Voidhawk: The Elder Race

by Jason Halstead

  “Rest’s over big guy,” Dexter said.

  * * * *

  Logan picked himself up with a quiet groan and looked around. The room was mostly dark, but morning sunlight filtered in through cracks in the walls and the gaping holes in the ceiling. He looked down and saw that he was naked, as he always was when his curse overpowered him.

  The priest stumbled out of the small building and looked around, hoping he was still in the native village. It was a village, but not the one he remembered from the night before. Instead he had somehow made his way back to the abandoned huts on the shore of the lake. In the distance he saw the Voidhawk sitting in the water, patiently awaiting their return.

  Scratching his chin, he felt something crusty on it. Flakes fell into his palm and collected under his fingernails, brownish flakes that Logan instantly knew were dried blood. He closed his eyes and sagged to his knees in the sand as a wave of emotions crashed over him. Horror at what he had done, sadness, anger, and even frustration and desperation battered him more brutally than a field of asteroids in the void.

  He fell forward, holding has hands in front of him, and began to pray for guidance and forgiveness for whatever it was he’d done. No answers were forthcoming. They never were. His curse was his to bear and his to manage. He only hoped that whatever he’d done last night, whatever he’d killed, hadn’t felt much pain. Hopefully it had been an animal, not one of the natives, but his stomach knotted at the odds.

  He could return to the village, he knew. Tracking was never a problem for him. He could trace his own scent back or probably even the scent of Dexter and the others. One of the benefits he’d inherited along with his curse, though hardly enough to justify the loss of control and savagery he experienced.

  He looked at the Voidhawk, realizing he should go there and get fresh clothes, at least. Walking naked through the woods might be fine when he was under the pull of the moon, but not now, not when he was in control.

  Logan found himself walking, heading towards the lake. The pull of the Voidhawk was too strong to resist. He would return after dressing, but the solace offered by the ship was what he needed to soothe the ache in his chest. It had been peaceful and wonderful for him, sailing the void and almost never having to worry about his curse. Only the moon, full or near full, could break his control and let the beast within him out. As long as he stayed off of planets that had a moon, his body and mind were his to control, not something shared with a savage monster.

  His feet splashed into the waters of the lake. It was cool, thanks to the mountain stream that fed it, but not so cool that swimming would be unpleasant or crippling. He took a deep breath and waded in deeper, sucking air through his teeth as the water rose to encase his waist and then belly. The priest paused, drawing strength from the air in a few deep breaths, then dove forward, his arms quickly rising and falling in powerful strokes.

  He swam through the waters without pause, reaching the hull of the Voidhawk easily. The exercise helped to clear his mind as well, restoring some of his sense of worth. He relaxed as he swam around the ship, hoping whoever was on watch would throw down a rope. When no one did after nearly two laps around it, he began to worry. Climbing a strut would be difficult, at best, but possible. He made his way towards one of the rear talons, figuring he would have a shorter distance to climb.

  Something grabbed his foot then, something slippery but with the strength of corded steel. He gasped as he was pulled under, choking on some water that came with the air. Logan thrashed about, wondering very briefly if drowning could kill him where so many other methods had failed. Through the frenzied water he saw forms and shadows; men were there with him, holding him under and trying to drown him.

  He lashed out, striking ineffectually at them. The grip on his ankle did not relent, no matter how violently he shook or kicked it. Panic began to set in as he used up his air. Logan’s lungs ached from want of fresh air as well as the pain of wanting to expel the water he had inhaled.

  One of his adversaries came close enough for him to see it clearly. It was a dark green, almost a brown in color, and had the head and face of a frog. It pressed something against his face while he struggled with it. He tried to rip his head away from it but it clung to him, wrapping around his head and even blocking one eye. Another of the frog-men grabbed him from behind, trapping one arm then the other while the seaweed on his face finished sealing itself over his mouth and nose.

