Remy Martin ~ A History

Remy Martin – A History

By: April Wahlin

Edited by: Talese Shertzer

~

My name is Remy Martin--yes, like the Cognac. However, this is not my given name. Once, long before America was discovered, my name was Romulus of Rome. It is strange to be over two thousand years old and have the love of your life compare you to “a lot of broken statues and gladiators.” I remind her that those to whom she so flippantly refers were new when I was born; she only laughs and returns to her video games. That is how it is in this day and age. So quick to forget the past.

I only wish I could forget it so easily.

I have many times witnessed first blood shed in war and been silent spectator to the rise and fall of nearly every great civilization in the world.

When I was known as Romulus, my Brother Remus and I founded the city of Rome. Our origin is complicated: filled with treachery, abandonment, victories, and revenge. With blood of the god Mars coursing in our veins and the nature of wolves, no one could defeat us. No one, that is, but our selves, thus, this tale is not of my birth, but of my death.

Once my brother and I built the magnificent megalopolis of Rome, I was elected King. Unfortunately, my brother was not pleased with the decision and began to grow distant. He spent his time building a wall around the city, claiming we were in need of fortification. Though the city was under no threat, he insisted on exerting endless hours and resources to his folly. Upon completion of the wall, I challenged his claims that no man could penetrate his barrier and survive. To my utter chagrin, my brother chose to prove the wall's effectiveness himself. As I and my court looked on, a newly determined Remus vaulted over the wall--the god Pluto claimed him before he set foot on the other side. My brother sacrificed himself so no army could overtake our city's wall and live.

My brother and I had overcome so many odds, we thought ourselves immortal. We had the strength and speed of the Gods, but as we came to find out, we lacked the Gods' everlasting ability to live.

I was left to rule the Empire alone, feeling the weight of my brother’s death profoundly. A short time later I formed a group of several men who would act as leaders to my regions and help me rule. However, I now knew that one day I too would die.

I could not have that.

In fear of my brother’s fate and the impending shuffling off of my own mortal coil, I set out to find the Gates of Tartarus. I intended to take up the matter with Pluto himself.

It took me years to find Pluto. When I did, he turned out to be one of the more reasonable Gods; he advised me to live my life and abandon my search for immortality. I have wished many a night I had heeded his words. When Pluto saw that I would not be swayed, he grudgingly suggested I pay a visit to Lilith, but to be wary of any gifts she may bestow upon me.

High in the mountains over Rome I found her, living alone in a lavish villa overlooking my metropolis. Lilith had a veil of long blond hair, cunning blue eyes, and a beauty beyond compare. How such a woman so close to my domain had escaped my attention, I did not know. When I asked for the secret of her immortality, she showed me an eternity of nights feeding off the life’s blood of my people. I was reluctant to accustom myself to a life of horror and regret. But alas, I was helpless before Lilith's beguiling beauty and sinister charm; she held a power over me I could not fight. In seeking her, I had traded my freedom for immortality.

I had wanted to live forever, but not like this.

I continued to rule over Rome for many decades, but as Lilith’s influence over me grew, so did her influence over Rome. Under her power, Rome transformed into a brutal, cutthroat society determined to conquer every land within its reach by any means necessary. She was power-hungry: demanding sanguine tribute from the people. If I did not concede she would descend upon the city and force me to help her bloody my fair streets. When she was not appeased, crimson cries of the proletariat and aristocracy alike echoed through the alleys. She orchestrated wars and drove me to dominate neighboring countries through terrible and atrocious means. The night we took Sabine was horrifying, one which will remain forever etched in my memory. The screams of the men and women haunt me to this day.

Rome could not survive in this manor. Crops dwindled along with the people. Mobs began to form. A civil war was on the horizon and I would not, could not, allow my beloved Rome to be torn asunder by her own citizenry. There, I made a desperate decision. One night, in the midst of a terrible thunderstorm, I left Rome. I slipped away from Lilith near dawn and began my long journey, hiding in caves during the day and traveling by night. When I could not find humans on which I might feed, I lived off what animals were near. Each moment was torment as I felt her calling to me, beacon me back to her.

I sought Pluto, begging to be released from my bond with Lilith. Unfortunately, I was beyond even his help. My only remaining option, he asserted, was to kill her; but in doing so, I would damage myself terribly. Our blood-bond was all encompassing; I would live, but my soul would be torn asunder. Pluto assured me I would one day heal, but not before the passing of centuries of loneliness, anger, and desolation. I heeded his warning, but knew I would rather live an eternity in pain than spend it enslaved by Lilith.

I made the long journey back to Rome with the secret to Lilith's demise.

Her wrath was terrible. As punishment, Lilith locked me away until my own hunger drove me mad. She then loosed me on my own army; I demolished an entire battalion before coming to my senses. I was sickened as I looked upon the horror I had wrought upon the people of Rome—my people. I had become a bane to the very home I had created, to the very city I sought to protect.

Lilith had to be stopped.

With loathing, I acted as Lilith's obedient slave until she was confident in the totality of my submission to her every whim. It was a long year of unspeakable torment to me, but my people were safe, and would be from her horrors forever. One morning while she slept, I forced myself awake, and snuck into her chambers. There, I cut off her head, burned the body, and carried her ashes to the temple of Pluto where I asked him for his acceptance of her infernal remains. As her ashes flew up onto the winds, I knew Pluto had heeded my pleas: Lilith was gone. In that moment I crumpled, feeling as though the heart had been ripped from my chest. It was torture beyond anything I had ever experienced. Yet, I was free from her control--I was a free Roman once again--and I still would have rid the world of her presence. Once I was able to, I returned home. There, I vowed never to make another of my kind.

