Four days had passed since the fleet left Rhodes. The river was wide enough for two ships to travel next to each other, making everyone feel slightly uncomfortable. The rivers in the Moss were the only places where the sun reached down to the floor. The dark green wood seemed to brighten up when seen next to a river. Light bounced off from the water blinding anyone foolish enough to look down over the boats’ edge. From within the forest, the river looked like the home of the fabled fairies with its white shine. When the sun set and the moon rose the river would glow a deep blue.
It has been rumoured for centuries that one of the rivers in the Moss led to the Night Realm, a mythical place where the dead roam aimlessly about. Many have spent their entire lives searching for this famed river but to no avail. There was one man who believed that he had discovered it. People believed him because his eyes had changed colour to match the moon glow of the river. He said it was a permanent mark of his discovery, and so he led a group of people to this river. They never returned. Their bodies were later discovered with the bones broken and half the flesh gone in front of an empty bear cave. Many now dismiss the man’s story and say that he went insane after looking too long in the river at night, and that he led his party to be slaughtered by a bear. But there are some who insist that they were attacked by some other sort of creature as the bear was never found.
Carso has always been fascinated with the idea of the rivers leading to the other side. He has fantasized about sailing into the Night Realm, and being the first man to discover and explore the realm of the dead. Right before taking back with him any valuable items. He’s dreamed about picking black diamonds and cursed jewels to sell to some unfortunate noble. Do gems in the Night Realm even shine? He wondered while staring at the dark woods off the starboard.
A sharp chill bit at his bare chest causing his hairs to stand up on their ends. He turned to look back at the empty deck. Soon it would be buzzing with seasoned sailors of the river. He looked down at his half naked pose and thought if he needed to dress up to keep appearances for his men. Smiling at his own amusement, he walked back to his cabin to get dressed. He opened the door slowly so as to not wake his sleeping guest. He did this for every action and step he took making sure he was as silent as the dreams the sleeping beauty was seeing. He opened his chest full of cotton shirts, and slid his arms through a grey piece. He took the socks lying on the floor for his feet which were next to dark brown leather boots. Holding them in his one hand, he took out his small gift for the sleeping beauty, and placed it down on the bed. He was almost at the door when a whisper jumped across the room, “See you tonight.”
Now dressed, the wind lost its cold chill but the smell of rain had arrived in its place. The smell of a storm. Carso walked down the stairs from his cabin to the deck, forgetting about the footwear in his hand. A tall, red haired man met him at the bottom of the steps. His cheeks were painted with an orange stubble, making his green eyes glow much brighter. His high cheekbones and long nose sang about his foreign heritage of the Snowlands in the North. Carso greeted his first mate, “Mister Fire, how fare you this morning?”
“Can’t complain much. My heirloom is still missing. I swear I will throw the thief overboard when I find him!” Despite the threatening words, his tone remained calm. Mister Fire earned his name because of his red hair, and because Carso enjoyed giving out humorous names to members of his crew.
Carso placed a sympathetic hand onto Mister Fire’s shoulder, “You have my permission to search the crew if you need to.”
Mister Fire breathed in through his closed teeth, “I would rather not spread distrust between me and the crew but… That heirloom is important to me. Thank you, Captain.”
Carso nodded his head in acknowledgement. The first mate looked down at Carso’s hands and spoke, “Your boots, Captain.”
“Thank you, Mister Fire.” He replied keeping his embarrassment at bay. He put his feet into the footwear before continuing, “Wake up the rest of the crew, Mister Fire. This wind is strong, and that means a storm is coming. I want us to get as much speed as we can from it before it hits. Signal the rest down the line as well.”
“Right away, Captain.” Mister Fire nodded as he answered. With haste he disappeared down the steps to below deck. Once Carso heard shouting and cursing coming from below did he smile and walk into the chef’s quarters.
The smell of fish, salt, and garlic assaulted Carso’s nostrils. He had to put a hand over his nose to lessen the strong smell. Tears welled up in his eyes but he continued walking. The chef was busy slicing a steelhead trout, on a large wooden board, into delicate fillets. He turned to the door where Carso was standing. His overly large body made it difficult to move around the small kitchen but eventually he was face to face with the captain. He gave a simple nod to greet as he could not speak the language of the Western Kingdom.
Carso nodded back and replied, “Chops. Where is your helper?”
Chops knew who Carso was speaking of. Hearing certain words many times made him grow somewhat accustomed to the language. He pointed to a door in the left corner of the room. It was where the booze for the crew was kept.
Carso opened the door sighing at the sight that lay before him. Chops’ helper, Pass, was fast asleep on a hard bed of empty glass bottles. He crouched down and whispered, “You want to wake up and get to work already?”
Pass gave a loud snore and a turn onto his as a reply. He earned his name from Carso by being passed out a lot of the time, and from always asking to pass the bottle.
Carso sighed again but deeper. He stood straight and walked over to where the knives were hanging on the wall. He ran his finger down the length of each blade. On the fourth the blade bit into his skin. A small well of blood began dripping onto the floor. He took this one off the wall, walked to the wall opposite the door Pass was in, held the knife by the tip of the blade, and threw it at him. It swiftly flew towards his face slicing the tip of his nose along the way before getting itself stuck into the wall. He awoke screaming in pain and clutching his nose. While he was writhing in pain Carso walked up to him again and spoke, “Care to explain why you’re in the ship’s stash?”
Pass took a moment to collect himself before answering his captain while pointing at the mess beneath him, “T-These aren’t the ship’s stash, sir! I swear!”
Carso sighed in disappointment as if he was expecting to go through the same conversation once again, “Pass, what have we talked about when it comes to drinking the ship’s booze?”
“This is the crew’s personal bottles they are, sir. I promise I wasn’t drinking the stash!” His eyes grew wide from the accusation.
Carso raised an eyebrow, “Care to explain?”
“We all brought our own bottles on the ship, sir. Just before we departed we did! Makes the journey a lot more easy… And we use it for gambling, sir.”
Taking a look around the room for the first time, Carso noticed that much of the bottles remained unopened and still in their place, “Go on… “
“Well, most of us bet our own bottle or two on a game of Pockets we did.” Pockets is a game where contenders try to steal one item, often the most valuable, off an unknowing participant. It was a game all of Carso’s crew knew very well.
“What were the stakes this time?” As soon as he finished the question he knew that he had asked the wrong question. He laughed lightly before asking, “Who was the target this time?”
“W-well… It was you, sir.” He answered slowly realising that maybe it was the wrong answer.
The answer surprised him, “What the hell did you take off me?”
Pass reached down into a small satchel on his right hip and pulled out a short flat blade with a gold handle. The blade was no longer than a finger’s length, and the handle was shaped to resemble a bird with its wings tucked in. Carso recognized it immediately, “My letter opener.”
“That’s right, sir. Everyone was in on it… Except for Mister Fire of course, but he was still a good sport and didn’t tell ya about it. We had one day to nick it off ya, and then had to wait another day for you not to notice. I was going to give it back to ya I was.” He said before handing the letter opener back to its owner.
“Well I have to admit that I’m surprised. You were a pretty good thief this time. However, a smart thief does not waste his spoils in one night.” Carso said with a smug smile on his face. He stood straight and started his way out of the room but stopped and turned back to Pass, “Explain to Chop that I want my meals sent to me on the bow today.”
