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64. [Uicha] Hero's Journey
🕑 Added 2024-09-11 20:18:35 +0000 UTCUicha de Orak, Wildcard of the 5th Renown, representing The Forgotten One, possessed of a heartbreaking story
Akoni de Emasyn, Captain of the Dartmyth, and his crew, great believers in an underdog
Curse de Mou, Ocean Master of the 9th Renown, the Flamingo Islands, reads in languages others can’t
The Bloodless Executive, Quill of Merchant’s Bay, and their champion Milena Russi, Duelist of the 11th Renown, who find themselves atop some Ink
***
8 Trollove, 61 AW
Aboard the Dartmyth, Central Sea
142 days until the next Granting
The Forgotten One had wanted Uicha to make himself seen, and instead Uicha had hidden his markings beneath bandages. Perhaps that was why, now that it was exposed to the night air, the crimson Ink tingled with what felt almost like appreciation. Was that approval sent from the depths where the Forgotten One sat trapped? Or just Uicha’s imagination?
He certainly felt freer without the bandages. A lie had been lifted off his shoulders. Months of hiding one arcane impossibility after another. He was glad to have at least one of his mysteries out in the open.
Or a version of one, anyway. A sanitized story. An island boy stranded inland who lost his farmer's Ink. A cruel mage who took the opportunity to experiment on him. A daring escape to seek refuge amongst his people. The truth, but not entirely.
When Captain Akoni told Uicha's tale to the rest of the crew, he made it sound much better than Uicha ever could. He filled in little details that were entirely his own creation. For instance, Uicha hadn't bonked the archmage over the head with his own spell book and he hadn't dived into the ocean and prayed that his native waters would wash the red away. But these flourishes made for a good narrative and so Uicha didn't protest Akoni's telling. At the end, he was surprised to see Sheppa knuckling a tear from the corner of her eye.
There was only the matter of Curse de Mou.
Akoni had argued, persuasively, that Uicha shouldn't hide what had been done to him, at least amongst his friends. And that was fine, Uicha figured, since the crew of the Dartmyth couldn't actually read his Ink. But Curse could, just as easily as Uicha could read the symbols on the ocean master's chest.
So, Uicha watched Curse closely while Akoni spun his hero's journey. The man wore a lopsided smile beneath his scraggly beard. He tapped his feet in time with Akoni's words, like they were set to music only Curse could hear. When the rest of the crew came forward to pat Uicha on the back or hug him—a moment that made Uicha feel queasy for leaving out so much—Curse kept his distance.
“A delightful yarn skillfully spun!” Curse shouted at last. “Well, it could've been shorter, eh? Now, captain, we must make haste! The merchants have a lead on us but Curse knows how to beat them!”
The sails were still full later that night, the Dartmyth cutting across the waves with a silence Uicha found almost eerie. It was Uicha's turn to keep a watch on the horizon in case any ships appeared, although Curse seemed confident that they wouldn't catch up to the merchants and the mysterious blot of Ink for another day.
Uicha expected the ocean master to approach him and, sure enough, he appeared with a flapping of parchment, sidling up to Uicha in the bow as if they'd planned this clandestine midnight meeting. Curse held up a sheet of paper to the moon; the briny smell of his underarms made Uicha wrinkle his nose. There were black dots strewn across the scroll that mirrored the constellations smattered above. Straight lines were drawn through the stars, triangulating toward a black smudge further up the page.
“Good, yes, good,” Curse murmured. “The Ink maintains its course, champion. It has not yet been captured by our rivals and has left the merchant shipping lane, as I suspected it would. That slows them down. They make their boats too big and stupid, you see.”
Uicha pressed his lips together. He considered saying nothing, but curiosity got the better of him. He nodded toward the paper. “How can you tell all that?”
Curse shook the sheet at Uicha, then fanned himself with it. “A star chart made by Ronica de Finn, the Quill of the Flamingo Islands. She can see where the Ink goes. I think she might have given such helpful information to one of her more favored champions, if I wasn’t already so close. Can you believe that, young one? That your friend Curse would not be the most beloved champion of his people?”
