by Martin Frowd
A barefoot, cruel-faced Druid, in a hooded robe of brown silk.
“You have led us a long dance, abomination,” the Druid glared at Zarynn, and Zarynn fancied that he could hear something of the lion’s growl in the voice of the man. “But it ends here. Back to your clan you will go now, for an overdue reunion with the execution tree, and the stoning you deserve for your crimes. Your life is over.”
FIVE: THE ISLE OF CROWS
Earlier the same afternoon
Several hundred miles to the southwest of the Hills of Dusk, across a wide channel of water known to the tribes as the Bay of Dusk, the summer sun shone down upon a sandy island, almost bare but for the occasional stand of prickly cactus. Crows, gulls and other birds wheeled in the sky, occasionally plunging to catch an unwary rodent that poked its head out of the sand or a fish that came too near to the surface of the sea that lapped at the island’s shores. The birds nimbly avoided the stinking, rotting walking corpses of men that shambled unpredictably back and forth across the sand. Once in a while, one of the animated dead men came close enough to notice a bird and tried to grab it out of the air, but the birds were much too quick to let themselves be so easily caught. Occasionally, two of the zombies collided, whereupon they would do battle, grappling and battering at one another until only one remained standing. Then the victor would shamble off again, its victory immediately forgotten, and the loser, if not entirely torn asunder, would eventually pick itself up and shamble off too. But barring direct collisions, the zombies ignored each other.
Had the birds possessed either the intelligence or the interest to care, they could have noted that some of the shambling zombies were fairly freshly dead and barely beginning to stink at all, while others were in an advanced state of decomposition. The newer corpses were still clothed in damaged but identifiable hide and leather clothing, while the more thoroughly rotted zombies had long since lost what semblance of garments they might have had. A few discarded spears and knives littered the sand, some bloodied, some rusted through, others still shiny, clearly lost before their owners could make use of them. But such things were of no interest to the circling birds, nor to the shambling once-men.
In a sheltered cove off the northwestern shore of the island, a ship wrought from black timbers sat at anchor. Its sails were secured, and no wind filled them. The birds overhead and the walking dead men on the beach alike went about their business in ignorance, unable to see the ship and none the wiser that it was even there. But the crew and passengers on the ship could see the island only too well.
Anjali stood at the ship’s starboard guardrail, looking out over the beach where the zombies wandered aimlessly. From time to time, she glanced across the deck at the port side, at the great expanse of blue sea and blue sky, and the horizon where she could barely make out the line of hills on the coast of the larger landmass to their northeast. The Hills of Dusk, she knew from her studies of this primitive land. Master, what’s taking so long? She wondered silently. The Master had been gone longer on this pickup than on any of the others on this trip, nearly four days now. Although she knew that he had Furiosa, and surely would have made use of her to fly as close to the pickup as might be, still she worried.
Irritably, she reached into one of the pockets of her purple robe and extracted a long dark brown cigarette. Bringing it to her lips, she used silent magic to invoke a fingerflame, one of the pettiest uses of the art, lit her cigarette, and took a deep drag. Her mood improved as the scented tabaq began to work its herbal magic on her. She blew a plume of smoke out toward the beach of shambling zombies, who remained fully unaware of her presence, and relaxed.
A few minutes passed as Anjali stood smoking at the guardrail of the ship, before she both heard and felt heavy booted feet approaching from behind her.
“Hello, Rathgar,” she greeted the new arrival calmly, without turning.
“Ach, lassie, how d’ye dae that?” the first mate of the ship grumbled. “It’s as uncanny as having eyes in yer rear! Er – the rear o’ yer heid, anyway.”
“Rathgar,” Anjali sighed in amusement, exhaling smoke over the guardrail. “It’s scarcely difficult. No-one else on this ship stomps about as heavily as you do. I can feel it in the deck! Never mind hear it. I see why your people don’t often take to the sea, if they’re all as awkward as you, even without the steel in your boots.”
“Ach, lassie, Furiosa’s nae lightfoot neither -”
“Rathgar,” this time Anjali turned to face the first mate so that she could roll her eyes at him. “Furiosa is thirty feet long! More, if you count her tail. This ship is only a hundred feet, so when our flying fury moves across the deck, the entire ship feels it. But right now, she’s not here, so the only leadfoot on board at this moment is you.”
