Atissa

“What’s going on?” a new voice asked.

“I don’t know,” the voice of the sailor said. “Your man went down to have a look. Then there were some suspicious noises…”

“And you didn’t check on him?” the presumed warrior asked.

“Look, the sage told us not to,” the sailor said, defensively.

“Useless,” the warrior murmured.

Atissa could hear him stepping closer to the hatch above her. His steps were easy to distinguish from the sailor’s. He wore sandals and moved less surefooted on the unfamiliar deck.

“Rionnos, you there?”

Atissa retreated further into the shadows behind the ladder. Thanks to her Gift, she knew he was the only other warrior on board. The rest of the men above were barefooted sailors. From what she’d heard, they’d been warned about engaging with her and Hermistos. Hopefully, that would work in her favor when she tried to get past them.

“By the gods, Rionnos”, the warrior shouted down, “if you touched the wine, I will beat you blind.”

Come down, Atissa thought. Nothing to be nervous about.

At first, she’d wanted to dash up the ladder and flee the ship before anybody realized what was going on. But when she’d sensed the man approaching, she’d hesitated. She didn’t want to face him uphill.

Holding Rionnos’ blade in her hand, Atissa could feel the cold metal against her skin. It was much heavier than her copper knife, the width of the bronze blade marking it as a weapon. Not something she was used to wielding.

“He found the wine indeed,” Hermistos shouted happily from the other side of the room. “And he made a mess of it!”

Atissa shuddered, remembering the desperate struggle. Did she have a choice?

“Ah, I hope the underworld swallows you whole!” The warrior came down, stepping heavy on the wooden rungs.

Atissa pushed any feelings of doubt aside. There was no time for it now.

The first foot came into view. A little more, she thought, slowly crouching while controlling her breathing. This was a hunt. She had to stay calm and time her launch. Her prey was only a short jump away from her.

“Where are you?” the warrior asked into the half-dark space.

Atissa pounced.

She saw her target, the back of the right foot, through the rungs. It rose and came down again. The moment it settled to carry the weight for its opposite to move, the blade hit its mark.

Bronce slid easily through skin. Atissa didn’t hesitate. The feeling was familiar enough to her, having gutted game all her life.

The warrior screamed and he fell forward as she twisted the blade out of his calf. A sliver of guilt had her adjust her target at the last moment. A sharp stab to the tendon, would have taken the man’s ability to stand or run, but it would also have left him crippled for life. The calf muscle would do.

Swinging around the ladder, she landed a savage stomp kick against the screaming warrior’s head, shoving him to the side. He groaned as he fell, thick blood oozing from his leg.

The way out was finally free.

Atissa spared Hermistos one last glance. “I’ll be back, I promise!”

“Go!”

A heartbeat later she’d reached the top of the ladder. The afternoon sun peaked through clouds, but it was weak enough for her eyes to adjust quickly.

Climbing through the hedge she was suddenly surrounded by two sailors. The men stared down at her dumbfounded, too shocked to even consider interfering with her.

Atissa ducked and slipped past them, managing to swerve a third man rolling up a rope. Sprinting, she didn’t pause to orientate herself. Listening to the sailor’s steps on the wooden deck had outlined the route to the plank connecting the ship with the pier in her mind.

Her foot suddenly hit an object, causing her to stumble for a moment. Stupid, Atissa thought, as the wooden bucket rolled away.

There in front of her, only two short steps away was the plank. Her successful escape was close. She allowed herself a tiny smile but regretted it immediately, as the movement brought fresh pain from her cheeks.

She leaped onto the plank. There was nobody in her way. Most of the sailors had barely noticed what was going on. She was free.

Hurrying down the plank, Atissa considered where to turn next. She needed Mark to get Hermistos back from mistress Bel’Sara and he would be at the palace.

A heartbeat before she reached the end of the plank, a column of bright orange fire shot up in front of her. She managed to stop and jumped back just before the flames could lick at her skin.

