The Starving Faithful (short story)

Yukito's slim fingers lightly danced over the captain's wheel as he allowed the sea draw his small vessel deeper into its blue embrace. The wood was smooth under his fingertips, and he lost himself in the roaring silence of the waves. No thoughts in particular harried him, no troubles followed him from the shore in this moment. He was a vessel, and the ocean surged in and out of his being; It dragged away the filth and left him feeling cleansed in spirit - Empty, but pleasantly so.

The island spirit at his side drifted here and there along the deck, ephemeral drops of water and grans of sand cascading to the deck in its wake and vanishing a heartbeat after. It did not intrude, or trouble him, and he never minded the presence of the spirits anyway. They were kin in ways that he could not explain, as if they shared something that he couldn't comprehend, and maybe never would. Its scent was welcoming and warm when it passed near, allowing his mind to further slip into that state of stillness that he was reaching for.

War drums sounded loudly in the distance, shattering the peaceful moment. Yukito glanced over his shoulder as a brigantine carved through water on a direct course toward his sloop. Spinning the wheel smoothly, he brought his ship about to face the threat. That was his purpose here today, after all.

His next few moments were filled with the scent of gunpowder and the burn of salt on his sea and sword-calloused hands. He ran back and forth loading and firing cannons as the two ships came abreast of one another. Then, as soon as he was near, he kicked the gangplank and raced over to the over ship beneath a hail of arrows.

Shields of many colors flashed into existence around him as his fingers flew, and then he gripped his sword and braced as the first waves of enemies ran in. He was immediately knocked to the floor and for a moment, his small form vanished beneath flashing blades and swinging fists. His glowing shields held though, and eventually, he shrugged their blows aside as he stood, and moved his sword tip down toward the ground.

"Wyvern's Tail."

Yukito's sword flashed upward and almost tore open the throat of the man attempting to knock his feet out from beneath him. Instead, the viper wrapped around his blade latched onto the man's eye and tore it clean away in a slippery fountain of blood. He rolled away howling, but was replaced by another opponent.

Yukito described a glowing blue circle in the air with his fingertip. Half of the people around him stood stricken in place, shaking their heads slowly from side to side. Then they began attacking their comrades, looking horrified at their own actions and shouting frantic or tearful apologies as their limbs moved against their will.

There were so many of them, though... it was hard for Yukito to keep up with the onslaught. The deck was awash in blood and saltwater, and he kept getting slammed down onto it. A shield smashed into his side and he almost lost consciousness, laying there in a daze. Someone managed to break through several layers of his shielding, and he felt a heavy weight straddling his chest, and keeping him pinned down.

A long dagger sank slowly and deeply into his belly, and the man wielding it leaned on it hard, sneering directly down into Yukito's face. It was a horrific wound, the pain was so deep that he felt almost numb from it to the tips of his toes. The slow and bloody thrust of the metal deep beneath his skin made him nauseous. And then, without warning, it was ripped free.

The sound that Yukito made in that moment was the burbling gasp of a dying man, and tears streamed from the corners of his eyes... but on the heels of that, he softly began to giggle. Then he was weakly laughing as if he was not quite sane. His opponent didn't appear to notice, or was simply intent on ending it, blade held high for another strike. Yukito's eyes began to glow an eerie shade of blue.

Then the screaming began.

Barely able to lift his head, Yukito watched as people began to drop dead around him. He casually snapped their limbs like dry wood, and bashed their faces to the floor until their heads split, all without saying a word. Cold seeped into his flesh, and his fingernails were blue as his hands traced more glowing circles. When he tired of the screaming, he silenced them all, and let them crawl around on their bellies until the light went out of their eyes.

His own body sang as he was rejuvenated. He could feel his heart slamming in his chest as he slowly pieced together the fragments of his calm and his flesh. Kneeling for a moment, he pressed his hand over the knitted wound on his stomach; now a gruesome scar. Time for that later.

The Captain of the vessel strode in, looking like a god of retribution. Tired and drained, Yukito got to his feet and lifted his sword again. Eyes narrowed, he pointed the blade directly at the man's throat and waited, on the defense.

"Iron Door."

They both battered each other across the deck of the ship, neither wanting to admit defeat. They were punching and kicking at this point, elbows were thrown and Yukito even tried to latch onto him and tear away part of the man's face with his teeth until he got backhanded away so hard that his head rung. No one else stirred. While the slide of the bodies on the swaying deck was a disadvantage for Yukito, it seemed to fuel the captain's rage. It was just the stillness of the ocean, and the growls of two men bent on murder.

It was a simple mistake really, but Yukito reached for his magic and drew far too much. He could feel the strain and the stress it put on his mind, and it almost put him on his knees. No more magic. Frustration welled up inside of him as he continued to try to kill the man attempting to kill him. No! He was so close! If this man... would just... die...!

The second time a blade went through Yukito's middle, there was no healing to be had. He had reached his physical and mental limit. He stood face to face with the Captain and snarled up at him. The Captain twisted the blade, making Yukito's mouth involuntarily fall open in pain and shock. Then the Captain lifted one booted foot and shoved the half-sylvan free of his sword to let him fall limply to the deck.

They both stared at each other in mutual hatred for a few seconds. Then the Captain strode over and casually lifted his sword, slashing it across Yukito's throat.

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Yukito came to a bit later, the island spirit at his side looking solemn. He infused it with more mana, unwilling to be alone and in need of the company. His clothes were soaking wet. The Captain must have thrown his body overboard after the fight.

He sat on the beach staring at the toes of his boots. Lorminstra was always there, at the end, in the final darkness. Her presence seemed like a light that he could almost reach if he just tried hard and stretched his fingers far enough.

His gaze drifted to the side, and he stared expressionlessly at the footprints in the sand, catching sight of a ragged cloak just before it vanished from sight far down the path.

That hope was a false hope. He had no one to rely on but himself. He could either be crushed by the higher powers, or he could become one. Someday, he would tell the old crone exactly what he thought of their years old bargain. Or maybe he would ignobly die, fade out like a spark and she would claim her due.

He wouldn't see what was in that warm and beckoning light though. It wasn't for him. He couldn't be certain if he had made peace with that yet.

For the time being, he was exhausted and had to have his ship fixed. He and the spirit made their way toward the docks, and he absently made certain to obliterate every single footprint the old woman had left behind.

"Take Me to Church" - Hozier