The dwarven first mate shrugged, stroking his bushy red beard. Anjali took another drag on her half-smoked cigarette, flicked ash over the side of the ship into the water, and looked him up and down, from the beard down to his steel-toed boots by way of the twin pistols and axe thrust into his belt. The dwarf claimed to be tall for his people, but he was more than a foot shorter than her. He was stocky for his height, though, with broad shoulders that flexed under his leather jerkin.
“So, what can I do for the illustrious first mate of this fine vessel?” Anjali bobbed for a moment in a mockery of a curtsey, but the smile she offered him was as genuine as she ever gave anyone. “Crew not keeping you busy today?”
“Ach, there’s nae much tae dae while we’re sat here awaiting Himself,” the dwarf grumbled. “I were sure he’d be back by now, I were. Thought I’d come see how the afternoon were keeping ye, lassie.”
“Well, the weather’s just fine, Rathgar, but I can’t say much for the local scenery,” Anjali nodded toward the island’s beach where the zombies continued to shamble aimlessly.
“Ach, ye’ll nae get me tae disagree there, lassie!” the dwarf howled with laughter, slapping his thighs in their leather breeches. “Reckon I’ll keep me distance from yon puir buggers o’er there, reckon I will. Dinnae want tae end up one o’ ‘em meself,” his tone took on a more serious edge. “Though ye’d ken more about that way o’ things than meself.”
“The Master is the real expert though,” Anjali observed, exhaling smoke as she glanced across the deck again to where she could just about see the hazy outline of the Hills of Dusk on the portside horizon, far across the bay.
“Aye, reckon that Himself is,” the dwarf agreed soberly, “and dinnae worry yerself lassie, he’ll be back right enough. Yon Druid lads’ll nae keep Himself from us. And that’s afore ye even count Furiosa, aye? They’ll be back soon enough wi’ yon last foundling, and then we can be raising anchor and making for friendlier waters, aye?”
“I’m sure you’re right,” Anjali sighed, drawing on her cigarette again and blowing a long plume of smoke landward. “I just wasn’t expecting it to take so long. The Master insisted this last one is the one with the strongest natural Gift, and you know that often means the strongest future potential too, so maybe he had to be extra cautious to grab the boy without being caught. Although you know all of the other pickups on this trip have been quick enough.”
“Ye’re wishing ye’d gone wi’ Himself again, aye lassie?” the dwarf nodded perceptively. “Like ye did on all t’other pickups, aye?”
“I was useful, Rathgar! My illusion Gift kept us from being discovered and my charm Gift meant I could scout out the approaches to each pickup more accurately and calm the foundlings when we took them – I speak the language of the local tribes far better than either Farouk or the Master does, you know.”
“And ye dinnae ken ye’re useful here?” the dwarf retorted incredulously. “Lassie, yer Gifts’re wha’s keeping us all from being discovered by them puir rotting buggers yonder, nae tae mention any Druid as takes it intae his heid tae fly o’er here! And hell-birds, sea serpents, and wild dragonhawks and who kens wha else! Nae tae mention keeping yon bairns becalmed while we all wait fer Hims
elf tae make it back wi’ yon last wee lad. Aye, I ken Himself’s had a longer and harder time o’ it this here time, wi’out yerself, but dinnae ken fer a minute as he dinnae ken wha he were doing when he had ye stay behind this time.”
“You’re really sure of that?” Anjali questioned, taking another long drag and blowing a jet of smoke out toward the zombie-infested beach.
“Ach, lassie, lassie,” the dwarf grinned at her. “Ye may’ve kenned Himself since ye were a wee thing, but this here’s the first year ye’ve sailed wi’ us on one o’ these trips, being newly prenticed and all. Himself’s been chartering us fer his yearly harvesting voyages twice as long as ye’ve e’en been alive, ye ken, and now and then he’s run intae a spot o’ bother, aye? Nae always in these parts, some years we’ve sailed tae yon frozen north instead, see? Yon northlanders’re nae always keen on Himself taking their bairns neither, and a time or twain we’ve had tae make a run fer it. Rather here than there, I reckon. Yon Druid lads’re nowt but trouble, but they dinnae ken much about ships nor sea, nae like northlanders. Ships were invented in yon northlands, aye?”
“Oh, Rathgar,” Anjali sighed, wisps of smoke escaping her lips. “Maraport is the greatest trading port in the world, you know. We’ve had ships just as long as any one of the northern kingdoms – yes, and sailors too!”
