Katerin sat on the edge of Jon's cot, her fingernails tapping on the wooden support beam.

Fykes paced back and forth, looking as if he was struggling to keep his breathing calm. "Is it getting better? Are you sure we don't need Arjiah? I can go—"

Katerin held up her hand, but gave him a pleading look. "He'll be alright. Trust me."

"Well what should I do?" he asked, his hand clenched into a fist at his side.

"You could sit down, for a moment."

He took a breath and held it, before sinking onto the cot opposite her.

Katerin sat with her spellbook open on the pillow above Jon's head, casting spell after spell. She was now regretting her earlier usage of her magic, as each new spell made her dizzy and worsened the headache she had, some of them even causing her physical pain. She tried healing him-- which served to rid him of the cuts and scrapes, but did nothing for his shoulder. She tried purifying his blood, dispelling any magical effects on him, and half a dozen other things. Even checking in the realm of curses and hexes. But nothing worked, and all the spells seemed to do was sicken her. Jon was slowly normalizing, and there was not a thing she could do, to hasten the process.

So she closed her eyes and focused on the magic that wrapped around him. As far as magic in his blood, he had very little. The magical trinkets he kept on his person were small specs in his aura. And the runes on his shoulder blazed like the sun in her mind's eye.

She sighed as she studied it. She couldn't tell the type of magic. How it worked or how it could affect him. So in a last attempt to do something useful, she cast another layer of warding over the runes. When the spell was done, she sank to the floor and held her head.

"Katerin?" Fykes' voice still held an edge of panic "Are you alright?"

"I can't do anything more," she said.

"Do you know if he'll wake up?"

She bit her lip, and shrugged. "He's doing better. But I don't know what the runes did to cause this. I can't remove or change that mark at all. Which means the only person..." she shook her head."the only being who can, is the one that placed it on him. I've gone through every spell I know." She gestured lazily at the book filled with arcane runes.

Fykes squeezed her hand. "It's alright. If anyone could figure it out, it's you."

She let out a chuckle that held no humor. "That is not necessarily true."

Fykes' fingers tapped aimlessly on the wood as Katerin pulled the book closer and flipped to another section.

"Do you need anything?" he asked.

"No... I'm going to see if there's something I missed, and stay here. Maybe he'll wake up on his own."

"No, do you need anything? You're injured."

Above deck there was a myriad of sounds and shouts.

Katerin shook her head, tiredly. "I'll be alright. I just need to rest."

"I'm sure they could use me for something, up there," he said. "Come and get me if--"

"I will. You don't have to worry."

Fykes kissed her quickly on the cheek, and shrugged. "Have to or not," he said, as he left the room.

Katerin poured over her books, searching for any clue she could to the nature of the demon that had done this to him. What all she knew, demon's couldn't be killed anywhere except the place they were first born. And none were born here. But they could be banished to an odd sort of limbo, until they regrew from the ash or whatever substance it was they had first been born form.

Banishing one would make it powerless, and its touch of magic upon this world would cease as if it had died. For a hundred years, or so. And that span of time would far outreach Jon's, the way he liked to live.

But Banishing a demon was not a small or simple trick. And first, she would need to summon it. Shivers of an old fear rekindled and ran up her spine at the thought. Sure, she was far stronger in magic now than she had been nearly three years ago in Luminya—but logical thought floundered in the face of bad experience.

Not only did she need to be strong enough to summon it to her, they would have to be strong enough to fight it. Wound it enough to force it to seek its limbo and heal. And that was a whole other matter of strength. Any weapon not forged or enchanted with magic, would not do more than scratch it. And where as her and her companions weapons had more magic than most—considering their line of work, it was still a risk for anyone else to get involved. She would need somewhere far away from the ship, and the dwarves.

She would need to know the true name of the demon to summon it, and she would need Jon present to call it forth. She sighed, her thoughts turned to the very real possibility that it could just strike him dead and leave before they ever managed to mortally wound it.

"You cannot stay out of trouble, can you?" she asked, as she closed her book and looked him over.

Jon only mumbled in his sleep.

As the enemy ships faded into the distance, Trunk coaxed the weather back to a calm environment. Whispering to it, and showing the storm his will, and favor. Suddenly, his grasp of the spell was shattered and it felt as if someone had punched him, inside his mind.

He coughed, and opened his eyes to see a blurry vision of the still dark and angry waters around him. He blinked, but the blurring did not clear. And now he noticed that all the colors were skewed, dark was too dark, light was too bright.

Soon, you will know why you must be here. You are too afraid, now. Do not act as such a newborn shoot. Act as the reeds beside the stream. You will be needed, tested, and faced with the worst of your fears. I am sorry, but you must prevail.

"You will be with me, as you are always?"

Always, my child. My hand will guide you, hold, and heal.

"Why are they so important?"

In times when the gods reach too far, there are souls present to balance it as there are gods to balance when mortals reach too far. These souls around you have a part to play in this balance, to keep it or tip it, may well become their own will. They can of course be swayed, as everything that lives can. And as in all things there is rot and regrowth, the job of the gardener is to watch, and spur new growth or guide when needed. You are my gardener, and so I will ask you to tend. Too much rot, and nothing new will grow. But too much growth can do the same, and choke away possibility.

