The Mad Voyage of Prince Malock

by Timothy L. Cerepaka

  Vashnas put her hand on the back of her neck and glanced out the window. She was clearly trying to come up with a counterargument, but evidently could not come up with any. “Oh, all right. But it's just so dark ...”

  “You don't need to come with me,” said Malock, holding his hand out for the lamp. “You and Banika can wait here, if you wish, while I explore the tunnel or what little I will be able to see anyway.”

  Vashnas bit her lower lip, but nonetheless gave him the lamp. “Just be careful out there, all right?”

  “I will,” said Malock. “I'll be back soon.”

  -

  Emerging out of the ship's hatch, Kinker was struck by how immensely dark the tunnel was. True, Jenur carried a lamp with her, but somehow it seemed dim and insubstantial in comparison to the utter blackness of the tunnel. The light extended only a few feet in either direction, showing them nothing but darkness beyond their little circle.

  The air was damp, much more so than normal. It was the kind of dampness that one experienced in caves that had water and it smelled that way, too. Yet it was a refreshing smell, far better than the stink of the Iron Wind, and Kinker breathed it in deeply, a refreshing change from the cramped hold.

  Jenur raised her lamp and squinted, as if trying to develop night vision. “Can you see anything, Kinks? 'Cause all I see is darkness.”

  Kinker shook his head as he kicked the hatch closed. “My eyesight isn't as good as yours, so I see the same.”

  Just then, another light shone from the quarterdeck. They both jumped until the light was revealed to be Malock, carrying his own lamp. He walked over to them, looking both curious and annoyed. And though his light added to theirs, the darkness still felt overpowering.

  “Kinker? Jenur?” said Malock, stopping a few feet from them. “What are you two doing out here? I ordered the whole crew to be below deck. Not just a few.”

  “We got bored,” Jenur said. “We wanted to see what the tunnel was like.”

  “That is the worst excuse for disobeying my orders that I've ever heard,” said Malock. “And believe me when I say that I've heard plenty of bad excuses on this voyage. So—“

  A subtle shift in the atmosphere of the tunnel caused Kinker to raise his hand. Malock, frowning in annoyance, said, “What?”

  “Don't you feel that?” said Kinker, speaking in a hush for reasons even he did not understand.

  “Feel what?” said Jenur.

  “Someone is watching us,” said Kinker, his eyes darting back and forth. “I don't know who, but someone is.”

  Malock cocked his head. “Kinker, you're speaking nonsense. I sense nothing. We are alone in here.”

  “Alone indeed,” said a voice that belonged to none of them, that seemed to come from the darkness itself. “Alone in the dark, alone in the world, alone on this very ship. Alone-ness, it would seem, is an inherent aspect of the mortal condition.”

  Malock, Jenur, and Kinker all looked around, waving their lamps this way and that, trying to spot the source of the voice, but it was impossible. The darkness was too absolute and their lamps were too weak. It was like sticking a light inside a thick layer of mud; in fact, Kinker wondered if the darkness was mud or solid in some way. It felt that way, at least.

  “Who's there?” said Malock, his voice trembling with fear. “Show yourself.”

  “I don't think you would like that,” said the voice. “I don't think you would like that at all. My appearance is not one you mortals would appreciate it; besides, isn't it funner to speculate about what I may look like? Use your imagination, use your creativity, or call on your history to tell you what I may look like.”

  “Sounds like someone is fond of spouting nonsense,” said Jenur. “We're really not in the mood to solve riddles.”

  “Good point,” said the voice. “I've never been a fan of my sister and her riddles, either. Nor have my other siblings, for that matter. Very well. I will show you who I am, how I look, but if you hate my appearance, then that is your prerogative.”

  A loud slapping sound echoed off the tunnel's walls, the sound of something soft and slimy landing on the deck. Yet nothing appeared in their circle of light, causing Kinker to think that the voice had lied to them when a bright light shone, near the mainmast, so bright and so sudden that it caused Kinker to cover his eyes again to avoid losing his vision.

