In the Wake of the Kraken

by C. Vandyke

  Kellis meets my eyes. I might ponder on what lay within his expression, were time not of the essence and the goal of my expedition in such immediate proximity. He draws in a breath. “This is it?”

  “Yes.” I peer down into the darkness. “We need a light.”

  Soon, Kellis has a torch from his pack in hand, aflame thanks to an oil lighter.

  Our path thus illuminated, we descend into the unknown.

  Kellis leads the way, torch in one hand and cutlass in the other. I had thought it odd for our entire journey that he wore such a relic of the past, especially considering he always bore a revolver on his other hip. Yet now, as we creep down the ancient steps, I find it comforting that he wields a weapon likely more pragmatic for the tight confines of the subterranean ruins.

  The near impossibility of encountering any hostile entity within notwithstanding.

  It is only moments before we reach the end of the stairs and the passage opens into a small cave of stone eroded by the elements rather than shaped by the hand of man. Gone are the intricate carvings of the temple above, replaced by something more primal. Against all reason, the cave feels more ancient than the ruins we just left behind.

  Opposite the entrance, I spot that for which I am searching. I hardly dared to believe my search would bear fruit, yet here it stands. My breath catches in my throat as I behold the sight.

  A trickle of water bubbles from the side of the cave, flowing over smooth, polished stones to run into a pool of water surrounded by a low wall of cut and mortared blocks—the only stonework in the cave that belies the hand of mankind at work.

  And despite the constant flow of water into the pool, the surface appears bestilled, as if not touched by a single drop from above or even a breath of wind. So placid is it that the torch light reflects from across the room as if from the highest-quality glass mirror.

  “This is it, then?” Kellis asks as he gazes at the pool. “This is the Font of Souls?”

  I check my notes again, though I am sure, just to eliminate any possibility of error. “Yes.”

  “And what they say is true? The Font shows you how you will die?”

  I sigh, as my documents don’t hold the answer to his question. “That is what the legends say, but I have not been able to source any first-hand accounts that—”

  Kellis cuts me off by thrusting the torch into my hands. Without another word, he steps up to the Font.

  With a flaming torch in one hand and my priceless research in the other, any sense of awe is suddenly washed away by a fit of panic. I drop the torch, which clatters against the stone floor in a cacophony so resounding as to cause Kellis to spin on his heels.

  He glares at me, most likely offended that the sudden noise has violated the solemnity of the moment. I find it surprising this revelation came to me without difficulty; perhaps Kellis and I share a certain sense of reverence for what we are witnessing.

  The interruption past, the pirate captain turns back to the Font of Souls. He takes another step forward, leans in close, and glares into the water.

  Moments pass in a silence so absolute my pulse seems as if it echoes from the walls of the cave. I find myself holding my breath, but not of any conscious accord, and gasp deeply once reminded air is required for continued existence.

  Then, a low moan fills the cave.

  Kellis steps back from the pool and turns. His eyes are wide with mixed shock and fear. His mouth hangs open, then works in wordless pleas. He storms across the cave, muttering softly at first, but then repeating louder as if chanting, over and over: “I shouldn’t have looked.”

  Trepidation grips my heart and stills it in an iron grip. What horrors did Kellis see in those waters? I nearly turn and run from the cave. I feel I should let my feet carry me away. Out of the cave, out of the jungle, and far from Kimichula; never to return. But the thirst for knowledge is overwhelming.

  I must know.

  I step forward and place my hands on the smooth, time-weathered stones of the Font and close my eyes. I take a breath and hold it, pondering what the next might bring.

  Behind me, Kellis’s bellows of anguish fill the cave. “I don’t want to know!”

  My heart thrums against my ribs. My pulse beats like war drums in my ears.

  I let the breath out, lean forward, and open my eyes.

  On the surface of the pool, I see myself looking back. Torchlight flickers on the ceiling of the cave above me and Kellis’s shadow dances to and fro as he paces in consternation.

  A reflection?

  Had something gone wrong? What might disturb Kellis so, if all there is to behold in the waters is one’s own reflection?

  As I gaze down at myself, the image in the water seems suddenly startled, then raises a hand.

