Salamaine's Curse

by V. L. Burgess

  Willa let out a soft groan and lowered her head. Tom gave her a sideways glance. Although she remained standing, she was deathly pale and her skin had a delicate green hue. Seasick, he guessed.

  He nodded toward her satchel. “You have any herbs in there that could help your stomach?” he asked.

  “Probably, I would have taken something, but I guess I didn’t think it would be this bad.”

  “We’re almost there,” he said, hoping to reassure her, though in truth he had no idea where they were.

  She let out a long, uneven breath. “You think so?”

  “Definitely.” At least he hoped so. They didn’t have time to drift about aimlessly. Not if they wanted to make it out of the Cursed Souls Sea and back through the Coral Canyon before nightfall.

  He started to say more, but his attention was captured by a tiny spec that appeared on the horizon. Tom squinted, watching the spec grow larger and larger until he was able to identify the object as a ship—a ship that traveled in the opposite direction they were moving.

  He tensed, momentarily convinced that Keegan had decided he didn’t need them after all. That his men had somehow made it to Arx, and were now on their way back to Divino with the Black Book of Pernicus.

  But what he saw was much, much worse.

  The passengers and crew of the Crimson Belle lined the rails to watch in horror as the vessel drifted past. The ship’s sails had been ripped to shreds, its lines were tangled, its deck was rough and worn. There was no evidence of anyone onboard—or rather, no evidence of any living being onboard.

  The ship had been seized by scavengers.

  They hung from the masts and staggered across the decks. Seaweed-drenched scavengers clung to the hull. They peered out through the portholes and swung from the crow’s nest, their rotted, mangled bodies filling every inch of the ship.

  Once the Crimson Belle was spotted, a fevered cry went up among the creatures. They moaned and writhed in frenzied excitement, hunching up and down, their arms stretched out as though to pluck the Crimson Belle’s passengers off the deck and greedily devour them right where they stood.

  Fortunately, the ships were too far apart for that to be possible, though more than a few scavengers toppled into the sea attempting it. An octopus-like arm shot up from the murky depths, wrapped around the flailing scavengers, and pulled them under. A few seconds later a greasy stain bubbled to the surface.

  Tom shuddered. The scavenger’s ship continued past, becoming smaller and smaller as it drifted into the distance. Off to terrorize the people of Aquat, Divino, or some other land? he wondered. Tom tore his gaze away, looking for something else to focus on, when one of Zaputo’s crewmen bellowed a single word.

  “Land!”

  Tom spun around. His eyes locked on a rocky, terracotta -colored island shimmering on the horizon.

  Zaputo stepped forward. He peered into the distance. A triumphant glimmer entered his dark eyes. He sucked in a deep gulp of air, then breathed out a single word.

  “Arx.”

  They’d made it.

  As the Crimson Belle drew closer, Tom shielded his eyes and was able to make out the skeletal remains of the island city. He saw towering buildings, coliseums, fountains, three-story pillars framing an outdoor stage, enormous statues—all carved from the same shimmering pink stone.

  The site reminded him of sketches he’d seen of ancient Rome. The structures were badly decayed, huge swaths of stone now broken and crumbling to dust, but enough remained for him to imagine how spectacular the city must once have been.

  After a moment, Zaputo seemed to shake himself out of the stupor into which he’d fallen. “Bring her about and prepare to anchor!” he shouted.

  His crew sprang into action. Aided by the men of the Purgatory, they trimmed the sails and, after a brief struggle with the prevailing winds and currents, succeeded in bringing the Crimson Belle about. That accomplished, they went directly to work positioning the cannon, unlashing the dinghies, and readying the boats for launch.

  Porter and Mudge came to stand beside Tom and Willa at the ship’s rail. From a distance, the harbor of Arx looked idyllic—a shallow, crescent shaped bay filled with shimmering turquoise water which gently lapped against a pristine white beach. A honeymooner’s paradise.

