Dalia glanced up at him as he descended the stairs before returning to arranging the tankards on a shelf, her movements efficient and practiced. He tried not to watch her as he joined his parents at their table.
“So you have a ship, you have your supplies, and you have your goal,” Mother said, taking a sip from her tankard. “Looks like you’re just about all set.”
Dalia set a plate of glazed beef and vegetables down in front of Elec as the conversation started. She gave him a smile and a wink as she handed him a tankard before moving off to see the other customers.
“Pelavora may not have what you are seeking,” Father continued, glancing between the girl and him, “but the major cities nearby, like Eldmar or Ceryndor, might. Take you a few weeks, find out what you can, see some of the world, and then come back to tell us about it. If your steps cause only a few ripples…very, very few ripples, then maybe we will join you on the mainland as well. Regardless, when you reach a new city, write to us about it. We will need to know that you are alive and well every so often.”
The three of them finished up their meals, and Father gave a toast and a prayer to Ilen, the Great Creator, with the last of the ale in their tankards. They rose, and Elec hugged his parents one last time. His tearful mother kissed his forehead, rubbing the back of his ears to the point his eyes moistened as well. Father gripped his shoulders while staring hard at Elec’s features. He felt as if the older Elf was seeing him for the first time. He walked them through the door of the inn, where the wagon waited out front with the lumber and supplies. The mare stamped her hoof impatiently, ready to get home to her enclosure. They mounted up, Mother burying her head in Father’s chest. His father gave him one last nod before flicking the reins, her soft sobs reaching Elec’s sharp ears as they rode down the lane.
Elec resolved to meander the streets in the early afternoon, rather than remain at the inn. The port and town proper were no strangers to Elec, though the folk were not all well known to him. It surprised him how well-known his parents were, despite the infrequency of their trips into town. However, Lily also cared for him while they were away during extended periods of his youth. Later, when he was old enough to manage on the ranch, she dropped in to check on him, but otherwise left him to his own devices. Another little piece of his parents’ mystery is falling into place.
Along his musings and wanderings, he met various family and childhood friends. A sailor he remembered visiting with his parents. A woodcutter with whom he grew up. Quite a few young ladies he had stolen moments with, and quite a few kisses with. Each one he visited: some were old friends, some were former rivals. All shared stories and memories. Everyone was glad he was leaving, in their own way. To him, the entire afternoon felt unreal. The sun shone brighter. The breeze felt cooler, contrasting with the heat of the day. Gulls called. Waves crashed. His feet felt as though they were floating as he made his way across town.
Elec inhaled, aiming to clear his mind. Unlike his parents, who had fought in wars multiple times before his birth, he was not heading off to such danger. He sought only information regarding ghostly pirates and ancient treasures. Even with such a mundane task, he could not tell what else he would encounter. Maybe a young lady or two, Elec thought to himself with a laugh, remembering his father’s words. He had to admit, being off the island presented at least one adventurous possibility he could not explore before. For too long he had skirted the edge of relationships, both emotional and physical, only to have to cut them off before blossoming. Now, once he left the island, he was no longer burdened by such restrictions. As the day wound down, he made his way back to the Westwind Inn.
“Ye got the look of someone who’s ready to see more of the world,” Dalia said as he entered the main room.
“I have to admit it is killing me having to wait two days for the ship to be ready to sail.”
Elec leaned against the counter and explained the plan for his first adventure to the mainland and back. Despite the sailor and his father’s instructions, he couldn’t help describing finding the shipwreck and the survivor asking him to report it to the charter company on the mainland. Though he was trying to impress her, he still preserved the secrecy surrounding the artifacts and the Silent Ones. Dalia leaned forward, resting her elbows on the counter as a smile spread across her face, her shoulder almost touching his.
“Well now, that’s quite the story already, and ye haven’t even left yet! A shipwreck and a survivor… sounds like the kind of tale that makes for an excellent start to an adventurer’s life.”
“That is a beautiful way of putting it.”
