Alac surfaced and looked at the fish which were the size of his fingers. They squirmed in his hands with empty, terror-filled eyes. With more than a trace of disgust, he opened his mouth and swallowed the fish. He felt them slide down his throat and go straight to his stomach. It was so disgusting that he lost his appetite. Now, he needed fresh water. He tried a little seawater, but it was too salty and it made him thirstier.
He spread his wings. The water slid off them as if the feathers repelled it. He was wondering at the phenomenon when an eddy alerted him to danger. In seconds, he was protected by his armor and was flying over the area. From above, he realized that the eddy was a gigantic mouth that was opening to catch the birds. Curiosity and fear drove him to dive into the water again.
The beast was swallowing the birds. It was huge, grey, thick, and elongated. It moved slowly.
While he watched, other fish passed him. They seemed to be speaking to him. Alac reached out and touched one. Its skin was delightful, smooth, and soft. He had just discovered the depths of the sea and was already overwhelmed by so much beauty. He could not let evil destroy that beauty, nor that world, nor any other he still did not know.
He surfaced quickly, ready to continue his mission.
***
Not all nights were quiet. Sometimes, the wind was violent and whipped up waves the size of the Décamon or even bigger. With the full moon, the waves grew larger.
He had been flying for almost two weeks at great speed, stopping every day to dive and fish. He had acquired a certain ability, though his technique was not entirely efficient. On one occasion, he was left without his dinner because he had to fight a fish that faced up to him. He also had to confront a cunning creature with eight legs which robbed him of his catch. He quenched his thirst with rainwater. It was hard to collect, but it was the only source of fresh water available.
He felt the end of his journey was close when, under some gigantic waves, he saw a colossal stone column, worn away by time. His curiosity was stronger than his desire to go on with his mission, and he plunged into the tide. The currents buffeted him like a speck of dust at the mercy of the wind. Down there, without Teitú, the God of Light went into the Interim.
You can do it without me, Alac. You’re becoming a very capable warrior. Soon, you won’t need me.
What? Don’t say that! Of course I need you, now and always. The closer we get to Flamonia, the clearer it seems to me that something very strange happened here.
From the Interim, Alac examined his surroundings carefully. There were no wandering souls in pain. The pressure of the water on his body lightened.
He swam until he found himself facing a vast structure made up of several columns and a round central platform. The whole group was very eroded. A green ghost was sitting on a rock. Judging by his armor, his long spear, and his shield, he appeared to be a soldier.
Alac went toward the ghost, who inspired neither rejection nor a sense of danger in him. The spirit stood up.
“Alac?” The soldier fell to his knees.
“Do you know me?”
“Our God…” he said in the language of the Empire. “You are one of the five, that much I can tell. And you are here, honoring me with your presence.”
Alac understood that he was in the presence of a spirit of the destroyed Flamonia. Both nations shared gods and a language.
Alac attempted to wipe the shock from his face. “What’s your name?”
“Thyome of—Thyome, God of Light.”
“Tell me, Thyome. What happened to Flamonia?”
The knight bent his head as though considering his reply or simply because it hurt him to awaken such memories.
“The War of One Lament, God of Light.”
“And what was the lament?”
The knight raised his sad, unsteady eyes.
“The murder of Alac Arc Ángelo.”
***
Thyome told him a long story, too much like what San San-Tera and the rest of the Mandrake Empire had suffered during recent years.
“It was a very difficult time. Some gods died, like Eolidálidá, the Goddess of Wine and War. She was murdered by—”
“Mórgomiel,” Alac said. “The God of Chaos.”
“Yes, my dear God of Light. The God of Chaos wreaked havoc, though he never manifested himself; it was enough for him to send his minions. His servant in Flamonia was Nóregor, an evil king who caused a devastating war against Flamonia and Tutonticám, the land of your faithful Naevas Aedán. We lived together with them. Living among those luminous beings was common before…”
Teitú lit up at the mention of his land.
