Chapter Twenty-Eight #2
“When you visited, did you see anything?” I ask. “The vanishing… that could be a pocket dimension. With the amount of Aether here, it’s entirely possible for it to manifest in such a way.”
“I sit beside you having not experienced being whisked away to some hidden world,” Ryc says with a curling smile. “But that visit did change me.”
There’s a haunted note that lingers in his soft voice, but Connak’s shout cuts through the quiet, severing my chance to ask for further explanation. His order ripples through the sails, echoed by dozens of voices as the command spreads across the deck.
Sailors weave in and out of the fog as they rush about, raising sails, knotting stays, and preparing themselves to dock. Forcing myself to a stand, I dare to look over the front of the ship. Through the fog, it’s difficult to see much of anything.
Until it appears.
On the left a white stone dock unveils itself dangerously close to the ship.
Arch after arch of hewn white stone pop through the fog.
Along with the dock, they race beside the shoreline in a gentle sweeping curve.
Beyond it, the fog gives way to blood-red leaves hoisted by thick-trunked trees quickly creating a bright canopy amid all the white.
Ryc’s hand finds mine as we stand together watching Illa Ysari grow into existence beside us. The ship continues to slow and, drawn forward, I slip closer to the island, pulling Ryc with me.
This is where we’ll be expected to live?
An island marred by blood and death and drowning in Aether?
“Welcome to Illa Ysari,” Connak’s voice travels through the fog, but he’s nowhere to be seen. “If all passengers would make their way to me, I’ll see you safely ashore.”
“Ready, little love?”
I meet Ryc’s gilded stare. “Yes.” I nod. “Let us find the answers we need and be done with this.”
As we descend the stairs, Connak once again appears out of the fog. He stands beside an opening in the guardrail and with an upturned palm gestures to what appears to be open air. The dock lies a fair distance below.
I’ve seen this—in the North Docks.
Sailors disembark using a primitive plank.
Well, at least I won’t be forced to descend a rope ladder.
Eve sneaks in beside me. “You look like the hells have had their way with you,” she mutters in low tones.
“Apparently demons aren’t immune to seasickness,” I return quietly in Malbolge.
“Surprised you stayed out here as long as you did,” she quips in like with an impish grin. “You could have laid in Captain Cuckhold’s bed if you needed.”
As I return her sentiment with a flattened glare, she stifles her laughter behind a curled fist. But my own smile creeps upon my lips, unable to deny the dig Connak will never hear.
Ahead, Cyran descends the gangplank first, joining the ship’s Captain and a few other sailors on dock. Ryc, wearing his own amused smile, passes my hand to Eve’s arm.
“I’ll catch you should you decide it’s easier to run,” he says with a quick kiss to my brow.
Run?
Before I can ask, he’s stepping off the ship.
Sucking in a deep breath, I step toward the edge and peer down.
Dizziness rushes to greet me.
The damned plank is a near vertical descent to the dock. And of course Ryc traverses it with ease. The deep breath in my lungs leaves in an explosive sigh.
“I swear to the gods, Ves, if you fall…” Eve whispers behind me.
“I’ll grab your hand,” I retort over my shoulder as I take the first step.
“Can you keep your eyes forward, please?” she urges, piercing me with a chiding glare.
Laughing, I make my descent.
It’s easier than it appears and, thankfully, I step onto the dock with no incident. No icy plunge, no water-logged lungs. And gods does solid, unmoving ground beneath my feet feel utterly divine.
Ryc, waiting, reaches for my hands as I approach.
Instinctively, my hands answer, finding his. I peer up at him, catching a glimpse of darkened gold beneath his hood, shining despite the shadow. He draws me into him, as we wait for Eve to join us on the docks.
Overhead, lanterns hang in the apex point of each arch. Contraptions of weather-worn silver with fogged glass panels. As I stare, the nearest flickers to life, illuminating the fog with a bright silver glow.
A few low murmurs rise from Connak’s crew.
One after another, spreading in both directions from the one above, silver light flares through the darkness. Each lantern lengthening the line of silver down the dock.
“Never seen that kind of welcome,” Connak says and as I lower my gaze, I find his, accompanied by an arched brow. “Aether’s a capricious goddess, isn’t she?”
He turns to his crew, giving them orders on preparing to wait out the storm. As he does, he lights yet another cigarillo.
“I doubt his pocket is filled with sand,” Eve whispers, appearing beside Ryc and me, her eyes fixed on Connak as he shoves his waved-out match into his coat pocket.
A silent smile curls Ryc’s lips.
