Chapter 28: Just Add Water

Ivan had become a God.

At the very least, he felt he was closer than he had ever yet been. Not long ago he was the joke of all existence in the eyes of everyone he knew. Now, in the active imagination of his memory, he had slain scores of cowering justice knights, protected his ever-feeble companions from swamp legends, laughed and dined with nobles and royalty, traded secrets with the most powerful sorcerers in the land, tamed horrific beasts, sailed all the oceans of the world, become a hero to the barbaric hordes, and single-handedly defeated a foe composed of raw death and fur, and tempered by pure nightmare.

In honesty, Ivan had long recognized the need for a filter on his memory, and knew that these events may not have been -exactly- has he recalled. But he was quite certain, on some level, that the group would have met with mortal peril at some point in their journey had it not been for his actions. And he was also pretty damn sure he killed that wolf.

Ivan was so proud of this last point, that the fact he had to leave his trophy of fur behind on the longboat was the only remotely distressing aspect of his most recent plan. To take it down at this point he knew would only ruin it. He knew this because Oleg had instructed him on the proper methods for skinning, cleaning and tanning an animal, as he promised he would, during his moments away from the oars earlier that very day. The Viking skillfully aided him as it was stretched and pinned to the mast to keep it from shrinking, under the explanation that it had to dry over the next several days. When Oleg commented that the wolf skin seemed too big for Ivan anyway, and that it could stand to shrink a bit, Ivan responded with a harsh command for Oleg to quiet himself at once lest he be tempted to speak ill words of him to Jnii. Though brutally unnecessary, this method of manipulating Oleg worked, as it had throughout the entire day. Ivan was still unsure what exactly it was that lured men to Jnii, but for the time being he was satisfied with leaving it a mystery that he could utilize to the fullest extent of its manipulative worth. Needless to say, the situation was not helping him get over his budding God-complex.

Around sunset, for instance, while the pair stretched at the wolf skin, several other Vikings had gathered around to watch the handiwork. The men largely gave tips, though Ivan had a peculiar exchange with the fire-bearded Viking named Grom (the one that had nearly killed him), who continually sniggered at him, only saying “Hope you enjoy cooking,” before moving along. Before he could surmise the meaning of these words, though, Ivan spotted Jnii wandering their way with her sultry, whorish walk, obviously attracted by the crowd of men. The boy immediately abhorred the thought of Oleg’s distractedness ruining the efforts of their tanning. He could already see that the rowman was grinning at the lulling motion of her approaching hips, not paying attention to the task at hand.

“Hi Jnii!” he muttered, clearing his throat, practicing, “No no- hello, my lady. … m’lady. No…”

“What the hell are you doing??” Ivan responded, in great panic.

“I just- Jnii is coming and I-”

“Don’t -talk- to her!”

“Don’t talk? Wh-”

“She hates it when people talk to her… on boats.”

Oleg’s mouth fell open, and not in mere curiosity, but in catalogue of all the ways in which he worried he already may have offended the woman of his fancy. He started slightly when Jnii finally reached the pair.

“Hi there, boys,” she said, coyly, “How’s the skin coming along?”

He stared back at her, dumbfounded, hurt. Ivan, on the other hand, simply nodded back at her knowingly. Oleg, eventually turning to seek the midget for counsel in this bizarre trap, quickly understood, and began nodding as well. They both nodded for some time. Ultimately, Jnii had no words, but simply backed away.

“That was close,” Ivan said, as soon as she had backed far enough away. He returned to the task of stretching the hide.

Oleg was not so sure.

“Why would she try talking to us while on the boat if she hates being talked to… on boats?”

Ivan looked up at Oleg as if he were the dumbest adult that had ever lived. He allowed this pause to linger for an uncomfortable amount of time before solving the riddle.

“Test.”

The blonde rowman shook his head at this thought. Jnii had strange ways, he knew- she was unlike any other woman he had ever met. The thought that she had taunted him so with this foolish custom stopped his heart cold. That is, until a following thought allowed his heart to explode and then beat again with warmth. He knew that if Jnii had been testing him, then it meant she was, on some level, still interested in him. Oleg turned in the direction Jnii had fled, where he could now see her speaking to Euphrasia and pointing his direction, both women returning him serious gazes of appraisal. She was speaking about him! Ivan could barely keep a straight face as Oleg waved at her, his face beaming. Both women nervously turned away.

Ivan knew that Oleg was clever, but, like most people, gullible when it came to the heart. Ivan had thankfully vowed long (a month an a half) ago that he would never love… not that it had ever been a threat before. Certainly not so great a threat, anyway, as dark, churning waters that threatened to swallow the whole of your very being and suspend it within its cold maws for all of eternity. This unfortunate thought waited until Ivan was in midair as he jumped between the two boats, complete with the image of his potentially bloated and forgotten corpse flashing madly in his head. It caused him to falter and not bring his legs out fully during the landing- instead catching the edge of the other boat sharply in the ribs. But he held fast to the side, doing his best to push the morbid thoughts of the depth below him from his mind as he scrambled frantically with his legs. He found it difficult to keep a grip on the boat and hold on to his rope at the same time, and almost forfeited the latter entirely, but his feet were thankfully faster than his brain, and before long they had push and flopped him right on to the deck. Ivan wanted to lie there for a few minutes, but a sudden unintelligible moaning from all around him (that he had come to appreciate as a precursor to Viking boat movement) pushed him to action. He peeked over the edge, gave a tug of his rope, and watched as his bag jumped from the other longboat right into the water just as the two boats began to separate. Ivan gave a few swift and sturdy pulls, and the said bag was soon sitting right alongside him. Part of him was sad, or at least frightened, to see the other boat go, along with the greatest concentration of people in the world that might actually not want him beaten to death. But Ivan was certain, now that his hastily concocted plan had been set in motion, that they would all be together again soon… in some form or other.

Trout had become something very different from a God: Jnii.

This fact was most apparent in the way that she began racing back and forth along the starboard side of the ship as the two Viking longboats parted from each other, in a reflection of insanity that Trout had displayed himself just moments before. She screamed so frantically into the night that, after a time, she could no longer hear herself. The high-pitched wailing she made sounded distant and ethereal to her, in any case, with intonations she could only vaguely associate with a feeling of unjust punishment. The Vikings, for the most part, all identified with this thought and, save for Oleg, attempted to place themselves as far away from her as humanly possible. This was made quite difficult, though, given Jnii’s aforementioned incredibly frantic movements. She moved with the speed and uncertainty of a rabid cat, occasionally pausing at points to glance at the water, weighing her options through clouds of madness. But Oleg, who followed her back and forth, made every bodily indication that such an action would not be allowed. Had Ivan waited much longer or failed to escape the boat, he may have been discovered by this pair as they moved about- poised on the railing and ready to leap.

