by Gray, C. M.
Loras found himself in a world of confusion. One second he was standing on deck with his friends, peering into the water. The next moment, he was wrapped tightly in something warm, wet and leathery. He couldn’t move and he couldn’t breathe, and struggling didn’t seem to be doing any good as he vainly attempted to free his arms and kick his feet. His ears were filled with a rushing gurgling sound and the world had gone alarmingly black. He wasn’t sure if it was because his eyes were closed or if they were in fact open, he simply couldn’t tell. Panic began to overwhelm him and he let out a whimper of dismay. It was a huge effort not to scream; attempting to control his emotions and think clearly wasn’t easy. It didn’t help when a voice started speaking, echoing into his head as if he were standing in a large empty room. His fear entered a new level and he froze as the voice rasped like dry sandpaper, drawn across stone.
‘Swe-e-et meat...swe-e-et food…oh, so lo-o-ng…so very very lo-o-ng…’ the voice droned into his head and Loras felt another rising wave of panic. Struggling vainly against the sides of his leathery prison he began to feel madness take hold of him.
‘I wi-i-ll eat you, the-e-n...your friends…on-n-ne by one…swe-e-et so…swe-e-et.’
Close to blacking out from lack of air, the need for escape reached a climax and he felt an explosion of energy release from his body without any direction from him at all. The leathery wings that held him parted with a hiss of bubbles and the voice in his mind gave a shriek of pain before tearing away.
‘Aaaahhhhhh!’
Loras found himself free but deep underwater and still unable to breathe. It was dim, he couldn’t tell up from down and it was cold, bone numbingly cold. He began to gag from lack of air and in the last moments that he had before blacking out for good, he saw bubbles around him, created when he had parted from the creature. Holding out a hand weakly, he trickled the last of his magical energy into enlarging a bubble of air and sucked it greedily into his aching lungs. He kicked feebly in the direction the bubbles were going, frantically searching in the dim light for another bubble that was close enough to enlarge. It wasn’t easy when all that he could see was blurred and confused, and his mind simply wanted to shut down. But then he saw one, enlarged it with a trickle of magic, filled his lungs and felt a renewed burst of hope, energy and the will to survive.
The water gradually began to get lighter, giving his hopes and his strength another boost; he desperately kicked again towards the light and his friends. Eventually, the dark shape of the boat showed against the sparkling light of the surface and, with a rush and a gasp, he broke surface amid a confusion of light, sound and relief.
Hands grabbed at him and dragged him onboard where he flopped like a freshly caught ticker fish, sucked in his first breath of real air and gave himself over to the friends he had almost given up hope of seeing again. Coughing and spluttering he squinted his eyes at the brightness and lay back exhausted, feeling the welcome heat of the deck seep into his back and the warmth of the sun on his face. All about him was a babble of sounds as his friends voiced their concerns through the water still rushing in his ears. Turning on his side he vomited. His throat felt raw and his lungs ached as he sucked in breath after welcome breath.
As his vision cleared he gazed up at his friends' worried faces. Coughing again, he tried to speak, to say he was all right and so incredibly relieved to see them. Then as he glanced past Pardigan’s legs, a monstrous black shape emerged from the water. He still didn’t have a voice, and the sound that came from his mouth was no more than a croak, but he lifted his hand and pointed. They all turned around at the same time. To Loras, everything seemed to be in slow motion. He only had enough energy left to send a weak spark of energy at the demon as it rose to its full height, opening huge wings ready to fall upon the group. It screamed as it pounced forward, mouth gaping in angry indignation at being bested by Loras and robbed of its prize.
In the same moment that Loras’s spell found its mark, Pardigan’s knife buried itself into one of the creature's huge red eyes, quickly followed by two arrows fired by Quint, which entered it's heaving chest with two dull thuds. The demon's scream turned shrill as it pulled at the arrows and tried frantically to release the blade from its eye. Emitting a moan of agony and frustration, it toppled, only to meet the twin swords of Tarent that parted its head from its body. The demon’s body hit the deck and thick black acidic gore flooded the boat, hissing and splashing over the feet of The Griffin’s crew.
