Vulcan's Fury: The Dark Lands

by Michael R. Hicks

  “I’m not going to complain,” Valeria sighed as she leaned back, cradling her bleeding hands in her lap. “What do we do when they catch us?”

  Pelonius looked at Marcus, who said, “Your father didn’t want you to fall into their hands, princess,” he said slowly. “But that’s now your decision.” He bit his lip. “Sergius doesn’t want you harmed…”

  “I will not be taken by that monster,” Valeria told him, shaking her head. “You will not let that happen.” Marcus slowly nodded. “None of you will, do you hear?” The others, including Karan, nodded, as well. “We all have to die someday. I would rather die with my honor — and yours — intact, rather than be a source of entertainment for that beast.”

  The old centurion nodded slowly, a look of infinite sadness on his face.

  ***

  “We have them now,” Tribune Proculus Olcinius gloated after one of the men caught sight of the strange vessel they had lost during the night, just on the horizon to the north. To his centurion, he said, “Make all speed toward them. I want to take Sergius’s prize and leave these accursed waters as soon as possible.”

  “Yes, tribune!” The centurion began to shout orders, and the rowers lowered their oars and matched the pace of the drum beating time. They were all well rested, the ship and its two companions having moved only under sail during the night after having lost their quarry, and the trireme accelerated like a feisty war horse.

  Olcinius signaled by hand to the two ships in company, and they, too, dropped oars and turned to follow.

  “I have to wonder what they were thinking,” the centurion commented, “building such a strange thing. It must be tricky to control with that raised cabin acting like a sail.”

  “When we board them, we can ask them to satisfy your curiosity, just before we toss the crew and the animal into the sea and take the princess back to Sergius.”

  The centurion, chastened, clamped his mouth shut.

  Moving at full speed under oar power now, the trireme cut through the modest waves, closing quickly on its quarry. The water between the vessels, Olcinius observed, looked rather odd. Stepping toward the railing, he peered down, and was surprised to see bubbles rising from the depths to burst when they reached the surface. Some were tiny, others were large, and the effect was deeply unsettling. He pulled back at the stench of rotten eggs that assaulted his nose.

  As he pondered the meaning of what he saw, he began to breathe more rapidly and his heart began to beat faster. He heard the clack of wood striking wood, and looked back to see that the rowers were no longer all pulling in smooth, synchronized strokes. “Row in time, you fools! Stroke with the drum!”

  But the drum beat, too, had become erratic. The men were acting like they were drunk!

  Olcinius screamed, “I’ll strip the flesh from your backs for taking too much wine!”

  Staggering to the side rail, he saw that the other ships, too, were falling into disarray. He drew his sword and headed aft, shoving stumbling men out of his way while shouting curses at the rowers below decks. With every word, it became more difficult to draw breath and his heart pounded in his chest.

  As if on cue, several of the soldiers on deck wobbled, then collapsed. They were soon joined by their comrades, who could no longer stand under the assault of the ship’s gentle rocking motion.

  Olcinius called for his centurion to discipline these slackers, but the man had already passed out near the stern. Drunk! Olcinius thought dully. I’ll crucify him!

  The men, both those who were still on their feet and those who had fallen to the deck, began to gasp like old men taking their last breaths. Then those still standing began to fall, one after another, into unconscious. Most hit the deck hard, while some near the railing fell overboard. The ship slowed as the rowers completely lost their rhythm and oars dipped into the water, never again to be lifted.

  Olcinius, his chest heaving as his lungs fought for air and his heart near to bursting, saw that the other two ships were already falling out of formation, their crews suffering the same fate as was his. For a moment, he was angry, but then he seemed to forget why he should care.

  Slumping over the deck rail, he slipped into unconsciousness just before his heart gave out.

  ***

  Pelonius made his way back to the tiller, then pressed his face against the stern viewport. “Something is happening. Two of the ships are veering off!”

  “They barely need one to handle the likes of us,” Septimus told him.

