Abyssal Drift

“She’s a wild one this evening,” Pallois called from the railing overlooking the deck. Her hair, typically kept in a clean braid, was untamed in the wind around her shoulders. “Think we should head east? The clouds look calmer that way.”

Feoalo shook her head. “No. We’ve handled worse storms and this shipment is already three days behind. We should be able to cut straight through the middle of it.”

“Straight through, huh?” Pallios replied. “By the tides of these winds, I’m thinking we’re going to be fighting to stay in line.”

“You love a challenge.” Feoalo winked.

Pallios pushed her hair from her face only for the wind to push it back. “So long as it doesn’t cost a month’s pay.”

Feoalo shrugged. The Uscagandi in Irisanna were good to their word so she wasn’t all that worried about their pay, assuming the fifteen twice-wide boxes of shimmerscale made it to Dian Pohnas in one piece. The loaders in Polno Pos already dropped one of the boxes, and Feoalo decided against opening it to check. It was already hard enough to open the triple sealed crates, and shimmerscale was in such high demand in the west that Feoalo was not keen to incense the merchants signing her checks. The Uscagandi might be good for payment, but they were like any other mercantile - messing with their goods was opening a can of willerwash.

“Is Suret below deck?”

Feoalo rubbed her eyes, willing her mind back to the present. “I think so. Remind them to check the cargo fastenings and let me know if anything’s ripe to shift during the storm.”

“You got it, Cap’n.” Pallios leapt over the railing, landing easily on the deck below. “I’ll pass it along. Don’t fall to sea while I’m gone!”

“Ha ha,” Feoalo replied.

Pallios stuck her tongue out, disappearing down the steps below deck, the stairs singing their familiar creaking tune.

The late afternoon sun was warm; its final rallying cry before the distant storm clouds rolled in and enshrouded them completely. Feoalo closed her eyes and breathed in the smell of salt and storm. Her sea sense had taken its due time in returning. The last three months Feoalo was washed ashore, senseless and stumbling on land, missing the taste of salt and siyner on her lips. Losing one’s sea sense wasn’t uncommon - most career sailors faced it at least twice in their lives - but it didn’t make the experience any more pleasant. Feoalo had delusionally hoped it would never touch her. How wrong she’d been.

Walking to the bow of the ship, she leaned forward so her head was out over the water. Unlike her sister, Feoalo’s hair was tied up such that the wind couldn’t twist it into knots. She could close her eyes and lose herself to the sea breeze without worrying about fighting war with a brush later in the evening.

A far distant roll of thunder drew Feoalo’s attention to the storm again. The clouds were an angry, dark grey and tinged purple. They weren’t anywhere near the Shroud, but it’s influence could be felt much further in the water than on land. And any gobbish worth their salt-n-siyner knew purple meant the Shroud had its hands in a storm.

The thought to call her sister and agree to change course passed over her mind, but Feoalo shook herself free of it. Herself and her crew sailed Shroud storms before. It wasn’t an overly pleasant experience, but it was possible. She made a mental note to refresh the crew on Shroud sailing before they bed down for the night.

Pushing back from the railing, Feoalo faced her ship once again. The snap of the bright red billowing sails filled the air, the depiction of her family’s crest rippling like sea waves. The dark silhouette of a cat - Uudo no doubt - was sitting on the end of the mast, tail flicking. Her chest warm, and her heart beat in time with the beat of water against the ship’s hull. The sea sang in her veins; her sixth sense back where it was meant to be.

Heading for the stairs, Feoalo whistled a familiar tune; something her mothers had played on their bubble flutes. They and the sea were with her. Their ship would sail into Irisanna without a hitch.

---

She was standing beneath a tree; far, far beneath the ground where the gnarled and mangled roots formed the ceiling and walls of the chamber she stood within. Her feet - bare and dirty - sunk into soft sands. Around her, blindfolded men and women spoke in hushed voices. Their words were jumbled syllables of a language Feoalo couldn't place.

At the center of their rooted dome was a pool, nearly as large as the dome itself. The deep purple waters rippled as if there might be wind, but the air was still. In fact, everything in this place - even the people - moved with a stuttered stillness it was like the flipper book films.

