“You don’t have to do this,” the human king said as he took two sneaky steps towards Clythia, grain scrunching beneath his boots. “Look, Hilin’s head acts way later than the rest of her body. Probably her mind has caught up with her actions by now. If you let her go, she will apologize. We shouldn’t start off on the wrong foot. There’s a long journey ahead of us.” He stretched out his arms in a gesture for her to calm down and let go.
Clythia hesitated, not because she felt an ounce of mercy for the weakling human who could have done anything less stupid but instead chose to raise a hand at her—sealing her miserable human life with an agonizing death. It was because of what killing a civilian from a foreign kingdom might entail. It could start a war if Kay was the dramatic sort, or as he said, it could be the beginning of stepping off on the wrong foot. The rest of the journey would involve constantly watching her back and that of her travelers, lest one of the humans wish to avenge Hilin’s death.
But it could also mean, for Clythia and MakeFort, for Morven and Cravax, for her fellow travelers—who would spread the news when they got back to DavinSaw—a sign of weakness. A sign of weakness that could make anyone stomp on her whenever they wished, because they would start to believe she was the forgiving sort, and tarnish the reputation of the arcane community as spineless, letting other species get confident about crossing the Witch Queen, fearing no consequence.
She could feel the drilling stare of Glythia, the anticipatory stance of Morven and Kay, pondering what the Witch Queen would do next. A stutter and a choke were spurting out of Hilin’s throat. Clythia increased the gap between the invisible rope and the human girl’s neck by a fraction, allowing a stifled whimper to break out before tightening her grip again on the air. Hilin’s veins were bulging, her face flushed, faintly visible beneath the feeble glow of the moon; her lungs, denied even a single inhale, triggered her legs and arms to wriggle in midair.
Clythia would rather watch her back than make a fool of herself. She would rather start a war that could last as long as the blinking lifespan of a human than give the three rulers before her the wrong impression.
Crack.
Gravity welcomed Hilin’s corpse with a thud, causing sand to puff up from the impact. The corpse was buried in the sand headfirst, save for the face, which, due to its wrong angle, was directly facing the inky sky, vacant eyes reflecting the crescent moon.
The vampire whistled, hands in pocket. The werewolf was gazing at the corpse grimly. Her cold stare found the human as he let his arms fall to his sides and went rigid.
Clythia clicked her tongue. “A slippery hand tends to trigger another.” She craned her neck toward the corpse. “Don’t start a fight you can't win, especially when your hand is your most impulsive organ.” She shrugged and met King Kay’s gaze, whose nostrils were flaring like a bull ready to charge. “‘Don’t start off on a wrong foot,’ you say, but one of you just did. And a wrong foot is meant to be amputated, or it will cause harm to all parties near it because it tends to trip over again and again.”
“We cannot continue like this,” the Prime strolled toward Clythia. “The journey hasn’t started yet, a thousand deaths await ahead of us, and two of our people are dead. We can’t survive what is about to come if we are already divided amongst ourselves.”
“We? Our?” Clythia’s chuckle was low. “My people are those I have brought with me. It is your fault you have a dead werewolf in your hands. Don’t pin it on ‘us’—the spirit of family or whatnot—to exempt yourself from your responsibility as the Prime.”
“I know it’s my responsibility,” the Prime snapped, cutting her off with outrage in his tone. “I went away to relieve myself before I could warn them not to approach the monoliths. How could I have known someone would be dead within that fraction of time?”
His stare was innocent; he was being honest—too honest, proving a point with an embarrassing bathroom detail none of the rulers here should bother to know.
“Well, it depends on how long it took you to dump off... things,” Morven’s amused voice came. Clythia couldn’t help but chuckle alongside the vampire. But the werewolf didn’t find it humorous; a growl reverberated through his throat. A wolf’s growl.
“Lay a finger, and you won’t have a sanctuary in my ship,” Morven warned, though his tone was still cooing with mirth. With that, Glythia’s growl ceased.
The human king was oddly quiet, and his control was enough to snag Clythia’s attention. His gaze still boring into her, perhaps imagining a thousand ways of dismantling her, limb from limb, picking the most agonizing way of turning her into a corpse.
She yawned, unbothered by the death-promising gaze of Kay, nor by the growing tension between the vampire and the werewolf. The evasive sleep was now lurking in her joints, urging her to go back to the tent and cuddle in fine sheets.
