Silvered Spell - 1. Chapter 1

11 Sun’s Spark, Year of His Majesty, Deoratus IV, 1231 CT

“That was awful.” Calen groaned. He had all but resigned his will to play any more music that day. Though he was a sure soprano, his present frustrations only served to suppress the usual tenderness in his voice. Belatedly, he turned his attention towards a cream-colored tabby sleeping at the foot of the bed, complaining, “At this rate, Mertz, they might as well call you the bard and delegate me to the role of fuzzy companion.”

And how nice that would be for a change. He thought enviously, as he plucked the gittern up from where he’d left it on the bed. More than careful once in hand, however, he placed the instrument down on the bedside table gently. A grumbling noise suddenly escaped his stomach, and he was only glad that no one else was around to hear it except for Mertz. Though if the cat cared at all, he certainly didn’t show it.

Calen mumbled something unintelligible to himself, as he tried to recall when he’d started playing that day. He figured that it must have been some time shortly before noon. Or maybe it had been even earlier than that? There had been a little bit of light outside, surely? It was always so hard to tell, especially when he reconciled with letting the music drown out everything else around him. Still, he knew for certain that he hadn’t taken breakfast, or lunch, which could only mean one thing: He hadn’t left his quarters since yesterday! In fact, he couldn’t seem to remember the last meal he’d had at all. Breakfast, the day prior, seemed all too likely the case.

Even still, Calen imagined that starving at sea was still a better fate than going home.

Having spent the last four months at sea, it hadn’t taken very long for Calen to develop a tendency for mindless practice sessions. Back home in Corariel, he’d never been allowed the freedom to much of anything that he liked. The Bardic Masters decided when and where he played or performed, and for how long or for whom. To them, it was only about how his bardic magic could best be used to serve their interests. It was never about the music to them, much less how Calen wanted to express himself through it. He guessed that it was because most of them weren’t bardic mages themselves, and that they were only jealous. But they could all rot in the seven hells for all he cared. He was a runaway now, and he’d do whatever he pleased.

Of course, there was always a small voice in the back of Calen’s mind that told him they were right, and the recent weeks had only served to solidify those doubts, as his playing habits became more and more intense. Despite his best attempts to ignore it, he was having a hard time coming to terms with the fact that the only thing that made him feel alive anymore, was the same thing that might as well be killing him if he wasn’t more careful. The amount of time he was spending in practice would have been concerning for any average bard. But with the additional layer of magic thrown into the mix, the likes of which veiled even the slightest of notes, Calen could completely shut down all awareness and bodily feeling—an escape from reality altogether. He didn’t much care that he had to surrender himself to the fugue-like state of which bardic magic often elicited, it was his choice to make.

He felt safe there. But at what cost?

A sudden thought then occurred to Calen. He rummaged through the bedside table drawer and promptly produced a pocket mirror, curious as to the horror he’d undoubtedly inflicted on himself this time around. Though much to his surprise, what he saw was far more grotesque than even he could bring himself to believe.

His lips were cracked, his hair was a greasy disaster, and the bags beneath his eyes were so droopy that he surely hadn’t gotten more than a wink of sleep in the last few nights. If he’d shown up to play at court looking like this, it would have been a scandal on its own merit. Which only made him wonder how anyone back home could ever find the time to fawn over someone as hideous as he was, even whilst appearing at his best.

At any rate, it was clear to Calen that a proper haircut was duly in order. What had once been mostly straight, smooth, and of medium length, was now very much disheveled, matted, and hanging over his rounded ears. No doubt the result of a summer devoid of more civilized grooming standards. It was a shade of silver, though nearing white now, having been bleached regularly by the intensity of the sun out on the open waters. However, the only thing he could focus on was that browbeaten frown. It was evident that what he needed was to get some fresh air, and by the unholy sounds that his stomach was making, some food as well!

Calen exhaled slowly, closing the mirror as stood to his feet. No more thinking about that awful city then. I shouldn’t care what people think about me. I’m never going back there. Though, I do look ghoulish…

Falling back across the bed with a defeated moan, Calen splayed his arms out in front of him. He turned his palms inward and scowled at what he saw. They were small, deft hands. But where once was callused skin, now ached red and raw flesh, aggressively pulsing with a steady, though disheartening thump.

“Just what you get.” He murmured scoldingly to himself, “Winds help me, Master Vardolf would drop dead if he saw this mutilation! I knew I should have swiped some salves back in Obern.”

Rolling over onto his left side, Calen faced the foot of the bed.

“I’ll never be a bardic-mage, Mertz. Hells, I won’t even make it as a minstrel if I keep this pace up! Tell me I’ll have any skin left on these hands before the year is up, and I’ll throw that shameful noisemaker straight into the sea. I swear it, I will.”

He wouldn’t.

To dispose of his most beloved instrument, would be to inflict a wound so grave that he would surely never recover. It was a beautiful little gittern, hewn of dark maple and inlayed with a silver-trim finish. The rosette that covered its sound hole was made of gray alder, sporting five double-strings made of silver-wound steel. Its headpiece depicted a rose and gold-colored peony flower, dedicated to the constellation Aimelan: The Balladeer. It was simply perfect in every possible way.

It was the only gift he’d ever received that he felt truly unworthy of. For that reason, it brought him overwhelming comfort to possess. It was more than just an instrument to him. It represented both a promise to himself, and a passion he could scarcely live without. With it, he felt unrestrained. He felt like he could be himself, if only for a moment.

But it wasn’t the comfort of song that Calen desired now. His disheartened gaze sought further consolation and moved to where his dear companion slumbered peacefully. However, there was no response from the tabby. The cat’s portly body stretched as far as it could comfortably manage, which bathed in the slight warmth of the late-autumn sunlight gleaming in through the porthole, just above the bed.

Calen’s soft complexion wrinkled, and the fine arch of his broad, pale brows dipped sullenly.

“You’ve turned into a feeble-old scab these months.” He murmured slightly, “If I had a silver for all the times you’ve played hard to get with me, I might have found another way out of this mess for us a long time ago. You’re a miserable loaf. Did you know that?”

Mertz remained silent, and Calen took the opportunity to roll over, as to get within reach. He prodded the cat with a longing hand. For his part, Mertz arched his back with the slightest shift of his body. It was an uninterested gesture, no doubt, if only to let Calen stroke at his backside with gentle fingers.