Unfortunately, when I reached the city of Rome I found her so changed she was no longer mine. Now that I knew she was safe from Lilith, it was time for me to go my own way.I ceased to be Romulus of Rome. From then on, I had no name. I wandered the world a shred of my former self, in pain and utter devastation. True to Pluto's word, my torment lasted centuries.

Until, one day, when I felt as though I had nearly become accustomed to my suffering, the pain began to subside and I began to heal.

With no goal for the long life ahead of me, I settled in Europe in a land called “Britain,” before it acquired the “Great.” From there, I moved to France near a small commune, Point-Remy. I spent many years in this idyllic locale. As the people came to know me, they bestowed me with the name of their patron saint—Saint Remigius—and affectionately referred to me as “Remy.” The people and their saint reminded me of the home I once knew in Rome, before the death of my brother, where life was divine and we were loved by our people. I spent nearly a century there, and though I loved my home in France, eventually I had to leave.

I changed cities every few decades, continents on occasion. I even fought in wars when necessary. Mars still favored me in battle and I won every skirmish in which I participated.

When I eventually tired of the world and its politics, I settled in the New Americas where I sat back and watched as the human play unfolded around me. There I adopted the last name of Martin after the distiller of my favorite Cognac and Remy Martin was born.

Slowly but surely, supernatural beings settled in this new Land of Opportunity and wreaked much havoc, particularly throughout the American South. I helped the Order establish rules to keep more fearsome and stubborn supernaturals in line. The Order eventually discovered my history and began referring to me by my given name--Romulus existed once again. This time as an enforcer instead of king. My former name drove terror into the minds of those who knew my terrible deeds. However, to myself I remain Remy Martin, a solitary immortal who becomes Romulus only when needed.

In all this time, I had kept my vow never to make another.

That was, until Pluto, who is more popularly known by the name Hades, called upon me for a favor.

I have tried to relay this story to my love, but as such a young creature she, unfortunately, has the attention span of a gnat. One day she may listen and she may be frightened of my past. But ultimately, it makes little difference. We are who we are—we are bound to one another, and not even time can sever these bonds.

The End?

Maritime #3 ~ Sirens Call

Sirens Call

 ~The Adventures of Maritime~ 

By: April Wahlin

~

Jonathan lay out on the deck of the Persephone enjoying the rare nice weather they were having. It was a particularly dull part of their voyage. With the calm weather and smooth seas, there was hardly any effort needed in sailing the ship. They were head north east, and had been nearly two days now. The winds were calm and amiable, the sea had but the slightest ripples, and the sun sat high in the sky. It was prefect napping weather for the crew and they all took full advantage of it.

The Captain had warned them of a difficult voyage ahead that day, however no one aside from Knox seemed anxious about it. The Captain, as usual, had stayed in her quarters only coming out at morning announcements and brief meetings to discus the days trek. Jonathan thought it was a shame she didn't join them on the deck for some sun, however, he knew it was not the Captains nature to loll about with the crew. He still longed to speak with her about things past, but in these long months, there never seemed a moment alone with her, and he dare not talk of such things in front of the crew.

Once Jonathan had his fill of sun, he decided to join Knox at the head of the ship. Since their encounter with Lido, Knox had been sure to keep Jonathan included in most of their trip planning. Though neither he nor the Captain ever gave him much clue about why they were traveling to any specific destination. Just the tide tables, the maps, and a general heading.

“Captain says were in for some troublesome,” Jonathan called as he reached Knox at the wheel.

“You don't know the half of it,” Knox growled, keeping a wear eye on the blank horizon.

“May I ask what it is? The trouble I mean.”

“You'll see soon enough. Just do as your told and you should come out of it just fine.”

“Yes Sir,” Jonathan replied plainly. He had grown accustom to their vague responses. Though wether it was to keep the general crew from panicking or for the sick joy of watching them squirm with curiosity, he could never be sure.

Jonathan went to the aft cabin to double check their rout when something in the distance caught his eye. It wasn’t anything spectacular, just the fact that there had been nothing to look at for days now. A dark thin line had appeared on the horizon and spanned one side to the other with no break. Jonathan double checked his maps, they were some ways off from the rocky barrier ahead. How large could the barrier possibly be? The fact that it was already visible astounded him.

As they sailed closer, Jonathan realized that the rocks ahead weren’t just rocks, they were full mountains in a long line separating the seas. In either direction the mountains appeared to on forever. It didn't look natural. It was almost as though someone had place them there, an impossible notion, but he had never seen anything like. The entire crew had gathered near the head of the ship to stare at the wonder.

Jonathan could just make out the deathly sharp points and ridges of the steep jagged mountains when the Captain came on deck. The crew snapped to attention awaiting her command, but she only nodded to Knox, who follow her below deck. The crew stood in confusion as the ship neared the one great break in the rocky face. They would soon have to man their stations to navigate it. Just then Knox and the Captain emerged with armfuls of bandages.

“I need every crewman to and bind their ears with these cloths,” she commanded, much to the bewilderment of the crew. “After, you will tie your life lines tight and report to your stations. You must keep your bandages in place no matter what you see or hear until personally instructed by either myself or Mr Knox to remove them. Is that clear?”

The crew gave a simulations yet confused 'Eye Captain' and went about executing her instructions.

“Stare straight, stay steady, and watch for my signals,” she announced then. “We will make it though this unscathed.”

After the men were in place, Knox and the Captain came around to check each of their bindings. Jonathan tried to ask what was happening when Knox but they gave no answer. He watched as Knox secured his own bindings and had the Captain checked them. However, the Captain wore no bindings herself.