After a time, when the situation began to look more helpless for Jnii, she began to gradually quiet and slow. The Vikings shook their heads and returned to their duties, or, in most cases, their beds, muttering plainly to each other over the foolishness of women. Oleg quite agreed, and honestly did not believe that Jnii could be so worked up over a man that she had stabbed earlier that very morning. Jnii was a strange girl, indeed. Though she was being overcome with exhaustion, she sternly pushed away Oleg’s arms as he tried to support her.

“We need to get her back!” she cried.

“…? Come, Jnii… you need to lie down.”

“What did you say to me?” she turned to him.

Suddenly recalling the peculiar custom Ivan had said mentioned earlier, Oleg floundered for a moment.

Jnii snook her head at him.

“What a whore,” she muttered, shaking her head and then turning back towards the ocean, fists raised, “No good whore! You just love to charm em and then leave em for ME! Don’t ya?”

Oleg was, in fact, speechless. Sure that the woman had finally lost her grip on reality, he simply grabbed her and then retreated below deck as she fought wildly. The Viking made no effort to hide his opportunity for the groping of inappropriate places on the woman, though this ended quickly and awkwardly as Jnii chose to scream the vivid details of the groping at work as loudly as possible.

Jnii calmed drastically after being lowered below deck to find Euphrasia and Gareth, even though they seemed to be involved in a frantic business of their own. The pair seemed to be searching carefully around the spot on the floor that the group had made to be their own, their bodies swaying awkwardly with the rolling of the sea as they attempted to stand as rigidly as possible. Euphrasia held up a very small ball of glass that somehow shone as brightly as a torch, while Gareth grumbled and appeared particularly distracted, squinting with his head held close to the floor.

“They took her!” Jnii said to them.

“Jnii, dear,” Euphrasia replied without looking up, “Beurel, or Asgrod, or whatever his name is, clearly did something to upset those men and he will have to be punished for it. You have to appreciate that.”

“No no no, woman. You’re not listening: they didn’t take ME, they took-”

“Once we dock at Oxfjord you may attempt to find Beurel as you like, wherever they are taking him… but there are deeper concerns at the moment.”

“What are you-?”

“Dool is missing!” Gareth growled, also maintaining his search, “If you do not either help us or quiet yourself, your limbs are forfeit!”

Jnii briefly paused at the warning, but pressed on:

“Listen-!”

Having descended the ladder, Oleg approached the area as well. He listened to Jnii’s words, hanging just over her shoulder. She muttered to herself.

“Euphy, please, listen to me,” she sighed, and continued speaking very slowly, “Beurel and I kissed before they took him away, and something… very special happened.”

Euphrasia noted the peculiarity of Jnii’s tone just enough to look up from her search.

“Oh?” she said, taking careful note of Oleg.

“It’s only happened once before, but it just happened again… just as special.”

Euphrasia’s eyes suddenly went very wide.

“Oh… oh my.”

Oleg, present for the entirety of this conversation, was very much struck with an overwhelming sense of disappointment. Both of the women could not help but notice the rowman’s strong shoulders slump slightly upon his interpretation of affairs. Euphrasia glanced nervously between Jnii and Gareth, eventually reaching up and setting her small glass of light into the ceiling. It was a curious motion, because it looked as if she had wedged it between something, when in fact there was so such nook visible at all. The orb just held there.

“Well, I…” she continued after a time, “I suppose I could try to… convince… Gudmund and Lief to pursue the other ship.”

“Yes! You understand me! Indeed, it may take some… persuasion… to convince both men,” Jnii nodded, excited, “In ways which I know you are much more experienced.”

Oleg’s eyes went wide. He had been led to believe that Lady Euphrasia was just that: a proper Lady. And now, from the sound of it, it seemed as if she was suddenly willing to partake in strange sexual acts and throw away her decency for the sake of Jnii’s own desires. Stranger yet, she seemed almost… eager, her robes fluttering enticingly about her legs as she raced toward the ladder and climbed above deck. There was a sense of true urgency in her movements.

“Jnii, I-” Oleg choked for a moment, “There are some things I would like to discuss with you.”

Jnii turned to Oleg as if he were the dumbest person that had ever lived. She allowed this pause to linger for an uncomfortable amount of time before replying.

“Here? Now?”

Oleg was still acutely aware that they were, in fact, on a boat. But they would be so confined for perhaps weeks, and he could not fathom the possibility of allowing these issues to linger.

“Yes,” he said with confidence, “I must demand it!”

“Yes, well… I’m still feeling rather vexed and crazy. I could just go all screamy again at any moment. So I should probably lie down… you know, like you said.”

Gareth replied with such sharpness that it gave the impression that he had indeed been waiting for that potential threat to arise. In fact, he had been.

“You -cannot- lie down here,” the beast grumbled.

Jnii almost complained, but then took a serious assessment of her limbs. She then turned to Oleg, who beamed at this new notion: perhaps the best news he had heard all evening. She then glanced back to Gareth, then to her limbs, again between the three several more times.

“Again, I know how much you dislike talking under these conditions,” Oleg said, sliding up a little closer to Jnii, “But I am glad you are willing to try.”

“… what in crazy are you talking about?”

The rocking of the boat remained gentle, while the pair leaned comfortably against the inside of the hull. There was only the dimmest light, cast by the small orb that was nearly all the way across the boat. It was enough light, though, to note the silhouettes of slumbering Vikings that heaved and rolled all about them as if part of the very waters themselves. The noise that accompanied their torsory [of or relating to the torso] mass of movement was nearly deafening, crashing in grumbling waves that ran up and down octaves of sound. Jnii pushed herself away from Oleg, wondering if he fancied their surroundings in some way romantic.

“I was informed that it is custom in your land to not speak while on boats.”

“Speak on b-?ohhhh, yes. Absolutely. Yes. Tell me, Ollie, who told you that one?”

“… Oleg. And the midget-like one spoke of it.”

“And good thing he did. Yes. It’s a very bad omen where we’re from.”

“Speaking?”

“Yes! It is supposed to… attract all manner of mysterious seabeasts. Things that can hear you through the water a mile away.”

“I have never heard of this.”

“Oh… trust me, Ollie. You will.”

“Oleg.”

“-WHY do you insist on saying that?”

Oleg pointed to himself.

“Me. My name. You know this.”

“OH! Oh. That… that’s a name? I mean, your name? Like…?”

Jnii pointed to her leg. Oleg raised an eyebrow, tossing back a clump of thick blonde hair from his eyes.

“Speaking of names, why is it they call you Trout?” he eventually spoke.

Jnii sat bolt upright and quickly set her hands fumbling about the floor behind her for a weapon. In the shadows of the vikings around her, the best she could immediately find was what she suspected to be somebody’s foot. She continued up towards the waist in hopes there would be some form of armament there.

“I’m not entirely sure what you mean,” she said in the meantime, “What do you mean? I don’t even see how that’s possible. Is that a giant rat behind you?”

“I do not mean to alarm you,” Oleg put his hands in the air, “Again, it was the callous midget that only mentioned in passing that they call you Trout for some reason.”