The sudden obstacle immediately grew to twice her own height and began to twist and rotate. While Atissa still gapped in shock, the column began sliding forward, forcing her to retreat up the plank.

What is this? Atissa glanced quickly over her shoulder. The half dozen sailors spread out across the deck were the only ones on board. And they were standing completely still, frozen in place and looking fearful at the spectacle in front of them.

Instinctively, Atissa turned back to the pier, her eyes darting back and forth among the crowd. If the creator of the fire column wasn’t on the ship, he had to be there. She focused her senses.

There.

Her nose caught a whiff of the magus’ foreign smell. The aroma of foreign spices and faraway places. And Omiri was with her, smelling of horse.

They were approaching from the left. Now that Atissa knew where to look, she could easily pinpoint the movement in the crowd. Omiri was pushing her way through as quickly as she could. Mistress Bel’Sara followed a couple of paces behind staring concentrated in her direction.

She’s controlling the flames, Atissa thought. She’d retreated to the top of the plank and turned around. She had to get off the ship another way. And quickly.

She started running along the side toward the stern of the ship. The railing wasn’t that much higher than the pier. She could easily make the jump.

A loud woosh sounded behind her and before she could take her next breath flames sprung up all around the ship cutting off her escape.

The sailors started to scream. Flames obscured their view in all directions. They were caught in a burning prison. Trying to get away the men flocked to the center of the ship, huddling together like animals to find safety.

Desperately searching for another way out, Atissa considered going back for Hermistos. Mistress Bel’Sara surely wouldn’t burn the ship down. Would she?

Out of nowhere, a sailor barged past, almost sending her to the deck. His eyes were wide with panic, he didn’t even register their collision.

Seeing the primal fear, Atissa noticed something. She didn’t feel it. Not really. Not deep down. She didn’t feel the panic like this man who clearly believed he was about to die in a vicious fire.

Uncle Tatros had always said, there were three things, people were instinctively afraid of. Snakes, fire, and the dark. He believed the gods made it that way so people would stumble about for their amusement.

A gust of wind touched Atissa’s uncovered skin and it came to her. “It isn’t hot!”

Surrounded by fire, she should be drenched in sweat. She should have trouble breathing. But she was fine.

The old hag tricked me, she thought, and started to run. She’d lost valuable time. Could she still make it?

Sprinting towards the wall of flames, a strange feeling washed over her. Her eyes told her she was running into danger but her deeper instincts told her there was none. In fact, they sensed a danger to her left.

Atissa’s head whipped around at the same moment that Omiri broke through the flame wall. She tried to react, but she couldn’t turn fast enough.

The nomad girl tackled her. The impact was painful and her attacker was on top of her in a heartbeat.

Don’t stay still, Atissa thought. She’d lost her blade in the collision, but she wasn’t helpless. Pulling the other girl closer, she used her legs to push her hips off the deck. Angling her bridge to the side, she rolled them both over, ending up on top. But only for a moment. Omiri’s strength exceeded hers, and she didn’t let go. With a curse in a language unfamiliar to Atissa, the other girl rolled them over once more.

The struggle went on. Omiri tried to hold Atissa down. Atissa in turn fought to offbalance the nomad girl enough to get out from underneath her.

If I could just get to a leg, Atissa thought desperately. She knew she was losing. She was smaller and having Omiri on top of her meant carrying a lot of her weight. She would be tiring much faster.

Atissa tried the different technics she had learned but to no avail. Omiri was gritting her teeth, but she managed to frustrate all attempts. She watched me train, Atissa remembered in desperation.

“Enough!” mistress Bel’Sara’s voice donnered over the ship.

Atissa couldn’t see her. Her face was pushed against the planks by Omiri’s chest. But she could hear her staff hitting the deck as the sage walked closer.

“Get her up,” the sage said. “You and you! Hold her!”

Rough sailor hands grabbed Atissa and pulled her to her feet. She tried to rip herself free to no avail. Two strong men were holding her with bronze grips.

