Chapter 749 — Returned to the Deep... but the Deep Does Not Want You
Blade of Dawn · Page 2 of 4
Only the priests who walked the way of storms knew how to find safe passage through that raging, seemingly seamless blockade.
A ship pitched and wove through the storm, dodging every current of magical turbulence and every lethal swell as though dancing through a forest of blades. Magical radiance flickered around its hull; enormous runes blazed along both sides and drove the vessel at astonishing speed. Like a bird skimming low over the water, it crossed the most perilous stretch of wind and wave and drew swiftly toward the largest island at the heart of the archipelago.
A striking great temple of blue stone, built like a pyramid, stood on the summit at the center of the island, commanding a view of the whole sea. Above it drifted vast runes that stood for storm and god, and its powerful transcendent force held the storm at bay, preserving the barest calm and safety across most of the archipelago so that the islanders could survive in that terrible sea.
The ship slowed along one side of the island, glided smoothly into an artificial harbor, and came to rest alongside the pier.
Many people were already waiting at the port. Some wore the plain garb of fishermen; others wore long or short robes of black and blue, marked with the runes of storm.
A long gangplank was run out from the ship's side, and several figures in storm robes appeared at the rail and walked down onto the pier.
Behind those in storm robes came warriors in enchanted leather or mail, their faces hidden behind oak masks, marching in silence. These soldiers of the Children of Storms carried several stretchers, and on those stretchers lay human forms bound fast with rune-chains and stout rope, wrapped in black cloth like mummies.
A stir ran through the crowd on the wharf.
An old man came forward from among them, dressed in a storm robe of dark gold, wearing the triple crown of storm and bearing the heavy scepter of the Sea King. As he passed, those around him drew back to either side, and voices murmured with respect: "The Pontiff comes..." "It is His Holiness Saul..."
Under countless watching eyes, Saul Storm, Pontiff of the Children of Storms, walked up the pier to the storm priests who had come down from the ship. His gaze swept over the soldiers with the stretchers behind them, over the bodies bound upon those stretchers.
The sea wind caught at the strips of cloth wrapping the bodies, and beneath that black fabric showed fine blue-green scales.
A storm priest who appeared to be the highest in rank stepped forward and bowed respectfully to the Pontiff with the Sea King's scepter: "Your Holiness."
Pontiff Saul Storm nodded slightly and said softly, "So Hurricane Isle has also returned to the deep..."
"Yes. Hurricane Isle, and the two lesser islands beside it—the brethren there have all returned to the deep. With that, all seven islands that lost contact are confirmed fallen," the storm priest said, his voice heavy and his face dark with shame. "I am deeply sorry, Your Holiness. I bring no good news."
"There is no need for guilt. Human strength has its limits," said Pontiff Saul with a shake of his head, his eyes falling on the stretchers. "So these are the brethren who were transformed..."
"Strictly speaking, brethren transformed halfway. Their minds are in chaos; for now they are held under powerful sedatives, but their bodies are still changing," the storm priest said. "When we first took them, they had only a very few scales. Now the scales cover more than six-tenths of their bodies, and... they have all grown webbing. The worst-changed one—his legs have become something between a sea serpent's tail and a fish's."
"And... still no cause found?"