Jnii abruptly halted her weapon-search, jaw falling slack.

“He…? Oh DID he?” her face wrenched together in an explosion of unladylike rage, fading manically into a bright smile with twinkling eyes, “… did he, then? You two have certainly been talking a lot, haven’t you?”

“Yes. Is it because you excel at fishing, perhaps?”

After a brief moment of contemplation, a look of pure pity washed over Jnii’s face. But, it was quite brief. Almost unnoticeable.

“Well… not so much,” she sighed, “It’s a rather personal subject, really. I’d just bore you.”

Oleg’s face lit up.

“No! No, not at all, Miss Jnii,” he said, “I would love to know this thing about you.”

“Oh… fine, you pushed me into it,” she smiled coyly, “As long as you promise not to think it’s weird!”

“Never! I swear it a thousand times!”

“Good then. Now, you see, O-leg. That’s it, right? O-leg? You see, O-leg, the reason they call me Trout really has mostly to do with the scales.”

Oleg was suddenly very aware of the rocking motion of the boat.

“… scales?”

“That’s right! Goodness, you’re reacting much better than most men.”

“I- I’m not sure I understand.”

“I have scales in odd patches all along my body,” Jnii then added in a whisper, “Mostly along my inner thighs.”

“… you mean?”

“Just think of rainbow Trout: looks and feels just like that. ‘Trout.’ You see? It’s not strange, is it? I mean, I’m willing to bet that if you were to mention it among all your fellows, here, that they wouldn’t find it that strange.”

Oleg was very certain the seas had become much stormier in the last seven seconds. He felt he had to really grip the floor to support himself properly.

“I think I need some fresh air, if you’ll excuse me, Miss Jnii.”

“Of course, sweet O-leg,” she grinned at him, “And remember to mention this to your friends. A lot. Just to see what they think. I’ll be waiting here for you.”

Oleg was already stumbling his way past his friends, bobbing with the ocean and searching frantically for a way to the ladder. Jnii, in the meantime, went soundly to sleep, to remain quite uninterrupted throughout the evening.

The others did not bother questioning how it was done, but Euphrasia did somehow convince both Lief and Gudmund to pick up in pursuit of Ulf Grothek’s boat. The Vikings likewise did not question the unanimous order of their leaders, though it was noted that the Lady Euphrasia was spending a good deal more time around the two men… especially after meals. The two brothers also gained a distinctly heightened interest in the Lady, some say that bordered on rivalry, which caused whispers of odd sexual activities at work on the boat (though nobody had yet to see anything of the sort).

It was two full days before anyone noticed that Ivan was missing at all.

“Have you actually seen Ivan recently?” Euphrasia said casually to Jnii, as they were looking out over the water from the bow sometime before dinner.

Jnii shrugged, “I figured he shrank away to nothing with Dool or some such.”

“Shhh!” the Lady glanced about, eyes wide, “Don’t say that. You know how Gareth is right now!”

“Oh come on now!” Jnii scoffed, “Dool’s still around, and so is Ivan. They’re probably just both hiding somewhere. Why don’t you just have your boys order a look around?”

“My boys…?”

“Lief and Gudmund! You have them fawning all over you to get back Jnii, just throw in a thorough search of the boat.”

Euphrasia scowled such that her brow folded in ways it did not seem possible. The air actually seemed to electrify.

“That does it!” Euphrasia moved in to Jnii’s face, speaking harshly, “I have traveled a quarter of the world to perform this deed out of pure goodness of my heart, losing my traveling companion and champion in the process… I have had to defend you and your lot from mortal harm on a daily basis just to keep us moving, including drugging and magically persuading two innocent men… and I am drastically side-tracking the whole of the mission because of something unscrupulous you seem to have done long ago, refuse to speak of now, and have allowed the wrong person to be captured for in the meantime.”

Euphrasia held fast in front of Jnii for some time, her chest heaving deeply, wisps of hair floating around her face. After a moment she began to regain some composure, pulling her hair back behind her ears and glancing about to determine whether her outburst had been seen. Jnii allowed for this pause and took a deep breath before speaking herself:

“That was all very dramatic and what not, but this is the way I really see it. And please, stop me when I hit anything false: You have traveled a quarter of the world to get away from your master, losing your ‘lover’ in the process, and have mostly taken upon this ‘deed’ to hopefully learn Dool’s secrets… not that goodness isn’t a factor in there somewhere. But then again, you may think I have forgotten, but I believe we came to the conclusion that you gave me some manner of -poison- under the guise of a ‘sedative’ prior to Ulf’s arrival, which certainly might have contributed to our current situation. So perhaps you should not be getting terribly moral about having to drug a pair of marauding tarts in order to save Jnii- and you know, might I also add that you were very ready to leave me to die until you found out that Jnii and I had switched bodies again, then all the sudden you… -actually never mind, I don’t hold that one against you. Moving on, all I’m saying is that you might want to think about losing the better-than-thou attitude, because… well, I guess because you’re in this just as deep as the rest of us whether you like it or not. … also, it will probably help your reaction when you finally realize that everyone on the boat thinks you’re having sexual relations with Lief and Gudmund.”

At this last segment, Euphrasia’s expression drifted from solid indignation to a full range of shock, embarrassment, and disgust, along with an equally stunning array of corresponding colors ending with a purplely-fuscia.

“T-they think…? I? With each of them?”

“At the same time, actually. Both.”

“This is absurd. How could they all possibly think…?”

“It’s really not hard to put together: the way you and I talk about them, really, and the way they’ve started reacting to you. Not to mention that you always go off together after meals.”

“After-… what is that even supposed to mean?”

“It’s a time of heightened sexual arousal.”

“That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard!”

“Well, the Vikings seem to believe it, and I haven’t really bothered testing to see-”

“It is most absolutely not true! Goodness. As kind as they can be, part of me can’t wait to get away from these people.”

Jnii did not quite have enough courage to confess that she (in her whole and Troutish self) had been the sole inventor of this knowledge, about two weeks ago, and had actually been the one to spread the idea among the Vikings during a series of victory drinking events after his trial back at Rotjnir.

“I know what you mean,” Jnii coughed, “Savages.”

“So now they all think I’m some sort of… whore?” Euphrasia sighed, slowly losing steam.

“Oh, what do you really care?” Jnii snorted, “At least they’ll be sure to leave you alone now that you’re the property of those two. I got them to steer clear of me my spreading the rumor that my womanly areas have the texture of fish skin.”

Lady Euphrasia, despite herself, giggled slightly at this. It only lasted a second, though, and soon her face had gone quite rigid again.

“I’m not sure that Jnii will take kindly to that notion.”

“I suppose we’ll find out soon enough,” Jnii said, squinting toward the horizon as the sun’s light began to fade, “You know, you’re alright, Euphy. Although I still don’t get why you tried doing me like you did Lief and Gudmund.”

“Oh, for the last time! I didn’t poison you!”

