Warcraft: Unity: Stormcaller - 2/8+Epilogue
And here is the next Chapter! Is anyone actually reading these on Livejournal? Hmm...
Title: Unity: Stormcaller
Part: 2/8+Epilogue
Word Count: 4460
Includes: Spoilers for the Bonus Orc Campaign, character death, violence, strong language.
Pairings: Implied Thrall/Jaina, Jaina/OMC.
Summary: During the Late Winter of the 27th year after the opening of the Dark Portal, something dark and sinister calls terrible storms to lash the coast of Kalimdor, its source seemingly Jaina's old home: Kul Tiras. Vowing to do what is right, rather than take an easier path, Jaina returns home to speak to her estranged family and protect her family, her allies, and her own people from the Stormcaller.
Previous: Unity Chapters: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11
Stormcaller Chapters: 1
“I think I’ve got it,” Jaina murmured to no one in particular. The dining room table was covered in papers, spread out around the map of the isles which Tandred had brought her and which, after being assured that the map was not a precious one, she had written on in a dozen places. Jaina’s fingers cramped briefly and she set her pen down, massaging at her fingers as she looked the map over again.
She’d eliminated Boralus and its surroundings almost immediately. If the storms had started there, her family would have noticed far more swiftly and, moreover, the wards she’d left behind would have been triggered by the initial surge of magic. She’d worked out from there, separating out the testimonials of the fishermen and herdsmen into locations and then by date.
The whole of the primary Tiran island had been eliminated after much laborious work. That had left the second largest island, Crestfall, as their likely target. But no one has seen anything strange on Crestfall, or if they have they didn’t live through it.
The thought that someone had murdered witnesses was sobering and she frowned. Thrall had told her there was a person behind all this, that the elementals had claimed "she" had called to them, but the thought that this person had actually been murdering witnesses… She saw a mug drift into view and took it automatically, drinking the tea within in gulps. She blinked and peered at it. “Did you spike this?”
“Only a little, it seemed like you needed it,” Tandred remarked. “What have you got?”
“The storms started here,” Jaina said, tapping the map with the first finger of her free hand, and sipped her tea more cautiously. “Crestfall, but the lack of witnesses…”
“Could be the catacombs,” Tandred remarked. “No one goes there because they’re flooded half the time. In fact, they’re probably flooded now.” He peered down at the map and winced. “Did you really need to do this?”
“It’s the best way,” Jaina said firmly. “I needed to eliminate possibilities clearly, and marking them off is the most efficient.”
“Couldn’t you have, you know…” He lifted the fingers of one hand, and swirled them in a gesture of magic. Jaina felt her temper prickle, and scowled at him.
“There’s no point in wasting magic when a pen will do,” she said stiffly. “Especially since I’m going to need to fight whatever’s doing this, one way or another.”
“You’re the mage,” Tandred murmured, lowering his hand to hook a thumb into his belt-loop. Her father had done that, and it only made her skin prickle harder, as though it were frosting over.
“Yes, I am,” Jaina snapped, and took a breath. “So that’s where I’ll be going. I won’t be able to scry the area to confirm it,” she added, before her brother could suggest more magic. “My talents lie elsewhere.”
“I’ll scare up a boat for you, then,” Tandred said. “How many will you need to go with you?”
How many people can you put at my back, do you mean? Jaina thought sourly. “Did you intend to come with me?”
“No,” Tandred said, and shrugged. “You’ve already made it clear you don’t need me to tell you how to do your job.”
“No,” Jaina replied sharply, hurt. “I don’t need anyone to go with me, I’ll take care of this myself.”
Tandred’s gaze flicked over her expression, his sea-green eyes narrowing with concern. “If that’s how it is…”
“It is,” Jaina said firmly. “Just get me that boat.”
Tandred nodded curtly, and Jaina began to put the papers in order, leaving a clean, neat pile for her mother or one of the servants to retrieve to return to their rightful place.
I don’t need him, Jaina insisted, even as her heart ached. I don’t.
She did. She needed her older brother. She needed his kind smile and the twinkle in his eyes. She needed his singing voice, pure and strong and perfect, when hers had only ever been creaky and inexpert. She needed his wisdom as he reasoned things out with her, the calm stone to his sister’s stormy temper. She had barely known Derek, and she and Finnall had loved each other but moved in different circles, but Tandred… she and Tandred had ever been close.
Until now, Jaina thought, and angrily wiped at her eyes with her palm. Fine, then. I knew I’d lost them before, if this is how it has to be…
There were others now. Not Tandred, not Arthas, not Kael, not her parents or sister… but she had Ariana, who had come into her service at eighteen, ruled her life with a gentle but iron fist, and married an orc without fear. Rylai, whose family owned the primary estate on Crestfall Island and took that name as her own, so closely resembling her they’d been mistaken for one another at Dalaran and played pranks on everyone, except Kael who knew the finest intonations of her accent, and Kylian, who had a finely attuned nose for mischief. Tesoran, who saw to Theramore’s day-to-day affairs and reminded her to eat breakfast. Tervosh, who was protecting her precious, beloved city even now and had warned her not to go to Kul Tiras alone. Cynthia, her head cook, who always made her favourite dishes and always knew what to do with fish. She had a head gardener who listened patiently to her requests for specific plants to create reagents, scouts who endured wet and mud to bring her information, and captains and generals who eagerly came at her call.
She had allies: Tyrande, ageless and intelligent, cold the way her mother was in some ways, fiery as her late father in others. Malfurion, kind to those he loved and ferocious to those he distrusted. Cairne, ancient and wise and gentle, the teller of tales. Vol’jin, funny and tricky and clever, who had inspired the shape and scope of the magical academy she’d founded after she’d realized she knew virtually nothing of other kinds of magic.