“No, I can’t imagine that,” Uicha said.
“And yet, it is so. Ronica, she draws this map in Ink and—bloop!—it comes blasting out through my eyes. Gives an old man direction, eh? Do you not have one, Uicha the Red?”
“A direction?”
“A Quill,” Curse said. “A man or lady with a feather to give you orders. Or is that not how it works with your Forgotten One, hm?”
The empty box on Uicha’s throat stretched as he swallowed. He had prepared himself for this conversation as soon as Akoni decided he should make his Ink known to the others. Of course, he worried about giving too much away, but Curse was also a champion—the first he’d encountered since getting his Ink. Unmoored as he seemed, perhaps Curse might be able to tell him something about his condition.
“I don't know what the mage meant with that name,” Uicha presented the lie quietly, in a voice he hoped sounded sufficiently haunted. “The symbol means nothing to me.”
Curse snickered. “Perhaps you knew what it meant once, and forgot.”
Uicha winced. He had forgotten things—his memories stripped away during his abduction—but that was before his encounter with the suffocating power of the Forgotten One.
“So, you do not know what you fight for?” Curse continued. “Or if you have a Quill? Or if there are others like you?”
Uicha shook his head.
“And these other symbols, eh?” Curse had shoved his chart into his threadbare trousers and edged closer, his index finger crooked toward Uicha. “[Ink Thief] and [Disloyal]. I do not understand these. Never seen them before. How do they work?”
“I don’t know,” Uicha said.
“You must,” Curse replied. “The knowledge should come to you like breathing.”
Uicha turned to look steadily at the other man. The moonlight made the lines on his face appear deeper, like chasms or trenches.
“I only used them once,” Uicha said. “During my escape.”
“Ah, so you know, but you do not want me to know.” Curse tittered. “Good for you, wildcard. You pick up the game easily. I will let it go.” In demonstration, Curse cupped his hands and mimed throwing ashes out into the water. “I believe you tell some truth, anyway. The mages love to toy with us. I spent time working for them, eh? Did Akoni tell you that?”
“No,” Uicha said.
“They once paid good money for us worthless islanders to dive Orvesian waters,” Curse said. “Haunted waters. Bloody waters. Dredging up the forgotten treasures of the dead. Even when the mages stopped paying, I kept going down. Much to learn in the dark. Much to learn.”
Uicha’s eyes drifted to the ordinary tattoo that covered Curse’s shoulder and arm—the blackbirds plunging under the waves and darting toward a treasure chest. The details clicked together in his mind. His parents had worked a hustle on Ahmed Roh that ended with them holding onto the urn’chan that contained Kayenna Vezz. Roh must have been one of the mages paying Flamingo divers like Curse, which meant the champion standing next to Uicha may very well have known Uicha’s parents.
Before Uicha could decide what to do with this, Curse squeezed his shoulder.
“I look forward to the rest of your story, little wildcard,” the champion said as he shambled away. “I hope I shall see it unfold.”
***
The Bloodless Executive sat in their office aboard the gellezza Mastermind and watched a blot of Ink move slowly across the table. They had been at this vigil for days. The Quill of Merchant's Bay required no sleep and very little sustenance, and so they could watch the prize sent by the gods make slow progress across the map they had spilled upon this fine wooden table. The Bloodless Executive dragged their sharpened thumbnail over the rolling waves hand-carved into the table’s edge.
So many fine objects in the Bloodless Executive's office, albeit none so valuable as the golden inkwell they kept close at hand. Vases, and sculptures, and furniture that cost more than the house the Bloodless Executive's current body had grown up in. None of these flashy details aroused any appreciation in the Bloodless Executive. If required to travel in a storage closet, the Bloodless Executive would have been equally comfortable.
Although, they supposed, accepting such primitive accommodations would make the merchants lose respect for the Bloodless Executive. As had happened in the past, even a minor perceived lapse might cause someone from the thirteen families to doubt the Bloodless Executive's effectiveness. And, when such occasions arose, inevitably, the Bloodless Executive ended up having to kill some of them.
