Blood and Sand Trilogy Box Set

by Jon Kiln

  18

  Vekal opened his eyes, only – they weren’t his eyes.

  “Where am I?” he said, only – it wasn’t his voice. It was much higher and lighter, but it sounded familiar. “Ikrit? What have you done to me?” he said, but the devil did not answer.

  The priest wondered if he was dreaming when this new body started moving of its own volition, sliding from the bunk bed that it occupied, for feet to hit the cold wood below. The room swayed gentle to and fro, and Vekal realized that he – or whomever he was – was on a boat. But which boat? Who am I?

  The room was small, cramped, with only one wall of bunks and a narrow space for changing. A wooden trunk sat under a porthole, with a selection of clothes layered on top of it. The clothes were clean linen shirts and trousers, much fresher than his usual rags that the priest wore. He appeared much shorter in this body, as well, he realized, when he turned to walk to the door and found that it was much taller than he was.

  “Ikrit…?” he heard his higher voice say, but again, there was no answer. All that he could control, seemingly, was this bodies voice as the body opened the door, and he stepped gingerly out into a narrow corridor of the boat.

  The sounds of a ship reached his ears. The distant muffled sounds of voices, the ripple of canvas, the clunks as things were hauled and moved about above decks. But Vekal’s new feet turned away from those sounds, pacing down the corridor to where a set of stairs led up and down.

  Taking the stairs down, this level was brighter, with lanterns, and the corridor much larger, and much shorter.

  Only two doors here, one on either side of the corridor, with one of them clearly leading out into the hold (double doors that banged slightly in the whistles of wind, even down here) while the door on the other side held an unusual brass handle, fashioned into a leaping sea serpent. Vekal watched as his small hand – a teenaged hand, perhaps, reached to the handle of the last door, and hesitantly opened it.

  Slipping inside, the body that was not Vekal found itself standing in a very large, well-appointed state room. There was a big wooden bed shaped into one side of the wall, a writing desk, a selection of sea chests, and even a map pinned to the wall. Storm lanterns hung, swinging in the air above, and, on the bed lay a person.

  A man, thin, fine-featured, with luxuriant hair. He slept on top of the bed as if collapsed from a hard day’s work – his cotton shirt still on his frame, and his heavy breeches still on. At his bed side was a chair, from which hung a fine rapier, a cloak, and a hat, and a pair of well-polished black boots sat by its side.

  The man was breathing shallowly, and, if Vekal could breathe right now, then he would have stopped in taut anxiety.

  The priest watched his new body tiptoe to the bed, before fumbling at the chair to produce a wickedly sharp, curving knife…

  Ikrit! No – you can’t just kill someone! Vekal silently raged against the actions of the body. He saw himself step forward, raise the dagger over the man’s neck…

  NO! I will not be party to this! Vekal thrashed inside the boy’s body, trying to dislodge himself from his fleshy cage.

  To his surprise, the boy suddenly lurched to one side, looking strangely at the knife and shaking his head, before, hands shaking, he put the knife down on the chair once more. Vekal felt a wave of resistance washing towards him – a feeling like stubbornness or resentment – which he couldn’t be sure if it was coming from the person whose body he inhabited, or the devil somewhere hidden behind the viscera.

  But now the body he was in was starting to do something else. It had raised a thin hand over the body of the sleeping man, and raised three fingers in the air in an arcane symbol that the priest did not recognize. This time, it wasn’t Vekal’s words that came out of the boy’s lips, but instead it was Ikrit’s.

  “By Apoth, I curse. By Melianis, I bind you, by Szygul I call you…”

  The eyes of the sleeping, handsome man snapped open, and they were filled with a brilliant white light. “My kind do not sleep much, boy!” the man hissed, pushing himself up from his bed as the boy continued to drone.

  “By Kalix I bind you! By the dark I bind you!” the boy’s hissing turned frantic.

  The man snarled, reaching for the boy’s throat with lightning-fast reflexes, before, strangely, rebounding as if he were trapped inside a glass jar.

  “What!? What sorcery is this!” the man yelled, despite his own white eyes blazing.

