Calix kept his eyes closed, focusing on the feeling of the needles stabbing repeatedly into the skin of his back. The steady clacking as Tarquin worked seemed to match the tempo of the blood surging through his veins. He forced his breathing to stay steady as Tarquin moved closer and closer to the sensitive tissue over his ribs.

At least the pain kept his mind off the vicious seasickness he had been suffering from the entire week and a half they had been aboard this godsdamned ship. Calix was tempted to simply live on Brunia for the rest of his life, just so he wouldn't have to ever set foot on a ship again.

A laugh huffed from his nose at the thought, making Tarquin hiss at him for the movement. Falling still, Calix quickly sobered as he realized he might very well stay on Brunia as nothing more than dust and ash.

Either option, he decided as the ship canted sharply to the left, was better than constantly heaving his guts up. 

Tarquin wiped at his back with a soft cloth, cleaning away the blood and excess ink to study his handiwork. He muttered something under his breath about eyes, then there was a gentle clinking sound as he reloaded the needles with ink. The ship dipped forward, the hull creaking around them, making Calix groan in misery as his stomach jumped toward his throat.

"If you vomit on my boots again," Tarquin said calmly, "I'll turn this into a giant, fluffy rabbit."

"You don't have the time," Calix muttered, swallowing back against his nausea. "And I've apologized already."

Tarquin's only response was to return the needles to his skin. Beyond his cabin, Calix could hear the captain shouting orders and booted feet scrambling back and forth along the deck. The wind howled, the choppy waves beating mercilessly against the cargo ship they were aboard. 

The seas were always rough around the island. Like it was protected by the oceans themselves. 

Land had been sighted early that morning, the lookout finally catching a glimpse of the immense, snow-capped mountains of Brunia. The Helsia Mountains were about ten miles inland from the shore, but could be seen far out to sea on a clear day.

Calix and Tarquin had both spent a little time that morning watching the island creep slowly out of the horizon, revealing a wide river pouring into the ocean and misty green forests marching away into the north, toward the jagged peaks. A grim silence had surrounded them as they watched the wild landscape slowly reveal itself. 

They had fought everywhere from the frozen plains of Mortania to the burning deserts of Emulsa, but the island was a different sort of beast. There was something strange about the land itself. Something enchanted and...ancient. 

Something dangerous.

"Is the entire legion untested?" Tarquin asked, his voice barely audible above the creaking of the ship.

Calix gave a minute shake of his head, keeping his eyes closed. "Perhaps. I can't imagine they'd take any troops from the others. They're stretched thin enough as it is."

The needles stilled for a moment. Then: "You're supposed to go witch-hunting with raw recruits?"

The idea wasn't particularly thrilling to Calix either. He turned his head, resting his temple against his forearm so he could see Tarquin from the corner of his eye. "There have been no other reports since your battle with the Wolfclaws. I don't even know what I'm supposed to be looking for or where I'm supposed to be looking. And I don't particularly like the idea of setting an untried bunch of soldiers loose on the Brunians to search for these women."

"Demons," Tarquin muttered. "Creatures from some dark hell."

Calix scoffed lightly, even as the words sent a shudder up his spine. "Demons don't exist."

"A few months ago, neither did witches," Tarquin countered sharply, "nor magic of any kind save that wielded by the gods themselves. These women exist, mindra, and they're deadly. I might not have seen them, but I certainly saw enough of the bodies they left behind."

They both fell silent after that for a long moment, the ship pitching forward, then rolling back with each swell its crew battled past to reach the Metian-held port at the southernmost tip of the island. 

At least...Calix fervently hoped it was still Metian. And that the ship wouldn't sink before they reached land.

"I still need to give the appearance that I'm using the Seventh to hunt down these women, whether they are witches or demons." Calix grimaced at the thought. "I can't just set them loose," he said quietly.

He didn't want that particular blood on his hands. War was messy enough without the mayhem that course of action would cause.

Tarquin laid a hand briefly on his shoulder, showing his understanding. But he couldn't solve this problem for Calix.

After that, neither spoke as Tarquin worked. The tattoo was very nearly done, the voyage providing more than enough time for an artist as skilled as his brother. 

Calix snickered to himself, thinking of the rumors that had been circulating concerning why a general and a half-Sorveti foot soldier would spend so much of the journey locked up together in his cramped cabin. Both of them had wanted to finish the tattoo before they reached the island and were separated for only the gods knew how long.

