A Legacy of Nightmares

by J. M. Wallace

  Ingemar kept her composure, “Name your price.”

  The Umibōzu thought for a moment before answering. “I know your kind.” He looked pointedly at Thorsten’s crew. “Pirates carry the most beautiful bounty. Perhaps I will let you pass if you bestow your greatest treasure upon me.”

  Sorin’s stomach dropped—the most valuable thing on this ship was a barrel of Thorsten’s exceptionally potent rum. They had no jewels or gold to give this greedy beast.

  It was Captain Thorsten who spoke next, “Of course. We would be happy to part with it in exchange for our lives.”

  Sorin nudged the captain and whispered, “What are you playing at?”

  “Trust me,” was his only response. He nodded to Ylva, who took his cue, even if Sorin did not. She disappeared below the deck, dragging a trembling Langley with her by his sleeve.

  The storm continued to grow above them as the creature waited patiently for their return. Clouds circled, coming to life with the first signs of lightning. It felt like one of the longest moments of Sorin’s life as he looked to his friends in reassurance. There was no other way out of this, and trusting Thorsten was their only option.

  Sorin could tell the Umibōzu was beginning to grow impatient, as it growled over the storm brewing in the sky and its shadowy form wavered. Sorin feared what the sea spirit would do when its patience ran out, and was relieved when Ylva and Langley returned with a large crate from below deck. They brought it confidently to the side of the ship where the Umibōzu waited. As they set it down with a heavy thud, the creature rumbled with pleasure.

  Ingemar addressed the beast, “The deal is made and we have honored our side of the bargain.”

  Ylva lifted the crate with her magic, the shells in her wild, braided hair clinked together in the wind of the brewing storm. The Umibōzu took the crate in his shadowed hands, and Sorin could have sworn he spotted a smile in the dark abyss of the creature. The ship’s crew held their breath in anticipation. Sorin knew there was no treasure awaiting the monster, they had left the beach with only the necessities; surely their measly food storage wouldn’t please it enough to allow them to leave with their lives.

  Before the Umibōzu had a chance to open the crate, Ylva spirited the ship away in a flurry of white-purple magic. They quickly left the beast behind. In the distance, Sorin could see the creature slinking back into the water, crate in hand. It seemed the creature planned to take it down in the depth of the sea before opening it to see what bounty he had taken for himself.

  Soon the Umibōzu and the storm were no longer in sight and, instead, a dark, forested island lay ahead of them. Once they were a safe distance away, Langley let out a whoop. Ylva laughed, it was a deep velvety sound. “That is going to be one angry beast.”

  Thorsten stood, watching the island they were quickly approaching. There was no humor in his voice, “Let us be long gone before he realizes.”

  Langley addressed the confusion on the rest of the crew’s faces as he shouted, “It's empty! Ylva enchanted it to show an endless supply of riches, all of which will disappear in just a few short hours—long enough for us to be a safe distance away.”

  It was a brilliant con, but Sorin couldn’t help worrying about the wrath they would face when it was time to return through those waters.

  Chapter Six

  Sorin

  The island was desolate but beautiful, with a lush green canopy as far as the eye could see. Though it appeared to be nothing more than an abandoned land, Sorin could sense the power of the ancient islands, untouched and untainted by man. It was similar to how he had felt as a child when his father had taken him north to visit the old king’s court.

  The Magi, under King Idor’s rule, had been out of control; they had torched human homes, let their magical creatures run wild outside of the Raven Wood, and endangered many Asterion lives. Magic had been strongest in North Asterion, and its power had radiated from the land. That is what he felt here on the Eastern Isles now.

  Thorsten assured him that the creatures lurking beneath the canopy would be of no concern to them, but Sorin knew by now that a relic would not go unprotected. He’d learned that the hard way when they had retrieved the Stave from the caves. It had nearly cost him his life at the hands of Ingemar, who had been trapped there by the Nefari and forced to protect it from anyone who came looking.

