by C J Timms
Written over the blue fog was a verse.
‘Prophecy of the Worldflood:
Nine waves born, to call the Flood,
On siren’s rock shall spill man’s blood,
The King Tide comes, we batten down,
Nine gates open and all shall drown.’
The King Tide, what was it? Ash wanted him to find the King Tide’s curse. Was he looking for a tidal wave? A flood? Some sort of relic? Frakking poets, who tasked them with recording instructions. A nice to-do list, now that would have been a good idea.
Gale turned to the next desk. A classic teak desk lined with silvery-blue metal. Carved into the wood was the name Spur. No way…as in Spur’s primer for fracturesmiths? Surely it wasn’t a common name. Hell, it was barely a name. A nickname surely or a cruel mother after a long labour.
The mural above this desk showed a great flood as it poured into an ocean facing a tropical beach. Atop the gate a rust-covered figure fought nine knights. Each knight had different coloured armour, gold, silver and platinum flared brightly in the image. Beneath the painting was another inscription.
‘Canute called his Paladins, to hold man’s trust,
Nine noble knights, who would never rust.’
The fifth desk had its mural scratched out, stripped from the wall and the desk was stripped bare. The desk was made of driftwood, old but preserved by Script. Gale ran his hands over the desk and under the desk was carved a name. “Pipes.”
Gale moved on to the sixth and final workbench. Made of old timber, like the hull of a galleon, it was covered with tools and pieces of half-built machines. It was scratched with carvings. Someone had carved initials into the desk, inside a love-heart were two names, “Mullet’ and “Pipes”. The word Pipes had been scratched through.
The mural above the fifth desk was a symbol, the same symbol from the ruined fort, nine weapons arrayed in a circle. Inscribed beneath it was a single line. ‘Test your metal.’
Gale went over each of the desks again, finding little else of value. The scraps of paper on most were degraded and unreadable. A faint hint of the song came from the second desk, Grimace’s desk. Most of the papers atop the desk had decayed or rotted. He pulled open the drawers and found nothing. He pressed a slight indentation in one of the drawers, and a compartment sprang open. Within lay a journal preserved against the elements.
Eureka.
Gale opened the journal to the front page, the name ‘Grimace’ was inscribed. The first entry was dated twenty-five years ago, towards the end of the War of Brothers, he flicked through to the last entries, and they ended about eighteen years ago. Some of them were in a code.
Gale read the first entry.
‘I have decided to document my findings in a separate record as some now call out my research as…heretical. Yet I fear that I am the only one close enough to see clearly.
The nine, the nine waves are always mentioned preceding the flood, Bara the first wave, Blooughadda the red foam of the waves after a battle, Dufar the pitching wave, Hefring - the Rising wave, Himinglaeva the wave that reflects the light of the sky, Hronn the ever-changing, Kolga the chilling wave, Drofn the foam fleck comber and Uor the final.’
We must determine what these waves are and how to stop them, I believe the king tide…the king tide is the key to it all. The flood comes only when the king tide rises. Should someone find this book, then I have failed, and I fear for those who remain. We must keep the faith, noble does not rust…noble does not rust.’
Damn Grimace, did everyone hate to-do lists and clearly labelled instruction manuals. Not even an index in the journal. Gale sighed. He re-explored the other desks but found little of note. Gale pocketed the book, sealing it in a waterproof bubble and headed back for the relative warmth of the Lighthouse. He had some reading to do. Perhaps this would shed some clues on tracking down the Blood Knight.
Then again, maybe all he had was more questions. Six heretics
Blunder, Grimace, Flux, Pipes, Mullet and Spur. What had they been working on? Had they been Deep users. What did they uncover about the King Tide? Or were they behind it? Were one of them the Blood Knight? Or the Rust Knight. He needed to see the school records from twenty years ago. Find Grimace’s classmates.
He pulled himself from the blowhole with the night still dark, a false red dawn on the sea’s horizon. Blush sat cross-legged on the rock, staring out to sea.