  Getting up from the bench beside Paulus, Valeria went back to Pelonius. “May I see?”

  Nodding, Pelonius stepped back and gave her room to peer through the tiny viewport. The view was hazy, as if she were looking through gauze, but she could see the other ships well enough. Perhaps too well. “They’re close!” she said breathlessly, with an accusing glance at Pelonius before she returned her attention to their pursuers. Just as Pelonius had said, two of the three ships, all of which had their sails set, were turning away, but something was wrong. It took her a moment to figure out what. “Their oars aren’t in time,” she said, “and some aren’t moving at all! And the ship that’s still following us…” She looked at Pelonius, her mouth open in surprise. “It’s not rowing anymore, and I can’t see anyone on the deck. Surely they’d be preparing to board if they were this close. Shouldn’t soldiers be standing along the railing?”

  Pelonius nodded.

  Valeria squinted, willing herself to make out more details through the glass. “The water looks strange. I see waves, but where the water should be smooth it looks almost like a pot on a slow boil.” She turned to Pelonius. “Are those bubbles?”

  Again, the scribe nodded.

  Haakon looked horrified. “We aren’t going to boil to death, are we?”

  “Feel the hull below the waterline with your hand,” Pelonius told him, and Haakon gingerly did so. “Is it hot to your touch?”

  The barbarian shook his head, a look of relief flooding his face.

  Valeria turned back to the glass. As she continued to watch, the oars of the other two ships moved with ever greater discord, as if the rowers were drunk and no longer had any idea what they were doing. Then, slowly, as if they were great beasts succumbing to a silent death, the oars stopped flailing altogether and the ships began to drift in the water. The third trireme, which had continued to pursue them, began to fall behind, then veered away.

  Valeria finally pulled away from the viewport. “They’re all dead, aren’t they?”

  “I suspect so, yes,” Pelonius told her.

  Looking up, her eyes tracing the outline of the canvas enclosure around them, Valeria’s gaze finally came to rest on the little bird that continued to enthrall Hercules. It was grooming itself, oblivious to the plight of the men on the other ships, oblivious to the doom that hovered over this one, and over itself.

  “As long as the bird remains healthy,” Pelonius said, “I believe so shall we. The best thing we can do now is to rest, remain as quiet as we can, and pray that the winds take us where we must go.”

  “And just where is that?” Septimus asked.

  “To the Dark Lands,” Valeria whispered.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  “I hope hexatigers don’t get seasick,” Septimus observed as Valeria gave Hercules another dried fish. Thus far, all of them had managed to avoid that unfortunate maritime malady, as the seas had remained calm.

  “The last thing we need on a little ship like this is a hungry hexatiger, although I can think of someone I’d feed to Hercules first.” Valeria reached into the bag beside her for another fish, which quickly disappeared into the huge cat’s maw.

  Septimus, maintaining a straight face, persisted. “Well, even if he doesn’t get seasick, I hope we make landfall before it all comes out his far end.”

  “That’s enough, Septimus,” Marcus sighed. Then, after a moment, he added, “Although you’re right.” He looked around the enclosed cabin. Aside from Hercules’s overwhelming bul
k, it would have been quite spacious for so few people, now that he could see it somewhat better from the small rays of sunlight shining through the view ports. Then he forced his face into a grimace. “That would be bad.”

  Paulus snickered, and Valeria shot him a look. Turning to Pelonius, she saw that the old warrior scribe, who was now sitting on a makeshift seat that Haakon had built with carpentry skills that had shocked everyone, was staring straight ahead. The muscles of his cheek twitched, then he sucked his lips between his teeth. Haakon snorted, then put his hands over his mouth and nose. And Karan…Karan’s eyes had grown comically wide as he looked first at Hercules’s face as the cat consumed the latest fish, then slowly traced the length of the animal until his gaze lingered on Hercules’s rear end.

