Nevermor

by Lani Lenore

  “Should I go get him?” she asked, and most of them jerked to attention at that.

  “He’s asleep,” Nix said firmly, though he’d shown no abrupt reaction. “He always sleeps through the storms.”

  He didn’t look at her when he said it, busy with his pipe now, and she wondered if he was lying. A flare of uncertainty lit up inside as she considered that they were keeping a secret from her. Perhaps Rifter was not really there, having gone off to some place covertly, leaving the others to lie for him. Had he left without telling her? Wren grew angry over that, for she was not willing to be made a fool.

  “Well, he should be here with the rest of us. I’m going to insist.” She began to rise, but Toss grabbed her arm.

  “No, you can’t! He’s dreaming!”

  There were groans of irritation from some of the others, as if he had given away a well-kept secret. Had he? Wren didn’t understand.

  “She’s one of us now. She might as well know it,” Finn said to the rest of them in Toss’ defense.

  “Dreaming? What do you mean?” Wren asked, taking her seat again.

  They still seemed unsure of whether or not to elaborate on that, glancing at each other until finally Sly spoke.

  “You know what Nevermor is, and you’ve been told that Rifter is connected to it. This is a place of dreams, but when Rifter dreams – or rather, when he has a nightmare – we get this.”

  Wren wasn’t quite surprised, yet she was amazed. This violent storm had come on because Rifter was uneasy in his sleep?

  “Has anyone ever tried waking him up? I think I’d like to be woken up if I was having a nightmare.” The answer seemed simple to her, but they were quick to tell her otherwise.

  “No, he doesn’t like that,” Mech said.

  “He’d rather us pretend it isn’t happening,” said Mach.

  Wren listened to them, but the idea disturbed her. How could they all sit here when Rifter was in obvious turmoil?

  “I feel I should go check on him,” she insisted, and she was on her feet again.

  “Don’t do that, Wren. Just stay here with us,” Finn encouraged her pleadingly.

  “Yes, we’ll play some music or something,” Toss promised. “We’ll get our instruments.”

  Wren looked around at their entreating faces, but she had already made up her mind.

  I’m going.

  She stepped through the midst of them, and none tried to stop her, but she heard Nix call after her, his voice echoing down the tunnel.

  “You’re just going to piss him off!”

  She didn’t pay attention to the warning. Wren carried on toward Rifter’s room, and the fact that she had never been allowed to go inside, even to clean, did not deter her when she got to the curtain.

  Already, she could hear him groaning, and the thunder seemed to grumble in unison. If she had doubted what they’d said about Rifter causing the storm, she believed it now. Carefully, she lifted the flap of animal hide and went into the forbidden space.

  The faint glow of a lantern illuminated the room, and she could see him there on a bed of leaves and feathers. It reminded her of a nest. He was covered by a thin cloth that was stretched across him precariously, but she was sure he was naked beneath it. She tried not to look, but the portion of his skin that she could see was covered in a glittering sheen of sweat. His face was contorted, strained. He groaned as his body convulsed, seizing up with the waves of the storm outside.

  He’s in pain…

  Wren felt sorry for him, wanting to comfort him in some way, but she wasn’t sure how to go about it. Though the others had warned her not to wake him, she didn’t think she could leave him alone now that she had seen him like this.

  Taking a deep breath and holding it, as if the slightest sound would disturb him, she crept forward. She stood over him, next to the nest-bed. His muscles clenched as he strained, and he thrashed a bit in his sleep. She wondered how close she should get, thinking he might hit her on accident, but she held onto the idea that she could console him somehow. As if it was an issue of loyalty, she would not leave him.

  Growing brave, Wren lowered herself and sat on the edge of the mattress. She watched him, seeing a trickle of sweat rolling down the side of his face. Wren hated to see him like that. She raised her hand to wipe it away with the tips of her fingers—

  – and in the next instant, Rifter had grabbed her wrist and shot directly up in the bed with a gasp.

  Wren jerked back but could not escape. He held her arm in a clenched fist. His blue eyes looked damp and hazy, but they finally focused on her, and she thought that he knew who she was. Still, he did not say anything, only stared, breathing hard in the wake of his dream.

  “Rifter.” She said his name so that he would know her.

  They sat there looking at each other, both mystified. His grip was still solid, and for a moment, she thought she felt it tightening. Wren didn’t know what his reaction would be now that she had woken him up, and she wondered if she should have listened to the others. Would he yell at her? Drive her away?

  Rifter sat there, staring through her – and then he put his arms around her, drawing her in against him. He laid his head on her shoulder, his face away from hers. His fingers gripped the cloth of her gown as if clinging to her was the only thing that would keep him anchored in this world – keep him from falling back down into the darkness.

  Wren was surprised but glad for this reaction, and breathed a sigh of relief as she put her hands against his back. His skin was warm, feverish perhaps, but she believed he would be better now that he was awake.

  “Where am I?” he asked her. Wren was shocked by his question.

  “You’re home,” she told him. “You’re safe.”

