“Listen and see, smell and sense,” Sawyer whispered to Gele as he crouched in the underbrush. Dark clouds loomed over him, blotting out the Second Sea. Night came sooner than he expected. “Watch me, how I was then. You need to study it like a book. No, you need to be there, be my shadow. You need to learn their instincts as well as mine.”
Gele could hear the cicada chirps waver and the cool night air dissipating as he sank into the past. Like climbing into a shallow pool, he soon became submerged. His skin prickled, and an iron weight grew out of his hand. I do not need this, he said to himself. But this was Sawyer’s realm, not his. All he could do was float, like the drizzle cascading on the roof and dripping down to join the red-brown puddles below. And all around him, the town grew from the mud. Brick houses, drenched in rainwater and moss, waved to the approaching thieves with fingers of smoke rising from the chimneys. There were about twelve buildings, counting the heaping ruin at the edge of town. Wild dogs were sniffing around the broken doors. And cats gathered around the runes painted on the walls. “Awaken the summoning charm,” they read in the mermaid words. In the trees, rotting men hung like spoiled fruit. Sawyer called them scarecrows. Simple tools that kept the fearful heroes away. But only someone as wicked as Admiral Sawyer Jean knew that their souls had been melted down like raw iron, leaving the body behind.
The pirate was followed by twelve loyal men. She brushed her hand against the brick. In her other hand was her sword, heavy and hardened steel. Anything weaker would be useless here. Every lawman or bounty hunter who had ventured into the secluded little village of Mir’s Town had never returned. And whoever Mir was certainly had not done much either. Word reached Sawyer through an arms dealer’s lips. “A coven builds a brood here,” Sawyer had told her thieves before they set off to claim a prize. Her crew followed her, cloaked in night. Chorllow was a faraway home, and worse, the Navy was already hunting them. But the prize here was too much to resist. Witches and their feral alchemy built wondrous treasures, maybe even a pair of wings.
As a shadow, Gele trailed behind the pirates as they snuck through the empty streets. He felt as if he was only half-watching, the rest being fed to him directly. A river of thoughts opened up to him as he drank from the memory. He was placed with Sawyer, the Admiral in the seconds before an attack. His muscles, if they were still there, felt different, borrowed by the pirate, with all her habits and skills woven in, inheriting the senses and reflexes too.
And then, a second later, thick chaos tugged him away from Sawyer altogether. A roar sliced through the dreary silence and screams echoed across the haunted village. One of the scouts, Sawyer cursed to herself. She had placed men all down the path to watch for witches and lawmen alike. Only a fraction of her forces were here to truly fight. And the first man died where she could neither see nor command. Just a scream trailed by a sudden silence. “Follow,” she told the dozen at her heels, “anyone who strays twenty feet from me is a deserter and no ally of mine. Maynard, Wess, to the front with me.”
Maynard was a big broad man sculpted from packed muscle. His short black hair hid none of his blemishes, but nothing could hide his bronze prosthetic nose. It was his pride, both that and the blunderbuss in his arms. And Wess, the thin man with his daggers, appeared as an insect next to the giant.
Then, both were dwarfed by the juggernaut who lumbered into the town center. Gele shuddered when it saw it, the vision twisting and morphing, making the beastman look ten feet tall. Or maybe it was truly that big. Sheer fright nearly broke Gele from the dream until he saw Sawyer advance. That sight served as a buffer. How could he run when she went straight ahead?
Crude steel dressed the beastman, while Sawyer had to make do with bronze. The chimera had the head of a moose, seemingly stitched on by magic. Bloated hands effortlessly wielded a broadsword and silver shield. Whatever this man was before the ritual of brass rods took him, the chimera born afterward was gnarled and bathing in blood. Raspy breaths came from its throat, wheezing and snarling at once. Sawyer, followed by Maynard, approached. And step by step, the monster seemed to shrink an inch in Gele’s eyes. The pirate, fitted with magic rune-scratched armor and garb drenched in rain, broke into a run. A chimera born from animal bones, what did he see when he awoke? Was it the same as me when I tried for Deneve’s broken wings?
