Airlean Tales S2E11: Voyage (1)

The Atlas Sea had been the brushpan for whatever deity had painted the stars into place. Or so the bards liked to claim. Staring out across the infinite vastness, stars dripping their glittering light into the black ocean, Karis could believe them.

She had not expected to set sail in the cradle of The Caspian, one of the majestic galleys tasked with transporting the Airlean delegation. Not so soon. But the Atlanteans had been eager to return to their homeland, and Sethis no less eager to follow and capitalize on every moment the Storm lay idle. Simon Kourios had sailed ahead to inform Senator Vascea of their arrival, providing some notice for hospitable accommodations to be prepared.

Many of the Airlean delegation had retired for the night. Several nobles and soldiers were slouched about the deck, looking queasy. Azalea Fairwen was leaning on the prow of the ship, eyes ravenously absorbing the sight of black water rushing into the distance; just next to her stood Wesley Geppett, arm braced protectively around her as if she would fall.

“Can’t sleep?” offered a smooth, rolling voice from behind her.

Karis didn’t blink as Halcyon stepped next to her and leaned back, resting an arm on the bulwark. He was utterly comfortable out here in the middle of the ocean, surrounded by a wellspring of power. It gave him a fresh, effortless confidence that exuded through his every movement and threatened to pull in her gaze.

She staunchly looked away. “I’ve done enough sleeping. As opportunity approaches, so does danger. I need to stay focused.”

“All the more reason to rest while you can.”

Karis made the mistake of glancing at Halcyon. His windswept hair, shimmering under the moonlight. The strong lift of his jaw. His sculpted nose and firm mouth. He was made of a maiden’s daydreams.

Fool, she berated herself. She was not one such daydreaming maiden. Really, she needed to come to her senses.

“I would—would rather stay alert,” she said, fumbling. “Best to safeguard against any potential surprises.”

Frankly, there were far too many threats among their sizable party. Sethis had seemed keen on throwing wide the gates to just about anybody with more than a gilding to their name. There were greater nobles and their retainers, lesser nobles, Garrison captains, and around every corner, someone who had something to gain by killing the prince. Even Observatorium sages had been invited—so soon after High Sage Malfis Rodham’s betrayal, too.

“How on earth are we supposed to keep track of them all, Yuden?” she breathed. “They’re innumerable as insects.”

He shrugged. “I was just going to stab anyone who walked into the prince’s bedchambers unannounced.”

“That…is effective, although the difficulty lies in predicting when said person would walk into the prince’s bedchambers unannounced.”

Frowning, Karis looked to the back of the ship, where the senior Lord Quintrell leaned on the bulwark, strained with the effort of stifling his nausea. His wife, the senior Lady Quintrell, fanned herself delicately with a gloved hand, a bored look overtaking her sour features. Karis grimaced.

“The senior Quintrells chose to embark,” she mused. “Quite unfortunate. And surprising, given their known aversion to risk.”

Halcyon eyed the aristocrats. “That’s good, isn’t it? They’re an Eminent House. Less people to cause trouble at the capital while the prince is away.”

“Their son is the issue, remember. Jannes Quintrell, the provocateur.” Her frown deepened. “He lacks his parents’ distaste for risk and public scorn. With them gone…I fear what he might do.”

Karis then looked to the portion of the deck where Lady Violet Forsythe was surrounded by admirers of the Garrison. Distasteful girl with no self-respect. “And Lady Violet Forsythe has continued to set her sights on Garrison connections,” she said. “The men she’s stringing along all look to be soldiers or captains. Maybe she will be the spark that sets aflame a military coup.”

“I doubt she’d strike now. Not with the captains separated from the rest of the Garrison in Mythaven.”

“Yes, but should the prince be killed on this expedition, the Garrison would be willing to follow the captains they know and trust over the nobility.” Karis frowned as Violet laughed coyly and slapped Captain Raymond playfully on the arm. “What do they see in that girl, anyway? Everything she does drips with insincerity.”

Halcyon shrugged. “She’s pretty.”

“Is she now,” Karis said flatly.

“She’s pretty and she pays attention to them. For some people, that’s enough.”

“Is that enough for people like you?”

He looked startled. “What?”

She turned back to the ship. It was childish to feel stung. She had no claim to Halcyon’s feelings, and he was right. People often liked a pretty little bird who would smile at them like they were special and say the right things. Karis was thought to be beautiful, but her frosty demeanor discouraged any familiarity.

“Anyway,” she said stiffly, “we should also consider the Observatorium sages with some suspicion.”