...and then there was Thrall, waiting back in Kalimdor for her, depending on her, waiting for her to succeed so that he could soothe the spirits that were as much a part of him as her magic was a part of her. He believes in me and trusts me to do what’s needed. The thought warmed her, banishing the cold of anger and fear.
Jaina took a deep breath and headed back to the side entrance, not bothering to say goodbye, going to retrieve her rain cape and boots. They had been cleaned and dried since she had left them, and she pulled them on with a certain amount of force. She opened the door and stepped out into the rain, making her way back down to the little hidden cove of her childhood.
So what if my family doesn’t care for me any more? Jaina asked herself as she walked. I have friends that love me and care for me, allies to teach me and trust me. I sail forward into the wide, blue ocean and I do not cower behind on shore, uncertain of the-- oh.
Sitting in the small boat, layered in an oiled raincape and using a tarp to keep rain from the boat, was her brother. She approached slowly, peering at him through the rain. Tandred shrugged, and twitched the tarp aside.
“Hurry up, it’s never going to get any less awful if we just stand around staring at each other,” he said. Jaina waded out to the boat, using the water to clean the sand from her soles before climbing in, and Tandred wrapped the tarp around them again, then made to adjust the sail.
“We?” Jaina asked, even as she dared to hope. “I thought you weren’t coming?”
“Well, the damp’s terrible for my guitar,” Tandred said as his hands worked expertly. “Might as well see what I can do to hasten the process so I can get back to it.”
“...thank you,” Jaina said. “And there’s something I can do too.” She leaned forward, and began drawing glowing arcane symbols in the air. Tandred turned, slightly startled, and then settled back to watch, light illuminating his features, finding little crinkles and highlighting the bits of grey in his chestnut brown hair. Jaina ignored it and focused on her work, shooing the symbols towards the sails. Immediately, the sails became filled and steadied, as though capturing the wind on a perfect sailing day. She repeated the process for the rudder, and it ceased to buck in its lock, simply waiting to be used.
Tandred whistled, though the sound was nearly lost in the wind. “Is that how you made it to Kalimdor in one piece?”
“Yes, though the effect is temporary, and can be draining over long distances,” Jaina warned. “The process for making properly enchanted sails is much longer, and still relies on the skill of the navigator, helmsman, and sailors. There are no good short cuts, not when it comes to sailing, and not anything else that matters.”
Tandred frowned. “So, how draining was this?”
“Not very, since it won’t take us weeks or months to get out there.” Jaina nodded to him. “You manage the sails, I’ll steer.”
Tandred nodded to her and settled by the sails. Their boat was small, designed for no more than two adults, or an adult and one or two eager, excited children learning their first lessons in sailing, and wasn’t meant for rough waters and stormy seas, but with Jaina’s enchantments and Tandred’s expertise, they sailed bravely on.
As Jaina’s mother had noted, much of the coastline was abandoned. Fishermen still took in hauls during the rain, and sometimes even in storms, but nothing out there for them now, the fish driven deep by relentless precipitation and pounding surf.
We’ll make this right, Jaina vowed. We will make it all right again.
The journey was tense and quiet, and her warmth at Tandred’s company soon faded as her mind began to churn like the sea. Her brother spent much of his time working the sails, taking both comfort and familiarity from it, even as everything around him was so stormy, and Jaina gripped the rudder with as much need for stability as she did for the boat to follow the coastline north-east.
On a clear day, with the sun bright overhead, Jaina could have seen the very tips of Menethil Harbour’s keep, silver and white standards fluttering in the wind. This was not such a day, the rain closing around them like fingers and restricting their visual range to scarcely twice her arm’s length, so it was only when Crestfall Island loomed up at them, craggy cliffs overlooking the eastern section of the Baradin Strait, that she realized they had arrived.
“Catacombs are just over there,” Tandred said, and Jaina shifted the rudder slightly, letting the wind carry them closer to the shoreline. The entrance to the catacombs of Crestfall was a dark smudge on an otherwise featureless rock, and the pair of them used all they had to aim for it.
Jaina felt magic trickle out of her as both rudder and sails fought hard, and she took in a sharp breath. Tandred didn’t look back at her, but he did raise his voice to be sure he could be heard over the howling wind. “Everything alright?”
“I’m fine, this is definitely it,” Jaina replied. “We’re right in the heart of the storm.”
“Good, then let’s get inside.” The boat rocked and rolled, and Jaina clung to the rudder, holding it steady and firm, just as Tandred cursed softly and held the ropes tighter.
The very sea is fighting us, Jaina thought angrily. It’s not right, it’s not fair. We are the children of Sea and Sky, and we will not be stopped!
If she had been a shaman, perhaps it would have worked, perhaps the elements would have listened to her passion and her anger, but she was not. She was an archmage and a sailor and a politician, and that meant her command of the elements was reduced to what she could do with magic and screaming into the wind.
Tandred was calmer, was steadier as rain turned to sleet and the boat sailed into an entrance that had been a small smudge from its earliest sighting and was in actuality twice as tall as their ship’s sail. Inside, the rain and wind died, and everything was still, eerily quiet as the tempest roared outside.
“That was well done,” Jaina said as she let the magic fade from the rudder. “You did better than I could have.”
“I’ve dealt with plenty of storms,” Tandred said with a shrug, pushing the hood of his cape back. “You can’t be meek about the sea.”
I’m not meek! came to Jaina’s lips, nettled by Tandred’s dismissal, and clamped them shut. The sails, still enchanted to fill with wind, carried them deeper into the catacombs as the water became increasingly more shallow with each twist, turn, and dripping outcropping of rock.
When the boat bumped gently against the catacomb floor, Jaina pulled the magic from the sails, and it ceased to move. Tandred shook out the tarp and threw it ashore, then climbed out of the boat, holding it steady as Jaina did the same, water rolling from her as she sighed with relief.
