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In The Mist Of The Erie Isles

By Mantrid Brizon

Episode Thirty-Nine: Arrival

Bobbing gently in the water, the Arona-Dahl coasts along, cutting the ocean’s shimmering, navy waves. With the sun set, only the moon and the compass guides Trellan’s spirit, which controls the craft, day and night. Sitting in the workshop and leaning back, blue-green eyes focus on the soft but illuminating amber glow.

“I don’t think I’ll never get over those lights. They’re remarkable!” Salman comments.

Valan glances over his shoulder, looking back at his twin brother. Salman sits atop the closed lid of his chest full of spare parts and loose metal, looking up at the panels inset within the ceiling.

“I’m sure there’s much you haven’t seen, especially on a ship like this one.”

“Arona is certainly a special ship, but I’ve seen quite a few wonders.” Salman retorts.

“Is that so?”

“Mhm!”

“Have you been on many ships?”

“A few. Diplomatic envoys, mostly. I’ve never been at sea for long, though.”

“Is that why you’re always up so early?” Valan asks.

“Hm?” Salman furls his brow.

“Struggling to sleep?”

“Oh! If anything’s keeping me up, it’s Mairlynn and her, uhm... Her ‘appetite’...” Salman sighs.

“I can imagine.” Valan softly chuckles.

“She’s a good woman, though! She can be very sweet and gentle, and there’s a depth to her that goes far beyond her proclivities.”

“Uhm, I’d be more reserved about her, if I were you...” Valan carefully retorts.

“Why’s that?”

“Just trust me, Sal...”

Returning to his work, which his brother had been helping him with until recently, Valan carefully mills the last hole in his third and final ammunition bar. The calmness of the ocean has made this swift and easy but time-consuming work. All they have is time as they sail toward Irzain’s secret isle. For nine days they’ve been at sea, waiting for something to appear on the horizon. Lifting the metal bar from his workbench and carefully blowing the excess metal away, Valan admires his own work.

“You know, I never would’ve thought of the hammer or the ignition cap.” Salman remarks, watching his brother.

“It’s pretty ingenious, isn’t it?”

“Showing off?”

“A little.” Valan smirks.

“Even your design is better than mine...” Salman sighs.

“It’s merely more efficient, and the bars are easier to carry than your pistol’s pan-turret. I think your design is more elegant though. It’s prettier!”

“Really?!” Salman grins.

“Really! If you’d like, you could borrow from my design. What’s mine is yours, brother.” Valan continues.

“Aren’t you generous.”

“It’s a good design, Sal. I’d like to see it in action.” Valan replies in earnest.

“Yeah, me too.”

The brothers share a silent moment, like many other moment’s they’ve shared throughout their voyage. Turning his head down and clearing his throat, Valan takes a deep breath.

“So, Sal...”

“Yeah?”

“Nazir told me that Ivan... I mean, dad, was given his Lordship and the island of Mishgan by King Euralian.”

“He was!” Salman chirps.

“He didn’t say what he did to earn it, though.” Valan continues.

“Oh, it’s a lovely story! It all began when-”

“You two still bonding down here?!” Steingar chirps, suddenly barging into the room.

“We were. Thanks for interrupting.” Valan facetiously replies.

“Don’t mention it!” Steingar looks between the two nearly identical humans. “So, I’m probably going to hit the hay soon. Maybe after beating Naemen at yet another arm-wrestling match. That guy never quits!”

“Alright... So, why’re you telling us that?” Valan raises a brow.

“Well... Maybe I want to cuddle?” Steingar smirks.

“Get out of here with that shit. We haven’t been at sea that long yet.” Valan laughs.

“I’ll remember you said that.” Steingar smirks, pointing a clawed finger at him.

Waving a hand dismissively, Valan collects a cloth from the workbench, wiping down the new ammunition bar. Steingar doesn’t wait around; he departs as swiftly as he came, leaving Salman chuckling quietly as he looks over to his brother.

“You two are close.” He remarks.

“Yeah, he’s my buddy.” Valan sighs. “He’s a good guy, but he can be a handful sometimes.”

