“Allport, you’ve reached a dead end. You have an airship on your head, which has you in its line of fire, and a dozen armed people on your gangway. However you haven’t done anything irreparable yet, if Jillian is alive. Gabriela, where were you headed?”
“Gothland,” Cerriwden answers raising her chin. “We had established a rendezvous with our clients.”
“And what had you agreed upon regarding your mysterious passengers?”
“That we would drop them off at the first port, if they wanted it,” Cerriwden confirms.
“So there’s no problem, Allport!” Silla calls out to him again.
“If I said to you Viper brigade, the devils who landed in the sea?”
“God will judge our enemies…”
“…and we’ll offer them a ride,” Silla answers.
“I see you served in Her Majesty’s army,” the Englishman remarks.
“For ten long years. On my honor, we shall now climb aboard and you will cede command to Gabriela who will bring us all to Gothland, where you can get off and be at liberty. Gabriela?”
“Very well, just let me on board. And remember,” the girl shouts towards the porthole, “bastard, that your dear friend George, who is now weaving traps and hijacking other people’s airships, was fucked if my aunt and I hadn’t taken him in, nursed him and supported him. Remember that, by the demon, that you should be damned, impaled and skinned alive!”
Silla waits a few seconds then presses him, “Allport? It seems you have some heavy debts.”
The man feverishly checks the command console, where one after another increasingly agitated missives were being addressed to him.
“Okay, I’ll open up for you. On your honor, by sea, by earth and by the Queen?”
“Long live the Queen,” Silla quickly answers.
The tired company move toward the prow’s hatch.
Gabriela suddenly grabs Alina’s hand. “I’m sorry,” she whispers.
The young Santuini turns and hugs her tight. “You knew nothing of Guarischi’s expedition and yet you came to take me away, on your own against an army, like a true sister. I’m with you, Gabri, heart and soul!”
***
The boat emerges from between the breakers, blowing steam from both vents. The portholes circled with brass are all completely steamed up and leave to the imagination what the fate might be of the divers inside it.
A wave of at least thirteen feet crashes against the metal, making the chain supporting the bathyscaphe groan ominously. Lionel clamps his hand on the frozen balustrade. At his side, the witch Danielle senses his terror and squeezes herself tightly against his arm searching him out with her splendid light eyes.
“It’s late. The sun is low,” Lionel remarks. “We can’t make another attempt.”
“Perhaps just one.”
“If this last one hasn’t worked either, we need to perfect the machine. I don’t wish to lose another crew.”
The woman strokes his hair. “Fear not, my light. Our brothers know how important it is to obtain the artifact. I’ll go down myself on the next try.”
“No.” Lionel covers his face in his hands. “Not you, please.”
“Look,” Danielle points at the boat battered by the waves.
From inside one of the glass openings, a flattened hand, with much effort, is clearing away the condensation.
“They’re alive!” Lionel rejoices. “Quickly!” He launches into a sprint along the balcony, darting down the stairs toward the cargo deck. “Quickly, quickly,” he continues to mutter, but even the hybrid maneuvering the pulley understood his urgency and spins his four arms like the blades of a windmill, to speed the ascent.
The warlock places a hand on the worker’s greenish back and presses him on, “Come on, brother! Get them out of there.”
The hybrid clenches his teeth until they grind against each other and flexes the muscles of his giant back, imposing his savage rhythm on the notched wheel.
Little time, Lionel thinks. Too little. They had to make do with rudimentary tools; he didn’t even have a way to construct a mechanical winch on their ships.
Because of that traitor. The thought of Arabel strikes him like a spike imbedded in his bones. He tries to chase the images from his mind, but the witch’s face, framed by her hair and drenched in sweat with her mouth open in a moan of pleasure, is slow to leave. Lionel shakes his head to regain a modicum of clarity. Arabel played her cards; he had been the fool. At his side, the faithful Danielle grabs his hand, smiling at him. He returns the gesture, perhaps more to reassure himself than the woman.
“My light,” Danielle murmurs.
With one last struggle, the four-armed hybrid coils the chain around the gear, lifting the little bathyscaphe to the level of the deck.
“Thank you, brother.” Lionel caresses the deformed face of the being, kneeling on the ground out of exhaustion.
He jumps on the ladder and attacks the four bolts that keep the boat sealed. Their last attempt to maintain the vessel’s pressure, sealing it from the outside.
The hatch swings open and lets out a puff of foul-smelling steam.
“Sadhi?” he says uncertainly.
