by J. R. Wagner
They are the last survivors of the village Kilani and Roger discovered on our first day here. The others, sixteen in all, were killed in a ceremony just like the one we witnessed tonight.”
“Murdering savages. C'est des conneries!” said William.
“Peroc, tell us about the ceremony. When did it begin?” James asked.
James translated as Peroc told the tale. “He says that as far back as our stories go, there has always been mention of the twenty-second ceremony. Every twenty-two days, the island requests a sacrifice. His tribe was required to provide it. Throughout their history, it's usually been one of their own who would go on the stone table. They would hold games to decide who among them would go. Legends were born from these games.
“Within the last generation, others began to arrive on this island. At first they came in small numbers, one every several years. Eventually larger groups began arriving.
“Rather than capture and hold them, they would simply watch the newcomers until one was needed. Then, one at a time, they would take from the group. This man and his sister are the last of a very large group that arrived roughly ten years ago. The group built their own camp by One Tree Hill and appeared to thrive. Peroc's people showed them where to find water and how to avoid being preyed upon by the tampere. They encouraged them to breed, but no visitors have ever been with child in this place. Essentially they raised them like beasts to slaughter. The newcomers trusted Peroc's clan. When one went missing, there was always an explanation for their disappearance.
“As their numbers dwindled, Peroc's people realized it would soon come time for one of their own to go back on the table. The games were set to be held on the day we arrived. One of their tribe spotted our ship. The games were canceled, and Peroc was sent to bring us to their camp. Everything changed when Peroc heard me speak their language. He knew then that the legend of the outsider coming to lead his people to a better place was true.”
“What of the children? Why weren't there any children at the camp?” asked Kilani.
James translated the question. “He said that they do not take the children to that cursed place. The children stay at another camp, one that is equally protected but not infested with the stench of death and murder. When the children are old enough, they make the journey to Peroc's camp.
James translated. “He says that as long as he has lived, they have never missed a ceremony. The elders spoke of a time when the tribe decided not to sacrifice someone for the island. They said before that day, their people, the Belator, were the deadliest hunters on the island. The day the sacrifice was not made the elders say the land shook in anger. The ground parted and released terrible creatures from the underworld. The tampere. Peroc has always lived under the shadow of the tampere, so he cannot confirm whether there was once a time when they did not exist.
“When he passed the test and became a warrior, he made the journey to the new camp. He was the first of four to arrive from the children's camp. The last to arrive—the slowest and weakest—was immediately taken to the stone table. He was Peroc's brother. Since then, Peroc has always had disdain for the ceremony and all it represents.”
The group sat in silence for some time. Each of them digesting what Peroc had told them. Finally, William spoke up.
“What is under zee stump, Capitan?” he asked.
James had forgotten entirely about the stump upon which he'd been sitting for the duration of Peroc's story. He stood, removed the dagger from his belt, and pried open the top.
The group craned their necks to see what was inside. James thrust his hand into the barrel and lifted a handful of orange powder and let it spill through his fingers back into the barrel.
“Transporting powder!” Kilani said, her eyes fixed on the powder. “What is it made of?” she asked, looking at Peroc.
“It comes from the root of the tree on One Tree Hill. It is ground to powder and cured in the ring of fire for ninety days. It can only be harvested once a year, which is why the Belator have such a vast supply,” James translated.
“I think ‘had' would be more appropriate,” said Luno.
“What are the transporting laws of this place?” Kilani asked.
“One must have physically been there in order to transport there,” James translated. “They're just like our laws of transporting.”
“What the bleedin' ‘ell is happenin'?” said Roger, looking over the side rail at the island.
The island was shaking in the water. James had heard stories of how earthquakes appeared from the water, but he had never witnessed one first hand. It was an eerie sight. Several large chunks of rock slid from the side of the nearby cliffs into the water, sending waves that rocked the Queen Mary from side to side. Monstrous roars erupted from the jungle, causing the hairs on the back of James's neck to stand. He wondered now whether the legend Peroc's ancestors told him about the tampere were true, and if it was, what monstrosity had the island had unleashed this time.