“Sometimes?”

A perplexed Valan turns toward Salman, only to pause at the look on his face. It isn’t until Salman pantomimes a particular motion with a fist that Valan realizes the innuendo.

“Ha-ha... You know what I meant! Anyway, where were we?”

“Oh, right. Dad’s Lordship story...”

Heading up the stairs, Steingar passes the lounge, only for Naemen to burst through the archway.

“I want a rematch!”

“Yeah, I figured.”

“I can beat you! I know it!” Naemen insists.

“Give it a rest, man! I’m stronger than you, but that doesn’t mean you aren’t the better swordsman.” Steingar retorts.

“Then get a sword... We never did finish that fight on Bremen.”

“Still with that?!” Steingar growls, growing increasingly frustrated.

“Naemen, come on! It’s late and this isn’t worth all the effort you’re giving it.” Salasha exclaims from inside the lounge.

“Listen to your sister, for once.” Steingar adds.

“She’s not a party to this.” Naemen growls.

“Don’t you ever quit you son of a-”

“Ugh... N-no!” A faint voice interrupts them.

Turning back, Steingar looks down the hall.

“Nay-Naom...” Irzain’s voice call out from his room. “Nnnn...”

Forgetting their conflict, Naemen follows Steingar as they head for Irzain’s room. The cabin door has been left partially open, and the pair peer inside. Salasha emerges from the lounge with Roak and Kirsta beside her. Kirsta moves past the others and looks into Irzain’s room. He tosses and turns, sweating profusely as he sleeps in his own bed.

“It’s just a nightmare.” Naemen scoffs.

“It’s never just a nightmare.” Steingar growls, disgusted by the half breed’s callousness.

“Yes, it is!”

“Then you haven’t done enough to suffer them... Or you’re a sick man without a conscience.” Steingar growls.

Glaring at Naemen, Steingar can see the faintest of scars, left by his words cutting into the man’s psyche. Naemen falls silent, turning his head away and returning his attention to the sleeping Scribe.

“Poor Irzain.” Salasha murmurs.

“Looks like things have finally caught up to him...” Kirsta laments.

“The bad man’s hands are feeling his mind, hurting him from way over here, in the middle of purity.” Roak remarks.

“I wish there was something we could do for him.” The half breed woman sighs.

With nothing left to say or do, they back away from the door, pulling it closed and leaving Irzain to his nightmares.

“Naoma?! Naoma, where are you?!”

Over and over, Irzain calls out to his love, though he knows in his heart that she’s dead. He wanders through the halls of his dream, one of the few that’s not a memory of his life before, looking, searching frantically for his beloved.

“Naoma! Please!”

He wanders through the dark, dank halls of a familiar dungeon. Wasn’t this where Hirus tried to probe his mind? He finds a staircase, the rotted wood crumbling beneath his feet. Compelled by his heart, he climbs the steps and soon finds himself standing along the outer wall of the capital city. He whirls around, searching for any sign of his beloved, only to see her. She stands before him, in all of her lively beauty, wearing a flowing, black velvet gown. It clings to her voluptuous form, the purple fur of her ample bust shimmering in the moonlight. She stares at him, her expression blank, her glowing, turquoise eyes peering right through him, as though he wasn’t even there.

“I... I did everything I could. I’m sorry...”

Naoma blinks.

“I love you! Please! ... Naoma?”

He steps closer to his lover, looking up at the much taller Helngar woman. She’s unmoved by his plea, and unmoving in her form. Reaching out a hand, his fingers inch toward her forearm. Just as his fingertips stroke her soft fur, her body falls away from her head, landing in a heap at his feet. As she falls, she reveals a long stake running the length of her form. It holds her severed head in place, stuck into the floor of the wall, between her ankles.

“NO!”

Opening his eyes, Irzain bolts up in bed. He pants and stares at his feet, his body drenched in sweat. Had he been crying out in his sleep? He wipes the sweat from his brow with his blanket, before running his fingers through his dark, damp hair. Glancing across the room, he looks at Roak, illuminated by the orange glow of the morning sun. The dark-skinned human sleeps peacefully, a few of his dreadlocks draped over his face and entangled in his goatee. Taking a deep breath, Irzain slowly exhales as he flops back down, lying atop his bed. His pillow is cold, the fabric shell soaked through.

