Stone of the Denmol

by R C Gray

  The sound of shouting and clanging metal spilled out over the silent waters as skirmishes broke out on each deck. Sword and axe cleaved wood and flesh alike as the shrill cry of the Banshee’s whistle sounded in the billowing silver mist. Bodies fell and writhed, limbs and blood-red water sweeping across the deck with the waves.

  Swinging wildly with her axe, Renna drove back two soldiers, disarming them as she channeled the stream of energy from the spilled blood around her into their weapons, turning them red-hot in their hands before kicking one man overboard and nearly beheading the second. The planks below her quaked and rattled as she turned to face a rushing soldier—only to see him sink into the wooden deck like quicksand as Cabri deftly slit his throat with her dagger, throwing spells as she passed.

  Renna could see the strain on her face and knew that she was channeling too much energy at one time. And although arcane energy flowed through everything around us, it was easier to control a stream of magic rather than a rushing river that could tear you apart from the inside. At this rate, her soul could be washed away in the flow, and she’d be dead before the battle was finished—but she had to trust that Cabri would know when she had reached her limit.

  Shattered bits of broken limbs slid across the deck in chunks as hammers blasted through the crewmen frozen by Duelm’s mages. The ships grated and slammed together as the fierce, conjured winds and roaring waters shook the vessels, threatening to topple the masts and crush the hulls.

  Jumping back across the gap onto the Banshee, Skara scoured the deck looking for the box of fire-bombs. Crates slid and crashed against the broken railing as the ships heaved, toppling them into the water, bubbling as they quickly sank below the surface. Peering over the rail, he could see pieces of the fire-bomb crates floating in the water, their contents swallowed into the depths.

  Hearing the screams of the crewman being incinerated by Duelm’s mages, he spotted the last of the harpoons still loaded into the ballista, a single fire-bomb still tied to the tip. Cutting the thin rope, he held it tightly as he rushed back across the deck and darted towards the stern of the Sun Spear, scurrying across the quarterdeck to flank the mages.

  Keeping low behind several barrels, Skara crept to the edge, maneuvering himself behind them. Hurling the fire-bomb at the feet of the one the mages, the jar busted, sending flaming liquid up the man’s legs and torso as bright orange flames licked at his face, bubbling his skin underneath. The mage screamed and clawed, batting at the fire and unable to concentrate long enough to conjure any water to put himself out.

  Before the second mage had enough time to react, Skara leapt from the ledge above her, plunging both his daggers into each shoulder, piercing her heart and lungs as she dropped dead to the deck.

  “Faine!” Braig said, hacking and slashing at Duelm, keeping the large man cornered between the mainmast and crates littering the deck of the Sun Spear. Blow after blow rang against his shield as he pushed forward, giving no room for the man to make an escape.

  Pulling his sword from chest of the last standing soldier, Faine sprinted across the Sun Spear and jumped headfirst over the gap between the ships, landing in a roll on the Banshee. Dropping his sword to the deck, he took hold of the ballista and swung it towards Duelm. With a loud thunk, the bolt flew the air above Braig’s head, slicing through Duelm’s armored chest, pinning him to the mast.

  Duelm’s eyes went wide at the blast knocked him off his feet as the thick spear held him in place. Coughing, blood spurted from his open mouth as his hands clung to the shaft of the harpoon. Weakly looking over the carnage, he could see his soldiers lying in crumpled heaps below the remaining crewmen as they gasped for breath.

  Braig dropped to his knees on the deck, a deep gash on his left bicep and smears of sweat and dirt across his face. Falling over onto his back, he stared up through the dull grey mist around him, briefly catching a streak of the blue sky before it was washed away out of sight. His chest heaved as he put pressure on his wound, gritting his teeth as he slowly sat upright and leaned against a nearby crate.

  “Is everyone alright?” Renna said, rushing over towards Braig as she eyed Duelm barely clinging to life against the mast.

  “I’m ok,” Faine said, glancing down at the satchel Skara had over his shoulder, its bottom dragging across the deck. “But we took a hard hit. We lost five of the crew.”

