On the Little Highs Seas

As for the other passengers, Draven didn’t know where they came from. They had been told they would have the entire ship to themselves for the few days, and for the most part, that was accurate. There were six other passengers, all human, as far as Draven could tell. They were a group, and kept to themselves and their rooms. Occasionally, he would catch sight of one of them, a short, curly haired woman, watching the band curiously.

There was a lot to see. The extra few days gave the Little Highs time to get their equipment ready. As the headlining act, they wanted to make sure they knew the system in and out. Beside their five member band, they traveled with their manager, Chuck, and special effects team of six. Already, the traveling team and the on-deck tech crew were butting heads. Draven had no doubt that the Little High’s team would win out in the end. Dwarves were notoriously stubborn.

Technically, Draven considered, they had been the headlining act for the last cruise, too, but this was actually a reputable cruise line. It wasn’t big, that was true. But it was a significant improvement.

After their day of preparing their stage and lighting, they ran a short set, more for the fun of it than anything else. That same curly haired woman watched from the deck above, leaning on the railing with a faint smile on her face. A taller man stood next to her, wearing a tight vest and crisp white shirt. His expression was more along the lines of confusion, but Draven didn’t let it bother him. Dwarven metal wasn’t for everyone, and he had learned to be content with that.

A thin plastic sheeting enclosed the stage, protecting it from the elements and distorting the shapes on the upper deck. Draven played with their shapes by moving around the stage, chuckling to himself at the changes.

Another pair, another man and woman, joined them, both dressed in casual clothes. Neither, however, wore anything that seemed especially ‘vacation’ worthy. It seemed more like they were just living their lives, and happened to be on a cruise ship.

He knew the other two were men, but neither of them appeared at the top of the railing. The second pair drifted away, but the first two remained where they were until the end. They clapped, though the man seemed like he was doing it just to be polite.

Once they had stowed their equipment, the Little Highs went to the pool, and stayed there until the attendant requested they leave. “Storm’s blowing in,” he said, looking up at the sky, darkening from both the sunset and cloud cover. “We gotta get all this cleaned up before it hits.”

There was no arguing from the bandmates. They went back to their suite, three rooms off a main lounge area. It was two to a room –  Alricc got his own because Chuck, who was supposed to join them, had opted to pay for his own. “I get paid to listen to you sing,” he had said, “I’m going to pay so I don’t have to listen to you snore.”

They were finishing up dinner, which had been delivered to their rooms about the same time as they had returned, when the first crash of thunder hit. “Well, that’s cheery,” Burgan said darkly, watching the rain begin to streak the window.

“It could be worse,” Alricc commented. “The wind brings the rain, and the rain brings the ocean. The ocean gives us life, and life gives us opportunity.”

Hallister, their guitarist and backup vocalist, stared at him, his expression complete confusion. “What are you talking about, Alricc?” he asked.

The bassist looked at him, nodding sagely. “All things come, and all things pass. If you can dance in the sun, you can dance in the rain.”

“Yeah, but I just don’t dance,” Burgan said.

“Don’t antagonize him,” Serrus said, closing his eyes and crossing his arms. “You’ll never hear the end of it.”

Draven shook his head as he picked up his plate to throw it away, but from the corner of his eye, he caught Alricc laughing slightly to himself. “So you make it all up to annoy us,” he said under his breath. “Very well.”

He thought about drifting into a war of words with him, but decided it wasn’t worth it. Alricc was a bassist purely because he loved it. His real vocation had something to do with words – no one was exactly clear on the details. The fans loved the myths, though, so it was good for business.

In the band’s promotional lore, of course, it was a different story. There, Alricc was a “Man from the Mists,” who came to the rest of the band in a dream and stayed forever. It was close enough the truth, but sometimes Draven wondered if it was a dream or a nightmare.

The rain was coming fast now, a steady beat against the hull. “What a night,” Serrus said, his arm still folded and eyes closed. “Hopefully it’ll pass quickly.”

Burgan looked up from his phone, sitting on the chair of his arm. “I’m looking at the weather. Doesn’t look super great.”

“It’s just rain,” Draven said. “We’ll be fine. It’s not like we’re literally sailing in the stuff, right?”