Feoalo wandered to the pool’s edge and peered down, seeing nothing but her own reflection looking back at her. Except, in the image on the water’s surface, she was blindfolded. Slowly, she reached a hand to her face, feeling the soft, smooth fabric around her eyes. But she could see.

Feoalo reached behind her head and started to undo the knot in the fabric when the ground began to shake. All conversations drew to silence and attention pulled to the pool.

The sand shifted around Feoalo’s feet. She looked up just as the water in the pool geysered, shooting twenty feet in the air.

---

Feoalo woke with a start. Her body was hot. Clammy, sweaty skin stuck to her blankets as she shoved out of bed, nearly tumbling to her knees as the ship rocked upwards. The sound of rain on the upper decks - and the dampness on Feoalo’s clothes - meant the storm was well underway, but it puzzled her as to why she was only now waking up. The sea should’ve shaken her awake long before the high waves rolled it.

On the upper deck, voices carried above the storm. Feoalo caught her sister’s first, shouting something that the wind muddled. She raced for the stairs, covering her eyes as she climbed her way outside.

The storm raged like an incensed beast, Feoalo’s body reacting with a sudden sharp flare of heat. Something she should’ve already sensed. Water crashed over the sides of the boat; the waves, higher than her hull, were tinged purple. The latent magic twinkled unpleasantly in Feoalo’s head. The sky was impossible to make out through the rain. It came down in sheets, drenching Feoalo in the few minutes it took her to cross the deck to her sister.

Pallios was wet to the bone, tending to the rigging with pinpoint focus. She looped a rope around her hand - like Feoalo had told her not to dozens of times before - and yanked. She didn’t notice her sister’s approach.

“Pall?” Feoalo called. When Pallios didn’t turn, Feoalo grabbed her shoulder. “Pall!”

Pallios spun, the expression on her face hard. “What- oh! Oh, thank Aaermaen, you’re awake!”

Feoalo was pulled into a hug, her surprise slowing her reaction to the embrace. “No one woke me.”

“I tried!” Thunder cracked overhead and Pallios’ gaze snapped up. “The storm came out of nowhere and it’s an oensin. There’s flooding on the bottom decks, the compass is shot with the magic in the air, and I can’t find Uudo.”

Magic explained Feoalo’s heat flashes. The arcane did not play well with her, even before she’d lost her sea sense. “Have you gotten the warding stones?”

Pallios shook her head. “No. Gods, I completely forgot.”

“I’ll get them. Send Makhem to the hold and grab the carry weights. Is the cargo good?”

“Far as I know.”

“Good.” Feoalo shielded her eyes against the rain, looking towards the sails. The wind was pushing them to their limits, but they looked to hold. “Uudo’s probably in the keeper’s chest. I’ll check while I’m there.”

Pallios nodded, tightening down the rope yet in her hand. “Don’t slip.”

Feoalo snorted, turning on a heel and racing for the quarterdeck. The cabin doors were open, flopping loudly as the ship rocked back and forth. She slipped in, grabbed the frame for stability. Keeping her hand on the wall, Feoalo made her way to the small chest beneath her desk, kicking it open and then bending to retrieve the three blue stones nestled inside.

Feoalo was about to stand when she caught sight of a pair of eyes looking out at her from the dark corner. Uudo didn’t move, crouched low to the ground, ears flat to her head.

“Good spot,” Feoalo said.

Uudo just watched.

Feoalo gathered the stone in her hand and waited for the ship to rock back again before she hurried for the door and up onto the quarterdeck proper.

Waves crashed over the side of the ship, but Feoalo was already soaked to the bone. She crouched near the boards, flipping open a small compartment at the bottom of the back railing and tossing one of the warding stones inside.

Immediately, the stone flashed blue, and then yellow. The uncomfortable prickle on Feoalo’s skin subsided. The rain and wind still whipped wildly, but with less fervor than before.

Closing and latching the compartment, Feoalo raced for the main mast, repeating the same process she had at the stern. Once more, the Shroud receded.