  Up close, however, the harbor told a different story. Tom peered into the water brushing the hull. It was thick with barbed fish, fanged eels, spiny crab, and oozing octopi. Borrowing a nearby spyglass to get a closer look, he scanned the shoreline where their boats would land. The white surface wasn’t sand at all, he noted, but the remains of crushed bones and skulls that had washed up against the shore. All that was left of those who’d tried to take the island before them.

  He lowered the spyglass and passed it to Porter, watching as his brother scanned the shore. Porter didn’t say a word, but as he set the spyglass aside, Tom noted that his expression had tightened into one of grim understanding.

  “Ready to fire!” shouted a crewman, standing by a primed and loaded cannon.

  Fast. It was happening fast. Obviously Zaputo was as mindful as Tom was of the need for urgency. Or perhaps he simply didn’t want to give anyone time to give in to the terror that was gripping them and retreat before the battle had even begun.

  Zaputo gave a signal, and his men touched their torches to the fuses. Five cannon roared simultaneously, belching smoke and gunpowder as they hurled cannonballs over the water to crash against the rocky shoreline. Zaputo’s men loaded and fired again. Then again.

  While the cannon fire wouldn’t kill the scavengers outright (at most they might knock off a limb or two), with any luck the noise would serve to lure the creatures out of their hiding spots and draw them down to the shore.

  Their goal was to gather all the scavengers at the southern end of the island and pin them there long enough for Tom, Porter, Willa, and Mudge to slip unnoticed through the chaos on the beach and dash to the fortress in the north.

  The cannon fire seemed to be working. As Tom watched, dozens of scavengers drawn to the noise and commotion, staggered out from behind piles of rubble and climbed over broken ruins. They stumbled to the shore, their peeling flesh quivering with excitement, filling the air with their hideous grunts and moans. The wind lifted the scent of their rotting bodies and carried it to the Crimson Belle. Tom took a deep breath, held it in, and turned away, willing himself not to breathe it in.

  “Launch the boats!” ordered Zaputo.

  Time to go ashore. They crowded the dinghies with the former captives from Divino, the crew from the Purgatory, and the men of the Crimson Belle. After ensuring that each man and woman aboard received a flaming torch, the boats were dropped into the water. At least a dozen boats strong, they formed a fiery flotilla around the hull of the Crimson Belle.

  Tom gripped a torch and seated himself between Willa and Mudge in the last boat. His heart drummed painfully against his ribs. The roar of his pulse pounding in his ears was so loud it nearly blocked out the frenzied groans of the scavengers. But not quite. He shot a glance at Porter, seeing the same strain reflected on his brother’s face.

  The conversation they’d had earlier replayed itself in his mind. Porter was right. What they were about to do now, getting from the ship to the island, would be difficult. But the reverse, getting off the island and back onto the Crimson Belle, would be almost impossible. Even with the thick coils of rope they each wore slung sideways across their chest—rope they hoped would help them scale down the side of the tower and escape — returning to the Crimson Belle would be a miracle.

  He glanced up. The sun had past its zenith and was beginning its descent. They wouldn’t have long on the island. Less than an hour, certainly. He wasn’t even sure they’d last that long.

  He had to think of something. They’d already fixed their current plan with Zaputo, but they needed a better one. A faster way off the island and back to the ship. But what?

  His eyes darted around the ship for something—
anything— that might spark an idea. Yards and yards of rope, heavy brass cleats used to secure the lines, acres of canvas, oars, fine netting, barrels of water, wooden cases of provisions, cloth and thread … swords, knives, axes … pots, pans, trays … plenty there if he could just think.

  Zaputo gave a final command to his crew—a handful of men were to remain aboard to ready the ship for departure and prevent any scavengers from sneaking on—and moved to join them in the last boat. As he stepped toward them, Zaputo’s bird ruffled his wings, fluttered in the air for a second or two, then resettled itself on the captain’s shoulder.

  “Wait!” Tom shouted. He lurched to his feet, causing the boat to rock precariously. The other passengers gasped, glaring at him as they steadied the vessel. Oblivious to the disaster he’d almost caused, he looked at Porter. “Listen. You said the only way to make it out of the fortress and back to the ship was if we could fly.”

  Porter scowled at him. “What are you talking about?”

