Sea of Revenants (Nysta Book 6)

by Lucas Thorn

  The elf’s violet eyes moved uneasily across the remaining townsfolk.

  Caught a few hard-edge glances she didn’t like the feel of and was beginning to think there was something wrong with the town. Something broken at its core. Something familiar.

  Like the taste of pumpkin. She hated pumpkin.

  Talek had tried more than once to get her to eat it. Even tried growing it in his garden in the Deadlands.

  This town left the skin between her shoulderblades prickled and dripping with sweat.

  Would have left her palm itching like crazy but there was a big hole in it right then and all it was leaving was a thin trail of blood as she wrapped it in tight wads of cloth she pulled from one of her many pouches.

  Someone spat on the ground. Muttered something dark.

  Something mercenary.

  She flashed a look behind her, but none would meet her eye.

  Beside her, Lux shuffled seemingly oblivious. Long staff, tucked against the crook of his neck, prodded at the ground ahead. Sweeping the detritus of the street from his path.

  His lip curled a little, but he said nothing.

  “Never thought I’d see you again,” Rockjaw said suddenly, stooping to walk beneath one of the many shop signs tied across the street. He patted his shoulder with a rueful snort. “Guess everyone leaves the Deadlands one way or another. Did you find the feller you were looking for?”

  “I found him,” she said through tight teeth. Making the final knots on the wrappings, she was more than a little concerned to notice she could no longer move the fingers of her left hand. Pain sparked through the numbness sometimes as dark worms of shadow slid between the junkyard of bones.

  “Yeah, I figured you would.” He looked over his other shoulder at Lux. “Well, you don’t much look like the feller who was with her last time. From what I heard, we ain’t had a deathpriest here in more than a hundred years.”

  “There was no reason to come here before now,” he rasped.

  The ork shook his head. “Well, that scares the shit out of me, then. Fact you reckon there’s a reason.” He rolled his shoulders. “Reckon I’m not surprised, though. Temple has changed this past few weeks. A lot. In a way I don’t think it was ready for. This place is about to blow. Hard. You can feel it. Faces are changing. People ain’t who they used to be. The smiles have gone and there’s a different kind of look in their eyes. Things they used to keep hidden, they’re not bothering to hide no more. Like that taste you got back there. Not long ago, Jakob never would’ve let that happen. Trude would’ve smiled while she fed you. But it’s a town of hate now. A town you’d best be leaving as fast as you can. I know I will be. Shame, really. I kinda liked it here.”

  A young man with dark brown hair and emerald green eyes stared at her as she passed, his mouth opening a little in shock. She bared her teeth at him until he looked away.

  Growled; “I can’t see why.”

  “Oh, it weren’t so bad once they got used to me,” he said. “Darius gave me a job on the docks. Was good about it, too. Said he needed some muscle he could trust.”

  “Darius?”

  “Yeah, he pretty much runs Cold.” He hesitated. “Well. He used to. Haven’t heard much of him since Nath moved in, which has been worrying me. A lot. Anyways, I reckon you heard Jakob mention Nath by name. He was village leader over in Flowing Tears. Moved here, though, just after I did. Set himself up and last week slithered into the fort like the snake he is. I don’t know what the fuck he’s got on Darius, but it’s gotta be big.”

  “Flowing Tears?” The elf frowned. “He burn it to the ground before coming here?”

  “Who, Nath?” Rockjaw winced. “Hard to say. We got a runner last week saying the town had been gutted, but he said it was draug who did it. We got a few survivors who said the same thing. Didn’t make Ihan very popular here, though he’s kept mostly to himself of late. I kind of thought old Nath had something to do with it, though. But Dalle said I was just seeing too much in it. And she could be right. Weren’t no reason for him to burn it out. None at all. Didn’t get him anything for it. He was already pretty much in charge here. Still. Hard to believe the Madman’s killing his own now. Nothing makes sense these days. All I know is war’s coming, and that means I’m out of here.”

  The elf took the ork’s words and didn’t give them much thought.