“There you are.” Calen offered a warm smile, “You couldn’t honestly hope to shut me out forever? I know you hate this ship, and honestly I don’t blame you. I’m truly sorry about all this. But we’re the best of friends, aren’t we?”

Mertz lifted his saggy face up and out of the coziness of the bed, which radiated faintly from the base of the coverlet, and turned towards Calen with a surly glance.

“Well, don’t look at me like that. You’d have thought I was up to no good!” Calen chuckled for a moment, and scratched at the cat’s back with harried determination, “We’re not some pair of autumn leaves, you and me, passing idly by one another in a cool breeze. Giving so little thought to the other as one might a dream. But only after they've been awake and forgotten it entirely. Although, it must be nice to sleep all day and not care for anything else but food.”

The marigold of Mertz’s eyes pierced the silvery-blue of Calen’s own for a moment. And for a split second, he thought as if his dear friend might indulge his immediate desire for sympathy.

But it wasn’t to be so.

Mertz opened his mouth and gave the most dramatic yawn he could possibly conjure up. His sharp though delicate-little feline teeth flashed for a moment, and his tongue stretched lazily across the roof of his mouth. All before he tossed his head back down into the preferred comfort of a warm bed, with about as much effort as it took for him to feel bothered enough to get up in the first place.

“To the Hells with you too then!” Calen professed with a scolding smile, flinging his arms into the air all at once, which startled Mertz briefly. Coming to, he added, “You’d like it there. I’m sure it’s warmer in all the seven deadly realms of this world than it’s ever been on board this damned ship these last few weeks. It’s just no wonder I can’t get you to do anything. Just look at you! I can’t compete with a comfy spot like that.”

Seeing as how Mertz didn’t move so much as a single paw after that, Calen frowned, but elected to remove himself from the bed altogether.

“As for you.” He turned his scolding temper on the gittern, inanimately laying where he’d left it, “I don’t know what to do anymore, but I’ll never get anything done on this ship!”

Calen shivered momentarily, before moving across to the other side of the cabin, “By the Wind, what I wouldn’t give for a day at a bathhouse right about now. It’s so frigid on this ship, Mertz—I can’t bear it any longer. But I also can’t afford not to bear it. Do you see the dilemma we’re in?”

Placing the gittern back on the little rack he’d made, Calen was extra careful not to scrape the double-strings against the wooden framework. As he did, a sharp pain suddenly surged through his head, and he had to give pause for a moment just to caress his temples.

A storm was coming, and he = hated the fact that he could tell.

Calen would have been mad saying that out loud to any of the sailors onboard, but it was true. There wasn’t a cloud in the sky as far as he could tell, though it didn’t matter. There was a storm heading their way, and he could sense every bit of it with what passive magic he possessed. The billowing surge, the shifting elements, the nauseous pit in his stomach… what he wouldn’t give to have been born in a desert. Even still, the storm was still a long way off. He only hoped that he would be able to get a good night’s rest before then.

For as long as he could remember, Calen had suffered a losing battle with storm magic. It was an overwhelming and extremely precarious magical affinity, rarely cast in a positive light. As a bard, he had next to no practical reason to ever indulge in that kind of magecraft. In some ways, he was afraid of it.

Unfortunately, there were others who thought differently.

The Bardic Masters might have been tough on him, but the Magisterium was a whole different kind of beast. He’d spent so much of his youth among other mages, that the Arcanium was as much a home to him as anywhere else. If such a vile place could be called anything but a prison. After all, it was thanks to the incessant prodding of mages, more specifically the magisters, that he’d witnessed firsthand just how dangerous his storm magic could be, and he never wanted to be put in that position ever again.

That’s why he had no qualms about spending nearly half the year hiding aboard the Lady Revenge. It brought him no small joy in knowing that the one spiteful decision he’d ever had the balls to make, had cost both mages and masters their collective heads alike.

But that wasn’t really the whole truth.

Although he was certain that both the Council of Magisters and the Bardic Masters kept him within arm’s reach for more than just show, and that the courts of Corariel had their own ideas for how a bardic-mage of his upcoming talents was meant to serve the realm, deep down Calen imagined that they were just as afraid of him as he was of himself. So long as he was gone, however, the only one that stood to get hurt was him, and it was better that way. Well, it would be, so long as they couldn’t manage to drag him back.

And they won’t, not if I can prove my usefulness to Lord Devres. Calen thought anxiously. If I can just show him my worth, I might be able to pull this thing off and stay on as his personal retainer indefinitely! At the very least, it might delay him from choosing to bring me back to Corariel a bit longer. I’ve already laid the groundwork, and he knows what I’m after. I just need to figure out how to close this thing… and quickly!

As Calen mulled over his future life as a renegade bard, there was a knock at the door.

“Oh—what is it?” Calen spoke softly, quick to dispose of his scheming demeanor for something more pleasant.

“Calen?” A tenor voice replied from the opposite side of the door.

The lord’s herald? What does he want?

“…Yes?” Calen asked nervously, as he wasn’t expecting any kind of news until they made anchor in Westerwind tomorrow morning.

“Lord Devres has requested your presence on the quarterdeck for tea. How shall I inform him to your liking?”

“Uhm… yes? Y—yes, of course.” Calen stammered, a worried lump had begun to form in the back of his throat, which he cleared in time to say, “Please tell him it’s a definite yes for me. I’ll be up all at once, so there’s no need to wait.”

“Very well.” The herald confirmed, and the sound of his footsteps echoed back down the corridor.

“This is terrible!” Calen murmured frantically, “Lord Devres wants me up for tea? Should I bother even trying to play? Fat chance of that, I’ll be lucky to get in a single word with how I’m feeling right now. Even if I wanted to, my hands would just be in the way, they’re so frightfully cold. Wait, would now be a good time to bring up the retainer position? What? No! That sounds way too desperate. Even by my standards. Though I am desperate, aren’t I? …Shit. I can’t do this.”

Calen rubbed his hands together as he paced the cabin.

“I suppose I’ve already gone and agreed though, haven’t I? What do you suppose, Mertz?”

Mertz was fast asleep.

“I really ought to take after you sometimes.” Calen moaned, “Scabby cat, no help whatsoever. No matter. I guess I’ll just have to suck it up and go for it. It can’t be helped at this point. Even Lord Devres admitted that we only have until we’ve left Westerwind again to sort all this out. By that time, we’ll be sailing south again, and that’s in less than a month! I’d better bring the damned instrument.”

