Nightmares aboard “The Northerly Wind”

Matt Hale & Paul Yeoh

From the young adult’s novel based on
The Mysteries of Arklan

Disheveled and forlorn, Teal stood alone on the starboard deck of The Northerly Wind. In the cold, clammy mist, his usually buoyant curls were plastered limply to his head like inky blue-black sheets of wet nori. It was late morning—almost noon—but the dim glow of the daystar through the wispy fog made it seem much earlier than it really was. Save for the mewing of a solitary gull, the whoosh of water and intermittent shattering of ice cleaved by the ship’s bow were the only sounds punctuating the steady howling of the wind and the ever-present low hum of the ship’s magical defenses against icebergs. Whipped into whitecaps by the sharp-edged north winds of Norggheim, the water gleamed dully, assuming countless shades of dark blue-green in the fitful sunlight. Towards the west, the sky was blotted with dark violet streaks, offset by a brightness at its lower regions that bespoke the presence of ice further inland. By contrast, its pallid aspect over the Sea of Arklan was more uniform, a blend of silvery-gray tones resembling the effect of water-color painting.  

There was a stark, primal beauty to the scene, but Teal’s dark blue gaze seemed directed wholly elsewhere. Clad only in the sealskin pants that he had worn to sleep, he seemed oblivious to the piercing cold despite the visible wreathes of freezing vapor created by his breathing. Glancing down at his wrist, he saw that the chafing from the ropes had almost completely faded. But the events of the previous night were permanently branded on his mind’s eye. He shuddered violently.

The evening had begun on a note of bliss seldom enjoyed by adventurers traveling in wilder regions of the realm. The new, physical aspect of their relationship was an unmapped Mount Celestia for Teal and Caedmon, and they eagerly availed themselves of the rare privacy afforded by their cabin to explore its delights. The last thing Teal remembered after their hungry lovemaking was nuzzling the crook of Caedmon’s neck, drifting to sleep amidst the beloved scent of juniper and home.  

Then he found himself adrift, alone, and surrounded by water on all sides. The familiar sight of dry land to the west was gone and intermittent flashes of lightning revealed the turbulent state of a roiling, black sea. Under a dark and moonless sky, the waters churned with increasing intensity until they reached a crescendo: something broke the seething surface with incredible force, sending towering waves out in every direction. A tension in the air hinted at a furious presence much larger than his own, paralyzing Teal with maddening fear. His senses all but overwhelmed, he could do little but watch in mute horror as an impossibly large tentacle emerged from the depths.

The next thing he knew he was back inside—not holding Caedmon but bending over Val, the blade of Dagon’s Reach not even an inch from her throat! Wriggling and writhing in a helical motion, the tentacles around the blade danced expectantly to a rhythm akin to the crashing black waters of Teal’s earlier vision. With the reflexive gestures and quietly uttered words of a quickly-conceived spell, he vanished in a shimmering mist and returned to his own cabin. He found the door of the cabin unlocked, and roused his beloved. Though his eyelids were heavy with sleep, Caedmon had patiently shaken himself awake, and—after some earnest pleading—bound Teal up, ever so tenderly, for the rest of the night. Somehow, they had managed to fall asleep again, but the image of the dark, ravenous waters haunted Teal’s fevered dreams. When he awoke, the pale wintry light of a Raven Queen morning was shining through the little window and his bonds had been untied. Caedmon had evidently risen earlier and left the cabin.

Reeling from his recollection of the night’s horrors, Teal had wandered listlessly onto the deck. And now he stood staring out into the icy sea, his eyes half-blinded by hot tears that grew cold and froze as they slid down his cheeks. Was this an omen? A threat? A prophecy of betrayal? Or worse … a revelation of his true nature? Was he evil? Inwardly he lamented the cruel irony of his predicament. After countless trials, finally to be reunited with the beloved friend who meant the world—nay, more!—to him; wanting nothing more than to guard Caedmon against the wrath of the undead fiend whom their party had aggrieved—only to become a more immediate, insidious threat to their very lives! What would become of him now? How could his friends—how could Caedmon—ever rest easily while he was under the influence of that infernal staff? From the faraway depths of memory, Teal heard echoes, faint at first then becoming more insistent, of his childhood tormentors’ taunting cries: “Monster! Monster!”    

