The Hollow: At The Edge

by Andrew Day

  Beside him, Caellix gripped her spear tightly and pursed her lips. Her eyes danced across the surface of the water, seeking the next threat.

  Then it happened. A large whale, masses of red tentacles coiled tightly around it, launched itself from the water and slammed straight into the ship nearest them. Serrel heard the sound of wood cracking, and breaking to pieces, then men screaming as their ship came apart around them. He watched in horror as the ship rolled over onto its port side and began to sink, men on its deck sliding down and landing into the sea.

  “Hell,” said Snow. “Come to starboard, we need to help them!”

  “Belay that!” said the captain. “If there be men in the water, they be as good as dead.”

  “They aren’t dead yet.”

  “There’ll be a frenzy! The krakens will attack anythin’ that moves!”

  “Captain!” Caellix snapped. “There are Legion on that ship. So you can either come to starboard, or you can go swimming.”

  The captain scowled. “Bloody Legion... Fine! On yer head be it! Come about, lads, and tool up! We be in for a fight!”

  Serrel held on to the rail as the ship veered towards the stricken vessel. He saw men and woman struggling in the water. Then he saw a vast red shape appear beneath them, and one by one they started being pulled underwater.

  He wondered who had been on that ship. If it had held someone he knew.

  The ship came upon the floundering crew, and the sailors quickly threw rope and barrels over the side. But anyone unlucky to be in the water was quickly dragged down and lost. The dying crew and members of the Legion aboard did their best to drag themselves onto the wreck of their ship, but it was sinking too fast to give them any real aid.

  Serrel watched one woman in a Legion uniform struggling up the side of the almost vertical deck, as a long red tentacle slithered up from beneath her. She screamed as it wrapped around her leg.

  “’Scuse me,” Holly pushed past him, lifting a bow. She sighted down the arrow at the tentacle, and let fly.

  The tentacle twitched in pain as the arrow drove into it. When a second arrow fired by Brant impacted, it let go of the woman and shot back underwater. But just as someone threw her a rope, the woman lost her grip and slid down to join it.

  “Damn it!” Holly swore.

  Serrel looked at the water, at the red shape beneath the surface. It wasn’t too deep.

  “Can you hit the body?” he pointed at the long, thick mass attached to the tentacles.

  Holly and Brant lowered their aim, and fired. The arrows hit the water, but were slowed down too much and merely bounced off the kraken’s thick flesh.

  Caellix swore, flipped her spear over and impaled it blade first into the deck of the ship for safe keeping. She turned to the nearest sailor. “You! Harpoon! NOW!”

  She held out her hand, and caught the harpoon he threw to her. Then she leapt onto the rail and balanced upon it in a crouch. Serrel reached up and grabbed a hold of her belt instinctively, and braced his feet. Caellix pulled back her arm, aimed, and hurled the harpoon with all her strength.

  It sailed through the air, down through the water, and slid through the kraken’s flesh. The monster thrashed in pain, tentacles lashing out and hammering anything unlucky enough to get too close. There was the limp body of a man still held in one, flung back and forth like a rag doll.

  Serrel caught sight of the harpoon, still lodged in its body. He pointed his staff at it, and pictured in his mind a fist, no, a hammer, slamming down on the end of its shaft like it was a nail, and he thought, Soa.

  The wave of force he cast struck the harpoon and cracked the shaft in two, but pushed the barbed tip deeper into the kraken’s body, and by luck severed something important. Its tentacles continued to writhe and thrash even as it died, until one of the creature’s brethren, perhaps sensing its sudden end, grasped it in its own tentacles and dragged it deeper into the sea.

  Caellix jumped down from the rail. “Throw the ropes! Quickly, before-”

  The ship rocked again, and this time Serrel stumbled and fell on one knee. He saw a flash of red, and threw up his shield, just a pair of tentacles slithered over the side of the ship and struck at him. One tentacle hit his shield and bounced off, giving Serrel a close up view he wasn’t really looking for. It was as thick as his leg, its lower surface covered with huge suckers, each one with a vicious curved hook in its center.

