Salamaine's Curse

by V. L. Burgess

  As he watched in horror, a skeletal face slowly took shape beneath the water’s surface. It peered up at him with an angry scowl, its teeth black and rotted, its watery eyes bloodshot, a grayish-green tinge to its peeling flesh.

  Umbrey swore and grabbed Lost’s lantern. He jerked the candle free and thrust the flame at the claw imprisoning Tom’s wrist. The creature abruptly released him.

  Tom staggered backward. His heart hammered wildly in his chest as he drew in great gulps of air. His gaze shot to the map, but the creature was gone. The map returned to its dull, dry state. There was no evidence of what he’d seen or felt. Nothing except the angry red welt that was beginning to form on his wrist.

  “What was that?”

  Umbrey and Lost exchanged a long, silent look. “I had hoped when the boy took the sword, we might be spared that particular calamity.”

  “What was that thing?” Tom pressed.

  “They’re known as scavengers, lad,” Umbrey said. “The Cursed Souls Sea has been home to those nasty creatures for centuries. But now they’re on the move.”

  “You’re certain?” Lost asked. “It’s not just—”

  “There have been sightings.”

  “I see.” Lost gave a curt nod. His narrow lips puckered, as though he were tasting Umbrey’s words and finding them bitter. Moving with utmost care, he gently latched the lantern shut. “Well. So there you have it.”

  “Have what?” Tom said.

  “Reckoning,” Lost answered flatly. “The scavengers are a penance, Mr. Hawkins. Retribution for past sins. That creature …” His voice faded away as he stared blindly off into the dark corners of the boathouse. Tom could almost see the headmaster’s thoughts whirling. Then Lost’s gaze moved to Umbrey.

  “The map,” he said, pointing to the parchment. “I take it there may be a way to stop them?”

  “Aye.”

  “The black book?”

  Umbrey gave a reluctant nod. “I’m afraid it’s our only chance.”

  Lost thought for a moment longer, then drew himself up. His dark eyes burned with fiery righteousness. In the flickering candlelight, dressed as he was in his old-fashioned suit, he looked for a moment like a stock character in some ancient black-and-white movie. The avenging preacher facing down a horde of brash outlaws.

  “Mr. Hawkins,” he intoned, “you claim you are ready to return to the Five Kingdoms.”

  Tom jumped to attention. He gave a firm nod. “I am.”

  “Very well.” Lost’s keen gaze combed him over from head to foot. “Fools will tell you that there are infinite shades of gray in life. That the line between right and wrong can easily be blurred. Do not believe them. There is good and there is evil. That is all. You are about to discover that every action, every choice, every wish, has a direct and tangible consequence.” He paused, his eyes boring into Tom’s. “Do you understand me?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Satisfied, Lost turned to Umbrey. “I commend him into your care. I suspect the boy would like to return alive and unharmed. A reasonable request. This would be my preference, if it is at all possible.”

  “I can’t make you any promises, Mortimer, given what we’re up against, but I’ll do my best.” Umbrey rolled the map and returned it to the inner pocket of his frock coat. He turned to look at Tom. “Ready, lad?”

  “Ready,” Tom replied, though suddenly he wasn’t quite as sure. He wanted a middle ground. Somewhere between Lost’s dire warnings and Umbrey’s devil-may-care attitude. But clearly that wasn’t an option.

  He followed Umbrey out of the building. The driving rain had lessened, diminishing to a soft sprinkle. In its place, a heavy fog enveloped the lake. As Tom watched, the mist parted, allowing him a glimpse of an enormous, old-fashioned sailing ship parked against the edge of the dock. He blinked, certain he had imagined it, but when he opened his eyes again it was still there.

  Painted in gold on the side of the hull was the name Purgatory. The ship shimmered in the moonlight, its billowing white sails almost ghostlike.

  Lost studied the ship in silence, a faraway look in his eyes. In a tone that was almost wistful, he said, “She’s a fine vessel, Umbrey.”

  “Aye, that she is.” Umbrey joined Lost in admiring the ship. Then he gave a brisk nod and strode up the plank shouting orders to his crew. Tom moved to follow him.

  “Mr. Hawkins.”

  He stopped and turned.

