by Jon Kiln
“Sure, right,” Olma chuckled, her boots splashing in the water as she crawled around the promontory and up the other side of the rock pile. “There.” She pointed to a flat scratch of cliff-grass and rock a little further up. “That’ll do. High tide won’t get that far.”
Talon dutifully dumped the kindling onto the chosen ledge, and started arranging the sticks. Olma had her own thicker logs of wood strapped to her back, and together they squirted it with precious oil and started backing away up the rocks. When they were a few feet away, Olma fished out a piece of lighting paper—a sheet of cotton paper that had been pre-dipped and dried in the purest of spirits—struck a flint across it, and threw it down to the small pyre. There was a faint popping sound and a whoosh as flames burst up the sides of the wood. It almost blinded Talon had he not the sense to look away at the last minute.
“Okay, now we wait.” Olma turned to point down the bay, where two more pyres gushed into bright, crackling life.
Aldameda had told Oberra to instruct his crew to find the lowest, and furthest points of the rocks where the high tide wouldn’t find them, and there set beacon fires. To Talon it had all seemed pretty stupid. Because why would a ship approach a beacon fire in the middle of the night?
“That’s the clever part of the plan, see.” Olma nodded, settling against the rocks and pulling out a tiny flask of something sweet, warm, and smelling of alcohol. “Drop of the good stuff, lad?”
Talon shook his head. “No, but thank you.” Mother Aldameda had told him that all drink and drugs—any intoxicants at all—were frowned upon in the ways of the Guides as they fogged the mind from the true path that needed to be taken.
“I still don’t get it,” the boy said. “A ship sees the beacons, and then what?”
“Just wait.”
Although it was cold down there by the moonless shores, and it felt like they were waiting for half the night, in fact, it was only just past midnight when the boat came. Talon was starting to drift off into a fitful, cold dream of people whose eyes were not their own, and feet that walked and walked and walked, and never rested, when Olma spoke urgently.
“Wake up! Here it comes.” She had undone her cloak, and was hastily flapping it in front of the beacon fire.
In the distance over the waves, Talon could see a moving line of lights. Just three small sparks like fireflies, but moving at a steady rate and not wavering at all. Olma kept up the signaling to the boat, all the while muttering to Talon as she did so.
“You see, the boat will see the other beacon fires, and think that there must be houses or a tiny bay or something here. Something a bit more civilized. And they’ll see our beacon and wonder who’s in danger. Are we a ship in need of help? Are we a lighthouse warning of rocks? Are we some silly, frozen pirate on the shore?” She grinned.
Talon looked down to the other beacon fires, and yes, none of them were signaling on and off like Olma’s was.
“If we’re lucky, she’ll stop, and send out at least a rowboat. If we’re really lucky she’ll start sailing towards us,” Olma whispered, her hands pumping.
But what if she really does run aground? Talon was thinking, as they watched the boat slow to a crawl, and then…
“Damn!” Olma spat into the water, as the three-lighted boat kept on sailing away into the murk. “She was too coward to check it out.”
“Or she had too much sense,” Talon said miserably.
“Huh. Yeah, maybe you’re right, kid.” Olma added a few more logs to the fire and settled back to her flask of drink and her watch. “It was a good idea of the old woman’s anyway. Better to be doing something at least, rather than hanging around dry land.”
“It was the captain’s idea,” Talon said once again.
“You don’t have to pretend. I know it was that ‘Mother’ of yours, but I won’t tell. I know that Oberra’s a sap, but he is good at being up front and dealing with folk, and that’s what we need sometimes in a captain.” She stopped, peered at the waters.
“By the deeps, another one, look!” Olma was pointing to where a much faster set of lights were approaching, this time with at least four or five half-shuttered lights on board, and cutting a swathe towards them. “Oh hell, look lively now!” Olma jumped up and started signaling once again.
Talon crossed his fingers as they watched the faster, much larger vessel cut across the small bay, and then, miraculously, began to slow as it neared their beacon fire, and then stop entirely.