All was eerily strange as they continued toward the cliffs trusted up in their peculiar restraints. He didn’t see why the life lines were necessary. While the sky above was certainly grey, the weather was perfectly calm and still. The was just enough of a breeze to assist their sails, bringing them closer to the rocky cliffs they could easily sail between with some room to spare.

With mild confusion the crew sailed on. The closer they got to the cliffs the higher and more menacing they became. It was soon clear why they might have the lines, but not the bandages. The sea bashed against the rock ferociously and pooled into dangerous sinkholes. Should they hit even one of the small vortexes they would be hard pressed to get out of it again without crashing into the sharp rocks. It wasn’t an ideal path but they had sailed through worse.

Suddenly the sea air went still, lingering around them heavily, barely blowing. Luckily, it was still just enough to keep them headed through the ravine. They sailed at little more than a drift. Their surroundings only grew bleaker by the moment. Soon, a faint fog began to roll across the water making it hard to see where the rocks stuck up. It was like sailing through an obstacle course unable to see obstructions until you were nearly on them. Thankfully, Knox had an eagle eye when it came to traversing the sea and its weather.

It was a tedious trek but there was and end in sight.

Jonathan looked down at the sharp bits of stone protruding from the sea to discover that they weren’t all stone. Some appeared to be wood. Bolts and ropes peeked above the water around the base of the Persephone and Jonathan quickly realized that they were surrounded by sunken ships. Like ice bergs, the greater parts of their broken hulls and masts lay beneath the fog and water.

Looking ahead, more and more of the ships could be seen above the water. A chill ran down Jonathan’s spine. Strange trees stood all around them, sticking up from the water like thin white arms. He thought nothing of them until they got closer. There he realized that they were not trees, they were bones, piled high and held together with bleached sinew. The whole crew stared in horror. However, the Captain stood looking calmly ahead, signaling every now and then to the crew on which sales to pull.

Just then, Jonathan notice something half way up the rocks ahead. There were three thin while lines with a single dot atop each, one red, one black, one gold. The closer they got, the more detail he could make out. His blood went cold when he finally realized that there was a face within each of the dots. It was a disturbing site that only grew more terrifying as he watched the three women floating in front of the jagged rocks.

He glanced back to the Captain who continued calmly directing the crew. The three women were unearthly beautiful and looked back at them with arms open, as if welcoming them. Were they angels of the sea guiding their way? They were mouthing to them but he could not understand with the bindings around his ears. Jonathan noticed a stern look on the Captains face as she glared up at the women and it dawned on him that they might be the danger she guarded them against?

Suddenly the Captain turned in panic and Jonathan followed her gaze to one of the men below who was wandering toward the edge of the ship, challenging his lifeline as though determined to dive overboard.

Knox was busy at the wheel and the Captain had to direct the rest of the men. Jonathan knew he had to help.

With a nod to the Captain, Jonathan headed down the quarterdeck stair to the man who stared desperately at the women ahead. His hear bindings hung loosely around his neck as he pawed mindlessly at the knot of his lifeline. Jonathan tried to get the mans attention but no mater what he did, the crewman paid him no mind. He looked back to the Captain who motioned for him to cover the mans ears. Quickly, Jonathan took the loose binding and began re wrapping the mans head when the sailor flailed, knocking him back. His ears rang as he tried to regain his composure. Then suddenly he heard singing.

Jonathan looked up at the three women. They sang such sweet notes, songs of the sea he had never heard before. Songs of longing and desire. Their beauty filled his vision and he saw distant unexplored lands with great vast seas leading to the heavens. Stars hung in the dark violet sky so tightly packed he could not hope to ever count them. He walked along atop glassy pools of gently churning water. Jonathan needed no boat to explore, he was free, free to roam wherever he wished. The seas were his to command and stars begged to tell him the very secrets of existence.

All at one Jonathan was ripped from the dreamy infinite lands of euphoria. Pain wracked his mind as he stared down at jagged rocks and crashing waves. Suddenly he was pulled back. Moira was above him, checking his bindings as fast as she could and re tied his life line. When had it come undone? She looked panicked. Jonathan was next to the ledge of the ship, drenched with sea water. He ached all over. The ship was now on the left side of the ravine jerking back and forth as it nearly hit sinkhole after sinkhole. A strange gusty wind was now blowing. All around, the men fought with the sails to keep the boat from turning into the rocks. Painfully, Jonathan got to his feet and ran to the helm to assist Knox, who struggled with the wheel.

The crew worked tirelessly to avoid the wreckage, rocks, and swirling sinkholes. They sailed straight through the center of the great cliffs. Then thankfully, with their combined effort, the crew was able to escape the shipwreck graveyard.

Jonathan was thankful they had survived, but he was now filled with a hopeless desperate longing. Part of him wanted to go back. To return to the stunning land he had seen. He was shaking uncontrollably, unable to banish the vision.

After the Captain and crew had finished removing their life lines and ear bindings, Jonathan approached the bridge.

“What happened back there?” he called after the Captain.

“Sirens. I've dealt with them before,” she replied as she nodded to Knox and headed past him down the stair to her quarters.

Jonathan pursued. “Is that why you didn't need the ear bindings? I saw thing's back there. What happened? What did I see?”

“I wouldn’t know, but Knox has been through it... It is said they show you your deepest hearts desire. Perhaps you can ask him some time.”

“When did you encounter these creatures?” Jonathan asked and couldn’t help what he would say next. It had been bottled up far too long and he was too weak to keep it at bay. “Was it before or after you rescued me from servitude?”

