by A F Stewart
Rafe tugged at his coat, straightening the seams, ignoring the fact he fell asleep on deck. “So it seems. And now that we have an eye, are there any indications of anything else? Features or stones that resemble a mouth or hand?”
“No sir, but we haven’t gone in too close as the waters around here can be shallow according to Mouse. We did spot some remains of what looks to be a crumbled structure. Possibly a shrine. Whatever it used to be, it is old.”
Rafe inhaled and whispered, “In the sky above the ruins.”
“Excuse me, sir?”
“A line in the song. Where did you find this old shrine?”
“Inland from the beach, half-covered by the underbrush.” Blackthorne handed Rafe a spyglass. “Look a bit to the east, under the cliff edge.”
Rafe looked out studying the island shoreline. He soon spotted the remains of an ancient structure poking out of the island foliage. “How are the waters? Good enough to take a smaller boat to shore?”
“Yes, sir. A jolly boat can land without an issue or a longboat if you want a larger landing company.”
Rafe lowered the spyglass. “A longboat. We’ll need several men to properly search the ruins.”
“Aye, captain.” Blackthorne barked orders, and the crew manned the winches hauling the longboat into position to lower into the water. Shouts, squeals, and creaks filled the ship as the first mate turned back to Rafe. “Who do you want going ashore with you?’
Rafe considered his options and then replied. “Striker Angus, Short Davy, Pinky Jasper, Josiah Collins, and fill the rest of the places with our best oarsmen. I want you to remain on the ship in case any marauders come sniffing around and maintain the guns at the ready.”
Blackthorne nodded and walked down to the main deck to inform the men. Rafe hesitated for a moment, still slightly unsteady before following.
Half an hour later, the longboat was in the water and rowing ashore. When they hit the beach, the men disembarked and hauled the longboat up the sand, past the tidemark. Then they milled around the captain awaiting their orders.
“Angus, you lead the trek inland. With your sense of direction, we’ll make good time. The rest of us, a single file march to the ruins. And keep your eyes open. The place looks deserted, but, in the Pirate Keys, you never know.”
Striker Angus pulled out his compass from his coat pocket and took bearings. “It’s this way,” pointing in a northeasterly direction.
“Onward then, men!”
With the captain’s words, they set off inland.
After a twenty minute slog through the overgrown brush, trees and tangled vines—hacking the worst of it with swords—they stumbled upon a jumbled pile of stones. A few more steps past a thicket of trees revealed a foundation wall and other broken bits of structure including a crumbling arch. Angus held up a hand signalling a stop.
“We’re here, sir. Now what?”
Rafe walked over beside Angus. “Now we search.” He turned slightly and shouted. “Fan out! Comb the ruins for symbols, writings, hidden spaces, anything that looks off or odd, but don’t stray too far afield. And try to keep in sight or shouting distance of each other.”
A scurry of footsteps headed into the ruins, leaving Rafe standing alone looking upward. The cliff towered above the deteriorated archway, the Giant’s Eye staring out at the horizon. He frowned. This close to the cliff face it seemed different, more rounded. Rafe shrugged and joined the others in the search.
Another twenty minutes later, he was sweating, frustrated, and tired of staring at vine-meshed stone. Then a shout rose from nearer the archway under the cliff face.
“Sir! This might be something!
Rafe followed Short Davy’s voice and found the man kneeling, tugging vegetation away from pieces of broken stone. More ripped up plant material lay nearby.
“What have you found?”
“It’s a brazier, sir. Half covered by this ruin. This debris may be what’s left of an altar fire pit. I think this broken wall is part of a chimney.” Davy tapped on a rectangular length of masonry. “I’ve seen similar structures on Shadow Cay where I grew up. They’re used for prayers and offerings to the gods.” Davy grinned. “I’m thinking maybe that eye on the cliff was symbolic of whoever they worshipped here, ‘cause I found something else too.” He brushed away the last of the plant growth. “Writing, sir. It’s faint, but you can make out an engraved inscription. Can’t read it though. Looks familiar, but it’s no language I know. Thought maybe you might know?”
