by Chloe Hodge
“Have you crossed the Onyx Ocean before?”
The man’s eyes glazed, and he shuddered ever so slightly, remembering things he’d rather forget.
“Aye. Once before. A long time ago, before I paid my way for this ship and assembled my own crew. We lost everything that day, the ship, the merchandise. Few survived.”
“Yet here you are.”
He turned green eyes back to Ashalea. “I vowed I would never sail these waters again, but...” He sighed. “King Tiderion is not a man you refuse. He said this mission meant life or death. You don’t ask questions with him, you just obey. That is the way our agreement works. Besides,” he patted his pocket with a jingle, “the elf king pays well.”
Ashalea nodded. She could attest to the king’s stubborn nature and wasn’t surprised terms of a deal struck by King Tiderion might warrant some less than hospitable travels. By the sound of Bonodo’s pocket though, it couldn’t be said that he was cheap.
She grimaced and peered at the man beside her curiously. “What happened, Captain Bonodo? What did you see the first time?”
He opened his mouth to speak but something struck the ship with undulating force, sending the crew and passengers flying. She almost toppled over the edge when Bonodo’s hand gripped her wrist and pulled her back into his arms.
She looked into his eyes, both shocked and relieved as she sat in his lap. “What was that?”
His face was grim as he lifted an arm, pointing. “The reason I never returned.”
Her eyes followed his finger to reveal an enormous writhing creature emerging from the sea; its black tendrils snaking around the masts of the ship. From afar it somewhat resembled a sea urchin, until Ashalea realised the writhing on its body was a host of spiked creatures climbing upon its bulk.
One by one they dropped into the water and made their way to the wooden vessel. As the last dunked into the sea, the giant mass showed its true form. Black as dried blood, dripping tarlike substance from every inch of its body, the shapeless mass screamed.
All the elves fell in unison — including Ashalea — their eardrums almost bursting with the sheer volume of its screech. Panicked eyes darted from victims as they held hands to heads in unanimous pain, blood trickling from pointy ears. Several fainted from the onslaught and others staggered around, dizzy and unstable from the loss of their senses. The humans fared slightly better, for their ears didn’t recognise the pitch at the same oscillation.
Captain Bonodo sheltered Ashalea in a corner of the ship as she spasmed from the pain, and began barking orders at his crew, sweat dripping from his face as he forgot his fear and focused on saving the lives of his men and at a long shot, his ship.
“To arms! Find every weapon you can. Bolster our defences, ready the cannons.” He flew under the deck with fire on his heels, gathering every weapon he could carry before throwing them to idle crew members. He barked, “be ready!”
He looked to his second in command; a terrified woman in her thirties. She sat on the decking, dazed and unblinking. He marched forwards and slapped her, hard across the face, leaving a stark red smattering across her pale skin. Her eyes fluttered several times, and she shook her head slightly.
“Man the wheel, do what you can to get us out of this mess! Disengage from the creature and save my damn ship!”
She forced her body to comply, regaining composure, then nodded fiercely and sprinted to the helm which was now veering towards the faceless being as it pulled on the masts. Bonodo waded through the men and women until he found the wizard who was hunching down over several elves, muttering with his eyes closed. When the incantation was done, the elves came to their senses, their pain now dulled.
Bonodo nodded once he understood and put a hand on the wizard’s shoulder. “Can you do anything about this?” He glanced at the creature and its many minions, which were now sliming up the sides of the ship, vicariously close to the railing.
Wezlan nodded. “Order the men to take posts at the edge of the ship. It’s dangerous, but I’ll need time to perform a spell.”
The Captain didn’t like the exposure to the creature’s tendrils but there was little choice. He didn’t hesitate. “Time I can give.”
To his crew, Bonodo screamed his orders. “To the railing! Don’t let them climb aboard. Fight!”
