by Domino Finn
"It must be the sights unseen," he continued. "I will show you what very few of my Agua Fuego cartel men have laid eyes on." Connor snapped again and the Spaniard appeared. Skull, armor, glowing red eyes.
"Ay dios mío!" The men recoiled but dared not break away from Connor. The Russian crew members fixed their eyes on their instruments. They'd no doubt seen the wraith before and preferred not to do so again.
"Do not fear," laughed Connor. "You two are in esteemed company." Connor circled them again. This time the men didn't watch the jinn. Their eyes were glued to the conquistador spirit. They trembled and cried and began to beg for their lives.
Before they could form a coherent sentence, Connor placed an index finger at the base of each of their heads. A small needle of flame lanced through their skulls and into their brains. They folded to the metal deck.
"Now," said Connor with a growl, "you will truly see things most men do not."
Instruments beeped. The crew muttered and twisted knobs. The wraith was the only one on the bridge watching the show. If anybody was supposed to applaud, it didn't happen. Connor sighed as whatever pleasure he'd derived from the show faded.
"I take it these will suit you?" he asked.
The Spaniard nodded. "Very well, Master."
I winced at the title.
The jinn moved to a console and pulled a radio to his mouth. "Jean-Louis, I need you in the control room."
I don't know why, but I shot a worried glance at Berna. It was an empty gesture. Zombies can't share feelings like real sidekicks. The worry was that I had to do something before Chevalier came this way.
"Sir," alerted one of the Russians, "we have a fix on the coordinates."
Connor's eyes lit up. "Sonar?"
"Nothing yet, sir."
He watched the screen over the navigator's shoulder and stroked his beard.
The city of gold? I could see the map from my vantage. We had to be in the middle of the Caribbean. So there was an island. But if the crew was searching for it on sonar...
That explained it. Winthrop had been scouring the Atlantic with satellite imagery and getting nowhere. That didn't mean the island didn't exist. That meant Connor's destination was a sunken island. That's what this submarine was for. That's why his white whale wasn't on a modern map.
"This is it," said Connor, half hopeful, half hungry.
The Spaniard moved in behind him, pleased. "The Sea of the Antilles."
Their fortune was my fortune. My chance. Both their backs were turned. Once again I considered charging ahead, but Connor and the wraith were too dangerous for that. It was safer if they never saw me coming. Unfortunately, that meant Berna, Creeper, and Baldie had to stay behind. Their boots on the grating would alert Connor immediately.
It was a good thing Cisco Suarez had a lighter step.
I slipped off my alligator boots and moved into the room, phasing through a spot of shadow. The control room, unfortunately, was the best lit room on the vessel. I worked with what I could but most of my approach was good old-fashioned sneaking. A thief in Dungeons & Dragons, rolling a one on my ability check. (This is 2nd Edition. A one's good.)
Halfway into the room, line of sight was a problem. The Russian crew were used to keeping their attention on the consoles, but there were too many of them at too many angles not to notice an intruder strolling around. I hurried. One man stood up from behind a terminal and hefted an assault rifle to his shoulder. It was literally out of nowhere.
And that was the end of quiet time.
I emptied a load of birdshot into his face. My machine pistol whirled to cover Connor and the wraith. The Spaniard vanished.
Before I could pull the trigger, incoming fire came from my left side. The damn redshirts were battle-hardened mercs themselves. I'd mixed it up with the Russians before and knew how vicious they could be. I should've accounted for that.
I opened my hands and released both guns. The empty shotgun disappeared into the shadow. My right hand swung left and snatched up the falling machine pistol. My left hand thrust out to my side and raised my Nordic shield. Bullets pounded against the barrier as I dove ahead into Connor. I spun in the air and locked my gun on my attacker and unloaded into him.
The collision with Connor took us both to the floor. The rest of the crew was on their feet now. There were a few guns in the room, but they couldn't fire. Not with Connor and I locked up.
He snarled and raised a fist of fire. I batted it to the side, grabbed the Horn tight with both hands, and landed a foot in his face.