  Still, the goal was simple: follow the path that their spy had laid out for them in her message. They would venture into the heart of the island to find the second relic, the Sword of Roth. The crew readied themselves, strapping various weapons onto their persons. Even Runa packed on a large bow and an impressive quiver of arrows, looking out of place on her small frame.

  Haskell bounced on the balls of his feet beside Sorin, like an eager hound ready for a hunt. The sun was relentless above them, even at this early hour, and sweat had already begun to bead at Sorin’s temple. He wished that they had been able to bring the horses—riding would beat walking in this heat. But Thorsten had urged that it would be too difficult to get through the brush with them. Wordlessly, they began their journey on foot.

  As of yet, there was no sign of Bastian and his men. The forest canopy was a harmony of birds and other creatures Sorin could not name. Every sense in Sorin’s body was on high alert. With each flutter of a bird or rustle of grass, he prepared himself for an assault. Haskell led the way with his machete, Bron at his side with one of his own. The two large men forced their way through the brush, leading their team deep within the trees.

  Mavka’s moths fluttered rapidly around her, feeling the power within the jungle and eager to explore. Sorin had grown used to them by now, just as he had grown used to the small Forest Dweller whom he called “friend.” Her father had assured him that they would continue gathering a force to face the Nefari army, so that when Sorin and the others returned, he and the rest of his forces would be ready for whatever came next.

  After walking for quite some time, Sorin grew anxious. “Ingemar, are you sure your friend gave no other hint as to where exactly the Sword would be?”

  She wiped the sweat from her brow and readjusted the shell-enameled headpiece on her head. “She only said that it would be within the heart of the mainland.”

  Mavka held a hand up, stopping Sorin from responding with his complaint. As she did so, Sorin noted a small ghost light ahead in a clearing. It glowed in the shadows of the trees like a small lantern beckoning them. She whispered, “Hello, friend.”

  Sorin knew better than to question Mavka’s connection to the magical elements of the land and, instead, took her cue as she followed the little light through the trees. They lost sight of her for a moment as she squirmed her way through the brush, until Bron and Haskell could cut their way after her.

  When they found her again, she was standing amongst a cluster of tiny blue lights. They danced around just as her moths usually did, their luminescent light flickering in excitement. Mavka whispered something to them and giggled at their response. She turned to Sorin and the others with glee on her face, “They will take us to the Sword.”

  “Who are ‘they’?” Langley looked frightened, clutching his pack to his chest.

  “The Will-o’-Wisps, of course.” Mavka laughed as one fluttered past her vine-covered hair. “They know who we are and why we have come. And they wish to help you, King Sorin.”

  Sorin did not wish to question the generosity of these ghostly creatures, so he simply bowed to them. “I am honored.”

  The Will-o'-Wisps proceeded, this time with fierce determination. Sorin felt a seed of hope growing within him. This had to be the break that they had been waiting for. They would get the Sword, keep it from Bastian’s dark grasp, and stop the battle before it began.

  They neared a small pool of water, glistening softly within a clearing. Across the pool, a small cliff led up to the top of a waterfall, the sound of its running water was peaceful. Sorin looked around for any sign of the Sword. A strong burst of light erupted, blinding
Sorin temporarily. The crew shielded their eyes and Mavka ducked behind Bron’s broad back. The Will-o’-Wisps were flooding the clearing with their bright, blue light, then directed it to a bare patch of dirt. Sorin wasted no time, pushing his way through the crowd. He knelt, feeling the cold, hard ground beneath his fingers.

  The land responded to his touch, sending a jolt through him. He looked up at the others. “It’s here! The sword is here. Help me.” He began to dig with his hands, scrambling to get to the relic he believed lurked beneath. The others joined him, using whatever they had on them to burrow into the ground. It took a great deal of effort, but soon they hit something solid. Sorin dusted the remaining dirt away to reveal the golden hilt of a sword. He gripped it, pulling with all his strength to reveal a magnificent blade. Its hilt was gilded in gold with an emerald jewel in the center of it. As he held the Sword up in the dim light of the jungle, the blade glistened, as clean and sharp as freshly made steel, as if it hadn’t spent centuries buried in the dirt of an ancient island.

