If he was to die, would either side mourn Stolen Niall? The traitor clutched a sharpened stone flake as he followed Kipper sluggishly. “Leave me,” he said again. The words fell from his lips so often that they came with every breath. It must have been irritating for a swordsman once honored as a holy guard, or whatever title he enjoyed, to have to wait for the injured underling to catch up. With one eye, seven fingers, and a number of broken bones too painful to count, Niall crept through the snow. The temptation to collapse was growing. But all it took was one tap on his bandages to get him to carry on.
“If you don’t hurry, the crew will be dead before you reach them,” Niall said, shouting over the howling storm.
“I was there, I walked with the islanders. A hundred of them, and Arnold has all of them out there as fodder.” Kipper scratched his face where the brambles cut him. The swordsman was as anxious as a rabbit, jumping at every sound. Wearing an old white jacket and a sword at his belt, Niall knew the swordsman was ready. Yet, whenever he saw Kipper’s face underneath a mess of wet matted hair, he knew the man was holding something back.
“I counted ninety-six,” Niall scoffed. Born with a silver spoon in my mouth, I bet I’d make the best banker in Allecros. Born as I am, well it’s plain to see. “Even their healers went, and as they volunteered, they forced me to stay in bed.”
“Didn’t see them try to stop you,” Kipper raised an eyebrow as he helped Niall climb over fallen tree trunks.
The wind pushed him down as he half-vaulted and half-fell over the log. Ice coated the ground, and Niall tried not to slip. He challenged himself not to complain about the hurricane, as frightful as it was. Even steadfast, he could barely take a step forward with the wind lashing at him. It made him almost wish to be tied to the mast again, plagued by clear sunny days. “When Gele and that other man left for the ship, I wanted to follow him. Nine times I tried to go, and the healers caught me like some runaway cow who broke out of the pasture. Until you came, I was laying there counting my fucking fingers, waiting until I had none left. Eventually, one of the healers threw up her arms and let me go. Or rather, she gave up stopping me.”
“You can still go back.” Kipper’s attention was sapped by the conflict across the jungle. Fire and spears clashed as muskets coughed out plumes of smoke. Soon the rain would smother the fire, even if the elixirs of enchanted oils did their work. And in the same stroke, one side would smother the other.
Monsters were raining from the sky too. Niall stepped around a crab or the remains of one. And if he had been any slower, his head would have been taken off by a flying starfish. One mistake doomed me to be a sailor, and even if every decision afterward was correct, what am I to do now? “Are you kidding? Go back where, Kipper, to the marble halls of the spire? As much as I hate to say it, my home is that ship. Everywhere else, I’ve been away too long.” Niall glanced up at the hand breaking through the Second Sea. Arnold’s alchemy, magic, and lunacy all mixed into something evil. “And if that monster up there takes that away, what will any of us do?”
“Not much, I suppose.” Kipper helped Niall over another tree trunk. “But I’ve survived worse odds.”
Unruly rain splashed in their faces each time they tried to survey the forest. They had told Gele their plan to circle around the fighting and get to the pirates before the fighting truly started. Too late. How could a wounded man hope to catch up? His ribs ached with each step, and his broken arm made him furiously slow. “Leave me,” he scoffed, knowing the swordsman would never answer his request.
How did he end up here? Everything spiraled so fast that it was hard to take a moment to reflect. Dragged from one place to another, Niall wondered where he would be if he was never kidnapped and thrown on a Navy warship. There was once a time when he would have died for Arnold in a state of reserved gratitude that hung over him the first few months under the black flag. How could he hate the man putting food in his stomach? The Navy captains hardly ever provided fresh food, nevertheless fish from the Second Sea. What a stupid boy he had been. Arnold was just another cruel man, albeit the least sadistic, in a long sequence of sadistic men. But when Niall looked up at the sky and saw the magic hand break through the clouds, he knew what the captain saw him as: sacrifices to an otherworldly beast. He means us all to die here, himself included. He took my eye and my fingers and left me to die. And even if I live, what chance do I have now? Niall could not run, thanks to his loyal captain cracking his ribs with his boot. And it pestered him the most that he was not even angry. A pawn, always a pawn. What did he expect?
At least Niall could die with bandages wrapped around his wounds. His crewmates could not be saying the same. He remembered the healer’s words, though he could only assume the meaning. “You’re a strong man, but you need to rest,” or “you don’t need to fight anymore. Come lay down,” maybe she said something like that. Or maybe they called him an evil name and cursed him when he slept. Niall rested his teeth on his tongue. Don’t think ill of them, we’ll share a grave soon enough. He had to keep going, the end would be soon and he refused to do nothing.