  When the light faded, Kinker lowered his hands and was astonished by what he saw.

  Clinging to the mainmast was what appeared to be an octopus. Or, at least, it had the body of an octopus, eight slimy green tentacles, five of which were attached to the mainmast itself. Even stranger, the octopus had the head of a human. The human head was round and green, like the rest of its skin, and completely bald, but there was no mistaking the very human-like appearance of it.

  Even weirder, the creature held a paintbrush in one tentacle and a palette in the other, a palette that seemed to have a dozen different colors ranging from red to blue. Its free tentacle floated in the air above its strange head, a light shining from its tip, the source of the light from before.

  “What the heck is that?” said Jenur, her free hand immediately reaching for her knife.

  The strange octopus-human-thing sighed. “See? I told you that you wouldn't like my appearance. Few do. Even my fellow gods shun me, which I suppose is why I don't get many visitors.”

  Malock shook his head and said, “So you are a god? Which god are you? The Paint God, the God of Paint? Or maybe the Octopus God, the God of Octopuses? Are you going to eat us?”

  The god glared at Malock. “Your sarcasm is palpable. No, I am neither of those gods you mentioned. I am the Historic God, the God of History.”

  “History?” said Jenur. “Whenever I think of 'history,' I rarely think of octopus/human hybrid things that paint.”

  “My physical appearance is what it is, human,” said the Historic God. “It is useful for what I use it for, the same as your frail bodies are good for what they are good for. Let's not make such low blows, yes?”

  Kinker scratched his beard. “How can you speak Divina? Most of the southern gods we've run into couldn't.”

  “Because I record history,” said the Historic God. “All of it, including the funny things you mortals get up to. Learning to speak your language is a hobby I took up after a certain mortal came through my tunnel one day. I caught her and tortured her for weeks until she agreed to teach me the language. Now I speak it quite proficiently, if I do say so myself.”

  Kinker's blood ran cold. “You tortured her? Why?”

  “Because mortals are generally not allowed in here,” said the Historic God. “The name of this place is unpronounceable in your awkward human tongue, but I believe a rough translation is, 'Tunnel of History.' This is where the history of Martir is kept.”

  “So you write it all down?” said Malock. “Is that what the paintbrush and palette are for?”

  The Historic God raised his painting utensils, as if making sure he had heard correctly. “These? No, I do not write. Instead, I draw paintings, paintings that depict the history of the world from the First Day to the present.”

  Malock looked around and said, “And where, may I ask, do you keep these paintings of yours? Do you happen to own an art studio or gallery where you keep all of these paintings on display for your fellow monsters—excuse me, I meant gods—can view them?”

  The Historic God frowned. “You mortals are so disrespectful. What have I done to earn such hate?”

  “It's not you in particular,” said Jenur. “It's just the southern gods in general. Three of them tried to kill us and another one tried to sink our ship and kill everyone on it. So if we seem just a tad cynical about you, it's not your fault.”

  “Yes, my siblings can certainly be vicious,” said the Historic God, nodding his head in agreement. “And no surprise. You humans smell delicious. It has been so long since I last tasted mortal flesh, perhaps a few decades. Very few mortals ever make it down this far south, you s
ee, and unlike my siblings I rarely have time to scour the southern seas for any mortals who may have strayed from the north.”

  “Let me guess,” said Malock. “You're going to eat us alive, aren't you?”

  “Sadly, I am not,” said the Historic God with a sigh. “I know you, Prince Tojas Malock. You are Kano's Chosen. And I can smell another Chosen One on this ship as well, though to be honest I do not know why she of all goddesses would put a spy on this ship.”

  “Um, hello?” said Malock. “We have already dealt with the spy. The Messenger came by a few weeks back and took Tinkar's spy away. Your sense of smell must be messing up or confused.”

  “No, I am sure it is not,” said the Historic God. “It is as obvious to me as the scent of blood and shit that is inherent in this ship. I sometimes forget that you humans cannot smell the same things as we gods. If you could, perhaps you would treat the world around you much differently.”

