Ageless Fury

by S L Matthews

  Viktor stepped again and planted his foot into Ava’s stomach, his metal boot sinking into the pit of her abdomen. A sick, guttural sound emerged as blood and vomit spewed forth, coating his foot and the hem of his silken robe.

  The enraged man stopped to look down at his ruined robe and soiled boot. The anger grew in his eyes. Ava lay there, emitting noises barely audible as human. Her senses were fading. Her life was nearing an end. Her mind retracted as thoughts of her miserable life came to the forefront.

  Ava fought for life. No, she fought for death. While she held onto her last breath, Viktor raised his boot high over her head. He clenched his teeth, snarled, and brought the metal framed weapon down upon her.

  Ava’s breathing had stopped, but the flow of blood did not. Viktor’s breath slowed and his eyes opened. He looked down at the bloodied body at his feet, uncertainty and fear stretching across his face.

  “Stupid bitch,” he snarled. “Looks like you wet yourself for nothing, Thibold,” he said as he puffed out his chest. Viktor spun around, startled to find his prospective business partner on the far side of the room, coated in vomit. Viktor grinned while Thibold wept.

  “The corner, you say?” Viktor added with a malevolent smile.

  Thibold’s expression morphed into a snarl of contempt and the personification of guilt. “You’re a damned fool,” he said. His voice turned submissive, desperate to avoid Ava’s fate. “You have no idea what you’ve just done.”

  “I’m sorry to say,” Thibold began, shaking. “The Crimson Merchant Guild of Crossroads will not be doing business today, Mr. Wray.” He straightened slightly, but his anxiety was palpable. Viktor stared at Thibold, soaking in the words.

  Viktor took in a long, steady breath. He turned and shut both doors, then flicked his wrist to lock them in place. He clenched his teeth and spoke in a hushed tone. “It takes a certain strength,” he began. He knelt before Ava’s helpless body and grabbed the purple lotus hilt. “To do business in a city like Wyvern’s Rest,” he said as he yanked. The blade slipped out with a sickened slurch, followed by a stream of blood and a pathetic whimper.

  Thibold swallowed as Viktor gripped the dagger in one hand, the candlestick in the other, and advanced. “Bu—but you don’t understand—”

  From the doorway emerged a cough. Both men paused as silence fell across the room. Gooseflesh covered Viktor’s body and the little color remaining in Thibold’s face faded. Viktor snarled, turning back to the double doors. Ava lay limp near the hallway, a stream of blood trickling from her mouth. She coughed again.

  Viktor studied the frosted weapon in his hand, its sleek blue blade concealed by layers of blood. “You lied to me,” he said, his gaze drifting back to Thibold. “You said this weapon—“

  “No!” Thibold interrupted. “I told you to listen.” Tears once again fell from his face. His lips quivered and fear consumed him. “They said this was how it would happen.”

  Viktor’s fury had returned, his eyes focused on the stuttering businessman.

  “They said you’d try to kill her,” Thibold said as he backed into Viktor’s oversized chair, lifting his hands in defense. “Now wait—just listen to me” he begged, his escape cut short. He screamed. “You’ve killed us all!”

  Viktor closed and swung the candlestick with all his might. The left side of Thibold’s head gave way, the candlestick landing just behind his jaw. As the portly legs buckled, Viktor leaned in with the stiletto dagger.

  The blade slipped in to the hilt just beneath Thibold’s chin.

  The businessman slumped against the edge of the chair while a hint of blue frost lifted from behind his head. Viktor held the weapon in place, stared into the startled eyes, and released. The body collapsed to the floor with a thud as blood pooled from the wounds to his head and neck.

  Viktor knelt beside the rotund body, watching it twitch. He composed himself, then uttered, “Speak for yourself.” He spit upon Thibold’s body as his nose and lips curled upward in disgust, then reached into the stained, white robes.

  His anger turned to panic while his hands rifled through the layers of blood-stained silken robe. He felt his own robes in a moment of uncertainty, then looked back to the oversized chair.

  Where’s the satchel? Where’s my—amulet?

