King Tides Curse

by C J Timms

The wind shifted, and Grace overbalanced. She tumbled down the scaffolding, snagging a handhold and nearly dislocated her shoulder. In his pod, Jason woke and started clapping.

  Grace swung in the wind, pushing script into her arm to keep her up. Slowly she pulled herself back upwards.

  ‘Looks like you could use a hand.’

  Grace twisted her head, and Spur floated above her, hanging over the railing of the Chisel.

  ‘Now I know you’ve got a lot of options. You are very employable Grace. Just have a listen to our proposal.’ Spur drawled out.

  Grace screamed, ‘Pull me up, no time for your jokes, uncle.’

  ‘But you haven’t even heard my pitch, we’ve put a creche in the back. We took out the pool room.’ Spur said.

  ‘Pull me up I’m frakking slipping here.’ Grace yelled back.

  Spur stroked his chin. ‘I’ll let you aboard on one condition.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Let me set you up with a boy.’

  Grace rolled her eyes, ‘Alright, for Reef’s sake pull me up.’

  Spur lowered a ladder to her. Grace swung out and caught it. Arm over arm, she pulled herself and Jason onto the Chisel. Grace collapsed onto the deck and caught her breath. She pushed herself to standing.

  Spur grabbed them both and pulled them into a hug. ‘I’m sorry. Family comes first. I only ask you to do one thing for me.’

  Grace hugged him back. The old codger could be serious and heartfelt when it mattered.

  'Anything, what is it?' Grace asked.

  ‘Pull my finger.’

  The Chisel screamed towards the horizon, and its soldiers readied the cannons. Other airships cracked into reality, the Fixation, the Alignment and the Bone-Hammer had all answered his call. Grizzled old clunkers with captains just as chewed up. Yet their cannons still fired and their nails were still sharp.

  The Arghost hung above the Membranous Cathedral, pushing memories to the fore, memories that had long been buried. Adelphus’s face, a simple request. Thoughts breaking through long held dams, threatening to flood his brain.

  ‘Not now.’ Spur muttered. ‘There is a fracture, I need to fix it.’

  In the harbour, a beast of rock and tentacles grappled with the island-turtle. The Bone-Hammer swooped in, firing a blistering barrage from its cannons. Captain Drake was a damned show off.

  Rocky tentacles whipped upwards and swatted the Bone-hammer like a fly. Deck and hull ripped open, and it spun out of control. The ship plunged towards the harbour, its crew scuttling the lifeboats.

  'Pull us up.' Spur yelled. There was no point sealing the fracture till that thing was back where it belonged. How to do that, though?

  Trees swelled from the island-turtle under the command of a flannelette wearing student in boardies and thongs. The trees smashed into and drove the Gorgona back. Atop the Chisel, Spur heaved a massive nail, as long as himself, onto his shoulders. His purples eyes tracked the student, a true man’s man.

  ‘Grace, I’ve found a nice boy to set you up with.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Later…it looks like we’re up,’ Spur said and placed a pair of glasses with magnifying loupes on his face.

  'Volley fire.' Spur yelled. The Chisel's cannons belched flame and smoke, and a rain of nails began. Like fired arrows, the nails crashed through the edge of the portal.

  The nails cracked the portal further, their impact disrupting the reality break before the callous could spread. The whole thing was an unstable wound, and there wasn't enough healthy tissue to nail reality to for a simple side to side closure. Spur would have to pull some reality in from the surrounding area, stitch a reconstructive flap over the break.

  He levitated his toolkit out of his bag. The nails and hammer soared down towards the break. He tried to stretch reality across the break.

  A small callous started to spread out from where the nails had landed, trying to heal the fracture. Spur manipulated the nail with his script while he levitated his hammer down with the other. From a distance, he brought the hammer crashing down, driving the nail further into the fracture. The callous sped up, reclaiming broken reality at a faster pace. Spur grinned, then paused.

  A hairline fracture spread outwards from the nail.

  ‘Frak,’ he swore as new cracks ripped outwards into reality and the callous came apart. The world-fracture unravelled, growing even larger.

  ‘It’s too big uncle. There’s too much of it to try and pin in place.’ Grace yelled.