  Shock runs through my being as surely as steam flows through a copper pipe. I raise my hand, but the reflection fails to mimic my gesture.

  So, it isn’t a reflection. But why is it showing me something only moments after the here and now?

  Again, Kellis’s voice fills the cave, a low growl echoing off the stones. “You brought me here.”

  In the pool, a shadow looms over my doppelganger, blocking out the torchlight. I look over my shoulder to find the torch unobstructed, its light still filling the cave and washing over me, and Kellis pacing along the far wall.

  I look back down and am met with a horrific sight. Large, scarred hands clench my throat from behind as I lean over the Font. My eyes bulge as I gasp in a futile effort to breathe and flail with hapless abandon against the stones ringing the pool. My face turns red, then purple, as those hands choke the life from me. They release me and I fall, limp and lifeless, to float in the Font of Souls.

  Whilst pondering the prophetic vision of my demise, I feel Kellis’s rough hands slide along either side of my neck.

  The Talons of Ice

  Gregory Coley

  Calloused fingers traced the scarred, worn polish of the cherry wood table. Once shined to the point, it reflected the hanging metal light overhead. It now couldn’t even reflect the patrons that used its surface. Many late nights of song and drink tend to have that effect. It didn’t matter. Gavin wasn’t here for the ambiance, but for the entertainment. His black cat, Lunafer, strolled down his arm before plopping on the table, exposing her belly. Gavin smiled, his blue eyes locked on the stage. The cat’s clockwork tail kept rhythm on the table as, on the stage, Melody’s voice carried over the room of scoundrels.

  The ale was sub-par, and the smell was atrocious. The building had once been a fine establishment deep in The Hub, the largest city in the sky for miles. Any time Gavin made port, he put out feelers for where Melody would be performing. His crew loved to hear her sing, and Gavin loved her. It wasn’t reciprocated. At least, not that he would ever know. Melody drew in pirates from every corner of the globe, from Kimichula to Frostborne. Twenty-five percent of them most likely entertained their own fantasy that they had a cog’s chance in hell with her.

  The other seventy-five percent? They were here for her angelic voice.

  The ballad ended, and the lone singer’s smile shone across the room. Her eyes searched the crowd before locking on Gavin’s. He shifted nervously as she descended the steps; her faded red day dress brushing the floorboards as she sauntered to his table. The dress hung off the shoulders, just shy of being ‘too low’ for public attire.

  Sitting down, she immediately reached to scratch the cat’s belly. It purred and peered up at Melody through leather and metal goggles that made its green eyes seem the size of dice. “Haven’t seen you in The Cog District in a while, Gavin. Where you been hiding?” she said, rivulets of red hair falling to her freckled shoulders.

  He mulled over his answer until the cat hit him in the arm with her long, copper clockwork tail, as if to snap him out of it. “Your hair is a different color than it was when I last saw you… I mean… You know me. If I’m not out there touching the stars, then I’m just not myself,” he smiled, cutting his eyes at
the cat.

  “You know, you should have shown up earlier. We could have spent some time together. You could be… late… getting back to your ship?” she raised a ginger eyebrow, the grey morning light revealing the ghosts of freckles on her pale nose.

  He held the cat’s tail down so it didn’t hit him. “We are only here for a few hours this time, Melody. I hate that we can’t spend more time together, but I at least had to see you. That counts for something, right? You know Lunafer hates crowds,” he said, motioning to the black cat. The cat glared at him through her goggles. Gavin knew he would pay for that comment later.

  “Don’t call her that. Her name is Luna, not Lunafer. You wanna stay here with me, girl? That mean ol’ pirate doesn’t know how to treat us ladies,” she said, kissing the black cat on the head.

  “Okay, you two, stop plotting against me. We need to get out of here before sunrise,” he said, climbing to his feet and kissing Melody on the cheek.

  “What grand adventure are you off to this time?”

  Lunafer ran up Gavin’s arm and sat on his shoulder, draping her tail across his back and onto the other shoulder, holding on with it. “We’re heading up to the Ice Talon Sea,” said Gavin.