As he lay there, hoping for just another hour or two of sleep, he hears a door open and close. Footfalls move carefully down the hall, thumping in a very particular way. He knows who it is just by the sound. Salman, always one of the first to awaken, moves toward the lounge as quietly as he can, mindful of everyone else who’s still sleeping.

“Good morning.” He calls out as he enters the lounge.

“Hello, Val-, er, Salman.”

“Still doing that, are we?” The Lord looks toward the corner of the room.

“You know how you humans all look alike. Can’t tell one from the other!” Trellan’s foot-tall hologram smirks.

“The same can’t be said for you.”

“I know. I’m devilishly handsome.” Trellan’s image gently bounces his hair.

“And translucent. Don’t forget that.”

Stepping further into the lounge, Salman glances around the room. Only Lutala sits at the dining booth, her eyes closed and the hood of her humble robe covering her head. The Lahnyt woman has yet to reply to his greeting. She holds her hands before her snout, her palms and fingers pressed together as she sits in silence.

“Is no one else awake, yet?” He asks, turning toward Trellan’s image.

“No. Most of them don’t get up this early. You’re usually the first to come in here. Early bird gets the worm, right?”

“If only I ate worms.” Salman chuckles. “I guess it helps that I didn’t sleep.” He sighs as he heads for the galley.

“Still adjusting to ship life?” Trellan asks.

“It’s all the rocking and swaying. I’m just not used to it yet.”

“The sea can be like that at times; Arona and I do our best.”

“I appreciate that, but I was talking about Mairlynn.” Salman quips.

“Hah!”

After putting together a simple meal of bread and dried meat, Salman returns to the lounge. He pauses for a moment, standing in the archway and staring at Lutala. She remains in her seat at the booth, unmoving, her hands still pressed together before her snout.

“Ahem... Begging your pardon miss, but what’re you doing?”

“I’m praying.” Lutala softly replies, her eyes still closed.

“Oh... Do you mind if I sit here?”

He approaches the table and sets his plate beside her elbow, right at the edge of the table. Hearing the plate clanking atop the table, Lutala opens her eyes and focuses them on the human. As her fiery irises land on his form, she’s unable to hide the smile she flashes at the mere sight of the handsome man.

“No.” She replies, gently scooting over.

“Okay!” He chirps as he sits beside her. “So, praying to who?”

“Yashuva.”

“I’m not familiar with that Seraph.” He remarks.

“Yashuva is not a Seraph.”

“Oh... Is Yashuva an ancestor, or...?”

“Yashuva is the Almighty. A being of pure energy, a solitary spirit and the creator of all that is, was, and will be. Yashuva formed this world and breathed life into every living creature.”

“Oh! So, is Yashuva a he or a she?” He cocks his head.

“Yashuva is simply the Almighty. Yashuva has no gender, or any desires that we can relate to, as we are not like Yashuva. Sometimes Yashuva is called the ‘Almighty Father’, for the way Yashuva guides and corrects us, but it’s personal preference. Yashuva is purity and love, but unlike us, Yashuva is also without sin. I’m praying to Yashuva for redemption, for if I don’t have it and I should die, I can’t be returned to Yashuva’s glory.”

“Is that a daily ritual?” He asks, taking a bite of his food.

“It doesn’t need to be. Yashuva sees my heart, and what’s in one’s heart is what truly matters, but I enjoy the meditation and prayer.”

“That makes sense; I was told you’re a priestess.”

“Yes. I’m a third-tier priestess of my order, the Yashuvanites. I take solace in my faith whenever I can.” She remarks.

“So, what makes you so certain of your beliefs?”

Lutala lets out a frustrated sigh, her smile quickly fading.

“I’m glad to see that you’re so open-minded...”

Realizing his mistake, Salman sets his food aside and turns in place, facing the Lahnyt woman.

