21 Seagulls

by ANGELOS KYPRIANOS

  “By the Luvar and the Amar,” Karil growled, irked by the laborious ascent. He often used that invocation to foreign and local gods.

  The settlement’s houses were few but built very close to each other. Narrow alleys meandered between colored walls, ropes with drying clothes and beautiful pots with sweet-smelling flowers.

  “Those fuckers have built a home here,” Stario called, a crew member that wielded an axe with his left hand.

  It wasn’t long before they heard footfall. In a panic, the residents ran towards the steps that led down to the port, carrying buckets, to try and save their ships. By the time they’d arrive though, those ships would be reduced to blackened wood peppered with ash, littering the sea.

  The crew poured into the streets and screaming ensued. Stario struck a young boy with his axe; the metal buried itself deep in his belly and dropped him on the ground. Then he grabbed a screaming girl by her hair and tossed her against a wall with such force, that a horrible crack sounded from her skull. The girl collapsed on the ground like a doll and didn’t move again.

  Odet shot two arrows in different directions. Before one could strike, the other had been released. They pierced the chests of two men who had raised their swords and had been running towards the crew.

  Vario walked coolly, his two arms dangling over his chains, laughing. His form was terrifying, like a demon in the chaos. A young man defied him and rushed at him, wielding a long spear. Vario ducked and dodged the blow. He let the chain unfold as he kicked the young man and he fell on his butt a few feet ahead. He tried to grab the spear, but Vario’s metal ball collided with his head, resulting to a terrible explosion that painted the ledge next to them red. Someone screamed at the gruesome sight. Mascardi unleashed his trident towards the chest of another young man, who’d been struggling to load an arrow to his crossbow – Mascardi hated crossbows. The weapon easily penetrated the soft flesh and the young man dropped dead in an instant. After that throw, people stopped screaming and running.

  Mascardi, having unquestionably earned their attention, walked to his latest target and pulled the trident free from the young man’s body with a wet sound. The crowd gasped.

  “People of Loriax!” his voice echoed around the large square where the battle had moved. “There is no reason of resistance or panic. This battle is over. No one else has to get hurt, in the name of the king!”

  His words caused a commotion. A girl was screaming a little further away; Stario was holding her prisoner by her braided hair. Despite threatening her with the axe against her throat, he wasn’t killing her – her beauty had piqued his interest.

  “Stario!” Mascardi shouted, and the young man looked at him. Before the captain could warn him, a spear pierced through Stario’s torso, eliciting a jet of blood, before he fell dead at the feet of the dazed girl.

  Mascardi saw the odd silhouette of an elf emerging behind Stario. He had seen elves from the East before, but this one was different. Its skin was pale blue, and its features drawn back. Gills existed in the place of its ears, and its fingers were linked by strange membranes.

  “Odet!” the captain yelled, and the archer quickly armed his bow and aimed the arrow at the creature. Swiftly, the strange elf ran and jumped over the cliff, and was lost from sight. When they reached the cliff’s edge, they saw its small body carving a quick, vertical path dozens of feet down, until it disappeared in the black waters.

  Mascardi and Odet exchanged a look.

  “Aquats,” Ginom said behind them, and Mascardi whirled curiously to look at the dark-skinned warrior with the whip. “Water Elves,” he added. “We’ll never catch him at sea, we have to be careful.”

  So, Mascardi left Stario’s body to the seagulls and the vultures and gathered his crew and the people to the nearest inn. The disorderly groups of people –mainly women, children, and elderly men now– followed him into the stone building. Mascardi put down his weapons and welcomed everyone inside with a friendly gesture. He was in the mood to talk, and as he stated, he had a lot to explain to them.

  ***

  Inside the tavern, the atmosphere was tense. The people of Loriax seemed to have suffered a lot. More and more of them arrived as the news traveled with the wind. Outside, the gods struck the island with thunder. Torrential rain beat down on the settlement, and the newly arrived trailed water and mud on the inn’s wooden floor.