Moira froze just before reaching her door, slowly turned to Jonathan, and then took a step toward him, looking him straight in the eye. “...We rescued each other... I thank you not to speak of such times again.”

“Why?” Jonathan asked, despite his better judgement.

“The woman you knew no longer exists,” she replied in a low fierce whisper. “It is no longer the same person you address.”

Jonathan stared back, surprised by her cold countenance. “I think your right,” he replied. “That Moira would have warned me of the danger. She would have warned her crew.”

“You had what you needed to know. Would you or any of the crew have believed we were to encounter Sirens?” Jonathan could only stare. “Is that all crewman?”

“Yes Ma'am,” he replied through tight lips.

The Captain turned quickly, disappearing back into her chambers and for the first time Jonathan began to wonder just what he had gotten himself into by boarding the Persephone.

Maritime #2 ~ The Storm

The Storm

~The Adventure of Maritime~ 

By: April Wahlin

~

As amused as Johnathan was by his new crew mates, being kicked awake every morning had grown tiresome. He was weary of fighting his way to a wash station filled with greasy remnants of his crew mates and a galley with hardly a scoop of gruel left for him to start his day.

The crew had developed a habit of picking on Jonathan. They placed squid in his bunk, fish in his ditty bag, and guppies in his clothing. When he reached the deck every morning, the first thing thrust upon him was a mop and bucket. Jonathan knew he would have to earn respect from the crew, but being forced to swab the deck when he should be plotting the course for the day was a bit much.

Since he had joined the crew of the Persephone, Jonathan had only seen Captain McBane a handful of times. The woman kept to herself, communing mainly with Knox, her first mate who ran the ship in her stead. Knox seemed a good man but was lax in punishing crew shenanigans. The men were sure to never outright abuse Jonathan in front of him, unfortunately, Knox was not always around.

The worst of all the crew was their Boson Lido. He was a small man determined to make up for his lack of stature with a bad attitude. Lido was in charge of delegating Knox's orders, and often changed those orders to benefit himself. Nothing Jonathan ever did was good enough for the unpleasant little man. The deck was never clean enough, the ropes never coiled right, the Boson locker never organized correctly. Jonathan prided himself on a reasonably meticulous nature, one had to be precise and organized when plotting routs, but even he could not live up to Lidos standards.

Jonathan might have been able to handle this sort of mistreatment, were he still aloud to navigate. However, every time Knox called for Jonathan to help plot their course, Lido made sure he had some other matter to attend. Jonathan rarely saw the quarter deck let alone the Aft cabin where he was to check the ship logs and chart their trek. Jonathan was a slight fellow and not good for much physically, but on a starless night he could find his way, know the direction of the wind in the lightest breeze, and sense a storm from miles. He tried to bring the matter to Knox's attention, but getting their first mate to slow down enough to listen never seemed to happen.

As annoying as Lido was, life on the Persephone was still far better than his last ship. This crew lacked for nothing and almost always had a favorable wind. Honestly, it looked as though there wasn’t much for Jonathan to do navigation wise anyway. That was until the day Jonathan heard a dreaded thunder boom in the distance. It was faint, had he not a trained ear, he might not have picked it up. By the sounds of it, they were heading straight for trouble.

“Maritime, get to the Aft Cabin on the Double!” Knox yelled down into the galley.

Immediately Jonathan stopped peeling potatoes for supper and headed for the deck. He was half way up the stair when Lido's boots appeared in front of him.

“Where do you think your going?” Lido yelled down at Jonathan.

“Knox called for me. There is a storm coming. I need to check the charts.”

“What storm? I didn’t hear anything from Knox. His orders go through me. Navigator or no, you aren’t getting out of spud duty.”

“No offense, Sir, but we are headed due south. I heard the thunder, we are on corse with a bad storm. It will be on us by dusk. We need to re direct the ship.”

“Do you want the crew to starve?”

“No, sir... Just please, tell Knox that four knots to the east should steer us away.”

“If there is a storm,” he scoffed. “You finish your chores and I'll think about telling him.”

“...Thank you, Sir.”

With that, Jonathan headed back into the galley. He was sure Knox could handle this with the right direction but he still couldn’t help feeling uneasy.

As time passed, the thunder only grew louder. The ship had not changed direction. Booming sounded in the distance, shaking the ship with its force. Fierce streaks of lightning quickly followed. The storm was here.

Jonathan dropped the useless scrubbing Lido had assigned him and quickly headed toward the Aft cabin. He got as far as the main deck when Lido caught up with him.

“What have I told you?” he hollered. “Get below!”

Ignoring him, Jonathan hurried past the irate little man and toward the stern. It was useless to argue, the man had no care for reason. Jonathan was nearly to the top of the quarter deck stair when lido snatched him by the coat collar.

“I'll teach you to listen to me!” he yelled, yanking him back down.

Jonathan hit the deck hard and scrambled to his feet. “Don't you see the storm coming? Are you blind? Can't you hear the thunder, smell it on the wind?!”

Lido stood affronted, it was the first time Jonathan had actually stood up for himself. “I'll have you flogged before the nights out!” he yelled and started toward Jonathan when Knox appeared at the top of the stairs.

“What is going on-” Knox began, when he noticed Jonathan. “There you are Maritime! The Captain may think your some brilliant navigator, but your no use if we can't find you!”

“Sir?” Jonathan questioned.

“There is a storm coming boy, and if you haven’t noticed were heading straight for it! I've been trying to steer us away for hours but the thing is creating its own currents, one of which we are currently stuck in!”

“Thats why we haven’t turned?

“Every time sent for you, Lido reported back that you were indisposed! Irresponsible, Maritime.”