“Whatever you call it then. You had me out of my gourd!”

“Whatever you call it, I haven’t done it to you in weeks.”

“Aha! So you did cause that swamp madness?”

“… I wont deny it.”

“Well whatever happened this second time felt the same.”

“Beurel,” Euphrasia declared so coldly that Jnii had to face her as she began speaking in a slow, measured tone, “I did not make you crazy. … Recently. I truly only gave you a sedative. It should not have made you…”

Euphrasia faded off here, her eyes rolling up in contemplation. Jnii had her mouth open in reply when the booming voice of Gareth broke the air. He loped across the deck towards the pair, eyes darting around anxiously at low angles. There was a slump in the beast’s gait and a hollowness to his eyes.

“Have you seen anything?” he said.

Jnii shook her head for both women.

“Still no sign of Dooly?” she added.

“I have looked over every inch of this boat,” Gareth moaned, coming to rest beside the pair, “That even being so, he could still be somewhere. He even could have phased right through the boat and into the water.”

“He can do that?” Jnii’s eyes lit up, admiring the possibilities.

“Through most anything organic, though I do not really think he has gone so mad as to drown himself… yet.”

“Organic?” the light in Jnii’s eyes faded, “You mean it has to have organs?”

Gareth rolled his eyes, neither of the two quite aware of how appropriate the comment was, or would at least appear later.

“Do not speak if you intend to be an ass.” Gareth said sternly.

“Well how sh-”

“Gareth?” Euphrasia awkwardly interrupted.

Gareth and Jnii stared at her a moment, expecting her to continue, but she seemed to be slightly dazed and only stared at the mast. After a moment, the other two followed her gaze. She was looking at Ivan’s wolf skin, which was still tethered there as it had been for some time.

“… yes?” Gareth eventually asked.

“Have you seen Ivan recently?”

He scoffed.

“Not in some time, and I cannot say it bothers me.”

“Don’t you think that during your time looking for a little speck of a man, you would have come across a little boy by now?”

The Lady turned to him as she finished speaking for emphasis.

Gareth, meanwhile, turned this about in his sleepless brain for some time, and came to one immediate and rage-inspiring conclusion. In all fairness, the thought crossed everyone’s mind in some form or other, Gareth was simply the first to vocalize it, and it emerged in a solemn monotone that nearly froze the very waters around them:

“Ivan stole Dool.”

This was admittedly not exactly what Euphrasia suspected, but she feared that the alternative explanation might have actually been slightly more enraging for Gareth at the moment, and it was not something she particularly wanted to experience.

Jnii had become something very different from Trout: The Queen of Feyrland

Oh, how she had heard the stories of the royal coronation ceremonies of that luxurious southland nation. It was a country with so many ports that they traded with all the world, filling themselves with culture and curiosity- nothing like her landlocked valley of swamps and rocks. She never imagined that she would be the one there, chosen to become Queen, though the number of times she had hoped was countless. Her jealous maids had dressed her in fine, cinnamon-flecked stoles, and jewels that twinkled like polished suns- each of which perfectly complimented her radiant gown, which made her look as if an angel had been tucked neatly into the petals of a chaste white lily. One pale petal of this elegant lily stretched back in a train that extended the entire length of the royal hall, and was carried by the entirety of her personal topless man-servants. And my, how the male guests attending the ceremony gazed at her in ravishing awe and reverence, certainly not how men used to stare at her, but seeped in the marvel of her very being as she sailed along the red carpet with perfect poise.

Jnii turned to the crowd and realized that her audience was, in fact, entirely composed of men, men that had come from lands previously unheard of just to come and relish in her very presence. They were strong men, with perfect, large, warrior bodies, like the Vikings (who were but a distant memory now)… but they were also clean and well groomed, handsome, as nobility, like Gulliden or Oliphant (oh how she still hated Euphrasia for holding that treat in thrall). She could see how every man in the audience wanted her, and she could feel the energy of their desire rippling in the air like a heavenly chorus despite the actual deep silence they maintained in veneration of her sacred existence. But the thought of them all, what they wanted of her with their longing gazes, it did not even make her blush. It was expected. It was what she deserved. She would be Queen.

The thought of it all was so dizzying that Jnii felt as if the floor itself was swaying.

Words suddenly echoed around her, from somewhere beyond the hall. But they were so low, so paltry, that she did not dare dignify them with her divine hearing. She would be Queen. The Gods themselves sent a light wind through the hall that caressed her face and calmed her.

“Could this really be Asgrim?” the words echoed emptily.

Below deck, a particularly stout Viking with wildly bushy hair was beating Trout about the face and neck with surprisingly little effect. He had clearly not been invited to the coronation.

But the words had been spoken by a different man, Ulf Grothek’s first mate, Sevik, a phenomenally twitchy and beady-eyed man, smaller than most of his comrades but vicious in his movements. Had Trout actually been present on the boat and harboring a degree of sanity, he would have been most perturbed by the presence of this man. In fact, back aboard the longboat with Euphrasia and Gareth, the minstrel dared not speak nor even think of the things Sevik might be doing to his body… and the ways in which Jnii’s answers could be enraging him. He recalled the time he had once seen Sevik triumph in combat over a man twice his size. Trout had never imagined a person could actually delight in killing a man with his bare hands, until that unfortunate spectacle. Indeed, the way Sevik’s cold eyes focused curiously on Trout’s form throughout the interrogation, with fingers wiggling at his side, made even Ulf nervous.

“Perhaps the Gods have made him mad… in punishment of his bizarre treachery?” Ulf suggested.

Ulf Grothek himself was a fine warrior and a good man; to a fault, some might say. But what he lacked in God-given wisdom and ability he easily compensated for in experience and sense of duty. Though considerably older than his peers, the notable graying in his fine beard had done little to slow his spirit and sword arm, and over the years he had only become greater and more respected by those around him. He leaned a little closer to the man he was sure was Asgrim, whom they had tied by his torso to a cross-beam below deck, and roved his eyes carefully over the man’s countenance.

“… or perhaps it is all a trick?” he added.

The stout, bushy haired lad gave Trout a savage pounding to the gut at these words. This was Stone, a name which both referenced his family name, Stonefjord, as well as his comparable durability and intelligence as an individual. Stone enjoyed violence very much, and the fact that Trout was not reacting to his hobby was very disappointing. In fact, in response to this most recent beating, Trout began groping firmly at points on his chests, as if he had breasts, with his eyes closed and a grin on his lips, blowing a kiss to some unseen audience.

The three Viking interrogators glanced nervously among each other.

This was when a heavy cloth sack suddenly dropped into the area from through the hatch above. The men were not terribly surprised, given the nature of their crew, though the sack certain sparked their curiosity. In fact, what was considerably more surprising was when a small human form swung its way through the hatch, dangled for a moment, and then dropped nimbly to the floor just beside the sack. In the shadow of Asgrim and the crossbeam, masked from the swaying lantern, they could not immediately determine the details of the form.