“I would fight a thousand tampere to have my brother back,” Peroc said, as if he could read James's thoughts.
The island settled and everything was still.
“Capitan, you ‘ave a plan, no?” William asked.
James and Luno exchanged glances, neither sure who he was addressing because he'd referred to both of them as captain at some point during the trip. James nodded at Luno.
“We shall return to Harbor Town, regroup, and depart from there, well rested and fully supplied. Are there any who disagree?” asked Luno. To the silence that followed he said, “Very well. Harbor Town it is. At first light we shall set sail and leave this cursed place behind.”
“And what of Peroc?” asked James.
“I believe we should offer him a choice. We could learn much from him, and he is no threat to us. He may return to his home at any time,” said Luno, nodding at the crate of transporting powder, “but he is welcome to join us on our journey. I'm not sure he would get such a warm welcome if he decides to return home.”
James translated. Peroc looked at the moonlit island with a stern expression. It was clear that he was not in a hurry to give an answer immediately, so James told him they would depart at sunrise. The group went about preparing their bedrolls on deck. Kilani saw to the unconscious man while James took his position in the crow's nest for first watch.
James noticed Kilani constantly looking over her shoulder at the barrel of transporting powder. He grew increasingly worried she would try something rash. What is it that drives her to want to leave this place so desperately? he wondered. Akil had told James the dangers of attempting to transport somewhere you'd never physically been. Neither was sure it could be done and both had seen people try and fail. Some simply vanished and never returned. Others ended up going nowhere.
James saw Peroc finally turn away from his long gaze at his home and make his way across the deck to beneath the mast. He looked up at James.
“I shall join you on your journey if you will have me,” he said.
“We will be honored, warrior Peroc,” replied James.
James found the subtle sway of the crow's nest relaxing as he looked out over the island. In his pocket he fingered the cold steel of the key and could hear the black castle's call. He turned to the southeast, imagining he could see its curved spires on the horizon. He imagined himself standing on top of the keep, his colors flying in the wind. The need for it steadily grew inside him, becoming most apparent when he had time to reflect upon it as he did now.
James thought of Akil, his mentor, his father for all intents and purposes during their years together. The vision he'd had after falling in the cave came back to James. Akil had been here, James was sure of that now. That meant he'd found a way out and James was certain the way out was somewhere inside the black castle. A shadow quickly passed in front of the moon. James turned to see what it was but saw only empty sky and the brilliant orange moon. For an instant, a sense of foreboding washed over him. Before he could determine its source
, the feeling was gone and James quickly forgot it had been there at all. Tomorrow he would see that all preparations were made for the journey to the black castle. There would be no more delays. He would have his absolution.
— 29 —
AKIL AND THE SIREN
June 1626, Ireland
Akil Karanis turned before reaching Belfast and took the western path along Lough Neah; he then headed west once more toward the Sperrin Mountains. His quest for answers had taken him many places. Of all those, his current destination was the one he feared most. It also might be the most important. The Seer who'd foretold of the Anointed One so many generations ago had a specific message, which over time had been distorted. Akil was bent upon unraveling the vagaries so he could find this person himself.
He traveled on horseback along a narrow road that hadn't seen use in decades. The rain fell hard and heavy despite sunshine in the distance. As the terrain turned up and the rolling hills along the road grew steeper, Akil stopped and dismounted his horse. To his right was a gap in the cliffs not much wider than his shoulders. He felt a compulsion to enter, yet he also wanted to reach his destination, Sawel Mountain, by sundown. Despite his haste, he tethered his horse to a small shrub and stepped into the gap.