“I’m sorry. I wasn’t trying to sound like an asshole; I didn’t know how else to ask that question, but I genuinely want to know.”

“Sincerely? ... You aren’t trying to tease me?” She docilely asks.

“Why in the world would I ever do a thing like that?!” He furls his brow in confusion.

“Sometimes the others do...” She murmurs.

“Well, I’m not them, and I’d never tease you, Lutala.” He flashes a warm and genuine smile.

“Alright... If you truly wish to know what makes me feel that my beliefs are valid, then ask yourself this. What makes more sense? The Seraphs, a pantheon of angels and demons, both male and female, that simultaneously created us and yet do not care for our existence? Would you prefer to worship beings that meddle in mortal affairs for no other discernable reason than the simple and often sadistic enjoyment it gives them? In many accounts, they don’t even seem to care if they’re worshipped or not, as they know their inherent superiority, and every one of them has flaws that can be found in every man, woman and child walking this world. How are they holy, other than being elevated above us by fate or will?”

“...”

“I choose to believe in a single deity, a loving and generous force that fashioned this world and all life in it with a purpose in mind. A deity of purity and order, who loves us as a parent loves their firstborn, and who does not suffer our fleshly faults, but loves us in spite of them. A being who not only sees our failings but wishes to fix them and redeem us, so that when we cease to live as flesh and bone, we may be forgiven of our sins and reunite with Yashuva and other faithful followers in the hereafter... Now, hearing that, which of those would you rather believe in?”

“Hmm... When you put it that way, the Seraphs do sound a bit ridiculous... I never did understand why I was asked to pray to beings that seemed no better than mortals.”

Lutala’s smile returns, her mood enhanced as she watches Salman actively pondering her question. It’s more than most would ever think to do. Suddenly, Salman look away from his plate, turning once again and looking the woman in the eyes.

“Lutala?”

“Yes?”

“If you’re not busy, and if you don’t mind taking the time... Would you ever consider teaching me more about your faith?”

“Are you serious?!” She gasps, her eye wide with shock.

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

He looks at her with a strange expression, like a deer staring into the lantern lights of a carriage. It’s an honest and innocent expression; sincerity in its purest form. It’s abundantly clear to her that he’s not teasing her or merely trying to make his way into her bedroom.

“I’m curious. It sounds pleasant.” He adds.

“Well... I-I suppose I could show you my sacred tome... If you really wanted.” She speaks softly, her heart fluttering.

“That’d be great!”

“You might be interested in the Kynalogue, the sacred laws of my order.”

“I would!”

“Are, uhm... Are you busy right now?” She asks.

Salman motions with a hand, waving it over his breakfast as he takes a bite of air-dried salmon. With that, the human man and the Lahnyt woman slide out of the booth and leave the lounge. Salman carries his plate, along with a tankard of water. As they near Lutala’s cabin, which she shares with Jarae, several doors swing open. Jarae stands in the doorway, looking silently between Lutala and Salman.

“Hi!” He chirps.

“Good morning.” Jarae murmurs, eying the pair curiously.

“Good morning, Jarae... Pardon us.”

“Hey, what gives?! He’s mine, Lutala!” Mairlynn growls, emerging from the cabin she shares with Salman.

“Relax, Mair. She’s just showing me her sacred tome.”

“Yeah, I bet she is...” Mairlynn rolls her eyes.

“I’ll see you later, okay?”

Jarae stands aside as the pair enter the room. Mairlynn crosses her arms beneath her small breasts, a scowl on her face. Seeing the dainty Falmun’s displeasure, Jarae looks inside. Lutala pulls a book from a special shelf, built with a lip to prevent the books from easily falling out as the ship tilts. As she sits beside Salman, who already waits at the edge of her bed, she opens the book to a particular page. Jarae’s lips curl around her short, felinesque snout, forming a sinister grin. She turns her shimmering, pink eyes toward Mairlynn as she pulls the door closed.

“They might want some privacy.” She coos as she takes a step toward the youthful looking elf.

“Ugh!” Mairlynn growls.

