Serial Saturday: "Clan of Outcasts" Season 3, Part 18 "Guardianship"

Part 18

"Guardianship"

A Distant Harbor, Three Years Prior....

Just keep moving, the young man thought to himself--although such a thing seemed impossible, with more objects and beings to impede their progress than clear paths through it all. Only someone with absolute confidence or no intellect at all would attempt to enter the vicinity of this particular port without an agenda or a destination in mind. All he had was a very specific desire, and a narrow window of time in which to achieve it. He ventured a glance over his shoulder, where one hand held the wrist of a small girl as they threaded their way through wagons, crates, herds of livestock, porters, merchants, and everything in between. Her steps stumbled and a passing cart full of steamer trunks nearly clipped her.

"Keep up!" He cautioned as he drew her in close, throwing his body between hers and danger and surrounding her with his arms. "We're almost there."

"It's no use!" she whimpered as she huddled against him. "They're going to catch us! We'll never be able to run far enough!" Her dark eyes fixed on his chin and her brow knit reproachfully. "Why did you have to sneak me out like that?"

He set his jaw, not trusting himself to meet her gaze. Because that place would have broken you, his thoughts ran. Because if I hadn't come, if we hadn't run... He satisfied himself with a tighter grip on her shoulder as he scanned the crowd for their pursuers. They didn't need to think about what would have been. "Listen to me closely," he whispered in a voice for her ears only, "as long as I'm alive, you are never going back to that manor ever again! We're not just leaving the city--we're leaving this continent."

The pair ducked behind a brightly-colored stream of well-dressed passengers just getting off a pleasure cruise. He kept his eyes fixed on those slouchy woolen hats that roved carefully through the muddle and noise, searching, waiting, combing for the missing servant girl. The farther they could get from those prying eyes, the better.
"Where will we go?" he almost missed her question.

He closed his eyes, shutting out everything but the dim purple glow that settled over the darkness behind his eyelids. The glow brightened, unfolding into the scene from his dream that had prompted the series of actions leading to this point: a glowing figure with a long white beard, and a string of stones glowing blue as brightly as the string of magical energy coursing through his skin glowed purple. He understood; he would know what this magic could do, how to harness the energy that had arisen inside the young boy's body one morning.

"Risyn!" The girl's frantic tone urged him to open his eyes. The purple streak glowed brightly in front of them, an enchanted thread only he could see. He looked down.
"I asked if you knew where we could go!" she reminded him. "Those men are getting closer to us!" She pointed over his shoulder, where the crowd had thinned somewhat, so the slouch-hatters had resumed studying all the heads below shoulder-level. Any moment now...

"This way!" Risyn hissed, guiding the small girl down the pier toward a large ship with plenty of sails, looking outfitted for particularly long journeys. Standing on the dock overseeing the transport of cargo onto his ship was a portly man with thick, grey hair, and a beard billowing down his chest.
"Excuse me!" Risyn called as they approached.

A black shape on the man's shoulder shifted and let out an ugly croak, and the man turned to face the pair. His eyes gleamed, and the sunlight reflected off his glossy red nose.
"Can I help ye, lad?" he asked.

Risyn nodded. "Are you the captain of this vessel?" he asked.

The bearded man nodded, while a burly giant of a man watched them keenly from the deck overhead. "I am--what business is it of yours?"

Risyn tilted his head, watching the purple thread extend down the dock in front of them and up the gangplank. Whatever awaited at the end of that thread, they would reach it with that ship--and somehow, deep inside his psyche, Risyn discovered that he already knew why. "You are destined for The Realm--and that is where I must go, as well."

The gleaming eyes narrowed, and the grey beard bristled. "I don't carry passengers, boy," he growled. "I don't suppose you're going to offer me money for a berth, just because we might happen upon the place you're wanting to go?"
Risyn stood his ground. The magic curled around his feet, coursing up through his legs and into his whole body. "We have no money, we only need to leave immediately."
The captain laughed in his face. "HA! No money? What else can ye offer me, then?" His eyes dropped down to the girl currently clutching to Risyn's shoulder.

Risyn shifted his stance, placing more of his body between her and the captain. "I can offer you my skills," he said, calling the flow of magic out to the surface of his fingertips.
The gaze focused on him once more. "Skills? You ever been on a boat, boy?"

