1st Zi'da Arc 717
"I say we throw him overboard an' be done with it. I don't like it."
Captain Marson looked at his navigator and smiled slightly. He knew that the superstitious biqaj didn't mean it, was just blowing off steam, but equally, it was rather like this journey was cursed from the outset.
So far, there had been equipment failure, they realised that they had left behind some vital star charts (thank U'frek for the biqaj and his ability to know the stars without them) and three of the men had fallen sick. Still, thus far, their guest had not been made aware of anything and instead they were managing.
"The Professor is a man, not a curse. We'll leave extra offerings tonight, it will be fine."
Vamis, the navigator, snorted. "I know what offering I'd leave." .
The Captain laughed and shook his head. "No, you wouldn't. Come now, lets have some rum." And the pair of them left.
Captain Marson looked at his navigator and smiled slightly. He knew that the superstitious biqaj didn't mean it, was just blowing off steam, but equally, it was rather like this journey was cursed from the outset.
So far, there had been equipment failure, they realised that they had left behind some vital star charts (thank U'frek for the biqaj and his ability to know the stars without them) and three of the men had fallen sick. Still, thus far, their guest had not been made aware of anything and instead they were managing.
"The Professor is a man, not a curse. We'll leave extra offerings tonight, it will be fine."
Vamis, the navigator, snorted. "I know what offering I'd leave." .
The Captain laughed and shook his head. "No, you wouldn't. Come now, lets have some rum." And the pair of them left.
5th Zi'da Arc 717
2 breaks before dawn
The journey from Scalvoris had been incredibly cold. This was the kind of cold that would kill in moments. When Padraig had travelled to the Ice Caves of Ishallr, he had understood what cold was. But this was something else. He had, just a few breaks before, fallen off to sleep. For all that the crew had done everything they could to make him feel comfortable, there were some things which were a matter of, ironically, basic physics.
The wood of the vessel he travelled on creaked and groaned. The waters around them were full of floating ice and they had passed a number of large icebergs, with more than one close call. The air was cold and whenever water was, it almost immediately froze. Everywhere was freezing. Every surface, every utensil, every item of clothing. Each in breath was painful, burning his nose as he inhaled the frozen air. At night he was wrapped in the sleeping bag made for him by his wife, which was somehow always warm, as were the clothes that he wore thanks to her abilities in sewing. Still, the moment a part of him emerged, any bare skin was immediately incredibly cold. However, being married to a woman with a tendency to fuss and over plan meant that he was at least well equipped and his nights, whilst far from comfortable, were not the torture they could have been.
The crew were friendly but distant and Padraig had most of the time thus far to himself. He could be above decks if he wanted, but the crew were busy and he was mostly in the way. If they weren't busy, they were in their cabins trying to get warm. So, in the 5 trials since he had left, he had been largely isolated. Originally, Professor Dashiell had hoped to accompany him, but circumstances had prevented her and so Padraig was travelling alone.
So, just a few breaks before dawn on the 5th Zi'da, Padraig woke up suddenly. It was one of those experiences which meant that he was suddenly and completely awake, eyes wide open. Yet, for a moment or two, he didn't know why. He'd been dreaming and in his dream he was lost, in a dark place and he was snapping his feet together as though expecting something to happen, but it didn't. In the dream, when he shouted, no sound came out and the emptiness he was in was vast. It was cold when he woke, of course, but that was a constant and the fact that he had suddenly sat up in bed meant that he felt it. But that wasn't what had woken him up, he was sure.
No, it was the quiet.
Not a physical quiet, but he had a sense of something, something not being there, not being right. As he heard the shout of warning from above deck, a call for all hands, that sense of quiet continued, pervaded. His arm, as he glanced down, no longer held the mark from Famula, the one which symbolised his bonding with Faith. Whilst the bands of Qylios still glowed on his arm, the light they cast was dim in comparison to his norm.
From above, the shout came again.
The wood of the vessel he travelled on creaked and groaned. The waters around them were full of floating ice and they had passed a number of large icebergs, with more than one close call. The air was cold and whenever water was, it almost immediately froze. Everywhere was freezing. Every surface, every utensil, every item of clothing. Each in breath was painful, burning his nose as he inhaled the frozen air. At night he was wrapped in the sleeping bag made for him by his wife, which was somehow always warm, as were the clothes that he wore thanks to her abilities in sewing. Still, the moment a part of him emerged, any bare skin was immediately incredibly cold. However, being married to a woman with a tendency to fuss and over plan meant that he was at least well equipped and his nights, whilst far from comfortable, were not the torture they could have been.
The crew were friendly but distant and Padraig had most of the time thus far to himself. He could be above decks if he wanted, but the crew were busy and he was mostly in the way. If they weren't busy, they were in their cabins trying to get warm. So, in the 5 trials since he had left, he had been largely isolated. Originally, Professor Dashiell had hoped to accompany him, but circumstances had prevented her and so Padraig was travelling alone.
So, just a few breaks before dawn on the 5th Zi'da, Padraig woke up suddenly. It was one of those experiences which meant that he was suddenly and completely awake, eyes wide open. Yet, for a moment or two, he didn't know why. He'd been dreaming and in his dream he was lost, in a dark place and he was snapping his feet together as though expecting something to happen, but it didn't. In the dream, when he shouted, no sound came out and the emptiness he was in was vast. It was cold when he woke, of course, but that was a constant and the fact that he had suddenly sat up in bed meant that he felt it. But that wasn't what had woken him up, he was sure.
No, it was the quiet.
Not a physical quiet, but he had a sense of something, something not being there, not being right. As he heard the shout of warning from above deck, a call for all hands, that sense of quiet continued, pervaded. His arm, as he glanced down, no longer held the mark from Famula, the one which symbolised his bonding with Faith. Whilst the bands of Qylios still glowed on his arm, the light they cast was dim in comparison to his norm.
From above, the shout came again.