“Aren’t they just scholars?”

“More than scholars, they symbolize the magical power of our country.”

The Observatorium had been founded by King Arthus’s principal advisor—the great archmage, Merlin. Even after it had been absorbed into the government structure as the Magistracy of Manacraft, the institution was regarded with respect, its sages treated with honor.

“Not only that,” Halcyon mused, “but High Sage Malfis Rodham was just indicted for high treason.”

“Precisely.”

“That might ruin the reputation of the entire Observatorium.”

“Or signify to others that they could be allies in a coup.”

Finally, Karis turned her attention back to the ship’s prow, where Azalea was whispering excitedly in Wes’s ear.

“And the last,” she said softly. “Difficult as it is to accept, we must heed the Support of little Azalea.”

“Azalea’s?” Halcyon followed her gaze. “Ah. The Geppett lordling.”

“House Geppett, as the Eminent House of the Heavenward Tree, carries influence and resources second only to the crown. They could easily spearhead an uprising while winning most of the nobility to their cause. And there is motive besides. Lord Roland Geppett values strength above all else. To see his beloved kingdom receding from the weakness of its reigning monarch must rankle him.”

“But his heir is still Azalea’s Support. You don’t trust her judgment?”

Karis raised a brow. “Look at the company she entertains. The volatile Dragon Whisperer. Cutthroat mercenaries from the underground. That girl would attempt to befriend a demon and only see its good points, I think.”

“Fair point.”

“Wesley Geppett does appear to be genuinely enamored with Azalea,” Karis said regretfully. “But I am not willing to risk His Highness’s life on a supposition. Geppett may be used by his father without even knowing of it.”

They watched silently as Azalea tucked her head right on Wes’s shoulder. His hand cradled around her back and laced his fingers through hers. How free and happy they were, how unashamed. They must have solved their little spat and finally confirmed their feelings for each other—about time! Anybody with two eyes could see how dearly they loved each other. And perhaps some people with one eye.

“I’d be shocked if he ever hurt her,” Halcyon said quietly.

“Hurting her is not the same as hurting the crown prince,” Karis said.

“I hope he never has to make a choice between the two.”

Azalea raised their intertwined hands and kissed Wes’s knuckles with a soft smile. An odd feeling burned in the back of Karis’s throat. Something like envy, even though it couldn’t be. She wished only happiness for Azalea, who had suffered so much from childhood. The little flower deserved every affection showered upon her.

Why, then, was the sight of such unabashed love so sour to witness?

“Are you alright?” Halcyon said.

It was as if his voice had plucked a string in her heart. Karis’s nerves felt alight to the tips of her fingers, and she quickly clutched them behind her back, as if to stifle the feeling.

Oh. Most wonderful, she bemoaned. What ill timing.

It was not a good hour to fall in love. And it was never a good hour to fall in love with Halcyon Yuden, a man who constantly toed the line over death’s door. A man who could be lost to her at any moment.

Karis stamped down the unwelcome sparks of infatuation that threatened to surface. “Perhaps I will take up your advice,” she said, quickly turning from him, “and rest while I can.”

Before he could respond, she strode away. Fled. Perhaps a night of rest could cure her of this great affliction.

It was not one to which she could succumb.

After several days of a smooth and uneventful voyage, a gleaming platform of gilded stone emerged from the horizon.

Delphys Gate, one of two major Atlantean surface ports, sat with all the grandeur and permanence of an island. Long, flat piers stretched on as far as the eye could see, trimmed with glistening opalite and turquoise, lined with impressive statues and artistic plaques. And all of it, every last stone, handcrafted and artificial.

Karis could not hide her admiration at the sheer scale as she stepped onto the pale, marbled pier. A towering, double-doored gate was flanked by fullbody statues of women in ancient Atlantean chitons, each carrying a basket of fruits and wheat on their hip. There was some erosion here and there—a crumbling finger, a chipped ear—but all in all, the statues had been kept in marvelous condition.

Azalea tugged excitedly at Karis’s sleeve, almost making her jump in shock. “I can read that,” the girl said eagerly, pointing at a strip of elegant Atlantean text engraved above the double doors. “It reads, ‘Door of the Harvest.’”

“You can read Atlantean!” Karis exclaimed.

“Oh, no, not really. But I learned about Delphys Gate when I was researching Atlantis.”

Of course she had. Azalea Fairwen had probably emptied the entire Atlantean branch of the library before they’d even set sail.

