by Raymond Cain
The salari were shackled by the wrists and when they were brought before Terrak, they struggled to swim away. Terrak grabbed the chain and pushed off the ground, soaring through the water with a line of frantic salari trailing behind him.
“Follow me,” the beast rumbled, its voice causing ripples in the water so strong that it scattered a school of viperfish.
Terrak dragged the salari to the skeletal ship and Theoric followed close behind. The rib bones shifted out of the monster’s way, allowing it to enter the gruesome vessel. The salari grabbed onto everything they could—rigging, bones, sails—but the fiend continued marching, unhindered by the salari’s efforts to stop him.
Theoric followed Terrak and the salari into the heart of the ship and found that it was full of air. The floor was fashioned from crushed bone. The walls were crafted from bone fragments that reeked of meat and blood. He inhaled deeply, enjoying the stench.
A ten-foot-tall ring of bones dominated one end of the room and a bone staircase on the opposite end led to the upper deck. Electrical energy danced around the edges of the ring and dark smoke welled up inside it. Within the ring there were flashes of lightning from another realm and shadowy images flying by. Theoric recognized the realm as the same one that Terrak came from. The bone ring formed a portal, much like the one the priests created.
“The portal is a soul engine,” Terrak said in a thunderous voice. A bolt of lightning ripped through the darkness in the portal, as if to emphasize his point. “When a humanoid passes through, its soul will be ripped away, creating power for the ship. They will be stripped of their flesh and soul and their bones will remain behind to strengthen the hull.”
The portal seemed to work in much the same fashion as the soulsmoke factories back in Vekpottaic. To Theoric, it sounded too good to be true. If he could power his ship without having to return home to resupply, he could explore the entire ocean. He kept his facial expression neutral but, deep down, he was drooling in anticipation.
Terrak grabbed the first prisoner’s chains and tore them apart as if they were made from seaweed. Metal links flew across the bone floor and the salari tried to flee but the fiend caught it by the neck and lifted it up in the air. The flailing humanoid used its scaly hands to pry at Terrak’s grip but it could not force open the powerful fingers.
Terrak tossed the unfortunate creature through the portal. It flew into the dark realm and released a scream unlike any Theoric had ever heard, even in the gladiator arena. A lightning bolt came down from above, striking the scaly humanoid. The bolt dug into its flesh and removed a purple, ghostly essence from its body. After its spirit was taken, the salari entered a zombie-like state and floated in limbo. It stopped moving and it had a ghastly, slack-jawed look on its face.
The ship absorbed the salari’s soul and the electricity around the portal flared brighter. Fingers of purple electricity spread out and danced along the enormous rib bones along the hull. The dragon skull bowsprit opened its mouth and purple energy spilled out of it.
Branches of electricity spread away from the ship and struck the seabed around it. Lines of dust erupted from the ground and the vessel rose. With a loud groan of wood and bone, the ship soared a few feet above the ocean floor. Theoric had to grab one of the bone wall beams in order to maintain his footing as the ship righted itself.
There were gaps between the bones in all areas of the ship and Theoric watched in amazement as magical energy weaved in and out of the walls. A small pile of bones—the remains of the salari tossed into the engine—merged with the walls and sealed some of the cracks. In time, he wondered if enough prisoners could make the entire ship solid bone. The thought made him smile, a rare occurrence on the former gladiator’s face, but he resumed a neutral expression before Terrak noticed.
The remaining prisoners tried to run away and dive back into the water but Terrak jerked the chain, sending them flying back toward him. The next salari in the chain was shaking with fear and its gills opened and closed nervously. Theoric was surprised the aquatic creatures could breathe air from the same gills they used to breathe in water.
Terrak grabbed the salari by the throat and tossed him into the soul engine. It disappeared into the dark realm and its high-pitched screams sent shivers down Theoric’s spine. Its chain remained connected to the other prisoners and something in the other realm pulled on it, dragging them in.
