Journal Entry 188
13th of Last Remembrance, 1798 S.C.
Araxor
As journeys go, our return across the Great Western Ocean was remarkable only for its interminable annoyances and delays. We were twice becalmed for days, endured a grippe which made its way through most of the crew, and discovered that half our potable water was infested with almost invisible sea worms. Although not uncommon in the tropics, these parasites are rarely encountered elsewhere and are almost unknown in Far Amitryea. Captain Firinne suspects that the Caottalurans who had made so much trouble in Crimatha might have had a hand in contaminating the water we took on in Treve. It would also have been well within their capabilities to have insinuated some grippe-bearing rations into the ones acquired for the crossing. In consequence, the company of the Swiftsure was especially glad when the shore of Corrovane hove into view over the eastern horizon.
I probably found the monotony of the voyage comparatively easy to endure because I had no shortage of work to occupy me. On the one hand, I had my various notes on Heela to compile and assess. On the other, rereading the tomes on dragons and direkynde that Aji Kayo gifted me might now mean the difference between life and death.
I initially expected to finish and seal away my observations from our time with Heela a few days after sailing out of the Earthrift Channel and back into the Great Western Ocean. But the findings were so extraordinary that I examined and double-checked them multiple times, assuming that they were artifacts of my own error. But after doing so, and even when assuming that every estimate and measure was either fifty percent too great or too small, it made no difference to the final outcome.
As Ahearn had joked, I presumed that Heela cannot possibly exist. Or, more precisely, not without the aid of wholly unprecedented anatomical structures or, as Padrajisse had insisted, the constant intervention of miracles or mancery.
Even allowing for the crudity of the measurements I devised and the instruments I assembled, there is no way to explain how enough blood circulates through her body to maintain her observed levels of activity. Furthermore, she has none of the compensating anatomical adaptations present in all other supragants. Therefore, something other than nature must be at work. Which was a significant enough discovery for my purposes. But as I was completing my research, I stumbled across an unlooked-for revelation that not merely supports my conclusions but is an unprecedented exception to all known natural science. And I found it in the strangest place of all:
Heela’s fat.
From the outset, I knew it might have properties quite different from those of other creatures. I was guided in this by natural philosophers who have measured how identical masses of fat from different species release more or less heat and also burn at different rates. And although I had not foreseen having any reason (let alone opportunity) to examine the fat of a giant, happily, I was not without the resources to do so: Elweyr kindly loaned me the necessary implements from his traveling alchemy chest.
I had expected that giant fat might be among the most energy-dense out of all species. And it did indeed burn quickly, cleanly, and quite hot. Upon finishing those measurements, I put the glass lid back on the crucible to extinguish the flame. Several minutes elapsed before I noticed that the cover was now opaque. On closer inspection, I saw my mistake: the alembic was filled with dense vapor. Thinking that the fat had smoldered for a while because I had failed to seal the alembic completely, I lifted the lid to release the smoke and reseal the container.
The fat burst into flame: instantly, vigorously. Curious, I replaced the lid, ensuring a tight seal. The flames died down, but, on closer examination they were still not fully extinguished.
I will skip over the many dull methods I employed to confirm what I had discovered by pure chance: that giant fat either releases its own supply of air as it burns, or something else maintains its combustion. I have no theories about how this could be nor how such a unique adaptation to hibernation came about. And I have no way of knowing if or how this phenomenon might enable some of the other inexplicable functions of a giant’s body. But I do know this: if the only way to explain one violation of natural law is by attributing it to yet another violation of natural law, it deepens the conundrum of how such a creature can exist at all.
After concluding my work on giants, I turned to a much closer rereading of the books given to me by Aji. I also began to wonder if he is some kind of seer; among the dozens of tomes I know to exist on the species collectively referred to as direkynde, he chose the ones that make especially detailed studies of what is known of dragons.
Like other direkynde, they are rare, breed seldom, and when they do, produce single or very few offspring. However, whereas most are relatively wary of sapient species, dragons are less so, given their ability to quickly fly over great distances. This allows them to attack from, and then retreat to, lairs nestled high in mountain crags that are all but inaccessible to the foolish few who pursue them. It is no doubt why the old adage warns against hunting them (and other direkynde), by reminding would-be heroes that, “monsters are meant to be killed by other monsters.”