A convulsive sob shook his entire frame. What was he to do? When would the staff claim his body again for its murderous ends? He had been lucky to return to his senses last night—but not a moment too soon. But next time? A horrific vision of the staff’s hungry blade descending on his lover’s bare neck flashed through Teal’s mind. He trembled feverishly, as if feeling the bitter cold for the first time. Better to die than to harm even a hair of Caedmon’s!

As he looked out at the Sea of Arklan, Teal struck on a desperate plan. If Dagon’s Reach was indeed turning him into a bloodthirsty monster, his only hope was to drive that monster as far as possible from those he loved while his will was still his own. There was no alternative: he must plunge the staff into the deepest depths—far away from anyone it could injure—even if it meant losing himself in the endless seas. He glanced at the white-capped waves and tried not to shiver as he imagined their icy caress on his skin.

It was Caedmon who brought him back from the edge of the precipice: it was always Caedmon. The taunting cries of “Monster” resonating in his mind quickly faded as Caedmon put his arms beneath Teal’s, wrapping him in a warm embrace. After a moment, Caedmon withdrew and grabbed Teal’s hand. “Come on, let’s get some tea. I just brewed a pot of Khrifian gold leaf I picked up on the way out of Sri’ss,” he said, as he led Teal midshipwards, down below through two winding flights of iron-wrought stairs, and then aft, finally reaching the mess hall at the end of a 20-foot hallway. Still grasping his hand, Caedmon steered Teal to a small table surrounded by pots, pans, and cutlery that jostled with the periodic movement of the ship despite the banding that affixed it to the walls. The smell of warm floral notes and dried fruits greeted Teal’s nose as Caedmon pushed a roughly hammered copper mug his way. With his characteristic sideways grin, Caedmon said “Drink, it will warm you up.” Pausing to wipe off the icy tears from Teal’s face with his lavender-scented handkerchief, he continued, “Don’t be too hard on yourself. Everyone, Val included, knows that wasn’t really you. I can only imagine what you are feeling, but we will figure this out.”

For several long moments, they sat in silence. Gripped by intense waves of relief and gratitude, Teal could barely speak as he sipped the smooth, fragrant tea. He closed his eyes and inhaled the aromatic steam that rose, incense-like, from the mug, allowing himself to forget his woes and to bask in the presence of his beloved. When he felt able to speak again, however, his voice was troubled.

Using a nickname that he had rarely used since childhood, Teal said, “Caed, I know you always believe the best of me, and I love you for it, but it was me who almost killed Val last night. Yes, I was under the power of that awful staff but it controls me only because I’ve willingly used it. It’s true that I inherited the staff from Agenar, but no-one forced me to wield it—I chose to learn its magic because I believed it would help keep me and my friends safe. And to be fair, with a few exceptions, it has served us well in combat. I formed a bond with Dagon’s Reach in order to exploit its power—how could I not expect to pay a price? You’ve always wanted to protect me from bad things but you can’t protect me from this. I have to take responsibility for the consequences of my own actions, but I’m afraid! I don’t want to die, Caed, I don’t want to leave you, especially not now! But if the staff continues to use me for its bloody ends, you—or one of my friends—might have to kill me. To prevent me from killing or severely injuring innocent people. What if … there’s no other way?” His voice was so choked with emotion that he could barely finish the question.