There was no other choice now. He had to go for broke.

Moving frenziedly about the cabin, Calen stripped down into his smallclothes and rummaged through the tiny chest in the far corner, eager not to find the nicest, but certainly one of his more presentable outfits. None of them were clean, per se, but they would have to do. He pulled a pair of dark trousers, a white silken shirt with frills, and his silvery-blue doublet—the one that matched his eyes—and managed to get it all on in a flustered hurry. There was no time to wash his hair, so he slapped on a few armlets, just managing a single opal earring, and scrambled into his boots before heading out the door with an uppity demeanor.

But he nearly struck himself on the forehead, his body halfway out into the corridor when he remembered his gittern, or rather that he’d forgotten it.

“Be damned!” Calen murmured venomously, as he rushed back into his quarters to grab the instrument off the rack, “I can’t seem to do anything right, can I?”

He shuffled across towards the bed and scratched the tabby a few times fast, “Be good, Mertz. I’ll fetch you something to eat before I return.”

Mertz opened a single, groggy eyelid with no great haste, but Calen was already out the door again.

---

The sun beamed down at an angle in the west, amidst the mid-afternoon sky. To Calen’s pleasant surprise, there were a few lofty clouds speckling the horizon after all. It was almost as clear a day as one could hope for otherwise. Nevertheless, the ship sailed northwestwardly with certain speed, cutting through the Narrow Sea as it raced for the port of Westerwind.

Waves crashed along the hull with tremendous force, though the steady bobbing of the ship was quite tame, and gentle even. The Lady Revenge moved with a strapping wind in her sails, propelling them forward with great haste and due diligence. Its wooden floorboards creaked of their own whims, and the crackling of the cordage resounded across the deck, as the sailors pulled tight along the rigging. With each pair of hands fastening and loosening the crisp-hempen cords to the belaying pins at various intervals, it was quite the spectacle. The swift flap and crackle of the foremast’s canvas sputtered in the gale, and the ship's burgundy colors waived elegantly at the tip of the bowsprit.

As Calen steadily made his way across the deck, he listened to the sailors as they called out to one another between moments of tedious effort, which made the ship sound something like a noisy street market more than anything. Though it wasn’t without purpose, as Calen had come to learn over several months. Sailing was not a task that one person could accomplish on their own, and it required absolute trust between everyone involved. It was foolish, but sometimes Calen coveted the kind of comradery those sailors had. They made it look so easy.

Another sharp twang of pain coursed through Calen’s head, which caused him briefly to recoil. Was that storm growing more intense? If the pain was any indication, it certainly felt that way. Perhaps he ought to let the Quartermaster know?

“Alright, Calen?” A familiar voice said with an unexpected huff.

Startled somewhat by the question, Calen spun on his heels and regarded the young man in front of him with a puzzled look.

“Evindal?” Calen frowned. For some reason he’d imagined that they’d left the young lord behind at the port of Obern, some few days ago. He wasn’t sure why he thought that, or if what he was seeing was even real. Perhaps he was just hallucinating?

Real or not, this Evindal was still rather handsome. His long and copper-colored hair was splayed out behind him, cresting the sleek outline of his pointed, half-elven ears, as deep green eyes met Calen’s own through a cautious glance of his own.

“Well, at least you’re coherent.” Evindal said with a smug grin, and Calen knew all at once he wasn’t dreaming. Evindal’s cheeks were flush from laboring aboard the ship, and he seemed as if he’d just been catching his breath too. Though that didn’t seem to stop him, as he added more plainly, “I didn’t see you today. Or much yesterday, come to think of it. Been keeping yourself busy?”

“…Yes.” Calen feigned daintily, realizing it wouldn’t be doing him any favors to make Evindal worry.

Not that he disliked the man, in fact quite the opposite was true. Evindal wasn’t too much older than he was. However, he always took it upon himself to act like Calen’s guardian, especially when they were anchored at various port. It was somewhat humiliating.

Calen decided it was best to give a reason for his appearance topside, and said more honestly, “I was just heading up for tea with Lord Devres, as a matter of fact.”

“Really?” Evindal narrowed his eyes. It was an unconvinced sort of look, if Calen had learned anything about him at all these months. Though if he was, Evindal didn’t say. Instead, he shrugged, and offered his reply with a more indifferent tone of voice, “Well, best not to keep his Lordliness waiting for you—”

The ship lurched suddenly, and before Calen knew it he was stumbling back towards the starboard side!

But Evindal was quick.

He launched himself after Calen with little time to pause, grabbing him by the scruff of his collar. In the same motion, Calen felt Evindal’s sturdy arm reach across his left shoulder and batten down around his chest, all but dragging him back the way he’d came. However, the sudden reaction made him lose his grip on the gittern, and to his horror he watched as it sailed into the air.

Quicker still, Evindal reached across the gap with his free hand and clamped down on the neck of the instrument, holding it firmly aloft before it had any chance to escape.

“Evin…” Calen murmured breathlessly. He was petrified where he stood. But he could very easily move himself to cry, and he just might have if his gittern went overboard.

Evindal released him, and readily held out the instrument for Calen to take, saying with a plain sort of smile, “You should try to hold onto this. What? Why are you looking at me like that?”

“I just… thank you.” Calen lamented, and it was about all he could bring himself to say, as he gingerly took the gittern into his hands and pulled it close to his chest.

“Oh.” Evindal offered a confused, blunt reply, and he merely nodded as if it were just another moment in his busy day. But he chuckled a moment later, and tousled Calen’s hair, teasing, “Think nothing of it, bardling. It’s not the first time, is it? I suspect it won’t be the last.”

Calen batted his eyes at Evindal with an embarrassed grin.

Evindal was perhaps one of the few people in Calen’s life who never found any reason to make him feel uncomfortable, whether by accident or on purpose. He was an unrepentant ass, but he’d never once made light of Calen’s situation. Which itself was somewhat shocking for someone who had also spent no small amount of time in the viperous courts of Corariel. He’d half expected the young lord to find some way to garner his trust, only to turn it in for some future favor down the line. Calen had known plenty of nobles and mages of that sort. But Evindal was different. He was dependable above all else. He was a good friend.

“Again, with the faces?” Evindal said in retaliation.

But for his part, Calen stuck out his tongue in protest, and just managed to avoid a swift kick in the rearend from Evindal, as he ran towards the stairs which lead to the aft part of the ship.

