The Shadow Of Fallen Gods

by V. R. Cardoso

  “I would be remiss if I did not remind the master hunter that pursuing this course of action might result in a mutiny.” The man spoke in a guttural rasp as if he had just drunk a shot of burning water.

  Aric smiled. This man was a different story altogether, not at all the tame animal his captain was. Unfortunately for him, he was alone. Aric had studied the ship’s crew closely. There wasn’t a single impressive man or woman aboard the Heron besides Naquad, and there weren’t that many of them in the first place.

  “And I would remind you, first-mate, that the crew has been well compensated, in advance, for this job,” Aric replied soothingly.

  “What does compensation matter if we all end up dead?” Naquad retorted, his voice rising dangerously.

  “Alright, here are your options. You can either take your chances against a full company of dragon hunters and one mage, or you can face that storm. Considering you have twenty sailors and, let’s face it, a single fighter, I would suggest you stick to what you know.” He pointed east. “You know your ship and you know the sea. Do your damn job.”

  Naquad stared at Aric, the fight not leaving his eyes. “You’ll regret this. You’ll get us all killed.”

  “The master hunter is right,” Griggor chipped in appeasingly. “We’ve sailed through storms before.”

  “What if that’s not just a storm?” Naquad asked his captain, an arm stretched towards the darkening horizon. “The men are already talking. We’re too far east. The dancing isle might be in there somewhere.”

  Arching an eyebrow, Aric faced the captain. “More sailors’ superstition?”

  “Naquad, the master hunter isn’t interested in—”

  “Many of us have seen it,” Naquad said, cutting Griggor off. “I’ve seen it.”

  “Right,” Aric said skeptically. “I’ll… leave you to it, then.” He brushed past the first mate, then stopped himself, turning around. “Oh, by the way, captain. When we embarked, you told me to feel free to pick something from your library?”

  Griggor grumbled something, waving dismissively, which Aric happily interpreted as a yes. Wanting nothing to do with what was clearly going to be a heated argument between the two, Aric walked down the aft castle’s stairs and into Griggor’s cabin. Naturally, he took no pleasure in antagonizing them, but all this had to be done, and he had already gone too long without the familiar pleasure of a book to distract his mind from the troubles ahead. It felt like a lifetime ago when books were all he had to escape his life in the Citadel. He chose The Fault of Logic, by Ambrosius Calva, which he knew Leth would love, and Marching South, An Account of Luric Auron’s Samehrian Campaigns by a collection of historians from the Academy of Augusta, for himself.

  After, he looked for the best reading spot on the ship, finding it to be the stairs to the aft castle. It had a great view of the ocean and an oil lamp dangling from above, near the helm, which would allow him to keep reading as the sun dipped behind them in the west. Luckily, by the time he’d sat down, Griggor and Naquad had either already settled their differences or taken them someplace else. It didn’t really make any difference to Aric as long as they kept heading east, so he opened his book, drawing in a satisfied breath. It wasn’t exactly one of the balconies of Lamash, but there was something to be said about the cold, salty breeze blowing in his face and the soothing sound of the waves crashing against the hull as the ship glided forward.

  “I didn’t take you for a reader.”

  Aric lifted his eyes from the book. Night had fallen without him realizing, and the thickness of the two halves of the tome in his hands indicated he was already a good third into it, which said good things about the book. Eliran stood at the bottom of the stairs wrapped in a purple shawl. She looked somewhat less pale than before.

  “You’re up,” Aric said. “You’re feeling better?”

  Eliran nodded. She looked overboard and closed her eyes, taking a deep breath. It lasted only a moment, but for Aric, it felt like time stopped, the lamp’s light glowing on her milky cheeks, her red hair blowing in the wind like flames…

  “Why?” he asked.

  Eliran looked at him questioningly.

  “Why didn’t you take me for a reader?” he clarified.

  The mage shrugged. “It’s just not how you picture a dragon hunter.”

  “Well, not everything they say about us is true.”

  Eliran smiled. “Like what?”

  “For starters, it’s not dragon meat that gives us our super strength.”