Rafe crouched down and peered at the worn markings. “This is interesting.” He ran his finger lightly against the rock with surprise. “It’s Chynguri. A script based on the first language of Odiki used solely in the early shrines, solely to talk to the gods.”
“What does it say, sir?”
We offer our breath to the stars. May the smoke from our fire and the prayers from our hearts reach the guardian. With the hand of offering, we light the way. May he grant protection. May he inhale our breath and our prayers, and may we become one.
Rafe looked up, imagining the path of ancient smoke. Directly above him loomed the Giant’s Eye. “Odd that. They keep mentioning breath, and yet...”
Davy craned his neck, casting his gaze upward with Rafe’s. “Maybe they saw something different up there than we do.” The sailor shrugged. “Maybe something’s changed.”
“Maybe.” Rafe mused, an idea forming. He made a quick decision. “Round up the men and wait for me here.”
He scrambled to his feet and took a step back. He summoned his magic and slowly rose into the air.
He floated into the sky effortlessly, leaving a soft trail of blue wisps ascending far above the trees until he was level with the Giant’s Eye. As he moved in closer, he saw the shape of the rock formation, an overhanging and ledges encasing a deep crevice in the cliff. In addition, he saw—while easily imagined as an eye shape—that the formation could also pass as a mouth.
Rafe moved his fingers, conjuring strands of energy. He flicked them into the air, shifting them across the wind into the darkness of the fissure. They twirled inside, lighting the interior in azure radiance. Rafe peered into the interior of the rock. Nestled within the dim core, rested a grey stone box.
Rafe leaned forward and reached his arm inside. He clutched at the top of the box, tugging it slowly from the hole in the cliff until he could grab it in both hands and extract it. It felt lighter than he expected, and, upon quick examination, he saw the construction was of porous stone.
He whispered, “Mermas. They used to make reliquaries from this stone.” Rafe ran his fingers around the box feeling a seam and a small indentation on one side, but no keyhole or lock. He tried prying off the lid, but it refused to budge. Rafe tucked the box under his arm and descended to the ground.
“You found it!” A jubilant cry came from Davy, and the rest of the men cheered.
“I found something.” Rafe tempered the celebration, but still grinned, holding out the container on display. “Now we have to figure out how to open the box. I tried lifting the cover, but it won’t be that easy it seems.”
Davy stepped forward, tilting his head to study the object. “No hinges or latch on this side or the ends. Anything on your side, sir.”
“Just an indentation.”
“Did you try pressing it in? Like them puzzle boxes they sell in the Gallford marketplace.”
“Worth a try.” Rafe placed his thumb on the depression in the stone. It felt warm under his skin and it tingled. He pushed inward. A faint click sounded and then a succession of three more snaps. He pulled at the lid and it came off with ease. “Well, Davy, it seems you are the man of the hour.”
Rafe showed the box, revealing a grey hunter’s horn inside. “We found our first prize, men. We may win this battle yet.” He grinned and replaced the cover on the box. “Let’s get this treasure back to the ship, shall we?”
Chapter Fifteen
Into Darkness
A LARGE BLA
CK BIRD watched a fading sun perched on a pitted hunk of rock hewn by the sea and wind. With the sunset dancing colours over his plumage, the Nightmare Crow sat alone nursing his anger and a sore wing. He sensed the world turning along his schemes, breaking to the ending he desired.
“Pawns and more pawns though they think they are kings and gods. They are small. With petty minds. Darkness and life, worlds and realms, it is all nothing. They have never seen what matters. They do not know.” He cawed and cackled, the sound rippling off the waves and the silent air. “She thinks she knows, plucking feathers. Feathers, feathers, she is still my pawn. And it all plays towards the endgame. My endgame. And my prize. I shall have it all!”
The bird shifted his weight and spread his wings ignoring the twinge of pain. “Do you hear me Terrible One? Ashetus, down in your stinking dark, deep hole! Crush your bones and strip bare the poor dead fools you consume! I do not care! Ravage the whole world. It is naught to me! You will rise, and you will fall! You will be the sacrifice! He is not the Hunter!”
The sea beneath the tiny spit of an island rumbled, and the wind moaned in the agonized cries of the dead. The crow laughed.