  Lost stood on the dock, tightly clenching his book of demerits. His mouth worked silently, as though he was struggling to spit something out. Finally he managed, “Despite your wild and willful behavior, your presence at this academy is not completely intolerable. Try not to do anything idiotic and get yourself killed.”

  Tom stared at him in astonishment. Coming from the headmaster, that was almost a hug. He nodded. “Yes, sir.”

  He followed Umbrey aboard. Unlike Umbrey, who displayed a natural affinity for fine clothing, dressing in outrageous velvets and laces, his crew was comprised of a motley assortment of crude, rough, heavily armed men. To Tom, they looked more like a biker gang than a group of sailors. But he had seen them in action and their loyalty to their captain was unquestioned.

  Working with the silent precision, they quickly had the Purgatory under way. The sails snapped, capturing the wind and propelling them forward on the lake’s rolling surface. The deck pitched and rolled beneath his feet. Tom watched from the stern as Professor Lost faded into a small, insignificant speck.

  Turning away, he joined Umbrey on the foredeck.

  “Ah, there you are!” Umbrey said. “Nothing like the thrill of setting off on a new voyage. Isn’t that right, lad?”

  Tom grinned. He had never been aboard a ship before. But if this was what it was like, he could understand why men spent their lives at sea.

  “Almost there,” Umbrey continued. “It’ll just be another minute now. But I’m afraid our landing might be a bit damp.” He grabbed a shiny yellow hat and matching slicker from a nearby hook and slipped them on. He offered a similar getup to Tom.

  “Uh, no thanks.” It was bad enough that one of them looked like the guy on the fish stick box. He could handle a little water.

  Umbrey shrugged. “Suit yourself.”

  Turning away, Tom peered into the distance, enjoying the gentle fanning of the breeze against his face, the light sprinkle of rain hitting his cheeks.

  Then something occurred to him. He’d been so caught up in the thrill of the midnight sail, he hadn’t paid attention to their trek across the water. He took into account the size of the ship and the speed at which they were traveling. Odd. They should have reached the end of the lake by now.

  He realized with a jolt of surprise that he couldn’t even see the end. None of the towering pines that rimmed the lake were visible. Instead, all he could make out ahead of them was shimmering darkness. The horizon was blacker than black, as though someone had punched a hole in the night sky. A gaping empty hole …

  Then he heard it. Subtle at first, then stronger and stronger. The roar of water tumbling over a cliff. A roar so loud it sounded like an explosion.

  “Steady, men!” Umbrey cried. “Keep her straight. Easy does it!”

  Tom’s mouth went dry. He’d seen it over and over, but he hadn’t connected it. Hadn’t believed it. Even though ancient maps all showed the same thing: ships falling off the edge of the earth. He had assumed it was a fantasy invented by cartographers. Proof of their ignorance of the curvature of the earth.

  Reality hit him hard. He’d been the ignorant one. The earth did have an edge, and he was about to plummet over it. The sails snapped, the timbers creaked and groaned. The ship shuddered as though it was about to be split in two.

  The Purgatory tipped, teetering over the vertical brink. Tom’s stomach lurched as the horizon tilted, then swung out of view.

  Umbrey shot him a grin. Anticipation gleamed in his eyes as he gripped the ship’s rail.

  “Hold on tight, lad. We’re going
in.”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  REUNION

  The Purgatory pitched forward, shooting head-first into a freefall. Absolute darkness enveloped them, leaving nothing but the ear-shattering roar of water. Tom’s knees buckled. He scrambled for a hold but was too late. His feet slid out from under him, knocking him forward. His body slammed upside down against the rail as though he’d been caught in mid-somersault with his cheek pressed against the deck and his feet dangling in the air. He tried to right himself but gravity pinned him down and held him there, settling atop him like an invisible weight.

  Just when it seemed their fall would never end, the ship abruptly righted. Unable to stop himself, Tom slid backward as the Purgatory landed with a tremendous splash. An enormous wave slammed the deck. Tom’s clothing had just begun to dry after his plunge in the icy lake. Now it was plastered to his skin once again, soaked.

  He coughed up water. Dazed, he blinked up at the night sky. Stars. There were stars in the sky again. Which meant they’d made it … somewhere.

