Korax 18 – Inselaciune 2, 1308

Elian was nowhere to be found. We scoured over the harbour and sent a diver to check beneath the pilings. We questioned every shopkeeper still awake at this late hour and even convinced a few warehouse owners to let us search their premises. Nothing. As if he’d vanished into thin air.

I hated this uncertainty. If I knew what kind of spirit had possessed him, I could formulate a plan. Even in holders, the spirit’s essence lingered, drawing them towards familiarity and comfort. Elation could be drawn to an amusement park or a playground; the likes of Courage and Violence tended to gravitate towards barracks, guard posts, and fighting rings; and Pride could probably be found next to a mirror, admiring themselves until their eyes bled. Not literally. Well, not always literally.

The worst thing was that I had no idea how dangerous he was. The men had decided to split – a smart move normally, but with a potential Rotten on the loose, it was anything but. What if Elian was a Holder of Frenzy or Rage and he attacked the publican’s group?

I knew I had to shake those thoughts out of my mind. But it was hard. I couldn’t even blame Concern for feeling this way. I may not like these people, but that didn’t mean I wanted them to get hurt.

‘The whaling station is empty,’ my best friend the foreman said, interrupting my thoughts. There was no end to this man’s rudeness. ‘We looked everywhere, even under the carcasses.’

‘What about his house?’ I asked.

‘Still nothing. Dafydd and some others are with the lass.’

‘Damnation.’

‘What now, Master ‘older? We’ve looked everywhere,’ the foreman asked me, almost pleading. I didn’t know what to tell him.

When the group left the pub to look for Elian, some of them asked the workers outside to join us. Without Concern’s influence, some wisely decided they did not want to get involved. Unfortunately, the foreman was not wise. Apparently, he was an old mate of Elian’s, so he jumped at the call, joining the group. And since the Gods seemed to hate me, he ended up in my group, alongside the loud bloke and the punchy wife. On the bright side, if we needed someone to viciously assault a handsome and charming holder, she was our woman.

Maybe we could ask the dwarves and – Gods, what was wrong with me? I got upset when they called me a promise-breaking dog for being Cleițian, and yet here I was, using an old slur. Dwarves. What a hypocrite. No. I must be better than that. Old habits were hard to forget, but I couldn’t let those old prejudices fester. They were daearannún and that’s what I’d call them.

‘Didn’t Elian used to work with you, Merfyn?’ the woman asked the foreman. Of all the times to make small talk. Maybe I should go see if the grocer’s still open and get us all some biscuits.

‘Nay. Used to be mates, me and ‘im. I got ‘im a job and then ‘e got sacked from the Tasty Siren. Drinking on the job again.’

‘The Tasty Siren?’ I asked.

‘Aye. It’s one of them shrimpers,’ the foreman said, motioning towards the ships at the back of the docks. ‘If I recall, ‘is crew was the folks that almost knocked you into the water, lad.’

Almost knocked me? I mentally retraced my steps but I couldn’t remember when that happened. Something in my manner must have betrayed my confusion as the foreman answered the question I did not ask.

‘Earlier tonight. Or last night, I guess. You was daydreaming in the middle of the docks, and my men almost tripped on top of you.’

‘Oh. I remember now.’

‘You think ‘e could be a stowaway? Elian sure loved that bloody shrimper. Almost as much as ‘is booze.’

As unlikely as it seemed – we’d walked past those boats a score of times by now – that was our only clue.

‘It’s worth a shot’, I said. ‘Do we need to ask someone for permission to look inside the boat?’

‘Nay. The skipper’s my mate. Just don’t set it on fire or turn us into frogs, Master ‘older.’

‘I can make no such promises. Shall we get going?’

My three companions laughed. It was the kind of chuckle born of nervousness. The anticipation was eating us up. The unspoken question remained in the air, just out of reach: what would happen when we finally found Elian?

The foreman grabbed me by the arm, pulling me away from my thoughts of Elian. I thought for a moment he’d start yelling at me again, but instead, he leaned in and whispered so the others couldn’t hear, ‘I’ve got your back, mate. You won’t fall into the water.’