  The crew had smugly settled in its new headquarters. The men served themselves or forced young girls to bring them food and drink, while they harassed them in any way possible and teased them, laughing. A sullen dark-haired woman about Mascardi’s age stared at them with calm, cold hatred from a dark corner, and Mascardi kept one eye on her.

  As the hours passed and more people came, it became clear that any resistance against the crew would be futile. The armed and trained islanders had been slaughtered, many were away at sea and others hesitated when they realized the crew had come in the name of the king. Mascardi knew what he would find there. Many of the locals had been members of the army, pirates and men who had a bounty on their head and had thus been forced to abandon Lothen in a haste. Mascardi felt himself being one of them, but he always spoke as if he were a representative of the king.

  He implied that in the near future, more royal ships would arrive at the island, and that Adam Whiteshield had decided to conquer the islands of the south. They had no reason to doubt his words. Even if he were lying, the captain knew that this way he would squash any hope of rebellion, and he was right.

  When the danger of internal dispute would die down, Mascardi would finally be able to dedicate himself to the true purpose of this journey: the island’s jungle and its secrets.

  Within the next few days, the crew established its presence on the island and made sure to enforce the firmness required. Mascardi ordered his men to kill whoever resisted the new status quo, but afterwards to make sure to show their good side to the residents, helping them at chores and convincing them that they had come for their own good, in the name of the king, and that the initial battle was an unfortunate event that couldn’t have been avoided.

  He then urged Dizan to do the job he’d been training for. Mascardi and a large part of the crew would depart for the jungle, while Dizan with a few others would stay behind. At evenings, in the taverns, Dizan would play the songs he’d written. He would praise the 21 Seagulls who’d decided to heroically and valiantly fight the monsters at the ends of the world. He would sing the beautiful melodies and dramatic lyrics until they became the truth the captain wanted. Until people woke up with them, slept with them, and thought about them all the time. Mascardi knew a catchy song traveled faster than gossip, and that if he wanted to achieve his goal, everyone had to consider them brave seafarers and scoundrels that went up against gods and demons.

  Dizan did his job and he did it well. With his lute, he gathered the suspicious people around him; with his kind voice and appearance, he drew them to him like a warm flame in a snowstorm. Through music, he deceived them into forgetting their animosity. His voice made them feel they were on safe and familiar ground, and the way he narrated events implied that Mascardi was a hard man indeed, but also a misunderstood leader, who was often forced to perform atrocious acts he hated.

  Karil, being one of those who stayed behind, confirmed Dizan’s stories and helped them along with his god-fearing views and his knowledge on traditions.

  Before Mascardi left, old Karil had revealed another one of his cards to him.

  “The Two-Faced Man,” he grunted suspiciously. For Karil, there was no worse omen.

  “What does it mean?” the captain asked.

  “Damn me if I know. A thousand times better to see Death or the Storm,” he admitted.

  “I think we don’t need to see Death and certainly not the Storm where we are, do we?” Mascardi jested, but Karil couldn’t process the lightness at that moment.

  “The Two-Faced Man is a treacherous card, lad. It means something is not as it appears,
or something will betray you.”

  Mascardi darkened immediately. There was nothing worse than worrying of being double-crossed. His thoughts raced to Vario, but his instincts didn’t follow.

  He looked at Karil and nodded. “Thank you, old man. I’ll keep an eye out, obviously.”

  He bumped his shoulder as a farewell and left him behind at the camp with the others.

  The Seagulls of the jungle gathered at the town’s exit, leaving the Seagulls of the camp behind. The latter’s job had begun, but the former’s job was about to begin as well, and Mascardi had to succeed, else they’d all become prey to the beasts…

  THE MOUNTAINS OF LORIAX

  Six men stayed behind, including Basco, Dizan, and Karil. Basco was in charge of securing the town, Dizan of taming it, and Karil was too old to be wandering in the jungle. Four men remained on the ship, along with the cook, and the other ten followed Mascardi into Loriax’s jungle.

