King Tides Curse

by C J Timms

  ‘Alright Pancakes you’re up.’ Gale whispered. The tiny seahound melted through the cracks in the window and battled with the mechanism.

  Click.

  The window swung open, and Gale dropped to the floor. His hydrolens showed him the room in a murky light. A giant pedestal commanded the centre of the room, a crystal the size of his head set into it. The room was clear for five metres around the pedestal, and then it became bookshelves crammed everywhere. The shelves loomed out of the darkness, curving in and then twisting in on each other like strands of DNA. The shelves folded over each other, lurching horizontal, vertical and even twisting up towards the ceiling. The gaps between the shelves were the length of his forearm.

  Reefing heck, how was he supposed to find something in that? Or even get up there.

  Gale stepped forwards towards the crystal pedestal, his footsteps unsettlingly loud on the floor. Four figures loomed on the other side of the crystal, each had carved their own slot out of a bookshelf or hung from one. Figures of stone

  The first was a hulking gargoyle with four arms, carved pushing a trolley of books. Next to it a rake-thin statue with arms as tall as its body hung from a bookshelf. A statue whose face was replaced by an open book hunched in an alcove. The final had the body of a man but a dark orb of shadow where its head should be, four sets of spectacles on chains looped around its neck. The librarians. None of them moved.

  Moving closer to the crystal, a sign was hung around it. ‘Crystal out of order, ring bell.’ A small desk bell sat to the side of the handwritten sign. Simple, made of good quality metal. The crystal pedestal had words carved around it. ‘There is none so evil as those who break the silence of the library.’

  The gargoyles stared down at him, unmoving. Four eerie wardens of stone. Pancakes bounded towards the four-armed beast pushing a trolley.

  “Pancakes, heel.’ Gale said.

  Pancakes looked back at him, whined and gestured to a stone apple that rested in the gargoyle’s hand. It looked real, fresh green and crispy. He could almost hear the crunch.

  Gale rolled his eyes and pulled out a box stacked with paleo pancakes. He’d used eggs and coconut flour and buckwheat along with Ironchurch’s personal brand of protein powder.

  Pancakes sniffed it and turned his nose up.

  ‘You’re getting tubby, you need to get strong.’ Gale said.

  The seahound rolled its eyes and took a bite. It chewed for a moment then spat it out and barked at Gale. Something shifted in his periphery. Gale looked over at the Librarian with the orb of shadows for a head. Had it moved? Could a sphere of shadow shush you? Gale dug into his pockets and pulled out the emergency standard pancake he kept for these situations. Pancakes gulped it down

  How was he meant to find something in this mess?

  His hand hovered over the desk bell and watched the four gargoyles. He pressed the button.

  Ding.

  The noise rang through the library. The ding echoed off the stone floor and rattled into oblivion in the twisting shelves. A puff of orange smoke came from the desk bell, and a small flying fox appeared. The flying fox stood on two legs, had a portly belly and a tiny red cape on its back. It hacked up some phlegm and wiped its mouth. More employment of endangered animals?

  ‘Flaming heck what time is it.’ The flying fox said.

  Gale looked at the little beast, he glanced back at the gargoyles. They were still stationary, four arms with his trolley, the thin man in his robes, the orb of shadows. He had time.

  ‘I need the pager logs from 18 years ago. Also anything specifically on this pager.’ Gale handed it over.

  The flying fox let rip a nostril stinging fart. ‘Everyone always wanting something, never mind the sleep disturbance, upsets old Eugene’s irritable bowel it does.’ The flying fox read over the pager number, gave it back and took a running leap into the air. A kinder soul than Gale would call it a tumble, Gale would call it crashing into a bookshelf.

  Gale looked up to the statues. Still stationary. Still three motionless wardens. Trolley, robes and orb.

  The flying fox scarpered up the shelves, its small body fitting between the tiny gaps in the shelving. Occasional bouts of gas signalled where he was after Gale lost vision.

  Waiting for the flying fox, Eugene, to return, Gale went to a shelf and ran his hands over the titles. Something shifted again in his periphery. He shook his head, looking for it. Had it been Eugene?