  “We can’t fly. But Zaupto’s bird can.”

  “I still don’t—”

  “I’ve got an idea. Hold this!”

  Tom thrust his torch at his brother. He leapt off the boat and back onto the deck of the Crimson Belle. After a brief discussion with Zaputo, he reached for the pile of spare cleats. The cleats were made of heavy brass, roughly the shape and size of a shallow boomerang, with thick knobs on both ends. Traditionally, a cleat was bolted to the deck and a rope twisted around it in a figure-eight, thus securing the line.

  But Tom had in mind a very different use for them. He grabbed four of the largest and most highly polished cleats he could find, and climbed back into the boat.

  “What are those?” Mudge asked.

  “Plan B,” he answered. “Just in case.” He looked at Willa. “Here. Give me your satchel.” He thrust the heavy cleats into the satchel, then draped the bag diagonally across his chest, carrying it alongside the coiled rope.

  A moment later Zaputo stepped into the boat, his weight causing the vessel to tilt slightly toward the stern. Zaputo’s dark gaze silently swept over the flotilla. Tom caught his breath, as did everyone around him. Seconds passed. All eyes locked on the captain of the Crimson Belle.

  Zaputo raised his torch.

  “Attack!” he roared.

  An ear-splitting chorus of cheers and yells answered him. Within each boat, a single crewman lifted his oars and began pulling toward shore. The passengers gripped their torches and readied themselves for battle. As they neared Arx, waves caught their boats and carried them inland.

  But even with the tide at their backs, they didn’t make it.

  The scavengers swarmed their boats before they touched shore.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  IMPOSSIBLE TOWER

  The creatures staggered into the waves, lunging toward them. It happened too fast for Tom to properly sort it out. One second they were coasting toward the shore, the next second the scavengers were swarming their boats, nearly tipping them over in a rabid desperation to reach their prey.

  As he clambered out of his boat, Tom struck out with his torch, forcing the scavengers back. He was dimly aware of Porter and Willa tumbling out of the boat beside him, of the water lapping his thighs and the current threatening to pull him under, of Mudge knocked under the waves and then struggling back to the surface, of Zaputo using his feet to kick the hollow-chested, hissing scavengers away.

  There was no structured fight. Just brutal, ugly chaos. The twisted, furious faces of the scavengers. Their claw-like hands and gaping mouths, their torn flesh and shredded clothing, the stench of their rotting bodies. Flailing torches, crashing waves, overturned boats. Everywhere he looked, the same horror presented itself.

  Mudge’s tumble in the water, had extinguished his torch, leaving him defenseless. A second later, a scavenger caught Willa by the ankle and pulled her under. Her torch hit the water with a fiery hiss, then went out. Porter knocked the scavenger clear and pulled Willa, drenched and gasping, back to her feet.

  It wasn’t going well. Barely a minute into the battle, and they’d already lost half their weapons. For a moment, the attack teetered on the verge of disaster, over before it had even begun.

  But despite the rough beginning, Zaputo and his men succeeded in driving the scavengers back, pushing them away from the boats. Somehow they made it to the shore. They couldn’t hold out for long, however. Even with the combined forces of the Crimson Belle, the Purgatory, and the captives from Divino, there were simply too many of the wretched creatures to keep at bay.

  So caught up was he in the battle, Tom had to remind himself why they were there. They didn’t come to Arx to fight the scavengers, but to get the book. If he held out any hope at all of doing that, they needed to get to the fortress now.

  Porter had apparently reached the same conclusion. As Tom swung his torch, knocking a particularly nasty gray-haired scavenger to his knees, he felt his brother give his shoulder a rough shove.

  “Go!” Porter shouted. “Now!”

  Zaputo and four of his men moved into place to shield them from the battle. Tom, with Porter, Willa, and Mudge beside him, took off at a sprint, stumbling over shattered skulls and bones, dimly aware of the horrific scene he was leaving behind.

