examples already. Based upon the lay of the land and the way the wind is blowing, the gusts of wind can actually be funneled around and feeding itself and making it faster and faster. It becomes a twister, or a cyclone of air so powerful that trees can be torn from the ground and houses destroyed. Imagine what that would do to the Voidhawk.”
Dexter blinked, unable to comprehend how air could be so dangerous. “I can’t,” he admitted.
Xander sighed. “Trust me, it would be bad. We’d have our rigging and sails torn from us, our masts broken and perhaps even the hull torn apart. At best we’d be spun about and thrown through the air, stunning, killing, or casting overboard the majority of us. Those not on the main deck would be bounced off the walls and ceiling, injured and killed. Without anyone to recover from the jarring damage and redirection, we’d plummet to the ground like a rock.”
Dexter held up his hands again. “Alright, I get it. You paint a grim picture… how do we get out of it? Can you work a counter-spell?”
Xander looked at him, surprised. “You know of counter-spells?”
“No, damn it, it just seemed like the right words to be speaking!”
Xander laughed, briefly, then returned to business as usual. “Take us up… higher and higher, until the air is too thin for the weather to touch us. Then bring us back down and out of it.”
Dexter nodded, that they could do. “Bekka, we’re going up!”
She nodded and instantly the ships course changed. Dexter and Xander both hurried out onto the deck, feeling the biting cold of the sudden weather shift when they cleared the door.
“Stand your post!” Jenna yelled, seeing him emerge.
“Belay that,” Dexter called out, looking around. “We’re going up, out of this spell. We might need him to do something.”
“Aye, that something is tend to the rigging!” Jenna responded.
Dexter shook his head, “no, I meant magic-wise.”
Jenna scowled but relented and refocused on helping to guide the ship upwards through the rapidly gathering clouds. Strong winds buffeted their sails, rocking the ship and making it slip sideways from time to time. The first shock of lightning streaked through the clouds, followed almost immediately by a crash of thunder that deafened them all. The acrid tang of burnt ozone assaulted their noses and they were suddenly more alive and frightened than ever before.
Fighting a visible, tangible enemy was one thing. There was excitement and fear, but the source of the threat was apparent. This blind rush through a cloud as thick as night, with the stinking crack and boom of lightning around them at random places and intervals was terrifying.
A gust of wind snapped the mainsail so taut that one of the ropes holding it snapped, sending Willa off her feet with the remains of it. She slid across the decking, her plight worsened by the wind rocking the ship and tipping it to an angle. She screamed, the stub of her arm reaching instinctively for a handhold that it would never find.
Rosh grabbed her arm, his fingers squeezing her forearm tightly to hold a grip while his feet and other arm sought purchase in the decking where he had landed from his leap. He found nothing, and only barely managed to slow their slide as the ship tilted perilously again. Willa’s legs caught for a second on the raised side of the ship, but she was traveling too fast to take advantage of it and stop herself. Her legs buckled and she plunged over the edge. Rosh, sliding headfirst behind her, tried to soften the impact of his head against the edge of the ship with his other hand, but it still left him groggy and weightless.
She managed to grab on to the railing with her other hand, much as Rosh instinctively had grabbed with his. They hung off the edge of the ship, Rosh gritting his teeth in pain with his back to the ship while Willa panted in terror, her chest and stomach facing the ship.
Rosh shook his head to clear it and, still angry at the pain, he looked over at her. “Can you pull yourself up?” He yelled to be heard over the echoing thunder.
She tried but failed, her arms and back not possessing the strength. Tears leaked from the corners of her eyes. “Help me!” She cried, her voice so panicked the words barely squeaked out.
Unseen above them, Dexter sprinted across the canted decking to secure the flapping sail. He managed to grab the rope and held on to it for dear life. It was now too short to be tied off or secured otherwise.
“Let go!” Rosh yelled at her, wondering if he had enough strength in his arm to do what he needed to. “Let go and grab my arm with yours. I’ll swing you up onto the deck.”
She stared at his meaty forearm and large hand and nodded. Closing her eyes, she made the leap of faith, her hand desperately scrambling for his arm even as gravity and the wind tried to pull her down. Rosh’s fingers dug into her forearm, but she would take all the pain in the world from him if only it meant she could live.
Her hand closed on his wrist and she squeezed tight. She opened her eyes, staring into his and shared a moment in time.
“I ain’t letting you fall,” Rosh promised her.
She nodded, fresh tears blown by the wind falling from her eyes.
He began to swing her beneath him even as the ship slowly righted itself. On the third arc he growled and hoisted with all his might, lifting her up and sending her over the lip of the rail. She let go of him and grabbed onto the railing desperately, clinging to it and breathing deeply between sobs as she lay in the relative safety of the deck.
Rosh flipped himself around, using both hands now to hold himself steady. With a grimace of exertion, he pulled himself up and threw his leg over, pulling himself onto the ship beside her. He glanced back and saw only the swirling darkness of the clouds below, then he forced himself to his feet and reached down, offering her a hand.
Willa looked at his hand. How could he be willing to stand up again after what had happened? Her eyes followed up his arm and climbed to his face. His stony expression soothed her, quelling her panic and reminding her that these people — these strangers — depended on her. They entrusted their lives to her. She reached up and grabbed his hand, rising from her spot of perceived security and back onto the only slightly angled deck.
They returned to their stations, freeing Dexter to return to where Xander was studying the thinning clouds around them. He nodded approvingly and turned back. “We’re free of it,” he said to Dexter, shouting to hear himself over his own deafness.
Dexter nodded and waited, unwilling to count his blessings so quickly. It seemed as though they were indeed free and clear of the worst of it though, for nothing more than a few distant streaks of lightning and weak blasts of wind came at them. With time even the ringing in their ears ceased.
“Can you do anything about it next time?” Dexter asked Xander once they put some distance between the ship and the storm.
Xander thought for a long moment, then shrugged. “I’m not sure. Invoking the weather is the magical act, there was no control over it though. Our best course is to fly high, above it, and not drop down until we must.”
Dexter nodded. “Makes it hard to ferry men behind their lines that way,” he said.
Xander smiled. “I’ve been thinking about that, actually.”
Dexter raised his eyebrows. “Well, what are you thinking then?”
“I’ll need some ingredients, but I can craft some potions. Drinking them will cause the imbiber to fall slowly, like a leaf falling from a tree.”
“You mean to have them jump off the Voidhawk and just fall like leaves to the ground?”
Xander nodded. “Too fast for archers to shoot, but slow enough that they can land without injury.”
Dexter thought about it and nodded. “Perhaps… I’ll be sure to mention it to General Havamyr. Prepare a list of the ingredients you need.”
Xander grinned, finally proving his worth. He turned and hurried off, anxious to complete his task.
“Captain.”
Dexter turned, seeing a rather stern faced elf standing behind him. He glanced over and saw that Logan was keeping an eye on the place she had been working. They were out of the worst of it, so the demands on the deck crew had been reduced as well.
“Look, Jenna-”
“I wanted to say I’m sorry,” she said, interrupting him.
He stopped talking but his mouth stayed open. Finally he snapped it. “You what?”
“I was furious at you,” she admitted. “But then I realized I was the one arguing with you and countering your
