by A F Stewart
Sensing the unease, he added, “We can’t afford to dawdle. We need to be seaworthy as soon as possible.” He drew back his shoulders and gave his best stern stare. “You have your orders!” The crew chosen to accompany him flocked to his side, and the rest turned to ship duties. Then the four men went ashore, straight to the office of the harbourmaster.
The door creaked open on neglected hinges, and a stocky man looked up from a worn pine desk as they walked into his workplace. He shuffled aside some papers and frowned. “Well, well, Captain Morrow. Didn’t expect to see you again. Not after...” He let the words hang and drummed his fingers on his desk. “If I was you, I’d turn around and sail on out to sea. I don’t know what you’ve done exactly with them portals, but folks been agitated for the past two days.”
Rafe replied to his manner softly, “We will stay only as long as necessary. We have some repairs, and I have business at the temple.”
The harbourmaster shrugged. “Your affair, I suppose. Consider yourself reported in and make it a short trip.”
Rafe nodded, and he and his men left without another word.
Outside, a tall, hard-faced man waited, his foot tapping impatiently. By his uniform and insignia, he held the rank of commander in the Royal Navy of the Seven Kingdoms. He stepped in front of Rafe and his men, blocking the path to pass.
“I thought that was you, Captain Morrow. You’ve certainly bungled things up this time, haven’t you? Turned this whole territory into somewhat of a powder keg. I can tell you, as a representative of the Royal Navy, I’m not very happy with this mess you created.”
Rafe bristled as did his men, but he held his composure. He smiled coldly and replied, “And who are you, sir, that I should be concerned of your opinion?” Rafe took satisfaction in the shocked and outraged look that sliced across the commander’s face.
“I’m Commander Augustus Quartermain Pelham! Commanding officer of the King’s Rock Fort here at Black Shoals! And you, sir, are nothing more than a scallywag captain who needs to answer for your reckless actions!”
“Why you—” Blackthorne’s raised voice was cut off a wave by Rafe’s hand and a snap of words. “Don’t Blackthorne. No need to get into a quarrel on my behalf.” He smiled at the commander. “Why indeed, sir, I am a captain, but you forget yourself and your place in the scheme of things.” He took a breath and a step closer to the naval officer. “For I am also a god, capable of turning your ordered existence into something far less pleasant.” Rafe watched the man’s skin turn two shades paler. “So watch your tongue, sir. Or I just might cut it out.”
“Are you threatening me?”
“Yes.” For a second, Rafe’s eyes sparked with blue energy.
“Well, I—I don’t—it doesn’t,” The commander stumbled over his words before finally spitting out, “You can lord it over us. Think you’ve won. Think you’re so superior, but you’ll answer for this. Opinion’s shifted against you, Captain. You’ll see, and it’s still shifting. You may find even gods fall to earth and have to pay for the things they’ve done.”
The man spun on his heel and trotted off without another word.
“Damnation! This is what I said might happen. Damn navy!” Blackthorne scowled and spat in the dirt. Behind him, Pinky and Short Davy chuckled. Pinky exclaimed, “The captain put him in his place though, and did it brilliantly.”
“Don’t laud my efforts, yet. The harbourmaster said much the same thing, remember. It isn’t likely people will receive us kindly for a while. Not until we put the world right. Not until we find a way to defeat my sister.”
“That’s going to be a tall order.” Davy gasped as soon as the words left his mouth and hastily added, “But you’ll find a way, sir, we all know that. I’m sorry, sir.”
“Don’t worry about it, Davy. We’re all thinking it. She dealt us a blow this time, she did.” Rafe gave his man a sad smile. “And we will find a way, but first to business. To the temple, men.”
And the four sailors set off.
The temple lay to the northeast of the town, and they skirted the edge of the settlement. The waterfront and adjoining streets seemed quiet, subdued. No laughter or chatter greeted them. No casual foot traffic. No vendors hawking wares or buskers looking for coin. Only faces staring from windows, or people lingering on stoops and open doorways.
And the heavy air of distrust and malignancy.
