Chapter 2
As soon as Kouen lowered his offense, Drakon and Yamuraiha swept Sinbad to the ship they'd anchored offshore in a sheltered harbor East of the battlefield. "We need the medical team gathered!" Yamuraiha shouted at the nearby deckhands as their feet touched down on the wooden helm and her magical borg flickered away.
Most of the crew members hopped at the order, but others looked frozen in shock as they caught sight of the king. At a glance, Sinbad appeared dead. He was limp and lifeless in Drakon's arms. His skin was ashy gray and thick trails of blood tracked down his face and stained the collar of his white robes red. Yamuraiha and Drakon strode past the curious onlookers hurriedly and made their way to the royal cabin.
A few members of the medical team met them there, the two most skilled healer's they'd brought, a man with dark hair and even darker eyes, and a woman with an almond complexion and white locks. They helped Drakon ease Sinbad into the cabin's featherbed before turning to usher him out as politely as they could. They tried to lead Yam out as well but she dug in her heels when they tried. "I'll stay and help, I know some spells that might be useful," Yam said. She wasn't especially adept with healing magic, but she knew the basics and was prepared to try anything she could muster.
They nodded and set about their work, and she did the same, summoning one of the more useful diagnostic spells she knew. She felt a rushing warmth well behind her eyes as she cast the magic and suddenly she was able to see through anything she wanted. The medic's had already begun pushing healing potions through Sin's veins when Yam began scanning Sin for injuries. She peeled through him carefully, checking each layer meticulously. First the skin for lacerations, then the muscles for tears, then the bones for fractures, then the organs for damage. She breathed a little relief with each intact portion she covered, but she was fearful for what she would find at Sinbad's core.
When she finally peeled back the final page, she gasped in shock.
I'm mistaken, that's impossible, She thought as she scanned Sinbad's magoi resevoir.
The glowing orange blaze that should have filled his body had been all but extinguished. He was an empty shell. Only when Yam squinted could she find the charred dying ember at the center of his chest. It flickered and stuttered to the beat of his flailing heart.
She blinked away the magic and was left to gaze upon Sin's equally dismal outer appearance. Though she'd found him physically uninjured, his skin was milky white and his breaths were shallow and labored. Nothing the medics did seemed to slow the trickle of blood from his eyes and mouth. The maroon and gold blankets covering the bed had turned a darker shade where the blood soaked through.
"It's no good, his body isn't the problem! It's his magoi," Yam said aloud. She thought back to Kouen's sullen last words and shivered. "When he dies of his injuries..."
The female medic turned her pale green eye's to Yam, and shook her head knowingly. "We are already aware, General, but there's no easy fix for magoi depletion. He'll either rebound or he won't. The least we can do is give his body what it needs so he's got the best chance of pulling through. Supportive care, you know?" She frowned apologetically.
Yam grit her teeth in frustration, but began casting restorative spells herself. It felt like they were spooning water over a forest fire, but it was the best they could do.
They went on like this for what seemed like a long time, but Sin's breaths continued to slow progressively despite their efforts. The gap between each feeble pull grew wider and wider until suddenly, Sinbad stopped breathing altogether.
He's going to die, Yam thought, cupping a hand over her mouth in shock. She stood out of the way so the medics could swarm their king, quailing. They worked as a unit to beat his chest in rhythm and push air into his lungs for a terrifying span until Sinbad miraculously began drawing breath on his own once more.
It wasn't for some hours later that Yamuraiha exited the king's chambers, feeling wobbly and sick to her stomach. Her hands were still shaking as she brushed a stray turquoise strand out of her eyes and wiped the clamminess from her brow.
"General Yamuraiha," Drakon said as he spotted her in the open. His face filled with fear as he noted the amount of blood staining her robes. She saw the way he eyed the red and quickly explained.
"He's alive..but barely." She said in a grim tone, thinking on how the king lay comatose in the room behind her. The medics continued to watch his breathing and feel for his pulse in a vigilant way. Either could stop at any second. "We need to depart immediately, he's only just stable,"
Drakon nodded stiffly at Yam's news, his relief guarded. "We are readying as fast as we can, but we've had to stall a bit. There are a few extra passengers wishing to accompany us to Sindria,"
It was then that Yam noticed the procession of taxi boats and flying carpets moving from shore to the ship like a string of ants. Drakon's summation of "a few" was a vast understatement.
"They appeared on the shore not long after Kouen retracted his troops. Citizens from Magnostadt that have pled for refuge in Sindria," Drakon explained, "Most of them are non-magic folk from the Fifth District, but there are some wizarding families who have asked for passage as well. They say they can't bear to remain in the city after all they've lost there,"
Most of the newcomers were women and children. Yam estimated between 80 and 100 additional passengers, not including the swaddled infants and toddlers balanced on their mother's hips. She frowned and bit her lip, hating to eat more time before leaving but Yam knew Drakon had done the right thing by welcoming the people aboard. Undoubtedly Sinbad would have made the same decision had he been awake to do it.