  He stopped, carved into a shelf, visible only under his hydrolens, was the words ‘Heretics.’ It was carved underneath a book titled, ‘The Nine.’ The text was written in a strange language, blocky, almost runic. He flipped past the text to a picture.

  A group of metallic winged angels fought a battle against a giant mountainous beast. Tentacles of rock whipped through the sky, beautiful maidens stood atop the creature, beckoning the angels closer. The creature was emerging from a crimson whirlpool, a gate of blood.

  Someone had written in ink under the picture. They’d written question marks and drawn arrows as if brainstorming. ‘Vrachos Gorgona, The Blood Gate? The sailors temptation? The gate of temptation?’ They’d seemed to be listing possible translations. Nothing like a good set of study notes, thought Gale.

  Eugene crashed onto the pedestal. ‘Here you go, cripes my back is rooted today.’

  Gale shoved the book back in the shelves and turned back to the pedestal before Eugene saw. A book caught his eye across the room as he turned ‘Addison's fluid dynamics.’ He’d been looking for that for months. Maybe he could scan a hydrolens copy while he was here.

  Approaching Eugene, keeping his eye on the two books. Addison's Fluid Dynamics would help out the Lighthouse, but ‘The Nine’ would answer his personal questions. Frak it, he could help his team and himself. He was Gale Knott, and he had a plan.

  On the pedestal, Eugene showed him the pager records. They were stored in a massive tome. Gale’s hands touched the old paper, and he started looking. Logs of call outs, histories of battles with the deep, reduced to billing codes and fees charged. Some stood out to him on well-worn pages.

  Code 399877 - The battle of mount axis, Zasterix slays Addison

  Code 397958 - Volkstorm’s sky

  Code 15481 - The Redox

  Code 7901 - The sealing of the Vrachos. Rock and voice.

  Code 32 - The Galvanisation

  Gale flipped thought the massive log that was the Pager records, he didn’t need the book, just to find the owner of his pager. 7958.

  Last owner 7958 - Spur. Spur, huh thought Gale. The textbook author? The niggly old tutor whose book made them memorise twenty different types of nail that weren’t even used anymore?

  Then he saw the previous owner, the person who’d passed it on to Spur. Adelphus Knott.

  Was that his dad?

  Thud.

  A book fell to the ground behind him. Gale eyes darted back and forth. Nothing moved. The librarians remained stationary. Three sinister statues stood silent.

  Eugene stomped his foot. ‘Well, I guess I’ll bleeding well pick it up won’t I.’ Eugene scurried off the platform.

  Gale’s hand pressed the pages flat, and he leaned in. His father had owned this pager. Spur had said his father had asked him to look out for him. Had they been through training together? Wait what had he said earlier.

  He looked up to the statues.

  Three silent guardians.

  Frak, there had been four of them.

  A finger of stone lowered down on the book, reaching over his shoulder. Gale felt a presence behind him. Gale held his breath, silence, nothing stirred, he took a breath, then another.

  Stone ground on stone.

  ‘Frak…’ Gale whispered

  The librarians above moved into action.

  “Pancakes, bail!”

  Gail ducked a swinging stone arm and jumped a shadowy blast of energy. He saw the book on the Nine across the room from him and Addison's fluid dynamics on the other. Frak, he needed both.

/>   A shadowy orb with glasses swooped from above and ducked around a shelf shooting a blast of dark energy. Gale ducked into the twisting maze of shelves.

  He needed answers about his family.

  He needed to find the King Tide.

  He needed to pass this year, but his team needed to pass the year.

  Gale cursed and ran for the book he needed most.

  Gail burst out the window, a blast of dark energy narrowly missing him. He collided with a sphere for Wyldfell and fired the eureka-pack. He dropped to the ground running, Yip moved up beside him.

  ‘Practically a ninja huh.’ Yip said.

  ‘Shutup, things escalated.’ Gale said. He shuddered, they’d nearly had him.

  They fled back to the Lighthouse and slammed the door closed.

  ‘Well, did you get what you were looking for?’ Yip asked. ‘Was it worth risking the teams success?’

  Gale pulled the Eureka pack off his back. It was mangled, destroyed in the fall. A tool he’d lost. That was alright though, he had an idea he needed to talk to Swan about. He patted the book he’d retrieved from the library.