The Bloodless Executive took no pleasure in that, either. They were not a sadistic or vindictive creature. Nor were they concerned with meting out justice. They simply maintained a balance. Thirteen powerful families had shared Merchant's Bay—and the same Ink—for nearly sixty years because of the efforts of the Bloodless Executive. There had never been and likely would never be true peace between the families. It was in their nature to grasp for more. The Bloodless Executive slapped their hands when they reached for too much. However, in matters of the Ink, it was the Bloodless Executive’s job to aid the champions. All families would benefit from a successful Granting.
The blot of Ink stopped moving.
Ding. The Bloodless Executive tapped the bell on the table. Immediately, one of their aides entered, wearing the white veil and shapeless robe of all who worked in the Bloodless Executive’s office. A female, the Bloodless Executive thought. The cock of the hips gave her away. Perhaps that body would be their next.
“Bring me Russi,” the Bloodless Executive said.
Moments later, the champion of the bay came striding into the Bloodless Executive’s office, careless of how she left wet footprints on the rug. In their past life, the Bloodless Executive’s body might have stirred at the sight of Milena Russi. A youthful shape, sun-kissed and smooth, with curls of chestnut hair that she kept wild and loose, and lips that somehow always appeared painted pink. The woman’s sunwear left little to the imagination, including the splashes of Ink across her torso. In a past body, the Bloodless Executive had dribbled the beginnings of that Ink onto her chest, and they still remembered how Milena shivered at the brushing of the Bloodless Executive’s cold fingers.
“The Ink has stopped,” the Bloodless Executive said.
“About time,” Milena replied.
She came to stand at the Bloodless Executive’s side, peering down at the map. The Ink had lured them to an unremarkable part of the ocean. Nothing around for miles. For days, The Ink had traveled through one of their shipping lanes, which made following the fast-moving blob simple enough. Then, yesterday, the Ink broke free from the channel and veered southward. Leaving the channel made it slower going for the bulky Mastermind, but now the Ink had stopped, and the Bay would be first on the scene.
“Still haven’t actually seen anything,” Milena said. “Wouldn’t even know it was out there if it wasn’t for your map.”
“And our companions?”
“The Gen’bi still trail us. Been amusing for the crew to watch them puking over the sides.”
“They are not made for the water,” the Bloodless Executive said. “That they would come at all suggests desperation. A need for new power. They prepare themselves. You should find this alarming, not amusing.”
Milena rolled her eyes. “Whatever. They’ve kept their distance since we lit up that fool Curse.”
“That was a tactical error.” The Bloodless Executive said this without feeling, the same way they said everything, yet Milena’s eyes still widened. The children of the thirteen families, especially the champions, were not used to being so much as scolded.
“An error in your opinion,” Milena said, tossing her hair. “Don’t act the oracle with me, honey. Curse made a play for the Ink, so I backed him off. He’s faster than us and can breathe underwater. And he’s annoying. You’d have just let him have it?”
“Better the Ink go to the islands than the Gen’bi. And, had Curse tried and failed, we may have learned something about what we face.” The Bloodless Executive paused. “In my opinion.”
Milena flashed the Bloodless Executive a conciliatory smile. They stared back with eyes turned milky white.
“Any theories on that?” Milena asked. “What we’ve been chasing around?”
“The gods favor three trials,” the Bloodless Executive said. “Kill something. Reach something. Endure something.”
“And which do you think this is?”
The Bloodless Executive came to their feet with graceful speed. Briefly, they felt the warmth of Milena’s body close to them—almost pleasant—before she stumbled backward to clear a path. The Bloodless Executive opened a cabinet and procured first a large tome—An Encyclopedia of Runes, 7th Edition—then a small lockbox. They had already bookmarked the page with the details on [Water Breathing]. Setting these items on the table, the Bloodless Executive opened the lockbox. Milena grimaced at the sight of four vials of chanic nestled into velvet-cushioned slots.
“We shall prepare you to go down and see,” the Bloodless Executive said.
Comments
iridium248
I wonder how many ranks of Renown a Champion can actually gain before the Gathering. Given the lethality, I'm surprised that more people don't spend every waking second searching for ink.