“Had enough of the crew already have you, sir?” A cheeky smile spread across his face.
Carso smiled back, “More like I’ve seen more than enough of you already, Pass.” He said before leaving the kitchen to its denizens.
The deck was busier than it was a few minutes ago. Men were climbing the rigging with a spider’s grace in their web. The sails were dropped and the ropes were tied down. The wind rushed against the sail causing it to bend against its might. The ship suddenly jerked forward but the men were not disturbed by this. They did not lose their grace on the rigging, and tightened the ropes even more.
Carso watched his men work proud of how skilled they were after years on the water. He walked to the port side and leaned over to see the rest of the ships on the river. He saw their white sails drop down as well, and was glad to know that the order was sent down the line. He silently thanked Mister Fire.
A door opened behind him and he saw Risa walk out looking pale and unkempt. It amused Carso how much she hated the rocking of the ship, and he let her know as often as he could. He looked at her and smiled, “You are like the moon lilly, Risa. Stunning in the evening yet hideous in the morning.”
She looked at him with a sleepy irritation and replied, “Piss off.”
He chuckled after seeing her bend over the starboard side throwing the leftovers in her stomach into the water. Moments passed before she stood straight again. She leaned her head inside the kitchen and asked Pass to bring her something light to her cabin before disappearing back into the ship quarters.
Axil burst through the door wiping something off his leather jerkin. He looked at his hands in disgust and cursed at Risa. He stopped a sailor passing by, took the water sack from his hip, and washed his hands. When he was finished he saw Carso and approached him. He asked Carso, “Do we really need to bring her along? She’s only useful for spreading the damn plague!”
Carso dropped his smile and made his tone serious, “Risa is a trained healer. One of the best in my opinion.”
“Yet she’s the only person on this ship who’s sick.” He said under his breath.
Carso ignored his snide comment, “Axil, I want you in the crow’s nest for this morning. A storm is on its way, and I want you to let me know when it is close.”
A loud groan of disapproval came from Axil, “You will know when it’s close when you can hear the thunder. Fine.”
He walked off towards the mast and began climbing up the ladder. Carso watched him climb and only stopped when he could see his legs dangling down from the crow’s nest. He walked to the door leading to the spare cabins and entered. He wanted to talk to Raynor about which port they should stop at once they reached the Eastern Coast.
Right behind the door was a watery mess on the floor riddled with soggy chunks of bread. Carso had his foot just above it when he noticed it. He made a special effort to avoid stepping upon it. He was beginning to think that maybe Axil had a fair point. Once he was far from it, he made himself a note to have someone clean it before it stinks the whole ship.
The hallway was dimly lit making it seem as if the night had not left this small place. Carso turned to the lantern by the door and noticed it shined brighter than its partners down the hall. He took it off the hook and held it in front of him as he walked down the hallway, stopping at each lantern to give it more life. He walked down to the last door on the left side and was about to enter when he heard a deathly groan. He placed his ear against the door and heard more sickly sounds. It was Risa’s room and Carso was just about to enter. He quickly turned around and started making his way to the first door on the right side. Captain of my own ship yet I can’t remember whose room is whose. He thought to himself. He knocked on the door and stood patiently waiting for an invite. He entered when he heard a call.
The room was smaller than Carso’s cabin. It housed one bed, one table, two chairs, and one chest. Light came in through small gaps between the planks of the wall giving aid to the single lantern hanging next to the door. Despite its cramped size Raynor seemed comfortable. He sat on the edge of his bed looking down at a map spread open on his lap. Carso sat down on one of the chairs and spoke, “Sleep well, Raynor?”
Raynor looked up from his map and answered, “I did. What brings you here?”
Carso smiled lightly. He remembered that this was how Raynor had always been. He was never one for small talk, and he always got to the point straight away. The best thing to do was to humor him, “I wanted to talk about something, Raynor. Do you have a moment?”
He simply grunted as a reply and folded his map before setting it aside.
“I have an idea about where we should dock once we get to the coast.”
“We’re heading for Valetown. Finding a smuggler will be easy once we get there.” Raynor quickly announced.
Carso sighed at his rash decision. Valetown was every amateur’s choice. Everyone knew that the city held some smugglers but only if you knew where to find them. However, he knew better, “In my expert opinion we should stay away from Valetown. If you’re looking for smugglers, you should head to Blacktongue Harbour. There you will find many smugglers willing to do anything for a cheap price.”
Raynor grimaced at the mention of the pirate infested city, “I thought that place was only a rumour.”
“No, my friend. It is as real as you or I, and it is the best place to look for smugglers.”
“Valetown is the closest city to…”
Carso noticed how Raynor was trying to avoid listening to his advice, “It’s only another two days after we reach the coast! It’s worth the extra time. Trust me on this.”
A moment of silence followed after Carso’s interruption. He could see the deliberation on Raynor’s face, and how much it pained him to even consider Carso’s words. Eventually, their eyes met each other and Raynor spoke in a soft tone, “Alright. Take us to Blacktongue Harbour.”
Satisfied, Carso stood from his seat ready to leave. It took two steps for him to be at the door. Before he opened it Raynor spoke from behind, “Before you leave. I have something I want to talk about too.”
This was a surprise. He had no idea what his friend wished to speak of. He moved away from the door and returned to his seat, “Of course, my friend. What troubles you?”
“What is your relationship with Lord Mane?” Curiosity and suspicion marked his voice.
Carso heard his suspicion but was unsure why he would ask such a question. He did not ponder too long and answered, “I’ve done business with him in the past. That’s as far as it goes. Why do you ask?”
He saw Raynor take a pause before speaking, as if he questioned himself if he should continue speaking, “Lord Mane knows.”
Confusion filled Carso for a moment as he wondered what he meant, and then it dawned on him. He held his breath and his heart quickened to the point of pain. He exhaled and slowly breathed to keep his composure, “Are you certain?”
“He gave me a warning just before we left Rona. Did you tell him?” He stared steel daggers at Carso.
“No! What reason would I have to tell him?” He spoke quickly.
“You’re a pirate, aren’t you? You have plenty of reasons.” A condescending tone covered his words.
“If I sold you out then my neck would join yours on the block!” It hurt him to hear his friend say such a thing. He knew now that in Raynor’s eyes, he was nothing more than a criminal. Scum that would kill their own family for money. A pirate who pledges allegiance to thieving. But he knew that he was different than that. He took a deep breath before speaking again, “I may have done business with him before, but I never gave him any details about what you did. Besides… I’m a pirate just like you said. I have more reason to keep my mouth shut.”
“I… I apologise. Forgive me. I let my emotions get the better of me.” His eyes lowered with the heaviness of regret. He again went silent for a moment, but this time he broke it, “I forgot that you are risking just as much as I am, if not more.”
Guilt plagued him, Carso could see it as plain as fresh blood on snow. He realised that he had good reason to, but he was not going to let guilt eat his friend from the inside, “You did the right thing that day. You helped me and hundreds of others get back home alive. That commander was too ignorant to see the good in your cause. He deserved what came to him.”
“Cover it up with as many righteous words as you want. It all comes down to selfishness in the end. We wanted to go home. We did not think about what everyone else wants. We let our selfishness guide our actions.”
“Everyone wanted the same thing. That is not selfish. You also said it yourself, he struck first.” He wanted to remind his friend that he was not at fault.