“Delphys Gate is split into twelve major piers, each themed after one of the ancient founders of Atlantis,” Azalea said. “This one, with the baskets representing fruitfulness and fertility, must be the Door of the Harvester. There are other piers based on other founders—the Door of the Thunderlord, the Door of the Lover, the Door of the Warmonger…”

“And the statues are the likeness of these founders?”

“I’m not sure. Their names and faces have been lost to legend, but at the very least, the statues represent the founders’ values in some way.”

That was fair enough. Atlantis was arguably the starting point of human civilization, with an immense history that spanned several millennia. The fact that they remembered as much as they did could only be credited to their unmatchable Library of the Ancients, rumored to be the size of an entire city in itself, and full of nothing but literature.

Simon Kourios was waiting beneath the Door of the Harvester, a unit of Atlantean warriors behind him. “Welcome, my lords and ladies,” he said, bowing. “How were your travels?”

“The weather was fair, thank you,” Sethis replied. He was at the head of the delegation, flanked by Halcyon and Karis. “I know the accommodations are short notice. Is Senator Vascea ready and willing to admit us?”

“We were prepared for such a situation, so fear not. You are most welcome.” Pride etched as a faint smile on Simon’s mouth as he swept a hand back to the pier. “Behold now, Delphys Gate.”

With a wave of his arm, the double doors opened to reveal a massive plaza that connected five more piers. In the plaza’s center, opalite veins coiled around what was surely the world’s most impressive fountain: an eagle, a serpent, and a wild horse engaged in a fierce battle, twined around ornate crests of decorative water and lightning. Sparkling water spewed in rhythmic, slow-moving mist from the fountain, expertly lit with the opalite like a bioluminescent glow.

Wes was penciling hurried charcoal sketches in a journal, eyes roving to take in every last detail. Karis searched for a plaque detailing the feat of artistry, but found none.

She peeked at Halcyon, eager to see his reaction to their remarkable surroundings. But there was no sense of wonder or mystique scrawled across his features. Rather, an odd shadow touched his gaze as he regarded the harbor, grim and silent.

She inched closer to him and dropped to a whisper. “What’s wrong?”

He didn’t say anything for a moment so long that she wondered if he’d heard. Then: “It’s so quiet.”

Karis tipped her head upward, listening. She hadn’t really noticed, but he was right. Delphys Gate had clearly been built to accommodate a tremendous amount of traffic—hundreds of ships sailing in and out, goods and passengers milling about the plaza, an endless bustle of activity. And yet, in the entire half of the harbor that she could see, their delegation was the only party present. They were like lone ants scuttling across a deserted, yawning cliff.

Karis turned back to her surroundings. Halcyon’s observation had colored the landscape for her. Not long ago, the entire port would have been crammed with cunning hawkers, wild adventurers, young hopefuls. Now it lay barren and desolate, signs of a past age. The decorated statues and pieces stood with no witnesses, no company to appreciate their beauty. It filled her with a muted, lonely kind of sorrow that sat in her heart.

“Such are the effects of the Great Storm,” she said. “International trade is at a complete halt.” Mythaven’s own harbor, Havenport, only remained in use due to the strength of the local fishing trade and its close proximity with Cirelu Isle.

Halcyon nodded, but the vague tint of sorrow remained on his features. He almost never displayed emotion. It made Karis wonder.

“Have you seen Delphys Gate before? In full capacity?” she said casually, keeping in stride with him.

He started. “Why would you think that?”

She waved toward the Airlean crowd of gawking soldiers and nobles doing their best to hide their surprise. “I think the last notion on anyone’s mind is that it looks empty.”

“Well, it’s just…big.”

“Grand, yes.”

“Made for many more people than whoever’s currently here.”

“Indeed.”

“That’s all.”

She was thoroughly unconvinced. Halcyon was proficient at lying at the card tables, but not to her. He was clearly being evasive. But she had little time to ponder, as Simon was already ushering the delegation out of the plaza and to the sprawling central platform, where lines of diving vessels were ready to transport them underwater.

Ages ago, Atlantis had been just another large island floating on the Atlas Sea. A grand city of dreams and knowledge and ambition, the center of civilization, the nation of ancient magic and history. Other kingdoms sprouted up on other continents as intrepid adventurers sailed forth, eager to make their own name—but still Atlantis stood as the centerpiece of the world.

Until it had sunk.