Maybe they should have gone with Gele. He wanted to rush straight to the temple, ignoring the battle and stopping Arnold outright. What a plan. The man was in worse shape than him. Magic disfigured him. Scales paved over his skin like an infection, but he went off anyway. If he could run, he would go with him. If he could run, he would not be holding Kipper back. It made his blood boil looking out through the curtains of vines and leaves, knowing there was a battle. And the anger doubled when he glanced up at the hurricane. And here he was, stumbling at a leisurely pace. “Leave me,” he said. “You want to save your men, don’t you? I told you the captain—that Arnold is a liar. So go, Kipper. Save our ship, save what’s left of the Manticore.”
“Then I would leave you, my proof, behind. Can’t claim to be a better leader if I can’t guarantee the safety of my only loyal man.” Kipper glared straight ahead.
“If I survive, I’ll probably end up half a man. Storm will take my legs, and bad luck will take my arms. Carry me to the end. That’ll prove your worth to the bastards who were also fooled by the wizard’s promises.”
Kipper gave no response. Marveled by the ice climbing up the trees, the swordsman increased his pace. Pinned to a tree was a man with two spears in his gut. And at his feet were a small crowd of dead islanders. “Allen,” Kipper tsked, “we need to hurry.”
“Leave–”
“Shut up,” Kipper snapped. “I’ll carry you if I must.”
After Niall tripped over the dead twice, Kipper needed to help him. The battle lasted mere minutes, and to show for it, the grass was littered with bodies. A dozen dead pirates and forty slain islanders. What a waste. Arnold would pay the price, Niall had to believe. He did not look the dead crewmates in the eyes. But even if he avoided them, Kipper would whisper their names anyway. When would he whisper “Stolen Niall” in the same tone? Would he pity the man with a mangled hand and a cut-open eye? Arnold surely did not.
“Hurry if you can,” Kipper warned. The winds nearly silenced him. His hands clutched his dirty white coat as if it was the only blanket left in the world. “We may be out of time.”
You should have gone alone then. Niall nearly screamed at the idiot. But it was too late for that. Surely it was. In the distance, a fire was still raging. Orange flames rushed across the wet leaves as an indomitable inferno. Islanders and crew alike retreated. And from their screams, dread pooled in Niall’s stomach. It was not a fire at all but a wall of light that pushed the wind and dust out along with it. An all-encompassing glow swept across the jungle.
Kipper grabbed his shoulder, nearly pulling Niall off his feet. “Can you run?” A glint of fear was in his eyes.
“No,” Niall gazed out among those retreating. “Neither can they.” He saw his fellow sailors, men from Allecros, and with them, dropping guns and spears alike was the fisherman Gele left with and the healer who helped save Niall’s life.
“By all the grace of the God and Goddess, then–”
“Lead them, Kipper, make peace now. Save us all.” Niall grabbed Kipper’s shoulder. Leave me, he wanted to add, but he really did not want to die. “You want to go home, right?”
During quiet nights, Niall had heard the stories from the older men in the crew. That once Kipper belonged to the church’s Holy Guard. Some stray dogs came from strange places, this man especially. Renowned across Allecrea, Mehmaton’s Holy Guard defended this virtuous world against the monsters and magics of the world. There was no stronger set of warriors than the servants of the emissaries and acolytes of the God and Goddess, who dwelled at the summit of the Second Sea’s nine-layered heaven. And how Kipper must have fallen, finding himself in the likes of Arnold. Niall could only imagine the marble halls adorned with relics as old as humanity itself. Dressed in coats as white as snow, the Guard was the largest legion that ever graced the world. Mehmaton’s toy soldiers, some called them, but still, a doll that could kill in the tenfolds truly made for a desirable ally, even one supposedly disgraced.
“Manticore to me!” His voice roared as if he had returned to the spacious spire and its quiet halls. Kipper hoisted the sword high over his head. The blade—blemished with scratches and chips of rust—shined like the sun itself was forged into the steel. Standing as a mirror against the encroaching void of light, Kipper stood firm and called to everyone around him. Yes, Niall nearly cheered, you genius! They’re running from Arnold and right to you. If the Second Sea could still see them, would any soul say a mutiny had ever been so easy?
But then there was the other half. As Kipper pivoted and began his own escape, the islanders were far ahead of them. Maybe we can halt a war too. Niall scampered through the snow and grass. Finding the warlord proved near impossible in all the chaos. Gele, where had he gone? Build a mutual ceasefire. Somehow, this disaster can make it happen, but how? Searching for anyone he recognized, the wall of light only grew closer. Through the thicket, he saw two pirates running, an islander boy in their arms. Peter and Marshall. The old man, Peter, was big and burly, with the shaggiest gray beard Niall had ever seen. And Marshall, he was even younger than Niall, a timid boy with golden hair and so quiet many never even heard his voice. And the child in their arms, Niall knew from the village, the gatekeeper. But, to his own admission, he could not tell if they had the sister or the brother.