  They raced away from the beach and found a crude trail that appeared to lead north. The path led them across the ruins of Arx. They sped past collapsed columns and crumbling amphitheaters, ducked under fallen edifices and leapt over piles of broken rubble. All around them were the badly deteriorating remains of the ancient city. An archaeologist’s dream—or nightmare, depending on one’s point of view. All Tom knew for certain was that they had to keep moving.

  His lungs burned and a deep cramp pierced his side. Tom lost track of how long they’d been running or how much land they’d covered when he heard Willa shout.

  “Look!”

  Breathing hard, he staggered to a stop and turned his gaze in the direction she pointed. Although he hadn’t been fully conscious of it, he noted now that the path they’d been following had taken them uphill. They stood on a rocky, coastal bluff overlooking the harbor.

  The flotilla of boats they’d taken ashore was heading back to the Crimson Belle. There was no mistaking what that meant. Zaputo and the others had held off the scavengers for as long as they could. Now Tom, Porter, Willa, and Mudge were on their own. Just the four of them alone on the island. Just the four of them … and whatever revolting, undead creatures lurked among the rubble.

  Tom swallowed hard as fear knotted his stomach. He dragged in a deep breath, then nodded to the fortress. “It’s all right,” he said. “We’re almost there.”

  He took a second to survey their surroundings. The dominant feature, of course, was the tower fortress, which loomed directly ahead of them. Cylindrical in shape and built of dark, uneven stone, it sat perched on the edge of a cliff overlooking the sea. Something about the structure struck him as medieval in design, and vaguely sinister—the sort of place where a king might be locked up before his beheading.

  The rest of their surroundings had the washed-out, pale look of desert terrain that had baked in the sun for centuries. Or maybe a lunar landscape was a better way to describe it. There were no trees, no bushes, no scrubs or grasses. No water anywhere. The ruins of the ancient city were long behind them. Now all Tom could see were craters, boulders, and rocks. Everything was dry and dusty.

  The trail they followed hooked slightly to the left, curving up toward the fortress. Initially, the path had struck Tom as a poor imitation of a road. At this juncture, however, it revealed itself to be what it truly was: a loose scrabble of rocks and gravel that flowed uphill.

  He turned his attention back to the tower. But the longer he looked at it, the more convinced he was they shouldn’t go anywhere near it. Some deep, inner alarm sounded a warning to stay away. Far away. He ignored it. They didn’t have a choice.

  “C’mon,” he said, “let’s get this over with.”
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  They clawed their way up the path, hunching down low to use their hands, as well as their feet, where the ground rose too steeply to be traversed any other way. The late afternoon sun beat down mercilessly, causing Tom’s hands to grow slick with sweat. A dry howling wind kicked up, but it did little to cool him off. His head was pounding, his lips were parched, and a fine dust coated his throat, making it almost impossible to swallow. Water. They should have brought water.

  It doesn’t matter, he told himself. They were almost there. They had to be. Just one more turn around the bend…

  But with every turn, circling the structure over and over, the tower never seemed to get any closer.

  Tom drew to a sudden stop. “Wait,” he said, his voice little more than a hoarse croak. They should have been there by now. Something was wrong. It shouldn’t be taking this long.

  He looked at Porter, Willa, and Mudge. They were sweaty, coated with dust, so exhausted they swayed on their feet. The dried saltwater had stiffened their clothing, and the rope they each carried slung across their chests had rubbed raw sores into the sides of their necks. In addition, Tom and Porter had both been carrying torches. Tom’s arm ached, his muscles trembling with the strain of keeping the torch aloft.

  They’d been climbing for what felt like hours, yet they were no closer to the tower. It didn’t make sense.

  The wind picked up again, but this time Tom heard something within it that he’d been too exhausted, too focused on his climb, to hear before.

  Pernicus’s laughter.

  It was a trick. There was no way to reach the tower. At least, not the way they were attempting it. Porter and Willa must have heard it as well, for Porter let out a black oath, while Willa sank down on a boulder, her expression utterly defeated.

  “We’ll never make it,” she said.

  Tom shot a glance at the horizon. The last time he’d checked, the sun was overhead. Now the fiery orange ball looked nearly ready to sink into the Cursed Souls Sea.