The Chosen by Lee Borromeo

Haven

Stormhaven: The Angel of Mercy

I. Farran

The Morrigan was positioning herself to fire again; the sea was choppy, and the wind was beginning to rustle through the Angel of Mercy's sails. Farran was not pleased. What was supposed to be a routine refugee run was turning into a classic sea battle; he could hear the murmurs, cries and whines from the hundred or so people in the decks below him -- people who were on their way to Stormhaven. His ship, the Angel, was the only way to Stormhaven, and right now someone was trying to block her path, perhaps even sink her.

"Well, she's definitely not going to let us go." Paul, Farran's first mate was looking at the other ship as it brought its cannons to bear straight, it seemed, at Farran himself. "Patience, Mister Paul," the captain murmured as he bit his lip. "Miracles take some time to make themselves manifest."

From nearly a kilometer away, the whine of the cannons could be heard, their plasma coils beginning to accumulate enough energy to hurl at the Angel's barkentine hull. These were the times that her crew wished that the captain would have had enough decency to arm her, but it was against his wishes to have weapons of war on so fine a ship.

Farran closed his eyes.

The wind was now pushing against the sails; it was such that the men were gripping rails or ropelines to keep steady on deck. The sea was lashing against the hull, a fine spray enveloping the ship. Above, the sky darkened into a deadly gloom, lit only by flashes of lightning, the drums of thunder rumbling. What had been a calm sea was now a maelstrom of wind and water.

The Morrigan was in for the worst: her sleek hull, so perfect and futuristic, also made her more susceptible to the mayhem of the angry sea. She was pitching back and forth; her captain knew nothing of sailing in a storm.

"You call this a miracle?" Paul was wet to the bone and very miserable.

"Yes," Farran whispered. He closed his eyes again, and reached out to the very elements themselves to caress them to do his bidding.

The Morrigan fired her cannons, superheated plasma heading straight for the Angel. But the Morrigan had suddenly pitched downward as she fired, thanks to the violent waters; the shots sizzled into a wave, turning it into steam. Another design flaw, Farran muttered. How typical.

The gap between the two ships quickly widened; the seas grew calmer around the Angel; The Morrigan was trapped in the storm. An hour passed. Just in case, the captain thought as a fog enveloped the ocean; the sun was setting. The moon rose, full and luminous, casting a strange sheen upon the mist.

Farran Boyard looked out to sea, to the stars on the horizon. It was then that he thought about her, his mind reaching far into the night.

Aislinn.

II. Aislinn

Aislinn thought she heard someone call her name. No, girl, you're just thinking about him again, she mused. Farran was out to sea, once again ferrying refugees to Stormhaven.

Stormhaven.

Her body shook with uneasiness. She was afraid of it, of that place.

She knew that Farran's ship was the lifeline for all the desperate souls who were willing to pay the price of freedom. To gain passage to Stormhaven, one had to be willing to sever all ties, all friendships, everything, to start a new life, a life in a place without the War of the Chosen. None ever came back, and Farran never talked about it. All he ever said was that it was a good place.

It was noontime, and the Dolphin's tables were empty. Aislinn relaxed, there was no need to tend the bar. Philanne (such a curious name, she thought), her partner, was sitting on one of the chairs, looking at her, smirking. "Thinking about him again?" The smirk grew into an infectious smile.

"Well... yes I am," Aislinn twirled a lock of her hair around her finger. She remembered how he liked to be with her, just walking along the seaside streets, talking and occasionally touching hands or kissing. "I'm worried, Pinne. He's just so... well, I don't know."

"The sea calls to him," Pinne said, her smile taking the edge off her words. "The sea will always call to him. But," Pinne paused for effect, her smile turning into a serious, motherly face, "his heart will always be yours. Not even the sea can touch that." She suddenly stood up and strode towards the door, dragging Aislinn along by her hand. "Enough of this moping about; it's a nice day, and we should go out and see the sights!"

"Pinne, there are no good sights here in Forte Bay."

"Are you trying to insinuate that my Kristopher is ugly?"

