Summer's Fall

by Carol E. Leever

  "Fish don't have hands, Kyr," Omen reminded the boy indulgently.

  "If they have swords, they have hands," Kyr insisted, seemingly unaffected by the laughter, or perhaps simply not understanding the reason for it. "Lots of hands, and arms. Too many arms."

  "Is he drunk?" Kadana asked in fascination.

  "No." Templar replied, his yellow eyes twinkling. "This is what passes for normal in Omen's world."

  Kyr smiled ethereally at Kadana, his face lighting up with happiness. "I like Omen's world. It's green." His smile faded then. "My world wasn't green. We won't go back there. Omen promised."

  "No, we won't go back there," Omen agreed, a wistful sadness in his eyes.

  Shalonie only knew the vague outline of Kyr's past, but it was enough for her to understand the impact of the boy's words. Judging by the looks of those around the table, they too understood enough to let the topic drop.

  "Tyrin's sleepy." Kyr held up the small ball of fur in his hands, presenting it to the room. Tyrin was curled into a tight ball, sound asleep. While Tormy's eyes were still open, the cat had placed his enormous head down on the edge of the table and was half asleep himself. "Is it bed time?" Kyr asked. "I wish the boat would stop going up and down. It's hard to sleep."

  "Up and down?" Kadana laughed, and indeed to Shalonie the motion was hardly noticeable, the magic of the Ven'tarian ship keeping their progress smooth and steady. "Have to take you sailing in a storm one of these days, my boy, then you'll get some serious up and down. Summer crossings are peaceful. But sleeping is a good idea. Sunup comes early."

  Taking that as their cue to retire, they all began to rise. Shalonie paused to thank Kadana for the fine meal and the stories. She was looking forward to doing more research on the Ven'tarian ship come morning and wondered about the spells that kept the boat so steady in the water. She had spied the web of silver embedded into the outer hull of the ship when they'd boarded, and suspected there were spells laid in the metal that controlled the ship's movement and accounted for its steadiness as well as propulsion. She couldn't help but wonder if she could use a Cypher Rune to mimic the spells — something that could calm the waters or steady a rocking ship in a storm.

  "It's too late for that one," Kyr told her as she exited the cabin. "You'll need the one for the lightning."

  "I'll keep that in mind, Kyr," Shalonie told the boy. She smiled quizzically at Omen who spread his hands in apology.

  Shalonie had been given a cabin of her own when she'd come on board, though she knew all the others were sharing various rooms. While the ship's magic expanded the interior, it wasn't infinitely large. Still, her cabin was spacious enough, with a soft bed that was suspended from the ceiling on chains so that it would sway with the natural motion of the vessel. There were more magical globes to light the room, and the fire elementals within them flared brighter as she stepped inside.

  She kicked off her boots, and unlaced her jerkin, stripping down to a thin undershirt before climbing onto the bed and pulling out the small notebook she'd placed beneath her pillow. The notebook, bound in soft leather, was small enough to carry around. It was filled with good quality paper, bleached the purest white, so that even a soft mark showed up well against the surface. She'd brought this one along to record her latest findings, and now found herself scribbling down all the things she'd observed about the ship and the countless spells woven throughout it.

  Chapter 14: Ghosts

  OMEN

  "In a night and a day, they were gone . . ."

  An urgent murmur woke Omen. Still half-asleep, he turned his head toward Kyr's hammock and tried to make out the continuous swell of distressed words coming from the boy.

  They had been at sea for a week, and so far all had been peaceful.

  "Light!" Omen commanded. The fire elemental orbs placed throughout the cabin blazed to life. "Soft," he amended, and they dimmed to a warm glow. He blinked sleep from his eyes.

  "Swallowed through and can't return. But yet return . . . now . . ."

  Kyr's quiet litany had been going on for some time — hours perhaps — Omen realized.

  "Has Kyr been sleep-talking for long?" he asked Tormy, who lay curled in most of a ball next to him. The cat's bushy tail and fuzzy shank draped off the swing bed, the strain of his weight stressing the chains suspending the frame from the ceiling. Omen was glad he'd thought to reinforce the hooks with a minor carpentry cantrip he'd learned from Liethan's uncle, Catlar.

  Tormy sniffed the air. "Kyr is being fast asleep."

