Chapter 3

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"What is this place?!"

Beag looked about her in wonder, her dark eyes and her face showing amazement at the view before her.

Mahrmia had guided them to a bank of heavy fog and mist, all the while the Blood Sails came closer and closer, the lookout calling out distances as Stalwart cut through the waves towards its unknown destination. The crew was loyal, and followed their captain without fail, but more than a few grew nervous as the gray vapours closed in around them. For a time, only the crow's nest was visible above the gathered and roiling, swirling mist, and it was Pamje who called out that the Blood Sails had ceased their pursuit.

"Captain! They are not following us into the mist! They've pulled up to a full stop!"

"Come down, Pamje! You'll do no good up there in this mist!"

The slender, quick limbed man scampered down from his post at Beag's command, eager to be on deck as the mist closed in so much that even the tall main mast's top was hidden from view. He had joined the others in their hesitantly hopeful watch.

Nothing could be seen. Barely a sound could be heard, as the great ship moved on through the gathered grayness. The helm, unable to see anything, followed the Captain's order to stay on course as best as possible.

It had not been a pleasant sailing.

There were sounds in the fog and mist, sounds of great things moving to the surface,then going deep, moanings and wailing so deep they seemed to shake the very timbers of the ship itself. there were moments were the hull shook as if some great beast had brushed against, or actually bumped the vessel's sides, and yet nothing could be seen as to what was doing this.

Then, ther were the voices.

They were soft and whispery, like the mist itself. The words were barely heard, and in a language the crew did not speak, not even Old Jim, the cook, who had traveled most of the known world of Maa and knew every language spoken. There was laughter at times and then there was singing, such singing as they had never imagined in their lives.

The music was as if the ocean itself made song, at times rich and powerful like the great depths, at other times bright and quick, like the effervescent foam on the tops of waves. But most of the time, it was soft, gentle, even hopeful, in ways the crew could not comprehend. They were drawn to it, though not like a siren call, not hypnotized. It was more like being called by a loved one; called to be strengthened and uplifted, encouraged in your endeavors. Yet they saw no one and knew not who sang the songs.

"Where are you taking us, Captain?"

The Second mate, a man of hawkish face and gleaming dark eyes came up to Mahrmia and Beag, his face a mix of curiosity and concern. He was dressed in gray blouse, black leggings and boots, and had a head scarf atop his bald head. He bore his cutlass and twin pistols were stuck in his belt. As he spoke, he looked about him at the fog with a small bit of trepidation.

"I am taking you to a place I hope will aid us in our battle with the Darkness, Crow." The Captain said, meeting his eyes with hers and holding his gaze steadily. "There are tales of a place within this fog, a place where one can call upon the aid of powerful friends and allies; allies we desperately need."

She stepped closer to the man, standing eye to eye with him, and gripping his forearm firmly.

"Trust me, Crow. We go where aid may be found."

The taciturn man nodded, accepting his captain's word.

"You've led us true so far Cap'n, and we will stay with you. With your permission, I'll tell the lads where we be heading. It will do them good to know we're not just running away from those accursed Blood Sails of that accursed usurper Almakhadie."

"Aye, make it so."

They traveled for a day and more, until the fog became thinner, the mist starting to clear, and bright sunlight could start to be seen as it burned away the grayness. The voices faded as well, and there was no longer the sense of being followed by great, unseen forms and bodies as they came to the edge of the huge cloud bank.

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