Gloom Rising (The Book Wielder Saga 1)

by Sean Davies

  They headed upstairs to the gang’s stash room. Winston made sure that he was armed and loaded with sweet snacks to pick him up if the trip dragged, and then opened a portal to the Gloom.

  They entered into a dark rundown room made of soggy wood with a dirty purple bed and broken furnishings. Below them, the sound of laughter and merriment could be heard. Heading downstairs they found themselves inside a busy Alternative tavern. Alts wearing damp raggedy clothing and sailor’s outfits drank black Gloom water out of dirty pint glasses and ate sweets and chocolate. They all cheered and raised a toast as Winston and his companions walked past.

  Outside they could see Hellion Harbour in all its dark glory. The wooden houses and buildings were all damp and dingy, with strange coloured seaweed, weird shaped fish bones, and body parts from humongous crabs and lobsters being used as decorations. The whole place had the faint aroma of damp, salt, and rotting fish. The old-fashioned wooden docks were home to an array of old boats of many sizes, and they all looked like they should be on the bottom of the water rather than floating on it.

  The sea the town sat beside was as black as death, and its grey foamy waves lapped at the red sanded shores. In the distance it looked like giant pale coloured hills were on the horizon, until they suddenly disappeared under the waves. Winston realised to his horror that these were the tendrils that the Mayor was talking about.

  Close to the docks were two big brassy and rust coloured iron rectangles that buzzed and cackled with green electricity. They vented smoke from chimneys at their rear, and small clockwork mechanisms whirred in the gaps between their armour plating. They were floating fortresses of guns and cannons, and Pollutia Alts opened hatches and crawled over their craft.

  Next to them were two classic looking old-time galleons, made from the same half rotten mould encrusted wood as the town, with row after row of torn black sails and a full complement of broadside cannons either side over two floors. They both flew a black flag with a crab claw on it.

  Finally, there was a luxurious looking Galleass that towered over the other ships. It was clearly less armed than the other vessels but it had more sails that were blue and mostly intact, an impressive blue and gold colour scheme on its finely carved woodwork that radiated wealth, and dozens and dozens of oar holes. It was probably the most intact and well-kept thing that Winston had viewed in the Gloom to date.

  Alexander viewed the small Gloom fleet with fascinated awe. He produced his notepad and began furiously scribbling notes onto it.

  On the edge of the docks, a small group of well-guarded Alts stood chatting. Winston recognised the Mayor and his creepy Freak troopers, the mostly cloaked Mortissa Aurorana and her needle maidens, and the DVAF who now had two clockwork arms, but he didn’t know the others.

  “Winston my boy, come and join us! Introductions are in order, indeed they are!” the Mayor called out to him when he noticed them approaching.

  Winston approached with his arm linked with Veronica’s, Xavier kept one hand close to a gun at all times, and Alexander continued making observations.

  “Always a pleasure to see you, Mr Mayor, and good to see you again DVAF,” Winston said. He looked towards Mortissa and couldn’t manage a greeting. She smirked slightly, sensing his fear.

  “Good to see you too, Winston. The Foreman let me have a break!” the DVAF said cheerfully. “I only had to take off my arms and install them in his room so that he can eat while I’m gone! How good is that?”

  Winston hesitated. “Yeah... that’s very good, DVAF.”

  “Right, introduction time!” The Mayor clapped his big hands together. “This finely dressed gentleman, as you may have guessed, is the Commodore himself!”

  An Alt dressed smartly in an old fashioned blue and gold admiral’s garb, that matched the colour of the Galleass and came complete with several shiny medals, eyed him critically. “This is the one known as Winston, is it? I expected more,” he said critically.

  “Now, now, snooty-pants. Be nice to my good friend Winston, the bringer of succulent syrups and sweets, or I’ll feed you to the giant crabs myself!”

  The Commodore scoffed. “Very well, fatty!” He turned to Winston again and bowed, waving his hat. “I am the Commodore, ruler of the slave Colonies and Plantations on the third continent. It is a pleasure to meet you.”