  Umbrey leaned over him, his scruffy face temporarily blocking Tom’s line of vision. He slipped off his rain slicker and hat and hung them up. Then he grinned and rubbed his hands together. “Quite a ride, eh, lad?”

  Tom had clenched his jaw to keep from screaming during their descent. Now he wrenched his teeth apart and asked, “Does that mean we’re still alive?”

  “Aye. Alive and then some. Nothing like a dip over the edge of the earth to get a man’s blood pumping.”

  “Right,” Tom groaned. He struggled to his feet and stood, gripping the rail for support, hating the way the ship pitched and swayed beneath him as it settled back into the water. He might have made it over the earth’s edge, but clearly he’d left his stomach back at the Forbidden Lake.

  “You look a little green around the gills, lad. Never fear, I’ll make a sailor out of you yet.”

  “Uh, no thanks.” He shot Umbrey a sideways glare. “Did you even think about warning me?”

  “Warning you? Now where’s the fun in that?”

  “Fun? That was fun to you?”

  “Course it was. Come now, where’s your spirit? Your sense of adventure?” He looked at Tom, watching as rivulets of water ran down his body and gathered in a puddle at his feet. He motioned to a crewman. “Take him below and find him some dry clothes.”

  “Wait a minute,” Tom protested. “Wait. First I need to know where—”

  “That’s an order, lad.”

  Tom looked from Umbrey to the burly crewman who waited to take him below decks. A thousand questions burned through his brain, but obviously Umbrey wasn’t going to answer them until he cooperated. Biting back his impatience, he followed the crewman down a maze of ladders and passageways, moving deeper and deeper into the belly of the ship until they reached what appeared to be the crew’s quarters.

  Rows of empty hammocks hung from open rafters, swaying gently to the tidal rhythms. The crewman pulled out a dark chest. Flipped open the lid. Pointed inside.

  “Um … got it. Thanks.”

  The crewman turned and walked away, leaving Tom alone. He stripped off his sopping wet sneakers, jeans, and Lost Academy T-shirt, exchanging them for a pale linen shirt, dark green tunic, brown woolen pants, and a pair of rugged leather boots. No buttons, zippers, or snaps. All of the clothing laced and tied. He struggled with them for a few frustrating minutes. Finally satisfied his pants wouldn’t end up around his ankles when he moved, he rejoined Umbrey above decks.

  When he’d gone below, there had been nothing but twinkling stars overhead and the glossy blackness of a vast sea. But in his absence, the Purgatory had left the broad sea and entered a channel that carried them inland. Flickering in the distance were dozens, perhaps hundreds, of tiny lights.

  “Where are we?”

  “Approaching Divino.”

  An anticipatory thrill shot through him. Divino—center of the Five Kingdoms, Keegan’s stronghold. After months of waiting, after long nights wondering how Porter, Willa, and Mudge were faring, he was finally back.

  The shrill peal of a bell echoed across the deck, temporarily dampening his excitement. Tom winced and frowned at Umbrey. He thought that particular system of torture had been left behind at the Lost Academy.

  “Bells? Really?”

  “Duty watch,” Umbrey replied with an indifferent shrug. “Keeps order. Only way to run a ship.” He peered off into the distance, then straightened. “Look sharp, lad. We’re here.”

  The enormous wooden gates of the walled city came into view. The last time Tom had been in Divino he’d had to scale the walls and fight his way inside. Now Umbrey grabbed a lantern and held it aloft. The lantern had been fitted at the front with a black face that covered the flame. Umbrey slid the door up and down—a signal code, Tom assumed, watching him. Sure enough, the guard stationed in the gate tower signaled back, then the heavy iron bar lifted and the gates that protected the channel slowly groaned open.

  As they sailed between them, Tom noted the faint outline of a glowing red eye, symbol of Keegan’s army of vicious thugs, was still visible on the gate’s wooden surface. Though a dark stain had been applied over it, the eye had not been entirely blotted out. A chill ran through him at the sight of it. He couldn’t help but wonder if the unsuccessful attempt to obliterate the eye was some sort of omen, a dark portent of things to come.

