"That's how I feel," Trevir exclaimed, miming a shaking hand as he creaked to his feet. "Fuck, we got lucky."
"Cunt." Ephraim grinned at his fellow marine like a conspirator and punched him on the shoulder. With a sniff, he spat on the quartermaster. "We were owed some luck."
"See..." Carla's voice was a whisper. She cleared her throat, angry at showing weakness, as much as the treachery and rush of terror, fury and excitement. "See to the fallen. It is a scratch. We were very lucky. I just need a minute." She looked at the stain on the dressing, then at the corpse at her feet, and trembled harder. "Maybe two." As her adrenaline slowed, she remembered her words to her father, and only then did she fully appreciate the burden he'd shouldered. The weight of deeds committed. How had a dying man the strength to carry that and continue?
.*.*.
Van Reiver foundered for air. He'd regained his footing, but the surge of water rushing out to sea as the cyclopta ploughed into the beach sent him tumbling beyond the surf. He sucked in a breath, half air and half water as the vastness of open sea sought to claim him. Each time as he'd risen to the surface, a wave had rolled him under and the current tugged him further from safety. Water filled his helm, stifling his breathing and making every gasp bubble and burn, a searing torture for part-empty lungs. He felt his vision draw in from the sides as he lost track of where dwindling daylight lurked and which way lay the shore. Was this what death felt like?
As his strength faded, darkness and drowning beckoned. He tried one last kick, but his legs hung limp. His last moment seemed an age. That seemed wrong, so very wrong. Then water was filling his mouth, and he felt the first convulsion occur.
Something hard snagged his belt, pinching the armour on his side. Somewhere in his head, in his fading consciousness as it darkened, he found himself hauled backwards. His feet dragged, then jerked as they clipped rock and he went limp.
.*.*.
A hand hauled him into the light. How? He felt the heat on his helm. His breath tasted foul—breath? He gagged, but inhaled something to spark his brain. The hand tilted his head and tugged. His chinstrap came free and his helm dropped away. Vaska flashed into view, beaming a pleased grin. Van Reiver fell to his knees, and spat the foulness from his mouth, once, twice. He coughed and splashed a handful of water to swill his face and shook his head. He almost fell back into the ocean's clutches and Vaska hooked him under the chin and pulled him close with a low 'tsk, tsk' noise.
Instead of dying like the cyclopta, Van Reiver rasped in a deep breath, and spluttered in a precious lungful of air, then another—praise the gods—and another. Vaska's smile broadened over age-browned, uneven teeth and filled his face. Vaska leaned to the side to hook Van Reiver's bobbing helm back from the surf and spent a moment swilling it. It took all the navigator's strength not to cry in thanks at the frigid grip of the steel hook. Even then, the few seconds of recovery were over all too soon. Struggling under Van Reiver's saturated bulk, he felt the old seadog pull him over one wiry shoulder and half dragged, then half carried him. Coughing and wheezing, they rose from the grasping sea and Van Reiver stared longingly uphill at the high tide mark as they stumbled over slick rocks and clutching sand.
Halfway, Van Reiver's legs went into something deep and he ducked under. He splashed, all the terrors of drowning surging back when they were so close. Fuck, he had no strength, and water surged into his lungs. His vision dimmed as he sank like a rock and bounced off the sea bed, flat and hard.
After several helpful thumps to his back as his nose and lungs burned, Van Reiver rediscovered normal breathing. Sharp stabbing jabs into each lung. He coughed. Groaning, hawking, then spitting seawater, the navigator stared through hollow, stinging eyes at the carnage in the once peaceful cove. Thousands of ghastly marks punctured the male cyclopta from the knees downwards. Dozens more from arrows and rocks peppered the ugly head and forearm. The head so mercilessly pummelled by Dagmar faced away, flesh still smouldering. It was no small blessing, as it gave off an acrid rankness. Smoke curled away in whorls and wisps that diffused in the air, but left an unpleasant stench of burnt meat in the nostril and unsavouriness on the tongue.