---

Calen hummed a slight melody as he stepped up the stairs towards the quarterdeck. He was feeling better about himself all of a sudden, despite his earlier reservations. Evindal seemed to have that effect on him, and he’d be sure to come clean to the young lord about his problems sooner or later.

Silently, Calen felt the crash of the waves and the bobbing of the ship all around him as he moved loftily ahead. One of the better perks that accommodated his bardic magic was a minor affinity for ambience: A range of frequencies that Calen could passively perceive, which allowed him to sense the strength of magical currents in a fixed radius. Despite popular opinion, ley lines stretched across even the seas and oceans too, and Calen could hear every bit of it

As he rounded the helm, Calen came upon a small table. It was furnished with colorful cloth, and held down by an assortment of saucers and silverware filled with all manner of finger foods. There was only one person sitting at the table, though it sat three comfortably. He was a striking man, even just sitting there as relaxed as he was. His rounded face gave way to a square chin, which bore a well-groomed beard of the same dark color as his longer hair.

“Um… Lord Devres?” Calen asked softly, “Were you expecting me?”

“Calen!” The man said with a warm smile, “Yes, of course. Please, uh—come, take a seat. I’m glad to see that you’ve finally decided to abandon your den.”

Calen took a deep breath, as he tried to playback in his head everything that he wanted to say. But hearing Lord Devres beckon him, he quickly dissolved those thoughts, stepping forward to claim the seat just on the opposite side.

“Sorry.” Calen felt the need to apologize, “I know I’ve been absent. If I somehow forced you into this, please don’t feel the need to accommodate me. I’ve been letting myself rot, truth be told.”

“What? Heavens no, my lad.” Devres chuckled, “This is my ship, after all. I don’t need much of a reason to invite others up for tea, do I? By the Wind, I wouldn’t have paid for it otherwise!”

Calen merely nodded with a tender smile.

“Although…” Devres started again, more caution in his tone the second time around. He paused to take a long sip of his tea, which smelled of cinnamon and lavender, “If you don’t mind my talking for a bit, I would like to ask you for a favor in one matter, and then divulge some information regarding another. Mm! This tea is splendid. Please, help yourself.”

Calen did as he was asked, but couldn’t help biting his lower lip in anticipation for whatever it was Lord Devres was going to ask. So much so, that he poured the tea and simply stared ahead of him without so much as a single sip. He did, however, manage to stuff a handkerchief full of more than a few treats, recalling the promise he’d made to Mertz.

“So…” Calen’s gaze softened, he couldn’t bear the silence, “You mentioned a favor?”

“I did.” Devres nodded in approval, who himself had been entertaining a rather finicky looking finger cake, saying, “We’ll be arriving in Westerwind tomorrow morning, as you well know by now. However, I had mentioned a dinner party of, eh… sorts. If you remember? That’s in four days’ time, which is why—and I realize I should have asked this sooner—but I was hoping you might be at all familiar with Duscanese music?”

“Duscanay?” Calen thought curiously, not entirely sure, “I can’t say I know much in that regard.”

Lord Devres frowned somewhat, which prompted Calen to react.

“I mean—my instructors were never interested in letting me study foreign works. I do however have some basic knowledge regarding their composition methods. I might be able to string a few like-melodies together, based on the few things I have been able to get my hands on.”

“Truly?” Devres perked up with delighted curiosity, no doubt he was already expecting the worst, “That would be most excellent, Calen. There’s been a change in plans, you see. I learned as we were leaving Obern the day before last, that the Arans family will be in attendance after all. Troubling as it is, there seems to be a growing list of distinguished guests, and I thought it would fun to have a bit of a… unique sound, in terms of musical selections.”

Unique? Calen pondered to himself oddly, but resigned to letting the Lord explain himself.

“You know, something none of them have ever heard before—to really inspire the mood!” The Lord added fervently, but cooled his passion to say, “Lord Arans is a patron of the arts, as I understand. I have half a mind to surprise that old bull with something he’s not expecting. You’d have several days to prepare, of course. Would that be, uh… sufficient?”

“I—” Calen stammered, “Well, um…”

He wanted nothing more than to give Lord Devres exactly what he was asking for, especially given his own urgent circumstances. But he wasn’t quite sure how he was going to pull this off. At least, not without any access to his usual repository. He knew the Arans family, not personally, but they were most definitely patrons of the Bardic College. Of course, that could either make this better or much worse, depending on the route he chose to take.

Entertaining guests was much more than about simply playing whatever came to mind. There had to be a plan, and proper execution. Throw a little bardic magic into the mix, and things could get very hairy, very quickly. Calen didn’t want to have to fall back on using magic if he could help it, not after what happened the last time he’d entertained a room full of nobles.

“I can try to see about accommodating you with any number of minstrels or other musicians from Westerwind, to your liking, if that would make much of a difference to you?”

Calen’s eyes flashed with horror at the thought of being shown up by anyone else, “N-no my Lord, I can assist you with this request myself. I’ll just need to spend these next few days getting myself acclimated to the style, as you say, that’s all. I think I know enough to get by?”

Calen took a long pause, not much convinced by even his own minced words. He felt discouragement fluttering around in his stomach, and couldn’t even bring himself to drink the tea or eat any of the delicious food set out.

“Are you… certain?” Devres asked skeptically, “I don’t want to put you on the spot, if it would make you uncomfortable? I know that crowds of this caliber are still a tender spot for you, so I want to be extra careful that we’ve put your well-being above all else.”

Calen couldn’t argue that point. The last time he’d performed at court, he’d very nearly gotten people killed. Master Vardolf used to always tell him that bardic magic was about making people feel the things they wanted to feel at precisely the right time. Unfortunately, he never said anything about forcing them to experience your own festering feelings, holding them captive all within earshot until the time you stopped playing.

Calen shook his head, refusing to think about that incident, saying confidentiality, “It won’t be a problem. I’ll keep things airy, erm—light. Hopefully no one will mind too much if it isn’t quite to their taste. Also, thank you… for your concern. I know I’ve had some issues in the past, but I still think I’ll be okay if it’s just a small party. I want to do my best work for you.”

“Calen,” Devres eased the tension momentarily, “You really shouldn’t be so hard on yourself all the time. With your talents, I’m just fortunate that you ever found yourself in my company in the first place. Do what you can, but no more than you can manage. The first sign of trouble, we’ll pluck you out and call it a night.”

Calen simply nodded.