Chaos descended all at once. In minutes the urchins began to break rank, climbing up the hull and past the first wave of defenders onto the deck. Swords were of little use, the metal edges clanging on hard scaly spikes. Bonodo darted, his movements fluid as a dancer. He lodged a spear beneath an urchin, flipped it over, and drove the steel tip into its underbelly with a roar.
“Use your spears, men. Go for the belly.”
He continued dancing around his ship, swirling the spear with precision. What urchins he couldn’t flip, he swatted back into the water with all his strength. Beads of sweat dribbled down his face as he concentrated on the next target, and the next. His crew mimicked the movements, roaring in triumph as the urchins fell one by one. The stream of creatures climbing aboard began to slow, and just when it looked like they might have a chance, all the creatures on deck curled into a ball, their metallic armour retracting in on themselves. For a few moments, nothing happened. Men and women approached cautiously, but the urchins remained still.
“Now’s our chance!” one man shouted, and the others cried out in fury as they lunged toward the creatures with raised arms.
Bonodo sensed a trap. “No, stay back! Cover yourself!”
Too late.
The urchins pulsed once and vomited a wave of spikes throughout the air in three hundred- and sixty-degree circles. The spikes impaled all within their reach, sprinkling blood like a painter gone wild; red splatters adorning the flesh and bone of both man and ship.
A woman fell, a spike pierced through her eye socket, what was left of the white bulb staring where it sat upon the tip. Another man had one straight through the heart, a wide gaping hole where it ran clear through him.
It was a massacre. Those out of reach gaped at the horror, and others lucky enough to survive the inner circle of death whimpered on the floor, clutching at open orifices or lost limbs. Bonodo looked around him helplessly. They were fighting a losing battle. Even the giant black mass seemed to laugh as its bulk wobbled, watching them squirm.
“Wezlan, do something!” he cried out.
The wizard had revived Ashalea and Denavar, and all three were now standing hand in hand amid the carnage of dead bodies in the centre of the ship. Shara’s blades defied time; whipping up, down and around as she guarded her friends like a loyal hound to its master. Innards splashed the decking like a butcher making sausages.
“Ready?” The wizard asked the two elves, not taking his eyes off the giant mass before them.
Ashalea squeezed their hands in response and Denavar nodded fiercely. They invoked the Magicka within, feeling the ebb and flow as it tingled through their veins and raised the hairs upon their skin. As it flowed through Ashalea, it transferred to Wezlan and Denavar, then back again, until they became one. The power reached a crescendo of new heights, and both Ashalea and Wezlan gritted their teeth in surprise as Denavar’s Magicka whipped through their bodies, throbbing with the need to devour its foes.
The trio unleashed its fury, and the urchins began to rise a few feet above the ground, their hooked feet once unseen now wriggling in protest. With a lightning flash the Magicka bounced, and like gravity pulling them in, they were hurled towards the black bulk. Their spiky bodies pierced the blob with such force they buried themselves deep within, some even surfacing on the other side through the momentary time lapse.
The creature screeched in agony, flailing its tendrils as the tar oozed rapidly from within the gravita ball. Its body began to fold in on itself and its hatred tore the sea asunder. In one last stand against the ship, it tightened the few tendrils that held fast to the masts and pulled hard, meaning to bring the ship down with it. Snaking the remaining tendri
ls out, it grabbed who it could, the screams of men and women falling short as they were plunged into the waves. Furiously, it squeezed so hard several people’s bodies burst under the pressure; an explosion of meat sacks that rained on the ocean.
The Violet Star was crumbling now. Masts snapped and fell in two and the weight of the creature was quickly dragging them under. The gouges made from the urchins under the stern were too deep to hold, and water was flooding through. Soon the Violet Star would be lost.
Some crew members dived into the water at the rear of the ship. Some battled onwards, throwing spears and shooting arrows at the creature. Knowing it was too late, and what was at stake with their quest, the party chose the former. Ashalea called out to Captain Bonodo, and he bolted towards them. The man loved his ship, but his loyalty lay with his life.
Shara appeared at Ashalea’s side, fear in her eyes. “Ashalea, I’ve only just learnt to swim.”
