Singer Sailor Merchant Mage

Chapter 173: Never give up

Chapter 173: Never give up

“Never give up, and good luck will find you.”

Never Ending Story

“Other than an act of god, I can think of nothing. Even if such a boon were possible, a boost in a single stat would not be enough to save us,” I replied, my head bowed in defeat, not prayer.

“Not even your mana?” Father raised a dubious eyebrow toward me. He, too, had heard the teachings and tales from the Bishop. But, of all the family, he most enjoyed returning to the weekly services at the Lodestar Church, perhaps finding more comfort in the idea of beings more significant than ourselves looking out for those who had to brave its darker depths more frequently.

I knew what he was referring to—the Bishop’s tale of when he had prayed for more mana and ultimately received it to complete his healings. With enough mana, I could fly home, but I did not want to leave my father, and there was no guarantee that my prayer would be well received or, more importantly, answered in time. The Galley was still closing, though I hoped a little more slowly. Perhaps they were finally running out of stamina.

The God of Magic was mysterious and hidden; unlike the other aspects of the stat sheet, vitality, strength, endurance, dexterity, senses, mind, clarity and charisma, they all had a visible effigy to pray to. But not magic. That was hidden. How would I even direct my prayer, and to whom?

“I know that leaps of faith do not come easy for you. But for me, your father, if not for yourself, please believe in the compass pantheon and offer them your heart and mind to save your body and soul.” Father’s eloquent speech caught me by surprise; if not for myself, then I would make the request for my father. Though I still doubted it would be answered.

The Bishop had outlined the ritual for calling on the Anemoi, the pantheon of the compass continent, and I followed his instructions to the letter. I took a knee in each cardinal direction, bowing to the north, east, south, and west before doing the same with northeast, southeast, southwest, and northwest in the ordinal directions. The ceremony was made that much more challenging by the rise and fall of the boat alongside fleeing for our freedom and lives. The next step was to centre me in the middle of the compass I made. I hoped that the fact that we were moving would not mess up that finer point of the ritual. Unsurprisingly the Bishop had not mentioned conducting the ceremony on a moving surface, and I had failed to consider the possibility and ask. After a moment of meditation on the bottom of the bouncing boat, I was ready to attempt. Once centred as best I could, considering the circumstances, I made my plea as we continued to flee the galley.

“I call to the eight winds of the world.

North to South, East to West

Anemoi, hear my plea.

Njal of the North, lend me your strength,

Pavel of the North and East, help me to endure

Feng Po Po of the East, speed my steps and guide my hands.

Vayu, of the East and South, mould my mind.

Shango of the South, open my senses.

Naseem of the South and west, smooth my voice.

Zael of the West, give me clarity of thought.

Era of the West and North, give life to my breath.”

I called out by rote the words I had learned at the Bishop's side. Then I paused here; most mortal men, my father included, could only call on the eight or even the standard six as their stats restricted them. So I was among the select few who could call on the hidden god—the god of magic.

“I call on the ninth hidden god of magic.

whose mana is found on every bearing

Of all bearings, both cardinal and ordinal

Yet of none, hear my plea.”

I paused here, trying to decide whether or not to continue. Those were the Eight cardinal and ordinal gods of the Lodestar church, with the hidden god of magic that covered the nine noble stats. But I was different; I had one more stat, Luck. If I had ever needed a moment of luck, it was now. I needed a moment of serendipity, but as I had been called out by my sister before, I was a bag of secrets, and this one was one more that I had been hoarding. No one knew it. I had a tenth stat. If there was a tenth stat, was there a tenth god? If the god of magic was hidden, could not the god of luck be hidden too? Without raising my head or looking at my father, I continued.

“And if you are out there,

Fate or Fortuna,

god or goddess of luck

Please hear my prayer.”

I wished the ritual could have been conducted silently in my head, but I was working with what I had been taught, and this was how the Bishop had instructed me. I had never thought I would need it, and if I did, I would have the luxury of privacy to do so. I did not need to look at my father to sense him sit up straighter and then lean forward with interest as if, by closer proximity, he could pull forth the secrets from me. There would be questions later, I could tell.

Stubbornly and hopefully, I continued. “I beg the stats, skills, or circumstances to escape our pursuers and return home safely.”

I bowed again in each direction, adding two more bows to the lodestar in the sky and the lodestone beneath our feet, hoping to respect both hidden gods. We waited anxiously in suspense, but there was no divine intervention that we could witness.

“Anything?” Father asked hopefully. There were no lightning strikes on our enemies or swells of monsters to drag them down into the depths.

“Nothing,” I replied, sensing no sudden swell of strength or mana. On the contrary, my reserves were dropping precipitously low.

“God of luck?” he questioned, raising an eyebrow.

“Later,” I promised.

I was frantically thinking of a way out. It looked like we were still on our own. Or perhaps not; the moment of meditation or Vayu helped open my mind. I hesitated to attribute it to one god in particular and, in the safety of my mind, thanked them all equally.

“If the Anemoi are busy, then there is no reason we can’t make our own luck,” I told my father with a fresh burst of enthusiasm as I outlined my ideas.

I had more than one. We would have to wait to see if any of them worked.

. . .

Pirate captain’s perspective.

Sinbad smirked as his ship, the Chimera, drew another length closer. Their prey had finally been forced to tack rather than flee over the edge of the compass. A sensible decision and a better choice for survival, even if they would do so as slaves rather than as free men. No one knew what lay beyond the edge of the compass. Some felt that the water went on forever, water without end. Others argued that an endless waterfall rose into the sky to the heavens themselves to provide the rain that nourished the world. Others still felt that the water tipped over the edge of the compass continent to fall forever into the depths of the lodestone.

