Chapter 26
Dawn broke with a sullen sky, a quilt of slate-gray clouds stretching low over the sea. The warm golden sunrises of the past week had vanished; in their place came a pale glow that made the water look like hammered lead. Kelan balanced on the balls of his feet as the ship pitched in an unusually choppy swell. The crew moved with brisk purpose across the deck, their faces drawn. There was a tension in the air that Kelan hadn't felt before — an unspoken alertness.
By mid-morning, the wind had picked up sharply. Sails that had hung limp now billowed taut, and the ship's timbers groaned in protest at each heave of the waves. Kelan found himself clutching the railing to steady his steps. He'd grown his sea legs, but today the sea seemed to have a mind of its own, testing even the seasoned sailors. Spray blew across the bow, tiny cold droplets peppering Kelan's cheeks. Overhead, the sky darkened further into a bruised charcoal.
Elenne emerged from belowdecks, one hand holding her hood in place against a gust. Her long coat flapped around her calves. She cast a practiced eye at the horizon, then up at the cloudbanks. "Looks like a squall is brewing," she said, raising her voice above the rising wind.
Kelan nodded, swallowing a bit of nervousness. He had seen squalls before, but something about Elenne's expression — pensive, calculating — made him uneasy. "Will it be bad?" he asked, stepping closer so they wouldn't have to shout.
"Hard to say. Might skirt around us, might not." Elenne's reply was pragmatic, but her eyes narrowed as she watched a distant flicker of lightning within the clouds. "Best be prepared either way."
A shout rang out from the quarterdeck: the first mate calling orders. "Reef the mainsail! Secure all lines!" At once, sailors sprang into action. Two men scrambled up the shrouds toward the mainmast, climbing with an agility that still amazed Kelan no matter how often he saw it. Others rushed to batten down loose equipment, tying down barrels and crates that had been left on deck.
Kelan hurried to help where he could. He dashed to a coil of rope unspooled near the bow and began winding it around its peg, fingers fumbling slightly in his haste. The wind snatched at the loose end of the rope, whipping it against the deck. He grabbed it and tied it off with a sailor's knot he'd learned, tugging twice to ensure it was secure. Nearby, the ship's cook struggled to latch the galley door closed against the gusts; Kelan darted over to lend his weight, the two of them managing to shove it tight and drop the bar in place. The cook gave him a quick, grateful nod.
Within the hour, the full force of the storm was upon them. Rain began as a few stray drops, then suddenly a wall of water crashed down from the heavens. It was as if the sea itself had leapt into the sky and poured back onto them. Kelan's tunic was soaked through in an instant. The world narrowed to the immediate urgent tasks and sensations — the sting of rain on his face, the deafening roar of wind in the rigging, the unpredictable lurch of the deck beneath.
A crack of thunder split the air, followed quickly by a brilliant flash of lightning that illuminated the eerie scene in stark white for a heartbeat. In that flash, Kelan glimpsed Elenne on the quarterdeck, braced against the rail, shouting something to the captain that he couldn't make out. The ship heeled sharply to port, and Kelan slid several feet, splinters scraping along his palms until he collided with a lashed-down crate. Gritting his teeth, he hauled himself upright.
"Watch it!" a sailor yelled as a loose piece of canvas whipped past Kelan's head, torn free from somewhere above. He ducked instinctively. Another wave crashed over the bow, washing across the deck and forcing everyone to grab hold of something solid. Salt water filled Kelan's boots and sent a chill straight through him.
Through the chaos, Kelan tried to stay calm, to recall his training. See, weigh, aid, withhold. The first principle: see. He forced himself to observe despite the turmoil — the mainsail was partly furled but straining dangerously; a group of sailors struggled to secure it. The helm's wheel spun as the helmsman fought to keep course. And near the starboard rail, a deckhand named Jono was fastening a line around a stack of barrels.
Kelan's gaze snagged on Jono because something was wrong: the line had caught on a snag, and Jono was leaning over the rail, trying to free it. Time seemed to slow for Kelan in that instant. He saw a wave, taller than a man, rearing up beside the ship. He felt his heart seize.
Weigh. Kelan's mind raced. If the wave struck, Jono would be thrown overboard or crushed against the rail. He could shout a warning — but no one would hear in this gale. He was too far to reach Jono in time by foot on the slick deck.
Aid. There was no more time to think. Kelan flung out a hand instinctively, though the man was yards away. He reached with his mind, that well of energy deep within that he'd tapped only sparingly until now. It was like flexing an invisible muscle; he felt it ripple out from him, a force fueled by urgency and fear for the deckhand's life.
The wave slammed into the starboard side. The ship lurched violently and with a horrific crack, the rope Jono clung to snapped. Kelan saw Jono's eyes go wide as he lost his grip and tumbled backward towards the churning sea. In that heartbeat, Kelan's awareness heightened. The raindrops seemed to hang in the air like silver beads. He could almost trace Jono's trajectory as if it were etched by fate — straight over the rail and into the depths.
"No!" Kelan shouted, though his voice was lost in the storm's roar. With every ounce of will, he grasped at Jono with invisible fingers. For an agonizing moment, Kelan felt nothing but the emptiness of rain and wind — then, contact. It was a strange sensation, like catching hold of a moving object underwater: resistance and flow all at once. But he had him.
Jono's fall slowed as if time itself had hiccuped. The deckhand hung suspended a few feet above the rail, arms flailing in terror, boots kicking at air. Kelan's outstretched hand trembled as he held it palm forward, channelling his will into keeping Jono aloft. It felt like trying to hold up a sagging sack of grain using only his forearm; his muscles weren't doing the work, but his mind strained with the effort.
Kelan grit his teeth, a cry of effort escaping his throat. He pushed — not physically, but with that mental grip — pushing Jono back inboard. The man's body jerked awkwardly as unseen force shoved him across the rail and onto the slick deck. He landed in a heap against the bulwark, safe from the hungry sea, though water still cascaded around him.
In the next instant, Kelan's concentration shattered as another wave struck and the ship rolled the opposite way. The sudden whiplash of his focus snapping made him dizzy. He fell to one knee, gasping, rainwater streaming down his face. But there was no time to recover. Jono was safe for the moment, but the storm raged on.
A quick glance showed Jono scrambling to get a new hold on something solid, eyes wide and disbelieving. He looked around wildly, as if unsure how he'd been thrown back aboard, but then he was immediately clutching at a bolted-down ring on the deck as another surge of water swept by. Kelan hoped the man was too occupied to realize what had happened — or would chalk it up to luck or his own desperate grab.
Kelan himself crawled towards the nearest belaying pin and wrapped an arm around it, anchoring himself as the ship continued to buck. His head pounded and there was a strange ringing in his ears. Using that much telekinetic force felt like sprinting full-speed up a hill — his body wasn't exhausted, but his mind was. He blinked hard to clear his vision, focusing on the immediate tasks again.
The storm showed no mercy. One of the sailors securing the mainsail cried out as the wind tore a chunk of heavy canvas free; it whipped overboard and disappeared into the gray fury. The captain's voice bellowed from the quarterdeck, ordering everyone to stay down and hold fast. Kelan obeyed, curling against the base of the mast, clinging to a thick rope that was lashed around it. Elenne had vanished from his sight in the chaos, likely aiding the captain or crew where she could.
For what felt like an eternity, they rode the storm's wrath. Kelan lost all sense of time; each moment was consumed by the battle to remain safe and keep the ship in one piece. He found himself silently pleading with any deity listening that the ship would hold together and see them through.
