by Raymond Cain
As he plodded along a pier, merchants and fisherman pushed by him, knocking him down. The fall aggravated his chest wound and sent waves of pain surging through him. He cursed at the merchants and got back to his feet.
A crowd was forming at the next pier and Flynn craned his neck to see what was happening. Tanner’s ship was tied to the dock next to some steel and aquazite vessels bearing the insignia of Seahaven’s city guard. Flynn reasoned the guards found Tanner’s ship and towed it home.
Stern-faced guards stepped out onto the pier. With military efficiency, they held the crowd at bay and pulled Tanner’s corpse from the chitin ship. With Tanner’s body in tow, the soldiers cut through the crowd and marched toward the Citadel. Most citizens stepped out of their way and the few that stepped forward to get a better look were shoved aside.
Flynn stepped out of their way as they approached. He considered telling them that he found Tanner but he held his tongue. He didn’t have any useful information to offer and the only thing he would accomplish is to get a hefty fine and his ship impounded for leaving the Safe Zone.
As the guards marched by him, Flynn heard an agonized whisper.
“Saaaaaaave meeeeee.”
Those two raspy syllables chilled his spine. The only people nearby were guardsmen and he felt certain none of them said it. Those words could only have come from Tanner
“He’s still alive!” Flynn shouted, trying to push his way through the throng to take a closer look.
Flynn pushed past the guards and caught a glimpse of Tanner. The man hung limply in their arms and his skin was gray. He was clearly dead. Flynn stood there, dumbfounded, until one of the guardsmen slammed him in the stomach with the butt of a crossbow, knocking him to the ground.
The guards continued marching toward the Citadel as Flynn laid on the pier and tried to catch his breath. He puzzled over what just happened. Was he hearing things? The image of Tanner’s body haunted him. There was no way the whisper could have come from the man.
After struggling back up to his feet, Flynn continued his journey home. As he stepped onto The Lift, he leaned heavily on the liquid handrails and tried not to think about the ghastly words from Tanner’s corpse.
Chapter Eighteen
The following morning, Flynn woke up in a cold sweat. He’d suffered all night from nightmares and the little sleep he did get did not rejuvenate him. Burned in his mind were ghostly images of his parents, blaming him for their deaths, begging him for help that he was unable to provide, and cursing him with promises that he would soon be joining them in torment. Before that night, he could scarcely remember having a troubling dream, let alone a night filled with terrifying nightmares.
Flynn threw off his seaweed blanket and pushed himself into a sitting position. The move sent waves of pain searing through his torso and he buckled forward, cradling his chest wound. The redness and swelling increased significantly.
The water clock in his bedroom indicated he was nearly late for school. Tired and in pain, the last thing Flynn wanted to do was go to the Citadel for weapons training but he didn’t want to jeopardize his enrollment by skipping school. Besides, after all the nightmares, the thought of going back to sleep lost much of its appeal.
After donning clothes and practice armor, Flynn regarded himself in his liquid mirror and regretted it. The luster in his green eyes was gone. Instead, they were dull, glossy, and had bags underneath them. His skin looked gray and his face hung from him as though he were recently deceased. He let out a yawn that smelled bad enough to kill plants and tasted even worse. He sprinkled powdered mint leaves on a water pic—another invention of his brother’s—and washed his mouth, but it did little to improve the taste.
Flynn slid open a dresser drawer and regarded his compass. The needle inside drifted aimlessly in the enchanted liquid. He considered bringing it with him but decided against it. The compass had gotten him in enough trouble already.
He slipped the necklace his mother gave him over his head then pulled the stone door open. Its watery hinges closed the door behind him as he left. Before long, Flynn left the house behind and was riding The Lift down to Lowercity.
Once he reached the red cobblestone streets, he took the nearest ice slab on the Waterway. In time, he was crossing the moat and entering the Citadel. The guards on duty that day were the same two that had laughed at him before and, to their credit, they allowed him access without so much as a snicker. In fact, one of them wrinkled his eyebrows in concern as he walked by.
