The reef defenders back home had always talked about the bonds forged by facing the storm of battle together.

  Like brothers and sisters, but even closer.

  Ragay thought that perhaps he had formed something of the sort with Miss Karagatan.

  So, when she asked him if had any questions at the end of their meditation training, he asked with that thought in mind.

  “What was your life like before Sinaya chose you?”

  He had cause for regret when she stared at him unblinking with her big, round black eyes as if he was prey fish for what felt like hours.

  The cold water flowed around them, yet Miss Karagatan’s power allowed their words to reach each others ears as if they were floating above the waves.

  “There is no life before for the Karagatan,” she said without inflection as usual. “What once was is now nothing. All that is left is Sinaya’s Will to protect her people across all waters. Salt and fresh, big and small. So it has been from the beginning and so shall it be unto eternity.”

  The silence stretched while she gazed at him impassively.

  He wondered—

  She wasn’t dismissing him, so he swam ahead even if it was against a ripper current threatening to drag him into the depths.

  “I ask so that I may understand you more. Erm… for insight into what made you such a great Karagatan, Miss Karagatan.”

  The unblinking stare made him question his wisdom, or lack thereof.

  “I ask because I doubt myself. I doubt my worthiness to remain here. To follow you into battle.”

  He couldn’t quite pour out everything, or even a tenth of the turmoil that had been roiling about in his thoughts since Aasin Bay.

  The brutality of the Merquani—

  The thought of facing that regularly for a lifetime or of a sudden death.

  Those warriors had been hardened, experienced and they had died so brutally, so quickly.

  “Only you can judge your worthiness in this, Ragay,” Miss Karagatan said flatly. “Beyond… only Sinaya will judge your worthiness. None of us under her waters can be our own ultimate judge. Your doubts are those all warriors have faced since there have been warriors. There is luxury and fortune in the ability to choose surrender to those doubts that you and the other potentials are granted. For most warriors, like those of Aasin Bay, there was no choice. They will fight until their last fight. You have studied our histories, the history of other peoples and nations. What is the warrior’s fate in a time of war?”

  That was easy.

  “Death… most likely.”

  When there was war, most warriors didn’t get to grow old.

  All the histories agreed on that truth.

  “That is correct.”

  “Should I…”

  “We all flow in the currents. We may swim through them to find one, to switch from one to the others. But in the end all currents begin and end in Sinaya. You shall do what she wills. It is the way for all of us. No more, nor less.”

  “Thank you, Miss Karagatan.”

  With that she dismissed him to his existential crisis.

  …

  “There’s too many!”

  “Tighten up formation! Flash Freeze!”

  Frozen trenchers drifted all around the small team of depth seekers.

  Misshapen forms twisted by a monstrous class.

  Teeth sharper, longer in enlarged mouths. Gnarled fingers lengthened, nails turned into claws. Fin spines turned into wicked barbs to spear and hold prey.

  Prey that they once were.

  “I guess we just found out why they stopped communicating.”

  “Please tell me we aren’t going all the way down there, Sin?”

  A trident pointed down into the black depths of the trench. A swirling orb of deep blue water set at the base where the tines met the coral shaft began to pulse and glow brighter.

  The small woman revealed swarming shapes rising out of the black.

  “We have to know for sure. I’m going down. This isn’t a command. You may return to the depth ship. There will be no judgment.”

  Laughter.

  “Where you go, we go!”

  “As long as you guys promise to kill me in case the trenchers start eating me alive.”

  “Into my water tunnel! Stay close! I’m boiling everything outside!”

  …

  A haunted Ragay floated in a bubble with Miss Karagatan as they descended into a trench.

  The dreams and nightmares of late had been vivid, almost real.

  Naturally, he couldn’t remember anything beyond snatches of violence and random words.

  He had tried to write it down as soon as he woke, but the journal remained blank.

  “We do not swim to battle today, Ragay.”

  “Oh… I’m not worried about that, Miss Karagatan. I’m ready for anything. Er… what are we heading into?”