Jaina tugged off her rain cape, shook it out -- causing Tandred to grumble -- and set it on top of the tarp. After a moment, Tandred copied her. “Do you not think we’ll need it?”
“I need to move my arms to fight,” Jaina said, shaking her head slightly. “It won’t rain on us in here.”
“Probably,” Tandred murmured, setting his hand on his saber.
“Probably,” Jaina agreed, and led the way. The ground here was dry, only faintly scenting of salt and damp, though here and there Jaina could find hints that the water had moved up further and retreated, with slick trails of sea-scum and the occasional shell. She knelt down, picking one up and turning it over with her fingers.
“Odd,” Tandred remarked from just over her shoulder, and she fought the urge to punch him in the knee, just as a warning. “We don’t usually find anything this far up, and the water isn’t supposed to be this high to begin with.”
“The sea rose up and left this,” Jaina said, holding out the shell to him. “It’s been tooled.”
“Tooled by what?” Tandred murmured. “Fishmen?”
“They’re called murlocs in Nerglish,” Jaina corrected him and he made a face. “It’s useful information to know.”
“I have a hard time believing that their random gurgling and babbling is a language,” Tandred said, tossing the shell behind him as Jaina stood, brushing her knees off lightly, unconsciously copying her mother’s favourite gesture. “It’s just like dog growls, isn’t it?”
“Animals are smarter than you think, if you can talk to them,” Jaina pointed out, and her mind drifted to white fur and bright blue eyes. “At least, some of them.”
“If I ever need to talk to an animal, I’ll keep that in mind,” Tandred muttered, and Jaina started to walk again. The catacombs twisted and turned beneath Crestfall Island, the corridor becoming more narrow and less tall until Jaina could reach up and touch the salt-encrusted roof with two fingers. Along the roof and one of the walls there was more sea-slime, and something skittered softly in the darkness.
“Nothing lives here, or is supposed to,” Tandred murmured, and she nodded in return. “Probably in the den, too.”
Jaina nodded again, and advanced slowly and carefully, straining her senses to listen for more. The catacombs, difficult to navigate and unpleasant to spend time in, had on and off been the location of choice for smugglers to hide in. The last time it had been used, Jaina had been only sixteen, in the height of her learning and eager to help her father’s men deal with them. Now, she was virtually alone, twenty-five, and had a fraction more patience.
Well, maybe a little more than a fraction, Jaina thought as she eased herself around a corner and summoned bright, blinding light to her hand, hurling it into the room like a grenade.
“Jaina Proudmoore, that is not subtle at all,” Tandred muttered at her shoulder as the den erupted into angry, frightened, frantic gurgling and clacking.
“Subtlety has its place,” Jaina said, striding forward. “Just not here.”
When the light faded and dimmed to something more manageable, she could see there were a dozen murlocs huddled around their messy nests of scavenged coral and seaweed, clutching at their large, sensitive eyes. Meant to swim in the ocean depths, the burst of light had caused them pain, though Jaina knew it would fade, and would not damage them further. The den’s other occupants, however, weren’t suffering from nearly the same disadvantage, though they did not charge.
The deep ocean was a thing of wonders, Jaina had learned, and Tiran shores did not hold every secret, every type of creature that walked, swam, or flew. She had only learned of the Makrura, the creatures before her now, when she had gone to Kalimdor and found them lurking in tidal pools and attacking Theramore’s own fishing vessels.
“They look like they’d be good with butter sauce,” Tandred commented, his saber bare in his hand, eying the massive crustaceans. “They weren’t fooled by your trick, show them another one.”
“Oh, I will,” Jaina said, and cast another spell: she hated to use translation spells, because they didn’t capture every nuance of a language. There were only spoken words, no intonation, no shades of meaning, no body language… no scent. Still, without claws or tail or shell, she was at a disadvantage. “Makrura, wait,” she called out to them. “We mean you no harm.”
“Yes, we do,” muttered Tandred, even as his eyes widened as Jaina extended the spell to both of them, bringing him information but not translating his words back to them. “We absolutely do. Jaina, what are you doing?”
“Intruders,” the largest Makrura clacked as the others clicked and skittered, just out of range of the spell’s range. “We are commanded to fight your kind.”
“It is you who are the intruders,” Jaina said firmly. “These are our spawning dens, and for many seasons we have lived here, grown here, evaded nets and spears. You have no right to be in this place, but we will not harm you.” Jaina snapped her teeth, doing her best to emphasize it without claws, though it was mostly for the benefit of Tandred, who looked sour.
“You land dwellers, you warmbloods, you take all you can find and more than you can use,” the Makrura leader argued back. “We are promised this place in exchange for service, because the tides will rise and the land dwellers will choke and drown. We do not mourn, for none of you would weep for A’clwn and the dwellers of the deep.”
“You are A’clwn, or you are all A’clwn?” Jaina asked, and the Makrura’s eyestalks wavered in confusion.
“I am A’clwn, it is my spawn name,” the Makrura replied. “Why do you ask?”
“I am Jaina,” she replied. “I ask because asking questions is how I understand. What else was promised to you?”
“Spawning grounds, safe from land dwellers and eaters,” A’clwn said at length. “We are all dwellers of the deep, but shallower waters are needed. These ones are not the best, there is little to eat, but it is the promise of more that matters to us.”
“You shouldn’t have to settle for anything so poor, when you’re doing all the work,” Jaina said, thinking fast. “Who made this promise to you? Another dweller of the deep?”
“Of a kind,” A’clwn said, clattering softly as he -- Jaina’s study of his shell patterns seemed to lead towards this, but it was hard to confirm it without seeming impolite -- considered the question. “The Sea Witch is powerful and can give us much.”
...why does that sound familiar? Jaina wondered. “What is this Sea Witch?”