Looking up she saw the sage glowering at her from two paces away. The wall of flames had disappeared, leaving no burn marks behind.

Mistress Bel’Sara shook her head. “Foolishness.” She pointed accusingly at Atissa. “Why are you unable to see that this is what needs to happen? It is your destiny.”

“How do you know that? You don’t even know which god I’m supposed to follow!” It had come out angrier than Atissa had expected. She wasn’t the only one surprised by her sudden fury. So far, she’d mostly felt helpless and desperate at her own powerlessness. But anger and frustration had been simmering below the surface the whole time.

The sage’s eyes narrowed. “Is this why you did it? Youthful rebelliousness?”

“What?”

Mistress Bel’Sara turned to Omiri. “Take two of the sailors and bring up the trickster.”

The nomad girl gave Atissa an unreadable glance and hurried off.

“What’re you going to do to Hermistos?” Atissa asked sharply. Once more she tried to struggle against the hands holding her.

The sage studied her for a moment before answering. “You must get over your childish rage. It is only going to hold you back. In time you will come to see that all I am trying to do is guiding you to your predestined fate.”

Atissa felt pangs of white-hot rage again. She kept herself from spitting at the arrogant woman’s feet. “Is that what the gods told you to do? Did they tell you to take me away against my will?”

For a blink of an eye, the sage looked uncertain. But then she pressed her lips together and straightened herself. “No. Little of this was foretold. We are…far off any possible path the gods speak of. The time of the Great Upheaval has begun, and we are walking in the dark.”

“Aham…mistress?” A man in finer garments than the sailors carefully approached the sage. He was as pale as the men around them.

“Ready the ship,” mistress Bel’Sara said, without taking her eyes off Atissa. “We will leave as soon as we have thrown the other one overboard.”

“Don’t hurt Hermistos!” Atissa shouted.

“I am not,” mistress Bel’Sara said. “We are just going to leave him behind. It is not on me to punish him for what he did to you.”

Atissa glowered at the older woman.

The sage sighed. “It is fine if you hate me. But for now, you must follow me. At least until we have restored the flow of destiny.”

“This is what I dislike about all of you.” Hermistos cheerful voice came from the hatch. Weak as he was, a sailor had to carry him up.

“Magi, priests, sages”, Hermistos rolled his eyes, “you are always so preachy. Seriously, who put you in charge of implementing destiny?”

The sailor let his burden carefully down. Hermistos' legs wobbled as he tried to stand and he might have fallen if the men hadn’t quickly supported him.

“We are going to leave you here in Riadnos,” mistress Bel’Sara said. “You are clearly too much trouble to bring with us.”

“Some people say, I am trouble wherever I go.”

Mistress Bel’Sara met Hermistos' eyes. “Yes.”

Atissa felt panic. All around her, the sailors were readying the ship. Two had jumped onto the pier, presumably to loosen the ropes, and she watched as they pulled in the plank.

Would they just drop Hermistos over the side and cast off?

There was nothing she could do. The two sailors held her with ease no matter how hard she struggled.

What can I do? She thought desperately. Then she sensed it. The wind had shifted and a breeze from inland carried the countless smells of the city out onto the lake. And one of them was so very familiar to Atissa. She searched for Hermistos' eyes, but his attention was on the sage. He seemed to be determined to perform as many quips as he could before being thrown off the ship.

Atissa kicked the sailor to her right in the leg. The man grunted in pain and tightened his grip, making her yelp.

Mistress Bel’Sara only spared her an exasperated glance over her shoulder but when Hermistos smiled at her she caught his eyes.

Keep talking, she thought, forming the words with her lips, while pointing towards the city with her eyes.

“Are you sure you want to leave me behind?” Hermistos asked. “You might regret it.”

“In your state? And in this city?” mistress Bel’Sara asked. “You will not do anything stupid under Rehala’s eyes.” She pointed to the smoking volcano in the distance. “Look, she is searching for you. And you only showed a glimpse of your true self. Whatever is left of that.”

