Piers's ship was a standard Lemurian vessel, designed for a standard crew of fourteen, with the standard four cabins, standard three cargo bays, and a serious—and decidedly inon/i-standard—infestation of mutant jellyfish, which the Adepts spent the next several hours becoming intimately familiar with as they went through every inch of the ship, eradicating the monsters.

"How did these things get in here?" Jenna asked, panting, as she struck one with her sword. It dissolved into a puddle with an unsettling gurgle.

"Madran raiders," Piers answered as he froze another one and shattered it. "They broke in. The creatures must have followed."

The raiders had left a porthole unlatched and in his haste to get his orb back he hadn't noticed it, and now the blasted jellyfish had taken over every square inch of space they could get. He used an ice ball to knock one out of the rafters, and shattered that one, too.

"How many rooms left?" asked Felix, as he took out another one.

"This—" Ah, there was one more lurking behind a barrel, and it thought he hadn't seen it. Shattered. Chunks of slush splashed back at him. "This is the last." He dried his hands none-too-elegantly on his jacket as the last of the jellyfish remains dissolved. "There! Now we can get underway!"

"How?" said Sheba. "There's no sail."

Piers hefted the orb. "This."

She raised an eyebrow at him, and he went on, "Lemurian ships run on Psynergy. The orb helps us to, er, communicate with the ship. Here."

He opened a narrow doorway at the back of the room, and led them into the small, windowless compartment that served as the vessel's heart. To his relief it looked no different than the last time he'd seen it, with low, dark ceilings and a crystal design inlaid in the floor. The orb's pedestal stood in the center of it all, thankfully unharmed.

Finally. After so much waiting. After such a long journey.

His hands might have trembled, just a little, as he set the orb in place.

Almost immediately he felt the ship rumble in answer - a spark, a hum, a welcoming burst of Psynergy as his way home sprang back to life. The crystals in the floor glowed faintly, radiating power, and Piers couldn't stop the grin from spreading across his face. It might have looked idiotic. He didn't care. Yes.

He ran a hand over the orb, lightly, fingers tingling. They'd fought so hard and ithese/i outsiders had finally gotten it back to him… and he'd be able to go home. He was starting to think he'd had about enough of the world out here.

There was just the matter of the Lighthouses. Hydros would want to…

…but Atteka came first. The other Adepts needed it, and he did owe them, and if they lit Jupiter while they were at it so much the better for him. Even less chance for the Senate to interfere, after that. Even more chance for him to gather the evidence, he thought, remembering the parchment and the inks and the book of maps that he suspected were nowhere near correct, anymore. But they'd fix it.

He was still grinning, and they were staring at him. Half-regretfully, he drew his hand back from the orb, and cleared his throat. "Right," he said. "Let's get settled, and then we can get underway."


Four cabins, with several bunks each, left them all with far more luxurious sleeping accommodations than they'd been used to when camping in the wilderness. Piers, as captain, had already claimed his—the roomier one, with only two bunks. Captain's privilege, Felix supposed, and didn't begrudge it considering that he'd also got a cabin to himself, and Kraden too. The last one went to Sheba and to Jenna, who was currently standing outside his doorway—hah, fancy that, a doorway, and it would be his for more than just a night, because they had a ship and they were finally doing what they'd set out to do, thank the elements—and pouting at him in the most theatrical manner possible.

"Not fair!" she said. "How come me and Sheba have to share?"

"Age before beauty."

Ever dignified, she stuck her tongue out at him. He gave her a little wave, and before she could protest he pulled the door shut behind himself. She'd get over the injustice in a minute or two, and anyway, Kraden snored. He set his pack on one of the lower bunks and took it all in.

As with any ship, space was at a premium, but the room was sizable enough. Two double bunks and an arm's length between them. Sound wooden floorboards, bulkheads reasonably sturdy. No windows. If he put a hand to the bulkhead he could feel the ship's power, pulsing gently. Better by far than having to row, or depend on sails and unpredictable winds…really, they couldn't have asked for better luck.

There was a faint creak from somewhere below him, and he jumped, startled. Had the floorboards moved, just a little? Was the ship moving, now? They'd be going out onto the sea. Felix stared hard at the boards, feeling his throat go dry.