  His breathing began to calm a bit, but her mind was troubled. Why didn’t he know where he was? Was he so deep in the dream that he had forgotten? Did he remember who he was? Did he remember her?

  When he said her name, she felt better about that. He was calming down, remembering the world around him.

  “Wren,” he said dryly, “I don’t want to go back there…”

  “It’s alright,” she promised him. “You were just having a bad dream. Everything’s fine.”

  He didn’t say anything else for a few moments. His fingers loosened a bit but he held onto her and kept his head on her shoulder. She thought she was supporting all his weight, which was heavy to her, but she did not push him away.

  “What were you dreaming about?” she ventured to ask, running a hand over his hair.

  “I don’t remember,” he told her, but she wasn’t sure if that was the truth. She didn’t press it, however.

  Above her head, the sound of the rain had slacked and the wind had died down. There was still a bit of thunder, but it seemed distant, moving away. Rifter had come back to her, and the storm was passing. She smiled to herself, knowing that she had managed to soothe him.

  They stayed that way for a while until his breathing had finally returned to normal. Then he was urging her down onto the bed with him, and it was her turn to have a speeding heart. He settled in behind her and put his face against her neck, holding her close like a talisman that would keep the bad dreams away. Wren was content to lay there with him if it would keep him calm – never mind that he was naked. She wanted to be near him, so she closed her eyes as well and listened to the rhythm of his breath.

  Over their heads, the storm had broken up and slipped away, carrying the horrors off with it.

  3

  In the den, the boys could hear that the storm had slacked. They looked at each other, unsure of what to think, but knew what had happened, and that Wren had somehow consoled Rifter enough that the gale had passed and his bad dreams had moved on.

  From his spot near the fire, Nix listened, marveling as the wind quieted and the rain began a peaceful drizzle above them.

  “Well,” he said to himself, but loud enough for the others to hear. “I guess she is good for something, after all
.”

  Captain’s Log - Final Entry

  I know what I must do.

  I won’t give him time to think.

  As soon as I am able, I must attack him with all that I have. I must isolate him – take away those others who make him strong. That is the key to his weakness. I don’t know why I didn’t see it before.

  We're opposing forces, he and I. We are evenly matched. The secret is finding out how the balance might be disturbed so that things will lean in my favor. I may not know it yet, but I must recall how to get at it.

  Here's the thing that I must remember above all else – no matter where I go, what happens to me, or what else I might forget:

  In the beginning, there was only the two of us, and that is exactly how it will end.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  1

  Before the storm had settled, the tempest was raging on all across the island, bringing fierce rain and wind to wash the land clean. The thunder and lightning had led all the inhabitants – humans and creatures alike – to seek shelter. Even the sea was troubled, lashing out wildly, wrecking anything that was foolish enough to be out on the waves. When the storm began to slack, the world itself did not understand, but it accepted the calm.

  On the other side of the island, beyond the thick jungle and high mountains, there was a settlement nestled in a cove. Those who lived there were part of their own class, having spawned from a small group that had been lost on the sea and washed ashore years ago.

  They were thieves and vagabonds – whatever they had to be to survive, and whatever they wanted to be to declare their freedom. There were no rules for them; no order or method to the chaos of their lives.

  In their secluded part of the world, there was only one thing that even the worst of them had not been willing to do out of fear. On this night, a man named Euniz Pritt had decided that he was going to do that one thing.

  In an isolated area near the rocks of the south bay, there was an enormous black ship that had run aground. It was called the Desdemona, and it had been abandoned there for months. No one had even acknowledged it since it had been left – a subject of taboo that was best ignored. The deck had been empty for so long that Euniz had decided that there was no reason why he shouldn’t have the vessel for himself. It was obvious that none of the previous crew were coming back.

  Perhaps it was the storm that had persuaded him that he would not be stopped, but he could not have picked a more dangerous night. He, and the men he had brought with him, just weren’t smart enough to know that.

  “Check the ship’s condition. I want it ready as soon as possible,” he ordered the others once they were tromping across the deserted deck.

  “Yes, captain.”

  The storm had slacked, moving away over the sea, which made things easier for the weathered sailors who scattered themselves across the ship. They were experienced. If any could get the ship back in sailing condition, they would be able.

  Euniz was not completely ignorant of what he was doing. He knew who the ship had previously belonged to, but he supposed that man – the one they called the Scourge of Nevermor – was dead. One couldn’t come back from the grave, but even if that horrible man did manage it somehow, Euniz guessed he wouldn’t have to worry if he had an entire crew of men on his side. They could dispatch one pirate easily enough, no matter what the stories said about him.

  While the men were moving about, assessing the condition of the dark vessel, Euniz was more interested in what he might find below deck. Since he was to be captain now, he was curious to see the shape of the cabin – and to discover what sort of treasures the other might have left behind.

  Maybe there are maps. Gold. Weapons. Euniz would bet that no one had seen the inside of the captain’s chamber in a long time, even before the ship had come to rest here. He intended to be the one who lived to tell the tale.

  Perhaps he would even take to calling himself the Scourge. It had a nice ring to it, and who would know the difference, now that the other was gone? They would only know that he was the terror on the seas of Nevermor, and his reputation would precede him.