  Spur stared at the fracture and stroked his chin. Such a large break hadn’t been pinned since Adelphus and Grimace had worked together. Perhaps a volley from all the ships at the same time would work?

  'Eric, how many rounds do we have below decks?' He asked his head cannoneer over the comms. No answer came.

  'Eric, what's going on down there?' Spur asked again. He slammed the comms down. He'd have to sort it out himself. He brushed something from his shoulder. Small flecks of brown fell to the ground. Spur's head cocked, listening.

  ‘Grace.’ He said.

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘Good opportunity for a clinical exam.’

  A horrible grating shriek came from behind them. Rust strode forwards, his armour corroded, his chipped blade wet with the blood of the crew. His helmet discarded, the chill wind ran through his orange-brown hair. The metal hull rusted wherever he touched.

  ‘Try not to fail,’ Spur said.

  ‘You don’t wanna give me a hand here?’ Grace asked.

  ‘There is a fracture. I need to fix it.’ Spur said and turned his back on the Rust Knight. Delegation was vital for a good leader.

  Spur began summoning fixation nails. They flew from his cloak, they rose from the bodies of fallen fracturesmiths around him and soared out of compartments on the Chisel. Long spikes of metal flew, danced around him, they framed him in a kaleidoscope of metallic rings. Spur set his foot backwards, raised one hand, then slammed forward with his script. The spikes fired downwards to circle the fracture, held in place by his script but not touching it, yet.

  ‘More,’ Spur growled. He kept manipulating spikes, leaving the Rust Knight to Grace.

  ‘The simplest solution is always best,’ Grace said, and Occam’s Razor appeared in her hands. She rushed the Rust Knight and swung with her glowing scythe. Rust dodged sideways with a shriek of metal plate and grabbed her scythe one-handed. Grace struggled against him, but he held her weapon with one hand. Then a single flake of rust appeared on Grace’s scythe.

  ‘No,’ she whispered.

  Flakes of rust spread out from his touch. She heaved against the grip and couldn’t free the scythe. She tried to banish it, but the Rust Knight’s script locked it in place. Occam’s Razor shrivelled up like a burning leaf, then fell apart in her grip. Flakes of rust poured through the grip of her hands onto the deck. Her mother’s last gift was gone.

  ‘There is no simple solution for me.’

  The Rust Knight slammed a fist into her chest wall and knocked her away. Pain erupted in Grace’s chest, and an orange, brown stain surged over her skin. She tumbled across the deck and slammed a hand down, gouging a tract with her gloved hands. Grace pushed to her knees and eyed the bastard. Rust turned away from her towards Spur. Grace’s eyes flicked to Jason on her back, protected in the pocket bubble. Would the shield hold up to the Rust Knight’s corrosion? There was nowhere safe to put him on the lurching airship.

  ‘You bastard’ Grace said. She drew two short fixation nails, holding them like daggers, and darted forwards. Grace ducked and dodged around blows. She blocked blows with the short nails and when they dissolved drew two more from her belt. With a grunt, the Rust Knight swung his blade, broke through her short nails and lodged the sword into her thigh. Grace cried out but spat at the Rust Knight’s helm and rammed two of her nails into the man’s chest.

  The nails punctured through the armour. Fixing in place, they started to spread their white grey callous outwards.

  ‘Got you now.
’

  The Rust Knight looked down at the fixation nails and chuckled. They too, rusted away. The chest wounds flaked over, and he shoved her aside. Grace hit the deck hard, her leg wound bleeding profusely. Grace snaked her tail down over her thigh, using it as a tourniquet. She tried to stand but buckled under the pain.

  Spur muttered under his breath as a bead of sweat rolled down his cheek. The Arghost hanging in the air mocked him.

  ‘The Myriagonal Fix, Adelphus worked it out, Grimace worked it out, I’ll be damned if I can’t pull it off.’

  Hundreds of nails floated through the air in multiple concentric rings around the fracture. Spur kept sending more from the Chisel.

  ‘There,’ he muttered and slammed all the nails into place, simultaneously.

  As the last one flew in, the Rust Knight stabbed at Spur and he had to jerk away. The final nail slipped.

  ‘Frak.’

  The fixation held for a moment, cast started to spread.

  Then a crack appeared, worming its way through his beautifully placed fix. The fix blew apart, the reality fracture cracking wider.

