by J. M. Topp
‘This one is, my friend, but there are evil things out there that would kill us all. Have you heard of the Archdaemon?’
‘No, I haven’t,’ said Rickert, giving the scale back to Ayda.
‘I don’t understand it all either, but I am doing my best to learn,’ said Ayda, smiling at Rickert. She patted him on the shoulder. ‘Rest up, young prince. We’re cooking up a plan, and I will tell you all about it come nightfall. Try to sleep.’ She walked to the balcony and opened the window.
‘Wait! You can’t go out that way. There is a guard posted below.’
‘Aw, you do care about me. I knew Korhas was wrong about you,’ Ayda said, blowing a kiss to him. ‘I also came to warn you: the humans have found a way to break through Muldvale Pass. They are at your very gates. Morrenwylf will try to keep the information from you, but despite your wounds, Rickert, you must reach out to the Council of Alestaeyn. They will allow the meeting between the leader of the refugees and yourself. Take heart, young prince. You will sit on the throne of Felheim.’ Without another word, she disappeared into the sunlight. Rickert shook his head and set the pillow to his side. Attraction was a feeling he wasn’t very well used to. A butterfly flew into the room from the open window. Its beautiful blue-and-yellow-coloured wings flapped in the sunlight, casting reflections throughout his room. The insect fluttered about and finally landed on Rickert’s knee. Rickert stared at it. He moved to touch it, but the butterfly lifted its wings, flew around the room a few more times, and finally exited through the window, enraptured by the chaotic winds outside.
The Bloodrune
GREY WATERS LAPPED at Elymiah’s legs at a steady and slow rhythm, their cold and salty grasp pulling her ever so gently. As far as she could see, there was nothing beyond the horizon except for a grey sludge of fog and clouds. The sky was as murky as the waters beneath it. The salty sour smell of the sea rose to her nostrils. Zignumerand stood on the sandy beach, hands tucked into the sleeves of his dark red robe. Amelinne and Tsoryg stood beside him with worried looks on their faces. Tsoryg carried a beautifully carved crossbow in his arms. Another Veledred, whom Elymiah hadn’t met before, stood with them as well. He had long grey hair and a patchy white beard. He didn’t look like he could even hold a spear up. He stared at the sands without expression.
Zignumerand eyed Elymiah with disgust. ‘To become a daemon hunter, you must first hunt a daemon,’ he said, scanning the salty sea. ‘There is a kraken in these waters. You are to sail on that boat and kill it.’
Zignumerand pointed to a small dinghy tied to a peg buried in the coarse sand. ‘In this boat, you will find the weapons you need to kill a beast such as the one you hunt. I have taken the liberty to give you a page from the Veledred bestiary.’ Zignumerand handed a crumpled piece of a scroll to Elymiah. She took the manuscript and held onto it.
‘Are you kidding me?’ Anger began to fill her vision. ‘We are to kill a kraken with this?’
‘I am sending Amelinne and Tsoryg with you. They do not complain. Why do you?’
Elymiah frowned and, after a pause, grunted. ‘If I kill this thing, will you stop trying to kill me?’
Zignumerand smiled and nodded. Elymiah sighed and looked out to the grey seas.
‘This is not a baby wyvern,’ said Zignumerand. ‘This creature has been alive for much longer than you or me. Underestimating it would be a grave mistake.’
‘If you will excuse me, Castellan,’ said Elymiah with a short bow, ‘I’ve got a beast to kill.’
She turned from Zignumerand and walked to the boat. Seeing the boat and knowing what she was about to hunt, she realised that she was not scared but eager more than anything else. There was something to do finally. There was a task she could achieve that didn’t require thinking of anything more than the thrill of a kill.
Killing she could do.
She motioned to the others, and they pushed the boat from the banks of coarse sand. The waves pushed against Elymiah softly, but before too long, she was knee deep in the sea. She and the others jumped onto the dinghy and pulled a rope, hoisting the sail high above their heads.
Elymiah was surprised that the dinghy was afloat at all. The rickety mahogany boat had signs of rotting plaster on the inside. The mast pierced the sky crookedly, with a brown sail full of holes folded at the base. A spear and compass were all that was at the bottom of the small boat. Elymiah picked the compass up and put it close to her face. It glowed green, much like the compass Artus had used aboard the Painted Basilisk to guide them to the Isles of Brume.
