The great ship shuddered, deck and hull groaning as the air filled with the shouts of men as they hurried to furl the sails and prepare lines. The hum of the engine became a shout felt beneath Elias’s hands where he gripped the rail so tight he fancied the wood might splinter.

  He knew the mechanics of the engine. He understood the workings of the spells that wreathed the brass machine deep in the depths of the ship’s bowels.

  But that mattered little as the island approached, the wind howling its fury as it dashed against the rocks, shaking the too frail looking pylons that would moor the ship.

  He squeezed his eyes shut against the fear that clawed at his throat, as though the sight of land after the unending darkness was enough to remind him of how far above it, he was.

  A whimper sounded, and he prayed to the Lost that it came not from him.

  There was a touch at his arm, fingers wrapping around it and squeezing.

  His eyes snapped open and he stared across into the deep, hazel, gaze full of excitement that looked back at him.

  Laughter escaped her, flung freely from her lips as she gloried in the joy of watching the great ship approach the pylon as a bumblebee would a delicate flower. There was no fear in her, of the height or the fall that would end against the rocks below.

  If they were lucky.

  More likely they would miss the island entirely and fall endlessly into the Black Below.

  Another whimper.

  She squeezed his arm, once more, reassuring and without judgment for the fear that so unmanned him.

  Which helped. Her touch, firm and her eyes unafraid.

  He clung to that.

  Right up to the moment when the iron pylon shrieked and the ship rumbled as they came together with a sound like crashing thunder.

  “Hey now.” Her grinning face was inches from his as she leaned in toward where he cowered on the deck. How he got there, he didn’t know. “We are docked; all is well.”

  As if to prove her words true, crewmen with knowing looks and side-eyed glances at his weakness, threw lines to the waiting men standing ready on the pylons broad top. A platform much wider than Elias had imagined as the ship approached it so quickly.

  “F-forgive me,” he managed, tongue darting out to touch his lips. Embarrassment sending him to formality in defence. “I fear I have quite humiliated myself.”

  Clara shook her head, loose strands of raven hair floating on the wind as her smile remained fixed in place.

  “You did nothing of the sort.” Her tone brooked no argument, and he had little in him to argue the point. “I’ve seen many a man fear the heights. There’s no shame in that.”

  “If the Pantheon wanted me to fly, I would have been born a pigeon,” Elias muttered, and her laughter pealed out.

  With only a mild tremble to his arm, he reached up to grasp the rail and pull himself upright. He ignored the piteous and amused glances of the other passengers as they filed back inside, as easily as he did the scowl of the big Skarn.

  Which was to say, not at all.

  Clara stood beside him, a silent comfort as she leaned on the rail, staring down eagerly at the bustle of the docks below.

  The settlement spread out before them and even Elias managed to push aside his fear of the heights just enough to marvel at the place they had travelled so long to find.

  It was no match for the beauty and splendour of the Capitol of Rathanor, with its marble statues and towering buildings. But there was something about the settlement that drew his eye, across the winding streets and wooden houses, the people going about their business with nary a thought nor a glance for the ship docked at the islands edge.

  He noted the flags flying the red and gold of Rathanor, and the purple and black, of House Whitlock, the governor’s own colours.

  Soldiers marched along the dirt streets, their coats faded from their deep red, to a paler pink by the sun. Muskets slung over shoulders, and swords on hip, they marched in lockstep, ready to stand guard over the passengers as they disembarked.

  Fields and farms sat on the outskirts of the town, the farmers working alongside their farmhands, brushing fresh fallen ash from their growing produce. And, rising above them, the wall.

  It rose thirty feet, broad and firm. Stone and timber, all that protected the settlement from the madness beyond.

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  Soldiers patrolled its length, or stood watch staring outwards, inland.

  Elias heaved a soft sigh.

  It was more than he had imagined and as close as he was, he could barely wait to begin.

  “Breathtaking,” Clara breathed, eyes wide and shining as she tried to take in everything at once.

  Elias agreed, but he had embarrassed himself enough before the young rider, and he was eager to be off the ship and away.

  “Thank you, for your kindness.”

  She glanced at him, eyebrows rising as though surprised, and then her grin returned. She clapped him on the shoulder and laughed.

  “I’ll see you around, I’m sure.”

  “You will?”

  “Aye.” She tilted her head down towards the settlement where bright pennants hung from poles and eaves, and flowers of all colours lined the streets. “Will be the feast tonight. We arrived in time.”

  His brows drew down as he shook his head. “What feast?”

  “The Ashwake Feast.” She clucked her tongue at his ignorance. “Marks the end of the Sealing, and tomorrow the gates open.”

  Her laughter rung out and she shook her head.

  “See you around, wizard.”

  With that she turned and headed back to wherever she had been hiding for the duration of the voyage. Elias could only watch her go, his fingers idly rubbing at his wrist as though seeking reassurance.