  “A deep trench city needs help. Several tunnels have collapsed, trapping people. We will rescue those people and aid in clean up. Well, you will aid in clean up. I will fix the tunnels and inspect the rest of the city for potential future collapses and fix those. A Karagatan is called upon to serve in more ways than battle.”

  “I know.”

  “Do not let your focus drift away with the currents. This may sound mundane at first listen, but Sinaya’s waters are ever unpredictable.”

  “Could the tunnel collapses be an enemy act? Or a powerful monster?”

  Neither was something he looked forward too.

  Mundane was his preference.

  Useful service without violence and death would always be better than a battle.

  “That is always a possibility.”

  She carried them into a deep cave sitting on a cliff side just above the layer where it got really cold just before the dead water.

  He wished it didn’t look so much like a giant monster’s gaping black mouth opened to swallow him whole.

  …

  “What’d you and Miss Karagatan fight today, Ragay?” Tagge gave him a sharp-fanged smile eager to hear a tale of violence.

  “Nothing.” He smiled right back. “I mostly moved rocks around. No one died!”

  He felt lighter than he had in months.

  “Not even any monsters?”

  “Sorry, Tagge! I didn’t even see any monsters. I don’t know if Miss Karagatan had to kill any. If she did, she didn’t mention it.” He shrugged.

  “Feh! She won’t. Sounds boring.”

  “Boring is good!”

  “No, it’s not!”

  Tagge dived into the pool, leaving him to return to his chamber.

  It was late and he had been working all day, night and day again.

  Twenty hours straight.

  Using Sinaya’s Heart that long had left him physically, mentally and emotionally drained.

  Sleep was all the mattered.

  …

  “The game is Card Blades.” Justavi laid out seven small knives. The general purpose kind.

  “Are they sharp?” Tagge reached out for one eagerly, but the green-scaled landborn slapped her brown-furred hand.

  “No touching before we start! That’s foul portents and omens. And, yeah, they’re sharp.” He gazed at her like she had grown a second head. “Why wouldn’t they be sharp?”

  “I don’t see any cards,” Sings Too Loud’s high-pitched voice drowned out Tagge’s profane outburst.

  They sat around the dining table because the national game of Justavi’s people required dry land.

  Which meant Gossamare had to be inside her landsuit.

  The oceanborn looked to be just about ready to abandon the game and return to her chambers where she could be free of the suit.

  “The cards don’t come into play until at least half minus one of us have been bled,” Justavi said.

  “Aannnddd I’m out.” Abygale stood.

  “Scared of a little bleeding?” Tagge teased.

  “I’ll bleed in a fight. This is supposed to be a relaxing game night. This is our first ever free night not tied to some kind of grueling battle. As Sinaya is my witness I shall not spend it being cut or stabbed.”

  “It’s more of a light slice,” Justavi said. “Just enough to bleed… a little…”

  “Have you forgotten something, Justavi?” Keisho held up his elbow stump.

  “Oh… yeah, but you can hold it in your mouth, right?”

  “The blade? Or the cards?”

  “Well, both, depending on what phase of the game we’re in.”

  Gossamare stood, joining Abygale.

  “If bleeding is an integral part of this game then clearly I may not participate. This is in no way a sign of disrespect to you or your people, Justavi. I will gladly play other games in which I may participate.”

  “Without bodily harm,” Abygale added.

  “Yes, that too.”

  Justavi groaned.

  “I’m sorry for ruining game night. At least let me explain the rules. Then we can play something else without blades.” He plopped a deck of fat, heavy cards on the table with a thud.

  Oddest deck of cards Ragay had ever seen.

  More like a thick block of wood than what he was familiar with.

  Abygale and Gossamare exchanged a look and shrug before sitting down.

  “I was just going to go sit in my quarters,” the former said.

  Justavi launched into a detailed explanation of the pride of his nation.

  Card Blades was a complicated game of memory, quick reflexes and finger strength.

  Ragay was surprised to learn that bleeding was a desired outcome.

  “It seems in reverse to me,” Sings Too Loud said quizzically.

  “What? Really?” Tagge frowned. “Makes perfect sense to me.”

  Abygale snorted.

  “Because you want scars.”

  Tagge snorted even louder.

  “I follow the warrior’s way in all things.”

