Skye squinted at a tiny wooden flute, weighing it in his hands. If what Iris had been telling him was true, the trick was in visualization. The people of Frostmill had been wary at first, but eventually accepted Iris’ apology after a brief explanation; they were good folk, and the two were grateful for their kindness. After a well-deserved rest at the local inn, thankfully free of charge, seeing as neither had much money, they had set sail to a chorus of farewells from the village, now watching it slowly fade into the distance.
“Doesn’t look like you’re making much progress,” Iris remarked, sitting on the ship deck next to Skye. “Don’t you have to have your eyes closed, anyways?” He sighed, resting the flute on his lap.
“I’ve never used it with my eyes open, but I don’t seem to have much control when they’re shut. Is that normal?”
"Can’t say I’ve heard of anything like it, but I’m not exactly a scholar. I’ve met a fair amount of other mages, but most of them gained mastery through studying forms and techniques. That never really worked for me, and I’d be willing to bet you’ve never read a book on magic theory in your life. I find that emotion can amplify magic output, so my best guess would be that you have some sort of repressed memory involving your eyes-”
“Which is exactly the problem,” Skye finished. “Nevermind all that, though, I want to learn how to control it normally, with my eyes open. You make it look easy, is there something I’m missing?” She lightly punched him in the arm, grinning.
“Like I told you, until it comes naturally, the trick is in visualization. When you think of your magic, what do you see? What do you want it to do? For me, I picture the sun,” she said, gesturing upwards as a round ball of orange flames flared above her fingers. “When I first started out, I used to imagine the sun up in the sky, and just…” With the flick of a wrist, the fiery ball seemed to unravel, burning strings drifting apart, only for them to weave together a split second later as a forceful blast outwards, bazing across the sky as a wave of roiling flames.
“You weren’t kidding!” Skye exclaimed, looking on in awe. Iris returned to the wheel with a chuckle, leaving him to practice. It was refreshing, not having to constantly worry for her life. For the first time in years, she could let her guard down, and just…be herself.
“I made a friend, dad,” Iris said softly, a bittersweet smile playing across her face. “A real friend.”
~
Ferox unblinkingly surveyed the sea in front of her, looking for any signs of life. She’d never hear the end of it if they searched Frostmill directly, the iceberg had just recently signed a protection treaty under Ravenna. No, it was best to be patient, at least for now. He would depart sooner or later, it was only a matter of time before the hunt resumed. Suddenly, far in the distance a plume of orange flame rose into the sky, below which she could just make out the figure of a boat. That wasn’t ordinary fire, even among the magically-generated kind. Her ship’s black sails unfurled as they skirted around the iceberg, slowly drawing closer to the distant boat. A jagged grin split across Ferox’s face as she barked out a hoarse laugh; this was almost too easy.
~
Skye’s eyes unfocused as he attempted to follow Iris’ guidance. Something he could connect his magic to…that would be the breeze around him, right? He supposed he just had to…concentrate on that. Eddies of wind prickled lightly against his face, seeming to fall in sync with his breath. In, as his hair was blown back, out, as it flopped forwards. In, as his clothes fluttered around his frame, out, air whistling quietly as it breezed past his ears. Smiling tightly with effort, he held the flute in one hand, motioning towards it with the fingers of his other arm. A tiny squeak came from the wooden instrument, and Skye almost dropped it in surprise; he was actually using his magic! Redoubling his efforts, he could almost envision the gusts of wind flowing around him as he coaxed a strand of air from the dormant currents surrounding the ship, guiding it into the flute with trembling fingers. The feeble squeak began increasing in volume, eventually building to a deafening, high pitched shriek.
“Skye!” Iris shouted over the ear splitting sound, covering her ears as she tentatively stepped towards him. “Can you try turning it down?!” His attention wavered for a moment as he loosened his grip, and the flute shot from his hands, splashing into the water with a final squeal.
“Well,” Iris said, perhaps a little louder than normal. “It’s a start, at least. Great timing too, we’re almost there.” With the sweep of an arm, she gestured towards a towering mountain jutting upwards from the sea, rocky slopes lining the sides as the higher reaches faded into the clouds above.