A webbed hand grips the portal’s rim, quickly followed by a hairless, yellow head.
“Sadhi! My dear,” Lionel embraces the hybrid and buries his face into her glistening skin. “I was afraid I’d never see you again.”
The creature emits an unintelligible burp of satisfaction and gives him several light slaps on the back.
“The artefact?” Lionel pulls a few inches away from the hybrid to look it in its greenish-yellow eyes.
With poorly-concealed happiness she raises her other paw, holding a metallic scepter encrusted in salt and coral.
“Yes!” Lionel shouts, planting two noisy kisses on her face. “You did great!”
He grabs the hybrid’s hand gripping the scepter and raises it to the sky.
“Yes!” he repeats, immediately followed by whistles, shouts and other noises of approval coming from his multi-colored crew.
Lionel helps Sadhi exit the primitive submarine vessel, to receive the embrace of Danielle and another five, ten, twenty hybrids who abandon their stations to huddle in around him, some caressing his head, some taking his hand and some flashing him the thumbs up.
The sensation of well-being, of having completed a job well done all together, expands in his mind, transmitting itself to all those present. Even those who are working in other areas of the ship sense that the expedition was successful and share in his joy.
Danielle kisses him sweetly on the cheek, looking at him with dreamy eyes.
“Uhgn! Daani! Uhgn!” clamors a hybrid on the communication panel.
The witch extracts herself from the collective hug and makes her way toward the panel. After a quick swap of terse lines on the intercom, she waves a hand to catch his attention.
“Lionel! Alyssa has returned!” Danielle rejoices, and the warlock feels her heart fill with satisfaction.
Alyssa knows how important the hidden power she’s been charged with finding is, and she wouldn’t return empty handed. He assigned two of his three surviving pan-airships to this search. The rediscovery of the Scepter of Destiny, among the ruins off the coast of Bergen, has shown how accurate the visions of his magic circle were. Alyssa could not have forgotten their goal.
“Let’s lay it out on the upper deck,” Lionel orders.
They had decided not to exchange any more radio communications. The first encounter with the Europeans was resolved in a furious cannonade, which had sunk one of their pan-airships, even though they had used all their combined powers to cast a magical protection over their vessels. They hadn’t had a chance to explain or to bargain as he had hoped; evidently that fleet had received instructions, and once again he had Arabel to thank for that. Or rather he had her weakness to thank. Arabel wasn’t at fault, he had tricked her first.
From then on, Lionel’s little fleet had orde
rs to fire at anyone they might meet and to maintain radio silence.
The warlock comes to a stop on the ship’s short upper deck accompanied by the loyal Danielle. The winds of the North Sea endangers their clothes, covering them with encrusted salt and icicles. A lighter detaches from the larger of the two airships, the Maxus, on which he can see the pale blue coiffure of the witch Alyssa, aided in navigation by a pair of hybrids.
Lionel’s smile is turned down a few degrees when he notices the clear signs of enemy bombardment on the side of the Black Heart, the second pan-airship. The structure seems intact, but he sees the cables connecting the ships, a clear sign one of them is in no shape for steering. He scrutinizes Alyssa’s face, a couple dozen yards away by now, and the smile dies on his lips when he sees her expression of despair.
“Alyssa.” Lionel stretches out his hand to help her climb up to the deck’s floorboards.
“My lord.” The lady jumps aboard, but she keeps her gaze lowered and wrings her hands.
The warlock places a finger on her forehead, inviting her to lift her eyes.
When he encounters the witch’s emerald irises, he finds frustration, anger and pain. The negative emotions drop in his heart like rocks inside an aquarium. The few hybrids present look away, troubled by these sad feelings and Danielle lets out a disappointed huff.
“My lord,” Alyssa barely moves her tremulous lips, “I failed.”
A bitter smile crosses Lionel’s face. He would have like to strike her, to shout, to vent. The central link in his plan, the keystone on which he’s balancing his whole design, missing.
He squeezes the woman’s shoulders, while tears cloud his eyes. “Why? How is it possible?”
“The couple we identified in the rite to reveal Dependence were really there. But they intercepted us and kidnapped the two we were searching for.”
“It’s not possible!” Lionel explodes, in a savage shout. “Who? Who were they?”
“I don’t know, my lord. An airship waving the English flag. Probably sisters, but there were also men with them. Forgive me, my lord.” Alyssa buries her face in her hands and leans against his chest.
“No, Alyssa.” The man wraps her in an embrace. “It’s you who must forgive me. It’s my fault that I succumbed to Arabel’s flattery allowing her to steal my plans from me. I was weak.”
