White noise and squeals slowly penetrated the black void. Vera tried to call for help, but her mouth was sealed shut. She tried to breathe, but liquids entered her nose, and then into her lungs. She began to scream and trash around in her motionless body. With all her might, she yelled the name of the only one who would—could—save her: “Mika!”

  Miraculously, her eyes were torn open only to be burned by seven immaculate white balls of light hanging up in the cyan sky. By instinct, acidic sludge moved up from her belly and she vomited hard on all fours. Water exited her mouth and nostrils, and then acid.

  Tears filled her reddened eyes as she gasped for air, inhaling rapidly.

  Thick salt. She smelt it in her mucous-filled nose. Moist and salty.

  “Vee—Vera!” A familiar voice began calling out to her as a hard hand slapped her back. “Breathe, breathe! You’re okay! I’m here! You’re alive. You almost drowned, but you’re alive.” It was not Mika, but Don helping her up.

  Vera struggled to respond, but ended up spitting on the floor which she now recognised as old wood. Now, she felt the floorboards push up against her and then fall away at regular, unending intervals; worsening her nausea. With weakened knees and elbows, she struggled not to faceplant into her own vomit.

  “Whose ship are we on…? Where are we…?” Vera mumbled. “Where’s my ONI?” She asked, now more slightly worried. Her ONI—Operations Navigational Interface—cost a fortune to replace and now she had lost it before the mission even began.

  “Where’s the Lavender’s Yearning?”

  The useless rusty old thing was nowhere in sight.

  “The shipmaster confiscated it.” Don replied. “He took my Shimakaze too.”

  “The who?” Vera groaned as she forced herself to sit up. The white-hot seven suns burned her tanned face, but her parka and jeans were still soaked in salt water, keeping her cool enough. Her vision cleared up and she gazed upon Don, still in her sleek grey—and most obviously waterproof—combat suit, custom-made by Thanatos Heavy Industries.

  “The shipmaster; the captain of the ship. He took our swords and stowed them away.” Don replied.

  “Right, where’s Eva?” Vera looked around the deck and failed to see the tall blonde damsel in shining white armour. “Don’t tell me she drowned! Don?! Where is she?!”

  A different strain of nausea stirred up in her belly once more as she recalled the incident back in Paradise Island where a faulty Vanguard VTOL Dropship crashed into the sea. The pilots and crew chief survived, but the young knights and squires did not. They drowned due to their armour being extremely heavy and hard to get out of.

  They all sunk to the bottom within a minute along with the VTOL’s wreck.

  “I don’t know! I didn’t see her on the ship! I’m sure she’s fine, Vee.” Don said.

  “I beg to differ. Lady Fiona’s spell was way off course.” Vera cursed her boss. “As my childhood… trauma recalls, we’re supposed to be on a beach. Sandy, but safe. This is not a beach and neither is this all going according to plan—as usual for literally every mission Lady Fiona gives me, guh.” Vera spit onto the floorboards.

  “Vee—Vera—the shipmaster told me to bring you to him when you came to…”

  “Nah, screw that. We’re getting out of here.” Vera said, her gaze already set upon a small rowboat at the corner of her eye. “We’re evading capture.”

  “Vera… he has our weapons… and we have no clue where we are… my suit’s navigation suite is giving me error messages across the board.” Don sighed.

  “Of course it would. My ONI would too.” Vera hissed. “We’re not on Aarde anymore, Don. You’ll have to follow my lead if you want to survive—even if it means abandoning precious named weapons…”

  “Not if I have anything to say about it…”

  A loud bell rang and hummed across the deck.

  Vera fell to her side, clutching her head as a splitting headache threatened to split her skull open. Belladonna cringed, hearing it too, but she stood firm on her feet, keeping balance nonetheless.

  A bright light engulfed the deck and blinded the two for but a moment. As their vision recovered, Vera found herself seated at an old wooden table with Belladonna by her side.

  Both of them were shackled. Hands to the table. Feet to the legs of the chair.

  To Vera’s horror, Belladonna’s mouth was missing.

  Not taped. Not stitched; it was simply not there.

  A black piece of skin.

  Vera screamed.

