“I expected more, Child Eater,” Captain Greves seethed.
Then he struck Cyrus in the head, and Cyrus wondered no more.
Chapter 31
HELL HOLD
CYRUS AWOKE achy and nauseous from a hellish nightmare. His nose filled with the acrid stink of charred wood and mold. He peered around his dank surroundings. A familiar pot-bellied stove rusted in the darkened corner of the room. Smoky shackles dangled overhead. Small, blackened skulls adorned the scarred walls.
No more. His head felt swollen, and his eyes struggled to focus. He heard the toll of a bell.
“Stop,” he croaked.
Blood and sweat dripped down his chest. He tried to move. He hung, bound by the wrists, from a meat hook overhead. He attempted to shift his legs. His ankles were trussed and tethered to a cleat behind him on the floor. He moved in vain to drag his feet beneath him. He twisted his hips. His ribs spasmed and throbbed. He struggled to recall how he had gotten aboard Rorroh’s cursed ship. All he could remember were the beatings, the questions. The yeti. Had he told?
He was so sweaty and cold, clothed in only his woolen leggings. His tunic! Where was Edward?
“Edward,” he whispered.
He did not recognize his own choked voice.
“Edward?”
Footfalls descended the creaking stairs. Cyrus’ torso quivered reflexively. His teeth chattered and his muscles shivered. The cabin door groaned opened. A tall demon entered the shadowy chamber. Captain Greves…
The flickering light from the stove’s fire shone off of the nagen’s polished armor. The creature stepped before Cyrus, taut with rage.
“Where are the yeti hiding? How did the froskman defeat them?” Greves asked.
“I told you,” Cyrus managed, coughing blood, “I don’t know.”
He held his breath. It did not help. Greves lashed out with a three-foot-long cudgel, striking Cyrus in the ribs. The pain drove through his side and into his heart. His lungs flagged and his breath faltered. He tried to scream. A guttural wheeze passed his lips.
“Where are the yeti hiding? How did the froskman defeat them?” Greves asked again.
“She didn’t defeat them,” Cyrus groaned. “They destroyed her entire army, razed her fortress to the ground.”
Thwack!
Greves struck Cyrus again in the side. His bullet wound screamed. His bound arms twisted in their sockets. Blood spurted from his mouth and splattered the deck. He tried to breathe. He managed only short, panicky gulps.
“Where are the yeti hiding? How did the traitor defeat them?”
Cyrus struggled to regain his breath. His heavy head lolled between his broad shoulders. He could not manage the words. He could not even brace for the impact. Greves clubbed him in the flagging belly. Cyrus' lungs folded like drained wineskins. He gasped in vain, fighting to inhale. He was drowning, surrounded by air. His body lost all strength and he fell into a waking delirium.
Greves clutched his long, dark hair and wrenched back his woozy head.
“You will break in the end,” the captain said, pressing his cold helmet to Cyrus’ bloody forehead. “They all do. Time and pressure, that is all it takes.”
Then Greves released his grip. He crossed the room and stepped out of the narrow doorway. Footsteps ascended the stairs. Cyrus hung like a dripping corpse from his rusted chains. Several tortured minutes passed. He began to gather his breath. He would not survive another beating.
Through red, bleary eyes he peered around the blackened room. Several crystal orbs peeked out of the ashy remains of their burnt shelves. A broken rack of steel swords stood half-leaning against the starboard wall. Strange glass vials of varying colors lay in shards along the stained floorboards.
Again, Cyrus thought of his people. Was there really no hope? Were they truly doomed to eternal slavery? Were Cyrus’ actions so unforgivable?
He thought of Fibian. Why had he turned him away? He owed the froskman so much. If only he had listened to Fibian, maybe the villagers, maybe Sarah, would not have betrayed him.
Cyrus felt sure that Sarah had not been corrupted. Her heart was still pure. She must have thought Cyrus monstrous to have done what she had. He wished dearly to correct those mistakes, but was it too late?
He thought of the children’s haunting cries, of the girl with the ice-grey eyes. The adults were bent, tainted, lost forever. He could never untwist their toxic minds, or cleanse their crooked souls, but as long as there were alves like Sarah, and as long as there were children untouched by Rorroh’s lies, surely there was still a chance. If only Cyrus could manage his own demons, master his own fears and anger, maybe he could be the one who would guide those still worthy to their one true destiny. But first, he had to escape.