They'd been rather successful, seeing as how all that was left were a handful of the finer details.

Time stretched weirdly as he tried to ignore the tender flesh of his back. An hour or three might have passed when there was a brief knock on the door. Tarquin swore under his breath and snapped, "Don't move. This bit is tricky."

Calix called, "Enter," trying to stay as still as he possibly could.

The ship's captain, a burly man with a perpetual growth of stubble and forearms as big around as oak branches, pushed the door open. He stopped in surprise, eyes widening at the scene he found before him. Tarquin ignored him completely, focused utterly on whatever "tricky bit" he was working on. Calix winced slightly as the needles buried themselves in his skin, turning his head after they were removed.

"What is it, Captain?" Calix asked, dragging the man's attention away from his bloodied back.

"We..." The captain's eyes strayed to Tarquin's work once more before he shook his head. "We're approaching the port, sir. You should be able to disembark in the next hour or so."

Calix let out a relieved sigh, earning another hissed warning from Tarquin.

The captain lingered in the doorway, looking at the design spread across Calix's back with interest. After a moment, Calix asked, "Is that all, Captain?"

With a start, the man jerked his attention away from the tattoo. There was a moment of hesitation, then he grimaced. "About that...horse of yours, sir..."

"Leave Nox to me," Calix said immediately. "He's likely to kill anyone else."

The captain let out a sigh of relief before he gave a small bow. "Very well, sir. I'll send word to you once we're docked and ready to begin unloading. We'll get you off and on your way first."

"Thank you, Captain," Calix said fervently. He couldn't possibly get off this ship fast enough.

After another brief glance at the tattoo, the captain bowed again before leaving the room. Calix closed his eyes, amused by the exchange. Tarquin stayed quiet, needle working furiously. "It's almost finished," he murmured. "The gold's just not taking as well as I wanted."

Calix nodded, letting his eyes fall half-closed again. The skin of his back was raw and painful after so many days under the needles.

It was worth it though. Cathartic in a way. It had given him a lot of time to think and plan.

Mostly he'd thought about Cassia—where she was. If Viloria had been a complete bastard. If she was even now sailing toward Brunia. His planning had revolved largely around the training of his new legion. He wanted the chance to let these men know him before he led them into battle.

"How are you going to get that devil-beast of yours off this ship?" Tarquin asked, loading the needles with ink once more. Calix couldn't help but flinch as the needles began to pluck at his skin again. He'd been tattooed before, but never anything this extensive.

The area Tarquin had worked on since that morning felt hot and inflamed. Calix was not looking forward to fighting Nox off the ship.

"The hard part will be getting the blind on him," Calix said through his teeth. "After that, it won't be that bad."

Tarquin's only response was a disbelieving snort, and Calix was inclined to agree. It had been nearly impossible to get the vicious creature onto the ship. Temperamental as Nox was, Calix couldn't stand the thought of him injuring himself—possibly breaking a leg—as they brought him to shore.

Once more, silence engulfed them, though Calix could sense that Tarquin had more to say.

"Will you go to Arcturus first?"

Calix opened his eyes at the question. 

It was something he had considered often. He had orders to meet with the Seventh immediately, in the interest of beginning this witch-hunt of the king's as soon as possible. But he had also come to the conclusion that he needed his mentor's guidance badly.

He could easily put down any delay to bad weather or poor road conditions. Leaving the new men under his charge without a leader for any longer than was necessary didn't sit well with him, though.

"I don't know," he finally admitted, the decision weighing on him heavily. "I would like to."

It had been entirely too long since he had seen the general. Arcturus would know what to do. He would know the best way to handle this mad task.

"I think you should," Tarquin offered quietly. "Perhaps he has learned something about these women. Perhaps he can help."

Calix closed his eyes again, not bothering to answer. Arcturus would always want to help. He just didn't know if it was right of him to ask—if it was right of him to share this burden when Arcturus already carried so much himself.

Tarquin set down his tools, once more wiping the excess ink and blood away. He poked and prodded at several places, muttering to himself. Calix sagged against his bunk in relief. 

It was done.

He closed his eyes as Tarquin began cleaning the skin, smearing it with an antiseptic salve that would prevent infection. It stung for a brief moment before settling into a soothing coolness. Calix remained still for a long moment, letting the pain ebb away to a low ache. He heard as Tarquin moved away from the bunk, clearing away what remained of the ink and carefully stowing his tools in a roll of soft leather.