“Yes!” Olma stamped a foot, keeping up the signaling as the boat settled into a complete stop.
“Now what?” Talon was whispering.
“Now?” Olma grinned as she worked. “Now the captain really goes to work…”
The boat ahead had been silent for a while, as Olma kept on sending out her signal for them to come closer. Just when Talon thought that surely even they must be bored by now, he heard a distant, muffled sound.
Clangs. Clashes of metal. Splashes in the water. A distant voice, cut short.
“Get to it, captain, get to it!” Olma was peering into the dark, but nothing could be seen, and the noises gradually died down.
“What happened? What did the captain do?” Talon was almost beside himself with anxiety, uncomprehending what he was seeing, as gradually, four of the main boats lights winked out, one after another, and the two lights left started to move very slowly towards the bay.
“Ha-ha! He’s done it! By the sacred waters below, he’s bloody-well done it.” Olma stepped back from the fire and indicated that their watch was up. “Come on, lad, now we head home and see what prize we got.”
Talon followed her all the way around the rocky outcrops and bay walls until they started to descend to the tiny Red Hand camp once more. The large campfire sputtered into life, revealing that indeed, a new boat was docked there. Tall, with high decks at the fore and aft, with three masts.
On the deck was a group of rowdy Red Hand pirates, with soot-blackened faces, whilst a number of salty looking men and women were being lowered into rowing boats, their arms and legs tied.
“Oh sweet water, that’s a guard ship,” Olma exclaimed gleefully. “They’re the navy patrol of Fuldoon, probably out scouting for pirates and deserters like us.” She laughed, slapping her thigh as she did so. “Those poor fools must have come out to see what our little beacon was, and while they were wondering whether to launch an attack or sail away, the captain rowed up to the sides with the best fighters, snuck aboard and took her down!” The pirate was cackling as she cheered the returning Red Hand fighters. “We got ourselves a proper boat, at last!”
Talon and Olma got down to the beach just in time to hear Aldameda’s speech rising over the waters. All around the boy were the loud, cheering voices and shapes of the other pirates, some even wading into the shallows of the bay to greet the returning heroes.
Where is she? Did she row out there with the captain? thought Talon, but he didn’t have to wait long before his questions were answered. Up above them, on the deck of the galleon were a small group of people gathering. One was unmistakably the captain, waving a naval hat that must have belonged to one of the sailors. Beside him was Aldameda, dressed in a smarter tunic and jerkin than the usual dresses and robes that she wore.
“Friends. Comrades. Brave Red Hand pirates,” Captain Oberra announced. “My plan has succeeded. We not only have our ship, but we have a galleon. A fighting ship of the Fuldoonian navy, fit with six light cannons, three masts, sails and oars.”
It was clearly a very good catch for a bunch of land-locked pirates, and Talon could see them cheering and yelling, almost wild with joy. He wondered if they had ever had a ship as good as this one before.
“And now, my brothers and sisters. We also have a destination. Mother Aldameda, will you repeat to them what you told me just a moment ago?” He swept a hand back so that Aldameda’s voice could resound over the waters.
“Pirates of the Red Hand. I know of a place that many others have forgotten. A
place where there is treasure beyond the reckonings of most normal folk. Long has this place been abandoned, and there is only me now, who remembers what glories it once held. I am talking about a tiny island called the Isle of Gaunt, not two days from here along the Shattering Coast. If we travel now, then you will all be swimming in riches before three days have passed.”
Talon heard the loud cheer rising around him from the success and victory-soaked pirates. He only hoped that Aldameda wasn’t lying to them, just to get them to take her to the Isle.
25
Vekal’s footsteps carried him through the abandoned city of Telset, past the frontline of green vines and invading saplings to where the city’s stones stood bare. The night had fallen, but the city was not quiet, nor dark. The pale stones shone like teeth against the night, and the surrounding forest was alive with the sound of wild animals. Vekal found himself starting at the larger noises that echoed strangely through the city. He didn’t know if they were creatures that had wandered into the ruins, or were merely echoes, reverberating through the empty streets.