I nodded. His words were genuine. Somehow, he’d known how I felt about this place. ‘Twas a little thing, but I appreciated the gesture nonetheless. Maybe he wasn’t so bad after all.

The activity in the Quay dwindled considerably as we walked back to where the boat had docked. The other search parties were slowly combing over the harbour, the light of their torches barely visible through the mist. Or maybe it was the distance that made their lights seem dimmer. They were shouting something, but I couldn’t quite make out the words. Perhaps they were calling out to Elian. Nobody answered back.

The loud bloke was leading my group. He held our torch with one hand, a small wooden box with a brass or copper handle, but it was off. While there were some clouds in the sky, the twin moons provided enough light so that we didn’t need it. The Watcher was especially bright, being full tonight. The light from the gas lamps on the street nearby also helped.

Luckily, the night’s drizzle had stopped, leaving only damp crates and slippery planks in our path. This was something I’d never liked about Kefnfor. Its winters were too wet. Not content with the ceaseless ocean winds, or the waves crashing against its shores, we also had to endure six months of constant rains. From light drizzling to the most vicious of pours, sometimes it felt like the rain never stopped. Was this the reason why they called it The City of Tears?

I hoped I’d be able to leave the island before Iarna was over, maybe in two or three moons’ time. But then again, I’d been saying the same thing for the last three years.

‘Holder!’ the loud bloke called out, his voice already hoarse. ‘Use your torch. This damned thing’s burning my hand.’

‘Aye.’

I pulled out the torch from my trousers’ side pockets. It was a small, cylindrical model I’d bought at the Seasong’s markets. The shopkeeper assured me this new model was one of the best ones yet, its batteries lasting up to an hour. He wasn’t lying. The only downside was that its metal frame got hot even faster than the regular wooden-box models. However, it was more practical to carry around.

I turned it on. With a small flicker, the bulb inside began to shine, illuminating our path. Uncomfortable leading, I handed the torch to our unofficial leader. He didn’t say ‘thanks’, but he grunted. It was a friendly grunt, all things considered.

The smaller lens of my metal torch meant its range was also smaller, but it served us well. Rats were scurrying behind the crates and between the ropes littered through the docks, all while small spirits of Elation or Joy followed them as if playing with them. It wasn’t possible, of course, since the rats couldn’t see their little monkey-like playmates, but it was a funny sight. Down by the water, Fear pretended to devour a dead fish that floated on the surface, possibly attracting other predators and keeping the curious ones away. And off in the distance, the intermittent glow of the trawlers illuminated the side of the docks with its yellow and purple light that—

Why was a trawler glowing? I was no sailor or fisherman, or anyone who would know anything about boats, really, but I was pretty sure boats didn’t glow intermittently.

‘Something strange is coming. Closer now.’

It was the same voice from the previous night after I arrived at the Quay. That same sense of familiarity I’d felt before was eroding my own thoughts once more. My companions didn’t react – why would they? It was a spirit calling out to those who could hear it. Spirits drawn by their bizarre curiosity. Spirits of the same kind who shared its essence. And, of course, myself.

‘Stay behind me,’ I said, stepping in front of the group. The loud bloke handed me the torch and took a step back. At least they listened.

The closer I got to the trawler, the more intense the glow became, pulsing with a faint heat I could feel on my face. The voice had stopped, but my mind was filled with an unintelligible mumbling. It was like the scurrying of rats below deck, or the muffled shanties sung by drunk men. It was low but constant. Annoyingly so.

As I reached the vessel, it let out a loud, piercing whistle, like a sudden release of steam – a sound, judging by the others’ lack of reaction, only I could hear. Then the flickering lights stopped. It knew I’d seen it.

The shrimp trawler was, at first glance, rather unremarkable – just another average-sized steam vessel with the usual masts, rigging, and a small cabin. Its hull was painted some dark colour, brown or red, I couldn’t tell which with so little light.

However, under this mask of mundanity, a single feature betrayed its true nature: there was a face, appearing faintly over the hull; the face of something gone wrong. It was the kind of illusion one sees on a cold night when you’re tired and paranoid. When you see things moving in the shadows. But in this case, the face was there.

