Sanctuary

by Nally, Fergal F

  "It is our task to deliver you unto her; unscathed, for you to strike at her heart. You have to cut out the heart of the beast. You are our weapon of faith. The truth is; there is no return from this. Your life will pass with this act. You will die."

  Luana felt her knees buckle. She had been here before. Someone else had told her that she was dead. A recurring theme. She did the only thing that seemed sane to her amongst all this madness; she laughed. She laughed so hard, tears streamed from her face.

  Ananiel watched in silence. Once Luana had stopped laughing, Ananiel spoke.

  "Ah, I see. You have achieved deeper understanding. The absurdity, the futility of the struggle. Some are destined to lives of mediocrity; others are condemned to lives of greatness. You have been so condemned by the vagaries of the fates. I will be with you; I will watch your back. We'll accomplish what is asked of us, you and I."

  Ananiel smiled at Luana and reached to help her up. Luana heard bees in the bushes and smelt vibrant notes of honeysuckle. The glade was warm, alive. She looked up into the eyes of her guardian. Ananiel embraced her and she felt instantly safe. Her dream faltered and darkness returned.

  "Luana, it is time."

  She awoke and rubbed her eyes. Rafael was crouched beside her.

  "We are ready, it is the beginning of the ending. It all unfolds from here." He reached out his hand and she took it. She struggled to her feet and saw the Seven nearby. Rafael nodded at the others, they turned to walk away. One by one, they burst into clouds of white doves, their wings flapping and tearing at the air. They flew up into the sky, disappearing in a heartbeat.

  "We go to enter the beast's liar. May the light be with us."

  Rafael's face had aged. Luana noticed lines along his forehead and under his eyes. She wondered if she had been affected too and suddenly she felt old, weighed down by a great burden.

  "My dream, it was true, wasn't it?"

  Rafael nodded.

  "Come let’s go, there’s killing to be done."

  He reached out and she took his hand. They started walking towards the horizon. A strange feeling took hold of her and she felt free. Birds surrounded her, she knew she had become one with them.

  She felt a pull and followed it into the sky.

  CHAPTER 21

  The Maze

  “The Maze…is cursed. It's a tangled string of islands south of here. Supposed to be haunted. I’ve seen it once 'afore, from a distance. Didn’t sleep right for a month after.” The pirate spat and scratched his beard.

  Moose and Elias had pumped the crew for as much information as they could regarding their destination. The more they heard, the uneasier they became.

  “What d’you think Moose?” Elias asked.

  “Well there’s not much we can do about it now. The die is cast. Just keep your eyes open and hope Ducet knows what she’s doing.”

  “She knows. I think she’s crossed a line though; she has revenge in her eyes. Emotion is colouring her judgement. She may be reckless with the lives of her crew. I’ve seen that look before.” Elias mused.

  They spent the next two days under sail across the Storm Sea. Towards the second evening, a cry went up from the crow’s nest.

  “Ship ahoy!”

  Immediately, the crew swung into action. Ducet whipped up her spyglass and scanned the horizon. She found what she was looking for.

  “Three warships. Magister colours. Good, they’ve found us.” Ducet turned to her new first mate. “You know the drill Daniel. Full ahead for the Maze. Make sure they see us enter; I want no mistakes. Timing is crucial.”

  Elias and Moose watched as the crew leapt into action. The Skald turned southwest and held her course. The Magister ships followed, growing closer by the minute.

  After twenty minutes, Elias grabbed Moose’s shoulder and pointed excitedly. “Land! There. D'you see it?”

  “Aye, and there, and there.” Moose let out a low whistle. “There must be hundreds of islands. No wonder it's called the Maze. If we get in amongst them, they may never find us.” Moose’s voice sounded hopeful.

  A cry went up. “Ready your weapons.” Each man took a dagger, cutlass and pistol. Many pole arms were handed out. Elias noticed the cannons being prepared. He did not relish the thought of hand-to-hand fighting at sea. He preferred his battles on dry land.