  “Woah, woah, woah! Calm down little girl!” An old man with white hair, cloaked in grey materialised to the side of the table in a bigger chair of his own with the light of the seven suns beaming unto his wrinkled face from the ships broken windows.

  A rusty old scythe leaned over Vera’s neck precariously.

  Vera screamed even louder.

  “I said calm down!” The Old Man yelled, and a bell rung.

  Vera’s mouth disappeared and soon enough she felt a moment of calm pass over her. Soon enough, her vision narrowed and she saw the Lavender’s Yearning and Don’s curved blade, the Shimakaze, resting upon a desk on velvet cushion.

  “Mika! Free me! Now! Come to me!” Vera broke the Spell of Calming and her mouth tore through the false skin over her face—but, the Lavender’s Yearning did not heed her call.

  “A good idea, but even an angel would be foolish to interfere with what you have been caught with doing now—trespassing is a criminal offence.” The Old Man brought the scythe closer, its poorly-sharpened edge dancing on the skin of Vera’s jugular.

  He pulled it away and disappeared, leaving sand upon the floorboards.

  And then he reappeared, now wielding Shimakaze in his hands, admiring the sharpness of the curve; its divine craftsmanship.

  “A dragon, an angel and an abomination working hand-in-hand. Never thought I’d see the day. My Wife’s Dear Messiah must really be desperate to save mankind…” He put down Shimakaze and now looked at the Lavender’s Yearning, picking it up, cringing at its foul condition; rusted and jagged. “For you to bring her along for the ride… is a bad omen… always is… Where ever this one goes, only death and destruction follows in its wake…”

  He put the super-claymore down, and stretched out his wrinkled hands.

  Sand.

  And then, from sand, it turned into a lock of blonde hair.

  “I know where your friend is. I saved her.”

  “She’s alive?! Where is she? Where’s Eva?!” Vera remarked.

  “Uh, uh, uh…” The Old Man closed his palm and the lock of hair turned into sand once more. “I outnumber you three to one. Saved her. Saved you two. Saved your weapons.”

  The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  “And you want something from us?” Vera interjected.

  “I do, but the Free Will Mandate stands.” The Old Man poured the stand onto the table before Vera. “And so, I too have to play by the rules.” The sand flashed and turned into a bell. “We’ll play a game—a test of character. This bell shall ring should you so dare to tell a lie. If it rings three times, your journey, be it in life or in death, shall end. Answer swiftly—for yours and your friends’ sakes.”

  “Ask.” Vera gulped. A magical lie detector…?

  “Why are you here? What is your mission?” The Old Man asked.

  “My briefcase was stolen. I have come to get it back.” Vera answered monotonously.

  The bell did not ring.

  “What are the contents of the briefcase?” The Old Man asked.

  “The solution to all my problems.” Vera answered firmly.

  The bell did not ring.

  “Who do you serve?” The Old Man asked.

  “The Queen of Prophets of the United States of South Eastern Asiatica.” Vera said.

  Ding! The bell rang.

  “Strike one.” The Old Man asked. “Again. Who do you serve?”

  “The Allfather, Lord of Lords of the United States of South Eastern Asiatica.” Vera said firmly.

  Ding! The bell rang, this time, it seemed slightly louder.

  “Strike two.” The Old Man asked. “Last chance. Who do you serve?”

  “I serve myself; The Demon of Bakkanal.” Vera smiled nervously.

  The bell did not ring.

  “You pass—barely.” The Old Man said as the bell turned into said, as did the table, chairs and shackles upon Vera’s wrists and ankles. “You may collect your weapons and prepare to disembark. We’ll be arriving at port shortly.”

  Belladonna stood up. Her face was now fully restored with her mouth intact, unharmed. She helped Vera off the ground, not saying a single word to The Old Man. She bowed and snatched Shimakaze off the desk, clutching it dearly, hands shaking.

  Vera walked on over and collected the Lavender’s Yearning, still wrapped in old cloth, putting herself between Belladonna and The Old Man. “So, where is she? The tall blonde one in full white plate; lance and shield?”

  “She passed my test. I dropped her off at port one anti-month ago.” The Old Man replied.

  “One anti-month?” Vera asked, confused at this new terminology.

  “Yes, anti-month. A month in-essence, but different.” The Old Man said.