You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.
“Peter!” Niall screamed. It hurt to run more than when his eye was cut out. His legs were weary, and his broken bones stung. But he needed to make it to the old man, Kipper did too. “Kipper! Help them!” Let them see you save a child, maybe they’ll refrain from executing us when this is done. He knew the morning would come. Spiteful towards the arm reaching down from the sky and the light to his back, Niall wore a frightened smile on his face. Kipper was once a man who fought against witches and the like, the perfect man to stand against the magics facing them now. Half-butchered, there was something Niall could do to help resolve Arnold’s mess. Should’ve hit him when I was hiding with the bodies, should have struck sooner. Maybe if the healers had not stopped him, he would have ended all the strife. No, don’t blame them. After I first saw Gele, I should have said nothing to Arnold. Then, with two good hands, I could have finished it there and then and there. But then, he would have been dead. Even as he ran for his life, he had to assume he would see the morning. Everything that vexed his thoughts, everything that held back the fear, was to help end the fighting. Maybe if he lived, it could mean something. But only if he endured the temptation of dying and all the soothing that would bring him.
All around, the cyclone above them had gutted the jungle. Trees lay butchered on the ground, making a complicated maze out of an already dense labyrinth. Only a few ways through. The fisherman Gele went with, the islander in Allecrean clothes, was helping the wounded through the tunnels of fallen trees and thick brambles. There was a cluster of people who had dropped their spears and focused only on the retreat. And when Kipper approached with Peter and Marshall on his heels, Niall held his breath. Let the fighting end, this is the moment. The wounded boy, missing a leg, was carried through the forest now by Peter and a healer. And Kipper aided the fisherman with helping an old woman wearing a wreath of bells. Relief struck Niall like a hammer. And exhaustion itself nearly threw him to his knees. I win Arnold. He nearly laughed aloud, they’re not savages and neither are we. Keep your magic, lonely bastard, we’ll survive today. The void was growing closer. Resigned, Niall watched the last few vanish behind the wall of uprooted trees and broken earth. This is a place of people, I was right all along. Thanks, Gele, kill him for me, wherever you are. Really, it felt as if he did nothing. And rather, everyone made the same choice all at once. Trying to follow them, Niall wore a grand smile on his face, taunting the light and the creature looming above him.
“Help!” A yelp twisted his triumph, shattering the pride he felt he earned. There was someone lying dead behind him, clinging to the last shred of life. Her neck was cut, and with some meager strength, she pressed their hands against the wound. Did she even call for help? I don’t know their words. The islander lay on her stomach, crawling from the light. Her mask was pushed aside. Tears and snot were running down her face. She was crying so hard she could barely breathe. The smell of death already wrapped around her, like the other corpses in the icy mud. And Niall finally recognized her as the healer who had gone to stop him all those times he tried to leave.
I have one hand, a fractured arm, and my ribs make it so I cannot run. I’m sorry, I can’t save you, I’m sorry. He could be a shambling skeleton, but would that make it right to leave her behind? “Shit,” Niall pivoted, trying to lift the woman onto his back. The light was only a few feet away now, the wind caught in the blast and pushing Niall back. Are you worth anything dead man? Run! Run! Run!
His voice swelled, emptying his lungs with a vicious grunt as he raced towards some semblance of safety. His legs stumbled over the snow. Flowers twisted in the storm right before he stomped on them. Niall carried the woman on his back, but he had never felt lighter. He was almost to the wall of toppled trees. He had a chance up until his foot slipped on the dirty ice.
“I’m sorry,” he wanted to say to the healer, hoping she’d understand him. He thought she would, pity must be a universal language. But the words never came, as before he hit the ground, Kipper caught him.
“Hurry!” That was his only command. He stayed a pace behind Niall, watching over him as they ran. When Niall nearly fell again, Kipper took the healer into his arms. “It’s getting closer!” He warned.
Niall was short and scrawny enough to run right through the thicket. Reaching for Kipper and the healer, he helped carry her through. It was the fisherman who took her next. The islander had waited for them, staying behind. He pointed through the jungle and yelled a word Niall did not know.
The light was rushing like a tidal wave, faster than before. Niall swallowed the pain rattling throughout his body. The rush kept him on his feet, and that was all he needed. Kipper had saved him, and so had the islander. Stolen Niall found his place. Since Arnold first slashed him with that brass sword, Niall had waited to die. When Gele saved him, he found some purpose. But here? Someone had come back to save him. Two people had. “Thank you,” he said, loud enough that Kipper heard. “Arnold wouldn’t do that for anyone, we both know.”
