Chapter 13-369: Heart of a Sailor

Captain Fernando was an opportunist of the first order, and realized that he was about to get in on the ground floor of something very important if he moved fast. Very quickly he was in talks about moving people to Waterdown and participating in this grand experiment... and taking advantage of the faculties.

Then he, and everyone else, got to watch as Legion grabbed six of the wrecks that had been grounded in rather inconvenient places, and hauled them out to deeper waters.

Watching someone walking on the air, steadily backing up as they drag along thousands of tons of rusting ship that should be breaking apart in their grip, and instead simply and loudly is hauled back and away from the shore where it has rotted for decades, was a totally surreal experience for most of those involved.

Might 87 is no joke. +8 to Strength Checks with Philosopher’s Might above and beyond that isn’t, either. Yes, the old metal should have just torn apart under the stress of being pulled like that, but all Might past the late 30’s has a touch-teke component, because there was no way an organic body could handle all that power and pressure. Dragging thousands of tons of metal was just a nice, casual display of super-strength that rightfully belonged up in the ranks of the gods, at least to most minds.

The smallest of them, an old tramp freighter with only a designation called the QY, Legion lifted right out of the water and carried out to a convenient spot to dump next to the others, none of them showing even their stacks once they went down in the deeper water... because Legion had torn their command stacks off their superstructures to make sure they weren’t a hazard to ships crossing above them.

Briggs was muttering to himself on the other side of the world about cheaty Binders and Warlock Pacts and Amazons and stuff. Shvaughn really wanted her some half-dragon bloodline of her own, but didn’t want the demonic Taint that would come with this variety. Burning up her Erinyes Pact Grantor was about all she wanted to dare, although just doing that made her about the second-strongest person on the planet, as directly sublimating Racial Levels was certainly much faster than the Hagsbloods having to pay for them.

Sama and Briggs would catch up to her eventually, of course. Them Rantha Levels weren’t for show. Catching up to Legion? Mmm...

Urgent requests to take up more Warlock Pacts followed rapidly on the heels of this, ignoring the implications of your life not being really your own afterwards. A primitive society as focused on martial prowess as the Hollow World didn’t really worry about such things if there was glory to be had.

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Legion stayed behind to induct more Warlocks, while I took over plotting out the positions of the two Shroudzones. After all, Teleporting groups between them, and supplies, was the best kind of support function I could undertake at this point.

Naturally that involved thousands of miles of travel, which took time to do. 200 mph only gets you so far so fast, in the end. More days frittered away, but it was stupid not to do it while I was down here.

In the meantime, the discovery of the Hollow World was going right onto the Internet, and taking the world by storm.

After all, there were dinosaurs down here...

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Several days later...

“Captain Finnach MacDonnel?” the man in a white cassock and rather severe face of a member of the Church of Harse asked loudly as he finished the last hike up the trail along the lonely hill overlooking the sea.

The greying old man sitting on the edge of the cliff staring out over the moody waters of the English Channel had seen him coming for a long time, and although he was curious as to what business a Justice-Priest would have with him, he didn’t rise from his crude chair to greet the middle-aged man, who appeared somewhat familiar on further glance.

“I know ye?” the old Scot asked rather sourly, keeping his quilt about himself. He didn’t like his dark moods being intruded on.

“You do. We spoke at length after you were pulled out of the sea after the Muggy Lass went down with all hands.” Old blue eyes blinked at the Priest, and the long-retired captain sighed aloud.

“Ye’ve not aged much, sir. Connor McDuff, wasn’t it?” He was the older brother of poor Sean McDuff, lost upon the Lass all those years ago...

“Contrary to those others who doubted you, Captain, I never faulted your memory. Justice Connor McDuff of Harse is indeed my name, and I’m happy to see you remember it.” He paused significantly, his stern face working as if holding something back, and he finally a smile that was indeed quite rare from the way it cracked his face burst forth, like stone bending in irritation at the feat. “Sir, may I be the first to shake your hand?”

The old sailor blinked in shock at the beaming expression on the dour Cleric’s face, so very out of place and burning with sincerity. “Whatever for, Justice McDuff?” he asked, stunned.

“A hero should have his hand shaken, sir! That is why!” The aghast captain watched a tear fall from the corner of the stalwart Cleric’s eye, and a beefy hand was thrust out to him. “Harse praise your courage, sir!”

Wondering what this was all about, Captain MacDonnel extended a rather gnarled, arthritic hand, and found it grasped surely and strongly, and pumped warmly.

“Ye’ll, ye’ll have to explain ta an old man what ye mean by this, Justice,” he asked uncertainly.

“Of course, Captain!” The cleric dropped the bag slung over his shoulder, pulling out a metal plate that he let go of in mid-air, and it hung there on its own. Then he pulled out one of the new small computers, the portable ones with screens and videos of their own, and by its design, not cheap, either. Justice McDuff placed the laptop on the metal plate, and flipped it open and on.

The captain watched, brow furrowed, as the screen was rapidly negotiated, some application with the initials HH was opened up, and a couple other screens were rapidly shuffled past with bewildering speed.

An attractive younger woman with brown hair popped up on the screen, moving with the wasted motion of a non-acted, live presence. She blinked at the screen. “Justice McDuff? Is this Captain MacDonnell?”

The Cleric just looked at him, so Captain MacDonnel drew himself up a bit straighter, letting his quilt fall some from his tweeds. “I am,” he declared despite himself.

