Ripples in the Sea - Hunting Safikma (Part I)

[Breaker]

“Thayne-slaying is a fine art,” Shinsou said with an air of drama in his voice. “And yet simple. It requires only three things; a sharp blade, my widowmaker ability, and Joshua Cronen.”

Breaker stood up as all eyes fell on him. As he rose he plucked an obsidian dagger from its hidden sheathe in his boot. The knights guarding them became suddenly alert, but Breaker merely spun the weapon around his hand, gazing at its razor edge.

“I took this from the Alerian assassin Kron Sha’keth,” he said pensively. “It is forged from black diamond, said by some to be sharper than admantine itself. If we can somehow find Safikma in the vast ocean, my boots will sink me to its depth, and this blade will pierce its hide.”

“And that will slow her down?” Philomel interjected.

“That will weaken it,” Breaker said, “enough for it to be killed. I’ve seen that look in your eye before Phi. This isn’t some earth dragon you can throw a saddle on.” The demigod’s swift gaze had easily devoured the text the others had only had time to skim. “Safikma was created with one purpose only; to consume all in its path.”

“But wouldn’t it be easier, and better for all if we could reason with her? She seems such a sweetling, and so misguided…”

“Would you try to reason with a tidal wave, or a hurricane?”

“None of this will matter unless we can find the beast,” Shinsou pointed out, interrupting the argument before it could evolve. “And I can think of no way of doing this. Can you?”

Silence invaded the room as Breaker and Philomel shook their heads.

“A scryer!” Petyr said suddenly. Three sets of eyes snapped around to look at the royal advisor. The Brotherhood representatives had practically forgotten the old man’s presence. “That’s all you need,” he continued excitedly, rising and pacing back and forth. “Some months ago we started a program to find and train the most talented scryers in Scara Brae. We have used them mostly for finding water sources and precious metals, but I see no reason why not…”

“We could use one to find Safikma!” Shinsou cut in. The Telgradian rubbed his hands together, a plan forming behind his tired eyes. “Yes, this could work. Send for your best scryer and have them meet us aboard the Feisty Fox.”

“I do beg your pardon,” Petyr said, bowing his head slightly, “but would it not be wisest to wait for morning? The dawn will break in only a few hours’ time, and there are dangerous reefs beyond the protection of the harbor. Besides, our scryers will be abed, and soundly asleep. Could I not have some rooms prepared for you? You will have every comfort, and the finest food and wine, of course.”

Shinsou bounced on the balls of his feet a moment, but then relaxed and nodded.

“A few hours of sleep might make a world of difference,” the arbiter said. “Why don’t you have the guards show us to these rooms? You’re looking a little long in the tooth yourself, Petyr.”

“I will be most comfortable aboard my ship,” Philomel said as they exited the chamber, Josh carrying The Genesis of the Thayne. He did not require sleep in the same way as the others, and planned to spend the hours before dawn doing some further reading.

The guards divided themselves beneath Petyr’s command and some escorted Philomel out to the harbor, while the rest led Shinsou and Breaker up several flights of stairs. Petyr stepped away as they reached the palace’s third floor, making excuses and promising to have the city’s best scryer prepared by first light. The knights delivered the two guests to a common room of sorts, with four large doors extending off of it leading towards sleeping quarters. The table was piled high with food as well as place settings and jugs of wine.

Breaker sat down and cleared one of the place settings aside, setting the book in front of him instead.

“One of these days,” Shinsou groaned as he sat and took a cup of wine, “you’re going to have to teach me this not-needing-to-sleep-or-eat trick.”

“I’m certain Am’aleh would invite you down that path,” Breaker said lightly, “if only you’d take take the time.”

“Time is something we’re often pressed for,” the Telgradian replied, downing his drink and stifling a yawn. “I’m going to try to grab a couple hours of shuteye.” He scraped back his chair and stood.

“I will remain here, and learn what there is to be learned.”