  She didn’t know the town. Didn’t know the kind of people who lived here. All she knew was the people were surprised to see her. Some more than others.

  Like they’d never seen an elf before and couldn’t decide whether to say hello or hang her from the nearest tree. And, judging by their expressions, she figured they’d mostly choose the tree.

  But their feelings toward her didn’t change anything.

  A few towns in the Deadlands had been like this.

  Caught in the middle of a war they didn’t make, they’d grown suspicious of strangers. And this was a town of raiders. Men and women who’d travel south to kill for gold.

  People like that would be naturally cautious, she figured.

  They’d not trust easy.

  Still. There was something different. And it had everything to do with Maks and his knife.

  The cursed knife.

  At thought of it, she scowled and felt a sudden need to grab the nearest townie and start tearing them apart with her bare hands. Might have done it too, if both her hands had been working. As it was, she smothered her frustration.

  Chose instead to aim her gaze at the deathpriest’s back. And thought instead about how nice it would be to shove A Flaw in the Glass between his smug shoulders.

  “I wish to visit the Ihan tomorrow,” Lux was saying. “Will that be a problem?”

  The ork gave a purse-lipped smile and shrugged his hulking shoulders. “Ain’t usually. But right now? I heard some of Nath’s followers have taken to stopping people from going to the temple. Could be trouble. I can come with you if you like. Might not change anything, though. Lot of folks come here looking to see it. Mostly young raiders. They make their offerings, or sacrifice themselves. Craziest thing, that. You know they promise their sea god they’ll deliver their bodies to him when they die so he can use them as draug?” He shook his head. “Fucking mad. And the craziest thing is they call him the Madman.”

  “He is not a god,” the deathpriest hissed through his teeth. He cracked his staff against the ork’s burly shoulder. “He is something twisted by dark magics. By necromancy.”

  Rockjaw rubbed his shoulder and looked offended. “Hey, I just said what they believe. It ain’t what I believe.”

  “Every word can tell a story.” Lux gripped his staff tighter. “And every story can become a legend. Be more careful with the words you speak. You, who call yourself Rockjaw, should know this more than most.”

  The ork flushed, green cheeks darkening. For a moment he looked like a child caught in trouble of his own making.

  He cast a guilty look toward the elf before rubbing the back of his neck and sighing. “I ain’t going back,” he said. Almost a whine. “I just ain’t.”

  “Who said I wanted you to?” The deathpriest clicked his leathery tongue. “You’re of no use to me as you are. Stay here for all I care. Rot in obscurity. Waste away and die in an alley with your belly full of wine, or a sword in your cowardly back. It makes no difference to me.”

  The words rasped across the ork’s spine and he looked ready to retort. Words, hot with outrage skated into his mouth, but crashed against the back of his teeth.

  Emerged as a strangled sigh.

  “I’m no coward,” was all he said. But he said it reluctantly.

  “Prove it.”

  A few heartbeats passed. “I can’t.”

  “Then rot here.” The blind deathpriest lifted his head slightly, tasting the wind with his nostrils. “Lost and forgotten.”

  Those last words made Nysta scowl as she remembered something she’d forgotten. “Saja,” she growled.

  Rockjaw lo
oked back at her. Red eyes still bright with swirling emotions of his own. “What’d you say?”

  “Saja,” she said. “I fucking forgot about her. This place is putting pieces of my brain to sleep. She was part of the crew on the ship I sailed in on. We made it to the west side of the island, but hit a reef. Only a couple of us got out of it alive. Less one more by the time we made it to Stern’s place.”

  “Wait a second. You were wrecked? What was the ship’s name?”

  “The Blue Ox.”

  “Ah,” the ork’s lip twitched. “I know it. Or, I know a couple of fellers who were on it. You say only a couple survived. Hope it weren’t them.”

  “Well, I know for sure that Saja survived. And a feller called Halvir was with her. Kid called Geri made it to the beach but was chewed on by draug. Halvir got a knife to his neck by a big one-eyed asshole.”

  “Yeah, that’s Maks,” Rockjaw supplied, grimacing. “I was hoping he’d be one of the dead ones.”