  “We have to get to the wastes,” Braig said, shaking his head. “Or this is gonna keep happening. Whatever’s out there, the Egara’s want it. And they’re gonna keep coming till they get it...or we kill ‘em first.”

  Staggering around the mast, Lorsan trudged towards Duelm, her saber covered in thick, clotted blood. “Why couldn’t you just leave us alone when we left?” she said, staring at the man. “What was so gods-damned important that you had to follow us here?”

  Duelm looked down at Braig, his eyes beginning to close. “We... do what we’re told. A soldier’s life sometimes isn’t their own.”

  Lorsan’s breath was hard and fast as she gripped her sword, the whites on her knuckles visible under the spatter of red. “That’s not good enough,” she said, raising her blade. “I’ll be seeing you again in Thodun.” With a few hard swings of her sword, she hacked Duelm’s head off his shoulders and picked it up by the hair before tossing it into the water.

  “What do we do now?” Renna said.

  Lorsan’s eyes narrowed as she looked down across the group. “We patch the sails, burn the Sun Spear, and get sailing. I want to get out of the mist before I give my friends their last rites. It’s your fault we’re here in the first place. If I hadn’t told Ferhani I’d get you to the wastes, I’d leave you all here to burn. Now,” she said, turning away, “gather your shit and get moving. I want you off my ship as soon as possible.”

  Unhallowed Ground

  The Sun Spear drifted slowly away, lighting a path through the mist as it crackled and burned, falling in charred sections into the emerald water beneath it. Watching the ship until it had burned away and vanished beneath the waves, Faine, Skara, and Braig went back to their room where Renna sat hunched over sheets of paper scattered across the floor.

  “Watch where you step,” she said as they closed the door behind them. “Skara, you did good grabbing all these. After what happened with Lorsan, I didn’t think we’d be able to get anything before she set the ship on fire.”

  Skara shrugged and tip-toed across the floor, dodging papers as he climbed onto the top bunk. “After killing the mages, I saw the door to the captain’s quarters and just went in. I didn’t know what they were, but I saw the stamp and took whatever was in the desk.”

  “Well, you got the right ones.”

  “What do they say?” Braig said. “Anything about me?”

  “Not about you, specifically. But you’re not the only one that Duelm bought and sold. From what I’ve read, he’s under the command of Drasa Egara—D.E.”

  Moving to sit on a crate in the corner, Faine picked up one of the sheets of paper, glancing at it before letting fall to the floor. “Is that the king?”

  “I don’t know,” Renna said, giving him an annoyed look. “But from what it looks like, Drasa is in charge. So, it could be.”

  “And what about the stones? Braig said.

  There are more than one.”

  “How many more?”

  Ruffling through the sheets of paper, Renna counted as she held up her fingers. “It looks like there are five. At least that’s the number they have listed. It doesn’t say what they do, it only says that’s all they’ve been able to pull out of the other oracles so far. But from what I’m seeing, they don’t know where they are. Maybe that’s why they needed you,” she said, looking up at Braig. “Maybe someone else knows what they are, but not where. Just like you can feel where one is, but not what it does. But I could be wrong.”

  Running his hand through his beard, Braig moved a small stack of papers and sat down on the bed. “All I know is that I can feel it out there. It’s
almost like it’s calling me. I get this tight feeling in the pit of my stomach.”

  Leaning his head over the edge of the mattress, Skara followed the trail of papers with his eyes, pulling his black hair away from his face. “Was there anything in there about where they might be going next?”

  “Not that I can see. There’s a note in Duelm’s log that says he should bring us back to Ethilios and that Braig is the only one that really matters. Well, that and one more person to make an example out of. But aside from trade logs, that’s all I could find. Although it looks like they did make several trips to Elenath. Something about wanting to buy some black powder from the old mines. But it says the mines dried up a long time ago, and they haven’t been able to find much since.”

  “Hmm, sounds familiar,” Faine said as he jumped off the bed and pulled out his map. “Here it is. Right here in near the middle of Auren. Follow Marillia Bay inland, go past Rynlith and right into the city.”