  Viktor’s frenzied search continued as he scoured the table and chair. He screamed in agony and thrashed into the chair, slicing into the upholstery. He launched his arms across the large, oak table, sending most of its contents crashing to the floor. Viktor’s chest heaved as his mind searched for answers. He then glowered at the bloody blade and candlestick before turning his attention toward Ava’s battered body in the doorway as she desperately gasped for air.

  “Where is it, bitch?” He scowled. “Do you have any idea how much that amulet cost me?” With deadly intent, he advanced upon Ava and reached for her limp body. He seized her by the throat with one hand, and reached between her legs with the other. With the strength of a raging animal, he picked her up and hurled her back toward the center of the room.

  She tumbled through the air and crashed onto the old table. Wine glasses, books, candles, and papers all slid with her as she flew off the far side, into the darkened corner. Her body crashed against the wall, covered in debris, broken glass, and wine.

  Viktor took in a long, steady breath, then turned and retrieved his bloodied weapons. He examined the dagger’s elaborate hilt while his mind drifted to another time and place. Viktor then twisted the dagger in his hand and approached Ava. Her broken body lay in the corner, covered in fragments of glass, surrounded by brilliant gems of every shape and color, each reflecting the light of the morning sun.

  Fury returned to Viktor’s thoughts.

  Ava cracked open her eye and caught a glimpse of her windowsill while the sound of boots thundered across the floor. She remembered the cloud of dust beyond the city walls. She remembered the people and the lives that were not hers. She remembered the vessel of hopes and dreams. She would join them—at last, she would be free.

  | Chapter XII

  Bubble of Hope

  Taryn’s hands burned as they clung to the crippled vessel. He pulled himself up to look beyond the broken quarterdeck, back to the burning deck of the Promenade. Through the haze, he made out the image of Cooper, shifting away as the flames crawled ever closer. Or, at least he tried. All around was fire, smoke, and the stench of charred flesh. Masts and sails had fallen across all three ships and Cooper and Jorel were pinned between the cabin wall and the flames, a fishing net stretched across them. The deck of the Orcus was now several feet above the Promenade—and rising.

  Cooper fought to free himself from the net, twisting and flailing about, but it only entangled him more. Taryn watched in horror as his older brother collapsed back to the deck, the flames creeping closer. The black waters of the Abyssal Sea were now inches away, littered with bodies of passengers, dead pirates, and burned soldiers.

  As the flames engulfed the battered deck, the ropes and sails ignited. The air filled with burning bits of fabric, falling like snow across the scene. The ‘snowflakes of fire’ sizzled when they landed into the water below, or flared when they landed on the deck, rope, or dead bodies. The fires grew, the morning breeze fanning the flames.

  “Hang on!” Taryn shouted. Cooper looked up, his usually aloof expression disturbingly absent. “I’m coming down! Somehow,” Taryn mumbled as he looked around the shattered deck.

  “That would be ideal, little brother!” Cooper shouted back, though his voice lacked the sarcasm Taryn was accustomed to.

  Taryn surveyed the tangled web of sails and cables from the fallen masts. He slipped off his belt, then stood to balance himself on the top deck. As his mind calculated, he heard a loud thwack! near his feet. He stumbled, falling back to the deck, then lifted his head to see a crossbow bolt wedged a few inches from his face. He scanned across the ship and saw a Cyrean soldier kneeling on the deck of the Orcus. He loaded another bolt into his cross
bow and took aim.

  “Oh, you've gotta be kidding me!” Taryn yelled as he refocused on the fallen mast. Stand up, Taryn. Stand…up! He cursed his luck, jumped to his feet, and lunged. He flung his belt around the nearest yard, catching it as it wrapped around. He pulled the ends together and hoisted himself up as another thwack landed just by his shoulder.

  Taryn looked back toward the soldier and mumbled under his breath, “What am I doing up here?” Shaking his head in disbelief, he reached up and clung to the broken yard, then felt the large mast list toward the sea. He watched as the black waters drew closer. Taryn’s eyes then darted back to the soldier, who was loading yet another bolt. Damn him!

  He scurried up the belt and dove for the mast as its tip plunged into the dark waters. Taryn pulled himself up as the mast rolled onto its end. The mighty timber angled upward while it continued its decent into the icy waters, raising Taryn high above the broken deck. His feet slipped as he leapt forward, falling onto the Promenade’s main mast, still clinging to the Orcus.