The prisoners clawed at the floor to try to pull away from the portal but whatever was pulling on the chain was too strong for them. One by one, the salari disappeared into the portal. As each one disappeared, screams tore through the air and electrical energy surged through the ship. With each passing moment, salari bones were added to the hull, filling in spaces between the ribs.
“One more bone is required in order for you to command this ship,” Terrak said in a voice so resonant that it rattled bones.
Theoric knew what the creature intended. “Do I get to pick which one?”
Terrak’s lips curled back behind its tusks, forming a gruesome smile. “You sure don’t.”
Without any show of effort, Terrak picked Theoric up by the throat. His feet dangled a few feet off the ground and he gasped for air. Both hands tried to pry the fiend’s fingers apart but they did not budge. He was helpless.
Theoric once again heard the sound of tearing skin and cracking bone, but this time, the sounds came from his own body. Searing pain filled him as the hellish creature tore open a hole in his shirt and shoved a clawed finger into his flesh. After cutting open the skin along the left side of his rib cage, two thick fingers pushed through the incision and grabbed the bottom rib. The fiend snapped it off and pulled it free. Blood poured down Theoric’s side and if he were able to breathe at that moment, he would have been screaming.
Once the bone was removed, Terrak lowered Theoric to his feet. The demon pinched the edges of the wound together and scorched the flesh with a small arc of purple energy. The intense heat closed the opening and the smell of burnt meat made Theoric even more nauseous.
The agony was overwhelming and Theoric collapsed. Of all the injuries he’d suffered during his years in the gladiator arena, the agony just inflicted on him was the worst. He was dizzy from the pain and he struggled to remain conscious.
Terrak wiped blood and sinew from the rib bone. It looked tiny in his massive white hands. “This should do nicely,” spoke the demon in a voice that sounded like crumbling stone.
Theoric struggled to get to his feet. Every breath he took caused him intense pain. He inspected his burnt flesh and winced at the grisly wound. It would take months for the wound to heal and the pain to subside.
By the time Theoric made it back to his feet, only one prisoner remained on the chain. It was a human warrior caught months earlier. The man was a spectacular fighter; he single-handedly killed three of the most skilled crewmen on the ship. Theoric had the human subdued and decided to keep the man alive in case his skills proved useful.
The human pressed the heels of his boots into the bone deck and the veins in his arms bulged as he pulled back on the chain. Despite the man’s efforts, he continued to be dragged across the deck. Theoric unsheathed a longsword, reigniting the pain in his side, and slashed the chain. The human scrambled back from the portal as the other end of the chain disappeared into the smoking, electrical abyss.
Terrak raised an eyebrow but Theoric stood his ground. “Not that one,” he said, sheathing his sword loudly for emphasis. “I have plans for that one.”
The human, a bearded human soldier in his forties, looked hard at Theoric with dark green eyes. Emblazoned over the right breastplate was a Seablade symbol. Over his left breastplate was another symbol that seemed vaguely familiar—a pair of crossed tridents.
Chapter Twenty-Five
“Dad’s alive!” Flynn said, sitting up from the flagstones in the Citadel.
All traces of Theoric’s persona were lost but the memories of the visions remained burned in Flynn’s memory. He was nauseous
, his head was pounding, his stomach ached, and his body was even weaker than before, but the sight of his father invigorated him. It took him a moment to regain his bearings and he was overjoyed to be himself again. The pleasure he felt through the shared experience of Theoric killing others disgusted him.
But the excitement of seeing his father again swept those thoughts away. Flynn tried not to get his hopes up too high—for all he knew, Theoric may have slain the man days ago. But if there was a chance that he could get his father back alive, then he would do everything he could to make it happen. The first thing he needed to do was find Theoric’s ship.
Every joint in Flynn’s body complained as he struggled up to his feet. His back was scratched and bleeding from shards of broken glass from the terrarium. His kempcloth shirt was matted with blood. He straightened his clothes and winced as the material pulled glass shards from his skin and sent them clattering to the floor.