  A soft knock on the door sent Renna and Braig scurrying across the floor, stacking the papers and hastily shoving them back into the satchel.

  “Braig, are you in there?” Cabri said, knocking again on the door.

  Hiding the satchel in one of the crates, Braig walked across the room and opened the door. “Cabri?”

  Standing in the hallway, Cabri’s skirt and blouse were tattered and stained with blood. Her face was sallow with dark circles under her eyes. “I know it’s been a hard day for all of us, and I heard what the captain said to you. But I wanted to say thank you. You saved my life today.”

  Shaking his head, Braig opened the door wider. “But because of me, five others were killed.”

  “No,” Cabri said as she stepped into the room. “They knew what they were getting into on the Banshee. We all do. It’s part of the life. If it didn’t happen today, it could have been any other time. And because of you, I’m still here.”

  “And how are you feeling?” Renna said, pointing to Cabri’s stomach.

  “The wound is gone. I just feel drained.”

  “You certainly look it,” Faine said, getting a sharp look from Renna. “I don’t mean it that way. I mean that you fought hard out there.”

  “I almost lost it. I tried to use too much magic and almost paid the price. It’s like when you feel yourself slipping into sleep at night. You can hear that buzzing sound as you sink down into it. That’s what it felt like...a slight tugging on my spirit like it was about to be carried off in the flow.”

  Suppressing a shudder, Skara sat up on the bed. “Sounds terrifying. Like being sucked away into the darkness.”

  A faint frown crossed her face. “Lessons learned, I suppose. But I won’t keep you any longer. I just wanted to say thank you.” Cabri reached out and put her hand on Braig’s shoulder. “Without you, I wouldn’t be here. And that’s worth something.”

  Smiling, Braig put his hand over Cabri’s, gently squeezing her fingers.

  Turning to head down the hallway, Cabri looked back at Braig. “We’ll be heading to the wastes tomorrow. We should make it there before nightfall. You should be ready to stay somewhere out there in the dark. The captain won’t wait around for the sun to drop you off.”

  Giving her a quick nod, Braig closed the door. “Looks like we’ll be walking at night tomorrow. Better get packed and rest up while we can. There’s no tellin’ what’ll happen when we reach Aerith.”

  Working through the night, the crew made the necessary repairs to the ship, giving Cabri enough time to regain the strength she would need to summon the wind. Setting sail early the next morning, the Banshee cut around the northern edge of the Mammoth Isles, the sails full as they moved into the open waters of the Sanjal Sea. Once the ship was clear of fog, Lorsan had a small service for her lost crewmen, reading a short hymn before commending their bodies to Seraph, the goddess of the seas, praying for their safe passage into the afterlife.

  Trying to avoid the crew, Skara stayed in their cabin as much as possible—playing cards with Faine or carving runes into the bedposts. It seemed that whenever he would make his way up to the deck, Lorsan would be staring, her eyes narrowed as she mumbled under her breath.

  Trying not to let her glare bother him, he kept his eyes towards the horizon as he walked to the prow, looking out at the coast of Aerith and his way off the ship. Although he knew he wasn’t solely responsible for the deaths of five of the crew, he wondered if she felt a pain akin to what he had felt when he lost his parents.

  Pulling out a wooden pipe from the side of his boot, he packed it with a pinch of broadleaf and tamped it down with his finger. Picking off a sliver of wood from the railing, he opened the latch of a nearby lantern, lighting the end of the splinter and held it inside his pipe, puffing out clouds of white smoke before flicking the flaming wood into the water. Turning his head towards the sound of footsteps, he watched as Faine walked up to the railing, giving him a nod as he casually rested his arm on his head, smiling as he looked out over the water.

  Pushing his arm away, Skara gazed out into the distance, the large mass of land growing closer by the minute. “We’re almost there. Not much longer now.”

  “Less than an hour, I’d say,” Faine said, putting his arm back on Skara’s head. “Are you ready for this? The Denmol are formidable and focused. You’ve seen what Renna can do. I’m just hoping we can get in and out without being noticed.”

  Jabbing his fingers into Faine’s side, Skara pushed him far enough away to avoid being his armrest. “I don’t think we’ll get that lucky.”