  Taryn misjudged the distance and landed with a thud. He clawed at the mast while his body slid backwards. Another thwack! rang out as a bolt slammed in front of his face.

  “I’m not one of them, dammit!” Taryn shouted. He hung lower, hiding his body behind the large mast. As he felt his grip failing, he yelled back to the soldier in desperation, “You’re firing on a civilian!”

  Taryn listened, but heard no response. He waited for the next bolt to land, but knew his grip would not hold long.

  “Taryn” came a hysterical shout from below. Taryn peeked under his armpit to see Cooper’s waist, now underwater. Flames had reached the ends of the net, lighting a fiery trail to Cooper and Jorel.

  “They’re shooting at me!” Taryn yelled, his words wrapped in frustration.

  “Jump down. I’ll give you some cover!” Cooper shouted, diving into his vest pocket once more.

  Taryn rolled his eyes. “Jump, he says.” He looked down to the battered deck, strewn with fallen debris, bodies, and flame. “That’s just great,” he continued. He sighed, then let go, tumbling from the mast, crashing onto the burning deck. He landed with a profound thud, enveloped in a thick, billowing cloud of smoke.

  Dense fog poured from underneath Taryn. Within moments, the deck was concealed from the rails of the Orcus. Taryn groaned and opened his eyes, but was unable to see through the billowing smoke. He thought the fall had blinded him, but subtle hints of light rippled through. He heard a familiar THWACK near his head, and saw the subtle outline of a crossbow bolt a few feet from him.

  Cooper called through the fog, “Nice landing. Now, if you wouldn’t mind?”

  Taryn spun toward the source, then lifted himself off the deck and staggered through the deep blanket of fog. A few seconds later, another crossbow bolt found its way to the deck. The soldier was still firing, though the fog concealed Taryn’s true location. He crawled along the deck until he felt the sting of the sea. A sharp pain surged through his hands, compliments of the icy water. Another crossbow bolt ricocheted in the distance while Taryn felt for the fallen mast, knowing it led to Cooper. He listened for the sarcastic demands—but they had stopped.

  Taryn leaned forward, feeling his way across the deck. The water made it up to his waist, but there was still no sign of Cooper or Jorel. He stood up to see above the fog and hit his head on something large. His ears rang and his head ached as he found the mast he was looking for. Taryn knelt lower and whispered, “Hey!”

  There was no response.

  He squinted through the fog. “Coop,” he said a little louder, but still no answer.

  The water was now chest high and climbing as Taryn crawled into the sea, guided by the large mast. His breaths were shallow as the bite of ice water crept ever higher. “Keep walking, Taryn…just keep walking,” he whispered, hoping to provide much needed reassurance. The flames from the Promenade created shadows that bounced through the fog, and fighting aboard the pirate ship drowned any chance to hear Cooper. Taryn strained his ears and waded farther into the sea.

  He winced in pain and lifted himself above the waterline. The wind had dispersed most of the fog and he could see the outline of the Promenade’s deck. To his horror, the cabin was no longer visible, replaced by choppy, obsidian waves.

  Taryn sighed and looked back to the Orcus, his mind weighing his chance of survival. As the ghostly silhouette faded into obscurity, he turned toward the cabin and peered into the blackened abyss.

  “Bubbles,” he whispered. A steady stream of air emerged from the water about ten feet away. He drew a big breath and dove under the waves. Cooper was pinned against the deck, feverishly sawing the net with a small dagger, a steady stream of bubbles rising from his mouth. Jorel lay next to him, tugging against the ropes, a small, clear vial wedged between his lips.

  Taryn swam down and tested the net. It was hopelessly tangled in debris, wedged in place by the Promenade’s hulking mast. He joined Jorel and tugged against the net, but it was pulled tight. He braced his feet on the deck, wedged his shoulder under the mast, and lifted. It did not budge. He repositioned his feet and braced once more. With all his might, he pressed against the massive timber, but nothing. Out of breath, he swam back to the top and found himself once again in fog.