  Eliran laughed. “You must have tried it, though. At least once. You had to be curious, right?”

  It was Aric’s turn to smile. “Let’s just say that’s not an experience I would like to repeat.”

  Once again, the mage laughed. The sound felt warm and sweet, like a child receiving a present.

  “You mind if I sit with you?” she asked, pointing at the empty space on the step next to Aric.

  “Of course,” Aric replied, scooching to his right.

  Eliran snuggled between the rope which served as a handrail and Aric and took a deep breath. “You know, it’s been a long time since I could just…” She allowed the missing words to hang in the air as if the idea was too fragile to survive being said out loud. Then, she seemed to snap out of her reverie. “I’m disturbing your reading. You can just pretend like I’m not here. It’s alright.”

  “What?” Aric looked at his hands and saw the book still open on the same page as before. He had forgotten all about it. “Oh, no.” He closed the book, the pages clapping loudly. “I would much rather enjoy your company.”

  Eliran’s eyebrows jumped. “Wow! I’ve heard that one before. Or variations of it. But you actually mean it…”

  First, Aric blushed, then, the frightening thought that she was reading his mind occurred to him, followed by a stream of other thoughts, like the fact that Eliran had to be at least six years older than him. She probably thought of him as just an awkward kid. Helpful and pleasant, but nothing else.

  Aric shook his head, feeling as though it could explode at any moment. He tried to think of something to say.

  “Have you ever heard of the Dancing Isle?”

  Eliran’s expression changed, becoming suddenly unreadable. “I have. Why?”

  Aric shrugged. “Just something one of the crewmembers said. He’s convinced the island might be hidden in the middle of the storm. Which makes no sense, because there’s no island out here. I’ve seen my share of maps. I know there isn’t one, I’m just surprised he doesn’t. He sounded pretty scared of it, too.”

  “Storm?”

  Aric pointed a finger in front of them. Somewhere beyond the bow of the ship, in the distance, a light flashed. He counted silently until thunder rolled lazily overhead. “We should be upon it sometime after dawn.”

  “Oh…” Eliran muttered. “And Astoreth is in there?”

  Aric showed her the Seeker bracelet. “She sailed that way, yes.”

  “There you are.”

  Their heads turned as one. Darpallion stood at the bottom of the stairs, clad in black leather with an elbow length cape around his shoulders.

  “Looking for me?” Aric asked. “Why?”

  “Not you, master hunter,” he said, then looked to Eliran. “Eliran, I understand why you are mad at me, but I think you owe me at least a chance to explain myself.”

  Eliran didn’t reply right away and Aric felt some shame when he caught himself wishing she’d turn Darpallion down. She didn’t.

  “Talk to you later?” the mage asked with a smile, rising from the stair.

  “Sure,” Aric replied. He watched the pair walk across the deck towards the ship’s bow, dissolving into the darkness. What the heck is wrong with me? he thought. With a sigh, he decided to find his hunters.

  * * *

  The company had set up quarters in the hold, where the crew of the Heron usually stored the goods they transported. After hanging a series of sleeping hammocks from the hold’s ceiling, the
hunters had brought a long table and some benches from the mess in an attempt to recreate their old common room. There wasn’t a Lagaht board on the ship, but one of the boatswains had lent them his deck of cards which, beside their training sessions, was the only thing keeping them busy.

  A meaty smell filled Aric’s nostrils as he descended into the bowels of the ship, and when he arrived in the hold, his hunters were gathering around a large, steaming stewpot.

  “Captain,” Tharius called. “Right on time.”

  “Saved a seat for me?”

  “Always.”

  Just the sight of them was enough to lift his spirits. Why did he even care that Eliran and Darpallion were talking? In fact, they had every reason to.

  He sat next to Leth and handed him the book he’d brought from Griggor’s collection. “Here. For you.”

  “Nice!” Leth let out as he read the title on the cover. He grabbed the book and opened it immediately.

  “Great,” Clea said. “Now he won’t be talking to anyone for hours.”