“When Emperor Nóregor declared war on Flamonia, Tutonticám joined us. The Naevas Aedán helped us to repel Nóregor’s forces, but it was not enough. We fell, and so did Tutonticám.”
“Thyome, I’d like to see the ruins of Flamonia. I need to get to know the city.”
“City? There is no city left, my dear God of Light. There is only a graveyard, a desolate place, a dead wasteland that the demons have conquered with many dangers. You will only find pain, loss, and many enemies.”
“So where are we now? What are these columns?”
“They are the pillars of Yuli, the temple of the Goddess of Prayer. The goddess built it under the water so that evil would not find it. That is why I have come here; it is the only place where I find peace.”
“How is it that you haven’t been judged by the Goddess of Night? You’d be free of this torment.”
“That is easier said than done. I am still in mourning for the loss of Flamonia and I find it hard to say farewell. I lost everything. My family, my friends, my land, my gods. Evil destroyed me completely.”
Alac approached the ghost and put a hand on his shoulder.
“Go and rest, Thyome. You are absolved. Go.”
The ghost smiled weakly, letting his suffering shine through.
“Thank you…”
The ghost began to vanish slowly between the fibers of the universe to go to his meeting with the Goddess of Night. Alac felt overwhelmed; four hundred years of pain was too much.
“Teitú, this doesn’t bode well. Are you sure you want to see Tutonticám?”
It’s what I want, no matter how delirious it might be. Please take me there. We’re near. My soul needs it. I must know, I must see.
Alac felt a heavy load upon his shoulders. He was convinced that continuing was a terrible idea, but Teitú would not find peace until he reached his land, no matter how destroyed it might be.
Chapter XI – A Gaze Of Saltpeter
Mérdmerén had never imagined Merromer would be such a beautiful city. It was old, but it showed its beauty in its stone that was worn by humidity and the salt of the sea. Her founders had built her in a valley surrounded by softly-profiled mountains that were abundant wildlife and vegetation.
In the castle lived Duke Togo Hull and his court. Unlike other cities, which grew from a center of power, Merromer had opened itself to the port like a carpet that had been unrolled to welcome the sea. The harbor was the poorest area, and also where the bars were. Beside the bay, the traders vied for land and permits for unloading goods and increasing their profits.
Mérdmerén had moved into the castle, ousting the duke for a night and a day. Togo Hull had not objected openly, but it disturbed him to have to alter his routine even for a single day.
Merromer Castle was smaller than others and lacked the usual defense mechanisms it would have boasted if it had been built in a larger city. It was also old and badly maintained. But that was just what Mérdmerén wanted. He was not interested in luxury. Far from it; he wanted to feel a certain discomfort and to be near the ordinary people. Otherwise, how would he get to know their needs?
They dined on typical dishes: octopus a la Merromer with sun-dried tomatoes and a relish of vinegar, capers, and olives; night bread made with dough fermented over several days; and, of course, fresh tuna.
Lion Fist had heard
wonders of this fish, although he had never tried it because of the prohibitive price the traders charged inland. Besides, the merchandise never came with any guarantee of freshness and many became sick after eating it.
“Don’t go stealing anything or I’ll cut your hand off,” he warned Turi.
“Steal? Me? In this hovel? If I didn’t do that in your Háztatlon palace, why would I start now? Makes no sense, boss.”
The little thief looked faintly comical in his esquire’s outfit that consisted of tight pants made from brown leather and a black vest over a cotton shirt that hung in folds. Under his clothes, he kept the saber the Baron had given him. He wore new, shiny boots.
“Don’t call me boss, it pisses me off. I’m your king, damn it, not your buddy. Well… that’s not true. We’ve been friends since before I was your sovereign. It’s just that only one person has ever called me boss, and I want to keep that memory just as it is.”
“Ságamas,” Turi said, smacking his lips.