The last spot was at the bow, where the ship was still being battered by the magic swept storm. Feoalo bent herself into the wind and hurried forward.

The waves were the worst here, cresting a number of feet above the deck and crashing down with the weight of a dozen men. When the bow was tossed upward, Feoalo could see the angry, purple tinged clouds staring back. She curled her fingers tight around the last stone eyes fixated on the compartment not twenty feet out.

And then, Feoalo was airborne.

At first, Feoalo thought she’d slipped on the saturated top deck and anticipated a hard landing that never came. Instead, it was cold water that swallowed her whole.

The sea was icy and snapped Feoalo awake. She twisted to right herself, pushing until her head broke the surface. She gulped in a breath of air and then dunked again as a wave came crashing down atop her.

When she surfaced again, she searched for sight of her ship and, with a sinking heart, realized she couldn’t see it in the storm. There was only the purple waves and the purple clouds and the haze of down pouring rain. With an even darker realization, both her hands were empty.

Feoalo couldn't have landed far from the ship. She spun in place, keeping her eyes above the waves, trying to catch even a split second flash of the sails. Her sister would be worried sick. Their mothers would search themselves to sand. The crew would be rudderless. Feoalo needed to find her ship.

Something flashed in her peripheral then, and Feoalo was already beginning to swim towards it before her brain caught up to what it was.

Through the haze of rain, the monster was a long, dark shadow. It crested out of the water like a domed bridge, rumbling a call that rivaled the storm.

The Colossus.

Feoalo knew the stories. She’d heard them since she was old enough to recognize the words to her bedtime stories. But the Colossus was just that, a bedtime story. It was words on lips not flesh on bone. Yet, that tall tale was disappearing beneath the waves again, right before Feoalo’s eyes.

Suddenly, Feoalo felt exposed. Her feet were dangling over an abyssal chasm that was eager to pull her in. Her sea sense was a blessing and a curse. The hungry darkness licked at her heels and Feoalo desperately started swimming in the opposite direction of the worm. The waves were twice her height, and tossed Feoalo about like a doll on a string. Her muscles burned; the effort to keep herself afloat was more than she could muster. She needed to find the ship.

Somewhere distantly, the sea rumbled. Feoalo sensed the movements of the Colossus, weaving like a snake through grass. It was a sensation Feoalo desperately wished would stop. The sea ought to be leading her back to her ship, not further into the beast’s maw.

She dunked her head underwater to avoid another wave, and down here she can hear the Colossus more acutely. The sound bubbled in her bones. It was closer now, circling in the darkness. Feoalo was sure it could hear her, see her, sense her, the sea connecting them across the expanse.

Feoalo thought again of her sister, wondering if she was safe. A sudden thought passed through her mind - if the ship had been struck by the Colossus, there was no guarantee there was anyone to return to. No guarantee there was any escape to the toiling sea. It was not a thought to be having while the water froze one’s limbs, but Feoalo was too weak to fend it off. Perhaps it was fitting that she should perish at sea.

The Colossus bellowed again, sounding from directly underfoot. In reply or in disagreement Feoalo couldn’t tell.

She opened her eyes, the salty sea stinging where it touched. Black stretched out to impossible lengths, yet still felt close enough to touch. Within it, the Colossus moved with an ease no creature of its size should be afforded.

Feoalo put her hand out in front of her. She was falling, she was sure of it, the surface growing further and further away. She felt no urge to breathe, though she knew she should. This could be death, but she didn't feel dead.

The darkness moved closer, and the Colossus with it. Feoalo did not feel fear, but instead sorrow. Her sister's face. Her mother's voice. The sea responded with an easy warmth, something Feoalo fell deep within until even her thoughts were swallowed.

---

Far, far beneath the ground, where mangled roots make ceilings and walls and the blindfolded wander amidst hushed conversation, a woman awakens. She’s been here before, but she doesn’t know when.

She hears conversations around her, and a soft rumble beneath the words. She stares at the sunlight filtering through the roots. It twinkles like a sunrise over the sea. She tastes salt and siyner on her lips.

What a strange place this is.