6 – Voyage

  Thanks to his new acquaintances, Ward fell into a comfortable and productive routine on the living ship. His day began in a room called the “Vitality Hall,” which was basically a gym, as far as Ward could tell. It was an ample space with several sections of open flooring lined with wicker-style mats. More than that, there were machines meant for strength training that were almost comical in their complexity—brass gears and flywheels, long strands of rope attached to heavy brass-covered lead weights, and chain-driven, moving seats and stirrups.

  Ward avoided the machines, chuckling as he watched people dressed in thick cotton exercise gear heaving and straining against the awkward contraptions. What drew him there were the exercise mats and the wide array of wooden practice swords. While Haley performed her Gopah routines, Ward and Trent Roy sparred, or more precisely, Roy would teach Ward a thing or two, and then they’d practice for an hour or so with Ward feeling frustrated despite Roy’s easy, good-natured patience.

  He couldn’t get over how something as simple as swinging a sword could be so nuanced. Watching Roy with his rapier—fluid, graceful, perfectly in control—was both inspiring and frustrating. How could he ever hope to compete with someone who’d been raised with a blade in his hand? It wasn’t just Roy; Ward figured most people raised in the Vainglory System would have decades of experience, whereas he was starting at square one. A month here or there did not make up for a lifetime of muscle memory.

  One morning, after Roy cracked his wooden sword against Ward’s wrist bone, making him drop his sword, Ward growled, cussed, and said, “I don’t know why I’m wasting time with this shit. I should just get myself a better pistol.”

  “Oh, come now, Ward! That’s not the spirit! A pistol? You realize duels with such wouldn’t be allowed on a ship like this, yes? On terra firma, things would be different, but sorcery would be in the cards then, too. No, it's better to keep your options open. Besides, guns are such inelegant things, and they lack the power of your muscles to make them effective against folks with high-tier vessels.”

  Ward frowned, reaching to pick up his practice sword. “What do you mean?”

  “Observe.” Roy pulled a small knife from a sheath at his belt. “When you were a boy, did you ever cut yourself?” He held the knife’s well-oiled blade against his palm.

  “Yeah, sure.”

  “Well, I trust you’ll believe me when I say this is a very sharp knife. I could shave with it.” Ward nodded, and Roy drew the blade along the meaty part of his palm at the base of his thumb. Ward winced, watching as a thin line of red appeared where Roy parted the flesh. It was a shallow cut and clean, but it looked like it would sting. Roy squeezed his fist, and Ward watched as some blood droplets beaded up out of the two-inch slice. “Not a very bad cut. It’ll stop bleeding in minutes and be sore for a day or so.”

  “Yeah?” Ward wasn’t sure what point Roy was trying to make.

  “When I was a child, and my vessel was unevolved, that same cutting motion would have parted my flesh a quarter-inch deep. I’d be bleeding like a sieve.” He arched an eyebrow at Ward. “My ‘vessel durability’ is currently tier-two. Would you be willing to tell me what yours is?”

  Ward shrugged, feeling a little peer pressure to share the trust Roy had just given him. “Halfway through tier three.”

  Roy grinned and pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket, pulling the knife’s blade through it to clean his blood off. “Hold out your hand, Ward.”

  Ward’s modern Earth sensibilities made him a little squeamish about becoming “blood brothers” with Roy, but he figured he’d already let that ship sail back when he was learning about magic with Maggie in the cemetery. Besides, he had lycan blood and doubted he was susceptible to many types of infection. He held his hand out, broad palm up, and Roy, quick as a serpent striking, slashed the sharp little knife over the same area on his palm. To Ward’s surprise, he hardly registered a cut. It felt more like someone drawing a smooth piece of metal across his skin.

  “Look!” Roy laughed. “You can hardly see where the blade touched. I don’t think it bled.” Ward nodded, watching as the pink line faded, his regeneration repairing the tiny damage to his epidermis. “Now, Ward, can you imagine what someone with tier-five, or—fates preserve us—tier-ten vessel durability would say if I tried to slice their flesh? They’d laugh at me. I wouldn’t be strong enough to pierce it!”

  Ward shook his head. “I guess I see your point, but a bullet hits a hell of a lot harder than that little knife. Your rapier cut me easily enough.”

