Page 54 of Death’s Kiss (The Order of the Tide Raiders #1)

T he completion of our third trial is unsettlingly different from that of the previous two.

There is no fanfare, no TideLords, no screaming raiders, no loud announcers, and certainly no afterparties.

Tonight is instead a soberingly somber affair.

My boots dig themselves into the moist black sands filling the bay's shoreline, while I stand with an otherwise statue-like stillness. There is a chill flitting about the midnight breeze, which has nothing to do with winter's lingering presence.

My breathing is a practiced steady thing whose current purpose is in tracking the morose movement of time. I count twelve inhales and thirteen exhales before the traditional sound of bone drums begins cresting up and over the towering cliffs at my backside.

The approaching beat is a dark and heavy dirge, so despondent in melody it might as well be dragging me down to the bottom of the ocean floor.

My fifteenth inhale is greeted with the sweet aroma of ritual cleansing smoke.

The heady white haze prowls throughout the space around us like an air-propelled leviathan, paving the way forward with its grievous scent.

Beyond the fragrant fog and haunting bone-drum lament, emerges the outline of a wooden longboat. I turn in time with the others gathered. My eyes automatically begin tracing the sturdy vessel making its debut against the backdrop of midnight's velvet curtain.

The body won't be far behind.

During the return journey to the north following the third task, I was able to glean just a touch more information from Preceptor Oplon regarding the current state of affairs within The Order.

From what little I was able to pry from our weapons master, it seems that the TideLords have all been called for an emergency meeting of the Driftwood Court.

Our Raider King himself is said to have arranged it.

Oplon theorized that the unprecedented timing was likely due to the events of this last Luminalia.

The Sons and Daughters are, of course, in attendance as well.

While assembling the full Driftwood Court is in and of itself a phenomenon, it’s not the only concerning tidbit I obtained.

All four cardinal Grand Preceptors were also summoned to the Driftwood Court’s assembly late last night.

Skelm and the others left at dawn, the reason for their mysterious absence from today's pillar trial.

The morose rhythmic thrumming increases in volume with its persistent approach, and I’m careful to keep hold of my dependable glacial reserve while we stand at attention as one.

With perfect precision, each raider presents a clenched fist to the heart and moves it up to the brow in synchronized welcome of the cortege.

Small torches have been afforded to those who lead and close the desolate parade with their cleansing driftwood smoke.

They shed both lawless light and potent fog upon the marching crew of raiders, who carry their captain's corpse high atop a wooden pyre .

Holding my fist steady against my brow, I scan the raiders presently bearing their captain on their shoulders in his place of high honor. Their expressions all resemble identical grim veils, and I find their eyes brim with unshed pain. An unexpected tightness forms inside my throat.

It's been some time since we last set a pyre ablaze, at least for those of us in level-eight.

In the first few years, deaths are a pretty common occurrence. In most cases, you barely even know the name of the lost raider. When you did know of them, chances are you were hoping for their death in the first place, if not the reason behind it.

Animosity ran rampant back then.

The Order wants only those who are strongest, who represent ‘Brek’, to emerge from the ranks. They will ensure that the weak, those deemed ‘Vek’, are eventually sifted out. Pitting us against one another is just one of the many ways in which that can happen, and it does happen.

Later on, after around level-three, the deaths start to slow and become less and less routine. Once The Order has deemed us all sufficiently broken, they build us back up, promoting teamwork and unity in place of bitter rivalry. A change that takes several years to accomplish.

Afterwards, it is unusual to have more than the rare pyre burning amongst your own level.

To have a captain who has not yet graduated from their cardinal be the one upon that mortal heap is as close to a tragedy as The Order will ever acknowledge. Under ordinary circumstances, this would be completely unprecedented. The Pillar Trials provide the obvious exception.

I suppose to have managed three tasks with only one fallen among us is quite a feat. Although the majority of the bloodshed doesn’t ordinarily take place until the fourth and final pillar when The Vault is up for grabs. A craven part of my insides turns over in response to that fact .

On instinct, I glance at Kleio standing to my right.

Her sepia-shaded eyes slide to me in turn as the passing torches fling light onto our silent forms. A pressing weight sets itself upon my chest at the look she gives me.