Risyn shook his head, but gestured with his hand. In the blue sky overhead, a cloud formed, a regular flat-bottomed storm cloud--and with its shade came a thick breeze. At another gesture from the young man, the cloud vanished, and everything was humid air and blazing sun once more.
He stopped to observe the captain's reaction, but the bushy-bearded man merely waited. Risyn sighed, and pointed to the large crate still waiting on the dock, as the bald boatswain hollered names at the riggers trying to find the right ropes to hoist it aboard.

The wood creaked, and the dock swayed a little as the massive crate began slowly levitating off the dock. Sweat broke out on Risyn's scalp, but he maintained the telekinetic pressure, lifting the crate onto the deck of the ship with nothing but his own willpower. As a final demonstration, Risyn reached toward the captain's coat, and--without touching the man at all--pulled something out of the captain's pocket: his tarnished hip flask.
The captain snatched the flask away from Risyn with his left hand, while extending his right in greeting. "I think I've seen enough. Welcome aboard the Brigadier's Ransom, lad! My name is Captain Haggard. What should we call you?"

Risyn smiled and shook his hand. "My name is Risyn, and this is my sister--"
Haggard was still nodding when he interrupted. "And can she do all that, same as you?"
Risyn shook his head. "No, sir, but--"

Haggard also shook his head. "Then I'm afraid we ain't got room for more than one stranger on board."
Risyn saw the fear in his sister's eyes, and he pulled her closer. "I'm afraid I must insist that she comes with me, or neither of us will board your ship."
Haggard's face clouded, and Risyn continued. "I will consent to use my power to aid in giving you fair winds and friendly seas, and the other ways that I have demonstrated here, if you allow me and my sister to sail with you to The Harbor in The Realm. She might not have my abilities, but she can cook and clean and she is a fast learner."

Haggard finally tugged his beard. "I suppose she's small enough, she won't take up much room. The cook could probably use an extra set of hands as well. Very well, Risyn--I agree to your terms!"
They shook hands again, and this time, Risyn followed Captain Haggard up the gangplank. They cast off, leaving the hellish manor, the slouch-hatted goons, and all their troubles behind. Risyn recalled to mind the Light-Mage from his vision; soon he would have answers!

The grumpy, sallow-faced cook stood in the galley of the Brigadier's Ransom and stared at the wide-eyed waif standing before her.
"What's yer name, gerl?" she whistled between missing teeth.
The young girl folded her arms to keep from trembling. What had her brother gotten them into this time?
"My name is Quilla," she said in a small voice.
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Present Day, The Forest Kingdom of Elvendom

"Presenting the High Prince and Princess of the Forest Kingdom! All hail Prince Aspen and Princess Mignonette!"

Velora murmured her hails along with the others--namely, the guards posted around the perimeter of the room. Gavin and Raedyn were too busy gawking at the vaulted ceiling of what looked to be a royal palace carved out of a giant tree. Velora knew better than to take such an incredible sight for granted--but she was too annoyed at the way they clung to their little ceremonies even when there was no one to intimidate or impress, really. Other than soldiers, the four Royals were the only Elves present.

Prince Aspen crossed the room and ascended the dais to sit upon his throne, while Mignonette did the same. On either side, Prince Spruce and Princess Tamarind waited their turn to take their thrones.
The silver-haired High Prince glared down at the three humans.

"Well?" he grunted. "What have you to say for yourselves?"

Velora seethed visibly, but she knew better than to speak until Aspen nodded toward her.
"What is the meaning of this summons?" she demanded. "I have already explained to Spruce the reason why you cannot force us to reclaim your dragon for you--"

"We have relinquished our claim upon the dragon," Aspen interrupted her. "Since she has seen fit to lay and hatch her egg outside of the sanctuary in our domain, she has staked her claim upon the mortal domain, and secured her own emancipation from the restrictions of both realms. We are no longer concerned with the augmented human who claims to share a bond with her, either--he has been absolved of his crimes in the eyes of the Crown."

Velora checked her rising temper. "Then, your Highness, why are we here?"

His strange, golden gaze locked on her in a way that made it impossible for her to break his gaze in any way. "I have summoned you here, as the Chief Forest Warden and the officially-recognized human liaison to the Elvish Realm, because it has come to my attention that your rulers knowingly shelter, in their very castle, at the heart of The Realm, a highly dangerous individual." His eyes shifted, but only slightly, so that Velora still felt him looking right at her. "There is one among you who knows of whom I speak."

Raedyn gave a strangled sort of yelp. Velora felt the wall of putrid fear leaching off of him. "N-no! I don't know anything! I swear!"
Velora held up her hand. "The threat of assassination has already been mitigated. This man is no longer a threat to The Realm."