  “Next,” the Mayor pointed towards a pirate looking Alt, “this scurvy seadog is Kelpbeard the Pirate!”

  The Alt Pirate looked like a soggy wooden puppet with a mouth full of golden teeth. He had a giant crab claw for one hand, he wore a black and silver captain’s garb, and he had a nasty looking cutlass on his normal handed side. He wore an eye patch, and his beard was made of wet seaweed of many different colours.

  “Yarrr! It be a pleasure to meet ye, Winston and friends!” Kelpbeard said loudly. “Me crew and I are ready for the attack when you are!”

  “Nice to meet you too,” Winston said. “Shall we go over the details?”

  The group of Alts all nodded and waited for him to explain.

  “If you can bring us as close to the Flesh Mountain as possible, I will open a portal to allow us passage into my world,” Winston began.

  “You will, of course, be remaining with me and the Foreman’s servant on board the Enslaver,” the Commodore interjected. “We shall remain in the world and command from there.”

  Winston nodded. “Then Mortissa will use her powers to conceal the other ships as they near the isle. When you go ashore, I need you to cause as much havoc and damage as you can whilst remaining hidden.”

  “We brought just the stuff you need, Winston!” the DVAF said eagerly. “Remote detonation satchel charges!”

  Winston was impressed. “Nice work, DVAF!”

  DVAF was positively beaming. “You’re welcome. Just acted on my destructive instincts.”

  Winston carried on reciting the plan. “While that’s going on, I need Mortissa and her needle maidens to make their way to the tall building in the centre of the Isle. There you will find this man.” He unfolded an Inquisition propaganda poster and handed it cautiously to Mortissa. “He is your target; he needs to die. Once he’s been dealt with, make a witchlight or fire signal so that the other Alt forces know it’s time to retreat. Make sure the charges go off, and then escape back through the portal during the chaos. Are there any questions?”

  “We can do that,” Mortissa said in her scary distorted voice.

  “Yarrr, we’ll make a pretty mess of those meaty landlubbers!” Kelpbeard raised his crab pincer and the crew of his two galleons cheered in unison.

  DVAF nodded a lot. “The forces of Pollutia will make you proud, Winston!”

  “The plan seems sound to me,” the Commodore said dryly.

  “Right, off you all pop then!” the Mayor said chirpily.

  “Aren’t you coming with us?” Winston asked disappointed. He remembered how much damage the Mayor had done on his first visit to the real world.

  The Mayor hesitated nervously. “No, sorry my boy. I’ll hold the fort here. That I will!”

  “Oh, okay. I guess we’ll see you when we get back,” Winston said, making his way towards the Enslaver.

  “That was some good planning, Winston,” Xavier said. “You make a good commander.”

  Winston was taken back. “Thanks, Xavier... if you have any input of your own to give, let me know.”

  “We’ll see how it plays out. Some things are bound to change,” he replied. “But as it stands, it’s a strong plan,”

  Winston nodded. Coming from Xavier that was a big compliment.

  Mortissa and her needle maidens boarded one of the galleons with a handful of Alts, and Kelpbeard took the rest on board the other one. Winston, DVAF, and the Commodore climbed aboard the Enslaver Galleass.

  The fleet set sail across the rough black waters. Alts aboard all five vessels rushed their tasks quickly, and many sang crude shanties as they all made their way to the heart o
f the Gloom Sea. The slave drivers aboard the Enslaver had ordered the oars to be deployed, so below decks dozens and dozens of Alts toiled mercilessly to propel the enormous ship.

  As they headed further into the ocean the flesh coloured tendrils on the horizon became far more frequent. If Winston strained his eyes hard enough he could sometimes see faint movement beneath the boat. A few miles away, a tendril burst out from the sea sending big waves of black water in all directions. The enormous thing hovered in the air like a giant muscular tentacle the colour of half-rotten pallid flesh. Winston couldn’t begin to fathom the dimensions of the thing. It then slowly collapsed towards the surface, sending more big waves in their direction. The crews of all the ships braced for impact as they were rocked by the heavy waves.