Raynor looked at Carso for a moment before replying, “Yes… Yes you’re right. Thank you.”
He felt that simply taming the guilt was not enough. He felt that he needed to fuel his earlier inquiry, “Perhaps, when we reach Runaway Isles, you can find someone who spoke with Lord Mane?” He watched Raynor raise an eyebrow in confusion, so he explained, “Smugglers from Blacktongue stop at Runaway Isles for supplies.”
Raynor sighed, “I would like to not go back there but…” He nodded his approval.
Runaway Isles was a small group of islands situated not far off the coast of Argasia. It received its name years ago when a ship carrying wounded soldiers from Argasia stopped at the islands to set up a field hospital. It is said that the wounded men believed that the islands were a mesmerising vision of the afterlife, and that they killed their captain to remain out of being drafted back into the war. An outpost was built and word reached the ears of many pirates and outlaws seeking refuge. It soon grew into a small trade hub between Argasia and Rodes for thieves. Raynor and Carso knew about Runaway Isles because they were on that first ship. They both later sailed home shortly after the uprise. For Raynor it was a bad memory of the crime he had committed. A past he wished to remain buried.
Carso was not as affected by this piece of his past. He has often used Runaway Isles to resupply and barter stolen goods, but he knew that his friend was not as cold hearted. He tried to give some reassurance, “Perhaps someone in Blacktongue or Runaway can give some information about Lord Mane? He must have dealings with people there. Perhaps you can blackmail him back?”
A small chuckle came from Raynor, and he replied with a faint smile, “I doubt the Devil would be blackmailed so easily.”
The two exchanged a warm look before Carso started to take his leave. He felt that nothing more needed to be said. He wanted to return to running his ship, and fill the emptiness in his stomach. He opened the door and left the room making his way back to the deck. He remembered the pungent surprise waiting for him, and avoided it again.
A strong gust welcomed him as the door opened, and like a loving mother was relentless in its embrace. He took out a small leather strap from a pocket, and tied his hair back into a single tail. The wind had grown stronger while he was away. He looked up towards the sky and saw that the bright blue had turned into a light grey. His eyes shifted to where Axil was sitting. Axil seemed to sense Carso’s gaze because he quickly looked down to the captain. He lifted one finger vertically and, with his other hand, lifted another finger pointing horizontally to his other hand. It was a gesture among rangers and sailors for how far a storm was out. Carso understood the gesture: The storm was a league out, and would strike at midday. He nodded towards Axil letting him know that he climb down.
A growl echoed within his stomach causing him to feel embarrassed as men walked by. He remembered what he asked of Chops and Pass, and walked to the bow. As he passed the men at work he gave them each a greeting and made small talk. There was a bowl of stew and a cut of bread waiting for him on a barrel. He took his meal off the barrel and started eating while staring out at The Moss. The taste of fish, onion, garlic, and salt swirled around on his tongue. The taste was a little too strong for Carso, so he took a bite of the bread to lessen its strength. As he chewed on the bread, a deafening cry for blood pierced his ears. The sudden screech made him bite down on the edge of his tongue. He slammed his meal down onto the barrel, and walked to the source of the scream cursing the fellon for frightening him.
The commotion attracted much of the crew and a few onlookers from the helm. Two men were at the centre with the red haired Mister Fire pointing his cutlass at the throat of a terrified boy with gold hair. He was the newest recruit in Carso’s crew. Everyone called him “Small Fish” because of his title, and it was a tradition among the crew for initiates.
Carso approached the gathering. Someone looked back and told everyone else to move aside. The noise quickly died down when the captain’s presence was noticed. He felt all eyes glued to him except for Mister Fire and Small Fish. He calmly walked up to his first mate and spoke loud, “Care to explain what’s happening here, Mister Fire?”
Mister Fire turned to face the captain his eyes wide with anger, “He stole my heirloom! I found it on his person! Captain… I demand justice!” He held out his hand and in his palm was a rusted jade coin with a spiral engraved on its surface.
Justice demanded by a pirate, Carso thought to himself. He tried his best to hide a chuckle. He then looked at Small Fish who spoke out against the first mate, “He lies, Captain! It was given to me as a gift. When I woke up I found it next to my things.”
The first mate seemed offended by this defence, “A gift? My ancestors’ heirloom, a gift?! You insult me! Do you expect me to believe that I gave you my heirloom?!”
Carso held up his hand in front of Mister Fire. The first mate silenced himself and slowed his breathing. While he was calming down, Carso focused on the terrified boy asking him a question, “When were you given this gift?”
Small Fish replied in a soft tone, “This morning. When I woke up it was just there. Right next to my things.”
He then turned to other man and asked him, “Mister Fire, when was your heirloom stolen. Also please tell us all how your morning went.”
“It was gone since the day before yesterday, Captain. I woke up not too long after sunrise. I got dressed and spoke with Bones and Fiend who were awake before me.” He looked to his left, and the two nodded while voicing their agreement. Mister Fire continued, “I then made my way to the deck where you and I spoke, Captain. From then on, I’ve been searching the crew for my heirloom.”
Carso remained silent for a moment before asking Small Fish, “Where do you sleep?”
The boy looked around before answering, “Well… last night I was with yo-”
“Where do you sleep?” Carso quickly interrupted. His heart started to quicken.
Small Fish was startled. He took a moment before answering again, “I sleep on the second lower level at the bow.” He looked away from the eyes of the captain.
Mister Fire knew what question was coming and answered before Carso turned to look at him, “My bed is the first level, close to the door, by the stern.”
Everyone else around the three started to nod and mumble to each other. Carso let them continue until they grew silent again. He did this so they could confirm what the disputers said. It was the first mate who spoke, “I also found him outside your quarters, Captain. It looked like he was about to enter.”
Now it was Small Fish’s turn to be offended, “That’s not true! I was not going to enter I was leav-”
“Not only did he steal Mister Fire’s heirloom, but he was aiming to steal from me. Your captain.” Carso interrupted again. His heart was now beating so loud that he thought people could hear it. His beat softened when the crowd grew agitated from the captain’s words. He knew that now was the moment to continue, “You’ve only been a part of this crew for a few days, Small Fish. Why would Mister Fire lose his precious heirloom, and then give it to Small Fish the next morning? But Bones and Fiend agree that Mister Fire didn’t go to the second level. You’ve stolen from the first mate, and tried to steal from me! You know the rule: no stealing outside of Pockets. You broke the rules once, and attempted to break them again. What should his punishment be?”
He directed his question to the crowd who began to cry out all at once. Screams of torture, imprisonment, and execution silenced the desperate pleas of innocence coming from the frightened boy. The captain calmed himself amidst the rage burning around him. He ended the crowd’s outburst by announcing his decision, “Mister Fire, throw him overboard!”
Shock and fear could be seen from white of Small Fish’s eyes. His arms were held behind him and his legs were lifted from underneath him, all the while screaming, “No! They’re both lying! It was the captain who gave it to me! I know it was him! I was leaving his cabin not entering! Please listen to me!”
Carso simply watched as the crew carried him aloft to the port side. He unintentionally seared Small Fish’s face into his memory. He remembered the time he met the boy. His smooth, peach skin glossened in the candle light of the dusty tavern, his golden locks flowed down his head to his neck, and his blue eyes swirled with ambition and youth. They only spoke for a short while, but he immediately hired the boy. They boy’s name now echoed inside his head like church bells ringing in the morning: Chase Deckam.