I placed my hand on the trawler’s hull. Then I paused. My companions were probably not used to this type of magic. Had they seen an Anchor before? I could only pray they wouldn’t do anything rash.

‘I know you can see me,’ I said, ignoring the odd looks from the foreman and the woman. They didn’t matter now; only the spirit inside this Anchor. ‘I can see you too, through the mist and the darkness. Please, speak to me.’

Silence was my answer. Literally. For a brief moment, the wind stopped its soft howling, and the rats’ scurrying noises were replaced by a silence too deep for the harbour. Even the waves, calm as they were under the lesser moon’s gaze, held their breath.

‘Uhmm, lad?’ the foreman asked, stepping forward and gently grabbing my shoulder. Concern, thankfully not the spirit, etched his face. He probably thought I’d gone mad. ‘Why are you talking—’

‘Go away,’ the trawler replied. ‘You do not belong here, vessel of another.’

The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

Right on cue, my companions freaked out. The loud bloke began to curse every one of the Gods, using profanities I’d never even heard before. His wife was cowering behind him, her shrieks drowning the bloke’s colourful expletives. At least the foreman fared a little better, though his voice was almost as broken as mine on a good day.

‘Calm down,’ I said, trying to hide the annoyance in my voice. The last thing we needed was a trio of gutless wimps scaring the spirit.

‘But the nobby!’ the foreman yelled. ‘The bloody nobby is talking.’

‘What’s a nobby?’ I asked.

‘We are Nobby. The sailors gave us that name for we were born with none.’

‘Look, er, Nobby,’ I said, unsure if I wanted to know why it referred to itself as we, ‘I need your help. We’re looking for a man who went missing. We thought he may be hiding inside of, well, you.’

‘Go away,’ it repeated. ‘You are not welcome here. Our song cannot reach you. We cannot help if you refuse to listen to it.’

‘What song? If you wish to share your songs with me, I am willing to stay. All I ask is for your help in return.’

‘We sing to those bound to death by the sea, that they may find comfort in golden memories. Your heart is closed to our melodies. To us. You are of no use. You are too strange.’

In the last twenty hours, I’d been insulted by a daearannún who probably spat in my drink, and then I was punched by a woman at least a head shorter than I. Now I was being called ‘too strange’ by an Anchor, a mere wisp of a dead spirit. Lovely.

At least now I knew what this spirit was. Longing. That explained that feeling of nostalgia I’d felt all night since I arrived, and possibly the Cleițian smells and shanties at Dafydd’s. Cheeky little bastard, toying with my mind like this.

Still, that presented a good opportunity to exploit it. If it refused to talk to me because I didn’t hear its songs, then maybe it’d talk to someone who could. And if I recall correctly, my loud mate, was a man of the sea…

‘Mate,’ I said, approaching the man cautiously. He hadn’t run out of expletives yet, surprisingly. ‘I need your help. Talk to the Nobby. See if you can convince it to help us find Elian.’

‘You want me to talk to that bloody thing?! You out of your mind or something?’

‘I know it sounds weird, but it’s our only lead. It might know where Elian is.’

‘Bugger off, holder. I’m not getting close to that thing or any of this mumbo jumbo magic shite.’

Whether it understood the man’s words or simply grew tired of my presence, the trawler began to sway back and forth rather menacingly. The oil lamps scattered on its deck began to flicker – something my companions did see this time – and its masts bent forward, towards us. Was it trying to intimidate us? So much for ‘the voice is not a threat, it’s merely making an observation’.

‘I can do it,’ the foreman suddenly said. His voice was shaking but his eyes were fixed on the boat. ‘Or… I can try.’

‘Aye, that’d be good,’ I said before he could change his mind.

‘What do you want me to say to ‘er, ‘older?’

‘Appeal to its—,’ I stopped myself. It was better to play along. ‘I mean, her nature. She is a spirit of Longing. She means us no harm, I don’t think. Maybe she just wants to tell stories about the old days. Try and see if that works.’

The foreman nodded. For a brief moment, he stopped being the brash man who barked orders and acted like he owned the place. His voice had softened and, despite the evident terror in his eyes, he also had a certain air of curiosity to him. He had called it ‘her’. Had he heard a different voice, a ghost from his past, just as I’d heard my brother’s?

