Serial Saturday: "Clan of Outcasts" Season 3, Part 23 "Breach"

Part 23

"Breach"

Five Years ago...

Bright torches lit key areas of the camp at the edge of The Sea—just enough for the watch to see more of the immediate area, but not enough to be noticed. Or at least, that was the plan.

The twenty-man crew had been selected for an elite mission intended to take place on the water, but they had not yet boarded the ship they would take.
Brigadier-General Feldt, the man in charge of the team, glanced around the camp to make sure the watch were at their stations, and then withdrew into his tent to review the maps and comb through the meticulous details of every move he would make on the morrow, one more time. Those pirates had stormed their last port, as far as he was concerned!

If Feldt had been a little less distracted by his future, he might have noticed the slight shift in the shadows around the tree line behind the camp. He had instructed the watch to be as randomized and unpredictable as possible, changing positions regularly, but switching up their pathing and the directions they were looking--

Yet somebody had managed to identify the gaps in their surveillance, and that person now crept toward the camp, staying well within this series of blindspots. The infiltrator headed straight for one tent in particular, in the middle and along the perimeter. The watch traded positions, and in the brief moment during which none of them were paying any attention except to the very spots where they were meant to stand, the security of the Brigadier's camp was well and truly breached.

The young man occupying the tent in question settled in his cot, feeling agitation that made him want to tear out his sleek red hair by the roots. Did they really stand a chance of catching the pirates the next day? Would the Brigadier honor his agreement if they did?

He sensed there was something amiss just seconds before the intruder materialized in front of him. The young man sat up straight on his cot, and before he could cry out, a narrow finger rested on his lips, and a hushed voice asked, "Are you the navigator?"
The young man squinted and backed away from this person's touch. "Who's asking?"

"Someone who knows," replied the person, pushing the hood back from their face. Soft golden ringlets fell free around a fair face. "I've heard what you can do... what you are." She searched his face with practiced eyes. "Is it true?"

The navigator could have dismissed her right then--raised the alarm, sent her packing, or denied everything the implied. Instead, he gestured to the smoldering lantern hanging from the roof of his tent. "Watch," he instructed.
He made a simple movement, just a twitch of his fingers, a balanced hand posture. A focused gust of wind streaked through a gap in the tent's stitching, and stirred those not-quite-dead embers. Steadily, the spark reignited, and soon the lantern cast a dim light around the tent.

She balked, pulling up on her hood, in case the light was just bright enough to be noticed from outside. "Flame? But I thought--" She caught him staring and ducked her head with an embarrassed tilt to her lips. "They say you could summon the wind, or push it away--that even a ship in dead, glass-smooth water could still move because you brought wind to move it, or that a vessel in the most turbulent storms would survive because you deadened the air around it. Is this not what you can do--what you've done before?"

The young man flicked his fingers again, and a tiny gust picked up the few flickering embers from the lantern, and carried them right into his palm, where he caught them in a small dish, reducing the amount of light to just enough to see each other's faces. "I can," he admitted. "My name is Tristan. What is yours?"

"Corinda," she answered with a gentle grin, but whether it was relief at seeing her suspicions confirmed, or the fact that she was genuinely starting to like him, remained to be seen.
Sleep would not be for a while at least, so Tristan tilted his head curiously at her, wrapping his arms around his knees. "Tell me, Corinda--why have you come to visit me in the middle of our camp, in the middle of the night? Was it just to watch me blow around a few cinders?"

Corinda shook her head, fidgeting with the seam on her close-fitting trousers. "No--not just that. I..." She trailed off, seemed a little afraid, but plunged ahead anyway. "I'm a deckhand on the Scylla," she confessed. "I've come to warn you."

Tristan tensed as she named the very pirate ship they were preparing to hunt. "Warn me about what?" he asked.
Corinda pursed her lips, her expression wincing in displeasure. "Haggard, our captain, is a very conniving and cruel man. He knows about you--and when the Brigadier gives chase tomorrow, he is going to seek you out very first, and either force you to join his crew... or get rid of you."
Tristan frowned, and the swirling breeze playing about his fingers swelled to a twisting wind the size of his palm. "Get rid of me?" he said. "Why?"