The whole episode, from stopping the boat to the present, couldn’t have lasted longer than it took to drink a cup of brew, but The Griffin’s crew had experienced their first skirmish with Chaos, and had won.
‘That’s disgusting,’ said Mahra, looking down at the steaming mess of dead demon and then at Loras, who was covered in black hissing goo. He was far too exhausted to do or say anything and didn’t care what he was lying in. Mahra rubbed at a splash that had got on her leathers, the only tiny drop to reach her, and went below to change into a cat and clean herself properly.
Pardigan helped Tarent push the huge carcass over the side, which was no easy task, then sluiced the deck while Quint rinsed Loras off with several buckets of seawater before helping him down below to wash off properly. They then scrambled about hoisting all the sails, eager to be off lest something else was lurking in the depths ready to attack.
The Griffin sailed for the rest of the day with no other incidents and by nightfall, the boat was once again rigged for ease of handling in dark seas. The going was good with only smaller waves and a stiff breeze pushing them on. Loras was asleep in his cabin but had woken earlier complaining of nothing more than a sore throat. His eyes however, were sunken and surrounded by dark rings. He looked awful and Mahra sent him back to his bunk with a warm brew sweetened with honey for his throat.
‘I don’t like the look of him,’ she confided to Pardigan. ‘That thing was a demon and they can be nasty in many different ways. Loras was under that one’s control for far too long.’
Tarent had been in to see Loras several times attempting to heal him saying that he felt that the ability to heal was one of his gifts. However, as he was unpractised, it only aided Loras a little on each visit, and drained Tarent of his energy at the same time.
The Griffin made her way steadily on with the crew changing shifts every three hours during the night.
By morning the sky was decidedly dark and hostile and the sea had risen again, sending the little boat surging from crest to crest with water pouring over the decks and often down into the cabin through the hatchway. To add to their problems, the temperature was dropping and the crew were all beginning to feel quite miserable.
Quint came below around mid morning having been relieved by Tarent and sat with his hands wrapped around a cup of hot brew, dripping water onto the table in front of him.
‘I don’t like this, Mahra, the weather is worsening and we still haven’t sighted this island. It’s raining hard again, visibility is awful and the sea is churning so much it’s almost impossible to keep a course. I’m seriously starting to think we should turn around.’ He blew dejectedly into his steaming cup. ‘We don’t know what’s out there, we nearly lost one of my best friends back there and, for all we know, demons or something may be about to attack us again.’
‘We’re getting close now, I’m sure of it,’ said Mahra. She looked cold and seasick. ‘Magician Pew said to sail on this heading and that was enough. I’m sure that if there had been anything more to it I’d know…but I don’t. I’m sorry.’ She searched Quint’s desperate features. ‘We have to go on.’ Draining his mug, he turned for the hatchway without saying a word.
For the rest of the day they kept going, holding as close to a heading of north-east as the heavy seas would allow. Tarent continued to visit Loras, pouring healing energies into his friend and by evening, the magician showed definite signs of improvement. Pardigan and Quint were now exhausted being the only full-time crew sailing the boat. It was almost dark whe
n the ship's bell rang and Pardigan’s head appeared at the hatchway, accompanied by a cascade of water.
‘Land! There’s land ahead of us, I need anyone up here that can help right away.’
Everybody who could muster the energy scrambled up on deck to see what was happening. The sea was still pounding them with waves and the light of the day was almost gone. Lightning flashed overhead, illuminating a boiling angry ocean and the dark shape of the island. Jagged rocks protruded from the water, like a row of vicious teeth surrounded by hissing foam, daring the boat to approach.
Quint shouted instructions and Pardigan cautiously edged his way forward through sheets of spray to look for a way through while Tarent took the wheel.
‘Bring us hard over and around those rocks,’ bellowed Quint, over the ever-increasing howl of the wind and crashing of the waves; worry for the boat’s safety creasing his face. ‘We’re losing light fast, we’re going to have to move closer to find an anchorage. Keep looking for rocks but bring us in, Tarent. There has to be a way through.’