He snapped back to the moment, and walked to the crowd. Chase kept screaming the same thing as before. His cries suddenly stopped when a sharp cutlass penetrated his neck from beneath. As blood dripped from his neck Mister Fire spoke, “I will not have you sully the captain’s good name any longer.” A thick pool of crimson formed at the crew’s feet. Only when Chase’s life was sapped from him did they throw his body into the river.
Carso leaned over the rail and watched the boy’s limp body float down the river leaving a dark stain wherever the current took him. He stood there watching while everyone else returned to their duties. He watched Chase float out of sight, and felt a great ache in his chest. The ache grew more painful so he gripped his chest in his hand. His eyes began to well up and his voice choked. He closed his eyes and grit his teeth in order to fight this surge of emotion. When he opened his eyes, his firm heart returned to him. He stood straight and spoke in a mournful tone, “See you tonight.”
He felt a presence approach from him behind. Mister Fire moved to his right side and leaned over the rail. Looking for an escape from his sorrow Carso spoke, “The wind has picked up. Send word down the line that the sails are to only be brought up when the storm is right above them. I also want three men at the helm at all times! The crew can decide the order of rotation.” He was still rattled from the ordeal that his voice choked up.
“Right away.” He had a disapproving tone. Carso knew that it was not for his orders, but rather for his state of mourning. He agreed with it a little. Mister Fire left him to carry out his orders.
*****
The sun’s radiance shone down onto the green earth. Its light was strong enough to pierce into the eyes of any sleeping being. It illuminated every tiny detail of the world from the folds of the clouds to the water drops of the seas. For the sun, nothing could hide from its gaze. But one thing discovered a way to hide from this goliath’s sight. A storm grew large and dense enough to protect itself from the light. Darkness whorled around in its interior colliding against itself in a violent assault. Thunder echoed across the sky letting all hear its sound of battle. Lightning forked out from the darkness to strike as many clouds as it could. From its wounds water came gushing out and it rained down upon the land. But there was some part of it that was focused on what lay beneath it. Arrows of lightning crashed onto the tree tops, of the Moss, igniting wild flames that were immediately tamed by the rainy torrent.
The Moss was unfazed from the storm’s barrage. It graciously accepted all attacks that came its way. The trees had weathered many storms in the past and this one was no different. Their branches had grown strong and flexible so that they bend with the wind. Their leaves stretched out wide to catch as much water as they could. This natural combination let the forest flourish in any storm.
The rain flowed down the branches of the trees to drop down onto the moss covered floor. The thirsty plant slowly absorbed the water making it damp and soft. While the ground welcomed the downpour, all the critters rain for cover under soggy logs, overturned stones, and empty caves. They planned to sleep through the battle over head.
Rowan however had work he needed to complete. He stood in the rain looking up towards the roof of the forest, letting the rain flow down his face. He opened his eyes to witness glimpses of lightning through the bush above. The rain soon began to sting his eyes so he looked down to his bare chest. His hair was slick, wet and sticking to his skin. Water seeped into his long scar filling the empty hole in his chest. A tiny drop of blood escaped from the crust of his scar and joined the rain in running down his body. His scar began to ache as more blood began to escape. He clutched his chest in pain with both hands in an attempt to hold the blood in.
At this moment he started hearing a whisper. There was no else with him in the glade but the whisper felt as close as someone breathing against his neck. Rowan was able to decipher certain words among the quiet gasps, sighs, and breaths and echoed them outloud, “Witch… River… Nightfall”
A smile stretched across his face not from hearing how close the Witch was from his trap, but from hearing Veritas’ mysterious voice again. He has only heard it once before when he cut out his heart. The whispers revealed to him many secrets about blood magic.
His silent celebration was interrupted by a faint voice that struggled to be heard in the storm. He turned to see a young girl walking towards him. Her cloak was raised over her head but Rowan was able to recognise the girl’s face. Her name was Tyra. She was the daughter of a respected farmer who has his doubts about the preacher. He was one of the few people whose mind was strong against Rowan’s magic. As she approached, he could better see her face. Young, fair, and smooth with brown eyes she was ideal for any boy.
The pain from his scar grew more intense and more blood began to seep through. He was running out of time. The magic keeping him alive needed a regular offering to keep sustaining him. That was the commitment he took when he carved his heart out, and an unfortunate soul has just approached him.
Tyra eyes went wide with horror as Rowan’s scar became visible to her, “Father Rowan! You’re hurt!”
“Fear not, Tyra. This is another of my miracles.” He replied as she frantically examined his chest, smiling warmly as to not worry her. His words sounded clear despite the noise around them.
She looked up into his eyes with a mix of fear and concern, “I do not understand. How is this pain a miracle?”
He could see the distress in her eyes. Seeing her in such a state compelled a need within him to calm her down. He thought of the best way he knew how, “Give me your hand, child.” She hesitantly obeyed and he placed it upon her chest, “Tell me. What do you feel?”
She went quiet for a moment and answered, “My heart.”
He nodded to her answer and spoke slowly “Yes. I can feel it too. It has a fast beat. I can feel that it is strong with emotion. You have a special heart, child. Young, healthy, and unbelievably wild.”
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As he spoke, the rain seemed to slow down around them. All they could hear was each other’s breaths. Tyra’s fear was replaced with admiration as he slowly spoke to her. He took her hand and placed it on his scar. Blood dripped between her fingers. He then asked her, “Now what do you feel?”
She gasped and answered him, “Nothing! I feel nothing…”
“This is my miracle. You feel no beat because there is no heart in me. I cut it out a long time ago, yet blood pumps out onto your hand. This is the gift Veritas granted me. But it is a cruel gift, child. I live but I don’t feel those same wild emotions you do. What you’re seeing now is the gift leaving me. If it fully leaves me…”
He purposefully left his sentence unfinished. He wished to entice a certain reaction from Tyra to see how devoted she was to him. He was successful as she began to cry out, “No! You can’t leave us! How will we reach paradise without your guidance?! Please don’t leave, Father Rowan!”
Tears welled in her eyes as she spoke. They could easily be seen through the rain. He was relieved to see such passion in one of the youths. He then spoke, “There is a way child.”
Her eyes went wide with joy, “There is?! Can I help in anyway?”
“You can help, child. All I need is your heart. It won’t hurt, but you will not live to see paradise. Tell me, child: Are you strong enough to sacrifice for the greater good? Will you offer me your beautiful heart?” He brushed a hand against her cheek.
She shivered not from the rain but from his intimate touch. Her breathing quickened as she pondered her decision. She closed her eyes and while breathing a heavy mist from her mouth, she answered him, “Yes…”
He slowly caressed her face as his hand traveled down her cheek and onto her neck. Seeing her face overwhelmed with pleasure made him tempted to kiss her deeply. He was too weak to resist and gave in to temptation. He firmly placed his lips upon hers. He held her neck in both his hands, and pulled her closer. In the midst of the special moment, he dug his thumbs into her smooth neck. Her eyes opened wide with pain as her neck began to draw blood. She tried to voice her pain but she was silenced from Rowan’s kiss. He moved his lips to the hole in her neck and started drinking her blood.