  Ginom was always at the head of the group. He was the best hunter, tracker, and beast tamer among them. He had acquired valuable knowledge from his journeys, and he also was the only one among them who had visited the islands in the past, or so he claimed. He led the way with his whip looped around his belt, a dagger between his teeth –since he never talked– and his meager clothes, with his black-skinned body slithering like a snake through the island’s thick vegetation.

  The rest felt like fish out of water. Mascardi recalled the old military campaigns he’d taken part in under the Lion banner of Lothen. Him and Odet had spent countless horrible days dressed from head to toe in heavy, metallic armor and submerged up to their waists in the muddy terrain west of Lothen. Today’s expedition seemed like a walk on the beach compared to that. The thunderbolts over the horizon were their lighthouse, the mountains were their compass and so, ten Seagulls crossed Loriax’s untrodden territories in the harmless boom of thunder.

  The first few days passed without surprises. The crew had carried food supplies but there was ample game to hunt in this area. The men had relaxed a lot and had grown so used to the unstoppable sound of thunder, that they slept peacefully in the nights. As lords of the woods, they lit up big campfires, roasted the animals they caught, ate, and drank, and even if Mascardi didn’t join in the merriment, he couldn’t help being drawn to their luxuries.

  That night, in the heart of the jungle, everyone drank around the fire, when Mascardi sat next to Ginom.

  “Don’t you ever eat?” The question had been formed in his head days ago, as the young man didn’t seem to be putting any food in his mouth since they’d left the camp.

  “Never on the hunt, boss. Food makes me drowsy.”

  Mascardi nodded in approval. “How many days till the monastery you think?”

  Ginom had informed Mascardi about a mysterious building in the other side of the island. Nobody knew exactly what it was or when it was built and by whom; it seemed as if it’d always been there. Ginom had claimed he’d seen it in the past but hadn’t entered, afraid of the rumors about it – in every version of them, whoever entered, never came out. During those conversations, Mascardi had somehow been convinced that there would be treasure inside the mysterious building, and it had therefore become a priority to find it.

  “I’m not sure, boss. We need a few more days to the mountains, and it’s not far after that, but it may take us quite some time to locate the building.”

  Mascardi nodded, satisfied. The rest of the crew sang and laughed, their horrible, coarse voices drowned out by thunder. One of the men –Baltan, a sailor about Mascardi’s age– was staring at the thunder as he returned from the trees, holding his breeches up.

  “That is odd,” he seemed to say, but only young Tomas, standing next to him, heard him. Baltan pointed at the horizon; Mascardi followed his line of sight.

  “That lightning seems to be moving, can you see it?” he appeared to be telling Tomas, who got up with the aid of his spear. Mascardi approached both men and looked for himself. Grey-haired Baltan was right. The lightning bolts struck behind the mountains but some of them not only seemed to deviate, but also to be approaching fast.

  “Ginom!” Mascardi shouted, and the man sprang up like a coil, narrowing his eyes in the dark. After a while, he pointed too.

  “Black wings!” he yelled.

  “What?” Mascardi asked, and then the men stopped singing. Complaints sounded from the far back of the group.

  “Vesca of the Underworld!” Ginom growled, and even though none of them understood what he was talking about, it was enough for them to shoot upright, scared.

  “Your weapons! Move! Bows and spears!”

  Mascardi bellowed orders as he snatched his trident. They abandoned their packs and spread out in the clearing, watching a black cloud approaching, otherworldly electrical flashes streaking inside it.

  A few moments later, a small flock of enormous black birds that looked like crows appeared overhead. Their caws echoed in the skies, piercing through the thunder, rippling through the air.

  One of the creatures called Vesca hovered over Tomas. The young man waited for it with his spear in hand, but the bird didn’t attack him; it stood facing him from a reasonable height. A moment later, its caw joined the thunder and a lightning bolt shot out of its beak. It struck the young man, scorching him and throwing him six feet away, to land on the ground. Tomas’s body crawled for a while, then it convulsed and stopped moving.