Jonathan glared back at Lido. The little pit bull of a man backed away, clearly unprepared to abuse Jonathan in front of Knox. Now would be the perfect time for revenge, but Jonathan couldn’t do it.

“I kept trying to warn you about the storm. Its fierce, I can tell by the thunder,” he told Knox as they headed to the Aft Cabin. “Have you found an alternate rout?”

“Not that I see. I can read the weather like second nature, but Charting has never been my forte. These things read like sand script ”

It had been merely raining when Jonathan had come onto the deck, but the closer they got to the storm, the lower the barometer dropped, turning the rain to hail.

“Please, allow me,” he told Knox calmly.

Jonathan pored over the charts, checked the compass, and scanned the ships log. The Persephone was several miles off the nearest coast, heading straight for the massive storm which she had just missed her opportunity to avoid. Jonathan checked and doubled checked until he finally found a possible escape. He calculated every angle and rout, they only had one chance, a deep cross current that ran just before the storm. If they didn’t make that, they would be in serious trouble.

“The tempest is miles wide,” he told Knox. “Once in- The winds alone could tear off our sails... If we turn east, we could skirt it and catch the cross current out. It will be rough waters, but we can escape. That is, as long as the waters don't pull us back in.”

Confused, Knox looking over his shoulder at the instruments.

“This isn't an exact science,” Jonathan continued. “A storm like this can create a whirlpool effect. It could pull the ship back into the storm. Even a bad wave could ruin our chances of escape. We have to be careful and we have to act fast.”

Knox nodded and hurried to the helm and took the wheel. He announced their heading to the crew and instructed them to attach their life lines. Immediately, they went to work.

They were nearly turned when the wheel stopped, jerking the whole ship roughly. Jonathan hurried to help, taking the other side of the wheel, but even with their combined efforts, it would not turn.

“The currents have the rudder! They're too strong,” Knox yelled over the wind.

Just then Captain McBane ascended the stair to the helm and looked out at the storm. “This isn't possible,” she yelled, as if scolding it would stop the now torrential hail. “Knox, Report!”

“Just a spot of rough weather, Captain,” Knox replied, struggling with the wheel.

“Storms been on the horizon for hours. Why didn't we sail around?”

“Been trying, Captain. Its massive. The currents have been keeping the boat on course with it.”

“Maritime. Have we plotted a new rout?”

“I, uh. Sort of.

“Sort of?” she asked humorlessly.

I haven’t been aloud up to the Aft Cabin for most of the trip, Captain, but I think I might be able to pull us out of this,” Jonathan stuttered lightly.

“Weren’t aloud to the Aft Cabin? Who wouldn’t allow you?” McBane asked sternly.

Jonathan looked to Lido who was now backing down the stair to the main deck. McBane immediately turned to the little man.

“He just joined the ship. He needs to learn his place,” Lido explained continuing backward.

“Learn his place? You have been with us nearly as long,” she reprimanded. “He is our navigation expert. What else does he need to learn?”

Just then, Lido began to stammer nervously and a strange bluish glint came to his eye.

The Captain instantly drew her sword on him. “What are you?” she demanded.

Lido lowered his head, eyes fully blue now, no whites to be seen. “You do not tread in my lords water. No matter who you sail under,” he told her with a strange watery voice and then ran for the railing, leapt off the deck into the waters below.

Johnathan and Knox ran for the rail after him, but there was no trace of him in the dark choppy depths.

Jonathan stood shocked, not just because of the sudden leap but the fact that Lido had begun to glow before he did. “What was that?” Jonathan asked as he searched the waters.

“The gods being troublesome,” McBane replied and ran back up to the helm. “Knox, we've been sabotaged, take the wheel! Maritime, are you coming, or do I have to navigate us out of this storm myself?”

Like a shot, Jonathan and Knox took off up the stairs, across the quarter deck, and down into the Aft Cabin after McBane.

“It appears Lido has been keeping our new navigator from the charts so we would end our days in the thrall of this cursed storm,” McBane told Knox. “Let us see if he can yet keep us from going belly up in this trap.”

Quickly, Jonathan scanned the Charts. They had not yet missed their last opportunity to avoid the storm. “In two nots we need to tack and head east.”

“Tack in two Knots?” Knox scoffed. “Are you crazy? She'll capsize.”

“No, look at the waters,” Jonathan directed. “They are flowing toward the storm, we can still turn into the cross current ahead. If we catch the winds at the right moment we can use our own wake to break the course.”

“And if we don't?” Knox asked.

“Well, capsizing is as bad as it gets. Right?”

“One would think,” McBane glowered as the wind whipped at the sails, challenging the lines that kept them held fast.

“There it is!” Jonathan pointed to the cross flow ahead.

“How could you possibly see that in this weather?” Knox yelled over the storm.

“Its what I do,” Jonathan replied. The ship swayed and jerked as hail pelted the deck, but Jonathan stared ahead barely blinking. “Now!” he shouted as their wake met with the cross flow.

The sails flapped like thundering birds as Knox and McBane cranked the wheel east. The ship moaned in protest, but they forced her off the turbulent waters and into the deep current.

The Persephone shifted, leaning and leaning, until the whole crew was clutching the railings to keep from sliding into the depths. Just then, the ship hit the wake. It shuttered terribly, launching several men overboard. Lines snapped carrying away the sales, shredding them to tatters. The whole ship felt as though it might shake apart, when it suddenly began to right itself.

Slowly the current led them away from the storm and back out to calmer seas. There the crew began pulling the life lines of those who had gone overboard. Unfortunately, more than one severed rope was pulled back. Those who survived were worse for ware, but alive. McBane removed her hat and bowed her head in mourning. The crew followed suit and silence encompassed the ship as they grieved the loss of their fellow sailors.