  “By the dark I curse you. By Hjul I cast you out. By the Night I throw you down…” Ikrit’s voice rose into a dreadful wail.

  “You’re no boy – I see you, hiding behind there!” the man raged, the light growing in his eyes brighter and brighter, and now seeming to spread all along his flesh as well. “You cannot do this. You have no authority here!”

  “I have every authority,” Ikrit snapped, his hand still raised, but now shaking with the power it contained. “By Darkness I bind you – and darkness I cast you out!”

  There was a flash of light from the man, and a whumpf as he was thrown back against the bedclothes. That wasn’t all that was thrown, as the boy that both Ikrit and Vekal were inside, tumbled back across the room, before staggering to his feet and racing back to the bed.

  Is he dead? Vekal thought, seeing the form of the man who had been so angry a moment ago still and curled up on the bed.

  “Not dead,” the boy-Ikrit said. “Unfortunately, perhaps. But he’ll have one hell of a hangover if he ever wakes up.”

  “Who was he?” the boy’s voice, controlled by Vekal, said once again through the boy’s mouth.

  “Captain Oberra, of the Red Hand,” he said, just as there was a banging on the door.

  “Captain? What’s that noise? Captain!” The door burst open, and a thin woman with a shaved head, lots of leather and straps on crutches almost fell into the room. She glared at the bed, and at the boy. “You? What’s happening here?”

  “I heard shouting, and when I came in, the captain seemed to be raving…” the devil said in the boy’s voice, before adding doubtfully. “It didn’t sound like the captain…”

  The priest saw a shadow pass over the woman’s face – the appearance and disappearance of a secret that was too troubling to share. “I guess that the captain hasn’t sounded like the captain for a few days now. But that’s enough, boy. Go back to your room. We’re heading for the coast. I’ve had enough of this strangeness.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” the boy nodded, even performing a quick, haphazard salute before running out of the room and back up the corridors once more. When he emerged into his own one, Vekal heard another woman’s voice loudly call out behind him.

  “Talon! What is that? What is going on down there?”

  Vekal turned, wondering where he had heard this voice before, to see the braided, ancient form of Mother Aldameda scowling at him, still in her dark robes, but now with an extra leather jerkin added on top.

  It’s her! The one who wanted to kill me! Vekal thought, stumbling back against the wall.

  “Talon? What is wrong with you? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

  “Just – just a bad night, ma’am,” Ikrit-Talon’s voice said.

  “Hmm...” the Mother Aldameda squinted at him suspiciously. “Are you sure that you’re all right there, Talon?”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Vekal felt a shiver of recognition. This was Talon. The boy that he had saved in the desert, and escaped with the guardian Suriyen to the city of Fuldoon! It seemed so long ago that he could hardly believe it. Almost like another life. Since then, he had managed to escape the Mother Aldameda’s clutches, find his way out of the city of Fuldoon by means of a merchant ship (only to be thrown overboard for his witchery) and then to the Shattered Coasts, where he met Meghan and Kris, explored the ruins of Telset, and eventually found his way to the Isle of Gaunt.

  And to Heaven, he thought.

  “Are you listening to me, Talon?” Aldameda frowned. “I asked you, what was happening up there, in Captain Oberra�
�s chambers?”

  “The captain has had some kind of attack,” Vekal heard Ikrit say.

  “What sort of attack?” Aldameda’s eyebrows shot upwards.

  “He started talking funny, and then started chanting ‘out!’ ‘out!’ and collapsed.” Vekal felt his shoulders shrug. “The woman said that we were heading for the coast…”

  “The woman? First Mate Fatim, you mean?” Aldameda blanched a paler color. “I had never thought Oberra strong-willed enough to cast out an angel,” she muttered, suddenly appearing unsure of herself. “I had better go see what I can do. Talon? Be ready for anything. Go back to your room.”

  “Aye-aye, ma’am!” Ikrit added a bit more mischievous relish that wasn’t strictly necessary, earning himself an odd look from Mother Aldameda, but she didn’t say anything further as she turned and hurried down the stairs to where there was more muffled, and angry voices.