Chapter 32
ANGELS AND DEMONS
CYRUS GAZED DOWN THE DARK, narrow hallway. It was there he had first laid eyes on the froskman. He prayed that the blue-eyed phantom would once again emerge from the shadowy hold and free him of Rorroh’s ship.
Cyrus froze. His breath grew rapid. A wiry form drifted out of the passageway. The stove’s fire lit the contours of a dark, slender figure. Could Cyrus trust his dull eyes, his foggy mind?
“Fibian?”
The sopping wet creature stepped forward and drew a long, thin blade. Cyrus’ eyes grew wide.
“Sarah…”
The young girl moved towards him and dropped her knife.
“Cyrus,” she whispered, desperately.
Her grey dress was drenched. Her dripping hair clung to her pale face.
“What have they done?” she asked.
She came to him and cupped his swollen cheeks. Her touch was cold but gentle. Tears formed in her grey eyes.
“Oh, Cyrus,” she whispered.
Her hands fell to his bruised ribs.
“You shouldn’t have come back. They can’t be saved.”
“What- what do you mean?” he asked, confused.
“I tried to warn you,” she continued, “Hoblkalf’s spies were watching. If I had been taken prisoner… It was all I could do to escape in the confusion.”
“You- weren’t a part of the mutiny?” Cyrus asked, hesitantly.
Sarah’s face twisted as if slapped.
“How could you think that?”
Cyrus’ mind reeled.
“I’m sorry, I just thought…”
She pulled away and looked him long in the eyes. Her lower lip began to tremble. The throbbing pain in his body dissipated to a dizzying whirl in his chest. Sarah took his bloody face in her hands. What was happening? Slowly, she leaned in and gently kissed his cut lips. Instinctively, he kissed her back. His body flushed and his senses surged.
Sarah drew away. Cyrus opened his eyes. He saw her stark beauty contrasted against the horrors of their surroundings. An Angel venturing through the depths of hell to rescue him.
“Sarah, I…”
The deck boards above creaked. Sarah held a slender finger to her lips. Then she grasped her knife. First, she cut Cyrus’ ankles free, then his wrists. He stumbled into her waiting arms, gripping dearly to the hooks overhead. He grimaced, favoring his side. Sarah’s face creased with concern.
“I’m okay,” he whispered. “We have to find Edward.”
Cyrus leaned against several shelves for support and started to search the darkened hold. Sarah held his waist, trying to keep him from falling. His many wounds ached. He could barely hold his strength. He stepped barefoot over broken glass, burnt timbers, and strange, blackened instruments. He could not find Edward anywhere. The cabin above, he thought. His heart hammered. Could they evade Greves? How else were they to escape?
Cyrus stumbled over several charred cabinets and picked up a short sword. Sarah took a blackened cudgel. She followed him toward the door. Cyrus glared at her. She had to stay put. It was not safe. Sarah glared back.
“You can barely stand,” she whispered angrily.
She pushed past him and grasped the door handle. C
yrus gripped her shoulder. She shrugged him off and held her cudgel to his chin.
“Okay, okay,” he whispered.
Gently, he nudged her aside and opened the door. The hinges creaked ever so slightly. Cyrus’ tender muscles grew tense. He motioned Sarah to follow and they both crept up the narrow stairs.
They stepped through the floor of Rorroh’s cabin. The room had become a charred shell of its former self. The table nook was now a mound of cold embers. The map above had been reduced to ash. The burnt walls still held their blackened shelves, but their jars stood stained, cracked, and shattered. Scorched strips of paneled wood hung in coils from the ceiling.
Cyrus’ cold flesh goose-pimpled. He rose up and peeked out of what remained of the smoke-stained windows. It was night, or maybe early morning. The sky in the east was beginning to glow. He spied Greves addressing another nagen at the stern of the vessel.
“Look for my furs,” Cyrus whispered to Sarah. “They’re where I last saw Edward.”
