The Choice of the Chosen - 1. Chapter 1: Day 1

Magic itself is not dangerous. It is nature and nature is always in harmony with itself. Dangerous can become those who use it or fail to master it.

Beckett stared at the huge ship and swallowed uneasily. As much as the metal called to him, the water on which it floated put him off. The thought of having to leave the solid ground, the earth, behind for so long did not sit well with him at all.

"Mr. Carlyle, sir, the boys would be ready for your luggage."

"Of course. Suite 103."

Beckett half turned. His father was just handing their boarding passes to the ship's steward to check, while three burly men began to load the luggage from the carriage.

"Thank you, sir." The steward, in his gleaming white uniform, half bowed. "You will find your suite on deck A, sir. If you go up the main staircase, down the corridor on the right."

"Thank you." Benjamin Carlyle nodded first to the steward, then towards Beckett. "Come along, son, the lady's waiting." There was a small, cheerful smile on his lips.

"And you don't keep ladies waiting," Beckett returned, forcing a smile, albeit a very fake one.

"Right." Benjamin nodded and touched Beckett briefly on the arm, then they set off along the dock towards the first-class gangway.

The bright green-painted hull of the Lady Peppermint loomed ahead of them and Beckett's unease grew. He was looking forward to finally getting to the Temple Island, but he dreaded the journey there. Fourteen long days on the ocean, far from the earth, cut off from one half of his magic.

The hustle and bustle on the dock, the sheer volume, made him even more nervous. The chatter of the passengers waiting to board. The neighing of the coach and carriage horses, the clattering of their hooves, the shouting and swearing of their drivers. The rattling of the few cars. The creaking of the cargo crane wafted over from the freight side of the dock to the passenger side, as did the loud voices of the dock workers.

Beckett wasn't used to noise or crowds. Although he towered over pretty much everyone here, he felt small and lost. His ears were ringing. "Father..."

"You'd think they could have organized this a little better, don't you think?" Benjamin said in a decidedly relaxed manner, slowing his pace a little. He grabbed Beckett's elbow and this small gesture alone helped. "After all, these ship voyages have been taking place for centuries."

"Uh-huh..." Beckett merely said. He winced as a nobly dressed woman next to him laughed shrilly and then fixed his gaze on the gangway.

Another steward in a white uniform was standing there. He checked their boarding passes as well and gave them the same instructions they had already received. "Enjoy your stay on board, Mr. Carlyle," he added, smiling brightly.

Benjamin nodded and Beckett swallowed. Then they stepped onto the wide first-class gangway, which seemed incredibly long in Beckett's eyes.

The metal vibrated under his feet, under his hand, as he placed it on the handrail. The metal whispered soothingly to him, brushing against his skin like a breeze. This metal colossus of a ship spoke so strongly to his magic that it was able to mask the fading of his connection to the earth to some extent.

At least until he left the gangway and stepped fully onto the ship. Because then it hit him like a punch in the stomach.

"Beckett? Are you all right, son?" Benjamin sounded worried and strangely distant.

It was only when Beckett opened his eyes that he realized he had closed them. A slight nausea rose in him, but he nodded to his father. It would probably get worse once the Lady Peppermint left port, but saying it wouldn't do any good because his father couldn't help him and he didn't want to worry him further.

"Good." Benjamin nodded curtly back. "Then let's go to the suite. I want to make sure our belongings all arrive in one piece and then watch the departure."

"Sure..." Beckett followed Benjamin, but inwardly he grimaced. He didn't really want the visual confirmation that his earth magic was moving beyond his reach.

Inside the ship, the metal magic continued to hum soothingly around him, the noise of the harbor largely kept out. At least until they reached a kind of hall in which the double main staircases wound up and down as if they were in a princely castle. Where the long corridor crossed the hall, everything resonated and echoed terribly, with an incredible number of people going up and down the stairs.

"The acoustics aren't the best either..." Benjamin muttered a little dismissively and Beckett, knowing that his father loved opera and classical concerts, suppressed a sigh.

"The ship is not meant to be a floating concert hall, Father."

"But there's a theater here, I've read," Benjamin replied, and now Beckett sighed for real.

"Do you really want to try it out?"

"A theater on a ship like this? That's a once-in-a-lifetime experience." Benjamin smiled and nodded.

Beckett refrained from saying that his parents could also use the Lady Peppermint to visit him in the years to come when he had joined the temple. His father firmly believed that Beckett would not only find a potential spouse out of nowhere, but that they would also be accepted by THE SAGE.