Sinbad did not know and did not care. He would rather not find out from personal experience. What he did know was that no one ever returned. They would be sorely disappointed if they had hoped he would turn back before following them over the edge. Still, there was a spasm of relief that his prey had finally turned away from the edge. He would not have to give them up even though they were not the main aim of his venture. They would provide a suitable bonus prize with their capture.

He had been commissioned to catch Kashif. He had nothing against a merchantman making a profit, but that did not mean that others did not, and they had lost too much profit to the waves the man was driving not to search out the source of his wealth and commission him to take a cut of it. A small cabal of offended parties had approached him to make the trip far beyond the waters he usually sailed in search of the slaves, salt and pearls they believed were rightfully theirs. Initially, they thought the man had found a trade route to Ponente through the Azimuth Archipelago, avoiding the embargo. However, it turned out his bearing of departure was not a false trail made to fool pursuers but his fundamental approach. His quarry had sailed nearly due west, past the Azimuth Archipelago to the very edge of the world, and he had followed with his merry band of misfits on his vessel, Chimera.

He called them misfits because he had more crew than he usually carried on top of the slaves pulling away at the oars below. Each cabal member had sent an actor or two to ensure their aims were met. Warrior, Wizard, Rogue, Healer, Seeker, etc. They all stood on his deck, cluttering his command with their presence and questions, even if one or two had been essential in following Kashif without making him aware for so long.

A trackston had been bound onto the hull of his prey before he ever left Libeccian waters. They were carefully attached to prevent them from damaging the runes needed to sail these seas unmolested by their serpents or worse. It would have been far more accessible to sink Kashif than their long pursuit on his trail. Unfortunately, it had taken them far longer than they had believed it would have, and supplies were running low. It was not until earlier this morning that they had spied the fishing boat in the middle of the waters at the horizon's edge. Thinking they were finally nearing their destination, they changed course to catch them.

A mere fishing boat's speed had been a surprise to all of them. Necessary, maybe if they sailed among the serpents at the edge of the maps but still a shock. It had not stopped them from pursuing them though it had meant that slaves had to be pushed to keep up with them. One benefit to his high level and one of the reasons he had been the captain approached for this task was that his slaves were all high levelled for vitality, strength and endurance. They were as close to brutes and mutes as he could force them without drawing the ire of the Lodestar church. He was no idiot. He was no danger to him; he could walk rings around them, mental and physical gymnastics they were no longer capable of. Still, it did make them excellent rowers capable of pulling his galley through the waters at speeds quick enough to catch any square sailed brigs of Ponente that dared to travel further south than the archipelago, and they could pull for days when driven hard.

These two could only be from the island; they had passed to the north. he could arrange an equal trade to return them to their family. At least those had been his initial thoughts. However, he might have to rethink trading these two for the slaves the cabal had in mind. Judging by their ability to stand up to him and lead his entire crew and ship on a merry dance, they looked like they were worth much more than he had initially believed.

The man and halfling mage on the ship in the distance would be worth their weight in gold, not salt, based on the skills they had employed to have stayed ahead of them for so long. Still, it was only a matter of time. They couldn’t run forever. It looked like one of them was even praying. Perhaps the halfling was a cleric, not a mage. That would complicate enslaving them, but it would not be impossible given the right persuasion. It was time to run them down, finally.

. . .

Returning to Kai's POV

Recognising the futility of fleeing further out to sea but unwilling to give up, we hatched our plans. If, at first, you fail, try and try again. I would not put all of our eggs in one basket if I could help it. Our most significant fear was the unknown. We knew nothing about our pursuers other than the country of origin. That was only an assumption based on the cut of their sails following the similar triangular jib of Captain Kashif’s.

For our first plan, we tacked to take us home. Unhindered by the wind, the galley drove straight toward us. Conserving my mana, I was no longer filling our sails with air. Instead, I sat beside my father, hand in the water trailing behind the boat as I attempted to pull mana from the water, just like the polyps that built the mana reef. Similarly, I inevitably released my own in return. An exchange of sorts, my blessings and traits added their colours to my mana, giving it the full spectrum of colours though it soon disappeared into the dark depths. The question was whether it would be enough to attract some of the darker denizens from the depths of the sea bed so far below us now that I could no longer sense it to the surface. I knew I was tasty. The question was whether I would be delicious enough to entice a giant monster. With the depths out of my sensory range, I feared that I had no effect and could only hope that the lure I was presenting would be enticing enough to call forth some form of sea monster strong enough to deal with the galley we were closing in on. I left my hand in the water. To anyone watching, it would look like I had given up no longer providing any mana for our sails and relying on the wind alone. But this was only step one of our plans.

Gradually we grew closer and closer, our tacking no longer allowing our ship to flee solely away. Every other tack took us back toward the galley, still hot on our heels. Till finally, we grew close enough that they were within range. Sure, it seemed like no monsters had yet to arrive to eat delectable me, but that did not mean they were our only ploy to play. I retreated into my mind before attempting to delve deep into theirs. What did they want? Why were they chasing us? How dangerous were they, and what would they do next? These were the few questions I hoped to have answered with my own unique set of skills, some still unsurprisingly secret.

“I hope Namir’s training has not been in vain,” Father commented as we drew closer. “Who are they, and what do they want?” he asked me, believing my super senses and their appropriate skills would be all I would use to answer our questions. They would certainly help. But hardly be all that I would use.

I focused with all my senses and mind to build a picture of what we would be facing momentarily if the situation did not unexpectedly change.

. . .