His muscles tensed as her blood filled his mouth. A powerful lust for more overwhelmed him like the sweetness on his tongue. He found himself greedily sucking for more. Arousal boiled within him as he began to taste the untamed heart of Tyra. He could not restrain in his arousal and began to moan as blood traveled down his throat. Only when the colour was gone from her skin, did he stop. He held the lifeless girl in his hands. He had to remind himself that he needed fresh blood to keep living. As he gently lowered her body to the ground, a moment of guilt began to plague him. It was such a shame that he asked for her permission first. He wanted to see her face of betrayal as he opened her throat.
He looked down to his chest and saw that it was no longer leaking blood. The rain started washing away the blood from his body. He used the opportunity to wipe any remains of Tyra from his face. The water helped him feel clean.
He left the glade in a hurry so he could escape his perverted act. Camp was not situated far away as Rowan soon felt mud instead of moss between his toes. The rain made it difficult for him to navigate his way through the camp to his tent. All the braziers and torches were extinguished. With no vision, he made the mistake of walking into the wrong tent multiple times. He finally found his tent and stepped inside to see a visitor waiting for him. It was Tyra’s father.
He greeted him, “Brother Merias. I did not expect to see you here.”
The father stood and replied, “Father Rowan. I came to talk to you about Tyra.”
He started to feel slightly uneasy, “What about her?”
Merias took a breath before beginning, “She said she was going out to the glade to talk to you. I’m concerned about what she may think of you. I’m also now worried seeing you came back alone.”
He let himself calm down and replied, “Fear not, brother Merias. I sent her to search for some herbs for dinner in the future.”
“Out in this storm?! Are you insane?!”
“The trees shelter her from the storm. The rain will keep animals in the caves. She’s perfectly safe out there I swear.”
“I see… Forgive me, I didn’t mean to act like that. It’s just Tyra is very young. She wants to be very involved in what you’re doing here.”
He laughed inside when he heard those words. She was very involved, he thought. He spoke before the laughter escaped him, “I understand. But you should not worry, Brother Merias. Tyra is a part of my flock and under my protection. I would never abuse that protection. Although I do admire her. She is strong like her father, and wise for her age. She knows to stay away from danger. You’ve raised a truly wonderful girl.”
This lightened the mood of the worried father, “Thank you. I must admit that I have my doubts about you and what you’re doing for these people here. I don’t want my daughter getting too involved in… this.”
“It is only human to doubt. I do not hold any resentment against you for being human. But you must understand that your daughter is no longer a girl anymore, and is a grown woman now. She is free to make her own decisions. When she returns, talk about your concerns with her. Tell her that you are afraid of her leaving you. I believe she will embrace her father and admit the same fear.” He felt that his own words saddened him. As if the blood of Tyra was influencing his mind. As if her spirit was escaping his body through his words.
Her spirit must have been hiding in his words because her father agreed, “Yes. I believe you may be right. If you see her again today please tell her that I need to talk to her.”
He placed a hand on his shoulder and spoke, “Certainly, Brother Merias.”
He left the tent satisfied with the response he received. Now that Rowan was alone he let out a sigh of relief. He may have no heart but it was racing with fear. He knew that he had backed himself into a corner by lying in that fashion. He knew that he needed to think of a believable excuse in order to dispose of Merias. People would start to abandon Rowan if Merias was found dead for no reason.
He put that plan aside for the moment and focused on his current task at hand. He adorned his ceremonial robes that were stained red with the blood of infidels. Once fitted, he stepped out into the wet world and set forth to assemble his followers.
The camp was busy despite the rain pouring down upon it. He could feel the nervous energy circling around his followers as they equipped themselves for the upcoming fight. They held whatever they could fight with in their hands. It was mostly sharpened stakes and old rusty farming tools, but few held sharp axes and swords from their old days as soldiers. Rowan expected the old veterans to be the ones to survive.
He stopped by each tent on his path to provide some encouraging words. After lifting their heavy hearts, they started following him on his path through the camp. The crowd behind him attracted more people from their tents and out into the rain. He turned his head to see how many people were behind him. It pleased him to see more than he expected ready to fight the witch.
He brought his journey to an end when he arrived at a small wooden cage housing his beautiful creation which was nicknamed Gore. The crowd that was following close behind him was now ten paces away from him and the cage. His followers soon grew to fear the creation so they built a small cage around it. Rowan did speak against the action for he knew that when the day came it would break free easily. He opened the cage and stepped inside. Gore was huddled up in the corner like a terrified child. It moaned a pain filled and cracked sound from its five heads as it rocked back and forth. Bones protruded from its back in distorted ways creating openings in its flesh.
Rowan placed a hand on Gore’s shoulder causing it to squeal a high pitched cry. Muscles spasmed across its flesh in waves at his touch. Its heads leaned back to look at him. Mouths gaped open in silent screams and eyes grew wider when they saw their master looking down at them. Five horrified faces grew taught as its master leaned closer towards it. He then whispered into one of its ears, “It is time, my child. Awaken and find the witch.”
As he spoke into its ear Gore suddenly became agitated flailing its arms around wildly, and roared a fearsome cry. It then stood tall on its legs and rammed itself against the flimsy cage. Wood snapped and splinters went flying as the cage was broken. When the cage was reduced to a mere pile of sticks, Gore charged into the woods breaking some branches that dared to block his rampage. He soon disappeared in the rain from the eyes of the stunned onlookers.
Rowan turned back to look at the crowd, and spoke, “The time is now, brothers and sisters! Veritas is watching over you so have no fear of death. If you should fall your souls shall be lifted into paradise. So fight strong and fight brave! Rewards await you in both victory and defeat!”
The crowd burst into cheers and charged after Gore. Rowan smiled at the loyalty and courage of his followers. How fearless they are in the face of death, he thought. He unsheathed a golden dagger from his sleeve and led the crowd into the wet forest.
*****
The ship rocked wildly back and forth. Rain water gushed around the deck with the rocking. The water sank into cracks between the planks making every passageway slippery. Traversing the ship became dangerous so the the crew remained still under the deck. There were a few sailors working on the deck. They were at the helm working to keep the ship from running onto the bank. Their sight had been reduced from the storm leaving them with some close calls.
Raynor was walking down a small corridor under the crew’s quarters to the cargo hold. He kept close to the wall with a hand on it to keep him steady against the rocking. He didn’t take his feet off the wet floor. He dragged them on the floor in fear of slipping. He could hear the wind howling outside. It frequently bashed against the ship demanding entry. Hearing the ship creak from this barrage made him feel nervous. He was under the deck when the storm hit. He wanted to check on the cargo and see if any of the shipment was ungraciously removed. As he approached the door to the cargo hold he heard a faint voice coming from the down the passageway, “Just a few more days... maybe a week until we reach the coast.”
He could not place the voice to any person he has met before so he hurried his slow drag.
The ship suddenly jerked forward causing Raynor to lose his feet and fall to the floor. He cursed as he tried to regain his balance. He looked up and noticed that the voice went silent behind the rattling rain. He drunkenly walked the rest of the way and discovered the Royal Guard Captain sitting before the door to the cargo hold. Their eyes met each other in cold stares. Raynor spoke first, “Who are you talking to?”
The Captain remained silent and kept staring at Raynor.
He spoke again, “I thought I just heard you speaking?”