  The Magister vessels were less than a quarter of a mile away. They loomed large on the waves. Ducet skilfully steered her ship to take advantage of the current. She arrived at the nearest island, which passed by on the port side.

  Elias looked at the island and saw strange trees with extensive root systems, which seemed to form the island itself. The island was floating in the sea. Waves crashed forcefully on its windward side. The waters were much calmer on entering the Maze itself.

  Island after island passed them. Some small, others large. The whole area was chaotic, yet seemed part of a greater, organised whole.

  “There must be hundreds of islands here. It'd be easy to get lost. Especially in fog.” Moose declared.

  A loud boom shook the air. Elias looked back and saw the Magister ships enter the Maze close behind. Their opening shot missed the Skald and created a great plume of water to starboard.

  “Ranging shot. Bloody close.” Moose grumbled.

  They looked at the main deck and saw Ducet at the helm. This was it; their lives were in her hands. For a few moments, Elias thought she looked formidable, then the illusion crumbled. She was just one determined woman against three warships…it was the warships that were formidable.

  Ducet wanted to draw the enemy deep into the Maze. She needed to be just outside the reach of their guns; a difficult balancing act. She had not admitted it, even to herself but she did not have a plan beyond reaching the Maze. She always worked well with her back up against it. Slowly, a scheme started to form in her mind. She threw back her head and let out a throaty laugh, her flaming hair striking in the wind.

  She knew some of the islands were tinderbox dry. A problem with their root systems had led to vegetation dying off. All it would take was a flame arrow to ignite the undergrowth; thick smoke would rise. She kept her eye on the wind and called the first mate over.

  “Daniel, I want flame arrows on that island, portside, now.”

  Daniel’s gaze went to the island and a flicker of understanding crossed his features. He smiled. “Right away, captain.”

  Three archers were dispatched to the Skald’s portside. Volley after volley of flame arrows flew through the air and disappeared into the island’s interior. Nothing happened. Then the island was gone. The next one loomed into view. Ducet gave the order and more fire arrows were released. She changed tack and repeated the process, altering course at regular intervals.

  Enemy cannon fire pursued them. The water around and behind erupted in searing heat and scalding metal fragments, but by good fortune, they were not hit. Then the smoke appeared. Thick and cloying, it billowed into the air from the first island, followed by the other islands. In no time, visibility had deteriorated significantly.

  Ducet had pulled off the first part of her plan; to draw her enemy into the Maze and disorientate them. They were blind as was she. Her vessel was smaller, more manoeuvrable; theirs larger and hemmed in between islands. She had created a killing ground. She would have whatever revenge she could. She hungered to avenge Stedfastgate's destruction and her brother's suffering.

  The cannon fire stopped. An eerie stillness descended on the Maze, broken only by the creaking of the ship's timbers and straining of her ropes. Ducet steered the Skald away from the smoke and struck out into clear water deeper into the Maze. She put distance between her and the Magister positions. She pulled the Skald about and ordered the crew to the gun decks below.

  “First sign of movement I want a full broadside at whatever comes at us,” she looked at Daniel.

  “How long to reload?”

  “Ninety seconds.” Daniel replied.

  “Make it sixty if you want t
o live.” Ducet turned and scanned the smoke ahead. She felt her heart race and yet felt strangely detached. This would be the fight of her life.

  A dark shape loomed out of the smoke. Ducet gave the signal and the Skald’s cannons opened up. Booming shattered the stillness, flames spat from her cannons. The smell of gunpowder filled the air. The Skald shuddered. Ducet started counting.

  The Magister vessel kept coming. It was the largest of the enemy ships. The Skald’s broadside had done terrible damage to her prow but the ship remained afloat and most of the damage lay above the waterline. Flames engulfed the Magister ship, Ducet heared the screams of dying men. She closed her heart to the sound and her count reached sixty. No second volley. She cursed and kept counting.

  The enemy vessel was perhaps thirty yards away. She could see a cloaked figure on its foredeck. The figure had raised arms. She stiffened; a spell caster. Thrall magic.

  Fear flooded through her.

  They had seconds.

  Boom.

