth he had doused with a bit of oil he kept in a small jug in his cloak pocket.

Wellynd lit the torch with his flint and held it up over his head.

Dozens of boulders still floated in the cavern above.

He frowned. A few had fallen though, if his memory was true. That was concerning.

Moving back towards the entrance, Wellynd looked around for a spot near the opening where he could set up his bedroll, maybe start a proper fire. He planned on staying for as long as his supplies lasted, but he didn’t want to attract any attention by setting anything up on the mountainside.

The torchlight flashed off another piece of glass amongst the rubble.

What was that? Setting down his pack, he crouched down and moved a few pieces of rubble before carefully pulling at what looked like a long stem of glass.

Surprisingly, it didn’t break, and he pulled it free of the remaining dust and dirt.

He’d never seen anything like it before, but if it reminded him of anything, it kind of looked like the head of a bird, the long glass stem eventually turning into an orb encased in a brass fixture.

He turned it in his hands. It was obviously some mechanism.

Just as he was about to stand up and try to get a better look at the object in the waning daylight near the entrance, a scuffle of stones echoed from within the cavern.

Wellynd froze.

“I’d be careful with that” said a voice.