Fiercely, Ashalea clasped her arm. “And when does Shara Silvaren give in to fear? You’re too stubborn to die. Just remember what I taught you.”
The assassin nodded and bolted to towards the others.
Left at the stern was a handful of men and women, among them, Kinna and Ondori. Ashalea saw them and cried out, screaming shrilly at them to follow. The elves didn’t hear her, fighting with the swiftness and a fury akin to a dragon. She knew they were distracting the beast; giving them a chance, but she didn’t care.
“Kinna, Ondori, please!”
“Ashalea we have to go; they’ve made their choice!” Denavar pulled on her arm, dragging her towards the sea. Towards their escape.
Tears streamed down her face as she was torn away from her friends. She turned around. Half running, half stumbling, she bolted for the railing and climbed, ready to dive. She looked over her shoulder one last time at the chaos and met the eyes of both elves. They gave her a reassuring smile, characteristically charming even in the face of such evil.
The last thing she saw was two tendrils leeching out from the water, grabbing her friends, and shattering their bodies into pieces.
Discovery Day
Ashalea heaved black liquid from her lungs, coughing tar onto the beach until a pocket of air whooshed through her body. She gasped, clawing the sand as she retched once more. The ink pooled into white granules, congealing like blood.
So, that’s why nobody sane would try to cross the Onyx Ocean.
Ashalea checked herself for injuries. Her clothes were torn and there were light cuts and bruises already forming. She winced. Her head began to throb incessantly, and her fingers traced a gash where blood had formed a sticky plaster. She stood slowly, testing her legs. A little wobbly but otherwise fine to walk on. Good. She cast her eyes over the island and awakened her senses, finding no immediate danger. Her friends were nowhere to be seen.
Instead, she saw a vast expanse of rock which was somehow embellished with the shapes of creatures and men. From where she stood, the scene looked like a battlefield. All races —humans, elves, dwarves — allied against unfathomable creatures. Only the Diodonians fought for the other side, and unlike the old tales with heroes and victory, this battle was painted in a different light. Bloody.
Creatures with giant fangs and claws ripped out victims’ eyes and Diodonians pounced on throats and removed jugulars. Other creatures squeezed their victims to death, whereas more still disembowelled, beheaded, chopped and maimed. It was a scene of pure horror which twisted Ashalea’s stomach, making her want to vomit again. She quickly realised where she was.
The Isle of Dread.
Vivid images of Kinna and Ondori’s last moments came flooding back and Ashalea’s eyes threatened to spill over. Their faces burned in her mind’s eye. She thought of the crew now drifting in the sea— what was left of them, anyway.
Her legs threatened to cave beneath her as exhaustion crept into her bones. The amount of Magicka transferred and spent obliterating those creatures earlier had weakened her considerably. She felt her determination drain slowly, almost falling to her knees. At this point, if she closed her eyes she wasn’t sure she’d wake up.
Stop it, Ashalea. Get moving.
Sluggishly, she shook her head and trudged along the sandy shore, hoping to find someone, anyone, and praying to the Goddess Everani, protector of souls, that any survivors had just stayed put.
The inky waters lapped at her feet gingerly, pooling in the wake of her boots. Beyond the waves, sharp rocks shaped like jagged teeth cut from the mouth of the earth.
That would explain my head, she patted it tenderly.
Her elvish eyes located a black figure in the distance, sprawled and unmoving on the sand. It was too large to be Shara. She padded along the beach as fast as she could.
“Denavar?” Her feet rammed into the sand as she halted next to him. She put a finger under his nose and felt his chest. No pulse. She pumped his chest the way Wezlan had taught her in an emergency. Still nothing. She opened his mouth, his beautiful lips dry as sandpaper, and puffed a few times before rolling him to the side. She waited anxiously, panic rising in her throat. Or is that bile?
Denavar’s body spasmed involuntarily and water shot out of his mouth before he could suck in air. His ribs expanded and retracted, easing slowly. Confusion riddled his face before his eyes registered.