“Must be the storm playing tricks on you.” He quickly replied.
Raynor skeptically nodded and looked around to see if there was anyone hiding. Seeing the Captain alone made him start to wonder if the storm was driving him mad. He then looked towards the door and spoke, “May I enter?”
“There’s nothing behind this door but crates.”
This response only made Raynor feel more suspicious so he asked again, “All the same to you, I still want to enter.”
The Captain did not answer in words but in action. He placed a hand on the pommel of his sword at his hip. It was then that Raynor backed away. He knew that he was not going to get past the Captain so he turned around and walked back. When Raynor was half way down the passage he heard a faint voice again, “It was nothing… Just someone lost in the storm.”
He wondered if the Captain was the one driven mad by the storm. He pondered on the man as he climbed the steps into the crew’s quarters. Loud snores bounced around the room as most of the crew slept. The booming thunder and wild rocking of the ship could not wake them. He carefully made his way across the room as to not disturb anyone. He reached the steps to the deck when someone called out to him, “Ironjaw! Ye headin’ up?”
He nodded once in reply.
“Mind waitin’ for us then? We’re on watch now. Better than going up alone and then being swept off deck with no one to see.”
Raynor saw no harm with them accompanying him, and recognised the wisdom behind the sailor’s words. He patiently waited for the trio of sailors to ready themselves. They each took a leather cloak hanging off a wall and wrapped it around their shoulders. Once they were all fitted they joined Raynor at the bottom of the steps. The sailor from before spoke again this time to everyone, “Stay close, move slow, and don’t let go of anything. Let’s go.”
The sailor took the lead with Raynor following close behind. The doors were pushed open and water came crashing down on them. Raynor grabbed a hold onto the sailor’s cloak and walked up the steps. The strong winds were eager to greet them when they were on the deck. Rain battered down onto them without mercy. The only lights guiding their way were the frequent flashes of lightning tearing the skies apart. They soon reached the port side railing and walked the rest of the way, clinging to the wet wood.
It felt like ages before they reached the stern. Raynor broke away from rest when they started walking up the steps to the helm. He slowly walked to the door of the kitchen and stepped inside. He struggled to keep it closed long enough to fit the latch against the wind. Once the door was secure he turned to see the other men occupying the room. Carso, Bor, and the first mate were seated at a long table moved to the middle of the room. The fat cook was behind the counter chopping various vegetables and throwing them into a large cauldron. He saw the feet of the cook’s assistant sprawled out from a storage room.
Carso was the first to speak, “Enjoy your time in the rain, Raynor? Here I thought you were always a cautious man.”
He felt the need to defend himself so he replied, “I was caught unaware, and rushed below deck. I left my cloak in my cabin… on the other side of the ship.”
Bor chuckled lightly and moved on the bench to make space for Raynor, “Come here, lad. It’s closest to the coals. Warm yourself up.”
He hurriedly walked to the open space and sat down next to Bor. A small oven made from stone still had some burning red coals inside. He soon began to feel a warm relief flow throughout his body as steam came off from his clothes. When he could feel his fingers he spoke, “Speaking of below deck, I ran into the Captain of the Royal Guard. I heard him speaking. Whether it was to himself or someone else I am not sure.”
Carso was the first to reply, “So that’s where the Protector of the Pompous has been? I say leave him down there to his ravings. Storms and ships will drive men mad. So long as he isn’t creating trouble up here I see no problem with it.”
Bor belched and spoke, “I agree with Reed on that. Death is right above us. Can’t blame a man for going mad with fear.”
“Reed? Long time since I was called by that.” Carso cheekily replied.
Raynor quickly barged in before they were all carried away, “When I tried to enter the cargo hold he would not let me.”
Carso was the first to reply once again, “He is the Captain of the Royal Guard. His job is to guard. I salute him for his service.”
Bor placed a hand on Raynor’s shoulders before speaking, “You’re probably just on edge. Relax, eat, and drink something. Hell knows Reed has…”
He looked to see Carso grinning from ear to ear. It was then that he noticed the bottles of wine placed all over the table, “Was today a bit hard on you, Carso?”
He replied slurring half his words, “I don’t know what you mean. I am just drinking the storm away.”
Raynor then remembered the commotion that happened in the morning. He did not see much of what happened, but he saw a young boy get thrown overboard with Carso standing in front of it all. He thought that he should not ask but he did anyways, “That business with the boy from this morning, what was all that about?”
The large grin on his face slowly turned to a sombre smile. It took a while before words came out of him, “Nasty business. Had to be done. I don’t condone… wrong doings to my crew.”
The first mate quickly added, “The boy was found guilty of stealing my heirloom, and of preparing to steal from my captain.”
Carso acted as if he suddenly remembered some important matters and spoke fast, “Ah yes. Raynor this is my first mate, Mister Fire. Mister Fire this is my old friend, Raynor Ironjaw.”
The two looked at each other and shook hands. Bor explained to him how the first mate earned his unique nickname, and that he was a foreigner from the Northern Snowlands.
“Did I ever tell the story of how Raynor and I met?” Carso drunkenly exclaimed. He looked around the table awaiting a reply. When both Bor and Mister Fire shook their heads, he continued, “It was maybe ten years ago. The war had just started and everyone was wanting to fight. Raynor and I trained at the same place but we didn’t meet until a week into training. Our Master at Arms had us all form a ring. He would pick two recruits to spar against each other with wooden swords, all the while shouting at us. Raynor had distinguished himself that day. He was strong, very strong! He broke a lot of wooden swords and mens’ bones during training. Everyone quickly got scared to go up against him, and for good reason-”
Raynor soon realised where the story he was talking about. He looked down at the table to avoid Carso’s eyes. He did not want to feel even more guilt than what he was already feeling. He kept quiet and allowed his friend to continue his story, “Then this small boy was matched up against him. There wasn’t even a moment to breathe before Raynor was on him. In the previous spars he was wildly strong, but this time he was just wild. It must have been divine grace that the boy was able to parry every strike. Both sticks soon broke so Raynor resorted to his fists. Pinned the poor to the ground and kept hammering at him. He was so wild he couldn’t hear the boy’s screams or the Master at Arms’ orders. No one came to help because they were all just as frightened as the boy. The punishment just did not stop. Eventually, Raynor was knocked at the back of the head with a club. Both of them were taken to the healer’s tent, and when they woke they found each other in the bed next to them. Thus began a long lasting friendship.”
The entire room went silent except for the howling wind, rattling rain, and creaking wood. The cook sneezed loudly sending some vegetables tumbling to the floor. He did not care for the awkward silence occupying his kitchen.
Bor spoke hesitantly while playing with his thick beard, “Th-that is a… u-unique way of making friends.”
“Aye. I don’t think I would feel the same way if it were me.” Mister Fire added.
Raynor looked up to meet everyone’s eyes. He ignored their prying gazes and focused on his own question, “Why bring it to light now after ten years?”
“Oh I’m sorry! Did I hurt your pride, old friend? Did you forget about it to make yourself feel honourable?!” The sudden outburst surprised both Raynor and himself. He took a few breaths to calm himself before speaking again, “The boy… from this morning. His name was Chase, and he was close to the same age I was back then. I saw a lot of myself in him. Young, ambitious, and often afraid. The only difference is that in our final moments someone came to save me. He had no one. Instead I turned everyone against him and he died afraid.” His eyes began to well and he choked a little on the words in his mouth. He rubbed his eyes and he took a sip of wine to find some more drunken courage. He chuckled and spoke, “Funny. After seeing some things and killing other things, you would think that I’m used to death by now. Anyways, let us change the subject shall we? Bor, when was the last time you made love?”
