by Ethan Proud
“Your parentage matters little to me,” the captain snarled.
“But doesn’t it?” Mycorr asked and as he raised his eyebrow the crew of the Obesus Porcer began convulsing and choking out vomit. Their teeth rattled from their skulls, their skin turned green and melted from their bodies and fell in a series of plop plop plops whilst their skeletons brittled and broke.
A few of the pirates turned their stomach as they leaned out over the sea after watching the macabre display. The captain and the sea priest remained unmoved, along with the vilest members of their crew. They stared at all that was left of the Obesus crew: Yaro, Carnegie, Beatrice, and Mycorr.
“If your mother is Detrita, then who is your father?” the plastromancer asked.
“I have no father, but I was sired by none other than Nipor himself,” Mycorr said as his eyes flashed dangerously.
The seapriest smiled broadly. “Then welcome aboard the Mare Helvella.”
Chapter Twenty
Ruckstead crossed Northgate in the quiet of the night. He was half tempted to stop in the sheriff’s office but he had bigger fish to fry. Had he been corporeal the snow would have crunched underfoot and the chill air would have raised gooseflesh across his arms. The full moon bore down overhead. Wilder Ruckstead recalled the last time he had seen a full moon while he had been alive. He chortled a little bit at the thought of Artemisia and himself dying of hypothermia while foxglove, henbane, and monkshood coursed in their veins before Gertrude and Mission had rescued them.
His astral pace quickened as he neared his house. He could have laughed with childlike merriment when he found himself on the threshold of his abode. Gertrude’s garden was perfectly manicured, the winter cover crop had been harvested and the soil was covered with a fine layer of snow. When springtime came the food refuse in a barrel secured from varmints would be stirred into the dirt as compost. The delicate tracks of skunks made many rings around the waste before the animals had realized that no spoils were available to them. In fact, Ruckstead saw a bouncing black and white tail disappearing into the night. He fought the urge to knock on the door, such a human gesture was not fitting of a three years deceased spirit. Instead he melded across the wood and entered his home of many years. His skin crawled when he detected the pervasive presence of his old deputy.
“James Kerfield,” he spoke aloud and waited as the ethereal spirit solidified into a visible ghost before him. While Ruckstead’s spirit was the picture of health, James was not. He had a thick purple bruise ringing his neck and his eyes were recessed in dark, oily pits. His hair and clothes were disheveled and his overall appearance was as if he had just been pulled from the ground.
“Sheriff Ruckstead,” James said bitterly. “I suppose you are here to banish me from your wife’s home.”
“I have been searching the Underworld for you. The dead do not belong here,” Ruckstead said as he pulled up a chair and sat down. He felt a sickness in his stomach as he realized he would never have another meal with his wife and son at this very table.
“And what gave you the idea to look here? Artemisia? She is just as guilty as your wife,” James said angrily.
“They did what they thought was right to protect Northgate. Something that you should have been doing,” Ruckstead said firmly.
“They put a demon inside me!” Kerfield screamed and a gale of wind to match in decibels roared outside.
“Their means were questionable, I will admit. But as a lawman you should have done everything in your power to have killed Vahrun. The citizens of Northgate were your responsibility,” Ruckstead said without raising the tone of his voice or moving from his chair.
“Is that why you killed Kerrick?” Kerfield asked.
Ruckstead didn’t answer.
“So it’s true. You murdered him to protect that witch,” Kerfield said. “You know, I used to look up to you and felt like you and Gertrude were my second family. And this is how I end up treated.”
“James…” Ruckstead started but was interrupted.
“They could have asked! Instead, they kidnapped me for their perverse plan. I deserved to at least have a choice,” James said and his eyes began to water.
“What would you have said? You wouldn’t have given them permission,” Ruckstead said. “Come with me to the Underworld. Your pains will never heal if you dwell on them here. We all make mistakes, it’s time to move past them. Tormenting my family will not bring you peace.”
“It might not bring you peace, but their suffering is enough for me,” James said scathingly, though it lacked conviction.
“And once they are gone from this place, your spirit will linger until you fade into nothingness. Come with me now and you will have a chance for a life after life. You are bound to this place and cannot find your way over to the other side without a guide. Another spirit is not going to come and offer you a second chance. Take my offer, or lose the opportunity forever,” Ruckstead warned.
Kerfield collapsed on the ground in a fit of sobs. He wrapped his arms around his legs and put his head against his knees. He looked so childlike in that moment that Ruckstead rose to his feet, crossed over to his old protégé and sat down next to him. Ruckstead wrapped his arm over Kerfield’s shoulders.
“I had so much more living to do,” James wept.
“Dying is not the end, unless you choose to stay here. When you cross over you will find that death isn’t so different from the world you just left,” Ruckstead said and felt a sympathetic tear roll down his cheek.
“What if I’m scared?” Kerfield sniffled.
“That is why I am here.”
Together the two ghosts slowly began to dissipate as they left the first plane and departed to the Underworld.