A vision flashed in his mind, of battling against the raging sea. He was the captain, roaring commands to his crew, made up for the band. Except Alricc. Alricc always managed to stay out of his dissociative daydreaming episodes.

He took a moment, breathing in, and centered himself again. Therapy had helped – he wasn’t imagining dragons chasing them or giving himself heart attacks from creating jump scares. Some techniques used his own maladaptive daydreams against themselves – taking off an imagined VR headset or goggles – while others used the real world around him.

This was in the latter category. He focused on the feel of the floor underneath him, the seat pressing into his back and the cold leather of the chair under his skin. He listened to the rain, not to draw him away, but to draw him back in.

He exhaled and opening his eyes. The others had moved around a little bit, murmurs of conversation rising and falling. Draven wasn’t paying attention, but neither was he absent from the moment. It was a good place to be.

The rest of the evening flowed in a similar way. It had been a long day, and they knew the days would only get longer. They took the rest as they could, most of them not even making it back to their beds. Draven was one of these, waking up with bleary eyes to a world still raining.

As he saw the time, he pushed himself to his feet. There was no reason to return to sleep now. He stumbled to the counter, where a coffeemaker was already humming. He looked around the room, and Burgan raised a hand by way of greeting. “I’ve been up for twenty minutes,” he whispered loudly. “Coffee will be ready in a bit. I just started it.”

Draven was stretching. He was not as young as he used to be, and a night asleep in an armchair had done a number to his back. “Good, good,” he said, bending down to touch his toes. Well, at least as close as he could get.

He straightened, rolling his back so it was straight again. “Just a quick drink, then a walk around the halls,” he said. It was important, he had found, to start the day with a walk.

Burgan nodded. He would probably take a drink, then fade off again. Ah, well. That was his choice, Draven decided.

While waiting for the coffee, he finished the rest of his morning routine. A shower, careful drying of his braided hair, a short facial routine, and then selecting his outfit for the day. By the time he returned to the living room, Alricc was also awake, though it looked like he was meditating.

Draven passed by him without a word. He poured a cup of coffee, and donned a dark jean jacket. “I’ll see you soon,” he whispered to Burgan, checking his pocket for his key card. After verifying he had it, he slipped out the door. Though the hallway was under a roof, it was open at the ends, for full view of the ocean. All Draven could see, however, was the pelting rain.

He took a long sip of his coffee, walking toward the end of the hall. As he neared it, he heard the PA system come live. “Good morning to all of our guests here on the…” there was a pause, then the voice continued, “The Sea’s Song!”

The voice belonged to a man, and seemed uncomfortable and awkward, like it was going to break into nervous laughter at any second. “Uh, well, there’s been a slight change of plans. The… Storm last night pushed us off course more than we expected, and we have unfortunately lost sight of the coast.” There was some kind of muttered conversation, then it finished, “However, we’re doing everything in our power to get back. Please enjoy your time, and have no fears. We just wanted to be up front about what was going on!”

It cut out as quickly as it had turned on. Draven stared at the nearest speaker as it morphed into a bird, squawking at him. Deliberately, he reached up and took off a pair of imagined glasses. The bird disappeared, and Draven turned away.

“Well,” he said, “It shouldn’t be too hard to get back, right?”

He walked a little longer, his mind wandering. He entertained the visions this time, knowing they weren’t impacting his life. There was a serpent that turned a beady eye toward the ship, then dove away into the depths. A classic bodied plane spun past overhead, the pilot looking like Draven himself. The young woman from the day before ran across the deck, a pair of odd goggled pressed across her face. For a second, she looked so real he almost waved, but then he saw the strange gray and green octopus creature on her shoulder, and a miniature robot toddling behind. With a shake of his head, he wandered away, his vision clearing and returning to the physical world.

Back in the room, the rest of the band was preparing to leave. Chuck was standing by the door, a scowl on his face. “Apparently we’re off course,” he said as Draven came in.

“Yeah, I just heard,” Draven replied, throwing the cup at the garbage can. He missed.

As he went to pick it up, Chuck pulled out an ever-present clipboard. “Okay, so the crew is turning on the sound in about fifteen minutes, and we’ll start sound checks in thirty,” he said, looking at the list. “We’re running Heaven’s Thunder and Gates of Anush. I want to nail down our timing on that final bridge. No rushing, okay?”