“I have lived long and seen much,” A’clwn said. “I have seen the wet seasons and the dry ones, the hunts and the purges, but the Sea Witch is from a time before then. She is not like this one, and not like those ones.” He waved a claw in the direction of the murlocs. “She is different. She has magic of the deeps, command over the wind and rain. More than mere light.”
“Mere light did enough,” Jaina reminded him. “A dweller of the deep, not like yourself or the murlocs, a mage…” Her eyes widened. “Naga.”
“Is that so?” A’clwn asked, regarding her with all eyestalks. Jaina resisted the urge to curse or to pace, but she wanted to do both.
The naga… they’d been spotted along the shoreline, and Tyrande warned me of them and their history, but this… if they can do this to us… no, there must be more to it. Otherwise we’d be dead. “She will give you nothing,” Jaina said, her voice firm and certain. “I don’t know if it’s the same one, but a dear friend of mine lost his father and many of his people over the years to the depredations of a naga witch. She demanded endless sacrifice, and when she did not have trolls to feed her bloodlust, she turned on her servants, murlocs like your allies, and surely Makrura like yourself.”
“The children of Zandalar are hunters,” A’clwn said, though uneasily, or so it seemed from the way his dozens of legs shifted with discomfort. “They are capable of watching their own backs.”
“Not from a witch that floods the land and leaves them with nothing,” Jaina said. “Their old island is abandoned, actually, flooded as they fled. It probably isn’t very deep, and it’s been a few years… all in all a very good environment for spawning.”
“You offer this to us… why?” A’clwn demanded. “Do you not want to kill us? Your spawnmate does. I see it in his claws and his stubby eyestalks.”
“No, we do not,” Jaina said firmly, even as Tandred made a choked, angry noise. “There’s no reason for us to do battle. We do intend to fight the Sea Witch, but we don’t need to fight you, if you leave now.”
The Makrura considered, and turned to consult with the others outside spell range. Tandred tried to get her attention and she ignored him, choosing instead to examine the den. Enough time had passed that the murlocs could see again, and she could see amongst them a clutch of tadpoles, their tiny bodies still uncertain on new legs as they chattered to their parents. Even as Jaina recalled the devastation that murlocs could cause, their appearance, harmless and demanding she care for the helpless things, tugged at her heartstrings.
“Tell us where the islands are, and we will go there to confirm what you have said,” A’clwn said, drawing her attention back to him. “If you have lied to us, we will return.”
“If you ever wish to find me again, I live on an island with stone walls and great spires,” Jaina said. “You won’t return here.”
The Makrura clattered, and A’clwn shifted a bit. “Let us pass and we will go.”
Jaina stepped aside, clear of the entrance, and gestured for Tandred to do so as well. Tandred was rarely roused to anger, so she was uneasy to find his expression thunderous, brows drawn and mouth curved in a deep frown. The Makrura allowed the murlocs to gather their belongings first, their eyestalks swivelling attentively. The murlocs used great, glass chests inlaid with coral and gold to keep their treasures, mostly shells, pearls, and bits of weapons. They placed their children on top of the chests, then hauled all that they valued out into the corridor and, eventually, towards the water.
“Please don’t damage our boat or our belongings,” Jaina added after waving goodbye to one of the murloc tadpoles, who waved back and then ducked -- her? -- head shyly as her siblings chattered at her. “We won’t be able to swim back home without them.”
A’clwn clattered at her. “Your vessel will not be harmed. May we not see each other again until times of joy and good spawning, J’na.”
“To your good spawning as well, A’clwn,” Jaina said, and smiled, though she doubted the Makrura understood the gesture. His eyestalks twitched in what she hoped was a friendly way before he followed his people out, around the corner and into the corridor. As the skittering and murmuring faded, she turned to Tandred. “Well, that went--”
“What was that all about?!” Tandred demanded, and Jaina blinked before she felt her anger rise and the cold prickle against her skin again. “Have you gone completely mad?!”
“Not as far as I’ve noticed,” Jaina replied icily. “As for what I was doing, I was negotiating a peace, obviously. There was no reason for us to fight. They were being used, manipulated by a more powerful figure and lied to. Now that they know, they can live better lives because of it. Obviously.”
Tandred scowled at her, his face twisting in a way so like their father’s that her heart clenched. “They’re monsters, Jaina. What if they hadn’t believed you about the island?”
“Then I would have found another way!” Jaina cried, and as an afterthought, made certain the translation spell was inactive. “The island is real, the Darkspear abandoned it two years ago. They’ll be happy there if they don’t mind the weather, which I suspect they won’t. I don’t see what all the fuss is about.”
“What if they attack people because you left them alive?” Tandred demanded. “What if they take the spoils you promised them and then turn around and attack Kul Tiras, or your island which you so generously gave them the location of!”
“They won’t!” Jaina cried, her voice echoing through the den. “They raid coastal settlements because they’re near the shallow waters they need for spawning, not because they’re some kind of invading army!”
“You don’t know that!” Tandred bellowed back, fist clenched around his sword so hard that the point quivered violently. Jaina’s eyes flashed with anger and her fingertips frosted over, shedding snow that melted on the stone floor.
“Yes, I do!” Jaina yelled back. “I’ve made a study of it, I’ve listened and learned and cared instead of sticking my head in the sand like a warmonger!”
“You mean you’re a naive child who doesn’t care about who lives or dies to your monsters, so long as you keep your hands clean!” Tandred accused, and Jaina rocked, as though she’d been slapped.
“When did you become an overeager zealot, always seeking to spill blood before speaking?” Jaina demanded, even as her hands shook. I can turn him into a hedgehog right now if he strikes me, I can’t-- “What happened to my brother, the dreamer and the musician? Did you break a guitar string since I last saw you?”
Tandred’s face reddened. He opened his mouth to retort when a web of lightning splashed against the cave wall behind him. He ducked low, and Jaina spun to face the threat.