“That sailor with the face of a misbegotten octopus,” he said with a touch of nostalgia. “He called me boss, but you—”
“Sir, during this journey of ours and in those low-life market towns, where there are thieves less honorable than me, maybe it’d be better if nobody knew you’re the king of the Mandrake Empire. We haven’t got any soldiers with us. And even though we’ve got Greyson, Cail, and a few other well-prepared thieves, we couldn’t defend you if they attacked en masse.”
“Little bastard, always trying to drive a bargain.”
Turi gave him a mocking grin. “You know I’m right, my liege.”
“What I know is that I’m sorry I ever named you my esquire, you little rascal. All right, call me boss when we go through market towns, but in the important cities I go back to being the king. Otherwise, why did we come in the first place, eh?”
“True, true.”
“First thing tomorrow, I want everyone up and ready to leave. We’ll set course for Moragald’Burg.”
“Wouldn’t it be better to stop by the Divine Providence first, boss? Um, my liege, I’m only saying that because it’s close at hand…”
“Or leave that for last.” Mérdmerén could not wait to meet Ságamas again and propose that he should be their captain and embark together on great adventures, just like before. “We’ll stop there on our way back home, and that’s that. Easy.”
***
The king made his way to the harbor discreetly, or at least with less hassle than the nobles normally made when they got themselves ready to set sail. The quayside was old and badly kept, full of mold, filth, and seaweed. Sailors, pirates, and traffickers mixed without anybody being able to tell them apart. The government of Merromer had little interest in controlling the transactions of the port, as they took in handsome commissions for looking the other way.
It was barely six in the morning and the maritime city was already bustling. The fishermen were coming back with nets full of fish and shellfish. The traders were in their places ready to sell the produce of the sea. The smell was strong but at the same time pleasant.
“Hell, this is what I’ve been missing,” Mérdmerén said, toying with the pendant that protected him against the Brotherhood of the Crows.
“One for me, one for you,” Turi said as he handed the king a wooden stick of grilled octopus with spices typical of Merromer and a lot of rosemary. It was a normal breakfast for Merromer workers.
A vendor raised his fish for the benefit of passers-by. “Fresh stingray!”
Mérdmerén turned around excitedly. That was the name of Ságamas’ ship.
“Swordfish! Sawfish!” another cried. “Flying fish! Headless fish! Buy a dozen and save!”
“Turtle soup!”
“Shark stew!”
The market was crowded with fishermen, traders, and customers seething amid outbursts of shouts and smells. Fish guts lay scattered on the ground and the dogs were approaching to eat the remains. All this chaos was a gift for Mérdmerén’s senses as he entered the crowd fearlessly with his escort following close behind him; he wore a chainmail coat of boiled leather which was capable of deflecting the tip of a sword. In addition to this, he carried his precious, delicate Stern’s Dagger. Greyson was sniffing around like a bloodhound, showing no sign of concern.
“Let’s go,” the strong man said to prevent anybody from getting lost.
At that particular moment, Turi’s attention had been diverted by the spectacle of two women playing with a coconut. They were almost naked and were showing their curves shamelessly.
“Here it is,” Greyson said when they reached the imperial pier.
A line of ships was moored there.
“Welcome to the King!” cried a sailor wearing a blue tricorn.
He was fat with arms like pincers and he moved oddly since instead of legs, he had a pair of artificial wooden ones.
“That’s enough from you, you scum, or I’ll cut off one more of your limbs!” Greyson said.
The man raised his hands but did not appear to be afraid.
“Here’s a piece of advice for you, chum. Don’t mess with the people of the imperial wharf unless you want to wake up tomorrow with a dagger in your chest. And now, why don’t we get down to brass tacks?”
The king’s retinue was whispering. Mérdmerén shrugged. He walked over to the sailor.
“You’re right. I’ve come for my ship and I hope you’ve installed the figurehead my bloody carpenters promised me.”