  That finally did it. Unable to help herself, Valeria burst out laughing, which triggered a much needed bout of laughter from the others. The exhaustion and unspeakable horror of the previous night had become more than Valeria could bear, and she shook her head at Septimus, who, smiling, merely twitched his left shoulder up in a half shrug. It was a gesture she had associated with him for as long as she could remember.

  Unbidden, images of her father and mother came into her mind, and her laughter unexpectedly gave way to sobs of grief.

  Paulus came and wrapped his arms around her, rocking her gently in time with the motion of the waves against the hull. The others, the levity drained from the moment, fell back into their silent melancholy.

  After Valeria’s tears had stopped, Karan hazarded to ask Pelonius, “When do you think we shall reach land?”

  Pelonius, who was now grimacing from the pain inflicted by his broken ribs after his ill-conceived bout of laughter, shook his head. “There is no way to tell. I think the wind is driving us more to the east now than north, and has been since mid-morning.”

  “We’re heading toward the bloody end of the world,” Septimus said in a dark voice. “No one has ever gone farther than those poor bastards in the triremes that were following us and lived to return, have they?”

  Again, Pelonius shook his head. “No. We’re the first, or would be if we could turn back and tell our tale to someone who would not first crucify us.”

  “What is at the end of the world?” Paulus whispered.

  “Just that, boy,” Septimus said. “The end. We’ll simply fall from the sea and eventually land in the River Styx, if we’re lucky.”

  “And how would you know?” Haakon asked, his head cocked to one side.

  “One of my uncles served on a merchantman his entire life,” Septimus explained. “He sailed as far as any man and saw things most would never believe. He says he saw the edge one day, like a huge waterfall that went straight to the Underworld. They barely made it home from that one.”

  “That is not true,” Karan said, a look of utter disbelief on his face. “This, what you call the Haunted Sea, ends far to the north in the great land of ice that covers the top of the world.”

  Septimus made a noise that could, at best, be characterized as undignified. “And how would you know that if you spent your life in the arena?”

  “Because one of the murals, the great paintings, inside one of the greatest of the Master’s homes showed all the world.” He frowned. “I only had a brief glimpse before I was taken to fight one of his Swords and do not remember much, but I do remember the ice. If we followed the coast of the Dark Lands to the northeast as far as you could go, eventually you would find the part of the world that lies frozen.” He gulped. “But I should not like to go there. I do not like the cold.”

  “But you’ve never seen it with your own eyes?” Septimus demanded.

  “Of course not,” Karan said.

  “Well, then…”

  “Stop it, both of you.” They both swallowed their arguments at Valeria’s husky voice.

  The cabin fell silent for a long while. After a time, the motion of the waves became more noticeable, and the light coming through the small viewports began to turn dark and gray.

  Lashing the tiller to hold it steady, Pelonius looked out the rear viewport, then staggered toward the bow to look out the forward one.

  “What is it?” Valeria asked.

  “Nothing…”

  “Don’t do that!” she scolded. “Don’t try and protect me by smothering me with ignorance. Tell me what you see.”

  “I am sorry, princess,” Pelonius said, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “I did not mean to patronize you. I…I am just not feeling so well.” With a sigh, he turned to face her, and fell to the deck as the boat was hit by an unexpectedly tall wave. Pelonius groaned with pain as he clutched his side. “We’re approaching the edge of a storm, it seems.”

  With his words, a light patter of rain began to fall. In but moments, the sprinkle became a deluge that filled the cabin with an incessant roar as the raindrops struck the canvas. Much to Pelonius’s relief, the cabin remained water tight, which meant whatever evil in the air outside would hopefully remain there.

  But what was outside was not their only problem. “Oh, no,” he whispered before he could help himself.

  The little bird was acting strangely, as if someone had slipped it some wine. It hopped about, nearly fell over, righted itself, then fell face first into the slim bars of the cage before rolling to the floor. It chirped a few times as it tried to right itself. It almost made it back upon its feet, but then the next wave unbalanced it and knocked it back to the floor of the cage. Struggling upright, its legs curled underneath, the bird chirped a few more times before its beak slowly settled to the cage floor. Its tiny chest heaved rapidly as its eyes closed.