No movement came from the giant chest, the proof of a hard-won victory. Van Reiver saw the bodies and forced himself not to put names to corpses, bits of corpses or barely moving men. The uniformity of elven leather salved his conscience, making the fallen indistinguishable. They were the dead. His dead—or his and Mathyss' to be realistic. An honoured necessity for the Tryphon survivors to return home. Their debt. He'd brood upon the price later. He'd led them to this. Killed every one of them, if he was honest with himself. No-one had refused to go, but he'd ordered them to fight on a foreign shore for the implausible cause of strangers who loathed humankind. It had better be worthwhile, he thought with realism—or was it cynicism? He couldn't think of the right word. It had better be worth their sacrifice and their blood. That one thought, he knew above any other, was the one he would need to live with in the dead of night when sleep was scarce and the sound of sand falling in the hourglass deafening.
"What kept you?" Van Reiver looked at Vaska and laughed, the hint of hysteria fading from his voice as his armour squelched. He'd had two close calls with death in a few minutes to speak with elegance or dignity. Small words, use small words, he thought, palming his forehead. For a moment Vaska seemed taken aback, then snorted a laugh.
"By the gods, be that the thanks I get from the ungrateful young shite?" the sailor wheezed, rubbing a hand through thin greasy grey hair, and nodded inland at the abandoned packs. "My legs aren't what they used to be, young sir," Vaska said in a chiding tone, taking Van Reiver's arm and steering him to where the survivors congregated upwind of the huge corpse.
Too weary to celebrate, the men threw their helmets and weapons aside and sank to their knees. Heads hung in relief, while other faces looked up, tear-stained and unashamed. "By the time I found two coils of rope and a single bloody hook, you were swinging like an ape off the back of the big bloke. All I could do was watch you sail past. Off fishing on the amber, were we—was that your grand plan, young master?" cackled Vaska, unable to help himself. "It was a rotten plan."
"Thank you, and yes, it was." Van Reiver grinned, shaking his head ruefully, and watched Grimm clap Cephill on the shoulder, delighted at their success. Why had he jumped onto the back of the leg? Van Reiver could hardly credit himself for being brave. Or being so dreadfully impulsive—if not fucking stupid. The wheel of fate that several of them now faced would decide whether his actions today had been wise, self-centred, or sheer folly.
He was too tired to care now, too weary to give a shit and too relieved at surviving the longest few minutes of his life. He'd aged centuries—or so he felt. How men like Merizus and Mathyss could do this for a living was beyond comprehension.
"It got out of control at the end," Van Reiver admitted, head drooping. His hair and beard dripped on his chestplate and he shivered. It sounded too much like blood. The old man nodded, patted his shoulder and turned to move to where help was more needed. After everything, it hadn't been a disaster. They'd succeeded against the unknown and unexpected. Against all the odds, fate stacked against them. Vaska stopped and turned.
"Aye, I had to pick between you or chasing the weasel. Sorry."
"You did the right thing by me. Let no-one say otherwise."
Van Reiver looked for Hadly. Saw nothing. He looked harder and saw Dagmar lying prone. He staggered, not realising he had launched himself to his feet, and trotted with the speed of an old man. When he got closer, he saw the rise and fall of the sunjammer's robe and stopped to ease the thumping fear in his chest. He bent to catch his breath and turned back and looked at Hatch. If not for him, it would be Van Reiver lying there. Dead by his own indecision in dealing—or not—with superstition and mutiny. Dead for being soft and weak. Survival meant the taste of failure in the bitter wine of guilt. Was this how victory should feel—A sense of shame?
He turned as
Carla's weight slammed into him, her arms locking in an unbreakable cinch about his chest. He hadn't heard her and was caught unprepared; they tumbled to the shingle with her body on his. They laughed uproariously as relief suffused them, welding them in a tighter embrace. Somehow, they'd survived. Now he considered returning home, where possibilities beckoned if the sea elves honoured their bargain.
"You did it." She laughed, getting to her knees, and pulled him up to sit with legs outstretched. "I can hardly believe it."
"They did it. They were incredible, and I'm sorry for yelling before." He looked at her and saw the bloody dressing. The bottom fell out of his stomach. His hand reached up, and she caught it and held it tight.
"Don't, it is a scratch." He saw the tension behind her relief, and then he knew. Knew it with all his heart.
