King Tides Curse

by C J Timms

  On her back, the baby started crying.

  ‘Are you hungry champion? Did you poop?’ She asked and twisting her neck backwards as she threw out a handful of short nails. A roar brought her attention back around, and she charged barehanded. She pumped Script into her limbs and launched at a third fathomless. She kicked it in the jaw with a roundhouse. She re-summoned the Razor and sliced into another.

  Spur, still sitting, stroked his chin and made a note on a clipboard. ‘Mmmm…well this isn’t much of a challenge is it.’

  Spur waved a hand. Blocks of ice and ground around them cracked and tumbled upwards. Grace and the permafrozts shot into the sky on floating blocks of ice. Grace pounce through the sky, up and down, flipping through the air.

  ‘Ah to be young again.’ Spur said

  Grace stumbled, a permafrozt got a swipe in on the baby capsule. Its claw broke on the shield. The capsule remained impregnable. Spur had called in a few favours for that thing. If it got close to failure, it would teleport back to base.

  ‘It is good to see her back to work.’ Markwell said.

  Grace battered a permafrozt into the ice.

  ‘Aye, family looks after family.’

  Markwell scratched his chin, ‘Does she know?’

  Spur sipped his latte and realised it had gone cold. He tossed the drink aside. ‘No.’

  ‘You need to tell her, she will understand. She needed help.’ Markwell said.

  ‘You were young once Markwell, would you have understood? Would you have wanted…help.’

  Markwell sipped his tea and grimaced. ‘We weren’t the only ones on the panel. We did what we could.’

  A permafrozt broke from the pack and charged them. Putting away his marking sheet, Spur drew a short-nail and flicked it forward right into the spinal ridge. The permafrozt bellowed until a cast expanded over its mouth.

  With a crack, the last of the permafrozt’s fixated, sent home.

  Grace leapt down before Spur. Grace leaned on her scythe and gulped deep breaths. Her hand was partially blue from where the permafrozt had tried to incarcerate her in ice. She shook her hand a few times as her Script healed the damaged tissue. Spur studied the battleground and tapped his clipboard with a pen. ‘Hmmm… a fascinating combat technique that, it really warrants further trials.’

  ‘Hey, Spur-ious George,’ Grace called, ‘A bit of help would’ve been nice.’

  ‘I had faith in you, no need for me to pick you up. Not a bad show, a couple of long nails would have been more…textbook.’ He noted.

  ‘I like Occam’s Razor…mum at least left me this.’ Grace said, shrinking it down to the size of a matchstick. Then she took Jason off her back, still within the capsule. Jason smiled up at her within the dimensional pocket.

  Spur turned back to the monk. ‘Now Markwell, where is Concord?’

  Gale- Deep Training

  Heaven and hell, it is my fervent belief that these were just names assigned to different realities by travellers. I propose this is part of the reason the descriptions of heaven and hell vary so much. One man’s Heaven may be another’s Hell. I personally hope that, whatever it was labelled, there is a realm of puppies needing walking and free BBQ’s.

  The journal of Grimace the Heretic.

  The first sun had barely struggled up into the sky, and darkness still pooled amongst the rocks. The beach was isolated, it jutted out from the island shore. Unyielding rocky precipices intermittently had waves surge up them into blowholes. The ground was basalt, like that around the Lighthouse. Light spray blew onto Gale’s uniform, and he tasted salt on the air.

  Gale had arrived at the beach early for the first Deep Hunter class. He needed to speak with Blush and get some answers. Speaking of answers, he wondered how volcanic rock got here. Gale wished the island-turtle would talk to them. It probably had a ripper of a story to tell.

  This rocky outcropping was the size of a football field, and it stretched into the ocean. One sizeable central blowhole about ten metres across sat in the centre of the promontory. Smaller blowholes about half a metre in diameter scattered the land around them. Creatures had latched on to the edges of the blowhole, fed by the seaspray. The creatures were like giant cunjevoi, sea squirts found in the low tide mark, which would spray a column of water out when disturbed. Around the central blowhole, they had grown to the size of beer kegs, growing off the walls. There was a mix of colours of both red, blue and green giant cunjevois and a rare yellow one scattered in.