Chapter Twenty-one
Captain Johan Davies manned the helm while the sea priest, Morchella Verpa, stood at his right. The Mare Helvella was steered in the direction of the Kirean Isles. Captain Johan had been reluctant when Beatrice and Mycorr told him that they needed to travel to the isles to pay homage to D’rij, but Morchella had been adamant that it had been a sign from the sea god that they had found the two travelers. At Morchella’s behest, the pirates had traded in raiding for a pilgrimage.
“What do we do with the first mate?” Johan asked. Currently both Yaro and Carnegie were bound to the mizzenmast, while Beatrice and Mycorr were free to roam.
“Once we reach the Kireans we will sacrifice him for protection before we journey to D’rij’s Temple,” Morchella answered.
“And you believe this is wise?” Johan asked. “I think our unwelcomed guests are lying about their purpose. And the gods rarely suffer the wills of mortals.”
“But Mycorr is not a mortal,” Morchella countered.
“The gods suffer the wills of other gods even more rarely,” the captain countered and the priest laughed heartily.
“The only thing that will endanger us in the isles is your lack of faith,” Morchella said with a grin.
“I hope you are right,” Johan said and clapped the priest on the shoulder. “Is there any chance that there are prevailing winds in the forecast to speed up this detour?”
“For a man who doesn’t believe you ask a lot from the gods,” Morchella said as he withdrew tobacco and a pipe from a pocket in his jacket.
“That is why I leave the asking to you,” Captain Johan said.
After the priest had packed and sparked his pipe, Johan felt like it was a good idea to have a smoke as well. The two sat puffing on their pipes while the crew scurried about like rats—scuttering across the rigging or stealing below deck for a snack.
Morchella ashed his pipe in his hand, crumbled the embers against his palm and held his hand aloft. The gentle wind wisped the ash away until all that was left was a grey streak across his palm. He put the pipe back in its pocket and reached into another pocket. From it, the priest pulled out a flat, perfectly round rock that was as opalescent as the moon inching across the midday sky.
“Did Mond re
ally give that to you?” Johan asked, having heard the story of how the priest discovered his lucky rock plenty of times.
“I worshipped Mond before I ever found D’rij. But she recognized that the sea was my true home and sent me to the temple of her lover. She gave me this as a token should I ever need her help. My people are not seafarers,” Morchella said. He and Johan had met in their late twenties and now were well into their fifties. The priest stooped and placed the rock on the deck between his feet.
“I should like to see where you hail from,” Johan said.
“You would have to sail for many months to even reach the shore. Besides, a civilized man like yourself would stick out like a sore thumb,” Morchella replied while he fished in one of his pockets and pulled out a vial of white sand. He closed his fist around the sand and held it up to his lips. His cheeks puffed for a moment before they hollowed as he blew the sand out of his hand in a northwesterly direction. The sand disappeared as it was pulled to the horizon and a steady breeze picked up behind them, Morchella’s dreads whipped around his face, and Johan had to grab his hat before it flew into the sea.
***
“They will kill you if you don’t take it,” Captain Yaro told Carnegie as he urged the man to take the token from his hand. They sat bolt upright, tied to the mast with their feet sticking straight out in front of them.
Not for the first time, Carnegie refused it.
“If I take it, then they will kill you,” he hissed.
Captain Yaro swore under his breath. “That is the point. I am a captain without a crew or a ship. I deserve to die.”
A silence settled over the duo as the image of the Obesus Porcer sinking beneath the waves after the crew of the Mare had taken everything and anything of value filled their minds.
“I won’t take it,” Carnegie said stiffly and Yaro swore again. As the wind picked up, so did Carnegie’s impending death.
Chapter Twenty-two
Ruckstead felt guilty about leaving Kerfield in the Underworld when he was summoned back to Artemisia’s cabin but his desire to see the love of his life overwhelmed his feelings of duty to his old deputy. Kerfield was feasting when Artemisia had called Ruckstead back, and the color was finally returning to the young ghost’s face.
The deceased sheriff paced back and forth; had he been alive and weighing the one hundred eighty pounds he had, he would have worn a trail in Artemisia’s floor.
“She will be here soon,” Artemisia said with a smirk.
“I know. It’s been three years, I can’t wait. How do I look?” he asked and the witch laughed. She had never seen the sheriff with such boyish nerves before.
“Very dapper,” she answered.
“Did you tell her I was here?” Ruckstead asked.
“I did not want to spoil the surprise,” Artemisia said.
Ruckstead didn’t answer, but began pacing even quicker. He stopped dead in his tracks when there was a knock upon the door.
“Will she be able to see me?” he whispered.
Artemisia nodded as she went to attend to the door. She swung it open and Gertrude’s eyes went wide when she saw inside the cabin.
“I’ll give you some privacy,” Artemisia said as she ducked out the door.
“Wilder!” Gertrude squealed as she ran towards his embrace. She paused when she was within arm’s reach and gently pressed one hand to his chest as if she expected it to go through, but the enchantments Artemisia placed in the cottage allowed Gertrude to feel a whole body instead of an ethereal chill where her husband stood. Wilder lifted her off her feet in a bear hug that was just as passionate as it had been on their wedding day. They fervently pressed their lips together in a kiss and stayed that way for several long moments before he put her back down on her feet.