Gradually — so gradually he almost didn't trust it — the darkness of the sky began to lift. The squall was passing as swiftly as it had come. The rain eased to a steady drizzle, the wind gentled from a howl to a moan. A final rumble of thunder sounded, more distant now, as if the storm beast had given a parting growl and decided to move on.
Kelan dared to raise his head and unclench his cramped arms from around the mast. The deck was awash with water and littered with tangles of rope and torn sailcloth. A spar from one of the smaller sails had snapped and lay diagonally across the deck like a felled tree. Groaning softly, Kelan got to his feet. Every muscle protested, especially those in his back and shoulders where he'd braced himself.
Elenne was already moving among the crew, checking for injuries. The captain barked quieter orders now: assessing damage, accounting for everyone. A few sailors were limping, one clutching his arm, but to Kelan's immense relief, no one was missing. No one had been lost overboard.
Jono, dripping and pale, sat propped against the bulwark exactly where Kelan had flung him. One of his comrades was shouting in his ear, probably asking if he was alright, but Jono just kept shaking his head as if in disbelief. Kelan's stomach tightened. He prayed nobody had seen him use his power in the chaos.
A gentle hand touched Kelan's elbow. He jumped slightly, but it was only Elenne, her hair plastered to her head and her cloak soaked through. She looked weary but her eyes were sharp as she examined him. "Are you hurt?" she asked, voice nearly lost in the residual wind.
Kelan opened his mouth to respond and found that his throat was dry and raw. He coughed, then shook his head. "I… I don't think so. Just winded." That was true enough. The pounding in his skull from the telekinesis was already fading to a dull ache.
She nodded, giving him a once-over to be sure. There was a knowing gleam in her eye, the kind that told Kelan she was aware of far more than she let on. Before either of them could speak further, the captain's voice cut through the drizzle: "All hands, tend to your mates! Then we start clearing this mess. Move!"
The crew sprang into action once more, this time in weary, shell-shocked silence instead of panic. Kelan stumbled a bit as he joined in, but Elenne's hand steadied him. "Easy now," she murmured. "You've done enough for the moment. Catch your breath."
He allowed himself a brief respite, leaning against the mainmast and closing his eyes. He was soaked, shivering, and exhausted in ways he hadn't known he could be — body thrumming with leftover adrenaline, mind aching from the exertion of the Mind Touch. The storm had tested him in more ways than one. In the darkness behind his eyelids, he could still see Jono falling and feel the desperate surge of power as he reached out to save him.
A mix of emotions churned in Kelan's chest. Relief, above all — relief that Jono was safe and that the ship was still afloat. But also uncertainty. Had anyone noticed what he'd done? It had been so chaotic, perhaps not. And yet, he worried. Would Jono himself realize he had been caught by something not quite natural?
His thoughts were interrupted by a clatter of footsteps. Jono himself was approaching, supported by the burly first mate. The deckhand's eyes were fixed on Kelan. Kelan straightened, heart thudding anew. There was gratitude in Jono's face, but also confusion.
"You saved me," Jono croaked, voice hoarse. It wasn't a question. He seemed sure, yet unsure of how. The first mate looked between them, not comprehending.
Kelan's mouth went dry. He glanced to Elenne, who stepped subtly closer as if to back him up. Kelan managed a modest shrug. "I grabbed you when the wave hit," he said loudly enough to be heard over the drizzle and ringing ears, trying to keep his tone matter-of-fact. It was technically true — he had grabbed him, just not with hands. "Pulled you back on deck."
Jono blinked, looking down at himself as though searching for injuries. "I… I thought I was gone. But next I knew, I was back on the deck." He gave a shaky laugh that turned into a cough. "Must've been one hell of a grab. Thank you. I owe you my life."
The first mate clapped Jono on the shoulder. "And your sea legs, boy. You were lucky. Hang on to the ship next time." He nodded gruffly to Kelan. "Quick thinking."
Kelan just nodded in return, not trusting himself to say more. He met Jono's eyes and saw no suspicion there, only gratitude and the lingering shock of a man who'd faced death and survived. Kelan mustered a small smile. "Just glad you're alright."
The first mate guided Jono away toward the galley, likely to get him dry and rested. Once they were gone, Kelan exhaled a shaky breath he hadn't realized he was holding. His hands trembled, and not just from the cold.
Elenne watched the two men depart, then turned to Kelan. She said nothing, only lifted a brow in a silent question: Are you truly alright?
Kelan let out a ragged breath and nodded. He felt lightheaded, now that the immediate crisis had passed. "I… I did it without even fully thinking," he murmured under his breath to her, the words almost lost in the patter of rain on the deck. "It just… happened."
"I know," Elenne replied softly, her voice meant for him alone. A faint smile touched her lips, equal parts pride and caution. "We'll talk soon. For now, let's get you below and into dry clothes before you catch your death."
Only then did Kelan realize he was shivering uncontrollably. The storm's fearsome adrenaline was ebbing, leaving him cold and drained. He allowed Elenne to guide him toward the hatch. All around, the crew continued their post-storm tasks: some bailing out the excess water, others inspecting for leaks or damage. The worst had passed, but the work was far from over.
As Kelan descended into the relative warmth of the lower deck, he spared one last glance back through the open hatch at the sky. The clouds were beginning to part, a weak ray of sunlight piercing through to glitter on the receding waves. He thought of that light as a promise — they had survived the storm, and soon the sun would shine again.
But in his heart, Kelan knew this storm meant more than just weather. It was a trial of his burgeoning power and his resolve. And as water dripped from his hair onto the wooden steps, he silently thanked whatever fate or fortune had allowed him to save a life that morning.
He also understood, with a quiet shiver that wasn't from the cold, that his journey was only growing more complicated. With great power came questions — from others, and within himself — that he would have to face. And he had a feeling that this was just the beginning of such tests.
Chapter 27
Soft afternoon light slanted through breaks in the clouds as Kelan stood at the ship's rail, a coil of wet rope in his hands. The storm had spent itself hours ago, leaving the sea rolling with lingering heavy swells but no longer vicious. Crew members moved around him in weary silence, cleaning up and assessing the damage. Above, the sky was gradually returning to a gentler blue, as if apologizing for the morning's fury.
Kelan methodically wound the rope into a neat loop. Normally he might have chatted with the sailors during such chores, but now he worked quietly, lost in his thoughts. Every now and then, his eyes drifted to the spot near the starboard bulwark where Jono had nearly been lost. Someone had since retrieved the broken rope and tossed it aside; it lay in a frayed heap, a stark reminder of how close tragedy had come.
His body still felt the echoes of the storm — a dull ache in his arms from gripping the mast, a bruise on his hip where he'd collided with that crate, and a persistent fatigue behind his eyes. Yet it was the memory of the telekinetic push that occupied his mind most. He had acted on instinct, but now in the calm after the chaos, questions flooded in. Could he have done it differently? What if he had failed? What if someone had seen clearly what he did?
Kelan glanced discreetly around. The crew was busy: two men were hammering nails into a cracked plank, another was high up the mast replacing a torn section of sail, and the first mate was bent over a chart with the captain, likely checking if the storm had thrown them off course. No one paid Kelan any special attention. If any sailor suspected the strange truth behind Jono's rescue, they gave no sign. Most, Kelan suspected, were content to accept that in the chaos of the moment, a strong young passenger had managed a lucky grab.
He exhaled slowly, relief mingling with the lingering tension in his chest. Perhaps it was for the best that his intervention remained indistinct, hidden by the veil of rain and fear. Still, he knew exactly what happened, as did Elenne. And he could not shake the image of Jono suspended in midair, nor the surge of power that had coursed through him in that instant. It had felt... both amazing and terrifying.