  He pointed his staff and said, “Fieren.”

  A gout of fire shot from the end of his staff, and burned the creatures flesh, giving off a foul chemical smell that made him light headed. He pushed himself upright, and weaved fire again. The tentacle jerked away, and retreated quickly back into the water.

  He looked to his left in time to see Caellix hacking at the second tentacle with an axe until it fell in half and lay coiling on itself on the deck. Then he heard the ship’s captain screaming, and spun around.

  A second kraken was attacking from the port side. Gigantic tentacles were rising from the water, straight up into the air. They were almost as tall as the ship’s mast. Then they dropped, landing on the deck hard enough to break several planks, and causing the ship to bob up and down.

  As they slid backwards to the sea, one brushed against the Captain, and sensing him, quickly wrapped itself around his body and pulled him along with it. He screamed in terror as the Hounds and his crew hacked frantically at it, but he was soon lifted from the deck, and carried away.

  Serrel ran across the deck, and reignited the flame from his staff. He weaved the fire into a form hotter and fiercer than before, and turned it on the next tentacle. Its flesh blackened and burned in seconds, causing it to lash out in pain. The Hounds hacked and slashed at it, filled it with arrows, until it slid from the deck and disappeared.

  When they turned back to the sinking ship, it was gone. On a few pieces of flotsam drifting on the surface and just over a dozen survivors flailing frantically in the water. The Hounds and the crew pulled them out as fast as they could, but could only watch as a red shadow rose beneath the final man and dragged him under.

  Serrel looked out across the flotilla, and saw that they were not alone in their battle. Kraken had attacked half the ships, damaging several. Before his eyes, the largest tentacles yet wrapped themselves around one ship and crushed it in half.

  Slowly the fight wound down, as the Legion fought off the attacking monsters, and the rest of the creatures set off after the fleeing whales or settled for a meal of their injured or dying brethren. Eventually, the sea was calm again, disturbed only by the wreckage of broken ships. Anything remotely edible was taken.

  “Gods,” Holly breathed. She was deathly pale.

  Caellix shook her head rapidly, and drenched Serrel for the third time. “I. Hate. The sea.”

  “Yes,” said Serrel. “You mentioned.”

  Snow was barking orders, “Get those men someplace warm and dry. You,” he pointed at one sailor who blanched. “You’re the captain now, correct?”

  “I... I don’t know...”

  “No? Fine. You,” he pointed to the next man. “I hereby dub thee captain of the good ship Dragonfly. Congratulations.”

  “Yes, Sir,” the man could only stutter.

  “Good man. I know nothing about boats and ship building, so perhaps you would like to take a gander below and make sure we’re still water tight and so forth. See about patching whatever damage you can. And take a look at this deck, it would be rather embarrassing if it were to collapse on us now, wouldn’t it? Make us look like a right bunch of ninnies.”

  “Yes, Sir.”

  “Off you go. You lot. Might as well make ourselves useful. Set course for that vessel there. See if we can’t drag any other poor souls from the sea. The rest of you, try to look busy.”

  “Sir, I can help with the repairs,” Serrel said.

  “Ship builder, were you?”

  “Carpenter.”

  “Works for me. Good lad, down you go.”

  �
��What’s that?” said a voice.

  Everyone turned to look at Holly, who was staring at the sky. They followed her gaze.

  The sun was dazzling, but Serrel thought he could just make out something in the sky, flying high above them.

  “It’s just a bird,” said Brant.

  “It’s... big...” said a sailor.

  “Is that a tail?”

  It didn’t look like a bird, at least not like any bird Serrel had ever seen. It circled overhead, around and around, then suddenly broke away and flew off, heading east.

  To the Faelands.

  “I love bird watching as much as the next man,” said Snow. “But I don’t feel like getting wet again today. Everyone knows what they should be doing, hop to it, chaps.”

  Serrel made his way below-deck, looking for something, anything to do that could take his mind off the previous moments of his life.

  In the end, the flotilla lost three ships, and many more were damaged. The exact number of dead was still being determined. But the flotilla sailed onwards.

