The Silver Boy

Prologue: Hunted

©2015 by A. B. Selle. All rights reserved. TEEHEE! :3

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B O O K    O N E    of    T H E    L E G E N D    O F    C A S P R O M I A

T h e    S i l v e r    B o y

(Working Title)

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Prologue.

HUNTED

Charity slammed her callused fist against the aged oaken table to catch the four-and-twenty Magic Makers' attention. The angry burble of noise that had dominated the ship's cabin quieted. With a bark of "Enough!" the final murmurs faded away, and each Party Member leaned closer over the table to listen to Charity. The same dim, gold lantern illuminated all their faces, but each was different: young, old, male, female, dark, and light, and everything in between. Some had sadness in their eyes, or fear, or frustration, yet every face held a strength that could only come from having survived a terrible event. Every face looked to their President for guidance, if grudgingly.

Charity pointed to the expansive map of the Globe that was the center of their discussion, staring intensely into the eyes of each Magic Maker. "You know what I think?" she said. "I think we should build the town here." She tapped the spot on the map. Then, touching another location under discussion, "Over there, what with the shape of the bay, we'll be attacked by the Kollies from that river, certain as the sun rises. Not to mention there are demons afoot in those mountains, to the West." She drew the lines of attack violently with her finger. She was attempting to put into her comrades' minds what she had already realized: they had to sail farther, and therefore longer, in order to reach a safe place to begin their haven settlement. It was a difficult feat; the Magic Makers in the room weren't used to coming to any agreement with anyone.

"It is because of these dangers that we must build the settlement farther North."

The angry air in the room vibrated as the Magic Makers realized the extent of her proposal. Their eyes traced the seaward route their ship, the Novem Spey, would need to take. It's a long journey, Charity thought. But it's for the best. There was a tired sigh from someone. None dared contradict her openly, however. Charity was too highly respected. But not respected enough, she thought. I'm the bloody President. Of course, the Party could have avoided this squabble if they had decided where their voyage would take them before they had set sail—but time had been against them.

One of the Magic Makers on the ship—Benjamin, a large, bearded man with skin so pale it seemed like he had no more blood in him—clunked his mug of lime juice down to the table and said gruffly, "Charity, the place you point to will leave us at sea for an extra... two weeks? Three? Are you sure you want that? We may not even have the rations..."

Not for the first time Charity wished her fellow Magic Makers wouldn't act as if her feelings were made of a Kollie's porcelain tea set. If anything, what she had been through had made her stronger, as a President, a mother, and a comrade.

They're just tired, she thought. I'm tired. And yet, three extra weeks aboard the Novem Spey seemed like nothing compared to the years she had spent in that Divine-forsaken city Khalston. She had hid in her neighbor's basement for a year with her husband. She had watched, and could do nothing, when friends and family all around her burned or hung by the hands of those wretched Kollies, those who always wore clean, crisp white gloves.