  Keisho nodded solemnly at Justavi.

  “Though I do not seek warrior’s marks like Tagge I am intrigued by your game. It challenges the mind and the body. But, sadly, I am not whole and would not be able to play at my utmost.”

  “For what my word is worth, I think you would do fine,” Justavi said. “The old ones play until the day they die. Missing fingers, hands, eyes, it slows them down, sure, but not by that much.”

  Ragay eyed the deck.

  He didn’t really want to play.

  He’d rather watch messages from home, but since all the potentials had agreed to spend the free time on a group leisure activity he had felt it necessary to participate for at least a few hours.

  Time spent not playing meant more time wasted keeping him away from his messages.

  “Do you have any games without the need for blood-letting?”

  “Yes, Ragay.” Justavi sighed. “My people aren’t savages. There are plenty of child games I can teach you. They’re just… simple and unexciting.”

  “How did you even bring these with you?” Abygale examined the wooden cards. “I wasn’t allowed to bring any personal belongings with me when Miss Karagatan brought me here. Just the clothes I was wearing.”

  Ragay had to admit the images scorched into the wood surfaces looked good from an artistic standpoint.

  Justavi looked like he blushed.

  If he had, his green scales hid it well.

  This story has been unlawfully obtained without the author's consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.

  “I’ve been making them. Whenever I had time. Just finished the deck a few weeks ago.”

  “They are well done,” Gossamare agreed. “I did not think you to be an artist. I am now eager to play a game… without the blades.”

  “No punching…” Abygale had thought. “Or kicking, either.”

  Tagge rolled her eyes.

  “You guys are no fun.”

  Game night began in full.

  Ragay found it more enjoyable than he expected and slowly over the course of an hour his desire to leave, well, left him to his enjoyment.

  The potentials talked of their lives before being brought to Sonombera.

  It hadn’t occurred to Ragay that he wasn’t the only one that missed people.

  He almost voice the question that had lingered in his thoughts since the very beginning.

  “Why do you—”

  “Apologies for interrupting.” Decqa burst out of the kitchen with a cart.

  Not one filled with snacks, but a viewing orb.

  “It’s a shame to ruin such a peaceful night, but the mistress has need of you.” He activated the orb. “Please watch with the seriousness of a lesson. Miss Karagatan believes it will be instructive.”

  The projection from the orb revealed day light, which meant that she was very far away from where Sonombera currently drifted in the depths.

  She stood on a rocky shore with waves crashing against her back, but not moving her.

  Tall cliffs loomed over her, upon which stood five men and women in strange clothes or armor.

  The only thing they had in common were the stylized golden eyes like sunbursts emblazoned on their chests.

  “Empyreal Guard,” Gossamare whispered.

  Suiteonem Prime, City of the Sun, March 2058

  Lady Inquisitor Frankesca di’Buratti wasn’t a happy woman.

  Oh, she should’ve been.

  She who had risen to the rank of Mother Inquisitor at such a young age, barely twenty-two.

  And it wasn’t at all solely the result of her noble house’s maneuvering.

  She had the class and level to qualify, if not the experience and seniority.

  Happiness was also the fact that she wasn’t a corpse in her chair, like some others.

  And what was the price of that fortune?

  Whispers in her mind from… something.

  Demon?

  She had yet to be driven insane or physically altered.

  Thus, she did as the whispers hinted.

  Though, it was getting to the point that she’d prefer more explicit instructions.

  Things were not good for the Office of the Inquisition.

  Not just for the roots and trunk in the City of the Sun, but all the thick and thin branches in other city-states, cities and towns across the entire Empire of Man.

  The rich and powerful continued to die in the most undignified of ways across the empire.

  Inquisitors across all levels of the office had been dying in just as many numbers, if not more.

  It staggered her imagination that no one from the Emperor had knocked on their door demanding answers.

  Not a demon.

  Something bigger, stronger.

  An enemy God?

  If that was the case why was their God silent?

  Why was Suiteonem not taking care of it?

  Or at least sending an eidolon to the Triarchy to give guidance?

  And she had been so proud to receive her medallion from the Triarchy themselves.