‘Did you find what you were looking for?’ Blush asked. ‘You kicked up a hell of a signal of Deep Script.’
Gale nodded, he had some leads. Spur. Spur at least he could find. How hard would it be to track down a famous author? He was strong enough to do so. He would get stronger until he found the truth, until he found out what this had to do with him and his family.
He had a lead, he had a plan. He would not be weak again.
Blush nodded. ‘Might as well get started training then. Back in the hole.’
Swan - Larc
The clang of hammers rang in Swan’s ears, the smithy filled with students learning their craft. Even with the din of metal on metal, her father’s last phone call still played over in her head. ‘You should talk to your brother,’ he’d said. What were they up to? There was no way they had just ‘recovered’ from the incident. They’d lost most of their stock of weapons.
She needed to learn as much as she could. Before her family did something rash.
Glancing around, her desk was mostly concealed from others view. She reached into her pocket and sat Larc gently onto the bench. Larc shook out its metallic feathers, one wing still hanging loose. Larc hopped around on the desk then cocked her head up at Swan.
‘Well we need to get you fixed, or you’ll be stuck with me forever.’
Larc shuddered
‘I am strong, I can fix this. You want someone strong, not some poncy artist. Strong makes things survive.’
Larc hopped over to the edge of Swan’s desk where the ‘apology cactus’ sat. Sterling had tried to say sorry at least.
‘What?’ snapped Swan. ‘Its a cactus, its survives in the desert, it’s fine.’
Larc poked it with her beak. A whole stem fell off. Larc looked back at her.
Swan bent over the replacement wing muttering. Swan had tried various small wings that she could slot into the damaged section on Larc. She was actually making some progress. Fine metalwork however was not her forte. She did swords and structures, not jewellery.
She almost had it…almost…
Larc quirked her head. Swan misplaced the wing joint with a tink.
Swan cursed and kept working on the wings. ‘Tombs and shadows, nothing of use.’
Larc paused, twisting her head back and forth.
‘Yes?’ Swan asked.
Swan raised an eyebrow. ‘You don’t know, do you?’
Larc said, puffing out her chest and tilting her beak high in the air.
Swan put her tools down for a moment. ‘The Penumbra might have clipped you.’
Larc hopped from leg to leg, ruffling her metallic feathers with a faint clinking.
Swan snorted. ‘Strong, what for?’
‘I am strong, I make strong things, not jewellery or baubles, things that last, that are practical.’
‘Nah see that's functional, activewear is the strongest thing you’ll find, and racing stripes make you go faster. That's just s
cience that is. It just happens to be decorative also.’
Swan picked up a screwdriver and jabbed it at Larc’s chest. ‘I’m getting real fed up of your cryptic bullshit Larc. What are you anyway? There’s nothing like you in the textbooks, I checked after the monster hunt.’
Larc paused, shifting rapidly from foot to foot.
‘What is that!’ said Hotaru, her head bobbed up under Swan’s arm.
‘It looks shiny.’ Bella said peering around Swan’s other shoulder atop a stool. The twins had stuck to her like glue since the monster hunt.
‘Nothing,’ said Swan.
Larc said, puffing out her chest and fanning her tail.
‘This is so cool Swan, I didn’t know you had this kind of talent.’ Hotaru said and holding out a hand to Larc. Larc hopped over and settled onto Hotaru’s palm.
‘It's just a fancy knick-knack. Nothing useful. Nothing strong.’ Swan said. She didn’t know if she’d be punished for taking Larc from the entrance exam.
‘Look at the detail on this wing, Bella.’ Hotaru said. ‘It's as real as anything in Wyldfell. This thing is incredible.’
Larc puffed her chest out even further.
‘Can we borrow it for hunting practice?’ Bella asked, and they both turned to stare at the bird on Hotaru’s hand. Larc hopped speedily off Hotaru’s hand and back to Swan.
Larc said to her.