"Another question," Benjamin then changed the subject, "which corridor is ours?"

"Up the main staircase and then to the right," Beckett replied, repeating the stewards' words and pointing to the corresponding corridor. They hadn't come up the main staircase, but spatial orientation wasn't that difficult.

Benjamin looked skeptical for a moment, then nodded.

But as he headed towards the right corridor, Beckett spottet the suite numbers written on the wall. "Uhm, Father-" Beckett began, but Benjamin raised his hand.

"The stewards said-"

"There are the suite numbers on the wall, Father.", Beckett interrupted Benjamin carefully.

"Are the stewards right or the numbers?"

Beckett sighed and turned in the direction indicated by the numbers- the corridor to the left side. Behind him, he heard his father laughing softly, then the sound was swallowed up by a group of passengers coming noisily up the stairs.

The dark carpeted corridor had only a few doors, which indicated how large the suites behind it must be. It was very quiet here and Beckett involuntarily wondered how many of the suites were occupied for this trip. How many Chosen were on their way from Santa Cecilia to the Temple Island this year? How many of them could even afford to book a better cabin than the shared dormitories?

The thought saddened him, but was washed away by the fact that the numbering of the suites seemed to be completely random. He had just passed 118 and 102 to the left and right, now he was standing in front of 105 and 114.

He gently placed his hand on the wall of the ship and sent out his magic. He asked the ship nicely, but it had no answer for him, only a happy welcoming greeting touched his mind. So he walked on, to the end of the corridor and as the 103 was not there, he turned back.

Obviously the numbering signs painted on the wall weren't accurate, because when he stepped into the corridor his father had taken, it said 111-120 and that was definitely wrong.

He sighed and winced as a suite door was ripped open a few steps in front of him and two angry young women came storming out. A plump matron hurried after them, scolding them for their behavior and lack of decorum, followed by an even younger man, almost a boy, who slammed the door behind him.

When the group had disappeared, Benjamin appeared behind them, sauntering towards Beckett. "The stewards were right," he explained with a wry grin.

Beckett sighed. "The numbering is weird."

"True." Benjamin winked at him. It was good to see that his father wasn't the overly serious future lord all day every day, but could also laugh. "Don't get too comfortable in the suite, son. I'm going to go and ask what this crazy numbering is all about. If it turns out someone's been playing a joke, we might have to move."

"I don't think they'd expect guests - even more so the Chosen - who pay that much to do so," Beckett returned skeptically.

Benjamin chuckled softly. "Probably not. But you never know. The door is open, there's still some luggage missing." Then he gave his son a pat on the arm and walked away.

If that was a prankster, there's going to be a lot of trouble, Beckett thought and continued on his way, the carpet muffling the sound of his footsteps.

On his left, the second next door was open and curiously he stepped into the drawing room. The room looked like any other salon, apart from the portholes and the fact that the furniture was bolted down. Dark reds and cream-colored accents gave the room a sophisticated look - you could definitely spend a few days here in comfort.

Each bedroom had its own small bathroom, he'd heard, and because he'd had to pee since a while, he turned to the right of the two doors leading off the salon. He had confidence in his father to turn up here again in a few minutes and drag him to one of the upper decks so that they could watch the sailing together. If there was a chance of that, he at least wanted to freshen up first.

But then he recoiled in shock. A woman was standing in the bedroom, clearly busy changing her clothes. Her long blonde braid hung down her bare back down over the hem of her old-fashioned long frilly underpants, in her hands she held a pale blue dress.

"Oh Pantheon," he stammered tonelessly, stumbling over his own feet, "Miss, I-"

No less horrified than he was, she half-turned and clutched the dress to herself, shrieking.

"Miss, I'm sorry," he began his apology again, "I was wrong about the door, I beg your pardon!"

"Get out!" she shouted, in a surprisingly deep voice.

"Of course!" He turned away and crossed the drawing room. "I beg your pardon, miss, it wasn't my intention!" he called out to her once more, then stepped into the corridor, pulled the door shut and leaned against the wall with a gasp. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the number 111 written on the door.

"You're a blind idiot," he muttered to himself. "Why on earth did THE SAGE choose you?" Slowly, he took a few deep breaths, then set off again. At the next pair of suites, another door was open, but this time he made sure the 103 was written there before he entered. To his relief, he recognized the markings on the travel chests as those of House Carlyle of Sommerset.

Certainly he would meet the young woman at dinner in the upper-class dining room. Until then, he had time to think of appropriate words with which to ask her forgiveness.