“Damn,” said Jenur. “Guess it worked after all.”
Malock turned to the others and gestured at the tunnel. “Well? What are you waiting for? I doubt this tunnel will remain open forever. Follow me.”
-
Kinker wasn't much of a fighter. True, in his youth, he had participated in the wrestling tournaments held in the courtyard of the Temple at the end of every spring and had even done pretty well in them, but when he got older he put more and more of his attention on fishing, a task which was far less physically-demanding than wrestling.
As a result, Kinker became less and less fit over the years. Joining the crew of the Iron Wind forced him to be more physically active than usual, true, but the lack of good food and water had taken a toll on his body, which he soon learned when he found himself cornered by one of the baba raga that was currently attacking the ship.
When the Tusked God ordered its minions to attack, Kinker had immediately tried to flee to the lower decks. It was less due to Kinker's cowardice and more to do with trying to get a weapon—a gun, a sword, heck, even a kitchen knife—that he could use to defend himself.
Unfortunately, one of the baba raga, a particularly fat one with a scar across its forehead, jumped on top of the hatch, keeping him from getting inside. It growled at him, the sound intimidating enough to make Kinker back off.
Kinker looked around at the rest of the crew. Despite the immense size difference between the crew and the baba raga (a hundred sailors versus a little less than twenty-five beasts), the crew was clearly not winning. Already Kinker spied a few dead sailors (although he couldn't tell who they were), but the vast majority, thankfully enough, were simply wounded in many places. Only one baba raga lay dead on the deck, its skull cracked, but the rest of its brothers were fighting ferociously, even when they got smacked in the face by chunks of wood that a few sailors had picked up as improvised weapons.
Kinker returned his attention to the baba raga. It had not yet moved from the hatch, which meant that this one was simply trying to keep him away. Kinker took a step forward, but as soon as he did, the baba raga's tongue shot out and wrapped around his wrist. Its tongue burned like fire, causing Kinker to cry out and stagger backwards, but the baba raga held on tight to his wrist, looking quite pleased at his pain.
He tried to grab and squeeze the tongue with his other hand, but he could not get a firm grip on it and every time he touched it, the palm of his hand burned. When he glanced at his free hand, it was covered in sores and burn marks, like he'd stuck it on top of a burning stove top.
“Let go of me, you dumb beast,” Kinker growled, his voice lost in the commotion all around him. “Let go, damn it.”
The baba raga simply looked at him triumphantly, like it was thinking, I enjoy your suffering, human. Why would I ever let go?
Its smug look immediately disappeared, however, when Banika appeared out of nowhere and slashed at its exposed tongue with her knife. The knife cut through the tongue cleanly, causing blood to pour out as the rest of the tongue retreated back into the baba raga's mouth. Kinker immediately shook off the bit of it that had been wrapped around his wrist and grimaced at the bruises and burns on his wrist.
Then he looked up and saw the baba raga staggering off the hatch. It hacked and coughed loudly, trying to breathe with only half its tongue, and then Banika kicked it over and drove her knife directly into its eyes. The baba raga screeched in terror and then stopped immediately, making it the second baba raga to die so far.
Banika pulled her knife out of the baba raga's eye sockets as Kinker ran up to her and said, “Thanks for saving me. I thought I was a—”
Banika immediately pushed Kinker to the side, making him fall to the deck. The next moment, a baba raga barreled through, almost crushing his legs. Kinker recovered from the fall quickly and looked up in time to see Banika in battle with the other baba raga, its tongue lashing out at her while she expertly dodged or blocked it with her knife.
Then Kinker looked toward the hatch, which was now entirely unguarded. He got to his feet and immediately climbed down into the hatch, hoping against hope that he would be able to get to the harpooning tools that he knew were down there, even though he was starting to doubt they would be of any practical use.
***
Chapter Fifteen
When Malock emerged from the tunnel into the interior of the ice walls, he was not sure what he had been expecting to see. Perhaps he had been expecting to see an icy forest, similar to the one outside the walls, or at least scattered trees dotting here and there. He supposed he had been expecting to see some hills (though why, he couldn't tell) and maybe a small, cozy house that the assassin would have called home. At worst, he expected to see a whole group of assassins, just heading out to find out what was taking their deceased friend so long to return.
What Malock found instead, however, was a wide-open, snowy field, with streams crisscrossing here and there, streams of cool clear water that sparkled in the sun. Trout danced in the water, which seemed to be coming from underground springs, as there were no mountains for the stream water to be coming down from.
Scattered across the snowy field were a couple dozen small wooden huts. It was difficult to judge their exact size from where Malock stood, but if he had to guess, he'd say that they were big enough for a small family of two parents and a young child. They had a very simple, bland design and all looked exactly the same, like the boots that came off the factory conveyor lines back on Carnag. A cobblestone road connected the houses to one another, occasionally going over small bridges that stood over the streams.
In the center of it all was a large, imposing palace. Its turrets—about four or five, by the look of it—were stunted and blunt at the ends, with no spires at the top at all. The outer walls appeared to be made of an ugly black metal, while the palace itself was made of an old gray metal that reminded Malock of the color of his grandfather's skin in his last days. The palace appeared to have been designed purely for practical purposes, rather than aesthetic, as though the palace's occupant cared more about practicality than looks.