  He pushed the thought away as the Purgatory drifted downriver and docked. He followed Umbrey across the ship’s gangway. They stepped onto what might once have been a bustling wharf. Now, however, the ships, warehouses, and wagons all looked deserted. Everything Tom saw had been cast aside, abandoned in a disturbing, unnatural way—sacks of grain left untended, casks of wine tipped over, bolts of fabrics rolling about in the mud and muck. It was as though whoever owned the goods had simply dropped them there in a hurry and fled.

  “What happened here?” he asked, following Umbrey ashore.

  Umbrey gave him a quick, sidelong glance. “Best keep your voice down. You’ll want to listen now.”

  “Listen? For what?”

  Umbrey’s expression darkened. “Trust me, lad. You’ll know it when you hear it.”

  When Tom had last left Divino, it had been in the middle of a great celebration. That was a stark contrast to what he saw now. Groups of people cowered in doorways and alleyways, huddled around small rings of fire. Others gathered beneath lit torches. Several buildings had been stripped of wood, suggesting fuel for the fires was in short supply. Tom tried to make sense of it. People hovered near the flames as though in desperate need of heat, though the night was mild.

  There was no sound, no noise at all save the soft echo of Umbrey’s peg leg hitting the cobbledstoned streets. Nothing else. Just eerie silence. As they walked down the street, Tom could feel their every movement watched, analyzed. Like mist in the moonlight, fear seeped through the alleyways, settled over his skin and clogged his throat. Soon even he was convinced something dark and threatening waited around the next corner.

  At last they reached a broad stone building. Djembe warriors guarded the entrance. The iridescent chain mail they wore over their chests shimmered in the flickering torchlight. Their presence should have been reassuring, but somehow it wasn’t.

  A lone, hooded figure detached itself from the group of warriors. Tall and lean, the figure moved with a long, purposeful stride that Tom recognized at once.

  Porter.

  Tom and Porter didn’t look like brothers. They definitely didn’t look like twins. Porter had fair skin, ice blue eyes, and pale blond hair that brushed his shoulders—a stark contrast to Tom’s dark complexion, brown eyes, and closely-cropped chestnut hair.

  They didn’t act like brothers, either. Tom tended to be impulsive and emotional; Porter was rational and distant. Tom took wild chances, Porter calculated odds.

  Most importantly, they didn’t feel like brothers, at least to Tom. More like two strangers who’d been plunged into a situation where
they’d had to depend upon each other to survive. As far as he could tell, that was their only bond.

  Tom had tried to picture a reunion with Porter. He’d never quite been able to imagine what that would feel like. Now he realized why. They still didn’t know each other.

  That fact was made even more obvious as they studied each other in silence, caught in a state of clumsy awkwardness. Tom tried to come up with a suitable greeting. A hug wasn’t even in the realm of possibility. Shaking hands seemed too formal.

  Porter solved the dilemma by giving him a cool nod. “Hey,” he said.

  Tom nodded back. “Hey.”

  Watching them, Umbrey chortled. “Careful, lads. You’ll embarrass me with that gushing display of emotion.”

  Porter gave a small, half-smile. It vanished as a low howl sounded in the distance. His face went still and his hand moved to the blade tucked into his belt. His eyes darted to the shadows, seeking out the darkened corners.

  “Easy, lad. It’s just a dog. Besides, you know that knife won’t do you any good.”

  Porter relaxed his grip on his blade. His expression sheepish, he gave a quick nod. “Right. I know that.” He let out a long, steadying breath, then looked at Tom. “C’mon. We haven’t much time. Willa and Mudge are waiting inside.”

  Tom shot a questioning glance at Umbrey. His brother was not the type to easily spook. Porter’s nervousness made him even more uneasy.

  He didn’t have long to dwell on it. Umbrey nodded to the warrior guards, who opened the door and ushered them inside. Tom quickly gained his bearings. They stood in a large, open room, complete with a judge’s bench, witness stand, and jury box. There were benches for the spectators. A courthouse of sorts, he surmised.

  “Tom!”

  Willa grabbed him and wrapped him in a tight hug. Mudge repeated the gesture. For a moment, everything was good. Better than good—exactly the way he’d hoped things would be when he returned to the Five Kingdoms. No abandoned wharfs or sinister shadows lurking in the streets. No hesitation or weirdness at being reunited. Just the hugs and smiles of old friends getting together again. Finally they released each other and stepped back.