And still, no Ikrit, Vekal thought with a frown. The devil inside of him was curiously silent as he walked through the night, finding that the main street grew wider and wider, until he was standing before the central plaza of the city itself, looking at the palace.
As curious as he was about this place and its history, Vekal found his steps turning to skirt around the central palace and away from its steps. I have a more urgent mission, he thought. The Isle of Gaunt.
Of course, I have no idea how I am going to get to the Isle of Gaunt. I can’t even swim! But despite his reservations, and even though the devil inside of him appeared to be angry, the priest had the almost certain knowledge that the creature would make sure that they got to the Tomb.
“Even if it has to keep me alive by stopping my heart and lungs,” Vekal muttered. He didn’t remember much from his time that the ship called the Emerald went down and after. It had been like being asleep, strange, surreal dreams of floating underwater interspersed with old memories. Just how long can Ikrit keep me alive for, anyway? The Sin Eater shivered in the dark, and not from the cold. Was his body more or less immortal now, apart from injury or wounding? Could he not get sick or ill?
There was a sound behind him, like a skittering or scratching, bringing Vekal suddenly out of his thoughts. It had sounded like pebbles being thrown, or claws against stone…
The priest looked around, but saw nothing behind him in the streets. He started to move a little quicker.
“Probably nothing,” the priest muttered. “Just a rat or a mouse or whatever else lives in this forest.”
This time, the sound came from the other side of him, almost in front. Vekal peered into the darkness, trying to find out what could have made the noise. Was there a branch or a dead twig? Something dry rattling against a wall?
But no—there were no undergrowth, vines, or trees this deep into the city. No plants dead or alive. That meant that the noise must have come from something living. A creature. Devil! he said to the spirit within him. Devil! Ikrit! I could really do with your devil-sight help about now.
But still, no sound from inside Vekal’s head. It was almost as if the spirit inside had been rendered unconscious, if such a thing were even possible. Before Vekal could wonder about the mystery any more, the sound of claws scratching stone had returned.
This time, the sound was ahead of him, around the side of the palace that he was heading. Vekal paused, and drew his stolen sword from his belt so that he had walking staff in one hand, and bared blade in the other.
A low, whining scratching noise, getting louder as it drew closer.
Vekal tensed, and started to hunch…
A shape emerged from the darkness, but it was no rat nor mouse. In fact, it was larger even than Vekal, and lurched towards him with lightning-fast speed.
“By the sacred sands!” the priest gasped at the thing, jumping back.
It was nearly seven feet tall, and with skin that might once have been human, but the starlight caught the silver of odd hairs and pale skin. Muscles and tendons corded everywhere in odd places that didn’t look natural, and its arms were criss-crossed with ugly scars as wide as Vekal’s arms. But that wasn’t the most terrifying part of the beast, that would be its head.
The creature had no regular human face, instead it had a pale sort of bulbous sack made of quivering flesh, whose ‘beard’ was instead many curling and knotting tentacles, each tipped with cruel barbs. Vekal could see that the thing had no eye, but it was these tentacles—some as long as a forearm, which made the odd scratching noise as they tasted the air and tapped the wall beside it, flaring, pointing, and reaching for Vekal himself.
“It still lives!” the devil inside of the priest hissed, awaking to instant life at the horror as the creature’s tentacles speared and swiped at the place where the priest had been.
Vekal had thrown himself to the floor and rolled, standing back up as dark power flooded his limbs. So now you decide to lend me your strength, Vekal thought wildly, as he had to jump once more, up the steps to the gallery of pillars as this time a foot with curved talons in place of toes cracked the paving slab where he had been.
“No time for your hurt pride, priest. Just run. Run from the Shoggoth.” Even the imp sounded terrified, which was surely a bad sign as Ikrit the Greater Abomination had apparently overseen the tortures of a thousand souls when in hell. The priest threw himself around a marble pillar, only for it to suddenly shake and crack as fists the size of his head smacked into them.
