Forsaken Dreamscape (Nevermor)

by Lenore, Lani

  Alternative – what’s an alternative!

  Finn fought to regain his sense of direction, taking his mind off the matter at hand. His focus was lost –

  He didn’t see that the ground was weak.

  Before he could correct, the brittle earth had broken beneath his weight. His foot slipped and he started down, tumbling along a slope that opened up to the cavernous underbelly of the world, and before he could stop it, Wren was falling along behind him – down, down – deep into the dark.

  4

  “Wren!” Nix yelled, releasing Calico and moving toward the hole where the two had disappeared. He was prepared to jump in after them, even without knowing what awaited him there in the depths – even if it was a Vork he had to face head-on. The choice was not ideal, but he did not even have to consider it. He had promised himself that nothing would happen to her while he was at her side, and he would keep that promise.

  Sliding to a halt, he looked down into the black opening where the ground had caved, but he was unable to see Wren or his brother. He prepared himself, considering the best place to jump down so that he could land safely, but he could see nothing.

  There’s no debating. The Vork is coming. Just do it!

  Before he could act – and after he had decided that it would be a risk any way he looked at it – Calico was upon him.

  “They’re gone!” she yelled at him, grabbing his arm to pull him back. “We can’t worry about them anymore; we have to keep moving!”

  “I’m not leaving without them!” Nix told her, shrugging her off heatedly.

  “You can’t be thinking of going down there,” she protested, but she must have seen the determination in his eyes.

  Nix peered down into the darkness.

  “I have to,” he uttered, fists already clenched to brace himself.

  “Are you mad!” she screamed at him, gripping his arm again, but he had never listened to her before, and he would not do it now. Just as insistently, he jerked away from her.

  “Inconceivably,” he said, his voice so sharp that it sliced her efficiently in half. Pushing Calico from his mind, Nix leapt forward and embraced the dark.

  5

  Biting back anger, the lone huntress was left to consider her predicament.

  This hole, no doubt, led to deeper Vork tunnels that wove through the dark, possibly without end. She had no desire to go there; she knew if she did, she wouldn’t come out.

  And yet…

  Calico knew her path. She had come so far, dealt with so much, and she should not let herself be separated from Wren – not until the girl had gone exactly where Calico intended.

  Peering around her, she realized that she could not go on alone. Wherever Wren went, she had to follow.

  Why should I give up the dangerous path now? He always said I would go out in a blaze of stubborn irrationality.

  She smiled a little at that thought, but it faded quickly as she prepared for what she had to do. Taking a deep breath, Calico jumped into the unknown after the others.

  Chapter Eighteen

  1

  Aboard a weathered ship that drifted across the black sea, a crew of pirates did their duty to keep the vessel afloat, but after so many months without the drink, women, and carnage that had made their lives worth living, many had grown impatient.

  Though it might have been guessed that the pirates were the only group to flourish in this dark world, it was not so. The nightmares had eventually become far too much of a threat, and those who were able had retreated to the sea, leaving only stragglers and weak men behind on the island. They had weathered many seasons on the water, half of them going mad and the rest becoming victims to that madness.

  This was not the life that any of them had signed up for, and there was only one thing that would set things right again.

  The vile seamen had never stopped awaiting the reemergence of their captain – their commodore, their dark king. The man known only as the Scourge had been killed by the Rifter at the High Mountain, but death could not stop him. It never had before. Yes, the Scourge would return to them. He would instruct them as to how they would take this world fully, and they would have all the freedoms they desired.

  The magnificent Desdemona had gone down into the fiery pit with her captain those years ago, but there were plenty of vessels to see to this war if only the crews kept their conflicts under control.

  On a sister ship – the Bloody Mary – there was one such conflict.

  The captain of this particular vessel – commonly known as Madman Gunther – was lost in thought as above, what was left of his crew was busy fighting amongst themselves. Not but a day before, word had reached them about what had happened at Bleed Neck Bay. A few survivors of the nightmare massacre had rowed out toward the anchored ships, seeking refuge. They were, of course, turned away to the depths by bullets, but not before they’d told their story.

  One man, though he had admitted he was a bit out of his senses at the time, had sworn that the fiery nightmare had been accompanied by a member of the Wolf Pack – though he could not quite say which. Hearing this, they all knew it would not be long before the rebellion began – as it had been foretold – and too many of the men were growing restless as they awaited the coming war.

  They wanted to act, and Gunther had feared that simply emerging from his cabin would signal a mutiny, and yet he could not let the disagreements continue on. He had to put his foot down, or else he was likely not to have any crew left.

  Resolving himself, he rose up and left the cabin, stepping out into the daylight that he had not seen in so many days. The light burned his eyes, but he did not let that stop him. Nor did he let the sounds of heated arguments deter him. The captain raised his gun and fired into the air, the thundering sound of the shot echoing over the waves.

  The crew was pulled to attention, forgetting their separate conflicts to focus on their captain, but the truth was clear in their eyes: though he might have been a man they had once feared, he was nothing in comparison to the one who came without warning – the one who might dictate their movements.

