Cormac grunted in acknowledgement.
“I mean to find out what it is.” Doraan narrowed his eyes at the steps Zev had descended.
“The men have been talking,” Cormac cut in. “They aren’t happy with our course. What do you think you will find in the North?”
Doraan turned from him and limped toward the railing to lean heavily against it, looking out over the calm sea. “Answers.”
“Answers to what?”
He spun, fury rising to the surface. “To this curse! To sorcery!” He stopped, chest rising and falling with one final angry breath before he turned, leaning once again over the railing and whispering, “To why my parents don’t care.”
Cormac said nothing for a long time before stepping beside him. “How do you hope to find these answers?”
“I don’t know, Cormac!” he yelled, throwing his hands up into the air before slamming them back onto the wooden beam. “I don’t know. But I’m done sitting back and letting my life pass me by. I want to go back. I want to live the life I once had again.” Cormac remained silent, so Doraan continued, “There has to be a way, something that will break it. I’ve been a ghost for ten years. I want to be seen again.” He sighed, sinking further against the railing. “I am taking us to the channel. It’s the only place I know of that is directly connected to sorcery.”
According to legend, the Channel of Efferra was created during the Ungifted Revolution when the Sorcerers were fleeing. In their attempt to find safety, the most powerful of the Sorcerers combined their gifts to create the Temple of Gorria and, in so doing, broke the world, leaving a raging river of rapids and whirlpools no ship could sail through. He knew it was foolish to go there, but he was desperate and it was the only idea he had. The Channel of Effera was the only place he knew that was directly linked to Sorcery.
Cormac’s nostrils flared. “There is nothing in the channel but death, Doraan.”
“I’ve been thinking a lot about this, and studying through some of the histories. It could lead us to the Temple,” Doraan said. “It’s the only thing that makes sense.”
Cormac sighed, “It’s just a tale, Doraan. There is no Temple of Gorria. It’s nothing more than a myth.”
Doraan knew there was truth to Cormac’s words but he didn’t want to listen. The Templewasa legend. No one hadactuallyseen it before. It was a story told in pubs and sung about in sonnets, but it was Doraan’s only hope, because the Temple of Gorria had not been built on land. The irony was not lost on him, that the Temple—an entirely Sorcerer built structure—was the only place he could actually step upon and possibly the only place that could help him break free from the chains of his curse.
It was said to be floating out on the sea. Per the legend, it housed the most powerful Sorcerers left in the realm, hidden on the water as a sanctuary for any Gifted fleeing the Empire.
His desperation would cause him to do just about anything, even if it meant coming face-to-face with Sorcerers. He might hate them,mightwant them all eradicated from the realm just like his father, but it was a necessary evil. He needed them to get rid of the curse, but once it was broken and he returned home, he would ensure the entire Temple was destroyed with them in it.
“It’s a fool’s errand.” Cormac’s voice thundered through Doraan’s thoughts.
“It’s the only hope I have left, Cormac.”
“There’s no use in chasing fairytales, Doraan. They will only let you down time and again.”
Doraan didn’t respond, only stared at the swells crashing against the ship’s hull. The tension was so thick in the air between them that even the cool sea breeze couldn't cut through it, ricocheting overhead, rattling the ropes and rigging high above them.
He knew it was petty and immature, but the words spilled free from his lips before he could stop them, “Well, it’s a good thing I’m the Captain then.”
Cormac’s shoulders tensed at his words and he turned away from Doraan, leaving him with a clipped, “Aye, aye, Captain.”
Doraan sighed as he watched his quartermaster leave. There was an incessant ache in his chest. He rubbed at it, massaging the flesh over his heart. It had been there since he visited home. He hadn’t known what to expect when he visited, having put it off for so many years, but what he had walked into, the conversations he overheard, were not at all what he expected.
Doraan grabbed onto the railing of the steps leading to the helm, and slowly pulled his way up them, one step at a time until he was at the top. The sea was quiet tonight, the wind a faint breeze that kissed across his face as the ship cut through the calm waters. He closed his eyes against it, feeling the ocean’s presence. He loved early mornings like these. Alone at the helm, the tranquil night offered him a small ounce of peace.
Doraan looked out over the beauty of the horizon, watching as the sun’s rays began to lighten the sky, revealing the solid line between it and the dark blue of the ocean. He surveyed the bubbling white between the water’s ripples, the swells moving fluidly along the surface of the sea, rocking the ship as it sailed over them. As much as he loved the ocean, this wasn’t the way he wanted to live. It wasn’t what he had spent his life preparing for. It was a hard life, so unlike how he had lived before. A life of solitude and anger. A life he didn’t want.
Much of their time was spent floating in the Awndar Sea. Its warmth and depth, a constant companion, provided calm waters and an endless supply of fish. Not many sailed that far south, because no one knew what lay beyond it. Some thought it was just endless seas and certain death, others argued it ended at a cliff, a bottomless pit at the edge of the world.
Doraan often found himself wondering if he sailed far enough away from his home, far enough out into the Awndar Sea, would the curse be broken? Would the distance somehow set him free? Might he find another piece of land, a distant world where he could step foot and make a new life for himself? But deep down he knew that was only a dream—a fruitless wish. A curse didn’t work that way. No distance, however great, could break it. There was only one way to break it and he had given up on it a long time ago, accepting his fate as a pirate stuck upon the sea. He had never really given it much thought, because to break the curse, he had to sacrifice his own life. Even being a pirate left to sail the endless ocean seemed a better fate than death.
His hand began to tingle and he looked down, only now noticing how hard he was gripping the ship’s wheel. He released it, hand throbbing as the blood rushed back into it.
With a heavy sigh, Doraan pressed his palms into his eyes, rubbing as pressure built behind them.
“The Temple isn’t in the channel,” a lilting voice came from the shadows, only adding to the tension that had yet to leave Doraan’s neck and shoulders.
He looked up at Forcina as she sauntered out from her hiding place. “Two visits in two days. Must be my lucky week.”