  Another great shudder went through the Skald. A series of explosions below decks shook Ducet. Her heart leapt, the crew had managed a second broadside. The Magister ship disappeared in a haze of smoke. She heard splintering and rending of wood. Her ears rang from the cannon noise.

  The smoke cleared for a moment and she saw the prow of the Magister ship had been destroyed. The vessel was taking on water and sinking before her eyes. There was no sign of the spell caster.

  Ducet turned and shouted at Daniel.

  “Pull back! Pull back!”

  The crew above deck responded and hoisted the sails. The Skald moved away from the scene. Ducet steered the ship, coming around at ninety degrees to her previous position. She approached the burning islands and found a narrow channel. She debated with herself and made a decision. She threw the Skald down the narrow gap.

  Ducet calculated. She estimated the second Magister vessel was close to the end of the channel. Her eyes grew wide as the Skald neared the opening. There, dead ahead was the starboard side of the enemy. They were trapped behind the sinking ship, unable to turn. Ducet steered the Skald on a collision course.

  The Skald was built for this. A ram lay below the waterline fashioned into her prow. Ducet let out a scream and braced herself. The Skald crashed into the Magister ship. A shudder passed through her and she ground to a halt.

  Smoke from the burning islands stung Ducet's eyes. She saw the enemy ship was mortally wounded; it was sinking fast. As it took on water, it listed towards the Skald and disengaged from the ram. The Skald slipped free.

  Ducet called to her archers. “Fire her sails lads.”

  The archers took aim and let off a volley of flame arrows into the Magister ship’s canvas. Seconds later the main sail blossomed in an explosion of fire followed by the other sails. The archers then targeted the enemy crew.

  The Magister ship sank in eight minutes. Not a trace of her remained. Ducet brought the Skald into the channel and turned to face her final battle. Her luck would run out. She stared and saw no enemy ahead. The smoke from the burning islands was thinner here; the wind dissipating it. She could see clearly through the strait.

  The third Magister vessel was nowhere to be seen.

  It was unthinkable that it had fled. Defeat was not in the language of the Magisters. It was waiting, somewhere. Waiting for a mistake.

  Ducet thought furiously; do the opposite to what they expect. She scanned the Maze of islands. Something told her time was short. Smoke drifted across her view. An idea formed. She would use the Skald as bait and wait for the Magisters to come to her. The stakes were high. Failure meant death.

  Her mind returned to her childhood; to her father and brother. Her younger brother had been bullied in the mean streets of Kesh, the small port north of Nictiam. Her father had taught her to defend herself and protect her brother.

  She remembered his words. "Always think like your enemy; then do the unexpected. Predictability means defeat."

  Ducet gave her brother's tormentors scars they would carry for life. One lost an eye, another, something more precious. She smiled wryly at the memory. They had it coming; all bullies did. The Magisters were just death dealing bullies. Well, she would see to it they were at the receiving end for once.

  Ducet had been to the Maze before. She had even explored it. She had never, however, set foot on the islands. They were haunted. By what or who she did not know. She had seen and heard strange things from the safety of her ship. Floating lights, blood curdling cries, screams.

  She had even witnessed a whole island rise from the sea as if pushed up by some leviathan. These events had happened at night. Her crew had been demented with fear; she however was curious and fearful, an intoxicating mixture.

  Ducet gave the order.

  They anchored the Skald off a small island, deep within the Maze. Ducet ordered her crew off the ship and they set up defensive positions on the island. She had a hunch. It was a gamble; if wrong, their efforts and lives would end. The crew were puzzled to be leaving the ship but they obeyed their captain without question.

  The crew carried fire arrows, cutlasses and pistols ashore. They managed to manhandle a short cannon onto the island with grapeshot canisters. Dusk was approaching fast. They lit the Skald's lanterns to attract attention. Ducet organised her crew in a compact defensive position on the highest part of the island.

  She left two men on the Skald. Before leaving the ship, the crew loaded and primed her cannons. The ship's magazine was rigged with explosives. They would blow her to the heavens once the remaining Magister ship was in range. Ducet hoped the enemy would take the bait.