“Figured you’d say something like that,” Shinsou muttered as he shuffled toward one of the bedrooms. He paused. “I didn’t want to be overly dramatic in front of the others,” he said, “but this is a true cataclysm. A world-ender. And it’s on us to fix it.”

Breaker paused in his reading and looked over his shoulder, meeting Shinsou’s red-rimmed eyes.

“I know.”

[Shinsou Vaan Osiris]

Brilliant orange poured out of the morning sun and across the landscape of Scara Brae. The sky was blood red, and the furrowed clouds were every shade from palest pink to deep crimson.

Shinsou, dressed in his sleeveless black shirt and pants, watched the daybreak from his dormitory window. His golden eyes were following the motions of a small flock of birds that danced upon the morning light. Every now and then they would climb steeply to meet the rising dome of the sun, before banking sharply and diving back towards the mountain ranges again. He wondered, as he watched the birds in motion, whether everything would be alright. He had seen the look in Philomel's eyes as they poured over the form of Safikma and watched her body language carefully. They both told a story which left him feeling very uncomfortable indeed.

Damn it, Philomel. What are you thinking? The Telgradian queried of her in his mind, Are you going to try and save this thing? If so, it is a fool's errand. It is reckless. This creature is programmed to consume; it is nothing more than a vessel for Draconus's will.

He sighed, and turned away from the sill as the flock performed their coup de grace, an upward loop and a final dive into the treelines. In his room hung a set of clothes on a single iron hanger, and he walked across the cold floor towards them. They were different to his usual set, clothes that Shinsou had been saving for a rainy day. He thumbed through the various fabrics as he continued his internal monologue.

What will I do if she does try to reason with this thing? Shinsou paused, his eyes scanning the drakescale coat in front of him, Philomel is my closest friend, but the lives of tens of thousands of people outweigh the desires of one. I'm sorry, my dear Faun, but if it comes down to it I'm sure you'll eventually understand my position. Safikma must be exterminated, or else everyone we have ever loved will die. The Gilded Lily, the Brotherhood, Joshua, Veridian, Delath, Arius...the list goes on.

Article by article, Shinsou ay the clothing down on the bed. The first piece was a standard black undershirt and pants, nothing particularly fancy. The next items were slightly more glitzy; his drakescale greatcoat with silver runes embroidered into the sleeves, all the way up to the shoulders and along the back of the collar. A silver sash was tied around and through the belt loop on the coat, which had silver buttons dotted up the front. Finally, there seemed to be a pair of gloves; made from silk, coloured white and finished around the cuffs with a simple gold trim. It was indeed an elegant uniform, although not his standard attire by any stretch. It was customised to very unique tastes; a silent tribute to his father, Telos Soltair.

You gave me a second chance, old man. Time for me to repay that faith.

Shinsou Vaan Osiris, former Emperor of Telgradia, pulled on the pants and the undershirt, before threading his arms through the sleeves of the coat. He tied the sash around the waist, and laced his boots, before finally pulling on the gloves. He stood, dressed at last, in front of a body length mirror.

“Off to the ball, are we?”

The voice startled him. Shinsou spun to meet Petyr standing in his doorway. He was a short, built man with a gruff voice and a face full of stubble shadow who looked a little bit angry all the time, but his general demeanour betrayed that.

“If this is a ball, start me off on a slow song.” The Telgradian smiled.

“No time for that, Shinsou, we need to go. Safikma's been spotted again, this time on the far side of the island.”

Shinsou's eyes narrowed as he sheathed his beloved swords, Shira and Stygian, within his coat. He could feel the power of his most treasured sword, Enpera, within him, ready to be called. “Are Cronen and Philomel-.”

Petyr turned his head a little. “They await your presence at the warp gate, sir.”

Shinsou bowed his head a little, "How did Philomel seem this morning?"

"Quiet, mostly." Petyr stroked his chin. "Please, follow me."