[ Chapter 3]
Title: Unity: Stormcaller
Part: 2/8+Epilogue
Word Count: 4460
Includes: Spoilers for the Bonus Orc Campaign, character death, violence, strong language.
Pairings: Implied Thrall/Jaina, Jaina/OMC.
Summary: During the Late Winter of the 27th year after the opening of the Dark Portal, something dark and sinister calls terrible storms to lash the coast of Kalimdor, its source seemingly Jaina's old home: Kul Tiras. Vowing to do what is right, rather than take an easier path, Jaina returns home to speak to her estranged family and protect her family, her allies, and her own people from the Stormcaller.
Previous: Unity Chapters: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11
Stormcaller Chapters: 1
“I think I’ve got it,” Jaina murmured to no one in particular. The dining room table was covered in papers, spread out around the map of the isles which Tandred had brought her and which, after being assured that the map was not a precious one, she had written on in a dozen places. Jaina’s fingers cramped briefly and she set her pen down, massaging at her fingers as she looked the map over again.
She’d eliminated Boralus and its surroundings almost immediately. If the storms had started there, her family would have noticed far more swiftly and, moreover, the wards she’d left behind would have been triggered by the initial surge of magic. She’d worked out from there, separating out the testimonials of the fishermen and herdsmen into locations and then by date.
The whole of the primary Tiran island had been eliminated after much laborious work. That had left the second largest island, Crestfall, as their likely target. But no one has seen anything strange on Crestfall, or if they have they didn’t live through it.
The thought that someone had murdered witnesses was sobering and she frowned. Thrall had told her there was a person behind all this, that the elementals had claimed "she" had called to them, but the thought that this person had actually been murdering witnesses… She saw a mug drift into view and took it automatically, drinking the tea within in gulps. She blinked and peered at it. “Did you spike this?”
“Only a little, it seemed like you needed it,” Tandred remarked. “What have you got?”
“The storms started here,” Jaina said, tapping the map with the first finger of her free hand, and sipped her tea more cautiously. “Crestfall, but the lack of witnesses…”
“Could be the catacombs,” Tandred remarked. “No one goes there because they’re flooded half the time. In fact, they’re probably flooded now.” He peered down at the map and winced. “Did you really need to do this?”
“It’s the best way,” Jaina said firmly. “I needed to eliminate possibilities clearly, and marking them off is the most efficient.”
“Couldn’t you have, you know…” He lifted the fingers of one hand, and swirled them in a gesture of magic. Jaina felt her temper prickle, and scowled at him.
“There’s no point in wasting magic when a pen will do,” she said stiffly. “Especially since I’m going to need to fight whatever’s doing this, one way or another.”
“You’re the mage,” Tandred murmured, lowering his hand to hook a thumb into his belt-loop. Her father had done that, and it only made her skin prickle harder, as though it were frosting over.
“Yes, I am,” Jaina snapped, and took a breath. “So that’s where I’ll be going. I won’t be able to scry the area to confirm it,” she added, before her brother could suggest more magic. “My talents lie elsewhere.”
“I’ll scare up a boat for you, then,” Tandred said. “How many will you need to go with you?”
How many people can you put at my back, do you mean? Jaina thought sourly. “Did you intend to come with me?”
“No,” Tandred said, and shrugged. “You’ve already made it clear you don’t need me to tell you how to do your job.”
“No,” Jaina replied sharply, hurt. “I don’t need anyone to go with me, I’ll take care of this myself.”
Tandred’s gaze flicked over her expression, his sea-green eyes narrowing with concern. “If that’s how it is…”
“It is,” Jaina said firmly. “Just get me that boat.”
Tandred nodded curtly, and Jaina began to put the papers in order, leaving a clean, neat pile for her mother or one of the servants to retrieve to return to their rightful place.
I don’t need him, Jaina insisted, even as her heart ached. I don’t.
She did. She needed her older brother. She needed his kind smile and the twinkle in his eyes. She needed his singing voice, pure and strong and perfect, when hers had only ever been creaky and inexpert. She needed his wisdom as he reasoned things out with her, the calm stone to his sister’s stormy temper. She had barely known Derek, and she and Finnall had loved each other but moved in different circles, but Tandred… she and Tandred had ever been close.
Until now, Jaina thought, and angrily wiped at her eyes with her palm. Fine, then. I knew I’d lost them before, if this is how it has to be…
There were others now. Not Tandred, not Arthas, not Kael, not her parents or sister… but she had Ariana, who had come into her service at eighteen, ruled her life with a gentle but iron fist, and married an orc without fear. Rylai, whose family owned the primary estate on Crestfall Island and took that name as her own, so closely resembling her they’d been mistaken for one another at Dalaran and played pranks on everyone, except Kael who knew the finest intonations of her accent, and Kylian, who had a finely attuned nose for mischief. Tesoran, who saw to Theramore’s day-to-day affairs and reminded her to eat breakfast. Tervosh, who was protecting her precious, beloved city even now and had warned her not to go to Kul Tiras alone. Cynthia, her head cook, who always made her favourite dishes and always knew what to do with fish. She had a head gardener who listened patiently to her requests for specific plants to create reagents, scouts who endured wet and mud to bring her information, and captains and generals who eagerly came at her call.
She had allies: Tyrande, ageless and intelligent, cold the way her mother was in some ways, fiery as her late father in others. Malfurion, kind to those he loved and ferocious to those he distrusted. Cairne, ancient and wise and gentle, the teller of tales. Vol’jin, funny and tricky and clever, who had inspired the shape and scope of the magical academy she’d founded after she’d realized she knew virtually nothing of other kinds of magic.
