To Fly the Soaring Tides

Dark clouds parted, and we moored our ship on the first solid structure. Cira continued following Trent's words, Crumbling ruins, but they held a rope. The sun hasn't risen in almost a week—ever since this ominous pressure fell on the sky. The only wind that blew seemed to be the one which guided us inward. Our mage seemed to have stricken ill since we entered the Cursed Skies. Each breeze chilled him to the point we had to ban him from appearing up on deck.

It made me nervous having our offense out of commission, but this evidently worked out well for Old Gier.

He said the rest of the journey need only be completed by himself. Our mage even tried to take some medicine and convince him to allow an escort, but he refused. The old man even went so far as to jumping on the only skiff and cutting the bindings. Before the crew knew it, he was gone with the wind. It seemed to intensify as if to draw him further away.

Luckily, this went exactly as I expected.

"You can't shake me, old man." I said, climbing out from under a pile of canvas tarps.

"Trent?!" He spun around, shock clear on his face, "I thought you were havin' a hard time in the loo. We're turning around!"

I placed a hand over his arm as he reached for the oar, "It's useless, Gier. Look at this wind. The sail isn't even drawn and it's like we're falling down rapids. Just face it… I'm here to see the end of your story."

He struggled for a moment before finally sitting back down. We stared at each other for a few brief moments and he sighed, "Okay… I get it. And thank you, Trent. This may be my final hour… But I'm glad I don't have to face it alone. I can only hope it isn't yours as well."

Trent went on to describe their afternoon sojourn through the Cursed Skies, with nothing but the increasing darkness to act as their guide.

Our solar compass was useless here, and any magnetic instruments we used haplessly drifted around with no rhyme or reason. Not a single star poked through this suffocating veil which surrounded us. Even the lantern was swallowed up as if fighting against a sea of shadows' crushing weight. It was painfully cold, and dead silent here. Not even a breeze dared tread these skies aside from the eerie current dragging us in.

Only a few hours had passed since they departed their ship, but a surprising number of pages went into describing this short trip. It was like reading the account of a man on his way to the noose. The words came to life as Cira remembered the perpetual darkness, biting cold, and stale air of her accursed homeland.

Aside from her dream in the depths of Archaeum, it had been a very long time since she remembered those conditions so vividly. Cira didn't even notice how she was butchering her fingernails between anxious teeth, but she continued to turn pages all the same. There were so very few left.

We could hardly see ten feet ahead of us as time wore on. These were dangerous conditions for sailing, but Gier was adamant that we were going the right direction. Even if we wanted to back out, it was unclear if we could. Navigation was hopeless and it was starting to feel like some unseen force had pulled us in. Even I knew somehow that this was the destination we intended to reach.

A screech rang out, deafening in this silent sky. I recognized it as the squeek of a weathered wooden dock swaying under its own weight and slowed us down. I tossed a rope into the abyss and it fell to nowhere. After reeling it back in I adjusted my angle and tried again. After a couple minutes of this I got a hit and steered the boat in the direction of the sound.

The dock came into sight shortly after and I moored the skiff just in case we made it back. A miraculous fantasy, but I would sure regret stranding myself here on the off chance.

"Watch your step, old timer." I reached a hand out and helped Gier off the skiff.

"I know what I'm doing." He took my hand regardless and we stepped into the black.

Beneath our feet was bare stone, but it slowly turned into a staircase. Unlike any other trace of civilization since the sun stopped rising, these steps were in immaculate condition. Carved stone, but either well taken care of or freshly crafted. Even Gier was impressed by their uniformity and overall state.

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He was not one to pass an opportunity to discuss stonemasonry, but sadly this moment didn't last long.

Like a curtain, the moment we reached the top of the stairs the darkness faded. Quite dim still, but we could see an entire village. No trace of the living, though we could both feel an indomitable presence before us.

A shadow moved and we realized the two lone stars in this sky turned out to be a set of eyes watching our every move. We could tell without seeing his teeth that he was smiling. Gier seemed to freeze but I couldn't stop shaking beneath this stranger's gaze.