"Hadly?" It was a dreadful admission, and he couldn't face looking at her with a fresh wave of shame flooding through him in a wrench of regret.
She squeezed him tighter in answer, as though needing the contact. Was he alive, or was this a last dream as he drowned? It was a dreadful thought, and for a moment the gloomy part of his mind wondered if he had perhaps even drowned already, if this was the afterlife. What he deserved. He shook his head. It could be worse, it could always be fucking worse, he considered, thinking of what remained. What he could still lose.
"Forget it. I mean it—I got him. Come on, up, Lieutenant. Get up and command. You can help me check on Mathyss and Dagmar and make a camp." When he didn't move, she stopped and looked into his face, concern filling her eyes. "What is it, are you hurt?"
"Sorry, no, don't worry." He rose and brushed the hair from her eyes as though assuaging the guilt, and felt a moment of strangeness at the casualness of the act. He spoke in a rasp, "I needed a moment to take it in. What they did, what it cost. What we have to do next." He cleared his throat and pounded his chest twice. Raw and burning from the sea, he could die for a drink. "I'll join you in a moment, I need to check on Hatch. I owe him." No, he wasn't dreaming, he concluded as Carla nodded in understanding, squeezed him tight and released him to walk back to the injured.
Van Reiver turned and walked to Hatch. Relief seized him so tight he had to wipe his eyes. Burning tears rose unbidden as he saw Hatch breath. The stocky man's chest rose and fell. Van Reiver knelt and, clamping his eyes tight, put a hand on the man's shoulder and squeezed. Taking the broken hilt from Hatch, Van Reiver turned it over as his thoughts churned over inherited responsibilities and ground under his relief.
He stood and looked for the short brown armour among the green. A powerful voice in his head exulted their victory in a joyous song, as though a rare seed had germinated against fate's dire expectation. They could stop living in the immediacy of survival. They had a burgeoning future wrestled from the jaws of defeat by their own deeds. Beyond the horizon, their destiny awaits.
The first odyssey ends.
The voyage will continue.
Dramatis Personae
KINGDOM OF THE TWIN SPIRES (WESTERN PRINCIPALITY)
WAR CERRACK TRYPHON
Captain Bullsen
First Mate Sithric
Second Mate Edouard Van Reiver (Navigation Officer)
Principal Sunjammer Gerad
Deputy Sunjammer Gabriel Dagmar
Doctor Robsin
Artillery Officer Grail Neerson
Third Mate Comace (Master of Cadets)
Cadet Amath Onvice (Boy Officer)
Quartermaster Hadly
Coxswain Grimm (Chief Petty Officer)
Bosun Claus Wittmann (Chief Petty Officer)
Petty Officer Cephill
Petty Officer Dorad
Petty Officer Hatch
Carpenter Panon
Seaman Harcux
Yeoman's Mate Jaspin Jenkans
Bosun's Mate Paska
Captain's Secretary Morrel
Seaman Vaska
Seaman Cople
Seaman Gaets (Lookout)
Signaller Fen Nadam
Seaman Valant
Seaman Alroy (Tryphon's Duckfucker & assistant to Skillon)
Bosun's Mate Brak
Quartermasters' Mate Frend
Lookout Gaets
Seaman Garshum
Seaman Kenton
Seaman Lang
Seaman Lukas
Seaman Meaun
Seaman Seton
Cook Rufus
Captain's Steward Skillon (Jimi's father)
Apprentice Carilon (Landsman)
Jimi (ship's boy)
Master Serjeant at Arms Merizus
Marine Ephraim
Marine Mensan
Marine Trevir
Dramatis Personae
NOTABLE OTHERS
KINGDOM OF THE TWIN SPIRES NOBILITY
Baron Canute of Pallach (Prince's advisor & Minister of Intelligence to West Spires court)
Lady Carla of Pallach (Baron Canute's daughter and aide)
Prince Gildan of West Spires (younger brother to King Cartmel)
Duke Coutray of Tregallon (Gildan's son)
SEA ELVES OF INSULA
Lady Synalavar (Magus Leader)
Prince Methyn (Military Leader)
Lady Alleyne (Religious Leader)
General Valindal (Battlefield Commander)
Priestess Tryell (Healing Mistress)
Commander Mathyss (Valindral's Scout Leader)
Kandra (Mathyss' Deputy)