“You know, you’ve come a long way these months.” Devres smiled at him proudly, “I’m happy to have gotten to know the young man hiding in there this whole time. You’re going to do great.”

“I—well—” Calen fumbled through his own thoughts, feeling his face flush with embarrassment. He tried looking for the right words that might help explain to Lord Devres what he desired. Unable to muster the courage, he ended up blurting out, “…I’ll try my best.”

“And that’s all I could ever ask of you.” Devres acquiesced, leaning forward in the chair a bit as his expression sobered, “Which brings me to the second matter.”

Calen audibly gulped.

“We’re almost at the end of our allotted time together, you and I.” Devres said calmly, “As you know, the crew has cherished your heartfelt songs and high spirits at times. But… I’m sorry to tell you that the College has swiftly rejected my request to keep you on as a retainer for any significant or greater period of time. As they’ve instructed, you are to return to Corariel and to the Arcanium at the end of the year.”

Calen’s heart practically fell out of his chest.

“What?” Was all he could manage to mutter.

This was not at all how he had planned for this to go, and it had happened before he could even make his own case.

Lord Devres winced, “I’m sorry, Calen. I tried every trick that I had at my disposal. Everything I could possibly do to get them to reason with me—to just see your side of things. But… well, you know how strongly the Arcanium feels about you.” He took a short pause, before saying, “Frankly, we were long overdue for news like this. Any longer, I’m afraid we might be looking at serious legal troubles. Your guardianship falls solely to the Bardic College, let us not forget. I’m just glad we still get to return on our own terms, as opposed to the other, less savory option.”

Calen wanted to shout, “But—”

“Listen before you panic, you very well knew what you were getting into.” Devres insisted, proactive in heeding Calen’s desire to argue, “I am sympathetic, Calen, but you must know how difficult it’s been to cover for you after what you managed to pull off? And I had to pull more than a few favors around the city just to ensure they didn’t send an entire armada after me to retrieve you. And while I was more than happy to do it, this is a very tricky situation we’re in together. I must think about all our safety, my crew included.”

“I know that, but I figured—”

“And you knew this day was coming too.” Devres interjected once more, “We both did. For weeks now. And for our pride’s sake, I would like to think that we will both be agreeable as to what comes next. Yes? We are men of Velandria, and we will not stoop to their scheming level.”

Calen slumped down into the chair. He felt utterly defeated. There was nothing he could do about it now. Was there anywhere else he could run off to? Short of winging it, not likely. If he wanted to get on the run, they’d only find him. Wouldn’t they? No matter what he did, he seemed to be in the wrong all the time. Was he cursed? Or was he just a failure?

“This isn’t fair.” Cale murmured, “Nobody cares what I want from all of this. Nobody’s ever even asked me what I want.”

“… I know.” Devres sighed somberly, “But we all have our responsibilities to tend to. Mine was to ensure you were safe from harm, and I have done that. And until you’re eighteen, yours just happens to be returning to Corariel, and resuming your duties to the Bardic College.

“They can rot.” Calen sulked, severely disappointed but not at all surprised.

“That they can.” Devres agreed readily, “And for what it’s worth, Calen, I would be honored to retain your services once you were of age to become independent.”

Calen couldn’t muster a response to that. A hard lump was forming in the back of his throat, and he did just about everything he could to hold back the tears.

“I know this hurts you.” Devres continued, he himself seemed disappointed by what he was saying, “I know this wasn’t the result we wanted. And—Winds forgive me, the last thing I want to do right now is to send you back to Corariel when you clearly have so much more to work through.”

“You don’t have to.” Calen argued, clutching his instrument close, “You don’t.”

“I must.” Devres stated, “I mean, just look at you? You clearly haven’t been eating. Have you slept in, what, days? I’m supposed to be looking out for your well-being, but even I can’t protect you from yourself it seems. You need to be surrounded by people that understand you. That can help you through these… struggles.”

“Who?” Calen whimpered, nearly laughing at the thought, despite the tears, “Who wants to help me? Nobody does. Not ever. But I… I know you do, so why can’t I just stay?”

“It’s not that simple.” Devres replied calmly, his eyes glimmered, “And it was never about me. This is about you, and what you need. The fact of the matter is, no one in the world can help you control your powers better than those in Corariel. That is a fact. And to that point, there’s no one I trust well enough outside the academia sphere to help you overcome these personal demons you face. Were I to act and keep you with me, I would be putting the lives of those around us at risk, not to mention causing you and your powers more harm than good.”

“Powers be damned.” Calen flicked the teacup nearest to him on the table in disgust, its contents spilling out onto the saucer, “I’d give them all away in a heartbeat.”

Several streaky tears rolled down Calen’s face, and he didn’t try to hide it anymore, as his eyes grew red and puffy. Though he sniffled slightly, he tried to keep his composure as best he could.

“Calen…” Devres sighed, “Don’t you think it’s time to start coming to terms with yourself? To look at all the things that got you into this mess in the first place and try to understand them? Don’t you want to be happy with who you are? There is a life for you beyond all this—only a couple of years away. I’m sure it’s difficult to see right now, but you must have a little faith.”

Faith? Calen gritted his teeth angrily, he felt the rage burning inside of him. You don’t know the first thing about what would make me happy. Do you? Do I?

“Once you’ve gotten back into your regular routine, all of this will be like a bad dream. You’ll see. We’ll finally start to see more of this fine young man you’re becoming. I’m sure of it.”

Calen dropped his gaze. He wondered if Lord Devres was right. But he still couldn’t help but to feel betrayed. It was nobody’s fault but his own, of course. This was his mess, and it always was. In this shattered fantasy, the consequences were about as good as he could hope to get.

“You can’t run away from your life, Calen. Not forever.” Devres tried to reason one last time, “For your sake, I implore you find a way forward.”

A long pause followed. The sounds of the ship didn’t seem quite so joyful to Calen anymore. There was a hollow pit in his stomach, and he felt sick.

“…Might I be excused?” Calen asked softly.

Devres opened his mouth as if to say more, but nodded, saying, “Of course.”

Calen didn’t wait any longer. He clutched his gittern so hard that several of its strings snapped at the neck. Hurriedly, he made his way down the steps leading away from the quarterdeck. Then striding below, he barreled through the corridor to the sanctuary of his cabin.

He was alone. And not for the first time in his life, he wanted to be.