With the rope coiled, Kelan secured it and stretched his stiff back. A soft groan escaped him as the bruise on his side twinged. He rested his hands on the rail and gazed out at the horizon. The waters were still gray-green and rough, but the white froth of breaking crests was diminishing. Gulls had reappeared, riding the winds that remained. In the distance, a pale arc of a rainbow shimmered briefly against the retreating clouds.
The quiet after a storm felt almost sacred. As a boy, Kelan had seen something similar once when a summer tempest ravaged his village; afterward he recalled walking among toppled fences and drenched fields in a strange hush, as neighbors emerged to count blessings and losses. This time, at sea, there were no fallen trees or ruined roofs to tally, but the principle was the same. They had weathered something fierce and come out the other side, shaken but alive.
Footsteps approached from behind. Kelan turned to see Elenne coming toward him. She had changed into a dry tunic and a fresh pair of trousers, though her hair was still damp and pulled back in a simple braid. She offered him a slight smile and leaned against the rail next to him.
"Good work with the rope," she said softly. "And earlier, helping the crew. The captain is appreciative."
Kelan managed a small shrug. "It was the least I could do," he replied. His voice was hoarse, and he realized he hadn't spoken in hours. "Everyone did their part." He paused, then added more quietly, "You did too."
Elenne had been everywhere during the cleanup, tending to a sailor's sprained wrist, organizing supplies, even using a touch of her own abilities to help mend a cracked beam belowdecks (though she'd been discreet). She inclined her head in acknowledgment. "It was a joint effort," she said. "Storms test all aboard."
They stood in companionable silence for a moment, both looking out at the horizon where the sun was dipping westward, casting a warm glow through the thinning clouds. Kelan sensed that Elenne had more to say—there was a certain thoughtful set to her lips he recognized.
Sure enough, after a minute she spoke again, her tone gentle but serious. "How are you feeling?" she asked.
Kelan knew she wasn't referring to bumps and bruises. He flexed his fingers on the railing, considering. "Tired," he admitted. "My head aches a bit. And… I feel drained, in a way that isn't just physical." He hesitated, then decided to speak plainly. "Using the Mind Touch like that—so strongly—it took a lot out of me."
Elenne turned to regard him fully. Concern and pride mingled in her expression. "I'm not surprised," she said. "What you did would have tested even a trained Mindworker." She kept her voice low, mindful of any passing crew, though most were occupied elsewhere.
Kelan flushed slightly at the praise, but he also caught the note of caution. "I didn't think, I just reacted," he murmured, eyes dropping to his hands. "One moment I saw Jono falling, and then… I just reached. It was like something inside me took over." He swallowed. "Afterward, I could barely stand. Everything was spinning."
Elenne laid a hand on his forearm, a reassuring touch. "That's normal. The kind of telekinetic strength you exerted carries a cost. Energy doesn't come from nothing, Kelan. When you push with your mind at the world, the world pushes back on you."
She glanced out at the deck where Jono had been. "In this case, you expended a great deal of your own mental and bodily energy to alter what was happening. It's no small feat to stop a man's fall against gravity and momentum." Her fingers gently squeezed his arm. "It likely saved his life. But it took a toll on you."
Kelan bit his lip and nodded. He remembered how his limbs trembled after, how his skull throbbed as if he'd been the one tossed about. Even now, hours later, a foggy fatigue clung to him. "Will it always feel like that?" he asked quietly. "That… painful?"
"Perhaps not as sharply, once you're better trained and if you prepare yourself." Elenne tilted her head, considering her words. "But exerting that kind of power will always cost something. Whether it's a headache, exhaustion, or even something deeper. One can build stamina with practice, yes, but the cost never disappears entirely. Just as a seasoned runner still tires after a hard sprint, even if they recover faster than most."
Kelan let that sink in. A slight breeze cooled the remaining dampness on his skin, making him shiver. He straightened from the rail and turned, resting his back against it instead, facing Elenne. "I keep thinking… what if I hadn't been able to do it? Jono would be gone." He said it in a rush, voice low. "But I also think: what if doing it had somehow hurt someone else? I didn't exactly have fine control. I just… flung him back on deck. What if I had slammed him too hard into the mast or—?"
Elenne raised a hand, stopping him gently. "But you didn't. You did what you could, and it was enough." Her eyes searched his, calm but intent. "It's good that you're asking these questions. It shows you understand the seriousness of using your gift."
She drew a deep breath, and Kelan felt that a lesson was coming, the kind she often gave after he'd faced a challenge. "Kelan," she began, "power—especially the kind we wield with the mind—always comes with consequences. There's the immediate cost to yourself, which you've felt. But there are other costs, too. Some you just mentioned. If our actions go awry, others could be hurt. Or if we reveal ourselves at the wrong time, fear and misunderstanding can follow."
Her gaze flickered to the crew at the far end of the ship. None were near, but she still kept her voice soft. "Imagine if the crew had seen clearly that you plucked Jono from midair by will alone. Some might have thought it a miracle and praised you. But others might react with fear. People often fear what they don't understand. The balance on this ship, the trust between you and them, could have shifted dangerously. The captain might have thought you a sorcerer or a risk to his command."
Kelan felt a chill that had nothing to do with the wind. He recalled the wide-eyed confusion on Jono's face afterward. "I told him I grabbed him," he said. "He seemed to accept that."
"Good," Elenne said. "Sometimes a simple, mundane explanation is best, even if it's not the whole truth. You did well to stay modest about it."
He wasn't sure if it was modesty or simply fear of being found out that guided his response to Jono. Maybe both. Kelan looked down at the damp planks of the deck. "So you're saying I should hide what I can do?"
Elenne shook her head slightly. "Not forever. But until you understand it better and can control it, it's wise to be cautious about who knows. The Lyceum exists for that purpose — to train you in your abilities among those who won't fear you for them. Until then, discretion is simply common sense."
Kelan released a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. "I just hate the thought of standing by and doing nothing if someone's in danger," he confessed. "If I hadn't acted, Jono would have drowned."
A shadow of memory passed over Elenne's face. "I know," she said softly. "I have faced that dilemma myself. And I won't tell you that you should have withheld help in that moment. In fact, I'm proud you chose to save him." She offered a gentle smile that warmed Kelan's heart. "Compassion is one of your strengths. But we must temper compassion with wisdom. The Code we follow, the one I've been hinting at, exists to guide exactly these kinds of decisions."
Kelan recalled the four words Elenne had drilled into him on quieter days of their journey: See, Weigh, Aid, Withhold. He had just lived through that sequence in the most literal way possible. "I tried to follow it," he said, nodding slowly. "I saw what was happening. I weighed the options — even if it was fast — and I decided I had to aid him. I didn't think about withhold at all. I suppose… in that situation I couldn't have withheld help and lived with myself."
Elenne's smile grew by a fraction, a glint of respect in her eyes. "And that is a fair judgment. 'Withhold' does not mean 'never act.' It means knowing when not to act. In that case, aiding was the right call. But, for example, if acting would have meant capsizing the whole ship or injuring many to save one, the calculation might be different. These aren't easy choices. They're the hardest ones we face."
She turned and leaned her elbows back on the rail, looking out at the sea pensively. Kelan joined her, both now staring into the golden-hued waves. The sun was descending, casting a path of light on the water that rippled and broke with each swell.
"In my youth," Elenne said quietly, "I was once in a situation where I revealed my abilities in order to help someone. And… it didn't end as I'd hoped." Her voice carried a tinge of old pain. Kelan glanced at her in surprise; she rarely spoke of her past so candidly.
"What happened?" he asked gently.