The swords scraped against each other, screeching as they clashed. It was more like two birds ripping at each other with steel talons than anything made by man. The chimeras both surged forward. But of the two, the moose struck first. “Fuck!” Sawyer cursed as she was nearly smacked by the moose man’s shield. The broadsword came next. Death crept its head, waiting to interrupt, following in the sword’s shadow. However, the Admiral's cutlass parried the swipe at the last possible moment. Two Inches. The blade was two inches away from tearing open her stomach. Unphased and undaunted, Sawyer dove in to counterattack without even checking to see if she was still alive.
The big and clumsy beast howled as Sawyer’s sword licked its neck. A thin trickle of red coated the blade, but the monster stood unperturbed. Their weapons met with another resounding clang! And then again, and once more after that. Down, down, down came the moose’s sword, no skill, only a berserk frenzy. Sawyer, in turn, whirled up and left, then right as she rolled away, running on the tips of her feet the whole time. Gele watched from the sky, ground, and behind both combatants’ eyes. Still, it was almost too fast to follow. How could he learn from this? The swords were alive themselves. The arms attached to them were merely nimble puppets. But both the blades and their bearers sang a duet of grunts and cries. The moose roared, its throat trumpeting a harsh guttural noise. Sawyer slapped the beast with her mangled hand and nicked a deep cut in its stomach with the cutlass. Then she rolled away as the broadsword came crashing down.
Sawyer was weightless as if she was always made of water. Even in the heavy bronze plate, she moved like a dancer. The whole time she remained on her guard, never angry or greedy, only watching the sword and following her partner’s footsteps. The man, before he grew antlers, must have been a fighter too. For his shield and sword were agile and strong, only the chimera part of him was outmatched. And that was what killed him. Sawyer took another slice at the monster’s stomach. And from afar, Wess intervened, flinging a knife into his eye. Maynard shoved his way close. As the moose screamed, he shoved the barrel of his blunderbuss into its mouth and squeezed the trigger. Click! Something sizzled in the weapon. A second later, the antlers were blown off the skull in a cloud of pink mist.
Gele blinked. As the monster fell, he noticed the knives stuck in its back and the shield punctured by bullet holes. All he saw was Sawyer, as the moose did. Watch everything, Gele learned. Not how to fight but how to win. Not every fight would be on an altar, nor alone in the jungle. Maybe he already knew how fragile he was, as the old cuts ached, but when the beastman fell, he was sure not to forget. There’s something to learn every second.
Though, he did not leave the vision just yet. As the Admiral searched the town for witches, Gele trailed behind with a hundred different eyes. How? In other dreams and memories, he walked like a ghost in places he had never been. But only in these dreams . . . Was it Sawyer’s imagination, her own conjured perception of events, leaking into his own mind? Were they closer to becoming one of their delusions mingled and crawled into the heads of moosemen? Gele did not know and halted the surge of questions before they crushed him.
Most of the houses were empty, the only residents being flies swarming rotten food, some still left out on dinner tables and plates. The fireplaces still burned, the flames blue and green. Moldy bedrolls gathered around the warmth, with a horde of filth and discarded trinkets. Duncan the wizard had found a little boy hidden in a cupboard, who ran screaming into the woods when he was found. Old Conrad found a room where the bed had been burned, but the walls were free of soot. And it was Sawyer herself who found the witches.
A dry, hoarse laugh welcomed the pirates into the corrupted sanctum. Inside the windmill, brass pikes and copper wire built a ring where figures in black robes lay limp and empty. All that remained was a hollow little girl flipping through a book of yellowed pages. Around her neck was an amulet of bone and old runes, at its center an eye that seemed to belong to neither a human, animal, or washed-up corpse. And when Sawyer glared at it, the necklace blinked shyly, flickering a brazen orange.
The young witch’s teeth chattered together, shivering as her fingers flipped through the pages. What did she gain from her sacrifice? Gele heard Sawyer ask as she kicked one of the robes aside. What do magicians get by eating each other? The sword was still in her hand. Step by step, she crept up to the sorceress.
“Sawyer, no!” Maynard shouted, the big man frantic in his cry. “She’s only a . . .”
She stuck the blade in the witch’s neck. It was green as it poured out and painted the old book. All the while, the eye around her neck blinked and blinked.“How do you know?” She turned to glare at her follower. “She may have killed everyone here for eternal youth or crawled into the skin of an innocent child. Maybe they’re just short and youthful.” Sawyer pulled the necklace off and let it hang around her own neck. “But we’ll never know now.”