Aspen leaned forward, fury a mask on his face. "This man is not the individual himself, but he is very much in league with the party responsible for this insidious breach of security!"

Raedyn's knees buckled, and he dropped to the floor between Gavin and Velora--much the same response after vanishing briefly and claiming to have seen Juros. "I don't know anything! I just took the job--I swear, that's as far as my involvement goes! Please don't torture me! I don't know anything!"

Alarm heightened Velora's senses, and she narrowed her eyes at Spruce's side of the dais. Sure enough, the Low Prince deftly manipulated a ball of energy in his hand, with his gaze fixed on the trembling, bawling Raedyn.

"Stop this at once!" she thundered, and all four Elvish royals fixated on her. "Your Majesty," she bowed to Aspen. "I recognize that this is your domain, and I acknowledge that you carry the authority here, so I will not presume to require your compliance according to my directions--but rather than torturing this man who I assure you is under my protection... and willingly pardoned for his misdeeds by Juros himself," she added for good measure, whether she wholly believed it or not, "perhaps it would be better suited to your interests to explain just what is the nature of the threat you are telling me about." Could it possibly have something to do with the fiasco at The Harbor last night?

Aspen sighed, and nodded. "Not much is known about her identity nor what sort of legacy she carries, but she is a Gifted queen who regards herself an enemy of Juros and anyone he has Blessed--and she has made it her life's goal to discover the mortal legend known as the Gate To Paradise."
Velora blinked, recalling all the conversations and revelations Jade had explained during the campaign against Troy three years prior. "Paradise--you mean, like Juros' own realm?"

Mignonette took up the account with a nod. "The very same," she said. "It is said that Juros entrusted the Key to this Gate to his Knights who remained within the mortal domain, and they were the ones who had jurisdiction over who could access Justicia through this Gate."

"However," Aspen interjected, "The mortals began using the Blessings Juros gave them as means to destroy each other, and so, not wanting the evil to spread into his own domain, he locked the Gate and scattered his Knights, so that none of them knew which one had the Key, nor how to unlock the Gate and restore the direct connection to Justicia. The very location of the Gate has been lost to mortal generations, and has sank into myth and rumor."

Velora's mind spun as she digested this information. "But now someone is actually looking for the Gate, and wants the Key?"

Aspen nodded. "The Dark Queen wants to wrest control of the Gate, so that she can control direct access to Juros, and exact her revenge. But to do that, she needs to know where it is, and she needs the Key to open it."

Velora sighed. Did the threats never stop coming? "So you're saying she has an agent somewhere in the Castle because the Key is supposed to be there?"

"The Key was there!" Low Princess Tamarind sprang from her throne. The glistening bloodlines on her face stood out like a glittering veil. "I sensed it myself! But just a short while ago, it departed The Realm--what can we assume but that it is headed for the Dark Queen herself, carried by another of her agents?"

"Please understand how serious this is, Forest Warden Velora," Aspen entreated her, for once not ordering her about coldly. "The location of the Gate has been held secret by Elves for many generations, buried in our records so that no mortal may find it without our knowledge--but if the Dark Queen receives the Key, and finds where the Gate is, there is very little that can stop her from waging war against Juros himself, and no place he can hide from her."

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Serial Saturday: "Clan of Outcasts" Season 3, Part 17 "Adrift"

Part 17

"Adrift"

"Trim the mainsail!" The bald boatswain bellowed. "Get that port jib laced, she's luffing!" His eye traveled to the young man with the scruffy red beard attempting to work up his nerve to climb the rigging. "Oi, lubber! What are you waiting for, an invitation? Get to where I tells ya, or you'll be eating barnacles off the bottom of this ship!"

Kaidan winced and scrambled to the top rail. From there he could step onto the ladder-like rope nets that stretched up to the topmost crossbars of the sails.
The rigger above him glanced over her shoulder. She balanced on one foot as the wind blew her long brown hair all around her face. "It's not so bad once you get used to it," she said. "You're lucky we're sailing on calm seas right now."

Kaidan watched the side of the ship sway to one side, and gripped the rigging tight with both hands as a rolling wave slapped the side of the hull. He made it halfway up when the call came down: "Done!" A second rigger, the one with short red braids, shimmied down the rope and swung from one side of the ship to the other as easily as teleporting. She sneered at him as he worked his way slowly down the rope ladder once more. "You're going to have to be faster than that if you expect the Captain to keep you around, lubber!"

