by A F Stewart
Every tongue on the Sea’s Favour remained silent as if the monstrosity they witnessed stole their voices. Only the creak of the ship and the smack of the waves against her sides could be heard across the vessel with the sound of death in the distance. The sailors watched as the moving tide of water and bones passed, becoming smaller and smaller on the horizon.
Then the harsh voice of Montague finally broke the silence. “It’s heading in the direction of Crickwell.”
Those words revived Pelham, who had stayed immobile through it all, his disbelief crashing into real proof. “If that hits land...” A fear sliced through him. “Helmsman, change course! Turn about and head for Crickwell Island!”
To the rest of the crew, he shouted. “Full sail men! Man the rigging! I want top speed! Lay in a pursuit course of that...” He gritted his teeth and spit out. “That thing!”
Under his breath, he added, “May the gods help us.”
RAFE PACED THE LENGTH of the decks from the bow to the stern, weaving in among the crew, muttering, carrying the Horn of the Gods. His mood had changed back to foul and unpredictable in the time spent racing to reach Rock Island.
“Not much longer. Crickwell Island to the port side. Not much longer.” He kept saying the words over and over as he hit the steps to the quarterdeck for the third time in an hour and climbed.
Blackthorne fell in pace beside him as Rafe circled the upper deck. From the helm, Anders glanced over, and he and Blackthorne exchanged a look. The first mate took a breath and asked, “What’s wrong, sir?”
“Everything. Nothing. Maybe something in-between.” Rafe answered without breaking stride. “I don’t know if we’re too late or too early, but something’s not right. Yet something is right. I feel like we’re being moved across the game board to where we’re supposed to be.” He stopped abruptly, whirling to face Blackthorne who stood mere inches from his face. “Something’s coming, or we’re coming for something.” He held up the horn. “We’re going to need this sooner than I’d hoped.” He then continued pacing, moving back down to the lower deck. On the quarterdeck, he left Blackthorne shaking his head and Anders remarking, “Well, that cleared matters up, didn’t it?”
Rafe ignored them both, the sound of his footsteps on the boards filling his ears and worry filling his thoughts. The hum of the ship vibrated through the soles of his boots into his blood, and the air seemed to scream.
He stopped. The screams were real. There was a shrieking sound carried on the wind. He looked up to see the Jewel sailing around White Fin Point, coming into view of the southern shore of Crickwell Island and Sunlight Bay.
As they cleared the point, they sailed directly into chaos. The Sunlight Bay shoreline was flooded, a mass of destruction with a naval ship beached in the shallows. Swarms of screaming skeletons attacked the vessel, tearing, biting, smashing at the ship and the few sailors that seemed to remain onboard. On the sands, more of the ship’s company fought to survive against another onslaught of dead men’s bones. In the deeper waters of the cove, two additional naval ships fired their cannon into the surrounding shoreline trees and on tidal waves of the dead that rose from the bay.
“Turn the ship!” Rafe’s command was immediate. “Take her into the battle!”
He dashed the length of the Jewel, heading to the bow as his crew rushed to duty. They raced into the bay at top speed, Rafe standing against the rail, the sleek taper of the prow stretching out before him.
He closed his eyes and lifted the horn to his lips. He inhaled and blew a magic-tinged breath into the mouth of the Horn of the Gods.
The instrument vibrated in his hand, a long strident note smashing its way out like the first boom of a furious thunderstorm. Rafe opened his eyes to see a wave of golden ripples shatter into the air and heard a repeated staccato harmony roar across the space between the Jewel and the battle in the bay. The surge of tone hit the combat like a punch, rattling the bones, and knocking sailors off their feet. Skeletons screeched, thrashing and gyrating as if pain, breaking off from any attack.
Rafe sounded the horn again, and again the smashing tide of sound crashed into the attacking army of bones, this time bringing them to their knees. With bloodcurdling wails, they stumbled, fell, and launched themselves into the water as waves reached up to pull them into the bay and then out to sea. In minutes, not a walking corpse remained only broken ships and injured naval sailors. Rafe scanned for signs of bodies, but of those, none could be seen. He didn’t know if that was an indication of no fatalities or a sign of a horrible fate for the battle’s dead.