Soldiers were patrolling the moat’s perimeter slower than usual and they wore gloomy facial expressions. Students entering the Citadel behind Flynn did so in silence, in stark contrast to the boisterous behavior he’d observed on previous days. It appeared that news of Tanner’s death spread quickly.
Master Elgin greeted each student at the main doors. His head was freshly shaved and his dark beard was less bushy than usual. He wore a stylish black inkskin jacket, a black silk shirt, and black kempcloth trousers, all of which looked to be recently cleaned and pressed. Master Elgin shook each student’s hand and when it was Flynn’s turn to be greeted, the weapons master’s grip felt like he was getting his hand crushed by a colossal squid tentacle.
“School has been cancelled today,” Master Elgin announced. “We’re having a service in the main hall to honor Tanner instead.”
Flynn nodded and continued past the weapons master into the Citadel. He cringed as a shooting pain darted across his chest and he was grateful that he would not have to fight that day. Many students milled between the stuffed merfolk, giant squid, and sharks in the hall. Flynn regarded the monsters and wondered how many of them were killed by Tanner himself.
Tanner’s body was laid out on an altar with a silk sheet covering him from head to toe. One of the weapons masters lowered the top of the sheet, exposing Tanner’s head. His skin was pale gray but he looked peaceful and healthy as though he were sleeping, not dead. Flynn approached reluctantly, both fearful and curious to know if he would hear Tanner’s voice again.
To Flynn’s horror, the corpse’s head turned toward him and he froze. Tanner’s mouth fell open and raspy words spilled out of its dead lips. “Saaaaaaave meeee…”
Flynn jumped back and collided with a pair of students standing behind him. When he looked back at Tanner, the man’s face was once again staring up at the ceiling. People were looking at Flynn strangely and he wondered if what he saw was a hallucination. He pushed his way through the throng into the next hall.
“What is going on with me?” Flynn said, burying his face in his hands.
The only other people in the room, a pair of students, stood by the wraithsnake terrarium. Flynn tried to compose himself, half-expecting the stuffed club-wielding ogres, snarling darkcats, and cave lizards mounted on the walls to come alive. He stared each monster in the eye, daring them to move, but none of them did.
A pair of students stared at the wraithsnake as though daring it to move as well. Flynn had stared at it the same way numerous times and it never flinched. Many believed the snake was just as dead as the other specimens.
As Flynn approached the terrarium, the pair of students walked away from it with bored looks on their faces. The wraithsnake was coiled in the same spot as the last time he looked at it. There were fingerprints all over the glass, likely the result of students’ futile efforts to wake up the creature. He was about to turn away when, shockingly, the snake stirred.
The wraithsnake lifted its head from its coils. Its smooth white scales were tinged blue from glowdiscs in the ceiling and its eyes were fiery red orbs with elliptical pupils. The reptile locked eyes with Flynn and its gaze was like a pair of raging volcanos, slashed with darkness.
A forked tongue darted out and flicked back and forth, tasting and smelling the air. Its tongue disappeared back into its mouth and its crimson orbs flared. Its pupils narrowed as they focused on Flynn and the thirty-foot reptile began to uncoil itself.
With lightning speed
, the wraithsnake smashed its head into the wall of the terrarium, cracking the glass. It smashed the glass over and over, heedless of the damage it was inflicting on itself. Flynn stepped back, dumbfounded by the snake’s bizarre behavior.
Flynn rubbed his eyes. “Am I hallucinating this?”
Strong hands grabbed Flynn’s collar from behind and pulled him away. The wraithsnake’s eyes remained locked on Flynn as he was dragged to the opposite end of the hall. Once he was safely out of the snake’s sight, the sound of it hitting its head against the glass ceased. Flynn was yanked to his feet and he found that it was Master Elgin who dragged him away. The weapons master looked furious.
Master Elgin grabbed the front of Flynn’s collar and lifted him off the ground, glaring at him with eyes that burned with almost as much rage as the snake. “You festering pile of ogre snot! What did you do to that snake?”