"I don't know," Corinda answered. "Something to do with your, um, ability... He's set himself against your kind."
Tristan snorted. "My kind? As far as I know, there aren't any others who can do what I do." He closed his fist, and the very air inside the tent seemed to freeze in place.

Corinda bobbed her head. "I can't say I've ever seen another person who can do that... but I do know where there are lots of people who can do things that other, normal people can't."

Tristan heard her speak the word normal, and a flood of doubts crowded into his mind. How dare she say he wasn't normal--but wasn't that something he thought about himself every time he used this strange "gift" that he'd been given? But then again... to be given the opportunity to avoid being slaughtered, and to actually be able to meet other people who understood what he dealt with every day, and accepted him as one of their own...

"Where is this place you speak of?" he asked in hushed tones--after all, they didn't want to be overheard.
"It's called The Realm," Corinda answered. "And I can find you a ride to get there tonight."
Tristan squinted closely at this girl who until a few minutes ago had been a perfect stranger, actually going out of her way to accomplish the impossible for his sake. "What do you mean, find me a ride?"

Corinda smiled. "It's an instinct I have--I can figure out where things are going, and I have knack for finding the right way to go places. On my way from where our ship is anchored, to this camp, I heard a merchant with a wagon talking about making the trip up to The Realm tonight--I can get you into his wagon without him noticing." Corinda stood and put her hood up again, masking her features and making her stand out even less in the midst of that darkened tent. "So what'll it be, Tristan the wind-whisperer? Are you leaving this place, or not?"

Tristan took one look at the door of his tent. General Feldt had made no secret about the fact that even if Tristan did well, and the mission succeeded, he would still be regarded as "property" and the man would not hesitate to turn him over to the scientists committed to experimenting on the Gifts and speculating about their origins, why some had them and others did not. This wasn't any sort of life, and definitely not the one Tristan would have chosen for himself. He shrugged, turned his back on all that he knew, and slipped out the door after the strange young woman.

The wagon was waiting exactly where she said it would be. The driver had pulled to a stop and was absorbed in something Tristan couldn't exactly distinguish in the darkness, but he didn't notice when Corinda lifted the tarp at the back of his wagon and motioned for Tristan to get in.
He stopped her before she could drop the tarp and cover him again. "Wait," said Tristan, "What about the Brigade? They won't get far without someone to help their ships navigate. Maybe I should stay--"

"And risk losing your life, or at the very least, your freedom?" Corinda smirked. "I may not know a lot about you Gifted people, but I know enough to realize that you need to be safeguarded more than feared."
Tristan tried to look her in the eye, but she averted her gaze. "Corinda, you don't need to worry about me," he said softly. "I can handle it--"
"Go, Tristan," she said, stepping back from the wagon as the driver started calling out to his horses. "I'll cover for you, but this isn't the place for you." She dropped the tarp, and immediately, the wagon began to shake and roll over the uneven ruts in the ground.

In the middle of the camp, Brigadier-General Feldt had just set aside his maps, full of confidence in his plans and predictions--when a young woman dressed in leather barged right into his tent, right past the stunned guards who were posted in front of the door to prevent just this sort of thing from happening.
He jumped to his feet and fumbled for his pistol, all the while trying to form a coherent shout to see who was paying attention and would come to his aid.

"Help! Pirates!" He managed at last.
The young woman rather calmly flicked a piece of dirt off her sleeve. "Relax, I'm not going to hurt you," she scoffed. "I hear you're in the market for a new navigator, as your former one has flown the coop," she said. Her eyes twinkled as she met and held the General's gaze. "I've come to offer my services."
Guards tumbled into his tent, and Feldt held up his hand to forestall them.
"What do you mean, he's flown the coop?" he asked.

"Sir, it's true!" one of the guards gasped. "I was just coming to tell you--Tristan is missing!"

The girl shrugged. "Guess you won't get far if you don't know which direction works best, and you've lost your advantage because no one else can control the wind like he can, am I right?"