She tilted her head, considering his words as she leaned even closer. Elec felt a warmth spreading in his chest as she continued.
“Well, ye will see a lot more on the mainland than ye ever seen here in Hintersonville. My mom and brothers tell me as much when they come into port. Keep your wits about ye, Elec. The mainland’s got its share of charm, but it also got plenty of trouble if you’re not careful.”
“Thanks for the heads-up. I really appreciate yer concern. Just wish I could find some way to return the kindness.”
Her expression softened.
“That survivor’s lucky ye found him, by the way. Not everyone would’ve gone out of their way to help. It says a lot about ye. And taking on the task of reporting the wreck? Yer stepping up already.”
Dalia tapped the counter with her fingers, her smirk turning mischievous now.
“If I were ye, I’d keep an eye out for opportunities. Ye never know when ye’ll stumble across a chance to learn something new or someone worth meeting. And if ye hear any juicy tales while you’re out there, you’d best bring them back here. I like my gossip fresh, not island-stale.”
Elec bumped her shoulder with his before moving to find an empty seat at a table near the fire. The warm glow of the hearth and the chatter of patrons greeted him as he settled in. He waved to Daryl, signaling for a plate of whatever the kitchen had ready. While waiting for his meal, he let his gaze wander, observing the other patrons.
Daryl returned with a plate of steaming, buttery fish over a bed of rice with a thick slice of bread. Elec thanked him warmly and began eating, savoring the simple but satisfying fare. Daryl, however, regarded him with a slight, growing apprehension, which Elec tried to ignore. Feeling a little too excited and indecisive, Elec continued to eat his meal in quiet contemplation. The last two days had been anything but ordinary: the storm, discovering the shipwreck, rescuing the sailor, uncovering strange artifacts, his parents’ troubling hidden life, flirting with an innkeeper’s daughter, and now preparing to set out on his first real adventure to the Valais mainland. It was almost too much to process at once.
He tore off a piece of bread and dipped it into the thick butter sauce, appreciating the comforting warmth of the meal while letting his thoughts drift. The pendant tucked securely beneath his shirt seemed to hum with a faint, imagined weight, a constant reminder of the mysteries still to be unraveled. He started, touching it gently, and trying not to draw too much attention to the action. I could’ve sworn I locked this up with the rest of the relics, he thought.
The buzz of the common room receded as Elec contemplated his parents’ reaction to his discoveries and the plan to protect the secret of the relics. Their trust and support gave him confidence, though he couldn’t help but feel a pang of guilt. He had spoken to them both a little too harshly. It weighed on him, leaving with a substantial workload for the barn and land restoration as well. Much like his father said, he wished he could’ve handled it better.
Still, this was the start of something new. A chance to step out from under the shadow of his parents’ hidden past and forge his own path. As the fire crackled and the voices of patrons mingled in the air, Elec allowed himself a small, satisfied smile. For now, he would enjoy the moment, finish his meal, and get a good night’s rest. The day after tomorrow, the journey will begin in earnest. As Elec sipped the last of his drink and pushed his empty plate aside, he let his gaze wander across the common room, studying the inn’s patrons.
Near the fireplace, a group of older men laughed over mugs of ale, their faces weathered from years of labor. Their hearty camaraderie suggested they were regulars, likely farmers or fishermen sharing stories of the day’s toil.
Closer to the bar, a boisterous group of travelers huddled together. Their brightly colored clothing and variety of accents hinted they were merchants or entertainers, perhaps waiting for the next ship to take them across the waters. Their conversation shifted between snippets of trade routes and playful jests.
A young couple sat at a table by the window, leaning in close and whispering. They seemed oblivious to the surrounding room, lost in their own world. They held each other’s hands over glasses of wine, murmuring.
Dalia danced between the tables, a warm smile gracing her face as she delivered drinks and plates. Despite her affable demeanor, there was a sharpness in her eyes. She missed nothing. Elec pulled his eyes away from the curve of her waist just before they went lower, making sure he didn’t stare too hard.
