by A F Stewart
She spun upward on a geyser of water in a desperate attempt to retrieve it as Ashetus spied the Horn. It growled, “Destroy!” and swung a tentacle through the air. Lynna’s fingers grasped for the Horn, only inches from her goal, but too late. The beast struck the instrument with all its power and smashed the Horn of the Gods into pieces.
Lynna shrieked, “No!” as a rain of white shards fell into the sea. She dodged another blow from Ashetus and dove back to her domain, chasing the broken Horn into the ocean.
SPRAWLED IN THE UNDERBRUSH, bruised and bleeding, Rafe’s mind drifted in the dark unconscious as the battle raged just beyond Raven Rock. His body pressed against the earth, his heartbeat thumping a steady beat and his breath even. Yet he lay still, lost in oblivion.
A breeze rustled the trees, sweeping down to brush against his hair. In the distance, the sea washed along the beach, and, from the sky, a sliver of moonlight descended to whisper in his ear.
“Wake up.”
Rafe stirred, but his eyes remained closed.
The moonlight danced along his skin scattering stardust over his eyes. It whispered again.
“Wake up.”
Rafe’s fingers twitched, and he moaned. His eyelids fluttered. Twinkles of stardust shimmered over his face. Somewhere on the edge of oblivion, his blood stirred, and his mind crawled from the darkness.
“Wake up. Foolish brother.”
His eyelids fluttered again, and his eyes blinked open. The sliver of moonlight vanished, and Rafe stared at the sky shadowed by the trees. In the distance, he heard shrieks and the final echo of a horn.
He groaned and pushed himself into a sitting position, his body aching and his head throbbing. His first coherent thoughts were of the Bow and the black arrow. He strained to focus his eyes, hands scrabbling as he searched the ground, a sigh of relief coming when he found the weapons unharmed nearby. He snatched them up and rose unsteadily to his feet. He leaned against a tree to get his bearings, his headache eased if still thumping a beat inside his skull. He touched his forehead. Bits of dried blood rubbed off onto his fingers.
He took a breath, then another, slowly brushing away the fog and reconnected with the magic in his blood. A blue glow lit his skin, growing stronger with each breath, and he rose in the air. He hovered for a few moments and then ascended above the treetops, to rejoin the battle.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Old Enemies
LYNNA, BEVIRE, AND the crew of the remaining ships watched in horror as the pieces of the horn sunk beneath the water with the remains of the dead it destroyed. Above them, the Terrible One hovered, grinning, drool falling like drops of rain.
Its voice rumbled, “Now you die!”
Instinctively, like a little whisper in her ear, Bevire cast a veil of shadows between them and Ashetus in a desperate attempt to hide everyone from sight. A barrier of darkness shrouded the sea and sky turning daylight into night and Raven Rock into a hidden sanctuary.
Ashetus batted at the shadow cover with its limbs growling, confused at the sudden gloom. It squirmed around moving to the left, then right, twisting and moving backward, out to sea.
“Tricks!” It shrieked. “Tricks won’t save you!”
A murmur of breath brushed against the creature’s thoughts. “No. But they’re not the ones needing to be saved.”
From the charcoal clouds, swooped a bird, a crow, along the edge of shadows straight towards Ashetus, his black on black invisible to all. As it flew, the crow snatched a small filament of Bevire’s magic in its beak, twisting the shadow with its own red power in a strand woven to a particular task. The Crow soared in a wide circle around the Terrible One, looping the magic in its wake and then, repeating its flight, winding ring after ring. The Nightmare Crow wove a net, a prison, and bound the beast in the shadow of time cutting it off from the outside world. Blinded by the loss of two eyes and the darkness, the beast never realized its doom until the crow snapped the constraint in place and it tightened inward around Ashetus, confining the creature. Then the crow laughed.
“Now we are alone, Ashetus. Only you and I. Suspended in time between realms.”
“Shadow Bird!” The beast roared and swung a tentacle at the voice cackling from the darkness. The appendage moved but an inch, restrained by the Crow’s spell working. Ashetus roared again, writhing, doing little more than shaking in place, dangling inside the rings like a toy.
“Still full of rage and bluster and still a beast. I’ll enjoy watching you die.” The Crow flew close enough for Ashetus to see him.