  A soft sigh and he turned, before heading back into the ship himself.

  His belongings were where they had been left and a pitiful sight they were. He rummaged in the pockets of the pack and felt the reassuring feel of the journal buried beneath his spare shirt. Slinging the pack over his shoulder he glanced around the corner of the hold where he had slept since setting out and heaved another sigh.

  There was no turning back now.

  Even had he wanted to, he had spent almost all he had on the passage to the island, banking on earning enough on the island to pay for his return.

  If he survived.

  He moved through the corridors of the ship, standing aside for the sailors as they passed, going about their work. He received the occasional nod of appreciation but was ignored by the majority which suited him well enough.

  Joining the queue of people waiting to exit through the narrow door in the side of the hull, he pulled his cloak tighter against the wind blowing through the opening and waited with little patience.

  There was a feel of excitement rising from those around him. Anticipation for what was to come. It washed over him, drawing him in and fuelling his own eager desires.

  In short time he was ushered through the door and into a covered walkway. His shoulders dropped, the tension he’d been holding falling away as he realised that he would not have to walk across the gangplank, with it open to the air and the endless drop below.

  A bored woman in a pale blue uniform waved him towards a ladder as he stepped inside the pylon and he grunted acknowledgment as he climbed down. The iron rungs leaving reddish rust stains on his hands.

  At the bottom he stepped out into the sun and took a deep breath.

  Then coughed.

  Someone laughed, and he glanced up, anger flashing but couldn’t see who it was.

  The others were pulling out kerchiefs and scarves to wrap around their faces as they lifted their hoods or pulled on hats to shade their eyes from the ash that was blown in over the wall.

  Cursing himself for forgetting, Elias slipped off his pack and rooted around for a thick cloth that he then wrapped around his face. His breath was hot, trapped beneath the material uncomfortably, and he pulled the hood of his cloak forward as he ducked his head, protecting his eyes from the stinging ash.

  He joined another queue, listening to the bitching and moaning of those waiting. Laughter and curses were tossed around by old friends and new acquaintances. Good humour and eagerness to be through the gates taking any sting from the casual insults and ribald humour.

  Eventually, Elias reached the gate, set into a sturdy fence that blocked off the disembarkation area from the rest of the docks. A man sat at a desk, a ledger open before him and a parasol raised to protect against the wind.

  Even so, he wore fingerless gloves and a thick coat, along with woollen hat and scarf. Two other men lounged beside the gate, their arms crossed over impressively broad chests and brass badges fixed to their blue coats that marked them as constables.

  “Your name and purpose, sir?”

  Elias blinked, drawn from his reverie, and he looked back at the man who waited, pen in hand ready to write in the ledger.

  “Elias Ward… ah… I am to go beyond the gate.”

  “Adventurer.” The man nodded as he made notations in the ledger. “You have a patron?”

  “I… no… what?”

  The man sighed, and looked up from the page, a frown forming. “You are here, sir, to join an expedition?”

  “No. I intend to travel alone.”

  One of the constables chuckled as he exchanged a look with his mate.

  “There are faster ways to meet your end, sir,” the man admonished. “Step over the edge and save yourself the pain.”

  Elias just stared, which seemed to amuse the constables all the more. The seated man lowered his pen and sighed.

  “Do you have the twelve guineas to purchase a claim?”

  “T-twelve… I…. no.”

  It was almost double what he carried in the wallet stashed safely in the inside pocket sewn into his jacket.

  “Then, you will need to form a party with others or join an expedition.” His fingers tapped gently on the paper of the ledger. “Do you have companions to form a party with, sir?”

  Heat reddened Elias’s cheeks as he shook his head.

  “Then, an expedition it will have to be. What is your profession?” The man looked him up and down dismissively, noting the lack of weapons and slender frame. “Not a warrior, I presume.”

  A tap of his right hand against his left wrist was enough for the seated man to sneer dismissively.

  “Mage.” He made a note in the ledger. The two constables stood a little straighter, their stares fixed on Elias. “There is always need for your kind, though I will caution you against using your… magics within the bounds of the settlement.”

  Elias nodded, not trusting himself to keep a civil tongue. It was the same everywhere. Magi were both exalted for the things they could do and feared for the danger they brought by their very presence.

  The Kingdom could not function as a society without the Arcanum and those who learned how to control the magic they taught. Yet too many remembered the few who lost control and tarred all mages with the same sour brush.

  “What would an expedition entail?” Elias asked as the man finished writing.

  A constable snorted, while his companion grinned, and even the seated man cracked a smile.

  “Why, it’s the same as if you were to stake a claim of your own.” His eyes flashed with amusement. “Except a patron will sponsor your claim, and should you survive, will take the majority of anything you might find.”

  Elias blinked slowly, digesting that.

  In truth, it mattered little to him. The relics and artefacts that might be found beyond the wall were what brought the others. But for him there was something else, and should he find it…

  No one would be able to take it from him.