  The thought of the triumvirate rulers of the Office of the Inquisition sent bile climbing up her throat.

  She thought of the remaining mothers and fathers, like her, the second line, just below the Triarchy.

  Had they all been touched?

  The whispers had been clear.

  She was not to make any mention of them to anyone under pain of a fate worse than death.

  When she passed other mothers and fathers in the halls or exchanged pleasantries, she wondered if the other thought as she did.

  Was it worth shouting out her torment just to end it?

  To know that she didn’t suffer in silence alone.

  No.

  A fate worse than death wasn’t worth it.

  There was always hope while she drew breath.

  A sudden whisper tickled the back of her mind, making her jump out of her rich, mahogany chair like always.

  Her mouth went dry.

  She licked her lips to no avail.

  The Triarchy awaited.

  They sat in their looming chairs in the opulent hall where they once ruled from.

  Empty and silent now.

  At least the smell had dwindled from what it once was.

  Three desiccated corpses still clad in their gold robes of office stared down at her.

  She still remembered the first time she had seen and smelled them.

  Decaying, bloated, leaking fluids down their gilded thrones onto the marble platform and floors.

  She wondered if the other mothers and fathers had been called like her to stand before the dead Triarchy over the past several months.

  Any such musings were driven from her mind when the Triarchy moved.

  The desiccated corpses leaned forward, reaching out as if to castigate an unfaithful.

  Naturally, she fell to her knees in supplication, not daring to speak.

  “Calamity!” they intoned as one with a voice that struck her very soul. “It begins!”

  Lady Inquisitor Frankesca di’Buratti was sharper than most noblewomen her age. She had always been a more studious sort, less concerned with gowns and dancing than gaining personal power to remove herself from under her noble house’s thumb. She had been determined to avoid the fate of being married off to some disgusting, lusty man.

  Undead! she thought. Calamity?

  There was only one being that came to mind.

  Was she thrall to that dreadful thing of rime and death?

  How could the Triarchy and their holy power fall to the Empress of the Frozen Eternities?

  She dared not cast a single spell or use a Skill.

  Life was hope.

  Pretend and live.

  “For your sins. Repent.”

  Images flashed across her mind’s eye.

  The Office of the Inquisition's city within a city. The gilded streets of the City of the Sun turning dirty as they left the center where the nobility resided. The great walls. Dirt roads. Hills. Grass. Forests.

  A walled city hidden deep in the east.

  The command was clear to her.

  Go. Investigate. Judge.

  And, perhaps, be spared?

  She rushed out of the hall, stumbling and calling for a messenger.

  The office had been ravaged by the mysterious deaths, so she was starved for choice.

  There was only one name she could think of to call for the most holiest of tasks… to save her life from death and undeath.

  …

  Senior Inquisitor Barak d’Marea scanned the reports on his desk.

  The chief inquisitor’s desk, which was his now by virtue of default.

  There was no one left in his district ranked higher.

  They had all died in mysterious, undignified ways.

  The reports came from other districts in the city and other offices all across the empire.

  His office had the misfortune of taking on a large slice of the cake in organizing and summarizing them before being sent up to the Triarchy.

  A knock on his door drew his attention.

  Inquisitor Jobid Candler was young and common born, but he had the class and that counted for more in the current state of affairs.

  “Yes, Inquisitor?”

  “Apologies, sir, but you told me to inform you when it was your turn to review the recordings.”

  Barak quickly found himself deep in the bowels of the district office watching an inquisitor die for what felt like the thousandth time.

  Watching had given him a crisis of faith that might’ve led him to take a leave had there been the choice.

  He had never been granted the honor of conducting the Trials of Repentance despite his petitioning for the highest honor over his decade-long career.

  Now?

  It didn’t seem so honorable.

  Torture and rape.

  That was all he saw in the recordings.

  There was no seeking of repentance.

  All he saw was the hunger in the faces of his fellow inquisitors and the suffering in what should’ve been the repentant.

  He watched a naked inquisitor take a break for a glass of water then slip on what appeared to be a patch of… floor?

  The crack of the inquisitor’s head against the back of the wardrobe was the death.

  “Misfortune. Possible, if unlikely.”