Her unspoken terrors are clear; it very well could have been me atop that pyre tonight.

The body finally makes it to the longboat set carefully along the dark shore’s edge, and I find that dropping Kleio’s heavy gaze brings physical relief. We pivot back as one unit to face the bay.

The bone drums cut off sharply, leaving us in an abrupt silence.

Facing us now with their backs to the waters are the four Cardinal Regents. Each one of them studies the procession currently handling the body with carefully obscured expressions.

True to tradition, Captain Reed Namak’s corpse has been shrouded by both his emerald-colored captain’s cape and the flag of his cardinal sewn together as one. The sight of that shroud as his body is laid inside its longboat tomb evokes a hollow echoing deep down inside.

I’ve never witnessed a captain’s pyre burning before.

My attention sweeps over to Dhara, who stands at the very front of the gathered raiders now facing the Grand Regents. Her spine is unnaturally stiff, and her face appears unnervingly vacant. I don't think I've even seen her blink since we were called to gather.

Giving a once-over of her crew spanning the front row in their own emerald uniforms, I quickly discover similar grim veils draped over each of their own countenances. It strikes me then that her crew’s grievances are worn for Dhara’s sake just as much as the fallen eastern captain’s.

Grand Regent Nagual steps away from the line to address those of us before him. His eyes, framed between dark hair and an equally dark mustache, look as though they might be gleaming in the torchlight. But when he speaks in that lilting eastern accent, his voice is strong and swift.

“We convene ‘zis Eve to commit Captain Reed Namak back to ‘ze eternal vaters, to ‘ze spirit realm of ‘ze drowned gods. For his second and final time.” Nagual’s deep-set eyes flicker towards Reed’s shrouded body tucked into the longboat.

“As you all are ‘avare, it is no small 'ting to become a captain ‘vithin a cardinal.

Even greater to be chosen during a time 'ven ze Vault has opened.

Captain Namak died valiantly and honorably in accordance ‘vith ze raider code.” The eastern Regent pauses to wet his lips.

“Salt coursed through his veins as zick and true as any good Raider Captain.

Ve ‘vish his soul an easy journey back to Nawai and pray zat he finds his place ‘vithin ze Netherdepths. "

Our heads bow in ceremonial salute as the Grand Regent of the East steps back into the fold lining the shore. Water lapping continuously over the sandy shore provides the only sound.

Captain Namak’s second in command, Raider Bedi, parts away from the group of those laying out their captain's shrouded form. His face is startlingly barren when stepping forward.

Bedi’s shadowed eyes appear just as deeply crushed as the concern in Kleio’s own foretold.

I remain motionless while he unfolds a roll of parchment from between his fingers before clearing his throat. This next part is a tradition among pyre burnings that I have not ever witnessed. None of us have.

It’s called the death poem, written for lost captains by their surviving crew.

Raider Bedi calls out their short composition clear and true.

“Here is the day I’ve come to hate,

The one that stole your soul and sealed our fate,

Your laughter echoes ‘round our heads,

I cannot stomach being in your stead.

Here is the day I’ve come to hate,

The one that forces on me an impossible weight,

Rest assured, your legacy won’t end with me.

I shall shout your name from sea to sea .

Here is the day I’ve come to hate,

The one that made us seven instead of eight,

I’ll count the days until joining you,

Not only my captain but my brother too.”

Hair rises on my neck and arms with the rueful verses, and I spy Kleio swallowing thickly from the corner of my eye. When shifting slightly to better view the rest of my crew, I discover six pairs of tight, red-rimmed gazes locked on Raider Bedi. That hollow echoing inside grows.

I’d always thought of my captaincy as something like a tool for my crew to leverage. A way to further their careers and get something worthwhile out of this second life. I’ve honestly never before considered how my death might affect them merely beyond the inconvenience of it.

The reading of the death poem is promptly followed by the send-off ceremony.

Grand Regent Negual sends the longboat containing Reed's body out into the ominous waters as the four cardinals watch in hushed respect. The bone drums pick back up in their dark tolling knell, and the shuffling sound of arrows tells me Captain Namak’s crew is preparing themselves.