Pinne and Aislinn closed the doors of the inn, and activated the security systems. With their closing was Aislinn's unsaid wish: Farran, be careful.

Come back to me.

III. In the beginning

Farran bellowed orders to his men; the ship was now entering Stormhaven's harbor. Angel's timbers creaked as if they were groaning from the stress of the voyage. I'm tired, too, darling, he whispered to the ship, now safely at port, its living cargo streaming off it to build new lives.

A man in a dark, flowing coat - a storm-coat, in fact - was waiting for him by the ship's catwalk. A large medallion hung from his neck, round and inscribed with strange markings. He was dressed all in black, matching his hair and eyes.

"Hello, David. I trust that he wants to know what the heck happened out there, ah?" Farran straightened his back; David was tall, and he gave most people a need to look taller. I don't look so bad myself, Farran thought. Remembering that he was nearly six feet himself, as well as having tanned features and sun-browned hair; besides, he had a gentle face, with one eye slightly drooping, giving him a sleepy, pleasant demeanor. David, however, with his sharp features and long hair, was another story.

"Salamangka didn't know about the Morrigan," David's eyes suddenly flashed with concern, "he apologizes about the trouble." David tilted his head to the left; he had an earphone on, the size and color of a large black bean in his ear. A flesh-colored wire ran down from the piece to a small transparent disc attached to the side of his throat.

He remained silent for a few minutes. Farran was tapping his feet by the time David looked at him again.

"He wants to talk to you. It's about 'your request.'" David looked puzzled, "Whatever that means," he ended, a frown on his face.

"Thanks, David."

Farran walked briskly away, towards the Stormhaven's largest structure, Round Castle. It's about time, Farran thought, and smiled.

This better be good, Salamangka.

Farran's thoughts wandered into the past.

It was three months after the Battle of the Anvil; to defend a single outpost in Mindanao, one hundred and fifty people had died, some of whom were Farran's closest friends. The fact was that Salamangka's army had been forced to evacuate, bloody and defeated; it was also a fact that the Bayani lost just as many.

Farran remembered the last few moments of that conflict; he was among the last to go through the telegate that Salamangka had opened to Stormhaven. Like Lot's wife, he couldn't resist looking back, to see what could be seen.

Salamangka's son, Ibrahim, had been holding back the advancing Federation armored troopers by creating typhoon conditions in the middle of the tropical forest. Farran could feel the raindrops sting his cheeks, the wind lashing warmth away from his body. His fellow soldiers were already through the gate; only he and another remained to guard the entrance, waiting for people who were still rushing through.

It was then that the wind died down, and the rain stopped pelting them. There was a flash of light, and they heard an explosion that sounded more like a scream.

"'The hell was that?" Farran intoned into his comlink.

He went rigid for a moment, and jumped into the gate. The Bayani won.

Ibrahim was dead.

He remembered leaning on the bar in the Dolphin; he was talking to Aislinn -- he could never think of her as Linne -- whom he met when he first returned from Stormhaven, a month ago. The Dolphin was a throwback to the taverns that used to line docks and ports in the old days; the only difference was that it was cleaner, and that it offered good food. They've got a beautiful barkeep, too, he was thinking. He knew that he liked her, and from the looks of it she like him as well. This particular night, he was thinking of making it official: he was about to ask her to be his girlfriend. Seeing as he was going to be around for the foreseeable future, he had no problems with that. Hopefully, she didn't either.

By the end of the night, they were walking by the seashore; Aislinn was smiling.

One of the reasons why Farran settled down in Forte Bay was that it had old-fashioned docks, with old-fashioned boats and old-fashioned seamen walking all over the place. He loved sailing, being out in the sea with nothing but the wind and water to help one on his way. To him, these men and their ships were calling to his soul. In his earlier years, his family had been rich enough to indulge in sailing and diving; he missed those times.

Four months after meeting Aislinn, he retired from Salamangka's organization; he had had enough of fighting.

He was happy.

In the rainy season of 2047, he met Salamangka personally.

He was walking from the Dolphin to his house when he noticed that someone was following him: a man of medium build and height, in a black coat and a wide-brimmed hat. He didn't like the idea of an unknown man stalking him. He walked as fast as he could to his apartment house and locked himself in. He began to look for his gun.