...and then there was Thrall, waiting back in Kalimdor for her, depending on her, waiting for her to succeed so that he could soothe the spirits that were as much a part of him as her magic was a part of her. He believes in me and trusts me to do what’s needed. The thought warmed her, banishing the cold of anger and fear.
Jaina took a deep breath and headed back to the side entrance, not bothering to say goodbye, going to retrieve her rain cape and boots. They had been cleaned and dried since she had left them, and she pulled them on with a certain amount of force. She opened the door and stepped out into the rain, making her way back down to the little hidden cove of her childhood.
So what if my family doesn’t care for me any more? Jaina asked herself as she walked. I have friends that love me and care for me, allies to teach me and trust me. I sail forward into the wide, blue ocean and I do not cower behind on shore, uncertain of the-- oh.
Sitting in the small boat, layered in an oiled raincape and using a tarp to keep rain from the boat, was her brother. She approached slowly, peering at him through the rain. Tandred shrugged, and twitched the tarp aside.
“Hurry up, it’s never going to get any less awful if we just stand around staring at each other,” he said. Jaina waded out to the boat, using the water to clean the sand from her soles before climbing in, and Tandred wrapped the tarp around them again, then made to adjust the sail.
“We?” Jaina asked, even as she dared to hope. “I thought you weren’t coming?”
“Well, the damp’s terrible for my guitar,” Tandred said as his hands worked expertly. “Might as well see what I can do to hasten the process so I can get back to it.”
“...thank you,” Jaina said. “And there’s something I can do too.” She leaned forward, and began drawing glowing arcane symbols in the air. Tandred turned, slightly startled, and then settled back to watch, light illuminating his features, finding little crinkles and highlighting the bits of grey in his chestnut brown hair. Jaina ignored it and focused on her work, shooing the symbols towards the sails. Immediately, the sails became filled and steadied, as though capturing the wind on a perfect sailing day. She repeated the process for the rudder, and it ceased to buck in its lock, simply waiting to be used.
Tandred whistled, though the sound was nearly lost in the wind. “Is that how you made it to Kalimdor in one piece?”
“Yes, though the effect is temporary, and can be draining over long distances,” Jaina warned. “The process for making properly enchanted sails is much longer, and still relies on the skill of the navigator, helmsman, and sailors. There are no good short cuts, not when it comes to sailing, and not anything else that matters.”
Tandred frowned. “So, how draining was this?”
“Not very, since it won’t take us weeks or months to get out there.” Jaina nodded to him. “You manage the sails, I’ll steer.”
Tandred nodded to her and settled by the sails. Their boat was small, designed for no more than two adults, or an adult and one or two eager, excited children learning their first lessons in sailing, and wasn’t meant for rough waters and stormy seas, but with Jaina’s enchantments and Tandred’s expertise, they sailed bravely on.
As Jaina’s mother had noted, much of the coastline was abandoned. Fishermen still took in hauls during the rain, and sometimes even in storms, but nothing out there for them now, the fish driven deep by relentless precipitation and pounding surf.
We’ll make this right, Jaina vowed. We will make it all right again.
The journey was tense and quiet, and her warmth at Tandred’s company soon faded as her mind began to churn like the sea. Her brother spent much of his time working the sails, taking both comfort and familiarity from it, even as everything around him was so stormy, and Jaina gripped the rudder with as much need for stability as she did for the boat to follow the coastline north-east.
On a clear day, with the sun bright overhead, Jaina could have seen the very tips of Menethil Harbour’s keep, silver and white standards fluttering in the wind. This was not such a day, the rain closing around them like fingers and restricting their visual range to scarcely twice her arm’s length, so it was only when Crestfall Island loomed up at them, craggy cliffs overlooking the eastern section of the Baradin Strait, that she realized they had arrived.
“Catacombs are just over there,” Tandred said, and Jaina shifted the rudder slightly, letting the wind carry them closer to the shoreline. The entrance to the catacombs of Crestfall was a dark smudge on an otherwise featureless rock, and the pair of them used all they had to aim for it.
Jaina felt magic trickle out of her as both rudder and sails fought hard, and she took in a sharp breath. Tandred didn’t look back at her, but he did raise his voice to be sure he could be heard over the howling wind. “Everything alright?”
“I’m fine, this is definitely it,” Jaina replied. “We’re right in the heart of the storm.”
“Good, then let’s get inside.” The boat rocked and rolled, and Jaina clung to the rudder, holding it steady and firm, just as Tandred cursed softly and held the ropes tighter.
The very sea is fighting us, Jaina thought angrily. It’s not right, it’s not fair. We are the children of Sea and Sky, and we will not be stopped!
If she had been a shaman, perhaps it would have worked, perhaps the elements would have listened to her passion and her anger, but she was not. She was an archmage and a sailor and a politician, and that meant her command of the elements was reduced to what she could do with magic and screaming into the wind.
Tandred was calmer, was steadier as rain turned to sleet and the boat sailed into an entrance that had been a small smudge from its earliest sighting and was in actuality twice as tall as their ship’s sail. Inside, the rain and wind died, and everything was still, eerily quiet as the tempest roared outside.
“That was well done,” Jaina said as she let the magic fade from the rudder. “You did better than I could have.”
“I’ve dealt with plenty of storms,” Tandred said with a shrug, pushing the hood of his cape back. “You can’t be meek about the sea.”
I’m not meek! came to Jaina’s lips, nettled by Tandred’s dismissal, and clamped them shut. The sails, still enchanted to fill with wind, carried them deeper into the catacombs as the water became increasingly more shallow with each twist, turn, and dripping outcropping of rock.
When the boat bumped gently against the catacomb floor, Jaina pulled the magic from the sails, and it ceased to move. Tandred shook out the tarp and threw it ashore, then climbed out of the boat, holding it steady as Jaina did the same, water rolling from her as she sighed with relief.
