Chapter 15

Through the Fog

The air smelled of wet wood. It hung thick in the air, thicker than the sheets that were protecting him from a chilling cold that had set in. Next to Stefan, Iyana shivered. He layed a hand on her shoulder, slowly massaging her into consciousness. She protested by rolling over, but eventuall rose and rubbed the sleep from her eyes.

"What is it?" she asked groggily.

"Not sure," answered Stefan. He was wide awake, and appeared slightly annoyed. Iyana noticed this drunkenly, still intoxicated from the wonderful embrace of slumber. She lolled her head to one side, resting her temple upon his shoulder.

"Is something wrong, dear?"

He would have said the same thing, but it felt stupid. He didn't want to say anything, so he grunted. He eased away from Iyana, who fell limply over, letting her head bounce lightly on the mattress. She turned to observe Stefan quickly don his clothing. She tried again as he was fumbling with the buckle on his belt.

"Stefan, what's the matter?"

He clicked the belt into place, then raised his head to address her. He ran his eyes along her naked body, until his eyes settled upon her pretty, questioning face. The pupils told her he was telling the truth. "I don't know. It's something in my gut."

Though she didn't know what to make of it, Iyana nodded in reply. As Stefan exited out the door without another word, Iyana began to get dressed as well. She looked at her pale-purple skin, running her fingers along the goosebumps that had emerged.

Damn, but it's cold, she thought.

---

Fog. Floating over the ocean, dancing along the deck, curling about the sails. It was everywhere, leaking out of an unknown source, enveloping everything in its cold, subtle touch. Stefan looked around him, trying to discern anything, the sky, the sun, behind the wall of white mist. He moved on, calling to the deck hands.

"Lyra! Molgoby!" he shouted. The two of them looked up from a tangle of thick ropes they were working on. They sauntered over, the giant Tauren giving a visible shiver to the biting cold that surrounded them. Lyra remained unphased.

"Aye, Stefan? What can we do for ya?" asked the Troll.

"Not sure," he started, looking around. "Any trouble this morning?"

Lyra shook her head. "Just the damned fog. Stuff's driving me nuts! I don't like it one bit," muttered Molgoby.

Stefan grunted in reply, moving off to the right side of the ship, leaning against a bulwark to peer into the fog. Below, a thin line of the ocean was visible. After that, nothing but white. Still, he was certain he could see something, just beyond the blind curtain of fog. He turned around, scanning the deck for the Dwarven engineer.

"Geraldros!" he shouted, cupping his hands. "Geraldros! Where are you, lad?"

The Dwarf came stumbling out from below deck, jingling and clanking. "Mr. Dreis! You were calling me?"

"That I was. Do you have a flare?"

Geraldros paused for a moment, as if trying to figure out what exactly a flare was. Then he began looking about himself, spinning around as if trying to reach the back of his gadget-suit, like a dog chasing its tail. When he realized it was futile, he simply turned his back to Stefan, and pointed.

"There, just below the gyro-freezer unit," he explained. Stefan came over, and found the compact gun strapped on the man's buttocks.

"Isn't that a bit dangerous? You could blow your arse off," laughed Stefan, checking to see the gun was properly loaded.

"Hmm, you're right. Never thought about that," said the bewildered Dwarf.

"I don't doubt it."

Stefan aimed out into the ocean, and fired. For a while he could see the burning projectile, noting that nothing appeared in the red glow. He watched as it began the slow descent to the waters below. There, near the ocean's surface. Faint traces of jagged somethings, but nothing he could make clearer. Just then there was a thump and a thoonk, compelling Stefan to turn and find Lyra on the other side of the ship, her head bent over the edge.

"Debris below!" her voice echoed. "Looks like we might've run over the remains of a ship!"

Yes, that could be it. Was it the wreckage of a ship he had seen from the light of the flare?

"More over here!" came Molgoby's voice. He was standing at the ship's front, looking out into the sea ahead of them. "It's everywhere! We're passing through a ship graveyard!"

Something about the Tauren's words bothered Stefan. It wasn't the way the ancient plainswalker had said it, but what they meant. He thanked them for their help, and returned below deck in a hurry. Perhaps Mae could appease the growling annoyance that had developed in his midsection.

---

"A sea-faring graveyard? Are you sure?"

Stefan didn't like the worry in her voice. Even after assuring her, he didn't need the "let me consult my books" to know there was something wrong. Mae didn't spend any extra time going through the pages, searching for clues; hell, she didn't even use the index. She picked out a book from her stacks, and peeled it in half. Then, she scrolled down the page with her finger, and scanned it with her eyes before looking up at him.

"Where are we, Mae?" he asked. He knew she had the answer, and didn't want the silence to last any longer.

"We're in the Sea of Lost Journeys. And if you've just noticed the wreckages, no doubt we just entered."

Something in his chest let up. Still, his gut was nagging him. "Alright. Anything to worry about?"

She looked at him like he had just slapped her across the face. The book hung slackly in her hands.

"Stefan, we're on the outskirts of bloody Northrend, entering a ship graveyard in the most untravelled parts of the sea. Do you know how those ships perished? Not by pirates. Not live ones, anyway. We're in the lands of the bloody Lich King! And this particular area belongs to a group of undying sailors!"