  "You can tell that by scenting?"

  "Peoples is smelling differentnessness when they is being asleep." Tormy ran a paw over his cheek, straightening out a whisker that had gone astray. "The awakenessness smell is fadenessness when they is sleeping long."

  "Kyr is saying the same words over and over for a longestness time." A perplexed Tyrin crouched on a beam just above the boy. "I is saying, 'Get up.' And he is not get-upping." The tiny cat sounded anxious.

  Omen tried to push himself to his elbows, but the sway of the ocean made moving unexpectedly awkward. His eyes focused on the wound-up hammock where Kyr moaned and babbled, caught in his swinging bed like the very noisy filling of a canvas-cased sausage.

  "They ride on the currents beneath the waves. Faces in the water." Kyr lashed about wildly, the confines keeping his wide swings restricted to worm-like wiggles. "Their arrival brings blood and screams."

  That's it!

  On wobbly legs, Omen braced himself against Tormy's back and stood up. "Kyr!" He called out as he scrambled on his breeches and boots. "Kyr!"

  "The crown swims now there is no other way to go," was all Kyr replied.

  "Shake him!" Tyrin wailed. "You is better waking-upping Kyr now."

  Omen unwound the canvas hammock and shook Kyr's shoulder.

  Kyr's eyes opened wide, but he was far from awake. Even in the dim light, the inky black of his wide pupils eclipsed the sunset violet of his irises.

  Omen started to reach out to Kyr psionically, but instantly a multifaceted wave of colors flashed in front of his mind's eye like a warning beacon. Blast! Forgot about the shielding bracelet Dad gave him! Only way past it is to take it off, and I don't dare do that!

  He retreated as fast as he could. But the mere blink brought back the remembrance of the maelstrom of madness he'd seen rage in Kyr's brain, the thousands upon thousands of voices incessantly screaming at the boy in Kahdess. When he'd connected to Kyr on the day of the Dark Heart's attack months ago, Omen had understood the true scope of his brother's strange gift for the first time. Curse more like. And he bears it without complaint. My poor brother.

  "Kyr, wake up!" Omen's voice cracked with panic. What if he never wakes up? The flare of colors had faded from his sight, and he thought he saw both cats glaring at him with accusation and expectation. Tormy had leaped from the bed and was standing beside him.

  "I'll get help!" Omen said. "Tyrin, stay with him and . . . purr."

  Tyrin yowled and hopped down onto Kyr's chest.

  "Don't let them set foot on the deck," the boy whispered, unraveling Omen's nerves further.

  He stumbled through his cabin door and into the corridor, keeping a firm grip on Tormy's fur.

  "The singing. The singing," Kyr called from behind them and started in on a song made of words so strange that an icy chill swept through Omen, as if the words themselves spoke of something forbidden and destructive, the very sounds holding infection and ruin.

  I know that from somewhere. He couldn't place it.

  The cabin door to his left swung open, and Dev Machelli emerged from his room. "Omen!" he hissed urgently. "Silence him before the sailors throw him overboard!"

  Startled, Omen turned. "He won't wake up."

  "I've got something for that." Dev crossed the corridor and entered Omen's room. Worried, Omen followed.

  "What are you doing?" he demanded, not trusting the man with his brother.

  Dev pulled a small vial from some hidden
pocket, yanked out the stopper, and held the vial under the boy's nose. Tyrin reared back in distress and hissed hard and low at Dev. But Kyr immediately woke, flinching in shock and proclaiming, "Bad smell!"

  "Hurrah! You is being awakenessness!" Tyrin announced as Kyr awkwardly swayed in his hammock.

  "Kyr!" Omen crossed to his side. "Are you all right? You were talking in your sleep and you wouldn't wake up."

  "You have to keep them off the deck, Omen," Kyr pleaded.

  "That's what you said in your sleep." Omen grimaced. "Keep who off the deck?"

  "Grandma Kadana is being on the deck with Templar and Liethan," Tormy announced, still waiting in the corridor. "I is hearing whisperings from the sailors as they is being affearednessness of the lights in the water."

  "Lights?" Omen stared at his cat. "There are lights in the water? We're days out to sea. There can't be any lights — unless we've met up with another ship." He gripped Kyr's arm. "You all right now?"