She sighed. "I was about your age, maybe a year or two older. I was traveling through a small town plagued by a bandit gang. I had only modest training then, but I thought I could help. One night I used my telekinesis to disarm a bandit who was threatening a local family. I saved them, yes. But in doing so, I exposed what I could do in front of many frightened people."
Kelan listened intently, picturing a younger Elenne standing bravely against brigands.
"The family was grateful," she continued, "but the rest of the villagers… they were terrified. Whispers of witchcraft spread. By morning, I was asked—politely but firmly—to leave and never return. They couldn't reconcile the miracle of rescue with their fear of the unknown power I wielded. In their minds, I was as much a monster as those I stopped, perhaps even more so, because I defied the laws of nature."
Kelan felt a surge of indignation on her behalf. "That's so unjust," he muttered. "You were trying to help."
"It was unjust," Elenne agreed softly. "But it was also partially my own naivete. I hadn't weighed the consequences beyond the immediate act of saving lives. I learned then that doing good isn't just about intent; it's also about understanding context, people's fears, and the larger picture." She placed a hand over Kelan's. "I want you to be spared such a harsh lesson if possible. I want you to learn from mine."
Kelan turned his hand upward to briefly squeeze her fingers. "Thank you," he said. It had not occurred to him how dangerous the world could be for someone like him in less obvious ways. Physical danger he could anticipate, but social danger—fear, suspicion—that was a new battlefield to consider.
They fell silent for a time. The ship creaked softly as it rode a moderate swell. The sounds of the crew had died down; most of the immediate repairs were done, and men were now tending to themselves, changing into dry clothes or snatching a bit of rest. The captain remained at the helm, steadfast, but even he had a relaxed posture now that the worst was over.
Kelan watched a trio of seabirds wheel above the mast, their cries faint. "I don't regret saving Jono," he said finally, voice firm. "Even knowing all that, I think I'd do it again."
"I know you would," Elenne replied with a gentle laugh. "It's who you are." She then raised a finger as if to emphasize the next point. "But next time, hopefully you'll be a bit more prepared. Perhaps with more training, you can save someone without exhausting yourself quite so badly, or with a subtler touch that draws less attention."
She straightened and stretched, rolling her shoulders. "Which reminds me—our lessons have been somewhat ad-hoc lately due to ship life. Once we reach the Lyceum, you'll have a much more structured practice. They will teach you exercises to build your endurance and finesse. But in the meantime, we should resume a bit of training tomorrow."
Kelan felt an ache in his muscles at the thought of practice so soon, but he nodded. Part of him was eager to push further, to test himself again now that he'd glimpsed what he was capable of. Another part was fearful—what if he pushed too far? But with Elenne guiding him, he trusted he'd be alright.
A bell sounded from the galley below, a clanging pattern that indicated the evening meal was ready for those off duty. The smell of something warm and hearty—fish stew, by the scent—wafted up on the air, and only then did Kelan realize how hungry he was. The day's events had burned through whatever he'd eaten at dawn.
Elenne sniffed appreciatively. "We should go eat," she said. "Food will help restore your energy too. Never underestimate a good meal after expending power."
Together they left the rail and headed toward the hatch. Before descending, Kelan cast one last glance at the gentle sunset sky. It was hard to believe that just this morning those skies had nearly torn them apart. He felt a swell of gratitude — to the ship for holding strong, to Elenne for her guidance, and to fortune for allowing him to make a difference.
The light above was soft and forgiving as he followed Elenne down the ladder to supper, the lingering lesson clear in his mind: power, used wisely, could save lives — but he would always have to be mindful of its costs.
Chapter 28
Morning dawned clear and calm, as if the previous day's tempest were only a bad dream. The sea had settled to a gentle rhythm, the waves lapping against the hull in a soothing cadence. Kelan stood on the sun-warmed deck beside the mainmast, a wooden bucket resting at his feet. Overhead, sails that had been repaired flapped softly in the mild breeze. A few sailors were aloft, adjusting rigging, but most of the crew were occupied on the far side of the ship, giving Kelan and Elenne a bit of space for their lesson.
"Alright," Elenne said, facing Kelan with an encouraging expression. "Shall we begin? Today, a bit of practice for both your mind and your mind's ethics." She gestured to the bucket. It was half-filled with seawater to give it some weight.
Kelan nodded, wiping his palms on his trousers. Despite the warm morning, he felt a touch of nervousness. This was the first deliberate training session in some time. Yesterday's dramatic use of his telekinesis had been unplanned; now he would be doing it under Elenne's watchful eye. He wasn't sure if that made it easier or oddly more daunting.
"First," Elenne instructed, "I want you to lift this bucket a few inches off the deck with your gift. Hold it steady while we talk. Let me know if it becomes too much."
"Understood." Kelan took a deep breath, centering himself. He fixed his gaze on the bucket's handle, an iron loop riveted into wood. Gently, he extended his will toward it, feeling for that familiar but elusive sense of connection. It was like flexing a new muscle — one he'd exerted strenuously yesterday, but now he approached it with care.
Slowly, the bucket's handle gave a faint rattle, then the bucket itself wobbled and lifted. Kelan exhaled, focusing on keeping it hovering at roughly ankle height. The bucket swayed slightly as the ship rolled, but Kelan adjusted his mental grip, compensating for the motion. It felt easier than he expected; the weight was modest and the effort nowhere near what he'd spent flinging Jono to safety. Still, he had to maintain concentration, like balancing a broom upright on his palm.
Elenne smiled as the bucket hung in the air of its own accord. "Good. Now, we'll review the Code of the Mind Touch. You've heard me mention its tenets in passing, but today I want to ensure you truly understand them." She began to pace slowly in front of him, her boots clicking softly on the planks, as if lecturing in a classroom rather than on a ship.
"There are four guiding principles we, as Mind Touch practitioners, abide by," she said. "They are: See, Weigh, Aid, and Withhold."
Kelan nodded slightly, careful not to let the bucket dip. "See, Weigh, Aid, Withhold," he repeated, the words familiar on his tongue.
Elenne held up one finger. "First, See. This means to observe and understand the situation fully before you act. Use all your senses — and your empathy — to grasp what is really happening. Often, things are not as simple as they first appear. Our judgment can be clouded by panic or bias. So, we take a moment to truly see."
Kelan recalled how even in the midst of chaos yesterday, he had forced himself to notice the details: the rope caught on the snag, the wave cresting. "Like on the ship, I looked around and saw Jono was in danger," he said, voicing the connection.
"Exactly," Elenne affirmed. "You identified the real problem. 'Seeing' might also involve perceiving whether a situation even requires our involvement or if it's resolving on its own. It's about clarity."
She raised a second finger. "Second, Weigh. Consider your possible actions and their consequences. Think of who might be affected and what outcomes could follow. Weigh the risks of intervening versus not intervening. Weigh the moral aspects — is it your place to interfere? Are you helping, or could you unintentionally harm? This step often must be done quickly, but never skip it entirely."
Kelan's arms trembled a little, not from strain so much as from the intensity of focus. The bucket had started to drift upward a bit, and he eased it back down to the original height. As he did, he mulled her words. "Yesterday, I weighed my options," he said slowly. "I realized I couldn't reach Jono physically in time and that if I did nothing he'd be lost. I didn't see any harm in trying to save him, aside from the risk to myself. So I… well, I acted."
"Yes," Elenne said. "You weighed and found that action was worth the cost. Now, sometimes the weighing will tell you the opposite — that using your power might cause greater problems. Which leads to the third tenet." She lifted a third finger.
"Aid. If after weighing everything, you judge that help is needed and right, then you act. You use your abilities, or any other means at your disposal, to render aid. This principle is straightforward in concept — it's the doing of the thing. But it carries an implicit addendum: aid appropriately."