Seeing Caedmon’s pained expression, Teal swallowed hard and continued in more measured tones. “I’m sorry to speak so harshly, my dearest friend. You’ve lived more, experienced so much more of the realm than me, but in recent months I’ve seen so much deadly violence that I can’t help but wonder when my turn will come. Remember Travis, that quirky wood-man who used to run the school in the Glade? The undead creature who’s pursuing us—she disintegrated him, turned him to ashes before our eyes! And the number of lives we have extinguished in order to preserve our own! “Kill or be killed” seems to be our motto. And truly, I would rather die than to wake up with your blood on my hands. That would be too much for me to bear.”

Caedmon sipped his tea and looked down at his cup to collect his thoughts. After a moment, he looked back at Teal. “We all make mistakes. Power is alluring and seizing it to use it for good almost always feels like the right choice at the time. Sometimes you or others pay the price later, when you read the fine print. You couldn’t have known what the staff wanted. You couldn’t possibly have known that it was sentient, let alone what it might do to you … how it might try to transform you, if that is even what it is doing.” He paused, to see if his line of reasoning was landing the way he intended it. “You’re right though. You do need to take responsibility. But I refuse to accept that the only option is for you to die. There will be a way. There is always a way. Maybe you can master it. Maybe you can destroy it. We will figure this out.”

Pouring more tea for both of them, Caedmon continued. “I know you think that I am some sort of hero. Some sort of saint. But my hands aren’t clean. I don’t like to talk about it much, but I’ve had to kill. The first time was when I was with Mithralica … you might remember Milo, Benny, Elaith, and Alryn. I know you know Milo from Talpin. Anyway, we were traveling back to Emorhin from a little village called Swordbreak off the southern coast of the Dagger Sea about a half-day’s travel west of Jorkh. It was a beautiful day. Clear skies, the sweet smell of honey in the air from the uncountable Corellon’s breath blooming in the Dagger fields. Benny was up on the wagon. Milo, Elaith, and I had our feet out the back just admiring the day. Alryn was sleeping. 

Next thing I know, I hear Benny scream out in pain. Then three arrows buzz through the air and I felt Milo’s hot blood splatter on my arm. I checked him, he was alive but unconscious. The rest happened so fast, but I remember grabbing my shortsword and hopping down. There were three figures nocking more arrows about sixty feet off the road—in the yellow flowers. Elaith was faster than me and was already moving to close the gap. I don’t know if I ever told you, but she was a bladesinger from Deneria before she joined us. I ran after her. An arrow flew past my head, but I just ran at them. A few seconds later and their blood was all over me. Elaith had hacked an arm off of one and decapitated another. I found my shortsword buried in the third’s stomach.”

With a tear welling up in his eye, Caedmon continued. “Teal, I watched his eyes roll back in his head. I watched the blood pour from his mouth. It was horrible. His face haunted me for years. The once pristine field of yellow flowers was crushed by conflict and covered in blood … sort of like how my soul felt. 

It took Elaith’s quick field dressing, haste, the expertise of some of the clerics of Bahamut, and a few days’ rest, but thankfully everyone in the band made it out ok. But the look of that boy’s face —he couldn’t have been more than 15 or 16, your age at the time—I can still see it. I don’t know why he turned to banditry. Why he was prepared to murder us. It was just him or my friends. Him or me. We do what we have to.

Since then, I’ve killed others. It gets easier, less hesitation, but of course it is always horrible. I never seek it out, but sometimes you have no other choice. I never forget their faces. I even try to tell their stories in my music. Stories of poverty. Lack of opportunity. The gods only know their true stories, but I try to imagine their voices, lament their life choices, and give them justice—even if they wanted to kill me.”

Pausing, watching to see if Teal looked at him differently, he finished. “Teal—you are a good person. The best I’ve ever known. We all sometimes have to fight. Fight to survive. You don’t take any pleasure in killing. That staff—I don’t care what terrible god it belongs to—it can’t change that. It can’t change who you are. You won’t let it. I won’t let it.” 