He sighed and looked at the horn. “At least we know you work.” Without turning, he shouted back a command, “Take us into the bay! Past the vessels that are still afloat and close enough to render aid to the beached ship and those ashore!”
Chapter Seventeen
Tide of Invasion
RAFE STOOD ON THE SHATTERED deck of the Sea’s Favour. Two of her masts were snapped in half, her sails hanging in tatters, and she listed at an angle on the rocks, a gash torn in her hull, water partially flooding the lowest two decks. Not a sailor on board escaped injury with only a few still ambulatory and most in grave condition. Rafe’s men and naval officers from the other two ships tended to them as well as to the injured men on shore in the distance. Rafe’s gaze swept up towards the quarterdeck seeing Pelham kneeling on the boards, holding the still form of Lieutenant Commander Francis Montague. Rafe climbed the steps to the upper deck.
Commander Pelham glanced up, his face haggard and bleeding. “They tried to take him. Tried to drag his body into the sea after they killed him. Drove one of their broken bones right through his heart.”
Rafe could see the long shard of bone still protruding from the Lieutenant Commander’s chest and the expansive red stain on the dead man’s uniform. Staring down, all he could feel was sorrow and pity. “I’m sorry.”
Pelham laughed a harsh, hysterical sound full of pain and fury. “They tried to take him. But I wouldn’t let them. I wouldn’t let them.”
Rafe knelt and put a gentle hand on Pelham’s shoulder. “You did well by him, Commander. He was a brave man. He deserved better.”
“He was. A brave man. I wouldn’t let them take him.”
“Yes. And they’re gone now. You can let go and let us help. Get him home for burial and you some medical aid.” Rafe signalled to men below. “Time to see to your ship, sir.”
Pelham looked up confused. “My ship? My ship is done for, run aground. The crew, dead.”
“No, sir. She’s still clinging to life, battered and bruised, but still in need of you.”
“My ship?” He looked bewildered for a moment as men filed past Rafe waiting for orders. Pelham seemed to notice them and squared his shoulders. “My ship needs me. My men must have a commander.”
Pelham gently laid Montague on the deck boards and rose shakily to his feet. Rafe gave a surreptitious nod, and the body was tended to and covered with a cloth shroud. Pelham seemed pleased with the gesture.
“You take care of him. He will have a proper burial, laid to rest by his family.” Pelham took a step towards the stairs and stumbled. Rafe moved, catching him before he fell. Pelham let out a cry.
“Are you injured, Commander?”
“Just my arm. They bit me, tore it up, but nothing that won’t heal. Got knocked about a bit. Hit my head, but I smashed one of the blighters into pieces, I did.”
“Good for you. But you should still have it looked at.” Rafe coaxed him into sitting down on the steps. One of the medics came over to examine him, helping Pelham off with his coat.
“The commander is right. It’s not bad, but I’ll have to clean it and stitch him up.”
Rafe nodded. “Do it.”
As the medic swabbed the wounds with a liberal dousing of alcohol, Pelham babbled amid winces of pain. “We gave chase, you know, and sounded the alarm. Our spellcaster is one of the best. Or perhaps was. I don’t know whether he survived.” Pelham hissed, either
from the memories or the medical treatment, Rafe couldn’t tell.
“They rose out of the sea and sailed past us, so we gave chase. They had swamped the island already. I sounded the order to storm the bay firing all guns. How was I to know?” He stared at Rafe, a remembered horror written on his face.
“Know what, Commander?”
“That there were more underneath us. Waiting. It was an ambush. The water surged below and slammed us onto the rocks. Just like the Coral Rose. Just like the Coral Rose.” Pelham suddenly reached out and snatched at Rafe’s sleeve, gripping the cloth tight. “You were right, Captain. You were right.”