The hiss of the wraithsnake interrupted his thoughts and served as a grim reminder that he was not yet out of danger. The thirty-foot-long reptile slithered past a stuffed giant squid and headed for the main hall. Flynn’s first instinct was to let it leave. It bit him twice and, according to what others had said, the third bite can kill.
The third bite can kill you, but it doesn’t always kill you.
Before the reptile could leave the room, Flynn grabbed it by the tail. In the blink of an eye, the snake pulled its body into a tight coil and hissed. Its tail quivered and its elliptical irises narrowed angrily. Flynn met its gaze and considered his next move. It only took a moment for him to make up his mind.
“I need another vision,” Flynn said as he walked up to the snake and punched it in the snout.
The snake sprung and the last thing Flynn remembered before darkness swallowed him was the cold feeling of its shadowy fangs entering his neck.
* * * * *
Flynn felt like he was floating in a sea of ink. It was so dark, he wondered if he was in the black, lifeless water high above the ocean floor. The coolness of his surroundings and the absence of glowing creatures raised goosebumps on his skin. The crackling and fizzing noises drowned out the sounds of murmuring aquatic creatures down below. A fog lifted from his eyes and he found himself on the front of a ship.
Despite his efforts to remain aware of who he really was, Flynn became someone else almost immediately. Once again, his humanity faded and he watched the world through Azuran eyes. Memories of his own childhood were replaced by memories of slavery and bloodshed.
Theoric stood on a white, bone deck surrounded by a large pocket of breathable air. Two bone masts sporting dragonskin sails emerged from the hull. Ropes and rigging crafted from sinew and fangs secured the sails. An Azuran crew stood along the outer perimeter of the deck and worked the rigging or held crossbows at the ready.
The crackling noise was loudest in the heart of the ship and the energy created there worked its way outward. As electricity weaved between the rib bones and struck the water, it created fizzling sounds followed by hisses of steam. The crackling sound of electricity pushing the vessel through the water was joined by the creak of shifting bones in the upper deck. The bones made the same sound a spine made when it twisted in and out of alignment, and that was precisely what was happening.
Behind him he heard the familiar twang of a double ballista. A two-man ballista crew fired a harpoon that struck a nearby frilled shark in the side of the head. The shark died instantly and there were broad smiles on the crew’s pale faces as they reeled the animal in. It would make a fine dinner. They tossed its body onto a pile of other fish caught that day—a leatherback turtle, a giant crab, and a manta ray.
Theoric inhaled deeply, enjoying the sights and smells of piracy. The sweet stench of dried blood clung to the bones and the musky smell of his hardworking crew enhanced the aroma. A pair of goblin sharks swam ahead of the ship, a school of hagfish hovered near the sails, and dozens of lanternfish swam behind them. Glowing algae covered the hilly terrain below, and seaweed painted the landscape in varying hues of green, red, blue, and orange. A rare smile adorned his face and an even rarer feeling of satisfaction accompanied it.
Theoric stood on the bow and peered between two horns protruding from the dragon skull at the end of the bowsprit. He flipped up the collar on his thick, leather coat to ward off the chill, and he readjusted his tricorn hat. He had one foot up on the bowsprit and he could hear, feel, and see crackling energy traveling between its neckbones. His left hand held onto a rope that was once the connective tissue linking a dragon’s neck muscle to its shoulder. His other hand rested on the hilt of one of the jewelled cutlasses at his waist.
The vibrating power he felt in the dragon ship was like a pet that purred in satisfaction to its master’s touch. The ship felt alive. He dragged his fingers along the neckbones of the bowsprit and felt the touch on the base of his own neck. The connection he had with the vessel was fascinating and he wondered how deep it went. If the ship was destroyed, would he die too?
Theoric thought back to the day his rib bone was ripped out and shoved into the skull at the end of the bowsprit. The moment that happened, Theoric had the ability to sense everything on the ship. He felt the sails stretch, the deck shift, and even the footsteps of his crew.
At that moment, one of his men’s footsteps approached quietly from behind. Theoric monitored the man’s footsteps from the moment he left his quarters. It was Gorkan, the ship’s first mate.