  Winston fiddled with his magical ring of protection. It was comforting having it on, but he seriously doubted that it would do anything if one of the titanic tendrils were to land on the boat. Or prevent him from drowning in the middle of an ocean’s worth of foul corrupting Gloom water.

  “This is... something else!” Alexander said once they had recovered.

  “You’re right – it’s not exactly a pleasure cruise, is it?” Veronica said, dusting herself off.

  “It’s bound to get worse the nearer we get to Flesh Mountain,” Xavier said grimly. “Make sure you don’t get too much of that foul water on you. Remember what it did to those Inquisitors.”

  “I don’t think we’ll ever be able to forget,” Veronica said, repulsed.

  “Consider yourselves lucky,” the Commodore said in his usual snooty tone. “The tendrils are relatively calm at the moment. You haven’t witnessed bad.”

  “Do they all span from the Mountain?” Winston was curious.

  “Why, but of course, where else would they come from?” the Commodore replied. “Everybody knows that the Flesh Mountain sits where the others first came to this world, and that its massive tendrils span for miles and miles throughout the Gloom Sea.”

  “The others – did they look like us, by any chance?” Winston asked.

  “They did, although they were much better looking. Not that pleasant though, and even worse now that they’re Demons,” the Commodore replied.

  “Sounds like you’re working on a theory, Winston?” Alexander asked, trying to hide his interest.

  “It’s just a thought.” Winston wondered how weird it would sound out of his head. “But what if the religion is kind of right?”

  “How do you mean?”

  “Like, the Twin Goddesses were supposed to have purged the world of a great evil. What if that great evil was something to do with the ‘super-mages’ that were once meant to live in our world?”

  “And the evil they purged was actually them,” Alexander concluded. “They ended up here and were corrupted into Demons, and that...” He pointed ahead of them.

  On the horizon, a deformed triangle shape was beginning to steadily grow as they approached.

  Kelpbeard cried from his Galleon, “Flesh Mountain ahead, me hearties!”

  More and more, the horrific thing came into view. It was the same colour as the tendrils that were now even more of a common sight, and towered miles into the air.

  The Commodore handed Winston a spyglass. “Take a look if you will.”

  Winston peered through the surprisingly clean spyglass at the Flesh Mountain, which was a mound of veined pale meat that looked as if its skin had been removed. Mouths with human-looking teeth chomped and clattered, hundreds of thousands of eyes of all different colours and size looked about wildly, and small orifices opened and closed showing something within. He focused the spyglass to get a closer look and saw that each one contained a masquerade mask made of different colours and decorative patterns.

  “I think my theory is correct, Alexander,” Winston gasped. “That thing is covered in Demon masks.”

  “Fascinating, in a disgustingly horrific kind of way...” Alexander gawped up at the petrifying mountain.

  They closed in and came to a halt at what the Commodore claimed was the minimum safe distance. The stench of rotten flesh blew in the wind, and the gigantic Flesh Mountain loomed so high above they had to crane their necks right back to view the top of it. The base of the disgusting structure moved with slow deliberate purpose as it directed and moved its tendrils all over the world.

  Winston opened a small portal to check on the situation in the real world. He was looking out at the Central Isle. The sun was just beginning to set and the docks that the Alts would be assaulting was only occupied by two battleships, but there was still an impressive amount of gun platforms and anti-ship cannons pointing their way.

  “A little while longer and we’re ready to go,” Winston said to those aboard the Enslaver. “Get ready to move out!” he cried to those on the other vessels.

  The Galleons got into position first, with the Ironclads tailing behind. Winston gave it a good thirty minutes, refreshing himself with a chocolate bar and a drink of proper water, before opening a large rectangular portal for the ships to pass through. Mortissa waved her arms around slowly and soon the four ships became veiled by a foggy cloud that buzzed occasionally with static. They slid into the real world and Winston closed the portal behind them. He then opened up a small rectangular portal aboard the ship to watch the attack unfold.