So he wasn’t hallucinating. Flynn wasn’t sure if he should have felt relieved or not. “I didn’t do anything. It just went crazy.”
Master Elgin squinted skeptically and his jawbones widened as his teeth clenched. “Today is not the day you should be lying to me, Flynn. That snake hasn’t moved in months.”
“I swear, sir. All I did was look at it.”
Flynn continued to dangle in mid-air as Master Elgin continued to glare at him. Holding Flynn aloft did not seem to require any effort and it was a long time before the weapons master lowered him to the ground.
“You look sick,” Master Elgin said, his glare softening slightly. “Like something that slipped out of a troll’s…”
“I’m fine,” Flynn said, sparing himself from the colorful comparison that was sure to follow. His chest ached and his head felt hot. Throbbing pain pounded away at his skull. “I’m sorry for the trouble.”
“Go home,” the weapons master said, scowling more after Flynn interrupted him.
A crowd was forming and people stared at Flynn as he headed for the double-doors out of the Citadel. Avoiding their gaze, he nearly reached the doors when one of the paintings in the grand hall caught his eye. It was a centuries-old painting depicting a warrior and a wizard standing back-to-back in a cavern, fighting off a mob of orcs. The wizard carried an item that looked oddly familiar.
It was an orb, identical to the one Flynn found on his mother’s corpse. Of equal interest was a golden pin on the wizard’s cloak, depicting a blade with fins. Flynn passed by the painting numerous times before but it wasn’t until that moment that he noticed the items in it. Seeing his mother’s pin and compass on an ancient painting was another mystery and he was determined to find answers.
“Does anyone recognize this symbol?” Flynn asked, loud enough to attract the attention of a dozen nearby students. Most of them appeared to be taken aback by the abrupt question. Every student and instructor shrugged their shoulders or shook their head no. A few people scowled at Flynn for interrupting Tanner’s memorial. Master Elgin scowled more than any of them.
“It’s nothing,” Master Elgin said, crossing his huge arms and staring hard at Flynn. “It’s a meaningless symbol that hasn’t been seen in Seahaven for centuries. And I think it’s time for you to leave.”
The unusually hostile response surprised Flynn. “I’m sorry, sir,” he replied. “I’m not feeling well today. I’m going home to get some rest.”
Master Elgin nodded sternly and Flynn turned to leave. As he wandered home, he knew he may have jeopardized his schooling but he had bigger concerns. Between the hallucinations, the wraithsnake’s sudden hostility, and Master Elgin’s odd behavior, he knew there was something going on at the Citadel.
And he knew where to go to find answers.
Chapter Nineteen
Flynn felt certain his parents were the key to the strange events that were happening lately. If they lived secret lives, there should be clues hidden somewhere in their home. If they were elite warriors using magical equipment, they would have needed to store their gear somewhere convenient.
When Flynn arrived home, he entered his parents’ room for the first time since their disappearance. He splashed the silvery mirror to look behind it, removed drawers from their dresser, went through their closet, and pushed and pried at every flagstone to see if there was anything hidden underneath. There was nothing to be found.
Flynn left the bedroom and went to the study, a room his parents spent a great deal of time in. The room struck him as unusual because his parents never allowed him or Tasker inside. When he asked his parents what they did in there, they told him the study was their private room for peace and quiet away from the kids. At the time, the answer seemed reasonable. But in the context of thinking of his parents as members of a secret organization, their response sounded suspicious.
With the turn of a latch and a gentle push, the stone door swung open quietly on liquid hinges. The study appeared unremarkable. Padded chairs, two coffee tables, and stone shelves holding dozens of books dominated the room. A water clock was mounted on the wall by one of the shelves.
Flynn did not see anything to entice someone to spend all day in there unless that person was an avid reader. It puzzled him because neither of his parents struck him as the type to read books all day. Something about the room felt wrong. Hoping that one of the books might be hiding a secret door, he removed them all but nothing happened.
