Chapter 57-
“There are four main cargo holds below deck,” Thornlove produced a cross-section diagram of The Prayer and slapped it on the table. “Each one is equal in size and they collectively contain all of the materials we’re shipping to New Hopeland.” Her finger slid down to hold four. “Four has the special lock;” she looked upwards at them with stoney eyes. “It’s on the third deck, divided from the other hold by a small hallway, as you know.”
Both Gallow and Sonsee were by now intimately familiar with most parts of the ship, having swept and maintained them on duty.
“Here’s what you’re going to do…”
The day passed slowly into the evening. The top deck was always bustling with activity at sunset; not only was it a universally gorgeous thing to watch the sun descend into the sea, turning it from its usual shades of dark blue and green into brilliant whites and golds, it was also the last chance to squeeze in some extra work during the last hour of light.
Sonsee was among the crew hurrying around on deck, making sure every knot was fastened tightly and every crate strapped down to the floor. She had just finished securing a rope when she was called to by a familiar voice.
“Hey, Sons, can ya’ throw me that knife?”
Craning her neck around, she was met with the naturally kind face of Grossman. For a moment, she hesitated to grab the sheathed knife which lay across a nearby crate. Taking hold of it, she was reminded of the object’s violence, and handed it to him.
“Thanks!” he turned away and resumed the work he’d been doing, not really taking into account the second of doubt in her eyes.
Returning to her own work, she couldn’t help but feel a cloud of shame and worry forming in her chest. She’d become quite acquainted with her fellow crew, and the thought that one of them could be betraying the captain, that she might have to look one of them in the eye as they were captured and brought to their knees, was deeply troubling to her. Even someone as friendly as Grossman was a potential suspect, as there was not enough monitoring of the cargo hold to build any leads on who was tampering with the locks.
Down below, Gallow was trying to make himself comfortable on the floor of the third cargo hold. He scooted around, tried kneeling, even rolled up his jacket to use as a seat, but nothing could overcome the fact that the floor was hellishly uncomfortable.
Eventually deciding that he might as well put up with it, he crossed his legs and shut his eyes tightly.
“[NAVIGATOR]!”
Gallow spirit body surged from his form and passed through the iron door. Once in the hallway, it flickered in and out of view.
“That’s not good enough…” he thought. “If the traitor is some kind of Vocation user, then they’ll be able to see the trap. But these floors are so damn hard…”
He shifted around, trying to find a position that didn’t dig into his behind. After a moment, he found that by using his legs as a kind of spring, he could lift himself up just enough that he was relieved of his discomfort. It didn’t last for long, however, as now his legs were straining to support his weight off the ground.
Struggling between balance and collapse, Gallow realized that Navigator was safely hidden in the space outside the hall.
“Huh?”
He dropped again, and Navigator began to flicker. Gallow stared at the door in front of him, seeing through his spirit body’s eyes. After a moment of pensive staring, he strained his legs and rose up just a half inch off the floor. Focusing his breathing, he found that the mental effort needed to shroud Navigator had lessened dramatically.
He refused to verbalize it in his mind, but he became steadily aware that by allowing his mind to wander, he was able to better control his ability. Splitting his attention between his physical and mental exertion was oddly effective.
Catherine’s hands wrapped themselves around the wheel of The Prayer, its glossy wood smooth and cool against her palms.
“You didn’t have any suspects?” Lyric was reclining on the bed behind her.
“No,” her reply was terse as always, and her eyes remained fixed on the window.
“If you had to guess, who would you pick?”
Catherine was locked in thought for a few seconds, until she raised her head to view the sky, now almost entirely engulfed by the evening. “I don’t know any of them well enough to tell.”
He sat up and cupped his cheek in his hand. “You can’t even give me an idea, just from your impression of them?”
“It would be dishonest of me to judge someone off of an impression.”
“Dishonest?”
She slouched over the wheel, whose safety latch kept it in place. “Maybe I mean hypocritical. If I was like that, then I wouldn’t have met you…”
A smile broadened over Lyric’s face, a sweet, knowing smile. Suddenly, Catherine felt two arms around her waist.
“H-hey!” her spine straightened out in surprise, her typically gloomy eyes now wide. Lyric laughed and brought his face close to hers from behind. Eventually, Catherine gave in and leaned into him, casting her eyes in the other direction.