  The men scattered around helter-skelter to avoid the attack of three more birds. The Vesca that had unleashed the first bolt lunged at the unmoving Tomas, and with immense force, dug its beak into his heart and started devouring it.

  “Take cover!” Mascardi cried hysterically as he was trying to chase the birds away with his trident.

  Ginom’s whip ripped through the air and coiled around the slim throat of the vulture that was eating Tomas. One sharp jerking motion broke its neck and the bird fell dead, its wings bent at a horrible angle.

  Vario grabbed an axe and slashed at a Vesca coming at him. The bird’s belly opened up like a fillet, painting the warrior with its blood. With a leap, Mascardi pierced another one’s wings with his trident, while Odet hit another with an arrow, and he was certain he saw it fall clumsily into a tree’s branches a few feet beyond the clearing.

  Mascardi finished off the last creature. For a moment, the crew stood silent next to a pool of blood and black feathers.

  Baltan, his face distorted in horror, went to Tomas. He vomited when he saw the huge hole where his heart used to be and how deep and viciously it’d been dug in a single moment.

  Mascardi anxiously paced around the clearing.

  “Where are they? Are there more?” he was yelling, but nothing else seemed to be approaching. He turned to Ginom. “What kind of demons are these, Ginom?”

  Ginom was breaking the wings of a dead Vesca and started skinning it with his knife, disgusting the crew.

  “What are you doing?” Baltan complained. He was an old swordsman and knight of Lothen. His one arm was atrophied, and he couldn’t hold up a shield.

  “It’s time to eat,” Ginom announced and then looked at Mascardi. “Those were the Vesca, the birds of the Underworld. They find passage to the world of the living through the black rivers of the dead. They bring death with just a touch.”

  Mascardi swallowed. He noticed the look in his companions’ eyes and felt their despair.

  “The island is filled with them,” the hunter added and shook the black blood off his hands.

  ***

  The town of Loriax had grown used to the presence of the young men. The nights at the taverns were entertaining, so much so, that Dizan always felt bad for the different course the second group had taken through the jungle. Dizan filled the warm evenings with music, talked with the residents and flirted with the ladies, who seemed as if they’d forgotten the slaughtering of the previous days.

  Basco had completely shaved his head again and was wearing a turban and colorful clothes. He was
eccentric and lonely, and people whispered about him a lot. Serious, rarely speaking a lot of words, he preferred to isolate himself and meditate on the cliff that faced the vast sea.

  The settlement’s peace, however, was partly false. Even though a lot of the residents acted as if they’d forgotten, there were others that certainly never would, and whispered plans in the dark, walking hastily through the alleys like shadows.

  Old Karil read the cards in Basco’s presence, and showed him the Storm twice, a certain sign of turmoil, and not only with respect to the weather. Basco didn’t offer a specific answer; he seemed neither upset nor reassuring, but simply registered the information and returned to his duties.

  As the days passed, he started noticing shadows on the distant rocks where the sea licked Loriax’s shore, under the settlement. Small, quick forms darting around, carrying their secrets. Aquats, he remembered Ginom’s words. The water elves were defter than any aspiring killer in the settlement, and wilder too. Their constant movement caused him bewilderment and nervousness. He felt like a cauldron boiling as the fire beneath it burned lazily and patiently.

  When he was tired of waiting like a lamb for the butcher, he called Dizan at the cape and showed him the naughty creatures that, without a doubt, conspired against them.

  “We can’t wait for them to make the first move,” he told Dizan. The musician gulped. He had grown accustomed to the island’s comforts and didn’t wish to find himself in trouble again.

  “Maybe there’s no reason for concern,” he tried, but Basco’s look was ruthless.

  He explained the decision he’d reached, Karil’s words, the Storm, and Dizan’s part in all this.