Empty Names

8 - En Route

The rocky coastline makes for a significantly bumpier drive than the commute from the manor to the estate’s forest.  Less bumpy though than Ashan would have expected from riding in the open flat back of a brake carriage drawn by a pair of roughly horse-shaped constructs.  It seems that the late sorceress Bridgewood had preferred the transportation modes of her youth to modern vehicles and left her estate furnished accordingly.  Had she personally built and enchanted this vehicle?  Being her work would explain how it had managed to fit itself through the trunk of a tree half its width, and perhaps even how they had remained upright when emerging vertically from the floorboards of a ruined cabin in the middle of this ice and lichen-strewn wilderness.  

The personal transport of one of the most powerful mages of the past century across multiple worlds and now he was riding in it.  The thrill of the thought sends a shiver down Ashan’s spine.  Or maybe that was a regular shiver.  Road had not exaggerated about the cold.  Given the ice floating in the water in the summer, he guesses that they are somewhere near the Arctic Circle, if not above it.  And while the air might not technically be freezing the wind made it feel that way, even with the enchantments sewn into his robes.  At least they seem to have arrived during a lull in the storm.

Eris, seated across from him with her back to the water and looking up at the cliffs on the other side of the carriage, seems to be handling the weather well, despite wearing shorts under the bright orange puffy coat she pulled from one of the supply crates.  Meanwhile, Road’s jacket extended into a calf-length coat and buttoned itself shortly after exiting the bridge and now they’re leaning out over the side of the cart to look ahead.  Bridgewood - the current Bridgewood - seems altogether indifferent to the change in climate as he sits up front and guides the horse constructs. 

“There’s our target,” Road says as the party round a bend in the coastline half an hour out from the bridge.

Ashan looks to where they are pointing and sees what looks at first glance to be yet another small iceberg floating off the coast.  But no, it is the wrong shade of white to be ice and there is something off about the texture that he cannot quite identify from this distance.  He draws a small circle in the air and stretches it into a tube; a modification on his usual barriers to adjust the air’s refractivity into a makeshift telescope.  His forced realignment of physics is met with a sharp pain shooting through his hand that causes him to gasp at the ice water shock of it.

“I guess it is a little shocking to look at, isn’t it?”  Road says, seemingly misinterpreting the gasp.  

A misinterpretation that is much to Ashan’s relief.  The look Eris gives him however is more suspicious.  He chides himself for not seeing that coming given the ambient temperature.  With so little ambient heat to redirect, of course even a small working is going to get dangerous quickly if he is not careful.  At least with the crossover point so near there should be some aether-analog concept leaking through to draw from instead.  He just needs to remember to suppress the reflex he has built up in the past few years of mostly going without.  

Looking through his conjured telescope he sees the “shocking” details Road was referring to.  The bulk of the floating object - at least what is above the water line - is covered in broad scales with pale flesh visible in the seams between them.  What looks at first like an off-color outcropping on the far side of the so-called island Ashan quickly realizes is a head-on view of the upturned prow of the ship that’s run aground.  A ship constructed of bone and sinew instead of timber and sailcloth.

“That is not an island,” Ashan says.

“It’s not?” Road asks.  “I was talking about the bone ship.”

“Bone ship?” Eris says.  “You left out that part earlier.”

“It didn’t seem relevant,” Road replies.  “It was missing other characteristic signs of being a ghost ship, so it doesn’t change the goal of looking for survivors to help.”

“And a ship made of bone doesn’t seem like a red flag to you that things might be more likely to go bad?”

“Maybe if the bones were a bunch of screaming humanoid skeletons packed together, sure but - actually, Ashan can you pass Eris that spyglass?”

Ashan waves a hand and it floats over to her.

“See the size and shape of some of those frame pieces?” Road asks.  “That’s either whale, some sort of monster, or artificially grown.  Plenty of legitimate reasons for those.”

“Like what?” Eris retorts skeptically.