Who was I kidding? We knew who it was. A deep laugh echoed as the man twice our size bellowed.

"I know not your name," Now we could see his teeth, "But I have been expecting you for a very long time. The first seed of hatred has finally bloomed. What a joyous day this is."

Something about this demon's smile had me not only expecting death but wishing for it. The way it nearly mirrored his twisted horns against the dim night rattled me to my core. But it seemed this very feeling had brought my friend back to reality.

"I am gier." He took a single undaunted step forward. "Humble mason and father of three bright futures. Twenty years and twelve days ago you took the life of a woman named Gwyndolyn. Brilliant merchant and peerless mother. The love of my life and the light."

One may have mistaken the shaking of his fists at his side for fear, but what use does a man at the end of his life have for fear? This was exactly where he wanted to be, and the demon couldn't hope to inflict him greater pain if he tried.

"Yes… I certainly did." The demon spoke, but he no longer seemed amused. His eyes softened from far above and his horns grew more pronounced as he leaned over us like a willow's shadow approaching sunset. "Although it means nothing to you, I am compelled to apologize. I remember when my first love succumbed to the mortal coil. Painful, yes, and I'd say you have earned your due sympathy.

"Be it lack of instinct, lack of power, or mere age, the cause of death loses significance after experiencing so many instances of the same feeling." The demon rambled, but Gier's face only tightened. "Causing the pain you live with was never my intention, but if you grew to be as old as I, you would not even remember her face."

"Lies." Gier roared, taking another step forward he stood against the towering demon. A full moon as white as death lorded over him, framed ominously in the demon's pitch-black horns. "Consider your apology denied. I don't care how many mortals you've watched die, you couldn't fathom what it's like to spend such finite years together with another. You will never know how this feels! We were always going to die… but it was supposed to be together. Have you ever felt the same?"

"Cira, I need to speak with you. Some of my arbiters are…" Fitzgeralt's voice was deflected with the subconscious wisdom of a ravenous scholar at the peak of sleep-deprived diligence. "Right… I'll return tomorrow then."

"You think you are qualified to guess how one such as I feels?" the demon leaned back up and stood before us with the entirety of his towering presence.

"I don't have to." This time it was Gier who laughed. Now that our eyes were adjusted, I could see the demon's face. Dark gray unlike any human I had met, but much like the inviting darkness that led us here. It seemed my old friend had struck a nerve by the demon's jilted smile, "I know just by looking at you. Just like I know that this is the day I die. Your words mean nothing to one such as I."

I was sweating as Gier puffed up his chest. Every bone in my body wanted to scream out and pull him away, sail home and never look back, but this wasn't my day. It belonged to my old friend.

"Then just why have you come…?" his words were cold now, short and to the point. For someone who expected Gier for a very long time, I was surprised he needed to ask. That said, I was longing for the answer myself.

"See? You've just proven me right. You will never know what Gwyn and I shared if you can't even guess at my purpose here." A low growl came from the demon's throat as Gier laughed fearlessly. His neck was craned nearly straight up to look his enemy in the face, a hard-earned smile on his lips, "I just wanted to ask… No—I need to know. Why? For what great purpose did my beloved have to die that day?"

Now the demon's eyes were indiscernible. I thought we were going to meet a cold murderer who felt nothing but a thirst for blood, but the first thing he did was apologize. I don't feel this makes him a good person, whether he's even a person or not, but the actual demon before us was far more complex than I imagined.

Whether his words were true by our measure as pitiful mortals or not, it was painfully obvious that the purge was far from senseless.

"Mortal Gier, I have heard you." The demon crouched down now and leveled his gaze. His head was almost the size of Gier's torso and the silence only served to increase the tension. This entire day was surreal. It felt like a deep fever dream and all I wanted to do was wake up. "Perhaps I will never know the mortal coil, nor the tribulations involved. It was a mistake to attempt empathy, for our states of life are far too removed from one another. I will grant you the answer you seek in exchange for your life."