  Euniz pried open the door that led into the darkened belly of the ship, and a cold blast of air stung him. The breeze nearly blew out the flame of his lantern, but he held it and pressed forward. He was a grown man, and though this world might have dictated that he fear ghosts and specters, he convinced himself that he did not. He had his cutlass in case trouble presented, and he didn’t assume he would need more than that.

  Pressing on below, Euniz passed the steps that led into the berth and instead approached an ornate door with a stained glass window. It had been left open just a hair, and Euniz was glad to see that he wouldn’t have to break it open.

  The cabin was dark, as expected. It was damp and cold, smelling mildly of smoke. He guessed that the scent was embedded in the upholstery. The rug on the floor was oriental in design but was largely red, deep and thick as blood. It muffled the sound of his boots when he stepped onto it.

  There was a writing desk to the side, but the captain’s log resting atop it had several pages ripped out. Flipping through, Euniz found that the remaining entries were from years before. What had this Scourge hoped to accomplish if he didn’t keep track of his excursions? It was no wonder he’d been done away with.

  There were cabinets lining the walls, but Euniz was not interested in those yet. He moved toward the back of the room where a couple of steps led up to the dirty windows across the stern.

  The pallor of moonlight cast inside, illuminating a long table there. Behind it was a chair which had a frame made entirely of bones, and there was no mistaking that they were human. There was a skull mounted at the top of it, gawking at the room with hollow eyes.

  Euniz felt a chill run through him, but still he placed his lamp on the desk and sat down in the foreboding chair. He put his hands on the rests, trying to imagine himself as the sort of man who would sit in a chair made of human bones. Was he vile enough for that? Could he take on this role? It was only treasure that he had a taste for, not blood, but he supposed those things must go hand in hand if he was to be the captain of this ship. Yes, he could imagine himself here, planning their course, deciding what sort of treasure they would seek, counting his gold—

  His head snapped up at the sound of a creaking floorboard, and he was halted in his musing by a dark shadow in the middle of the room.

  His heart leapt into the back of his throat and he nearly choked on it. He blinked a few times, trying to convince himself that it was an illusion, but even though he waited, it would not go away. He was not mistaken that there was indeed a man standing there, dressed all in black and soaking wet from the rain. Euniz could hear the patter of water as it dripped off his coat.

  What…?

  There was a flicker of light as a match was lit, and when the dark one raised it to his face to ignite a pipe, Euniz was able to recognize him. He saw the long scar, the eye patch, the one cold, blue eye looking straight at him. A rush of fear stabbed him, piercing his soul.

  What the devil?

  It was him – but how could it have been him? Wasn’t he dead? He had been gone for so long that everyone had merely assumed it. Yet here he was, standing in the pit of the ship like an old phantom that didn’t know when to stop haunting.

  No, this wasn’t true. It was one of the others playing a trick on him, trying to frighten him for kicks.

  “I thought I told you to be checking over the ship. I think I can handle things down here,” Euniz said.

  “You smell like fresh bones,” said the deep voice from within that darkness, and Euniz couldn’t look away. He stared at the man’s face, past the stringy black hair that was hanging in tangled strands much longer than his shoulders.

  He was supposed to be gone; Euniz had believed that. Could the man have been hiding down here, healing, making plans for the next time he emerged out of the darkness? He knew one thing, though. Now that he had looked into the man’s e
ye, he could not turn away.

  “You’ve come to steal from me,” the dark man accused, taking a step closer to the table.

  “No!” Euniz protested, but it came out as a hoarse whisper.

  “Of course you have,” the man said, blowing out smoke. “Why else would you be here?”

  His voice was dry and mangled, as if he’d not had a drink in days. Perhaps that was true, but Euniz didn’t give it any more thought. He answered promptly.

  “I was only seeking you out,” the thieving man explained. “The ship has been quiet for so long, I thought you might still be here, hiding out below. I was hoping to pledge myself to you.”

  Euniz was immediately afraid and hated himself for saying it, but it was the only thing he could think to save himself. He heard the man walking toward him, and Euniz winced with every step. The dark man stopped just in front of the table.

  “You’re sitting in my seat. Do you think that just because you are sitting there, you can take on this mantle? This ship? Can you be what I have been? Do what I have set out to do?”

  Euniz could feel himself shrinking down in the chair. He didn’t know what this man meant, but he knew he didn’t want this anymore. He regretted coming here.

  “Nothing to say?” the Scourge asked. He tilted his head to look at the other man, the darkness rolling off his shoulders like black fog.

  Euniz had lost his will to try.

  “You’re still in my seat.”

  Euniz wanted to jump up, but he couldn’t move. He could feel tiny pinpricks inside him, passing upward into his windpipe. He could hardly breathe, and he certainly couldn’t respond. Was this death? He had heard the tales of the Scourge, as the rest of them had, but were they true? Could he stop a man’s heart with his glare? Euniz felt panic, but he could not express it.

  A smile crossed the Scourge’s face and he stepped around the table to stand over him, perching like a vulture.