Chapter 5: Pirates of the Summer Sea
The journey from Tolos to Qarth had been smooth so far. Jason had insisted on waiting until they found the best ship for the voyage, and eventually, they succeeded. They secured passage aboard the vessel of a wealthy merchant, who agreed to take them to Qarth.
Their accommodations were luxurious by ship standards. Their cabin, nestled near the stern, was spacious, with a comfortable bed, a small writing desk, and even a window overlooking the endless expanse of the Summer Sea. The crew was polite, and the weather was perfect for sailing—blue skies stretched above, a steady wind filled the sails, and the waters were calm. Meals were simple but hearty, with salted meats, fresh fish, and warm bread. In the evenings, Jason and Garth would often find themselves on the deck, watching the sun sink in a fiery blaze over the horizon.
Garth spent much of his time speaking with the merchant, eager to learn about Qarth and the lands beyond. The merchant claimed to have traveled far and wide, and Garth listened attentively to his stories of distant places like Yi Ti, Asshai, and the mysterious Shadow Lands. Jason, on the other hand, mostly kept to himself, using the time to practice his newfound powers in secret. He was determined to understand them better. Every day, he would focus intently, attempting to move objects or explore if he had abilities beyond telekinesis. Progress was slow, but he felt himself getting stronger and more attuned with each session.
For four days, it felt like paradise. But on the fourth night, their peace was violently shattered.
Jason had been sleeping soundly, lulled by the gentle sway of the ship and the distant sound of waves. He was jolted awake by a sudden, harsh noise—a scream, followed by the unmistakable clash of steel.
He sat up abruptly, his senses flaring to life. He glanced over at Garth, who was already stirring, rubbing his eyes groggily.
"What is it?" Garth muttered, pushing himself out of bed.
Jason didn't answer right away. His instincts had already taken over. He swung his legs out of bed, grabbed his boots, and listened closely—more shouts, more fighting. Without hesitation, he opened the cabin door and made his way to the deck.
He barely had time to react when the lifeless body of a sailor tumbled down from above, landing with a sickening thud at his feet. Blood pooled beneath the man's head, and a chill ran down Jason's spine.
Garth stared at Jason, his eyes wide with fear. "Pirates," he whispered. "We're being attacked."
Suddenly, two pirates rushed in from the corridor.
"There are two more here!" one yelled.
Jason reacted instinctively. With a flick of his wrist, he sent the closest pirate flying backward into the wall, his body hitting the wood with a brutal thud. The second pirate stumbled, taken aback by the sudden force. Jason seized the opportunity and used his powers again, snapping the man's neck with an unseen force. The pirate collapsed, lifeless.
"Take his sword," Garth said, his voice trembling.
Jason nodded, grabbing the fallen pirate's sword. The cold steel felt strangely comforting in his grip. He turned back to Garth. "Stay here. I'll go help on deck," he said.
Jason quickly climbed up to the deck, where chaos had already unfolded. Two pirate ships flanked them, trapping their vessel in the middle. Swarms of pirates fought viciously with the merchant's guards and crew members. Blades flashed in the moonlight, and the sounds of battle filled the air—shouts of pain, the clash of metal, the dull thud of bodies hitting the deck.
Jason took in the scene, assessing the desperate struggle around him. A pirate advanced on one of the crew members, raising his blade to strike. Without hesitation, Jason raised his hand, and with a surge of telekinetic force, lifted the pirate off his feet, hurling him overboard into the black abyss of the sea. The man's scream vanished into the crashing waves below.
More pirates rushed at him. Jason sidestepped the first one, slicing through the air with his sword. The blade found its mark, cutting deep into the pirate's side. Blood splattered across the deck as the man crumpled. Another pirate lunged at him, but Jason used his powers again, flinging the attacker backward into the ship's mast. The pirate collapsed, motionless.
Another wave of pirates surged toward Jason, but he was ready. He needed to be careful; the crew couldn't see the full extent of his abilities. He raised both hands subtly, lifting several crates from the deck. With a sharp motion, he sent them hurtling toward the pirates. They tried to dodge, but the crates crashed into them with bone-breaking force, sending them sprawling across the deck.
Jason moved with purpose, wielding both his sword and his powers in careful balance. When pirates charged at him, he met them with his blade—parrying their strikes and countering with lethal precision. When he had an opening, he used his telekinesis to subtly push attackers off balance, send them flying backward, or disarm them.
One pirate lunged at him, his eyes wild with rage. Jason swung his sword, their blades clashing in a resounding clash. The pirate pressed forward, but Jason twisted his body, deflecting the blow and sending a quick telekinetic shove to his opponent's chest. The man stumbled backward, losing his footing and toppling over the side of the ship.
Another rushed him from the side, but Jason turned just in time, swinging his sword upward and catching the pirate under the ribs. He pulled the blade free, and the man fell with a grunt.
The tide of the battle turned as the pirates realized they were losing. Panic set in—their eyes darting wildly, looking for an escape. They turned and fled, scrambling back to their own ships, but the merchant's guards cut them down or drove them into the sea.
Finally, silence fell over the deck, broken only by the labored breathing of the crew and the creaking of the ship. Jason stood amidst the carnage, his chest heaving. He glanced around, careful to ensure no one had seen too much of his abilities. The crew was too busy celebrating their narrow victory or tending to the wounded to pay much attention to him.
Garth emerged cautiously from below deck, his eyes wide as he took in the aftermath. He looked at Jason, his expression a mix of awe and concern.
"Are you alright?" Garth asked, his voice barely above a whisper.
Jason nodded, wiping sweat from his brow. "Yeah, I'm fine," he replied as he sank to the deck, exhausted.