Floors, he reminded himself. That was nice. Ship. That was even better.

Ocean.

His fingers twitched, itching to—he didn't know. Reach for his sword, maybe, do isomething/i, but that wouldn't help him here. There was nothing here to fight against.

He half wished there were.

Stop, he thought. For once things were going according to plan. They had a ship. They had a guide. They even had beds.

There hadn't been beds four years ago. The Vale adepts had been kept in the hold, locked down like so much cargo, and when the seas pitched and tossed they went right along with them and he'd been so sick—

-Dad rubs his shoulders and Mom holds his head and even with their help all he can think about is that dying would have felt less awful than this-

Different, he told himself. This was different. He could do this. He had to do this. There was no other way.

He reached out with psynergy half-unconsciously, looking for a connection to Earth, and couldn't find one.

The walls were closing in.

Felix pushed open the door and headed up top.


He emerged to find out that they had not, in fact, set off yet, though with Piers at the helm departure was surely imminent. Kraden stood at the prow, near the figurehead, peering out into the ocean. Felix hung back, near the door he'd come out of—so much blue, so much water, and they were going out onto it—until Piers waved him over.

"Here, Felix! Take the tiller!"

That seemed like a…poor…choice. "I really don't—"

"There's nothing to worry about! It's easier than you think. The ship already knows where we want to go, and usually it can get us there. Sometimes it needs a little help. It can't handle rough seas by itself, but it's pretty foolproof, actually."

Good to know, but still…he stayed where he was.

"Oh, go on!" Piers was grinning at him, positively giddy, and somehow he couldn't find it within himself to say no.

Very well.

He put one hand out, hesitantly, to grasp the wheel, and nearly jumped. The ship was alive. Psynergy sparked through his fingers. Not like a person, nothing so complex, but it was there and it seemed to be waiting for something. The surprise must have shown on his face, because Piers's grin widened. "That's it! Now, focus. We're going to go westward and down the channel, but we need to pull away from the coast, first."

Focus, right. If the ship were as capable as Piers said it was, it hopefully understood how not to drown them. He thought, instead, of leaving the coast, of the open sea, and the turned wheel just a bit…

…and they were moving.

His grip tightened, but Piers made no move to take over. He heard a whoop from above him—Sheba, in the crow's nest—but didn't turn to look, focusing instead on the sea.

The sun beat down on them, yellow and bright, and the waves glittered back in answer. The ship moved through the water surprisingly smoothly, unlike—before—

After three years in Prox it's time to leave, and the ocean doesn't make it easy. Menardi lacks the patience to steer them around the ice floes, so Saturos has to do it. The deck judders and heaves and Felix spends his time hunched over the rail, half-wishing to fall into the slush and just end it already.

A thickly-gloved hand lands on his shoulder, none too gently. Menardi, holding something.

"Drink this." She looks disdainfully at him, mouth curling into a snarl. Proxians don't value weakness. "And make sure it stays down."

"Very good," Piers said. "Not so difficult, is it?"

He kept his gaze fixed on the horizon, carefully.


They planned to head westward around Indra and down the coast, which would, hopefully, take them through a strait and pop them out near the southeast tip of Atteka. Piers had cautioned them that his maps were old, and likely not entirely accurate—which was why he'd been sent to make new ones—but with luck the tidal wave hadn't changed the land too much.

The journey got off to a surprisingly good start. Without as many monsters to fight, without devoting all their time to walking, they were able to do something almost like resting, for the first time since they'd climbed the lighthouse steps. They still set watches at night, but nights on the water were fairly uneventful, and the ship really did seem to have a navigational mind of its own.

Sheba quickly claimed the crow's nest as hers, and liked to spend time up there, her legs dangling disconcertingly over the railing. Jenna, meanwhile, was working on teaching herself to juggle, with three little balls of flame dancing across her palms. She'd also decided she'd had quite enough of wearing shoes. Felix left her to it.