I read what I just wrote and must admit that, of all our fellowship, S’ythreni is certainly the most sane. It is she who persistently reminds the rest of us that seeking one of these legendary embodiments of total ruin is a madman’s quest. And I cannot dispute her assessment.
However, I have also realized that one of the few places where I might hope to find the reasons and mechanisms which underly the inconstancies of this world is in the presence of a dragon. Or more specifically, in their memories. They are the last species whose lives may reach back to ancient times and perhaps the very origins of our world, and so, may know with authority what modern tales and tomes may only recount as shadowy myth and legend.
I finally put aside Aji Kayo’s books the day Corrovane rose over the eastern horizon. As we made for the city from which we had departed Ar Navir—Arathor—I asked to meet the fellowship over dinner. This was not difficult to arrange. Even Padrajisse, who is hardly a congenial person, has come to accept us just as we accept her. Ours is an unusual group, one that defies and transcends commonplace presumptions as to the peoples and species that can forge bonds which transcend (or ignore) their differences. So it was with considerable regret, and no small amount of personal trepidation, that as we sat down to our dinner, I broached the topic that was sure to be a surprise, albeit a relief, to them all.
“I consider, and call, all of you friends,” I began. “And so, to be faithful to that most precious of—”
“Oh, by all the Bent that have ever been bent,” Ahearn groaned, “here it comes.”
I refused to let the solemnity of the moment be lost. “I cannot, in good conscience—”
“No,” interrupted Elweyr, clearly bored, “we’re not going to leave.”
“But I—!”
“You,” intoned Padrajisse, “are a person of high principles and high intelligence, but apparently very little common sense. It would be suicide for you to seek a dragon on your own.”
“Well, assuming you are right, then I don’t intend to commit homicide by dragging all of you along with me!”
“‘Dragging’ us?” S’ythreni scoffed. “As if you could. Listen, Dunarran, we can cut and run at any moment…but what if we do find a dragon? And what if it’s old and decrepit? Or asleep? Or both? It could be the treasure of a lifetime. And like giants, I live a very long time.”
Padrajisse did a poor job of hiding one of her rare, vinegary smiles.
S’ythreni shot a sideways look at her. “Does that amuse you?”
“Actually,” mumbled Padrajisse through what threatened to turn into a sputter of laughter, “I am amused at you.”
“Really? I’m so glad that I can be witty even when I’m not trying to be.”
Umkhira leaned forward. “Be unconcerned, aeosti; we do not expect you to profess fondness nor friendship toward Druadaen. Or any of us, for that matter. But it is often entertaining to see the lengths you will go to deny those feelings.”
S’ythreni is not often speechless, but she was at that moment and for most of the dinner that followed. After I was assured, scolded, and parodied by the very persons I meant to keep from sharing my fate, they freely admitted that they had a running bet on when I would finally make my “you must leave me!” speech, as they called it. Ahearn had won, explaining to me that, “I knew you wouldn’t be able to bring yourself to do it until the last possible moment.”
“Well,” I replied, “I am surprised, but gratified, that it was you who anticipated I would be so reluctant to compel us to part ways.”
He glanced away. “Well, now…I didn’t say that, exactly.”
I think I frowned. “Then who—?”
“I thought it likely you would not do so at all,” Umkhira said quickly.
I wasn’t sure how to take that. “Did you think I lacked the courage to go alone?”
She shook her head very sharply. “No.”
“Then what—?”
“Among my people,” she interrupted, “it would be an affront to do what you have done.”
Ahearn leaned back with a smile and a shake of his head. “Hard to know who’s crazier: a Lightstrider or a Dunarran. What do you think, Elweyr?”
“I think I want to finish my fish in peace.”
Umkhira had become more accustomed to the jibes and jests of humans, but this time, she was on the verge of becoming her original, more prickly, self. “There is nothing ‘crazy’ in assuming that a true friend shall not send you away just as great danger looms ahead. Why would they do so unless they secretly believe your honor, your loyalty, or your courage are wanting? Because what is the value of such bonds if they do not hold firm in the face of such threat?”
