Realm of Monsters Chapter 676: Dire River Part 2

Chapter 676: Dire River Part 2

  The storm continued and grew worse the further the Dragon’s Hoard and her crew sailed into the magical mist. Stryg closed his eyes and tried to focus on a feeling, anything that might help.

  “Ah, I can’t see shit!” Freya scread, their shared sense of sight going dark.

  “Sorry!” Stryg snapped his eyes open.

  The first iceberg was coming up on the Dragon Hoard’s right.

  “Freya…” Stryg said, eyes widening.

  “I’m on it!” She turned the wheel as fast as she could. The ship groaned as it heeled to the left. They weren’t going to make it.

  Gale and Nora rushed to the edge and commanded the incoming wave to rise even higher. The wave rose between the ship and the iceberg and pushed the Dragon’s Hoard away just enough to scrape by the massive tower of ice.

  “Watch it!” Gale yelled at the helm.

  “I’m trying! If this idiot doesn’t keep his eyes shut, maybe we can survive this!” Freya snapped.

  “I said I was sorry.” But Stryg didn’t dare look at the angry dwarf. Instead, he focused on the incoming icebergs. As long as his vision was linked to Freya, he needed to keep his eyes peeled; otherwise he risked blinding both of them and crashing the ship.

  The frost-mist had engulfed their surroundings and the howling winds only empowered the chill as it swept through the crew and deck. Ri was already forming on the railing and the water that had splashed onto the deck from the crashing waves had frozen over, causing several sailors to slip and fall. To make matters worse, the ship continued to rock from side to side as heavy waves crashed into the hull. A few of the fallen sailors scread as they were sent careening off into the dark waters.

  Several of the crew tried to head below deck, but the crashing waves and powerful winds had cut them off from the stairs. Tauri reached them and conjured an orb of fla above their heads for warmth. Despite the constant orange mana she injected into the spell, the flas flickered relentlessly and seed in danger of being snuffed out by the heavy winds.

  Hail continued to pelt the remaining crew as they tried their best to take cover and hold onto anything for dear life. Kithina was in the crow’s nest, channeling Yellow, casting protective spells around the sails. The winds wrapped around the sails like a shield, preventing the frost-mist from freezing the cloth, yet the storm’s wind seed to fight harder the deeper they sailed downriver.

  The freezing mist billowed around Stryg, dampening his clothes and freezing them in the span of a few breaths, but he ignored it and kept watch, occasionally calling the incoming icebergs out to Freya. He could feel the cold trying to seep into his body, like water into a sponge, but its icy touch could find no purchase in his skin. Even as he breathed in the frost-mist, its frigid temperature ward as it entered his nostrils and flowed down his throat.

  The frost-mist simply passed over him. Though Freya was not so lucky. The mist had frozen her clothes and left her a shivering statue. Her limbs were stiff and her lips had turned purple.

  Stryg glanced at the freezing woman standing next to him and nearly pulled his hand away from her head, risking the spell’s collapse. “Freya!”

  “K-Keep your e-e-eyes ahead!” Freya said through chattering teeth. “D-Don’t worry about m-m-.”

  “Just hold on.” With his free hand, Stryg conjured his own orb of fla, but as soon as he did, he realized why Tauri had been struggling. Sothing in the mist was fighting against the fire, dampening its power. It reminded Stryg of when he had fought against Beatrix in the Mage Tourney and she had ripped apart his spells by pulling at the threads that ford them.

  Foregoing the fla, he released the spell and instead began to write red sigils in the air, all the while keeping his eyes on the lookout for the icebergs. The sigils quickly fell together like chain links. When the last link connected to the rest, the entire arcane sequence glowed and ford a red do around the helm.

  “T-T-Thanks,” Freya mumbled.

  “Are you feeling better?” Stryg asked.

  “Still… c-c-cold…”

  She was right. The do should have stopped the hail, frost-mist, and the cold entirely. Yet the mist seed to sink through the wards, albeit slowly.

  “There’s sothing wrong with this storm,” Stryg frowned. He recast the orb of fire over his palm and let the heat seep into the air, but once again it flickered weakly. The storm was breaking apart his fla spell.

  This was divine magic, he had no doubt of it. Lunae had conjured a storm to prevent anyone from sailing down the river. The question was, could she even stop the storm from this distance? The Sylvan fleet was a day ahead of them. Even if the entire fleet sailed more slowly than the Dragon’s Hoard, they were still far ahead.

  Stryg tossed off his cloak of concealnt and hoped that Luane could see him. “I’m here! Stop the storm, please!”

  But there was no answer and the storm continued to rage on. It felt as if Lunae had set a tree ablaze and watched as the whole forest went up in flas. Even if she could see him, there was nothing she could do at this point.

  Freya licked her lips and straightened her back. “I-I’ll be f-fine, just focus on g-g-getting us out of th-this.”

  Freya was projecting strength, but Stryg knew she was still freezing. At this rate, she would fall into hypothermia, as would the rest of the crew who hadn’t taken cover below deck. Gale and Nora were fighting off the incoming waves as best they could. Belle had joined them, adding her own blue magic into the fray. But it was a losing battle. Kithina and the rest of the crew weren’t faring much better.

  Stryg found himself wishing blue magic had dominion over ice and the cold, but such spells were limited to the elental magics. He had tried to call upon the elent of chaos within him to command the weather like his sister, but try as he might, the power had not co to him. He wasn’t like Holo, his divine powers lay elsewhere, he thought.

