Rosehill Irregulars: The Closed City

Chapter 4

 Much like the journey to Mir, the voyage across the sea was peaceful. At times a rogue fin would breach the surface, serving to remind the travelers of what exactly lurked below. Marine horrors aside, pirates mercifully did not count amongst them. In fact, the streamlined Cece Hyalle seemed to be the only ship bearing towards Stormborne. Not even the purple and gold sails of the Oranthiiri navy broke the blue. The ship sailed alone in the tenebrous infinity, churning a trail of stark white seafoam in its wake.

Water sloshed against the hull of the Cece Hyalle as it cut through the waves. Finnegan clutched the rails of the foc's'le, his knuckles white. He focused on the sliver of grey on the horizon, futilely hoping the distant glimpse of land would be enough to distract him from the vast ocean surrounding him.

"Is that Stormborne, up ahead?" he asked the helmsman, doing his best with his bile-scorched throat. The helmsman's eyes narrowed, never leaving the horizon.

"Aye," he replied, turning the wheel slightly. Finnegan eyed him for another moment in case he had something more to offer. Several seconds stretched on in silence before Finn looked away. The blotch on the horizon had grown larger, now a long, grey-green line. As they drew closer, Finn internally sifted through the tidbits of information he'd gleaned in all the stories he'd heard and read. So caught up in his thoughts, he didn't notice as Thaddeus climbed out from under the deck.

The Justiciar reached his hands toward the sky and rolled his shoulders, shaking off the soreness wrought from the hours he'd spent in the cramped quarters. The heavy plate he'd worn on his way to Mir had long since been stripped down to his dark beige gambeson. He turned and looked up at the helm, where Finn leaned against the rails, preoccupied.

Those distracted eyes returned to reality and darted up to Thaddeus's chest as he climbed the steps.

"You're up late," Finn said, shaking the lyrics of Eran Pennymark's The Junction's Wings from his head. Presumably he'd see those wings soon. Assuming the problems apparently plaguing Stormborne hadn't forced the city into the waves.

"I know," Thaddeus replied, glancing up at the sky. The sun hadn't yet reached its peak, though the dawn had long since broken. It crested low, just above the ever-growing blob that represented Stormborne. He turned his gaze toward that streak of an island. "That's Stormborne?"

"Aye," the helmsman grunted again. Once more he was silent. The two Irregulars present eyed him for a moment, then glanced at each other.

"When will we be arriving?" Thaddeus asked, putting his foot down to brace himself as the ship cut over a wave.

The sailor pursed his lips; one eye closed slightly as he thought. "We'll be docked within an hour, I'd say, sir."

Without a word, Thaddeus turned and descended the stairs. His metal sabatons added weight, and noise, to his steps. Finn watched him as he marched back across the deck and yanked open the hatch. He heard it clatter against the deck, even over the constant whistling of wind. Thaddeus shouted into the hole, then lowered himself into the ship's hold. Finn turned his eyes back to the island. Once a sliver, now the island had grown into a rocky, mountainous mass slowly creeping into the sky. Even from such a distance, Finn could make out the faint, tall, thin shapes of two lighthouses.

As they grew closer, the rest of the Irregulars began to slowly file out of the hold. Duncan headed them, taking two steps at a time until he reached the deck, where he began to pace. His sister slunk after him. Her black clothing almost blended in with the darkness of below decks. Krissa emerged in stark contrast to the half-blood, dressed in bright orange and yellow, though her verdant pants were comparatively subdued. Eventually Thaddeus emerged, dressed in his armor, hammer in hand. Finn eased himself away from the rails and wobbled his way down the stairs to join the rest of the Irregulars.