“Shake your fist, oh Terrible One, and make your threats. It is nothing to me! I know you. I know your weakness. I have planned and whispered and watched, long, long years. I thought to peck out your eyes myself, but this will have to do. I will see my revenge. I have not forgotten, Ashetus! I have not forgotten!”
The Nightmare Crow leapt into the air, wings spread soaring into the clouds, its shrieking voice falling back beneath the sea.
“I have not forgotten!”
THE VOICE OF THE CROW descended, sinking deep, deep, past the sea, beyond the diaphanous weave between realms. It shattered against bones, and rebounded off unseen walls, stirring dreadful memories. Ashetus howled, tentacles lashing out, smashing skeletons to powder, its teeth gnashing the corpses hanging from its mouth to dust.
I killed them! Killed them! Shadow Birds! Shadow Birds! Why didn’t they die? Kill the birds! Kill the birds!
It rolled over, crushing the remains of five of its slaves, and pulverizing half of its bed of bones. Tentacles waved in the air as it thrashed at imaginary birds
Away, away! Stop pecking at me! It hurts! It hurts! The light! It hurts! No one will make me bleed! I kill! Not birds!
Ashetus roared, causing everything around him to splinter into shards and dust. The sound cracked through every world, shaking the foundations from bedrock to the stars. Sea waves smashed against coastlines, mountains trembled, and the gods cried out. The ripples confounded every living creature and every soul in the After World. Tears came unbidden, and prayers were offered by even the most undevout. Death herself quivered.
Ashetus noticed none of it. It wailed until its memories faded and then blinked its eyes.
Black bird. Black Crow. I remember you. I remember you. You left. You hated. You will die. You will die slowly.
BEVIRE CLUTCHED THE arrow and shuddered. In her sanctuary, she felt the roar of Ashetus. Her magic wavered, and, for a moment, she lost sight of her brother’s ship. The viewing portal she conjured shimmered, threatening to slam shut, but she yanked the shadows back open. She saw the sea toss the Jewel like a twig on a river, and the ship fight to stay steady. A cry caught in her throat until the world and the water calmed. She sighed, relieved, but still afraid. She kept watch until the ship sailed away from Pirate Keys, headed back to the Outer Islands.
“He found it. We have a chance.” She stroked her arrow. “Time to leave. Time to go into the mortal world. My brother needs his gift.”
Chapter Sixteen
The Horn of the Gods
“IT DOESN’T LOOK LIKE much, sir.” Blackthorne wrinkled his nose. “It’s hand carved, to be sure. Bone or porous stone?” The pair sat in his quarters assessing the horn as the ship sailed out of the Pirate Keys headed for Rock Island.
Rafe turned the horn over, inspecting the object carefully. “Not bone, but not stone either. At least no stone of this world. I’ve seen something made of similar material, something my father owned. But you are right about one thing. It’s not a very attractive thing.”
He put the horn on his desk and stared at it. Maybe three hand spans long and tapered with the larger end curving into a bell shape, the object was a plain dull grey and scarred in carving marks. It bore no decoration and engraving and seemed more the sort of thing used by shepherds than gods.
Still...there was something about it that called to his blood.
“I don’t think this horn is from the world of mortals, my friend. I’m not sure it’s even from the world of the gods. It doesn’t feel like my magic, but there’s power there. Like it’s buried in the substance it’s made from, buried in the thing itself.”
“Do you think it will work? Drive off what’s rising from the sea? If what happened off Shipwreck Cove is any indication, we haven’t much time left. I’m just glad you were back on board with this,” he nodded at the horn. “When that sea wave hit.”
“Yes. We may have struck a nerve retrieving our prize. And it is a prize, but what kind I’m not sure. It’s powerful, that I know. How I cannot say yet, but if I can focus its power, then yes, we may have a chance. But I’ll feel better when we have the bow in our hands as well.”
“So would I. We’re hitting top speed straight to Rock Island. Even without you adding magic into the mix, the ship is shedding distance as if she knows the urgency.”
“She does. Everything in the magic realms does. That...that happening, as you put it, was not ignored. Ashetus offered up a challenge. I’d expect fear and chaos greeting us on our return.”
“As if we didn’t have enough problems.”