  “Of course! This was just an illustration—I wasn’t applying pressure with this blade. I’m sure I could cut you with it if I really tried. I have second-tier strength, as well. As you and I continue to improve our vessels, though, it will take someone of near-equal power to harm us. Alchemical arms are incapable of maintaining that pace.” He frowned, holding up a finger as he corrected himself. “Well, most are. Certainly, one can enchant bullets and mix more potent powder, but then you have to have a sturdier gun. The cost becomes exorbitant, too—each shot could cost thousands of glories.”

  Ward nodded, rubbing his stubble-covered chin as he thought about it. “Are there really people with tier-ten vessels?”

  “Indeed. You’ll meet men and women with incredible attributes on Primus. The Assembly has several such members.”

  Ward grunted, slapping his wooden sword against his thigh. “So I better get better with this thing, huh?”

  Roy smiled and clapped him on the shoulder. “Don’t let my fencing expertise discourage you. You know perfectly well that perfect poise tends to fall apart in a real fight. For a man who’s only been wielding a sword a few months, you’re doing very well. You’ve learned to recognize attacks, defend against most of them, and even seize opportunities to strike. Why, in the few days we’ve been sparring, I’ve seen a marked improvement.”

  “Yeah, but, shit, Roy, how can I stand up against someone with a high-tier vessel who’s also been fighting like this for their entire life?”

  “With ferocity and perseverance, my good man. Also, you must learn to guard your tongue and know when to back down from a fight, especially on Primus. Don’t worry overmuch, though—the Noble Dueling Doctrine frowns on uneven fights. You’ve learned the maxims, yes?”

  Ward shook his head. “I told you I’m new to the system; I’m just picking things up as I go.”

  “Well, I recited one maxim before our duel. Do you remember?”

  “Hmm…” Ward thumped his sword on the mat-covered floor. “The, uh, ‘victory must sing…’”

  “Close!” Roy laughed. “‘The loss must sting, the victory sing.’ In other words, a duel must have consequences. Another maxim that applies to our current discussion is, ‘a great name is not built on easy victories.’ So, in effect, the doctrine does not condone challenging those demonstrably weaker than oneself.”

  “Does that apply to everyone? Because I knew an insane warlock who was going around challenging all the minor county nobles and killing them and their champions off.”

  Roy clicked his tongue, shaking his head. “It’s not as clear for those who don’t walk the Road. It’s more difficult to assess the strength of one noble over another, but I’m sure the Assembly would investigate such—”

  “Yeah,” Ward interrupted, nodding, “now you mention it, a marshal was on his way to check on the legitimacy of those duels.” He hefted his sword, nodding. “Let’s keep at it, I guess. If you’re still game.”

  “Oh, I am, Ward! This is good exercise for me, and I need to earn my payment, don’t I?”

  Ward grinned, nodding. He didn’t have a problem giving the guy one of his spells now that they were friends, but he also didn’t mind getting a couple dozen sword lessons in the bargain. “That’s right, Roy. Besides, what else have we got to do?”

  On most days, when Ward finished with Roy and Haley was done with her Gopah, they’d get breakfast and then visit with True or one of the other “friends” they’d made on the voyage. Fitz was always eager to sit down with them and talk about his plans for his adventuring company, but Ward did his best to steer the conversation toward Primus, the Assembly, the Citadel, and the aspects of Vainglory society that only someone born with a silver spoon in his mouth might be privy to.

  Stolen novel; please report.

  He learned that Primus was dominated by city-states, all of which had seats on the Assembly. As for the countryside, very little wasn’t claimed by various noble families, though there were swaths of forests, mountains, and, of course, the open sea that were considered “untamed.” The challenges, at least those known publicly, were all near or directly inside one of the city-states and, thus, heavily regulated by the local laws. The capital, Ordo Caelus, where the living ship would land, was renowned for having three challenges inside its walls.

  Fitz talked at great length about how difficult it was to obtain an entrance slot to those three challenges. The registration fee was one thing, but paying only got you put onto a waitlist that wasn’t viewable by the public. He said the wait could take years unless you knew the right people and had a favor or two to cash in. Ward could tell that Fitz was still working on recruiting them—naturally, his family had just the sort of connections they’d need to get moved up on that list.

  The other person Ward spent time with was Fernandes. He held a slight grudge against the older sorcerer because of the way he’d rallied the ship’s crew and forewarned them about Ward’s bloodline before his duel with Trent Roy. Even so, he ended up liking him. The man was clever and knowledgeable, and having seen Ward’s self-control, he didn’t seem to hold any prejudice against him and his wolfen alter-ego. Oftentimes, Ward would spend hours with the veteran sorcerer, talking about magic, while Haley did another round of Gopah or spent more time with Fitz.