“What?! I’m sure you, of all people, can understand.”

“Out of my way...” Mairlynn pushes past the Jaliscan.

“Since when did you become so possessive?” Jarae raises a brow.

“Since I claimed his manhood for myself.” Mairlynn quietly grumbles.

Heading for the lounge, just behind the small elf, Jarae looks Mairlynn over.

“So, you two are a couple now?”

“Heh... Sure.” Mairlynn snickers.

As the day wears on, more and more of the crew emerge. Naemen and Salasha find their way into the lounge, joining the Jaliscan and the Falmun for breakfast. Irzain and Roak soon follow suit. Roak looks to and fro for Lutala, but she’s nowhere to be found. No sooner does Kirsta enter the lounge than the man attaches himself to her side.

“Kirsty!” He chirps.

“Well, hello to you too, Roak!” She giggles, gently patting his shoulder.

“The blue one is gone, Kirsty!”

“I know!” She smiles.

“But I’ve missed you, too! Want breakfast, Kirsty?!”

“I’m cooking up my famous breakfast.” Naemen says from the galley.

“Famous?” Kirsta raises a brow.

“Famous for being barely edible.” Salasha quips.

“I heard that! Keep running your mouth, sis, and you won’t get my salmon fillet with rice and lemon twists.”

“Oh, good!” She chirps.

“But... We don’t have rice... Or lemons!” Kirsta remarks.

“Let’s not get bogged down in the details!” Naemen cheerfully exclaims.

After cooking in the galley and creating a considerable amount of smoke, Naemen brings out a platter full of a charred, fishlike substance. It’s complete with a side dish made from what looks like bread crumbs, meant to stand in for rice. The crew look at the platter in silence. Salasha rests a clawed hand over her eyes, her slender fingers draping over her long, blocky snout as she bows her head. Jarae slumps back in her seat, while Roak leans in and sniffs the meal. He bolts upright, his dark brown eyes wide. Irzain and Kirsta poke at the charred meat, looking to each other before nervously pulling the crumbly fillets onto their plates, only to stare at them.

“... What?” A perplexed Naemen looks among the crew.

“Wow, it’s smokey in here!” Steingar exclaims as he enters the lounge.

“Did someone start a fire?!” Valan asks, entering behind the Helngar warrior.

“Hi, Val!” Jarae jumps out of her seat.

“Hi, Jarae.” He waves to her.

“Damn... I see you fed the fire, but couldn’t you leave some for our stomachs?!” Steingar snickers, looking at the burned fish.

“Smartass... Don’t knock it until you’ve tried it.” Naemen replies.

Ripping a chunk of charred meat from a flaking fillet, Naemen scarfs it down, to the shock and horror of the rest of the crew. Trellan’s hologram appears, standing atop the onyx plate in the corner of the lounge.

“Ahem! I hate to interrupt your gourmet breakfast, but I think we’re here.”

“Already?!” Irzain gasps.

“Already? It’s been ten days! Do you know how fast Arona is?!” Trellan retorts.

“But we’re only sailing.” Irzain remarks.

“You didn’t use all of the fuel, did you?” Steingar asks, narrowing his glowing, golden eyes at the Vizhek’s translucent image.

“Well...”

“Don’t lie to me, old man...”

“We’ll drape a cloth over you!” Kirsta adds.

“Don’t do that! I promise I didn’t use all of it... ... Just a lot of it...” Trellan murmurs.

“The hopper?” Valan asks, a look of concern on his face.

“It’s empty, but! ... I left the furnace full. It’s enough for a few hours; plenty for a head-start.”

The crew look among themselves for a moment, unnerved by Trellan’s decision. They’d agreed to save as much of their fuel as they could for emergencies; until they can attain more coal, and infuse it with the pitania gifted to them by Salman, they’re no faster than a typical Galleon. Forgoing their breakfast, the crew make their way out of the lounge, race up the stairs and head toward the wooden railing on the main deck. With the sails unfurled, the Arona-Dahl lumbers along, bobbing gently in the calm seas. There, in the distance, a splotch of lush greenery caps a sand encircled isle.