"Give him a break, Cori!" Chided the brunette. "We're only a few hours out of port--and he doesn't look like his feet have ever left solid ground before."

Kaidan realized the truth of that statement when he finally reached the deck below... and it just kept swaying. He staggered and reeled, trying to find that constantly-shifting balance point and failing, until his very insides gave a lurch in the wrong direction, and before he could stop it, Kaidan felt his throat seize up and the dizzying, spinning feeling worsened, sending the contents of his stomach spewing out onto the deck before he could bend over the railing.

A few sailors jeered and whooped at the way he gripped the rail with shaking arms. His head throbbed so badly that he could barely hear the boatswain's commands to readjust the sails for the umpteenth time. When the fog cleared a little, he could see Beren--the former Crown Prince, and even King, temporarily, before he gave that responsibility to his younger brother and chose to remain a Prince.
Now the burly quartermaster sent him trudging across the deck with a mop and a bucket of mucky seawater, to wipe away Kaidan's vomit before it dried and rotted on the deck. They hurled insults at him, too.

"Better get it all this time, Harlock!"
"Betcher hands got soft since we last saw yer!"
"Oh look fellas, it's Harlock's Dinner again!"

Kaidan couldn't watch for too long, as the urge to vomit hit him again, and this time, he puked over the side of the ship.
"Uh-oh, somebody's got a case of the frogs!" teased a sharp voice.

The brown-haired rigger came to stand next to him. "Fix your eyes on the horizon," she said.
Kaidan wiggled his head and clenched his eyes shut. Surely it would be over soon! Surely things would level out!
Her hand gripped his arm just below the shoulder, and he felt the strength of it. "Do it," she urged. "Chin up, look out. There you go."

Kaidan struggled to follow her directions, lifting his chin and slowly peeling his eyes open. The whole sky was ablaze with pink and gold tones, as the sunset wasn't obstructed by mountains, buildings, or trees. He found a low-hanging cloud to focus on, and as he breathed slowly through his nose, the nausea subsided.
Finally, he turned to her. "Thanks," he muttered.

She smiled at him. "My name's Reva, by the way," she said. "You're Kaidan, right?"
Kaidan nodded, feeling more confident and able to anticipate the rocking rather than fight against it. "Thanks for the advice, Reva."
She snorted. "We riggers have to look out for one another--we depend on each other to keep the ship upright. One person can't do it all on their own; we each need everyone else."

Kaidan watched Beren make his way across the deck. Hearing the name Harlock reminded him of not too long ago, when "Harlock" was just another name on the roster of Outcasts, rumored to be the lost Crown Prince returned, but as long as he couldn't remember his true identity, Kaidan and his sister could continue holding sway over the Royal Council. His lips tightened as he remembered what it was like to hold the Gift of Charisma their father had forced on them--the thirst for preeminence it created, the hunger to always be the center of attention, and convince people to do their bidding. Thank goodness the imprisonment had rid them of the false Gifting!
Reva saw the change in expression, but she couldn't know what was going on in his head. She only noticed the way he watched his friend. "You and Harlock are pretty close, then?" she asked with a cautious hesitancy in her voice.

Kaidan blinked and shrugged. "Well, he's kind of--" He stopped just short of admitting that Beren was any kind of high-ranking person. No one on this ship knew of his royal connections. "I mean, I guess you could say that," he allowed. He leaned his head back and felt the cool, salty breeze on his face. "It's like you said--we depend on each other to survive." Never mind that Beren had more authority than any one else except Jaran and Azelie--but it was true: if they were going to make it off this ship alive, they needed to stay close.

"Coming through!" The warning came only moments before the sword blade flashed very near them, and Kaidan had to dodge out of the way to avoid the small, wiry body hurtling toward him.
A lithe Elfin deckhand with boundless energy and a savage temper crossed swords with the dark-skinned pirate who mostly served as the crew's reconnaissance man when they were on the prowl for loot or jobs. His long rat-tail--a thin queue extending all the way down his back--cracked like a whip as he dodged the Elf's attacks and responded with his own hits.

Reva leaned back against the railing, very nonplussed about the commotion. She winked at Kaidan. "You'll want to be careful around Sally," she warned, nodding to the pair.
The redheaded Elf vaulted from one deck to the next, and then back down again right behind her opponent, barely allowing him time to turn so he could parry her stroke.
Kaidan raised his eyebrow. "Sally?" he asked.