  Fernandes claimed ignorance as often as he said he knew the answer to Ward’s questions, but even so, he knew more than anyone else he’d met. They sometimes spoke about how the words of power and spells were designed, and one day, he confirmed one of Ward’s suspicions. They were sitting in the observation gallery; Ward was sipping a dark, bitter coffee, while Fernandes quietly steeped his unique brand of tea when Ward said, “I’m beginning to think the meditative poses impact a spell’s final function as much or, maybe even more, than the words of power.”

  “Oh?” Fernandes nodded, straining his tea into a cup. “Do explain your thought process.”

  “Well, for instance, I know two spells that use the word ‘vrothun.’ They have very different effects. Even knowing what the spells do, I wouldn’t be able to define the word—”

  “Vrothun usually means person.”

  “Oh?” Ward took a mental note. “So…” The two spells he was thinking of were the one he’d used to bring Haley back to life and the new one he’d gotten from Trent Roy. He supposed “person” made sense in both instances. Frowning, he flipped through his grimoire again, looking closely at his Feather Touch and Whisper Wind spells. “What about ‘vyre?’ Again, I know two spells that use that word, and they’re very different.”

  “Ah! Yes, that’s a versatile word. It generally has to do with air or movement.” Fernandes sipped his tea and, after swallowing, added, “You’re not wrong, you know. I just wanted to hear your reasoning. How you memorize a spell—the movements, breathing, and the rhythm of the mantra—creates meaning in your bones. When you unleash the words, all that meaning goes along with them, bending the mana to your will.”

  Ward nodded. “So, someone who creates a spell has to understand far more than the words of power. It’s like creating a sentence using two or three languages at once.”

  Fernandes chuckled. “An apt analogy, Ward. It’s a challenging thing to learn, especially without a master. You won’t find a school for magic, nor will you easily hire a veteran mage to teach you. Even I, though I see you as a good fellow and a friend, wouldn’t be willing to reveal to you everything I’ve learned—not unless you were my student, someone I’d chosen to carry on my legacy.” He held up a finger, wagging it as he chuckled softly. “Not that I’m seeking an apprentice at the moment. Even if I were, it’s an enormous commitment and not something anyone, on either side, should enter into lightly.”

  Ward sighed and closed his grimoire. “Every time I’ve learned a spell, it had a story to go along with it. Did all of those original casters just experiment? How long would a person need to meditate through hundreds of poses, with different timing and different words, before they’d come up with something that worked?”

  “A long time!” Fernandes laughed. “No, no, in all seriousness, Ward, if you wish to begin trying to craft your own spells, I can offer you a little advice. If I do, however, I hope you’ll be wise about who you share it with.”

  Ward leaned forward, looking intently into the older man’s eyes. “I’m not looking to go around revealing secrets.”

  “Here’s one secret you may not know, then: even a single word of power can be crafted into a myriad of different spells. So, if you want to begin learning, choose a single word; it’s infinitely easier than even two. Secondly, the more spells you gather and practice, the more you’ll begin to intuit what the various poses do. You’ve compared like-words among your spells, but have you analyzed the meditations? Are there movements repeated among them? If so, you’re well on your way to understanding what those poses do.”

  “So, the more I learn, the easier it will be to understand how spells work.” Ward nodded. It sounded almost too obvious. He supposed he’d already realized as much, on a certain level; he just hadn’t really sat down to try to figure it all out before. “I guess, if I were smart, I’d start building a key…a, uh, lexicon of the various spell components.”

  “Yes, but just as you guard your grimoire, you should protect your research; after all, should you learn to craft spells, that knowledge will be far more valuable than any small collection.”

  Ward nodded, and after that conversation, he began to spend more and more time alone during the voyage, studying his spells. He did his best to define the words of power; however, just as Fernandes promised, they all seemed to have multiple interpretations. He created a table of the various meditative poses, drawing connections between his different spells. There were hundreds, maybe thousands, of ways to interpret the poses—some seemed to specify an effect, others seemed to define an intensity, and so on.