  Dinner was a somber affair. No one was in the mood for small talk. Even Brant was silent.

  Serrel sat at the small table and stared at the fish stew in front of him. He had no appetite. In fact, he was off seafood for life.

  “That wasn’t natural,” said one of the sailors.

  “Isn’t it your lot that always goes on and on about how the sea is a cruel and malevolent mistress?” said Brant.

  “Cruel and malevolent, but that was bloody impossible. Kraken don’t attack like that, ‘cept in stories. They aren’t even suppose to live in these waters.”

  “Maybe they’re on holiday,” suggested Brant.

  “I’m sayin’ they attacked us on purpose. Somethin’ made them do it.”

  There was silence.

  “They’re all staring at me, aren’t they?” asked Serrel.

  “Not all of them,” replied Brant.

  “We’re all thinkin’ it,” said the sailor. “Magic attracts things, like moths to a flame.”

  “Things?”

  “Things,” the sailor said ominously. “Bad things. Old things. Things that shouldn’t be.”

  “Really?” said Serrel sarcastically. “I didn’t know that. Did you know that?” he asked Brant.

  “Might’ve heard it in passing. Sounds a bit daft, really.”

  “You play around with things you don’t understand, boy, bad things will find you,” the sailor went on.

  “Oh, of course,” Serrel turned in his seat. “How silly of me. This is all my fault. How could I have forgotten...? Yes, I remember now. I summoned a load of tentacled monsters from the depths with the express purpose of eating me. I distinctly remember now, writing in my journal: “Today I shall be eaten by creepy, evil, squid-things”. Sod off!”

  “Not saying you did it on purpose, boy,” said the sailor. “But-”

  “You,” came Caellix’s voice. “Shut it.”

  The sailors all fell silent, and turned back to their meals despondently.

  Caellix placed her food on the table, and slid onto the bench opposite Serrel. He suppressed a groan.

  “Eat up, Fresh Meat,” Caellix told him. “When we get to the Faelands good meals will be few and far between.”

  Serrel ignored her.

  She glanced at his bowl. “I thought mages were eaters? Double rations and all.”

  “I’m not hungry.”

  “First time, was it?”

  He looked up at her.

  “That you’ve seen someone die,” she said.

  Serrel shook his head. “I was there when my grandfather died. That was bad. Today was the first time I’d ever seen someone get eaten by a bloody sea monster.”

  Just saying it made his hands shake.

  “Me too,” said Caellix. “But you know, Fresh Meat. Today was bad. But it is far from the worst thing you are going to see.”

  “Thank you, Sergeant. I am so glad you’re here to make me feel better.”

  “Was that what I was doing? I doubt it. But for what it’s worth, Fresh Meat, you didn’t do too bad out there.”

  Serrel wasn’t expecting that. “You mean... when you tried to kill me, or with the tentacles?”

  “Tentacles,” Caellix clarified, chewing a mouthful of stew. “I could have stuck you like a roast pig a dozen times this morning.”

  “Only a dozen? Look, Sergeant,” Serrel said wearily. “I know you don’t like me-”

  “It isn’t a matter of like, Hawthorne. This is the Legion. We are warriors, fighters. And if you aren’t, then you’re a liability. If you can’t even defend yourself, then what good are you to us.”

  “I wasn’t sent here to... to swing a bloody sword. I know how to weave. I am very good at it. I can pull my weight, just not in the same way as you.”

  Caellix sniffed. She picked a lump of fish from her bowl and threw it to the ground, where a large dog, Ripper or Vost, Serrel didn’t know which, devoured it.

  “Magic,” she said derisively. “Weaving the ether. Will magic make you invisible? Take away your scent? Make your footsteps as light as a shadow?”

  Serrel thought about that. “Well... yes.”

  “Until your magic runs out,” Caellix said. “And you get that thing mages complain about. The hole.”

  “The Hollow.”

  “That. When you deplete yourself so badly you can’t even find the will to keep breathing. Where will you be then?”

