As soon as ämi knows which path Trista and Chance will take he takes flight and heads for the forest.

The bird sings "ämi will just look."

And then it fades into the distance, it seems...

ämi moves into that dark pace between worlds that the Devlin had shown it (ämi does not know how he does it, he just knows he can) and begins the trip back to Charyk.

"Show ya money, if ya will, but I'll take not one penny until we get ter the other side.  Should I die before that, I'll not go ter face the ancestors with unearned coin in my pocket."

The boy, Sam, grins, as his father sets about releasing the moorings.  "Pay no mind ter him, nothing's going ter happen."

"Don't reckon it'll rain, but if it does, that's what the deck house is for.  There's benches in there, too.  They're no more comfortable than church pews, but if y'all need a seat... "

With everybody aboard, and the moorings released, the boatman fetches a broad-bladed oar from beneath the rail, and fits it into a metal tholepin at one end of the boat.

With powerful strokes, he starts the boat moving, and Sam moves all the carvings down onto the deck, where he sits and continues carving.  "Back in the okd days, ya know, these would've been real animals.  But I had a dream, where I heard a lady's voice call out from under the water.  She said that there wasn't no reason ter be hurtin' animals.  Said a carved animal's as good as a real one for this."

Black wings take to the sky, pulling Trista's eyes with them until they disappear from view. Take care. A silent thought to her little friend.

Suddenly, she's not linked to another mind. For the last three days, she's held a nearly constant communication to Berd, then to Devlin and the black bird. Now, silence as it had been her whole life. Just a touch of melancholy flutters through her.

Trista climbs aboard, taking her little horse carving and watching as the boy lets Chance pick out one of the other horses. A smile touches her lips at the parallel between the horses and between the people.

Leaning against the railing, she listens as the boy talks of his visions. “Sounds reasonable to me; I'm not a fan of needlessly hurting creatures. Sounds like a smart Lady of The Lake down there. Do you have those types of dreams often? I mean about the old stories?”

"Sometimes I won't dream 'bout 'em fer a month or more.  Other times, most likely in the spring, it'll be every night fer a week or two." he says, still carving.  The wood takes shape beneath his hands... and a mouse, sitting up on its haunches, gradually appears

The boat continues to move across the lake, driven by the single oar at, what is for this crossing, at least, the stern.

"Sometimes the Queen will talk ter me, and tell me the story.  Other times it's like I'm there, while the story happens.  I saw Levathan once.  Dad's right, Leviathan couldn't live here.  It's too big ter fit in the lake.  The sons of Leviathan, mind, one of 'em could live in here."

"I di'n't like that dream none.  Too scary, with all the wheels, an' the fires.  The Queen said, after, that what I saw was how the world'll come ter an end."

"Dreams are interesting things," Chance says. He looks like he might add more to that, but he stops speaking and looks away.

Either the boy has a vivid imagination capable of bringing a continuity of dreams through his fantasy or...

'...with all the wheels, an' the fires.' Trista darts sharp eyes up to Chance to catch his reaction. She's disappointed when he has none, seemingly distracted. Then her own head cocks slightly, her eyes focusing on some unseen object in the middle ground.

Her preoccupation lasts only a few moments and she focuses on the man in black again, but she finds no help there. Her eyes sharpen, knowing in their group it will be Chance as the target and not herself. That's why she's with him, of course. Resolve clenches her teeth; nothing will happen to the man if she has any say in the matter.

Be careful, Devlin and Berd.

Taking in a deep breath, she smiles for the boy, “I don't blame you; that dream sounds intimidating. I hope the Lady is more selective of what she shows you in the future. She should be sharing the miracles of her underwater home and let your imagination swim free with the fish.”

Though her eyes remain calm, her insides squeeze in on themselves with worry over this boy and his father. He's not being sent random dreams, not with the 'wheels' hovering in them. Hopefully, he is merely a witness and not a future participant.

Chance swallows, looking out over the vast lake. Lost in his own thoughts, his lips move slowly, mouthing a word.

Leviathan, he repeats in his mind, wouldn't fit in this lake.

The lake could be a small ocean.

Once again, a feeling like sick vertigo washes over him at the sense of enormity. He had escaped it for a few hours, being away from the other questors who could do so many impressive things. Now there is this thing that would likely consider this ocean a sip of water. He shakes his head.

Coming back into focus on the here and now, he catches the last of Trista's words. He tacks his own small consolation onto the end. "I'm sure she will."

"Say," he says, crouching so he'll be at eye level with the boy. He offers a warm smile. "I don't suppose you've eer thought about writing those dreams down, have you? People might want to know about the things you've seen, someday."

The knife stills in his hand.  "I can't write that good, Mister.  Can make my name, and some other words, but that's all." the boy says, looking up at the sky, around the interior of the ferry, at Trista... anywhere, except at Chance.

His eyes come back to Trista again, "Dreams are dreams.  The godspeaker says that the Queen shows me what She wants me ter know about, and how maybe the bad things are as important ter know as the good things."

"I know which ones I like best, but if the bad ones are important... then I should see those too."

His starts carving again...

At the boy’s awkwardness, Trista chooses not to comment on Chance’s suggestion though it would be a good idea.

