The Unfortunate Souls Collection

by Stacey Rourke

  “Quiet, man!” I hissed, the palpable tension setting my nerves on edge.

  Malyn wasted no time. Skirting along the edge of the clearing, she scooped up a burlap sack and held it at her side in a white-knuckled fist.

  The air seemed to be sucked from the space, all eyes focused on the rickety old man.

  “My mother used to love butterflies so.” Harwood forced one trembling hand up to shoulder height. Instead of flapping off, the lovely creature landed on the first knuckle of his forefinger. Easing his arm down, he peered tenderly at his passenger. “When she worked in the garden, they would hover around her in the most divine halo. A few would come to rest in her golden hair. Far more exquisite accessories than any man-made comb or barrette.”

  With each second that passed, the crew grew more anxious. Nervous stares drifted to the path behind them. These men wanted to run, were clamping their lips down on brewing screams. But why?

  Once more, it seemed fate answered a question I hadn’t the nerve to voice. A blink and Harwood’s eyes rolled back to reptilian slits. His voice dropped to a demonic hiss. “Even when I found her slumped over the petunias, they were floating around her like merry little fairies of death.”

  Sprinting to shield us, Malyn threw her arms out wide. “Get the boy back!”

  Her gruff warning, demanding flight or fight, prompted me to curl my hand around the fabric of Phin’s collar and shuffle him behind me. Whatever was coming, whatever beastly fate threatened to consume us, would have to go through me first.

  “Sterling, back up,” I hissed, stare darting from him to the captain and back again. “Right now. Get out of the way.”

  His head turned slowly in my direction, pupils constricted to panicked points. “Snake in the hen house,” he whispered. Fear rooted him in that spot, his legs visibly shaking.

  As a chorus of sickening pops and gruesome squishes elicited screams from the crew, I seized Sterling’s wrist and threw him behind Phin and I. Positioning myself protectively before them, I swiveled in the captain’s direction. The impossibility of what I saw, swung my jaw slack.

  Starting at the crown of his skull, Harwood’s skin peeled away in a series of ghastly slurps and gurgles. Cracking bone allowed his slight stature to swell to a behemoth frame. Chunks of human flesh fell to the ground with wet slaps, revealing a thick, reptilian hide beneath.

  Phin shielded his eyes behind me as the nightmare of teeth and scales emerged. The stench of the transformation held tidings of home, a fishy stench wafting on the breeze. Transformation complete, the captain rose on two legs before us, appearing more crocodile than human. Jaw protruding in a harsh underbite, rows of jagged teeth sawed his face into a deadly smile. Glowing amber eyes glared my way, as his viciously hooked talons clicked together in eager anticipation.

  A low rumble emanated from the crocodile, his head slowly swiveling in Sterling’s direction. “You’ve suffered, brother. I know such struggles well.”

  Whirling around, Sterling folded Phin against his chest, squeezing his own eyes shut tight. “Don’t look, child. Everything will be all right. Just … look away.”

  “It wasn’t a threat,” I muttered, numb with shock.

  Other than their brazen sergeant, not one among the crew dared to move or breathe, each opting to play opossum lest they be chosen as an evening snack.

  Focused on results, Malyn extended her free hand, creeping closer to the beast on silent steps. “Captain? I know you’re still in there. Can you hear me?”

  An unholy chuckle reverberated from the croc-man, his lips curling into a snarl. “Shouting at the wind would be as useful as calling to your captain. He has abandoned you all.”

  The demonic chill of his voice sliced me to the bone, each word reverberating through me.

  “Captain,” Malyn attempted again, “if you are there, I need you to stand down!”

  “He answered,” I managed in a weak and raspy croak.

  “Do not move on me, girl.” Flipping his head, croc-man snapped his jaw in ravenous threat. “I will shred the flesh from your bones. You know not the evil you serve.”

  “Captain James Harwood!” she persisted, tendons bulging. “Stand down! This is your final warning.”

  “Stop.” Forgetting how to blink, I reached out for her. As if such a paltry gesture could hold back the tide of war. “Can’t you hear him?”

  Pointed tongue dragging over his teeth, the croc’s slitted glare darted my way. “Save your counsel, lad. She neither knows nor cares that she’s the handmaiden to the devil.”

  Blood screaming in my ears, I watched life slow to a crawl. “They can’t … hear.”