"Then we'll set sail as soon as the last passenger is loaded, but have them hurry,"
The ocean lapped high against the wooden hull by the time they set sail. They sped South as fast as the wind would allow.
In Sindria
Ja'far was floating in a dark place.
When he looked down, there was only black. To his left, there was utter darkness, and to his right, an endless black maw. Only when he looked up could he see a sliver of light. It was the distorted reflection of a crescent moon high overhead.
The silence was thick and his limbs felt stiff, but he willed his arms to reach up towards the silver arc. Luckily, the golden chain that grew from his chest was tethered to the top of the quarry. He could use it to haul himself towards the faint glow.
Hand over hand, he pulled and heaved. Sometimes the links beneath his fingers were hard and solid like iron, while other times he would grasp the line and find it was made of silk ribbon.
He eventually emerged from the dark place, breaking through the surface of the pool, but to his dismay, there was not much light to greet him. During his climb, the clouds had moved to cover the moon and stole its gleam. Ja'far mantled the banking, robes wet and heavy. He was forced to grope blindly after the cord to press forward. It was now made of thick netting rope and dripped with sea water each time his hands clenched around it.
He heard voices and crashes in the shadows as he traveled, whispers and the sound of falling branches. He was unsure if the voices belonged to assassins or friends, but they were echoey and left an eerie feeling in his gut. He continued on and tried to ignore the ghosts until he finally reached a dimly lit clearing where the chain seemed to end.
"Ja'far, you found me," Sinbad said, pulling back the collar of his robes to show the ex-assassin how the metal links met his chest and melded into flesh.
"What are you doing out here all alone?" Ja'far asked, closing the gap between himself and the King, but when he grew closer he realized it was Sinbad The Sailor waiting for him. The boy was no older than 16, a glowing youth who smiled up at Ja'far and patted the empty space of bench beside him.
"I'm trying to get this fire started," Sinbad explained, poking at the bed of blackened ash contained in a circle of stones before him. The stick he used to rustle the charcoal was burnt and used, much like the contents of the hearth, "But I've misplaced my flint,"
When Ja'far looked back, Sinbad was older, his hair braided neatly behind his ear on one side, and eyes gleaming with determination and wild adventure. They were the eyes that Ja'far would trust forever. They held answers and bravery, and goodness. The chain between him and Sinbad had shortened to span the mere feet between them and was now made of thick vine. Rose-gold blossoms and vermillion leaves grew lush on the living cord.
"Here then, take my flint," Ja'far reached into his left pocket and pulled out his steel and chert rock. Sin had become but a boy again by the time he grasped the tools in his small hands. "But you're all out of wood for that fire. It won't start without something to burn,"
"But I've got no firewood," Sinbad said looking around the black abyss. Beyond the hearth and stone bench, there seemed to be nothing but darkness.
"Honestly Sin, I don't know how you get on without me," Ja'far smiled and reached into his right pocket this time, pulling a handful of twigs forth, and then some larger branches as well, dry and bleached like bone, perfect for burning. He tossed them into the pit of ash, causing a few grey sails to rise and flutter around them.
Ja'far watched the small boy bend down and strike the flint until a spark flew and caught the kindling. Soon yellow flames licked the logs and danced merrily across the hearth.
"That's just what I needed," Sinbad said, standing from his crouch. Ja'far had to look up to meet his gaze. As an adult, Sin towered nearly a head higher than him, his shoulders broad and muscled. He wasn't wearing any of his metal vessels, just a set of simple robes. His mane of purple hair was tied back in a white ribbon in his usual fasion.
"Thank you, Ja'far" Sinbad said as he leaned forward and captured the ex-assassin in an embrace, and then it was Ja'far who was a child. Sinbad picked him up in his strong arms and squeezed him close.
Never in his life had Ja'far felt so safe. He could have stayed that way forever, but Sinbad eventually loosened his grip and held Ja'far back slightly until the short chain linking their hearts together was visible. He pointed to the golden links. "Don't let this break," He warned, but the gold was already beginning to dull and gray. Rust was forming before Ja'far's eyes and cleaving small cracks into the metal.
It filled him with a dread he couldn't explain.
"Sin!" Ja'far yelled frantically as the warmth encircling him suddenly vanished, but the man was already gone. The chain in his chest had turned into the red cords of his household vessel. They tangled around his arms and snaked across the earth until they trailed out of view. He tried to follow the line to Sinbad, but he couldn't seem to push past the clearing's boundary.
He turned back to the hearth's crackling fire when his efforts proved futile. It was shrinking rapidly as the dry logs were eaten and gnashed by the flames. Ja'far reached into his pockets for more wood but found none there. They were empty but for a few rolls of string and cotton.
He desperately fell to his knees in front of the fading fire and tried to blow on the embers to keep them lit but the bandages covering his mouth prevented the air from reaching them.
The cinder began to release a thick charcoal smoke as it died. It billowed and billowed until the smog engulfed his vision completely...
Ja'far woke in a sweat, blankets kicked to the floor and hand twined so tightly in the fabric over his chest, that his fingers cramped and ached when he released his fist.