  The timing and rhythm of breaths were just as varied as the poses, but even with his limited selection of spells to work from, Ward began to notice patterns. His two least-taxing spells both used the “vyre” word of power, and he decided that when he was ready to try experimenting, building a spell of his own design, he’d use that word first. However, Fernandes and Trent Roy both cautioned him about experimenting while on the living ship, and Ward couldn’t argue. He could only imagine the thousands of things that could go wrong with experimental magic while hurtling through the void of space on a living creature.

  The days went by, one by one, turning into a week, then two, and then three. On the penultimate day of their journey, the captain announced a final dinner before their approach and landing on Primus the following morning. Fernandes was gone, having disembarked on a cold-looking, mountainous moon that hung above the world of Aetheris—a true sight to behold. The sixth Vainglory world was utterly obscured by cotton-candy-blue and white clouds. Not a hint of the surface could be seen from the living ship’s observation gallery, but it didn’t matter; it was wonderous to behold as it was.

  The clouds piled on each other and roiled, reflecting the sun’s light in strange iridescent sparkles in every shade of blue imaginable. Before he left, Fernandes told Ward it was due to the nature of the water on the planet; it was rich in a mineral called aetherium and highly valued for its ability to channel mana. For instance, it was the primary ingredient in the liquid found in hemographs—aetherflux.

  Before he left, Ward and Fernandes talked at great length about spells and how valuable a sorcerer’s grimoire was. Ward always had a sneaking suspicion that the man was more powerful than he seemed. He acted frail and slow, but there was a light in those eyes that belied his ancient appearance. They never did make a deal for a spell trade; Fernandes usually made excuses, saying he’d bring his book another time or that he was too tired to think about it at the moment. However, on the day of his departure, he promised to find Ward on Primus in the near future and that he’d arrive with an “intriguing” proposal.

  After Fernandes left and the captain made his announcement, Fitz tracked Ward down on his way to his quarters and asked if he and his companions would join him and Trent Roy for dinner. He hoped to formalize some plans for staying connected once they all went their separate ways at the “Proving Gate.” Apparently, the living ship would dock at the port of Ordo Caelus, and everyone would be separated into dozens of queues to be interviewed by the Gatekeepers.

  Ward agreed that they should sit together at dinner and make arrangements to meet, and then he returned to his room. Grace, having spent most of the voyage hidden away, was always quick to appear once he was alone. “I can’t believe this trip is nearly over!” she exclaimed, flopping onto the bed with a groan.

  “Glad?”

  “I’m so bored!”

  “Well, we need to figure out if you need to keep hiding or not ‘cause you’re not going to feel comfortable around all the sorcerers on Primus. Fitz says you’ll see a sorcerer for every ten or twenty people you meet.”

  “There are plenty of people who will be all too glad to kill you if they know I’m sharing your vessel! You saw what happened back in Westview!”

  “You’re not like those demons.” Ward was only half-heartedly arguing; they’d had this conversation a dozen times.

  “But people make assumptions. You need to—”

  “Relax, Grace. When we get to the Assembly Hall, I’ll try to find someone we can trust to discuss it. Maybe I can get a license or something.” He chuckled, imagining a dog license.

  “I know what you’re thinking, jerk!” Grace scowled at him.

  “Just lay low until we get a good feel for things, all right?”

  “Story of my life,” she groaned. “At least you’ve been learning a lot. Do you think you’re going to join Fitz’s little company? Do you think he’s been trying to recruit Roy?”

  “Oh, he definitely is! You know Roy. He likes to play coy, but I can tell by the way he talks to Fitz that they’ve been meeting when I’m not around. I’m sure Fitz’ll have a big proposal for us at dinner.” Ward opened his wardrobe and began rifling through his blazers, looking for one he hadn’t worn in a while.

  “Do me a favor, will you, Ward?” Before he could answer, she amended, “Actually, two favors.”

  “Uh, what favors?” Ward took a shirt out of the wardrobe, sniffing it. He wrinkled his nose and threw it onto his laundry pile. He’d need to get those washed before he packed up.

  “For one thing, don’t sign any contracts before we can talk about it.”

  Ward snorted, shaking his head. “I’m not signing anything. Not until I find out what the Assembly wants with me.”

  “Okay, good. Secondly, will you pretty please, with sugar on top, eat some food that I like tonight? I’m so tired of steak and whiskey!”

  Ward chuckled, smiling as he found the shirt he was looking for. “Yeah, Grace. I’ll change things up. You want dessert, too?”

  “You know I do! Something with frosting!”