Fractured Dreams

by Greg Alldredge

  Hope turned away from the mirror. “That was why Hayline became so… strong? You helped him?”

  “In a manner of speaking, yes. But more to the point, you helped him. When you summoned me, I attached to him and helped him reach his full potential.”

  “Until he went insane.”

  “That’s different, trust me. We did not bond in the pool of blood. I gave him council through the looking glass until… until he left the city to hunt demons. Our bond wasn’t a proper one. It took years to achieve. This will be… different.”

  “Hayline… Where is he now?” Hope had not forgotten her brother remained the true ruler of Perdition and could return to reclaim the title at any moment. “Is there a chance he will return?”

  “None.” The creature said the words with a finality that made Hope’s heartless soul shiver with fear.

  She didn’t want to think of her dead family any longer. She needed to change the subject. “What do I call you? There is no way I can call you by your true name.”

  “Over the centuries I have gone by many names.” The little man paused for effect. “You may call me Giblet.”

  Chapter 15, Angel James:

  The southern wind did a wonderful job of pushing the Pathfinder farther north than it had ever been. Even under the rain clouds, the temperature grew warmer than Angel thought possible. The crew took to wearing armor and little clothing. Buckets of water would be thrown over the men to lower their body temperature. If they ever fought naked, they might be more frightening than fully armored. The assorted tattoos and scars were barely covered by the massive amounts of body hair each man wore like fur.

  “How can anyone survive in such heat?” Angel said to himself. He stood on the prow looking out over the bare water. The wind at his back helped to keep the sweat and rain mixture dried, unlike the stillness belowdecks. They had found no good villages to raid for days. No ships, no nothing, only deserted settlements and empty seas. This was going to be the worst raid for the Pathfinder since raiding began.

  It made for an easy trip. With the added slack time, he had been able to keep well ahead of the repairs to the ship. With no fighting and favorable winds pushing them forward, the ship performed well. Bored with the lack of work to be done, he glanced behind him at his crewmates.

  All of them looked… ragged. The lack of raiding left them with little to do but sit and sweat. Their pale bodies became red under the cloud-covered sky. The tarp spread over the deck did little to protect them from the sunlight that reflected off the water, and the heat belowdecks proved unbearable. The sailors had little choice: burn on deck or swelter below. The men’s blond hair only grew lighter as time went by. It proved impossible for the men of the south to hide among the dark-haired people of the north.

  “Ship-ho!” the starboard watch called out.

  Angel shifted his searching eyes to the right and spotted the white cloud of smoke on the water. Something was amiss in the distance. Now it would be up to the captain to investigate or not. On a Bore-Tide ship, the captain was more powerful than the gods.

  “Prepare for battle!” The call came immediately. The men were bored, and having idle fighters could mean the end of a ship. Every man knew an unused blade would lose its edge.

  A diversion was desperately needed. Every man knew the captain was outnumbered, and if the crew turned, there would be little the officers could do to stop them. Mutiny became a constant worry with an inactive crew.

  They’d seen little combat, so few bothered to dress in their overweight armor. Instead preferring to be cool rather than protected from the projectiles that would surely be thrown their way if they closed for an attack.

  Angel knew wearing the armor at sea was a double-edged ax, as soon to kill a sailor if they fell over the side as protect them in combat. Most of the crew could swim, but none were strong enough to remain buoyant while armored.

  There would be little fight from the spotted ship. From a distance, it was easy to see it smoldered and sat half underwater. Someone had already made the target their prize.

  Strange enough, Angel recognized the style of the ship. It was the class of ship normally favored by the slavers. They had pulled alongside one enough times to trade, remaining uneasy partners in these raids of the northern cities.

  Everyone called them slavers, but they were much more. Normally, they would be willing to trade anything for the right price. It was rumored they were the ones that sold the kingdom of Bore-Tide the secret of the explosive black powder they used in their new weapons. Even gave the generals the recipe to make more. How the slavers found the concoction, no one ever knew.