Ja'far tapped his quill restlessly against the parchment before him, re-reading the same sentence for the third time, though he understood it no better than the first. In all honesty, his mind was elsewhere.
Sin and the Seven Seas Alliance should have certainly arrived in Magnostast by now, so why haven't I heard from them? Ja'far thought, troubled.
His mind wandered to the dark clearing where he'd met Sin early that morning, the rusting chain, and the dying fire. Ja'far shivered. That was only a dream, he reminded himself, though it felt more like a memory than a fragment of sleep.
He set the feather pen down and let his gaze drift to the open window. It was a brilliant summer day. There were no clouds to speak of and the sun sparkled off the sea like gold and jewels. The weather was completely opposite to the gloomy storm Ja'far felt looming over his head.
The sense of unease had returned to him about three days ago. It was the same feeling that had bothered him when Sinbad had originally set sail for Magnostadt, only it was much worse than before.
It coiled his stomach into knots and caused his appetite to flee him. His mood and focus were suffering as well, but his disturbed sleep was probably the most troubling consequence. His most recent nights had been filled with restlessness and odd dreams though the one from that morning had been the most vivid and disquieting.
He sighed in frustration and looked back at the scroll before him, knowing it was useless to keep on, but what else was he supposed to do?
As if his prayers were answered a sturdy knock fell against his door.
"Come in," He said.
A palace runner entered his study. "King Regent Ja'far, a message has arrived from General Yamuriha,"
The Chief Advisor leapt to his feet in an almost undignified manner, his guts churning. He remembered to compose himself as he strolled forward to accept the sealed scroll. He hastily undid the ribbon holding it together and let the curled paper fall open.
The messenger stood with his arms folded behind his back as Ja'far scanned the scroll. "Yunan's warning was right, Koe was planning an attack against Magnostadt...and The Organization..." He fell silent to finish reading the note, swallowing hard as he reached the bottom of the scroll, "They managed to defeat The Organization and prevent the invasion of Magnostadt without war. They're on their way back to Sindria now," He breathed, his shoulder's falling.
"Go summon the other generals for a meeting so I can share the news,"
He sent the messenger away, and flopped back into his chair, feeling exhausted. Ja'far took off his keffiyeh and ran a hand through his tousled white locks.
"You did it, Sin," Ja'far laughed but his relief faded too quickly and soon a frown returned to his pale lips.
It's all good news, so why do I still have a knot in my stomach? He put a hand over his chest where an uncomfortable tightness had settled like a rope pulled too taught and was again reminded of his queer dream.
He took a moment to read the scroll again, drinking in the details more carefully.
The way Yam had ended the note seemed odd to Ja'far. He scanned the last paragraph several times over. It was clipped as if she'd ended the message short. He tried to decipher what it could mean, but he gave up, tossing the parchment aside to lean over his desk until he rested heavily on his elbows. He rubbed at his eyes tiredly.
He had a feeling he wasn't going to shake his anxiety until Sin was safely back in the country.
"Alright, Sin, it's time for you to get your ass back home," Ja'far said.
The Chief Advisor prayed that Yam's update would settle his nerves enough to sleep, but it was no use. The strange dream became a nightly recurrence as he waited for Sin to return, leaving him more fatigued and anxious every passing day.
Each night he would follow the chain until he found Sin waiting for him by the dying bed of coals. One night, Ja'far followed it across a churning ocean, while the next he crossed a desert of black sand, but he always had to stumble through the charcoal abyss before finding the dimly lit clearing and the end of the chain.
When he arrived, Sin would ask for help with his fire but Ja'far only ever had a few pieces of wood in his pocket to offer. They would stoke the flames for a short time before the orange light would sputter low and return to embers. Sinbad always hugged him close and thanked him for the kindling regardless.
"But it's not enough," Ja'far said that morning, peaking around Sin's waist to view the smoldering remnants contained in the pit. He was but a child and looked up at his friend with wide green eyes.
"Just so long as the fire does not go out completely, it's enough," Sinbad said releasing Ja'far from his embrace and tussling his white mop of hair. The chain links between them clinked together with the movement. It was still rusty and worn, but it was holding up well enough.
"My pockets can only carry so much firewood, Sin. Why don't you bring your own sometime?" Ja'far asked.
Sinbad chuckled sadly and gestured to the space beyond the stone bench and hearth. For the first time, Ja'far was able to see what caused the impermeable darkness around them. A black blanket of ash was covering the earth. Ruddy dead tree stumps protruded from the soot like broken, clawing fingers and a cloud of thick smoke clogged the air. The harsh smell was suddenly overwhelming as the smoke began to encroach on the oasis, filling the clearing and swallowing up its light.
"The forest is all burnt around here. Unfortunately, there's no wood left," Sin said as the smoke crashed in on them and buried them in ash.
Ja'far woke in his bed, gasping for breath.
I've written quite a bit of this story already, so I expect the chapter updates should not take too long. I'd love to hear what people think after reading!
Thank you for the follows!