  His butt grew numb as the second sun followed the firsts groggy rise towards morning. Gale was joined by a group of other first-year students as dawn kicked into gear. Swan joined him from the Lighthouse in her activewear and armour. The barefoot Wyldfell twins Bella and Hotaru from House Solvent were here. Surprisingly Alisdair came with a few of his cronies from House Laurels. Last to arrive were a group of Canuteian monk students. They stared daggers at Gale, Cullen, a real wart, eyed Gale the most viciously.

  ‘You seen the instructor?’ Swan asked Gale, still rubbing the sleep from her eyes.

  ‘Nothing yet.’ Gale replied.

  Alisdair chuckled. ‘I hear she’s a transfer. They fired her from the New York University because no-one could pass her classes. Might as well take off now Gale. This is Deep Hunting, and we’ll need the target practice.’

  Heat shimmered around Alisdairs hands. Swan stepped up beside Gale, resting a hand on the Slagblade.

  ‘And Swan…I bet your dad would love for you to drop out, how much debt did you put him in?’ Alisdair said.

  Gale summoned his harpoon and stared down Alisdair.

  ‘Also I hear that aside from being a real hard-arse, she’s a total babe.’ Alisdair said.

  ‘Well, it’s always nice to receive a compliment,’ called a voice from the front of the promontory. They all snapped around to stare at their instructor. Somehow she had gotten onto the ocean side of the headland without their notice. ‘But let me assure you, rumours do me no justice.’

  Blush stood at the other side of the blowhole. She stood about Gale’s height with pale white skin, blazing red hair that fell straight, down to her shoulders and emerald green eyes. Today she wore a loose white blouse and a grey pencil skirt with boots. He paused, had the port wine stain that ran down the side of her face retreated since he last saw her?

  ‘You can call me Blush. Your academy hasn’t had a properly trained Deep-hunter class for decades. I left New York because no one showed any potential. Frankly, I expect that the lot of you will also be no more than pretty faces.’

  Blush half turned from them to face out to the ocean. ‘Fighting the Deep is not for the faint of heart, the Deep is a fierce bitch that’ll turn on you like a hidden rip on a calm beach. You will respect her, or you’ll drown, hell you might drown anyway. The strong survive, the weak perish, and nature moves on. That is the truth of the Deep.

  But it must be hunted, or it will hunt us.’

  Gale’s hand shot up.

  ‘What is it, Gale. Do you need a bathroom break?’ Blush said.

  ‘Can I ask a question? In private, I mean?’

  Blush pinched her nose. ‘Fine, you get one minute.’

  Blush walked him away from the class.

  ‘Can you teach me to do what you did, to control the Deep?’ Gale asked.

  Blush looked side to side. ‘That is…not approved, you are to be taught how to fight the Deep, not use it.’

  ‘Right but you can, and they know I’m using Deep magic.’ Gale said.

  Blush looked side to side and gestured for him to lower his voice. ‘My talent is not common knowledge. The Chancellor didn’t ask too many questions. There is a difference between tolerating something and actively teaching it.’

  ‘Can you teach me though, I can find some coin?’ Gale asked.

  Blush tapped a foot, then smiled. She leaned in to whisper in his ear. ‘Impress me.’

  Blush walked back in front of the class. She crooked her finger at them, and the students
stepped forwards toward the central blowhole. Blush pointed and picked out Gale, Swan, Cullen and Alisdair. The four of them stood forwards and looked down into the dark tunnel. The light faded towards the bottom where crashing waves boomed in the depths. Debris was sucked in and out.

  ‘My lessons are sink or swim,’ Blush said. Then two hands pushed Gale in.

  Gale fell into the darkness and plunged face first into ice-cold water. His breath tried to explode from his chest, but he clamped down on it. A tidal surge ripped him out towards the ocean, bouncing off the cave walls, cracking his limbs. Then it shove him back in. He kicked for the surface and took a desperate breath of air.

  The tide pulled him under again.

  Lungs burning it pulled him out into the darkness, then shot him back into the cavern. This time Gale reached out and grappled with a giant cunjevoi, muscles braced, he fought the pull of the tide. His muscles screamed in protest. His hand slipping. Just…a little…longer.

