by Casey Eanes
His spirit quickened with the changes, and he felt something other than water press in on him. He felt the sensation of being pulled higher and higher to a surface he never knew existed.
A sloop sailed through the dark waters, towing long lines of netting behind its stern, churning the depths of the ink-black ocean. Long oars ceased their rowing and were pulled into a locked position as a stifling hot wind filled the dirty patch-worked sail.
A horrible voice rang out over the water. “You feel that, File? Wind! WIND! A new crop of them must have just came through! By the Beast’s name, what luck!” The man, if one could call him that, was the culmination of an eternity of beatings. Long, thick scars marred his face and body. He crawled to the ship's brig on all fours, wheezing with ragged pain, as if whatever lungs he possessed could only provide him with the minimum air to keep moving.
The imp made his way toward the impressive warden of the cursed vessel. The warden sneered at his underling, who cackled maniacally in the darkness, and cursed, reaching beneath soiled garments to pull out a single match. He lit it, the fire illuminating a face that could only be framed within a nightmare. It bore one ever-open white eye that streamed a never-ending river of brine. Where the other eye once resided there was nothing more than a hollow cavern. The tall horror of a man responded to his crewmate, his pipe clenched between a small collection of sharp black teeth.
“Ye think I’m a fool, Rank? I can read the signs, just as you can.” With his one good eye, File spied the lines dragging behind the sloop. Something was moving down there.
“Check the nets, Rank. Check them!”
Rank looked down behind the churning ship, obeying his captain's orders. His jaw dropped at what he saw. “File…by the Beast…it looks like we got something!”
File shot back, his mouth muttering through his pipe, “Hoist them up, Rank! Time to see what we got.” As File spoke, long ribbons of noxious smoke filled the air, forming a hazy fog that hung around the thin outcrop of Rank’s soiled and matted hair. He barked at his counterpart, issuing orders as they flung their bodies against the taut, wet ropes.
Hours went by as the two hoisted the nets that had long combed the depths with no success. File locked the first half of the nets in place and dug around the dirty, stinking webs of rigging, looking for their prize. His talon-like fingers probed through them, piercing the webbing like long, white knives. There was little value to what he found; rotten carcasses of dead seabirds, bones, blankets of rotting detritus, and seaweeds.
“Gods—and here I thought we be graced by something fresh.” Rank growled at the catch like a starving animal and kicked at the nets with frustration.
File shot him a sidelong glance with his one eye and spat on the deck. “We still got another hour of rigging below us. Quit moaning and wasting time or you’ll see my whip. Put your back into it! I don’t want no more time wasted on yer words.”
Rank sneered, “We’ve got all the time in the world, File. You know that.”
The captive was pulled to the surface, breaching the impregnable barrier between the midnight waters and the air above, but despite being plucked from the depths he could not move freely. He was tangled in a web, completely unable to support himself. A dense, sunless place full of fog replaced the midnight he had known for so long. Despite the additional light, it was hard to make out what was happening or what was holding him above the sea.
He reached out and felt the webbing that surrounded him. What is this called? A pinprick of recollection shot across the amnesia that had long fogged his mind. Net. It was a net. A net was pulling him up from the depths.
But where? And who? Other questions pummeled him. How is it I never drowned?
The answer barely mattered to him anymore. Wherever he was going, the captive thought that it had to be better than his prison below the water. It was a relief to know that there was more to this place than the water, the darkness, and the circling nothingness that sought to swallow him with each passing moment. A strange feeling trickled into him as he was slowly pulled from his watery prison. It felt light, airy, and full of possibility.
What was this feeling called before? His memory began to turn over, and it engaged with the emotion. The captive felt his mouth move and the word came out. “Hope.”
Through the thick netting the captive caught glimpses of what was dragging him from above. It took a while before remembering what a boat was. The tattered sail and the long oars dipping into the murky waters all brought back the memories of boats. The captive tried to focus on whoever was struggling to pull him in, the man slumped over the black sloop, yanking at the massive webbing.