He said this last thing to Serrus, who nodded passively. He was studying his breakfast sandwich, his fingers moving slowly. He was probably imagining the chords. He had rushed in that bridge once, and Chuck hadn’t let him live it down. The real reason they were running it was the special effects, especially the sound effects, in them. Their team had to sync up thunder, or gates crashing, at the right crescendos. It was finicky work, especially with a new system. They tried to practice those songs as thoroughly as they could. It would probably take all morning to get them down, then the afternoon would be the rest of one of the sets.

Draven fell in the back as they returned outside, bracing themselves as the wind blew the barest of moisture down the hall. They filed down stairs, entering into the auditorium through the back. Their tech crew was on stage, speaking into microphones while three of them played with the faders.

One of them threw a glance at the Little Highs, signaling that they were finished with their prep. “Whenever you’re ready,” he said, motioning to the stage. He jumped off, a feat more impressive because of his size, and ran toward the back.

The band got to their respective places. Their instruments had already been put out – their team was quick at that – so all that was left was tuning and plugging into the channels.

The tech crew was putting on their headphones so they could communicate. Unlike some other bands, Little Highs used technology, not communication magic. Why draw unnecessary attention? It was already strange that they were shortest musicians anywhere.

They tested their various instruments. The settings from the night before were still good, besides a little tweaking for their post-sleep ears. As they finally began the first song, the sky was beginning to clear, the rain against the clear top of the amphitheater beginning to recede and dry out.

It was, as always, a terrible grind, but finally, they made it through the Gates of Anush and were allowed to go to lunch. The sky had turned to a beautiful gray-blue, and the sun was slowly finishing off the last of the residue on the ship.

“I’m going to see whereabouts we are,” Draven said as he put his earbuds down. They had a standing invitation from the captain and crew to see the inner workings of the ship. Even though they couldn’t see land, Draven assumed they would at least have an idea of where they would be.

The rest of the band waved him off. Their minds were consumed by food, but Draven’s was consumed by curiosity. He bounded up to the third floor, knocking on the door to the helm.

“Busy!” someone shouted. “No one is allowed in here!”

“It’s Draven from the Little Highs,” Draven said, knocking again. “Captain Dorrum gave us permission to come up and visit anytime we wanted!”

When there was silence, he tried the door. It was locked. “Excuse me!” he shouted, pounding on the door again. He tried to see through the narrow window next to the door, but it was just above his height, even as he tried to jump.

“Draven!” shouted a loud, authoritative man’s voice, “We don’t have time for this. Go get your food, and we’ll take care of… Oh, no.”

“Is that the ship?” someone else, a female said.

“It looks like it,” another male voice, quieter than the first two, said. “Why are they still here?”

“I don’t think they are,” a second female voice, bright and cheery, said, “We caught up with them.”

There was the sound of a high five, but the authoritative voice broke through right after. “They’ve seen us.”

“What’s your command, Guilderbrand?” another voice said. Draven recognized it as the one who had made the announcement in the morning.

“Prepare the guns. Mr. Bentham, I trust you’ll take care of them?”

Draven looked around in confusion. As far as he could see, there were no guns, but now he was feeling uncertain. He decided not to stick around and find out.

He ran back down the stairs, nearly plowing into Alricc. “Slow down,” he said, lifting his food out of the way. “Your life is already short enough.”

Behind him, Bergan groaned. “Not another short joke, Alricc. Seriously, isn’t it enough that we’re called the Little Highs?”

Alricc ignored him, a faint smile playing on his lips. It stopped when he saw Draven’s face. “Are you okay?” he asked. “You with us right now?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Draven said. “The captain…The captain isn’t in the helm. And they were talking about guns.”

Alricc relaxed. “Oh, I understand.”

Bergan gave him a caring expression. “Take a deep breath, Draven, and count to four. That usually helps.”

“No,” Draven said, “It wasn’t a daydream this time. I heard them talking from outside the helm. They were talking about another ship…” he trailed off. Had it just been a daydream? Or was his fear founded this time?