  Battle cry tearing from her lungs, Malyn threw the burlap sack aside to reveal her weapon. No sword gleamed from her grasp, but a ticking clock she hoisted high for all to see. Cued by the act, her men found their feet and stumbled for their own hidden stashes. Behind their backs. Tucked beneath trees. Hidden in tents. Awkwardly stuffed down their trousers. Clock after clock appeared. Each brandished high and proud in a union I couldn’t begin to comprehend.

  Complexion paling from deep emerald to a mossy hue, the croc-man hissed at the sight of them. Saliva dripped from his exposed fangs.

  “The hands of time tick, monster!” Malyn stalked forward, each step stabbing her intent into his leathery hide. “Every second counts down the time you have left.”

  Skirting around the perimeter, her men surrounded the croc, inching closer in a tightening circle.

  Guarded attention sweeping over the horde stalking him, the glow of his reptilian gaze locked on me. Pulling back, he charged.

  Grabbing handfuls of Sterling’s shirt, I shoved him and Phin as far away as possible before one clawed hand closed around my throat. Croc-man yanked my feet from the ground, drawing me close enough to see the bits of meat and flesh stuck between his incisors, his rank breath assaulting my senses.

  The crew swarmed around us. Their clocks swung inches from our faces, ticking and tocking in a pounding chorus that drummed out rational thought.

  “Take the boy and run.” Weakening by the moment, the croc’s complexion dulled to a waxen grey. While his stare bore into me, he depleted the last of his energy ensuring his message was received. “Elsewise … no one leaves this never-land.”

  He eased me to the ground gentle as he could before crumbling to his knees in the dirt. Locked in the silence of my own ineptitude, I could do nothing but watch as the droning of the clocks peeled back the reptilian façade in the same grisly manner by which it appeared.

  Captain Harwood, drenched with sweat and gasping for air, fell in a heap beside me. He had not, however, come out of the transformation unmarred. Claws protruded from the fingers of his left hand. A smattering of scales poked out from beneath the shredded cloth of what had once been his shirt.

  A mask of confusion cutting deep lines between his brows, the captain spoke the exact sentiment rattling through my jumbled mind. “Wh–what happened?”

  Chapter Sixteen

  The wood flute’s tune flooded the space, its melancholy notes reflecting the mood of their troubled musician. At the orders of Sergeant E’toil, we had been assigned a shanty at the edge of camp. It was little more than four walls and tin roof, with a small hearth on the far wall to ward off the night’s chill. Orange sparks sprayed from the fire within as I stoked it.

  Setting the poker aside, I pivoted in my squat and dropped one knee to the ground. Eye level with the pensive boy, I ducked my head in attempt to catch his stare. “Phin? Are you well? We can talk about what transpired out there, if you like.”

  Shaking his head, he played on.

  Dragging my tongue over my chapped lower lip, I tried again. “I found what happened unsettling. That doesn’t make me weak, merely human ... of sorts.”

  A haunting reprieve via that flute was his only response.

  “You remember I can make things happen here, don’t you?” Shifting on to both knees, I sank back on my heels. “In my mind
I see the shadows around this dusty hut becoming our soldiers. Massive, heaving warriors that would keep us safe if the crocodile were to come back. Would it grant you a bit of peace if I made them real?”

  Finally, Phin pulled the flute from his lips, and rested it carefully in his lap. When his gaze dragged up to mine, it was not one of traumatized angst, as I expected, but a quiet stillness. “I appreciate your concern, sir. Truly, I do. Yet in that moment, when the beast appeared, I felt no fear. Do you know why?”

  My head tilted with interest. “I couldn’t begin to fathom. At your age such a thing would have had me shrieking until my gills collapsed.”

  While the hint of a smile toyed at the corners of Phin’s thin lips, a cloud of sadness blew in to darken his eyes. “When my mother was alive and in good health, she used to tuck me in with a story every night. Perched beside me on the bed, she would stroke my hair, and tell tales of gods and goddesses with unimaginable powers. My favorite was the god Pan, who ruled over nature and the wild. The forest and its residents, both big and small, eagerly bent to his command.”

  “Sounds like a fun bloke, to be sure.”

  Resting his elbows on his knees, Phin leaned in. His voice dropped to a secretive whisper. “I wasn’t scared of the monster, because Pan was there … with me. I walked with him through this land, watching nature respond to his every whim. It was he that threw me to safety in the face of harm, assuring me there is nothing here for me to fear.”