That would be a ship more apt to hunt a kraken on, not this.
Amelinne sat beside Elymiah at the front of the boat, and Tsoryg and the grey-haired one were behind them.
This time it was clear: Zignumerand was trying to kill her. But Elymiah was not against this. She almost smiled. Daemons could not kill her. The Aivaterrans, her people, could not either. If she could not take her own life, a kraken taking it seemed appropriate.
Instantly, the sail filled with the wind, and it pushed the boat out into the darkened seas. With the wooden rudder at the back, Tsoryg guided the small boat through the bay.
Elymiah looked up into the wall of fog encircling the isle.
Amelinne smiled innocently. ‘Sometimes the fog makes a wall that looks like it’s made of stone, keeping any intruders from our castle,’ she said.
‘Or preventing us from leaving, like a cell,’ said the grey-haired man. Elymiah glanced at him. The old daemon hunter had a sour expression, and he kept on fumbling with his boot strings. She didn’t know exactly how he could be useful. He had to be almost as old as Guiomar.
Elymiah picked the spear up in her hands and held it tight. The wood was weak and splintered, but surprisingly the point was polished steel. She drew the knife Theodric had given her. The rune was shaped like a T, with a small triangle detached from the end, pointing forward on the bevel of the blade. It was heavy, and the edge was sharp.
What if it was all a jest? A bloodrune, seriously? A chill went up her spine. What if Theodric was playing a nasty trick on her? Elymiah pushed the thought from her mind. If he were tricking her, she would have to use it as a knife.
Remember what I taught you, Elymiah?
Sometimes she thought she could hear Bertrand in the wind. It had been so long since Khoryl Castle, but remembering his words almost made it feel like he was still right beside her.
‘It does not matter what weapon you use if it is not used in anger,’ said Elymiah, reciting the teachings given by her master long ago.
‘That’s an interesting saying,’ said Amelinne.
‘It’s a saying I was taught by someone, long ago. It means if I am patient and with a sound mind, I can kill this cursed beast, no matter the weapon.’
‘As a matter of fact, that saying was first uttered by a slave master in Aivaterra. He would give his slave-gladiators rusted weapons and shoddy armour and then try to invigorate them with that saying. Not many of his slaves ever won,' said Amelinne, putting her chin on her hands. 'I'm surprised you don't know that story.’'
Elymiah glanced back down at the spear in her hand. Bertrand had never told her the origin of the saying. She wondered what else he had forgotten to mention. Amelinne didn’t seem particularly bothered by the task they were about to perform.
‘Have you done this before?’ asked Elymiah.
‘Hunted a kraken? Gods no, but I have hunted in the seas long before this. Seals and large whales. My father and mother were fishermen. They taught me that a heart full of fear is a heart full of mistakes.’Amelinne gave her a soft smile. ‘Not terribly different from your saying.’
Elymiah raised an eyebrow. ‘You are different from the other Veledred, aren’t you?’
‘Naive or stupid probably.’ Amelinne laughed. ‘But thank you. My mother taught me that in this world we shouldn’t all be frowning.’
Elymiah turned her head to scan the horizon. The seas were calm, with only a soft breeze blowing through her
hair and cloak from moment to moment. No gulls were flying through the air. Everything about the Isles of Brume seemed cursed.
Elymiah scanned the water. There was no sign of the beast. Then she remembered the bestiary that Zignumerand had given her. She pulled the crumpled paper from her pouch and unfolded it over her lap, careful to hold it down so the wind wouldn’t blow it away.
The paper was yellow and torn on the edges as if it had been ripped from an old book. A picture of a creature with dozens of tentacles had been sketched at the very top of the page. But something stood out to Elymiah.
The words were in a language she did not recognise.
Nú mun ek segja þér, at þetta eru sjáskrímsl tvau, heitir annat hafgufa, en annat lyngbakr; er hann mestr allra hvala í heiminum, en hafgufa er mest skrímsl skapat í sjánum; er þat hennar náttúra, at hon gleypir bæði menn ok skip ok hvali ok allt þat hon náir.
Elymiah scanned the entire paper incredulously. She turned to Amelinne.