  It was true, conflict made strange bedfellows and whores of them all. Angel was certain his captain would sell most of his men if there might be a profit for him.

  The swamped ship became clear, and the disappointment in the crew grew palpable. The men did little to hide their disappointment. Even if quiet, Angel didn’t like the sound of the whispers. He hoped the officers didn’t hear. He knew their response would be swift and brutal. Men had been flayed alive for less. Any infraction on the ship provided a reason for the most vicious of punishments.

  Not showing enough courage in the face of the enemy and a man risked forty lashes. Bore-Tide long held it was better for the men to fear their leaders more than the enemy. It was felt in a constant fear of those around them. Individuals were motivated into harder fighting and larger prizes.

  While the others sounded their disappointment, Angel saw an opportunity. The majority of the crew remained interested only in slaves and coin. Angel needed items to make his life easier. Tools and spare line for the rigging would always be nice to have. Even from this distance, he could see the sails were worthless, but there might be some rope or other useful salvage still available. If only useful to him. He cried from the prow to the stern of the ship, “Captain, I might be able to salvage a few things from the derelict.”

  While not an officer, Angel held some sway over the leader of the ship. As a tradesman, he was considered more than muscle. He, like the surgeon and even the cook, possessed a skill that few could fathom. He could keep the Pathfinder sailing when the others would abandon it if it floundered.

  The old man at the helm didn’t answer right away. He turned a full circle. Angel was certain he searched the horizon for any signs of ships that might pounce on them while he searched the ship. Finished with the scan, he paused a few beats before nodding.

  Given the go-ahead, he turned to face the flooded ship. Angel carried everything he needed: the small blade on his hip honed razor sharp from boredom and an ax with a hammer on the opposite side. With it, he could dismantle a ship if need be.

  “You be careful over there. No telling what you will run into.” His only friend on the ship, the cook, Makala, came up behind him.

  “No worries, that ship is surely dead. Probably a waste of time, but no telling what I might find lying about useful I can sell.” Angel spun his ax in his hand in a show of false bravado. He hated leaving the Pathfinder. Bad things happened to those who left the ship.

  Makala shrugged and turned to return to his galley under the decks. With a wave of his hand, he said, “Most dangerous things in the world are normally thought to be dead when they kill you.”

  Angel wasn’t sure if that was a warning or not. It didn’t matter now. He asked for the boarding and received permission. His ship made the approach. The sails ran slack as they circled and headed directly into the wind, edging their way closer to the ship. Several crew threw lines with grappling hooks to snag the wreckage.

  Angel didn’t need a plank. He spent his full adult life working on the ships he repaired. He took the leap over the water to the sloped deck but misjudged the pitch of the listing ship and slipped. He fell forward face-first onto the deck. His accident gave the crew a much-needed laugh. Even the men covering him with crossbows let their aim slip as they buckled over in laughter.

  At least he didn’t drop his ax over th
e side. To lose his tool would have been the end of him. He stood, waved at the crew who watched him, and bowed deeply. If you’re going to make an ass of yourself, better to let everyone think you did it on purpose.

  He was correct, the ship must be dead. The stern lay under water clear to the helm. The bow must hold some air keeping the craft afloat. It could be salvaged if they were close to land. As it was, it was a serious hazard to navigation. There was no way the captain would approve towing it ashore as a prize. The chore would place the Pathfinder at too much of a risk. Better to see what he could find.

  Knowing he worked with little time, he started by stripping the ropes off the rigging. Working with great efficiency, he dropped the charred sail and boom. The lines slipped from the blocks. If he had time, a few of the blocks would make outstanding prizes, but for now, the line would need to do.

  A sound caught his attention. Some sort of scraping came from below. “Keep an eye out. I think I hear something.” It sounded like a barrel banging against the side of the ship.

