by Gray, C. M.
‘Let's get this done and go home, I’m way past fed up with this.’ The speaker slapped a billy-club into his hand and started into the shadows. The second thief drew his own favourite weapon, a long thin knife, and followed him, eager now that the waiting was at last coming to an end, and it would soon be time to play - this was the bit he liked best.
They slipped into the darkness, following the sounds of the retreating figure and broke into a quiet trot in an effort to catch up with him.
‘Shhhh…’ The first thief stopped, holding out his hand to halt his partner. ‘I don’t hear him.’ They both listened - straining to make out a sound in the warm still night. Two cats sang close by and a dog was barking in the distance, but Weaver Street itself was silent.
‘Come on, he’s here someplace.’ They followed each other further up the street with hands held outstretched in the still, inky black air.
‘Look! What’s that?’ Standing unmoving, in the only ray of moonlight to reach between the buildings, was their victim. His arms spread to either side as if in welcome, a hood covered most of his face and his cloak hung low to the ground. The two thieves approached cautiously.
‘Tell you what, old feller…you throw over yer purse and we’ll just leave, then yer can go back to yer nice comfy bed. You can cry to the watch about all this in the morning, eh?’ They slowly edged forward, but the stranger didn’t move.
‘Give us yer money or I’ll cut yer,’ hissed the second thief glancing up and down the street. ‘Oh...for the sake of the Source!’ Unable to wait it out, he moved in quickly, pretending to stab down and then at the last moment switching to a thrust to the stomach. It was his best move, but it was the last thing he ever did. There was a flap as the stranger’s cloak moved, then a crunching sound and then the thief was simply a dark crumpled shadow on the ground. The stranger rose to stand over him once again, slowly spreading his arms in unholy welcome.
‘Jeb? …Jeb?’ The surviving thief stared at the cloaked figure then back to his fallen friend. ‘You scum! I’ll do fer yer and no mistake.’ He leapt in, jumping over the fallen body, and sent a thundering swing with his club towards where the cloaked stranger’s head was…except his head was no longer there. He glanced around in the darkness then felt hands flutter gently against his face - a nerve was pinched below his ear and, unable to move, he let the club fall with a clatter to the cobblestones. The stranger was behind him now, fingers sinking painfully into his eyes as a deep gravelly voice whispered into his ear.
‘I’m sorry to disappoint you, my friend, but I’m not the easy victim you thought I was, and unfortunately … I’m not known to be terribly forgiving. You may have heard of me, my name is Matheus Hawk.’
The thief was unable to cry out, even though a scream threatened to burst inside him, he merely shook and a dark patch appeared on his leggings as he soiled himself.
‘Aaahh splendid, I shall take that as confirmation that you have indeed heard of me, very satisfying, yes…very satisfying.’
Defenceless, the thief felt the bony fingers on his face continuing to move until his face was a torn and bloody mess. The pain flared to an intensity that should have left him unconscious, yet somehow the stranger was keeping him awake and aware of everything. He thought of his wife and his children that he knew he would never see again, and then despair joined him as he fell to the ground. The stranger placed a hand over him and a red glow lit the dying man’s face.
‘A last present before you go,’ muttered Matheus. He pulled his hand away and the thief fell to the dusty street, dead - burnt into his skin was the dark image of a hawk.
‘You should think it an honour to die at the hands of the Hawk, you pathetic amateur.’ Matheus glanced either way along the street and seeing nothing, pulled the hood of his cloak further over his head and once more, continued on his way, melting back into the shadows.
The spell had gone well and soon he’d be ready to begin the chase and track down that boatload of brats. They wouldn’t slip past him again, for now the odds were heavily against them. The darkness of Weaver Street echoed with his deep laughter, they wouldn’t have a chance, poor pathetic children. Pathetic maybe, thought Matheus. Yet I shall make sure I get them this time, oh yes. This time there shall be no excuses and no mercy.
****
By sundown, the crew’s spirits had calmed, and The Griffin found herself moving along in far more tranquil waters. Quint was back behind the wheel with Loras as company, while Pardigan and Tarent made a pot of brew and prepared food below decks. The stars were coming out and Quint was able to confirm that they were still on course for the Isle of Skulls. They’d taken one sail down and were now set for a steady and hopefully uneventful night.
Quint was showing Loras how to recognise the group of stars known as The Lady. He explained that several stars forming a picture was called a constellation and The Lady was one of the main constellations sailors looked for as she would always point to the north giving a ship an easy reference to steer by in the night sky. Loras had heard the tale many times before but loved to hear Quint or Tarent tell how the stars got their names and how each constellation was related to the others by ancient tales and legends.
‘You see where The Lady points over to the left there? Well that’s north. To her side you can see her faithful hound, Naxis. The tail of Naxis will guide us on our course of northeast.’ He stared upwards and pointed to a bright point that shone above them. ‘You see that bright light there? That’s the planet Regis. It never stays still. Legend says it’s travelling the sky forever searching for a place to rest. During the summer months it will search high in the sky but as the winter sets in, it will start to search lower and lower on the horizon. The ancient Nearans called it the ‘lost boy’ and believed it was forever seeking its mother.’