  Spur growled. ‘Damnit, I’ll never live this down if Grimace hears.’

  He grabbed his war hammer and turned to face the Rust Knight. His eyes flicked to Grace, who had staggered to her feet. ‘I don’t suppose I could grab your name. Just for marking purposes.’

  ‘Stop frakking around Spur. I’m bleeding over here.’ Grace yelled out.

  Rust gave a half-smile. ‘Never mind that Spur, let's crack on with it.’

  The Rust Knight leapt at Spur. The rustblade came down and Spur brought up his war hammer to block. Rust dropped his blade and grabbed the war hammer with both hands. With a grunt, he sent rust cascading down the war hammer.

  ‘Nailed it.’ Said Rust.

  Then the corrosion halted. A dragonfly landed on the hammer, right where the rust had stopped. Memories hammered into Spur, long locked away. Memories of oaths taken. Memories of fallen allies, and of ancient tradition. Memories of being a catalytst. The dragonfly looked him dead in the eye and winked.

  The rust reversed.

  Rust grunted, crushing his gauntlets against the metal but still the corrosion reversed. It fled before a silvery-white glow that rippled up Spur’s war hammer. Rust grunted again, his head turning away from the light. Spur reached out, light flaring off his hand and grabbed the Rust Knight. Reality cast spread over the man’s arm at a rapid rate.

  ‘I will fix you….’ Spur said, holding Rust in a death grip.

  Rust headbutted Spur, smacking Spur backwards. The Rust Knight narrowed his eyes slammed his mailed fist into Spur’s forearm. Bone cracked.

  ‘Not ready for you yet.’ Rust muttered and threw Spur away. Rust turned and fled, a reality fracture ripping open to the Deep Realm. Fine orange flakes fell from its edge.

  Cradling his arm, Spur stepped over to the injured Grace, still protecting Jason. He bent over her leg injury. With a crack and grind of metal the bone and tissue reset. The bleeding slowed then stopped as Spur dressed the wound. He helped Grace to a sitting position.

  Spur took three deep breaths steadying his arms.

  One,

  Two,

  Three.

  He cracked his radius and ulna back into alignment. He grunted. Then he slammed a cast over it, sweat dripping off him, his heart pounding like a jackhammer in his chest. He used his war hammer as a crutch to limp back to the railing.

  They were losing the battle.

  The young warrior in the flannelette shirt was failing. The Gorgona had pushed partway back through the fracture. On the ground the Canutian monks had started to drop, drained of nearly all their magic. The phyton swarms trying again to pull the island-turtle into the depths.

  ‘We’re boned, aren’t we.’ Grace asked, rocking Jason gently.

  Spur took of his sunglass loupes. He held them up to the light, wiped them off and then replaced them.

  ‘Firstly, language, we have certain standards to uphold, you know.’ Spur loosened his tie and let it slip away into the breeze, dancing through the sky around them. He tied his loupes into place and sighted down them off the deck.

  ‘When we named this vessel, I was outvoted. Drake had already claimed the name Bone-Hammer, and everyone else loved the name The Chisel.’ Spur said. Grace slipped an arm under his shoulder, and together they walked back towards the wheel. He grabbed a small set of keys on the way.

  ‘What did you want to call her’ Grace asked.

  ‘I wanted to name her what she was. I wanted to call her…The Nail.’ Spur said. He strode back to the wheel and levelled it down. The whole ship angled downward. Alarms blared, and red lights flashed.

  ‘Frak you Grimace, I’m not going to be the only one who can’t work this out.

  There is a fracture. I need to fix it.’

  Titus planted his thongs in the tree bark, his arms thrown outward, straining to push back the beast. The Gorgona’s one massive eye fixated on him, its tentacles pushed back against the tree limbs he had summoned. It was like one mighty arm wrestle, and Titus could feel his grip failing.

  ‘Rule thirty-one, a man doesn’t skip legs day.’ He muttered, feeling his limbs buckling under the weight. On his arms, his skin darkened, hardened, as a growth swallowed the light of his Canutian marks.

  ‘Rule seventeen, Everyone is beautiful once the lights are off.’

  He could do this. He was Titus Mangrove. He had once arm-wrestled Kelly Slater to a hard draw in the Byron Bay pub. True it had been a late night, and the pub had been dark, but the guy had sworn he was a famous surfer. He glanced back to the island-turtle over his shoulder. Figures darted back and forth on the cliffs.

