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(Us of Lesser Gods by Flogging Molly)
There's a breeze that's blowin' in from the land
Instead of salt air, all we breathe in is sand
Crippled the cloud that once brought the rain
Good job, now we'll never see our coasts again...
Turvy sang the lyrics, his Spanish accent drifting over the working crew. In his hand, he held a bottle of rum, which he occasionally took a break from his song to take a swig from.
Silastrix sat on the deck between Farrow and Smythe, already feeling seasick as the boat rocked rhythmically with the waves. The captain's song really wasn't helping her out, either.
But those of us, those of us
Us of lesser gods
Won't eat till we're hungry,
Won't drink till we're parched
But those of us, those of us
Who forget where we're from
Create now this hell where no devil could spawn
Take me back, take me back
To the way life used to be
As she listened, she silently agreed with the lyrics. It would be nice to have things returned to the ways they once were. And land! Land would be very nice! Smythe was looking slightly green, and Farrow looked no better. They were only on the boat for about an hour hand a half, and things were already getting a little nauseating. It didn’t help that most of the crew were giving Silastrix wolfish looks, seeing as though she was the only woman on board.
A whisper's now sayin'
What words used to speak
Starve must the child hungry, sex on tv
For no act of contrition
Will pardon the soul
The damage now glistens,
See how it glows

But those of us, those of us
Us of lesser gods
Won't eat till we're hungry
Won't drink till we're parched
But those of us, those of us
Who forget where we're from
Create now this hell where no devil could spawn (Silastrix snorted. Isn’t that the truth, she thought to herself. Oerth was a different kind of hell, or at least in her opinion.)
Take me back, take me back
To the way life used to be

Yesterday is better that it is today
And today will be better than tomorrow they say
We don't want what you know
But we know what we want
That's live and let live
We're all different, that counts

But those of us, those of us
Us of lesser gods
Won't eat till we're hungry
Won't drink till we're parched
But those of us, those of us
Who forget where we're from
Create now this hell where no devil could spawn
Take me back, take me back
To the way life used to be

Dark is the shallow man
Proud without pride
Worn out comes the welcome
From a truth that never lies
Weep now for the tear
Cold on the face
So come down from your heaven, lord,
Let me show you hell on earth
Take me back
To the way life's never been

“Lovely song,” Farrow muttered. “I find myself pitying the deity that man worships.”
“Please don’t talk to me,” Smythe moaned. “The more I keep my mouth shut, the better.”
Silastrix tilted her head. Smythe didn’t look very well. In fact, he looked as green as the waves in the sea.
She fiddled with her necklace; the one Lord Soth gave her a while back. She silently sent him hopes that he was resting in peace on which ever plane he walked now. Ever since he died, she lost some of her draconic abilities. Farrow had diagnosed it as a conversion disorder. Because she didn’t fully accept the events leading up to Lord Soth’s death, she lost her wings, her tail, her claws, and she still probably wouldn’t learn to breathe fire for a while longer yet. The only things she’d gotten back were her claws, and she guessed it was because she told his story to her more recent partner, Severo, and she supposed that letting go of the memory made her claws come back. Either that, or it was the surprise and sadness she felt after Severo left her that made them return.
Smythe wearily rose to his feet and made for the side of the ship. His breakfast and lunch probably evacuated him, by the sounds of it. Yuck.
Farrow seemed to be scribbling a letter with a spare piece of parchment and an old ink pen he’d found. He closed his eyes, thinking a little bit, and wrote more. Silastrix looked at him in curiosity. “What’re you writing?” she asked. At least it broke the silence.
“This is a letter to Valian, telling him what’s going on so far. I thought I might keep him informed,” the cleric of Isod’us replied. She looked over his shoulder and read his words.