  The boy nodded glumly. "Bad smells and bad voices."

  "Stay here with Tyrin." Omen was already on the move. "I'll go check the deck and see what's going on."

  Omen emerged from below deck to discover the ship shrouded in a heavy fog. Small wisps of white drifted past him, hugging the wooden planks of the deck. The elemental lamps burned brightly, trying to hold back both fog and darkness.

  Tormy padded softly up beside him, his whiskers flaring as he raised his nose to sniff the salt air. Omen could see Kadana at the wheel with Arbrios, her first mate. The sound of sloshing waves against the side of the ship was different in the muffled fog.

  We're hardly moving.

  Near the mainmast Liethan worked with the small group of sailors that made up the night crew. They were tugging on ropes, trying to position the sails to catch the cold breeze. Kadana called out orders periodically.

  As Omen headed up to the higher deck to speak to his grandmother, he saw Templar standing nearby, peering out into the shrouded darkness.

  "Is the fog normal for this time of year?" Omen asked Kadana as he neared.

  "No," she stated darkly. "Normally you'd only see this in midautumn. Never in summer."

  "These are ill portents," Arbrios groused, leaving Omen hesitant to mention Kyr.

  "There!" one of the sailors on the lower deck hollered. "Another one."

  Omen turned to look where the man was pointing. A strange bobbing light, pale blue in color, danced in the mist just off the starboard side of the ship.

  Templar immediately rushed ahead to get a better look.

  Omen joined him. "Any idea what that is?" he asked, keeping his voice low so that it didn't carry farther than Templar and Tormy.

  "If I had to guess, I'd say it's a haunting of some sort. Ghost light. It has the feel of necromancy to me," Templar whispered back.

  "Kyr was rambling again," Omen told him. "Said we should get everyone off the deck."

  "Hard to sail a ship that way." Templar gave a quick look around. "Only a handful of crew right now."

  One of the sailors bellowed suddenly, and Omen turned toward the sound. Positioned near the forward mast, the man slowly backed away from a human-sized figure pulsing with light.

  Rat's teeth!

  The unnatural form was of a man, but it glowed with a pale bluish light. Dark liquid dripped from its body with every step it advanced.

  Paralyzed with dread, Omen could only watch as a crab crawled from the ghost's mouth, ran up its face, and disappeared into a hole where the left ear should have been.

  Templar drew one of the white bone blades he wore strapped to his belt and rushed toward the ghost. Tormy followed, the large cat hissing ferociously. Omen snapped out of his stupor and charged ahead.

  Though the incorporeal figure had no weapons, it reached both knobby, barnacal-encrusted hands out toward Templar. The prince swiped his blade without hesitation, cutting through the glowing shape as if it were only smoke. The form scattered into billowing mist and blew away into the darkness.

  "It has substance," Templar called out to the crew. "I felt some resistance when I cut through it."

  "There's another one!" a nearby sailor blared.

  Omen spun. A tall, dripping ghost stood only inches away. Cold air surged over his skin, raising the hairs on his arms.

  For a second he found himself staring, slack-jawed, into dead, glowing eyes. The stench of rotting fish and seaweed struck his nostrils just as a bony, ice-cold hand closed over his left wrist. His skin burned at the touch, the grip tightening steadily like a vise.

  Instinctively Omen staggered back, pulling his hand away. But it was only when Templar sliced through the glowing ghost's spindly forearm that Omen's wrist was freed.

  Omen stared at the blisters forming around his wrist. "Don't let them touch you," he warned the others, not certain if the burn had been caused by heat or extreme cold. Both possibilities were disturbing. These disembodied whatevers can hurt us!

  He needn't have bothered with his warning. Kadana's crew had already abandoned their posts and fled from the few glowing shapes that had appeared around them.

  "They're in the water!" someone yelped.

  More forms rose from the mist and stood upon the waves, bits of seaweed clinging to them and blowing slowly in the churning fog.

  The Golden Voyage was surrounded. Unearthly shapes pressing slowly forward — men, women, children — all glowing, all in various states of decay. Foul water dripped from them as they reached upward as if imploring the sailors on board to help them climb.

  Lost souls.

  Two more figures materialized on the deck. Templar raced forward to cut through them. "No need to panic!" he called out to a crew already well into the throws of panic. "I'll get rid of them. They're just harmless shapes — keep clear, and I'll cut them down."