“Are you blushing?” he teased.
“No…” she mumbled.
“I don’t believe you,” his voice had a sudden deep timbre.
Catherine looked up at his face as he slung his arms around her shoulders into a hug. For the moment, she felt very warm.
Most outsiders looked at the two of them and doubted that they were even in a relationship; among those who were familiar with them, it was a common rumor that she was just a beard for him. What none of those people could see, however, were these moments; the small, intimate interactions where they showed each other the parts of themselves unseen by anyone else.
“Hey, Sonsee, we’re heading in for one more game.”
Sonsee looked up from the railing to find most of her fellow crew packing up their things and heading for the door. Harrison had approached, holding some score cards under his arm.
“Oh,” she sounded unprepared. “I still need to finish inspecting some of the fastenings, I’ll be down soon, just head on without me.”
Harrison glanced from her to the fastenings in question, which were at least ten feet away. Even if it didn’t look like she was in any rush, he shrugged and walked back to the decks, chalking it up to the female enigma.
Sonsee surveyed the deck, now all alone.
“It wouldn’t hurt to actually check them,” she figured. After inspecting them all, she glanced upward at the captain’s quarters and ensured that no one was watching her. She strolled to the bow of the ship, behind the frontmost turret. In this small pocket of space, she sat down and crossed her legs. In this one place, at this one time, she felt not only alone, but unseen, with no threat of either of those states being disturbed.
Sonsee tightened her jacket against the cool ocean and closed her eyes, leaving her in a dark world of sound, smell, touch, and taste. On every side, the waves of the ocean crashed and rolled, and the boat rolled with them, she rolled with them. The breeze, the peculiar salty texture of the air, reminded her of her childhood.
Her mind wandered in the darkness, and she recalled the day her father took her out on one of their small fishing boats. He was a tall man, with broad shoulders and skin burnt even browner than most Atamape men by his years fishing and hunting. She couldn’t have been older than ten years at the time, a little under one moon-life in her tribe’s system of timekeeping, and her body was still comparably small compared to the boys in the tribe.
“Wait,” he’d warned her. “The water distorts what’s underneath. If you are to strike the fish, you need to understand where it really lies.”
She gripped the primitive spear she’d been given, a wooden shaft tipped with sharpened stone; the flint-headed spears were only entrusted to the trained hunters, already trained. It felt awkward in her hand, it was unlike any tool her mother had taught her to use. Even the sharp crescents used to gather plants had never been turned on another animal, this thing, however, was intended to kill.
Only a foot and a half away from the boat, a fish swam beneath the calm waters. Surely, she thought, when the water was this still, there could be no deception. Still, her fingers trembled as her arms bent, the pointed stonehead aimed squarely at the fish.
Sonsee took a breath and thrust the spear forward, piercing the water and creating a small splash that lapped against the boat. Lifting the shaft from the water, she was disappointed to see that she’d struck nothing.
“I’m sorry,” she said, unable to look at her father.
“Sonsee-array,” his voice cut through her as if she was the fish he was aiming at. “You heard what I told you about the illusion, didn’t you?”
She nodded meekly, keeping her eyes on the water, seeing her father would have been too much.
“Yet you still missed the fish.”
“I-I thought-” she stuttered. “That the water was still enough that it was the same thing…”
“Sonsee, listen to me.” His voice was so solemn that it compelled her to finally turn around and look up into his eyes. It was just the two of them, out on the sea.
“The water is the strongest force in this world, it’s the source of our life and our people. We’ve all come from the water, and we will all return to it. It has the strength to nurture you, but it can destroy you. Eventually, everything in the world will be washed away; it is the truth we must measure the rest of our lives against. Now, what do you make of the fact that even the water distorts what lies below it?”
Sonsee couldn’t even think of what she might say, she merely stared up at him until he answered for her.
“Even the truth distorts itself, never forget that. Even in peace, there’s illusion. Now, look back.” He motioned to the sea once more, and she spotted another fish swimming past. “When you raise your spear, you may think you’re seeing what’s below, but you’re only seeing the water. Skip past the illusion, don’t look at the water, understand the water. Understand the fish.”
She lifted her spear once more, and felt something different, almost as if a trail was drawn up from the fish.