Then he speaks of things a child shouldn’t even consider. As he turns toward his chunk of wood, Trista eyes him with a touch of sadness. Too young to be so level-headed about ‘bad things.’ Godspeaker?

Straightening herself up and shifting to lean against a railing, Trista lazily watches him work, “Who’s the godspeaker?”

"At the chapel.  He tells the stories about the Queen.  And about the King in Yellow, and the Hooded Man.  He teaches the lessons from their scriptures, and tells us how ter live right, by the words."

The boy looks curiously at Trista, "D'ya not have godspeakers, where y'all come from?"

Warmth floods Trista's eyes, this boy reminds her of past friends. “You know, I think we do have something similar. I just don't call them by the same name. I like that though - godspeakers. Maybe when I pass this way again, I'll stop in and talk to your godspeaker.”

Chance straightens a bit. Learning to read and write was easy enough in most cases, but the boy's sudden discomfort puzzled him. Perhaps only these godspeakers were allowed to read and write? If that were the case, Chance's suggestion would have unknowingly been loaded with much more meaning. Of course, that was just one possibility. It could be anything.

Nevertheless, he sees no reason to meddle or stir things up, so he backs off, physically and conversationally, letting Trista take over for a while. She seems to do much better with the child.

No, that wasn't it. The boy said he could write a little--his name only. That tore a whole in his first theory, but there must be something there.

Rather than fuss over it, he smiles and admires Trista's casual-but-warm manner with the boy.

The boat makes good progress across the water, propelled by strong sweeps of the single oar.  Sam, continues carving, pausing occasionally to point out landmarks on the shores of the lake.

"That there mountain, with the three peaks, is Ironheart, where the King in Yellow first brung his men to mine fer metal fer the making of weapons, when he was fightin' the war against the Hooded Man."

"The mines, and the furnaces, and the forges were hot, and He led them down to the shores of the water, and did Command them to drink, that they might slake their thirst.  And there did the Queen of the Waters see Him, and She was smitten with Love for him, so bright was His face.  And she bade him, 'Put aside this foolish War, for there is no Good in it.'

The boy shakes his head, "Course, as all know, the war didn't end.  Leastways, not fer a coupla hunderd years.  But the Queen married the King in Yellow, and their first son was Leviathan.  Though the Hooded man twisted his heart, until he turned against his own Mam and Dad, and against the whole world, fer that matter."

He points again, to where thin trails of smoke rise from a mountain which bears the unmistakeable shape of a volcano.  "Mount Fury, where the fires and the wheels came from, in my dream.  The mountainside opens like a door, and they pour out.  The godspeaker says it's always been a place of Evil and Damnation."

"Watch yer language in front of the lady, Sam."

"Sorry, Dad.  Sorry, Miss."

"Mount Fury," Chance says, turning his gaze in the direction of the mountain. "What happened to the wheels and fires after they came out?"

Trying not to draw too much attention to it, he glances at Trista to see if she's thinking the same thing.
This message was last edited by the player at 23:52, Wed 17 Oct 2007.

The King in Yellow. The Hooded Man. The Queen of The Waters. Wheels and fire. The story proves interesting and Trista's gaze hooks to the triple-peaked mountain. Sam tells the story of the Archons, a story of love, jealousy, and treachery. Sounds about right.

Trista's eyes shift to Mount Fury. If the Archons poured out of there, would they again? Or has this particular portal gone dormant? Perhaps it needs a little help to remain that way.

Like a proper father, Sam's dad chastises him for his language. Trista responds to the apology with a faux stern frown, “I'll let it go, this time.” Her lips curve to a shallow grin and she gives the boy a wink to know she doesn't mind.

Chance asks his question and Trista wonders if Sam's dreams are of the past – or of the future. She meets his glance, holding his gaze with an almost imperceptible nod. There's a temptation to open a mind link, now that she knows she can, but feels it isn't her place. Hadn't he agreed that communicating in that silent medium was new to him, as well? Or at least, he wasn't completely comfortable with it.

The boy has the decency to look properly abashed, at least when his father can see him.  The eye on the side of his face away from the man gives Trista a wink.

Then, "I don't know what happens after.  The Queen told me that the wheels and the fires will come at the end of the world.  How'd she say it now...?"  He screws up his face in concentration, trying to recall the exact words of a dream.

When he speaks again, his voice is quieter, and a little higher pitched, "Their coming has been forseen, in times long past, and it shall herald the End of Time.  All lands shall be laid waste, and all their peoples slain.  All the fields shall be planted with seeds of metal, and flame shall be their only yield."

His voice returns to normal, "And it talks 'bout it in the books at the chapel, but the godspeaker don't like to tell us younguns them stories none.  Says they're not good for young ears."

"I sneaked me a look, though, and there's tales in there of how some people can stop that happenin', if only they can figure out how to do it.  That part wasn't so bad."

Chance's face grows stern and he looks away from the boy. It seems they had stumbled on something important. Luke had mentioned such coincidences, as if some invisible guide brought them to important destinations when they least expected it. Or perhaps their intent guided their feet to important crossroads. Either way, they had found one.