Irzain’s eyes grow wide, his pulse quickening as he looks upon the land in the distance. A sliver of white juts out from the forestry, reaching for the vastness of the sky. At the peak of the white object, he notices a glimmer of light. It shimmers as if reflected from a piece of pure gold, or the finely polished blade of a Helngarian saber. At the sight of the glimmer, near the core of the island, he’s suddenly awash with more memories, both powerful and vivid.

“It’s so beautiful!” Naoma’s voice echoes in his head.

“It’s the oldest and grandest library in all of the Erie Isles.” Irzain’s own voice answers back.

“Then why is it such a secret?”

“I’ll show you...”

He stumbles, reaching out a hand. It flails about as he looks for something, anything he can use to steady himself.

“Pretty green! How does it float on the purity?!” Roak asks Kirsta.

“I don’t know, Roak. Maybe it’s magic?” She answers, an uncharacteristic sweetness in her voice.

“Magic, like the blue woman?!” He chirps.

“Maybe, She’s-... Irzain?”

Kirsta turns back as Irzain falls to his knees with an audible thud. The crew join her in her concern, distracted by the Scribe’s behavior.

“Irzain?” Valan steps closer.

“Are you alright?” Jarae’s follows Valan’s lead.

“Argh!” He groans, placing his hands on either side of his head.

He falls over, landing on his side as his body begins tremoring. Everyone is startled. They’ve never seen this before. Is this a side effect of all of the treatments Lutala had given him? Is he falling ill? Steingar races to Irzain’s side, dropping to his knees as Valan removes his leather belt, before trying to place the strap into his mouth.

“What’s going on?!” Salasha gasps.

“It’s some kind of fit.” Naemen replies.

“Make sure he bites on this, otherwise he could bite his tongue or shatter his teeth.” Valan instructs.

“We’d better get Lutala.” Kirsta turns to the others.

“Right!”

Racing downstairs, Naemen doesn’t wait for Kirsta, though she’s only a few feet behind him. Reaching the cabin door, Naemen bangs on the wooden barrier. Within moments, Lutala opens the door. Seated on her bed and reading her tome, Salman doesn’t pay them any attention, absorbed in her book. It isn’t until they mention Irzain’s sudden ailment that he sets it aside. The four of them dash through the hall, up the stairs and toward the seizing Scribe. Lutala’s clawed hands glow with the power of her Halcyon magic as she kneels beside Irzain’s body.

“What’s going on with him?!” A panicked Salasha asks.

“This isn’t because of your treatments, is it?” Mairlynn wonders.

“I don’t think so...”

“You don’t think so?!” Kirsta growls.

“I never did anything that would hurt him! His mind must be overwhelmed. He had many memories locked within his brain. I think he’s just struggling with so many new memories; he wasn’t prepared for them.”

“You think?!” Steingar scoffs.

Using her Halcyon magic, Lutala tries to calm Irzain’s seizing brain. Resting her hands upon his head, her arms begin to shiver; she’s nearly overwhelmed by the pain he’s suffering. Struggling with his agony, Lutala feels herself faltering. Suddenly, just as her strength begins to buckle, hands rest gently atop her shoulders.

“You can do this, Lutala.” Salman speaks softly.

Her strength returns and even increases, fed by his gentle touch. Though Irzain’s pain is immense, she’s soon able to subdue it. His seizure subsides and the Scribe lay in a silent heap on the floor. Lutala’s magic also subsides. She slumps back, falling against Salman, who wraps his arms around her.

“You’re alright. You’re going to be okay.” He speaks sweetly to her.

Mairlynn raises a brow, silently scowling as her lover comforts the Lahnyt priestess. Lutala’s tired eyes look toward Irzain, who lay unconscious on the floorboards of the main deck. Surely, if she hadn’t been there to help him, his body would’ve given way to the pain and he would’ve died. When she laid her hands upon him, she instantly discovered the cause of his seizure. To her horror, her efforts to heal his brain had caused the tissue to scar. It improperly wired many portions; had Irzain been allowed to heal on his own, he likely never would’ve suffered as he had.