  He looked back at Yip, who’d had his back repeatedly this year. He needed answers about his family. There was only one way to get them. Get the Lighthouse through this year.

  He put Addison’s fluid dynamics onto the desk. He hoped he’d made the right choice.

  ‘It was worth it. This, however, is going to need a lot of spreadsheets.’

  Yip pulled two pens from holsters on his belt and clicked them, holding them like mini daggers. ‘Don’t worry Gale, I’ve got your back.’

  Gale - Christmas in July

  Gale dragged himself from bed, frak he’d slept through most of Saturday. Climbing the tower had completely tapped him out. Something had roused him from bed though, the smell of… gingerbread? Gale threw on his clothes and followed his nose downstairs.

  The common room had exploded with dollar store Christmas festivities. Red baubles, Christmas trees and miniature sleighs pulled by animated reindeers and kangaroos raced around a track.

  ‘Its Christmas in July.’ Swan said putting a pair of reindeer ears on Gale’s head. ‘I love this time of year.’

  Gale sat next to Shackleton, who sported a red nose mask. Swan passed him a mug of hot cocoa. Gale inhaled the heady brew, damn but he loved a good hot choccie. He’d completely forgotten about this, Swan had told them to buy presents a week ago.

  A faux dragon poked its head into the common room and snapped up a gingerbread man. The Bookwyrm entered behind the faux dragon wearing a loose flowing robe tied with a rainbow coloured belt.

  ‘B!’ Titus said and swept the Bookwyrm into a hug.

  The Lighthouse with the Bookwyrm gathered around the table. They piled presents in the centre of the table. Green and red styled boxes filled with the cheapest gifts money could buy on a students income. Swan opened Titus’s box with caution and squealed in delight, pulling out a pair of ugg boots.

  ‘Genuine fake ugg boots, not even the professionals can tell the difference.’ Titus said. ‘I also got a present for the team.’

  Gale opened his present from Titus. It was a flannie, Titus had bought them all matching flannies. Swan thumped the table with excitement and wrapped it around herself.

  Titus scratched the back of his neck. ‘I just thought that well, the Splinterpoint gate is Monday right? Um, I thought we could use, you know, a team uniform.”

  Something dropped out of Gale’s flannie. Wrapped inside the flannie was a copy of the book, ‘The Knight and the sorcerer.’ Gale smiled and flicked through the pages. The book, written in bright colours and shapes for children, told the story of a Knight sent to save a princess from an evil Sorcerer. He was given the gift of a magic shield, a set of enchanted armour and a blessed shield by the queen. The knight refused these gifts, however stating that a loyal knight, a true man, needed no magic to slay evil. That a man required only their strong arm and courage. The Knight, true to his word, fought the sorcerer and struck him down without using any magical weapons. The sorcerer offered him infinite power to spare his life, but the Knight denied him, saying a true man strikes no deals for power. Gale looked over the edge of his book at Titus, who flexed his muscles, modelling an ugly sweater for the Bookwyrm.

  Yip and Sterling had both put on their flannies, it was hard to say who looked the more awkward in one.

  Swan gave Yip a pair of socks, Yip gave her a pen. Gale wasn't sure if a pen from Yip was a gag present or a priceless one. Yip wouldn’t trap a gift, would he?

  ‘Gale what is this?’ Swan said, holding up her gift.

  ‘Oh…rules for a good life.’

  Gale had given them all a copy of ‘Lifting Great Weight’, Ironchurch’s guide to life. Gale tapped the copy in his pocket. He would find a cure for Church.

  With the Christmas ham devoured and a pavlova scattered before them, the Lighthouse entered that comfortable silence that was broken only by the protest of a gurgling stomach. The Bookwyrm had curled up in a corner fast asleep. A group of her faux-dragons grouped underneath her and carried her off back to house Baxter. Monticore, for some reason, had remained and was gnawing on a couch leg. Yip left it be after several attempts to shoo it, it nearly snapped his hand off.

  Yip poked Gale, he held out a Christmas bonbon. Gale managed to raise a hand to grip one end. Gale ripped on the bonbon, and Yip’s iron grip held fast. The contents exploded into the air. A tiny toy bear, a Christmas joke and a paper crown fell to the floor.