  “Gavin… You’ve got to be insane. Tell me you’re not going to that lighthouse. There’s nothing there. It’s where the known world ends. Nothing waits for you there but cold and ice and death.”

  “Ok then. I won’t tell you,” he smiled, winking at her before turning with a flourish and disappearing into the street, the heaving oak door closing slowly on its hydraulic hinges.

  The Cog. A central district within the Hub. A whirring, whizzing pirate Eden filled with drink, women and contraptions seen nowhere else in the ‘verse. Hovering miles above the ocean, clouds engulfed the tops of the buildings. That, combined with the steam from the mechanical knick-knacks and the smoke rising from the industrial district of Soot, gave the ever-changing, morphing, and moving city a hazy visage.

  Still, this world was unlike anything he could have imagined growing up. Until he was in his early teens, he lived in a world of space, stars, and planets. New Aegean, specifically. Round and round a black hole he went until one day he, being an irresponsible young boy, got dragged in. Spit out into this strange world. His leg mangled beyond repair. He was found by a tall, lanky man with pointy ears named Crispin who claimed he was from a world of magic. Gavin thought it was insanity until he saw the rest of the world within The Archarrier and The Cartographer’s Fleet. The gadgets and gizmos were less polished than what he was used to, but they were somehow more ingenius. They fashioned him a clockwork prosthetic when they weren’t able to save his leg. It was—

  “Hey, human, what are you thinking about? Pay attention!” snapped Lunafer, hitting him on the side of the head with her metal tail.

  Gavin, startled out of his reverie, dodged a contraption that could only be described as a steam-powered motorbike, but it was one giant circle, like a hula hoop on its end, spitting steam. Gold and wood, it sped by, honking its annoying little horn.

  Looking after the vehicle, he sighed, smoke rising from his leg as he proceeded to walk again. “Thanks, Luna. This place is insane. I, for one, can’t wait to get back to The Corvus.”

  “Corvus. Not only an omen of death but also home of delicious warm milk,” she said, butting the goggles into the side of his smoke-ringed head.

  As they neared the outer ring of The Hub, the crowds thickened. More odd vehicles and thingamajigs whizzed by before Gavin laid his eyes on a ship among the others. His ship. Blackened wood two decks deep with windows on the back in the suite he called home. Two massive sails on the front to catch the wind and a white linen balloon bigger than the ship itself rose from the middle, fed by a flame in the bowels of the beast. Around the balloon hung ropes, pulleys, do-hickies of bits and bobs, along with a walkway to keep the balloon stable and four crows’ nests. Gun ports concealed rows of cannons. The Corvus wasn’t just his home. It was to be feared by anyone who laid eyes upon the brown crossed wrenches and hollow-eyed metallic skull emblazoned on the flag atop the balloon.

  “We’re back, Luna,” he smiled as they walked the narrow dock that led to the skyship between dozens of other identical walkways.

  She jumped down, running ahead and up the iron ramp to the ship. The wind whipped at Gavin’s clothes, nearly knocking him over the walkway to the ocean thousands of feet below. His stomach tumbled like the waves below. In his home-world, there was no falling to your death. He would just float away. Here though? Here, falling was a thing.

  He strolled up the ramp and onto the deck of The Corvus, eyeing Luna, who now sat on the bannister of the stairs to the helmsman’s post. “You almost made me fall, you know.”

  Luna licked her paw, her voice muffled. “Don’t worry about what would happen to me. I make friends easy and this place is packed with potential. Your concern is noted. Now, I’m going to eat. Open my door, human.” Gavin tapped his foot as she jumped down and impatiently waited by the double doors to the Captain’s quarters.

  Luna rolled her green eyes, massive behind her goggles. “Fine. Can you please open my door?”

  Gavin rolled his eyes and let her in amidst a chorus of her complaints and comments about not having thumbs.

  He still wasn’t sure if the day he came across a cat—that had once lived somewhere called Brig Island—was a good thing or a bad day. When his mentor Crispin claimed magic was real, Gavin didn’t believe him at first. But then he’d met Luna. A talking cat? Hard to deny magic existed after seeing that.

  “Number One!” he called, climbing the steps to the helm. “What’s the weather like this morn'? Will we make it to Frostborne before sundown?”