  “Me?” I squawked, pulling back in shock. “You think me to be Pan?”

  Phin’s brows lifted to his hairline, daring me to argue. “Do you have another answer for being capable of such marvels? Whom, except Pan, could accomplish what you have?”

  I contemplated protesting, but saw little point in stealing that which brought the lad comfort. “Phin,” I relented, “I have no other explanations to give.”

  His face brightened with the glow of a thousand candles. “I knew it,” he gasped. “While I appreciate your offer of the shadow army, I have no need for it with you here. However, you may want to float the idea past … him.” His gaze drifted skyward.

  A soft rap at the door gifted me a momentary pardon from that peculiar conversation. Rising to my feet, I shook out my cramping legs. “We will give him another minute or two, and hope he comes down on his own.” Ruffling Phin’s hair, I skirted around him and strode to the door.

  “Man to croc. Croc to man. How can the flesh be both?” a hushed voice pondered from above.

  “Hang in there, mate!” I tossed the encouragement in passing, and yanked open the door, only to bristle at our visitor. “Sergeant E’toil.”

  Straightening her hunched shoulders, Malyn shifted from one foot to the other. “I–I brought fresh water from the well.” Lifting the pitcher cradled in her hands, her soldier façade cracked with concern. “I thought the boy may need some. Is he okay?”

  Crossing my arms over my chest, I leaned against the door frame. “I would invite you in to evaluate his condition, but feel we first need to discuss if you can transform into any type of reptile or other assorted creature? It’s a question I would have never thought to ask before, yet here it seems a crucial conversation topic.”

  “The captain is the only one amongst us that is cursed in such a fashion,” she said, daring a step closer. “I give you my word on that.”

  Silently, I stepped back and allowed her access. Brushing past me, she smelled of sunshine and pine needles.

  “Thank you. I really feel quite—” Head falling back, Malyn stared up at the ceiling. “Are you aware your friend is in the rafters?”

  “He’s processing things. He’ll come down when he’s ready.”

  “Am I allowed to know he wears two skins? Does knowing too much make me mad? I didn’t want to know! Take it back! Retract that wriggling larva of information from my brain before it hatches!” Sterling’s panicked hiss wafted down.

  “He may be a while,” I deadpanned.

  Setting the pitcher down on the rickety table, Malyn wiped her sweaty palms on the front of her trousers and edged in the direction of Phin. The soft serenade of his flute drew her in, softening her harsh soldier’s stride to a careful tiptoe. Dropping to her knees, she folded her hands in her lap and patiently waited for his concert to conclude.

  Lost in the music, Phin let the notes carry him far beyond the shanty walls. Lashes brushing the tops of his cheeks, he played a capricious little tune that conjured images of grand adventures, and a life of endless whimsy. Tune tinkling to a close, Phin retracted his instrument and wet his parched lips. Only then did he acknowledge the sergeant with a soft smile.

  “Did you like the song?” he asked in place of a greeting, chestnut locks falling across his forehead.

  “I loved it,” she gushed, the sentiment slathered with sincerity. “It has been a long while since I have heard music of any kind, other than the wind chimes. I forgot how much I missed a sweet melody.”

  Sheepishly, he cast his stare to the flute and dragged his thumb lovingly over the carved edge of it. “Deep in the refrain, that’s where I find home.”

  Such a downtrodden sentiment uttered by one so young seemed to remind the sergeant why she was there. Spine straightening, she swallowed hard before approaching the tender topic. “I suppose one would want to escape after the spectacle you witnessed tonight.”

  Phin’s head rose, wisdom well beyond his years sharpening his stare. “You care for the crocodile, not just the man.”

  Head listing, she pressed, “What makes you say that?”

  “There have to be far more effective ways to drive back such a beast,” he pointed out, index finger tracing over his initials in the flute. “Yet you found a method humane and gentle. By my eyes, that seems an act of compassionate mercy.”

  Lips pressed in a thin line, Malyn nodded. “How very astute of you. And true at that. I do. Enough to protect him from himself.”

  “You’re … friends?” he questioned with growing interest. Shifting in his seat, the chair creaked under his slight weight.