“Yes, Gorkan?” Theoric said, without turning around to see who it was.
The priest stammered and Theoric smiled, knowing the man was put off by the fact that Theoric knew he was there.
“I completed the rituals, Captain,” the priest stammered.
“How did they go?”
Gorkan shifted uncomfortably. “The captain of the wooden ship made crazy claims about the sea dragon flying in an airy sky lit by a ball of fire. Clearly his mind could not withstand the ritual and I had to put him down.”
That was disappointing. Theoric had hoped he could speak with the man. “And the bird?”
“The bird seems to be handling its new existence quite well. It awaits you in the priest’s quarters if you’d like to take a look.”
Theoric turned around to face the priest and the movement caused him pain. The wound in his side was still fresh and it would be a long time before it stopped hurting. He quickly masked the pain; any display of weakness might encourage a mutiny. And considering the skill set of the man standing before him, the priest was more of a threat to his leadership than any.
Gorkan was a bald man with a constant stern look on his face. His sharp facial features and the skull-shaped, self-inflicted scar on his forehead added to his grim demeanor. He wore black chain mail armor over his broad frame. A thick leather swordbelt sported a skull-shaped mace covered in spikes. Theoric had seen him use the cruel weapon with brutal efficiency on many occasions.
Gorkan was more warrior than priest. Although skilled in the clerical arts of spellcasting and communing with the dead, his true calling was battle. The man’s magic could temporarily enhance his strength or imbue his mace with deadly power that turned even a grazing hit into a crushing blow. When the man was given time to ready himself for combat, he was a force to behold.
“Let’s go, then.”
Gorkan led him down a set of bone stairs that were once the bones in a dragon’s foot. The rear of the vessel was the aft of the frigate. The priest opened an oak door and entered a wooden room that served as his personal quarters.
The air was smoky and the room smelled of sulfur. The only items inside were a hammock, a locked strongbox, and an armor stand sporting his suit of black chain mail. Gray ash was laid out in a circular pattern in the center of the floor. Judging by how much was left behind, Theoric suspected the priest had failed a few times with his spellcasting.
Ironically, the only reason Gorkan was alive was due to his lack of magical expertise. The other priests on the ship we
re adept at summoning and the portal they created sealed their fate. If Gorkan was skilled enough to assist with the summons, Terrak likely would have killed him with the rest of the priests.
Standing awkwardly in the middle of the pattern was a red bird with blue and yellow wings. The parrot was unsteady on its feet, and it made it only a few steps before it fell onto its side. After some time, it managed to get back to its feet.
“That’s normal,” Gorkan explained. “There’s usually a transition period when you bring something to unlife.”
Theoric acknowledged the comment with a grunt and kept his eyes locked on the bird. “How long has it been since you raised it?”
“About twenty minutes, sir.”
Theoric turned toward a human corpse in the corner of the room. It was the long-haired captain of the wooden vessel. Gorkan animated the man earlier, but the spell lasted for only a few minutes. “Longer than the last one, then.”
Gorkan winced slightly at the unintentional insult, then nodded.
The parrot flapped its wings. Its movements were jerky and uncoordinated, and its flapping scattered ashen powder across the room. Despite its efforts, the bird did not lift off the ground.
Theoric coughed from the ash that hung in the air. “How long is the transition period?”
“It varies. Sometimes the creature moves efficiently right away. Other times it takes a day or two.”
Theoric cleared his throat. “How do I tell it what to do?”
“Once you give it a drop of your blood, it is yours to command. It’s limited by its intelligence but once you’re bonded to it by blood, it will understand your desires without having to be told what to do. It is best to give it time to relearn how to fly before you give it any orders.”
Theoric removed a long dagger from his belt, cut a line across his palm, and made a fist over the bird. A few drops of blood spilled from his fist and the bird eagerly caught them in its beak. He folded his arms and waited a few moments for something to happen, but nothing did. “That’s long enough.”