Jenur stood by his side, taking in the entire scenery like she couldn't believe her eyes. “Huh. An entire village, complete with castle, protected by gigantic ice walls, on an island that is supposedly uninhabited. I can't be the only one who sees something wrong with this picture.”
“You're not,” said Kocas, cocking her gun. “We should be cautious.”
“I wonder if anyone lives in those huts,” said Malock, looking down at them curiously. “I don't hear any noises. Perhaps the people are all asleep.”
“Sir, if I may suggest something,” said Aseth, who was actually sweating in the cold, “could we go back to the ship? I have a very bad feeling about this and we really should have given Okina a proper burial or at least a better burial than covering him with snow, at any rate.”
Malock shook his head. “Sorry, Aseth, but we didn't come this far just to turn back. I came in order to find out who sent that assassin and who lives here. And now that I've actually seen the place, I have even more questions I would like answered.”
Jenur looked at the cobblestone road they stood upon. “Think they're booby-trapped?”
“I doubt it,” said Malock. He gestured at the scene and said, “Look at all of these peaceful huts. They probably never expected anyone to get past the ice walls, which means they probably aren't very good fighters. I imagine we could take the whole place ourselves, if we wanted to.”
“Conquest isn't our goal, though, is it?” said Aseth, scratching the back of his neck nervously. “We're just here to get info, right?”
“Of course,” said Malock. “And who knows, maybe the people who live here will be willing to give us food and furs that we could take back to the ship.”
“If they're as friendly as that guy from earlier, I can't imagine anything going wrong here,” said Jenur. “Lead the way, Captain.”
Malock walked down the cobblestone road,
his hand on the hilt of his sword. The others followed, but even though none of them spoke, Malock could feel their unease and worry. He understood it, but once again saw no reason to pay heed to it. Besides, the ice wall had already sealed the tunnel back up and the stone with it, so they had no choice but to go forward now and hope for the best.
They reached the first hut quickly. The windows were closed and covered with brown curtains that were too thick to see through. Because there was no one outside, Malock decided he would simply knock on the door and see if anyone would answer.
He walked up to the door and knocked on it a few times.
No one answered.
Malock sighed and knocked again, this time more insistently.
Once again, no one answered.
He looked for a knocker or doorbell of some sort, but as far as he could tell, outside of knocking, there was no way you could let the hut's inhabitants know you were there.
“No one's home,” said Malock with a sigh, turning to face his men. “We might as well go onto the palace. We'll probably find people there.”
“Hold on,” said Jenur, striding forward. “You didn't knock very loudly, you know. Let me try.”
Jenur pushed Malock out of the way (much to his displeasure) and then knocked rapidly and loudly on the solid wood door three times. She stepped back and waited a moment while Malock said, “That didn't work at—”
Then the door swung open, revealing the strangest little being standing in the doorway that Malock had seen so far (although not as strange as the Loner God, perhaps)).
The being was as small as a child, perhaps just a few inches taller, with metallic skin that covered its body completely. It wore no clothes and had no genitals, which perhaps was why it didn't wear any clothes. It looked up at them with emotionless orange eyes, one hand grasping the doorknob, like it was ready to slam the door shut on them at any moment.
“Hello,” said Malock, recovering from the shock before any of the others could. “My name is Prince Tojas Malock, Crown Prince of Carnag, Captain of the—”
The little being immediately slammed the door shut in his face.
“Guess he wasn't impressed by your list of titles,” Jenur muttered.
Malock let out a frustrated growl, but instead of getting angry, he knocked on the door like Jenur did, saying as he did so, in a forced calm voice, “Hey, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to scare you. I was just trying to let you know who I am so you could—”
The door swung open again, causing Malock to take a step back. Not because of the door but because of the five or six metallic-skinned beings that now stood there, aiming sharp-pointed metal spears at Malock and the others. These other ones were much taller than the first one, but they had the same glowing orange eyes and similar humanoid structure.
Malock's men immediately raised their guns, but as soon as they did, the little metallic being in the front waved its hands and the barrels of their guns bent up at an odd angle. Jenur immediately discarded her now-useless gun in favor of her knife, but the little metallic being simply waved his hand and the knife launched out of her hand into its. The hunters drew their swords, but another wave of the small metallic being's hands and the blade flew out of their hands and into the roof of the hut before them.
“Okay,” said Malock, holding up his hands in a nonthreatening manner. “You disarmed us. Not that that was necessary, but you did it and now you know for sure we're not a threat. If you could just point our way out of here, we'd really appreciate it.”
The group of metallic-skinned beings marched out of the hut, like an army unit, forcing Malock and the others to back up. The beings formed a loose circle around the hunters and began herding them down the path to the palace. None of the hunters tried to fight back or argue, mostly because they were unarmed and the metallic-skinned beings were not.