Slowly the rain ceased, the wind died down, and the sun rose above the ominous storm clouds.

“Thanks to you for leading us away from the storm in one peace,” McBane told Jonathan. “Your new quarters will be in the Aft cabin. AND” she announced to the rest of the crew. “If I catch anyone keeping crew members from their duties, they will answer to me. Now, thank your navigator for keeping the ship and its wretched crew afloat!”

The men all cheered and Jonathan stood stunned. No one had ever cheered for him before.

Once the cheering died away the crew went about repairing the ship and Jonathan found himself swamped with thankful crew mates. He nodded and shook hands gladly when he noticed McBane heading back to her quarters. He politely pardoned him self and stopped the Captain just short of her door.

“I am sorry I could not help in time to save everyone.”

“You did a brave thing,” she assured him. “The sea takes whom it pleases. They are not the first casualty’s of the Persephone and I dare say they will not be the last.”

“Might I ask, what happened with Lido? You seemed unsurprised when he- dove into the waters. What did he mean when he said he does not care who we sale under. Who do we sail under?”

“...The sea is a strange place filled with anomalies. It will not be the last bizarre sight you see. In time you will learn our purpose, Mr. Maritime. When you do, you may again choose not to sail with us.” Jonathan stared at her in surprise. Again? It was the first time she had addressed their past meeting. “Until then, go about your duty,” she told him and disappeared into her quarters.

Jonathan wanted to ask more of the Captain but fought the urge. She was the Captain, despite their past. He dare not overstep his bounds.

~

The next morning when Jonathan woke it was to the sound of the roosters they kept for supper and not a boot in his ribs. When he reached the kitchens for breakfast, there was a fresh pot of porridge and loaves of bread. Instead of scorning him, his fellow crew mates praised his action in the storm.

When he began his day, the Aft Cabin was ready and waiting. The cabin boy had laid out his charts in order and polished the instruments.

Finally, Jonathan Maritime felt at home.

Maritime #1 ~ A Bad Wind

A Bad Wind

~The Adventures of Maritime~ 

By: April Wahlin

~

There was a ship on the horizon. Days had gone by and not once had Jonathan Maritime seen another craft. Not so much as a fishing boat had been by.

The crew of the small cargo transport had managed well enough on supplies. However, having set out from one island to another with only a weeks worth of rations, fourteen days a float with no wind had dwindled their supply's. The weather showed no sign of changing and the last of their bread had just been consumed.

Their distress flag flapped limply in the bad wind. Jonathan had all but given up hope when the dark vessel appeared in the distance. The oncoming ship had the trappings of the Royal Armada, same body style, same sail arrangement. He sighed in relief, help was on the way.

This small cargo ship was the first boat Jonathan had been elected to navigate, and fortune was not smiling upon him. They had suffered nothing but dull weather, temperamental crew members, and a malfunctioning rudder. This would not have been such a problem if not for the Captain, if you could call him that. In a drunken rage over the storm that damaged the rudder and set them off course, the Captain had blamed Jonathan and thrown his maps and compass overboard, calling them useless trinkets.

Jonathan could have navigated them home by the stars if the heavy clouds overhead would subside. Even the suns positioning could not be read. Even in perfect weather they did not have the tools to fix the rudder.

To make matters worse, the gluttonous Captain consumed two peoples worth of rations every night, insisting that help would come soon. Fortunately he seemed to have been right about that. It would be the first bit of luck they had the entire trip.

Jonathan squinted through the quickly diminishing light at the oncoming ship. He dreamed of a cozy bed at the Inn back at port, however, as their rescuers came closer, his hope died with the lowering of its Royal Armada Flag. A flag with black cross swords now flew in its stead.

Pirates.

Jonathan ran to the Captain and First Mate, who lolled about in a rum addled daze warning them of the coming threat, but they paid him no mind. Panicked, he hurried to the ship bell and began ringing it, calling the men to arms.

The Captain, snapped out of his coma by the alarm, came storming onto the deck after him. “What is the meaning of this?” he hollered, pulling Jonathan away from the bell by his shirt collar.

Jonathan merely pointed to the grappling anchors which now flew from the enemy boat onto their own. Their small crew set to cutting the ropes which tethered their dead ship to the attacking vessel, but it was no use. They could not cut them fast enough.

The ship was quickly over run.

Shots rang out and steel clashed as they tried to fight off the raiders. Jonathan's crew was only fifteen men in number, most of them malcontent sailors, but there were a few worth their salt. Unfortunately, they were no match for the great dark ship and its large miscreants crew.

It was a short battle and Jonathan quickly found himself kneeling with a sword pressed against his back. He could not believe he would end his days upon this wretched boat. Even in starvation there had been hope of a favorable wind to blow them back to shore, but now, that seemed a happy memory.

Jonathan watched distressed as a great plank slammed down upon the railing of their ship, spanning the gap between the two. More Pirates strolled onto their deck and began searching every corner for valuables.

“Who's in charge here?” a wiry blond man announced. All turned to the Captain, who swayed drunkenly on his knees. “You're joking. No wonder you're out to drift. This man couldn't captain a dinghy.”

“Knox, don't play with the captives,” came a strong voice. It had a strange resonance to it, deep, but not the usual baritone of a man at sea.

“Yes Captain,” the blond replied, straightened up, and quickly directed a few men to check the cargo hold.