  - - -

  The Alt fleet sailed along slowly towards Central Isle under the cover of Mortissa’s magic. She could sense the warmth, life, and energy radiating from the Isle. Distant thoughts of the place flooded back to her but were too hazy for her to focus on; like the cloud of static fog she blanketed the fleet with, so too were her own memories. She could make out more armoured troops, like the ones Winston and the Mayor had delivered to her for ‘alterations’, so she silently signalled her needle maidens who then passed on the voiceless message to the other ships.

  The Ironclads came to a complete stop and charged their main prow guns, ready to cover the retreat. The Galleons slipped a little bit closer to shore before to the side, and the crew loaded the broadside cannons.

  Mortissa gestured to her maidens and they leapt off the ship into the cold, repugnantly fresh water. Kelpbeard, his pirates, the Pollutia saboteurs, and the others they had brought from Gloom City followed suit. They sank to the bottom of the water and ploughed slowly and methodically towards the shore. Some of the saboteurs swam up to the big battleships and started sticking their bombs to the undersides, making sure they had plenty left for the big guns pointing out to sea.

  She quietly picked herself up onto the docks and crept along, using her magic to dry her fabric and stuffing as she dodged two patrolling troopers. Two of her needle maidens got behind them and quickly stabbed them in the face with razor sharp needles. They dumped them into the water and moved on.

  The saboteurs made their way to the gun batteries and started planting charges. Those from Gloom city made silent kills or found places to hide, as Mortissa and her girls made their way to the heart of the Isle. They passed by the immense ruins of an old amphitheatre she had once known which still hummed with ancient power, and ducked, dodged, and distracted their way to the foot of the glowing glass tower.

  Gravity was not a problem to Mortissa and her maidens, and they quickly and casually crawled up the side of the tower. Her maidens delicately scratched holes in the windows with their nails and slipped inside the buildings, each of them taking a random floor to themselves. She carried on crawling up the glass on all fours, making her way up to the top floor where she hoped her target would be.

  From up on high, she could see that the saboteurs had made their way inland. They planted explosives on vehicles, buildings, strange triangular shaped metal things, and whatever else they felt like. The others killed ruthlessly and indiscriminately while maintaining their stealth, as they knew she would punish them if they messed up.

  When she got to the top floor she peered inside the window. A man was sitting at a desk
facing away from her. He was dressed in a smart suit and tapping away at some sort of technology built into the desk. A glowing war hammer was leaning up against the desk beside him. She could see a fine suit of armour at the far side of the room amongst some other pointless decorations. He would wish he’d been wearing it after she’d finished with him.

  With great care, she scored across the glass with one of her nails. She never took her eyes off the man to see if he had heard, and once she had made a circle big enough to squeeze through, she pulled it out and tossed it below. With great dexterity, she manoeuvred through the gap and landed silently on her feet a few metres away from the man. Selecting a deviously long and sharp needle from her outfit she crept towards him, ready to strike. Mortissa launched herself at the man, poised ready to stab him in the head.

  In a flash of movement the Autocrat picked up his hammer, stood up, and swung it at his assailant as she was in mid-air. The hammer connected perfectly with her face, and the magic contained with the family heirloom, the magic he’d never even known about, detonated in a flash of white light.

  Mortissa screeched an unholy sound, so loud that it cracked the windows and all the glass objects in the room as her face blew apart. Bits of the mask she’d pieced together over countless years blew away in a cloud of dead flesh and old dry blood. Her target charged towards her with the hammer raised. She snarled with her real black and blue exposed muscle demon face and quickly regained her composure, for she sensed others outside the room coming to his rescue.

  The man was almost on her as she hurled pins and needles at him with rapid hand movements. He carried on charging as they hammered into his flesh, blood seeping through all over his suit, but then she aimed the pins towards his face. He yelped as they penetrated his cheeks and eyes. The man dropped his hammer and tried pulling them out as quickly as he could.