“My light,” Danielle comes close to comfort him, “don’t torment yourself. We ought to have protected you and we didn’t.”
“It was a magnificent plan, perfect. And now… how will we do it?” Stinging tears of disappointment run along his cheeks. Lionel stretches out his hand to receive Danielle’s reassuring contact, before sinking his face in Alyssa’s hair. After a few seconds, refreshed by that hug, he turns to the other hybrids convened there. “Brothers! Do you believe in me?”
Those present drew near bellowing cries or some primitive forms of appreciation, some even utter a primordial, “Yes!”
Everyone, however, tried to touch him or squeeze a hand to let him feel their support.
“Thank you, dear brothers, thank you. As long as just one of you has faith in me, we won’t give up! We can’t let fear stand in the way of achieving our goal. Today we took a very important step forward; we found the Scepter of Destiny, one of the four components which will allow Us to become We!”
“We, We, We,” the hybrids murmur with their guttural voices.
“Another element escaped us, but I think we can easily recover it. You said they were witches, Alyssa?”
“Many of them were; I’m certain, my lord, I recognized their magic aura.”
“Then our next stop will be Gothland where, here in Europe, all the sisters of the Continent are confined. And we shall see which side of the table they wish to sit on.”
“To Gothland!” Danielle raises a fist, eliciting an echo of unintelligible screams and enthusiasm, which reverberates on all the decks of the large ship.
***
Kasia rolls over in her cabin’s bed; a thousand thoughts torment her soul. That terrible day culminated inauspiciously in a heated argument: to bring Riger back to the airship and put those pompous paper-pushers in the customs office in line. Her ship attacked in Gothland! Another hindrance to put on the Cerriwdens’ tab, she was sure of it. Not to mention the nine unanswered calls coming from the Baron’s Scourge, accompanied by an official complaint to the Visby port authority.
The many hours of lost sleep and fatigue gained the upper hand in the end, driving her into a state of drowsy exhaustion.
She suddenly awakens, with a new hope in her chest and a pleasant warmth wrapping around her limbs. The recollection of the gray glint in Alina’s eyes dissolves in her memory, leaving behind it a clear, powerful sensation. She sits up and flicks the intercom switches for the crew’s quarters and the navigation bridge.
“Lili! Riger!”
“Captain?” Lili responds to her order.
“Huh?” says the other, half-asleep.
“They sent me a dream vision! They’re alive and they’re heading back!”
Kasia soaks in her companion’s shouts of celebration while she squeezes the pillow between her hands until her knuckles turn white. Two silent tears of joy run down her cheeks. With her full crew assembled and Alina by her side, the Needle will go back to being the ship she’s always commanded: invincible.
The End (for now)
The story will conclude in the fourth installment of The Codex of the Witch, entitled Sabbath.
Sabbath was published in Italian in 2016 and will be translated into English as soon as a The Codex of The Witch has gained enough followers. So, if you liked this book, spread the word among your friends, leave a review, and hold on for few months. You'll find the conclusion on the Amazon bookshelf very soon.
Federico Negri
Hi there, thank you again for having read through all of my effort and I do hope you liked it.
I'm not a pro-writer so this is not a pro-bio
I was born in the early Seventies and I work and live in Turin, Italy although I have extensively travelled through Asia and Europe. I am a boring finance manager and there's nothing so thrilling about my life to be mentioned here, except for my beautiful family and the two children who enlighten my days.
I have always been an avid reader, so in 2012 I made up my mind and decided to try my fate as a writer. I published three novels before The Code of the Witch, but they are only available in Italian, you can find them on Amazon if you want. I decided to try this story on the ebook market and have it translated since I believe it could appeal to international taste. So, if this was the case, or if you have any particular comment on the book (maybe you just want to say "hello" or send me a million dollar contract for a Hollywood blockbuster production) please drop me a line at my email [email protected]
You can also find me on FB and Twitter, I speak English and I'd love to interact with my readers, so feel free to send me your thoughts.
Chris Tamigi
Chris Tamigi translates from Italian and Spanish. He graduated from the University of Arkansas’s MFA program in literary translation in 2016.
Acknowledgments
I'd like to thank Chris Tamigi for his work and support, it was a long trip but we have come through. I'd like to address a special thank to Adriane Hesselbein who has edited this novel with extreme professionality and dedication, you can find her on Upwork if you need somebody who cares about your writing.
The Codex of the Witch: Fantasy Novel Page 32