“Ashalea,” he breathed, and his eyes darted to the gash in her skull. “Are you okay?” His hand traced her forehead gently. He really does care.
She smiled. “Better than you for now. Death almost welcomed you with open arms.”
He grinned wryly. “Nah, it will take more than that for you to get rid of me. It was worth it for a kiss.”
She rolled her eyes as she helped him sit up. Even this close to death he still exuded charm. He had a brooding masculinity about his aura, but his features were beautifully sculpted, and his eyes sparkled with mischief and intelligence. Women would fight over him, and men would envy him for his many blessings. She almost shook her head in awe but forcibly didn’t. His damnably well-assured ego didn’t need a boost.
His face sobered and grew tense. “The others?”
Ashalea shook her head. “I don’t know yet. You’re the first I’ve seen. With any luck, they’ll be along the beach as we were.”
They both scanned the length of the sandy shore and sighed, their faces taut and bodies stiff.
“Let’s keep looking, if anyone else has found survivors, you can be sure it’ll be Wezlan,” Ashalea said with a weak smile.
He nodded grimly, and they set off, Denavar supporting Ashalea’s wobbly legs with a sturdy hand. Despite his soaked clothes, his hand was warm, comforting. She leaned in slightly and breathed him in. Exhausted, she allowed him to pull her closer, and he cradled her slender frame as they trudged along the sand.
As they walked both Ashalea and Denavar felt the lingering stare of the rocks to their left. The cruel scenes playing out beside them, haunting their every move. A feeling of dread permeated the air, as if warding off the light. Ashalea shuddered involuntarily.
“You feel the dark Magicka too, huh?” Denavar asked her gently.
She glanced up at him. “The island is humming with its power. I can feel it in my bones, calling to me, luring me in.” She shook her head. “I would rather not dwell on what evil being created it. There has been enough death for one day.”
He didn’t speak for a minute, his face thoughtful and brooding. Then, “They were your friends, weren’t they? They were good soldiers.” He paused. “Good people.”
He meant Kinna and Ondori of course. The image of their bodies bursting like a popped bubble flashed into her mind and Ashalea flinched.
“I didn’t know them long, but they were kind, caring. Unlike most of the townsfolk there, the King included, they treated me like a normal person.” She looked at her feet. “I never had the opportunity to make friends. I’ve always been an outcast.” She shrugged. “They made me feel like I had a home.”
Denavar paused. “
Ashalea, we never finished our conversation before.”
She didn’t have to ask which. “My parents. My… heritage.” Then, with a fierce look in her eyes she turned and squeezed his forearms tightly. “Tell me.”
He searched her face. “The truth can’t be unheard, Ashalea. Sometimes it’s best not to know.”
“My whole life I’ve been searching for answers. I never really felt like I belonged anywhere. My parents, though I loved them, kept too many secrets. Wezlan is no better.” She raked one hand though her hair. “I just want to know who I am!”
“Knowing where you come from, or which race you belong to doesn’t define you, Ashalea, it’s what’s inside that counts.”
She sagged. “You’re right. But I need to know, Denavar. Please.”
He shook his head. “I’ll probably pay for this.” He took a deep breath. “You’re from the Moonglade Meadows.”
She softened her grip on his arm, a mix of emotions flooding through her at once. Relief, worry, peace, anger and finally confusion.
“How do you know?”
He lifted a hand to her hair in that all too familiar way and let the silky threads run through his fingers.
“Like all the elvish provinces, there are genetic traits that identify our namesakes and origin. Moonglade elves are both light and dark in skin and are usually skilled with Magicka, as we borrow power from the Moon God, Mehajinn, and the Moon Goddess, Prianara, until we return to the earth.”
“We?” Ashalea asked with a brow raised.
He smiled. “I am from the Moonglade Meadows too. It is why I am so skilled as a mage, though I like to think it results from natural talent, rather than my predisposed gifts,” he said.