Chapter Twenty-one – Springtime
The Moontide sailed back to the school without the Thresher. Her little sister stayed at the northern end of the island chain. “Lady Pria, permission to enter the harbor?” asked Chief Sorrel. This time of year the winds shifted towards the south, Pria had felt the steady gallop of the winds as they sailed towards the Academy.
“No chief not yet, get all ship movers topside; fly the wings,” she ordered.
“Aye ma’am,” said the chief realizing her intent. From halfway down the bridge steps the chief shouted, “Open the side booms, fly the wings, all ship movers topside!” There was a wave of movement as the crew prepared the Moontide to sail at her top speed.
Extendable booms reached sideways from the deck. White cotton sheets were unfurled catching the wind behind them. The Moontide gained speed with the new sails, the protection of the island kept the waves low and the water calm.
The chief ordered all the sails open and trimmed appropriately. The crew moved themselves and some of the ballast to keep the ship balanced. The ship movers waited anxiously to add to the speed of the ship.
Her speed was measured twice before a sailor called out, “Fifteen knots!” The chief was now amidships. Pria called down to him, “Chief get me two more knots!” Sorrel nodded, he and his crew continued adjusting the sails, trying to get every bit of wind they could.
“Sixteen knots!” shouted the two sailors measuring her speed. The navigator confirmed the speed with the clockwork cartographer. The crew carefully balanced the push of the wind with the drag of the sails. With tremendous pleasure the sailor yelled, “Seventeen and a half knots!” Pria looked at her navigator who confirmed the speed with a smile.
“Chief when you’re ready, give the order,” said Pria. A good patch of water lay ahead; the chief gave the command to the ship movers. At once they pushed jets of water from the sides of the ship. Thirty sailors in all helped heave the Moontide forward.
The warship pushed up a tremendous wake, the ship movers wouldn’t be able to keep her at speed for long. Over the rush of wind the sailor yelled, “Twenty-two and a half knots!” The navigator did his own calculations twice to be sure, “Yes ma’am I’ve got twenty-two and a half as well.”
The Moontide eased back to only sail power as the ship movers tired. The side booms were brought in and the sails reefed. Pria opened the Commodore’s Log, on the second page in Gunrow’s handwriting were the words Moontide’s fastest run: 22 knots. Pria drew a line through the record and recorded her own. “Take us home,” ordered Pria.
The Moontide sailed for the harbor. Andin and some of the faculty were racing small sailing craft of their own. In dead last, the prince took to gently lobbing fireballs in the direction of his competitors – aiming mostly for Fake who was a few places ahead of him.
Ten minutes later the race was over; all but Andin had returned to the docks. Out of frustration he gave in and drew his motionless boat through the water with earth magic. After a light teasing from the other professors Andin headed towards the docking Moontide.
“Why did you sail past the harbor?” asked Fake who watched the Moontide’s run past the port.
Pria walked down the gangplank, “Good weather to break a speed record.”
“Oh did you do it?” he wondered.
“We did,” answered Pria with pride.
Pria’s reports of Fake and Andin’s activities had become increasingly less detailed. After many weekend voyages she had grown fond of her boys, as did her crew. With Professor Nobidan officially becoming the lead researcher for the portal magic the Brother’s concerns of the two foreigners was non existent.
Sorrel joined them and they ate lunch at the docks. “We’ve had many meals together but I still can’t get over it,” said Pria halfway through her sandwich.
Andin understood, “Please enjoy your meal, we don’t think it’s impolite, really.” Andin sipped on his coffee.
Sorrel asked, “Well what happens if you do eat?”
“The same thing that happens when you eat,” answered Fake.
Both Pria and Sorrel responded with a clashing mix of humor and disgust at the obviousness of the answer. “You’re never far from a cup of coffee it seems,” noted Pria.
“My sweet ambrosia,” answered Andin eyeing the dark liquid as if it were sacred.
“Do you have coffee in Beldur?” asked Sorrel.