The three humans were huddled together behind their king, staring at her apprehensively. None of their gazes held fear towards her, but a uniform icy flame of hatred burned brightly on their features. And some part of her admired them for it; humans have more spine than they were credited for, after all.
Then she turned on her heels, her bare feet getting tickled by the sand beneath.
“You will regret this,” came Kay’s gritted voice, pausing her stroll for a moment.
She shrugged off his hollow warning before she continued on to her tent.
As soon as the sun dunked in the horizon, everyone had boarded the ship. The left side of the vast deck huddled the werewolves, while the opposite was dotted by Clythia and her travelers. Kay and his three companions were with Morven as he maneuvered the ship to a gut-wrenching speed, his cloak fluttering with the gust, and his marble-white fingers clenched on the wheel.
The wind was a lash of frost whipping against her skin violently. The acceleration was weaving the background into a blur of navy blue and lines of white, a smudge of the blended sky and water, the latter foaming ferociously around the ship.
Vina had retched her guts out three times due to being seasick, and Clythia was smug at the sight of the reserved woman’s control out of leash—save for her hair, which was in a tight bun, not even a strand out of place.
The scholars were scribbling on parchments, eavesdropping on conversations among the other species. There was an emerald earring attached to their earlobes, a magical ornament capable of heeding distant sounds.
The earrings were borrowed from the lady of spies. When Casarda insisted some of her spies tag along on the journey, Clythia had refused. The innovators and scholars were more loyal to DavinSaw; they were not as sly as the spies, capable of toying with words, withholding information, or acting on their own accord—something Casarda did often.
And a leader reflects its subjects.
Clythia wasn’t ready to have ten more Casardas on this journey. Perhaps she should evaluate the loyalties of the unchecked spies once she returned. Thus, she chose to rely on the blunt recording of some of the best minds of her kingdom, who were eager to learn new things like their lord, Masai.
Casarda was flirting with a group of stoic werewolves, their gaze ravaging her body, which was barely shielded by a sheer gown. Even in the cold, this woman chose vanity.
Clythia peeled her stare off the lady of spies, taking in the ship. It was as regular as any other sailing ship; its hull was made of teak wood, and its cabins were square rooms with vast space—no wonder, given the sheer size of the ship. And It had funnels emitting gas.
The only thing that stood out was the sail, which was mahogany at first glance. But due to the lashing wind, Clythia was forced to squint, revealing it to be cadmium yellow. She rubbed her eyes and squinted again; it turned violet. She kept squinting like a fluttering torch until a range of colors blinked in and out before her. Emerald. Sangria. Ginger. Mauve. Cerulean. Magenta. Then she bulged her eyes, and it was mahogany yet again.
Some had caught the bizarre sail’s coloring, their faces scrunching funnily and whispering their strange discovery to those unaware.
Afia was fluttering her eyelids, her face lit with excitement, as if she had discovered a hidden gem. Clythia wondered what was going through the artist’s mind with the throng of hues she was observing.
Clythia's late mother would have had the same reaction; she had had a knack for hues and colors. More often than not, she was scolded for picking a juniper shade instead of moss for a ball dress.
Clythia walked to the ship’s wheel, flanked by two guards.
“What is the fabric of your sail made of?” Clythia’s voice was barely audible against the rumbling of the water.
Morven turned to her, descending the steps. Kay took the wheel. So, the human king knew how to steer this strange ship? Interesting.
But that wasn’t the only interesting thing about the man who had begun maneuvering the ship with precision. His figure was different from the one she recalled a few years ago.
Enshrouded in a thick cloak, she hadn’t had the chance to see the drastic change in Kay yesterday. But now, the leather short coat and tight pants were revealing his accentuated broad shoulders narrowing at the waist, his arms were bulged, and his thighs and legs were toned.
“I stole the fabric from an alien ship,” Morven’s voice whirled her attention to his sculpted features. “In that world, different colors or the combination of them defines matter or energy. Mahogany,” he pointed at the flapping sails, “is speed, and when you squint, you can see how that speed came to be, what colors are used for this beautiful ship to sail with amazing swiftness,” his eyes scoured around fondly. “For instance, emerald, cerulean, and mauve will give it the ability to be locomotive.”