‘Do you recognise the language on this parchment?’
Amelinne cooed as she took the paper from Elymiah’s hands. ‘This is ancient Veledred text. Only Zignumerand, Commandant Farnesse, and a few others know what it says.’
‘But you don’t?’ asked Elymiah.
‘Gods no,’ said Tsoryg with a laugh from behind them. ‘She was inducted when she was thirteen, the same year as me. She doesn’t know the language.’
‘Shut your pie-hole, Tsoryg, before I shut it for you,’ snapped Amelinne, giving him a glare.
‘Is that a threat or a promise of a good time?’ asked Tsoryg, lifting an eyebrow.
‘Ignore him,’ said Amelinne, turning to Elymiah. She lowered her voice to a mere whisper. ‘But I don’t know what’s on this paper.’
Elymiah took the paper and crumpled it in her fist. She would have to thank Zignumerand for such an excellent bestiary.
‘If I return, I will kill him,’ she said. Though the likelihood of her returning was low. Especially now, without a bestiary, it was settled.
Before too long, the hunters were completely enveloped in a soupy grey mist. Elymiah could taste the foetid fog all around her. ‘It is best if we are silent from this point out,’ said Tsoryg, turning the rudder slightly in his hands. All was grey, with only a few faint rays of sunlight piercing the clouds. Elymiah pulled the compass out and decided they had gone far enough. She stood and pulled the torn sail from the mast and set it at her feet, once again resuming her seat at the front of the boat, spear in hand. A sudden movement behind her made her turn her head. She stared in horror as the grey-haired man stood up. He held a large rounded stone in his hands.
‘Fuck the Veledred, and fuck me if I will end up being eaten by a fucking kraken,’ he said quietly. He jumped off the boat and landed in the water with a splash.
‘Gods above,’ whispered Amelinne. Tsoryg leaned over the edge, but nothing could be seen beneath the grey waters. The sea had swallowed the grey-haired man whole.
‘Stay sharp,’ said Elymiah, pushing the drowned man from her thoughts. Amelinne picked a spear up. All there was to do now was wait.
Minutes turned to hours.
The waters were utterly still in this area of the bay. Elymiah realised this was the first moment of complete silence since she had lost Robyn. She looked down at the spear in her lap. A darkness began to encircle her mind, strange and bitter cold. She smiled to herself and then tried to look back at Amelinne and Tsoryg, but she could not. She was paralyzed. Every time she decided to move, a sharp pang of fear shot through her mind.
Whispers began to spring from the waters around her. Elymiah’s eyes darted to the noise, and she clenched the spear in her hand, but nothing moved where she looked. There was a clunking sound of armour rattling somewhere in front of her, but that was impossible. She gasped, whipping her head this way and that, but nothing revealed itself to her. Then her eyes glimpsed a shadow on the water.
A man in armour approached, walking on the calm grey sea. She could only stare. It had to be an illusion; it had to be. Perhaps it was a daemon. The idea settled in her mind, and she clenched her fists. Elymiah had seen plenty of insane and bizarre sights. For a simple ghost daemon to shake her would be ridiculous, and it would make her laugh. Yet not a smile crossed her face.
The man walking on water was wearing steel armour like that of a holy knight-captain. But the symbol was off. A steel wolf was emblazoned on the pauldrons and chestplate where an angel should have been. As far as Elymiah knew, there was no such platoon christened by that symbol in Aivaterra. The knight took his helm off to reveal a close-shaven beard and brown hair parted to one side. His eyes were bright, and his nose was finely carved.
‘Whether I am the last one alive, I will bear you far above,’ said the ghost with a voice that seemed to echo across the black waters. ‘I am and will be your future.’
‘My future? I have never seen you before. What do you have to do with me?’ asked Elymiah, using all her strength to speak. She stared at the ghostly knight.
‘Everything,’ responded the ghost.
‘Not bloody likely.’
‘We’ve met before, you and I, and we will meet again,’ said the ghost. He smiled and unsheathed a magnificent golden sword with red jewels embedded in the bevel. The spirit held it above his head. Then he knelt and pressed the point of the sword into the water. Blood burst from his shoulder like a geyser and flowed down his arms, side, and legs as if an invisible blade had stricken him. There was something in the fog around her, some toxin, Elymiah realised, that was causing her to see things. The ghost began to disappear as blood began to pool around its armoured body. Elymiah winced as the body burst into a mist of blood and vanished altogether.