Loras always felt sorry for Regis and saw it as another member of The Griffin’s crew with a story as similar as any of theirs. He gazed up at the star-filled sky as Quint unravelled more and more of its stories and was almost disappointed when Pardigan came up to relieve him. Going down into the main cabin he saw Tarent reading a book in a hammock, swinging lazily with the roll of the boat and Mahra, who was once again in her human form, eating a tin of fish with her fingers. She smiled at him.
'It’s easier to get the can open with hands than it is with cat’s paws,’ she wiggled her fingers at him by way of explanation for her current form. ‘Would you like some fish, it’s very good.’ She offered him the tin as he walked over to the table and sat down.
Taking some of the offered fish he put it on a plate with some bread and studied Mahra. She was back to munching on her fish in a delicate cat-like way, poking a finger into the can like a claw to hook the last bits of fish out.
‘Tell me about yourself, Mahra, if you don’t mind, of course?’ he asked. She glanced up at him and smiled again.
‘I don’t really know what to tell you, Loras, I don’t remember that much. For the last thousand years or so I’ve been following the book, making sure that the knife stays with it and waiting for all of you to find it. I’ve been thinking a lot over the last few days, about where I came from mostly. I haven’t thought about it in a long time but you all changed that and got me to reflecting. I remember Magician Pew very well, he was a nice old man and I think…’ She stopped and stared off for a moment. ‘Yes, I’m almost certain I was an apprentice to him or something like that, I’m sure we were close anyway.’
‘An apprentice, like me!’ cried Loras. ‘I was an apprentice, but it didn’t last very long.’ He pulled at some bread as he remembered. ‘I was living with my grandmother after my parents died and I think I was too much for her to look after. One day she took me with her to visit an old magician and spent ages convincing him to take me in as an apprentice. He seemed happy enough and was very good to me, trying to teach me all kinds of things but I wasn’t with him long enough to learn much. I came back one day from collecting plants and mosses…and he was dead.’ The cabin a
bruptly went quiet. It was almost as if The Griffin herself was listening. Tarent put his book down and Mahra stopped exploring her tin.
‘He was just sitting,’ Loras continued. ‘Outside in the sunshine on his favourite chair, smiling. I actually made him a cup of brew and had been chatting to him for a while before I realised that something was wrong.’
Mahra held out her hand and placed it on Loras’s arm. ‘He would be proud of you if he were here, Loras, you’re a real magician now.’
Loras smiled at her. ‘Thanks, yes I’m sure he would be, but I don’t really feel like a magician yet, not really, even though I know inside that I am. So what about you, Mahra, do you remember your days as an apprentice?’ He went back to munching on his bread, watching Mahra expectantly.
‘Like I said, I don’t remember much at all. I don’t think I was any good as an apprentice. I don’t think I can do much real magic, except to change into a cat and an owl.’ She thought for a moment. ‘I think there’s another animal I can change into as well.’ She took a last bite of fish, her head tilted to one side, then she fell forward to the ground. By the time her hands had touched The Griffin’s deck they were paws again. Though not the small grey paws of the cat that had become so familiar to them, this time they were much larger, and black. A Black Panther was now staring up at Loras with deep yellow eyes. A deep, low growl sounded in her throat. Loras gawped at the large cat and dropped his bread. Tarent was still watching silently from the hammock. Time seemed to stop in the room as the panther stretched revealing large claws. She walked around behind Loras, past the silent Tarent, then back to where the tin of fish sat on the table. The panther made to stand on its hind legs and Mahra the girl was reaching for the tin before either Loras or Tarent could see the change take place.
‘Yes, it’s a panther,’ said Mahra as she poked around the tin for any last bits of fish - she started licking her fingers. ‘It’s been a while since I chose that shape, but yes, I can do panther, cat and owl.’ She seemed completely unaware of the effect that her change had on either of the two boys. Loras glanced over at Tarent who simply shook his head, speechless.
‘Mahra that’s astounding, I mean it’s astonishing,’ spluttered Loras. ‘To be able to change into another animal like that must be so … can I learn to do that?’ As a small boy Loras had never felt powerful and had always felt the need to rely on others. The thought that he could possibly change into a panther, so big, proud and ferocious was…inspiring to him, it had struck a chord deep within him.
Mahra scrutinised him thoughtfully, still licking her fingers.
‘Well you’re the magician, Loras, you tell me. I haven’t a clue how I do it and I couldn’t begin to explain it to you, except that I picture the shape and sort of…feel my way into it.’
‘I have to read my books,’ said Loras, hurriedly stuffing the last of the fish and bread into his mouth.
He ran off to his cabin, slamming the door behind him.
Mahra glanced questioningly at Tarent. ‘Was it something I said? He seemed a little…excited.’
Tarent shook his head. ‘I think we may have more animals than people around here soon.’ He laughed and went back to his book while Mahra started searching for another tin of fish.
****
Chapter 6
Something’s Down There
Quint woke with a start and sat up. Listening intently, he tried to bring some sense to his sleep-befuddled mind. The Griffin was creaking and rolling normally and he couldn’t detect anything immediately wrong. He drew a deep breath and lay back, concentrating with every sense tingling, seeking the information that would set his mind at rest or at least explain what had set off his inner alarms.