The townsfolk they saw cast looks of fear and antipathy at the quartet and glared as they walked past. Some slammed themselves behind their doors or snapped shut their curtains in the crew’s wake. And, most of all, whispers under the breath dogged their footsteps.
Rafe gritted his teeth. “We get this done and then let us be out of this place.”
His companions nodded and they doubled timed their pace to the temple.
As they arrived, they found the gates ajar and the garden path empty. Wails still drifted from the shore, and not a priest came out to greet them. In the mixed air of silence and yowled mourning, they hurried to see the temple spellcaster. Rafe knocked on the door painted a summer sea blue and a faint “enter” echoed out to the men. The captain turned the handle, and they stepped inside a sanctum.
A dark-haired woman sat by the far corner in a high-backed wicker chair behind a round table. She smiled as they entered, the first friendly greeting they encountered since coming ashore.
“Exalted One. How may I be of service to you on this day?”
“Hello, Aylia. I need to send a message to all the temples regarding the portals.”
“I thought as much. Dire days these are. I don’t envy you your duties or the task ahead of you.”
She rose from her chair and walked to the shelves lining the opposite wall. She took down a small, carved wooden box. She then moved to the table, placed the box down, and seated herself back in her chair.
“Shall we begin?” She waved a hand towards Rafe to join her. He pulled over another chair and sat across from her. The rest of the crew remained standing near the door. Aylia unfastened the box and removed three spellcaster crystals, arranging them in a triangular shape.
She glanced at Rafe. “What message, and where do you want it sent?”
“Send it to all the Soul Temples in the Outer Islands and the Seven Kingdoms. Tell them I was the one who closed the portals to protect the After World from invasion by the Goddess of the Moon and her sea beasts. The balance will be restored when she is defeated.” Aylia reacted with a slight intake of breath. Rafe paused for a moment and then continued, “And I’ll need another message sent to the Oracle as well. Tell her, ‘Expect the Celestial Jewel in Blue Bay port. I need to speak with her.’”
Aylia nodded, summoned her magic, and activated the spellcaster crystals. She intoned Rafe’s messages, and they watched the stones radiate and the words scrawl into the air. Shapes and letters materialized into green light—dozens of missives bound for the temples—before being transmitted along the caster’s ethereal network.
“There. The messages are sent, waiting in the stones to be read by my fellows. I hope this will alleviate some of the fears and uncertainty of late.”
“I hope so as well.” Rafe pushed out his chair and rose to leave, but Aylia laid a hand on his arm.
“Will she be defeated?” A soft whisper, but it reached Rafe’s ears.
For a moment he thought to lie, yet answered, “I don’t know, but I will try.”
Aylia removed her hand with a sigh. “That’s all we can ask of you, Exalted One.”
He nodded, oddly comforted. Then he and his men took their leave.
On the return trip, they again strolled empty paths until they neared the harbour. They heard the yelling first, a hullaballoo of angered voices. Then, as they restlessly rounded a corner, a group of unruly townspeople and deceased spirits surged to accost Rafe. Bodies and lingering souls surrounded him, pushing and clawing at his person, and a chorus of questions bombarded him as a rushing tide.
“What happened?”
“Why can’t the remaining dead cross?”
“Why has the portal closed?”
“Has the After World been destroyed?”
The deluge of voices hit the captain square, but it was the defeated howl of the dead that broke him.
“Enough! I’ve had enough! What do you expect from me? I did what had to be done to save us all, living and dead!”
Silence dropped like an anchor and the crowd stumbled back in shock and fear. Rafe glared at the throng, waiting for the first man to challenge him. But the challenge came from behind.
“Sir.” The calm voice of Blackthorne broke the silence.
Rafe whirled, his expression a fearsome thing. “What do you want!?” He barked at his first mate, the words as sharp as any blade.
Blackthorne retreated a step but persisted in his duty. “Sir. You are glowing.”
That set Rafe back a peg. “Excuse me?”
“You are glowing. A rather nice shade of pale blue. But it may be a bit intimidating to those unaccustomed.” He nodded at the now cowering crowd.