Feldt's gaze narrowed. He didn't like being told off by a mere girl. "And why should I believe anything you say?" he asked. "For all I know, you might be a simple deckhand looking for an edge in a fight you don't care about, or a spy sent to infiltrate my crew."

Her hand slammed down on his table with a force that made everyone jump. She held his gaze without wavering. "Or I could be the best damn navigator on this whole continent, and you'll need me to guide you, now that your best chance of being in control of anything in tomorrow's skirmish has escaped your grasp!"

Feldt hesitated for a long breath. Finally, he waved his hand. "Fine, you can take his position tomorrow when we strike. But," he jabbed a finger at her. "My men and I will be watching your every move. If this is an attempt to double-cross, I will feed you to the sharks, and you'll wish you'd stayed with your old master!"
The navigator shrugged. "Fair enough."
They shook hands, and the fate of the Brigadier was sealed that very night.
>>>>>>>>>>>>

Present Day...

Denahlia scowled to keep the sweat out of her eyes as she finished rewiring the ancient system embedded in the Golem's hand. She'd been working under the watchful eye of Haggard's quartermaster and right-hand man, the stoic and imposing Goddry, for over an hour now. Beren could hardly stand the anxiety of watching her and having no idea what it all meant--but at the same time, it called his attention to the way Denahlia behaved around this strange technology. As a Hunter, she would be blinking a lot, and she seemed to carry within her an innate knowledge of the inner workings of things, an impeccable memory, and the ability to retain vast amounts of information and countless records.
Now, as she worked with the Golem's hand, he saw her feeling her way around it more often--as if her Gift had changed its function.

A spark erupted from the tangle of wires, and Denahlia jumped back with a cry. "I could use some help, here!" she snarled, shaking her hands the way Beren would after a nasty jolt from Jaran.
Haggard's crew exchanged uneasy glances from Denahlia's position at the hand, to the whole length of the Golem's body, but no one moved.

Beren felt the hairs on the back of his neck lift, and he turned to see Haggard's gleaming eyes staring right at him.
"What're you waitin' for, Harlock?" jeered the pirate captain. "Git on over there!"

Beren opened his mouth to protest, but Goddry stepped toward him. Beren inched away to avoid being shoved by the stony man. "All right, I'm going!" He crossed the distance to Denahlia's position. "What do you need?" he asked.
Denahlia stiffened and glanced toward him with confusion briefly on her face, as if she expected someone else besides Beren, but a moment later, she shrugged it off and said, "I need someone to help hold components for me." She climbed onto the wide, articulated plate that served as the Golem's palm. "Come over here."

Beren clambered after her, his heartbeat skyrocketing as he imagined Zayra chewing him out for being so close to something they couldn't even begin to fathom. "Now what?"
Denahlia lifted her gaze and pointed upward, to the Golem's chest. "We need to get up there," she replied.

Beren tried to measure the height with his eyes, but he was never very good at that sort of thing. "But how are we going to do that?"

"Hold on to something."

Beren was dimly aware of Denahlia pressing her palms against the surface of the metal plate underneath them. "What?"

Before he finished the word, the hand gave a jerking rumble and began sliding upward, into the air! Beren desperately clutched at the nearest finger, but doing so gave him a clear view of the ground dropping further and further away from them. The palm stopped level with the Golem's chest, and Denahlia calmly walked across it, as if it was simply a balcony on one of the towers at the White Castle. She fluttered her fingers over the tarnished surface of the round shields making up the Golem's chest plate, and different blinking lights and hissing hydraulics unfolded and shifted under her hand.

Such was his curiosity, that Beren forgot his fear. He shifted so that he could sit nearer to Denahlia, in case she needed help, but he wasn't quite ready to stand just yet.

She worked busily for several minutes before the keenness of his gaze upon her prompted her to stop and demand, "What is it?"

Beren averted his gaze, finding nothing much to focus on besides his own hands. "Um, nothing," he hedged.

Denahlia rolled her eyes, and held out a handful of components she'd removed from the chest cavity. "Hold these," she said.