  Wet ropes, crafted of the seaweed, were wound around his hands and feet. All the while Logan’s chest trembled with need. Spots began to appear in his vision, signaling a pending blackout and then, he knew, a watery death. He struggled again, but his arms felt leaden and his feet would not obey him.

  Darkness closing in, Logan lost his focus for one crucial moment. His lips parted and he inhaled. He realized what was happening even as he did it, but it was too late to stop the first desperate gulp. A final burst of adrenaline made him thrash, desperately seeking to stop the water from filling his lungs, trying to take out the frog-people that held him since he was doomed to die as well.

  Air, moist and tasting of algae, entered his throat and lungs. Logan went still, confused and wondering if he had already died. Was he instead on his way to serve in the palace of his God? He tried another breath and tasted the same bitter taste on the air that filtered through the seaweed clinging to his face.

  He laughed then, realizing that somehow it was serving as a gill. The laughing turned to retching as his body deemed it safe to try and expel what water had made it into his chest. The frogmen grabbed a hold of him and pulled him between them, taking him deeper and deeper into the lake. The light faded around him, leaving only shadows as he grew used to his new surroundings. All he could hear for the longest time was the muffled swishing of his and his captors’ bodies through the water. Then, he realized, there was more. A throbbing noise reached him, and soon it was followed with other eerie musical sounds that echoed through the water. Ahead of him he saw the water lightening, but the bubbles that he expelled from each breath still went up, whereas the light was down.

  Logan realized he was being taken to an underwater city.

  Chapter 7 – The Deep

  Dexter would have grunted with the sudden jerk that arrested his fall if there’d been air in his lungs to let him do so. He crashed into the wet rocks of the cliff wall, stars exploding in his head from the pain of the impact, and scrambled to find a hold to keep him from falling again.

  “You all right?” Rosh grunted, relaxing his grip on the man’s tunic after he’d secured a hold.

  “Yeah,” Dexter gasped, able to breathe now that his shirt was no longer digging into his throat and chest. “Thanks.”

  Rosh grunted, then waited for Dexter to climb back up ahead of him. Sara had climbed the cliff slowly but with ease. Keshira was right behind her, to lend aid should there be trouble. Jenna, behind the pleasure golem, had scaled the wall even easier. Xander had gone next and was only now cresting the top of the treacherous vertical path. Dexter and Rosh had come last, and in his head Dexter could already hear the verbal abuse Jenna was going to heap on him. He’d promised her he wouldn’t fall, after all. He supposed that was still true, in spirit, but only thanks to Rosh’s quick reactions and superhuman strength.

  The rest of the climb went without incident. The blood now rushing through his veins helped cleanse the sickness remaining from the venom that had stayed in his system. He climbed over the top, taking Jenna and Xander’s hands as he did so, and tried to look beyond them towards the alleged forbidden city.

  Jenna stood in his path, her lips trembling, eyes ablaze, and fists clenched. Finally she stepped to him and pulled him into an extremely fierce hug. In spite of her smaller size he had to admire the woman’s wiry strength; he expected he might not breathe comfortably for a week after she finished with him.

  “Don’t you ever do that to me again,” she whispered in his ear. “As it is,” she added, “I’m going to have to go easy on
Rosh to thank him for saving your hide!”

  Dexter smirked and let her finish clinging to him for a moment, then he focused on the city beyond and he gasped aloud.

  “What?” Rosh asked, only now climbing over the edge of the cliff as well.

  It was a city that had aged well. In spite of the weather conditions, the buildings still maintained an elegance and beauty to them that was the same artistry the elders had shown in Dasnari, their port deep in the Elven controlled void. Instead of building constructed of starsilver these were made of stone. As intriguing as the buildings were, it wasn’t those alone that caused the crew of the Voidhawk to stand open-mouthed.

  A faint silver fog hung in the air, obscuring nothing but giving the entire area an ethereal look. Within it moved figures, shadowy and impossible to see directly. It was as though it was only possible to see them out of the corner of their eye, yet it was impossible to pretend they weren’t there.