  “I’m perfectly capable of reading and talking to you at the same time,” Leth retorted, his eyes on the pages of his new book.

  “No, you’re not,” Clea sighed.

  Leth lifted his head and looked at her. “I’m sorry, what?”

  There were some chuckles around the table and Clea made a show of laughing before Leth returned to his reading.

  One by one, Tharius filled everyone’s bowls with the brown sludge the ship’s cook called stew and the hunters started eating. Trissa, Nahir, and Athan said a short prayer before digging into their food. Dothea made fun of Tharius for holding the spoon with just the tips of his fingers, as if he was highborn, the rookie Artax jumping in to defend Tharius’s honor. Little Lyra carefully picked the pieces of vegetables and meat she didn’t like from her stew and dropped them in Ergon’s bowl, her brother patiently waiting for her to finish. On the far end of the table, Jullion told Orisius some obscene story, making him laugh to tears, Irenya sitting next to him with an angry frown, not enjoying the story one bit.

  Aric felt warm inside. There was no point in pretending. He knew he liked Eliran. He probably had since the moment he’d first seen her over a year ago, in that attic in Nish. The thing was he’d convinced himself he’d probably never see her again, and now that they were on another of their insane suicide missions, all he could think of was her. Considering the fate of the whole world was at stake, just how immaturely selfish was that?

  With a sigh, Aric looked around the table. It didn’t matter. As long as they were together, everything was good. He nodded to himself and dug into his food. That was when he heard the steps and looked up.

  “Eliran!” Aric stood.

  “I was told you guys were eating down here,” the mage said, standing by the stairs. “I hope I’m not intruding.”

  She was trying to smile, just a little twist in the corner of her lips. It was sweet and shy and Aric couldn’t help but smile back at it.

  “Of course not. Are you hungry?” Clea asked, indicating their table.

  “I am.” Eliran revealed a wooden bowl she had been keeping behind her back. “I even came prepared.”

  “Excellent!” Tharius said. “Join us.”

  “Yeah, take a seat,” Aric said, pushing Leth away and sitting back down.

  “Thank you!” Eliran smiled wider, a hint of pink returning to her cheeks for the first time in days. She sat next to Aric and gave Clea her bowl when she reached for it. “Let me guess, stew again?”

  Clea mixed the steaming sludge in the pot before pouring it. “Well, the ship’s cook is nothing if not consistent.”

  “Consistently revolting, maybe,” Leth murmured, turning a page in his book.

  “You’ll note that each day there’s less meat in it,” Orisius added. “Which is a good thing, because I’m pretty sure the only meat they serve on this ship is rat.”

  Irenya grimaced. “Ew!” She elbowed him. “Orisius!”

  “What? Ask Ergon, he’s an expert.”

  “One thing’s for sure,” Ergon said. “Lamb isn’t this chewy.”

  There was a mixture of chuckles and sickened grimaces around the table, but Eliran accepted her bowl from Clea without hesitation.

  “We feast like kings, then,” she said.

  “That’s how the Half-Princes do it,” Tharius told her, raising his spoon as if in a toast.

  “Oh, that’s right. Aric told me you gave yourselves that name.”

  “Despite my firm objections,” Aric said. “But I suppose it beats the Desert Farts.”

  Eliran raised her eyebrows and Clea leaned in closer. “The Desert Farts came second in the vote,” she explained.

  “What?” the mage asked, bursting into laughter.

  “Whose idea was that, by the way?” Ergon asked.

  Jullion raised an arm and flashed his teeth proudly.

  Placing an arm around Jullion’s shoulders, Orisius said, “Your finest moment, Jules. Your finest moment.”

  “Okay, story time!” Tharius announced. “Who wants to share why they joined the Guild?”

  Half the table rolled their eyes, grumbling.

  “Not this again,” Dothea complained.

  “If no one wants to share theirs I’ll gladly tell mine again,” Tharius threatened.

  “You don’t have a story!” Dothea told him. “You just walked into a damned recruiting station and freaking volunteered.”

  “That’s not the point of my story,” Tharius retorted angrily. “It’s about following in my father’s footsteps. The family tradition.”