  ‘Rule one...a man has his mates back.’ Titus smiled.

  Two rocky limbs broke through his tree canopy. They sped forward to crush him. Above him, the sky went dark as an airship rocketed towards him. He stared death in the face and grinned like a madman. He’d heard what Swan had called him.

  He was Titus frakking Mangrove.

  The Bogan Knight.

  A hand grabbed his shirt and yanked him away as the Gorgona’s tentacles smashed into the tree. The tree canopy broke apart, and the Gorgona surged forward.

  ‘You should really knock off the brekkie pies.’ Swan said, her arms strained to hold him from atop her metallic pegasus.

  ‘Take me back.’ Titus roared.

  Swan grinned at him, ‘No need for a manly last stand today Titus,’

  ‘You don’t understand Swan,’ Titus said. Titus wiggled his bare toes ‘I dropped my thongs back there.’

  ‘You bloody bogan, hold on.’

  Swan dodged through the Gorgona’s rocky limbs. Whipping cords of rock whistled past them. Shale and debris battered them from side to side. Swan’s pegasus took a hit to its left wing.

  They burst out into the open air and fell. Swan tried to stabilise them.

  It didn’t work.

  They crashed onto the island-turtle. Her pegasus collapsed back into liquid metal and soaking into the ground. Swan lay on the ground but managed to groan. Still alive then.

  Titus held up a hand. Scales were erupting from his palm upwards, spreading towards his chest. Titus patted his flannie frantically till he felt a resounding clink. He pulled out his thermos and took a big swig of choccie milk. Still cold.

  Titus’s skin continued to darken and harden as small scales erupted from it. The Gorgona was pushing back against the fracture. He’d failed as a man. He hadn’t done enough for his mates. He drained the chocolate milk. Perhaps there were some problems you couldn’t punch in the face.

  Crackling engines fired overhead. Smoke and timber fell through the sky, one of the airships descending at full throttle. The Chisel had pointed itself straight at the Gorgona and sped up.

  The Gorgona’s eye shifted to the heavens. It strained against the confines of the fracture, unable to squeeze through or go back. In its haste, it was stuck. It was a curious thing,
watching a monstrous abyssal try to frown.

  A round of blistering cannon fire erupted from the Chisel. Pylons rammed into the outside of the fracture, tied to cables thick as Titus’s arm. Spikes and pylons emerged from the Chisel itself, and it lit up with glowing white symbols. The Chisel rammed straight into the face of the Vrachos, cracking through the rocky hide. Pylons jammed outwards from the ship, hundreds of metallic bars locking the fracture in place.

  Safe as houses.

  Steady as a rock.

  The Vrachos bellowed, strained, heaved, then it froze. Callous spread from the pylons, from the ship, all the way down its rocky limbs. In a wave it smothered the body of the Vrachos, capturing it in the healing fracture. The Vrachos’s eye, the only part of it still able to move swivelled left, swivelled up and down, looking anywhere for salvation. The callous crept over its maw and then encroached on the eye. The Vrachos made one final plea, gazing downwards into the heart of the ocean.

  Then it was still.

  Spur/Gale/Red

  ‘You’re not asking the right questions. These are breaks in the very bones of the worlds from when they were young. The Imperfecta is the result, not the cause. At the dawn of time, what broke the world’s bones?’

  Final entry - the journal of Grimace the Heretic.

  The Oceanus taking position to guard the harbour was an impressive one. In the shadow of such a large vessel, one might be inclined to ignore the two tiny air-skiffs discarded on the beach of the Island-turtle, little more than parachutes. To Spur, however, they were the most beautiful craft he had ever laid eyes on. Real dependable models these. They were, after all, the craft that had carried him and his family from the Chisel.

  Bah, Spur thought, how was he meant to make a good story out of putting his ship on autopilot? How was he to spin a tale out of rigging the firing mechanism to go off on a timer. No, it was no ballad he'd written here today, Grimace would have laughed him out of the pub. Not an epic for the ages, but perhaps something worthy of a textbook chapter. He could already see it, Spur's primer for fracturesmiths - 3rd edition. Marvellous title that.