  Darkness came; her men huddled together on the island. She was not sure what was worse; fear of the Magisters or fear of the island's ghosts. Her men were deeply superstitious. The fact they followed her onto the island spoke volumes. The crew clutched their weapons and waited in the frigid darkness.

  They did not have long to wait. The third and final Magister vessel sailed into view from behind a distant island. This was the smallest of the enemy ships but still a formadible opponent. Ducet signalled her men to hide. The vessel approached. It was silent, save for the creaking of timbers and the sighing of her sails and rigging. Ducet strained, her eyes blinking; she could not see any crew aboard. The ship appeared deserted.

  Then she saw a lone figure on the fore deck, so still she had missed him. The Magister had his arms outstretched. Slowly, a green glow flickered around his head and hands. The light grew stronger and spread to the ship enveloping her sails and deck in a ghostly haze. Green sparks and light leapt out from the prow and flickered across the water to the Skald. It spread rapidly through the Skald; then they heard a shout from within.

  A second cry pierced the air, then all hell broke loose. The Skald's guns erupted in quick succession. Flame spat from her cannons. Five of the guns missed the Magister vessel completely. Three however, struck true. A hole appeared in the mainsail, a section of the midship's decking exploded and a row of wooden railings disappeared in a fire-burst. Then the Skald's guns went silent. She sat in the water, vulnerable and lost.

  Seconds later Ducet heard a splash from the Skald's stern. She hoped her men had escaped. The Magister ship approached. Its cannons did not fire. Instead, the green tongues of flame engulfed the Skald doing their cursed work. She smiled grimly; there were no more souls aboard for it to feed on.

  Finally, the Magister ship pulled alongside the Skald's prow. The Magister stood tall and exposed. He was searching the Skald with his magic. The rest of his ghost crew were below decks manning the guns.

  Ducet held her breath and closed her eyes. Time slowed. Her heartbeat felt like a drum. She saw herself as a girl running through fields reaching out to the sky, her brother chasing her.

  She opened her eyes and time exploded around her.

  "Now! Fire at will! Aim at the sorcerer."

  Ducet's voice rang out loud and true in the night. Fire arrows and pistol shots filled the air.
The short cannon discharged to Ducet's left. She saw the Magister turn and look at their position, surprise etched across his features. His arms snapped towards them; green thrall magic touched the island setting the undergrowth ablaze.

  Ducet fired at the Magister vessel, alongside her men. Their fire arrows were dealing damage to the sails but not much else. Their short cannon had more effect ripping apart decking and rigging in its devastating blast. The Magister stood defiant, immune to their weapons. A blast of grapeshot had passed right through him. He was not concerned for his safety. He would not fall.

  It was then that the island awoke.

  The green thrall magic spread like wildfire across the low brush beneath the trees. It bounded and flickered up the trees into the canopy above. Dread filled Ducet's heart. Her plan was crumbling around her.

  Nothing could match the power of the angry green magic. But the island was resisting. A low hum and a blue glow came from the ground. Ducet looked around and saw the surrounding islands similarly resonating. Blue light flickered and crackled from them onto the water jumping to her island. It lit up; a tangle of intense blue.

  The green thrall magic filled the air surrounding Ducet's position and draped over the branches and boughs above them. It trickled down advancing across the ground towards her men.

  "Fight for your lives! Pour more fire into the Magister vessel. The island is with us, it will fight with us."

  Ducet's eyes grew wide as ghostly figures emerged from the ground in front of their position. The figures advanced to the green areas on the island and towards the Magister vessel itself. The spell caster's legs buckled and he fell to the deck. His green magic dwindled and withdrew from the island. Ghostly cries went up from the surrounding islands.

  Moaning shapes swept up from the ground and swarmed around the Magister ship. The kneeling sorcerer was locked in a great struggle. Ducet and her crew watched in horror. The Magister let out a cry and dozens of men burst forth from below deck. They moved swiftly to the spell caster in a protective phalanx. They reached and encircled him. The sorcerer grew in strength with their presence; the blue island light faltered.