Thousands of years ago, before Airlea even existed, the destruction left by a terrible civil war had plummeted all of Atlantis to the bottom of the ocean. It had not submerged underwater, oh no; the grand citadel refused to be swallowed quietly. Where it sank, it left a gaping hole in the middle of the ocean, the water repulsed by the immense, ancient beacons of mana that fueled the city.

A miracle and a boon, really, otherwise everyone in the nation would have drowned.

The sudden drop made traditional sailing to Atlantis impossible, so the city improvised a solution. Over lifetimes of careful planning, they engineered specialized diving vessels that could survive the trip to the ocean’s surface. Then they built a small artificial port a safe distance away from the whirlpooling, turbulent mess around the chasm leading to Atlantis. The port grew and grew until it became Hydras Gate, and then later, its twin Delphys Gate sprouted on the west side to better accommodate trade from the western continent Cethmor.

Which meant, in theory, that the diving vessels had been proven safe for countless generations.

As the Airlean delegation approached the divers, Karis eyed the vessel before her warily. It looked decent enough—a large ship shaped like a beautiful fish, ornately decorated, and attached to a sturdy opalite rail. But truthfully, she did not enjoy the idea of being locked up in an unfamiliar craft deep underwater. One structural failure, and the pressure would pop all of their skulls like fleshy little bubbles. She stared into the looming entryway, which resembled the maw of a terrible beast more than anything else.

She felt Halcyon brush her shoulder. “You alright?”

“Of course,” she said stiffly. She was slightly annoyed that Halcyon seemed completely unbothered, but perhaps that was to be expected from a manacrafter who specialized in water. The ocean loved him so much that it would probably keep him alive specifically.

Halcyon peered closer at her face, and she swore that his lips twitched upward. “This vessel is a transport ship built for stability. We’ll be more than safe.”

Excellent. Now he thought her a coward. Face warming, Karis clasped her hands behind her back and promptly strode down the ramp and into the bowels of the beast.

The Atlantean diver was beautifully sculpted. Gilded lines carved panels of the wall in exquisite geometric patterns, and a display of colored kelp and coral dressed the otherwise bland palette. Nobles and their retinues filtered in, some sitting on curved benches that melted into the walls, others standing at attention.

Her blood thrummed as the diver’s main chamber steadily filled. The delegation was growing restless, partially from being cooped up like market fish for days, partially with the excitement of finally seeing the approaching Atlantis. Finding the nervous energy grating, Karis ducked through a doorway and found herself in a cramped room at the front of the craft.

A ledge jutted out from the wall, acting as a bench, and two chairs were seated behind a wide, clear window that looked out onto the ocean. Karis settled on the ledge and leaned against the wall, enjoying the privacy despite the limited space.

“This is the navigator’s pit,” said Halcyon’s voice from behind her.

She glanced over her shoulder as he ducked into the room and sat next to her. There wasn’t much space. His knee bumped hers and their shoulders pressed together. She smelled ocean spray and almond blossoms, a rich and somewhat addicting scent.

“Navigator?” she said. “I thought the diver was guided by a rail.”

“Back in the day, there was no rail. Atlantis hired navigators to pilot the divers. Not anymore, though. It’s just here in case of emergency.”

“Emergency?” she repeated.

His gaze flickered over her—and again, there was that aggravating, stifled smile. “It’s natural to feel uneasy.”

“You are not uneasy.”

“I’m comfortable in the water. Not everyone has to be.”

“It’s not about the water,” she said, flustered. “It’s about the—being crushed, suffocated. Trapped like vermin with nowhere to go, should the worst happen.”

“Simon Kourios and his men will see to our safety. They have countermeasures.”

“For the bottom of the ocean?”

“Surprisingly, yes. They’ll keep us in one piece.”

Karis stared at where her hands nested in her lap, deceptively relaxed.

Halcyon nudged her lightly. “An itsy bitsy spider…”

“Oh, don’t you start.”

“I’ve heard that they have no love of water.”

She elbowed him, but he only chuckled. She still did not understand how the nickname of spider, spontaneously coined by the brother of none other than Azalea Fairwen, had taken root. Spiders were grotesque and pathetic. Surely there was nothing arachnid about her.

The ship suddenly lurched, tugging hard at Karis’s gut. She instinctively seized the closest stable thing, which happened to be Halcyon’s arm. Her fingers clamped down on his forearm like a vice, which couldn’t have been pleasant—but rather than pull away, he shifted closer and rested a hand over hers. The warm weight of it, perplexingly enough, calmed her.

“It’s fine,” he said. “That always happens when the engine first engages.”

