The Scholar's Tale (Original Fantasy)

Book I, Chapter 2

"Truth is mankind's attempt at forcing Creation into shapes and patterns they can comprehend and measure. But we know the lies behind the truth."-Ikhazzar'h of the Unkind;

'I am looking for a ship, captain Mharra. As for you being my last option...why, do wise men not save the best for last?' I asked, smiling in what I hoped was a charming way. I was laying it on thick, of course, but Mharra seemed the kind of fellow who ignores subtle compliments when he even notices them.

'Feel free to stop that any time,' he said, and his smile was just as fake as mine. 'My rear isn't hurt. There's no need to kiss it.'

'Of course,' I replied, trying not to frown. 'I can pay for my stay on the ship. I know my letters and numbers, and I can work with my hands too.'

'Eager and poor? Always a great combination. I cannot help but notice you did not offer any actual payment.' He said, raising his eyebrows.

'I do not have money on hand, captain. I've never left this island, and there's hardly any work to find here,' I lied. 'I would see the world, if you would be so kind as to take me. My name's Dhalgo.'

He looked at me for a long moment, then smiled. It did not reach his eyes.

'This island was formed a dozen years ago, and you're not that young. Unless you're a chronomancer, or aquainted with one.'

'I am an old soul at heart, sir. An old man in a boy's body,' I said, affecting a ragged wheeze. Mharra snorted.

In truth, I am not sure how old I am. Certainly I have seen thousands of dawns, and survived a hundred seasons...though, with how some islands I've endured before are, "season" is a matter of perspective. I think I am in my mid-twenties, as the Yvharnii had counted such things. My body is strong, my skin still taut, my hair and eyes still bright green.

'Well, you can certainly talk ears off. Maybe we'll make you an announcer,' Mharra said. An announcer... I was reminded of Mherran, who I'd thought a friend for two years. Stupid. He'd betrayed me with no second thought, to appease his precious customers. Had he been a part of the mob when they had chased me? I did not know. I didn't remember hearing his voice. Would I even have recognised it, in that cacophony?

Was Mharra going to be another Mherran?

'What is it exactly you do, captain? If I may ask.'

'I glare over the crew's shoulders and cuff them round the ears when they're doing wrong.'

This time, I didn't have to fake my smile. 'I meant, you and your crew. Are you some traveling show, perhaps? Are they your "marvels"?' I asked.

'They, our exhibits... and the ship itself!' Mharra spread his hands, as if presenting the gaudy steamer. 'Before you is the Rainbow Burst, most formidable ship I've ever sailed. Mostly because the old hag is too damn stubborn to sink.' He patted the steamer's hull affectionately and, to my surprise, it let out a hum. Coincidence? I did not believe in it much these days. Was it... possessed? Or a thinking engine, something stolen from the Clockwork Court or the Free Fleet?

It had certainly not been  built by either of those Powers. It was too frivolous for the former and lacked the latter's colours and streamlined design. Perhaps Mharra had found it and painted it later, for some bizarre reason. Maybe it burned out his enemies' eyes? It was certainly working on mine.

'Have you played on this island?' I asked. 'I have neither seen nor heard of your show before,to my regret.'

He scoffed,but it sounded more fond than annoyed. 'Them islanders said we're too much. Not one of 'em wanted to see us play on the shore, let alone tour the ship. Their loss, I say.'

'Certainly,' I said, looking at the steamer. ' doubt anyone would forget such sights.'

Mharra stepped closer, grinning. 'You know how to run your mouth, boy. Maybe we'll make you the new blade-spitter. You could cut someone with that tongue of yours.'

'Why, thank you, captain. I aim to please, and usually miss. Still charm people, in my own way.'

'Charm, sure...' He shook his head, grinning, and turned away, walking toward the ship. 'Come on!' He called over his shoulder. 'If you're going to live on her, might as well get used to the sights, eh?'

Nodding, I followed him up the ramp and onto the steamer's metallic deck. From the middle of the deck rose three cylindrical steel towers, their tops covered in small holes from which gentle puffs of steam flowed. The beast at ease, I supposed. Like a purring cat, and just as mean when roused, I would bet.

'The ship mostly runs itself, so I spent most of my time on deck. We've got someone for minor maintenance and fueling, but he's sleeping right now. I think,' Mharra said, striding with his hands clasped behind his walk. The famous "captain's walk", which was found in most cultures and species, even those that lack hands. Or legs.

'Besides our shows, there's not much to do. Barring pirates or the occassional disaster, it's a pretty quiet life...' Mharra trailed off, and that was when the Pit broke loose.

Something blurred from between the steam towers, a giant grey shape that left the air screaming in its wake. It struck Mharra down, then enveloped him within itself, its grey bulk flowing over him like liquid steel. In seconds, only his nose and mouth were still visible.

'H-Help-' he choked. Was the thing strangling him, like those giant serpents with no venom? Then why was he not covered completely? Was it taking its time, playing with its food?

Monster, I thought, clenching my fist. I had only met Mharra, yes, but I felt some kinship with him: a proud man who travelled the world, but not so proud as to be angered by mockery, instead responding in kind. And for him to be murdered by this shapeless monster, on his own ship?

No. I would not allow that. Stepping forward, I prepared to channel my Gift, and cripple this thing with the memory of my greatest pain. I did not know if it could feel pain, or if it was even alive, but it did not matter. I was ready to die, if only to buy Mharra a few more moments of life.