Crew begin to file up the plank.
“If you need me, you know where to find me,” Connak says to us and the cherry end of his cigarillo grows bright. “If you find the accommodations of the citadel less than inviting, you’re welcome to stay aboard. We can sling a few extra hammocks.”
“A generous offer,” Ryc says, exuding all the kindness and warmth I’ve come to expect from him. “Thank you, but we’ve traveled with everything needed.”
There will be no sleep until I find what I require.
That much I know.
“Of course,” Connak says with a departing dip of his chin. “Offer stands should you change your mind.”
He follows the last of his crew, returning to the ship. Cyran, wasting no time, sets ahead, and gives Eve a silent stare as he passes. Somehow, it’s a stare she understands.
With a nod, she steps back, jutting her chin toward Cyran. “Let’s find these archives,” she says, keeping her voice low.
Ryc releases my hands, and I take hold of his arm as we fall into Cyran’s wake. For a time, the four of us walk the length of the dock in silence. As we approach, the shape of the trees grows clearer, darker, their leaves more vibrant.
Thousands of red, star-like leaves coat the branches, and thousands more litter the ground. A few float upon the water, riding the ever so gentle waves until they’re brought back to the island.
Winter hasn’t reached Illa Ysari.
Here it still feels like the tail end of summer.
The influence of Aether, no doubt.
A few yards ahead, Cyran descends a short series of stairs, stepping onto the island. He stops, turning to wait for us.
No longer ginger root, but rather ginger mush, I toss the remnants into the water before reaching the steps, unsure how else to discard it. Each step closer to the island, the resonance in my chest grows. It blossoms from a low thrum to a vibration that settles into the depths of my bones.
My foot descends the last of the stairs and sets upon the leaf-strewn and dirtied path, and I freeze. The vibration sweeps through me, tingling against my scalp, and down the back of my neck.
Ryc, halted beside me, furrows his brows.
“It’s not the fog,” I breathe, clutching at the center of my chest with a hand. “The land itself is imbued with Aether.”
Illa Ysari doesn’t sit in a hazy cloud of wild magic.
It is a source.
A wellspring.
A cistern.
It’s in the trees, the fog, the soil, the air itself—it permeates everything.
Aether is so entwined with everything it touches here, it’s unlike anything I’ve ever seen—or felt.
It sits heavy on my chest—loud around my heart. The way it feels… it’s like I could…
Opening my palm before me, I reach into the cistern I’ve stepped into and a single, broad-petaled veilflower blooms. Its blue light grows bright—challenging the brightest stars of the universe—as my eyes widen.
“Ves…” Eve whispers from behind, expressing our shared astonishment in a single syllable.
With my breathy laugh and the slightest nudge against the magic reverberating in my chest, the flower dissipates, bursting into dark blue fog which tendrils toward the heavens.
“I was told Celesta could wield Aether,” I say, staring at my empty palm. “Maybe I can, too?”
“It would run in your blood,” Cyran says as he studies me. “And with the density of Aether here, it’s possible it’s easier for you to wield it here.”
“All of this is stuck here,” Eve says, peering at the crimson canopy overhead. “Trapped until the High Rulers take the throne and disperse it.”
“It’s why the High Rulers must reside here,” Cyran says. “Without their direction, Aether doesn’t flow.”
I tilt my chin as I lower my hand, meeting Ryc’s shrouded stare. “It’s more than simply wielding Aether for you,” he says softly. “You’re able to manifest veilflowers without the aid of this island.”
He places a hand over mine, his touch calming the buzzing in my chest.
“I understand the temptation to use the magic, to wield it. But err on the side of caution, little love,” Ryc says in gentle warning. “The Captain wasn’t lying when he said Aether reacts with volatility here.”
Mind whirling, I give a muted nod.
“The citadel isn’t much farther.” He gives me a soft smile and we continue along the path.
It cuts through the dense, crimson-capped forest, sloping upward. As the trees grow sparse, the coated path clears, revealing dirtied white bricks, many upturned. It’s as if they were rattled from the ground.
I toe one over as we pass, disregarding the stark, loud clatter through the silence, and it flips, exposing its underside.
Bright white, with a running flash of blue.
Moonstone.
The entire path is laid in moonstone.
Not white-washed brick like I assumed.
My eyes race to my left hand, to the silver ring upon my finger and the faceted moonstone Ryc gifted me. It gleams in the fog-diffused light, blue streaking across its surface as I shift my finger slowly.
This cannot be coincidence… can it?
Would Nektos truly influence such small details?