---

Grass fluttered between Calen’s fingertips. Softly, his hands passed over each blade. A cool breeze washed over him, and he glanced up into the deep, piercing blue of the sky above, where the stars swirled across a sapphire canvas.

Suddenly, an orange light bloomed into his vision. The intense heat of it beckoned Calen to venture close. He wanted to pull away from it, unsure as to what it was. Just standing in its light made him feel ashamed. Yet, the light would not resign.

Through the glow, Calen could see that the source of light was a tree. Billowing out it danced across the skyline. The beautiful limbs of its body were lithe and graceful, casting a spell on him so powerful it nearly brought tears to his eyes.

Calen gasped, “What is this?”

The tree unfurled, reaching out to greet him. Rays of brilliant light shown down from its eaves, dancing across the field of grass. Then, sweltering air surrounded Calen’s body, becoming heavy to the touch, but full of scents so sweet that his nose wrinkled with overstimulation.

He stepped forward, despite himself, and the warmth reacted kindly. He was so close that he could nearly touch its bark.

A horrible flash of cold light pierced the sky all of a sudden, and Calen found himself treading water.

He swam desperately through a swelling storm. The briny sea splayed across his face as he tried to sustain himself above the surface. Sputtering, Calen coughed as the salty water filled his mouth and ran partly down into his lungs.

The sky was dark and looming, as the waves swelled to terrifying heights. All of his fears and doubts were exposed for the storm to use against him. Cold pleated under his skin, and he shivered as the immense waves crashed over him one by one. There was a flash of blue light across the skyline, like a booming voice, it thundered down from the heavens!

“Calen!” The looming voice echoed.

“No!” Calen cried out, “Please!”

Then, the water grabbed hold of his legs and dragged him downward with all its might.

“Calen!” The voice bellowed again.

Freezing cold rushed over Calen as his body sank down through the murky depths, towards unspeakable darkness. It was a void so black there was surely no way out again.

“Calen!” The voice said, muffled yet trembling through the water.

“—Please—” Calen tried to shout, but the water filled his lungs.

The darkness surrounded him, enveloping his body, until nothing remained—

“Calen!”

He was suddenly yanked out of his nightmare. A cold sweat overtook him as he sat straight up in the bed. He was shaking feverishly, and his whole body was damp as he breathed fast.

“Calen!” Evindal’s voice pierced through the darkness, through Calen’s terrified daze.

He blinked wildly and felt his whole body shaking, though it was Evindal who shook him, forcing him awake.

Calen turned his head to face Evindal, whose bare chest was about the only thing he could make out in the near darkness of the room. His eyes were wide with concern, standing at the edge of Calen’s bed.

“Calen?” Evindal asked persistently, “Are you awake now?”

“Yes…” Calen murmured through a shiver, “I think so.”

“Good, get up.” Evindal continued sternly, though his breath was heavy and almost frightened, “The storm outside, it’s… I’ve never felt anything like it. I came to find you as soon as I realized. You may be needed up there.”

That was the last thing Calen wanted to hear. But he nodded, finally managing to get a hold of his surroundings.

The ship lurched about, just as it should in a heavy storm. Its wooden frame moaned as the water outside battered against its hull with relentless pressure. Rainwater pierced the porthole-glass between the heavy crashing of waves, and loose items in the room, things on the desk and several of the candles which had not been properly secured before the coming storm, lay scattered about the floor. Mertz clung to the bed for dear life, as the ship rose and fell with each crest of the water.

There was something there.

Calen felt it in the storm he reached out with a bit of Weather-sense. The frequencies were all over the place, but they hurt his ears even just trying to listen. The whole thing was overpowering, and Calen dreaded a foul presence that lurked deep within the tumultuous elements. And yet, there was something familiar about it too. What was it?

“Calen, let’s go?” Evindal shook him, his eyes widened.

Calen’ nodded, his own eyes flickering with urgency. Whatever this thing was, there was no time to waste. Whether they knew it or not, the crew of the Lady Revenge was counting on him.

“Stay here.” Calen commanded nervously, as he removed the covers from himself and slipped out of bed.

“What? Like hells I am.” Evindal pressed, as he grabbed Calen’s arm to stop him briefly, “I’m the oldest here, we need to—”

Calen turned around and looked Evindal directly in the face. Though there was little to no light, they could see one another well enough.

“I have to go,” He murmured gently, “You should stay down here and help however you can. There might be injured.”

Evindal opened his mouth to argue, but stopped himself to think, saying with a sigh, “That’s… not a bad idea. Alright.”

Calen then broke away from his grip and headed towards the wardrobe. He was only wearing the dark trousers from earlier, but saw no need to dress again fully, not with the rain and such. Instead, he grabbed a dark hood and cloak, whisked it around his body, and stepped towards the instrument rack.

It was black in the room, and the ship lurched about horribly, but his gittern sat still as ever, faintly gleaming as Calen approached. He saw the broken strings, which ached his heart to see, but he shook his head and removed it from the rack.

“We’ll just have to make do.” He smiled faintly, and turned to leave the room.

As they stepped into the small corridor, Calen could hear the muffled noises of all the sailors as they moved about. Their worried voices only seemed to add to the fear already emanating from the storm, as if it were somehow heightened by their presence.

“Calen.” Evindal stopped him suddenly.

Calen stole a quick glance over his shoulder and regarded his friend’s worried expression.

“Be careful.” Evindal added, “Please?”

“…I will.” Calen smiled, “Watch after my cat, would you? He looks horrible. I think he really does hate sailing.”

“Count on it.” Evindal nodded, “Now go. I’ll join up if I can.”

Calen stole himself away, and headed up without a second thought.

Everything was wrong.

Calen had felt that much at least, as he struggled to get himself topside. The storm around them was natural. In fact, it was the very same storm he’d sensed earlier that day, there was no mistaking its sound. But something had changed within it, or rather something external had been introduced. And whatever it was that had rooted itself within the storm was anything but natural. It was sinister, almost.

It felt alive.

But in Calen’s mind, it didn’t seem like a living creature, per se. It had a primal nature, an urge, as if its very existence presented a danger to everything within reach. There was impulse, but what was it…

A sudden lurch of the ship caught Calen unawares as he climbed up toward the top deck. He stumbled a moment, but caught himself on the railing. Now wasn’t the time for loose footing.

He heard the wind and the rain warping violently around him, the sound of the crew just slipping through between emptier moments. The sails flapped about, like a frightened animal defending itself from hungry predators.