  Last season’s raids introduced Angel to the most flavorful liquid he’d ever tasted. It was intoxicating. An acquaintance from another ship took it as a prize. They discovered in small quantities it could be safely drunk, while if it was given to another—say, a woman—they could be convinced to do nearly anything or anyone. It was the most wondrous elixir. Because of it, he experienced one of the most memorable weekends with a pair of widows his acquaintance knew.

  Those were good times, all ruined when they ran out of the liquid. His friend died not long after that. The victim of a jealous son. One of the widows remembered everything and told her son. Bore-Tide was just too strange, even for a son of the kingdom like Angel.

  The hatch below had been sprung open, and a hole, larger than a man was tall, breached the side of the ship. Easy to find the damage, when he stuck his head in the crew quarters to investigate. It was empty, the hammocks all bare. “I’ll be right back,” Angel called to his shipmates before he ducked belowdecks.

  Even under the overcast skies, belowdecks remained miserable. The saltwater only added to the humidity. Crew belongings lay scattered over the deck. There was nothing there worth stealing. Someone went to great lengths to pick this hulk clean.

  The normally locked hatch at the rear of the ship lay half under water and open with the broken lock. This was strange. Angel knew what should lie below… He stuck his head into the hold. Sure enough, the space was covered in metal cages. It would be a wonderful prize if they could get the metal out before the ship sank, but the undertaking was too much for a single man and would take the whole crew days to complete. Angel knew there was no way the captain would wait that long.

  Then he spotted a small keg floating low in the water on the far side of the ship. He could reach the thing, but he would need to swim. Something didn’t sit right in the back of his brain. The busted lock on the hatch lay next to his hand. He glanced up, and there where it should be hung the key that would’ve opened the lock to the slave hold.

  “Odd.” He muttered to himself before lowering his body into the stale water. Below, he could see that all the cages had been forced open, such a waste of workmanship that had been put into the locks.

  The slave hold was open to the sea. The first rough seas that came along would sink this hulk. The ship that attacked it must have understood this and not wanted to risk setting the wreck ablaze. The smoke would give away their position for a substantial distance.

  Like the Pathfinder, the crew that attacked and killed this ship was a hunter. Out for blood or booty, the reason behind the attack didn’t matter, the ship died all the same. He reached the keg. With a quick shake, he surmised it still held liquid. Somehow, it was missed while they searched the ship. The search must have been exhaustive: all the bodies went missing with the treasure.

  Angel experienced a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. A nagging thought popped into his head. Why remove the dead?

  That was when the greatest fear hit him. This was no prize, it was bait.

  The keg forgotten, he made for the exit. He shouted but knew it would do little good. The men above had lapsed into singing songs to the dead, a way to past the time while they waited.

  He was up the ladder to the crew deck when he heard the lookout shout, “Ship-ho!”

  The unthinkable happened, and somehow the Pathfinder had been drawn into a trap.

  “Wait for me!” Angel screamed as he rushed to free himself from the lower decks. He clamored to the main deck and realized he had arrived too late. The Pathfinder abandoned him.

  He looked over the raised side of the drifting ship and saw the gray sails of a ship driving toward them fast. Even against the wind, they made impressive time. It was the same style of ship Angel was now marooned on. The craft closed within range of the battery of rockets that would soon rain hells down on the attackers. There wouldn’t be enough to salvage from the leftovers.

  For a split-second, Angel nearly dove into the water to swim after his ship, but he knew in his heart it was useless. The Pathfinder would make short work of the invaders and return to pick him up. He wouldn’t be needed in the battle. Better to find everything worth salvage while he could. There was little sense in watching the strange ship die. He had witnessed enough carnage for several lifetimes.

  With a shrug, he returned to the hold to tackle the keg of liquid that might hold his treasure. He had just reached it when there came a small cry from the darkest reaches near the open water.