  His friends stood in silent awe of the beauty of it. Sorin looked around at the dense trees—they needed to get the Sword to the ship before anyone found them. He stood, quickly removing his own sword from its scabbard, and replacing it with the relic. The crew took his lead, ready to head back the way that they had come, when a familiar voice came from the cliff near the waterfall.

  The soft voice carried down over the trickling sound of the water, “Sorin.”

  It felt like his heart had stopped in his chest. It was as if the entire world melted away at the sound of that voice, the voice he had dreamed of since the day she had been taken away from him. Shaye.

  She stepped from behind the shadows of the jungle. Sorin’s eyes searched for any sign of abuse, but she was the same Shaye that he remembered: beautiful, with her golden eyes and long, auburn hair. Only now, her once-bright eyes were dimmed, and her full frame had thinned slightly. She was dressed in all black, with a red embroidered flame on her jacket, over her heart—just like the flame that had burst from her that day in the abandoned camp.

  He wanted to go to her, to scale his way up the cliff, but the fear in her eyes gave him pause. “No,” she urged, just as she was joined by Bastian and a handful of others. They came from the trees like creatures appearing from the night, just as quickly and silently as the Umibōzu had come from the sea. Bastian’s eyes glistened in delight at the look of hurt and rage on Sorin’s face.

  He said with a mocking tone, “We meet again, King Sorin, and it seems you have done the grunt work for us.” He gestured toward the Sword strapped to Sorin’s side. “Now, if you’ll just hand it over, perhaps I will be merciful and allow you to walk out of here in one piece.”

  Shaye had a look of utter horror on her face as Bastian addressed Sorin. He must have noticed it as well because he put a hand on her shoulder and said through gritted teeth, “Shaye, if you would, ask your friends to hand over what is rightfully ours.”

  “Sorin, please.” She took a step forward, nearing the rocky ledge, but Bastian held her in place. Sorin could see Bastian’s grip on her shoulder tighten.

  Sorin’s blood rose at the sight of that monster’s hands on her. Sorin could see Bron draw his sword beside him, and he could feel Ingemar’s power rising behind, ready to fire at his order. Sorin looked at Shaye, wishing he could read her mind, wishing she could tell him what to do to get them all out of this mess.

  Captain Thorsten warned him quietly, “Easy now, Your Majesty.”

  Sorin shrugged off the warning. He could not give up the Sword so easily, but he also would not risk losing Shaye a second time. “If you want it, Bastian, come and get it.”

  Bastian leaned into Shaye, still holding her with one sickly black hand, and brushing the hair off her neck with the other. He whispered something in her ear, and she shut her eyes tightly in response; tears escaped, falling down her flushed cheeks. The hair on Sorin’s arms rose as Bastian snapped his fingers. Shaye opened her eyes, only this time there was no regret, only anger.

  She lifted her hands, calling on her magic, and Bastian smiled like a feral cat. The ground shook beneath their feet, and the water from the pool lifted in response to her call. There was no recognition in Shaye’s eyes as she released the water onto Sorin and his crew. They turned to run but the water caught Sorin in its grasp. It lifted him off the ground and into the air like a giant’s hand, pulling him within reach of Bastian and his men.

  “Shaye, you have to fight him.” Sorin struggled under the grip of the water. When she did not respond he shouted at her, “Do you hear me? Fight!”

  One of Bastian’s thugs stepped forward and tore the Sword from Sorin’s scabbard. Shaye kept her hold on the water, suspending Sorin at the mercy of Bastian. The man who had taken the Sword handed it to his master. Bastian took it eagerly like a greedy child. He rotated it before him, smiling in admiration of the craftsmanship of the magical object, reveling in its power before pointing it at Sorin.

  Sorin ignored the sharp point of the blade at his throat and kept his focus on Shaye. Nothing else mattered at this moment. Bastian had already taken the Sword, but Sorin had to get through to Shaye. “He does not own you, Shaye. Claim your power for yourself, not for him and this ridiculous vengeance he is after. This can only end in a river of blood, just as the brothers’ story foretold.”