“Ach, lassie, happen I werenae only on about yer humanfolk kingdoms, ye ken? Aye, ye’ve right o’ it in so much as yer ancestors and the northlings built their first ships round about the same time, I reckon. But yer folk werenae always around, ye ken? This here world’s older’n yer humanfolk, and it had ships long afore yer first ancestors stepped through their portals, aye? It were elderfolk – titans, ye call ‘em – as built first ships, far up north, tae sail yon Sea o’ Winter tae lands where winter’s chill dinnae freeze yer arse tae yer breeches, see? Afore me own first ancestors e’er lived, ne’er mind yer own.”
“And the titans are long gone, Rathgar,” Anjali chuckled. “They were gone before my ancestors ever stepped through the portals, as you put it. I do know something of ancient history, Rathgar. Credit me with some education?”
“Aye, lassie, I ken right enough who yer pa is,” the dwarf grinned at her. Anjali grimaced for a moment, but if he caught the motion, Rathgar gave no sign of it before continuing. “Aye, lassie, elderfolk’re gone, true enough. But giantfolk, as served yon elderfolk? That’s another tale, aye? Giantkin’re still wi’ us, and it were giants as taught yon northlander humanfolk shipwrighting ways, when humanfolk first came along – ‘tis why northlanders’ve t’best ships o’ war, e’en if yer own kin have trading vessels just as good, aye? Yon northlander sailors’ll chase ye like hounds, where Druids’ll gi’ it up once ye pass beyond sight o’ land. Why, the tales I could tell ye…”
“Many tales you have already told,” a new voice purred right behind him. “Some, am think, are even true.”
“Blast it, Kitty!” Rathgar jumped in surprise, and his heavy boots came down hard on the deck when he landed. “What have I told ye about sneaking up behind folk like that, aye?”
“Is not my name. And you have said is much fine thing to be swift, silent and stealthy.”
“In a fight, aye! Not creeping around behind folk on deck while we’re at bluidy anchor, drat it Kitty!”
“Is not my name,” the newcomer repeated. “Kitithraza Stalks-the-Wind I am called. Kitithraza Stalks-the-Wind you will call me.”
Anjali drew on her cigarette to disguise a chuckle at the standoff and gave Kitithraza a slow appreciative look from head to toes and back up again. One of the felis, the cat folk, she stood a couple of inches taller than Anjali, and towered over Rathgar. Sleek black fur covered her body, from the tips of the pointed ears that crowned her feline head to the end of her long tail. Her claws on both hands and feet were currently retracted, but Anjali knew that they were wickedly sharp when extruded. Her eyes were a brilliant green, with the slitted pupils of her people’s feline ancestry. A complex-looking web-harness of criss-crossing leather straps was the only garment or adornment she wore, fastened around her neck and waist and across her breasts, festooned with sealed pouches and secured sheaths that made no sound as she prowled on the ship’s deck.
“Now then Kitty lassie, ye’re fergetting who’s first mate here and who’s a casual hire, aye?” Rathgar grinned good-naturedly up at the felis. “If I’ve a mind tae call ye Kitty, I’ll bluidy call ye Kitty, and that’s an end o’ it. Seems tae me as how every ship should have its own kitty, aye? Reckon we’ve nae seen hint o’ mouse nor rat since we took ye on. Reckon as how that deserves reward, aye? Nice bowl of milk for the kitty, aye Kitty Kitty Kitty?”
The felis barely seemed to move, but suddenly two of the sheaths fixed to her harness were empty and twin falchions of gleaming steel were in her black-furred hands and pressed against Rathgar’s chin.
“Am think your face-fur has muffled your words,” she mused aloud. “All these tendays you have meant to say my proper name. But does not come out right. Is easily fixed.”
“Ach, lassie, lassie, nae me beard, nae me bluidy beard! I were but jesting wi’ ye. Kitithraza it is, tae be sure, as Them Above and Below and off tae bluidy side are me witness! Nae me beard!” Rathgar looked pleadingly to Anjali, who was shaking with laughter even as she took a last drag on her spent cigarette and dropped it over the side into the narrow stretch of water between the ship and the zombie-infested beach.
“Let him go, my Kitiyeh,” Anjali smiled at the felis. “I think he’s learned his lesson, don’t you?”