The guilt is as overwhelming to her as his pain was. Were it not for Salman holding her in such a gentle and soothing manner, she’d be in tears. She finds in him a strength that she doesn’t have on her own. Reaching up, she rests her hand on his forearm and gives him a soft squeeze. Her head is against his chest and tilted backward, her long, blocky snout sitting just beneath his chin. She’s overcome by an urge; Lutala very briefly nuzzles him, though none of the crew, who stand behind them, can see it.

“Can you walk?”

“I’m too weak right now... I’m sorry.” She apologizes.

“Don’t be. Let’s go.”

“But I-”

Lutala would squeal, if she had the strength. She can only gasp as Salman slips an arm beneath her legs and scoops her up, carrying her like a bride.

“That’s okay... Let’s get you to bed.” He speaks softly, heading toward the watertight hatch.

“Come on. Let’s get him below.” Kirsta turns to Steingar and Valan.

The two men lift the unconscious Scribe, following Salman as he carefully carries Lutala below deck and takes her to her room. By the time her head hits the pillow, she’s already passed out. Hours pass by, and the Arona-Dahl lumbers toward Irzain’s mysterious island. By mid-afternoon, Trellan sails the ship around the landmass. Neither have awakened, still resting peacefully in their beds. With Steingar, Naemen, Valan and Salman scouring the coastline with their telescopes, they search for signs of life, but none are to be found. An empty harbor is made of stone, with a path leading away and winding through the untamed jungle, stretching toward the library.

Aside from the harbor and the partially obscured structure with a large, stone spire, there’s only one other thing of interest to them. On the other side of the island is a cove. Complete with a sloping, rocky ridge, standing over a hundred meters high, it leads to a beautiful beach in the shape of a crescent moon. It’s more than big enough to house the Arona-Dahl, but as the only path leading away from the beach and up the ridge is unknown to them, they inevitably decide to moor at the harbor. By late afternoon, the ship has docked, the gangplank is extended and the anchors have dropped. Thick, hemp ropes are attached to large cleats and locked into the mechanical jaws along the side of the craft.

However, with both Irzain and Lutala still resting, no one wants to venture inland. Irzain might have important information; the island could have dangerous secrets, even traps left behind for anyone who dares to explore it. After all, its existence was erased from every map centuries ago, and it’s been a closely guarded secret for just as long. Who’s to say what awaits them? Steingar, Naemen and Kirsta made certain to scout the harbor and the land surrounding their ship, but refused to venture further until Irzain and Lutala awakened.

Sitting by her side, Salman watches over the priestess, to the silent frustration of Mairlynn. She stands in the doorway, watching him for a moment. After going unnoticed for some time, she clears her throat. Salman shifts in his chair, looking over his shoulder at her.

“Oh, hi Mair. How long were you there?”

“Just a moment.” The Falmun casually lies.

Stepping inside, she rests a dainty hand on his shoulder, rubbing him very softly.

“Still asleep, huh?”

“Yeah. Hopefully she’ll be okay.”

“Well, it doesn’t look like there’s anything you can do for her sitting here.” Mairlynn remarks.

“I can be here when she wakes up, so she’s not alone.”

“Pretty soon Jarae will be going to bed, and then she’ll be here.”

“Then I can wait until then... It’s not right to leave anyone lying alone like that. I wouldn’t want to be alone.”

Mairlynn finds herself perturbed by the Lord’s sensitivity and consideration. Typically, it’s appealing, but now that it’s focused on someone else, however benign his feelings may be, she feels a fire growing within her. Her eye twitches as Salman continues to sit silently in the chair, watching Lutala sleep.

“Come on, Sal. I want you by my side. Pleeeaaase?” She cutely begs him.

“Don’t be so selfish, Mair. Isn’t she your friend?”

Mairlynn’s eye twitches again.

“Come on. Wait with me. We can talk.” He says with a smile.

Sighing in frustration, she’s about to reply, when suddenly Jarae enters the room. She pauses at the sight of the pair at Lutala’s bedside, clearly not expecting to see them there.