I smiled. “I assure you, Umkhira, I meant no insult.”
She smiled back. “I know this. I also know you prize this fellowship. As do I. As do we all. And it is the way of your people: you wish to ensure that your own choices do not risk the lives of your friends. You mean it as a kindness—and among you, perhaps it is, since most humans provide for themselves and their families by growing, making, or selling things. We do not. And so we are different.”
“Different in what way?” asked Padrajisse, puzzled.
“We are more like your armies,” she answered. “We live by the hunt, by foraging in wilderness, and by raiding. If we are to survive, we must stand together like your soldiers in war. If we do not, we die.”
“Well,” S’ythreni said, “I never thought I would see the day when a Corrovani sacrist was less earnest than both a Dunarran and a Lightstrider.” She shook her head. “That’s the real reason I travel with all of you: the chance to watch the laws of the universe being broken right before my eyes. Over dinner.” She grinned at me. “You should try it; it’s a great deal less taxing than global quests.”
I assured her I would take it under advisement. However, that did not deter me from meeting with Captain Firinne the next day to review the route to our final destination.
The captain had generously offered to deliver us to what she believed was the closest, swiftest, and most inconspicuous approach to the mountains where the dragons of Kar Krathaun legend reputedly had their lairs. Although she normally retraced the same course to and from Dunarra, her role as the captain of a Courier vessel gave her considerable latitude if a different route promised access to infrequently visited sites. It was dubious to assert that the new itinerary rose to that standard, but the small smile she wore as she listed its modest benefits suggested her true motivation: she knew that we were penniless and had no reasonable prospects for a second working passage in that direction.
She extended an additional kindness to Ahearn when he approached her with the face and posture of a brokenhearted schoolboy and asked—as if each word was being torn from his heart—if she would consent to take Raun back to Menara. Or, more specifically, to the cottagers who lived just east of that free port. She agreed, observing that it was good fortune indeed that time with the velene had apparently cured him of his seasickness. Those of us who were more familiar with powers of the deep silver object/entity/both/neither were less sure it had wrought such a permanent change, but we were not about to disabuse her of that happy belief.
The captain’s new plot had the Swiftsure navigating north to the Channel of Glass by way of the Tashqend Strait. Together, they separate the mainland from the peninsula that is dominated by Corrovane, Old Kar Krathau, and the mad clutter of independent cities, towns, and duchies that lay between them.
But no sooner had we finished planning for that journey than news-criers appeared on Arathor’s wharves, warning captains that any who meant to travel to the Channel of Glass now did so at considerable peril; frictions were on the rise between Kar Krathau and the Channel Cities, Rhuutun and Asak-Cor.
So instead, we shall round the long sweep of Corrovane’s southern coast, enter the sheltered sea known as Pelfarras Bay, and go straight across to the realm of Vallishar. Happily, not only does this new course still support Captain Firinne’s rationales for her generous detour but adds an even stronger justification: an opportunity to refurbish the copper plates which line the Swiftsure’s hull from waterline to keel. Vallishar’s walled capital and first port, Marshakerra, is the collection point of most of the nation’s plentiful copper and is also home to masters in various related crafts, nautical and otherwise. Few captains that enter her bay fail to avail themselves of the city’s expert plating services. If they can afford them. But as the saying goes, when there’s enough copper on hand to line a hull, most captains will use it to retire and most owners will hoard it in a counting room.
From Marshakerra, we shall travel fifty leagues up the Serpent River to the point at which it crosses the Kar Krathaun border. We have no detailed knowledge of the lands beyond that point, other than that they are sparsely settled and that the current grows more swift and cold the further one follows it to the north. When we reach the highlands where its headwaters join, we will have reached the skirts of the eastern mountains of the Thelkrag Kar.
And only as I wrote that do I finally think to wonder: Did the Serpent River get its name from the snakes which abound along its shores, or the dragons that legends place among the peaks brooding just beyond its source?