“No. I will see you die. I will enjoy crushing you in my jaws.” The Terrible One gnashed its teeth. “You cannot kill me. You have not the power.”
“You are right.” The Nightmare Crow fluttered his wings, wisps of shadow dancing around his head. “I cannot kill you.” The bird gently chuckled. “But that is not why I brought you here.”
A flap of wing and the bird wheeled, soaring up and over Ashetus and then diving down straight at his foe. From the bird’s feet extended strange silver talons, and he sunk those claws deep into the creature’s head. The puncture wounds oozed black blood and greenish pus. Both Ashetus and the Crow screamed: one in pain, the other in triumph.
The Crow shouted the words, “Rwynd wynwer! Rwyncym rydyr hyndd yledus!”
A great growl ripped out of the throat of Ashetus. “What are you doing, Shadow Bird?”
“Taking my due! My revenge!”
Scarlet and burnt orange streaks snaked across Ashetus’ flesh, throbbing and pulsing in energy. Its body jerked in convulsions as raw power poured from the wounds that the Crow made, the grand dark magic of Ashetus sucked from the beast and absorbed by the Nightmare Crow.
Ashetus howled, “Noooo! It burns! It burns! Stop it!” It thrashed, trying to dislodge the bird, but the shadow rings held it tight.
“Stop it! Stop! Stop!” A breath, a yowl, and then, “Please stop! Not again! Bad Shadow Bird!”
The Crow only dug its claws deeper, yanking the power from Ashetus faster.
“Nooo!” A wail ripped the air, and Ashetus shook like a child tormented. “Please stop! Please! Shadow Bird hurts! It hurts! Father hurts me! Please stop! Father, please!”
For a moment, the Crow wavered, an old emotion stirring. Then he snapped his beak and shrieked, “No! No longer! I am never that again!” A caw escaped his throat, long, harsh and full of pain.”I will never be that again! You snapped that tie, oh horrid beast, when you broke your mother’s heart! When you killed your uncles! When you turned Ulerne’s heart against me!”
The Crow dug his claws in deeper, and, with a roar, continued siphoning the magic from the creature he once called his son. He wrenched the energy from its flesh, drained its power, absorbing every drop into his body, making the Crow replete and strong with the stolen magic. Soon, Ashetus ceased struggling, ceased howling, soon it became weak and listless. Alive, but with only a hint of the power it once possessed.
Sated, glowing in power, the Crow whispered, “Now he comes for you. The one that smells of Death. Your brother.”
Ashetus groaned, its voice slurred. “No. Father is wrong. I am the only son of Death. No brother.”
“Oh yes, Terrible One, you have a brother. He comes to kill you. And you will die.”
With a laugh, the Nightmare Crow released its talons and flew straight up into the clouds. As he rose, the bird snatched a piece of the shadow rings sweeping away his bindings and brushing away Bevire’s darkness. Ashetus was revealed to the world, still hanging in the sky, a groan in its throat, its limp tentacles swaying in the air, and its eyes closing. The Crow left as he came, unseen and on the wind.
The wind brought something else from the island. A battered god, swirling upward on a tide of magic. Surrounded by a blue glow, Rafe washed across the sky, the Bow at the ready, notched with the black shadow arrow. Banged and bruised, blood smeared on his forehead, he called out his enemy.
“Open your eyes Ashetus!”
; A moan came from the creature, and, slowly, one by one, its five remaining eyes gaped open. Rafe stared at Ashetus, and confusion seemed to stare back from its clouded orbs. Its tentacles swung back and forth, but it made no attempt to move.
“God of the Hunt. With your small Bow. And your smaller Crow.” A growling laugh coughed out of its belly. “Bah. Spells, pinpricks. It means nothing. Take what you will. I will survive. I am not afraid. You will not kill me. You are weak. I will crush your bones. Crush you all in the end.”
Rafe took a breath, pulling back on the bow’s string. “I am not the Hunter.” He let the black arrow fly.