“That’s right”, Hermistos said to the sailor holding him up. “Better treat me gently.” The man had become even paler listening to the exchange between the sage and the young man.

“You have no place in this,” Bel’Sara said. “Leave here and lick your wounds.”

“Who says that? Destiny?” Hermistos asked derisively. “Destiny can lick dust in the underworld for all I care.” He cocked his head to the side, smiling sheepishly. “This role you are assuming is not yours either, is it?”

Atissa saw something shift in the sage. Her shoulders visibly stiffened. “What does he mean?” They needed to win more time.

Hermistos shrugged. “Oh, I never paid much attention to all the talk about prophecies and such. Life is so boring if you know what is going to happen beforehand.” He stroked his chin as if he was trying to recall something. “But the Great Upheaval, that’s a big one. I do not think…no, the hero’s mentor described there does not resemble you much. You are a counselor, not a fighter.”

“No, I am not,” mistress Bel’Sara said curtly. “Time to go.” She gestured to the sailor who started walking Hermistos to the pier site of the ship.

“Well, I guess you are doing what you can now that old Mel’Chor is gone,” Hermistos said.

“Wait!”

The sailor stopped and looked nervously over his shoulder. So did every other person in earshot.

Mistress Bel’Sara walked slowly closer. All emotion seemed to have drained from her face.

The sailor shuffled around so Hermistos faced the sage. The young man was the only one who seemed unperturbed by the change in atmosphere.

“Tell me what you know,” mistress Bel’Sara said in a flat voice.

Hermistos smiled. “What exactly do you mean?”

Instead of an answer, the sage pressed the tip of her staff against his sternum. One of the many carvings started to glow. A thin line of smoke rose right in front of Hermistos face.

Hermistos flinched backward. The movement had not come from him but from the poor sailor supporting him. A glance from the sage made him freeze in place.

Atissa couldn’t help but feel a pang of pity for the shaking man.

Mistress Bel’Sara set her eyes back on Hermistos. “Master Mel’Chor is one of the most powerful magi ever to walk this world. Men, demons, and gods have tried to end him and failed.”

“And yet, you believe me,” Hermistos said, seemingly unimpressed. He met the sage’s eyes without flinching. “Tell me, did you see it?”

There was a moment of silence, as the famous magus and the sickly-looking young man stared at each other. Atissa could feel the pressure that exuded from the two weighing down on her. She didn’t dare to make a sound.

Tearing her eyes away for a heartbeat, she saw that the ship’s crew was feeling the same. Tension hung in the air. Those that had been watching were frozen in place. Those that had their backs turned didn’t dare to look. Nobody moved.

“He was not meant to fall in that place,” mistress Bell’Sara said, more to herself.

Hermistos snorted. “There you are going with fate and prophecies again. Ships sink. Carts drive off the road. People die.”

A sudden thought seemed to have occurred to the sage and her eyes narrowed. The smoke rising from her staff became thicker. “Whoever would have come for him would have paid dearly.” The tip of the staff pushed the hem of his tunic aside, exposing the sickly white skin. “Even a god might not have gotten off unscathed.”

The sailor supporting Hermistos leaned as far away as he could without letting go.

“Oh, this”, Hermistos touched his chest, “is something I did to myself, I am afraid. An unfortunate but necessary sacrifice. I think master Mar’Doug would agree that to build a good bridge, you need the right materials. Unfortunately, my project ripped apart right after completion, leaving me like this. But then again”, he turned his head, “it seemed to have worked out quite nicely.”

Captivated by the exchange between the sage and the mysterious young man, nobody, except Atissa, had paid any attention to anything else. Now all eyes followed Hermistos’ gaze.

There at the other end of the ship stood Mark, his staff planted firmly on the deck. Behind him, Delios and a warrior climbed over the railing.

A few sailors jumped in shock while others just looked at them with startled expressions.

“Hah,” Hermistos said, looking back to the woman in front of him. “Is life not so much better if you do not know what is going to happen next? Thank you for bringing me up for this.”