“Availability of materials,” Ashan offers, “mystical or elemental properties of slain beasts, spiritual communion with nature.  It is a more common practice than you might think, albeit rarely to this scale.”

“There’s also at least one world in this cluster where growing vessels is a common practice,” Road adds, “although from what I understand those tend to look more obviously alive than this.”

“Still think we should approach this one carefully,” Eris says, “especially since Ashan’s right about that not being an island it ran aground on.”  She tries to pass the transparent floating telescope to Road but finds it fixed in pace in relation to the carriage so she slides down the bench to allow Road a view before Ashan can move it.  “From the curve of it, I’m pretty sure that’s the top of something’s head.  Not sure what though with so little above it under the water.”

“Such caution, coming from our resident goddess of strife,” Bridgewood finally speaks up from the front without turning around.  “Or does going out on the water instead of keeping to the shore have you on edge?”

“Watch it Sully,” Eris growls.

“I’ll excuse the diminutive this time since you recently brought me that delectable specimen, but call me that again and I’ll stab you,” Bridgewood says in a tone far too friendly for the explicit threat.  “That goes for everyone here by the way.  And the techie, so I advise you pass that along to her when we get back.”

“That’s enough Sullivan,” Road cuts in before Eris can snap back at him.  “Eris has a point, especially if that island is alive.  I wasn’t able to tell that through the storm yesterday, but that does complicate things now that we know.  At best, it’s another victim that we’ll need to help get home.”

“And at worst?” Ashan asks.

“At worst, it’s a victim in need of help getting home that also happens to be a large angry animal that tries to eat us while we help it.”

“Lovely,” Eris groans.  “Not that it makes much difference without a way to get out there.  I’m not seeing that boat you mentioned, Road.  Come to think of it, I’m not seeing any lighthouses around either.”

“Lachlan keeps the lighthouse cloaked.  Same for the dock down below it.  We should be passing close enough to get inside the field and see it any minute now.”

“Is that not counter to a lighthouse’s purpose?” Ashan asks.

“It’s more of a planar beacon,” Road explains.  “The architectural form’s mostly to add symbolic and conceptual reinforcement to that.”

Ashan gives a hum of acknowledgement and closes his eyes.  Now that he knows to look for it, a few moments of focus is all he needs to pick up the humming tug on his awareness above the cliffside ahead of them.  That, and the growing pressure of conceptual leakage flowing out from the crossover point out over the water that grows with every passing moment as the carriage draws closer.  Yes, he will definitely be able to draw on that.  It is nothing like the energy infusing the Bridgewood Estate - that had been like suddenly being able to breathe unobstructed after years of having a wet cloth over his face - but it will do, so long as nothing too large or complex is required.

Out of habit he extends an arm and points in the general direction of the lighthouse and begins slowly moving it back and forth with his focus until he pinpoints the location.  Shortly after he gets a confident lock on it the tingling sensation of passing through a ward snaps his eyes open.  And there, right in the center of his vision and slightly to the left of where he was pointing is the white tower of the lighthouse looming above them on the clifftop.

“Nice trick,” Eris says at the same time as a trio of soft beeps comes from the front of the cart.

Before Ashan can respond to the compliment a shout of greeting draws his attention back down to sea level where a woman in dark sunglasses, a fur-trimmed coat, and one glove with curly hair a shade too deeply red to be natural (for a local anyway) is waving at them from shore-end of a nearby wooden pier that hadn’t been there a few minutes ago.

“Oi, Road! ‘Bout time your arse showed up.  Do you have any idea how long I’ve been freezing my tits off waiting for you out here?”

“Captain Cabetha!” Road calls as they vault over the side of the still-moving carriage and run over to her, stopping just short and giving a quick salute undercut by a smile.  “Knowing you, I’d say about the five minutes since one of your boys saw us coming down the coast.”

The captain laughs heartily and shakes Road’s proffered hand.  “Aye, you’ve got me there.  Good to see you again, you old vagrant.  I swear, you haven’t aged a day.”

