Chapter One:
We laugh in glee as the midnight waves we ride crash upon the black sands of the approaching shoreline. The numerous scents of the land are calling to us, and the promises of sweet flesh and power hang thick in the misty air.
It is almost enough to make some of us abandon the boy, whom we have followed throughout the night. We are drawn to him.
During the day, we oft imagine, the sparkling waters must be charming to look upon, but we cannot abide the harsh light of reality on our own, and so we flee, fading back to the abysmally dull realm of mist and shadow from which we escaped; the spirit realm, they call it.
Now, however, as is the case every night, the once noble waters have filled with the essence of Night herself. We dance upon the waves; we can abide the mortal world at times like these, when the iron fist of reality weakens and mortal minds dream, unconsciously calling us forth.
The boy, consumed with the concerns of one who has just began to cross the threshold into adulthood, stares broodingly over the railing of the slaver ship that he is bound to; the only place he has ever known as home, and his thoughts are akin to the turbulent waters beneath him as he asks himself a single question, over and over.
He does not know that we are here; that we listen and watch his every move, drawn to the sweet nectar of power that stirs within him…
He is deaf to our cries… for now.
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“Why must we end their lives?”
The boy pounded his fist upon the worn railing of the ship, unable to come to grips with murder.
“What could anyone do to merit death?” he asked, as though the waves themselves would answer him.
His only reply was the soft hiss of sea-spray, and a splash of cool, salty water that made it over the railing, stinging his eyes. He could almost imagine that the sea was hissing his name, trying to speak to him.
“Jasper,” it seemed to say.
“They help people.” He whispered back fiercely, gripping the railing so hard that his knuckles shone white, despite the golden tan born of a lifetime on the sea.
The ship crested a wave with a creaking moan of protest, growing closer to land with every moment, and Jasper couldn’t help but think of what awaited him when they reached land.
Death, blood, and violence.
“And this time, I’m expected to be more than just an unwilling observer.”
He spat over the edge of the boat, wishing that it were him and not the phlegm that was sinking beneath the waters, never to be seen again. That, he felt certain, was where he truly belonged.
If ever he had a reason for killing one of the Temple’s sorcerer-priests, it would be because members of their order could find a home beneath the waves, not because someone had ordered him to. Even then, jealousy wasn’t nearly enough to bring him to killing.
He pressed his forehead into the damp railing, feeling sick with dread at the thought of what lay before him, as well as what he had almost been forced into doing in the past. Already, he imagined, he could see their blood on his hands, as he betrayed their charity and murdered them.
“Damn you, Sebastian.” He cursed.
As though speaking the name aloud had conjured him, phantom hands roamed painfully across Jasper’s body, and he shuddered, gingerly reaching under his shirt and pants to feel the fresh bruises that marred his long, lean body.
The waves hissed again, and Jasper laughed bitterly.
Much as he might talk to the element that he loved most, he knew that there would be no answer from it. He spat into the waves once more and then turned, heading back into the bowels of the ship, back to where he was sure his cot still swung, out of rhythm with the motion of the rocking of boat.
He had just made it back to his private cabin when it happened.
Something blasted into him, through him, knocking him to the ground and impaling him with what felt like knives of fire. He tried to stand, to scream, to do anything, but he was paralyzed.
Please, he begged silently, praying to the sea-spirits that all sailors worshipped. Make it stop.
As suddenly as it had come over him, the agony vanished. In it’s place was a bone weary exhaustion, though only the memory of the pain remained.
“Thank you…” he whispered, just in case his prayer had been heard. A moment later he was gone, swallowed by the void.
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