  “How different, Shipmaster, Sir?” Vera asked respectfully. “I know time flows differently here. I was unconscious for some time. I need to know how much time has passed back home—where we’re from.”

  “Ah, you na?ve little child…” The Old Man materialised a chair from sand and sat down; his back tired from standing. “Here, time does not have power or authority, but for bookkeeping purposes, the concept of time still needs to be recorded. So, the beings here agree on using the terms, anti-time; anti-second, anti-minute, anti-hour, and so on… this is to denote the idea of forward-like motion in this stagnant realm—where all are immortal.”

  Belladonna interrupted; her face confused. “But shipmaster, sir, we are talking right now. So, we are moving forward in a sense, right?”

  “Some things are not meant to be understood by unenlightened creatures such as yourself. Even the dragons and angels do not worry themselves about such specifics.”

  “Yeah, Don. Don’t worry too much about the science of everything. Just know that we are in the Afterlife now and our spirits are walking freely. We are Spirit Walkers now.”

  “Spirit Walkers…?” Don looked at Vera, getting even more confused than before.

  “Okay, so Eva was here before us thirty days ago… why… I don’t know… maybe it was because she’s older than us?” Vera murmured to herself. “Never mind. Just find her.” Vera turned to The Old Man and asked: “Did she leave us a message or mention the two of us? Where to rally—I mean meet up?”

  “No, she was quite shaken when I found her. She did however show me a picture of her mother though; asked me if I had seen her…” The Old Man hesitated and sighed. “I told her no, but even then, she insisted on looking for her out there—she could be anywhere.”

  “Ah, dammit…” Vera sighed and looked to Belladonna with some remorse.

  “We’ll find her, Vee…” Belladonna reassured her. “We can’t leave her…”

  “I hope we do, but time is not on our side, Don…” Vera hissed and shook her head.

  Just then, The Old Man looked at them, murmuring something under his breath unheard. Then, he pointed towards the seven suns out the porthole. “We’re about to dock. I recommend you two find an inn to stay the night. I smell a typhoon coming in and the seas will be rough and crashing down hard on the beach and town. I recommend The Pearl Gate. They have good fish and chips—amazing tartar sauce—and beer; decent beds. Every other inn is substandard.”

  “What currency do you deal in here—in the Afterlife—again…?” Vera asked.

  “Favours, barter, knowledge and information.” The Old Man recited it as though by heart. “But don’t worry too much about this, I think you two are alright. Just tell the innkeeper to put the rooms on Captain Timothy’s tab. Anymore and you’ll have to barter.”

  “Sure. Thank you, Captain, sir—for saving us three and for the help…”

  “Don’t thank me just yet.” The Old Man got up from his chair. “Like I said, favours. I’ve done you a good set of favours and now I’ll ask of you one thing—just one.”

  “Ask away. I am no stranger to favours.” Vera obliged, seasoned by her line of work.

  “These are seven of the reddest roses in the history of time, stolen from a secret garden in the land known as Royal United Kanata on Aarde.” The Old Man, Captain Timothy. “You are to give them to The Botanist in The Garden…”

  “The Garden…?” Vera asked.

  “You are headed there, yes?” The Old Man’s smile faded. “I may look old, but looks are deceiving…”

  “How do you know?” Vera remarked, aghast by the Old Man’s revelation. The secrecy of her mission was now compromised. What was the point then of the lie-detecting bell?

  “There was another Spirit Walker that came before Eva. She had white hair—and her own ship. I stopped her and interrogated her and her crew. I found no wrongdoing or malice.” The Old Man paced around, floorboards creaking. “She had a message for the one called: The Demon of Bakkanal.”

  “What did she say?” Vera asked, unhappy at the sound of her old moniker.

  “She said: Time is of the essence, Demon of Bakkanal. Kanata has sent their own Spirit Walkers to stop us from meeting. Meet me in The Garden ASAP.”

  “Dammit—and she sent this more than a month ago?” Vera cursed. “Did pick up any one else before the white-haired one and the blonde one, Captain, Sir?”

  “No, I have not, but be weary, there are many other ways into the Afterli—”

  Before the conversation could be continued any further, the piercing screech of a whistle permeated through the decks followed by the rudest tone Vera ever heard.