Jonathan kept his head low, hoping to encourage them to leave him his life by cooperating, when he noticed that his shipmates had stopped fussing. Candidly he surveyed the group. They stood on their knees staring straight ahead with jaws a gape. Confused, he followed their gaze to a tall figure wearing a red sash and wide brimmed hat with a scarlet feather. The Captain of the invading ship was impossibly thin for a man of his stature. It then dawned on him that the figure was no man. Only once had Jonathan seen a woman don clothing in this manor, but it was a painful memory from youth. Not one he wished to recall.

“Since the Captain is... indisposed. I wish someone to tell me about your plight,” the lady announced.

“I answer to no woman,” a surly old snaggle toothed sailor spat at her.

“As you wish,” she replied plainly, and then turned to the blond man who was obviously a first or second mate. “String him up.”

In an instant snaggle tooth was tied and carried away.

A moment later, screams split the air and Jonathan turned in time to see snaggle tooth fall from the Crows Nest. He cringed, waiting to hear the crunching of bone on impact, but instead, there was a loud twang as a rope around the mans leg went taught, snapping him straight a foot before hitting the deck.

Cheering sounded in the Crows Nest. “Look captain! I finally got the rope length right!”

The Captain did not smile. She simply nodded and looked back to the man next to Jonathan, waiting for her reply. “What say you?”

“Ship don't move,” the man told her shakily. He was a proud man, a simpleton who could hardly form sentences. He to would surely end up dangling from his boot straps next to snaggle tooth were he aloud to continue speaking.

“The rudder was damaged in the storm,” Jonathan called, hoping to save the stubborn man.

The fearsome woman turned to him, looking at him fully for the first time. She would have been a beauty if not for the thin scar that ran the length of her face and along the sides of her mouth.

“You will speak for the ship then,” she announced and the man holding Jonathan hauled him to his feet before her.

The woman's eyes were impossibly green, and extremely familiar. “There is no wind, the ship is damaged, and we have no compass or map,” he confessed.

“Seems you are having a run of bad luck... Check it out,” the woman commanded over her shoulder and a few men ran to examine the ship.

“As I said, the ship was damaged in the storm,” Jonathan continued. “We have been a float for days. We have no food. I am just the navigator, take what you want, let it not come to bloodshed.”

The woman glared at him as her crewmen returned to confirm the status of the ship. She nodded and they hurried off. “You carry weapons and medicine. Cure and cause in one shipment.”

“Bit ironic, isn't it,” Jonathan laughed nervously.

He stared at her perplexed. He knew her. For a second it seemed she recognized him to, but she turned before he could be sure.

“Take the weapons... Leave the medicine,” she commanded to his surprise and her men quickly carried the weapon crates onto their ship. “Your rudder is roughly mended, but it will get you to port. The weather will clear soon,” she told him and quickly headed back toward the gangplank.

“In need of a navigator?” Jonathan called suddenly, stopping the woman in her tracks. It was an inexplicable outburst, but the thought of going back to port with his pitiful crew no longer satisfied him.

“You wish to lead us into a storm as well?” she asked coldly.

Jonathan hung his head in shame as she continued up the plank.

Her men followed until only Knox remained. “Come on then,” he called to Jonathan. “Captain McBane does not like to be kept waiting.

In a flash, everything came back. The blond man, the red hared woman. She was just a girl when Jonathan knew her, only a few years older than himself. She had been impossible wise and bold even then. He had a chance to sale with them nearly a decade before but hadn't had the guts. After all these years, fate had found him, bringing him back to this ship, this crew, to Moira McBane.

Jonathon got to his feet and hurrying toward the plank. Knox handed him a spare compass and nodded toward the drunkard Captain. Jonathan checked the instrument, and tossed it to the lush.

“Port is North West,” he told the wretched man and headed across the gangplank to the massive ship.

The great dark vessel took off like a shot and Jonathan with it. Turned out the bad winds, were merely those of change.

The End

The Wraith

The Wraith

~Tales of Ithiria~

Written by: April Wahlin

Edited by: Talese Shertzer

~

The crunching of dried leaves underfoot was rhythmic, slow, and relaxed. The target was unaware of being watched. It was going to be an easy kill; so easy it hardly seemed worth it, but the money was right.

The Wraith waited with rapidly diminishing patience and realized that his mid-afternoon whiskey was wearing off. He checked his bag for another flask. No luck. Cursing his tolerance, the scruffy predator leaned against a thick branch and waited. His tree vantage point provided excellent camouflage and an easy view of his mark.

The Wraith slowly filled his lungs and listened. There was a lot one could learn by simply listening. He could tell if someone was careless or cunning, if someone had a limp or a hunched back, even the very mood they were in, if he only listened hard enough. The man, if he could still classify himself as such, could hear everything. Not just the chirping of birds and scurrying of marmots in the foliage. He could hear wolves stalking deer in the distance, fish splashing in the stream a mile away, even the whispered creaking of the trees. It was easy for him, no more strenuous than breathing. Ignoring it was the difficult part. If he hadn’t learned to drown it out years ago, he might have gone mad. He could hear every creature in a five mile radius, but not a one of them could hear him. It was vital he stay calm while tracking and hunting; if his emotions flared they would sense him, as sure as they could sense a forest fire.

He groaned as he listened to the man’s steps: his prey was in no hurry and would not be in striking distance for some time. With little else to do, the Wraith took his knife and began flaying an apple, red from white. He hated waiting.

Idleness was the Wraith's greatest enemy, static moments tempted bad memories. Memories of death, cities in ruin, rivers of blood, lovers engulfed in flame. They were all visions of another life—of a man formerly known as McTrave. He had been a good man, a man who operated by the codes of honor and valor. A King among men. That man would be disgusted by what he saw now: a two-bit assassin for hire known simply as The Wraith. A name given to him by those who had survived his brief company. He was a horrifying apparition amongst the world. McTrave had died long ago, shriveled and disappeared after seeing everything he cared for reduced to ashes. All that remained were nightmares in a hollow shell.