“Certainly, everyone drinks coffee in the plane of fire. Early on it was impossible to grow it in the icy climate, but we became better and better at making greenhouses kept warm by the volcanoes. Now Beldurian farmers are able to supply our people with their bitter addiction.”
With a captive audience he continued, “But the original plant imported from Pelagos a few hundred years ago could only be grown in small crops. Overtime they were bred to be more receptive to our soil and to our summers where it is light almost all day long.”
Andin’s explanation had a casual genuineness to it that hid his normally terse and annoyed tone. The private pity Pria felt for his students evaporated, “I can see why you teach,” she complimented. The respect he had for Pria caused Andin to blush. Fake and Sorrel were in a merciful mood and opted to harass him for it later.
While saying there goodbyes Pria warned, “Fake, please stop bringing furniture onto my ship.”
The two friends walked towards the Academy, enjoying the tropical weather. Eight weeks after the raid and the boys finally had enough time between them and that horrible day to feel at ease.
“Any news from Beldur?” asked Fake.
“Nothing substantial, my father is more cautious about privacy than I am,” shrugged Andin.
“Next time you see him you’ll need to set up some sort of code,” suggested Fake.
“I’ll leave that to your capable hands illusionist.”
As Fake was frowning at the thought of being told to do something tedious Andin was already in the process of creating a pit beneath his friend’s feet; his favorite way to accost the painter. Andin was a patient prankster; waiting until just the perfect moment to strike.
Fake screamed as the ground disappeared from where he stood. He crashed unceremoniously at the bottom of the sand pit. Still crumpled awkwardly, Fake cursed Andin who had already fled the scene in laughter.
There was a tense uneasiness in their room. Andin hid his face behind a book, waiting to see if Fake would break their ‘no-more-destroying-the-room-for-pranks-remember-what-happened-with-the-octopus’ rule. Fake acted as if nothing had happened and grabbed a stack of papers.
Unconvinced he was yet safe Andin probed, “What are you working on?”
Fake answered coolly, “I’m putting together a lesson plan for a pre-Sundering history class – one hasn’t been taught in a few years, and I’m trying to convince the Dean I can do it.”
The fire prince was safe for now – but knew Fake wouldn’t forget. Andin checked his chronometer and sat up, “Come on we’re going to the lab.”
“You don’t need me to send a message, besides Perc is there,” argued Fake.
“She won’t see you if you’re hidden; I need you to hide this where they open the window.” As he spoke Andin dug behind his tunic for the thin leather cord holding the crystal around his neck. He untied it and gave it to Fake.
“What is it?” said the illusionist asking the obvious.
“A shard of the Seed of Creation; one of the few intact from the Sundering.”
“What does it do?”
“I’m not sure, my father asked me to get it during the mission in Eida. It definitely responds to portal magic.”
“The Seed was a gift from the three wasn’t it? They gave their power of creation to the mortals. This doesn’t seem like it contains the power of the first gods.” Fake’s jacket formed a floating magnifying glass.
“It was emptied during the Sundering. Come on, they are opening the window in a few minutes, I have a message to send.”
Andin reall
y did have a message to send; it was about the girl in his Advanced Fire class who spontaneously devoted herself to fire. She was a tremendously powerful spell caster, but had great difficulty executing the spells without reliving the emotions that caused her to devote to fire in the first place.
He wrote the message to Svoi and handed it to one of the window operators. “Suh-voi, is that how you say it?” asked the intern reading the note. “No the S just puts a little hiss on the voi bit; either way they will know who you are talking about, there is only one headmaster,” explained Andin.
The revolution had started, the lines of communication were open. Regular timetables had been established with both Beldur and Ventisma. Beldur and Ventisma had seen each other through Fake’s Canvas only two weeks earlier. Sending messages was simple but effective; an operator would read the message aloud to the other window, the recipient would then write it down and repeat it back to check accuracy.
Fake hid the crystal and left the lab; Andin followed after. “The window should be closed again in half an hour,” said Andin.
Fake understood, “I’ll get it then.”
“Only if it’s safe,” cautioned Andin.