  “Yeah, yeah…” Dothea waved dismissively.

  Tharius ignored her. “Leth, come on. Tell us.”

  “I’m reading.”

  “We want to know why a noble would join,” Tharius insisted.

  Leth pretended not to listen.

  “I don’t mind telling mine,” Jullion said.

  Everyone turned to him.

  “Really?” Tharius couldn’t believe it. “I mean, great! We’d love to hear it. Right?” He looked around the table expectantly. “Right?”

  “I would,” Eliran said timidly.

  “Yeah, sure!” Aric agreed.

  “Alright, then,” Jullion said. “Here goes.” He cleared his throat. “During the Purge, my parents took in some magelings on the run. Hid them away in our basement. It didn’t take long before some paladins showed up searching for them. They started burning houses, threatening to burn the whole village to the ground if the mages weren’t found. I was just a kid.” He shrugged. “I got scared. So, I told the paladins about the mages hiding in my house.” He paused. “The paladins, they hum… burned my house down. With my parents and the magelings inside.” A long, thick silence took over the hold. “The rest of the village blamed me. I mean why wouldn’t they, right?” He sighed. “I had no other family to speak of so I fled to Ragara. I begged at the temple door, stole, worked the docks. Then one day I fell ill, seriously ill, and was picked up by the Temple Graces. Everyone expected me to die. The Graces pretty much told me so, but I didn’t. In fact, I recovered so fast, the holy sisters branded it a miracle and offered me a place as an acolyte.” Jullion gave the table a knowing smile. “Free food, clean clothes, and a bedroom all to myself just for wearing a silly robe and singing some canticles behind the priests? Don’t mind if I do.” He snorted, then paused again. “But I guess it’s never that easy. One day I saw something I shouldn’t have. Not only were the priests and priestesses sleeping with each other, but they were also bedding the younger acolytes.” He shook his head. “I mean, I’m no saint. I’ve done a lot of bad things in my life. I stole, I lied… But that was just too much for me. I couldn’t take it, so I threatened to tell everyone.” He grinned. “The next day, I was inside a prison wagon, headed for Lamash. Sure showed them, huh?”

  The group took its time dealing with what they’d just heard.

  “Well, at least now you all know why I hate it when you
call me priest,” Athan said.

  There were some timid smiles along the table.

  “Thank you, Jullion,” Aric said. “That can’t have been easy to share.”

  Jullion shrugged. “It wasn’t easy not sharing it either.”

  “You must’ve looked so ridiculous in those white robes,” Orisius teased.

  “Brother, I made those robes look good and you know it!”

  The two of them kept making fun of each other and conversation scattered around the table. When everyone had finished eating, Orisius played a few songs on the mandolin. Trissa, Irenya, and Nahir even danced a little. Eventually, Eliran excused herself, as she still didn’t feel fully recovered and needed some rest. Aric volunteered to walk her to her room.

  “That was fun,” Eliran said as they reached her cabin door.

  “You should join us more often.”

  “I will.” She smiled and walked into her room.

  They exchanged an awkward “good night” and Aric found himself alone in the corridor grinning like an idiot.

  He decided to go back up to the main deck and continue reading his book.

  Night had fallen, but the oil lamp hanging on the staircase to the aft castle still shone brightly. The book was exquisitely detailed. To the point where some letters written by Luric Auron to his subordinates were reproduced, offering an insight into his brilliant military mind.

  “How is it?”

  Aric recognized Leth’s voice and looked up from the book. His friend’s silhouette stood at the bottom of the staircase, a long cape waving behind him.

  “Quite good, actually,” Aric replied. “Either that or I haven’t read anything at all for far too long. Yours?”

  Leth shrugged. “Mediocre. But that’s to be expected from an emotionalist philosopher.” He paused. “You never asked me why I joined the Guild.”

  Aric closed his book. “I wanted to respect your privacy. I felt that if you wanted me to know, you’d tell me.”

  “Very well.” Leth nodded. “I want to tell you now.”

  Aric’s brows shot up. “I’d love to hear it.”