  Bastian stepped closer, but the water shifted Sorin away slightly as Shaye’s magic buckled beneath her hold. Sorin could not help but notice the fleeting look of terror in her eye. Bastian must have noticed it, too, as he turned on her. “Shaye. Hold His Royal Majesty in place. Things will go much more smoothly in Asterion with him out of our way.”

  Shaye regarded Bastian with a stone-like look. “I am trying, sire, but my magic... it has its limits...” And with that, she dropped Sorin. He plummeted toward the empty pool, but before he could hit the exposed ground beneath, a gold, glittering magic swept him up and in the opposite direction of the Nefari.

  Ingemar pulled him to them with her magic. Sorin ran back to the water and shouted at Bastian, “I will kill you, you son of a bitch!”

  Bastian sneered down at Sorin and the others. “You have nothing left to fight for. I have the relics.” He paused to hold the Sword up in the light with one hand, while he tapped a black obsidian pendant hanging around his neck with the other. “And, I have her.”

  Shaye stood by his side with tears pooling in her eyes. Sorin could see that she was trying to hold her composure. Bastian nodded to his men, and they obeyed the silent order, raising their hands to hit Sorin and the others with their black magic.

  Ylva shouted to Sorin, “We are not strong enough to take them! We must finish this later.”

  Sorin’s friends did not give him the chance to argue before tearing him away and through the brush. Bastian shouted to his men to follow, but instead, the Nefari were met with a wall of bright blue magic, the work of the Will-o'-Wisps. Sorin turned back to see the sparks of their ancient magic holding against the Nefari. He took one last look at Shaye, and then ran as quickly as he could toward the ship on the other side of the island. He and his friends did not stop until they reached the shore and boarded the small boat they had taken to the island.

  There was no sign of the Nefari as they left the shore. Sorin sat in the boat, watching the island fade from view as Ylva guided them further into the sea and away from the Eastern Isles. Away from Shaye. A tear found its way down his cheek as he tried to accept everything they had just lost.

  Chapter Seven

  Shaye

  Shaye could barely see through the bitter tears welling in her eyes as their ship left the island—she wiped them away before anyone could notice. The Eastern Isles were mere spots on the horizon now, but she could not escape the memory of Sorin suspended at her mercy, locked in the cool water of the pool. He had pleaded with her, but he didn’t understand. Bastian’s power had crept into her mind like a parasite, it was all she could do just to release him agai
nst Bastian’s order. And now she worried about who would pay the price for her insolence.

  One thing she was grateful for was the sight of her friends, Ingemar, Bron, and Mavka, safe and unharmed from her attack on them in the camp. Between the drink Bastian was drugging her with, and the darkness that had crept into her soul that day, she hadn’t trusted that they had all walked away from the attack unscathed. It was as if a large weight had been lifted from her chest after seeing them there. More so, she was shocked to see Thorsten and his crew there with them. Fates only knew how they had all been thrown together...but if anyone was going to make things difficult for Bastian, it would be that lot.

  Brina had embraced her when they returned to the ship, but the look on Shaye’s face gave her pause. Before Shaye could tell her what had happened on the island, Bastian appeared in a fury. He grabbed Brina by the hair, tearing her away from Shaye’s grasp. Both girls yelped as he threw Brina onto the splintered deck of the ship. Bastian raised a hand to strike her in the face, but before he had a chance, Shaye felt a flood of cold darkness wash over her. She welcomed the feeling, pulsing it into Bastian, and throwing him from her friend and into the stairs leading to the upper deck. His body made a horrible crunching noise as he slumped to the ground.

  Shaye ran to Brina to help her up, checking her for injury. Brina turned her stunned gaze to Shaye’s hands which were holding her. “Oh Fates, Shaye, what have you done?”

  When Shaye looked down, she saw what had her friend so rattled. The inky blackness that had overtaken her fingertips had now spread to the midpoint of her knuckles—a sign that she had once again tapped into the black magic that the Nefari used. She began to panic. “No. No. Brina, I didn’t mean to, I...”