Trunk blinked, and watched the scenes around him in his strange vision. Lines connected everything, the waves were but threads, so too were the ship and those people upon it. Those threads stretched and morphed as they moved, but never broke. Those threads that were injured thinned, hardened as if they might be cut, but remain a memory.

See as I see, understand that it is all connected. Fire is the same as water, just differing in opinion, just as wind is the same as earth, only differing in stubbornness. Life is all things, and all things are life.

Trunk watched the threads all around him, and listened to the words of his goddess. Soon the strange vision faded away, and left him with the dreary-in-comparison scene of the ship, the people and the sea beyond. He shuddered, shaking out his fur, and breathed deeply before he returned his thoughts to the wind.

Cloaks were dried, and stock of ship and crew was taken. Nearly every member of the crew was injured though most were minor things, and the ship was very close to being dead in the water. As everyone stumbled about, the mood seemed higher than Katerin had expected from the glimpses she caught while sitting with Jon. No one moped or cursed—instead, they cheered their survival. Every able crewman set about rigging together a mast, and plotting a course for the nearby island to repair. The injured men were tended to—by a hesitant Roahn—and thanks to her the crew was healed and energetic about their work in short order. It seemed nothing drove a man more than living through a hellish experience. Be they dwarvish, human, or any race in between.

Hours passed and gleaming sun gave way to blinking stars, as the Mynyrri limped to the island. It was the middle of the night, when the ship finally hit sand, and lurched to a stop on the shore. Katerin left brazen to watch Jon, and stumbled up above the deck, to the shouts out the dwarvish crew.

The island was a private paradise, at first glance. Soft white sand surrounded its edges, and short green grasses hedged the sand eventually giving way to tall, roughly barked trees with fronds decorating their tops and swaying whimsically in the wind.

The dwarves worked in tandem to pull the Mynyrri up the shore, using a series of ramps and ropes and levers tied to trees for the sole purpose of getting if far enough up on the sand to keep it in place while repairs were made.

"How long will we be staying, Captain?" Fykes asked, as provisions and materials were being hauled off the ship in hordes.

Magrum scrunched up his face. "A few days, at least. We've lots of repairs to make, and without our usual equipment.." He sighed, glancing to the pockmarked deck. "There's no serious structural damage, but there's a hell of a lot of splinters."

Katerin dropped the sacks of grain she had been carrying, and glanced into the trees. For a moment she delighted in the fresh smell of the air, even so close to the water, the ever present salt smell had faded, a little. "Think those ships are going to come back?"

Magrum spit, and shook his head. "No. They don't come this close to land that isn't theirs."

Katerin opened her mouth to question him, but changed her mind. Magrum had been sailing for a very long time and she had no reason to doubt his judgment, now. He'd kept them alive so far. "I think I'm going to take a walk around. Make sure it's really just us, out here," she said, instead.

"Is Jon alright?" Fykes asked.

"He's still asleep, but Brazen's with him and I won't be long. We'll get Arjiah, later."

"Thank you, for looking after him."

"I'll be right back. I've missed trees."

As she left the smells of torches and saltwater behind, she took a deep breath. Delighting in steady ground beneath her feet, the touch of trees and plants, and the sounds of birds in the canopy above her. She meandered through the green paradise of the island, no worries of getting lost as she walked along animal trails with a smile. She took off her boots, and let her toes sink into the soil, with a sigh. As she walked she let go of her worries over Jon, let go of her dreams, and the state of the ship.

She walked for quite some time, and when she finally began to feel weary, the forest around her broke away, and she stood at the edge of a clearing. The breeze carried the scent of wild flowers and sweet grasses to her nose, and the moonlight spilled across a broken down building. Decrepit, yet beautiful—with plants clinging to its crumbling sides.

She smiled as she stepped toward it. Some spark of adventure ignited, and the strange paths of memory reminded her of her first visit to Ky'lei'mei. As she walked toward the front of the crumbling ruin, sudden fear lanced her, and her smile faded. She paused, and truly took in the building before her. The stone roadway up to it's entrance was crumbled and broken but hidden amongst the rubble, were bones. She knelt gripping her boots, and found signs of bloodstains. Old and splattered about.

Before the crumbling door was a large stone patio, with stairs up to it, and she gingerly picked a path. Here the stone was not so faded, and she stood on the edge of a circle in scribbled with arcane runes. The magic was faint and forgotten, but still lingered.

A bird cawed loudly into the night and the sound made her jump, as she blinked at the runes. She gazed back towards the treeline, but nothing was there. She laid her staff to the side, and made sure not to lean into the circle as she tried to puzzle out its purpose. The runes were familiar jagged and menacing. Written in the language of the demons. She stood, with her hair on end, and peeked into the wide doorway. Inside was nothing but a few crumbling stone pillars, and sprouting wide bladed grasses.

"There's nothing in there, if you were wondering," a soft voice said, elegant and lilting.