Chapter 124


    Echoes of the Ash


    “I still think Mahel should stay on the ship,” Femira grumbled, her brows knitted together as she watched the shadowy figure on the shore through the mist.


    “Even if I were to let him,” Connie replied with a sharpness in her voice that matched the chill wind, “he doesn’t want to.”


    “You didn’t exactly make him feel welcome,” Femira shot back, her gaze still fixed on the distant flicker of Mahel’s campfire.


    “That’s because he’s not welcome, Femira. We don’t know him,” Connie’s tone was flat, almost dismissive, as she crossed her arms over her chest.


    “You didn’t know me either.”


    “Yes, but you were paying me. He’s just another foolish treasure hunter. And a bloody rak one at that,” Connie’s voice held a hint of scorn now, her eyes narrowing slightly as she turned to face Femira directly.


    “He’s in danger out there, the draega will tear him apart,” Femira insisted, although she wasn’t sure about that, she suspected Mahel had a few tricks up his sleeve despite what he’d claimed about not being a great fighter.


    “He seems to be pretty confident in his magic harp thing.” Connie’s response was flippant, her gaze drifting back towards the helm as if the conversation were already too long.


    Femira could tell this argument was getting her nowhere, and even if she were to convince Connie she’d then need to convince Mahel and the sun was already setting.


    True enough, the draega didn’t attack that night.


    Femira had stayed up, restless, watching the first pale light of the twin moons creep over the horizon. Funny, how quickly she’d fallen into the rhythm of nightly battles. Now, with no draega in sight, her whole body felt wrong, twitchy with the absence of danger. She’d grown used to the thrill, the surge of adrenaline, the certainty that each night would end with her driving the Nythblade through another scylla. Instead, the waves lapped lazily against the hull. Mahel’s harp plucked out its strange melodies through the mist.


    The man—Femira considered him despite the others saying he wasn’t—sat by his fire for hours, watching, waiting, much like her. Eventually, though, he’d settled down to sleep, his large frame silhouetted against the glow of the campfire.


    Just before he’d laid down, he’d given her a casual wave. Femira blinked in surprise, not realising he’d even seen her watching from the ship’s deck. She hadn’t expected the gesture, and for a moment, it unsettled her. There was something unnervingly calm about him, something she couldn’t quite place.


    The first sliver of dawn broke over the horizon, and Femira’s tension finally began to relax. No draega tonight. She was actually a little disappointed. A part of her had wanted to come to Mahel’s rescue.


    Sleek and Connie wasted no time in the morning preparing the ship to leave. It was clear to everyone that their time at Wailing Rocks was up. Sleek barked orders, and the crew moved with sharp efficiency, keen to put the cursed place and the—almost—nightly draega attacks behind them.


    Having spent all night standing guard, Femira was keen to slip into her bunk, but before that, she needed answers. Mahel had stirred something in her, and she wasn’t one to leave questions hanging. If she was, she never would’ve uncovered Garld’s true operation.


    She approached Connie, catching her in between snapping orders to the crew. "One more trip to shore," Femira said, trying to keep her tone casual, but there was a stubborn edge to it. “I need to speak to Mahel again.”


    Connie looked at her, frowning, clearly not in the mood for more delays. "You’ve got to be joking, kid. The sooner we leave these rocks, the better. The rak’s had his chance to talk."


    “I won’t be long,” Femira pressed, eyes fixed on Connie, unwavering. “Just a few more questions.”


    For a moment, Connie looked like she might snap a refusal, but something in Femira''s stare must have convinced her. With a heavy sigh, she relented. “Fine. But be quick about it. I’m not hanging around here any longer than we have to.” Her reluctance was clear, but Femira nodded, a satisfied smirk pulling at her lips.


    It was just Cowbell that accompanied her this time, the large man silent as ever, save for the occasional jingle of the bell he kept looped around his wrist. He gave her a nod and a quick gesture—two fingers pointing to the rocky shore—then set off, already focused on foraging shellfish along the jagged coastline.


    The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.


    She turned towards the smouldering campfire, where Mahel sat actually playing the harp with his fingers this morning. His hood pulled low over his face, yet somehow he was still aware of her approach. Why does he have to be so mysterious?


    “Back again?” Mahel greeted, his voice that same deep, rumbling calm. “I had made guess that your captain would be eager to flee these shores.”


    “She wanted to,” Femira replied, stepping within striking distance, but she didn’t think Mahel would attack her. “But I have some more questions.”


    Mahel’s lips curled into a small, knowing smile, continuing to play on his harp “Curiosity... a dangerous thing. There was a story once, it killed something?”