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The morning sun rose slowly, casting a golden glow over the horizon. Jason and Garth stood silently on the deck, watching the calm waters stretch endlessly before them. Evidence of the pirate attack lay all around—shattered crates, torn sails, and the bodies of the fallen, being prepared for burial at sea.
The ship was limping along, but they were alive, largely thanks to Jason.
As they stood there, watching the sailors prepare their fallen comrades for burial, the ship's captain—a grizzled man with a weathered face and a permanent scowl—approached them, his brow furrowed in frustration.
"We need to talk," the captain said, wiping sweat from his forehead despite the cool sea breeze. His voice carried the weight of bad news.
Jason and Garth turned to him, sensing the tension. "What is it?" Garth asked, still pale from the previous night's events.
"First of all, thank you for your help. You fought like a demon," the captain said.
Jason nodded.
"But the ship's damaged worse than I thought," the captain continued, his face grim. "The hull took a beating, and our sails are torn to shreds. We need to stop for repairs."
He hesitated for a moment before adding, "Also, Master Lorgar is injured. We need a proper port for care."
Jason glanced at Garth, sensing his friend's growing unease. "Where?" Jason asked.
"Astapor," the captain grunted, his eyes narrowing as he looked out at the sea. "It's the closest port."
Garth's face darkened. "Astapor?" he repeated, his voice filled with disgust. "There has to be another place. Anything but that slaver's pit."
The captain shrugged, his expression indifferent. "No choice. We won't make it to Qarth without repairs, and Master Lorgar needs help. We'll be docked for at least a week, maybe longer if the damage is worse."
Garth let out a resigned sigh, running a hand through his disheveled hair. "So be it. Seems I'll be setting foot in those cursed lands after all," he muttered, disgust etched in his voice.
Jason nudged his friend, attempting to lighten the mood. "Cheer up, Garth. It can't be that bad."
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The next two days passed quickly as they drew nearer to the grim city of Astapor. Jason noticed his friend growing increasingly withdrawn—his usually animated expressions replaced by a somber silence. Garth seemed haunted, his eyes distant as they approached the infamous slaver city.
When the red-brick walls of Astapor finally came into view, looming ominously over the bustling port, Garth stood at the rail, his face stony as he took in the sprawling sight. Jason could sense the weight on his friend's shoulders—the dread and disgust that filled him at the prospect of entering this place.
The heat was the first thing that struck them—oppressive, stifling, clinging to their skin like a wet blanket. As the ship drew closer to the docks, Jason could make out the squat, rectangular buildings and the pyramids that loomed above, their pointed tops reaching toward the sky. Everywhere he looked, there was red—the color of Astapor's bricks, its sand, and, it seemed, its very soul.
Once they docked, the captain informed them that repairs would begin immediately and left with Merchant Lorgar to seek treatment for his injuries. Jason took a deep breath, already feeling the weight of the oppressive atmosphere. "We're here. Might as well look around," he suggested, trying to sound casual despite his unease.
Despite the city's grim reputation, part of Jason was curious—to see it for himself, to understand what made this place so infamous. Garth shot him a wary glance.
"Look around?" Garth repeated, his voice dripping with disgust. "Jason, you saw the worst of Tolos, but believe me—if you think the slavery there was brutal, you haven't seen anything yet. Astapor thrives on human suffering. Its walls might be red from the bricks they build, but they could just as well be stained with blood."
Jason frowned but didn't back down. "I get it, Garth. It's awful. But we can't stay hidden in our quarters for two weeks."
Garth sighed, rubbing his temples in resignation. "Fine," he muttered after a moment of hesitation.
Jason nodded, sensing his friend's apprehension. "How bad can it be?" he said, trying to lighten the mood, though even he doubted his own words.
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They stepped off the ship and into the crowded, sun-baked streets of Astapor, where the stench of sweat, smoke, and decay hit them full force. The streets were filled with slaves, their heads bowed, bodies marked with scars and brands as they went about their grim duties. Armed slave masters barked orders, their leather whips always at the ready, while merchants haggled over human lives in the bustling market square.
Jason's stomach churned as he took in the sight of chained men, women, and children paraded like livestock, their dead-eyed stares fixed on the ground. He had seen slavery in Tolos, but Astapor was different—more vile, more deeply ingrained. The sheer scale of the cruelty was overwhelming, seeping into every corner of the city.
As they walked, Garth pointed toward the Great Pyramid of Astapor, the seat of the city's power, where the Good Masters—the slaver elite—ruled with an iron fist.
"That's where they train the Unsullied," Garth said grimly, nodding toward the towering structure. "Eunuch soldiers taken as children, molded into perfect warriors, loyal only to their masters. I've heard they feel no pain, no fear—just obedience."
Jason grimaced as they passed by a slave auction, where a line of boys, no older than ten, were being inspected like cattle by a richly dressed nobleman. The sight made his blood boil.
"How can people do this?" Jason muttered, his hands balling into fists. He felt a surge of anger rise within him, and, almost without realizing, small rocks on the ground began to levitate, lifting slowly in response to his fury.
Garth noticed Jason's tension and the subtle effect it was having. He quickly placed a hand on Jason's shoulder, squeezing gently. "Don't do anything rash," he warned softly, his eyes filled with concern.
Jason took a deep breath, forcing himself to relax. The rocks dropped back to the ground, unnoticed by the crowd. He unclenched his fists, though his heart still pounded, adrenaline coursing through his veins. Perhaps Garth had been right. Perhaps he should have listened and stayed on the ship—kept himself away from the raw ugliness of this place.
"Come," Garth said quietly, steering Jason away from the auction. "Let's keep moving. There's nothing we can do for them."
Jason nodded reluctantly, allowing Garth to guide him away. The sense of helplessness gnawed at him, a bitter taste in his mouth, but he knew Garth was right. Even with his newfound powers, there was nothing they could do here—nothing that wouldn't make things worse.
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