  Yip snagged them from the floor. He held up the Christmas joke and read it, then he started cackling. Gale raised an eyebrow.

  Yip wiped a tear from his eye. ‘What do you get when you cross a pair of glasses and a hardware store?’

  Gale shrugged.

  ‘An eye-saw,’ Yip said, slapping his thigh.

  Gale coughed. Yip narrowed his eyes. He held the toy bear in his hand and pocketed it. Then he jumped up on the table and placed the crown on Gale’s head.

  ‘Do you fail to find me amusing my king?’ Yip said, sweeping into a bow. Sterling chuckled, and Swan raised a glass.

  ‘Our king!’ they said.

  Gale tried to stand, but his stomach argued with him, so he kept his seat. Gale ran his hands along the paper crown. A king without a kingdom. A king without a royal treasury. The Christmas lunch had been some of their last scrapings of coin. They had paid for the Splinterpoint Gate exam, but even if they passed, they needed to pay an even more ridiculous fee for the final exam, the Battle Royale. They were way behind in the house cup and had no hopes of winning it. At least not through traditional means.

  ‘What's up gloomy guts.’ Swan mused popping her ugg boots up on the table.

  ‘You might as well tell us, Knott,’ Titus said and burped loudly. ‘We know you’ve been working on something all secretive like. We’re all going down if it fails, might as well let us give it a red hot go.’

  Gale paused. Was it time? He looked over at Yip, who nodded. Gale took off the paper crown and ran it through his hands. ‘I will have your word of honour Titus, not a breath of it can leave the room. It may require you to lie.’

  ‘Aye you have a man’s word of honour,’ Titus said and slammed a six-pack of beer on the table. He cracked a warm tinnie.

  Swan took a tinnie and held it aloft. ‘To rental payments.’

  Sterling took a tinnie and held it out at arms length. ‘To glory.’

  Swan hit the underside causing the beer to overflow onto his arm.

  Yip held up his tinnie. ‘To the downfall of arseholes.’

  Gale cracked his tinnie and held it up. ‘To the plan.’

  Titus grabbed the last tinnie, double fisting. ‘To the six-pack of five, may there always be a spare drink.

  Splinterpoint Gate Exam

  The realms all fractured,

  Like a rat he gnaws,

  The imperfect god,

  On his throne of flaws.

  Fragment of text f
ound in the journal of Grimace the Heretic

  Exam preparation is a topic with hundreds of different theories and experts. Cram everything the night before, say some. Slow and steady wins the race, say others. Sleep four hours a night and nap intermittently through the day to optimise your memory, say the extremists.

  The Splinterpoint Gate was challenging to prepare for. Each person faced their own trial, and there were no past papers or study guides. Trying to prepare for today’s exam was difficult at the best of times. Doing it while working nighttime pager call-outs was brutal.

  Gale felt like death warmed up. Gale huddled in silence around the breakfast table. Swan was crankier than usual, Yip only had two books lazily floating around him, and Sterling poked at his protein shake with a straw. Tomorrow's problems had blurred with today's problems. Survive another day, push it out. Become a fracturesmith. Hurrah, Gale thought.

  Titus clapped Gale on the back with a tomato sauce covered hand. ‘Chin up Gale, combat!’ Titus bit into his third bacon and egg roll. He swiped Sterling’s protein shake and guzzled it down. With two thumbs up he clapped Sterling on the back, leaving a red handprint.

  Bleary-eyed, Gale and the Lighthouse gathered with the other first years in a mass of shuffling feet and flitting glances. The students slowly milled around the Splinterpoint Gate like a shoal of fish, protected by their numbers, none looking to stand out.

  The Splinterpoint Gate sat at the centre of the university. A floating orb, three times Gale’s height, that pulsed with a multicoloured hue. The area within the Gate broke spasmodically into fractal patterns.

  House Laurels stood front and centre with their support staff. A blonde-haired trainer was massaging Alisdairs shoulders.

  Gale could smell something off. Gale sniffed, letting just a hint of Deep Script enhance his senses. Alisdair reeked of Salt, his pupils slightly dilated.