  “What madness is this?” Dexter whispered, pulling himself away from Jenna’s embrace to stare at it.

  “Spirits and demons,” Sara said, pointing at the shifting figures after she saw the mystified look on Dexter’s face.

  “No,” Xander explained, “the elders. They are out of phase with this world as well, though the difference is so slight we can still glimpse them.”

  Dexter nodded, as though that made perfect sense. “Half dozen of one, six of the other. I’m for putting an end to this job and getting back to what makes sense.”

  “Aye,” Rosh seconded, though he looked at the city with a suspicious glare.

  “Thought you said it was pretty here?” Dexter asked him, surprised.

  “It’s the kind of pretty that means trouble,” Rosh said in a tone that brooked no debate.

  Dexter raised his eyebrow, curious, but turned back to the city. “Let’s finish this.”

  “Captain, what are we looking for?” Xander asked, anxious to explore but not knowing what it was he was supposed to be looking for.

  “They said it’d be in the middle of the city.”

  “What would be?” Xander asked.

  “I don’t know,” Dexter snapped, annoyed at the wizard’s insistence. “Something like that thing on the ‘Hawk I reckon.”

  Xander raised both eyebrows and pulled his head back, as though surprised by Dexter’s retort. He nodded and stared into the city, rubbing his chin thoughtfully.

  “I will wait here,” Sara told them as they began to head into the silver-misted city.

  “What did she say?” Jenna asked, hurrying to catch up to Dexter and Xander as they strode into the city.

  “What?” Dexter asked, confused.

  “Sorry, who said something?” The wizard asked at the same time.

  “The native… Sara… she said something just now,” Jenna explained, frowning. She turned and pointed, then gasped.

  Rosh emerged from a wall of silver, then frowned when he saw them all looking at him. “It wasn’t me,” he said with his hands held up defensively.

  “What wasn’t you?” Xander asked, more confused.

  Dexter waved it away then hurried over to where the warrior stood. He reached out, touching the bank of silver fog and pulled his hand back sharply. “Don’t feel right,” he said, “it’s all tingly out there.”

  Rosh turned and grunted in surprise. He drew his sword and stuck it in the mist, then pulled it out abruptly. He swore and stared at his blade, then sheathed it when he could find no fault with it and stared at his hands again while flexing his fingers. “You done us in real good this time,” he grumbled, glaring at Dexter.

  Dexter ignored him and walked away, heading back into the heart of the city. “Well ain’t that dandy,” he muttered when he realized he could see the elders around him without any distraction now. Likewise, they could see him. They stared at first, then began to rush towards them, excitement evident in their form and expressions.

  “Aw Hell,” Rosh muttered behind them.

  * * * *

  “Logan!” Willa cried out, rushing over as the naked priest was thrust none too gently out of the pool of water.

  The rest of the captured crew joined them, pulling him onto the humid rock floor and pulling the seaweed away from his face. He gasped, coughing a little, and lay there while they struggled to remove the ties around his arms and legs.

  “Bailynn, these are too strong, can you cut them?” Willa asked when they found the ties used on him had no knots to untie and were resistant to their tugging.

  “I… can’t,” Bailynn stammered, looking at her hands. “I’m not a slayer anymore,” she whispered.

  Bekka smiled comfortingly at her, then looked around for another possible means of freeing the priest.

  Logan groaned, spit out some more seawater, then rolled over onto his back. He pulled his feet up behind his back and concentrated, grimacing and even growling a little. Willa watched him shudder, then jerk a few times and then suddenly he thrashed, his feet and arms jerking free like a coiled spring released. The priest rolled over and breathed raggedly for a few moments before he rolled into a sitting position and tried to cover himself with his hands.

  “What about the Captain and the others?” Bekka asked. “Did you find the elders’ fleet?”

  “We were separated,” he said. “There were natives in the jungle and great animals the likes of which we’ve never seen before. What is this light?”