Swan saw that the wing had improved but had not fully taken. Swan shooed the twins away and went back to working on the wing. Larc was recovering, she’d never mentioned being a ‘Spark’ before. Not even at the ruins with symbols. She wondered if the repairs were restoring parts of her memory. Like her body was one large electrical circuit board that she was repairing to full function. Still, it raised another question.
If Larc was a spark,
What was she meant to ignite?
Gale - The Bookwyrm
A slow drizzle of rain fell outside the lighthouse. Gale drank his morning coffee in silence at the table with the rest of the team. Gale thumbed through ‘Lifting Great Weight’, he’d gotten about halfway. Shackleton sat at the table with them, the chair underneath him straining with his weight. Titus had drawn a happy face on Shackleton to attempt to lighten the mood. It hadn’t worked. The events of the monster hunt, the Blood knight’s attack and their increasing debt weighed on all of them.
Titus pushed his coffee over to the debt golem. Shackleton looked down at it, back at Titus, then wrapped both hands around it. Shackleton struggled to lift the mug to its mouth. The coffee poured into Shackleton.
‘Where does it go, though?’ Yip said.
They all looked at Shackleton.
‘It's not like he pees it out. It just disappears into the ether.’ Yip hopped down from his seat and approached Shackleton. Shackleton leapt from his chair and lumbered back towards Titus. Tiny marks showed where Yip had chipped at Shackleton to see if it would reduce their debt.
Titus patted Shackleton on his shoulder and frowned at Yip. ‘No, leave him alone.’
Yips hand twitched. A ding came from the oven, Titus pulled a pie out and sat back down.
‘You can’t eat a pie for every meal Titus.’ Swan said.
‘That is an outrageous accusation Swan, I don’t eat a pie for every meal.’
‘You had one for dinner.’
‘That was mourning pie. For our fallen comrades.’
‘No one died Titus.’
‘Even better, a celebratory pie.’ Titus said around a full mouth of pastry.
‘You ate pie the lunch before that.’ Swan said
‘That was a siesta pie. Its cultural ain't it? Besides this here is a cheer me up pie, and I definitely had a sausage roll for breakfast yesterday.’ Titus said. He squirted out fat dollops of tomato sauce from a near-empty bottle. The symphony of squelching accompanying his efforts.
‘You’ll get fat.’ Swan said.
‘But if I don’t have a pie, what’ll I pair my chocolate milk with? Eggs? I’m not a savage Swan.’ Titus said, chugging chocolate milk.
Swan slammed her hands down on the table, and Gale jumped. ‘Right, that’s it! Tonight we’re having healthy, hearty food. Tonight, I’m making lamb roast.’
Gale’s eye tracked up to the ceiling. A large black stain hung above their heads. ‘Sounds….great…’ Gale said.
‘Yeah…’ said Sterling, ‘You did such a…good job…with the pasta night.’
Swan threw open the pantry doors and started taking stock. Yip walked over to the pantry and handed her his shopping list notepad. Swan paused, Yip had never given her anything.
‘If you’re going to make a list, do it properly.’ Yip shrugged.
Gale coughed. ‘So anyway, I have an assignment that I need info for, and I can’t find anything. It’s on something called the King Tide and the Nine Waves. Anyone heard of it?’
The others shook their head. Shackleton also paused and shook his head in imitation.
‘You tried the library?’ Said Yip.
‘Nothing.’ Gale said. He’d gone through the lower levels of the library and even asked a few of the assistants. He’d been barred from the upper levels. Apparently, those were only for professors and PhD students. Something to think about.
Gale had also progressed through Grimace’s journal, but much of it was in a cipher. He had found little about who the ‘Heretics’ might have been. He had found newspaper articles about the trial of Grimace the heretic. Details on his trial were slim, the papers just referred to ‘crimes against the crown’. Grimace had been a fracturesmith from Ionhome with some political pull before his downfall.