The ambiance of the room settled into him as he observed each person, a small piece of the town’s vibrant life. For a moment, Elec felt the pull of curiosity about their stories. What brought them all here to this remote little island? What paths did they walk?
“Said he seen them lights.” One of the older men said, sloshing his mug as he gestured. “And and and…WWwwwwoooo…shadowy figures…”
Elec canted his ear toward the older men as they rattled on.
“That Old Merin,” The man next to him said, “Ranting on again about those ghosts in the bay…say, where is that half-drowned goat at, anyway?”
“Probably had his evening medicine already and turned in early.” Said a third, talking into his mug. “Ghost lights and shadow ships, whoo-boy!”
Elec listened, but the conversation shifted to fishing and boats. Dalia tried to see if the men wanted their drinks refreshed, but they didn’t pay her any mind. Elec motioned to her with his mug. Smiling, she brought her pitcher over and tipped it into his cup.
“Who is this Old Merin those folks’re talking about?”
“Crotchety old fisherman…I swear if he ever stopped drinking, he’d probably keel over.”
“Do ye know where I could find him?”
“Well, when he’s not with this lot, he’s likely passed out in his shanty. If you’re going to go looking for him, best to wait to find him on the docks. He’s usually a little…drier when he’s out there in the morning.”
“Drier, eh?”
“Why do ye want to pester that old fart for?”
“Well, those folk were talking about ships and strange lights. And we had that shipwreck near our home…I’ve a day and a night before I sail out. Might be something to go nosing around.”
Dalia’s smile drew tight as she shook her head.
“I don’t know about all that. I know ye and yer kin have lived here yer whole lives, but there have been stranger things going on, even before that typhoon and the wreck. Ye do have a ship to board, and I‘d hate ye to miss it because of a mischievous streak.”
“I’ll be fine. Though I think it’s high time I turned in for the night. About how much do I owe?”
“Three bits.”
Elec unhooked the pouch from his belt and fished out three copper coins, adding two more for good measure. He placed the coins in her offered hand and held it for a moment. Dalia slowly withdrew, smiling as she tucked them into the pocket on her apron. They bid each other good night, and Elec made his way up the stairs. Glancing back over his shoulder, he spied her watching as he climbed the steps.
Elec slipped out of his clothes and settled onto his bed, sitting upright with his journal in his lap. While the door was closed, he did not lock it just in case a certain friendly visitor were to come later on. Then, relaxing his breath, mind, and body, he focused on the area between sleep and wakefulness. His eyes dilated, his blinking slowed, and then stopped. The flickering flame of the candle on the desk became a slow ballet. The hypnotic way its blaze blended wide then narrow, one way to the other, put the inspiration for a poem in his mind. He knew it was how his mind interpreted it, as it would be flickering with the slight breeze in his room. Although his perception of time relied on visual cues, his other senses remained sharp. He could hear the bustle downstairs steadily getting quieter and quieter as the patrons left. Folks moved into the rooms down the hall or on the floor above him. The patron in the room next door was snoring, and there was a gentle commotion coming from one of the other rooms further off. Probably that couple, he thought with a smile. Elec opened the journal and wrote. The charcoal-tipped stylus moved slowly across the page, the letters forming in a steady procession. I wish I had brought something to read, he thought. Maybe I can look for something in town when morning arrives. He tilted his neck from side to side to release the tension while he wrote on.
*
Roderick woke from his sleep and rotated his stiff neck. Glowing coals from the fireplace produced a comfortable heat despite how dim they were now. The small windows were dark, but he couldn’t quite tell what time of evening it was. The bard lay on her side next to him, her rapier on the ground nearby, but she tucked her hands into the folds of her blanket. In fact, all he could see of her was her forehead, her hair that she spread out to dry, and her feet. You never could quite get the hang of sleeping at the ready, he thought. Probably take you a half hour just to get untangled from that blanket were a fight to break out. Gathering up his own blanket like a makeshift kilt, he stood and checked their clothes and gear. The chainmail would need several new links around the collar and an oil dip once they arrived in Pelavora. Their clothes were still damp, though much improved from the soaked state from before. He turned each over, exposing the more sodden sides to the heat from the fireplace. Seraphine’s leather armor still reeked, but with it drying, the musty smell was much more tolerable.