Reva gestured to the Elf. "Marsali is her name," she said, "but you didn't hear it from me. She goes by Sally, and you'll have a better chance of keeping all your body parts if you remember that."
Kaidan recalled seeing the dark-haired pirate slipping through the alleyways of the Harbor. "And the other one? What's his name?"

Reva's lips twitched a little. "That's Keaton," she said shortly. "He's new to our crew, and he keeps pretty well to himself... At least, when Sally's not picking fights with him."
Kaidan glanced around and saw money and small objects exchanging hands as the other pirates started loitering, distracted by the duel happening on deck.

A stray blow by Sally struck a taut line, and one of the sails promptly sagged, attracting the attention of the boatswain. "Awwright, that's it!" he barked, barreling down into their midst. Keaton backed away, absolving himself, but the burly man's thick hand caught Sally's arm. "If I've told ye once, I've told ye a thousand times--"
Sally wasn't having it. She wriggled and thrashed against him. "Get stuffed, Watson!"

Watson gave her a little shake. "Now you lissen 'ere, wench!" He growled, pulling her in close. Kaidan missed the rest of the conversation as activity around the ship resumed, riggers along with Reva climbing up to re-fasten the sail, and deckhands returning to their duties in the absence of distraction. He sighed and wondered how Denahlia fared, down in the galley of the ship.

Denahlia, as matters stood, was not having a good time.

The galley of the Brigadier's Ransom was cramped, smelly, moist, and too dark for comfort. She saw none of the rolling waves and brilliant sunset that Kaidan witnessed. It would help if she had somebody fascinating to engage with, but the galley maid, a girl by the name of Quilla, didn't seem to want to talk much, if she could help it.

Denahlia watched the young woman calmly move through the routine of cleaning, preparing, and cooking the food. Her implants were a little glitchy from the rough treatment they'd received upon being abducted, but at least there was enough of a signal to let her know that she would still be able to access the signals she was used to--but who knew how long that would last, the further they got from the Realm?

Quilla chopped vegetables with a practiced hand and a sharp blade. She barely moved as she reached over to stir the chunks of meat searing in a pan, and then as soon as she placed the last slice, everything went into the pot of boiling water to simmer. She took a sniff, and added pinches and sprinkles from small pouches of seasonings that Denahlia recalled seeing Tertus use on occasion. The galley, stuffy from the heat of the fire, soon filled with the tantalizing aroma--if a bit too much of it.

Denahlia's peripheral sensors kicked in, registering a single footfall that prompted her to turn. A slender woman stood at the foot of the stairs down into the galley, with fair hair and pointed earlobes. Denahlia recognized her as the Elf her soldiers had briefly apprehended in their efforts to quell the unrest sparked by the pirates. 

She sneered in her thoughts, rather than let the expression show on her face, when she considered how ironic it was that the newcomer who ended up in cuffs was probably the least troublesome of the lot. What she had observed of the Elf so far was that she was merely a guest on the ship, accompanying them on their excursions, but managing to avoid anything overtly illegal in her activities. On the whole, she seemed to be a calming presence among the raucous crowd.

"How soon is supper?" she asked politely. "The natives grow restless."
"Captain said he wants it by sundown," Quilla muttered without turning around. "He'll get it by sundown."

Denahlia vented her frustration by a small tightening of the lips. Sundown! They had already been traveling for an entire day! Had the others even figured out what had become of them? How far was the captain intending to travel? She stood up, eyeing the stairs and the opening onto the deck.

The Elf laid a gentle hand upon her arm. Earnest blue eyes stared into her own. "I would not risk it," she said, as if she knew exactly what Denahlia had intended. "This is where you are safest."
Denahlia felt the resentment building--who did this Faeling think she was?

"Leave her alone, Seline," Quilla grunted. "I ain't got use for her. Far as I'm concerned, she can go where she likes. Don't know why Captain sent 'er down here."
Seline; Denahlia logged that name away with the rest of the roster on the pirate crew that she was building in her mind.
Seline shook her head. "She's here to help you, Quilla," she said. "You were saying the other day that you could use an extra pair of hands around here. Well," Seline's fingers encircled Denahlia's wrists, brushing against the nearly-invisible scars of her implants. "Here are those hands."