Rafe glanced at himself. He had unconsciously manifested his power in his anger. He gazed at the gathered people. Looks of terror, bewilderment, awe, and astonishment peppered their faces.
It would be so easy to sweep them aside. One flick of my hand and they would tumble like summer waves.
Rafe sighed. He allowed the light and his magic to fade. Instead, he shouted, “Let us pass!”
The assembled grumbled and whined, but not a man nor spirit stood in Rafe’s way. He and the crew advanced unchallenged and returned to their ship. The sight of the Jewel’s broken mast and rail and her other damage, did nothing to alleviate Rafe’s mood as they boarded. There was work to be done.
“Listen up, men! Time to repair this ship and sail out of this port! Most of you know what’s coming. For the rest, clear the deck and stay out of my way!”
Rafe watched the crew scurry below. Blackthorne, casting him a worried look, waited until he was alone on deck. Then he sat crossed-legged on the boards, placing his palms against the wood. He let the ship’s magic flow into him, feeling the wounds.
He whispered, “I know you’re hurting. I’m here. We’ll get you fixed up.”
He called forth his own energy, sending it into the ship, strengthening the vessel, uniting with the power that coursed through the ship. Their combined force streamed into the ruined areas, rebuilding, mending the broken. The mast and rail knitted themselves whole, the scorch marks vanished, shattered wood, gouges, scars all healed and faded, transforming the parts into something strong and new. At the end, Rafe slouched in near exhaustion, vitality ebbing, but the Jewel restored to seaworthy.
“That’s better now, isn’t it.” Rafe managed a smile as footsteps sounded on deck. As usual, Blackthorne reached his side first.
“Are you all right, Captain?”
“Yes. Just tired. But the ship’s repaired. We can continue.” He raised a hand. “Help me up.”
Blackthorne aided the captain to his feet. “I’ll assist you to your cabin, sir.”
“Not yet. I’ll see us out first.” He nodded at a crate by the forecastle. “That will do for a seat until we’re out of port.” Blackthorne assisted him and let him ease onto the crate, leaning against the comfort of his ship.
Across the deck, the helmsman cried out, “Call the course, Captain!”
For a flicker of time, he thought of sailing past open waters into the unknown, leaving it all behind. Then he gave the order, “Set the heading to Rock Island Temple. Time to consult the Oracle, boys.” And the ship set sail manoeuvring out of dock and past the harbour until Black Shoals retreated in its rear view.
Rafe sighed.
At least the Oracle will welcome us. This one will be a simple stop.
Chapter Fifteen
Rock Island Temple
THE FOLLOWING MORNING, neither sound nor sign of life wafted out of the harbour as the Jewel sailed into the cove at Rock Island. They were the only outside ship in the Blue Bay port, and an air of hushed morbidity settled along the sea and win. The reverberating slap of waves against docks and the hiss of the wind enhanced the feeling of emptiness. A prickle ratcheted its way along Rafe’s spine echoed by the soft nervous whispers snaking through the ship’s crew.
One-Eyed Anders gave voice to their unease. “Where is everyone? Do you think they were attacked?”
“Perhaps they’ve just gone inland for protection.” Rafe tried to make his voice sound confident, but he didn’t believe his words. Too much had happened.
“And not leave a crew to man the harbour, to help dock the ships coming in? It don’t feel right.”
“I know.” The whisper slipped out despite the captain’s best intentions. “Take her into dock, Anders. We’ll land a few men, and then you take her out again. Wait offshore until we return.” Rafe strode to the helm and gave the wheel a feather touch of magic and whispered words. “She’ll take you in now. Just steer her gently.”
“Aye, Captain. I’ll guide her true and tender.”
Anders made to steer the ship into anchor straight as a cannon shot, though, in truth, the ship took herself in with little help from its helmsman. Rafe stood on deck as they docked, but could see nary a soul and no one came to greet them as the ship berthed.
“Short Davy, Striker Angus, Pinky Jasper. You three are with me. Blackthorne, you have the ship.”