Wess scoffed. “The way to Allecros only grows more strange. Haunted manors and fairies in the woods and the lakes that speak. We should take the route by sea. Watchtowers be damned.”
Duncan plucked one of the brass rods from the ground. “Watchtowers will sink us good, but I know a few friends that could smuggle us in.”
“Allecros? Still? After seeing this? After these past few years of slaying wizards and witches, after all those things. That . . . that chimera was the work of evil magic, and you intend to go deeper to Allecros? That beastman nearly killed us all, and what do we have to show for it?” Maynard gasped, mouth wide open. It shifted his bronze nose just slightly. In his eyes, flickers of fear arose when he gazed upon his friends. “We should stay as far as we can from there! Magic has ruined you all! Back to Chorllow is safest. If not, maybe join some other smugglers to the thieves’ haven they set up in the western isles. But not Allecros, Sawyer, no one with ill-intent makes it in, never mind out. Stop chasing these legends, please.”
“This is a nation of ill intent,” Sawyer smirked. She glanced at the amulet, where the eye twitched. “What makes me any different? Am I not a wizard of salt and sulfur? Their secrets are no good if no one uses them. Magic will give me wings. If you are not able to stomach that, leave.”
“If you are dead set on killing more children as you did at those villages, I will. What will be next, every orphanage in Allecros? The Holy Spire? Wilkin’s Port? When will you eat us for your growth from maggot to fly?” Maynard stomped his foot and nearly reached for his gun. A hundred discomforts took over him as his face mimicked those who were sacrificed. Wearing his dismay, he quickly flushed it out with red rage. “Captain Pilke did not die for you to make the same mistakes.” Maynard turned his back on her and strode. Venom dripped from his words. “He taught you better, took you in on his own, don’t waste the life he gave on fool’s gold. Be wary of chimeras, Sally, the god and goddess do not know their fates, and we are none the wiser.”
“You will address me as Admiral Sawyer Jean, Maynard.” She said as she saw him for the last time. She nearly cut him down if he was not once her dearest friend.
Gele awoke softly to the night’s cool air. It was not a calm awakening. Sawyer was looking at him, stunned. You were not meant to see that, a shamed glare told him. Standing, he stretched his arms and greeted the dusk. His brass bangles shined in the moonlight, and he clutched his scarf and wrapped it tight around his neck. Keep aware, do not be blind to what’s ahead. And do not lose the allies you have.
Mysk was watching the shore, shrouded by a tent of palm leaves. A few feet deeper in the jungle, Mapsokas the woodcutter was sharpening sticks into spears. She nodded at Gele when he passed. “Sleep well?” She muttered.
“I had a strange dream,” he admitted, but he could not say anything more.
“I used to have nightmares about people in the water coming up to dance at a feast they were never invited to.” Mapsokas shrugged. “I do not believe mermaids are real, but if they are, damn them for stealing my food each time I shut my eyes.”
Mapsokas was placed in between Mysk and Gele’s age. Eight eyes and three grinning maws made Gele look at her mask twice when she spoke. Each time, he always mistook it for a stone monument. Tall and spindly, she painted her skin so she appeared as a walking tree. Thin orange lines even copied how the sap bled from the bark.
“I once heard tales of mermaid empires,” Gele admitted, “but I’ve never heard of mermaids coming to meet us on the land. But my dreams are just as terrible.”
“Will you share them?” Mapsokas leaned in.
“No,” Gele refused. “They are not mine to tell.” He glanced at Sawyer, and her glare told him all. I am not you, he kept telling himself, tracing his fingers on his scars. He touched the brass bangles and the blue scarf. Yet, as he thought that, his hand glided over to his hip, where he expected a sword to be at his side. When he looked down, he saw the Admiral in the ruined village. He was in her eyes again. I am not you, he thought again, biting down on his lip. The only battle I won was against an old man who paid more attention to his father, and I was the one who ran away thereafter.
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“In the mermaid dreams, they all have different shapes, some with legs like us, some with none, and a few with eight or ten.” Mapsokas glanced up at the Second Sea. “Some are even falling, splattering as they hit the ground. I used to find it funny. Our feasts are so small. There would not be enough food for them anyways.”