“Oh, hey.” Mairlynn turns to her. “We were just leaving. Let’s go, Sal.”

“Alright. You have a good night, Jarae.” Salman nods to her as he passes her.

“You too.”

Returning to their own room, Mairlynn wastes no time. She swiftly closes the door before leaping at Salman. He grabs her, holding her quite lovingly in his arms as they make their way toward their shared bed. Kissing his neck as they fall back onto the bed, Mairlynn’s hands greedily grasp at his manhood, squeezing his member through the soft fabric of his trousers. She reaches for Salman’s waistbelt, frantically pulling at the cordage, while his hands caress her small, sleek form. Just as he slides his hands beneath her salmon pink top, readying to push it up and over her head, he hesitates. He stares at the ceiling for a moment, allowing the dainty elf to neck him and yank at his clothes.

“Mmm-yeah. I’ve been wanting this all day.” She coos between kisses.

Sliding a hand down his pants, she grabs his manhood, squeezing his warm flesh.

“Are you ready for another heavenly night?” She asks, licking his neck.

“Wait...”

“What?” She looks up at him, still gripping his phallus.

“Don’t you think...”

“What, Sal?”

“Don’t you think we do this a lot?” He somewhat sheepishly asks.

“So?! You like it! I make you feel good, and you make me feel... Mmmm...” She coos, eying his body like a child eyes candy.

“Yeah, we do, but...”

“But what?” She asks, pulling her hand from his pants as she quickly grows impatient. “What is it, Sal?”

“Can’t we just spend some time together? Maybe we could just cuddle.”

“Oookay...” She murmurs.

“You could tell me more about your family, or your late husband. You were very vague before, and I’d like to hear your story. We could actually get to know each other better!” He chirps, overflowing with enthusiasm.

“... Why?” She cocks her head and raises a brow.

“Well, because I’d like to spend time with you, Mair. I want us to grow into our relationship.” He says, gently resting a hand over hers.

“... Our relationship?!”

“Yeah! I don’t sleep with just anyone, Mair. I never have. I like you; you’re a nice woman, and from what you’ve already told me, you’ve had it harder than you ever should’ve. I care about you, Mair. I care a lot... I just want this to be about more than sex. I’m hoping for much, much more.”

Mairlynn’s ruby eyes widen, her lips curling with amusement and forming a barely subdued grin. She never thought a man would ever feel anything for her, besides the physical pleasure of her loins. Decades of Tormin’s abuse had beaten and humiliated the love right out of her. Now, however, she looks at the handsome human. His eyes are sincere, even naïve. She could wrap him around her little fingers, just as she wraps her legs around him every night. She can’t help but giggle at his suggestion. She slides up and onto his lap, her arms slipping around his neck as she nuzzles him with her thin and pointy nose. She kisses him softly, earning his affection twofold.

“Well... Maybe we can have sex like we’re in love? If you feel like I want you for more than that, would that make you happy?”

A flabbergasted Salman pulls back and stares into her eyes.

“... What?” He finally chokes out.

“If I pretended to love you, would that make you happy?” She asks again.

“Mair... I want this to be real.” He replies.

“It is real!”

“I meant our feelings!”

“What feelings?!” She chuckles. “I just really like screwing you. If you need to pretend that I’m your lover or wife, then go ahead and pretend. I can act very well, if that’s what it takes to keep you bedding me.” She coos, looking him over with pure lust.

Salman rests his hands on her hips, pushes her off of him and onto the bed, then jumps up from the bed and heads for the door. He doesn’t utter a word, but she hears him sniffle as he races into the hallway. Mairlynn laughs to herself, startled by the turn of events.

“What? Where’re you going?! ... Don’t be such a girl!” She shouts at him with increasing anger. “Ugh... Men.”

Lying back in bed, she waits and waits, half expecting him to return at any moment. When Salman doesn’t come back, she climbs out of bed, heads for the door and closes it.

“This’ll teach him.” She grumbles to herself as she locks the door.

Returning to the bed, she jumps in and buries herself in the covers, before closing her eyes and drifting off to sleep.