  “A fight? Is Ro… is everyone okay?” Willa asked nervously, ignoring his question about the strange greenish-yellow luminescence that emanated from the walls.

  “There is a glowing algae or moss on the walls,” Bekka explained.

  He nodded as though that made perfect sense. Given the life he’d been blessed, or cursed, with, he could accept nearly anything. “They were well when I left them,” he answered ambiguously.

  “Out with it boy,” Jodyne said from where she was sitting on the floor. “There be a story behind it, or my cooking’s not fit for a swarm of void rats.”

  Logan stared at her, blushing again as he realized she meant his state of dress. Or undress, as it were. “The frog-“

  “Bah,” Jodyne snorted. “No more lies! Them frog-lickers didn’t care for our clothes.”

  Logan stared at her, then at the others who were watching him with expressions of interest and concern. Bailynn even had her head cocked to the side a little, her eyes wide with a hint of fear. She tightened it down as he met her gaze, her look hardening almost instantly. “I’m cursed,” he said so softly it was a whisper.

  “If being trapped alone with a bunch of women’s a curse, aye, you are!”

  Logan sent a disapproving look the dwarf’s way, then realized that she’d stolen the emotion from him. The recrimination and the loathing. He nodded, almost smiling, and continued. “Not long before you came to Acaros I was chosen to go on a quest for my church. It was a village, owned by one of the Lords, but beset by something that fed upon their cattle and even, sometimes, their young. The Lord who owned the lands cared more for the cattle.”

  Logan shrugged the irreverence of life away, refusing to dwell upon the inhumanity they’d all left behind. “I soon learned it was no simple wild animal, but one of the village’s very own. A man who by day was a smith, and by night something else. He took the form of a great wolf, a wolf that knew no limits to its hunger and savagery. I fought with him and, calling upon the strength of my faith, vanquished him. I sacrificed myself to do so – there were children dying, what was my life compared to the lives of innocents?”

  Logan shook his head, realizing he was slipping into the emotional turmoil that plagued him day after day. The others continued to stare at him, not even the unflappable dwarven cook offering words of support. He took a deep breath and looked to the water, hoping for a distraction. None came.

  “I was wounded so badly I knew I would die by the morning,” he continued. “I prayed for peace and forgiveness. I prayed for the safety of the village, and for my father to u
nderstand what I’d done and why. Soon my prayers lost focus. I passed out; confident I would awaken in the warm embrace of life after death. I did not. I woke up to a sunrise no different than any other that comes to Acaros. At least, not different for any but me.”

  Logan looked around, wondering if they had any idea what he was talking about. Even the scars had healed on him; he could show them no proof of how terrible it had been.

  “I’ve heard of such things,” Bekka said. “Shape-shifters. Were-creatures. Men that do evil by the light of the moon, even if they do good by day.”

  Logan nodded. “Yes, a werewolf. That is what I became. My guts were spilled the night before, my blood rasping in my lungs as I breathed. Yet that morning I was as you see me now, unharmed and untouched.”

  “What did you do?” Bailynn asked, her expression having long since softened.

  “I fled. What else could I do?” Logan asked. “I ran home to the temple, confessing everything to my father. We conspired on what to do, and he hid me on the nights when the moon was waxing. Our prayers went unanswered until Dexter arrived with you, half dead as well.”

  Willa blushed and cradled her arm where Rosh had swung that axe that severed the poisoned ruin of her hand. “How were your prayers answered?” She asked.

  “A ship that sails through the void never need fear the rise and fall of a moon. My curse is linked to the lunar pull. As it waxes, so does the beast now trapped within me,” he explained. “Last night the moon of this world was full. As it will be tonight.”

  “Tonight?” Willa asked, suddenly worried. “How long until….”

  “It was morning when they brought me here,” he said. “When I’m separated from the moon, deep underground or in the cellars of a building, for example, I can fight against it. Perhaps, down here, I will be even more distant and able to control it.”