‘G’day, M-master Spirit,’ the foreman said as he got closer to the boat. Instinctively I walked next to him. Just in case. ‘I ‘eard you don’t wanna ‘elp my mate ‘ere. B-b-but we all need you. One of ours is missing. We’re all mighty worried about ‘him.’

‘I know you. You’ve always been kind to us, even when you never sailed at our side. Are you happy?’

‘Aye. I am,’ the foreman replied, confused. I couldn’t blame him. Spirits are seldom as straightforward as people.

‘Your heart does not yearn for the sea like it used to. You have changed.’

‘My sister is with child. The babe will be born next spring. I ‘ope to be a good uncle to that wee thing.’

‘Will you tell the child about us?’

The foreman looked back at me for reassurance. If I intervened, the spirit may become enraged and stop talking. All I could do was offer an encouraging nod. He smiled back at me. It was a warm smile. For the first time, I noticed he was a good-looking fella. Still annoying and rude, but not hard to look at.

‘Aye, I shall. I’m sure the babe will love to ‘ear stories about the talking Nobby who watches the Quay. But, will you ‘elp me make the story better? Please, tell us if you’ve seen ‘him. Elian was a deck’and for you. Used to say ‘ow much ‘e loved you.’

Oh, he was good at this.

The Anchor did not respond. The rest of the Quay fell silent as if frozen in a painting. It was thinking. Its reluctance worried me, but there was no turning back now. Maybe this was our only chance to find Elian.

After a few excruciating minutes, it spoke.

‘The one you seek was like us. It only wished for things to go back to the way they were. To restore the perfect paradise THEY had denied IT,’ the spirit was getting restless, its voice a possible mirror of Elian’s own turmoil. I stretched my arm in front of the foreman, ready to intervene if it attacked. ‘It is now LOST. Its mind is BROKEN. It is hiding.’

‘Where?’ the foreman and I asked at once.

‘We can show your holder the way,’ the Nobby said, clearly addressing the foreman. ‘It can see our lights.’

Before I could question why it kept referring to itself as ‘we’, the answer appeared in front of me. Scores of boats began to glow, their lights flickering in the same unsettling rhythm as the Nobby. Almost all the trawlers, drifters, and all kinds of fishing vessels swayed with the same energetic force as the one in front of us. Nearly every ship in this accursed harbour was an Anchor of Longing.

‘Master ‘older,’ the foreman said to me. ‘What do we do now?’

‘She’s showing me the way. Follow me.’

Without wasting another second, I strode through the docks, following the lights of the Nobbies who lit the path. My companions were still shaken up by the experience – who wouldn’t be? – but they kept the pace with me. The loud sailor, how own torch now blazing, kept pace beside me.

Behind us, the sounds of more unintelligible shouting and steps running through the wooden planks filled the air. Had the rest of the search party been alerted of our discovery?

I did not dare stop to find out. The Anchor’s words were worrying. If Elian was indeed possessed by Longing, his own emotions were trickling down onto the other spirits in the harbour. But it wasn’t just Longing anymore. These Anchors were filled with anger. Rage.

After twenty minutes we reached our destination: an abandoned shack or shed of some sort. The foreman said it was probably used to store tools or old fishing rods, before the renovation of the harbour.

‘Stay here,’ I said. ‘I’m going in.’

‘You can’t—’ the foreman protested.

‘No,’ I declared. I wasn’t playing this game right now. I couldn’t risk any of my companions getting hurt, or worse. ‘Whatever is inside… it could be dangerous. I’ll get Elian.’

My three companions looked at each other, their faces a mask of worry. Part of me wanted to reassure them that everything would be alright, but I didn’t feel like lying. Maybe when all of this was over, I’d explain what had happened to their friend.

‘Be careful, ‘older,’ he said. ‘But we’ll follow you inside if we ‘ear trouble.’

I opened the door and ventured inside the shack-shed-thing, torch in hand.