  “You don’t like him?”

  “Ain’t much to like. Bastard’s mean as they come. And slippery about it. If he figures to kill you, you won’t see him coming.” The ork spat on the street, ignoring a few disgusted looks. “He’s one of Nath’s favourites. That captain of theirs was in with them, too.”

  “Haven’t seen him lately, have you?”

  “Lately?”

  “Today.”

  “Nope,” he rubbed unconsciously at his shoulder. A shoulder which bore an old scar delivered by a knife the elf had sent spinning into his flesh. “If he were on his way here, he’d maybe have headed to the fort. That’s where Nath is.”

  The elf’s gaze lifted to the side of the crisp hill and the hunched stone fort slung down its side. It didn’t look too big, she thought. Nothing too challenging.

  Walls weren’t so high.

  Easy to climb with a bit of rope.

  As if reading her thoughts, the deathpriest asked softly; “How’s your hand? Is it broken?”

  “Could be,” she allowed. “But it’ll heal.”

  “How long before you can use it?”

  Something in the deathpriest’s voice made her eyes narrow to thin violet slits. He hadn’t turned to face her, but his back had stiffened a little and his grip on the staff was tighter.

  She held up her right hand. Squeezed it into a fist. “Reckon I have a spare. If I need it?”

  “Do not remove the bell.”

  “Shit.”

  Then, from the docks, someone screamed.

  A raw scream which shredded the low hum of voices which bubbled in the street. Which clawed the veil of serenity from the town and laid its violent core open with bloodied ribs exposed.

  She spun as another scream announced the opening of the gates of the Shadowed Halls in preparation for the incoming dead.

  Could see nothing but startled hawkers and a few townies frozen in place as screams escalated in pitch and number. Then saw a burning yellow light drifting from the dark. A fog curling around the buildings as it hauled itself from the sea to begin stalking the streets.

  “The Madman,” someone cried. “He’s coming!”

  “Oh, shit,” Rockjaw breathed. “Dalle. Nearne. Come on. I’ve got to get home.”

  More screams from the docks. A tall man lurched from an alley further down. Blood sprayed across his pale face. Ran in thin rivers down his cheeks and dripped off his chin. Spattered his grey woollen shirt. His eyes darted crazily in their sockets, wide and afraid.

  Behind him, shadows moved.

  “Tainted,” he croaked. “They’re here.”

  And the draug launched themselves at him, a snarl of savage hunger. As fast as they pounced, they tore him to pieces even faster. Teeth and fingers finding raw flesh. Tearing skin in elastic strips.

  Sucking at glistening meat and gorging on entrails.

  Putrid undead faces aimed at the rest of the street. Empty eyes calculating with feral need.

  Who would be next?

  “Run,” Nysta hissed.

  The word cracked through the street and triggered chaos as the townies scattered, each searching for the best route of escape. “Get to the fort,” someone shouted. “Nath’s at the fort!”

  “Nath!”

  Someone elbowed her as they pushed past, driving deep into her ribs.

  The deathpriest was pushed and shoved until he raised his staff and swung it hard in a circle. Wood cracked against a skull and sent a greyclad local sprawling to where a mean-faced draug crawled from the curling fog to fall on the fallen.

  Screams.

  Blood sprayed.

  More people rushed past, a flood of bodies with an eldritch fog raking their heels.

  Pushing deeper into the town.

  The elf had the uncomfortable feeling they were being herded.

  Rockjaw reached back and grabbed the deathpriest. “This way.” Had to roar to be heard. “Come on!”

  The elf followed, A Flaw in the Glass glowing venomous in her right fist. Ducking into an alley, the trio ran. Lux moving surprisingly fast, staff tapping hard at the ground in front of him. He’d thrown back his hood and aimed an ear forward.

  Without warning, he wrenched himself to a stop. “Draug!”

  And the creature spun over one of the roofs above to land sloppily in front of them. It drew its lips back, showing cracked teeth. Eyes glowing bright. Fingers curled into rancid claws.