After spending years hunting ghosts, the man had given up. The old McTrave thought he could find a way to bring her back, but he'd traveled from one end of Ithiria to the other and found nothing. Each devil he encountered was naught but a waste of time. Any Mystic worth their salt knew better than to consort with him, they could sense what he was. They knew to be in his presence was to tempt death. Years had passed and McTrave was no closer to getting her back than he was to finding a way to rid himself of this cursed existence.

With nothing left to live for, McTrave had set to wandering, taking jobs where he could and doing the one thing at which he excelled: destroying life. He took no joy in his endeavors and was sure to be quick in closing his deals. No need to cause the slaughtered more suffering than necessary. His exploits had become legend. His terrible deeds were even used to frighten children away from of the Woods. Well, at least he'd achieved some good, he thought as he tossed his apple core, pulled a rolled cigar from his bag, and lit it with the spontaneous flick of a finger. What did he care if he was reduced to being a story book monster? Even the followers of The One True God were starting to adopt his misdeeds into their lore. How he hated the pious contradictions of this new Religion. He'd spent years setting fire to their temples, but every time he destroyed one, two more sprung up in its place like some terrible hydra. The bastards.

The Wraith pulled on his cigar, instantly reducing it to ash. Annoyed, he sent the burnt remnants fluttering to the ground. Yet another cigar ruined by his infernal temper. He leaned back, trying to get his mind in the game, and heard footsteps approach. To work, he thought as he cleaned the blade of his hunting knife.

He waited as the target leisurely passed beneath his hiding place in the foliage. The man was actually whistling. So jolly, so carefree. For a moment, the Wraith almost hated to strike, but he was in the perfect position. It was keep it clean now or let it get messy later.

With a step, the Wraith plummeted to the forest floor. In an instant it was done. His prey continued a pace before realizing anything was wrong. Curiously, he wiped the blood from his throat and looked at his hand. He turned to the Wraith questioningly, then gurgled as he fell to the forest floor.

“There are worse deaths,” he told the dead man as though it might be some comfort.

Just then, McTrave caught a draft on the wind. He smelled something familiar, something he had smelled on the man who hired him. Glaring down, the Wraith used a foot to roll the body onto its back. The man, his prey,was no more than a boy, his facial hair just starting to grow. He couldn’t be older than seventeen. What could a boy of his age have done to deserve death?

Then he saw it: the hair, the eyes, they were the same as the client who had hired him. It wasn't until then that he understood what he had been paid to do. He was accustomed to dealing with murderers, cheating husbands, thieving employees, revenge, an eye for an eye, the whole bit, but not this. Why hadn’t he seen it before? He steadied himself on the trunk of a tree. What did he care that he had been paid to kill the man’s own son? Why should that bother him?

It was the boy. He had been so happy, so unsuspecting, no idea his own blood wanted him dead. The Wraith didn’t kill children, despite popular belief. He was a monster, but even he had his limitations.

“His father would only have hired someone else,” came a creaky voice from behind him.

He didn’t need to turn to know who, or rather what, was was there. “I should have asked. I know better than to go into a job blind,” he replied, staring bitterly at the dead boy.

Had he grown so tired of it all that he could let something like this slip?

“You’re burning it,” the voice called.

The Wraith looked up to the smoldering hand print he'd made in the tree.

“Malachi, we need to speak,” the voice, little more than the crackling of burning leaves and smoldering wood, groaned.

“Do not call me that. I am not Malachi.” The Wraith pulled his hand from the burning bark, cleaned the boy’s blood from his knife, and turned to the thing behind him. The little creature was more rock than man: a three-foot hunk of smoldering volcanic magma with stubby appendages and the vague suggestion of facial features. “We have nothing to discuss. Now go away.” His growl was both demanding and pleading.

“No, Malachi,” it replied. “This time you must hear me. Things are happening, things you must be part of.”

“Why? Why can’t you find someone else?” The creature of fire had followed him since he could remember, but it had always left when commanded, without question. Why the hell wouldn’t it leave now?

“There is no one else,” the little man replied. “This is not the existence you wish. Why pursue what you hate?”

“This is all that is left of me.”

The creature looked saddened but did not back down. “I will help you,” its voice was gravel in a tumbler. “I know what plagues you. I see it. I feel it.”

“You do not know my pain!” the Wraith hissed and the leaves beneath his feet began to smolder.

“Not as you do, no. I see you are tormented. I know you do not want others to suffer.” The Wraith did not argue. “Follow me. I will hide the memories, but that is the limit of my ability.”

The Wraith looked at him fully for the first time. “You can make them go away?”

The little man hesitated. “It is dangerous. I cannot block one memory alone. I can take all, or nothing. Eventually the effect will ware. When it does, there is no telling what will happen, but it will be painful.”

“I do not care,” he replied darkly. “Anything is better than this torment.”

The little man sighed heavily. “As you wish.”

“What do you need me to do?” His mouth was a set line, his eyes blazed.

“You must guard an item vital to the existence of this world. I will show you.”

The creature started into the woods, moving faster than its stature should allow.

The Wraith followed. He did not want his memories, any of them. He did not care for this life and would do anything to be rid of his past. It seemed amazing that the little man of fire had been the key to his salvation all along. He knew the creature would not have agreed had it not been desperate for his help, but he did not care, nor did he care enough to consider the danger. If McTrave could not find her, could not die to join her, than the Wraith must forget her. If that meant forgetting everything, so be it.

The End