-
Climbing down the hatch ladder into the lower decks was not as easy as it usually was. Kinker was in such a hurry that he missed a step and went tumbling all the way down to the floor, landing flat on his back and knocking his head on the steps as he did so. It didn't help that the ship itself was shaking, probably from the waves that the Tusked God was stirring up outside. His wrist still burned, too, but the pain had died down enough to where he could ignore it.
His back had taken the brunt of the fall and he felt it. It was like his entire body had broken in half, even though he thought his back was still in one piece. The smell of blood and water and bodily fluids entered his nostrils, making it difficult to concentrate long enough to figure out what he needed to do. All he wanted to do was lie there for a while, let his back recover.
But somewhere, deep inside himself, he felt a force pushing him. True, he might not be able to defeat the Tusked God or save his friends, but goddammit if he was going to go down without a fight. If he could at least get to the hold, at least get to the harpoon down there, he would be able to fight back, if nothing else.
Kinker's hands reached out for anything to grab, anything he could use to pull himself back to his feet. At first, he succeeded in grabbing nothing, as there were no side railings on the hallway's walls and he was still lying on his back, his arms and legs weak from the fall. He just about gave up hope until his right hand wrapped around the second to bottom step of the ladder, which he firmly grabbed hold of.
Just sitting up was like climbing a mountain. His back screamed in protest. All he wanted to do was lie down, maybe curl into a ball, and never get back up ever again. He wanted to wait until his back stopped acting up, but by the time that happened, he had a feeling that the Iron Wind would be at the bottom of the sea.
So Kinker somehow succeeded into sitting upright. It felt like someone was running a knife down his back now, carving out huge chunks of flesh, but he didn't give a damn about that. He grabbed onto a higher step and began pulling himself up to his feet.
In many ways, this was even worse than trying to sit upright. Whereas sitting upright allowed him to rest his legs, here he was asking his legs to support the rest of his body. This was a difficult enough task when his back didn't feel like it had been smashed into pieces like a fragile brick wall, but now it was almost impossible. He realized he must have hurt his legs in the fall, too, because his knees and ankles ached.
Nonetheless, Kinker succeeded in standing up. He immediately leaned against the right bulkhead, his head spinning. He attempted to take a step forward and almost managed it before the ship suddenly tilted to port, causing him to slam against the left bulkhead. That caused him to gasp in pain, but he didn't fall down again.
Instead, he began making his way down the hall, slowly but deliberately, toward the ladder that would take him to the hold. He ignored the sounds of battle overhead, although once a chunk of wood was knocked from its place in the ceiling above and almost hit him on the head. It only grazed his shoulder, but he didn't let that stop him. He just kept going.
Finally, Kinker reached the next ladder. He peered down into the darkness of the lowest deck. He wished he had brought along a candle or something. He needed to be able to see what was down there if he was going to find the harpoon, but sadly it looked like he was going to have to rely on his other senses to find what he needed.
Bracing himself, Kinker climbed onto the ladder. His back had not recovered since the fall and now it was worse than ever, the pain so bad that he almost fell off the ladder before he readjusted his grip on the rungs. He took this ladder easy, one rung at a time, trying to maintain his balance even as the ship unexpectedly lurched every now and then.
You should be back up there, his mind told him as he climbed down further. Fighting like the rest of them. What do you think Jenur would say if she saw you in this position, running away like a coward?
Kinker ignored his mind. He knew it was just guilt, good old guilt, playing tricks on him again. He had no time for such nonsense, especially with his back hurting like hell and not knowing what the current state of the battle outside was.
> Just like on Destan, Guilt said. You were too cowardly to tell the people about Deber's true colors. You didn't want to be arrested or lead a revolution or do any of that. How many young boys do you think Deber has killed since then? Five? Ten? Maybe even fifteen? And how many do you think you could have saved if you had stayed?
For the first time in his life, Kinker was quite happy about his old back. It hurt so badly that he had a difficult time paying attention to Guilt. Of course, the pain made it difficult to grip the ladder's rungs, so it wasn't all good.
How many of your friends have died in this assault so far, do you think? Guilt asked. I can't see Deddio lasting very long. For that matter, what about Jenur and the others on Stalf? Haven't heard from them in a few hours. Maybe the Tusked God killed them first and then came after you, just to be neat and tidy.
Kinker felt his foot finally touch the floor, prompting him to let go of the ladder. It was still far too dark down here for his taste, but having been down this far once before, he knew that it was just a straight line from where he stood to reach the door to the hold. So he began walking straight ahead, once again using the wall for support.
It's too dark, Guilt complained. Dark and cold. It's like an ice chamber down here.
For once, Guilt had a point. The narrow hallway that lead to the hold was much colder than the top deck, even though there was no ice. That was probably because the lower half of the ship was submerged in the icy water around Stalf. Kinker tried to draw his coat tighter around his body, but even that simple gesture caused his back to flare with pain, forcing him to stop that.
Eventually, he reached the end of the hallway, where he felt in the darkness for the door handle. He soon found it and, with a grin, tried to turn it.
It was locked.
Well, that was a complete waste of time, Guilt said. I imagine Gino was probably the first to die. He was so overcome with grief over Magnisa's death, that I doubt he even saw it coming. And you could have saved him.
The Mad Voyage of Prince Malock Page 22