They shortened the sails and slid towards the darkness of the island. Several times Pardigan shouted that rocks were ahead, forcing them to change direction while Quint stood in the middle of the boat with an oar, fending them off from anything they came too close to. Thankfully, as they made their way further in and past the first rows of rocks, they were more out of the wind and the sea started to become a little calmer.
They lit lanterns to help guide them through the last part and eventually dropped anchor about three boat lengths from a small sandy shore.
Once back below decks, the assembled group was a sorry sight as they stoked up the fire in the old stove. Everyone and everything was soaked and they were all completely exhausted. Much to everyone’s relief, Mahra volunteered to keep watch for the night, so after cooking and eating their first hot meal in several days, they went to their damp beds and quickly fell into a deep sleep.
The Griffin lay at rest in the shadow of the Isle of Skulls, and while her crew slept, a white owl watched over her. Mahra flew over the sleeping ship and her cry sang out, echoing between the hostile rocks as she soared along the jagged rain lashed cliffs - and as she flew, she started to remember.
****
Chapter 7
Bleak Fortress
Morning found the crew chilled and miserable. Pardigan had woken first. When Mahra came down from the hatchway, she found him huddled over the stove trying to light a pile of damp kindling with numb fingers. She walked over and laying a hand upon his shoulder crouched down beside him.
‘How was the night, Mahra?' asked Quint, shuffling in as Pardigan placed a kettle on the stove. ‘Did we have any visitors?’
‘No, but I did have a chance to look around a little.’ She shivered and held a hand out to the still cold stove. ‘I also remembered more about the island. I’m fairly sure I know why we’re here and what we’re here to do.’ She glanced up as Loras and Tarent; blankets wrapped around them, shuffled in and sat down.
‘With the storm blowing I couldn’t do more than explore the sheltered side of the island, but as I was flying, all sorts of memories came flooding back to me; some good, some not so good. The real name of this island is The Isle of Skills, not the Isle of Skulls; this was the home of the Academy of Magicians.’ She smiled at Loras. ‘It was here that the apprentice magicians were brought to learn their skills and to study under the greatest magicians of the day. The Academy was ruled over by the four most senior magicians, they were known as the ‘Council of Four.’ My master, Magician Pew, was one of the four. Then there was Magician Clement, he was a nice old man, always doing magic with flowers and nature.’ Mahra stopped talking as she remembered the old magician for the first time in centuries.
After a few moments Loras cleared his throat with a polite cough. ‘Who else Mahra? That’s only two so far.’
‘I’m sorry,’ she answered. ‘Yes there was Pew and Clement, then Magician Barrick and then…’ she drifted again but this time without the smile. ‘And then there was Magician Credence Bleak. Credence Bleak was in fact the highest ranking of the four and he ruled the Academy with a will of iron.’ She shivered. ‘Not a nice man as I recall. I do remember that he and my master never saw eye-to-eye on very much; they were always arguing - naturally he championed Chaos. Anyway, eventually the magicians fought and death rained down upon the island. From what I can remember Magician Bleak survived for a time, plotting his dark spells, but the Academy was no more. Please remember that this was all a very long time ago.
Magician Bleak would have known that one day the heroes would be walking the halls again in a bid to complete the great spell on the eve of what Chaos is claiming as its time of triumph. He understood that in this distant future the heroes would have to be stopped for Chaos to reign alone. He would have known the skull we seek and will be trying to stop us, even from his grave.’
****
Thankfully Mahra’s report only dampened their spirits a little and they were eager, after drying out their clothes, to explore the island and do their best. Loras placed some protective spells on The Griffin with a warning to the others that if they returned before he did, they could undo the spells by naming the boat three times.
‘If you don’t and you forget…well, you don’t want to forget, all right?’ Loras seemed pleased with the spells he’d placed and no one doubted that they’d be effective in keeping the boat safe.
They made their way to the little beach huddled down in the small rowboat against the ever-present drizzle and gazed through the mist and rain at the walls of dark grey granite that loomed up ahead.