Denahlia pulled her hands away. What made Elves such intrusive beings? Seline walked off toward the sleeping quarters, and Quilla resumed ignoring Denahlia, at least until the stew finished cooking.
Quilla ladled some stew into a small pot, carefully placed a lid over the top, and put it in a small wicker basket with a chunk of dry bread. This she handed to Denahlia.
"Might as well make yourself useful," grunted the girl who was probably no older than Anahita--younger, more likely.
Denahlia accepted the heavy basket, while Quilla carried an open pitcher that smelled like fermented seawater.
"Follow me," the young woman said.

Quilla led Denahlia up the stairs and onto the main deck, where they had to cross the length of the ship to reach the Captain's quarters at the stern of the ship. Denahlia's implants picked up a bit more intel, detecting Kaidan on the rigging overhead, and Beren somewhere amidships, although by now it was so dark that Denahlia couldn't see much into the thick shadows all around the vessel. The pirates moved about in ever-shifting crowds, sometimes apart, sometimes too close. All the while, the ship rocked and rolled under their feet. Denahlia relied on her stability monitors to steady her legs, but Quilla seemed to move easily over the surface, as if walking on flat ground.

Just before they reached the Captain's door, one of the pirates reeled in their direction. Denahlia was able to step out of the way in time to distinguish his long, narrow rat-tail hanging down his back, but Quilla wasn't so lucky. She bore the brunt of his stumble, sending the pitcher of grog sloshing against his tunic. He staggered back, shoving her to the deck as he did.
"You witless hussy!" He snarled. "Now look what you've done!" He grabbed the back of her dress and yanked her up. "You've gone and messed my best tunic! I oughta teach you manners!" He brought his fist back, and Denahlia saw Quilla raise her arms to at the very least protect her face.
CRACK.

"AUGH! MY HAND!"

Pirates parted around them, and Denahlia stared in awe at the glittering suit of armor that had just appeared on every inch of Quilla's small body. The pirate who'd tried to beat her lurched away, cradling his limp and bleeding fist, spewing threats and epithets in her direction, but once Quilla began to move again, the armor dissipated, and she once again wore nothing but the dirty shift she'd been in since Denahlia met her. Quilla stopped when she realized that Denahlia hadn't moved since seeing her dramatic response to confrontation. She turned around.
"Coming, Handy?" chided the galley maid.

Denahlia willed her body into action, and caught up with Quilla. The rest of their movement went unhindered. Pirates whispered and pointed, but nobody got within arm's reach of Quilla or Denahlia all of the rest of the way back to the galley.
Once there, Quilla visibly relaxed, sinking onto the short wooden stool with a long sigh.
Denahlia took a chair nearby, resting her fingertips against each other as she tried to compute what she'd just witnessed. After a minute of tense silence, she noticed Quilla staring at her.

"You wanna ask me," Quilla observed. "Ask."
Denahlia swallowed, and phrased her question very carefully. "What... what was that?"

Quilla shrugged, standing up to commence cleaning up the soiled spaces in her kitchen. All in a day's work for a galley maid. "Don't much like to be hit," she stated.

Denahlia watched those deft hands at work. She would need to review her visual footage to see the crystalline armor all over again. She could only hope that her eyes registered clearly enough--it was hard to tell, now that her principal interface was in her hands, not her eyes. "But... I mean... You're not..." she stammered, trying to find the best way to ask a question that she had assumed only pertained to residents of The Realm. "I mean, it's not a Gift, is it?"

Quilla slammed down the pan she'd been carrying. "You gonna sit there and call me a freak all night, or are you going to help?"
Denahlia got up to assist with the cleaning, and the two women barely spoke to one another for the rest of the night.

Up in the secondary crew quarters, more exposed than the quarters down below, Beren sank onto the musty, mildewed bedroll, his arms aching from the scrubbing and mopping he'd had to do all day. He squeezed his eyes shut and tried not to think about how long they were going to make him keep doing the same thing over again. I don't have Jay to keep me company this time, either, he thought. But at least I know that I won't be losing my memories again. He didn't want to get too used to becoming Harlock all over again, falling into the bad habits he had developed when he had no recollection that he was meant to be king.

A soft clunking sound prompted him to open his eyes. Beren had to grip the bedroll to keep from flailing in terror and awakening the slumbering crewmates when he saw the mop, standing up straight in midair at the foot of his bed. As he watched, blinking and pinching himself into wakefulness, the mop slowly inched over of its own accord and tapped in a very deliberate pattern against the wall of his small berth.
Beren felt a surge of hope as he stared at that space beside the mop, as if he could will that person into view.
"Zayra?" he whispered.

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