Beren opened his hands, and received the bits of metal and wiring. As he did so, he happened to glance at her face.
"Hmm," he remarked, before he could stop himself.

Denahlia withdrew her hands from the opening and turned to face him with a scowl. "All right, if you've got something to say, your highness, go ahead and say it!"

Beren sighed. "It's not that I'm suspicious of you or anything," he said. "But why aren't you using your Gift to repair this enchanted mechanism?"
Her gaze shifted downward. "I am," she retorted defensively.

Beren shook his head. "No, I remember back when we were all fighting against each other and then uniting to stop Troy--whenever you used your Gift, your eyes would glow." He gestured to her face. "I've been watching you for some time, and your eyes haven't glowed once, the whole time."

Now she glared at him. "What do you care?" she sneered. "You're not even the King, when did you receive jurisdiction over the Gifts of others?"

Beren shrugged his shoulders, since his hands were too full to raise. "I don't, I just... didn't think it was possible to change one's Gift, but maybe I missed something--"

"It isn't!" Denahlia snapped, turning back to finish deconstructing the damaged wiring. After a moment, her shoulders sagged and she gave a heavy sigh.
"I don't have... I'm not Gifted anymore... I think," she admitted softly.

Beren blinked wide eyes. "What?" He gasped. "Since when? How is such a thing even possible?"
Denahlia set aside the tools and components and dropped to a sitting position beside the prince. "Truth is... All those special abilities I had, the things I could do with my sight, like being able to see in the dark, or through walls, or far away, and very small... It was due to an optic implant, a tiny machine attached to the nerves in my eyes." She gestured to the scar that ran across one eye. "Without that machine, I'd be totally blind. In fact, I was blind, as an infant."

"Blind?" Beren gasped. "No, that's impossible! No scientist in all The Realm could ever conceive of something that could restore sight to someone born blind! Much less be able to place it inside a person's skull without damaging it in some way!"

Denahlia chuckled and ran her fingers through her short hair to hide the way they trembled. "You're right there," she mused. "That's why I could believe that it was a Gift--that's what the scientists called anything they didn't understand, right? It didn't matter that my experience was wholly different from everyone else with an organic Gift--I had something different about me, therefore it must be a Gift."
"How do you know all these things?" Beren asked.

Denahlia's lips pursed, and she set her chin. "Because," she said slowly. "Two years ago, I... found the people who installed the implants."
Beren blinked rapidly. "Found them where?"

Pain ghosted over Denahlia's expression. "In another dimension, a system of worlds completely different from our own."
Beren scratched at his beard. "Worlds..." he muttered underneath his breath. "You said worlds, plural."

"I only saw one of them, although I heard about the others," Denahlia answered. "It's a world where technology and magic exist side by side, sometimes working in harmony with one another, sometimes working against one another, so they need to be kept separate."

"Magic and technology..." Beren kept repeating the words he didn't understand, as if hearing them in his voice would make them more tangible and comprehensible. "So... all those new sensors and intercoms and devices you introduced around The Realm last year--"
Denahlia nodded. "All came from that other place... the place I was born."
"You were born there?"

K-krack!

A bullet whizzed by them and struck a treetop just beside the Golem. Denahlia glanced over the edge at the milling pirates below. There was still a bit for her to do--but she probably didn't have much time to sit here and explain the existence of this other world to the befuddled prince. She stood up and beckoned for him to stand next to her as she finished reconnecting the wires to restore the flow of power to all the necessary systems. 

"Yes, my family came to the Realm from Je--from the other place," she answered. "There used to be a special program the authorities used to control the population, and rid their world of rampant magic: they would demand that certain children be given to the government to train and equip with enough technology to take out the magic-users. To avoid this, my parents, after allowing me to undergo the procedure that would restore my sight, escaped our homeworld and came to The Realm to be able to raise me in peace. It was their connection with this other world that enabled my cousin Markus to receive his mechanical parts as well." She finished setting up the connections and ran a finger over certain wires, glancing down to see the large feet twitching and creaking, the knee joints hissing, and the trapped arm break free of the tree roots restraining it. All that remained was getting it put back together.