The waves slapped up and down, splashing over the net and making it nearly impossible to catch too many details of who was onboard. That was until the captive spied a pale white monster of a man crawl over the hull on all four limbs, his face as ragged as the sails of the ship. He rasped for breath as he tugged at the net’s towline and scurried back over the edge of the ship.
His voice was faintly audible. “This one has something! Heavier than the last.”
The last of the netting lay on the sloop’s deck, a stinking heap of raggedness strewn across the worn wooden planks. Both Rank and File probed the netting, cursing as they methodically scoured over their paltry catch.
Rank pulled up a large blanket of tangled rope and jumped back. Below him was something he had not seen in a millennium. The essence shone in the darkness, its white light glowing with pure substance.
“Gods!” he screamed at File. “FILE! An essence! AN ESSENCE! After all these turns, we got a fresh essence!”
File blew a long draw of smoke into Rank’s cavernous face. “Well, what did you expect, you idiot? You saw the waters turn, just as I!” File leaned down to inspect the catch, his white, moist eye gleaming in the dark. “By all the hells, I didn’t think today would bring us this. Yer right. It’s an essence, and a fresh one at that.”
Rank’s horribly worn and ragged face could not hold back his twisted excitement. “It’s just been so long…since we’ve caught one.” His eyes flashed toward his captain. “We might find favor with the Master again.”
File’s long, sharp claws flashed, running fresh, deep trenches across Rank’s face. “Don’t speak about the Master. Don’t you dare start that talk. I’ve only got one good eye left, and I aim to keep it!”
Rank whimpered and covered his face as a flow of black blood wetted the rigging on the decks. File spat on the ground and pointed. “Go get me the dust. We got to make this catch whole again.”
Rank nodded and whispered a hollow confirmation, still holding back the flow of black blood that poured from his flayed face. “Aye.”
The captive’s essence laid there, motionless as fear swelled with him. Despite being freed from the water’s captivity; he was unable to move. The will to move was present, but he was limited in this form, so he lay motionless; paralyzed.
A shocking truth ran through his mind. I don’t have a body. The smaller of the two fiend-faced creatures reemerged from below deck and crawled toward him, craning its horrible head from side to side as it licked at its sharp, yellowed fangs. The creature named Rank had two large, bulbous eyes the color of dawn, and they glowed in the gloom like torchlight. The owl-like eyes hovered over him, examining him with a horrible lust. It ran its long, jagged fingers over him, but still he could feel nothing.
“I said get the dust!” screamed File. The sound of a whip lit across the deck and Rank scurried away from the catch toward the underbelly of the sloop, grumbling and cursing loudly as he dipped down below. “What’s all this concern with time, captain? We ain’t wasting nothing.”
The captive lay still, waiting for whatever might come next. His mind searched desperately for something. Clarity shook through him.
A name. I once had a name.
He strained to search within for an answer but none came. If he could only look at himself. If he could only catch a glimpse of who he was,
then perhaps the memories would flow. No answers came, and he lay there helpless and paralyzed on the deck of the filthy boat, despondent.
Rank returned to the deck with a small jar of what appeared to be mud. Dust. He had called it dust. He dipped his talon-like fingers into the dirty jar. Shoveling out the contents, File’s vile fingers ran them liberally across the captive.
File screamed, shouting curses. “Easy with it, Rank! It’s hard to come by! We’ll need more of it, yet, if these wind’s tales are true.”
The nameless catch of Rank and File jolted on the ship’s deck with an electric current. His mind exploded with vitality, and he felt himself move again.
What is that sensation? I can feel! I can feel again.
The feeling grew like a fire, a spark across tinder, until it grew with a fierce heat.
“ARGHHHH!” He screamed out, his mind shocked at the sound of his own voice. Pain. The memory of the word returned as Rank scratched his muddy claws over the surface of his extremities, finishing, finally, with his face. Rank paused and squinted his bulbous yellow eyes at him, his vile face smattered with concern.
