silently rushed away from the harbor, following the reflections of the moon on the calm waves.
He no longer thought of Vish. Or he thought that he no longer thought of Vish and looked through the transparent parts of the skiff into the water at the myriad of lights that gave the sea of Emir its emerald shades. Singing phosphorus illuminated the seabed, which resembled the dormant light of a kiln, interrupted from time to time by rapidly moving fish and other sea creatures. These underwater stars intertwined with the stars of the night sky and danced around the full moon, whose noble face was visible even through its scars. Cates had heard histories about the moon being young, whole and pure before the Cataclysm, but now its crude appearance could scare many. It didn't scare or bother Cates; in fact, he was glad that the moon would accompany him tonight.
What was it that lured him to the other side – he couldn't put together a single reason. Instead, he simply felt that courage was leading him in the right direction. The mysteries that troubled his mind, inspired by the shadows, would receive their share of light. The promises of histories would be fulfilled. He wanted to check everything by himself.
His fears and desires had the same roots. He didn't like the alternatives. He would find what he was searching for, even if he didn't know what it was.
The warm rumble of the skiff's engine sounded like a farewell prayer for the doomed, but Cates continued to hold the steering wheel tightly. He wanted to dissolve the anxiety that had seized him by choosing the unknown instead of the familiar fear. Soon, however, the intoxicating feeling of a new discovery awoke and pleasantly pinched his chest with fleeting confidence. It seemed that the skiff stood still, and the sea rushed past it, racing with the rest of the world. Thus, the shadow's destination was approaching – its ragged reflection appeared first. There it was, already visible far on the horizon…
The-fortress-of-no-return.
Sharp teeth of its black walls, tormented by storms, protruded from the ashen earth, and among them two long fangs – the silhouettes of towers – aimed at the shining moon and grew with each passing second. Like rods, they supported the heavy sky, which seemed to be ready to collapse and hide this nightmare. The worries mixed within a cacophony of the splashing water irritated Cates.
Cutting through the bay, Cates seemed to be in a waking dream, and the skiff separated him from the raging waves, like a message in a bottle. Empty. Hopeless. About nothing. Through the waves, on the waves, under pressure, at the bottom… not at the bottom. In his head, Cates envisioned a plan for arrival: he would land among the rocks so that their shadows would hide the skiff. Then there was the question of getting inside – here he could only hope for his hook and rope. Another important thing: he must remember to pull the kiln out of the engine.
The attention of Cates shifted from the wheel to the fortress in the distance. Many histories and even more lies had been told about it. Almost everyone agreed that it had once been the seat of the lord, before the city was built. Many saw in its shape a huge throne; many simply considered the place dangerous due to the weakness of the old structures. It was said that some other lord had once ruled Sol, but such stories were now taboo. Cates remembered them, as they promised relics, knowledge, and danger. Unthinkable devices and artifacts lurked in the dungeons underneath the ash. How could this fortress be abandoned? Who allowed it to descend to empty ruins?
Was Sol going to suffer the same fate of oblivion? What if the fortress was filled with ghosts? Or even wolves? Was it best for Cates to turn back? He recalled the histories of the shadows that brought him here. One in particular told of the lord's beating heart that held incredible power in the farthest, lowest chambers. It was said that the lord had cut out the heart because of love for his lost queen, whom he was trying to find in the ashen desert. Cates wondered about the reason for such histories – what gave them beginning and meaning?
It's all fiction, most likely. Only figments, conjured by the shadows out of boredom. There's nothing there. The sea freshened Cates up, but the thoughts of return that clouded his mind were soon dispelled by the sound of the skiff hitting the shore. Cates didn't even notice how quickly he crossed the bay, and he hoped he'd enjoy it more on his way back. The important thing now was to return.
There was no pier in front of the fortress, only a deserted beach between jagged rocks, where the wrecks of ships and boats, washed aground by the storm, lay surrounded by the bones of strange sea creatures. The white shades of these bones formed strange symbols, the meaning of which could only be read by those who saw their fate on the face of the moon. Cates was not one of them. He dropped the anchor, did not forget to pull out the kiln, and jumped from the skiff into the rough sand.
A wolf's howl could be heard above the sounds of the waves. Cates was definitely not welcomed here, or anyone else, for that matter. He gazed with eerie interest at the fortress towering over the shore: built of dark stone, covered with a layer of burnt salt, it seemed abandoned, gnawed on by hungry time. The patterns of the stonework of the impregnable walls imitated the night sky, golden lines outlined its sides and curves, and its jagged corners silently wailed as a constant reminder of its unfinished construction. Refined silvery bars protected the high windows from simple intrusion.
Two tall towers stood above these walls. They were similar to the central spire of Sol, and one of them was slightly taller than the other. At the left side of the fortress was a third tower, if you could call it that. It was much shorter than the other two, and its top was supported by a network of silvery wires, akin to a spider's web. Cates could not discern more details from his position, and the high walls cared little for him or his intentions. The hostility emanating from the fortress was almost completely opposed to the city, although it was similar to shields in that it protected something. Only what is required in defense usually has value.
Standing at the base of the walls, Cates began to realize just how high they were. The salt from past storms, like scales, coated the entire fortress. It had settled into the crevices, clogged and smoothed the sharp edges. Cates tried to grapple the old stones with his hook, but the salt was chipping off in chunks, making the climb too precarious. Claws would have come in handy here. Some of the ledges were cracked or had been torn off entirely by previous visitors'attempts to climb. There was no other visible way in. Cates had to find another approach. Or turn back. Or turn around the corner. He moved clockwise around the fortress to where the wall met the sea and sank deep into it, leaving the safety of the shore. A rhythm of black metal bars and thin spaces between them was carved high into the wall, while stones, honed by the relentless waves, hid and protected the paths to the secrets within.
Cates climbed onto the treacherously slippery surface of the stone protectors and, carefully maintaining his balance with measured steps, climbed as high and as close to the wall as he could. The thrown hook caught on one of the bars and connected the seeker with the other side across the roar of the surf. Gripping the rope tightly, he pushed off from the slippery stones and jumped, meeting the approaching wall with his leg. He could hear the waves crashing beneath him, the cold of the spray driving him upward. What if there was no ether and only the pitch black? This doubt almost threw him off his vertical balance, but his hands rushed forward, pulling him higher and higher. The rope passed over his elbows, segment by segment, and gathered, wrapping around his waist. Only barely noticeable wet spots from his boots remained on the cold wall.
Finding himself at a row of thin windows, Cates grabbed the bar and looked back. The invisible point of no return was there, right above the waves crashing against the rocks. On the other side of the bay, Cates could see the white petals of the city, their warm and false promise of protection reflected in his eyes. He turned away and looked inside the fortress. The light-devouring darkness spread its arms before him – there was no bottom to be seen, no trace of ether, nothing at all. Only a bold reflex of the moon shined through the bars and pointed the way for the invaders. The hook was securely fixed to the window, and one end of the rope fell into the abyss. The rod at its end made no sound, so the height on the other side raised more questions. Cates switched hope for courage, and after filling his chest with sea air, he adjusted the needles under the hood and began to count the seconds until his long-awaited meeting with new torments and, possibly, the answers.
Episode