As swiftly as they had been drawn, the two curved blades were sheathed again, and the dwarf was patting at his beard as if to reassure himself that it was indeed still attached. Kitithraza ignored Rathgar’s sigh of relief as she stretched out one black-furred hand to Anjali, palm up, and stared expectantly at her. Anjali rolled her eyes as she delved into her robe pocket and fished out two long cigarettes, lit them both with a single silently invoked fingerflame and handed one to the felis, then drew on her own and exhaled smoke out over the guardrail.
“Weren’t ye below deck guarding stores, Kitithraza lassie?” Anjali noted Rathgar’s careful use of the felis’ proper name this time as the first mate finished smoothing down his beard.
“Was. Not now,” Kitithraza shrugged. “Bored. Stores are safe, and two-legged puppy annoying me.”
“Ach, lassie, ye’re still not getting this here concept o’ chain o’ command, aye?” Rathgar grumbled, but there was no heat in his voice. “Tell me ye at least handed off guard duty tae someone else wi’ a sensible heid on their shoulders, so we’ve nae tae worry about these lazy louts getting soused on rum!” The dwarf nodded his head in the general direction of a trio of sailors going about their duties across the deck and studiously avoiding catching his gaze.
“Did. Was bored, not stupid. Quartermaster in charge below, sent me up. Two-legged puppy annoying him too.” Kitithraza drew deeply on the cigarette in her furry hand and disdainfully blew smoke over the ship’s side, showing a trace of gleaming fangs and twitching her whiskers. Anjali nearly choked on her own smoke from laughing. Her long, dangling earrings jingled as she laughed.
“Ach, well now lassies, reckon as how that lad has a way wi’ folk, aye?” the first mate suggested with a touch more diplomacy in his tone.
“Rathgar, dear, you mean he has a way of annoying folk, which comes from being a prize idiot, even if a noble idiot,” Anjali smiled sweetly at the dwarf.
“Well lassie, reckon maybe not all the prentices as Himself’s ever brought on these here trips have yer own charm and grace, aye?”
“Two-legged puppy keeps asking me how to convince you to mate with him,” Kitithraza bluntly informed Anjali. Rathgar winced, but Anjali merely grimaced. “Makes big puppy eyes when speaks your name. Told him, if keeps asking, would fix him. Then mating no longer his problem.”
“Lassie, ye cannae go maiming noblemen,” Rathgar groaned. “Making eunuchs o’ ‘em most especially.
His pa’d object fer sure.”
“Did not maim. Not yet. And his sire is not here.”
“Nay, but ye’ll be sailing back wi’ us when Himself gets here, and ye dinnae want trouble wi’ noblemen and magistrates and such when we make home port again,” the dwarf sighed. “Anjali, lassie, reckon ye can keep this fierce bloodthirsty lassie out of trouble for now, aye?”
“Bloodthirsty? Am not vampire.”
“Ach, it were but an expression, Kitithraza lassie. Ye ken right well what I be meaning. Anjali, lassie? A wee bit o’ help, aye?”
“I’ll do my best, Rathgar dear,” Anjali smiled sweetly at the dwarf. Rathgar nodded and stomped off across the deck, each heavy-booted tread reverberating through the timbers, leaving Anjali and Kitithraza standing by the guardrail, smoking and looking out over the beach where the zombies shambled. Anjali turned to glance out to sea again. After a moment, Kitithraza took Anjali’s free hand in hers and squeezed it gently, her fur silky against the human’s skin.
“Master will come back. Do not worry,” the felis insisted. “Demon priests will not catch him, he is too crafty.”
“They call themselves Druids here, remember?” Anjali corrected her. “Not like the priests back home – nor the druids back home, either. They have some different Gifts, can change into different beasts. Some can even change into hell-beasts!”
“Demon priest is demon priest,” Kitithraza shrugged her furry shoulders. “Different powers, same stupid. Has been long time, ever since Tyrant bound Those Who Sleep and stole eastern priests from Huntsman.”
“Druids,” Anjali corrected again, although with a smile.
“Druids, then.” Kitithraza accepted. “Not true druids, who still follow Huntsman and old ways, but still. Master is too crafty. Do not worry. Master will come, and we will sail.”
“I hope you’re right,” Anjali responded. Human and felis both turned back to watch the beach, smoking their cigarettes while they kept an eye on the shambling zombies on the shore.