"Appropriately?" Kelan echoed, brow furrowing.
"Meaning, use the right amount of aid, in the right way," Elenne explained. "Sometimes a subtle nudge is better than a grand display. Sometimes offering guidance or tools is better than solving the problem entirely for someone. The aim is to genuinely help, not to foster dependency or cause new troubles. In your case, lifting Jono back onto the deck was exactly what was needed. No more, no less. You didn't, say, hurl him all the way across the ship into another danger." She gave a wry smile.
Kelan huffed a soft half-laugh. "True. I almost worried I'd slam him too hard, but I just wanted him safe on deck."
"You did well," Elenne assured. She then held up a fourth finger, her expression turning more solemn. "And finally, Withhold. This is perhaps the hardest principle to accept. It means choosing not to act, even when you have the power to do something, because you have judged that intervening would be unwise."
Kelan felt the weight of that word. Withhold. It went against his instincts to help, yet he understood the reasoning. "So… if I determined that using my gift would expose me dangerously, or cause more harm than good, I would refrain," he said, eyes flicking to the bucket still floating before him.
The bucket was wobbling a bit as his mind wandered. He refocused, stabilizing it. "It's like… sometimes doing nothing is the right choice, even if it feels wrong not to help."
Elenne nodded. "Precisely. For someone compassionate like you, 'withhold' can feel counterintuitive, even cruel. But consider an example." She stopped pacing and faced him, arms loosely crossed. "Imagine we are in a town where two merchants are having a heated argument over a deal. You have the power to influence their emotions or move objects to startle them into stopping—both things someone with our talents could potentially do. Do you intervene to stop their fight?"
Kelan pondered that scenario. It was not life or death, just an argument. "I suppose… I would wait and see if they resolve it themselves. It's not really my business to step in, and using my power for something like that seems excessive."
"Good," Elenne said. "That would be a case of Withhold. The disagreement might resolve on its own or with mundane help. Our gifts are not meant for meddling in every little affair. We aren't arbiters of all problems. We choose our moments carefully."
She continued, "Another scenario: You see someone cheating at a dice game, swindling a sailor out of his coins. You could telekinetically tip the dice to expose the cheat. Do you?"
Kelan felt a flicker of indignation at the idea of cheating. "If I don't, the sailor loses his money unfairly. But if I do and people notice… I could get myself in trouble. And even if not noticed, I'm essentially using my power to police gambling. It might not be my place." He bit his lip. "It's not a life at stake. Perhaps I'd withhold, or maybe intervene in a subtle way only if I were sure it wouldn't cause chaos."
Elenne smiled. "You see how it becomes a nuanced judgment call? There's rarely a black-and-white answer. The Code guides our thinking, but it doesn't remove the burden of choice. It just helps us structure it."
Kelan nodded slowly. The bucket felt heavier now; a bead of sweat trickled down his temple. He had been holding it aloft for several minutes, focusing through their conversation. It was a mild strain, but noticeable.
"Go ahead and set it down," Elenne said, noticing his concentration waver. "You've done well."
With relief, Kelan gently eased the bucket down to the deck. It landed with a wet thud, a bit of water sloshing over the side. He flexed his fingers, which had instinctively curled as he exerted his will, and rolled his shoulders. "I could feel it after a while," he admitted. "Not too bad, but like holding my arm outstretched—eventually it aches."
"You'll build endurance," Elenne said, retrieving the bucket and setting it aside. "We'll do exercises like that regularly. It helps focus the mind and strengthen your capacity." She regarded him with a proud tilt of her head. "Your control is improving. A day or two ago, you might have struggled more to keep that steady."
Kelan allowed himself a smile at the praise. He did feel more confident after yesterday's ordeal and today's practice. Using his power in a controlled way, even on a small task, reassured him that it wasn't just a wild fluke that emerged only in crisis.
Elenne leaned against the mast, relaxing the formal tone she had taken while reciting the Code. "How do you feel about the Code, now that we've talked it through?"
He took a moment to gather his thoughts. "It makes sense to me," he said. "It's kind of what you've been teaching me all along, just put into clear steps. I think… I think following it will keep me from acting recklessly with my ability. It's like a compass, pointing me to the right action."
"That's the idea," she agreed. "Though sometimes even with a compass, one can lose their way in a storm. When emotions run high, or situations are complex, it can be hard to follow these ideals perfectly. But having them in your heart gives you something to return to, a baseline."
She looked off toward the horizon where the faint outline of coast might appear later that day or the next. "I wish every person with power in this world had a code like ours. There would be fewer tyrants and tragedies. Unfortunately, many either never learn or choose to ignore such principles. Some with the Mind Touch have faltered... which is why the Lyceum puts such emphasis on ethics alongside skill."
Kelan remembered some stories Elenne had hinted at — of a Mindworker who had used telepathy to influence a local lord for personal gain, or a telekinetic who became more bandit than guardian. Those had been cautionary tales. "It's a lot of responsibility," he said quietly.
Elenne met his gaze. "It is. But I believe you're up to it. You've shown good sense and empathy so far. Imperfect, as we all are, but willing to learn. That's what matters."
A comfortable silence stretched between them. Kelan felt the gentle sway of the ship and heard the distant voices of sailors working on deck. The sun was climbing, its brightness glinting off the water and sending warm light over the ship's worn timbers. Somewhere overhead, a gull cried out.
He thought about the journey ahead — not just to land, but at the Lyceum. "Will they test me on the Code when we arrive?" he asked, half curious, half anxious.
Elenne chuckled. "In a manner of speaking. You may find yourself in discussions or given hypothetical scenarios, much like I did just now. They'll ensure you grasp it. But it's not a rote examination with quills and parchment," she winked.
That eased Kelan's mind a bit. He wasn't afraid of tests, but he preferred learning by doing or discussing rather than formal exams.
"You might also get real-life tests," Elenne added thoughtfully. "The Lyceum often assigns small duties or tasks to novices, to see if they apply the Code in their actions. Perhaps helping in the city or mediating minor disputes under supervision. Be ready for that."
Kelan straightened, finding himself looking forward to it. "If it helps me learn, I'll do whatever they ask."
A sudden hail came from the lookout perched on the mast above: "Sail ho! Brigantines off the port bow!" The sailor's voice was high with excitement.
Both Kelan and Elenne turned sharply towards the front of the ship. Elenne shaded her eyes and peered into the distance. Kelan squinted but at first saw nothing but the glisten of sun on waves. Then—yes, there—tiny shapes on the horizon, like small triangles of white against the blue.
Elenne's face broke into a smile. "Ah, right on time," she murmured.
Kelan looked from the horizon to her, questions in his eyes.
"Our escort," she explained. "The harbor watch must have sighted us. Those will be Auristazi ships coming to guide us in."
Kelan felt a thrill of anticipation. This meant land was near, perhaps closer than he'd thought. "So soon?"
"We're making good speed," Elenne replied. She placed a hand on his shoulder. "Lesson time is over for now. We'll have a bit of excitement soon."
As the crew bustled about to prepare for the approaching escort, Kelan took a moment to steady himself. His heart quickened. The Code was now etched firmly in his mind, and he had a feeling he would need its guidance more than ever in the days to come.
He whispered under his breath, almost like a mantra, "See, Weigh, Aid, Withhold," and then went to join Elenne by the rail, as the proud brigantines of Auristaz drew ever closer under the morning sun.