“No…” she doubted herself. “That’s just the illusion… Or…”
From behind, her father gave her one last piece of advice.
“There can be no hesitation.”
Everything came together for that one instant. It wasn’t the illusion, it was the fish she saw; a sight beyond sight.
Without hesitation, the spear thrust forward, and pierced the distortion.
Sonsee came up to the bow of the ship as many evenings as she could. The time was precious to her, a kind of meditation that soothed her soul and reminded her of home. Her situation was unenviable, to be homesick without a home to return to. Every memory of the past ate away at her, gnawing even at the joy she derived from her friends.
She couldn’t spend too long up here, though, as she was obligated to return to the crew quarters. She was tasked with the unfortunate task of keeping watch over the hall outside, and following any suspicious activity. Her meditation was an apt excuse for staying behind, and she wanted to stay for just a little longer.
The memories of that day out on the water wrought bittersweet emotions in her heart. Before she was driven to tears, she remembered what she’d been forced to tell herself for years now:
“Just remember them as they were, just remember them as they were.”
As Sonsee let her awareness be drowned out by the sound of crashing waves, she became acutely aware of a scent. It trailed through the air, unlike anything she’d seen before.
“What in the- What is that?”
It took her a moment to realize that she was detecting the scent with her mind’s eye. Was this some kind of spirit sense? She stood up and opened her eyes, losing track of the trail; she hadn’t tried to sense souls with her eyes closed since leaving Melty Green’s Garden.
“If I shut them and let it focus itself…”
The trail reappeared, and she instantaneously saw it wrap its way around the turret, down the deck, and through the door to the lower cargo stores. Even further, she saw it continue down to the third deck, down the hall, and past the door to the left.
“The left?”
That wasn’t the fourth hold, that was the third. The trail had two distinct scents within it, intermingled; as soon as she realized this, she was able to concentrate on just one of them. Sonsee wouldn’t have been able to tell why, but it was unmistakably Gallow’s, a smell like dark chocolate. The other was unwelcoming, the closest approximation she could find was the home of a lonely elder, dusty and stiff, like its inhabitant.
Whatever it was, it was mixed with Gallow, and very close to him, very close.
Sonsee took off down the deck, her long black hair whipping in the night breeze. She wrenched the right-side door open and was greeted by a dense, oppressive darkness. All that she could do was close her eyes once more and follow the trail through the blackness of her mind, instead of the hall’s.
The inside of the third hold was almost pitch black, save for the lantern Gallow had brought with him. He was confident in the fact that the traitor would be coming from the crew quarters. If not stopped by Sonsee, he would be the one to take them out with a single blow from Navigator.
What he did not see or hear was a single crate behind him, near the back of the hold, which had been left mysteriously open. It was already dark when he had first entered, and he never would have been able to see it. Had his light been shining on it, however, he would have seen a pale hand with glossy fingernails grip the lid of the box.
Sonsee’s boots rained down on the metal floor like bullets; she rounded a corner and descended the short flight of stairs with a single leap. Even in darkness, the trail led her forward.
Gallow heard something trampling down the hall and readied himself to blow them away. Something was off, however; with each aggressive step, he could hear this person’s soul. It was a familiar tone, like a great brass gong.
“Sonsee?” he realized. “But- what’s she doing?”
In a panic, he recalled Navigator, and suddenly sensed another sound from within the hold; it was quiet, subtle, the sound of tiny shards of glass rustling together. Gallow whipped around and grabbed the lantern, shining it into the darkness.
A man stood before him, but it was not a man. Its skin was ghoulishly pale and shone with a smooth lacquer; its eyes looked at him, but saw nothing, the light reflected off of them not in an unnatural way that betrayed their artificiality. Impossibly straight hair fell down evenly to the nape of its neck; it was dressed in odd, dollish clothes, black velvet and golden buttons with soft patterns stitched into the fabric.
“[NAVIGATOR]!!”
Once more, Navigator burst from him and struck at the thing with a blow that would have leveled any human being. Shockingly, the thing raised its arm and blocked his ability.
“What?!”
He couldn’t believe it; he could see that this abomination had no soul of its own, and yet it was able to touch Navigator. Theoretically, only another spirit body could have interacted with his, or another spiritual ability.
“This thing is barely alive,” he thought. “What the hell is it?!”