  The tide stopped pulling. Before it could surge back in, Gale scrambled above the water line to crouch on two cunjevoi. Drawing deep breaths, he scanned the cave. He summoned a hydrolens, a contact lens of water that helped him see in the dark. It layered the world based on water content of objects. Not precisely night vision goggles but better than nothing.

  The bottom of the blowhole was a dome-like area about half-submerged underwater. It curved up to the central pipe that rose to the surface. An east-facing tunnel under the water line presumably went out to the ocean, the one he’d been dragged into. Cunjevoi coated the walls making platforms and handholds. Alisdair and Cullen had pulled themselves out onto cunjevois like wet, bedraggled dogs, still gasping for breath. Cullen’s Canuteian marks shone white.

  Swan was still in the water.

  She beat at the water, arms flailing, discarding her armour as best she could. Damn it, why had she worn plate armour to class. She was washed back towards the west to a second tunnel, a tunnel that led into the island. She disappeared below the waterline. She didn’t come back up.

  Gale looked at Alisdair and Cullen now pulling themselves up the cunjevoi, to the light of the exit above where Blush waited to be impressed, back to the waterline. Swan didn’t come up.

  ‘Ah frak,’ Gale cursed.

  Gale breathed deep and dived into the water. The cold shock hit his face, and he let the tide push him into the western tunnel. He surged down it, kicking with all his strength. A piece of armour hit him in the head, part of Swan’s trail of breadcrumbs. He burst out into an air pocket inside a small cavern, barely a metre above the tideline as the water started to suck back out. Swan twisted around in the air pocket, still freeing pieces of armour. Another piece bounced off the wall striking her in the dark, Swan unable to see it or dodge.

  The tide surged in and out, battering them against the walls. Gale’s raw Script was tapped dry, nothing left of it. His Deep Script boiled up inside him, demanding to be used. He grabbed Swan’s hand. Swan swung her head, unable to see him in the dark.

  ‘Breathe deep.’

  Then Gale submerged them both in Deep Script. He let the Deep magic flow out from his core and infuse his limbs. Gale felt the tide pull and push like a chest drawing breath. He hauled Swan down back towards the tunnel. They shot past a symbol carved into the wall. Nine weapons in a circle around a wave, pointing in. The word ‘Heretics' was scrawled above the emblem. They shot back into the main chamber. He pushed both of them back onto the cunjevois with the tidal surge and then collapsed.

  He breathed out.

  The Deep magic spasmed, control slipping, and he felt his chest squeezed inwards. He pushed against it, struggling to master it. He needed teaching. He needed guidance. This magic was a treacherous bitch.

  Swan vomited up, seawater into the cavern.

  ‘Thank you,’ she wheezed out, pushing lank hair out of the way. ‘Can’t swim.’

  ‘Your a grown adult, why the bloody hell can’t you swim?’

  ‘I’m from Locomotyr, what would I have learnt in, lava pools?’ Swan yelled back.

  Alisdair and Cullen clung limply to their cunjevois. Cullen’s Canuteian markings were dimming, Alisdair looked pale. The cavern was cold, a chill that set into your core.

  ‘First rule, never lose sight of your opponent.’ Blush called down from above, dangling her legs over the blowhole edge. ‘Pretty hard for any other Script besides Deep to work down there, gets suppressed, used up quick. You’ve got about a minute before the next big set comes through and that’ll smash you into the side of the wall. Probably knock you unconscious. First one up gets full marks.’ Then she settled back chewing a raspberry liquorice.

  ‘The cunjevois,’ Gale yelled. ‘Use them to climb.’

  A flustered Cullen started climbing before grabbing a blue cunjevoi and water shot out, knocking him off and he squealed before falling back off into the water again. Gale began to climb, taking care to grab only the sides of the cunjevois, swinging himself from platform to platform made of the plant growth. About a third of the way up, he felt the hairs stand on the back of his neck. Gale leapt from his current platform as a spray of water shot into where he’d been. He caught sight of Alisdair staring at him from across the blowhole with malicious intent tapping a used up cunjevoi.