Roderick picked up his sword in its scabbard and rested it against the rail. He then proceeded down the narrow stairs. At the table, the older man slept with his head resting on his folded arms. The door to the left of him was ajar. The fighter slowed his steps, quieting his bare feet as much as his lumbering frame could. All was quiet save for the soft snoring of the older man. As he reached the bottom of the stairs, he could see the rest of the main room, and it chilled him unforeseen.
Sitting at the table with him were a woman and a younger girl. Their eyes were wide and empty in the building’s darkness. Their mouths hung loose and open as if they had seen something surprising. When he reached the bottom of the stairs, they turned their gaunt, haunted, expressionless faces towards him. Their heads followed in eerie silence as he moved towards the older man.
“Evening, miss and misses,” Roderick said, trying to convey a sense of politeness, “Your husband is allowing my friend and I to stay the night. We will be heading to Pelavora in the morning if everything is alright with you.”
The two ghostly ladies did not respond. They watched silently as the old sword walked over to the pantry and grabbed a couple of strands of dried beef and a couple of apples. He crossed back around the room, giving the table and its occupants a very wide berth, and closed the front door. As he did so, he could see most of the shambling people were now sitting or lying down, most likely out of exhaustion. In a few days, they’ll starve to death if they don’t snap out of it, he thought. The cleric or whoever will probably arrive just in time to give a proper burial. He took the stairs as quietly as he could, though the creaking still failed to rouse the sleeping bard. Taking one of the unused chairs, he set it precariously on the top two steps so that anyone stepping carelessly enough would make enough noise to wake him. Picking up his sword, he moved back to his spot next to the fireplace.
“Seraphine, wake up for a moment and eat something.”
Roderick tapped her on the shoulder. There was a start, a pause, and the Half-elf uncovered her head and looked over to the old sword. Roderick set the beef and the apple next to her head. Her hand reached out, regarded the beef, but chose the apple instead. She ate it while staring into the embers. Roderick pondered how to tell her about the scene downstairs looking anything but wholesome. He ate the dried beef and didn’t speak until he finished.
“Dogan managed to move his family indoors. Gotten them settled down a bit.”
The crunching stopped.
“How did they look?”
“Like they were before. They seem to be resting, though.”
The bard did not respond at first. She finished the apple, tossing the core into the embers. She then took the beef and went to work on it as well. The unfinished half she placed near the hearth, and turned her head back to him, her hand touching her rapier.
“Do I need to sit up for a watch?”
“Not if you keep that in your hand for the rest of the night. I set a chair on the steps, just in case someone does decide to come up this way. Should make enough noise. I don’t think we should be disturbed. They seemed pretty quiet and content.”
Seraphine adjusted her blanket and scooted her sword closer to her, her left hand resting on the narrow scabbard. She left her head uncovered, her pointed ear exposed for any noise. Roderick finished his apple in a few large bites, chewing slowly to listen for any sounds mounting the stairs. Seraphine was snoring when he tossed his own core into the fireplace. Save for the occasional crackle from the embers and the breeze across the windowpane, there were no other sounds from the building. Roderick rested with his left hand on the scabbard of his sword and his chin on his chest. While he intended to doze, the events of the past couple of days forced him back into the fold of deep slumber. His heavy eyes closed, looking at the red-glowing embers in the fireplace.