Deities — Spires & Atlantia
THE GNOSITOS FAITH OF SALVATION
MENOSAR — Male — The God of Deception & Patron of Thieves
KRAUAG — Male — The God of War & Patron of Warriors
TERMASPHAN — Female — The Goddess of Earth & Heavens
SELIONMAEL — Female — The Goddess of Suns & Moons & Patron of Sailors
ARARAKTA — Female — The Goddess of the Underworld
PANSOPH — Female — The Goddess of Wisdom & Law
RAPHPOTEN (SUZ'ANHAREN) — Male — The Overlord & God of Magic & Patron of The Citadel
Deities — Elvenkind
The World Spirits Faith
SEPHARZUR — Male — The God of Earth
REMPHSENAR — Male — The God of Rivers & Seas
HINSHARAMIT — Male — The God of Heavens
TELLERENLLA — Female — The Goddess of Forests
LAMARISA — Female — The Goddess of Healing
ACHAZLATHIEL — Female — The Goddess of Magic
VALDONNERUS — Female — The Overlord of Life
Glossary — General Terms
ALBION — Ceded to West Spires following the Treaty of Pennal as reparations for Demeta interference in the Spires Civil War. Neglected by West Spires since the War of Succession, the principality has consolidated West Spires rule around Albian, with a growing fleet to fend off Freeport's pirates in a bitter silent war.
AMBER — Common term for acidic saltwater oceans.
AQUITAINE — Capital of Spires Central as the Kingdom of the Twin Spires is known. Originally from the Aquitaine Kingdom, founded by the ancient Aquitani tribe.
ANKHBOW — Nickname for a naval crossbow. Similar in shape to the old Egyptian symbol from Ancient Earth. The front hoop acts as a stand when firing from defensive positions and utilises a foot hoop for crank-less two-arm reloading.
ARDOVER — North Western city in West Spires and a historical military staging ground.
ATLANTIS — Human city-state who utilised the Proteus Stone to magically relocate from Ancient Earth to Sanctuary, transporting all human races (bar Aztexa). The centre of human expansion before the founding and spread of independent rival tribal nation states. Human calendar begins after Atlantean arrival on Sanctuary.
BANEWOOD — Hardwood, which looks almost silver when polished. Cost of production is similar and often used at sea with resisting acid better and being less delicate than ceramics.
BLIGHTED ISLANDS — Former Greek city-states surrounding the Red & Ionian Seas. Follo
wing a disastrous second attempt to use the remaining shards of the Proteus Stone, the Atlantean/Greek deities were destroyed or driven mad. Since then, all Greeks are eternally cursed, wandering undead, maddened by an enraged Zeus with the desire to feed on human flesh.
BODY LEACH — Slang term for a healer. Typically, a Priest/Priestess/Doctor rather than an Apothecary.
BOLUS — Slang for an Apothecary, or medical orderly.
BRASS — Atlantean slang for low denomination denarii coinage, typically one, five & ten coinage.
CERRACK — Large three or four masted carvel built sailing vessel, (similar to a medieval carrack). Generally square rigged, occasionally with lateen aft rig. Warships typically armed with ballista & catapult platforms. Transports have a midship loading hatch and wider in the beam.
CIVITAI — Capital of the Kelta Carveta tribe.
CONFUGERUNT AD LOCUM HOMIS VENIT — Ancient Atlantean Latos for 'humanity has come to a place of sanctuary'.
CROCUS — Snide term for doctors (politer than pisspot). Common for less competent doctors and healers.
CYCLOPTA — Giant single-eyed humanoid, some 28-36 feet high and live in families or tiny clans.
FREEPORT — Swampland pirate haven in Demeta Kelta territory, near Atlantean outposts, savaging seaborne trade. Swamps, reefs and shallows make it difficult to attack, presuming the political and financial will to carry it through. Times change.
GEM-GLASS — Arcane augmented ruby glass, crafted by dwarven artisans to collect the sun's energy for storage in the sunjammer crystal.
GLASSONBY — Large West Spires City.
THE TRYPHON ODYSSEY (The Voyage Book 1) Page 44