He turns to Trista. "Perhaps Charyk will have to wait. What do you think?

Prophecy. Out of the mouths of babes.

Trista's stunned for a moment - the prophecy rings too true. Then she remembers Devlin's words of the Flow and Fate. It seems Chance has similar ideas and the woman looks to the man in shades for a long moment before nodding her head, “I think you're right. We wait for ämi anyway, may as well utilize our time.”

Pulling her eyes away, Trista puts on a smile for the boy, “You've intrigued us, Sam. We'd like to see the Godspeaker this evening if you,” she turns to the boy's father, “or your dad can point us in the right direction. Is he back the way we came?”

Trista shares his own thought of speaking to the Godspeaker first, though he had a strange feeling they would be visiting Mount Fury soon. He flashes a quick smile her direction at her request, showing his appreciation for her idea. He really was lucky to have her along. He found himself somewhat anxious for a quiet time when they could talk more.

Just talk, Chance? he wonders. Have you fallen so far that you're only interested in talking? What next? Can't wait to crochet a sweater with her?

He sighs and looks out over the glassy, dark waters. A faint smirk showed his amusement at his internal monologue.

"No, he lives over the water.  When we get closer, y'all should see the chapel, easy enough.  Unless'n it's rainin', or a fog comes down."  He looks up at the sky again, "But I don't reckon either'll happen.  Not today.  Sky's not right fer 'em."

He works, carefully, on the mouse's left eye, and then says, "Seems like y'all've heard some tales anyways.  From the godspeaker's book, I mean.  Like the City Outside The Sky, fer instance."

Instinct sends Trista's eyes out over the water to land, in the vain notion she might see the chapel. Naturally, it isn't there and so she brings her gaze to Chance – his profile seemingly amused at the waters.

Back to the boy, “I've heard hints and bits of tails, I suppose, about Leviathon and his sons. But I'm afraid,” she leans in close for her self-defacing confessional, “I'm not much of a story-teller. Very dry and boring. Stumble over my words all the time.” Well, perhaps not the latter, but definitely the former.

“However,” her brow arches conspiratorially, “you might find my friend over there to have a knack at that sort of thing.” A leap, of course, not having heard Chance tell any tales, but he can sing and so he has to be better than Trista. “Perhaps he'll favor you with one before we land.”

City Outside The Sky? All sorts of thoughts flood the woman from simply the Worlds to perhaps Harbonah's fortress where Devlin probably now walks.

Chance turns from the water to study Trista, curious about why she had described herself in such a manner. He wasn't surprised that she didn't see herself as a storyteller, he had never witnessed her stumbling over words her words. In fact, he guessed there was a bit of well-spoken fire beneath her cool exterior. And was a really great exterior.

"Music is more my forte, but I've been known to turn a tale or two when the occasion merits."

Rather than break into a story, he asks another question. "Do you remember anything it said about these people who can stop it, if they figure out how?"

The boy's face grows puzzled, and he fixes Chance with a gaze which makes it plain that he isn't sure if the man really understands him, or not, but he's going to try to explain a difficult idea.  "It just says that they'll come, an' that they'll try to figure it out.  But it can't really say how it'll all turn out...  It ain't happened yet, so the story ain't finished."

"Maybe they'll stop the End, maybe they won't."

"We know the End'll come.  The Queen said as it will, an' it'll come with fire an' metal, an' lightnin's.  But the rest, 'bout how the people will try to stop it, well now, that's just stuff what folks added on to the story.  Tryin' to make it seem less bad, I guess."

He pauses, and then adds, "Some parts're true prophecisin'... the bits the Queen said.  But other bits're added later, by regular people.  The godspeaker says as how there's a special word for those parts... he calls 'em a pocrypha, which means that they maybe ain't all true."

The journey continues long into the day, and Sam points out more sights, like the crag where Saint Nathaniel cast himself from the clifftop to prove his faith to the Hemigoths, and the place place where the prophet Simon bathed the feet of King John in the waters of the lake, so that the spirit of the Queen entered him and he became one of Her most devout followers...

The hous pass pleasantly enough, and eventually a small town comes into view on the lakeshore.  Not long after that, it becomes apparent that this is to be their destination, as Sam points out the wooden steeple of the chapel.

Minor chatting and long but comfortable silences mark the trip over the water. Trista spends much of it looking off into the scenery they pass, attempting to know her surroundings. An old habit that would be difficult to shed.

If the boy indicated when to toss the wooden animals into the drink, she did to appease his sense of propriety. Otherwise, she'd be happy to tuck the little horse into her pack.

Though she suspects no dangers lie in wait within this sleepy little community, the habits of an experienced fighter kick in and she's checking the area, noting possible troublesome spots in the buildings, the trees, and the outlying areas. For all intents and purposes, Chance is her ward and she will do what she can to ensure his safety.

Trista leans against the railing near the man while looking at the simple steeple, “Hopefully, we'll hear a good tale or two from the Godspeaker.” She turns a grin toward the man, “Maybe stretch your own story-telling abilities.” The grin widens slightly at the gentle teasing.

Turning back to the boy and his father, she asks, “Does the Godspeaker go by another name? Something common?”