“It hasn’t been that long,” Road says with a shrug, “and you’re not looking bad yourself.  How are the boys?”

“Same gaggle of scurvy little buggers as ever.  And I take it this lot is your new crew?” She asks, gesturing to Asha and the others disembarking from the carriage that’s now pulled up next to her.

A round of introductions follows while Bridgewood sends the horse constructs on ahead down the pier to the rust-spotted vessel at the far end.  While shaking the captain’s hand Ashan realizes that what he’d mistaken for a glove at a distance is actually a tattoo of a gauntlet entirely covering the skin of her right hand.  He squeezes a little harder and feels a tingle.  Enchanted, but it would be rude to pry further.

“By the way,” Road says to Captain Cabetha as they all begin walking toward the boat, “I can’t help but notice Lachlan’s not here to greet us.”

“Bah, the old coot never leaves his lighthouse, you know that.  You’d think someone that hates the cold so much would have set up shop further south.”

“Alchemists love their privacy even more than sorcerers,” Bridgewood interjects.  “I’m more surprised you bothered to come down the pier for us, particularly since my friend tells me you’re providing your services pro bono.”

“After Road helped me out of my own wreck, it’s the least I can do to pay it forward to some other poor sod.  And if there just so happens to be salvage to be had, all the better.  Besides,” she says while pushing up the bridge of her sunglasses with one finger, “I like to get a look at passengers before inviting them on my boat.” 

“Wise and generous as well as beautiful,” Bridgwood muses.

The captain barks a short laugh.  “Flattery will get you nowhere, pretty boy.  The strapping lass on the other hand…”  She nods toward Eris.

Ashan picks up his pace, wishing to be anywhere other than where that conversation seems to be going.  Reaching the gangplank of the converted car ferry - the Fluke Chance the worn paint on the side names it - he finds that the carriage is already on deck with clamps on its wheels and a net over the back to secure the crates.  Stopping next to the now-inactive horse constructs and looking around he finds an uncanny number of rats scurrying about the deck, but no crew in sight.  The sound of collective laughter behind him announces the arrival of the captain and the others.

“Oh, good, the boys have already seen to your luggage,” Captain Cabetha says.  “No point dawdling until the storm comes back then.”  She pulls a brass dog whistle on a chain around her neck from underneath her coat and blows on it.  On cue the rats redirect their scurrying.  A small swarm surges past Ashan and then proceeds working a set of pulleys to pull up the gangplank and lock it into place as the prow just in time for the boat’s propellers to roar to life and begin moving the vessel out to sea.

“I’ll be up in the wheelhouse,” the captain says.  “Don’t get too comfortable, this will be a short trip.  The boys will handle tying us off for boarding when we get there, but they’ll be keeping it loose.  If that beastie these poor bastards you’re helping have gotten stuck on starts moving we’re shoving off, whether you’re on board or no.”  And with that she leaves the party on the deck.

“She wouldn’t really leave us, would she?” Eris asks.

“I trust her to hold out as long as she can without risking her own ship,” Road says.  “That should be plenty of time.”

“How reassuring.”

Road opens their mouth to say something more but is interrupted by a squeak down at their feet.  Having gained their attention the rat sits back on its hind legs and makes a series of gestures with its forepaws.  Road makes some similar gestures in return and gives a salute that the rat reciprocates before scurrying away.

“What was that about?” Ashan asks.  “I am afraid my translation charm does not parse hand signs well.

“He said we should step away from the railing,” Road answers.  “This ship may be large, but so are the waves and they’ll be larger still before journey’s end.”

“Lovely,” Eris groans once again and immediately starts distancing herself from the boat’s edge.

Rather more calmly, Ashan follows suit.  If they only have a short time before the real work begins, then best he find a stable spot to meditate and focus on adjusting his spells to draw from the crossover.  Something tells him this is going to be a long day.