Raynor knew he was just trying to hide the grief by shifting attention, but did call it out. In his own way he understood the pain and guilt that swarmed his friend at the moment. They have both witnessed unwanted death many times and is an ordeal that both did not want to become accustomed to. He learned to steel himself in moments of grief and believed that the River Pirate had as well, but in his drunken sorrow he must have succumbed to the guilt of an executioner.
He kept this realisation to himself and let his old comrade grief in his own way. He turned his head towards Bor to see him blushing redder than paint and fumbling with his words, “If you must know! It has been a… long time.”
“Don’t tell me that the great Bor the Behemoth is now afraid of what’s down there?” Carso asked with a new enthusiasm.
This prompted a hearty laugh from everyone which caused Bor to turn even more red. Amidst the laughter he gave his defence, “I have my eyes set on someone already! I’m saving myself for her.”
Raynor gave a snort of disbelief, “Really now? And who might she be?”
Some of Bor’s confidence returned to him as he spoke about the mystery woman, “You know the Midflower Inn on the road North not far outside of Rona? Well the innkeeper there has stolen my heart, and I bet she has eyes for me too. I try to visit her as much as I can.” He pointed towards Mister Fire and made him the centre of embarrassment, “And what about your first mate? Man looks old enough to be your father!”
The first mate smugly smiled and nonchalantly replied, “I have a wife back in the Snowlands, and I thank the Gods above and the Devils below for her.”
Raynor took the next turn to speak in order to quench his curiosity, “Then why come all the way down here when you can spend your days with your wife?”
Before a reply was given the whole room suddenly jerked forward at the sound of a heavy crash and breaking wood. The men kissed the floor with an agonising tumble. The items on the table crashed to the floor spilling food and drink everywhere. Bottles of cooking oil flew from their shelves and pots of boiling soups littered the kitchen floor. Knives and spoons clashed against each other inside iron pots as the pots rolled along the tilted room. A lantern in the left corner shattered and sent the floor beneath it into an oily blaze. The chaos in the room was brutal yet quick. As fast as it came it left. Everyone slowly started regaining their senses.
Carso’s face was still stuck to the floor but he was the first one to act, “Mister Fire, go see what in the hell the helmsmen were doing, and signal the line to anchor down! Pass, go see if we’ve grounded! And Chops, put that fire out!”
The sailors rose to their feet and set out to follow their commands. Raynor sat up and pressed a hand against his forehead since one of the wine bottles collided with his head. He felt a bump but his fingers stayed dry so he took it as a good sign. He crawled to Bor and helped the large man find his feet. He then turned to his friend who was flat on his back and moved to help him. Carso waved him away and shook his head. Raynor did not press on further but instead stepped outside the kitchen onto the deck.
The rain had lessened since he was last out on the deck. It was now a mere rainfall than a raging storm. He could still hear the drums of thunder in the distance, and saw streaks of light over the tree line. He watched the sleeping sailors stream out of their quarters and onto the deck. They all gathered at the bow of the ship to look over the rail. He hurriedly made his way to witness the commotion. On his way he almost slipped more times than he would wish, and cursed at himself at every slip.
Another sudden jerk sent the entire ship and crew forward. He quickly moved his feet to keep his balance while the others fell. He looked back towards the stern and saw Carso shout up at the helm to the first mate who shouted back. He ignored their argument and continued to the bow. Once he was there he moved men aside so that he could take a look. In the dark water a giant log stretched across the surface. After a moment of inspection, he realised that it was no ordinary log but an entire large oak tree that was in there path. He was impressed that an oak tree of such size was able to halt a ship on a rushing river. Someone to his right spoke, “Storm must have uprooted it.”
Axil was standing there clutching his right wrist with his other hand. Raynor replied in his usual skepticism, “I have never known a storm to uproot great oak trees. Your hand?”
He winced while rubbing his wrist and answered, “Just fell too hard on it. I’ll be alright.”
“WATCH OUT!” A shout from someone at the stern caught everyone’s attention. They all saw another tree fall towards the ship. Sailors ran away from the centre of the ship. The tree crashed against the mast and ricocheted to the deck causing the ship to tilt to the starboard side. Another wave of chaos rocked the ship as men lost their footing, as ropes lost their tangles, and as barrels rolled around. Raynor and the men at the bow held onto the railing. He knew that with the worst of the storm now gone there was truly no way for the tree to have been uprooted by some wind. His instincts shouted at him that something was wrong. However, his instincts came too late as blood thirsty brigands came running up the tree two at a time. They leapt onto the deck brandishing crudely made pikes, sickles, pitchforks, axes, and swords. Without a word of warning, they began rip, tear, hack, and slash into any sailor nearby.
The rest of the crew jumped into battle, but most of them were unprepared. Those without any weapon scrambled for the ones on the floor. The three crashes sent the weapon racks flying across the ship. Cutlasses and spears were everywhere. Those who carried weapons at their hips unsheathed them and began to dance with the attackers. Blood splattered across the planks and faces alike. The screams of pain mixed with the shouts of rage to create an orchestra of death.
Raynor ran down to aid the crew. Two men met him at the end of the steps to the bow. The man on the left held a large hammer while the other held a sharpened stick the length of two men. He knew that he was going to have to get up close to put their great reach at a disadvantage. They took their stance as he drew his sword. When they saw the jagged edges of what remains of his broken blade, they looked at each other and laughed about their easy prey. He took this small opportunity and dashed forward to the distracted duo. By the time they looked back towards him, he was face to face with them. He thrust his blade into the stomach of the man on the right, spun on his left heel whilst changing the grip on the blade, and then drove it into through the other man’s hand and into his chest. Not deep enough! He thought. The man pulled away from Raynor and swung his hammer. Raynor crouched narrowly avoiding the hammer and thrust his blade up into the belly. Like carving a pig he dragged his blade up towards the shoulder. Blood covered his face as it squirted out. The man’s guts tumbled towards the floor steaming.
He looked around the battle to find another enemy. His next foe came running for him axe in hand raised above high his head. He did not think the same tactic would work again, so he drew his second sword in his left hand. When the axe came falling down, he took a step to the right dodging the blow. He used his new found reach to his advantage and thrust his long sword into the foe’s face, and then readied himself for the next.
His heart bashed against his ribs as the corpse fell to the floor. Hearing the sound of more men dying made his blood boil. He clenched his teeth to the point where they almost broke. Raynor felt the rage inside him once again. He wanted to kill more. He wanted to feel more hot crimson on his cold skin. He wanted to let the beast loose and let it feast upon the flesh of friend and foe. As his vision blackened, he willfully let his senses weaken to please the beast. But then he remembered the story in the kitchen. He remembered the face of his friend after being beaten bloody into the dirt, but he remembered the guilt he felt afterwards even more. He used his guilt to fight the beast back into its cage. He slowed his breathing and relaxed his muscles. Once he returned to being himself, he scanned the ongoing battle.