"Magic and technology, working together..." Beren mused. "Do you suppose that was how Troy was able to jack your Gift, to 'upgrade' it to what it became?"
Denahlia bobbed her head in response. "More than likely; it was a piece of magic-sensitive technology--it could have been Gifted, which is why it was able to do more than just supply me with lacking sight... so when I learned all of this, learned what those scientists could do for me, I had them replace the old implant with a new one, a plain one that would only give me sight, and to insert the old ones with the Gifted magic in them into my wrists," she held out her hands and showed him the scars. "I'd rather be paralyzed if another Shadow tried to negate my Gift, rather than blind, as Troy made me."

"So, two years ago," Beren remarked, "you just decided to go back to this place? Why have you not spoken of this before? I don't recall ever receiving notice of your leave of absence..."

Denahlia winced as she slid a cog back into place. "That's because I never took one," she confessed. "One day I was here, and the next, I awakened in a new place I had never seen before. Someone had brought me through a portal between that place and The Realm." She had stopped looking at him, and Beren couldn't figure out why. Was she ashamed of her connection with that other person? "I met the governor of that realm, and she helped me research all about my family and get accustomed to using my hands the same way I used my eyes. And then, once I found a way to return to The Realm, I did."

Beren wagged his head. "Yes, and brought a host of new systems and gadgets with you! But wait--how long were you gone, exactly? Because I remember seeing you at the first anniversary celebration... and then by the second anniversary, you'd changed your appearance and gotten your hands on a collection of strange knowledge and defense systems--"

Denahlia slid the bronze plate back into place over the Golem's chest cavity. "It took me the span of a year to find someone who could transport me back to The Realm."

Beren's eyes bulged. "You were gone for an entire year? Without telling anyone? Least of all Jaran, who trusted you to make you the Harbor Watch--"
"Like I said, your highness," Denahlia interrupted with a strained tone. "I tried to get back as soon as I could, but there wasn't anybody who knew how to open a portal to a world no one had heard of!"

"Why couldn't you just ask the person who brought you there in the first place?" Beren scowled at her negligence.

"Because I had no idea who that was!" Denahlia seethed. "Trust me, I tried every which way--the ruler of that place had to call in a favor from an old friend, the most powerful sorcerer in her acquaintance, and he was finally able to open a portal to get me back into The Realm." Denahlia sighed. "So many times, I worried that I would never be able to get back, that I would be trapped there forever."

Beren paused to cool his frustration at the breach of trust. "How much does Jaran know about your disappearance?"

Denahlia frowned. "Nothing I've said to him. The only people who knew I was gone were Aurelle and probably Azelie--and Korsan." The corners of her mouth lifted slightly and her gaze softened. "Korsan actually met me very first upon my return, stepping out of the portal and into the Forest. He said his talisman had warned him of my absence, and he'd figured out where I would be going before I'd even left, and I think he even knew why I was gone, and when I'd be back. Aurelle figured it out when she started hanging out around the Harbor a lot more, after Jaran's first year as King." The former Hunter smirked. "Only, her response to finding out that I'd left Hayden in charge of the Harbor was to--" She stopped mid-sentence and shook her head, "Anyway, I don't exactly know if Azelie knows for certain, but I just assumed she would know if she ever tried reading my thoughts."

Beren wagged his head and would have asked her more questions about this other world, its inhabitants, and more about how technology and magic could coexist so well, that a piece of technology could actually contain a Gift--but Denahlia had controlled the hand to lower them to within earshot of Captain Haggard and his crew, so he chose to remain silent.

The Captain signaled to Watson and Goddry, and the two burly men stepped onto the hand and grabbed Beren and Denahlia, dragging them to the ground.
"Took you two long enough!" Haggard grumbled. "Is it ready?"

Denahlia nodded without saying a word. Still firmly in Watson's grip, she waved her hand at the Golem. Creaking and groaning, the giant legs moved and shifted to tuck themselves under the body, and with a thunderous rumble, the whole structure stood up against the wall of the ravine, which reached as high as its shoulder. The hand lay flat and level with a short outcropping in the middle of the wall, connected to the valley floor by a narrow, inclining path.