  Kinker was starting to regret not bringing along a harpoon or some other kind of weapon. Though the Historic God had made no threatening moves yet, he was still a southern god and southern gods ate humans. Of course, not all southern gods did—the Mechanical Goddess being the notable exception—but the vast, vast majority of them did and so Kinker knew that he, Jenur, and Malock could not let their guard down around this deity for even a moment.

  Then again, even if we do keep our guard up, is there anything we can do to stop a god that wants to kill us? Kinker thought. A god is a god, even if he is a southern god. That means we are basically screwed unless he spares us.

  “Who is it, then?” said Malock. “Can you identify the other Chosen One for us?”

  “No,” said the Historic God. “I do not know the names of every member of your crew, so I couldn't identify them even if I wanted to. Besides, like my brother the Loner God, I generally try to stay out of these silly and ultimately pointless conflicts my northern siblings often get into. Better to let them sort it out themselves, rather than get involved in a conflict that I have no personal stake in.”

  “That sounds very nice,” said Malock. “But surely you are not going to simply let us go, are you?”

  The Historic God shrugged. “There's little I can do to get in your way. Even simply speaking to you could draw me into a conflict in which I have no interest whatsoever. Still, I have been lonely these many years, observing history unfold like a flag, with visitors being few and far between.”

  “Then why don't you just leave?” said Jenur. “I mean, you're a god. You can do anything. No one is your boss, right?”

  The Historic God chuckled, then burst into full on laughter. The laughter was gurgled and strained, almost demonic. “Oh, what a great sense of humor you mortals have. Just leave ... why, if I could do that, I would have done it eons ago. I hate this place with a burning passion, even though it has been my home since the end of the Godly War.”

  “Something's keeping you here, then?” said Malock. “What?”

  “The Treaty,” said the Historic God, his eyes downcast, his tone more than a little bitter. “Ah, the Treaty. That nasty little paper that tells us exactly what we gods, northern and southern alike, can and cannot do in this world. How I curse the Powers every day for it.”

  The Historic God's sudden change of tone—from a calm, leveled tone to one of pure bitterness and hate—took Kinker by surprise. The Historic God's tentacles constricted around the mainmast so tightly that Kinker was afraid he might break it.

  “But why should I tell you my life story when you can see it visually?” said the Historic God. “Behold, my collection.”

  The Historic God waved his free tentacle and the bright light shot up into the top of the ship, all the way to the crow's nest. The bright light allowed Kinker, Malock, and Jenur to see the inside of the Tunnel now and what they saw silenced them in awe.

  Along both sides of the Tunnel's walls and on its ceiling were paintings. Not just any old paintings, however. They were enormous paintings, depicting scenes and figures in such detail that they looked like the Historic God had simply taken them and put them on the walls. Even more amazing, the scenes all bled into one another, as if all of these smaller paintings were in fact part of a much larger whole that Kinker couldn't see.

  One painting in particular caught Kinker's eye. It showed a large octopus-like creature that heavily resembled the Historic God rampaging through an island, uprooting trees, killing mortals, and smashing anything that got in its way. A handful of humans near its feet were trying to fight it off, but it was clear to Kinker that the humans could not stop it.

  “Is that you?” said Jenur, pointing at the painting. She said this to the Historic God.

  The deity nodded and said, “'Twas me.”

  “But you look so much larger in that picture,” said Jenur. “Like, as big as a mountain.”

  “We gods can change size as well as shape,” said the Historic God. “I took on the large form because it was so much easier to hunt and kill mortals than it was in a smaller size. I was actually the leader of the mortal hunters.”

  Malock looked at the Historic God in shock. “You mean you were the one who led your southern siblings in war against your northern siblings?”

  The Historic God raised his brush and palette in a pacifying sort of way. “No need to get your pants in a twist, mortal. I didn't start the War, after all. And I technically wasn't a 'real' leader anyway. I was simply more vicious than the rest of my siblings, so I naturally killed more mortals than the others. I never took the life of another god, even though I clashed with my northern siblings several times.”