  In a moment of weakness, he left the floating keg and swam to the nearly flooded section of the ship and found a young boy trapped in the rafters. He thought about leaving him to his fate. If he pulled him from the wreckage, more than likely, his crew would kill him outright. They came looking for female slaves. Most of the fighting men did not want a young boy.

  The keg waited. “Maybe the captain…” he muttered to himself. Better to be safe than sorry. If he left the boy, and the captain learned of it, he could be the one being skinned. The old man always got first refusal of all prizes. Maybe he could get some extra rations or get to keep the keg if he turned over the boy. After all, what did he care if the whelp lived or died? The body under one arm and the keg under the other, he started working his way to the deck.

  At the first hatch, he heard the sound of the hells blasting to the heavens. He knew death would soon follow. Victorious, the low-slung Pathfinder should be returning for him shortly. His stay on this wretched slaver ship with a half-dead boy—and the wait for his reward— would be short-lived. He laid the boy on the tilted deck and moved cautiously to watch the battle.

  Chapter 16, Kanika:

  Kanika had taken the Phoenix far into Zar’s waters. This was as far as she had been since before the death of The Resolute, her father’s ship. Finding those responsible for the betrayal of her ship remained on her mind, if not at the front.

  Events took control of her life. Even as the captain of her ship and de facto leader of hundreds of ships, she felt out of control of her destiny. Gods she never worshiped and cared little about inserted themselves into her life.

  She held the ship back from entering port. They had aided a few ships that fled the city of Zar, and what they heard wasn’t good. The rebellion over the ruling class brought death to the once impressive city. The survivors of three different ships told the tale of death and misery inside the cliff dwellings overlooking the bay. Those that could set their sights on Cliffside and the safety of Shakopee shard.

  The message was relayed that while the citizens had not yet resorted to cannibalism, many feared it might not be far off. Food production and shipments of trade goods had all but stopped. The farmlands outside the city had been overrun by people fleeing the flesh-eating disease ravishing the citizens. The ships that could escape did.

  The mayor’s family was feared dead. Rumors held that the acting mayor Jo still survived, but most refused to believe it possible and declared it misinformation put out b
y the ruling class to gain the support of the few that still fought against the rebels. Little news came from the pinnacle.

  The city had been cut into sections by lawless gangs. They became the only protection the normal citizenry could count on.

  Both younger daughters were missing and presumed dead in the bloodbath that claimed the son of Perdition, Ollie Shoemaker. Most believed it would only be a matter of time before the forces of Perdition sailed into the harbor and launched an invasion sent to avenge the young prince.

  The factions that claimed responsibility for the coup quickly began fighting each other and murdering people in the street. It disintegrated into chaos. House-to-house fighting was rampant, with streets blockaded and monitored by thugs.

  Kanika saw no reason to venture into the city harbor. The goddess of magic wanted her to battle Perdition and the self-proclaimed ruler, Hope Shoemaker. If the citizens of Zar had nothing better to do than eat themselves whole, she cared little for them.

  Captain Dusty, as the scallywag called himself, recovered. After two days of rest, a shower, shave, and more food than Kanika could eat in a week, he looked respectable once again. She didn’t trust his story on how he ended up on his makeshift raft, but it didn’t matter. With his help, the Phoenix fought hard and captured several weapons from slaver ships and outposts.

  Kanika hadn’t asked how the now clean-cut man knew so much about her enemies. He proved a useful source of information, even if she didn’t trust the bright smile, blue eyes, and light brown wavy hair. The man was hiding something.

  Lizzie trusted him even less and did not hold back her words in private. “How can he know of these places the slavers hide?” she asked while they were alone in the captain’s cabin. “He has information only someone on the inside should know, and you let him feed it to you. You trust him too much.”

  “Listen, as long as we’re dismantling their bases, we need to take advantage of the information while we can. If the time comes he is no longer useful, we can deal with his skinny ass.” Kanika’s words still rang in her ears. It shocked her that she was so ready to kill the man if he failed her.