  After another deep breath, Taryn dove toward Cooper. Once again, he tugged against the net and tested the mast, but to no avail. Jorel exchanged the vial with Cooper, then reached through the netting, tugging at his cutlass on Taryn’s waist. With a shrug, Cooper pulled the vial from his lips and offered it to his brother.

  Jorel withdrew his weapon and methodically sawed through the net. One by one, the strands snapped away and the opening grew larger. In time, all three men took a sip from the vial and headed for the surface.

  The trio emerged from the water with a surge, the sounds of the battle still raging high above. “Pirates?” Taryn yelled, reaching for Cooper. “You’re both pirates?”

  Jorel extended his arm in front of Taryn, pushing him away from his brother. “You’re just a damn kid. You wouldn’t understand.”

  “Understand? I wouldn’t—“ Taryn whirled around as the tip of the Promenade disappeared in a sea of black. “I was on that ship. Men, women.” He shook his head in disbelief. “Children were on that ship!”

  Cooper tugged on Taryn’s vest, thrusting a finger to the faded silhouette of Wyvern’s Rest. “And they all left. Left us to rot in our own Hell!” His voice calmed while his gaze fell back to Taryn. “Don’t you get it? We fend for ourselves, or we die. We have to take what we need to—“

  “And why do you need a stupid amulet, Coop? How does it save you?” Taryn interjected, staring down his older brother.

  Cooper and Jorel exchanged curious glances, a hint of shame in their eyes.

  “Yeah, I heard you,” Taryn continued. “And I met one of Rowan’s men, dressed like the f—fat man in the tavern.” The frigid sensation against Taryn’s skin was fading, replaced by numbness in his fingers and toes. His teeth chattered and his breaths grew shallow.

  “Anyway, wh—what do we do—now?” he asked.

  While the Orcus burned like a torch upon the water, Cooper turned toward the pirate ship, then paused to listen for the sounds of battle. “We climb.”

  In silent agreement, they pushed toward the pirate ship’s hull, greeted by the sound of swords clashing and men screaming. Taryn grimaced as his body shivered uncontrollably.

  Cooper reached for ropes hanging from the deck and looped them under Taryn’s arms. “Him first,” he said, looking at Jorel.

  Jorel scowled, “Ya dun know what’s goin’ on up there. We’re safer in the water.”

  Cooper looked up to the deck, then back to Taryn.

  “We are,” Cooper said, nodded towards Taryn. “But he’s not.”

  The numbness overtook Taryn and his vision blurred. Cooper and Jorel studied the hull of their ship and the fighting taking place high above.

  Cooper’s eyes sof
tened and Taryn’s spirit lifted…for a moment. He knew the expression meant his brother either thought of a great idea, or just came up with something truly clever to say. As feeling drifted from his toes, Taryn prayed it was the former.

  “Jorel…Heartshorne,” Cooper said, a smile across his face.

  Jorel rolled his eyes.

  “Coop, not this again. There’s no princess and now there’s no Par…”

  “No,” Cooper interrupted. “We were on a Cambrian galleon, filled to its ears with blue cloaks. How did we escape with her?”

  Jorel’s eyes searched the sky, obviously not following Cooper’s question. “We torched it.”

  Cooper pulled Taryn closer, working toward the massive, blackened hull.

  “Don’t worry, he’ll get there soon. Let’s get you dry,” he said, reaching for a rope.

  Jorel’s face slowly morphed from confusion to understanding, back to confusion. He scanned the large ship before his gaze fell back to Taryn’s brother.

  “Eh…Coop. Are you about to ask me to do something stupid?” Jorel asked.

  Cooper pulled Taryn’s face to his, meeting his gaze. He offered a sly wink and a crooked smile…his trademark look.

  “Wouldn’t have it any other way,” he added.

  Jorel shook his head in defiance, drifting away from the ropes.

  “Coop. But, this is our ship!”

  “We may not have to burn it,” Cooper snapped, lunging for the barnacle-encrusted vessel. “I’m just saying, listen for my cue.”

  Jorel grumbled and pushed away from the ship.

  “Fine,” he scoffed. “But, you go first,” he added with a hint of spite.

  Cooper smiled and reached for the rope.