Chapter 29
Night had fallen gently, a canopy of stars spread over the quiet sea. Kelan found himself at the bow of the ship, peering intently into the darkness ahead. The day's warmth lingered in the wood beneath his hands as he gripped the railing. Beside him, a single hooded lantern hung, casting just enough light on deck without spoiling his night vision. He scanned the horizon where the last ember glow of sunset had long faded.
Then he saw it—a tiny, flickering pinprick of orange in the distance. And another. Kelan blinked, hardly daring to believe his eyes. Yes, there were several of them, wavering and clustered. They looked like low-hanging stars, but he knew they must be torches on land.
His heart leapt. "Lights," he whispered, voice lost to the vast night. He leaned forward as if that would bridge the miles faster. One by one, more crew members noticed the distant beacons. A low murmur swept across the deck.
"Torches on the shore!" came a call from the lookout above, confirming what all were now seeing. A ripple of excitement and relief coursed through the sailors. After endless weeks of only sky and water, the evidence of solid land—lights created by human hands—felt almost miraculous.
Kelan's pulse quickened. Those torches had to be on the Auristazi coast, perhaps near Vay'Sala's harbor entrance or atop its walls. It meant they were truly close now, perhaps a few hours sail away. He glanced over his shoulder, spotting Elenne emerging from belowdecks to see what the commotion was. She made her way to him with a purposeful stride.
Elenne followed his pointing finger toward the flickers on the horizon. In the faint glow of the lantern, Kelan could see her expression soften into one of gratification. "There they are," she said quietly. "Signal fires. Likely at the headlands by the bay."
Around them, the crew were bustling. The first mate relayed the captain's orders: they would reduce sail and approach cautiously. No one wanted to blunder onto unseen shoals in the dark. Vay'Sala's harbor was well-charted, but night brought its own perils.
Kelan felt a shiver—not of cold, but of anticipation. The breeze carried a new scent now, just as it had earlier in the day: a hint of earth and foliage beneath the salt air. It was subtle, but it made his senses sing. That must be the smell of Auristaz, drifting out to meet them.
Elenne rested her hands on the rail. "How do you feel?" she asked softly, her voice nearly drowned by the gentle wash of waves against the hull.
He searched for the right word. "Eager," he said first. Then, with a self-conscious chuckle, "and a bit anxious."
She nodded, understanding. The torchlight reflected in her gray eyes. "That's natural. You're about to step into a new world, after all."
On the foredeck, a few sailors exchanged grins and claps on the back. One older seaman quietly knelt by the bowspirit, making a brief sign of thanks to the sea gods for a safe nearing of voyage's end. Kelan watched as others followed suit in their own subtle ways—one kissed a pendant around his neck, another simply closed his eyes in silent prayer for continued good fortune.
Kelan realized he too ought to give thanks. He closed his eyes for a moment. In his mind, he offered gratitude—gratitude for surviving the storm, for the ship that carried them, for Elenne's guidance, and for the chance to behold Auristaz soon with his own eyes. As he opened them again, the torches seemed a fraction closer, their glow steady and beckoning.
"We'll likely heave to and wait for dawn," Elenne remarked. "Entering an unfamiliar harbor at night is risky, even with signal fires."
Almost on cue, the captain's voice rang out in the dark: "Ready the anchor! We'll hold here till first light." There was a mix of groans and cheers from the crew—groans from those impatient to reach port, cheers from those grateful for a chance to rest before the final maneuvers.
Kelan felt both impulses. Part of him wanted to urge the ship onward immediately, to not waste another minute. But another part of him was relieved; the extra hours would give him time to collect himself. By morning, he might be a bit more composed.
The crew efficiently set about their tasks. Sails were reefed to slow their progress. The anchor was lowered with a rattle of chain and a distant splash. The ship came about to face the gentle wind, rocking in place as the anchor found purchase. The torches on the distant shore continued to burn like a promise.
Elenne lingered beside Kelan at the bow while the activity went on behind them. Neither spoke for a time. The silence between them was comfortable, filled by the sound of water lapping and the faint creaks of the settling ship. Kelan's eyes remained fixed on the horizon, where he could now discern a darker smear beneath the stars—a shoreline, or perhaps low hills. It was still too far to make out any details, but knowing it was there was enough.
As the initial excitement onboard mellowed, some of the crew retired below to snatch a few hours of sleep. Others stayed on deck, trading quiet conversation about what they'd do with their first night in port come tomorrow—find a tavern, seek out a certain meal, visit family if they had any in Vay'Sala. Their muted voices floated through the darkness.
Kelan envied them in a way; they spoke of familiar things, whereas everything awaiting him in Vay'Sala was unknown. He clenched and unclenched his hands on the railing, trying to ease the flutter in his stomach.
"Your mind is racing ahead of you, isn't it?" Elenne said gently, breaking into his thoughts. She could always tell.
He managed a wry smile, though he kept his eyes forward. "I keep imagining what it will be like. The city, the people... the Lyceum." He lowered his voice, not wanting any stray listener to overhear that last bit. "Wondering if I'll fit in, or if I'll make some terrible mistake as soon as I step off the ship."
Elenne chuckled softly. "You won't burst into flames upon stepping ashore, if that's what you fear."
Kelan huffed a laugh through his nose. "That, at least, I'm not worried about." He paused. "It's just… I was getting used to life on this ship. In a strange way, it feels safe now. And tomorrow everything changes again."
He hadn't quite articulated that feeling until now. The Reedwing had become a small world he understood—hard work, regular meals of fish stew and ship's biscuit, the camaraderie (and occasional grumbling) of the crew, the endless sea which, while daunting, had become a steady companion. Stepping off onto land meant stepping into unpredictability once more.
Elenne laid an arm around his shoulders briefly, a half-embrace. "Change can be unsettling, even when it's something you've looked forward to." She spoke quietly, perhaps remembering her own first arrival in Auristaz years ago. "I won't pretend you won't face challenges in Vay'Sala. You will. But you'll also have me, at least for a while longer, and you'll have the Lyceum—full of people who have gone through exactly what you're feeling now."
Kelan looked at her, worry slipping into his voice. "What if… what if they find I'm not up to their standards? I mean, I have this gift, yes, but what if my training thus far is lacking? Or my background too… provincial?"
It was something he hadn't voiced before. Elenne was taking him to join an ancient institution of learning and power; he was a miller's son from a small island. Despite everything he'd been through, insecurity gnawed at him.
Elenne's expression turned firm. "Listen to me, Kelan. The Lyceum doesn't require you to be anything other than what you are: a student willing to learn. They've accepted you on my recommendation and the potential I've seen in you. You've proven your character and ability already in ways many novices have not before arrival." She gestured toward the distant lights. "Those people out there? They don't know it yet, but they'll be fortunate to have someone of your heart among them."
Kelan felt his cheeks warm at the earnest praise and he hoped the night hid it. "Thank you," he murmured. "I'll try to remember that when I inevitably trip over my own feet on the dock tomorrow," he added with a self-deprecating grin.
Elenne laughed softly. "If you do, just take a bow afterward and pretend it was on purpose."
They stood together a while longer, letting the gentle humor fade back into quiet reflection. Above, the half-moon emerged from a stray cloud, silvering the rippling sea. The torches onshore continued to wink, some even seeming to blink out as the hour grew late, perhaps extinguished or blocked by moving figures or closing gates.
From aft came the faint sound of a fiddle. One of the sailors had taken out his instrument and began to play a soft, haunting tune—perhaps a lullaby for the end of the voyage. The melody drifted through the night, weaving with the sound of the waves. It was beautiful and bittersweet.
Kelan felt a tightness in his throat at the sound. The music made him think of home—of evenings in his village when someone might hum a tune by the hearth. It also made him think of the homes these sailors would return to or the distant memories they carried. For him, home was now far behind, and ahead was a place he had never been. He wondered what songs Auristazi people sang, what tales they told of nights like this.
