The next few days of the journey were almost monotonous. The big storm never came, except when they sailed off Loriax. There, Nastal, Marby, and the crew gathered on deck and watched the thunderbolts hammering the mountains that rose behind the island.
"One of Sentinel's Elder Warrens is there," Nastal had said simply to those present, perhaps to allay their fears. "The storm in Loriax is like rain to us, almost permanent."
Marby looked on in awe. Part of the island of Loriax resembled Ayaton. In the northern part, the town was built on a cliff, much like theirs. Thundertown, as the southerners called it, was full of seafarers accustomed to living with thunderbolts on their doorstep. "They are the most courageous sea reapers," Nastal said again.
"As fine as their island looks, I am glad we shall not stop, O Nastal," said Marby.
"There are no more stops on our route. The Queen has asked for speed and efficiency, and that is exactly what we shall deliver."
No one spoke. Marby detected in Nastal's words something more than admiration for the queen but kept it to himself.
"Ship! There!" Marby pointed with his hand, and Nastal smiled.
"Look closer, at the sails."
"Trident," said Marby.
"Our queen asked the Lord of the Sea for it before we sailed. A small boat to escort us from here to the Cross."
The sailors cheered. The boat in the distance looked spectacular. A sense of relief in their midst brought instant cheer.
"Open a bottle of rum, Marby. We can relax a little, I think."
"Yes, sire!"
Marby ran into the hold. The black sky was slowly receding behind them like a bruise on a map. Open water lay ahead of them, and the Emperor's protection was at their side. The gods had heard their prayers.
As they reached the port of the Cross, Marby approached Nastal.
"Why do we never hear of Loriax, O Nastal?"
"What do you mean?"
"Mascardi Berio's voyages, the 21 Seagulls, and all the songs—they talk about the siren on Sing, about Serperia in Akra, about the treasure of the Mermaid and the battles that followed. But we never hear anything about Loriax. Did they not travel there?"
Nastal lowered his head.
"It was their first stop," he said grimly. "It was a massacre, Marby."
Marby had heard nothing.
"They say they reached land and headed up to the city immediately. They unsheathed their swords with a thirst for blood and gold. Some say the townspeople welcomed them with open arms, others say they subdued them and brought them into servitude. That they took their women and their treasures."
"What do you think happened?"
"I know there was a massacre," Nastal's words were carefully chosen.
"How can you know?"
"Many times, Marby, I am given sight that few possess, by the gods."
Marby nodded humbly.
"What I do know is that on that day, a great battle took place in Thundertown. Men and sea elves clashed, and some also say that Mascardi's bard sang and that the tide of battle changed because of him. What I saw were the carcasses of the elves on the rocks, so many feet below the city, broken to pieces, their limbs eaten away by the salt. Days later, they reached the monastery in the heart of the mountain, and there they fought the Ten Living Wall."
"The what?"
"A horror of another time, Marby. Look, we're getting there!"
The Island of the Cross was now visible under the setting sun. It was a small island that housed a single, yet enormous temple. On this island lived the high priest of Trident and a few assistants. Nastal, however, always had the back of the island in his thoughts—a crossroads full of mysterious stories that the priest would now push away from his mind.
The temple was larger than Nastal remembered. Marby and the crew had removed their hats and gazed in awe at the statues of the gods that adorned the courtyard. A few steps beyond the beach, a majestic building of stone and ivory rose before them. Its size was emblematic, and its architecture more impressive than anything one would see in the South Seas. There were symbols from various religions: The Hooded Woman of the Veil, The Disc of the Final Light, The Root of the World by the great Sentinel, and alongside them, statues of the gods, inspired by the testimonies of the Men who walked with them at the Battle of the Four Daughters, the Great War, and the 1st Siege of Goualekir. So many glorious moments among the Humans, so easily forgotten in the few years they live. Nastal was moved as he walked towards the marble stairs leading to the entrance. He said a prayer and wove in as many names as he could, leaving last and most importantly that of Revedon, the god of the sea.
Marby stayed among the statues with a sailor named Sordo. They watched Nastal stand before the two huge doors and wait until they opened.
"I'd like to take a look inside, to tell you the truth, Marb. We've come this far."
Marby didn't feel the same way. Something inside him was giving him the creeps.
"We're fine here, Sordo. There's nothing inside, just scrolls and statues."
Sordo laughed.
"Are you kidding me? Look at this place, look at the size!" He hissed a little and turned around. "How much gold do you think The Scepter's got hidden inside, eh?"
Marby was afraid for a moment that they might be overheard.
"Don't call him that, you fool. His name is Athaldus, and he's the high priest. Show some respect."
Sordo frowned immediately. "Easy, Marby, I didn't mean any harm. That's just his name on the islands, it's not offensive. Is it?"
Marby didn't know either. The high priest was an enigmatic figure. His last name was Sarathian, a familiar island surname, and all the priests before him on the Cross had shared the same surname. The reason, remained a mystery.
"What do you think of the others, Marby?"
Sordo pointed to the crew of the ship that had escorted them from Loriax. The long-haired warriors wore shrouds and had curved swords in their belts. They were always serious, never spoke to each other, and never laughed, at least as far as Marby and the others could tell.
He just shrugged his shoulders. "I don't know. They seem serious."
Sordo laughed.
"That's what I was thinking, Marb. Very serious, my friend. Don't they ever relax? Our trip was pleasant, we had no mishaps, and they look like they're back from the war."
Sordo put his fingers to his mouth and whistled sharply and piercingly. "Hey, brothers, relax a little, we're here, we're all good!" He stopped shouting and burst out laughing to himself.
"By the gods, Sordo, you're dumber than you look. Cut it out already!"
"What's gotten into you now? All those days at sea have turned your head, too?"
"You're acting like a child," Marby scolded him. "Something's going on, can't you see it? Why did we make this whole trip? Why are we here? Why would the queen send her priest on a trip like this? Don't you see that something is going on?"
Sordo didn't seem particularly stressed. He simply shrugged and whistled indifferently.
"You think too much, brother. They must have some business. You've become too much of a philosopher for us lately. Aren't you looking to relax a bit? The trouble is, I don't see any inns here, and we're running low on rum. Running out? It's already gone, is what I meant. Will you tell Nastal to stop this time at Serkal or Loriax? For supplies, I mean. Marb? Marby?"
Marby had stopped listening long ago. He was walking alone among the statues. He found a bench across from a statue of a woman and sat down to take a breath away from the noise of the others. The statue had an odd pose—a woman with long hair and wide eyes dancing, her dress following her movements. The sculptor had paid attention to the smallest detail; the dress had been carved with such precision that it was hard to believe it was stone. The stone had almost become fabric. She was Shelterstorm, the goddess of lightning, and he had heard somewhere that in Loriax, she was worshipped by a priestess of equal beauty. Perhaps he would go and see her in person one day.
His mind drifted back to another statue, more recent. Darmakaya had awakened, and with him had unraveled a number of threads of stories that no one knew where they were going. Marby felt overwhelmed and small. For a moment, he too wanted a drink to calm himself down. He turned back to Sordo. The young man was sulking, standing with his arms crossed, avoiding eye contact.
"Don't be like that; you're getting more irritating and uglier, if you can believe it."
Sordo didn't react.
"Go ahead," he told him, "I'm thirsty too. Let's go see if the serious boys over there have anything to drink."
Sordo whistled again, laughed loudly, and then followed him in celebration.