Straight and true it soared, and Ashetus watched it come, its fanged mouth wide, a laugh roaring in the wind. Through an eye it stabbed, the arrow piercing membrane deep into the flesh beneath. A raging scream replaced the laugh as shadow and starlight burned into the Terrible One’s veins. The beast went rigid, a silver glow consuming it, and black flames shattered through skin. Putrid, oily smoke stinking of fish and rot filled the air, and chunks of crispy flesh fell into the sea. Black fire and a silver glare lit up the sky like a daylight moon burning inside an obsidian sun.
Then a sound reverberated across the air, a shockwave of blood-chilling torture that spun Rafe away from the blazing form of Ashetus. With a start, Rafe realized the noise was a death cry. The last howl of a would-be destroyer of worlds. As its wail vibrated over the area, Rafe wrapped himself in a blue flare of magic and descended. He watched the final yowl of Ashetus bend the treetops of Raven Rock and stir the sea into roiling waves.
And then everything went silent.
He looked up. Flaming rain fell, sizzling as it hit the water. He saw his sisters conjure shields of shadow and sea to protect the men and ships under their care and flew to help. His magic flashed, extending across the bay and the island, a shelter against the downward conflagration of debris. Together, the three gods held against the demise of Ashetus until the last remains of his carcass sunk beneath the ocean. And somewhere in the Realm of Death, a mother held out her arms. She sang a soft lullaby to the lost son returned to her.
Back in the realm of mortals, as magic faded among the steam drifting off the water, cheers rose up from the beach and the two ships. Only then did Rafe see the wreck of the Sprightly Lark half submerged on the rocks east of the bay. He studied the Jewel, his heart at ease when he spied her still well and relatively undamaged. He drifted down to the sand as Lynna came to shore. He noticed that she came empty-handed but smiling.
“You did it!” She spun around as she reached the beach, spraying sand and tide in a gleeful display. “He’s dead! It’s over!”
“He is. The world’s safe.” Rafe slung the bow he carried over the quiver on his shoulder. “But I fear I missed the worst of the battle.” He nodded towards the shipwreck. “I’m sorry.”
“We held our own.” She glanced at the now jubilant naval sailors on the beach. “We all did.” Then she sighed. “But I lost the Horn. Ashetus destroyed it. Shattered it to pieces. The Horn’s remains keep the dead company at the bottom of the sea.”
“That may be for the best. Something that powerful...” He grimaced. “As it is, I will have to find a place to hide the Bow.”
“To the Isle of Shadows, perhaps?”
“Never.” The word snapped out with force from behind them as the lilting voice of the Goddess of the Moon broke into the conversation. Then more softly came, “Never. Bad thoughts. Bad, bad, bad. Not for gods anymore, that Bow.”
Rafe turned to see Manume and the Grey Sisters walk out of the trees and strolled to meet them. His sister came to his side and tilted her head, silver hair blowing in the wind. “You did a good thing. Remember that. The other thing needed to happen.” Then she skipped away, flew into the air on a tide of silver to disappear in a flash of light.
Rafe turned to the Grey Sisters. “Should I ask what that was about?”
“Best not. You’ll sleep more soundly.” They laughed and then said, “We’ve come for the Bow.” The three women each held out a hand.
For a moment, Rafe thought about refusing before retrieving the weapon and handing it to the women. “You’ll most likely do a better job at seeing this disappears again.”
“We will. And if you ever have need of it again, you know where to come this time. No more chasing songs and whispers.” The women cackled and then left, disappearing into the trees.
“Do you need me anymore?” Lynna’s voice pulled his attention back from his thoughts. “If not, I want to return home, spread the word to my sea creatures that it’s safe to come back, that the threat is gone.”
“Are the other ships seaworthy?” Lynna nodded. “Then go, I’ll get the men here on the beach to the vessels and back to the islands. And thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” Lynna smiled, a glint of impishness in her eye. “Just don’t expect me to come bail you out of trouble every time, brother.” She laughed and raced back into the sea. As she swam away, she shouted, “Do tell that nice Pelham fellow good-bye. I will see him again.” With another laugh, she dove under the waves and from Rafe’s sight.
Rafe sighed and hoped his sister was teasing him. A part of him shuddered at the thought of a possible friendship between Lynna and Pelham.
“Captain, look!” He turned his head at the sound of Commander Vaughan’s voice and pulled his gaze towards the waiting ships. Several long boats were lowering off the vessels.