  “Oi, Old Man, where’you? Do I always have to do your damned moorings? One of these days me and my bros are gonna write a letter of complaint to your wife to wrap these ropes around your lazy wrinkled neck!”

  “Yeah yeah, I’m coming up! Don’t tie them for me just yet!” The Old Men yelled at the ceiling. “And watch that marsupial tongue of yours or you won’t get a damned tip for the anti-week! I’m serious. I’m the only big business you’ve got.”

  Vera spotted her UAR and Usurper in an open chest beside the desk and headed on over to pick them up, but as soon as she laid her hands on the pistol grip of the assault rifle, The Old Man’s wrinkled hands gripped her shoulder. “You might want to leave those here with me, kid…” The Old Man shook his head. “Firearms are banned her since the Third Generation of your kind. Leave with your blades only—lest you be turned into a tree. Trust me, I’m doing you a favour…”

  Vera sighed. “Fine, but if I see anyone else packing heat, I’ll be coming for you.”

  “Don’t you girls have wands?” The Old Man asked with a raised brow.

  “Wands? Ussea, our nation banned them long ago—taught us not to rely on them. We grew to use hand gestures only now.” Vera explained.

  “Well, that’s unproductive. Hand signs only get one so far in magecraft. Look, if you want ranged weaponry, find a wand—that’s what the White-Haired One was wielding, and I am guessing she wouldn’t be the only smart one soon—if you are pursued…”

  “The Kanatans are wand-users, yes…” Vera agreed.

  “Tell the barkeep to bring you down to the basement—the lost and found boxes…”

  “Another favour, I doubt I’ll be able to repay you, Captain, Sir.”

  “Nah, think of it as protection for the roses; repay me by making sure that bouquet reaches The Garden undamaged.” The Old Man mused. “I love my wife…”

  “We’ll do our best—us three when we are reunited…” Vera said.

  “I will make sure of it, Mr. Shipmaster, Sir.” Belladonna bowed.

  “Good. Now, if you would excuse me, I have much cargo to unload.” The Old Man pulled on a hatch beneath him to reveal dozens of caged, malnourished elderly people moaning and crying. “And, Demon of Bakkanal, one last thing…?”

  Vera replied nervously, starting at the wrinkled so-called cargo. “Yes, sir?”

  “I hope you and the white-haired one can come to an agreement. The Government of Purgatory is struggling as is with these refugees. The Kangaroo Court being on strike does not help the situation one bit either.” The cages of elderly began to glow green and float upwards and out of the cabin effortlessly into the light of the seven suns. “The sins of the one who dwells within your sword has unconvinced the Afterlife, and so long as you carry it, you carry the duty of cleaning up after it.” The Old Man poked the Lavender’s Yearning. “Shame on you, Mika’Ella the Secondborn of the Alpha; relying on a child to do your dirty work.”

  “Her name’s Mikaela Firaun Utama.” Vera corrected him.

  “Just as you are called Vera, by Belladonna, I shall call you the Demon of Bakkanal as said by Chrysah. No one is tied to just one name; on Aarde or the Afterlife—as am I.”

  “And so, you name is not just Captain Timothy then?” Vera challenged him.

  “Yes. I go by many names—Death even, but I prefer to match my wife’s stylings… The Botanist and The Captain… Mother Nature and Father Time…”

  “My goodness!?” Vera yelped. “You were younger then…?”

  “I’d say the same to you, Veralisa Sindile.” The Old Man crossed his arms, his scythe turning into sand. “I won’t lie; I regret fishing your tiny body out of the sea and leaving you on beach. I was lazy; I should have brought you to a refugee camp to be processed by the Kangaroo Court, just like the many victims of the Seven-Day War…”

  “So, now what…?” Vera asked crossing her arms as well, hugging the Lavender’s Yearning. “Are you really just gonna let us walk away…?”

  “As the old saying goes, one must simply: Let Nature take its place… I have done my part in righting my wrongs, now it’s time for my wife to do the same…” The Old Man stretched his right hand out and pointed upwards. “It’s time for you to leave…”

  Vera and Belladonna said nothing more.

  The former bowed in-tandem with the latter and briskly left the ship that had neither a name nor a crew to itself, but it did not matter; its Captain was all that did.