“There’s no ships,” Bergan said, motioning to the open sea. “We’re all alone. Just get some food, and we’ll get back to music soon.”

Draven felt like he was on high alert, noticing everything in all its color and vibrancy. He studied the sea, feeling his heart calm as he watched the waves ebb and flow. Just as he was about to turn away, he saw the dark prow of another ship.

It was tall and deep brown, with sails that were once white, but were streaked yellow and brown. A black flag swung from the top, a white ‘X’ scrawled across both sides. It rose and fell with the waves, the water creasing along its bow. Draven felt his heart skip into his mouth, but he grit his teeth, reached up and grabbed the pair of imaginary glasses from his face. With just as much determination, he threw them to the side and stared the dark sharp down.

The ship was still approaching, even as he pulled off another pair of glasses. “Draven?” Bergan asked, “Are you okay?”

“Am I seeing that?” Draven said, pointing.

Bergan followed his hand, his sandwich dropping from trembling hands. “What’s that?” he asked.

“It appears to be a pirate ship,” Alricc said, calmly taking another bite of his lunch. “Headed in our direction.”

A clatter came from above as someone burst out of the helm, storming down the stairs. There were three of them, in fact – the man and woman who had come and gone from the concert the night before, and a second tall man. At first glance, he looked human, but as he passed, they could see his hair turning away into twisting tendrils.

“What is a fire elemental doing here?” Bergan hissed as they watched them run to the main deck.

“Guns,” Draven said, turning away and running.

“Where are you going?” Bergan demanded.

“We can help!” Draven shouted back. “We just need to use the… You know.”

“No, I don’t,” Bergan replied angrily.

Alricc put a hand on his shoulder. “He’s talking about the Heartstrings, Bergan.” He took another bite of his sandwich, almost wistfully. “I’ll finish you later, I guess,” he said, then ran after Draven.

Bergan muttered something, but he, too ran after the pair.

They ran past Serrus, Hallister and Chuck, pulling them along as they charged into the auditorium. “Turn it up,” Draven said as he marched in.

The tech crew, who were all sitting around with sandwiches, looked at him with confused expressions. Draven nodded at Alricc who seemed to be the only one who was actually listening, then took the stage. He pulled his microphone from its stand and tapped the Heartstrings button on his mix box.

“Today,” he said, his voice growling through the speakers, “We are faced with a strange opposition. We do not know who they are, only that they are set against us, and we must conquer them!” His eyes filled with an imaginary audience, their faces quiet and upturned toward him. He didn’t bother blinking them away. “We will sing in the face of their attack. We will turn them away and win this day.”

A slow, low note hit behind him. Alricc had turned on his bass, playing the opening riff to… Storm the Beaches? It was either that or My Sweetheart, Come Home. He was playing with his Heartstrings – Draven could feel the victory surge through him.

“We are not just mere dwarves today, my friends,” Draven said. “Today, we rise as brothers. Today we stand as friends. Today, we are warriors of the boldest kind!”

“What are you talking about,” Hallister shouted up at Draven. Serrus stood behind him, his arms crossed and a quizzical expression on his face. But a drumbeat was starting – Bergan had realized the plan and was falling in line.

As if paired with Hallister’s comment, a cannonball whistled overhead. “You will not break my defenses,” Draven said to Hallister, willing the cannonball to disappear. While a few of the audience members did, the heavy shot did not. It took a second, but Draven suddenly realized that he was not the only one who could see it.

“That’s the problem,” he said, pointing as the cannonball splashed on the opposite side of the ship. “And we’re going to play a song of defeat against the pirates.” He raised his voice, addressing the audience, imagined and real. “We’ll play a song of boldness for the defenders! A song of gladness and joy! And as they watch their enemies fall into ruin, they will join with us!”

He looked down at Hallister, who stood alone in front of the stage, dumbfounded, but clearly inspired. A sharp, clear chord broke out as Serrus also joined them on stage. Draven looked back at him, nodding in thanks and solidarity. He looked back down reaching a hand to their final member. “What do you say, Hallister Warborn? Join us for what might be the last song of our lives?”