“Gertrude, you are as beautiful as the first time I saw you.” Tears glistened in his eyes and the couple laughed, a sad, weary sound.
“I have missed you terribly,” she choked out.
“I’m afraid I can’t stay,” he murmured into her hair as he hugged her again.
“I know. Will you wait for me?” she asked.
Ruckstead’s chest tightened and he found it hard to even think about leaving Gertrude again.
“For as long as it takes.”
***
When Artemisia came back inside Gertrude was sitting alone. Twin trails of tears streaked her cheeks, but she looked truly happy. She had gotten the goodbye that Vahrun had robbed from her.
“I can’t thank you enough,” Gertrude said with a contented sigh.
“It was the least I could do,” Artemisia said. “But you should hurry home. Benjamin is waiting for you.”
Gertrude nodded and gave Artemisia a gentle hug before leaving the cottage. Her home suddenly felt very empty and Artemisia smiled and poured herself a cup of tea as Volker came strutting from his napping nook by the fireplace. All of her debts had been repaid and the witch basked in the sudden peace she felt. She was alone, just how she preferred. She smiled as she took her first sip of tea and stretched her feet out in front of her.
Among the Tides
Book Three
Chapter Twenty-three
The Kirean Archipelago grew on the horizon as the Mare Helvella sped towards the isles. Beatrice felt well rested. She had been given the sea priest’s quarters while he slept below deck with the rest of the crew. Mycorr was not given a proper bed to sleep on and spent his nights in a hammock. Yaro and Carnegie were still tied to the mast and were stinking and hungry.
Beatrice and Mycorr were summoned to the captain’s quarters to eat with Johan and Morchella. The captain’s room was actually comprised of a study, a sleeping area, and a dining room. The study boasted an impressive library of books in mint condition. Astounded, Beatrice asked which ones he had read, to which he replied, “All of them.”
They sat down to a lunch of smoked and salted lamb, fresh caught fish, pickled asparagus and beets, lemon rinds, and stale bread. Beatrice’s mouth watered when she saw the green stalks. To accompany the food red wine was served in a less than judicious serving.
“What is your true intention of travelling to the Kireans?” Captain Johan asked seconds after the first bite. He was clearly not a man to mince words.
“You don’t trust us,” Beatrice said and smiled with her lips tight.
“I would be a fool to do so,” Johan said. It wasn’t in good nature, though the statement also didn’t feel callous.
Beatrice and Mycorr exchanged a glance before they decided to tell the truth through their unspoken communication.
“We seek a favor from the gods, and my mother is out due to her relationship with Nipor. Beatrice is not likely to find any goodwill with Mond after her three years of servitude,” Mycorr provided. “The Lord of the Tides is the most volatile and ambitious god I know of. If any has the gumption to challenge Nipor, it is him.”
“Challenge Nipor?” Morchella said, jaw agape. He placed a hand in front of his lips lest he appeared uncouth.
“He has slighted me and cursed Beatrice with a life of wandering—though his siblings played a part in that,” Mycorr answered.
“You say that D’rij is ambitious… I believe that you are even more so,” Johan said pensively.
“I have dealt with demons, served a goddess, and wandered the planes of the Underworld,” Beatrice began. “I have little to fear from one of the Fates.”
“What were you in life before you were touched by the divine?” Morchella answered.
“I was the Secretary of the Town of Northgate,” she answered boldly, knowing just how ridiculous it sounded.
Morchella and Johan split into broad grins.
“You may just be the craziest woman I have ever met,” the captain beamed.
“Given your likely dealings with prostitutes, that is not flattering,” Beatrice said with a flirtatious smile.
The trio of humans fell into laughter and Mycorr remained unmoved. Mortals were strange.
; The group continued to talk and eat. Beatrice wolfed down the asparagus like it was her last meal. The fish was unlike the brook and brown trout that she had caught in mountain streams, but she savored it just the same.
“So how will you sacrifice Carnegie?” Mycorr asked.
The table grew silent for a moment. The question itself was not awkward but its timing was.
Johan continued to munch on his food for a minute before answering. “Pro’ly keel haul him.”
The Captain looked over to Morchella who nodded, “That would please D’rij.”
“Keel haul?” Beatrice asked.
“Tie him up and drag him beneath the boat,” Captain Johan said.
“How many times?” Beatrice asked and Johan nearly snorted his wine out his nose.
“Very few people survive being dragged once. The ones who do have bled enough to call all manner of sharks and fishes. Takes the whole crew to drag them out of the water,” Morchella answered solemnly. “But D’rij will be pleased.”
“Where do all these creatures come from? The sea seems so still,” Beatrice asked innocently. She had seen a few birds snipping at the surface, albatrosses and seagulls, and the schools of fish which they feasted on.
Morchella smiled darkly. “They follow the ship, multitudes, right beneath the waves. They seek our refuse, our waste, and anyone who may be cast aboard. The oceans are a deeper and more mysterious place than any you could have ever experienced.”
Beatrice fought the urge to shudder and the hairs on the back of her neck and arms stood on end as an icy chill ran down her spine. She combatted it with another taste of asparagus.
“And you aren’t concerned about them ever assaulting the ship?” she asked, feigning curiosity rather than concern.