The inside was more spacious than it looked on the outside, and it was eerily quiet. The only sounds were the clinking of bottles that littered the floor, falling as I moved past them. I guessed these had been Elian’s. The boarded windows muffled the voices coming from outside. Probably more men had caught up to my companions outside. I prayed no one would follow me. I had a bad feeling about this place.

What was this feeling in my chest? Was it the spirit inside of me? There was no response. There never was.

A broken shovel leaned against the wall. I took it while cursing myself for not bringing a real weapon – I hadn’t anticipated needing one – but the broken handle would have to suffice.

Then I heard it. A squeal – a desperate, frenetic animal cry – cut short by an abrupt silence.

I wished there were spirits, any spirit, who could tell me what lay ahead. But there were none here. The complete absence of spirits was telling. This place was inherently wrong.

Another squealing sound came from the back. Followed by another and then another. They’d all follow the same pattern of increased desperation before being suddenly silenced. I followed the poor creatures’ cries.

Upon reaching the furthest room from the door, I saw him. Hunched in a corner, his back turned against me. A multitude of rats lay on the floor in front of him, bite marks all over them, with huge chunks of flesh missing, and their tiny faces locked in terror. The blood flowing from the rats’ bodies had formed a puddle that extended well beneath the hunched man. He was eating them – no. He was devouring them like someone who hadn’t eaten in weeks. There was desperation and pain in his breathing. Was he turning into a Rotten?

‘Elian,’ I called out, makeshift weapon in hand. ‘Your daughter sent me. She’s worried about you, mate.’

The man, or monster, did not reply. His prey had tried to flee when it noticed me. It couldn’t escape. He was faster. Impossibly faster.

‘Whatever it is you’re feeling, I can help. Let me help.’

‘So hungry,’ he growled, his voice sounded distant and wrong. ‘I’m so cold. The hunger hurts. So much pain. Please…’

Before I could react, Elian lunged with inhuman speed. His muscles were twitching and twisting so much that I could hear his bones crack under his skin. It was a wet, sickly sound. I kicked him with all the strength I could muster, a desperate attempt that sent him tumbling a few metres back.

The impact sent my torch clattering to the floor, but I didn’t need its light to see the monster’s face. His eyes were literally burning red, with molten fire dripping over his face like hellish tears. This ‘fire’, if you could even call it that, had melted the parts of his face where they had fallen, passing through flesh and bone. As he moved to stand up, a drop of fire fell on one of the rat’s bodies, burning its flesh in mere seconds. Then there was his left arm, or whatever was left of it. The flesh had peeled back to the shoulder, revealing the bone underneath. But instead of a normal human arm, the bone had twisted into some sort of blade, its serrated teeth clogged with bits of flesh and blood.

When the creature charged again, I was ready. I grabbed my weapon with both hands and swung as hard as I could, hitting him on the right side of his twisted face. The creature’s skull cracked with a loud thud. The creature stopped dead in his tracks. I prepared to swing again, feeling a surge from my own spirit as the creature—

‘Is this how you SAVE people, holder?’

The voice sent a chill running down my spine. Laying next to my fallen torch, its front legs crossed in a mocking shape, a hulking beast watched me as I fought off the Rotten Elian. It looked like some kind of large cat, with a muscular body and a large rounded head. Its large yellow eyes were marked with a sinister glow, and his jaws seemed to be dripping blood and… black smoke? Its most disturbing feature was its golden coat filled with black spots that swirled and danced like the shadows from a flickering candle flame. I’d never seen such a spirit.

‘Yes, you have seen one such as I,’ it replied as if it could listen to my thoughts. ‘Have you forgotten me already? Ow, you wound me, child.’

‘D-d-d-d-despair?!’ I tried to say, my voice failing me worse than ever. ‘B-b-but that’s imp-p-p-p-ossible?’

‘Good night, little bird. Do not let this failure consume you.’

While I was distracted by the impossible thing, Elian stabbed me with his long-bladed arm. The pain was unmeasurable, sending jolts of agony to every corner of my body. It felt like I was burning from the inside out. My eyes instinctively looked down, as if they had a mind of their own, drawn to the torrents of blood that poured out of my chest.

As the pain soared, and the thoughts of Despair flooded my mind, the world went dark.