  “Listen up, ye dogs,” Gunther growled, sounding as menacing as his mood. “This has gone on long enough, and I’ll not stand for it on my ship!”

  There were not so many men left now – perhaps a dozen – but there was hardly enough food to support even those few, and Gunther could see the hunger in their eyes now – that gnawing, constant ache that made men insane.

  A pirate leaning against the side of the cabin glared down at his captain, showing little approval. He was a tattoo-covered, monster of a man called Nails, and he was, sadly, not a patient man. Aided by drink, he was not quite subdued by the presence of his leader.

  “Your ship?” he questioned. “Don’t be spewin’ thet shit. Nothing is ours anymore. Everything belongs to the nightmares.”

  Gunther turned, peering up at Nails, refusing to show fear in the face of the larger man. Which one of them was more ruthless? It was difficult to say.

  “We’re supposed to wait fer the Scourge? An’ where is he then?” Nails asked. “If we keep waitin’ for him, we’ll never get back on the island!”

  “I’ve told ye,” Gunther said menacingly. “We ‘ave to wait. Ye’ve heard about what happened at Bleed Neck. If it’s true, it won’t be long now.”

  “And what do we care about the Scourge’s wishes?” hissed a skeletal, toothless seadog named Raoul. “It’s been years since we’ve seen ‘is fuckin’ face!”

  Gunther had known that it would be a risk to step into the middle of this, but he could not back down now.

  “And do you want to be the first one that gets his guts ripped out by ‘im!” the captain shouted, and that was sufficient to silence them for a moment. “None of ye are fools as to how this will play out if he finds out there’s been talk of a mutiny. Ye know what he promised as well as I do. He will come back!”

  “Promises,” muttered Raoul. “That’s all we get! Hollow promises!”r />
  Some of the men shouted their agreement. The Scourge had promised them much in the past – had even persuaded others in former days to give their lives to him willingly – but it was so close now, how could they not stand to wait?

  “We’re all gettin’ sick o’ this, captain,” said Nails. “We ‘aven’t slept in days thinking about our revenge, and we can’t wait anymore!”

  Nails gripped Gunther’s collar, lowering his face closer, his breath smelling of tobacco and rum. The captain raised his gun, set on killing the man without a second thought, but Nails was quick to grab his arm, and the second shot went off into the air like the first.

  “I’m through with this, and I’m through with you! I’m taking over this ship, and we’re going back to the island. The Scourge be damned!”

  “Aye!” The cry was near unanimous, and before Madman Gunther could summon up any of the madness he was so well-known for, several of his own men moved in to take hold of him.

  They stripped him of his weapons and valuables just as they’d stripped him of his title. They gagged and tied him, despite his attempt to protest. He could do nothing but watch, eyes wide, realizing that his choice to confront them was the wrong one.

  Nails raised his sword and the rest of them cheered, reckless and bloodthirsty. Gunther was no fool. He knew what was coming. That blade was going to run across his throat and he would be finished. There, looking into their wild expressions, he saw his own death.

  Somehow, beyond all the chaos and bloodlust, a few of the men were able to notice the heavy thud of weight dropping down onto the deck near the railing. The turn was gradual, but the disturbance was eventually noticed by them all, and the execution was postponed as their shouts fell silent.

  A thick presence raised the hairs on their necks, and they were led to notice the dark man who had not been among them before.

  He was soaking wet, smelling of the sea as if he’d just crawled up out of it. Likely he had, just as the nightmares that came in with the waves. A high collar nearly touched the brim of a hat, and twisted tendrils of black hair reached out from underneath. His face was hidden by bandages, but a lone eye shone through, burning with sinister fire.

  He was powerful-looking, tall and broad – unmistakable. His appearance cut into their hearts, and their laughter was immediately halted. Very few among them had ever been in the Scourge’s presence – the Madman himself included – but they had all heard the tales.

  He can stop a man’s heart with his glare. Everywhere he steps, the land dies.

  “What’s all the commotion out here? How’s a man to think?” the Scourge asked in a voice that was scratchy and low, yet black as ever before. “Now you’ve woken me up. And I was so enjoying being dead.”

  None of the men uttered a word, looking up at their vision of fear beneath the cloudy sky, stuck on the thump of his boots against the planks as he stepped toward them.

  “Things seem a bit heated here,” the Scourge said. He directed his eye at several of them, and without fail, they all looked away. “The lot of you weren’t speaking of going back to the island by chance? Not now – no, of course not – since the end of days is so close at hand?”

  Raoul shook his head insistently, refusing to make eye contact. “No – no, sir, cap’n.”

  “That is good to know,” said the Scourge, a smile in his voice. “I suppose it wouldn’t do to kill you now, so close to the war. I need all the heads I can spare.”

  He peered around at the others, all of them refusing to look at him directly. In his own private darkness, the Scourge smiled.

  Turning, his eyes finally landed on Gunther, tied and gagged on his knees.

  “And what is this one’s crime?” he asked.

  The men said nothing. To confess would be to give themselves away.

  “I don’t much care what you do with him,” the Scourge said with indifference. “In fact…”

  He gave no heed to the former captain’s muffled protests. The Scourge raised his foot and kicked Gunther in the chest, knocking him back over the railing and down into the dark water below.