He let go and dropped his hand, crying out slightly as the stitching needle pierced his skin. “It was finished for us after that. Finished. We’d all be dead if the other ships hadn’t arrived. If you hadn’t arrived.” Pelham closed his eyes and leaned his head against the stair railing, groaning as the needle and thread sewed up his wounds.
Rafe left him to the ministrations of the medics and his own haunting memories, walking back down to the lower deck. He found Blackthorne waiting for him.
“Word’s come in, sir, passed along by spellcaster to one of the other navy vessels here, the Star Defender. There have been other attacks in and around Crickwell Island, Shadow Cay and Tenby Key. Even some places along the main peninsula coast. Navy ships and cargo vessels assaulted, outlying settlements overrun, even a town or two. Like here, it was a one-sided fight with the living on the losing side. Until these skeletal armies suddenly started screaming and retreating. All reports say it was about the time you blew the Horn of the Gods.” Blackthorne paused, before adding, “Apparently that thing has quite the range.”
“How much damage? Casualties?”
“Could have been worse. Men and women were lost, and vessels were battered. Nothing sunk, though. The worst was Evermarsh. Most of that settlement is in ruins. Its people vanished. No one knows if they were killed and taken or if they escaped. Not yet, at least.”
Rafe felt like he had been punched in the gut. He remembered Evermarsh as a quaint settlement between Llansfoot and Pentown, nestled in a beautiful cove. Each summer they held a fire festival and a trade market.
“There’s something else, Captain.” Blackthorne’s voice cut through his thoughts. “We’ve been called to sail to Crickwell Town. The Navy’s sending more ships here and have asked us to join a council they’ve convened.”
Rafe scowled. “We haven’t the time to divert to Crickwell Town. It’s even more important than ever we get to Rock Island.”
“Yes, sir, but I think we should make time.” Blackthorne swallowed noticeably and fidgeted. “Apparently, your sister is coming.”
Surprised replaced Rafe’s annoyance. “My...which one?”
“The Goddess of the Sea.”
“Lynna?” Rafe’s mouth curled into a grin despite the circumstances. “Lynna’s going to a Navy council? I can imagine the entrance she’ll make.” The captain chuckled and then composed himself. “But you’re right, we will have to go. If she’s leaving the sea, something is seriously wrong. We need to find out what.”
“Yes, sir. My thinking as well. In addition, Lord Merrill’s waiting there, and they asked us to bring Pelham.” Blackthorne glanced over at the moaning man. “Is he good to travel? Will he come?”
“I think so. We’ll take the body of his officer, Lieutenant Commander Montague with us. He wants to see to the burial, and he’ll most likely go where it goes.”
Blackthorne sighed. “Never thought I’d feel sorry for the man, but I never thought I’d see this either. At least Montague’s family will have a burial. There’s not another body to be found, and reports from the survivors say men, living and dead, were dragged into the sea. I shudder to think of their fate.”
“I think we both know. They belong to Ashetus now.” Rafe clenched his fingers into a fist. “But we’ll set them free.” He looked around at the ruin of the Sea’s Favour. “We’ll set the whole of the worlds free.”
WHEN THE Celestial Jewel sailed into Crickwell Town harbour, a company of naval ships crowded the docking berths, and none of the usual rowdy bluster rang out to greet them.
Rafe watched them drift in to dock from the main deck also keeping an eye on Pelham. The commander refused to leave Montague’s body, which had been laid out on deck for the trip. His remains had been carefully shrouded and strewn with strong smelling herbs and wrapped in a canvas tarp provided by the Navy of the Royal Court. Throughout the short voyage, Pelham never said a word.
They manoeuvred into port, and the harbour crews worked in silence to get the Jewel settled in her mooring, successfully anchoring her in a safe berth. Naval officers hailed from the docks moments later.
“Permission to come aboard, Captain Morrow, and escort you and Commander Pelham to the council!”
Despite sudden misgivings, Rafe shouted back. “Permission granted!”
Rafe met the naval officers, a company of three men, as they boarded. With him, he carried a satchel. “Welcome to my ship, gentlemen. I wish it were under better circumstances.”