Both began to search the ruined cabin. The light was dim, but soon their eyes adjusted. They found only broken glass, dried seaweed, and rusted cook pots. Again, Cyrus peered out of the cabin windows. Greves approached. NO! Cyrus ducked down, motioning Sarah to hide. She dived back through the hatchway. Cyrus crawled to a flanking position beside the door. His body was beginning to respond, beginning to grow stronger. Thank Kingdom for the infants’ blood, he thought. Greves’ footfalls stopped just beyond the threshold. The door creaked open. Cyrus’ tender muscles tensed. He felt the heft of the short sword in his right hand. He would wait until Greves was several steps down the stairs.
The captain entered the cabin. Cyrus’ eyes fixed on the nagen’s helmet. If he turned even slightly… Greves stepped forward, towards the stairway. Cyrus shifted his weight and the deck boards creaked. The nagen paused. Cyrus’ heart thundered. The captain started to turn. Cyrus rose. Sarah bounded up the stairs like a demon from hell and leaped at the monster. Greves sensed her attack. He thrust out his armored foot and struck her in the chest. She flew backward down the stairs.
“SARAH!” Cyrus roared.
He stabbed his short sword between the nagen’s helmet and shoulder plate. Greves parried the attack with his armored forearm, then side kicked Cyrus in the ribs. Cyrus crashed through the cabin door, ripping it from its hinges. Then he struck the deck and slid across its oily boards. His bruised ribs felt broken. His naked back stung. He fought to stand. His body locked in a fetal curl. He strained to look up. The second nagen watched him disinterestedly from the stern. Cyrus spied his clothes strewn across the deck boards, near the starboard rail.
“Edward,” he wheezed.
The demon nagen began to cross the bow. Greves emerged from the cabin and held up his gloved hand. The soldier paused.
“Tell me where the yeti are,” Greves said, his voice coarse and raspy, “and I’ll kill the girl quickly.”
Cyrus grew enraged, terrified. His body filled with fire. He rose up off of the deck and squeezed the handle of his blade. Greves had to die, and Cyrus would be the one to slay him. He took a deep, shaky breath. Then he stiffened his back and side-stepped towards the captain. He feinted with his left hand, attempting to draw an attack. Greves did not bite, standing as still as stone. Again, Cyrus baited the nagen. Greves would not move. Cyrus faked, then committed to a throat strike. Greves spun away, clubbing Cyrus in the head with a back-fisted cudgel blow. Cyrus’ balance left him. He skated, stumbling across the deck, struggling to regain his footing. Greves’ heel kicked him in the chest. He flew backward and struck the mainmast hard, his head slamming against its timber. He slid like an unstrung puppet to the floor. His senses spiraled, and his guts flared. Greves stepped forward and booted the blade from his hand.
“Where are the yeti?” the nagen demanded.
It was impossible to breathe. Cyrus shook his head no. Greves raised his cudgel.
“For the last time!”
“Captain!” the second nagen screamed.
Cyrus looked to the ship’s prow. Fibian! The froskman clung to the soldier’s back, dressed in only his whale skin wetsuit. He stabbed the nagen’s blade repeatedly into the creature’s neck. The armored demon crashed dead to the floor. Fibian fell on top of the body, tumbled across the deck, then sprang into the air like a hellcat. He landed on Greves’ head and tackled the captain to the ground. The nagen bridged and rolled on top of the froskman. Greves abandoned his cudgel and grasped Fibian’s blade hand by the wrist. Fibian clutched Greves’ opposing hand in his vise-like mechanical grip. Cyrus watched as the yeti-made hand bent steel and tore silk. Greves drew back. With wiry legs Fibian kicked the nagen in the chest. The captain flew backward. His back struck the cabin wall. Again, Fibian was airborne. Greves spun, then thrust out his right foot. He struck Fibian mid-air. The froskman crashed sprawling to the slick deck. Greves brought his armored foot down hard on Fibian’s chest. The froskman rolled. The blow struck his spine. Fibian rolled again. Greves kicked him in the ribs. Fibian sprang to his feet, awkward and hunched. Greves shook off his bent, armored glove and inspected his wrist. His hand was covered in coarse brown fur. Short yellowed claws grew from his long fingertips. Greves rolled his wrist, then pressed the attack.
Cyrus gathered his breath. He clutched the mainmast and rose up off of the ground. Then he picked up his sword and slowly staggered towards the captain. His body felt heavy and cumbersome. He dreaded what he must do next.