  The boy, Talon, started whistling, suddenly appearing a lot happier as he sauntered back to his room, climbed back up onto his bunk, and laid down to close his eyes.

  19

  Vekal staggered from the bench, his face radiating pain. Disorientated, he wailed and coughed as he blinked his eyes, smelling fire, meat, and stale ale.

  He was lying on the floor of The Skull’s Rest, with blood trickling down the side of his face. “Whaaat?” he mumbled, as there was a roar from above him.

  It was Gustav, the monosyllabic strange older companion of the fortune-teller. He had apparently broken his cane over the side of Vekal’s head, and now was advancing on him with the shattered splinters of what was left.

  “Gustav? Gustav!” shouted the innkeeper in alarm, reaching for something behind the bar.

  Oh crap, Vekal had a moment to roll, scattering chairs, as one leather-booted foot crashed down on the floor, followed by another.

  Devil – what did you do? He screamed as he kicked benches and tables out against his octogenarian foe. He didn’t want to attack him. How could he?

  One of Gustav’s kicks landed squarely in his stomach, and the priest suddenly had very different view on what he could and could not do to defend himself.

  “’Ee murdered my Daeni! ‘Ee murdered ‘er!” Gustav was bawling as the innkeeper was trying to push him back with his own cudgel as Vekal scrambled to his feet, holding the side of his head.

  “What?” Vekal gasped, looking beyond the pair of them to see, there, lying on the table with her head beside the crystal ball and her arms still outstretched where he had gripped them, the stilled form of the fortune teller.

  Fiend! What did you do!?

  ‘What I had to, priest!’ the devil flared back. ‘That spell takes a lot out of you, and I needed a willing psychic to assist me. So that old woman became my willing assistant.’ The devil snarled, as the innkeeper looked at the dead old woman, and then started to turn in Vekal’s direction.

  “I didn’t know you were going to kill her!” Vekal gasped out loud as the two men’s faces hardened into a murderous stare. The innkeeper looked angry, but Gustav the companion looked positively possessed.

  ‘That Gustav is some kind of golem or sprit-slave, I swear. They never take the deaths of their master’s well…’ Ikrit said, in a surprising reasonable and urbane voice. ‘Come on then, Vekal, we’d better be going.’

  Be going!? Be. Going!? Vekal stammered at the audacity of the spirit that rode him, just bringing himself to his senses as he dodged the first swipe of the innkeeper’s cudgel, jumped from one table to the next as Gustav roared and attempted to throw a bench at him – and jumped through the glass window to roll on the dirt outside.

  “Hey! Stop him! He’s getting away!” the priest heard the innkeeper shout as he high-tailed it down the street, towards the eastward road, and hopefully if Eremund hadn’t been lying, the coast.

  20

  Meghan woke up to the sudden lurch of movement, and instantly put her hand over the smaller form of Kariss nestled beside her, who was already awake.

  “Ma. We’re turning,” she said, her eyes clear and bright.

  “Don’t be worried, I’m sure the captain knows what he is doing,” Meghan said, before grimacing slightly. I’m sure that the angel knows what it is doing, she corrected.

  “The captain’s not here. He’s gone now,” Kariss said, seemingly unafraid.

  “What?” Meghan looked at her daughter, but she had already rucked up the blankets around her again, and was starting to huffle herself back into sleep.

  I wish I could be as calm, Meghan thought, tousling a lock on the girl’s head. She wondered when she had become so used to her child’s strange pronouncements, and whether she should be more worried about them. They were happening more often now since leaving the coast. Almost every day, almost every time that she opened her mouth.

  Time enough to worry, she hissed through her teeth, easing herself out of the bunk, before turning to tuck her child back in once more.

  Her child’s words had worried her, of course – but not the fact that they had come out of her girl’s mouth. She had long since accepted Kariss’s strange ways. No, I’m worried about the captain.

  “If he’s gone… then who is in his place?” She got dressed, just as there was an urgent tap on the door.

  “Who is it?” she called, her hand moving to pick up the dagger from the chest. The Pirate-Angel had said that she had nothing to fear from this boat, and that her child was special – but that didn’t stop her from feeling afraid.