  The woman with platinum blonde, jaw-length hair brushed back behind her ears, studied him, squinting through her goggles. “We should, Captain. The winds seem fair enough this morning!”

  Gavin took off his hat, fixing his reddish-brown hair and thick beard. Short to the chin and straight as a pin, his hair swept back over his head. Trimmed and neat in the back, long strands from the front and top had come loose. With a sweep of his hands he could go from ragged to elegant, and from comfortable to authoritative. Moving the goggles from around his neck to his eyes, he replaced his flat cap.

  “Alrighty then, maties! We’re shoving off! Yo-ho-ho!” he called, grabbing the helm and taking the ship out from her mooring.

  Throughout the deck, the crew rushed back and forth. Raising sails, tossing fuel into the furnace under the balloon, tying off lines and running across the scaffolding around the dirigible. The crew worked like an ant colony in the sky. Beginning with a single voice down by the balloon, they continued a long tradition of singing while they worked. Before long, more picked up the words and tune until it engulfed the whole ship in song as the ship rose into the clouds.

  “Up in the clouds a fierce wind blows, with storms of rain and ice and snow. Up in the north beyond the glow, and we will find our way home soon,” sang Jacque Hurley, a round, bald pirate in a deep baritone.

  “Heave, Ho!” called the rest of the crew.

  “Through the ice and snow.”

  “We’ll find our way home soon!”

  “Shovel the coal.”

  “Till the engines glow!”

  “We'll find our way home soon. From Frostborne high to Braddock's Bay, we all can find a place to lay. Just toss a line and heave away. And we will find our way home soon.”

  The trip was long and soon he entrusted the navigating to his number one, Genevieve. In his quarters, sitting at a heavy oak desk, Gavin looked out the windows at the back of the ship. Somebody might say watching where you had been is living in the past, but, to Gavin, it was all about watching his back. There wasn’t much law the further out people travelled from The Hub.

  Genevieve burst through the double doors, letting in the moonlight. “We’re just passing Halfaway now, Captain.”

  “Excellent. I’ll be out momentarily,” h
e called over his shoulder.

  The door creaked while he cranked the gears on his left leg. It sputtered to life, black smoke rising from it. Standing, one brown pant leg ended above the knee over the prosthetic. The other pant leg went down to his scuffed work boots. On his torso he wore a long sleeve cotton shirt with three buttons at the neck. Rolling down his sleeves, he pulled the dangling leather suspenders back over his shoulders and grabbed his ankle-length dark green—nearly black, in all honesty—pea coat.

  Lunafer rolled over on the bed in the corner. “We landing already? It doesn’t feel cold. Did you get us lost again?” she asked, propping her head up with her long tail.

  “No. No, I didn’t. We are passing Halfaway and I haven’t seen it in a while. Thought I’d take a gander,” he said, combing his hair back before putting on his goggles and flat cap. “You’re welcome to come look.”

  “Fine. Carry me,” she yawned.

  Gavin flipped up his collar. “Why do I put up with you?”

  “You love me. You know you do!”

  Gavin rolled his eyes and walked out onto the deck as the cat sauntered behind him. A cool wind coming off the ocean below greeted him. Far to the left was The Whispering Isle and Rustowne. Behind them was The Hub and Elysium—an island so massive that when you flew over it, you couldn’t see the ocean in any direction. Nothing of interest there, though. Just a bunch of farmers who sent their goods to The Hub and other surrounding islands, including Halfaway to the north.

  He climbed the steps to the helm above his quarters, tightening his goggles to keep the wind out. The air this far from the balloon was cool, and it would only grow colder the further north they went.

  Walking to the starboard railing, he leaned on it heavily. In the distance, he could just make out Halfaway. Floating above the renowned Frost Mines, the floating island of Halfaway tethered to the ground by chains so massive it took an army to anchor them. Still, the floating island was unsteady and prone to windquakes from the unpredictable northern winds coming in from the Frost Talon Sea. It was a beautiful place, but like most beautiful things, it had a troublesome side. The few occasions he went into port there, he was bedridden with motion sickness for the duration of his stay.