Hallister muttered something under his breath, probably a curse, but turned to run up the stairs. Draven stood upright, grabbing his in-ears so he could hear the rest of the band. “We rise to glory,” he said. “Now, did I heard a song about Storming the Beaches?”

There was a sudden drum solo as Bergan started the actual introduction to the song. Draven could see Chuck bustling in the back, shouting commands. He had seen the vision – and he could pull it off.

Heartstrings, while powerful, needed something to attach to. Without meaning, they were just feelings. That was why Draven had given his speech – he was priming the listeners for the feelings they were about to experience. 

Likewise, Heartstrings were amplified by drama. Lighting was a big one, which wasn’t possible given the brightness of the sun. However, Chuck had a few things up his sleeve. It started with raising the stage to different levels, then turning on the lights regardless, on the off chance they did something they couldn’t see from their vantage point. Then he pushed the faders to their limit so the speakers were vibrating with the sound of the music.

Draven hit the first note of the song, a piercing scream to emulate the battle cry of the Viking raiders in the song. It was centered on a boat of Norsemen, who come to a town, expecting no struggle, only to find it filled with warriors. They eventually retreat to their boats, licking their wounds and swearing to come back another day. Draven had a follow-up song – For Our Gold, which was about chasing down pirates and taking back what was yours.

Their Heartstring influenced music sprang out of the speakers, cutting out of the auditorium and toward the defenders, who were preparing guns. Draven was high enough to see them. The fire elemental was pressing his hands against the side of a cannon-like contraption, charging it up. The other two focused on aiming it. They only had one, and they had to be precise.

He could see the music, twisting with lights, as it entered into their souls. The man straightened, nodding with determination as he confidently angled the weapon. Beside him, the woman smiled with courage, then took a step back.

In time with the music, the fire elemental finished the charge. A gout of flame erupted from the barrel of the cannon, spinning away into a fireball.

The music followed the flaming orb across the water, pelting into the hull of the ship just as it did. Instead of breaking into the wood and setting it alight, as the fireball did, however, the music twisted up and into the pirates on the prow. Unlike those on the Sea’s Song, their eyes turned away in despair. How could they fight something like this?

Draven kept singing, his voice rising and falling in tandem with the music. He could see the armada they sailed with – a flotilla of singing warriors, their music coursing through their veins and into their weapons. In his mind’s eye, he could see ships sinking, but still they kept singing.

All around, the war raged. Ships were taken and lost on both sides, their screams of victory and loss bleeding into the music that wrapped around them, filling them with vigor and fervor. “And we’ll storm your beaches again!” Draven finished, holding the note, then twisting it into, “To find our gooold!”

The band heard his intention immediately. Serrus led the transition, playing a harmonic mix of the two songs that ended in the first verse of the second song. Hallister picked up the background vocals as they hung in the space before the start, chanting about the pursuit that was about to happen. Then Burgan came in, signaling Draven’s start.

As he bent into the song, the war was almost over. The ships around them had been destroyed, until all that was left was the Sea’s Song and the leader of the pirate navy, their black hull taunting as the cannon ports opened. It was on fire in places, but the pirates shouted insults and aggression regardless. As if they thought they could win.

Draven knew the truth, and as he reached the climax of the first run of the chorus, he let them know why his name was Mountainshaker. A guttural roar exited his chest, hitting the notes of Alricc’s guitar and mixing with them. The deck vibrated underfoot, and the pirate ship rocked back and forth.

Their eyes were wide with surprise, speechless in their wonder. As they gathered their strength to return to the fight, a fireball hit their mast, catching the rigging and sail.

“Now, Guilderbrand!” the fire elemental roared, barely heard over the thunder of the Little Highs.

Something in the boat activated and it plowed forward, faster than should have been possible. Draven sang out the victory through the next verse as they left the pirate ship behind, facing the wrong direction and with its sails alight.

He did not know where they were going, but that didn’t matter. For the moment, his vision was clear. No strangers filled his sight or the natural world. All he saw before him was the open sea, and he knew the truth.

Ahead was adventure and excitement. And whether it was the Heartstrings or the thrill of it all, Draven knew he was ready for whatever came.

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And so the Wandering Isle saga continues! Our end game will be starting very shortly.

Don’t forget to check out our writing challenge – this week, we’re talking about History!