Felix also found himself spending most of the day on deck, where at least there was the sky to remind him that he wasn't drowning, yet, and to prompt his stomach to behave. To his immense relief Piers didn't push him into taking charge of the ship again, though he did seem to have mistaken Felix's near-constant presence as indicative of an interest in the finer points of maritime navigation, and spent a lot of time telling him about bearings, headings, and a variety of other topics that Felix probably would have found important if he'd been able to pay attention. Felix only half-listened, trying instead to both keep calm and not lose his breakfast on Piers's shoes. It got him through the first couple days.

"Here, you can see, it's getting shallower. We'll adjust—"

Felix looked to where Piers was pointing—a stretch of rocky coastline—and nodded, vaguely, trying to remember that it was a very good thing that they had a ship. They were on their way to where they were going, and they would arrive well-rested and ready. They had supplies. They had a stove, even. It didn't get much better.

So why couldn't he relax?

Kraden, meanwhile, had spent the last few days more busily than the rest of them, poring over Piers's collection of maps and charts. Some of these were so old the parchment was crumbling, and what he was looking for Felix had no idea, until one afternoon when Kraden called him in to have a look.

The table was papered with at least half a dozen different maps—some of them bound in fancy casings, some of them curling and cracked—and Felix took a seat across from Kraden, unsure where this was headed. "Have you found something?"

"Perhaps. It's about the lighthouses."

The way to Jupiter, perhaps? Though none of the sheets in front of them looked to have the lighthouses marked.

Kraden steepled his fingers, and looked solemnly at Felix over the rims of his spectacles. "Do you remember why the Proxians wanted them lit?"

"They said that it would save Prox. That the land was shrinking. I thought the elders were just using it as an excuse to seize power." They'd destroyed his home for their political games. He scowled at the table.

"What if they were right?"

"You think…"

"I think they were. And I think it's not just Prox. See, here, this map is the oldest, and then…"

He was right. Even the newest map was a far cry from the world they lived in now, but Felix could see the landmasses shrinking as time went by. See the growing sheets of ice to the north and south. It was true. The Proxians hadn't lied. The land was changing, and not for the better.

Was this Alchemy's power?

He looked down at the ancient sheets of parchment—so innocent-looking, for something that spelled so much doom. So strong a force for five people to fight against. He let out the breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding, slowly. "You've studied this, then. What do you think we should do?"

Kraden frowned, and adjusted his spectacles. "I would go to Lemuria. The Lemurians are much longer-lived than you or I, and Alchemy runs deep, there. They would have a better understanding of it, and they may be able to give us guidance."

And it just so happened they had a Lemurian on board. Would he know? Should they tell him? Felix supposed they'd have no choice.

"What will happen to the world," he asked, "if we light all the beacons? If Alchemy comes back?" It wouldn't just spring back to the way it had been. Continents couldn't pop up out of nowhere…unless they could. He thought back to the earth splitting under him at Venus lighthouse and quickly forced those thoughts away.

"I don't know. The Lemurians might."

A more troubling notion occurred. "What will happen if we don't?"

He was spared having to deal with the answer when Piers poked his head through the doorway, looking about as happy as he had in jail. "We have a problem."

"What is it?" Kraden asked him.

Piers grimaced. "Come and see."

'Problem' didn't begin to describe it. An enormous rock jutted out of the water ahead of them, stretching across to both sides of the channel. There was no going around it. The passage was completely blocked.

So much for things going according to plan.

Sheba had deigned to climb down from the crow's nest; she now stood glowering at it, arms crossed. It towered over her, leaving her in the shadows.

"It's a rock," Jenna said, giving Felix a sidelong glance. "D'you think you could…"

She trailed off, evidently realizing the likelihood of it actually working.

Felix looked at it, and considered. It was much bigger than anything he'd ever moved—much bigger than anything he'd ever seen a single person move, as well. Even the boulder atop Mt. Aleph hadn't been quite so large, and a group of Adepts had failed to hold it—

—and he wasn't thinking about that. Not now.

He tried, anyway, focusing his power and stretching out his arms and pushing strength at it until sweat poured down his back and he thought his head might explode. Not enough by far. The rock didn't so much as tremble.

It was a long trip back up the channel.