“Well, lads, it looks like rescue is coming to us. We’ll soon get you on home.”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Set Sails
BLACKTHORNE WAS FIRST out of the longboats when they landed at the beach and headed straight for Rafe. “Glad to see you’re in one piece, sir. I feared the worst after you were struck by the beast.”
“So did I for few moments. Luckily, I managed to shield myself from the brunt of it.” He flashed a rueful grin. “I missed most of the battle, though. What happened? Injuries? Casualties?”
Blackthorne glanced over at the navy men now milling around the longboats. “The Sprightly Lark took the worst blow, as you can see. She got hit by two companies of those dead men, and waves washed her port side into the rocks. Lynna got the men you see here to shore, but we lost some. The bodies got pulled under by the dead, and I didn’t see a trace of their souls.” Blackthorne sighed.
“I wouldn’t worry on that account,” Rafe reassured. “The After World is righting itself. I can feel it. Souls will find their way home, I think.”
“Good to hear that, at least. We’ve enough to deal with.” He nodded at the shipwreck. “It looks bad, but the navy ship might be salvageable. It’s wedged well on the rocky coast, and I doubt the tide will pull her further under. The gash in her side can be fixed, I think, if the bottom and the keel are intact.”
“What of the Jewel and Star’s Hope? And Bevire?”
“The Jewel took some damage, but nothing we haven’t weathered before. And we didn’t lose a man.” Blackthorne paused, looking distinctly uncomfortable. Then he almost spat the words. “As much as it pains me to say it, Pelham and his ship were a stellar crew and fought bravely. They lost a few men, but not many. It makes it harder to dislike the man, fighting alongside him.”
“Yes, I think we may have to call a truce in regard to Commander Pelham.”
Blackthorne scowled. “We’ll see. As to your sister, sir, she and her magic gave us the edge, it did. Don’t know what blasted conjuring she did to our weapons, but they cut through the skeletons and the corpses like a ship through calm seas. It’s a shame we can’t keep the spell, but she was a bit adamant about that. She’s tending to that task at the moment. Relieving the ships’ weapons of her added magic.” He sighed. “You might have noticed none of us are carrying blades, sir. That’s why. She will want to see the returning men about that as well.”
Rafe grinned. “It may seem a shame, but trust me, you don’t want to carry around my sister’s magic. It can be...unpredictable...over time.
”
Blackthorne shrugged. Rafe clapped him on the shoulder. “Let’s get these men back on to our ships and set sail to the nearest navy port then we can properly celebrate with some rum.”
“Aye, sir.” Blackthorne grinned, and the pair walked to the longboats. They oversaw an orderly loading of the boat, and the first group rowed away from the beach. A few more trips, and, at last, their turn came to row back to the Jewel. Rafe watched his ship grow closer with a feeling of relief and joy and grinned in delight when he finally felt the deck boards beneath his boots.
He walked up to the quarterdeck to a chorus of cheers and surveyed his ship. One-Eyed Anders grinned at him from the helm, winking his one good eye. Rafe watched the crew: some of his men settling the naval newcomers into the routine, others repairing damaged rigging, sail and deck. His sister stood by the prow, siphoning off the last of the borrowed magic from blades. His blood itched to set sail, but he knew he must be patient. Neither the ships nor the crews were yet ready.
He turned his head to look out at the Star’s Hope seeing Pelham standing on his quarterdeck, a momentary reflection of himself. The sun danced off the clouds against the bluest sky. One would never know the death that rose and fell against this backdrop.
Rafe sighed and murmured. “I wonder how they’ll write about it in the books? Or will they even remember?”
“Someone will. We gods are long-lived, brother.” Rafe turned around to see Bevire standing behind him, somehow sneaking across the deck without a sound. She smiled. “I just wanted to say goodbye. I have retrieved the last of the magic from your ship and crew. I have a few more to chase down over there,” she nodded at the Star’s Hope. “And then I’m leaving. Back to my sanctuary.”
Rafe nodded. “Thank you. I know this was difficult for you.”
“Not as much as I supposed. And any difficulties, I deserved.” She dropped her voice to a whisper. “I never meant any of this to happen. Know that.”