  At this, the crew laughed nervously, though not at all bothered by the thought of the man’s slow drowning. They only feared what might be done to them if they drew too much attention to themselves.

  The Scourge looked over the crew one last time as a satisfying splash from below reached his ears.

  “The time has nearly come,” he said in a commanding voice, “but just a while longer. We must wait for them all to come back together again and then – then! – we strike them all at once. I trust you have no problems with this.”

  The men aboard the Bloody Mary did not respond.

  “Good. Then do make yourselves useful in the meantime.”

  He turned to go, taking his time as he turned his back on them. The crew began to sigh in relief as he passed, feeling once again the freedom to breathe calmly. It was almost over. The Scourge walked to the door of the cabin, but a daring voice called him back.

  “Wait a minute.”

  At that, the Scourge halted in his step. Nails had called for his attention, the only one brave enough to do so. With little reverence, the vicious pirate stepped up to the Scourge, staring into his glowing eye.

  “How do we know it’s really you?” Nails asked skeptically. “The Scourge?”

  He paused to spit on the deck, to which the Scourge laughed. The dark man showed no sign of fear like the captain before him. He was not a man who knew what fear meant.

  “Am I to entertain your questions?” he asked, stepping forward with a hiss. “You know all you need to know.”

  “Why is your face covered?” Nails pressed, his massive arms crossed before him. A few others raised their heads as if they might agree, but they said nothing.

  “Do you know what it’s like to go down into a pit of lava?” the Scourge returned, his words as thick as the molten flow itself. “Do you? Your flesh begins to melt away before you even hit that liquid fire. The heat is so terrible that you can feel it in your bones – excruciating – sure to have a man like you squealing like a pig. It was a divine way to die, but not without consequences.”

  Nails stared into the burning eye, though seemed to just realize what he had dared to do. He was rattled, but perhaps not fully convinced.

  “Then again, if you’re so sure of yourself, you’re welcome to try your luck with me.”

  The Scourge drew one of the two swords on his belt, leading the rest of them to lurch back in fear, but he turned it on its hilt, offering it to Nails. The ship rocked with a groan as the man took it, unsure of what else to do, but his eyes shifted to his comrades, full of uncertainty. The Scourge stepped back, holding up his hands to offer the doubter a clear shot.

  “Go ahead then. Do it if you’re so sure. Stab me in my black heart.”

  Nails hesitated, a slight quake at his fingers that was undeniable, and the Scourge grew impatient.

  “You’d best do it,” the Scourge threatened. “As soon as that sword is back in my hand, you’d best believe I’ll gut you like a fish–”

  Without needing more than that, Nails thrust the sword forward with all the strength in his muscled arm and stabbed the dark man in the chest.

  The blade went through and burst from his back with a bit of resistance, piercing skin, muscle and the beating organ itself. Nails, perhaps, supposed that if he was going to do the job, he should have it done right, but the entry did not deliver what he might have thought. Though the wound was deep and full, there was no blood, surprising to them all, and a gasp wavered among them as they realized the truth in its certainly. They were not dealing with a mortal man..

  Nails released the sword wedged in the pirate lord’s chest, but the Scourge only staggered back and did not go down. The crew was silent, holding their breaths as they watched to see what would become of the one who had claimed himself to be the Scourge – an unthinkable nightmare in his own right, who might only be killed by the Rifter.
>
  From within a ragged throat, they heard his wicked laughter. He was amused, but certainly not dead.

  “My turn,” he declared.

  In an instant, the Scourge had thrust his hand forward with such force that his fingers tore into the strong man’s gut, reaching in to take hold as easily as parting a curtain. Blood flooded from Nails’ mouth as he coughed, trying to remain standing, but was unable. The damage was done, and it was a sweet scene to the conqueror.

  The Scourge watched the life fade from the man’s eyes – savoring it – before he removed his hand from the flesh, slinging off a bit of the blood and gut that dripped from his fingertips. The corpse of the mighty sailor fell forward across the planks, spilling blood in a large puddle that ran off the side of the deck and into the water below.

  “Anyone else care to doubt me?” the Scourge asked. He looked across them and once again none would meet his gaze.

  “Then clean up this mess,” he ordered sharply and ripped the sword free from his own chest, putting it back in its place at his side. Done with them, he turned toward the darkness of the cabin.

  The crew shuddered. Death and murder often occurred and did not make them cringe, but never did it make such an impact on them as when the Scourge was involved. His displays always left residue in their minds. A few went for buckets and mops disgustedly while others flinched as they pushed the bloody corpse into the sea.

  As he trailed away from them, they heard the dark man laugh, a wicked sound that rattled their bones.

  2

  “Tell us a story, Wren. I can’t sleep.”

  “Very well then. I’ll tell you about a world hidden beyond the sea of dreams, where everything you can imagine is real – every fantastic landscape, every adventure. A group of boys lives there, led by the most fearless of all – a boy known as the Rifter. He leads them to defend the world of Nevermor from the nightmares that wash ashore. He wears a coat of leaves, his sword is infused with magical power, and he can fly!”