“There will be one day when we are able to bring whales to shore and schools of mackerel.” Nimereen the fisherman emerged from nowhere, climbing back from his spot by the beach. A young man, Mysk had said he was the oldest of the boys born after the war. Thin and short, he was easy to lose in the dense jungle if not for his pike. The tall fishing spear, which he had strapped to his back, poked at the canopy as he walked. “My mother said they hunt whales on Galu, and soon I will do the same, but first, these men who took the sea from me.”
“The whalers on Galu are warriors, such as soldiers are,” Gele explained. Nimereen’s mask and paint were rings and circles spilled together, a man dressed in bubbles. Skin disguised as seafoam matched horribly with the lush jungle, but Gele had certainly confused him and Sawyer countless times during the march. “One of them is even a prince,” he said, touching his crooked nose.
“My father, Nimereen before me, was a soldier,” the boy said. “And now so am I.”
Mapsokas clutched her ax, the head made from basalt worn by chips and scuffs, as fragile as it was sharp. “These pirates, are they truly what you say, Gele? Will they come for us, and then Galu, Ail, Warrl, and every little island in between? Did you meet them before? Have you lived in their lands? Are Galu friends with them?”
What did I tell them before? And do I craft a lie? “When I was young, I went out on a boat with my father, and we turned up lost at sea, only to be rescued by pirates. We made it home, but not without a taste of their lifestyle and prowess. Never have thieves ruled the seas until the first pirate stepped about his ship.” A shit lie, but enough to hide the fact his soul was latched to a woman across time and miles upon miles of seawater.
“When they come, will you know how they’ll act?” Mysk asked, only looking away from the sea for a second. “You’ve lived with them, ate with them, learned about them. Can you think like them?”
“Yes,” and more. Gele could tell Mysk. Coan could tell him too if she did not already. But with the others, there was an air of distrust, a feeling that any distraction, even the most honest, could topple the House if everything went wrong. “I know the pirates better than I know Vall.”
“Then what are they doing over there?” Mysk pointed across the shore, where the rocky beach fought the Sea of Shrouds. For a moment, Gele wished they had been nestled in the swamp instead, but that was miles away on the other side of the island. Here, cliffs and crags made the land, with the jungle growing despite it, rather than alongside. And, as the wet black rocks jetted from the water, something in the distance slinked across the waves, like a serpent crawling across seafoam. But snakes do not have legs, and this creature had six. And to Gele’s dismay, there were two.
The oars went up and down, splashing water as a distant shout roared in the distance. After hours and hours of waiting, Gele and his companions spotted the pirates rowing across the shallows. Through Sawyer, he could feel the wind crashing against them. Like blind touch, he could only feel their faces, the swords on their belts, and the guns on their backs. They had cracked lips, open sores, and matted hair that stayed stiff against the gales. How can I feel this? Gele glanced at the spirit. He still could not sense the reaching gusts, but he knew what they touched. I am not you, he thought again, afraid. If their positions were swapped, how easy would it be for the Admiral born again to destroy these invaders?
“Rowboats,” Gele said aloud. “Two boats, the first with seven invaders, the second with six.”
Mysk sprang up, “how did you know? I cannot see them myself.”
Gele flinched. His warning echoed in his head. Stupid. “I have seen this before when they invade. You need to warn the House.”
Mysk glanced at his companions. “Do I leave you? What if you get hurt?”
“Let me go,” Mapsokas offered. “I know these woods. I can get Coan. I can warn the others.”
“We need to watch them, not fight them,” Gele assured them. “They outmatch us. We should focus on hiding more than anything else.”
“If we need to hide, then Nimereen should go. His tall spear, it's too much of a risk. He’s also the youngest.” Mysk pointed to the fisherman. “You should be the one to warn the House.”
“Are you sure?” Nimereen was set aback, maybe insulted. Gele could not tell. “My father, my name, he was a soldier.”
“And we do not need a soldier now. We need someone who can run, so go, you stupid boy! Go!” Maspokas stood over him, leering through her mask.
And then he went, clutching his long spear and vanishing among the brush. A wave of relief came over Gele, knowing help would come. And a second later, all the dread returned as if it never left.