“By the Gods... is that a midget?” Sevik said.

“Not a midget!” Ivan dragged the sack from the shadows, “Ivan the Wolf-slayer.”

“How did this midget get on board?” Ulf snapped at his first mate.

“Quiet!” Ivan barked, “I have a deal for you.”

The Vikings were all admittedly stunned and interested. Trout giggled, which Ivan noticed, and he returned him a firm glare before clearing his throat.

“I don’t know what this man has done, nor am I interested in knowing. All you need to know is that I have undergone great adventures, slain vicious beasts and Knights all across the land, seen horrors which would melt your feeble bones, and quested for treasures and traded with great magi. In this sack I have acquired treasures the likes of which you mongrels could never imagine. I am willing to offer it all in exchange for nothing more than this pathetic man’s freedom and passage to the nearest port.”

Ulf Grothek raised an eyebrow.

Ivan had spent the last hour or so watching Trout’s beatings through a crack above deck, practicing his speech and waiting for the best moment to intervene and become the shining savior. He was quite pleased with how well the speech came off, and he pointed at Trout at the very end just for extra effect. Trout rolled his head toward him sleepily and giggled again.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Ivan snapped at him.

Ulf and Sevik communicated in subtle facial twitches during the pause, and Ulf finally spoke.

“Let us see your treasures first, midget.”

“Of course,” he said proudly, “But you may wish to briefly avert your eyes.”

Ivan untied the leather strap on the bag and pushed it over, his face beaming at the ringing sound of metals rolling against metals as they poured smoothly on to the floor. But with it came laughter, and though it was initially confusing, he turned to the spot in question and felt his blood turn to ice: Where he had expected magnificent treasures and sparkling jewels, there were only pots, pans, rocks, and seashells. Though he was understandably distraught, Ivan wasted no time and pulled a small knife from behind his back, leaping towards Trout’s ropes. But the boy had barely severed a thread before Stone had punched him, like a lightning bolt of bone and meat, square in the back of the head. Ivan swayed dizzily with the rolling of the ship before Stone seized him by the arms and raised him off the ground. Though Stone was purely eager with this new opportunity, Ulf and Sevik were still in hysterics, the latter kicking a few pans for effect while squatting- as if a midget. Ulf laughed harder at his first-mate’s comical motions, pointing at the spot, tears starting to streak his face.

“Oh… oh my,” Ulf gradually calmed, “Try not to kill this one, Stone. I find him very amusing.”

Stone let Ivan dangle in the air by one arm as he punched him in the kidney with the free fist, as if that were a sufficient response. Ivan gurgled, rocking back and forth by his arm.

“Oh! Better yet,” Ulf continued through another burst of laughter, directing his words at Sevik, “Don’t break his limbs, either… because I think we’ll make him the official cook!”

Sevik burst out laughing louder at this, kicking a few more pots.

“Hope you like cooking, wolf slayer!” Sevik bellowed.

Ulf and Sevik began walking towards the hatch ladder, giggling. Sevik climbed up and Ulf paused before doing so himself, suddenly composed.

“But really,” he said, “Beat him enough to find out if there’s anyone else hidden away on board.”

Stone responded with another good punch to the kidney. As Ulf went up the ladder, Trout began giggling too, as if only suddenly getting the joke.

Ivan managed to choke up a few words in between exploding peals of pain: “I hate you.”

“Then you shall be my royal jester.” Trout grinned, trying to kiss Ivan.

Ivan’s delicate constitution thankfully allowed him to pass out very quickly.

Ivan woke to feelings of pain that he had never before imagined possible. Through his less swollen eye, he managed to discern that he was bruised along the majority of his visible body, although there was very little bleeding that did not seem to be coming out of his mouth. The back half of his body felt as if it had been somehow detached and replaced with a thick board that had been nailed to the back of his lungs as substitute for a spine and rib cage. His limbs were unbending posts, and when forced into manipulation, only quivered and caused a painful throbbing that washed over the whole of his body. But his head was the worst, because it seemed as if his brain had actually become detached, it’s weight keeping his head pinned to his left shoulder from the inside of his skull, which was concurrently attempting to escape from the rest of his head by means of forced explosion. Ivan could not blame it.

After a few minutes, Ivan sighed, and decided it best to stop endeavoring at any form of motion. He instead began developing some crafty method of motionless escape, ultimately deciding that mind manipulation would be his only hope as he contemplated the pools of his own bloody drool along the floorboards beside him. He looked across at Trout, still bound to the crossbeam, and could see that his face and limbs were equally bruised, and perhaps more cut, though his face seemed to shine with the sleep of a carefree child. The sight gave him energy. Energy of rage. He was the child! He should be sleeping so peacefully! But instead of relaxing calmly somewhere in the islands of the north seas, he had to go and construct a plan founded on Trout’s worth of being and his own unprecedented hubris. He should have thought this out. He should have checked the sack! Who could have switched the contents of the sack? Who could have been so sadistic as to replace the contents? His brain racked away at an answer, though the process pained him greatly. The process fed the rage, though, and soon he felt as if his joints might bend.

Before he could get very far, though, Stone descended the ladder.

The bushy-faced giant first walked to Trout and punched him solidly in the head. Trout’s reaction was so minimal as to inspire Stone to worriedly examine the prisoner for signs of life. Upon finding them, he was then so incensed as to punch Trout seven more times.

Ivan hoped that this meant the Viking had satisfied himself by the time he strode toward Ivan, but the bear-man kicked him stoutly in the torso. He then brought the same foot down on the boy’s legs as he leaned down to fiddle with something at Ivan’s side. Ropes. Had there been any actual feeling in Ivan’s legs, he was certain that the weight of the bear-man would have been painful. But the numbness of his torso was not so great, and he could feel something loosen. Stone removed his foot from Ivan’s legs, and pulled the boy up to his feet by the collar, slamming him solidly against the wall before setting him on the ground. Surprisingly, Ivan found that he could stand, and the more his body pulsed with hatred toward his captors, the more his muscles were able to respond. Granted, the boat rocked only lightly, but Ivan was surprised that he was able to stabilize himself nonetheless. Stone seemed pleased as well, giving him an approving nod before sending an elbow to his nose that sent him flying back to the floor and into unconsciousness for many more hours.

The next six days were spent like this, with Ivan being routinely victimized in acts of wanton cruelty. His waking moments were filled with only two potential scenarios: one was his routine brutalization by Stone alongside the brain-muddled mollusk he knew as Trout, though the Vikings seemed to know as Asgrim. These moments, though much more painful, were somehow far less difficult than the other half of his existence, which involved his instated role as the ship’s cook. This job was, in fact, a complete fallacy, as the Vikings routinely ate prepared, uncooked rations and had no place for food preparation, much less fire. This was instead a time for Ivan to be sprawled out on deck, tied to the mast by short rope amidst his pots and pans, one of which he would be forced to wear on his head at all times. The Vikings would kick him, spit on him, throw his rocks and seashells at him until he danced, and then make him dance until he collapsed in exhaustion. It was worst than mere pain. At least when he was being interrogated, he felt like he had some control. Ulf and Sevik demanded information from him, where he came from, how he knew Asgrim, how he had snuck on the boat… and he could deny them. He was in control. On deck, as the “cook,” the humiliation was almost unbearable. They never stopped laughing.