  Malyn flopped down on her rump and crossed her legs beneath her, a small cloud of dust kicking up from the rotting floorboards. “He’s more like … my protector.”

  Sterling’s face swung down between them, dangling upside down as he adjusted his positioning in the beams. “I, for one, would love to hear that tale.”

  Shooting him a sideways glance of annoyance, she honored the request. “It’s not an original story for life’s woes to begin with one’s parentage, yet I count myself among that lot. Seldom in my travels have I encountered a man as harsh and stern as my own father. A lifelong soldier to the crown, he worked his way up the ranks and vested his entire self-worth on the lofty title he earned. He and his first wife had a son they named James, my brother who I would never meet. He was raised to follow father’s footsteps, and did so with vigor. Joining the king’s fleet the very day he was of age, he earned a spot on the front lines at the Battle of Briar. He never made it home.” Catching a string at the bottom hem of her pant leg, she twirled it around her finger before ripping it off. “I don’t know what disappointed father more; the loss of his only child, or the insult of knowing James had allowed himself to be killed in battle. Knowing Father, it was the latter. From that moment on, Father became obsessed with producing an heir to pick up the yoke poor James dropped. Both he and his wife being advanced in years, such a goal became a biologically lofty one. Father refused to let such a hinderance slow or stop him. Through his connection in the castle, he learned of a young maiden—well-bred, with a hefty dowry—whose father had recently succumbed to the fevers. She and her mother needed the protection of a strong pairing to hold their place in court. That was all the motivation Father needed. He divorced his first wife under the claim she could not produce a second heir for him and married my mother, Violet.”

  “How noble of him,” I snorted, scratching a hand over the back of my neck.

  “Not in the least,” she
countered, one brow lifted in open contempt. “My mother was the purest, most gentle soul you could ever hope to meet. A cross word thrown at her was the equivalent to kicking a puppy. Even so, he threw vile sentiments at her incessantly after she had the audacity to give birth to a female child … namely, me. When the years passed, and his boy failed to appear, Father concluded that there was no reason why I couldn’t become the soldier he so desired. From that point on, I was no longer allowed to play with dolls, wear lovely dresses, or even talk with other girls. I had to fight. Had to train. So many lessons to learn carrying buckets of water in the pouring rain, while being verbally berated. My hair was sheared short—a habit I have yet to let go of. When my womanly bosom began to bud, I was wrapped tight to the point of pain. All the while, I looked on longingly while other girls studied poetry, curled their hair, and twirled in pretty gowns. Never again would such silken fabrics grace my skin.”

  Cramming my hands into the pockets of my slacks, I shook my head. “I lost my father before I ever knew him. Your tale reminds me there are far worse things.”

  “Different degrees of the same sorrow, I’d imagine,” Malyn muttered. Staring into the fire, she took us with her into her reverie. “Father enlisted me to service of the crown when I came of age. My military career began with simply trying to find a place to station me. Women weren’t allowed to fight on the battlefield. Guarding the king was a position that had to be earned. Where, then, could they plant a young girl that felt only with a chest full of medals could she ever earn her father’s acceptance?”

  Not one among us dared to guess the verdict of such a sensitive conundrum.

  “They placed me on the royal fleet.” Hands running up and down her arms, Malyn fought off a chill only she felt. “Hardly the right place for a girl, since sailors considered a female on board to be bad luck. Still, the commanding officers insisted that I would be safe there. Silly, stupid men. They believed their command to be iron clad and ensured my protection. Such rules don’t apply in the middle of the vast ocean.” Tears welling in her eyes, she blinked hard to chase them away. “I thank my father for raising me to be ruthless. I can say with heartfelt honestly that if it wasn’t for his ceaseless training I never would have made it off that ship. The vessel’s seaward name was The Enforcer. I see that now as the foreboding warning it was. As if it was predicting what I had to become to protect not just my virtue, but my life. I was challenged and assaulted, time and time again. All hours of the day and night. No mercy granted for physical exhaustion, I spent every moment fighting off any and all advances with a brutality I shouldn’t be proud of, but—gods help me—I truly am. Fixating on one truth got me through each day: fight, win, live. And live I did. Exhausted, beaten down, afraid to so much as close my eyes … yet alive. For how much longer I could have kept on, I can’t say. Eventually, one would have bested me. Of that I have no doubt. I was their obsession, and they wouldn’t stop until one beat me.”