To Valian, it began in Farrow’s precise and slightly slanted handwriting,

I am writing to bring you up to date on things. We successfully arrived on Oerth (though on the roof top of an asylum…) and met Smythe there. We’re doing our best to blend in with Oerthan culture, which is not as easy as it seems, and trying to figure out a way to go about our business without attracting too much attention to ourselves. It makes me wonder: How do the humans on this plane survive without the use of magic or their deities? (Silastrix grinned. The technology here is like a magic of their own. That’s maybe one of the only good things about Oerth, she decided.)
How are you? And how is everyone in Malindor? I suppose Silastrix is exceedingly curious, seeing as she’s reading right over my shoulder as I write these words. (Reading that, she blushed a little. She didn’t mean to seem that nosy. However, she was, indeed, as curious as he said.) Oerth is a much different place from Malindor. It’s quite strange, and I must say, I find Malindor quite a bit more comforting.
Farrow then paused, thinking of how to put the next part of his letter. I am, as you had predicted before, feeling the effects of the nightmare. As a result, my balance has taken a heavy toll, and I’m having strange dreams involving a woman with black hair and a serpent composed of the essence of darkness. I wonder what they mean, for I have no memory of either of them. Except that the woman may go by the name of Rhiannon. Her name leaves an odd ring in my thoughts, like she’s someone important whom I’ve forgotten.
And my shadow is acting odd, as well. You may see, as it’ll be the one delivering this letter to you, that it’s less substantial than before (perhaps from attempting to fight off the nightmare?) and even hungrier for life energy. I can feel its yearning for the people who pass us by. It wants to be fed, but it’ll just have to wait. One slip-up could result in a catastrophe. Beyond that, it’s reacting quite strangely when I think of the woman. It hisses and glares, as though she’s the very bane of its existence. The shadow doesn’t seem so keen to feed off of my emotions as it used to. Is that good or bad?
Now, for the topic of Silastrix and Smythe’s mission. Smythe heard tell that the mask they’re searching for lies somewhere on a continent named Africa. That is where we’re headed now, on a bizarre ship captained by an even more bizarre man. Sea sickness is one problem we’re facing. That, and we’ve been employed by smugglers to gain passage across the sea. But that’s our safest bet.
Farrow seemed to be about to write the conclusion of his letter, and Silastrix bit her lower lip. “Wait,” she said. He paused and looked up, regarding her with curious blue eyes. She paused, and asked finally, “can you say hello for me in your letter?”
Farrow shrugged. “Of course.”
I hope to return to Malindor again when this is all over. So does Silastrix. She says hello, by the way. I hope you’re feeling better and healed up after the nightmare’s presence. I have a feeling I’ll be rid of this monstrosity in no time, though preferably with me still living in the end. (That was supposed to be a joke.)

From Farrow.