***

The gateway was gargantuan. It resembled an old monastery, with cylindrical limestone pillars connecting the moss covered granite floors. Beige archways stooped up into the rafters and sunk low into the aisles. Everywhere in the room there were random piles of debris that had fallen from the crumbling roof, except for the gleaming white pedestal which led to the main gate outside.

The pedestal itself was hexagonal, carved from the best marble and engraved with many golden and silver symbols and runes, most of which were unintelligible to those who hadn't studied the Thayne in any great detail. Four stone claws curved up and in towards a glowing ball of marine blue light that pulsed and hummed above a metal rim. Shinsou stood at the head of the group of three. Joshua Cronen, ever alert and a determined expression plastered across his face, gave a knowing nod to his compatriot. Philomel, although quiet, didn't show much of her hand. She smiled at Shinsou, adjusting her breastplate and wiped nameless's blade with a silken cloth, but said very little else.

The Telgradian adjusted his coat and wondered what normal people would be experiencing in this situation. Desperation? Ferocity? Fear? Insanity?

Well, fear is a given. As powerful as we are, anyone who doesn't fear Safikma is a fool. We may be a cut above the normal crop of warrior, but we still bleed.

Each of them had a life. Each of them had something to protect. There would be no cheers, or rallying cries, or clashing of shields. There was no need for that here. All there was in the room was anticipation and fear of what was to come, and the need to get the job done. Shinsou felt a tingling in his arm. Petyr behind him strapped on his helmet, tightening the chinstrap to maximum until he had a second fold of skin. Whatever anyone felt like now, whatever reservations anyone had about going, it no longer mattered. The time was here.

The Telgradian approached the portal slowly, walking tentatively up the marble steps and into the grasp of the iron claw. Electric sparks of blue lashed out from the pulsing sphere and whipped his cheeks, stinging like hailstones in winter. As he penetrated through the marine blue membrane of the portal, his ears popped and everything sounded as if it were being heard from underwater. He shut his eyes instinctively.

When Shinsou opened his eyes a moment later, they were struck by brilliant white, and he winced in pain. He could see Petyr and the huddle of Cronen and Philomel through the blinding light, wading through the viscous liquid membrane of the warp portal's interior.

Suddenly, there was a blast of cold air. A scent of soil, of grass and earth, of leaves, trees and foliage, then of dirt, gravel and stone.

The eastern coast of Scara Brae came into focus, before the light faded into shadow. A monumental darkness ate at the urban grey of a city with many troubles as the cataclysmic form of Safikma bore down upon concrete and citizen alike. A bellowing cry, much like a whale's but amplified by about a hundred times, pummelled the cliffs on which the triumvate stood and vibrated through the earth and up Shinsou's legs.

"Don't forget what this thing did to Caedron!" Shinsou shouted over the echo of Safikma's powerful cry, "Let's make this son-of-a-bitch pay for every drop of blood!"

Stood in Safikma's massive shadow, the Telgradian closed his eyes, took off his drakescale coat and focused every bit of energy into the center of his body until his chest felt as if it were going to burst. Open hands balled into clenched fists, the nails digging in until the caps of his knuckles were as white as the Salvic snow and crimson flowed from the wounds in his palm. Every muscle in Shinsou's body tensed and pulsated as the Telgradian loosed a painful scream, venting the pain of his physical change.

The others watched in bewilderment as their collegue became something new. Ice jutted out from his forearms and shins, creating bracer like armor that tore through his shirt sleeves and pants. It formed on the center of his chest and spread vertically and horizontally, tearing apart his entire upper attire and leaving it in tatters. Finally, in the throes of the new transformation, a circlet of thorned ice formed around his forehead with a snap.

All went quiet. Wisps of steam wafted from the newly transformed Shinsou, and in his right hand his blade Enpera sat gleaming, even in the wake of Safikma's shadow. It was almost as if he brimmed with power.

"I've been holding this form back for too long," Came the eventual words as Safikma's eyes locked on to the three figures, "Today, I earn my title of Thayneslayer."

To be continued in part II