  Looking at its torn and leathery skin, the elf couldn’t see how it’d ever been a raider.

  Wondered briefly if the man he’d been had once lived in Cold.

  Then was forced back as it attacked, picking her as its first target.

  A Flaw in the Glass cut meat, ripping through its wrist, but was locked halfway through on undead bone.

  It ignored its pain, lunging with its head to snap at her face. Trying to bite into her cheek. She jerked back, wincing at the foetid breath washing over her. Kicked out, boot smashing into its belly.

  Which did nothing but make it thrash in frenzy. Its free hand snaked in, fingers digging into her jacket, searching for something vulnerable.

  There was a moment when it exposed its chest. She could have driven Queen of Hearts deep into its heart.

  But her ruined left hand wouldn’t respond. Couldn’t respond. The broken bones still hadn’t healed and the dark worms had flooded it so below the elbow, it moved like a sluggish eel. Couldn’t block the creature’s rabid slashes.

  Then Rockjaw was there, axe driving deep into its skull, splitting it almost in two. He hacked at it, a furious and mechanical series of heavy strikes which severed its head completely.

  And there was something in his eyes.

  Something empty.

  The look of someone who’d killed before. More than once.

  Many times.

  His red eyes burned with the remembrance of battle. But his mouth was twisted into a grimace of disgust. Not aimed at the draug. At himself.

  And, in that single moment, she realised why the ork often whined. Why he drifted from strength to weakness. Because he hated what he was doing.

  Hated himself.

  Unable to contemplate her sudden understanding of the ork’s inner struggle, the elf rolled free of the twitching draug and pressed against the nearest wall, ruined hand throbbing with hot pain as the worms did their work.

  Not fast enough, though.

  She nodded to the ork. “Obliged.”

  “Forget about it,” he growled, looking down at the gore-drenched axe in his hand. Then blinked, letting fear crack the savage mask of his face. “Dalle. I gotta make sure they’re safe.”

  He turned, spinning off into the dark. She paused, watching the hulking ork race down the alley like someone possessed. She glanced at the deathpriest, whose face looked strangely contemplative.

  As though sensing her attention, he smiled. The kind of smile she didn’t like. One which suggested something nasty lurked inside his thoughts.

  “Are they right?” The elf ask
ed, ignoring the draug which was crawling around the alley in search of its head. “Is it their Madman out there?”

  “The fog is his. The draug are his.” Lux sniffed at the air, tasting something only he could taste. “But he is not here himself. Not yet. But he comes, Nysta. He is close.”

  “We could head back to the docks,” she said. “Wait him out. Isn’t that what you want? Me to kill him? I can kill him. Get it over with.”

  “Can you? As you are, can you?” He cocked his head as though considering her idea. “What makes you think I want him dead? Let his draug roam. Let them eat until their bellies explode. This cursed town deserves its fate.”

  She looked down at the creature. It’d found one half of its jaw and was trying to push it back onto its neck. Maybe it would find the rest of its face and work them together like a jigsaw. She shuddered. “You don’t give a shit that he’ll kill everyone?”

  “Do you, Nysta?” He leaned close. Still grinning. “Given who they are, do you?”

  “What do you mean by that?”

  The deathpriest made a choked sound in the back of his throat. “And you call me blind.” He turned and began shuffling down the alley in the direction Rockjaw had gone. “It doesn’t matter anyway. He’s not coming here. He’ll go to his temple. That’s what he knows. But you can go out there if you want. Wait for him. Wear down your knives on his draug until the tide rolls away. There’s more useless ways to spend a night, I suppose.”

  “Thought that’s the point of sitting on the dock of the bay.” She grunted. Aimed one last look at the draug, and skipped through the dark. “Wasting time.”

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  The draug were feasting.

  Shrieks and screams rang sharp in the streets while the horrified sobs of those still running, or who’d found themselves too terrified to run, crept muffled through the walls. Walls which wouldn’t keep the draug from battering down doors or crashing through windows.

  The luminous yellow fog slithered further across the town, bubbling over rooftops. Lapping at every crevice as it sought more life for the undead army to consume.