In the middle of the room, holding his gun as if it were a toy, was the same man who had been chasing him.

"I am Salamangka; can we talk?"

Farran roused himself from his reverie. Roundcastle's gates were before him.

He was escorted by Daniel, one of Salamangka's closest advisors, to the study. He had been there before; it was a room that smelled faintly of books and wood varnish. As he entered, Daniel closed the double-doors, leaving him alone with Salamangka.

"I read your request," Salamangka uttered tonelessly. He was reading a book, or at least he wanted it to appear that way. "I'm impressed. You have guts to spare if you're really serious about it."

Farran bit his lip. He knew that this would be the case.

"Do you remember why I unlocked your latent Chosen abilities? I offered you to be the captain of my ship, and I wanted you to have enough power to protect her and her cargo. I even agreed to your ridiculous but sublime idea of making the ship one of those galleons. I tell you, Farran, you are definitely a pain!

"I can't just turn your lover, if that's what she is, into an immortal, too."

Farran looked at him balefully. "Salamangka, sir; I'd rather be mortal than see her grow old and die. I know you've turned others into immortals; Daniel is one, and from what I hear, your own wife as well."

Salamangka smiled, sadly. "Do you know whatever happened to my wife? I met her a few hundred years ago. She was an immortal, too. She was one of the rare females that had the power, and the beauty, to ignite my interest. I thought I loved her; we thought we could spend an eternity together; it was quite a romantic thought.

"After a hundred years of being together, we decided it was better to go separate ways. We had gotten tired of each other, and the thought of living together forever was a bit too much for the both of us.

"I was actually relieved, you know. Later on, I realized that one reason why love exists is because of death. Without death, how can one try to love the other every single day? Love is consummated by death; we wish to love a person before that person dies. We only hope that we can join them in the afterlife, if there is such a thing. Love is a reality because of mortality. There is no such thing as love for immortals; it is either a waste of time, or doomed to tragedy."

Salamangka shifted in his seat, and lifted his eyes from the pages of the book, looking directly at Farran.

"If I were to make your Aislinn an immortal, who's to say that she will love you forever? She might even join the enemy; you might not like the idea of fighting her. Whenever I 'make' an immortal, I'd rather be sure that I'm not making the situation any worse for myself.

"Give me a good reason why I should make her live forever."

Farran closed his eyes.

If only I hadn't become an immortal.

He bit his lip again, and decided to say what he felt anyway.

"I can't say if we'll love each other forever; I know that I want it that way. I don't know if love is tied to death, or if love useless to our kind.

"I do know that I want her to be there always, and that if it is true that love isn't for us, then at least I could say that I thought I loved her, or that I loved her once."

Salamangka put down his book.

"Everyone always wants to learn the hard way," he whispered, as if talking to himself. "I do need your services, Captain Farran."

Salamangka stood up.

"Let's talk more about this."

Farran left Roundcastle early the next morning.

V. Later, on board the Angel of Mercy

Farran was listening to the sounds of his boat, the creaks, the lapping water on the hull and the murmur of the crew as they went about their work. Aislinn was beside him, humming a tune he had last heard when he was a child.

They were going back to Forte Bay to pick up the next batch of refugees.

Aislinn hugged him around the waist. "I love you," she said, and kissed him.

Farran remembered how Salamangka had come up with the ultimate solution: they were now both immortal, but only if they stayed together.

He recalled Salamangka's logical explanation: He and Aislinn now shared a particular energy field which made them immortal only if there was a willingness to share the field with each other. Any other way, and the field would weaken. It was a symbiotic relationship, a perfect way to make sure the gift of immortality wouldn't go to waste. Privately, he thought that Salamangka was still a romantic - and a cautious man.

Aislinn was looking at his face, a frown forming on her own.

"What's wrong, Far? Are we being chased by the Morrigan again?"

"No, Linne. I'm just thinking, that's all."

We have all the time in the world now; it's up to us to make sure things turn out well.

He kissed Aislinn; a light breeze began to fill the sails.

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