“File! Ain’t never seen an essence wear a necklace, have you?” He reached for the necklace that hung around the captive’s neck.
It did not take long to remember how to move. The mud had not only brought with it a fiery furnace of pain but also the freedom of a living, yet crude body. His hand shot up and grasped Rank’s thin wrist and words tumbled from his lips.
“Don’t touch. It’s not yours to take.”
Rank screeched and jumped back, crashing into File. File shoved the lesser being to the side, nearly sending him overboard as he stormed forward.
“We do as we please on this boat, cur.” His one good eye went to the necklace and his scarred face froze with fear. He paused, licked his lips with a long black tongue, and took a step back, lifting his one good eye toward the darkened sky. “I don’t know why you bear that here. We have no need for baubles in this place and he,” File pointed to the etching on the necklace, “he certainly cannot help you here.” File paused, his face looking like a man who had to make a grave decision. “Keep it Nameless...for now.”
The captive’s mind filled with questions. He? Nameless? He stood, enjoying the new freedom of movement. He looked down and realized that he was naked except for a small silver necklace around his neck. He stared at the symbol etched on the pendant, causing his mind to whirr with new energy. New realizations of what had just happened exploded in his consciousness. I have a body. He had somehow been without a body all this time. The dust the imp had rubbed on him had crudely restored him. Now he could move again. He could smell the dank air and feel the slippery planks that made up the ship’s deck below him.
Rank threw a dirty heap of rags toward him and spat, “Put these on, Nameless. Welcome aboard The Hunt. She’s not much to look at, but she’s the only home you can have on this sea.” He took a few steps back and kicked open a large wooden hatch.
The creature smiled, his mouth full of sharp black teeth. “Saving your little life, Nameless, does have its costs. That dust don’t come cheap. You’ll have to work off your debt to Rank and me before we set you free. It’s the least you can do.”
The dark innards of the sloop revealed a lower deck filled with multiple rows of long, narrow benches. A crowd of haggard men and women bearing crude, dust-formed bodies were stationed on the benches, manning long oars. File peered into the hellish space and smiled. “Time to join your kin, Nameless. Down you go.”
An electric crack ran out and Nameless felt a seething pain run across his back. He turned to find Rank standing behind him, his yellow eyes full of sickening glee, a long leather whip flying out from his hands.
“Get down! Get down below!”
Nameless had no choice. He wanted to fight, but for the first time he realized how much smaller he was compared to his captors. Even the once imp-like File seemed to have taken a new form, towering over him like a giant, cracking the biting whip at his heels.
Nameless plunged beneath the deck through a cloud of stench that made him want to vomit. Rank followed, leaving File high above. Long, rusted rivers of chains soon fell over Nameless’ body, locking tightly around his ankles and wrists. Rank set him on an innermost seat in the middle of the rowing hoard, a mob of misery. Rank’s horrible laughter echoed in the darkness.
“When we give the signal, you slugs, put your backs into it! Row!” Rank’s whip cracked out and the miserable bodies beneath began their motion. “Row like the Beast is upon you!” Nameless’ hands were slammed onto the long, smooth oar before him, and Rank’s clawed fingers gripped his face, drawing him toward the yellow eyes of his new Master.
“I’m talking to you, too, fresh catch. It’s time you pay your debt. Row, because it is the only thing that will set you free. If you give us any lip, we will be sure to take them off or sew them shut. Do I make myself clear?”
Nameless’ head nodded, shaking with fright.
“Good, fresh catch. Welcome to the Sea of Souls. You’ll be rowing here until your debt is paid. NOW ROW!”
Nameless put his hands on the oar and joined the others for fear of the whip, joining the dust-formed bodies who rowed of the cursed Hunt in that dark, dank place.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Grift rummaged through the supplies in the back of one of the many trucks parked along the edge of the tent city. The trucks had been parked, waiting for dawn’s first light to pull out of town and make their voyage to Henshaw. Thanks to the commotion caused by the swarming medical teams, Grift went unnoticed as he stocked up. He did not know what the town of Henshaw would be like, but if Cotswold and Tindler were any indication of what the border towns had become, he had no reason to hold out much hope.