‘Elymiah,’ whispered Amelinne.
Elymiah opened her eyes and looked to her companion. She had been sleeping. The strange sensation of paralysis disappeared.
‘You were starting to doze off, dear,’ said Amelinne.
Her mind began to clear once more. She shook her head but then widened her eyes. The vision had given her an idea.
Elymiah put her hand over the edge of the dinghy and put the blade of the knife in her hand. With a quick sigh, she pressed the knife against the palm of her hand to pour a thin trail of blood into the grey waters. She was careful not to let even a drop of blood fall onto the bloodrune.
‘What are you doing?’ asked Amelinne.
‘Trust me.’ Elymiah sat back in the boat and grabbed the spear. The whispers seemed to have vanished, and there was no more sign of the ghostly vision.
She heard a noise to her left, but this time there was nothing except for a small ripple in the waves. Instantly, her heart jumped to her throat. She nailed her gaze on the ripple, but nothing rose from it. Elymiah strained her ears to hear anything. The corners of her eyes caught another movement to her right, but when she turned, nothing but another ripple expanded in the waters.
‘It’s here, I’m sure of it,’ she said. But where?
Amelinne squeezed the spear in her lap with a silent curse. Tsoryg grabbed his crossbow and loaded it with a bolt as quietly as he could.
Everything was silent. There was no sound except for her rapid breathing and the constant pounding of her heart. Elymiah tried to force herself to be quiet, but it was too much. Doubt, as well as fear, began to cloud her mind. Her hands began to shake.
She was a knight, trained to fight on the ground, never on a boat in the sea.
Elymiah’s eyes scanned the edge of the boat. Another ripple here and there, but she could not tell what was creating them. Blood trickled from her hand, but she couldn’t attend to it now. She held the bloodied knife in her hand. The rune on the blade began to glow. She bit her lip, the anticipation too much to handle. How was she to use it? The knife weighed down like cold, dead steel in her hand.
Then the water level around the boat began to rise. A shadow, darker than the grey around the dinghy, rose to the surface. A big, round yellow eye opened up
from the shadow and looked at Elymiah. Blood froze in her veins, and she could not move. The eye blinked once and then pulled away from the dinghy, down into the grey waters.
For a moment, Elymiah held her breath.
‘Fucking hell,’ whispered Amelinne. ‘We need a bigger—’
‘It’s not gone yet,’ interrupted Elymiah. Then, as if the kraken had heard her words, a long, deep groan emerged from the deep. With the sound, a dozen coal-black tentacles with grey scales burst from the grey waters, boiling through the sea. Elymiah stood from her seat but could only stare at the display of horror. The kraken let its tentacles crash onto the small boat. Elymiah jumped, but she wasn’t fast enough. A tentacle slapped her leg as she leapt into the dark waters. She shouted as the impact snapped her leg.
She fell into the dark sea, swallowing salt water. She didn’t know where Amelinne or Tsoryg had gone. Elymiah coughed, pushed herself up to the surface, and sprang through the waters, desperately trying to suck air back into her lungs. Panic began to squeeze its icy grip. She turned her head rapidly, looking for the beast, but she could not see anything in the waters. Elymiah kicked herself. She had lost her spear when she jumped, and now the only thing she had was her knife. She put the blade into her mouth and swam to the wrecked boat.
‘Amelinne?’ she called out through the blade in her teeth. ‘Tsoryg?’
Nothing was left intact in the dinghy. Elymiah grabbed onto a floating piece of wood, but before she could get a grip on it, something brushed up against her leg. Her bladder immediately emptied.
Fuck.
Out of breath, she tried to get another grip on the floating piece of wood, and she grabbed the knife from her mouth. But then something wrapped itself around her leg and pulled her down into the sea. She couldn’t see a thing in the dark waters, but she could feel herself rapidly descend into the deep. The pressure in her head began to grow heavy and, like a vice, began to squeeze her mind.
This is it, she thought, turning the blade in her hands and facing the dark beast. A shadow darker than anything she had ever seen grew bigger and bigger as she was pulled deeper and deeper.