“Indeed. Expect a rough journey, old friend, even if seas be good for sailing.”
FAR AWAY FROM RAFE’S words, the predictive intent of them unfolded. As per Lord Merrill’s promise, the Navy of the Royal Court patrols increased and regularly sailed around the islands. Assigned the Black Shoals to Tenby Key patrol, Commander Pelham stood on the quarterdeck of his ship, The Sea’s Favour, scanning the horizon with his spyglass. Beside him stood his trusted first mate, Lieutenant Commander Francis Montague.
“It’s an affront, Montague, an affront to decency and order. The scoundrel, Morrow is out chasing phantasms in some cockeyed notion of ancient monsters while we’ve been demoted to patrol duty. And worse, patrols ordered on his say-so by that...that...by Lord Merrill.” Pelham clenched his jaw, lowering the spyglass. “It’s hysteric nonsense inspired by a story from a shipwrecked sailor. The Coral Rose was most likely attacked by pirates or run aground by a drunken crew. This is why Captain Morrow has to go. He and his magic. He relies on old beliefs, superstition, and gibberish to manipulate his doddering betters and the gullible masses.”
“Aye, Commander.” Montague nodded, folding his arms and looking dour. “He is no better than a pirate, he is. I’ve long thought Captain Morrow a rogue.”
“Yes. A rogue. That’s what he is. Spreading tales of god-like monsters, indeed.” Pelham sniffed. “Sea beasts perhaps, but I think he exaggerated that threat. His words are all false rumours and lies.”
A grumble came from the helm and the faint murmur. “False only if you ignore facts and the strange happenings of late.”
“What was that, midshipman?” Pelham snapped his attention to the helmsman.
“Nothing, sir, begging your pardon, sir, just musing to myself.” The sailor went red and prayed not to be reprimanded.
“That had better be all it is. I want no talk of that peculiar, but natural phenomenon. A rumbling of the earth it was. Nothing more. A rare occurrence, but it happens.”
“Yes, sir. If you say so, sir.”
“He does!” Montague barked at the helmsman, “And see you keep a silent tongue in your head! Eyes front and focus on your duty!”
The midshipman nodded and stayed quiet.
Pelham sighed and continued with his rant. “See how Mo
rrow’s lies infect the Islands. Even into the Navy of the Royal Court. Our men should know better, but the superstition still takes hold. That’s why it galls me that my plan failed, Montague. It galls me. And now I have endangered my position at the fort. Forced to do patrols in his name.”
“Aye, sir, it’s vexing. But the Commodore said the duty was temporary, and you still are technically in command of the fort’s navy.”
“A command now overseen by the Commodore. As if I was a lowly ensign on probation.” Pelham grimaced. “How did I come to this insufferable position? How did Morrow wiggle away? I was sure we had him. We had our justice.”
“I don’t know, sir. I surely don’t.” Montague shook his head. “But his luck can’t hold forever. This latest escapade could be his undoing. When all these patrols and general alarm are shown to be an empty fool’s errand.”
“An excellent point, Montague. This could be the misstep we need to crush him.” Pelham smiled. “We must make plans, prepare a strategy for—”
“Wave dead ahead!” A cry came from a spotter. “The sea’s arising from the depths!”
“What!” Pelham screamed in outrage and raised his spyglass. “Nonsense! I will not tolerate such—” The remainder of his ire fell dead silent, replaced with the frantic shout of, “Hard to port! Hard to port!”
The startled midshipman yelped, but reacted to the command and yanked the wheel. The ship lurched, turning violently and listing against the waves as it sliced through the water. Sailors lost footing, tumbled bruised and cursing, and the bones of the ship groaned under the strain. Then all thoughts of aches and bumps disappeared as every pair of eyes gaped starboard.
In the distance, the sea rose seven feet straight up in a giant wave, a solid wall of water moving west. This vast swell of ocean groaned and wailed, and a chorus of guttural echoes cascaded across the sky. For trapped within the surge were living bones and corpses, dozens of reanimated remains of the dead. Misshapen, bunched together skeletons and decomposing bodies squirming and thrashing, swept along in the momentum of the wave. Their clacking remains created a perverse rhythm, a drumbeat sounding under their strident cries.