  What strained his credulity was when the inquisitor’s foot kicked a knife— and only a knife— from the tool table into the repentant’s bound hand with which she sliced through the thick leather to free herself.

  “Once. Acceptable. But the entire house of repentance? Many houses across the empire?”

  Not possible.

  The recordings were all the same.

  Deaths of misfortune for the inquisitor.

  A slip and a fall.

  Face first into a roaring fire, yet the inquisitor didn’t jerk back as one should, but rather he kept his head in the fire with nary a struggle except for a kicking of his leg, which knocked a table over for the shackles’ key to fly into the keyhole, which let the repentant free.

  Fortunate freedom.

  He watched the repentant stagger out into the hallway, where more inquisitors lay dead.

  Then outside where they vanished from the recording.

  “Bounties have born no fruit. It’s as if they have all vanished into the sky.”

  He had enough evidence of enemy action, if not the exact methods used.

  Was it time to bring his findings to Mother di’Buratti?

  No, not yet, the voice in the back of his head said.

  The Office of the Inquisition was the final arbiter of the laws governing the people of the empire.

  They couldn’t be uncertain to any degree.

  He needed to bring in at least one guilty person or thing.

  A knock on the door freed him from his thoughts.

  “Sir, sorry to interrupt—”

  “What time is it?”

  Jobid blinked at him.

  “About fifteen to lunch, sir.”

  Almost three hours watching recordings.

  “I’ve been here that long?”

  It felt like he had just sat down.

  “Am I needed, Inquisitor?”

  “Um, yes sir. Mother di’Buratti’s office called. She wants you right now.”

  Suiteonem Prime, Grail Beach, Suiteonem V, 20137

  “I can’t sell that to you without identification.”

  The man behind the caged in counter looked like a rodent. His beady eyes kept drifting down to Fifteen’s chest.

  They were desperate.

  It turned out that legitimate weapons and armor shops refused to sell to young-looking people without identification cards.

  The only things they had managed to procure were food, water and tools and children’s toys for Thirty-two.

  It was late.

  The general purpose store of dubious legality was empty and soon to close.

  People of even more dubious legality loitered outside and on the street sides in this area of even more, more dubious legality.

  Thus, Fifteen had been forced to try her womanly charms on the rodent-like man.

  “Disgusting,” Sixty-eight muttered.

  “Yeah,” Eighty agreed. “Fifteen’s got boobs, but she obviously looks like a kid. Hey, Seven, what’s the adult age in this place?”

  “Twenty.” Seven pretended to browse just like them.

  “Yup, disgusting. We should kill him. I think I can break through those bars.”

  “Keep it under control, Eighty,” Seven said. “You can do that, but Fifteen said the glass is enchanted and you can’t break that.”

  “Tch,” Eighty spat. “She’s got a blindspot when it comes to the power of my biceps.”

  “We won’t kill him even if he deserves it because it will draw attention from the local authorities,” Seven said. “Trust Fifteen.”

  Sure enough, the plan took shape as the rat-faced man grinned, licking his lips and beckoning Fifteen to head to the back of the shop.

  There was a loud buzz as the man disappeared from behind the counter and a reinforced door on the other side opened up for Fifteen.

  Seven waited for it to shut behind her before he signaled them.

  “Now! Hurry! Lock the front door and pull the shutters down!”

  They made quick work of it.

  Sixty-eight had to jump to reach the shutters, but it was easy for her despite the high ceiling.

  “Thirty-two. Start working on the alarms.”

  The tall, thin demigod broke out his tools and began fiddling with the sealed glass case containing the bags of holding.

  “Gonna be nice not having to carry so many bags just for food and water. You know this place is really primitive when they still use regular bags, right?” Eighty elbowed Sixty-eight.

  Because of their height difference the elbow nudged the side of Sixty-eight’s head.

  It took a moment of conscious effort for her not to punch the much larger girl in the liver.

  “Done!” Thirty-two crowed. “These devices are rather rudimentary.”

  They were in the middle of transferring their supplies into bags of holding when Fifteen emerged from the back of the shop with a disgusted look on her face.

  “Any issues?” Seven said.