The instant he set foot inside, the rain ceased. The path turned a sharp corner, revealing a perfectly hewn set of stairs. The stairs twisted left and right with no discernable rhyme or reason until they reached their terminus. A natural archway opened onto a plateau that overlooked the green countryside to his left. Directly across were sheer cliffs that rose another hundred feet. The wind was strong. As Akil steadied himself for fear of being blown over the edge, he heard a sound in the wind. It had a musical quality like chimes in a breeze. He searched for the source of the sound but saw nothing.
Akil had a sudden compulsion to sit. Having not stopped moving since the day before last, he was weary. He deserved a break, he thought, and so he sat, resting his back against the stone arch, hoping it would shield the wind. The chime-like music continued. His mind, always thinking of his next step, his next destination, went idle, taking in the beauty of the music. Thinking of no better occasion to light his pipe, Akil reached into his pocket and fished it out along with some tobacco he'd managed to procure from the last civilized village on his route.
He sat and enjoyed the music, which grew less chime-like and more voice-like as time passed. Despite the raging wind, Akil felt warm as he puffed on his pipe and studied the striations in the stone archway above his head. It was when his vision started to blur that a warning sounded in the recesses of his mind. He was tired and would have liked nothing more than to take a nap right there, but the nagging warning poked at his brain. His eyelids grew heavy. It took all of his strength to fight off the sleep that was trying to take him.
The warning inside sounded again, louder this time, and Akil stirred from his stupor. He shook his head in an attempt to clear his thoughts. A woman stood no more than two arm-lengths away. He wasn't sure how long she'd been standing there watching him. Akil quickly got to his feet. The woman was stunningly beautiful. Akil felt an overwhelming compulsion to touch her. He had to feel her dark hair in his fingers. The smooth skin of her face, to feel her lips against his. Again the warning sounded.
Akil shook his head once more. The woman stepped toward him. Akil stepped back. He felt drawn to her like he'd never felt drawn to a woman before. Yet somewhere within his desire there was a sense of caution. He stepped back, passing through the protection of the archway and onto the windy plateau. It didn't feel right. He knew this and still his internal struggle to keep himself from running to her, pulling her close, kissing her, raged on.
With each step forward she took, Akil stepped back. His clothes rippled in the wind as he and the mysterious woman continued their dance atop the mountain. Akil shivered from the cold. He wondered how this woman could possibly stay warm dressed as she was in nothing more than her intimates. He began to take off his traveling cloak so he could offer it to her when he stopped. The raging wind appeared to be missing her completely. She stood there staring into his eyes, and her hair hung perfectly straight at her shoulders while his cloak blew out like a kite behind him.
Suddenly, she wasn't so beautiful. Her face grew older before his eyes. Her skin grew dark and scaled. The music she had been singing became a shriek of anger. Akil's hands went to his ears immediately. What was left of his clouded mind cleared, and for the first time he knew he had reached his destination. He had found the Siren.
Akil quickly recited an incantation that blocked all sound except speech from reaching his ears. The Siren's expression turned fouler as she moved closer to him.
“You are not like the others,” she said.
“I should hope not. I intend to leave with what I have come for.”
“So do all men. And all of them fall under my spell and do my bidding until I destroy them.”
“I am not under your spell, dear Siren, and have no intention of doing your bidding. I am, however, willing to go peacefully if you give me what I seek.”
Akil's words were far braver than he felt. He'd studied the legend of the Sirens. He cursed himself for allowing her to surprise him as she had.
“And what is it you've come for, Akil Karanis?”
“I want the lineage of the Anointed One spoken by the Seer. It was written in the book,” said Akil, “the bloodline of the Anointed One.”
“And what makes you think I have the book?”
“I have followed its path for many years and many miles and evidence of its existence stopped with you.”
“Most men come because I have called them. Few come for my treasure. None have come for the book. You are indeed different than the others, Akil Karanis.”
“Give it to me, and I shall go in peace and leave you to your foul deeds.”
“No man can defeat me. Not even one so unique as you. I shall make you an offer. Turn, walk back the way you came, and never return. Do this and you shall live. Do it not, and you will serve me until your death.”