Listening with rapt attention, Teal felt a shiver run down his spine—this time not from horror or cold but in response to his friend’s impassioned words. It was as if the fibers of his very being were resonating in sympathy with Caedmon’s. Blue-black eyes glistening, Teal winced at the visible pain this memory still inflicted on his beloved. His heart overflowed with compassion, wonder, and love—a mixture of feelings more complex yet no less intense than his early infatuation with his childhood hero. He knew that the self-assured man who sat before him did not uncover old wounds lightly, and this gave added force to Caedmon’s words.

“O Caed,” he exclaimed in low tones. Without saying anything else, he reached across the table, gently unclasped Caedmon’s fingers from the copper mug, and firmly held his hands in his own. He was suddenly struck by how finely shaped Caedmon’s lean brown fingers were—how delicate they looked compared to his own sturdy, slightly-webbed digits! Leaning forward, he kissed them tenderly.

After a few quiet moments had passed, Teal broke the silence. Looking Caedmon earnestly in the eyes, he spoke in muted tones but sounded more self-possessed than he had been the entire morning. “That must have been the Pelor and Mielikki when you barely wrote. I remember winning a prize for an essay I composed about you that year—I sent it to you and was sorely disappointed when you never mentioned it again.” Teal laughed sadly. “Just imagine—the emotional trauma you were living through, and I could only obsess over why you hadn’t read my schoolboy scribblings. How selfish I was then. How selfish I am now, to despair when others—when you—care so deeply about me.”

“But I understand what you’re saying—it brings to mind some of the things I learned from the Water Ashari when I studied with them at the Floating Village. The archdruid there—I didn’t really understand much of what he was trying to teach us novices then, but we had to memorize his teachings and many of his utterances are actually beginning to make a lot more sense to me now. ‘Don’t imagine yourselves innocent,’ he used to say, ‘You’re merely ignorant. Everything that lives is holy—to exist is to encroach on other beings. You cannot drink a drop of water without consuming entire worlds!’ So don’t imagine for a second that I could think less of you for having killed out of necessity. I’m sure I’ve done the same on countless occasions since we started adventuring. Because I’ve relied mostly on magic to defend myself, I’ve probably been more insulated from the horrors of killing than you were. Knowing that you empathize with and try to honor the lives you’re forced to take only makes me love you even more passionately.” With a shy grin he added, “If that were even possible.”

“But enough of me. As you say, we will figure things out. Together. My friends can help—perhaps Ari will concoct a spell to free me from the staff, or Erione could banish it altogether. Anyway, listening to your story made me think of how you always put up a brave front—always have to appear strong—in order to be a balancing, supportive influence on me. But what about yourself? Our lives have changed so much in such a short time. Here we are on the run from an ancient undead mage, journeying into the frozen unknown of Norggheim—it must be so drastically different from your well-established touring schedule, from regular performances all over in Sri’ss, Dranseri, and Jorkh! Yet you’ve never complained—in fact, you seem amazingly cheerful, chatting everyone up, entertaining them with improvised ditties! Wrapped up in my own anxieties, I’ve never really asked you how you are dealing with our situation.” Teal paused, then continued imploringly, “I hope you’ll trust me with anything that currently weighs on your heart, my dearest friend. Your fears, your hopes, your dreams—I want to share them all.”

His composure and charisma back, Caedmon smirked. “Let’s be clear, you all are running from a lich. She doesn’t know about me,” he chuckled. As he finished his tea, his smile faded. “But seriously I’m fine and of course I trust you. I miss the troupe, mainly Elaith. She’s the only one I really felt close to in my last group, Dragon Turtles all the way down. She is capable though and will keep herself safe. To be honest, I am kind of excited to go exploring. It will be a nice change of pace. Most of my adventuring has been little side treks outside of cities we had gigs in. Little jobs posted on boards that paid a few coins. Nothing like this. The mystery of it all is pretty exciting.” 

Squeezing Teal’s hand assuringly, Caedmon motioned upwards with a slight bob of his chin. “We should go check in on the others.”