A miscalculation of sorts on my part. You see, I'd forgotten I wasn't wearing my cowboy boots. It doesn't need to be said that a yellowed sock with a big toe sticking out doesn't do as much damage as a boot heel. But it still got the job done. Connor was shoved away from me. I somersaulted backward to my knees. The Horn was cradled in my arms.
The Russians readied their weapons. That's when my zombie brigade bowled them over from behind. Gunfire erupted in the chaos. Bullets sparked and ricocheted off the deckhead and consoles.
"Watch the instruments!" shouted Connor.
I liked that thought. Berna and the others had the Russians well in hand, so I pointed my machine pistol at the navigational computer and ventilated it.
Just then, Chevalier stormed onto the bridge. Both his eyes were fully glazed over. He was alarmed by the gunfire, but not scared of it. You had to be sentient to feel fear. He wasn't human enough to draw emotion from the cacophony, just alert enough to react.
"Put a stop to this now!" screamed Connor.
The Spaniard reappeared. He raised a hand, bony fingers spread wide. Berna, Creeper, and Baldie froze.
I checked the Horn in my hands. "What are you doing?" I snapped. "Let them go."
The wraith turned to me, eyes burning coldly.
The crew members pulled away from the thralls and recovered their weapons. Half of them didn't get up but there were still enough to be trouble.
Chevalier's dead gaze zeroed in on me. He stomped ahead.
"Not a chance," I said. "Let him go, Spaniard. Free him from your grasp. I command it."
The wraith didn't respond. Connor Hatch cracked a smile. My zombie crack team stood idle, inactive, and Chevalier continued at me.
I studied the Horn in my hands. Ivory length. Brown tip. Metal caps at both ends, sealed in gold. This was the freaking Horn of Subjugation. I was sure of it. I was sure of something else too. It didn't thrum with the unholy power I was accustomed to.
Connor's fist caught me right in the gut. I doubled over. He grabbed at the Horn but I yanked it away.
Chevalier covered my mouth and nose with his hand. I tried to slink into the shadows. Too late. When I struggled to breathe, I found myself sucking in green powder. Not a handful—just a dab. It was enough to send me reeling.
Pestilence.
Connor tugged the Horn from my feeble grasp and his chuckle turned into a laugh. Chevalier kicked me in the face. I fell backward and scrambled to get up. Instead, strong hands clamped onto me and lifted me to my feet. Berna and Creeper each held a shoulder.
I coughed and gagged. Connor watched me expectantly. Jean-Louis stared at me with empty, foggy eyes.
"Et tu, Berna?" I choked out. "I thought there was a spark there."
Connor bellowed loudly and long. He simply couldn't contain it anymore. The turnaround of me showing up on his sub, taking control, and losing it all in a matter of seconds was too much. Even I saw the tragic irony of it.
"The class clown," mocked Connor. "It's always the weakest person who tells the loudest jokes." Connor admired the Horn of Subjugation in his grip. "This is the real punch line."
I coughed and heaved, just barely keeping my lunch down and spitting out the word. "How?"
Connor went to the navigational panel. "Helm," he called. He searched the room.
"He's dead, boss," came a lone reply.
Connor's lips peeled away from his teeth. "Well, who the fuck knows how to read t
his?"
The same Russian came forward and leaned into the machine. He flicked some switches and rapped the screen. "It's dead, boss."
I fought through the nausea. Looked around for something to help. This was giving me serious Aether vibes. A flashback to being pinned down by the officiates. These weren't gangbangers holding me anymore but durable zombies. All through it, the conquistador skull was fixed on me. Emotionless. Steady.
"How?" I asked with more vigor.
Connor tore himself away from the instrument panel. "I told you I'd been experimenting with the pictographs, Cisco." He stomped up and held the Horn to my face. I saw the fresh scratches in the tumbaga surface. The shiny new gold exposed below. "The Horn used to obey the bearer. Imagine that. All this power, control of a sentient being, based on what was in your hands. It was no more than a weapon. A sword, a gun." He cocked his head. "A very powerful weapon, granted, but one that could be stolen. As ridiculous as the president keeping the nuclear codes on a Post-it."
