The sun hung low in the western sky by the time Sabit, Wensa, and Allamu reached the rim of healthy trees circling the Wicked Rocks. Below, the twisted maze of boulders slowly disappeared beneath the rising waters. Only the massive spires of featureless black stone remained above the waves, stretching toward the sky.
“Those rocks were set as sentries when the demon Batuul was imprisoned here, centuries ago,” Allamu said. “When the prison was forged, the ocean promised that if the rocks ever failed, she would keep the demon bound.”
“And so she has,” said Wensa, smiling at Allamu. “She saved you to be her hands.”
Allamu looked away. “You are the one whose faith saved me, Wensa. I merely sought escape. What say you, Sabit? Do you seek escape from this place?”
The spear woman looked down at the tangle of black stone and black water. Something down there had lightened the burdens upon her heart. Or had that been an illusion? She looked at the bedraggled remains of green feathers at her wrist. Some trick of some spell, or a demon’s whispered lies, or something else entirely had shown Sabit a glimpse of a future not weighed down with regret.
“The world is wide,” Sabit said. “There are many paths. A destination glimpsed at the end of a dark trail can sometimes be reached by other means.” She looked at Allamu. “There is a ship and crew awaiting a priest who will never come. Shall we chart them a new course?”
Wayfarings of Sabit: Isle of the Wicked is copyright (c) 2016 by Michael S. Miller. All rights reserved. New chapters post every weekday. You can support this and other stories on Patreon: https://patreon.com/michaelsmiller