“I’m sorry,” said Fionn. “She’s still your daughter after all.”
“My daughter is dead,” said Cormac. He folded his arms. “And we’re going to kill the monster that has taken her place.”
As the others settled into place, the room’s well-kept floor was barely visible beneath all the bodies that sat on it. With a low whirr, the engines of the ship started, and among a chorus of excited voices, it slowly began to rise from the ground.
Others whooped and cheered as the ship took flight, but Fionn’s stomach immediately began to stir again.
I thought we got the last of it out, said Sir Bearach.
Nausea took hold of Fionn with an overwhelming force that pushed out every other thought and feeling from his mind. He stumbled to his feet, blinking his eyes with watering lids.
“Fionn, are you okay?” said Cormac. “You’ve gone terribly pale.”
Fionn dared not respond. He rushed out into the hall, hoping to find some suitable place to throw up. After a few steps up the corridor towards the direction of the bridge, Fionn’s stomach gave way, hurling its meagre contents to the ground with a scattered splash. Between gasping breaths he threw up again, this time expelling nothing. The dry wretch came out of him with so little voluntary input, it was as if Fionn no longer had control of his body. With another heave, the muscles on his neck tensed up, and an unbearable pressure pushed against the back of his eyeballs, bringing flashing stars into his vision.
Afterwards, Fionn slumped onto the floor, gasping for air. His stomach felt somewhat settled now, but the nausea was still there.
Are you sure it was just three glasses, Bearach?
Before the dead knight could answer, another voice called out.
“Fionn, are you alright?”
He turned to see Aislinn Carríga approaching from behind. She was dressed in dark plate armour, as thick as concrete.
“Just air-sick,” said Fionn. “I think I’m over the worst of it now.”
Aislinn laughed. “I used to suffer a great deal too, when I was a child. I find walking helps. I’d suggest you do the same.”
She crouched down to help him up. Fionn found himself amazed at the ease at which she took his weight and propped him onto his feet.
“You don’t get it anymore?” said Fionn. “Air-sickness?”
“I reckon I grew out of it. But the walking definitely helps.”
That much I can vouch for! said Sir Bearach. She could barely handle a carriage ride without feeling unwell.
It is strange though, replied Fionn. I was completely fine aboard The Glory of Penance.
Were you up drinking the night before then too?
No, I suppose I was more sensible back then.
“I must have grown into it,” said Fionn as they walked. “Have you any other suggestions to shake it off?”
“Keep your eyes out the windows,” she said. “And try to convince your mind that you’re moving.”
They approached a porthole looking out over the starboard of the ship. Through it, the city of Penance fell away as the ship sailed over the Steel Mountains. On the other side of the Rustlake, another, larger ship, flew past in the distance.
“But I know we’re moving,” said Fionn. “Why do I need to convince my mind of the same?”
Aislinn sighed. “A healer told me about the cause of travel sickness once. See, there’s fluid inside our ears, and its ebb and flow give us our sense of balance. It’s how we know we’re right-side up or upside down. So, when you’re aboard a boat or an airship moving very quickly, your ears tell your brain that you’re moving.”
“Makes sense,” said Fionn. He had studied some amount of white magic back when he was in the Academy, and likely once knew the technical term for the fluids Aislinn mentioned. Though it was detail long forgotten now.
“But there is a problem,” said Aislinn. “Even though we’re travelling across the Northern Reach, we’re standing still. Our ears are telling us that we’re moving, but our eyes are saying the opposite. This discordant messaging into our brains causes it to come to the wrong conclusion. Not that we’re aboard a moving ship, but that one of the signals is incorrect. And apparently another way that information can get garbled as read by our brains is—”
“Poison,” finished Fionn. “So, when travel-sick, our brains think we’ve been poisoned?”
“Exactly,” said Aislinn. “And our bodies know exactly what to do if they detect poison in our bellies.”
Fionn glanced back at the floor where he had thrown up. Aislinn laughed.
“It’s funny, some sailors would laugh and jeer at their peers that show symptoms of sea sickness, claiming that they’re weak or frail. But if anything, those are the ones who are stronger than the rest, since their bodies are better equipped for dealing with poison compared to the others. Indeed, many ailments are caused by our bodies trying to protect themselves. Like someone trying to help with the wrong tools to do so.”
“Kind of like us,” said Fionn. “Flying out to Dromán to protect one god from another. Do you think we even stand a chance?”
“I didn’t think I could escape the horde on foot,” said Aislinn. “But I did. I didn’t think we could fight them back at Penance, but we did. I suppose the real answer is that I don’t know whether or not we stand a chance. So, we may as go and see if we do.”
The ship accelerated as they crossed the Clifflands, and soon Fionn found that his air-sickness had returned. He excused himself from Aislinn, as even speaking seemed to much effort now. He spent the rest of the journey with his head pressed against the glass of the porthole, watching the baren landscape zip past below.
As the afternoon deepened, Fionn’s illness did not subside. He was happy enough to linger in the one place for the rest of the journey, just praying with every passing moment that the ship would land.
Indeed, after about six hours of travel, the ship began to descend.
Are we here already? asked Sir Bearach. I thought the journey would be closer to eight hours.
Fionn agreed with the knight, but part of him hoped that they had reached their destination. Unfortunately, a quick glance out from the window told him they had just reached the northern border of the Hazelwood.