“Are you telling me we have to climb that…?” Skye inquired with a slight tremble.
“Hah! Set your sights a little lower,” Iris said, directing his gaze to the edge of a snowy outcrop, just visible behind the mountain. Though probably quite large up close, it appeared to be rather small next to the imposing peak it hid behind.
“Whitesummit, home of criminals and refugees alike. I’ve visited a few times before, we might be able to get some answers with whatever memories you have, for the right price." Oblivious to them, a black-sailed ship passed by Frostmill in the distance, inching nearer by the second.
~
“We’ll need these,” Iris said, pulling two ragged grey cloaks from a trunk below deck. They smelled old and musty, and were patched up in multiple places.
“What for?” He asked, pulling the hood over his face as the two stepped from their sailboat to a small, creaky wooden port, hidden away at the opposite end of the island. A tall opening in the rocky wall stood at the end of a flat ledge smoothly transitioning to weathered stone from wooden planks, where a short, bored-looking man leaned against the uneven entrance. Skye could just make out the interior of the squat mountain, shacks and houses crowding against and atop each other in a mish-mash of paths and stairs, piling up along even the highest reaches of the stone walls – the island they saw was just a snowy shell, this must have been the true Whitesummit.
“Names and purpose,” the man grunted roughly, interrupting his train of thought. Iris stepped forwards, pulling the cloak around herself.
“Anonymous, and…” she paused, shooting a quick glance towards Skye. “Refugees.” The guard sighed, motioning for them to enter. The two were plunged into darkness as they passed through the narrow entrance, eyes slowly adjusting to its dim environment. Skye wasn’t quite sure what he was expecting, but it certainly wasn’t this; children ran through the maze of ramps and bridges, as a small group of chefs served out food from a communal kitchen to thankful residents. Two neighbors shared a laugh and some drinks as they held dirty clothes under one of the many natural springs dotting the walls, while shadowy faces peered out of the countless alleys and creches nestled in the confusing jumble of buildings and houses. Skye looked over curiously as they walked by an old pirate captain and retired navy major laughing side by side, amusing passersby with tales of daring coups and legendary battles. Everyone was welcome here, it seemed, no matter their history. The whole place was a huge cooking pot of cultures and backgrounds, hundreds of different flavours burbling together as a place of hope and community — he rather liked it there.
“I know a guy,” Iris muttered, pulling Skye away from a vendor selling obviously-stolen cargo. “They’ll do anything for the right price, but they specialize in trading information. I’ve bought info on safe houses and hidden places in the past, and I don’t doubt that they gave away my location to the order just as many times.”
“Doesn’t really seem like the most trustworthy person we could be going to…”
“Any dirt we can get on the order will be well worth the risk. Trust me,” she said, squeezing his wrist in reassurance as they walked through a narrow street, houses cramming together on either side. “Everything’s going to be fine.”
~
Agent Ferox confidently held the wheel of her ship, sailing towards Whitesummit at a steady pace. The rest of the crew tightly gripped the wooden railings lining the main deck, doing their best to not wonder why they were rapidly approaching the island without any sign of slowing down. Most had worked with the agent before, and knew better than to question her more…unorthodox methods. With an expertly timed twist of the wheel, she swung the ship in a large arc, lining it up perfectly straight with the port.
“Oi! Whaddya think yer doing?” The guard shouted indignantly, face reddening. “What are ya, drunk? Yer gonna cause an accident, if…” his voice faltered as Ferox planted her foot on a behemoth of a cannon, tilting her head to the side.
“If what? I wouldn’t want to cause an accident, after all.” The man’s eyes trembled slightly, taking in the monstrous weapon. It seemed to be designed to fire a single barrage of explosive cannonballs, almost as if it was specifically made to…this was a siege cannon, a weapon of war.
“Y…you wouldn’t,” he stuttered, reaching for his gun. With a maniacal, toothy grin, Agent Ferox lit a match, holding it behind the cannon as the sharp hiss of a burning fuse wavered through the air.
“Wanna bet?”