The jinn pulled the artifact away and reattached it to his shoulder strap. "I changed the marking to obey its master based on word, not property. You can't steal the wraith from me unless I agree to it, spoken from my own lips." He leaned forward. "And trust me, Cisco, that isn't likely to happen anytime soon."
"Hey, Vlad," said one of the Russians. "Check it out."
A few crew members laughed as one of them slipped on my red alligator boots. Connor almost barked at the men but saw the anger on my face. Anything that pissed me off got a pass.
Chevalier noticed Herrera and Gomez lying on the floor. He took in the other dead Russians. "Shall I prepare the bodies for arrival?" he asked.
"There's no more time," said Connor. "Our instruments are down. We're in location now. We have to make do with what we have."
"Master," objected the wraith, "it's almost sunup."
"That's perfect," said Connor. "The transition requires twilight, does it not?"
"Yes, but when the sun rises, the Taíno dead flee this world and return to their home. The plan was to gain a foothold before they returned. If we enter the underworld now, there will be an army waiting for us."
He scoffed. "That's what I have you for, isn't it? We go now. Make the preparations."
"The underworld?" I asked. "The city of gold is in the underworld?"
Connor snorted. "City of gold? So it was Winthrop who sent you. I'm afraid you've been sadly misinformed. Americans all think they're Indiana Jones. Winthrop's a greedy fool. I didn't think he'd have the balls to go after me, nor the sense to work with you, but he has less idea what's going on than you do. As soon as I find that old hippie I'm going to wring his neck."
"You'd be doing me a favor."
I blinked through watery eyes. It was difficult to focus past the sickness coursing through my blood. I could only concentrate on one thing at a time. So I forgot about the city of gold and Winthrop and the Society's relationship with Connor. I focused on the one thing that mattered right now.
"The underworld?"
My brain was overclocked trying to work it out. The Taíno corpses. The burned Opiyel statue. The Spaniard, the contingent of wights and undead—all utilized to gain entrance into the underworld.
"Get it done," ordered Connor.
The wraith drew his side-sword and sliced open the bodies of Herrera and Gomez. He ordered Chevalier to assist and they drew Taíno pictographs on the bodies in blood.
"Coaybay," I whispered. "You're not just searching for a buried island. You're searching for Coaybay, the Taíno land of the dead. That's what you wanted the Horn for."
"Too right," said Connor with a devilish grin. "And, unfortunately for the natives, I've made another modification to their pictographs. The Horn still binds the wraith, for sure. But the wraith is no longer cowed by the spellcraft of Taíno shamans. We're gonna walk right in there and own the place."
My eyes widened. Connor had been busier than I'd imagined. He was bringing his own army of the dead into the Taíno underworld, where no mortal may tread. That's why the jinn had surrounded himself with thralls. He was never looking for a real place on Earth. An island, perhaps, but one in another steppe. The Spaniard completed the spell that opened an underwater rabbit hole into the Nether. The entire sub listed under the pull of a giant whirlpool.
"Turn off the engines!" ordered Connor into the radio. "Brace yourselves!"
Coaybay, the mythical island of the Taíno people, unreachable by boat or bird's wings, was about to be invaded. Because it was a real place in the Nether, a land of water and earth.
The worst part? I had made this all possible. Jinns are traditionally unable to enter the Nether. Jinn law forbids it. That's why Connor's initial plan was to bring the Taíno dead to him. To raise them. A feat he'd been unable to accomplish.
Now that I'd gotten Connor exiled from the Aether, he was free to roam the various worlds as he pleased. Game, set, and match.
Between the overbearing strength of the zombies and the pestilence threatening to overtake me, there wasn't much I could do as Connor's submarine circled in the ocean depths.
"Now," announced Connor, returning to me. "The only loose thread left is figuring out what to do with you. Ideally, you would've joined my side, willingly or not. And you can't say I haven't tried." Connor Hatch inhaled slowly in thought. He held his breath and, upon reaching a decision, released it with a sigh. "But it's clear you have a stubborn fixation on bringing me down no matter what."
I shrugged. "Hey, you gotta live for something."
The submarine twisted as it accelerated in the whirlpool. The control room leaned sharply to the side. The hull of the ship groaned under the pressure.