There...and again...a faint scratching sound on the bottom of the boat. Tumbling out of the hammock and crashing against the table in his haste, he raced up the ladder to get on deck. It was some time around dawn. Pardigan was at the wheel with Tarent beside him, both oblivious to anything unusual.
‘Something’s scraping the bottom of the boat.’ He scanned the horizon, trying to gain a bearing on where they were. ‘Have we come close to any land or rocks?’
‘No, we’ve not sighted anything since we left the moorings yesterday. Should I come around or take in the sails?’ asked Pardigan. Quint nodded and clambered out to gather in the main sail. The boat started to lose speed as soon as the sail dropped and he returned to the wheel.
‘We have to stop and see what this is. There was definitely a scraping sound coming from under the boat, I don’t like it; something’s not right.’ Pardigan let off the ropes to the foresail and it began flapping in the wind as the boat came to an eventual stop, dead in the water. The Griffin bobbed and splashed with the rise and fall of each wave, it was strangely silent without the steady chop, chop, chop that normally accompanied the movement of the boat.
‘Tarent, get a sounding; find out how deep we are.’ Quint started hauling the foresail in, tying it down so it wouldn’t snap free, his eyes still searching the water around the boat and a worried look on his face. Tarent began swinging a sounding lead on a long rope from the front of the boat, it landed with a plop and rope started to pull through his fingers as the lead went down through the deep blue water.
‘We’re deep, Quint, very deep by the feel of it. That’s thirty spans and still no sign of the bottom.’ He started to pull the rope back up, coiling it at his feet.
There it was again! Now they could all hear the scraping noise that had woken Quint. It was like they were going over the top of an underwater tree or branches of coral; the long twigs running along the timbers of the hull. By now they were all gazing over the side, but nothing could be seen, it was intensely blue and obviously very deep.
The noise came again, this time accompanied by a strange tapping sound.
‘I don’t like this, I don’t like this at all,’ said Quint. ‘Something’s down there.’
‘Aaaauuugghhh!’ Tarent cried out, as the rope was snatched savagely through his hands. He jumped out of the way before it could snag his foot and drag him over. He stood cradling his injured hand, peering over the side to where the last of the rope had disappeared leaving a trail of hissing bubbles.
Mahra came scrambling up the hatchway, the first time that she’d been on deck since they had set sail.
‘What’s that noise?’ she asked, her head tilted to one side listening.
By way of an answer the water at the side of the boat erupted and something large and black came flying up at the group, spreading wide leathery wings and showering them with water. It swept up Loras, enveloping him in an embrace and, continuing in its motion, leapt back over the side into the depths, leaving a frothing trail behind as the only evidence that anything at all had happened. It was all over in a flash. The rest of the group reacted in a daze, then began shouting and rushing around at once.
‘It’s got Loras!’ screamed Pardigan, ‘Whatever that was, has dragged Loras off. We’ve got to get him, Quint, we’ve got to get him or he’ll drown!’ He was peering down into the water desperately hoping to see something of his friend in the inky depths.
The scraping sound returned, only this time it didn’t sound like twigs or branches to them, it sounded far more like the sound of fingernails being drawn slowly down a writing slate.
Quint could feel the hairs on the back of his neck stand up and a shiver shuddered down his spine. He sighted along the length of the arrow notched in his bow ready for whatever would come. ‘Something’s coming, let’s be ready this time.’ The tension on the boat was immense as they gathered themselves. The water around the boat started to boil and several white shapes erupted up onto the deck. Tarent’s first sword cut one neatly in two. Both halves of a vaguely human skeleton, neatly parted across the chest fell clattering to the deck. His second sword caught another across the back of its legs, sending it against the bottom of the wheelhouse, its bony fingers clawing at Mahra, who roared. Her hand flashed out, changing at once into
a large black claw and the skeleton exploded in a shower of bones that scattered, rattling over the boat then back into the water leaving a trail of hissing bubbles.
Pardigan was also busy, whispering ‘Burn, burn,’ as lightning flashed from his extended fingers causing mayhem among the attackers. To the crew, the attackers seemed like a wall of bones as they attempted to push them back with more leaping from the water, fighting to get past or climb over the ones already on board. It appeared their only weapons, were the stiff bony fingers they held out attempting to rip and tear at anything that they could take hold of. They were extremely fast, but the crew of The Griffin were proving to be faster.
Pardigan was already bleeding from a vicious cut to his side and Tarent and Mahra both had gashes to their legs because parts of skeletons, which they had thought beaten, continued to move, clawing at them from the deck.
A flurry of blows from Tarent sent three skeletons tumbling over the side. Then almost as quickly as it had started, the attack was over, leaving the group breathless amid an eerie silence.
They stood motionless but on guard, The Griffin rolling and creaking beneath them, waiting for the next wave of an attack that didn’t come. Quint glanced around and seeing that everyone was still on their feet breathed a sigh of relief. The skirmish was now over but Loras remained missing. He saw the concern on the faces of his friends and whispered a silent prayer to the Source that Loras would be all right.