“Sylune bless a sailor true, Captain.” He swallowed at the words, wondering what in the world he had possibly done to earn such praise. “They’ll be on in a moment... one second now.”

The screen blurred and shifted, and showed another room now, seemingly made of carved stone, although brightly lit, and a dozen men no longer young seated there on seats and benches of stone.

He blinked at them. They all looked so familiar...

“CAPTAIN MACDONNELL!” they all burst out cheering at the same moment, as he gaped at them. It couldn’t be... that couldn’t be...

His jaw dropped his eyes turned to the Cleric beaming next to him, and then the middle-aged, no longer young sailor, just a deck hand, calling out and waving to the screen.

His old eyes went from one weathered face to the next, subtracting years and times of trial, and his breath caught in his throat.

A strong hand grasped him to steady him, a surge of divine warmth flowing through his body as he reached out his other shaking hand towards the screen.

“Lads? Lads, is that you?” he had to ask in a whisper of disbelief.

“Captain!” his first mate, Nigel Brown, shouted, waving everyone else down. “When you went back into the waterspout, we were sure we’d seen the last of you, especially when help never came! When we were told you’d been found alive, with no memory of what happened to the old Lass, they told us there’s some sort of memory wipe effect on normal folks traveling between the inner and outer worlds here!

“We lost Rory, Weathers, and Green, but the rest of us have made it here! Captain, it’s so good to see you made it!”

His hand was shaking too hard, and tears he’d thought he’d left to dry in bitterness and regret were coursing down his cheeks. “Lads, lads, I don’t remember anything!...” he burst out uncontrollably, his chest starting to shake.

“Aye, sir, but there’s someone who’ll take care of all of that now,” Justice McDuff said soothingly, patting the old man’s arm, and turned to look around as she rose from beyond the edge of the cliff right before the two of them.

Captain MacDonnel gaped at the woman with white in black eyes, moon-lit raven hair, atop that twin-flaming not-a-horse. He couldn’t fail to recognize her... like as not, the whole world knew who she was now.

“Lady Traveler,” he said hoarsely, absolutely certain he’d never seen anyone so regal and mighty in all his years, despite her seeming youth. This was a true noble woman, born to be a queen... no, an empress!

“Captain Finnach MacDonnel, as true a sailor as has ever sailed upon these seas, taking upon himself a suicide mission to save his crew from the lands of the Hollow World.” Her voice carried with supernatural clarity and vigor, piercing into his soul. “Your courage will be known across the seven seas, sir! And, I think, it is time for you to remember it, too!”

The softness of her voice whispered through his mind, and something, something dark and subtle as a shadow, flowed away like a cloud yielding before the moon, and he remembered...

The storm. The damned maelstrom, swallowing his ship. Three of the crew he’d lost to the waves and winds, but luck and skill had brought them to anchor in impossibly shallow waters before the Muggy Lass could run a-reef.

There had been survivors, the wrecks of the other ships, and the strange peoples and creatures of that land. Two more of the crew lost to beasts and raiders, but the Lass still floated, and they all knew that there was a chance that if they could come down through the maelstrom, there was the chance they could leave, and that was his chance to take.

When the storm had started, the Lass had been readied, but he’d brought no other of the crew along, only needing them to fire her up. They’d be close to shore and stations if the ship made it out, but he’d not risk their lives in a fool’s errand most likely to end up on the ocean’s floor.

When the waterspout had come down, along with whatever vessel might be drawn into it, he had gone for it with full turbines, and piloted his old freighter into the jaws of the tornado.

The wrenching winds, the protest of steel, and the howl of the water as the storm took her. He had tried to keep a course, but the current had the ship, and he could only try to go up and up, when he couldn’t even see beyond the bow of his ship, or see where gravity had gone...

And then the waters had crashed through the windows of his ship’s cabin as if alive, and he remembered no more until he awoke in the ward of the hospital in Bermuda.

He’d made it, yet forgotten everything he’d attempted the journey to accomplish. The sourness in his mouth warred with the joy in his heart, and he had to close his eyes and shudder at the emotions literally long-lost, now returned to him.

He wasn’t a captain who had lost his ship and crew and survived, the very picture of naval disgrace. Aye, the Lass was gone, but she’d done her task, and delivered him back to the world... only he’d been weak, and something had taken from him his mission!

His men had suffered, as he had suffered, because nobody knew...

“Godspeed, Captain,” the Lady Traveler saluted him, and for the first time in long years, Captain Finnach MacDonnel rose to his full height, as straight as he could, proudly, and saluted her back.

Her next words floored him. “Would you like to see them in person, Captain?” she asked him, holding out her hand.

His jaw dropped, and he looked at Justice McDuff, who grinned as two Disks materialized next to the Lady Traveler. The Priest flipped the computer closed, stored it swiftly away, and stepped forward with the old sailor onto the Disks, joining him to go off and meet his brother.

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In the Power of Ten, the Good Patrons of Sailors are Harse and Sylune. Sylune is the Patron of exploration and navigation, naturally enough, while Harse makes it His task to ensure that the sailors have a safe port to return to, and they do not die unremembered. Niord, as master of the sea, naturally also gets veneration and respect, but Harse and Sylune care for the sailors, Niord loves the sea, and Trose favors the ship and cargo.

Sylune sends them off, and Harse welcomes them home, be they living or dead.