As Calen gathered his surroundings, he could hear Tobrauth’s voice, the Quartermaster, calling out from up the quarterdeck. Calen squinted through the rain and saw the vast waves climbing up on all sides of the ship.

They’re like… my dreams? Calen’s eyes went wide in utter horror.

Now he knew what he’d felt earlier. Now it was beginning to make sense to him, but only in the barest sense possible. He didn’t know how, or even why it was happening, but one thing was for certain: This monstrous storm was unmistakably the creation of his own mind.

Fear gripped Calen and refused to relent. This was exactly what he was afraid of—what the Arcanium had been afraid of. He was a monster that sowed chaos and discord wherever he went. Calen tried to take a step forward, but his whole body was paralyzed. Only when the ship lurched against to the latest round of waves, did Calen feel himself jolt several steps.

He looked up at the sky, which swelled dark and angrily.

Not angry… frightened? Confused? Hurt.

Calen forced himself to swallow his fear in almost the same instant, his face set with undeserving determination. The wind tousled the hair beneath his hood, and stretched the length of his cloak up into the air behind him. He had to press onward. Not for himself, but for everyone onboard.

“Calen!” Lord Devres shouted wildly from the threshold of his quarters, fighting the storm just to be heard, “Calen, back below deck! There’s nothing you can do about this one, lad!”

Calen glanced in his direction with acknowledgment, but shook his head with a stern ‘no’ before pressing up the stairs to the quarterdeck.

Did I really do this? Calen’s fear slipped through his hardened gaze for a moment. No, don’t think like that right now. You must focus.

“Young master Calen!” Tobrauth shouted unsuspectingly, a somewhat excited tone, though he didn't dare steal his glance from the path ahead, even a small one, “Come to save us at last?”

“I’m not certain that I can!” Calen shouted above the storm, “Though I’d… I’d like to give it a try!”

Only a single, hooded lantern lit the helm where Tobrauth stood, who merely shrugged at Calen’s suggestion.

“Calen!” Devres shouted again, this time from behind him. Calen turned around to see Devres stumbling up the steps.

“Lord Devres?” Calen shouted in concern, “You need to go back down below! It’s not safe out here!”

“And I suppose it’s well enough for you two then?” Devres shouted, though his voice wasn’t angered but almost eager in a sense.

“Lord, I really must insist—” Calen began, but Devres cut him off shortly.

“Bother around on my ship, will you?” He shouted, near excitedly himself, “Leave me to cuddle the pillows down below? I think not!”

Calen couldn’t argue, and turned eagerly towards Tobrauth, “What are we looking at here?”

Tobrauth held onto the wheel in one hand, and his hat in the other.

“Twenty-foot waves throughout!” The rainwater sputtered from his lips as he spoke, “And climbing fast. Near fifty-knots if I had to guess, given the battering we’re taking—no telling the fetch! Only thing we’ve got going for us is that the wind isn’t directly at our head, otherwise we’d be damned well blown back the way we just came!”

Calen nodded and stepped up beside the helm. He closed his eyes, and reached out with Weather-sense, perceiving the greater storm around him. The violent frequencies of his passive ambience were muddling his reading, but he stayed firm on what he was looking for. Grasping for it, he shifted his body, but the storm merely pushed him away, snapping its jaws to be rid of him. Though Calen wasn’t giving up so easily.

As the storm raged onward, Calen decided it was time to let down his shields completely, and to truly feel this swelling beast. With his gittern firmly in position, Calen plucked one of the strings and shifted into Storm-calling, an ability he was rarely so brave to enact. But now was not the time to be afraid of his powers, the lives of the crew might very well depend on it.

As Calen delved into the depths of his magic, he felt the storm’s threads—its magical connections— and he tugged at them with both mind and music. He felt an immediate and surprised resistance, and the backlash was blistering.

Calen’s head was snapped backwards, and he nearly fell over. But Devres caught him, keeping him upright.

“Calen!” Devres shouted.

“I’m fine…” Calen let out a deep breath, “This thing is more desperate than I thought it would be.”

“Can you tame it?”

“I can try.” Was all he could muster.

Calen felt for his instrument again. It was cold and pitiful, missing three of its five strings, and his fingers were no better. He was trembling in the rain, and only hoped he could calm himself.

“Alright, my love,” Calen thought aloud, as he ran his fingers across the two remaining strings, “If you can ever forgive me, I could really use your help right about now.”

There was a moment of apprehension, and a chilly feeling that this wasn’t going to work. But as Calen wound the tuning forks and plucked the gittern softly, he heard the squashed notes hum to life. They echoed around the quarterdeck briefly, fighting against the cry of the storm, and losing.

But Calen smiled wide, “I knew you still loved me.”

And with that, it was time to get to work.

It took several minutes for Calen to attune himself to the storm. It was difficult, unrelenting, and wrought with conflict; a familiar sensation for him. But once he reached out with his gittern, it became nothing more than a glorified shouting match.

The anger and confusion of the storm was definitely Calen’s, at least in part. He wasn’t sure how he’d managed it, but that would have to be sorted out later. Luckily, it made resonating withs its sound something less of a burden and more of an exercise. The aching of the “creature” echoed in the wind and rain that warped around them, but Calen already knew what he was looking for.

He could feel the raw emotion with each passing wall of wind. Like hateful, sputtering cries. Calen plucked the remaining twin-strings of his gittern in rebuttal, hoping to share his own words of comfort.

Like Lord Devres had been trying to do for me… Calen thought, momentarily upset that he even allowed himself to become so blinded by the things he didn’t want to hear. Lord Devres truly did care for him. Why else would he have harbored him for months? Knowing it would tarnish his reputation in certain circles? And what’s more, this was how Calen repaid that kindness?

Not right now. Apologize when you’re not in danger! Calen shook his head.

He had to focus.

Calen realized that he had faltered with his initial notes not a moment too soon, having paired an improper melody with the cries of the storm. He should have been more aware of the clashing keys, as difficult as they were to perceive properly with the other frequencies around him going crazy. As a result, the storm rumbled, and a nearly twenty-five-foot wave crashed along the port side of the ship, which sent most aboard into a clambering panic.

“Damn it all!” Tobrauth shouted, “That didn’t help, bard!”

“Let him work!” Devres shouted after the quartermaster, “You focus ahead of us, let Calen do what he does best!”

The quartermaster groaned, but obliged. Calen was only relieved to hear Lord Devres' vote of confidence.