‘There’s a narrow path cut into the cliff that runs to the top,’ started Mahra, but her words were carried away on the wind. ‘I remember one of the biggest worries of anyone coming back to the island,’ she continued a little louder, ‘was that they had to climb the path to get to the Academy.’
Loras peered up from under the hood of his cloak at the huge storm-lashed cliff, imagining himself as a newly arriving apprentice and despite the circumstances, felt a thrill at being here. The place where magic was born and taught to the gifted. He sighed and pulled his cloak a little tighter around him.
The boat crunched up onto the sandy beach and the crew jumped out with Mahra making a fuss that she’d got her feet wet.
As always, it felt strange to have solid ground under them rather than the steady motion of The Griffin and they trudged off after Mahra, crunching through the sand with their heads bowed against the rain. The climb was every bit as perilous as Mahra had warned. The slick rain-lashed path sometimes disappeared into the cliff’s shallow caves, where they could thankfully catch their breath out of the wind and rain, but, for most of the climb they were exposed out on the narrow slippery path with a sheer drop to the beach only one wrong footfall away.
As they neared the top, they became even more exposed to the elements. The wind howled with an even greater fury, tugging and pulling them towards the edge, as if deliberately trying to pluck them from the cliff face as they held on; slowly shuffling forward. Thunder crashed overhead and lightning danced upon the cliff above them, showering them with pieces of stone and forcing them to constantly flatten against the rock face trying not to look down.
They were on hands and knees as they eventually crested the top and made their way to the relative shelter of a group of large rocks, to gain their breath and rub some life into numb, bruised hands.
‘Was it always this miserable here, Mahra?’ shouted Loras over the howl of the wind.
She looked down at the four cold unhappy faces peering up from under their hoods and crouched next to them.
‘No, I remember the isle as a place of sunshine. It was always windy, but that was a good thing. We would sail around the island or fly kites, seeing who could make the best and what magic could be used in the construction. The storms came when Magician Bleak tried to bring the world to Chaos,’ she glanced around. ‘I think he finally did b
ring this little part of the world to Chaos, but I can’t think that even he expected it would turn out like this.’ The wind changed direction and icy rain drove down with renewed ferocity, chilling them even further.
‘What you’re seeing is the very heart of the Chaos storm that’s been changing so many things on this planet,’ shouted Mahra over the noise. ‘It’s been storming here for centuries but the imbalance has only been felt as far away as Freya, with it’s incredible heat, since this year.’
Quint stood up ready to move. ‘Come on, my friends, let’s get out of the rain and see if any magicians are still at home.’
The dark stone of the Academy glistened in the rain and lightning lit its sides sending bolts of energy crashing into the towers. They moved off along a path choked with thorn bushes and tall weeds that led up to the forbidding fortress. It was enormous. If it was an Academy, then it was certainly well fortified with towers at each of its four corners and a tall inner sanctum that rose higher than the surrounding battlements. Windows dotted the upper levels of the outer wall but none were in reach of even the tallest of ladders. A large hole, that at one time must have housed a massive door, now gaped like a hungry mouth as the crew approached. Its stonework had caved in at the sides as if something had ripped the huge doors from their hinges and tossed them away, leaving loose stones hanging down like ragged teeth dripping a constant flow of water.
The Academy waited patiently, glaring down upon its first visitors in over a thousand years.
****
Bartholomew Bask stared across the small wooden table into the stern unsmiling features of Matheus Hawk. It was distressing to be back in Blake’s so soon. He was sweating freely, his piggy eyes darting around the room constantly expecting any one of the drinkers to attack at any moment; rabble.
Bartholomew lifted a hand away from the table, peeling the lace of his sleeve from one of the many sticky patches, with theatrical disgust. He took a deep breath and wiped his brow with a perfumed handkerchief. Lifting it to his nose, he inhaled deeply in an effort to keep away the heady aroma of the bar and its patrons. ‘Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear,’ he muttered, casting a glance at the hooded figure opposite him. For a moment, he was in danger of losing his self-control and running from the building, but then he gathered himself and managed to ask his first coherent question.