On the afternoon of the sixth day, Stone was stopped short from his mid-afternoon beating at a sudden cry of excitement arising from on deck. The bear-man shimmied up the ladder at the noise, which began to ripple among the voices of the crew in building commotion. Perhaps thinking Ivan too crippled to move, he left the boy at his place on the floor. And he was, in fact, quite content there at first. But the cries among the Vikings brought out something odd in Trout, a sense of fear and urgency that he had not yet registered, and the sheer oddity of it caused Ivan to sit bolt upright- as if waking from a horrible dream.

The rogue had never once been removed from his position, tied at the crossbeam with his arms free, though they were usually tied behind his back at night. But Trout was now clawing like a beast at the ropes at his left side, trying to free them, like there was something in that spot that would surely kill him. He drew back a gap in the ropes with all his strength, and struggled intensely to crane his head in inspection, keep the gap open, and stick one hand inside all at once. The sight was almost frightening for Ivan, because even though most of the multiple tasks proved impossible, Trout did not stop attempting to perform all at once.

He eventually turned to Ivan.

“You have to get it, Ivan!” he panted, “You have to get it out!”

Ivan was far too curious to be wary, and forced himself to his feet to approach his fellow captive.

Trout gave up on the multiple tasks, and dedicated himself to holding a gap in the tightly-bound ropes for Ivan’s benefit. Peeking inside, the boy could barely see in the dim lamplight that the ropes around the spot were slightly bloody. Then he could see that the spot at Trout’s side bore a small wound. At first Ivan assumed that Trout had suddenly become aware of a nail in the beam that had been gouging his side for days, but then his memory kicked in and he recalled the spot.

“Jnii stabbed you there days ago!” Ivan gasped, “It should have healed by now.”

“Get! It! Out!” Trout demanded.

Ivan grimaced and brought his hand up to the gap in the ropes. He could not both reach in and observe at the same time, but he felt the gash, which was indeed still open… and even perhaps slightly bigger than he remembered. Strangely, there was not much blood for such a lingering wound, and the evidence did not extend much past the spot, the nearby clothing, and the ropes themselves. He felt around the area, but there was nothing he could find that would cause such a wound.

“There’s nothing there, GT.”

“OUT!” he screamed, such that the commotion on deck only barely drowned it out.

“Shhhh! There’s nothing-”

That was when Ivan felt something… bump.

“Holy…,” he drew his hand back slightly.

Touching the area around the wound again, he could feel the skin slightly rippling. Something was actually trying to come out of the wound.

Ivan took a deep breath and held it.

He grabbed with his thumb and forefinger quickly into the wound area, grasping the wiggling anomaly, and then yanking it free from Trout’s lower torso. He then drew the wiggling creature through the gap in the ropes and was prepared to dash it on the floor and stomp madly, at least, until he realized that he was holding on to an arm. Trout let out a womanly shriek and passed out as Ivan held up the form before him, a human form that failed about from the one arm that kept it suspended in the air, a form that was… somehow slightly larger than he remembered.

Ivan exhaled.

“Where am I?” the voice peeped, “Answer me or be liquefied!”

Dool had become something very different from Malignant: Trout’s liver.

He had always been very fond of blood. He could still vaguely remember his years as an apprentice wizard, and how the allure of the substance had first drawn him to the magic of Life. In those early years as an apprentice he had, in fact, been employed as a combat medic of sorts. In retrospect, he realized that his mentors had perhaps pushed him into the field due to the onset of war with the neighboring nation of Feyrland, but these political concerns were the last thing on his mind when he first stepped on to the battlefield. It would be understandable to say that the scattered limbs and torsos of his allies bothered him, though overall, Dool felt strangely at ease in that fowl landscape. His master, an eccentric old fellow by the name of Dougan, seemed to agree. The two other apprentices in his charge, with them as they emerged on the scene through the veils of smoke, turned and fled the very moment they could see what was in store. They would never even experience the smell, the burning and rot, as Dool would for the next several days. He remembered that Dougan only laughed, rolled up the sleeves of his white robe, turned to him, and said:

“You’re the one carrying lunch, right?”

He was… though he personally had no appetite for it when the time came. Dougan ended up consuming all four rations, supervising Dool’s unsteady hands while he ate. They saved many men that day, considering. Dool could no longer remember how long ago that had been. It was before he had ever met Mirrathan, though they were both supposedly on the same side of that war, and certainly before Feyrland had become a peaceful nation. No, Feyrland was still a new country then, a savage country, the aggressors in a war to conquer the small eastern nations that Mirrathan would later unite on his own, and his descendants would later dissolve. It did not take long for Dougan to realize what the Feyrlanders had done as he stood amidst the smoldering debris, explaining the scenario to Dool in between large bites of tack.

“I’ve only ever seen one type of magic that can do this,” he said, chewing, “Dangerous magic. You see, it converts all energy in a certain range into pure combustion. Messy business. The Feyrlanders had some of their magi just waiting for us to get close… they probably needed a suicide squad to do this much damage, to get enough energy outward. It’s like setting fire to a bale of hay from a hundred points at once. You know why it’s really bad news though?”

“Ah… no,” Dool muttered.

The young apprentice was currently kneeling over an unconscious soldier, with his hands digging around carefully inside the man’s open chest. He was hoping his master did not notice this patient’s heart had stopped.

“It means that they must be working with Justice Knights,” Dougan continued, still eying the battlefield, “Only they know such arcane spells, and they keep their knowledge well-hidden. Only they could have done this. You know, sometimes those bastards enchant their own horses so that when- what are you doing?”

“His heart stopped, I don’t know why.”

“Well, someday you’ll be able to fix the heart from the inside, but until then, concentrate your efforts on the upper left. No, the other left. Just flick it a little.”

“It’s going now.”

“I can see that.”

“It doesn’t make sense, though,” Dool sighed, resealing his patient’s tissues and skin with deft motions of his fingers.

“It’s where all the blood goes in and out,” Dougan said, “Something in that area is bound to get things going again.”

“Not that. The spell you speak of,” Dool stood, wiping his brow, “It hit all of our men. Even in the very back. It wasn’t just a radius, or even a certain area… it was just… them.”

The two men surveyed the ground around them, the very earth scorched black among the fallen forms of soldiers that surrounded them. The perimeter of the damage was easy to see, within a long rectangle that extended the entire width of the fallen regiment’s ranks. Dougan was right that there seemed to be a radius of effect, that the men in the back and sides of the massive formation were the only ones to survive the spell, but what was curious was how this effect did not extend at all beyond their ranks. Within this space, points of flame still burned at the earth, smoke rose steadily from scattered husks of armor, and men still fortunate enough to have possession of their skin crawled away, very confused and largely hairless. Though once outside this space, they were immediately treated to cool grasses and the gentle shade of the nearby woodland.