“Oh,” Karis muttered, looking away. They were sitting far too close to be proper, arms linked and legs pressing together, Halcyon’s face just inches from hers. She couldn’t decide whether the proximity was thrilling or upsetting—while her own pulse was unmistakably elevated, Halcyon seemed unmoved by her. Was she really so unremarkable in his eyes?

Would he be so stoic, she wondered idly, if she curled her fingers in his collar and yanked him down, forced him to look her in the eye, to hover just a breath apart? Would he finally be aware of her the same way she was of him, the way he always flickered on the edge of her senses like a persistent insect?

Enough, she scolded herself, banishing those wild, immature thoughts. Objectively, Halcyon was only being considerate, offering her reassurances and human touch to help her through this voyage. No part of his behavior warranted her ire.

Instead, she focused on her surroundings. Outside the window, the water line began to rise as the diver descended into the ocean. The opalite rail lit up like a thread of turquoise silk, trickling into the watery depths. Karis flinched as the water lapped higher and higher at the glass, then swallowed it entirely. Her senses returned at the feeling of Halcyon brushing a thumb over the back of her hand, the warmth skittering delightfully up her arm.

Think nothing of it, she told herself sternly. Not one thought.

From the main chamber, she heard murmurs of discontent and cries of delight rise in tandem. Several in the delegation, it appeared, did not enjoy being helplessly reliant on the goodwill of a few Atlanteans. But others had tossed their cares to the wind, and simply drank in the beautiful, strange sights of a clear underwater view.

“I never thought I’d see this in person,” Wesley Geppett was saying excitedly. “An Atlantean diver! It’s got modules of mana quartz linked by all these veins of opalite that run throughout the craft. Helps to reinforce the diver, offset the water pressure—ah, sorry, ’Zalie, I’m rambling.”

“No, no, it sounds interesting!” said Azalea. “Want to go to the observation deck? We can see it all for ourselves!”

If Karis’s memory served her, which it always did, the ‘observation deck’ in an Atlantean diver was a small chamber with crystal windows, allowing a panoramic view of the ocean. The very vast, suffocating, bottomless ocean. No amount of coin could convince her to set foot in that glorified casket.

But from the sound of hurried footsteps, Wes had tugged Azalea along eagerly. No doubt beaming from ear to ear. Cute, sweet, fearless little things.

Halcyon nudged Karis with his shoulder and pointed out the window, which she had steadfastly been trying to avoid. “Look,” he said.

Out into infinite oblivion? “I think I would rather not.”

“Trust me,” he said. He pointed again. “Look.”

Karis braced herself and slowly turned to the window, gripping Halcyon’s arm harder. Soft lights blooming in the distance distracted her. She watched as they gained form, solidifying into bobbing jellyfish. Then the rest of the ocean emerged into color, like a painting breathing in life—vibrant layers of coral, shimmering ribbons of kelp, trails of fish spiraling in mesmerizing patterns. Bioluminescent rays emitted from opalite lanterns nestled among the coral, coating the scene in ethereal light.

Karis had seen no end of beautiful, impressive things in her lifetime, but even she could not help but stare.

“This route was strategically built to show the beauty of the ocean,” Halcyon murmured. He raised a hand and slid the door shut, locking away the outside commotion and enclosing them in the navigator’s pit. “It’s meant to impress visitors with the power and artistry of Atlantis.”

“Well,” Karis hummed, staring at the rounded shadow of a passing sea turtle, “consider me impressed.”

He huffed in quiet laughter. Karis could not adequately describe how strange and unguarded it felt to be in that little room, bathed with a moving spectrum of color, alone with Halcyon Yuden, the one boy who had ever turned her gaze. It felt dangerous, but the same beautiful, thrilling sort of dangerous that lured her to corruptions, to stormy skies, to the edge of a cliff. The addicting threat of the rush before a long fall, a memory so vivid that it would sear deep into her brain.

“If you want to rest,” Halcyon said, “we have around two hours before we reach Atlantis.”

It would be wise to sleep. Karis’s rest had been fitful throughout the voyage, on edge at the prospect of a traitor within arm’s reach. But somehow, it felt like a pity to let this moment pass in the blink of an eye.

“I can leave, if you’d like,” Halcyon offered, misreading her hesitation.

“No,” Karis said quickly. “That won’t be necessary.”

So Halcyon stayed. Stayed as she watched the spectrum of life and light waltz outside the window. Stayed until the sights blurred before her vision, until her eyes dipped closed.

Stayed until it all faded and before she knew it, she had sunk into sleep.

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