  ‘Winner takes all, Gale’ he called out and kicked a red cunjevoi that shot a spray of scalding water at him. On reflex, Gale pushed with Deep Script. The water deflected around him by an invisible umbrella. Alisdair frowned and kicked the red cunjevoi again, but it had used up its store of water. On the other side, Cullen had dragged himself back up the wall, his feral eye glinted, and he started kicking cunjevois aimed at Gale too.

  Gale dodged and climbed as best he could. He tried to return fire but deflecting the others shots was straining him, his chest tightened, pressure building like a great weight. He reached out for a handhold and slipped hanging on with one hand to a blue cunjevoi. One-handed, he tried to haul himself back onto the slick walls of the blowhole. His feet scrabbled for a foothold.

  Cullen raised a foot to kick a red cunjevoi aimed at Gale. A burst of water knocked Cullen off balance. Cullen slipped and fell back towards the bottom. Swan wiped vomit off her mouth, nodded to Gale and aimed another cunjevoi, at Alisdair this time.

  ‘Last one up does the toilets this week.’ Swan said.

  Together they scrambled up the wall, keeping Alisdair on the defensive. The two of them and Alisdair were now about two-thirds of the way up with Cullen resuming his climb below them.

  Swan slipped and kicked one of the yellow/purple cunjevois. It burst open, and a swarm of water droplets flooded out into the air. They hovered like a swarm of bees and gave off an audible hum. The water droplets surrounded Swan, and she cried out in pain. Swan lost her grip and tumbled back into the water below.

  A low rumble came down the tunnel. The big set was coming.

  Swan in the water, Cullen and Alisdair clinging to the walls and the exit high above them, the set rolled into the cavern. Gale could see the top, his chance to impress Blush and claim first. He needed to get ahead this year. Swan had fallen behind, going back for her would mean he’d lose.

  But if he saved her, she would have to clean the toilets this week.

  Gale breathed deep, then sunk into his deep core. He stepped off the wall and focused the rolling wave tumbling into the cavern and pushed it upwards. It grabbed all of them along the way. The four of them shot out of the blowhole onto the promontory.

  Gale breathed out.

  His chest clamped down, and he gasped out a breath. Beside him Swan vomited seawater again.

  ‘Hate, ocean.’ She spluttered out. Gale pushed himself to stand.

  Blush clipped his ears. ‘The Deep doesn’t reward self-sacrifice. The Deep is survival of the fittest, evolution. There is a reason Darwinism was first conceived on an island chain. You could have easily made it out first on your own, but you risked your neck to save those two, both tried to stab you in the back.’


  Gale shrugged.

  Blush rolled her eyes. She turned to Swan lying face down next to a pool of vomit. ‘Ah my dainty swan, did you learn your lesson about wearing armour to my classes?’

  ‘Frak…you…’ Swan wheezed out. A small grin played over Blush’s face.

  Blush turned to the rest of the class. ‘I don’t tell you this to be cruel, mysterious or flamboyant. If you take a risk in the Deep, six thousand fathoms down, where the pressure will flatten you into paste, then you will die. The Deep accepts only the strongest because, for anyone else, it is a death sentence. There is no margin to look after anyone else. You look after yourself first, last and every time!’

  Blush lined up four more students for the blowhole.

  She passed by Gale, and he felt a voice whisper in his ear. ‘Alright pretty face, we’ll do private lessons before dawn.’

  Gale - Eureka

  How did the Arghost seal the Volkstorm breach? Genius? Luck? A dark bargain? Grimace proposed it was a ten-thousand point nail fixation he called the Myriagon Fixation. Such a fix has been rigorously studied and deemed impossible by this author. Not even the keenest mind of Tangentius could hold the position of ten-thousand nails simultaneously.

  Spur’s primer for fracturesmiths 2nd edition

  Gale inched forward, his footfalls soft in the silent smithy. The smithy was abandoned apart from a third-year who slumbered face down in a book. Gale wriggled his fingers and then edged the work from underneath the sleeping student. Predawn light crept in the windows of the smithy and signalled the start of a Saturday.

  Saturdays and Sundays were meant to be days of rest. There were no classes, but few got to rest. Gale had risen early to get a good position in the smithy where money could be made, creating Script enhanced tools and weapons. Most of the lucrative items, however, were only taught at third or fourth-year levels.