Heir of the Gods

Ch. 37: Arrival

Calix kept his eyes closed, focusing on the feeling of the needles stabbing repeatedly into the skin of his back. The steady clacking as Tarquin worked seemed to match the tempo of the blood surging through his veins. He forced his breathing to stay steady as Tarquin moved closer and closer to the sensitive tissue over his ribs.

At least the pain kept his mind off the vicious seasickness he had been suffering from the entire week and a half they had been aboard this godsdamned ship. Calix was tempted to simply live on Brunia for the rest of his life, just so he wouldn't have to ever set foot on a ship again.

A laugh huffed from his nose at the thought, making Tarquin hiss at him for the movement. Falling still, Calix quickly sobered as he realized he might very well stay on Brunia as nothing more than dust and ash.

Either option, he decided as the ship canted sharply to the left, was better than constantly heaving his guts up. 

Tarquin wiped at his back with a soft cloth, cleaning away the blood and excess ink to study his handiwork. He muttered something under his breath about eyes, then there was a gentle clinking sound as he reloaded the needles with ink. The ship dipped forward, the hull creaking around them, making Calix groan in misery as his stomach jumped toward his throat.

"If you vomit on my boots again," Tarquin said calmly, "I'll turn this into a giant, fluffy rabbit."

"You don't have the time," Calix muttered, swallowing back against his nausea. "And I've apologized already."

Tarquin's only response was to return the needles to his skin. Beyond his cabin, Calix could hear the captain shouting orders and booted feet scrambling back and forth along the deck. The wind howled, the choppy waves beating mercilessly against the cargo ship they were aboard. 

The seas were always rough around the island. Like it was protected by the oceans themselves. 

Land had been sighted early that morning, the lookout finally catching a glimpse of the immense, snow-capped mountains of Brunia. The Helsia Mountains were about ten miles inland from the shore, but could be seen far out to sea on a clear day.

Calix and Tarquin had both spent a little time that morning watching the island creep slowly out of the horizon, revealing a wide river pouring into the ocean and misty green forests marching away into the north, toward the jagged peaks. A grim silence had surrounded them as they watched the wild landscape slowly reveal itself. 

They had fought everywhere from the frozen plains of Mortania to the burning deserts of Emulsa, but the island was a different sort of beast. There was something strange about the land itself. Something enchanted and...ancient. 

Something dangerous.

"Is the entire legion untested?" Tarquin asked, his voice barely audible above the creaking of the ship.

Calix gave a minute shake of his head, keeping his eyes closed. "Perhaps. I can't imagine they'd take any troops from the others. They're stretched thin enough as it is."

The needles stilled for a moment. Then: "You're supposed to go witch-hunting with raw recruits?"

The idea wasn't particularly thrilling to Calix either. He turned his head, resting his temple against his forearm so he could see Tarquin from the corner of his eye. "There have been no other reports since your battle with the Wolfclaws. I don't even know what I'm supposed to be looking for or where I'm supposed to be looking. And I don't particularly like the idea of setting an untried bunch of soldiers loose on the Brunians to search for these women."

"Demons," Tarquin muttered. "Creatures from some dark hell."

Calix scoffed lightly, even as the words sent a shudder up his spine. "Demons don't exist."