Denahlia nodded to the map in Haggard's hand. "We'll be able to reach the top of the wall and find Gybralltyr from there," she said.
Haggard's eyes twinkled. "Good! Let's get moving, then!" He waved to the rest of the group, and Beren found himself clapped in restraints once more as the pirate crew formed a single-file line to climb up to the Golem's hand.

From the back of the file, Kaidan patiently waited with his hands hanging in front of him, completely cowed and resigned to being led about at his captors’ whims.

At least, that’s the sort of exterior he projected. He blamed it on living most of his life under the compulsion of a charismatic Gift—the one his father somehow gave both him and Javira when they were far too young. They could both project a front of one mood, while the interior could be something else entirely.

Kaidan struggled to keep focused amid all the thoughts swirling about him—after the initial contact to affect their short term memories to avoid being bound, Kaidan only had to alter someone’s perception if they got too suspicious. While he couldn't read thoughts as clearly as someone like Azelie could, there was an element of his Gift that meant their mind was more open to his perception, like hearing the last echoes of someone's voice after they'd left the room. This made it rather handy when he wanted to keep tabs on certain people, but in a group like this, the near-constant murmur of several psyches became rather disorienting.

He hardly noticed when the slim, redheaded navigator edged up beside him. Her hand grabbed his wrist before he could shy away.
Immediately, his mind filled with her memories, and Kaidan stumbled to the side.

Cori stood on the deck of a ship under attack--and the invading force was led by none other than Captain Haggard. She tussled with the pirates, but oddly enough, it wasn't anything like someone fighting for their life. Had she known this crew already, even before they attacked? When the fight settled, Haggard had the captain of Cori's ship at his mercy--judging by the star on his shoulder, the man was a Brigadier-General. The next scene in Cori's memory showed the pirates forcing the Brigadier and his surviving crew onto the other ship, a beat-up, sorry vessel called THE SCYLLA, while Captain Haggard laid claim to the Brigadier's ship, renaming it the Brigadier's Ransom. Cori looked at the Brigadier's collection of maps, and--

Kaidan shook away the memories and met Cori's searching gaze. There was no telling how long he'd been under, but judging from the way the others were not too far ahead, and Watson was only glaring over his shoulder from half that distance... perhaps only a minute or two.
He pulled away from Cori, but she stayed right where she was.

"You're one of them," she whispered into his ear. "You've got a power too, haven't you?"
Her use of too kept Kaidan from denying it outright. He decided to press her on it; at least he could be reasonably sure that the pirates wouldn't try to extort a Gift such as his--there wouldn't be much use for being able to read memories in a place where no one had been before.

Kaidan furrowed his brow. "What makes you say that?" he asked.

Cori's face relaxed. "Your face just now, I could see that you were looking at something that wasn't in front of your eyes, and I've just thought about the last time I saw another one of those Gifted--the day Haggard became captain of his own ship instead of a borrowed one, our first day as the crew of the Brigadier's Ransom. There was a fellow in the General's crew who could call up the wind and make it do whatever he liked. I helped him escape so that I could join the Brigade. I thought for sure that if the Brigadier lost his navigator, he wouldn't have the advantage and he'd have to regroup, but they attacked all the same, and the Brigadier's side lost. I rejoined Haggard's crew, and I've been looking out for your kind ever since." She crossed her arms and nodded toward his hands. "And the fact that you've made it this far without being tied up, even when my eyes are telling me that you've got the manacles on your wrists, same as the others."

Kaidan blanched, and the ground under his feet seemed to give way, but Cori shook her head. "You have your reasons, and you haven't caused any trouble yet. I don't fear you or desire to control you as the others might." She dropped one hand to brush across the well-stocked utility belt around her waist. Kaidan saw many small knife hilts, all ready to be drawn at a moment's notice, as well as the pistol holstered at her hip. "Just don't try anything," Cori murmured. "I may not have any loyalty to Captain Haggard and his ilk, but I like my job, and I'll do anything to keep it."