Spur, the author of their textbook, had too much detail. Biopics, newspaper articles, journal publications. He couldn’t see the forest for the trees. He needed to find the man in person. That, however, was easier said than done. Requests to set up a meeting were met with a 1 year wait time. His agent had been unwilling to disclose where he was.
He’d hit nothing but dead ends searching for his family history, like they’d been erased. He thought of the blue Penumbra rolling off Ironchurch’s dog tags. He needed to find out who the Dredgers had been.
‘Well, you could ask the Bookwyrm.’ Titus said. ‘She’s a real history buff, she’s tutoring me.’ A crash of pots and pans came in the cupboard. Loud, very unladylike curses erupted from the kitchen.
‘Swear jar,’ they all repeated like a mantra.
‘Gets us out of here.’ Sterling said, and they rushed out the door.
Titus knocked at the Bookwyrm’s door in House Baxter. Most of the students in the tower below were still asleep or hungover. House Baxter’s motto of ‘Life should be lived,’ was one they took very seriously.
‘So why do they call her the Bookwyrm?’ Gale asked. Titus just grinned and winked.
The door cracked open, and a tiny snout peeked out at knee height. A reptilian head, almost dragon-like, followed. The miniature dragon regarded them with its nose turned up, then hissed at Yip.
‘Hello Monticore, whose a good faux-dragon, you are, yes you are,’ Titus said scratching Monticore behind its ears. The faux-dragon acceded and then pushed the door open further. Titus gestured for Gale, Sterling and Yip to walk in. They both stepped wide around Monticore, who gave a tiny puff of flame at Gale.
Now he could see the full-body, Monticore was like a dog-sized lizard. He had tiny vestigial wings. He also wore a miniature butlers outfit.
The Bookwyrm’s room was a large studio apartment filled with scattered books. The books were propped on stands, heaped in piles, towered in stacks and occasionally hung from the ceiling. The piles of books were only interrupted by a bed and a table with chairs. Tiny faux-dragons slept on nests of books.
‘Is that one in a party
hat?’ Gale asked.
‘Shhh’ Titus hissed.
‘But look that one has a onesie on…how did she get that on it?’
‘This is a travesty.’ Yip said, he tried to move an open book that a faux dragon slept on, drool dripped onto the pages beneath it.
‘Lose the page, and you’re dead,’ came a voice from one of the stacks.
A small waifish girl sat up from the edge of her bed. She removed a book that had fallen over her face and rubbed the sleep from her eyes. She had oversized black-rimmed glasses and pink coloured hair. She was dressed in an odd assortment of brightly coloured tie-dye. She uncurled from her napping position and despite a soft face, fixed them with a stare that made the knees tremble. A half-eaten plate of dinner lay on her bed where she had fallen asleep.
‘Sorry B,’ muttered Titus, looking down at his feet.
‘ Oh, Titus! That's alright, its always good to see you,’ the Bookyrm said, her facing lighting up. ‘Monticore, bring our guests a snack dearest.’
Monticore re-emerged with a plate of biscuits strapped to his back. The lizard trundled over, snapped at them, then tilted its back so that the biscuits slid off the plate onto the ground. Gale glanced at Yip, then Sterling, then at the biscuits on the ground.
‘Oohhhh I think he likes you. Normally he’ll bite on the first visit’ said the Bookwyrm.
‘No probs B,’ said Titus, through a mouthful of biscuits. The Bookwyrm flashed him a smile then turned back to glare at Sterling and Yip.
‘I baked them myself, you know. Try one.’
‘Sure they look great’ Gale said. Gale picked one up and nudged Yip. Yip stared ahead, pointedly not looking at the biscuits or the pile of unsorted books. Gale bit into his biscuit and the flavours exploded in his mouth, a delicious cacophony of sweet and bitter.
‘Take off your shoes too, must keep things clean and tidy,’ the Bookwyrm said. The Bookwyrm swept a pile of books off the table onto the floor. Yip squeaked.