A soft drizzle came down as Sawyer sat atop the canopy. “I can feel them, the clouds. As if they’re me.” She watched the rowboats drag themselves out of the shallows and onto the sand. Though the wind could feel them, their faces were clad in darkness, more akin to shadows than people. No, they’re people, Gele reminded himself. The soil would drink rainwater and blood, no matter what.
A different feeling came over him as he watched the spirit guard him from up above the treetops. Sawyer stood like a statue, like the ones outside Gulw’s pyramid and inside Vall’s dense forests. Against the ash-black sky behind her, the purple glow from her seawater skin seemed to shimmer like moonlight. And soon moonlight will come for them both, with fingers and claws. But for a second, that did not matter. Sawyer’s face was lined with scars. Skin scraped by dozens of blades. Missing an ear and two fingers, and her nose broken and twisted, she must have looked like a ghost while alive as well. There was a beauty in it, Gele thought, though he would never admit it. How scared he was, but there was safety with her at his side. With distant shouts rummaging through the air, the trust felt thick as solid steel. I need her more than I did when I was drowning, even if she is a spirit, a pirate, a . . .
“Do you always feel like this before a battle?” Gele found himself asking. There was no movement in his body, stomach planted in the mud. He laid prone with Mysk and Mapsokas only a few feet away. The woodcutter had her axe, and the healer had already pulled his stone knives from his big box, which he had stashed away back at Coan’s Cave. All Gele had was him and Sawyer, and as nerves crept through his skin and every noise became far louder and more fierce, he looked to her for courage.
“It is never easy. Usually, I spent my time wagering the odds. Maybe there is one last-minute thing I could do to earn myself a better chance of surviving. Maybe there is a trap that I cannot see just yet. Hell, perhaps there is a chimera made from moose bones and a poor swordsman that is just around the corner. And, if things truly go to shit, my friends will walk out on me one by one.” Sawyer sighed. “No one’s fault but mine.”
“What happened there, in that village?”
“After the second sacrifice, I needed more magic. I needed gills. I could mix in Sonia’s bones, Deneve’s best friend. Desecrate the Barbarian Queen’s legacy further and that would fuel my own adventures under the sea.
“But a ritual needs a host of ingredients. Allecros was too strong. Covens of witches and wizards, druids and alchemists, those bastards live everywhere. If you go marching through the wilds of Allecrea, you will find groups nestled and hidden in strange little places. A few are as large as towns. Others are just a few mages wanting to achieve some wicked goal. And me? I was the same, just with ships rather than walking hovels. Even then, I hunted them, not all, but the ones who definitely made chimeras. To make a beastman, you need far less than you do to be reborn as a harpy. Part of the trade means you lose your mind, but witches never transform themselves. They build armies and thralls. Me? I only wanted to fly. I could have used hawk bones and eagle feathers, but that would kill Sawyer Jean and put a beast in their place. Souls are needed for real power, enough to take me to the Second Sea. Blood of mankind is needed to change your body but keep your mind. Otherwise, the bones you melt will be in control.”
“If that is so, then how about harpies and angels? You said they had an empire? And mermaids too?”
Sawyer looked away as she said it. There was a fire in her eyes when she spoke about magic, no matter how depraved it was. “Similar souls work as catalysts, same for other chimeras like Sonia. My gills, her gills honestly, work. I did not drown when the Anima ate me. But everything I know from magic has been from people who stood at the edge of the abyss, too scared to dive in. Everyone I had seen who dived in tried to kill me. All my knowledge is guesses and assumptions. Maybe I am wrong about magic. After being in the Anima and seeing the temple here, I feel like I know nothing at all.” She paused, tapping her sword scabbard. “Maybe I don’t have the whole answer yet. I cannot say for sure. I believe we are all the same, mermaids, harpies, and even beastmen if all beastmen come from such rituals. Souls and copper is only one way to change ourselves, the others though, that may be lost to the Second Sea.” Her fingers danced where a sword should have been on her belt. The rain grew heavier now, the wind bellowing alongside the downpour. “No, maybe not. It has been so long since I had all those books on magic. Even that amulet: I never learned the secrets that eye held. I have forgotten too much. For now, we focus on the small band of thieves. These larger questions, though, this is what I used to quell my worries. Better than rum, for me at least.”