The door behind him was flung open, nearly slamming into his back. Sonsee opened her eyes to the light, finally seeing the source of the perverse scent. The creature was locked in struggle with Gallow’s Navigator, neither of them able to overpower the other. Its face was disturbingly static, never budging from a single blank expression despite the power it was exerting.
“Gallow!” she cried, unable to believe her eyes.
“Some help?!” he grunted. Even though he remained on the ground, not straining his physical body, he seemed paralyzed.
Sonsee threw open her long leather coat and grabbed her folded spear, flicking it upward to connect each segment before thrusting it forward, passing Navigator and crashing into the thing’s midsection.
The iron tip tore through the clothes and pierced cleanly through its chest. Immediately, there was a shattering sound as it lost all strength, cracks branching through its body up to its face. As it fell backwards, its whole form came apart like a porcelain doll, crumbling to dust and shards of glass with nothing inside.
Sonsee stood above Gallow, both of them staring in shock at the pile of remains before them. Two glass eyes dropped to the ground and rolled toward them.
“Eegh!” Gallow stomped on them in disgust, crushing them to dust.
“What the… What the hell was that?” Sonsee’s whisper was uncomfortably loud in the quiet of the hold, only the dimmed noise of the ocean served to alleviate the burden of silence.
Gallow got to his feet and dusted his hands off, still eyeing the pile.
“I don’t know if you saw that,” he mentioned. “But that… thing was able to stop Navigator with its bare hands.”
They made eye contact with the same grave unease.
---
Captain Thornlove laid her hands on the desk, her gaze stoney. She was missing her usual long heavy overcoat, and was dressed down in a tank top that revealed her frame, which was still quite muscular for a woman of her size.
“You’re telling me that a creature was the culprit?” she asked, audible distrust in her voice. “A monster-person? You expect me to believe that?” The warm lamplight of her cabin pulsed against the darkness outside.
Gallow made an assertive step forward without realizing his potential disrespect. “We’re not talking about a wolfman or some fairy-tale crap, this was like some kind of life-sized doll, it looked like it was made out of porcelain or something-”
As he spoke, Thornlove’s face dropped from sternness to concern. Her eyes widened ever so slightly, her scowl softened. Her expression told them that, somehow, this piece of information had changed the situation.
“Gallow,” she cut him off. “You said this thing was still down in the hold?” She glanced from one of them to the other with grim slowness.
“Yeah,” he answered. “Or at least, the pile of remains.”
Thornlove got up and grabbed her jacket from a coat hook mounted to the wall, throwing it on with gusto.
“Lyric,” she motioned to him, who was still lazing on the bed. “I’ll handle this one, keep an eye out.”
“Sure thing,” he hummed, forcing himself out of his comfortable position and onto the floor.
“Come,” she gestured to Gallow and Sonsee, who both gave each other a quick look before following the captain out the door.
The pile of glass and dusty, porcelain-like material still lay on the floor with the torn clothes of the intruder. Thornlove bent down to one knee and inspected the evidence, brushing her finger against it and bringing what had stuck up close to her face. Rubbing her thumb against her index finger, she carefully watched as it floated down through the air, a bit of lamplight reflecting off the miniscule grains.
She stood up again and peered at the remains for a few more seconds before turning her attention to Gallow and Sonsee.
“You two want to go to the Serpent Isles?” her voice was plodding and cautious. They nodded a single time each in response.
“Well, I’m not taking you there,” she continued.
“You aren’t?” Gallow was under the impression that it was part of her favor for Gideon.
“No,” she elaborated. “I keep away from there, and I’ll especially do so after this. We’re stopping in Galeton, and that’s the farthest I’ll, take you.”
“Is there someone who can bring us all the way?” Sonsee pried.
“There’s someone in Galeton, actually, someone I’m meeting with who may be very important to what’s happened tonight,” Thornlove’s tone told each of them that she would not be explaining any further. “When we get there, you’ll come with us to meet him, what you do afterwards is none of my business.” She took one last look at the remnants of the doll-thing. “Gideon is an old friend, but even a favor for him has limits.”
With that, she walked out of the hold, carrying the lantern by her side.
“Well?” she looked back at the two of them with another scowl. “Come on, get some rest. We’re reaching New Hopeland in a few days.”