“You have to go now,” Rowan bade. “They’ll think you were responsible. I’ll distract them so you can make your escape.”
McManus sat there for a moment, just letting the monster’s words reach his ears. After he had time to digest that command, though, he offered a nod in reply and crawled to the stairwell to salvation.
“Hurry, you fool,” Rowan growled, spurring the lad on faster. “And speak of this to no one.”
The last architect—the only man who could uphold Samwell Harding’s legacy—disappeared into the darkness below.
Rowan hopped onto the merlon he had arrived upon and looked down at the men who looked over Kiefer’s body.
It felt strange to avenge his death. But that truly was what he was faced with. The man could never return to his own life again—not with the threat of the monster surfacing without his control.
No, a new calling was waiting for him, and protecting McManus had given him that purpose. As he considered that, he spread those stone wings wide and waited a few more moments to give his former coworker some time to reach the bottom of the tower.
Then, Rowan Martel leapt from the top of that structure and dove toward the ground below, keeping a watchful eye on his city.
*****
Kelvin stared at the man before him with narrowed eyes and folded his arms over his chest, wondering if he could believe such a tale. Then again, he had seen the man change from a beast made of stone. And since the aurora, stranger things were happening in Argos.
“You’re saying the man who was found dead in the street was—”
“An accident, and nothing more,” Rowan said. “He killed himself with guilt and fear. I can think of no better fate for a man like that.”
The disguised prince nodded. “If what you told me is true, you have nothing to atone for. I came here looking for answers, and I have them.”
Rowan arched an eyebrow at that statement. “So that’s it then? You don’t care a monster roams the country so near the city?”
“As far as I see it, the monster is gone,” Kelvin said. “Kiefer was the real danger to the people of Argos. Meanwhile, you saved another citizen. Perhaps this thing you see as a curse could grow to be a gift.”
“What do you mean?”
“There is only so much the guards can do during the daylight hours,” the prince replied. “They’re bound to the King’s law. But someone like you? You could go where others cannot. You can do what others find impossible.”
“Isn’t that something that’s more in line with what the Silver Serpent does?” Rowan wondered.
“Trust me, the Silver Serpent and their allies could use all the help they could get these days.”
“So what would you have me do? I can only be so useful now, it seems. At night, my powers are under my control. I’ve learned to harness the power of the stone. But during the day, I’m overcome with fatigue the likes you’ll never know.”
“Perhaps it’s the weight of your new form.”
“It’s more than that,” Rowan suggested. “And when I finally succumb to that exhaustion, the form of that creature overtakes me. That’s why I’ve come back here to these towers. It’s the only place I feel safe transforming to that stone beast. But if I do what you say and become the creature, it won’t just be rumors that persist. My appearance won’t be able to be dismissed as just fever dreams or things people hallucinated when they imbibed too much. If I am recognized, how long will it be before someone sees me here in my haven? Who, then, would watch over me?”
“I will,” they both heard.
In that darkness, neither man could see more than a silhouette against the wall of the western tower. But as he drew closer, Kelvin confirmed it was the man he traveled with. He could sense the tension in Rowan’s body—the man was almost shaking. But he reached out and grasped his arm to placate him.
“What about Peritas, Woldo?” the prince asked. “I thought you had something you were running from.”
“When you didn’t come back down, I ventured up,” the once-frightened man declared. “It took you far longer to tell your story than I’m sure you realized. I didn’t mean to eavesdrop, but it happened. And now I realize I had nothing to be afraid of after all.”
Rowan bowed his head, empowered and humbled by that summation.
“This is what you came out here for, wasn’t it, lad?” Woldo asked. When he received a nod in reply, the man let a weary grin stretch across his face. “It seems you have your secrets, too, then. How you realized he was out here in the first place is a story unto itself, I’m sure.”
“And one I’m not yet ready to divulge,” the fellow in green laughed. “You two have much to discuss, I’m sure. For Argos to remain a little safer, you’ll have to depend on one another. And what about your house, Woldo?”
“Doesn’t seem as though it would make much sense to move back there after moving all my things out. Besides, I’ll have to remain close by these towers if our friend needs a watchful eye looking over him.”
“You might have to build another home out here,” Rowan declared.
“Know any good architects who might get things started for me?”
As those two developed a bond, the disguised prince clapped them each on their shoulders. They were too distracted to realize he drew away, back to the tower and the stairs to the forest floor far below.
*****
He sat upon that cot, his back against the cold stone. The book he thumbed through looked small in his hands, but he kept to it, as invested as he could be while the candle still burned.
Marcus heard footsteps down the hall, but he didn’t pay them much heed. Even at that late hour, the guards who patrolled the prison sometimes made more noise than he cared for. Engrossed in his reading, though, it didn’t bother him. Some of the other prisoners tossed and turned in response to those distant sounds, but the Titan withdrew into the world within those pages.
It was only when he heard the telltale sounds of combat that he was roused from his activity. Several loud blows resounded, and a grunt reported before a hefty set of armor—and the man inside it—collapsed to the ground.