Jaina tugged off her rain cape, shook it out -- causing Tandred to grumble -- and set it on top of the tarp. After a moment, Tandred copied her. “Do you not think we’ll need it?”
“I need to move my arms to fight,” Jaina said, shaking her head slightly. “It won’t rain on us in here.”
“Probably,” Tandred murmured, setting his hand on his saber.
“Probably,” Jaina agreed, and led the way. The ground here was dry, only faintly scenting of salt and damp, though here and there Jaina could find hints that the water had moved up further and retreated, with slick trails of sea-scum and the occasional shell. She knelt down, picking one up and turning it over with her fingers.
“Odd,” Tandred remarked from just over her shoulder, and she fought the urge to punch him in the knee, just as a warning. “We don’t usually find anything this far up, and the water isn’t supposed to be this high to begin with.”
“The sea rose up and left this,” Jaina said, holding out the shell to him. “It’s been tooled.”
“Tooled by what?” Tandred murmured. “Fishmen?”
“They’re called murlocs in Nerglish,” Jaina corrected him and he made a face. “It’s useful information to know.”
“I have a hard time believing that their random gurgling and babbling is a language,” Tandred said, tossing the shell behind him as Jaina stood, brushing her knees off lightly, unconsciously copying her mother’s favourite gesture. “It’s just like dog growls, isn’t it?”
“Animals are smarter than you think, if you can talk to them,” Jaina pointed out, and her mind drifted to white fur and bright blue eyes. “At least, some of them.”
“If I ever need to talk to an animal, I’ll keep that in mind,” Tandred muttered, and Jaina started to walk again. The catacombs twisted and turned beneath Crestfall Island, the corridor becoming more narrow and less tall until Jaina could reach up and touch the salt-encrusted roof with two fingers. Along the roof and one of the walls there was more sea-slime, and something skittered softly in the darkness.
“Nothing lives here, or is supposed to,” Tandred murmured, and she nodded in return. “Probably in the den, too.”
Jaina nodded again, and advanced slowly and carefully, straining her senses to listen for more. The catacombs, difficult to navigate and unpleasant to spend time in, had on and off been the location of choice for smugglers to hide in. The last time it had been used, Jaina had been only sixteen, in the height of her learning and eager to help her father’s men deal with them. Now, she was virtually alone, twenty-five, and had a fraction more patience.
Well, maybe a little more than a fraction, Jaina thought as she eased herself around a corner and summoned bright, blinding light to her hand, hurling it into the room like a grenade.
“Jaina Proudmoore, that is not subtle at all,” Tandred muttered at her shoulder as the den erupted into angry, frightened, frantic gurgling and clacking.
“Subtlety has its place,” Jaina said, striding forward. “Just not here.”
When the light faded and dimmed to something more manageable, she could see there were a dozen murlocs huddled around their messy nests of scavenged coral and seaweed, clutching at their large, sensitive eyes. Meant to swim in the ocean depths, the burst of light had caused them pain, though Jaina knew it would fade, and would not damage them further. The den’s other occupants, however, weren’t suffering from nearly the same disadvantage, though they did not charge.
The deep ocean was a thing of wonders, Jaina had learned, and Tiran shores did not hold every secret, every type of creature that walked, swam, or flew. She had only learned of the Makrura, the creatures before her now, when she had gone to Kalimdor and found them lurking in tidal pools and attacking Theramore’s own fishing vessels.
“They look like they’d be good with butter sauce,” Tandred commented, his saber bare in his hand, eying the massive crustaceans. “They weren’t fooled by your trick, show them another one.”
“Oh, I will,” Jaina said, and cast another spell: she hated to use translation spells, because they didn’t capture every nuance of a language. There were only spoken words, no intonation, no shades of meaning, no body language… no scent. Still, without claws or tail or shell, she was at a disadvantage. “Makrura, wait,” she called out to them. “We mean you no harm.”
“Yes, we do,” muttered Tandred, even as his eyes widened as Jaina extended the spell to both of them, bringing him information but not translating his words back to them. “We absolutely do. Jaina, what are you doing?”
“Intruders,” the largest Makrura clacked as the others clicked and skittered, just out of range of the spell’s range. “We are commanded to fight your kind.”
“It is you who are the intruders,” Jaina said firmly. “These are our spawning dens, and for many seasons we have lived here, grown here, evaded nets and spears. You have no right to be in this place, but we will not harm you.” Jaina snapped her teeth, doing her best to emphasize it without claws, though it was mostly for the benefit of Tandred, who looked sour.
“You land dwellers, you warmbloods, you take all you can find and more than you can use,” the Makrura leader argued back. “We are promised this place in exchange for service, because the tides will rise and the land dwellers will choke and drown. We do not mourn, for none of you would weep for A’clwn and the dwellers of the deep.”
“You are A’clwn, or you are all A’clwn?” Jaina asked, and the Makrura’s eyestalks wavered in confusion.
“I am A’clwn, it is my spawn name,” the Makrura replied. “Why do you ask?”
“I am Jaina,” she replied. “I ask because asking questions is how I understand. What else was promised to you?”
“Spawning grounds, safe from land dwellers and eaters,” A’clwn said at length. “We are all dwellers of the deep, but shallower waters are needed. These ones are not the best, there is little to eat, but it is the promise of more that matters to us.”
“You shouldn’t have to settle for anything so poor, when you’re doing all the work,” Jaina said, thinking fast. “Who made this promise to you? Another dweller of the deep?”
“Of a kind,” A’clwn said, clattering softly as he -- Jaina’s study of his shell patterns seemed to lead towards this, but it was hard to confirm it without seeming impolite -- considered the question. “The Sea Witch is powerful and can give us much.”
...why does that sound familiar? Jaina wondered. “What is this Sea Witch?”