As the fiddle played on, Kelan finally tore his gaze from the horizon. "I suppose I should try to rest," he said quietly. He doubted he would get much sleep with his mind churning, but he knew he'd regret it if he greeted tomorrow utterly exhausted.
Elenne agreed. "A wise idea. Tomorrow will be busy and full of new experiences. Best to have some wits about you." Yet she made no move to depart the bow just yet, her eyes lingering on the view of her homeland's lights.
Kelan too hesitated, reluctant to leave the sight of Auristaz's welcome, however distant. He wanted to imprint this moment in his memory: the first glimpse of the land he had dreamed about. Eventually, he forced himself to turn away.
Together, they walked aft along the deck. The sailor with the fiddle gave them a nod and a smile mid-tune. A couple of others were listening nearby, one humming along. Many of the crew had already gone below, securing a few hours of sleep before dawn watch.
Kelan descended the ladder to the dimly lit lower deck alongside Elenne. The familiar smells of lamp oil and salt and the closeness of the ship's corridors greeted him. They reached the small cabin one last time.
Pausing at the door, Kelan realized the next time he'd sleep, it would be on land, under a different roof entirely. The thought was both exciting and oddly sad. The little cabin had been a constant through the long journey, and leaving it meant this chapter of his life was ending.
Elenne seemed to sense his sentiment. She rested a hand on the door frame. "We'll miss this creaky tub, won't we?" she said fondly, keeping her voice low so as not to wake any dozing crew nearby.
Kelan smiled. "A bit, yes." He pushed open the door. Inside, the darkness was soft and inviting. They hadn't lit the lantern, letting the faint glow from the passage suffice. He settled onto his bunk, not bothering to fully undress—just kicking off his boots and loosening his shirt. Elenne did similarly, sitting on the edge of her bunk to undo her braid, combing fingers through her hair.
"Try to sleep," she whispered after a moment. "Everything will be alright."
Kelan lay back, pulling his thin blanket over himself. He stared at the low ceiling. From above, he could still hear the muffled strains of the fiddle's lullaby. The ship rocked ever so gently at anchor, a motion he had come to find soothing.
His mind refused to fully shut down. He found himself rehearsing imagined introductions, picturing how he might greet the harbor master or the Lyceum scholars. He wondered if he'd need to bow or use some honorifics. Then his thoughts spun to the city itself—how large would it be? Would the smell of spices be as strong as he imagined? Would the streets be safe or would he need to be on guard?
Eventually, the weariness of the long day and the emotional high of spotting land finally caught up with him. The fiddle had gone silent, and in its place, the gentle murmur of the sea lulled him.
Kelan's eyes grew heavy. His last conscious image was of distant torches flickering in the night, an image that intertwined with his dreams as he drifted off. Anticipation and unease warred in his chest, but above all, there was hope—bright as those torches—guiding him onward into the unknown.
Chapter 30
Dawn broke in a riot of color. Kelan stood at the starboard rail, nearly breathless at the sight before him. In the clear morning light, Auristaz's coastline unfurled in all its glory. Rolling green headlands embraced a wide bay, and at the bay's heart lay the city of Vay'Sala. Even from this distance, Kelan could see the gleam of white stone buildings catching the sun and the silhouette of spires or towers reaching toward the sky. Mist clung to the water's surface in gossamer ribbons, slowly burning away as the sun rose higher.
But most eye-catching of all were the two ships gliding out from the harbor toward them. Brigantines — smaller than the Reedwing, but elegant, with twin masts each — and unlike any vessels Kelan had seen. Their hulls were painted in vibrant hues: one a deep sapphire blue, the other a rich emerald green. And they sparkled. As the sun's rays hit them, Kelan realized why they were called "jeweled" brigantines. Mosaics of colored glass or polished stone studded their rails and sides, catching the light like scattered gemstones. The effect was dazzling, as if the ships themselves wore necklaces of many-colored jewels.
As the sun's rays hit them, Kelan realized why they were called "jeweled" brigantines. Mosaics of colored glass or polished stone studded their rails and sides, catching the light like scattered gemstones. The effect was dazzling, as if the ships themselves wore necklaces of many-colored jewels.
The brigantines' sails were equally splendid. Each had sails dyed in intricate patterns — swirling gold and crimson on the blue ship, and silver with black geometric designs on the green one. Kelan could only stare in wonder.
"They're beautiful…" he breathed. Elenne had come up beside him, her own smile one of fond recognition.
"Yes. The Auristazi harbor escort," she said. "They send them for ceremonial greetings. We must have been spotted at first light."
On the forecastle, the Reedwing's captain raised a looking glass to his eye, assessing the approaching escort. Sailors murmured excitedly. It was not every day a humble merchant vessel like theirs was met with such pageantry.
As the brigantines neared, Kelan noticed details: along the rails of each ship stood rows of uniformed figures — perhaps sailors or ceremonial guards — their attire bright. He caught glints of metal and color, possibly decorative armor or festive livery. The blue brigantine bore a banner at its masthead, a golden emblem of a sun and wave that fluttered proudly.
A trumpet sounded across the water, clear and bright. One of the brigantines was heralding its approach. The Reedwing's crew rushed to their positions. The captain barked gentle orders to ensure their ship presented itself properly — lines coiled, sails trimmed neatly, the decks as tidy as possible after the long voyage.
Kelan stood up straight, heart pounding with excitement. This was the official welcome to Auristaz. He suddenly felt conscious of his simple travel clothes, salt-stained and wrinkled. Brushing off his tunic, he turned to Elenne. She was calm, posture straight and dignified, the breeze tugging at loose strands of her chestnut hair.
The blue brigantine came alongside to the port side of the Reedwing, maintaining a respectful distance so that the two ships rode parallel on the gentle waves. The emerald brigantine took position on the starboard side. Now enveloped by the escorts, the Reedwing almost seemed part of a procession.
From the blue brigantine, a voice called out in a resonant language Kelan did not understand at first. The cadence was musical, commanding yet welcoming. Elenne answered before the captain could, calling back in the same tongue with a fluidity that surprised Kelan (though it shouldn't have; of course she spoke Auristazi). He picked out one word — "Reedwing" — probably the name of their ship being given.
Then the voice from the brigantine switched to the trade language common to many ports, heavily accented but clear. "Ship Reedwing, welcome to Vay'Sala! Do you require a harbor pilot?"
The captain responded loudly, "We would be honored for guidance into harbor."
It wasn't strictly necessary — the bay was open and the morning visibility good — but declining might have been seen as rude, and besides, Kelan suspected the harbor pilot was part of the formalities.
Sure enough, one of the brigantines (the emerald) eased closer and a small boat was lowered. In it was a single rower and a robed figure holding a coil of rope. They made quick time across the short gap to the Reedwing. Crewmen tossed a line, and the rower caught it deftly, securing the boat. The robed figure — a woman, Kelan realized as she climbed the ladder onto the Reedwing's deck — stood tall and regal. She wore a flowing sea-green cloak embroidered with silver patterns that resembled waves and wind. Upon her dark hair was a small circlet that sparkled with what looked like actual gemstones.
The crew stepped back respectfully as she set foot on deck. Up close, Kelan saw she had umber-brown skin and keen dark eyes lined with kohl. She looked to be perhaps forty years of age, and she carried herself with the easy authority of someone used to command.
"Captain," she greeted, inclining her head. "I am Harbormaster Lia of Vay'Sala. I will guide you in." Her accent was present but her command of the trade tongue was strong.