Brigands were still pouring over the tree bridge, and the crew met them with steel. Men died on both sides but their blood equally painted the deck. The tide turned to the crew’s favour and they were soon able to trap the brigands in a ring around the tree. He saw smoke rise from underneath the door of the kitchen. The lantern. Chops didn’t put the fire out! He thought. In his drunken state Carso had forgotten that the cook could not speak the language.
He made the fire his priority and decided to leave the brigands to the crew. Just as he was about to run to the kitchen, he felt an immense burn on his back. The pain caused him to drop his swords. He felt his flesh writhe in agony as blood trickled down his leg. Something poked the back of his heart which caused his face to twist into a malformed entity of suffering. With each breath he took it became more difficult to take the next. He forced his feet to move so that he may see the face of his killer. He expected to see the face of hate and blood-thirst, but instead he saw pleasure and joy. He stared into his green eyes to learn the meaning behind this profane excitement. The grin stretched across his face from ear to ear. The killer’s white robes were freshly stained with Raynor’s own blood. The gold dagger slowly dripped the contents of his life force, and with each drop he felt weaker. The last image he saw was his killer smiling with glee, and the last words he heard came from the killer as well, “Thank you for your sacrifice!”
With the end of those words could he hear and see nothing more. His vision turned to pure white and his hearing turned to absolute silence. The only thing keeping him tied to the world was the sensation of feeling heavy. Every tiny movement he made felt like boulders tumbling down a hill. Even the world itself felt heavy beneath his feet. Soon he felt nothing except the rush of falling off the edge of the world. Yet at the same time his fall felt slower than the rising of the moon. He fell for what felt like hours in a pure white and silent room, until something else took over his sensations. He now felt cold and formless. His movements now mimicked the flow of moving water as he sank down to depths of the River East.
*****
The swords clashed against each other sending small sparks into the air. The man fighting Carso was quick with his blade, but he was met with a parry at every blow. Carso was finding this fighter to be a challenge. Not only was he quick, he was cautious as well never going on the attack for too long. Carso struggled to look for an opening so he focused on defence and gambled on his stamina lasting longer. He soon felt his opponent tire with every swing of the sword. His gamble had paid off. He parried a blow coming from the lower left, stomped his foot on the sword, and sliced a large gash across his enemy’s chest. He felt that it was not enough so he thrust his blade into the neck.
Carso took his sword out of the poor soul who tried to fight him. He watched as the soul spasmed and cough out his own blood. But he watched for too long. In his stomach he felt a churning rise up. The wine, and soup he had consumed moments ago threatened to undo its fate and return back to the world. Exhaustion drained every strength that remained to keep his stomach closed. He ran to the nearest railing and hurled over the edge into the water.
He stumbled backwards on his feet still drunk with wine. His movements were sluggish and without grace. It was any man's guess as to how he was able to fend off different attackers. Even his foes were surprised at how he fought.
Mister Fire threw another brigand overboard before coming to his captain’s aid. He held him steady with one arm and kept his other ready to fend off attackers. Carso looked towards the blood being shed on his deck. He watched more of his men cry out in pain before being given a swift end. The men who formed a ring to trap the brigands were caught unaware from the brigands coming from the bow. They climbed up and over the railing with grappling hooks and rope. The ring was broken and the fighting went back to all over the deck.
He stepped away from Mister Fire and hurried over to join the fighting. He leapt from the steps of the helm and landed with a roll on the floor. He stayed crouched as his next opponent lunged his pitchfork straight for Carso’s face. He did another roll to the left and lunged his cutlass into his foe’s leg bringing down to one knee. He shot up on his feet and cut clean into the neck forcing the head to find another foundation on the floor.
His vision started spinning. The world around him began to shift in unnatural ways. He soon could no longer find his bearings and fell backwards. Fortunately for him, he fell back onto the railing. He gripped onto it and used it to bring order back to the world. Slowly everything turned back to normal and he could make sense of what he saw once again. But his head still remained as light as air. He walked along the railing and used his free hand to fight off any brigands that came running.
His foot tripped over something. Still using the railing for support, he crouched down to see what it was. To his surprise and shock he saw a sword with a broken blade. The jagged edges were still wet with blood despite the rain cleaning most of it away. The handle was leather wrapped and the pommel was an iron ball. He recognised the blade and to whom it belonged to. He only knew of one person who used a broken blade: His dear friend Raynor. An aching sadness gripped his heart. He knew that if this blade was not with its owner then the owner is dead. He did not want to believe but he did not have time to contemplate.
The clashing of blades took his mind back from sadness. In its place came rage. He charged forward to drive his cutlass into the back of someone. He did not care if it was friend or foe, he just needed to kill. More and more brigands came down from the bow and he met each and every one of them sword in hand. His rage took all the grace from his fighting. He hacked and sliced into his foes giving them no reprieve. He continued his crusade up the steps to the bow but found nothing up at the bow. Not having any foes to fight gave him the chance to calm down. He dropped his sword and to his knees, and breathed frantically yet deep.
A rumble shook the ship but it was not as powerful as the two crashes before the fight. The sound of breaking wood could be heard followed by a bone chilling roar. More rumbles shook the ship before Carso stood up to find the source. He leaned over the bow to look and five gaping heads looked back. Fear wanted him to look away yet it was fear that kept him frozen in place. The monster raised an arm made of several twisting arms and bashed it against the ship over and over again. He heard the cracking of wood and the breaking of many bones as five fists broke through. As it pulled away from the ship, water rushed into hole. It gave Carso one last deathly stare before plunging its body into the hole.
Carso was finally able to look away once the monster was gone from his sight. But fear still gripped him hard in its talons. The mere thought of knowing that it was only two levels below his feet, sent heart racing and his spine shivering. The thought of death pleased him more than seeing that abomination again.
He ran back down to the deck whilst screaming the order to abandon ship. He hoped that his crew would hear him through their blood lust. He saw the helm go up in flames but he did not care. All he wanted was to get off the ship and the fire just gave him even more reason to.
Footsteps came rushing behind him so he turned with his cutlass raised ready to strike down this foe. His sword clashed against a blade that shone in the darkness. The man’s armor shone just as bright and Carso recognised the stout face of the Captain of the Royal Guard. At his side stood a woman of everlasting beauty. Her blood red hair fell down to her waist. Her sapphire blue eyes were wide open in fear. Her red dress darkened as the rain fell upon it, “Abandon ship!” Carso ordered them both. They did not disobey and were glad to jump off into the river. He waited for them both to be off the ship before diving into the dark waters. The strong current threatened to keep him under, but he fought to the top. His head sprouted from the waters like a flower in spring.
He kicked and pushed the water around him aside, and made his way to the shore. Some of his crew were waiting for him. They held out a long stick for him to grab onto, and when he was close, they grabbed him by the shoulders and hauled him to land. Carso lay on his back staring up into the cloud covered sky, his chest heaving. He closed his eyes for a moment but when he opened them again it was dawn.
The blackened remnants of his ship still smoking floated in the waters. Bodies piled up against the tree that blocked the river. Birds chirped a joyful song to those who lived to see this grief filled morning. Carso slowly walked up the shore line to meet up with the rest of the survivors. It relieved him to see his fleet intact and anchored on the river. But when he saw her blood red locks flowing against her slender figure, it made him worry even more. His head began to ache as last night’s drinking caught up with him. He did not wish to start his morning hungover in the presence of the Queen.