Torchlight spilled into the corridor, and the other men who struggled to sleep rose with new curiosity. A quartet of men emerged from the darkened halls of the prison, bringing light into that dreary place.
“Thoro!” a prisoner called out when he saw the man leading the invading members of the Brotherhood.
“Let him out,” Thoro bade to one of his cohorts, never bothering to look at the man who shouted his name. His attention was drawn instead to the big man in the center cell, who still remained upon the cot with the book in his hand. “Are you him? Are you the one who tore through the bazaar a fortnight ago?”
“And who is it that wants to know?” Marcus wondered.
“We’re your new allies,” Thoro assured. He reached up with an open hand, catching the set of keys tossed his way. The lad wasted no time inserting the key—the correct one on the first try—and swinging that cell door open. “Come with us.”
“I’m all right where I am,” the Titan said.
Thoro looked as though he had the wind knocked out of him. After the risks they had taken to enter the prison, the man’s refusal was not an option.
“No, you’re coming with us. We broke in here for you, and we’re not leaving without you.”
Marcus swung his feet off the cot but was already shaking his head. “Why would I leave all this?” he asked, sweeping his hand about his small cell. “I have a comfortable bed, sturdy walls, and peace and quiet—more than ever before, once you get your noisy friend out of here.”
“Now listen!” Thoro shouted as he drew near.
The Titan wasn’t having any of it, though. He rose from his seat at last, but it was not to abide by the Brotherhood’s wishes. Instead, he lunged forward, slamming the heel of his hand into Thoro’s chest. The lad flew from the cell, his back colliding into the stone on the opposite side of the corri
dor. His vision went dark at once, though he still grasped to consciousness.
Marcus stomped toward the front of the cell, his eyes drawn to the envoy of the Brotherhood. When one of the other criminals charged toward him, he whipped the book in his hand across, catching the fellow on his jaw. He turned in the air twice before he landed on the ground.
The rest of his compatriots watched as the big man pulled the cell door shut and turned the key to lock them out. He took that set from the front of the door and withdrew into his small haven, sitting upon the bed once more. The keys dropped onto the table beside him, glimmering in the fading candlelight.
“What do we do?” a member of the Brotherhood asked as he rushed to help his allies.
Thoro waved his hand, still trying to catch his breath. “Get Carwen out of here,” he wheezed. “I’ll be right behind you.”
The rest of the Brotherhood invaders charged back down the adjacent corridor, leaving their comrade behind. Alone, Thoro labored to his feet, wincing all the way. He gave Marcus one last, pleading glance, but the big man turned his attention back to his reading.
Dejected, Thoro limped away, his mission a failure.
*****
The door to that building slammed open, and a desperate set of gasps rang out. The visitor to that place raced into the room, holding his head as though his skull was about to rupture from all angles.
“Schaeffer!” Gerard cried out, oblivious at first to the darkness that persisted throughout the building.
As the constable came to terms with how late at night it was, he reflected on just how long that voice had been following him. He recalled leaving the bay after his hallucination. Seeing through his hand spooked him, and ever since, it was as though someone had been tracking him and following his every movement.
Over and over again, the feminine voice called out to him, repeating the same word. Whoever it was that spoke to him offered the expression in a gentle coo. In that building, empty of anyone’s presence but his, Gerard realized that the voice had only grown louder.
The songstress was gaining power over him.
“Riptide,” he whispered as he drew farther into the building.
All at once, it became apparent. The voice wasn’t following him. It was beckoning him.
And somehow, it had led him to the morgue where Schaeffer conducted his research.
Gerard scrambled to the nearest table, grabbing a lantern that the coroner kept in place there. A few moments later—still affronted by that almost playful coo—flint and steel had sparked a flame to life in the lantern.
The constable furrowed his brow as he weaved through the place. That voice was persistent, growing with power, and it seemed to be coming from nearby. It reached him deep in his soul, and try as he did to dismiss it, he could not.
He drew into that cold room in the back, where the coroner had performed autopsies on the unfortunate people of Argos who had succumbed to the greater evils of man.
“Riptide,” he heard again. That siren was rooted in his mind by then, that single word she spoke leveraging power over him. It was as though she was steering him like a broken horse. The mysterious woman had the reins, and she directed him farther into the morgue.
Before Gerard realized it, his hand was upon the small metal door that shielded the ice vault that Schaeffer kept his bodies locked inside. That container opened with a gasp as steam billowed out into the warmer air outside of it.
With a gentle grasp, he slid the long table out into the open, making sure to balance the body atop it. Perfectly preserved in that final state of rest, there was something remarkable about the woman.
Again, the constable heard that whisper. It beckoned him even louder than before.
He cradled Helen’s body in his arms and lifted her from that cold slab, bringing her instead to the table where the coroner performed all of his examinations. The sheet of fabric slipped from the woman’s body before he lay her down there, but he was not concerned.
Helen’s eyes were closed, but Gerard looked at her as though she were staring back at him. He brought his hand to her face, stroking her cheek in a gentle motion.