“I have lived long and seen much,” A’clwn said. “I have seen the wet seasons and the dry ones, the hunts and the purges, but the Sea Witch is from a time before then. She is not like this one, and not like those ones.” He waved a claw in the direction of the murlocs. “She is different. She has magic of the deeps, command over the wind and rain. More than mere light.”
“Mere light did enough,” Jaina reminded him. “A dweller of the deep, not like yourself or the murlocs, a mage…” Her eyes widened. “Naga.”
“Is that so?” A’clwn asked, regarding her with all eyestalks. Jaina resisted the urge to curse or to pace, but she wanted to do both.
The naga… they’d been spotted along the shoreline, and Tyrande warned me of them and their history, but this… if they can do this to us… no, there must be more to it. Otherwise we’d be dead. “She will give you nothing,” Jaina said, her voice firm and certain. “I don’t know if it’s the same one, but a dear friend of mine lost his father and many of his people over the years to the depredations of a naga witch. She demanded endless sacrifice, and when she did not have trolls to feed her bloodlust, she turned on her servants, murlocs like your allies, and surely Makrura like yourself.”
“The children of Zandalar are hunters,” A’clwn said, though uneasily, or so it seemed from the way his dozens of legs shifted with discomfort. “They are capable of watching their own backs.”
“Not from a witch that floods the land and leaves them with nothing,” Jaina said. “Their old island is abandoned, actually, flooded as they fled. It probably isn’t very deep, and it’s been a few years… all in all a very good environment for spawning.”
“You offer this to us… why?” A’clwn demanded. “Do you not want to kill us? Your spawnmate does. I see it in his claws and his stubby eyestalks.”
“No, we do not,” Jaina said firmly, even as Tandred made a choked, angry noise. “There’s no reason for us to do battle. We do intend to fight the Sea Witch, but we don’t need to fight you, if you leave now.”
The Makrura considered, and turned to consult with the others outside spell range. Tandred tried to get her attention and she ignored him, choosing instead to examine the den. Enough time had passed that the murlocs could see again, and she could see amongst them a clutch of tadpoles, their tiny bodies still uncertain on new legs as they chattered to their parents. Even as Jaina recalled the devastation that murlocs could cause, their appearance, harmless and demanding she care for the helpless things, tugged at her heartstrings.
“Tell us where the islands are, and we will go there to confirm what you have said,” A’clwn said, drawing her attention back to him. “If you have lied to us, we will return.”
“If you ever wish to find me again, I live on an island with stone walls and great spires,” Jaina said. “You won’t return here.”
The Makrura clattered, and A’clwn shifted a bit. “Let us pass and we will go.”
Jaina stepped aside, clear of the entrance, and gestured for Tandred to do so as well. Tandred was rarely roused to anger, so she was uneasy to find his expression thunderous, brows drawn and mouth curved in a deep frown. The Makrura allowed the murlocs to gather their belongings first, their eyestalks swivelling attentively. The murlocs used great, glass chests inlaid with coral and gold to keep their treasures, mostly shells, pearls, and bits of weapons. They placed their children on top of the chests, then hauled all that they valued out into the corridor and, eventually, towards the water.
“Please don’t damage our boat or our belongings,” Jaina added after waving goodbye to one of the murloc tadpoles, who waved back and then ducked -- her? -- head shyly as her siblings chattered at her. “We won’t be able to swim back home without them.”
A’clwn clattered at her. “Your vessel will not be harmed. May we not see each other again until times of joy and good spawning, J’na.”
“To your good spawning as well, A’clwn,” Jaina said, and smiled, though she doubted the Makrura understood the gesture. His eyestalks twitched in what she hoped was a friendly way before he followed his people out, around the corner and into the corridor. As the skittering and murmuring faded, she turned to Tandred. “Well, that went--”
“What was that all about?!” Tandred demanded, and Jaina blinked before she felt her anger rise and the cold prickle against her skin again. “Have you gone completely mad?!”
“Not as far as I’ve noticed,” Jaina replied icily. “As for what I was doing, I was negotiating a peace, obviously. There was no reason for us to fight. They were being used, manipulated by a more powerful figure and lied to. Now that they know, they can live better lives because of it. Obviously.”
Tandred scowled at her, his face twisting in a way so like their father’s that her heart clenched. “They’re monsters, Jaina. What if they hadn’t believed you about the island?”
“Then I would have found another way!” Jaina cried, and as an afterthought, made certain the translation spell was inactive. “The island is real, the Darkspear abandoned it two years ago. They’ll be happy there if they don’t mind the weather, which I suspect they won’t. I don’t see what all the fuss is about.”
“What if they attack people because you left them alive?” Tandred demanded. “What if they take the spoils you promised them and then turn around and attack Kul Tiras, or your island which you so generously gave them the location of!”
“They won’t!” Jaina cried, her voice echoing through the den. “They raid coastal settlements because they’re near the shallow waters they need for spawning, not because they’re some kind of invading army!”
“You don’t know that!” Tandred bellowed back, fist clenched around his sword so hard that the point quivered violently. Jaina’s eyes flashed with anger and her fingertips frosted over, shedding snow that melted on the stone floor.
“Yes, I do!” Jaina yelled back. “I’ve made a study of it, I’ve listened and learned and cared instead of sticking my head in the sand like a warmonger!”
“You mean you’re a naive child who doesn’t care about who lives or dies to your monsters, so long as you keep your hands clean!” Tandred accused, and Jaina rocked, as though she’d been slapped.
“When did you become an overeager zealot, always seeking to spill blood before speaking?” Jaina demanded, even as her hands shook. I can turn him into a hedgehog right now if he strikes me, I can’t-- “What happened to my brother, the dreamer and the musician? Did you break a guitar string since I last saw you?”
Tandred’s face reddened. He opened his mouth to retort when a web of lightning splashed against the cave wall behind him. He ducked low, and Jaina spun to face the threat.
[ Chapter 3]