"Noted," Kaidan replied, hanging his head. "Are there any others who feel the same way you do?"

It was a dangerous question, and Cori was wise enough not to respond immediately. The front of the file had reached the Golem's hand already, and the ghostly, featureless face illuminated along the cracks between the metal plates, humming as the machinery idled until everyone had gathered in the middle of the giant palm.

The hand raised upward with a series of jerky movements, nearly throwing Kaidan off-balance and exposing his charade, if Cori hadn't caught his shoulder and shoved him upright again. They disembarked onto the top of the cliff, which was shrouded in a thick fog. Kaidan could only see so far over the patchy, rubbled terrain. Captain Haggard urged Denahlia onward, as she stared at the map only she could see.

He glanced over to Cori, who had moved to stand beside Reva and Seline. She said nothing, only met his gaze and gave a wink.

Behind the group, the Golem's eyes flickered as a new bit of programming--something inserted by Denahlia while she was working to restore its systems--activated and began running. Slowly, the behemoth pivoted in place, and tilted its head back. For the first time since its construction, The Golem began to do a very strange thing.

It began to broadcast its very own signal.
>>>>>>>>>>>>>

Jaran didn't think, just moved. He launched himself at his wife, tackling her to the ground as the massive beast thundered by, snorting and snarling. Erlis met him, helping them both to their feet as the bear reared on its hind legs and growled a warning.
"I've got her, Your highness," Erlis whispered. "I'll get her to safety."

Jaran's lightning crackled around his eyes as he nodded. Erlis and Azelie disappeared into the sheaves of wheat, and Jaran cried out, "Aurelle! Diversion!"

Aurelle flourished, and a flurry of glowing blue shapes swarmed from her hands: bees, angry and buzzing and crowding around the bear.

The huge paws swatted through the glowing illusions, and it did seem to disorient the animal as it could see but not smell this new threat. Jaran flexed his hands, and balls of lightning collected over his palms, arcing between his fingers. He clapped his palms together, and a bolt of lightning shot straight toward the flailing bear, headed straight for its heart...

But just at the same moment, a whistle caught the animal's attention, and it dropped to all fours, letting the lighting sail harmlessly over its head.

Aurelle and Jaran froze in place, neither willing to anticipate what might happen next.
"I would very much appreciate it if you didn't try to roast my Bronn," said a voice.

Jaran whirled to confront this new threat, and beheld a lean, wiry young woman wielding a gleaming scythe in her capable hands. Blue tattoos spiraled up her arms to her shoulders, and down across her left eye. She frowned and brandished the scythe at them. "What do you think you're doing, trespassing on my land, threatiening my animals?"

Jaran prepared to defend himself again, calling up another charge of lightning between his hands. Abruptly, Erlis appeared at his side, her hand on his arm. "Your Majesty, hold!" She turned to the woman. "Are you Brinley?"

The golden-haired damsel didn't take her eyes off Jaran for a moment. Her eyes narrowed. "Who's asking?"

"The King!" Jaran retorted, clenching his fists to extinguish the charge.

The woman's response was to immediately sheathe her scythe, while the bear hemmed and snuffled.
Jaran crossed his arms. "I ask again--are you the one called Brinley?"

The woman held his gaze and nodded firmly. "I am. What brings the King so far out of his element, into the back alleys of Wildhaven?"

Azelie, it's safe, Jaran thought the words for his wife's benefit. "I haven't been this far into Wildhaven, it is true," he acknowledged. "But all the same, it's still a part of my kingdom, and when something threatens the safety of The Realm, even the Gifted who are its citizens should be more careful about letting their wild pets roam about and threaten others."

The bear waddled to stand next to Brinley, and she leaned casually on his shoulder. "Bronn wasn't just roaming about, thank you. We have a connection, he and I, and my Gift ensures that I know where he is and how he is feeling at all times. He acted upon his own territorial instincts and my own alarm at the four strangers shouting my name--but there was not a moment when I wasn't in total control." She sniffed and brushed a stray lock of hair out of her face as Azelie and Erlis emerged from the wheat field. "But you haven't answered my question. Why are you here? Why look for me?"