  The mory of the Astral Light obliterating the sky above Hollow Shade flashed through his mind. Stryg shook his head; even if he did know how to control the Astral Light, such destructive power would be of no help in the middle of a ship. Not to ntion the backlash such a power would have on his body. lantha had warned him that he had been lucky the first ti. There may not be a second ti.

  “Wait… Is it just or are the icebergs heading towards us!?” Freya yelled over the raging wind.

  Stryg quickly darted his eyes at the horizon. “Fuck.” She was right. The icebergs were floating against the river and heading straight towards their ship. Had it been attracted to all the magic they had been flinging around? Or did the conjured storm have so form of limited sentience?

  As the icebergs drew closer, the storm suddenly picked up in strength, the winds roared with renewed life, and the frost-mist grew more potent until even Tauri’s fla flickered out. Hail the size of an infant’s fist began to rain down, pelting the deck in a deafening cacophony. Tauri, Kegrog, and the few crewmates that remained on deck had huddled close under one of the masts and a couple of crates, but soon it wouldn’t make a difference. The cold was growing worse. Even within the red do, Freya had fallen to her knees, unable to keep her stiff limbs upright.

  “Freya!” Stryg released the mind spell and helped her to her feet.

  “O… ginum…” Freya reached out feebly to the hamr lying not far away.

  Stryg rushed over to the golden hamr and handed it back to her. As soon as the hamr was in her grasp, it flared with a warm glow. Motes of golden light flowed into Freya’s skin, sending small ripples through her body. She closed her eyes and sighed with relief.

  “Freya…”

  “I’ll be okay… help the others.” She gave him an exhausted grin.

  Stryg felt uncertain, but a quick glance at Tauri and his friends more than made up his mind. Ti was not on their side. With his divine sight, he could see what no one else could, several icebergs coming towards them fast. They didn’t have long before the first one crashed into the ship.

  “I’ll be back.” Stryg ran out of the arcane do, the red sigils fizzling sowhat as he moved through them. The wind hit him in full throttle, hail striking an endless barrage. Even the frost-mist seed to cling to his skin. He winced as a particularly large piece of hail struck close to his eye.

  Calm down, he told himself. Panicking would do him no good here. He needed power, the strength to change their circumstances. He thought of his father and silently called out to the divine power coursing within his veins. Sothing. Anything that could help him.

  There was no answer. He clenched his eyes tight and tried to focus, ignoring the howling wind in his ears and the pelting of hail. He called out again, searching for the elent of chaos within his heart. Silence answered.

  He called a third ti and then he felt a pull towards sothing below deck. Svartna. He knew at that mont that if he called, the orichalcum spear would answer.

  No, Stryg cast aside the thought. The spear was a conduit of his own power, it would not save the ship from a storm. The power of Death could not save lives, only take them. He needed so other Aspect of his father. If he could not call upon the Navigator’s Aspect, then perhaps the Star or Traveler? Maybe even the Owl?

  He had little understanding of how any of them worked, but he rembered lantha’s words. A titan’s powers were anchored within their emotions, their instinct. He didn’t need to understand them, he needed to trust them. Or so he hoped.

  Stryg called out once more. He searched for a connection in the rhythmic beating of his twin hearts, but the only response he felt was harmonic disorder, the chaos and chromatic energies flowing in an endless rhythm, uncaring and unaware of his own plight.

  “Dammit!” He shouted in frustration and fell to his knees. Opening his eyes, he saw the incoming iceberg. It would be upon them soon. A dozen ideas raced through his mind on how to deal with it. Two dozen chromatic ways to obliterate the tower of ice. But then what? When the next one ca, he would destroy it. Yet what about the one after that? He would run out of chromatic mana long before even half the icebergs were destroyed.

  Did they have to abandon ship? There was no way he could save the whole crew, but at the very least, he would save his friends. Gale’s warning be damned. It didn’t matter if he couldn’t swim. He wouldn’t leave them behind. He wouldn’t forget them. He wouldn’t forget her.

  Her? Stryg paused as a familiar sense of hopelessness wrapped around his chest at the thought. No, not hopelessness, a deep, penetrating wound that cut through the noise of the storm. It wasn’t a wound of flesh and blood, but of loss. He had lost her. He didn’t know quite whom, but he knew he had lost soone precious.

  Stryg found himself staring at his palm. His hand ached with a familiar sting, yet there was no cut. With a slow hesitance, he called out once more, this ti to any power that might listen. And for the first ti since the storm had struck, he felt cold. It was faint and it pricked at his palm, like a snowflake lting on his skin.

  He knew the cold sensation on his hand, it was small but familiar. He had ignored the cold nestled in his palm for so long, that he had forgotten it was ever there, but it had never left.

  A sudden warmth slipped down his face. He touched his cheeks and realized he was crying. Stryg closed his eyes and called out to the cold sensation, the wound that had never healed. And it answered with fire.

  Sharp pain seared across his hand and when he opened his eyes, he found a pale silver scar across his once unblemished palm. An unfamiliar power swelled in his chest, stretching at the seams, begging to be released. Stryg staggered to his feet, reached his hand towards the roiling clouds, and let his instinct speak where his words failed.

  He roared at the storm. It was not the voice of a goblin, nor the defiant scream of a godling. It was primal. And it cut through the winds and crashing waves like the howl of a wolf. The frost-mist answered in return, swirling to life around him, pulsating with newfound power.