Calix sat up gingerly, fingers searching for the shirt he had left on the bunk.

A knock once more sounded on the door. He opened his mouth, but it popped open before he could call "Enter", and one of the ship's boys nearly tumbled into the cabin. He dared a look at Tarquin, then at Calix. His eyes widened at the scars gracing Calix's arms and torso, then stammered, "C-Cap'n says we's ready to dock, sir. General." He turned pink, then gave a clumsy little bow before scampering out the door.

Tarquin huffed a laugh, moving to close the door as Calix pulled his shirt on over his head. 

Calix crossed to the trunk containing all of his belongings and opened it, once again making sure that his armor and additional gear were properly stowed and ready to make the long trip inland. His sword lay on top of everything else, wrapped in his crimson general's cloak and a layer of waxed paper to protect the fine steel from the damp and salt.

Wearing it would be impractical at the moment, regardless of how naked he felt without it. The captain had assured him that his and Tarquin's gear would be the first things offloaded, so they wouldn't get lost amid the other supplies the ship was ferrying to Brunia

A hand on his shoulder made him close the trunk and turn to Tarquin. His coal-black eyes were grim and held a glimmer of sadness and worry that Calix knew was mirrored in his own eyes. Tarquin swallowed hard, then rasped, "I don't like this, mindra. I have a bad feeling about this." He hesitated for a brief moment, then turned away. "These women—they command the very power of Death herself. What makes you think any mortal man can defeat them?"

Calix took a deep breath, pulling his wolfskin coat down from a hook on the wall. He donned it, the warm fur soft against his neck. He moved toward the door, turning to look at his brother. "I have my orders, Tarquin. There's nothing to be done about that."

Still looking unhappy, Tarquin gathered the roll of leather containing his tools and joined him at the door. They made their way down to the cargo hold of the ship, which was a bustle of activity as the sailors prepared to start offloading the sacks of grain, barrels of acetic wine that was rationed to the foot soldiers, the weapons and additional gear that would be needed to outfit the new recruits. Only one corner of the hold was clear of men—the one where Nox was penned.

Several sailors stopped dead in their tracks as Calix approached the ill-tempered beast, ignoring when Nox flattened his ears. Calix pulled a length of dark cloth from his pocket, slowly approaching the makeshift pen. Nox snorted and stamped a foot, dark tail swishing in agitation.

Behind him, Calix could sense a gathering crowd. The telltale murmur of bets being exchanged floated through the air.

Taking slow, measured steps, Calix approached the horse, radiating calm control. He kept the blind close to his side, raising his free hand as a peace offering. Nox shook his head, stamping a foot again, huffing in warning.

"Right," Calix said firmly. "Now, I want off this godsdamned ship as badly as you do. But that's not going to happen if you do something foolish like caving my skull in. Understand?"

He took another three steps, which brought him right next to the pen. Nox reared slightly, eyes rolling. Calix gave him a moment to settle down, hoping he wasn't about to lose a finger as he extended a hand toward the horse.

Nox eyed him suspiciously.

"It's all right," Calix soothed. "We'll be on dry land soon. You just need to trust me."

With another shake of his head, Nox took a few bobbing steps forward, snuffling at Calix's hand. Still talking softly, Calix brought the blind up, draping it over the horse's eyes. Nox squealed in displeasure and tried to jerk away, but Calix had already tied the blind in place. Nox fell dead still when he realized he couldn't see.

There was a smattering of cheers and groans as bets were paid up. Calix let out a deep breath, patting Nox's muscular neck. That hadn't been nearly as hard as he would have thought. Maybe Nox really had understood that Calix was his ticket back to solid land.

Nox stayed still as Calix grabbed a rope halter and went into the pen. The horse's nostrils flared, his muscles quivering, but he didn't buck or fight as Calix gently put the halter on him. 

One of the sailors offered, "We've got the sling all ready, sir." He pointed toward the center of the ship where the hold hatch was being opened. "If you'll just...lead him over?"

Calix nodded, then turned back to Nox, a smile twitching at the corner of his mouth. Tarquin held the pen's gate open for them, and Calix led him carefully forward. It surprised him a little when Nox took those first steps, hooves thudding over the wood. The stallion trusted him more than he'd realized.