    “Maybe,” she shrugged, “but ignorance can kill too. And I’ve survived long enough to know when I’m in the dark about something important.”


    “I’ve watched you, Femira,” Mahel said, his tone as calm as the sea beyond them. “Your vigilance... it extends even to those not of your kind, a rare trait… and utterly admirable. You wouldn’t let me die to the draega if they attacked last night, would you?”


    Femira stiffened but didn’t answer right away. She wanted to push the conversation forward, not let Mahel shift it back on her. Femira’s eyes locked onto his. “You’ve been here longer than we have. I want to know what you’ve seen. What’s driving the draega south?”


    Mahel shifted slightly, his bright blue eyes narrowing as he studied her. “You’ve fought them. Surely you have your own theories?”


    “I couldn’t give six shits for theories,” she said, her voice sharp. “I’m looking for facts. More of them are appearing, that much I know. But why? Is there something further north of here that’s pushing them south?”


    For a moment, Mahel was silent, he leaned back from his harp, but as before it continued to play of its own accord after he let go of the strings. “The draega... they are not the beasts you think them to be. They are drawn to something. They are part of something far older than you or I. There’s power in the north. Forgotten by most.”


    Femira frowned, her patience thinning. “I don’t care about legends. I care about what’s real. I care about what’s coming. You’ve been watching us, so you know I can fight. But I can’t fight an enemy I don’t understand.”


    Mahel turned his eyes back to her, a flicker of interest sparking in his gaze. “You think the draega are just beasts to be hunted and slain. But they are not the only threat moving south. You may not have seen it yet, but you will. The Black Sands is waking, Femira. And when it fully rouses, it will not be a wave of these creatures you face, but something far worse.”


    She tensed, her mind racing. “What do you mean worse than draega?”


    “The draega are merely the teeth of a much larger beast. There are forces at work—forces driving them south, as you’ve said. Forces tied to something truly ancient… something hidden.”


    Femira felt a chill run down her spine. She’d spent the past year of her life training and fighting the draega, and now Mahel was suggesting there was more—something bigger, something worse.


    “You speak in riddles, Mahel. What is this power? What’s driving them?”


    “I seek the same answers you do,” Mahel replied softly, leaning back. “I believe it’s tied to another ancient place—a ruin. The Tower of Limiria.”


    “The Tower of Limiria,” she echoed. “I’ve heard it mentioned a lot lately. Connie reckons it’s a myth. But I’ve seen enough myths come to life the past year to not be that naive. It’s said to have been built by Krastac, one of the last Sorcerer Kings. What does Krastac have to do with the draega?” Krastac had been the last King of Athlin too, the very same who’d built the throneroom that Femira had destroyed in Port Novic.


    Mahel’s lips twitched in what might’ve been a smile, but it was gone too quickly to be sure. “That’s what most believe, yes. Krastac the Sorcerer King—one of the last rulers of that Age. But the tower is much older than Krastac.” His gaze sharpened, eyes catching the light of the rising sun. “Much older. I knew Krastac, Femira. I walked this world when he reigned.”


    Femira blinked, caught off guard by the casual mention of Mahel’s lifespan. Alive during Krastac’s reign? That would make him... how old? Femira didn’t know nearly enough about history, but she knew Krastac had been killed by Elyina. And she lived over three hundred years ago. She shoved the thought aside, focusing on the pressing questions.


    Mahel could also have been lying, there was an old blind man in Altaria who’d claimed to be thousands of years old and had sailed to Altaria through a sea of ash, but everyone knew that he’d been full of shit. Femira didn’t suspect Mahel to be lying about this however, he was too knowledgeable about things he shouldn’t have been. And she knew that Aeth lifespans were considerably longer than humans. The rak—to her—didn’t look all that different from Aeth. Okay, that weird blue pattern of light on their skin is a bit different. But other than that?


    “Then what did Krastac have to do with the draega?” she pressed.


    “Krastac and his kind wielded powers over flesh and soul,” Mahel said softly, leaning back as he spoke. “A power I suspect you are somewhat aware of.”


    Femira felt herself tighten at the hint of soulforging but she didn’t answer, allowing Mahel carry on. “They shaped new abominations,” he continued, “twisting life into monstrous forms. Many of the creatures that haunt our world today were born of their craft. The Sorcerer Kings were not content with power over men alone—they sought to rule Nature itself. To bend it, break it, and rebuild it.”


    Femira frowned, her mind whirling. “You believe there’s a new Sorcerer King creating the draega?”


    “I know there is. But that’s not what I’m looking to confirm.”