How can it see? How can it find me? the priest thought as he staggered backwards, rounding around the next pillar, and the next, trying to dodge and weave the blows that cracked and smacked into the stone at every stone. The beast, for all of its apparent blindness and ungainly lurching was quick. Quicker than even a striking snake, and it was missing the human only by a matter of inches.
“The Shoggoth can see perfectly well with its tentacles. It can taste where you are, and where you were,” the devil inside said quickly. “Behind you! Into the palace. The Shoggoth may still be afraid of crossing the boundaries.”
Vekal had no chance to think as he dove for the nearest dark archway and into the darkness beyond, finding himself rolling over and over again on marble tiled floor, as behind him the thing roared defiantly. The Sin Eater managed to flip onto his feet, raising his sword—his staff he had dropped in his leap—to ward off the first blow, only to find that the thing was swaying and heaving, its barrel-like chest rising and falling like a bellows as it gulped at the air.
But it had stopped, standing past the pillars and straining towards the archway, but not allowing itself to raise even one ugly talon inside.
“It is scared of entering here. It was never allowed, you see. But that was millennia ago. Soon, it will discover that all that is stopping it is its own mind… Quick. Priest, move!” The devil poured the torrent of information directly into his brain, all in the amount of time it took to blink an eye.
Vekal didn’t need encouragement. Looking at the monster as it struggled to break whatever twisted code even it lived by, the Sin Eater backed away deeper into the room, crossing what appeared to be some kind of entrance hall.
“Straight ahead,” the devil counseled him, and with a shiver of power he felt the devil lend him the ghostly-blue vision that meant that he was no longer stumbling in the dark. He could see almost perfectly well, except that everything seemed picked out in ethereal, eldritch blue light.
The man was stumbling down a central hallway, out of an entrance hall behind. This hallway contained more arches on either side of him, as well as one ahead, and stairs heading up to the level above. In the center was a long dried fountain, and when the Sin Eater threw a look above him, he could see the starlit sky through the empty holes in the palace roof.
“Straight on. Straight through. We’ll outrun it,” the devil advised, and Vekal, his legs filled with that sup
ernatural strength that the devil imparted, carried on running. He had almost crossed the room when there was a growling howl of rage, and a sound like a crack of thunder. Vekal was sure that he could even feel the ripple of shock through the stones, as the Shoggoth burst through the walls of the entrance hall, and pounded after its prey.
“I thought you said it wouldn’t follow us!” Vekal sprinted.
“I thought it wouldn’t!” Ikrit screeched.
Their steps took them directly into the grandest room so far. A circular chamber that also occupied multiple floors, in tiers of stone benching like a gallery. At the back of the room, all the seating stopped to look at a raised stone platform, upon which sat two thrones, and between them a large slab of natural rock. Vekal felt a shiver of emotion from the devil inside of him. What was that—sadness? Regret? The backs of each throne extended up into the air, molded into the seating forms of the two rulers that Vekal had seen before, the god-emperor, Gehin, and his queen, Eiver.
“Behind the stone! There is a secret passage—quickly now.” The devil demanded, as Vekal jumped and ran down the gallery of benches to the platform, banging his knee painfully upon the slab of stone that sat there. He couldn’t help notice, as he put his hands out to catch himself, that the slab of stone was dark with layer upon layer of stains.
Blood? the priest thought. If that really was all blood, then there was enough there to have filled an army of bodies.
The Shoggoth’s angry call echoed down the hallway behind them, followed by the crack and crash of stone, as the tentacled creature burst into the throne room. Vekal vaulted the altar stone, to see on the other side a stone slab with a metal handle.
“Down there. To the vaults—quickly!” The devil lent him strength to pull the stone trapdoor open one handed, as the giant figure bounded down the gallery, smashing benches with every stride.
As soon as Vekal had removed the cover, he was already jumping down into the darkness, landing on the narrow, rough-hewn steps below and almost falling down the stairs. Behind him there was an explosion of fury as the creature got to the stone slab and, in one furious blow threw the altar stone to one side and was attacking the opening. It was far too small for the creature to fit however, and Vekal was only too glad to flee down the cramped stairwell.