Connor Hatch regarded me with a twisted scowl. "Funny till the end. You think your life is a comedy, Cisco, but it's not. It's a tragedy."
The jinn yanked the knife from my belt and slid the bronze blade cleanly across my throat. My enchanted skin kept the swipe from opening up half my neck, but warm blood rushed over my skin nonetheless. I opened my mouth to scream but the gurgle only forced out more blood.
The lights winked out and returned with a red tint. Backup power. The submarine hull flexed loudly and screeched. Pipes burst. Alarms went off as the hull was breached. Crewmen screamed. Water rushed in from the bulkheads. The control room devolved into wild rocking and chaos.
And I melted to the deck, clutching the life spilling from my throat.
Chapter 41
Damp soaked my being. It washed right through my flesh and bone, flooded my skull, and breached the depths of my subconscious. Somewhere, there, I was one with the ocean. With the afterlife.
Cisco Suarez was dead. (I think that makes it three times, but who's counting?)
My head twitched. Trickles of water glazed my hair. I was absolutely soaked, lying in a warm bath of Caribbean water with my head on the sand.
Distant gunfire pierced the vast swells of sleep that layered my brain. Screaming. Fighting. It was madness and peace, all at once. Dead people weren't supposed to be disturbed. I blinked lazily, letting the world fall into focus.
I was on a beach, prostrate in gently lapping waves. I pushed up to my hands and knees. My head cleared. My body ached from being knocked around, but it was dulled by the otherworldly nature of this place. The pestilence that had invaded my bloodstream was gone completely.
I shook the water out of my ears and crawled to dry land. I stood and stumbled. The coolness of the sand penetrated my socks. This was sand untouched by the sun.
My fingers ran along my throat. The skin was smooth, without a wound. Half buried by my feet was the ceremonial bronze knife. I plucked it from the sand and wiped the blood away.
The Nether wasn't a place of spirit like the Aether, but this was very different. I'd been to the Nether before. It's a complex and political landscape of half humans and warring kingdoms. But this wasn't that Nether. This was a revered underworld. A place for the dead.
Had I died and gone to Coaybay?
Or had the spell worked?
More screaming tore through the dark serenity. It seemed so far away. Easy to ignore. Instead I took in the vast ocean. The troubled sea and black sky merged seamlessly into an endless horizon. Impossible to separate. Impossible to escape.
A quarter mile down the coast was Connor's submarine. It was beached and cracked in half. Bodies of crew members lay scattered, thrown from the wreckage. Black, brown, white—there was no pecking order in death.
I scanned the beach in the distance. It was barren. The coastline sand quickly gave way to a dense jungle. Somewhere within, soldiers hollered in panic.
I carefully made my way toward the sub wreckage. I wasn't tired or cold. In fact, I wasn't even wet anymore. Maybe this was a spiritual place, after all. I could feel the shadows bolstering me.
Halfway to the sub I knew I wouldn't find anyone on board. Not alive anyway. A wide swath of footprints trampled through the sand and into the tree line. Connor and his men. It looked like the Spanish conquistador was going on one last expedition.
Two red boots protruded from the sand on upside-down feet. A hunk of a giant propeller had flattened the rest of the Russian into the beach. I tugged my boots off the corpse, shook the sand out of them, and slipped them on.
As I did, the cries of hundreds of bats consumed the sky. The spirits of the Taíno dead were returning to their underworld for the night. The entire colony rushed straight over my head and disappeared past the dense canopy. I sensed my destination would match theirs. Cisco Suarez was going jungling.
If the coastline was barren the tropical jungle was anything but. Iguanas scurried up trees. Birds fluttered in alarm. Small mammals gave each other chirps of warning. I was surrounded by life of sorts. And more.
Strange things. Black wisps that snaked and twirled through the air like streamers. I could spot them in my peripheral vision, but when I zeroed in on them they vanished. And now, I realized, I wasn't just surrounded by life, but by death as well.
It was an odd feeling. Exotic, yet somehow familiar. I wasn't quite sure what to expect but I was comfortable taking it in. Maybe it was the eternal darkness blanketing this world. A shadow charmer could never complain about that.