Dougan grumbled slightly.

“Yes, well,” he coughed, waving away smoke from his face, “There’s clearly a trick about it. Isn’t there?”

The soldier that Dool had recently repaired suddenly sat bolt upright between the two men, pure panic washing over his face (though it may have only looked to be so due to his lack of eyebrows). He took several long breaths, feeling at his chest.

“Your heart stopped for a bit,” Dougan said to the man, throwing the rest of his tack at him, “Eat this, and be a good and decent man for the rest of your life, and it -might- not stop again.”

The man grabbed the scrap of food, looked between the two men, and then sped off toward the woods. Dougan laughed. Dool had already moved on to the next soldier, kneeling to the right of a prone young man who was wheezing in quick bursts, as if hiccupping were his mode of breathing.

“What do I do with this one?” Dool asked, “Something’s wrong with his breathing.”

“Inhaled too much smoke,” Dougan sighed, “Bother. It’s such a pain to fix lungs. Can you guess why?”

“Because… I’d have to- cut open his chest and then his lungs, and clean them out without killing him?”

“Very good,” Dougan said, kneeling down opposite Dool, “Given your level of skill and the materials available, that’s just about the only solution you would have for saving this boy.”

“But… that would take-”

“Hours, and much of your energy. And there’s good odds you wouldn’t even be able to get into his lungs without destroying them.”

Both men were suddenly aware of their patient’s actual presence by an interrupted burst in his wheezing that indicated fear. Dougan simply turned to the boy and winked. He then rolled up his sleeves a little further than they already were and ripped open the soldier’s singed tunic.

“When you get really good at life magic,” he said, setting his palms down on his patient’s chest, “You will be able to pass yourself through anything organic.”

“… anything with organs?”

Dougan sighed.

“When did they recruit you again?”

“Last week.”

“That’s- well, in any case, you’re close enough. Just watch.”

Dougan then pressed his palms down, and with what seemed to be very little effort, the master’s hands parted the skin and bone of the boy’s chest as if it were warm beeswax. They sunk within the flesh until they were enveloped just a ways past his wrists, and no blood emerged from the wounds they made. The patient’s wheezing rate increased at this event, though Dool noticed that he gave no overt sign of pain. Dougan then appeared to be feeling around inside, with one hand on each side of the upper chest cavity while his eyes rolled about in curiosity. Up until this point, Dool had found the use of life magic to be largely tedious and terrifying. Suddenly, he was very much interested.

“Ah!” Dougan said, “Yes, here they are. Now, from this position, what advantage do I have?”

“Well, you don’t have to worry about the patient dying.”

“Mostly true. What else?”

“… I’m not sure. Don’t you have to see what you’re doing to fix anything in there?”

“I’ve actually been in here enough times that I could probably clean them without looking, but it would still take a good deal of time… and much unwanted in and out. Am I right?”

Dougan turned to his patient at this, who nodded weakly in response, eyes fixed terminally on his torso. Dool shook his head, searching for a solution, but as he watched the situation, he noticed Dougan’s right hand move lower, to the bottom right of the patient’s rib cage.

“What do you know about the liver?” he asked, a note of amusement in his voice.

“Ah… It’s- well…”

“For God’s sake, lad! They don’t recruit fool wizards. You must know something!”

“It… purifies the body, the blood. I don’t know the details.”

“How could I use the liver to fix this boy’s breathing problem?”

“Use the- what? The liver? I- I don’t think the liver has anything to do with breathing.”

“Yes, well,” Dougan smiled, closing his eyes, “There’s certainly a trick about it. Isn’t there?”

Dool noticed that even as Dougan spoke, the soldier’s breathing began to steady. After a few seconds, Dougan moved his left hand to the right side of the patient’s chest, and his breathing shortly regulated entirely. The master took great care in removing his hands, like they had just set the eager jaws of a bear trap. But as the skin gave way around palms and then retreated entirely, no sign of their presence remained on the skin or otherwise. The boy held up his own shaky hands and felt at the area, too uncertain to yet be appreciative.

“… how did you do it?” Dool asked.

“The liver is a filter, a purifier,” Dougan replied, “And I can use it. I can give it it’s own brain, tell it what to fight, tell it to fight harder. In this case, I took its essence, what it does, and used it elsewhere. I acted as a medium for the liver teaching the lungs how to purify on their own.”

Dool shook his head.

“It’s the same with anything, Drool,” Dougan continued as he stood, “Once you’ve been doing it for a while, when you’re good, you don’t have to work as hard. You know all the shortcuts and secrets. If it’s within the realm of your ability, you can do it.”

Dool stood to face his master.

“… my name is Dool.”

“Oh, right. Dool,” Dougan nodded, crossing his arms, “You going to eat your ration?”

Much later in his academic pursuits in the field of magic, Dool wrote a very lengthy dissertation propagating the curative values of the liver in the treatment of various bodily ailments. His proposal was well received, but poorly demonstrated at a counsel inquiry session when he attempted to remedy the chronic stomach ailment of a high counsel member and instead caused his own liver to digest itself. This was, incidentally, the end of his academic career in magic and the beginning of his isolated and antisocial magical scientist on the verge of mental collapse phase of life.

He would never actually leave this phase.

This was never more apparent than when he suddenly found himself naked, soaked in blood, having just been extracted from within an open wound, apparently at 1/64^th his normal size, and dangling high above the ground from the hand of a boy. It was both confusing and enraging, to say the least, though somehow he seemed to have an instinctive sense of how he had arrived at this point. The details were fuzzy, though the situation itself was remarkably believable.

One thing was very clear to Dool: he had been very sick.

The fogginess in his mind and, of course, his physical size, were the greatest testimonies to this fact. But for some reason things were more lucid now, certain memories very clear and specific. He had been dreaming of his days as Dougan’s apprentice, his lesson about the liver… the arcane magics… the Justice Knights…

“… what were you doing in GT?” the boy asked.

Dool looked at Ivan as if he were the dumbest person that had ever lived.

“Set me down or be liquefied!”

“You already threatened me with that,” Ivan muttered, though he set the miniature wizard down on the palm of his free hand.

Dool began frantically looking about.

“Can I assume we are on a vessel of some sort?”

“We’re prisoners on a Viking boat.”

“Where is Gareth?”

“We were taking you north, to fix you, but we got… separated, sort of. But until now I thought you were still with him.”

“We…?” Dool gave a long visual inspection of Ivan, “Am I to believe -you- are one of my guardians?”

Ivan shrugged, “I just saved you now, didn’t I?”

“Well, I… I’m sure I would have been fine. I am omnipotent!”

“Sure. You want some clothes or something?”