If I do that again, we’ll lose someone—or maybe even the whole ship.

He had to focus.

Calen took a deep breath as the rain plastered his face. He assumed his playing position once again, strummed the gittern, and adjusted his rhythm to a three-beat measure with an eight-note melody. It was a soft pace, like whispers in the dark at first. But soon it would grow, rising quickly until it met the next key. The next challenge.

This time, however, the wind did respond.

It resisted the melody at first, but lingered on his notes as if drawn to them. Did it want to be comforted? It felt calmer for a moment, and more receptive. And thus, as the storm lessened in intensity, the wind wrapping around the ship began to set itself in the sails. It propelled them through the waves firmly, instead of timidly, like before.

“That’s a good start!” Tobrauth shouted, slightly more reassured now as he began to gain better control of the ship’s handling.

“Ease up on the rigging!” Calen shouted, “Let the wind guide our sails! It wants to help us!”

“What?” Tobrauth shouted, “The hells are you talking about?”

“Do it, Tobrauth!” Devres shouted, “I don’t care how mad it sounds, just do it!”

Tobrauth exhaled fearfully, but gritted his teeth, shouting across the ship, “Heave to! Make easy on the cords. Let her have her fill! Belay those stragglers, and for the love of the Gods secure that capstan before someone loses a limb! Shanira, make ready to tighten that runner when we tack!”

Not a moment too soon, the ship bustled with new, though otherwise very peculiar orders. Some of the sailors looked skeptically towards the quarterdeck, perhaps wondering just whose hands they had put their lives in.

But Calen couldn’t worry about that now, as he narrowed in his search.

The wind strength is under control… for now. I need to focus on duration, otherwise those waves are only going to get bigger, the longer this storm goes on. The melody is subduing it, but it’s only a catcall compared to what needs to be done.

Calen took a deep breath and continued to play, knowing the hardest was yet to come.

Now, for the harmony.

The melody continued, hard-pressed in the face of such an unruly storm. Furthermore, it was beginning to fight back against him, as if discerning the lie that Calen was trying to pull off with his harmony, and it was growing impatient. However, Calen predicted this might happen, and immediately moved to place an additional key over the melody, which accentuated the storm’s cries with his own forceful shout of reasoning.

I know. Damn it, I know how you feel. But please, just listen to me.

The ship lurched, cresting over another wave. It was heavier than all the rest had been up until now, and the fall was immense.

Not good! Calen thought worriedly. I must cut through this barrier somehow. Winds above, it’s so stubborn, refusing to even hear what I have to say!

“Rogue wave!” Someone shouted, “Incoming off the port side!”

Calen immediately reached out and felt the wave closing in.

Shit, this is a rotten move! It’s trying to shake me, and fast. This thing is going to sink the whole damn ship, here and now.

Calen gritted his teeth nervously, he didn’t know what else to do. The dark waters of his dreams polluted his thoughts, and the crushing darkness surrounded him. The storm was overpowering him at every note, and he wasn’t in control anymore. He felt his grasp slipping away. Even with his gittern in his hands, it wasn’t enough to calm the rage—to quell the despair of the storm at large.

“Calen!” Evindal’s voice echoed in his ear. Calen felt his hand on his shoulder, “Calen, we’re counting on you! Put this thing to rest already, would you?”

“I can’t stop it!” Calen panted heavily, rainwater streaming across his lips. He was fighting an uphill battle, and not faring well at all. The storm was draining him dry, and he was nearly out of time.

“You have to try, lad!” Devres shouted hurriedly, “Quickly!”

I can’t! Calen thought desperately, I can’t do it. It’s too much. There’s so much to push through. I just can’t do it…

Calen felt Evindal shake his shoulder.

“On you get, Calen.” Evindal said loudly in his ear, “Let’s see some real magic. This thing’s got nothing on you.”

Calen felt fuzzy chills in his ear as Evindal spoke. But despite his best efforts, he didn’t feel confident at all. It was sure suicide. The rhythm was uncontested, completely out of sync. But what if—

Yes! That’s it!

Calen corrected his fingering on the fly, resuming the melody and picking up the harmonies right where he’d left them. But this time, he had a different trick up his sleeve.

Syncopation! Calen thought excitedly, despite himself. Like the heart skipping a beat. It’s the only way to catch this bastard off its game.

The rogue wave barreled down on the Lady Revenge. Wind had picked up again, and the rain fluttered like wild tears, setting them on a course for sure disaster.

But Calen persisted.

His notes turned strangely off-beat, displacing the metrical accents in ways so alien yet so loud, that the storm had no other choice but to heed him.

And listen it did.

The winds and rain softened, the ship keeled less and the tension on the rudder eased. But the wave didn’t stop, and it was gaining on them.

This is it! Calen thought nervously. If I can push through this—If I can just…

He was ready for however this was going to end.

The wave reached up, looming thirty—no, thirty-five feet in height. It crested, making itself ready to engulf them at any moment; a feast was in the making. But that’s when Calen’s full sound began to resonate.

His chaotic song was being written with haste, and with little regard for his own well-being, the music consumed him. Shifting keys one more time, the magic capitulated into something extraordinary. Pitch exploded, harmony revolted against its maker, and melody devoured itself, all of which poured from Calen like a dam unleashed.

He felt the storm. But he felt the presence of the crew too, his companions, and he wasn’t ready to let them go.

Absent-mindedly, Calen stood up to his feet. Facing the wave, his gittern vibrated with such a force, that his song oscillated through the air and ripped a hole straight through the wind curtain itself. The Lady Revenge had its path, its chance for survival, and the wind was finally in their favor.

Calen strummed again.

An inexplicable noise suddenly filled the air, a sound that sent low vibrations trembling through the ship, creaking as if the entire thing might fall apart at any second. Water crashed over them, thunder echoed in the deep, as everything came to its natural conclusion—its grand finale.

But the battle was over.

The rain continued, and the wind did not let up its fight. However, the song had ceased, the monster vanquished, and with it, a deafening silence filled Calen’s ears.

Exhausted of all physical and emotional energy, Calen’s eyes fluttered closed, and he felt himself falling to the ship’s deck. All the sound around him was muffled, like a constant white noise that wouldn’t relent, and he could only feel himself slipping away. He was unsure of himself, uncertain as to what this all meant for him, but… had he done his best?

Calen drifted into unconsciousness, wondering if he’d ever get to know the answer.