*
Elec’s mind wandered while his eyes watched the gradual procession of the sky’s color from soft light red to a dark blue. Elec thought of the storm with its green and purple lightning and how it receded across the ocean, forming a column leagues away. The shipwreck. A survivor who brought the tale of the Silent Ones. Ancient artifacts. His quest. He wondered whether he would have to cross paths with these sea-bound ghosts. Or were they clever pirates who had run the ship aground just off the coast of his little island? Or had the Silent Ones already made their way to the island, searching the shorelines at night for the lost artifacts stolen from them? His head turned to look at the desk. He could see that the candle was now guttering, having burned down to its stand. His head turned towards the window again. The darkness outside took on a lighter shade of blue. This was one of the few things he disliked about sena’ela. Not that he couldn’t find means to track time’s passage, but it also passed in random skips and jumps. Maybe when I get to the level my parents are at, he thought, watching the window as the sky continued to lighten, where I can walk around, and even…do chores. He rolled his eyes at the thought. The act took almost a minute, even in his mind. My parents are desperately waiting for me to get to that level, he thought. I might need to stay out on this trip a little longer, yet.
As his eyes regained the window, the yellow light of day was growing stronger in the dark blue sky. Not chancing another jump in time, he came fully awake, rising from his bed and stretching. He washed his face in the washbasin near the window, wetting his dry eyes, and donned his clothes. Elec stored his journal back in his pack before shouldering it. He checked the lockbox one more time to ensure a casual viewer could not see it, then he left his room. He locked the door behind him. His feet moved across the wooden floor without a sound despite his boots as he gained the stairs and creaked softly down.
Elec’s eyes fell upon Dalia’s bottom as she knelt down in front of the enormous fireplace and scooped the ashes of the previous night’s fire into a dustpan. Upon reaching the final step, she glanced up, blinked in surprise, and then her tired face broke into a gentle smile.
“Up with the chickens, Elec?” She said, dumping the ashes into a pail next to her. “Yer stirring awfully early. Didn’t get any sleep?”
“I’ll admit it was hard falling asleep, but I think I got enough rest. Do ye need a hand?”
Elec blinked and wiped a bit of crust from his eyes. Dalia’s smile broadened as he approached. A smile touched the corner of his mouth as he watched her finish clearing out the fireplace. She lifted the pail and handed it to him, placing it between his outstretched hands, and pointed with her nose.
“Please. Through the kitchen, out back there’s a spot…If ye don’t mind.”
Her hands moved to the handle to rest on top of his. Elec cast his eyes down to them before returning her gaze, his smile broadening.
“Sure.”
Elec carried the pail into the kitchen, looking for the door she implied while gently reminding himself, over and over, that he was still on the island. He found it tucked into the corner just on the other side of the large walk-in oven. The small door opened onto a wide alleyway. A little ways away, he found the small pile where several other homes and businesses had dumped their ashes. Elec added the pail’s contents to the mass and returned to the inn. When he returned, Dalia was already building the fire in the large oven.
“Thank ye,” Dalia said, “Ye can set the pail out in the main room. Breakfast?”
“Please.”
As she was sparking the tinder, the sounds of bustle grew in the main room. Her father was already beginning to holler orders to her through the small window. Dalia, blowing a strand of hair out of her face in frustration, turned to Elec.
“Duty calls. I’ll have ye something out in a little while.”
Elec carried the empty pail to the side of the hearth and set it down. He then took his seat at the table closest to the front window, watching as the inn came to life. Being a rancher, early mornings frequented his schedule, and he could engage in sena’ela on most nights. But not every night. Dalia brought him out of his reflection with a plate of bacon, eggs, and a half-loaf of bread, setting the meal down along with a glass of tea before wiping her hands on the towel tucked into her apron pocket.
“There ye are. Ye…sure ye want to go pester that fisherman, Elec? It’s probably just some ghost story or other those old codgers like spinning.”
Elec looked from the innkeeper’s daughter and then just past her shoulder to the innkeeper himself. Daryl’s growing scowl showed the large, older gentleman did not seem too fond of the attention he and his daughter seemed to pay each other.
“I’m sorry, but it’s better I get to snooping around out there on the docks. I do have a ship to catch in the morning, and I wouldn’t want a…conversation with yer father to keep me from boarding. Perhaps this evening I’ll catch ye up on the mischief I get into.”