“I…,” Dool glanced down at his exposed paunch, “I require nothing!”

“Did you make GT crazy?” Ivan pressed on.

The small wizard turned to Trout’s form, which had gone limp against the ropes that bound him a matter of seconds before. His face was battered into an assortment of purples and blues, save for the parts covered by the scraggly patches of hair that had begun to emerge, and a slow-moving stream of drool trickled through this light beard in a way that only Ivan could understand.

“If you are referring to this… man, well, yes. I may have done that. Although I could have sworn…” Dool mumbled.

“Can you undo it?”

“It is not so simple as that, I’m afraid.”

“What do you mean?”

Dool was staring back at Ivan, now. Lost in thought. But Ivan quickly realized that he was not considering his question. He may not have even heard it.

“We need him to get off this boat,” Ivan persisted, “Fix him!”

Dool’s eyes narrowed to slits.

“An excellent ruse,” he said.

“What do you mean?”

“Ha! Your feigning ignorance, is what I mean!”

“Are you going crazy again too?”

“You will extract no secrets from me,” he continued, peeking over the edge of Ivan’s palm in thoughts of escape, “I may still be foggy, but I can see quite thoroughly through your game. That man is no man, and you are certainly not a boy!”

Tell him it’s me.

Ivan started at the familiar voice in his head.

“You?! What are you still doing there? I thought you said-”

Not now. Dool is very sharp. He can sense my awareness. Tell him his old friend, Mirrithan, is here before he actually liquefies you.

Dool froze and raised an eyebrow.

“Uh- I… You…”

… faster!

“Mirrithan is in my head. He wants me to tell you.”

Dool’s expression remained the same, though he raised his chin.

“If this is true,” the mage said coldly, “Then you would be able to tell me the name of my first master.”

Dougan. Everyone knows that. I once slept with a whore who knew that.

“Dougan,” Ivan replied, “Even whor-”

SHHH! Enough! That’s enough!

But Dool seemed satisfied, actually smiling… albeit, awkwardly. He seemed to be looking at, but not quite at, Ivan. Just around him.

“It’s true. I can almost see it,” he said, “So you actually gave that stale swamp-slug your blood? Ha! Good luck with that.”

Dool then ‘laughed,’ though it sounded more like a cross between a fit of sneezing and a vomiting dog. Ivan was understandibly disturbed.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Ivan hoped for a response from both wizards, though he should have known better.

Don’t pay attention to that.

“No matter,” Dool sighed, “He’s waiting at my place, I take it?”

Ivan nodded.

“Good,” Dool said, a glint in his eye as he tightened his fists, “Tell him to gather the appropriate books and, together, we’ll make short work of these Vikings.”

Oh dear.

“… what is it?” Ivan asked.

… the Justice Knights got in here after you left. They burned most everything.

“Tell him to look for the one bound in human skin,” Dool continued, “… or… no! Better! Wendel’s Summoning Companion volume on Watery Horrors. I’ve never actually had the chance to use that one! Oh, how they will weep as they are swallowed whole by horrors. It’s been so long since I had to use magic for a reason!”

“Well… ah, it seems that your books-”

No no no NO! By the GODS! Don’t tell him that yet. Didn’t you already learn how to do this quietly?

Ivan opened his mouth, but faltered. Dool stared at him intensely, waiting for a response. Trout began giggling in his sleep.

Just envision yourself talking to me, in your head, but without actually talking.

Is this it?

Perfect.

I thought you said you wouldn’t be able to talk to me once I crossed the Velais river!

Ah, not quite. I actually said I wouldn’t be able to aid you as I have.

So you’ve been in my head all along?

Let it be your first lesson. Pay attention to what wizards say.

I hate you! Why didn’t you help me sooner??

Come now. In fairness, you’ve been doing quite well. Not much I said could have helped.

What about the sack?!

I only see what you see, Ivan! I thought you had a good shot, too. Though in retrospect, Grom’s odd comment certainly makes sense now.

Grom’s c-…? Grom! I’ll hack off his knees! I’ll-

Whoa… slow down, now. Dool’s getting suspicious.

Dool eyes were, in fact, wide as moons and perfectly unblinking at they held Ivan.

“Are you talking about me?” he barked.

What do I tell him?

Tell him I’ve been looking through books and I found just the right thing. Something big.

“No, he’s just been searching your library,” Ivan said, “He says he has something good. Very big.”

I thought you said Dool’s books were burned.

They were. This will be from memory. Just… stall for a moment so I can focus.

“Well, tell him to relay the incantation,” Dool said, rubbing his hands together, “I may not have a lot of time.”

It was very difficult for Ivan to distract himself from what Mirrathan was attempting.

Time?

You’re getting mixed up. Stall!

“Time?” Ivan asked, “What do you mean?”

“… It seems likely that, in my previous state, I decided to use your friend’s liver to heal myself,” he explained, “But it probably wont last long, so we need to get out of here.”

“… so you did make him crazy.”

“Well… he’s sort of borrowing it from me, but he’ll get better. Probably. He may also have shrunk a bit. And there’s good odds his urine will- Oh, bother.”

Dool’s sudden dissatisfaction came from the sound of Vikings approaching the hatch. Indeed, a pair of legs quickly swung through the hole and began descending the ladder. Ivan was once again aware of the commotion above deck which had started this scenario, and realized that it had not died down, but had perhaps gained some amount of momentum. He instinctively rolled Dool into his palm, and shoved him the only place he knew would go unnoticed: his pants. There was surprisingly little protest over this, and Ivan collapsed backwards to the floor just as Stone’s face lowered to survey the scene he had left. As usual, the man-beast hammered Trout in the face on his way over to Ivan, and on this occasion it actually woke him up- though he was still largely unresponsive. Thankfully, Stone was too distracted to notice as he dragged Ivan to his corner of the boat and began securing his limbs with the usual array of ropes.

“Spotted a big merchant ship,” he said, “It’s on fire. Smoking up the whole sky. You may have guests soon.”

He kicked Ivan in the gut once he had finished, and then retreated back to the ladder. Once he had disappeared, Dool crawled his way out of Ivan’s pants. This visual reaffirmation of the wizard’s nudity made Ivan quite disgusted, perhaps even nauseous, over where he had just been. Dool seemed equally disturbed, though he vocalized different reasons.

“I understand now. I can feel it,” he said, softly.

“Untie me!” Ivan declared.

Dool absently set his hand on one of the ropes that kept Ivan bound, hogtied in a rather painful position. The spot quickly began to blacken and the ropes frayed until they split apart. Ivan scrambled to his knees, rubbing at his wrists in turn.

“There’s some manner of magic in the air,” Dool continued, “That’s what woke me. That’s why I was dreaming so strangely.”

“What are you talking about?”

“There’s powerful magic nearby. Justice Knights. The merchant ship is a trap.”

“… are your clothes still inside GT?” Ivan suddenly thought to ask.

“… it’s possible.”

Alright. Are you ready to do this?

~Peace