  Valeria stared at the bird, unable to comprehend for a long moment what she was seeing. Pelonius still lay prone on the deck as the waves began to toss the boat around, and the hull heeled dangerously far to one side, then the other.

  “The sails!” Pelonius cried. Pointing to the capstans, he added, “Let out the rope to lower the sails. Quickly!”

  Haakon and Marcus, who were closest, moved to obey, but both men were humbled by both the growing storm tossing about the boat and by whatever was happening to the air. Gasping as if they had run a mile, they crawled to the capstans and, releasing the locking mechanisms, began to turn them to let down the sails.

  “Septimus!” Marcus gasped. “Help…me…”

  Septimus did as he was ordered, but slowly. Twice he fell to the deck, the second time nearly falling into the hold, before he finally reached Marcus. Together, working at odds as much as working together, they managed to lower the sail. The ship stopped pitching so badly, but still swung wildly to and fro. Some of the cargo in the tiny hold, mostly food and amphorae of water and wine, broke free and went crashing about, filling the cabin with the scent of fermented grapes, more dried fish, and stale bread.

  Hercules mewled unhappily and tried to stand, but his legs were wobbly, weak, and he fell back to the deck. Valeria wrapped her arms around his neck, trying to reassure him and keep him calm. A few minutes later Hercules had fallen asleep. She thought that was terribly odd, given the circumstances, but it took her a long time to realize it as she herself fought for breath. Her mind was fuzzy, her vision dimming to a dull gray.

  Looking around her, she found that the older men were all on the deck, unconscious. Why would they do that, the fools? she wondered. Don’t they realize we’re in a storm and could sink? The situation struck her as uproariously funny, but her laugh came out as little more than a hiccup.

  Hearing an accompanying giggle, she turned to find Paulus still beside her, but fallen over on one side. She reached over with an unsteady hand and poked him, making him giggle again.

  Something crashed to the deck in front of her. No, not something, someone. “Karan, you silly boy,” she chided in between gasps. “Why are you down there?”

  He said nothing, but drew his short blade and began to crawl toward Paulus.

  “Don’t you hurt him,” Valeria warned, “or I’ll have Hercules eat you.”
<
br />   Karan didn’t answer, but kept dragging himself forward. He stopped and let his head fall to the deck. She would have thought that was funny, too, but the world was fading to a dull gray as her lungs labored and her heart pounded. Opening her mouth to say something, she passed out, collapsing against Hercules.

  ***

  Karan had no idea what evil had invaded the cabin. All he knew was that, like a pus-filled wound, he had to lance it to let out the infection. It was an all-consuming thought that blotted out everything, even the memory that whatever lay outside would kill them, as well. But his brain had no energy to think or to remember. He had a single focus, and he held tightly to it using the iron discipline that had been the primary reason for his survival past the age of ten, when those who had been chosen as Swords reached their first winnowing. No more than half ever survived the trial of Earth, Fire, and Water that had awaited them. Those who survived bore the scars of Earth and Fire, and the terrible remembrance of Water, when the acolytes were forced to swim through a long, dark underwater tunnel. Those who had done well in the previous tests were forced to go last, to swim past the obstacles posed by their cohorts who had drowned and threatened to block the way forward. He remembered the feel of the bodies as he had brushed past them, pushing against some with his feet to help propel himself forward. They had been his cohorts, his friends, brothers and sisters, the only family he had ever known, but he spared them no pity as he struggled past, for he was consumed by the screaming, nameless agony in his lungs.

  The memories of that trial flickered through his mind as he sucked the useless, dead air of the cabin into his lungs. Raising his head from the pitching deck, he forced himself forward. He pulled abreast of Paulus, who lay unconscious. Dimly, as if from afar, Karan heard the voice of Valeria, but did not understand the words. His entire world was the short stretch of deck between him and the canvas, which was shuddering against the howling winds outside.