The nagen slipped Fibian’s slashing blow and countered with a clubbing strike that caught the froskman’s blade arm. Fibian fumbled his weapon. Then the captain spun and drove his armored elbow into the froskman’s slender nose. Fibian grasped his face and crashed backward into the port side rail.
“Greves!” Cyrus shouted.
His voice was low and weak. Blood smeared his lips. The nagen paused, then looked back. Fibian had his opportunity. He leaped into the air, his mechanical hand ready to strike. Without looking, Greves spun and thrust out his left leg. He struck the froskman in the ribs. Fibian was sent hurling over the port side rail. Before his body hit the water, Greves spun again. Cyrus’ face erupted in splintering agony. He collapsed to the floor, grasping his scarred nose. He kicked and clawed backward towards safety. He peered back through his bloody fingers. With his gloveless hand, Greves picked up Fibian’s blade. No! Cyrus tried desperately to rise, but the pain and dizziness were too much. He prayed Fibian would return, that Sarah would save him, that Greves would make his death quick.
The captain crossed the deck and kicked Cyrus in the stomach. Cyrus’ vision grew dark. He fought in vain to draw breath. Greves grasped his long, dark hair and lifted him half off of the ground. He pressed his blade to Cyrus’ neck.
“I’m not going to ask you again,” the captain said.
Cyrus looked towards the port side railing. Where was Fibian? He looked towards the cabin. Sarah? He looked into Greves red, ratty eyes.
“Then kill me,” he spat.
“As you wish.”
Cyrus felt the blade cut into his neck. Then he heard a loud hissing noise, but not the hissing of a nagen, the sound of something else entirely. Greves paused, then drew back his knife. On the back of his bare hand clung a snow-white spider.
“Edward…”
Several milky-white eyes bulged from beneath the blodbad’s fur. Then Edward’s brow grew thick and broad. The spider’s jaw snapped open, exposing a row of square, white teeth. Where once two fangs had protruded, there was now a pair of black, swollen contusions. The bulges quivered and swelled. They pulsated and trembled. They expanded and became taut. Then two needle-like sabers burst forth from the wounds, dripping black venom. Edward bit deep into Greves’ hand and dug his spiny legs into his flesh.
“NOOO!”
The blodbad’s torso began to quiver and convulse. The captain dropped his weapon and gripped his arm.
“AAAAAAAHHHH!”
His flesh blistered and bubbled. He thrashed about, shaking his
arm as if he meant to tear it off.
“NNOOOO!”
Sand began to pour from the seams in his armor. Then he collapsed to the deck, his body disintegrating to a mound of dust, silk, and steel. Cyrus fell with the nagen’s dissolving grip. He crashed on top of the pile.
“Edward,” he gasped.
He clawed through Greves’ remains. Finally, he found his best friend trembling under the sneering face mask.
“Are you okay?” Cyrus wheezed.
The spider’s brow was receding, and the ridge of fur up his back began to fall. Cyrus scooped Edward up in his hands.
“I’m okay,” Edward said, breathing hard. “I woke up in your clothes, nauseous and groggy. You and Fibian were fighting that thing. I wanted to help but without teeth… Then the blodbad in me took hold.”
Edward pursed his lips. He seemed to search his mouth within.
“New teeth,” he said, bewildered. “I didn’t know I could do that.”
“Fibian!” Cyrus said.
He placed Edward on his shoulder and stumbled towards the ship’s port side. Fibian clung to the hull of the vessel, struggling to grasp the rail. Cyrus reached down and clutched the froskman’s mechanical arm. Groaning, he hauled his injured friend back aboard the boat. Both fell into a heap onto the deck. Cyrus’ back spasmed and his ribs throbbed.
“I’m so sorry,” he said, catching his breath, “I went too far. I see that now. I never should have ignored you.”
“Sometimes, to find true balance,” Fibian said, a slight grin on his bruised face, “you must first seek imbalance.”
“Were you just floating out there the whole time, waiting for me to mess up?” Cyrus asked.
“When the Warrior Witch intercepted our exiled craft,” Fibian said, “I guessed that she had something other than a frontal assault in mind for the Battle Hune. I fled into the sea and decided to monitor her tactics from a distance. I was about to infiltrate the hune when I spotted Sarah swimming towards Rorroh’s ship. You can imagine my surprise when I found you aboard, locked in battle with the nagen.”
Cyrus LongBones Box Set Page 50