The sailors stayed well out of range of Nox's hooves as Calix led him toward the cargo hatch. When they were in the proper position, Calix moved to face Nox. He draped an arm over Nox's head, the horse's nose tucked  along his ribs, Calix's hand buried in his mane in an effort to keep him calm. The sailors hesitated a moment before quickly securing the sling.

Calix moved back with a final pat, turning away as they began to winch Nox into the air. The stallion let out a shrill whinny as his hooves left the ground. Calix quickly thanked the sailors before turning on his heel, striding toward the stairs, Tarquin right behind him.

He darted up to the main deck, just in time to watch the heart-stopping moment when Nox was swung out over the deck railing, dangling over the water before he passed over the dock and began his descent. Calix shouted down to the dock, "Don't take that blind off!"

He heard his command echoed by a few of the sailors and the captain.

Nox had earned himself a bit of a reputation.

He and Tarquin made their way down the gangplank, Calix's legs still wobbling like he was at sea even as his boots hit the solid planking of the docks. He ran forward as a few of the dockworkers converged on Nox. He began yelling at them not to touch his horse.

Bursting through the circle of men, he threw himself between Nox and one of the men, grabbing his wrist as he reached to undo the blind. "Don't," he panted, "do that." He placed a hand on Nox's shoulder. "Just cut him loose."

He received a few odd looks, but the dockworkers simply did as ordered. When Nox was free, he immediately began leading the horse forward, toward the fort that defended the harbor. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched as Tarquin directed the sailors to take their gear toward the fort as well.

Calix kept his eyes fixed firmly ahead of him, leading Nox unerringly away from the crowded, dangerous docks. 

When they reached solid, rocky ground, Calix heaved a sigh of relief and slowly pulled the blind away from Nox's eyes. The horse snorted and pawed at the ground, ears flicking back and forth as he took in his new surroundings. 

He eyed the horse with trepidation for a moment, afraid he'd bolt, but Nox simply switched his tail and flared his nostrils, scenting the cold air. Calix leaned against the horse, his legs and stomach still unaware that they had made it off the ship. He took a few deep breaths, shuffling his feet to feel the gravel crunch under his boots.

It began to sink in that he was back on the island. The crash and hiss of waves sounded along the shore, hiding any sound that might come from the forests surrounding them. Apprehension began plucking along his nerves, a feeling he knew wouldn't leave as long as he was here. The amount of tension would only ebb and flow, depending on the day.

Shouting and curses rose from behind him as the sailors began to unload the ship in earnest. Three squadrons from the fort stood in full kit, weapons at the ready to ward off any attacks on the harbor.

Sea mist clung to his face and hair, condensing into droplets that immediately slid down his spine. Winters were wet, miserable affairs on the island. Gulls and other sea birds squawked above them, braving the cold for a chance at a meal.

After a long moment, Calix turned toward the misty forests that began only about fifty yards or so away. Stumps dotted the landscape, showing where the Sixth Legion had clearcut in order to prevent any sneak attacks on the port here.

He inhaled deeply through his nose, catching a hint of fresh pine under the salty scent of the ocean. The air was fresh here, not clouded with coal smoke or the stench of humanity like the air in Levitum. Calix reached up and scratched Nox behind his ears, the horse leaning toward him slightly. Voice low, he said, "It's strange here. Muddy and cold. Nothing like you're used to. But we're here now. We'll just have to get accustomed to it."

His words trailed off at that. The words felt a little more final than he'd meant them to.

"General Julianus?" a curious voice asked. Calix turned to find a man in full armor observing him. The lack of a crest on his helmet marked him as a simple legionary. 

He stroked a hand down Nox's neck and raised an eyebrow. "Yes?"

The legionary snapped off a smart salute. "We've been awaiting your arrival, sir. The commandant will want to see you right away, sir."

Calix turned toward the docks to find Tarquin making his way toward them.

"Your gear will be brought directly to the fort, sir," the legionary said. "It's not wise to linger beyond the walls."

Calix gave the soldier a nod, casting one more glance toward the forest. He took a deep breath, gaze wandering toward the north. The snow-covered mountains loomed ominously before them, sentinels guarding the rest of the island. The legions had never been able to make much headway north in all the years they had been here.

Perhaps they should take that as a sign.

Shaking off the grim thought, Calix turned back to the legionary as Tarquin joined them, and said, "Lead the way, soldier."

The legionary saluted and turned smartly, his plain grey cloak whirling around him. 

Calix exchanged a weary glance with Tarquin, peering once more at those sinister mountains before they followed the legionary toward the fort.