“Sure, chum, don’t doubt the efficiency of Marugo One-Arm, at your service. They call me One-Arm since a shark took off my legs. The son of a bitch wanted to take my treasure too. I didn’t let him, but he took my legs.”
The sailor led them along the quayside until he stopped in front of a wide gap.
“They’ve stolen it! The king’s ship! Sons of the sirens and the bastards of the sea! Call Cebulio!”
Before them, all of a sudden, the ship appeared. Its arrival was so sudden it might have been a phantom. Marugo fainted and fell on his back.
“But the ship’s been here all the time, man!” said the Cebulio he had referred to. He was a tall man with a pockmarked face whose teeth were in such a state that it was hard for him to annunciate properly.
When he saw the ship, Mérdmerén felt the hair on his scalp stand on end. It was elegant and majestic… it vanished again and reappeared in a matter of seconds. They all jumped back.
A man stepped forward from the retinue. He had a cheerful face and a gentle gaze. In his hand, he was carrying a wooden staff and a half-full satchel.
“You son of a bitch!” Greyson howled. “I’m going to cut off your balls with a blunt knife and then feed them to the first rat I see!”
The strong man stopped short when he realized the mage was making the king smile.
“I know you,” Mérdmerén said.
“I’m Elgahar, a pupil of Strangelus Üdessa who sacrificed himself in the Battle of Kathanas. Afterward, I fought at your side, my king, in Háztatlon. I’m an apprentice of the Conjuring Arts and I’d like to come with you onboard in exchange for my services as a mage. The previous king, may he rest in peace, had a mage as a counselor. I’d like to take on that role with you.”
The king considered this. “Your demonstration with the ship wasn’t bad. Perhaps we might be able to benefit from your services during this journey. I still can’t trust you, so my friends, including Greyson, will watch your every move.”
“And the staff? What’s that for?” Cail asked. “Are you lame, like the sailor?”
“Don’t be cheeky, cousin,” said Turi. “I’ve seen this fellow launch spells that weren’t exactly kisses. Don’t provoke him.” He gave Elgahar a conspiratorial wink.
“Thank you, my king,” the mage said and knelt before the monarch. “I swear upon my life that I will do everything possible to keep you safe and increase my powers to defend your land from evil in the present and the future. My king, I wish to become the most powerful
mage in our empire. I want to be the next Strangelus and purge the Council of Mages.”
“Rise, little mage. Drop the formalities. For the moment, I can only offer you a position on board during this journey. Afterward, we’ll see. Greyson, start organizing the boarding and ready the sails.”
“You heard the man, boys! To work!” Greyson cried in a voice that snapped like a whip.
Mérdmerén watched his crew as they boarded. The thieves were smiling excitedly, longing for adventure.
***
The journey was delayed because they set course to the northwest instead of the northeast. They realized this one evening when Mérdmerén was watching the stars in the company of Elgahar who was pointing out Naruti the Mermaid, a fairly well-known constellation among mages. Then, Elgahar started in shock because he should not have been looking at this constellation, but that of Ausiria instead. The mistake delayed the journey by six days, although it enabled the crew to get used to the rigors of the sea.
Moragald’Burg was a land of stone and iron with cold, cunning people dominated by the yoke of a totalitarian and disorganized government that changed at the prompting of arms and usurpation, and that did little for the people. The land was a hard one for any form of life. Wildlife and vegetation were scarce. Hence, it was not strange that its inhabitants should emigrate, even though afterward, they would give anything to come back to their homeland.
The king’s ship, so carefully-tended and well-equipped, drew the attention of other, smaller ships, probably those of pirates in search of an opportunity. But they did not have to confront any assailants, not even the whims of the sea whose waters remained calm throughout the journey.
All this meant is that they encountered no trouble until they were in the open sea, leagues away from any land, in the place the thieves knew as the Dead Man’s Eye. And the worst thing was that nobody knew where this region of dangers began and ended.
Soulseeker’s Descent Page 7