Observing the confused look on her face, he continued. “It’s not magic, per se, but a different law of nature from another world. A parallel world. Another Zyvern.”
Now he was talking pure gibberish.
But before she could probe any further, she lurched forward, colliding with his chest. Clythia was usually unnerved by the vampire, but nothing compared to coming in contact with his stiff skin that was felt beneath layers of garments. There was no pulse, no heartbeat, no life. He was like a well-preserved corpse of a prince, minus the smell of rot. Goosebumps raked through her body as she staggered to balance herself and took a step back.
The sudden bump had caused those not holding anything to lose their footing. The wind and the rumble of water had abated, and the crescent moon, larger than yesterday, was an unmoving glow, surrounded by sprinkled dots.
The ship had come to a complete halt.
“Have we arrived yet?” The concerned voice of Glythia came.
They hadn’t. There was nothing but water mass around them.
Morven darted to the wheel in a blink. “What happened? Did you stop steering?”
“No,” Kay began twirling the wheel, “Look for yourself.” He let go, peering at the wheel as Morven tried different motions.
Another bump.
This time, Clythia and everyone else were hurled backwards as the force became more aggressive, except for the vampire who was holding the wheel firmly. A wave of murmurs and panic reverberated through the crowd.
“I think we have a situation,” Afia said, her face ghostly as she peered down the hull. Vina and Casarda followed her gaze, whatever they were gazing at, draining the colors off their faces.
Clythia bolted to the side of the deck. A scaled, navy-blue mass was coiled around the hull, unnervingly akin to the ocean. The ominous creak of the strained oak was accompanied by gasps and panicked whispers.
“What is that?” Casarda inquired, her voice shivering.
As if in response, all hell broke loose.
The ship tilted sideways, tossing those onboard towards the other end. Inks, parchments, and sacks littered the floor. Screams of terror and grunts filled the air as throngs of bodies collided with one another.
Clythia grabbed a mast pole. From her line of sight, a dark bulk of water was sliding up slowly, as thick as a dragon’s neck, its scales gleaming dark green like a net stretched over water. She knew it was water because the lamps placed on the porches of the cabins revealed it as such. But the problem was it was growing as if the ocean wanted to take a peek at its intruders before it drowned them whole.
This was no manipulation of water magic; no one could pull off such a theatric act, no one was this powerful. She wasn’t this powerful. This was a creature that belonged solely to the ocean.
A small circle formed where its mouth was supposed to be and began growing slowly. As it expanded, the gust emitting from it cloyed the air with the smell of death and rot, lurching her gut and scaling bile up her throat. The broadening circle exposed yellow and black jagged teeth that were jutting inwards, poised to grind anything to ash.
Morven was walking towards the monster, his feet adhesive on the sloped deck floor—a vampiric perk—and holding a dog in his arms.
Is he insane?
“That’s impossible,” he muttered.
“What. Is. That?” Clythia seethed, darting her gaze from the mouth that was further expanding to the madcap vampire.
“A Charybdis,” Morven stared down at the whimpering golden puppy. “It’s going to be alright, Mimi. Nothing will happen to you, okay?”
It must have been during the chaos that he fetched his pet. Who knew the vampire had a soft spot for pets? But that would be something she would wonder about later if she got out of here alive.
“What is a Charybdis?” Glythia shifted his stance to a pounce, still slanted and leaning against the railing, the werewolves doing the same as they nocked an arrow and aimed at the mouth.
“A sea monster, I only read about when I was a young boy.”
“That was eons ago,” Clythia shrieked. Before the era of the Sovereign.
“If we don’t jump into the water right now, we will all be swallowed whole,” Morven warned.
“Are you out of your mind?” Glythia shrilled. “There is nothing out there; we can’t outswim this thing!”
The monster darted forward, teeth caving in two werewolves.
That was enough for the travelers to plunge into the water, swinging down the railings. Clythia let go of the mast, rolling down dangerously close to the imminent mouth before she willed a wind to hurl her towards the water. The last thing she glimpsed was Afia conjuring an orb around the puppy’s head, and the glint of Morven’s gratified look, before she sank into the frothing ocean, protected by a fort of wind around her.
The arcane travelers would be as fortunate as her, if they weren’t clumsy enough to die. The other species, well, may luck be with them.