  I don’t trust the angels. I don’t trust the pirates. I don’t trust anyone.

  “It’s me,” croaked the crow-like voice of Mother Aldameda.

  I’m not even sure that I can trust you, Meghan frowned, but still slipped the dagger into her belt and moved to open the door.

  “Things are happening,” Aldameda said quickly as she moved into the room, with Talon the young boy, barely old enough to hold the long knife at his belt, trailing behind her. He looked pale, with sunken eyes, as if he hadn’t slept a wink last night.

  “What?” Meghan moved aside as Aldameda closed the door gently behind her, waiting a moment before nodding to herself.

  She’s scared. She’s worried. Meghan frowned deeper.

  “First Mate Fatim is turning the Red Hand towards the nearest harbor.” Aldameda was scowling, her eyes moving as she appeared to tick off a mental checklist. “She’s had enough of this strangeness, and the captain is unwell.” Meghan saw the older woman’s eyes slide to the boy at her side, who appeared woeful and dour.

  “Unwell?” Meghan said in alarm. The Pirate Captain – or Angel Captain, whichever he was now, had been their guarantee of safety. What would the First Mate and their crew of pirates do with an apparent witch child if their captain was out of action?

  “Unconscious,” Aldameda said. “I think that it must be something to do with his… guest.” She said the words carefully, like it was a barbed, dangerous thing. “Maybe the angel was too strong for him. Maybe Oberra was too willful for it. Whatever it was, I do not know.” Another glare at Talon. “But Talon might.”

  “Talon?” Meghan looked at the boy in sympathy. He looked far too young to be embroiled in the older woman’s schemes and occult teachings. Just like my Kariss?

  “I, uh, I don’t remember.” Talon looked up at them both with his wide blue eyes. “I was asleep, and something woke me up in the night, but I don’t know what it was. A noise, maybe? I suddenly had an urge to go check on the captain. I knew that something important was happening, or about to happen. But then, when I got there…” His eyes went far, and he shook his head. When his voice came back, it was quieter. “I don’t remember. The captain was angry, I think. I remember strong white light, and then the captain was unconscious, and Fatim was banging on the door.”

  Meghan looked at the older woman. “What does it mean?”

  A moment’s pause, before Aldameda frowned. “I don’t know. I have run all the usual charms, and the boy is not ensorcelled. It could be a glimme
r of power. Perhaps something similar to what your girl has.”

  “Two children with magical gifts?” Meghan whispered in amazement. It was unheard of, clearly. Her eyes moved from her sleeping daughter to the boy. There was something fey about him, but it wasn’t like her daughter. He wouldn’t stop in the middle of what he was doing to make strange pronouncements. He didn’t appear to say things that became true before they happened. But still…

  “It’s going to be all right, Talon,” Meghan said softly, moving to ruffle the boy’s hair, even though he shrugged the gesture off with all the surliness of a teenage boy. “What does this all mean, Aldameda?” she repeated, a little heavily.

  In response, the older woman looked up, out of the porthole to the greying skies and slate waters. The storm that they had been running from before was still out there, dark on the horizon. “I don’t know, but these are strange times. Terrible times.”

  You’re not wrong there, the herbalist thought.

  “They are worse than I have ever seen them. Never in all my years have I seen so many devils manifest so strongly, using the weather.”

  “And the angels?” Meghan asked, earning a frown from Aldameda and a moment’s hesitation. Wait – does the Mother not like them, either?

  “I have never met one before. Until the captain.”

  “He was nice before he was an angel,” Talon suggested, which Meghan probably thought was true. Ruthiel was arrogant, and pompous. Something about the creature that had inhabited the captain was entirely different from Vekal. Meghan knew, instinctively and without having to be told, that Ruthiel could probably be just as dangerous, just as cruel if not more so. Because it thought it was in the right. It hadn’t been burdened by human doubts and fears as Vekal had been. A part of the herbalist knew that no human should hold that much power. That it shouldn’t have happened.

  So what does that say about me? That I’m siding with devils?