“But, sir—”
“Not this time, Blackthorne. I need you here with the ship.” Rafe turned and gave him a hard look, something he knew his first mate would understand. “Something about this feels... atypical. I don’t think this is my sister’s doing. In case something goes awry, I need you here. I’m counting on you.”
Blackthorne straightened his spine. “Aye, Captain.”
“Good man.” He gave them all a smile. “We’ll get to the bottom of this. All right you three. Let’s go ashore.”
The captain and his men disembarked and stood on the dock for a moment as the Jewel sailed out of the harbour and back out to more open waters. Then the others looked to Rafe for orders.
“To the harbourmaster’s first. See if there’s anybody at home.”
Not a soul, living or dead, met them as they made their way to the familiar building and entered. Inside, more silence and sunlight peering through the half-open window greeted them. A gust of wind slipped through and rattled the bones of a warding ornament hanging from the ceiling. A few papers littered the floor.
“It ain’t like the harbourmaster to leave the place unmanned, and I ain’t never seen harbour records on the floor like that.” Pinky chattered to fill the quiet. “He likes everything in its place.”
Rafe bent down and scooped up the documents, glancing at them. He saw a manifest and docking records for the ship, Black Bastion.
“I know this ship. From Crickwell Island. It’s captained by Eva Erickson.”
“Sir?” The puzzled voice of Short Davy broke through his musings.
“These papers.” Rafe waved the records in his hand. “They belong to the Black Bastion. You remember. She survived the last moon storm, came into port as we left that night. She does supply runs between this port, Crickwell Island, Tenby Key, and Black Shoals. If her papers are out, then chances are she docked recently.” A tingle, a strange sensation of trepidation, stirred in Rafe’s blood like something out of place and waiting.
“She ain’t in the harbour, so she must’ve headed back out. Probably took the long route ‘round the seaward side of the island. Going towards Tenby or Black Shoals maybe. We would have seen or met her, otherwise.” Angus tossed his opinion into the mix.
“Unless the ship never left the island.” The captain’s words tumbled out, almost of their own accord.
“But she’s not in port,” protested Angus.
“The Old North Harbour, you mean?” Pinky cottoned to Rafe’s thought. “Yah, we could’ve missed her, if she’s anchored there.”
&
nbsp; “But why?” Short Davy chimed in.
Rafe sighed, having little in the way of answer save the unease in his blood. “Whatever the reason, if they are there, it bears ill will, I think.”
“Do we head back, signal the ship, and check out the Old North Harbour?” Striker Angus seemed eager at this prospect.
“Sorry to disappoint you, Mr. Angus, but no. We press on to the Temple.” The disquiet fairly snapped at his nerves at the mention of it. “I want to check on the Oracle.”
There were silent nods of ascent, and the group left the harbourmaster to wind their way through town. The same empty, calm foreboding pervaded the streets. Not a person, not a laugh, no footsteps, no whispers surrounded them. Simply the swish of ocean waves, the rustle of breeze, and the lonely cry of seabirds.
“Where are all the people?” Short Davy hissed his worry out loud. “Where did they all go? The last time we were here—”
“Aye.” Angus clapped him on the shoulder in an attempt to reassure. “I know. ‘Tis most peculiar.”
“It’s malfeasance, that’s what is! Sinister doings!” Pinky clenched his hands into fists and shivered under his skin.
“Good thing Mouse isn’t here. The poor boy would have a fit.” Short Davy smiled, despite everything.
Angus and Pinky both snorted with Pinky exclaiming, “The boy would faint dead away more like.”
Rafe listened to the banter, glad the crew had ceased to question him. The closer they got to the Rock Island Temple, the stronger his premonition of dread became. He knew they were headed for trouble, but he didn’t know why or what.
Perhaps it was the strange lack of human sound. Even on the climb to the temple, only the noise of nature enveloped them. Screeching seabirds and twittering songbirds, the rustle of underbrush from fleeing marmots, the flutter of leaves in the wind, and the ever-present sound of the ocean. But not the slightest peep of a human voice, a clang of a hammer, a creak of a wheel, or any footstep save their own.