“Farrow?” Silastrix said, looking over his shoulder at the last bit of the letter.
“Yes, Silastrix?”
“You’re terrible with jokes.”
Farrow actually laughed, looking a few years younger, more like a man of twenty-four. “I know. I need more practice.”
Soon after sealing the letter, he went inside his cabin, where there was more privacy, to send his shadow across the planes to deliver his message to Valian. He stumbled a little more and looked marginally paler, but he kept strong during his shadow’s absence.
“When will the shadow be back?” Silastrix asked, concerned for his health.
“Either in an hour or when sunset arrives.” Seeing her worry, he added, “don’t fret. I won’t be sending it off frequently. I’ll survive until it returns.”
“I hope so. While I don’t mind contacting friends at all, I’d hate for you to keel over dead. Just make sure to only make it an occasional thing,” the dragon hybrid told him. Farrow nodded, and returned to his musings.
Silastrix sighed and crossed her arms against the chilly sea-breeze, her long jacket flowing in the wind. Captain Jack Turvy climbed down from his perch on the ship, his heavy boots landing with a resounding thump on the sturdy deck. Brushing himself off slightly, he strode over to Smythe and Silastrix, observing them both.
“Yo-ho, yo-ho, a pirates’ life is not for you?” he asked, the words sounding odd with his Spanish accent.
“Oh, no. I love it. My stomach, however, despises the lifestyle,” was Smythe’s reply.
“A teeny bit salty,” said Silastrix, “and too little land for my liking. I’m not real seaworthy.”
“And why not?”
She shuffled her feet sheepishly, staring at the wood on the deck. “Can’t swim,” she admitted. “I never learned how.”
Taken by surprise, Topsy Turvy laughed. “That isn’t such a bad thing, chica. Bad luck for sailors to know how to swim. But, if that was true, then half the ship would already be cursed.” He shrugged and chuckled. He sat against a pole and stretched out, laying his head against his arms behind his head. “So, what’s the need to go to Africa?” he asked casually.
“Taking care of personal business,” Smythe told him, saying everything and yet revealing nothing all at the same time. The secret of their missions hid behind his charming grin.
“What kind of personal business, eh?” the bounty hunter/smuggler pressed on, raising his eyebrows. “I don’t know you terribly well, but from the information I have from you says it’s a little more serious than personal business.”
Smythe shrugged. “It depends on how you look at it.” Once more, the simple phrase he told him did not yield any hint.
“Why can’t we tell him?” Silastrix whispered to Smythe. “It seems like a harmless thing to do.”
“Harmless my—“ he uttered a profanity. “That one’s as cunning as a fox. Can’t trust him with anything. You thought banditry was low, but bounty hunting as well as piracy is even lower. If it weren’t for him being a criminal catcher, he’d be considered one of us.”
“Gotcha,” she whispered back. He looked harmless enough, but as she learned in the two weeks she spent with Kyto, Soth, and Smythe fighting Mortal Coil to save humanity, looks are quite deceiving.
Turvy merely responded with a shrug. “Oh well. Just curious.” He eyed Silastrix with a wolfish look. “Ay, chica. You’re looking a little cold. ¿Hace frío?”
While she had no clue what ‘hace frío’ was, she knew he was asking if she was cold. She shrugged. “Only slightly.”
“If you like,” he said with a gleam in his green/grey eyes, “I can help you keep warm.”
She felt Smythe getting ready to spring to her defense, but she shot him a quelling look. She didn’t need anyone to tell him to back off for her. “No, but I think that one’s a little lonely, over there.” She pointed to a burly man with a mass of tattoos all over his muscular body. The man stared around him as though he’d love for a chance to punch anyone in the face.
“Nah,” Turvy said, waving his hand and going pshh. “Not my type.”
Silastrix couldn’t help but giggle. Smythe grinned. “I’d pity the person who would give him a hug.”
The boat rocked and swayed with the ocean. Sunlight gleamed off of the ocean water like a prismatic ray of colors. Silastrix recalled the fact that in the plane she once called home (the one that was destroyed by an archdevil that Mortal Coil summoned), she never saw the ocean there. Briefly, she wondered if it was even more beautiful than the one on Oerth. Perhaps it was a clear blue instead of a greenish/bluish/grey. Maybe, with the absence of years of pollution, this sea would look less gloomy.
“Hey, Smythe?” she said.
He turned his head to look at her and straightened his fedora. “That’s my name, don’t wear it out. What do you need, Silas?”
“Just wondering—I know you’ve blended in to Oerth pretty well and stuff. But do you still think about the destroyed plane? Once in a while?”
Smythe mulled it over, considering her question. “Yeah, once in a while. Usually about the guild. Sometimes about the old adventures we had. Why?” with a more concerned tone, he asked, “still thinking about Soth?”
Silastrix tilted her head to one side. “Kind of. I wish I could bring him back. But maybe he’s happier where he is now. Maybe it was just his time to die.”
Smythe raised his eyebrows. “That’s something I’ve never heard you say before. I think you’re moving on.”
“Still, I couldn’t help but wonder what things would’ve been like if he was with us now. If we would’ve stayed here on Oerth, lived together in an apartment and gotten jobs like so-called ‘normal’ people. We could’ve found a way to hide his horns and tail, get some colored eye contacts so people wouldn’t be scared off by his glowing red eyes. If we were able to accomplish that and settle down, maybe we could’ve gotten married and had kids.” While her voice was normal, there was a kind of emptiness in her eyes that made Smythe sad for her.
“But then,” she continued, “I wouldn’t have gone to other planes. I wouldn’t have met Farrow on my journey. Nor would I have met my other friends.”
“Or Severo.” As he mentioned the elf’s name, his blue eyes blazed fiercely. “I’ve been trying to hold back for your sake, but I told you so.”
Silastrix closed her eyes. She knew she would have to face the ‘I told you so’ speech sooner or later. Smythe being Smythe, he was probably stewing over it ever since he got the letter asking if he could take her back to Oerth.
“I knew what I was talking about when I told you that you’d be better off staying here on Oerth. But you went off anyways, and got yourself caught up in that mess.” Smythe sighed. “What am I going to do with you? I know you’re probably still upset, but I should have you know the whole thing could’ve been avoided. You shouldn’t be dealing with men like him.”
Silastrix held her tongue up until that point. “Stop telling me what I should and shouldn’t be doing. I am twenty-nine years old, not the clueless sixteen-year-old you met at the portal site back on the dead plane. Besides, men like him are truthful, honorable, forgiving, and pretty much difficult to come across. He took me in when I didn’t have a home. He helped me grow stronger, get over Soth’s death, and gave me hope. Actual, real hope.”
“And he instantly shattered your hope to pieces. Or did you forget that part?”
“I never did, and I probably never will forget it. But I can forgive. He’s not as bad as you’re making him out to be.”
He stared at her fierce, green, draconic eyes and frowned. “There’s something you’re not telling me. There’s something you hadn’t been telling me ever since you came back. And you haven’t told Farrow, either. Care to explain whatever it is?”
Silastrix’s glare increased. Because they’d known each other for such a long time, there was something like a connection between them. He could tell when something’s bothering her and she could see when Smythe wasn’t being exactly honest. Sometimes she didn’t mind such a connection, but at times like these, she hated it.
“It’s none of your business,” she said snippily, much like a peeved toddler.
“Excuse me for caring, then,” Smythe replied. He huffed in an annoyed manner, and Silastrix hrrred back.
Observing this from where he stood, Farrow shook his head. He’d noticed it about her, too. Perhaps it was the real reason she seemed less depressed when they were about to leave Malindor? Whatever it was she was holding back from them, Isod’us would reveal in time to them. He was sure of it.