Dalia, taking his meaning, gave him a wink and a reassuring smile.
“Better be a good story then, Elec.”
She returned to the other customers waiting for her attention. Elec ate his breakfast, bid good day to the innkeeper and his daughter, and departed the inn for the docks.
*
Seraphine rose first, but the warrior woke almost immediately after. The embers of the fireplace had long since gone cold, signaling to her that they both had slept much longer than normal. Roderick rose from where he had been lying, the swordsman sleeping more soundly than she had been comfortable with, given the circumstances. He re-wrapped the blanket around his waist before grabbing his sword and checking the chair on the stairs. Satisfied with what he saw, he grabbed his clothes off the backs of the chairs and dressed. She waited, staring at the half-eaten dried beef as it sat on the edge of the hearth until he was done.
“I’ll head downstairs to see about breakfast.” He said.
She rose, looking around while the heavy-booted steps made their way downstairs. The woodsy-sawdust smell of the building finally subdued the rotten-leather stink of her armor. The golden glow of the sky shone through the small windows, illuminating the plain dark wood of the room’s interior. We’ve been in the wild for too long, she thought, looking at the four comfortable-enough-looking beds they ignored in favor of the warmth of the fireplace. She donned her clothes and stowed her gear. She slowed down to dig out her brush and looking-glass. In the reflection of the polished metal, she saw that her hair was all kinds of wrong as she fought against the tangle with the brush. Her clothes needed attention too, despite the rain washing most of the blood away. Her cloak, frayed to begin with, needed replacement as much as her armor.
“Roderick?” She asked.
She paused in her struggle with her hair to listen for a response. She strained to listen, yet no sound came from downstairs. Seraphine placed her mirror and brush back into her pack, followed by her bundled-up armor, before calling again. No one responded. She shouldered her pack and placed a hand on the hilt of her rapier as she descended the stairs. The main room was empty, and the door leading out into the settlement was ajar. She crept out and into the common space. The people who had been milling about now sat or lay still on the ground. In the far corner opposite her and the other building stood Roderick, facing the one tree within the settlement walls. As she approached, she could see a woman and a young girl lying at the foot of it amongst the large roots.
“Oh, no,” She said softly, her stealthiness forgotten as her pace quickened.
As she drew closer, she saw Dogan’s lifeless body dangling from a rope thrown over the branch. One of the kitchen chairs toppled under his feet. She wasted no time grabbing Roderick by his arm.
“Come on. It’s time to go.”
Roderick refused to move, his cold, blue eyes locked on the lifeless ones of the hanging man. His face, impassive. She continued to pull, trying hard not to allow any sign of desperation in her voice as she continued to insist that they leave. After a long moment, the gray-haired head turned towards her, his eyes regarding her more coldly than before. When he spoke, there was a harsh rasp to his voice Seraphine hadn’t heard for years.
“These people are beyond saving.”
Seraphine’s eyes teared up at the emptiness of his voice. His eyes held an almost imperceptible tinge of sadness.
“We still need to let a priest or cleric know. We need to head to Pelavora.”
Roderick nodded, his body turning towards her now.
“There’s some more food in the pantry. We should stock up before we go.”
Seraphine nodded, still holding his arm as he walked back to the building. His feet beat out a steady, thudding march, no longer his usual whisper-quiet steps. She did not let him go until they reached the doorway. She waited outside as he went in, Roderick grabbing quite a few things from the pantry before returning. He parceled out a few more strips of dried beef and some vegetables for both of them before placing the rest in his pack. The warrior turned towards the ruined gate and marched. Seraphine slowed her pace, tears running down her cheeks. We can’t keep going on like this, she thought to herself, fighting back her emotions enough not to sob aloud.
Next – Chapter 7 – Smugglers in the Cove
Copyright © 4 June 2026 James Christopher Gilliam
All rights reserved.
James C Gilliam 