The captain, a grizzled man who usually barked orders barefoot on deck, hurried forward and bowed slightly, doffing his cap. "Thank you, Harbormaster. I'm Captain Torrin. We're grateful for the escort." He gestured to Kelan and Elenne, who stood nearby. "This here is Lady Elenne, of the Lyceum, returning home, and her charge."
At the mention of the Lyceum, Lia's stern face brightened with recognition. She placed a fist to her chest in a salute-like gesture. "Elenne! Welcome back." The two women clearly knew each other, for Elenne stepped forward and clasped Lia's forearm warmly.
"It's good to see you, Lia," Elenne said with genuine warmth. "And under fair skies, no less."
Lia chuckled. "The Sea Mother is kind this morning. She nearly blew you off course last night, I hear, but all's well that ends well." Her gaze shifted to Kelan, curious but kind. "And this young man must be your protégé."
Kelan felt heat rise to his cheeks at being suddenly the focus of the Harbormaster's attention. He bowed his head in the way he'd seen others do and managed, "Kelan, ma'am. I'm honored to be here."
He hoped that was appropriately polite. Lia's eyes sparkled with amusement, and she gave a small approving nod.
With pleasantries exchanged, Lia moved to the quarterdeck to confer with the Reedwing's helmsman. The harbor escort would take over navigation now. The two brigantines flanked their ship like graceful dancers, and at Lia's hand signal, all three vessels proceeded forward toward the city, their speeds matched.
Kelan remained at the rail, drinking in the sights as they neared the harbor. On either side of the bay's entrance jutted protective arms of land, atop which stood fortifications of pale stone. Atop each, huge basket fires (the torches they'd seen last night, likely) still smoldered even in daylight, sending up lazy plumes of smoke. As they slipped between these headlands, Kelan looked up in awe at the battlements and the banners flying there—long streamers of turquoise and gold. He glimpsed armored figures pacing the walls, on watch.
Beyond the headlands the harbor opened wide. Vay'Sala sprawled along the shoreline and up gentle hills. The city was a tapestry of color: terra-cotta roofs, marble domes, verdant gardens spilling over balconies, and market canopies in every hue. Closer to the water, a series of docks and wharves stretched out, already bristling with ships—traders from other lands, fishing sloops returning with the morning catch, and a grand galleon emblazoned with an unknown crest.
It was more activity and structure than Kelan had ever seen in one place. He felt a bit dizzy trying to take it all in—the sheer scale of the city with its multiple tiers and districts climbing the hillsides, the cacophony of distant sounds (bells ringing, gulls crying, a hum of thousands of voices carrying over the water), and the rich smell that wafted out to meet them: a mix of brine, exotic spices, and flowering trees.
The brigantines leading them in sounded another horn call, musical and triumphant. Along the piers, people turned to watch the incoming trio of ships. Kelan could make out children scampering to vantage points and dockworkers pausing with coils of rope over their shoulders.
As the harbor's depths changed, Lia called out commands. The Reedwing's crew trimmed sails accordingly, slowing further. Two smaller harbor boats rowed out to meet them, ready to assist in tugging the ship to its assigned berth. The brigantines began to peel away with graceful coordination—their part in the ceremony nearly done, they would arc back to escort the next arrival or return to their station.
Before the emerald brigantine veered off, Kelan noticed its crew all turned toward the Reedwing and, as one, lifted their arms in salute. The sunlight caught on something in their hands, and for a moment, the air glittered. It took Kelan a second to realize they had tossed handfuls of flower petals into the water between the ships. The petals—reds, yellows, purples—floated on the harbor's gentle waves like a drifting rainbow, a final gesture of welcome.
He felt a lump in his throat at the simple beauty of it. The sailors of the Reedwing cheered and clapped at the display, clearly as charmed as Kelan.
Elenne leaned over and murmured to him, "A traditional blessing. May your voyage end in joy, it signifies."
Joy, indeed, Kelan thought. It was impossible not to feel joyous at this reception. Any lingering unease was momentarily forgotten in the face of such open-hearted hospitality.
The Reedwing glided towards a stone dock where a berth had been cleared. Lia deftly coordinated with the harbor boats to guide the ship in. Ropes were tossed to waiting dockhands—several stout women and men who caught the lines and secured them to thick mooring posts. With practiced efficiency, the ship was pulled flush to the quay. A gentle jolt ran through the deck as wood kissed stone, and they were finally, officially, arrived.
"Anchor down!" came the call. Chains rattled and the anchor was dropped for good measure. The ship was made fast.
Kelan realized he had been holding his breath. He released it in a rush, feeling an almost giddy lightness. After so long on the move, they were now still. Land—solid, unmoving land—was just a few paces away over the gangplank that sailors were now sliding into place.
The harbormaster Lia exchanged a few final words with the captain and Elenne, giving instructions about customs checks and the like. Kelan caught snippets: "...manifest ready… Lyceum has sent word ahead… formal welcome at the dock…"
Formal welcome? Kelan straightened his tunic one more time and ran a hand through his wind-tangled hair. He felt a sudden jab of nerves. It seemed their arrival was not to go unnoticed or unattended by local officials. He glanced at Elenne, who gave him a reassuring half-smile and rested a hand briefly on his shoulder.
Together, they moved toward the midship where the gangplank was secured. Beyond the ship's rail, the dock waited. A small crowd had gathered at a respectful distance on the pier: a delegation of sorts. Kelan saw a tall man in flowing robes, a pair of guards in polished cuirasses holding long spears decorated with ribbons, and a few others with garlands of flowers draped over their arms.
The air was alive with new sounds—porters shouting, gulls squawking overhead, the lap of water against the dock pilings—and new scents—tarred wood, spice-laden breezes from the markets beyond, and the unmistakable sweetness of fresh blossoms from those garlands.
Kelan's heart thudded in his chest. The threshold between ship and shore suddenly represented a great transition. On one side, his long voyage; on the other, the unknown reality of Auristaz. He swallowed, preparing himself as the harbormaster signaled that they could disembark.
Captain Torrin went first down the gangplank, eager to speak with the dockmaster about cargo and fees. A couple of crew followed to start tying additional lines. Lia, the harbormaster, led the way to the welcoming party, stepping off the plank with familiarity.
Then Elenne touched Kelan's arm. "Shall we?" she said softly.
Kelan nodded. With her by his side, he took his first step onto the gangplank. It creaked slightly underfoot. He moved slowly, savoring the moment and also steadying himself—after so long at sea, the ground felt strangely firm, and he anticipated a bit of wobbliness in his legs.
As they reached the halfway point, the assembled greeters inclined their heads. The man in robes stepped forward, a broad smile on his tan, lined face. In a clear voice he proclaimed, "Welcome home to Auristaz, Lady Elenne, and welcome to Vay'Sala, honored guests!"
Kelan felt the warmth and ceremony of the words wash over him. Sunlight bathed the scene, and a cheer went up from some bystanders further along the dock (perhaps curious locals or off-duty sailors) witnessing the arrival.
His cheeks flushed with emotion—pride, relief, excitement all mingling. He was here. He had arrived in the Auristazi mainland, escorted by jeweled ships and greeted with open arms. Whatever challenges lay ahead, this moment was pure and shining.
At the foot of the gangplank, Elenne and Kelan stepped onto the solid stone of the dock. Kelan's legs felt a touch unsteady, the ground oddly still beneath him after the constant motion of the ship. He steadied himself and inhaled deeply. The air tasted of salt and strange spices, and it was the most delicious breath he could remember taking.
"Thus ends your voyage across the sea," Elenne murmured to him with a smile. "And now, let the next journey begin."