Azelie settled beside Jaran and nodded to her. "A dangerous enemy has threatened the safety of The Realm--perhaps even the whole world, and she's taken Prince Beren captive. She seeks a protected location known as Gybralltyr--do you know it?"

Brinley's eyes hardened, and the bear--Bronn, evidently--picked up his head and issued a soft growl.
"Yeah, I might have come across its whereabouts during my time as a captive rigger on a ship that was headed for it, on account of some priceless treasure that was hidden there."

Jaran leaned forward. Priceless treasure? Was this all Haggard wanted? "And?" he prompted.
Brinley shrugged. "The pirates never got to land. We approached this small bay, just a narrow gap between some high cliffs, and the lookout in the crow's nest cried out that there was somebody on the cliff. Everybody looked, but we could only see a woman in a red dress who held a dagger of some kind--and then a wind picked up and started knocking our ship around, churning up waves that pelted us, until the whole vessel capsized, and we all went under."

Bronn moaned, and Brinley paused to bury her hand in the thick fur atop his head. "Bronn was as trapped on that boat as I was. They'd wanted to goad him into being their attack bear, as an intimidation tactic. I was kind to him, though, sneaking him food every chance I got, and when the boat split in half, and I plunged into the water, I thought that was the end of me. But next thing I know, I'm waking up on a rocky beach inside a very small and narrow bay--that same one we'd been trying to get to--and there's Bronn next to me." She turned slightly, to wrap her arms around the bear's shaggy neck. "Bronn had saved my life, and we've shared a bond of understanding ever since."

"How did you get out of that place, if no ship could make it in without getting destroyed?" Erlis asked, as the others merely waited for her to continue the strange tale.

Brinley sighed. "That's the strangest part, I guess. Bronn and I followed a narrow path up to the top of the cliff, and into the clouds. I could barely see the topmost gables of what looked to be a stone mansion in the distance, but as we walked toward it, we entered a fog bank that covered us completely, and when we came out of it, we were here."
Jaran tilted his head, and gestured around them. "Here?" he asked.

Brinley shook his head. "Here, as in back in The Realm. The fog bank came out just in front of the registration office, at the entrance to Wildhaven. They didn't seem the least bit concerned about a random woman walking in with her psychically-bonded bear, so I took it as a sign that we'd found the place we were meant to be, a safe haven for both of us." She sat up. "But now you're looking for Gybralltyr and talking about someone who threatens our safety?"

Jaran nodded. "She wants to control a power beyond that of the Gifts, more power than a mortal is meant to have. That woman you saw, or at least her dagger, could be the key to stopping the woman."
"Do you happen to know where you were when the pirate crew located Gybralltyr?" Aurelle asked, casually holding a glowing blue scroll at the ready in her hand.

Brinley shied away from its sudden appearance. "I don't rightly know just where we were..." she murmured.
Bronn lurched and shied away from Brinley, almost knocking her over. The bear gave a series of short grunts, and began pawing the ground in agitation.

Brinley watched him closely. "What is it, Bronn?" she asked. "He only does this if trouble is coming."
Moments later, the sunlight dimmed a little as a massive flock of crows--croaking and cawing their rasping cry--sailed across the sky. They headed toward the northward--toward the White Castle.
All four friends and Brinley stood watching them, while shielding their eyes from the sun with their hands.

"Huh," Brinley mused as the last caw faded. "Come to think of it, we did see quite a bit of crows while we were on that ship. I remember thinking how strange it was that these birds would fly so far from land, but nothing ever came of it, so I just forgot, I suppose." She gestured to tall figures waving at the tops of poles around her wheat fields. "I put up a few scarecrows, just in case the birds were native to this area, and took a fancy to my wheat... but they never did. Is that strange?"

Jaran shared a glance with his wife and friends. They all thought the same thing, transmitted by Azelie. The Crow Queen is coming. "Whatever it is," Jaran answered, "It can't be good."

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