  “I’ve dragged myself out of the Hollow before-”

  “Unless someone does cut off your head, before you can. My point, Fresh Meat, is that you can’t rely on magic. It is fleeting. Untouchable, like smoke. It will only take you so far. If you want to survive in the Faelands, you need to depend on yourself, and only on yourself. Not this.” She stretched her leg under the table and bumped his staff with her foot. “You can’t rely on that thing forever. Otherwise you end up like that fool Morton, who sat in the hold the entire time we were attacked. Or Barnaby.”

  She stood up. “But for your first fight, you didn’t do bad,” she said again. “I’ve seen bigger men turn and run for far less than what we went through today.”

  “I don’t run, Sergeant,” Serrel said with feeling. “Not anymore. And anyway, where exactly would I run? I’m in the middle of the bloody Dividing Sea.”

  “Some men, they would have run regardless.” Unexpectedly, she leaned across the table and dumped the remaining contents of her bowl into his own. “Double ration,” she said. “Eat up. You’re going to need your strength.”

  With that she left, leaving Serrel sitting by himself to wallow in misery.

  “I think she’s starting to warm to you,” said Brant brightly.

  Serrel ate a mouthful of now cold stew, but despite the exertions of the day, he just wasn’t hungry. He made to leave, but found a large dog sitting on the floor next to him. It stared at him expectantly.

  “You aren’t allowed to eat me,” he told it. “But if you’re planning to try anyway, you’re going to have to get in line.”

  The dog yawned, then continued to stare.

  Serrel sighed, and put his bowl on the floor. The dog attacked it enthusiastically as he walked back to his hammock.

  Morton was again sitting cross legged on his chest next to Serrel’s spot in the hold. Serrel tried to think of a time he’d seen the man anywhere else in the ship, and came up blank. He wondered how long he had been sitting there in that position.

  “Morton?” he asked.

  “Mmm?” Morton didn’t bother to open his eyes.

  “Have you been here all this time?”

  “I’ve been here. I’ve been there. Why? Did I miss something?”

  “Miss something? Well, not much. We were only attacked by krakens.”

  “Krakens? Indeed. That must have been interesting. I trust if I was needed, someone would have asked for me.”

  Serrel stared at him. He had the overwhelming urge to hit him, repeatedly. Perhaps
Morton sensed this, because he finally opened his eyes, and looked at Serrel.

  “Is there something you want, Mister Hawthorne?”

  “Caster Hawthorne,” Serrel told him. “I am in the Legion.”

  “Oh yes?” A glint of amusement lit Morton’s face. “Bronze coin around your neck like a good little tin soldier? And there I was thinking you were a real mage.”

  The urge to hit him wasn’t going away.

  “I am a real mage,” said Serrel angrily.

  Morton snorted in disgust. “You are just another tool of the Empire. Using the ether to wage war. To set things on fire and scare the small and unimportant into submission. You are to a mage as a pebble is to a mountain, Hawthorne. Just a small and insignificant cast off.” He closed his eyes and resumed his meditation.

  “So what does that make you?” Serrel pressed. “Just an Elixir addict who can’t even weave anymore?”

  Morton’s eyes slammed open, and this time there was actually feeling in his eyes when he glared at Serrel. “You know nothing, little tin soldier. I have spent my entire life devoted to the study of the ether. I have mastered powers you can only dream of. The Elixir is just a means to an end.”

  “But you can’t weave. So what good are you? If I’m a mere pebble, then what are you? Dust?”

  “I am the movement of continents. The shifting of realms. I am the potential that waits under the earth for its time. And one day, I will be the mountain that overshadows the world. My... stilted abilities are but a temporary setback. A tiny blink of the eye. It won’t last.”

  “Well that’s a relief. Because while you were down here, being a movement, people were dying. Did it occur to you to at least try to help.”

  “The ether doesn’t exist at our beck and call. It isn’t there so we can do tricks. Let the rest of these self-proclaimed dogs,” he said it with a dismissive wave, “run around, swinging their swords and pretending their short, irreversible mortality is worth something. I have more important things to contemplate. To wit, if there is nothing else you wish to gibber at me, I will bid you goodnight.”

  Serrel stared at him as the man fell silent again. “And people think I’m the useless one?”