Not bothering to reply, Akil sent a massive blast of energy at the Siren. She flew up into the air, her body spinning like a top. The wind immediately ceased. The roughly hewn cliffs that lined the far side of the plateau transformed into a beautiful castle carved into the marble. With one strike, the Siren's powers of illusion were shattered. She landed nimbly just short of the edge.
“You are powerful, Akil Karanis, but your arrogance will be your undoing,” said the Siren.
Despite her distance, Akil heard her voice as if she were standing next to him. He did not wait for her counterattack. Akil raised his arms. Several large boulders rose from the ground and flew toward her. She did not flinch or try a defensive incantation. She simply continued walking toward him. The stones crashed into her with destructive force. The impact sounded like thunder. Bits of stone and dust flew into the air, engulfing her in the rubble.
Akil lifted slabs of stone straight out of the ground, encircling the Siren and surrounding the rubble pile with a curtain of rock. He then sent a fireball into the air. It came down like a wave and crashed into the center of his stone cage and began to swirl until the entire area within his newly constructed walls was engulfed in flame.
Satisfied that the Siren was either dead or seriously injured, Akil made his way to the castle entrance. The steps leading up to the main doors were cut from a deep red marble that contrasted with the walls of the castle, which were a mottled white. This creature had an impressive gift with stonework, he thought as he inspected the entry.
“Ireki,” he said, raising his arms and facing his palms at the doors. The doors did not respond. He said several other incantations, each more obscure than the last, before he finally resolved to use force. The castle was a masterpiece and he hated to destroy any part of it. He stepped away from the entry and said, “Suntsitu.” The doors shuddered slightly but did not open.
Akil looked over his shoulder. The blaze
still swirled within the walls and there was no evidence that she had managed to escape. Returning his attention to the entry, he sent several horse-sized pieces of rock hurtling toward the doors. Each broke upon the doors like waves upon the shore. Everything he had read and heard about Sirens indicated they had little power outside their abilities to ensnare their enemies' minds. The magic the Siren had used on the doors, however, was extremely advanced and very unsettling.
After trying several dozen incantations, Akil finally turned away and headed toward the swirling fire inside the stone curtain. He lifted his hands, and the fire immediately extinguished. He then commanded the stone curtain to fall back into the earth from whence it had risen. A charred ring of debris was all that remained. The heat from the fire had been so intense that it had melted the smaller pieces of stone. He saw no evidence of the Siren.
Akil could feel his heart beating faster. A noise from behind made him jump. He quickly turned. The doors to the castle stood open. Cautiously, he approached. Darkness black as sackcloth consumed the interior. Akil stepped to the entry, extended his hands, and sent several light orbs inside. Immediately upon crossing the threshold the orbs disappeared, swallowed by the darkness.
He took a deep breath, readied his mind for whatever lay inside, and stepped into the darkness. As he crossed the threshold, the ink-black air faded until he could see once more. To his surprise, Akil found himself standing in a cave. There was nothing ornate about the interior. Bones, mostly human, were piled on one side. Opposite the bones was a large pile of gold and silver. At the far end of the cave a trunk bound by leather straps sat alone against the wall.
“Jasoketa deitu,” Akil said, summoning the trunk. It did not move. He stepped farther into the cave, ever mindful that his enemy could be lurking nearby. He quickly covered the distance between himself and the trunk, checking over his shoulder every several steps.
When he was within arm's length of the trunk, the lid opened. Akil looked around, expecting to see the Siren rushing toward him, but he was alone. He took a step closer and peered inside. On a bed of purple satin sat an ornate pocket watch and single book. It was the book he had been looking for, the book men of his generation did not believe was still in existence. The book that the Seer had written, detailing the events leading up to the Epoch Terminus and the lineage of the one who could stop it. Again he looked over his shoulder. He saw no sign of the Siren. Slowly, he reached his hand inside the trunk and grasped the leather binding.