  “Why would there be? I’m an exceptional spellcaster. That odious man will be asleep for hours. He… uh… may have permanent brain damage. But, it’s well-deserved! I made it clear that I was underage for sexual activities according to this backwater’s laws. And, yet, he persisted!”

  “Disgusting,” Sixty-eight muttered.

  “Yes. Even she agrees!”

  “Good job, Fifteen!” Eighty held up a clenched fist. “Men that lust after children must be punished.” She glanced at Seven.

  “You can’t kill him.” Seven sighed. “And don’t concern yourself about him, Fifteen. He made his choice. Had he chosen differently he wouldn’t have brain damage.”

  Fifteen sniffed.

  “Thank you.”

  “Can you please disable the enchantments over that.” Seven pointed to the display case behind the counter where the real weapons sat.

  “What about armor?” Eighty said.

  “I saw them in the back,” Fifteen said.

  “We’ll get those on the way out,” Seven said.

  Fifteen made short work of the protective enchantments while Thirty-two handled the mechanical alarms.

  Sixty-eight eagerly started picking over the rifles and shortguns, but her face progressively fell the more she examined them.

  Seven laid a hand on her shoulder.

  “What’s wrong with them?”

  “Terrible.” She tossed a small brass cylinder.

  He snatched it out of the air.

  “Is this the projectile? I’m not familiar with this style.”

  “Primitive,” she grunted.

  “Please explain.”

  She showed him the rifle of cheap iron and wood.

  “No magic. Hammer hits that little thing in the back. Sends a spark inside the brass, ignites powder, shoots bullet.” She broke open the rifle to peek inside the barrel. “At least it’s rifled. Why is everything on this world single shot? No magazines. Not even an internal one. I’d settle for a clip.”

  “I see. My world’s version of this weapon utilizes magic to propel the projectiles. Am I correct in assuming that these projectiles are also entirely mundane.”

  She grunted, studying the boxes of ammunition with her divinely-empowered eyes.

  “Most of them.” She gestured at a sparkly red box. “Those are enchanted to explode into small fire balls.” She grabbed it and put it into her bag of holding.

  “Well, I don’t care about those inelegant things.” Fifteen reached over and plucked out a handful of magic wands. “A staff would be nice, but I don’t seem to see any.”

  “Don’t care about the shooty stuff, give me that!” Eighty snatched an axe that was about as tall as Sixty-eight. “Is this enchanted?” She shoved it under Fifteen’s nose.

  “Figure it out yourself! We’ve all had the same training.” Fifteen sniffed.

  Sixty-eight’s disappointment was great and her day was ruined.

  “These are going to be loud,” she muttered.

  “How loud?”

  “Everyone will hear it!” she snapped at Seven.

  “There are alternatives we’ve all trained on. Bows, crossbows and… are those… slings?”

  Strange slings with what appeared to be handles. Long and short.

  “Hmmm,” Fifteen examined the various ammunition types with a glowing, magic lens over one eye. “Minor enchantments at best. Trash level from what I’m accustomed to, but we are beggars, aren’t we?”

  Seven regarded the weapons for a moment.

  “Fit as much as you can into the bags. Thirty-two, take care of the recordings.” He glanced at the viewing orbs set into the four corners of the shop.

  “Easy. I shall eliminate all traces of our presence, while making it look like a failure of substandard machinery… which it clearly is.” Thirty-two disappeared through the same door Fifteen had earlier.

  “Sixty-eight, I know you’ve been looking forward to this, but—”

  She growled at him.

  “Feel free to take as many rifles and small rifles as you can fit in your assigned weapons bag of holding. Err… also take a few backup weapons for silent work.”

  She grumbled, but Seven was as reasonable as always, so she couldn’t, in good conscience, bite his nose off.

  Thus, she stuffed the least crappy guns in her bag along with a crossbow with an automatic drawing enchantment. Plus, as much ammunition as she could fit.

  Their first day in Grail Beach had gone without a hitch.

  Naturally, things turned after they picked their armor and exited the back of the shop into a dark, decrepit alley.

  Nothing good happened after a certain hour.

  Especially in dark, decrepit places.