Next, he investigated the clock. Two crossed-tridents emblazoned in gold decorated the front. He tried to remove it from the wall and found it firmly attached. When he repositioned his hands to get a better grip, he inadvertently pushed on the golden tridents symbol. The tridents sank inward with a click. Flynn jumped back, thinking he may have triggered a trap.
The wall behind the clock swiveled inward. The study led to a hidden room!
Dust fell from the wall as it rotated away and the room on the other side was lit by lightdiscs on the ceiling. The walls were filled with the stuffed heads of monsters. Some of the preserved specimens included darkcats, deep ogres, and two feline creatures he could not identify. He wondered if his parents killed them all.
Racks of weapons and armor filled up most of the room. Half of the armory contained items designed for underwater combat. The weapon racks contained spears, harpoons, tridents, and triple crossbows fitted with flotation devices. The underwater armors were made from chitin. Its light weight and maneuverability made it ideal for underwater use.
The other half of the armory contained traditional arms and armors made from steel. The weapons included longswords, shortswords, maces, and daggers. The armors consisted of two suits of chain mail, two suits of plate mail, and two shields.
Half of the armors looked big enough to fit his father’s large frame and the other half were much smaller. Judging by the curve of the breast plates, the smaller armors were built for his mother. Her armor was lighter and thinner, allowing her full freedom of movement. His father’s armor was thick, heavy, and geared more towards protection than agility.
Each of his parents had their own weapon racks. One rack held heavy swords and the other rack held lighter, thinner blades. Their choice of weaponry told Flynn much about their fighting styles. It was clear to him that his father delivered powerful blows that could slice through thick, armored hide. His mother’s weapon racks held elegant weapons that were narrow enough to slip between scales and breastplates. Each weapon and suit of armor were emblazoned with the symbol of a blade with fins.
Flynn donned the breast plate from one of his father’s suits of plate mail. It was huge on him, testament to his father’s powerful build. He put the armor back and picked up his father’s greatsword. The sword was as tall as he was and heavier than any sword he’d ever held. Flynn’s mining experience made him strong but even he found his father’s greatsword too heavy to wield effectively.
His mother’s swords were more his style. He preferred the quick thrusts and parries of a smaller blade to the powerful slashing attacks of heavier weapons. He strapped on a swordbelt with two shortswords hanging
from it in metal scabbards. Even after a year of no use, the well-oiled blades slid out of their scabbards easily. The finely-sharpened edges gleamed from the glow of the lightdiscs in the ceiling and he performed a series of thrusts and slashing attacks around the room.
The shortswords felt good in his hands and he imagined his parents as they battled creatures in underground tunnels and caverns. If only he could have seen them in action. He kept swinging the swords at imaginary foes until he accidentally stabbed one of his father’s armors in the groin.
“Sorry,” Flynn said, awkwardly. The plate mail didn’t have feelings, obviously, but when it’s a sword in the groin, even a suit of armor deserved an apology. He removed the sword and put it back in its scabbard.
A stone shelf protruded from the wall and it supported a flat, wooden box. Flynn sheathed the other sword and opened the box. It was lined in red velvet and had moulded padding on the inside. There were four ring-sized indents in the padding and two of them contained aquazite rings with the family’s crossed-tridents insignia emblazoned on them. The other two ring-indents were empty. Flynn reasoned the rings were on his parents’ fingers.
Flynn closed the lid and noticed that it was thicker and heavier than expected. He reopened the box and inspected the velvet interior. The lid contained a hidden pouch containing a small inkskin-bound book.
The cover was blank and the pages appeared to be made from kelp. As Flynn turned to the first page, he gasped at the title.
The Journal of Galyn and Malya Arcturus.
* * * * *
Finding his parents’ journal thrilled Flynn beyond words. He ached to know more about his parents’ disappearance—and their secret lives—and the information within could provide insights to both. His breathing quivered as he flipped to the next page. Judging by the elegant, flowing script, he guessed the first entry was written by his mother.