  "Go on then!" Backed against the wheel, shielding her first mate, Kadana swiped at two nearly transparent specters with her broad, triangular dagger.

  Liethan, holding on to two separate ropes as he'd been abandoned by the men helping him, called out to Omen, "Grab these and tie them down. The sail will swing free if we don't."

  Omen didn't question him. Don't know ships or sails. He leaped forward and wrested the ends of the ropes through metal fastenings set in the deck. His fingers started to twist a knot he'd forgotten he'd learned. Thank you, Lily's dopey five strand braid. The ropes pulled away from him, cutting into his skin, but he curled his fingers around them and worked on completing the knot despite the slick moisture of blood mixed with sweat.

  "If we can—" Omen strained to formulate a plan while fighting to complete his task, but his words were cut off. Far out to sea familiar music sounded over the waves and wind.

  The Widow Maker had begun to sing as it had in Melia, weaving its terrible tune and ensnaring the minds of all who heard it.

  Urgolath's song! Omen's stomach dropped. I can hear it . . . Kyr was warning me.

  Mournful and melodic, the song of the Widow Maker reached across the water with vicious intent. Omen felt the beating pulse of the percussion throb through the ship's deck and tremble through the waves surrounding them. The notes, haunting and echoing, nearly disrupted the low background sounds of his own psionic shield. Urgolath sang of loss and sorrow, calling the living to join the dead.

  "Shield your minds!" Omen called out as he fortified his own shield. He knew the moment the warning had left his lips that it would do no good. Liethan, Templar, and Kadana all had enough minor psionic ability to shield themselves from the song's harrowing effect — but he doubted the crew could protect themselves.

  "Omy! Omy!" Tormy wailed, confirming his fear. The large cat held down two sailors who were trying to leap from the ship. He'd stuck his claws through the sailors' belts and pinned them in place. But a third sailor, a tall woman with brown hair, was moving past him, her blank gaze on the water rising and falling with each wave.

  In a surprising move, Tormy hopped forward and kicked the woman in the chest with
one of his back feet, knocking her down. Tormy wiggled and squirmed, still keeping hold of the two men, and then promptly sat down on the fallen sailor.

  The shock of Tormy's impact and of having a horse-sized cat sit on her snapped the woman from her stupor. "It's going to eat me! The cat is going to eat me!" she screamed and flailed about.

  "I is not eatings you! I is savings you!" Tormy protested, discombobulated.

  "Grab the others!" Kadana shouted out as she caught hold of the back of Arbrios' belt, holding him in place when he too headed toward the ship's railing.

  Liethan caught two sailors nearest him, and wound the long rope he was holding around both their bodies. The rope, still attached to the mainsail, held them firmly fixed in place though they still tried to shuffle toward the rail. Across the deck, more apparitions manifested — two ghost women draped in long white gowns, shells and seaweed tangled in their dripping wet hair. The left arm of one had been eaten away, but both forms walked forward toward Liethan, hands extended imploringly.

  Templar raced ahead and cut through them, once again scattering them into the mist.

  "Omen!" Shalonie's voice rang through the night air as she, Kyr, and Dev emerged. Dev slammed the door leading below deck shut behind them, pressing his shoulder against it forcibly. A loud thump sounded, and it tried to swing open, bodily moving Dev who pressed harder to keep it closed. Kyr pushed against the door with his feeble strength.

  "All below are ensnared." Shalonie threw her back against the wood, pressing her feet against the deck. "They'll jump overboard."

  "Need something to bar the way!" Dev shouted as another hard thump nearly threw him back.

  Omen looked around for some sort of bar or barrier even as he shoved his hands up against the wooden frame. His strength far outmatched Dev, Kyr, and Shalonie's might combined, and the door held firmly. "Barrels maybe?" Omen suggested, spying a number of large wooden barrels tied off to one side.

  "We have to get this lot locked up first!" Kadana called down. She had tied off the spokes of the wheel to a steadying rope and was dragging her first mate toward the lower deck. The sailor beneath Tormy was still wailing in protest, sounding as if she were being murdered. Tormy, upset and agitated, thrashed his tail from side to side, striking the screaming woman in the face with each flick.