  “That doesn't make you very good,” said Jenur. “Still doesn't explain what you're doing here, though.”

  “Watch,” said the Historic God, gesturing at the paintings.

  By now, the ship had floated a few more feet down the tunnel, revealing another painting. This one showed the open mouth of the Tunnel, with a much smaller version of the Historic God standing before it on the ocean. Though the painting version of the deity's back was to them, Malock could sense a feeling of dread from the painting, the kind of emotion that only the best painters knew how to invoke in their audience.

  “The Powers were terribly angry with me when the War ended,” said the Historic God. “They didn't like me, didn't like what I'd done at all. While the other southern gods were simply restricted to the southern seas, I was banished here, to this place, to cool down, so to speak. They gave me the task of recording all of history as it happened for the rest of my days.”

  “So you can't leave here, even if you wanted to?” said Malock.

  “Yes,” said the Historic God. “That may seem odd to you mortals, a god who cannot go where he wishes, but it is the truth. The Powers' might dwarfs that of all of the gods combined. There was nothing I could do to persuade them, nothing I could do to convince them to give me freedom. And so, I ended up here, where I have been painting every day for the past several thousand years.”

  Kinker shook his head in pure astonishment. “Surely you must have run out of room to paint after a while, didn't you? After all, this Tunnel doesn't go on forever, right?”

  “That is true,” said the Historic God. “But you assume I paint every minutiae of history. I do not. I try, to the best of my ability, to paint only the most important parts of history. That can be difficult, as I am not gifted with the ability to see the future like my brother Tinkar is, but so far most of the events I have captured in paint have indeed been important to future historic developments.”

  He sounded pleased with himself at the accuracy of his guesses.

  “But I do wish I could be free,” he sighed. “This Tunnel is deep and dark. All I ever do is paint day in and day out. If I could only get my freedom, get a taste of that fresh ocean air ... but alas, the Powers do not wish for me to be roaming the southern seas.”

  “With good reason,” said Jenur. “You killed tons of people, I bet. I've never been a fan of the Powers, but this time I th
ink they were right in locking you down here. You are insane.”

  The Historic God snorted. “Insane? I would suggest that your Captain is the insane one. A human, braving the southern seas, which are full of gods that would like nothing better than to devour human flesh, purely because he believes he was summoned by a goddess.”

  “It is not belief, Historic God, but truth,” said Malock. “If it were not, then I never would have made it this far.”

  “Of course,” said the Historic God. “Of course. Yet I suppose it has never occurred to you to wonder what my sister has summoned you for?”

  Malock didn't see where this was going. “I have, but so what if I don't know? I trust Kano. She would never have summoned me without good reason.”

  The Historic God shook his head in amazement. “It has been so long since I last saw mortals that I forgot just how sycophantic you are. Then again, I suppose we southern gods do have a different view of our northern siblings that you mortals do.”

  “What do you mean?” said Malock. “Are you implying that Kano is untrustworthy?”

  “It goes without saying that anyone who requires the worship of pathetic mortals such as yourselves is insecure,” said the Historic God. “All I am saying is that what we gods want is not always what you mortals want. Surely you would have realized that by now.”

  “Yeah, we noticed,” Jenur grumbled.

  The Historic God licked his lips, like he was getting hungry. “All of this talking is making me quite famished. I have had to survive on the fish that swim into here over the years, but now a ship full of tasty mortals has ended up in my Tunnel. Lucky me.”

  “But you said you weren't going to eat us,” said Malock, taking a step forward to protect Kinker and Jenur. “Right?”

  “I did say that,” said the Historic God. “I was merely trying to make you uncomfortable. Just be warned that, when betrayal comes, it will be when you least expect it.”

  With that, the Historic God let go of the mainmast and crawled across the deck to the port. He climbed over the bulwarks and launched himself off, taking the light with him. When he disappeared from view, the darkness returned, held in check now only by Malock and Jenur's lamps.