The word the fisherman had said must have been “cave.” Niall realized that when he saw the cliffside. Holes in the rock looked like some old withered face, with vines running down like teardrops. It was a shelter from the storm, the snow, and especially the hail, but could it protect them from the ghosts and the treasure Arnold wanted so dearly? Niall could hope. He was close to fainting when he walked through the cave’s mouth. Looking back, he saw the light retreat. Was it chasing us? No, it seemed. The light curled away, peeling back into the forest. And then it grew tall, stretching up towards the sky. The hand from the Second Sea clashed against it, pale blue versus orange. Like the moon against the sun.
“Magic, ghosts, not for a man like me.” Kipper sighed. “I need to count who's left. No time to gawk at the end of the world.”
“Let me help, captain.” Niall knew if he sat down, he may never stand again.
“Mutiny? Or are we just hoping Arnold meets a foul end?”
“It’s not our choice. The men vote for a captain, it has always been the rule.”
“Code comes from the old ages. Ever since Deneve the Barbarian Queen, I’ve heard.” Kipper offered to help Niall walk, and he took it gladly.
“Go, win their trust. You already have mine. Then make peace with the islanders. We need to fix Arnold’s mistake.”
“Our mistake, my mistake, look how little I really did.” Kipper gazed across the small cavern. “I can do more, and now’s the time to do it.”
Maybe about thirty islanders sat crowded in the cavern. In a shared silence, they collected themselves. Healers treated the wounded and said their last words to the dying. Must be more out there. Has to be. Niall watched the woman he saved from afar. At least she was fine now. She was still crying though. Once her wound was stitched and bandaged, she began helping others, coming to Niall first.
His empty eye was bleeding, but he had never known until the rags were pulled off him and replaced with fresh dressings. The bandages were a cold but welcome comfort. Once he was tended to, he dared not waste any of the healer’s time. She had work to do, stragglers were still funneling in. Some were even Allecrean.
The spears and swords were hung on iron hooks around the walls. Paintings of sea monsters and islanders fighting spanned the length of the grotto. Has this happened before? The fighting had all but died, and the people left alive, soaked and shivering, had no more vigor left to try to reignite the embers of war. A ceasefire set about by exhaustion and a calamity none believed they had survived. Many huddled together for warmth, sharing whispers and holding each other in their arms. A few sat alone, but not for long. I know nothing of these people, Niall admitted to himself as he watched them. They saved me, but I’m ignorant of how to thank them. He took off his coat and wrung the water out. A lonely old man, snow clinging to his bare skin, met eyes with him. Surrendering his coat, Niall handed it to the elder as he walked past. Set an example, be the man Arnold isn’t and the kind you want Kipper to be. They’d never follow a dead man like me, but a holy one, just maybe.
Of the Manticore’s crew, Niall saw only ten men left, counting himself and Kipper. They sat resigned to the far side of the cave, away from the swords and the wounded and away from the exit. Expecting to be a prisoner too, Niall joined them in a pitiful corral of humiliated men. Many wore blood on their jackets, but over half were just drenched in mud and rainwater.
“Traitor’s come to mock us?” Peter said with a snicker. “Thank you back there, Stolen Niall. You helped us. A blunderbuss took the boy’s leg, terrible, but he may just live.”
The traitor waved his hand, pointing a lonely finger at him. “Why help him? There was still fighting, wasn't there?”
“A hand broke through the Second Sea, feels like a lot of rules got broken. Arnold took us twenty-thousand miles and tricked us with twenty-thousand lies. Used to be near forty of us, be lucky to sail home with a dozen.”
“Is he still out there? Your captain?”
“Yes,” it was the meek Marshall who spoke up next. “There with the necklace and the sword, with all the brass rods.”
Gele, he’s there too. Maybe I should go back out there. “What is he trying to do?”
Marshall was crying, his reddened eyes weighed down by dark circles. “I saw a woman go there, only had a sword, nothing else. Mask like a tiger, something like that. She helped us with that kid, then went into the light just as the army of ghosts began their march.”
Niall sat down next to Marshall, aghast. “Army?”
“How could you not see it? They were chasing us, a flood of faces! They crawled out from the ground! I saw a purple angel too, a harbinger flying down from the sky! Strange things, nothing like it before. I know! I’ve seen things since I was a kid. I promise you that. I swear on my mother! This island is alive! Arnold said it too! I saw the same thing in the trees and the grass. You saw all of it too, right, Niall?”
“Quiet,” Peter sighed. “You tell too many ghost stories, Marshall. You’re scaring everyone, even the enemy.”
“No,” Kipper pushed past and grabbed Marshall on the shoulders. “Please, tell us more.”