“Do you think the spirits showed you that vision because they know what will happen next?” Gele shot the question out. Far away, cats were howling and bats were screeching.
“No one knows the future, and spirits can’t make choices for you.” Sawyer climbed down from the trees. The storm had truly come, and she barely had control of the wind anymore. It whipped around, wild and fierce. “The Second Sea falling, the moon, everything. Maybe the spirits could feel it, as they could the whole island. But when I was there, they had no hold on the people, the living people. All we have to guard ourselves is a long immeasurable past. So, Gele, are you ready?”
No, he wanted to say, but it did not matter now.
Sawyer hid next to him. Wary of people with vision like Emned’s, she kept herself concealed. She climbed into a ditch, covered by the brush, so her glow would not reveal her. All the caution made Gele feel no less safe when shadows began stomping through the grass with lanterns in their hands, thirteen in all. About a hundred yards away, they wandered amongst the same maze Gele nearly got lost in. Die. Be eaten by an alligator. Find a stone statue and run far away in fear. Scatter. Become victims of the jungle. Hell, just take the statues and be content with that.
The rain pounded down, the torrent frenzied. The wind picked up. A tempest snapped branches and carried them off as feeble little daggers. It was cold now, nearly as cold as the ice in the temple. A fever, the island fighting against the intruders. Like an illness, they stomped through the forest, making marks on the trees and waving fire all around.
“Captain!” One of them yelled. “Which way forward?”
“This way!” A gruff voice called back, the howling wind shaking his words. “Captain said to stay in line. No man left behind!”
“Go left?” Another one asked.
Gele had never heard the words spoken aloud before, not from anyone but Sawyer. Strange, he understood immediately. And his heart pounded when he watched the shadows wander in all directions.
“Form up!” Another man shouted, nearly loud enough to triumph over the noise. Only, a tree limb snapped and diverted the men’s attention elsewhere.
A curtain of mist kept Gele from seeing the pirates too. The island was fighting its own battle. He was sure of it. Would he even need to intervene? The question hung over him as the shadows went closer and farther, fanning out amongst the jungle.
“What would you do?” Gele asked Sawyer, his thoughts thrashing inside his head. “If you were on either side of this?”
“Same as you, not moving a muscle. Storm is doing us a favor. If I were them, I’d find shelter of any kind.”
So Gele waited, his wet hair falling over his eyes no matter how many times he pulled it back. He had to keep his chin up. The puddles were growing too high. And Sawyer, she laid still and quiet, her mind only focused on what was in front. Listening to his own booming heartbeat, Gele nearly missed the terrifying noise of footsteps. A noise right next to him.
Gele nearly sprung from his hiding place. He nearly flung a kick at the figure standing next to him. But Mysk was already up and running. The healer broke through the trees and away from the shadows. It was him who made the noise and summoned the ensuing chaos. Mapsokas was the next to rise. She pursued him, calling out for him to calm down. But Mysk did not stop. He sprinted through the storm until Gele could no longer see him. A second passed, and both his allies were gone. Was he slow to react, or were they too fast?
Sawyer stood up, scanning the jungle. It was so dark, and the storm built walls of rainwater around them, flooding the forest floor. “I saw something!” A voice cried as they trampled through the grass. Gele held his breath. The spirit stood face to face with the man. A mess of straw-blond hair covered his head, drenched and drooping over his brow. A lantern suckled on its own light, the flames dwindling to just an ember. All his clothes were torn and tattered, save for a leather coat that had vicious red stains. Yet, despite how worn it was, his outfit had seemed to have climbed out of Sawyer’s memories. Especially around his torso, where lengths of copper wire weighed him down. And it did not help the pirate at all when they tripped on a tree root and came crashing down only a few feet from Gele.
“Go!” Sawyer shouted.
But he did not run. Gele leaped from the underbrush. Copper wire, his mind flashed to a scene in the past of souls dripping from the dying’s mouths. Are they here to make a chimera? His foot crashed into the invader’s stomach. In return, the pirate grabbed his leg and pulled him down. He tugged on Gele’s hair and flung a punch at his nose. Gele rolled, taking the thief with him. Together, the two fought, brawling in the thicket, until they slipped and slid, at the mercy of the mud, until the floodwaters swept them away.