  Sighing, Faine leaned down onto the railing, listening as one of the crewmen shouted from the crow’s nest about spotting a safe site to take the small ship ashore. “I don’t either. But it’s too late now. We can’t stay here, and we can’t turn back. Lorsan hates us, so it’s dangerous either way. And with the looks she’s been givin’ us, I think I’d almost feel safer out there with the undead.”

  “Let’s see if you still think that way later tonight,” Skara said as he turned away, knocking the ash out of his pipe before heading back below deck.

  Opening the door to their room, Skara saw Braig and Renna looking over Faine’s map on the bottom bunk. Braig’s wound was newly dressed, and their bags were packed and stacked in the corner. The smell of freshly cut herbs filled his nostrils as he was bumped into the room as Faine pushed his way in, closing the door behind him. The scent reminded him of the Green Cap and how he missed making his poisons. Most of the supplies of herbs he had were ruined on the trip by moisture or mold. He’d have to buy more in the next town or scavenge any he came across before he could make anything.

  “Smells weird in here,” Faine said, flopping down into the hammock. “What is that— snakeroot?”

  “Snakeroot and maiden’s lace,” Skara said as he dug through his clothes in the sack, making sure they were all packed.

  “That’s right,” Renna said. “I don’t know how you can smell anything aside from the root.”

  Skara shrugged. “I’ve smelled it before. It’s the vague sweetness that I remember.”

  Putting her nose up into the air, Renna sniffed, trying to smell anything sweet. “Hmm, I don’t smell it. But Cabri gave us enough to make a poultice. She said she didn’t want Braig’s cut to get infected out in the wastes. It’s looking better already.”

  Stretching out, Faine put his hands behind his head, keeping one leg on the floor to rock himself. “Hmm. Nice and astringent.”

  “So, what’s the plan? By the time we get to shore, we’ll only have a couple hours of light left. And if there’s denmol around, maybe we shouldn’t go that far,” Skara said, cinching his bag closed.

  Using his foot to stop himself, Faine sat up and looked over at Renna. “I agree. I think we should stay near the water and keep watch. It’s too dangerous to go in when we can’t see.”

  “Right,” Renna said, pointing at the map. “We’ve been looking over the map, and the ruins are several miles inland, so it would take us a few hours t
o get there, depending on the terrain. It’d be best to wait.”

  Braig nodded his head and ran a hand through his beard. “And it’ll give me a night to see where we need to go for sure. I know it’s there somewhere. I can feel it.”

  The sound of the hatch closing echoed down the hall as the stomp of heavy steps stopped outside their door. “Captain says to get yer bags. This is where you get off.”

  “He’s pleasant,” Faine said, grabbing his bag and heading for the door. “Now, let’s be off. Our carriage awaits.”

  Grabbing their belongings, they followed the man back up the ladder and onto the deck. A small dinghy bobbed in the water at the bottom of a rope ladder. A single man sat inside, oars in hand, ready to take them to the shore.

  The crew was silent as Braig watched the others climb down onto the small boat. Climbing over the railing, he looked at Lorsan before glancing at Cabri, giving her a slight smile. “Tell Ferhani I’ll see her again someday,” he said, moving down the ladder.

  Rowing swiftly towards the shore, the flailing oars splashed water into the boat, dampening their bags of clothing.

  “By the stone, boy! Stop rowing so hard, or you’ll crash us all into a rock.”

  The crewman didn’t say anything but instead rowed harder.

  “You have a way with people, Braig. I don’t tell you that enough,” Faine said, wiping water off his face.

  The sun was just over the horizon to the west as they landed and were rushed out of the boat. The shore was covered in black stones that had been continuously washed up and down the beach with the tides, wearing them smooth and slightly polished. Tufts of beach grass sprouted from small dunes of black sand farther from the shoreline.

  The setting sun cast a deep red glow on the groves and hills beyond the beach. Twisted, barren trees littered the hillside, reaching their skeletal branches towards the darkening sky. In the distance, the loud, shrill cry of ravens could be heard as they circled over the forest.