The ranking officer nodded in greeting. “So do I, sir. I’m Lieutenant Vaughan. If you and Commander Pelham are ready, we should depart. Your sister’s been asking for you, and I think it best you show up sooner than later.”
“Lynna’s already here?” Rafe suppressed a smile. “Then yes, we’d better go.” He turned his head slightly. “Pelham. It’s time to leave.”
The commander looked up. “What about Montague?”
Rafe sighed, but gently replied, “I’m sure one of these officers can see to arrangements.” Rafe addressed Vaughan, explaining. “We have the body of Lieutenant Commander Francis Montague on board. Can you leave one of your men to make arrangements to have the body transferred to naval custody?”
“A body?” The words seem to shock the lieutenant. “You have a body?” Then he recovered his composure. “Of course, the Navy of the Royal Court takes care of its own.” He turned to the midshipman on his right. “See to it, Boyd.”
The pale midshipman nodded, scurried over to Pelham, and exchanged a few words. Moments later, the commander joined Rafe and the two other naval officers.
He squared his shoulders and straightened his spine addressing everyone. “I’m ready, gentlemen. Sorry for the delay.”
Lieutenant Vaughan nodded and gave a quick salute. “Understandable, sir.” Both he and his remaining man turned to leave. “Shall we? Everyone’s eager to have you join them.”
Rafe tucked his satchel under his arm, stepped on to the gangplank, and the group walked down to the dock. Lieutenant Vaughan then escorted them to the Guild Hall where the council awaited them.
Chapter Eighteen
Council of War
RAFE WALKED INSIDE the Guild Hall vestibule to the sounds of arguing voices, his sister’s mocking laughter and Lord Merrill shouting for order. With a sigh, he marched into the main hall, Pelham and Lieutenant Vaughan following.
He stopped a few feet into the room restraining the simultaneous urges to laugh and turn tail. Clusters of naval officers scattered around the hall engaged in debate with Lord Merrill the only one at the council table vainly calling for order. His sister Lynna, dressed thankfully in a long coat, had perched herself on top of a sturdy cabinet where she dripped seawater and flicked droplets at the head of a Navy captain. The captain, in turn, appeared to be lecturing her on decorum and a proper dress code while ogling the lower half of her bare legs.
Rafe took a breath ready to put an end to the madness, but Pelham beat him to it.
“This is disgraceful!” The commander’s shout boomed out across the room with the force of a hurricane drawing everyone’s attention. “We’re here to defeat an enemy, not bicker like children! Do your duty men! We are naval officers!” He brushed past Rafe and strode to the table where he sat beside an astonished Lord Merrill. Pelham folded his arms and glared out at the assembly.
Lynna broke the su
dden silence. “Brother! Finally! These humans are so tedious. I don’t know how you stand them.” She jumped down from her perch, startling the naval captain. She turned her gaze to Pelham. “Except perhaps that one. He seems to have some sense at least, and that Lord of yours...He’s amusing.” She walked to the council table and settled into a chair beside Pelham giving him a smile. “Come, brother. Sit down so we can get this over with.”
Rafe crossed the room and took a seat opposite the trio. He placed his satchel on the table. The rest of the naval officers sat down in available chairs.
“So, why am I here?”
“Because we need someone to figure out a way to mount a defence against these—these skeleton soldiers.” Lord Merrill smacked the table in frustration and anger. “Before their next strike.” He turned to Lynna. “Tell him, Miss Lynna.”
Rafe quirked an eyebrow and a corner of his mouth at his sister being referred to as ‘miss’ but turned his attention to her as she spoke.
“They’re gathered under the sea, brother. An army. Hundreds of corpses and skeletons, all around the islands. I cannot move down there anymore without seeing them.” She shivered and then anger flashed in her eyes. “They’ve taken over my home! I won’t stand for it!” She suddenly leaned forward, water trickling across the table. “They mean to take over this one as well. I heard their whispers and their cries. The whole sea is screaming with their voices. I cannot take it anymore! They have to go before they infest everything!” She gave a frustrated cry and slammed against the back of her chair rocking it slightly.