For a brief while, he stood over her, peering down at the woman he failed. It was only after several moments had passed that he realized the whispers had subsided.
“Is this what you wanted?” he whispered.
In that continuing silence, he wondered if his bout of madness had passed.
“One of us should be awakened,” he heard, louder than ever, then. “Why should it not be you? Take what you want, and you’ll become more than you could ever dream.”
That was the first time he heard more than just that solitary word passing through the woman’s lips. But was it Helen beneath him that beckoned him there?
He looked down at her, and it seemed she was as lively as ever. Try as he did, he could not dismiss her beauty. Gerard recalled Schaeffer’s words—that the woman was altogether unremarkable, almost homely—but he scoffed at them.
Helen became more gorgeous with every passing second.
Gerard could wait no longer.
He leaned down and pressed his lips against hers, scraping his teeth against her lower lip. A fire was lit in his heart and soul that he had never felt before, and if it grew much stronger, he was sure the morgue would light afire around the two of them.
Chapter Five: Dark Waves Will Rise
The bell rang out from the mast of that ship, and the lad expelled a sigh of relief. The sun was already well on its way west, and it was only a matter of seconds before that fiery orb touched its own reflection atop the sea.
“They keep working us harder and harder these days, eh?” a voice nearby rang out.
Douglas knew that he was not the one being addressed, but he nodded just the same. He looked to the man who aired his grievances and watched him sling the bag over his back as he slapped another worker on the shoulder. Roland had been a part of the team for longer than anyone, the lad suspected, and the lot agreed with him without any fuss.
The young laborer set to work, throwing his tools into his pack, leaning over the aperture in the wooden platform. He could see the stretch of oil below, along with the equipment that fed into it. They made good progress that day, but Douglas could anticipate the words of Captain Falind. They had to put in more time, work harder, and take fewer breaks. The promise of wealth did strange things to people, and as far as the lad could tell, he was sitting atop a pool of black gold.
Once more, the bell rang out, urging all the workers back to the ships. It wasn’t a courtesy, the young man knew. He had seen those vessels leave without members of the crew before. A night at sea on one of those rigs wasn’t pleasant, from his understanding. A straggler would have to remain behind with those mercenaries who were hired to patrol the rig, and they were even harder to get along with than the workers he sailed with every day.
Douglas knew the second bell meant he had to move fast, but he was distracted, then, by bubbles in the oil. It was a sight he wasn’t privy to often, and he found his gaze locked to that mound of crude.
And out from those bubbles came a long, black appendage, shining in the fading light of the setting sun. The lad shook his head, wondering if he was seeing things. A hard day’s work could have affected his mind, he reasoned. But the longer he stared, the more convinced he was that what he saw was no mere trick. That black tentacle crawled up the pipe that collected the oil, and in time, the young worker saw a second one around the opposite side. Douglas stepped back, a chill running up his spine.
He didn’t lift his pack before he spun about and ran across the rig. Some other members of the crew growled at the lad as he pushed past them. The mercenaries, half-dressed for battle, remained where they were, continuing to roll their dice and slap down their cards upon the table there. None of them seemed to notice the lad’s urgent retreat.
The grumbling of those other workers was not lost to the large fellow up front. He turned on his heel and twit
ched his mustache before spitting off the platform into the sea. “What’s the rush, lad?” Roland asked. “Can’t wait to get home?”
Douglas had no plans on stopping, but the old worker lifted his broad arm up to cease his hasty retreat. “There’s something where we’ve been drilling,” the lad said. “We have to get out of here.”
Roland just stared at the lad for a few moments, but then he burst into an uncontrollable bout of laughter. “Seeing things, are we lad? You sure you’re cut out for this line of work?”
Some of the other fellows that they worked with shared that bemusement, taunting the lad for his fears. Still, with Roland preoccupied with mocking him, Douglas slipped past, onto that long gangplank that led to the only remaining ship.
“Pull up anchor!” he cried out, though he knew the futility of giving orders when he was that new to the crew.
It was too late anyway.
That black entity ripped through the aperture of the oil rig, sending the ends of wooden beams splintering away. All attention was pulled to that area beneath the derrick then, where the pipe that pulled up the crude oil collapsed under the weight of the shadowy creature. The mercenaries playing their games sprung up and scrambled for their weapons, while those workers still on the rig sprinted away.
“What the devil is that?” Roland muttered.
He stood there, staring as one black tentacle after another slammed down upon the wooden platform. Then, the massive cephalopod head lifted from the water, large enough to strike the structure that housed the derrick. It blinked a huge eye as the scrape of swords leaving scabbards rang out amongst the shouts of concern. Before those mercenaries could draw close, it lifted two of those hefty tentacles, revealing its toothy maw. A piercing screech resonated out onto the oil rig, sending those hired fighters into a skittering stop.
“It’s a bloody kraken,” Roland answered himself. He spun about, then, and joined the young worker on the gangplank. The fellow charged forth, with his hands cupped around his mouth. “Kraken!” he shouted.
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