Chapter 27: At Sea (Part One)

Captain Kaplan stood at the bow, pipe clenched between his teeth. The figurehead of the Settlus had been changed from the old orca to an angel, a purchase that cost fifteen times more than the previous one. Only churches around the world sold such figureheads, for what was imbued within them was not mere magic, but divine power. Though the angel figurehead lacked the good fortune spell of its predecessor, it possessed the power of prayer—in essence, the priests of the church had fixed upon it a seventh-level divine spell: Limited Wish.

This meant that as long as the spell remained active, and with the activation seal Captain Kaplan had purchased, he could invoke a single spell effect of up to seventh level—whether to pray for increased speed, enchant the ship with protection, or even unleash an offensive spell, provided he knew the appropriate incantation. The church’s manufacture of such items served two purposes: to share in the lucrative profits of maritime trade—since, lacking the means to build ships themselves, they could neither directly participate nor ignore the gold flowing from seaborne commerce—and to extend the influence of the gods onto the open sea, where their authority was weakest. Their flocks were almost entirely landbound, and the expansion of trade threatened to create a vacuum of faith and power.

“Money will lead them to forsake the gods,” one cardinal had warned. Yet another voice within the church had countered, “If we cannot stop them from sailing, let us at least ensure the gods travel with them.” Thus, the angel figurehead fulfilled its second purpose. The maintenance of its divine power was no simple matter—even at fifteen times the cost of the orca, the church scarcely profited. To replenish the figurehead’s power at sea required a congregation of devoted believers; most captains needed to return to port and seek the services of a church for maintenance.

In this way, the church subtly extended its influence over the waves.

Such undercurrents of conflict among the mighty played out not only in a humble figurehead but throughout the maritime trade, old and new powers snapping and snarling at each other like starved hounds fighting over a single bone.

For the Settlus, however, the angel was worth its price. The last Fishian pirate attack had left Captain Kaplan shaken to his core, nearly ruined. If he’d had this figurehead then—perhaps even without Wei Wuji, the Far Easterner—they might have escaped. Now, with the Far Easterner gone, he could depend only on himself. The only drawback was the scarcity of true believers among his crew, making it difficult to replenish the faith required to power the figurehead.

That was why, after much agonized deliberation, he had chosen the angel over a new ship. He had already completed one round trip between the southern nations and the Golden Broom, and though the profits were nothing compared to the Far East, he calculated that five or six more voyages would earn him enough for a brand new Settlus.

His current course ran from Belgrade in Minsk, a southern city, to Victoria in the Golden Broom. Facing the sea breeze, Kaplan drew deeply on his pipe, savoring the pleasure as it filled his lungs. But his thoughts drifted elsewhere. Rumor had it that some merchants in Landia had begun trading with the New World, where things unknown to this continent could be found—black ivory, exotic gems, and even magic crystals, which unlike here, could be harvested not only from the earth but from the bodies of magical beasts. There was also a peculiar tobacco; the locals made something called a cigar, which had become a sensation, surpassing even tea and silk from the Far East to become the most fashionable commodity on the continent.

Kaplan could only envy this and resolved to buy a box of cigars upon his return. The sea route from the New World to this continent was still far from stable, fraught with storms, treacherous reefs, and—though pirates were the least of one’s worries—rumors abounded of necromancer covens inhabiting certain islands, turning passing ships into ghost vessels.

“Captain, there’s trouble!” Kaplan’s musings were abruptly interrupted by the anxious report of First Mate Fulton.

“What is it?” Kaplan replied, annoyed.

“Fishian ships astern, sir—many of them!” Fulton’s words nearly made Kaplan jump.

“What? Show me at once!” Kaplan started, wondering if he was somehow fated to meet the Fishians—an expression from the Far East that seemed apt, though if fate it was, it was surely ill.

He hurried to the stern. The sky was clear, the sea calm, nothing amiss to the naked eye. But if Fulton said so, the lookouts must have seen something. Steadying himself, Kaplan raised his spyglass. If it was truly the Fishians again, perhaps the angel figurehead would provide the miracle he needed; the archbishop who’d sold it had sworn it would keep the Fishians at bay.

But as he sighted the distant fleet, seven or eight kilometers off, Kaplan’s face turned pale. There were at least ten times as many as before—he couldn't count them all, but just among the long-necked sea bats he counted more than a dozen. If someone claimed every Fishian in the world was astern of the Settlus, Kaplan would have believed it.

A lookout above cried out, panic in his voice, “Captain, they’re gaining fast!”

Kaplan clenched his fists and slammed them down in frustration, then ran forward to the angel figurehead. He had memorized a few divine invocations back at the church—not that he was a true priest or mage, but with the devout seal the church had branded upon him, the angel would respond.

Among the spells was a seventh-level Dread Emblem, which, powered by faith, would conjure a holy symbol that stupefied and paralyzed all within its range. Had there been only as many Fishians as the last time, Kaplan would have unleashed it, then fled, letting them know he was not to be trifled with.

But now, with the horizon thick with Fishians, a single Dread Emblem would do little more than enrage them further.

Wiping cold sweat from his brow, Kaplan forced himself to calm down. Once his nerves had steadied, he removed his captain’s hat, bowed low before the angel figurehead, and recited praises to the Lord of Radiance, honoring his glory and righteousness. Though a nominal believer at best, the devout seal ensured the figurehead acknowledged him.

The divine power surged—the Settlus’s stern erupted with the image of a colossal ice serpent, at least fifty meters long, its eyes the size of basins: a seventh-level summoned beast, the mightiest magical creature drawn from the surrounding waters.

Still not reassured, Kaplan invoked a second spell through the figurehead—a fourth-level divine enchantment akin to a mage’s haste, but here magnified to affect the entire Settlus, reducing resistance as the ship cut through the sea.

With these two invocations, the faith powering the angel was spent. It would not replenish until the crew’s believers in the Lord of Radiance offered prayers.

Under the effect of these divine blessings and with every sail unfurled, the Settlus first matched the Fishians’ speed, then began to pull ahead.