Grift inspected his new wares and grabbed a bag of saline solution before slipping between the rows of white tents. Queen Aleigha’s brief visit had proven useful. He had procured a few meds for Rose, a supply of field rations, a small emergency tent, and more importantly a secured datalink. He jumped as a hand fell on his shoulder. Smoke poured from Ewing’s pipe like a flare, and the embers highlighted his face in a worrisome way.
“You got everything you need?” Ewing muttered as his eyes wandered across the crowd surrounding them.
Grift tightened the drawstrings over his shoulders and adjusted his pack. “Aye, Ewing. I’ve got enough. Enough to make for the border.”
“What about Rose?” Grift’s eyes wandered behind Ewing to the large green medical truck holding Rose, Eva, and Adley. The two women had not left her side and continued to toil over her as she slept under the truck’s canopy. Rot fixed himself beneath her cot and refused to move. She would have looked almost peaceful had it not been for her rapid, shallow breathing. Each short breath filled Eva’s eyes with more concern.
“Eva says we have to hurry. She won’t last much longer with the few supplies she has. I did at least grab a few extra supplies. Might buy us a couple extra hours, maybe even a day if we stretch it.”
Ewing shook his head, despondent. “Then don’t waste any time in Henshaw. Make for the border as quickly as you can.” Ewing turned and looked at Grift with a grim face. “The queen charged Rend Brinkley to command this mission, so if you get in any trouble, know you’ve got an ally watching over you. He will be most useful should anyone recognize your face.”
“Rend? How did you manage that, Ewing?” Grift said with a wry smile.
“I hardly know, Grift. I just keep moving, hoping for the best. I’m afraid it will not be enough to prevent what is coming, but I’m not going to stop.” Ewing’s voice cut short. After a few moments, he carefully weighed his words. “I never thought I’d see you again, Shepherd, truth be known. I…did not know what I was doing when I sent Kull with Wael. I thought he would be in good hands.”
Ewing’s voice broke like an avalanche. “Oh, Aleph above. I was a fool.” His eyes brimmed with tears and his voice trembled. “I was wrong. I will ne
ver forgive myself. You know how much...”
Grift gripped Ewing’s shoulders. “Not another word, Arthur.” He embraced his friend, doing his best to remain composed. “I’ll contact you as soon as we get into Preost. We should be there in three days if we don’t run into any problems. Are you sure you can spare Adley?”
“She’s itching to get out of Lotte, Grift. Either that or she’s tired of me.” Ewing chuckled as he wiped a tear from his eye.
A swell of engines roared and the lights of the vehicles flipped on, casting amber light in the darkness.
“Probably both,” laughed Grift. “Thank you.” Grift leaned in toward his friend and embraced him. “For everything, Arthur. We will see a better day.”
“Aye, in this world or the next, Grift. Take care and good luck.” Ewing turned and sauntered away. He turned one final time and called, “Oh, and thanks for taking that beast. Tell the monk he owes me a thousand credits. Dog eats more than a family of four and smells worse than hot garbage.”
Grift laughed and called back, “I’m sure Wael is good for it! I’ll deliver the message.” Grift held up his hand to his friend and Ewing did the same before disappearing into the darkness outside the threshold of the headlights.
“You’ve got operatives in Elum, as well?” Grift shook his head in unbelief.
“We even have a small set of agents in Zenith, though far fewer than when the city was being built. In Zenith I’m afraid our leadership seems to be fading.”
Grift nodded. “Bronson?”
Adley’s expression fell flat as she looked out the back of the truck. “Him more than any other. I can’t put my finger on it, but he’s changed, Grift.”
Grift exhaled and shifted in his seat as he looked down over Rose. “We all have, Adley.”
Adley nodded. “Some by choice and others by destiny. I like to think some of us have changed for the better.”