In the Wake of the Kraken

by C. Vandyke

  Swords met trident again and again, haft deflecting razor edges while the prongs turned away vicious chops. Bastian hurled lightning; blowing holes in the ship that sealed themselves. Braddock moved like a dancer, lethal grace carrying the man in circles around Bastian, who was drenched in blood and sweat as the sword of light continued to breach his defenses, too keenly focussed on keeping the shadow blade at bay. The shadow crashed against the haft, then the light, the crossed swords pressing down and driving Bastian to his knees. Braddock loomed, face screwed up with effort, but goading.

  “I never paid her, you know,” he said. “Your mother opened her legs to me, wanted me to squirt you into her belly. You weren’t even a blunder, boy, not for her. You were a desperate hope for her to tether me—”

  “Don’t you talk about her!” Bastian grunted. “Don’t you—”

  “Do you want to know how far down her throat your dear mother can get it? I’ll never forget—”

  With a savage cry, Bastian heaved and sent Braddock reeling back. The man was off-balance and Bastian thrust, the trident crackling as it streaked toward his chest. He was going to do it! He was going to kill Braddock! He was—

  The shadow sword flashed, smashing the trident with the flat of its blade. Braddock hooked his other sword through the back of the prongs and ripped it from Bastian’s grip. The trident clattered, skittering away from them as Braddock brought both swords up.

  “I’ve fought a bevvy of bastards, son,” Braddock said. “Jeering aside, you fought well. Had things been different, you mighta been a prince for true. But they ain’t different. A king can’t leave challenges unanswered. After I’m done with her, I’ll turn my men loose on that poxy whorehouse you call home and—”

  Lightning crackled between the trident’s prongs as they erupted through Braddock’s chest. He sputtered, blood bubbling from his mouth as he gaped down at the red-stained points. With a final look at Bastian, his eyes rolled, and he fell forward to reveal a battered Tish looking down her nose at Braddock’s corpse, the trident standing erect from where she’d run it through him.

  “Mother!” He stumbled toward her, but the world darkened and vanished before his eyes.

  Bastian didn’t know where he was. A greenish light emanated all around him, casting a murky din over the ankle-deep water he stood in. He looked around, hearing naught but his own breath in his ears. Where had he been? What had he been doing?

  Braddock, he thought.

  “Bastian,” said a voice, soft and ethereal. A flash made him squint, the light shaping into a woman.

  “Who are you?”

  She padded forward, feet striding atop the shallow water, stopping before him. Bastian blinked. He had never seen her equal, indescribable in face and form, as though she was made of smoke and caught in a stiff breeze. She reached out, laying a finger on his forehead, and a strong gale kicked up around him.

  “They all call me Midnight,” she said, “though that was never my name. This Braddock is dead?”

  This Braddock? “What does that—”

  “I need a soul to survive, Bastian, and yours will do. I’ve bonded with you. You and I, we are one now.”

  “I don’t understand,” he said. She was fading. “I don’t understand! Who are you?”

  “Go now,” Midnight said, no more than a whisper. “Be well, Prince Braddock. Claim your new place.”

  Strange rumours drummed up from Saltskiff following the brief stopover of Captain King Braddock and the Midnight Scythe. The Porthole, a favoured brothel, closed up overnight, the windows nailed shut and possessions stripped from the rooms. It had first been thought a tragedy as a clutch of bloated bodies had been found in the private mooring after the Scythe’s sudden disembarkment. Authorities thought the worst, but on investigation, they had been the bodies of sailors and not whores. It had only gotten stranger hence from.

  A ship called Dusk Trader had been decimated by the departing Midnight Scythe. A lone survivor chattered about a gussied up crew, all of them in faded dresses or vests with baubles and shinies and painted faces. But worse, the man called Crofter claimed, was a sorcerer of sorts who hurled lightning from the helm.

  Days later, a merchant reported a mass of crows and gulls in a quiet corner of Saltskiff. Hung from an old jib, pecked full of festering holes that had cracked and widened in the sun, was the last fatality of the Midnight Scythe’s departure. Captain King Braddock’s broad torso was a ruin, yet the words carved into his ruined flesh were still legible.

  ‘The King is dead. Long live the Prince.’

  Creators of Fantasy

  Illustrated by Day Phan

  BOOK 3: PIRATES OF SKY

  Map of the Charted World

  Illustrated by Aaron Hockett

  The Hunt for the Other Side

  Katherine Shaw

  Stop! Thief!

  Ade Madroda resisted the urge to look over his shoulder at his pursuers as he jumped over a mooring rope and raced towards the next platform. If he lost any ground to the bobbies now, they’d have him and he’d be thrown in the lockup again. It didn’t matter to them that he was just a teenager trying to survive; a thief was a thief.

  He took a hard left turn and bolted down an alleyway between two merchant stalls, his chest already tight from the exertion. It was no use. Heavy footsteps pounding on steel told him they were still on his tail.

  ‘Shit!’

  Ade urged himself forward, his tattered boots slipping as he turned a sharp right at the end of the alley so he nearly fell flat on his face. He had to hide before they left the alley—it was now or never. His keen eyes scanned the dock, assessing each vessel in milliseconds before moving on. Most of the larger airships were guarded, with a heavy or two posted by the mooring with a cudgel or dagger looped in their belt. They looked thuggish, but they were trained to spot troublemakers. He wouldn’t make it past them without gaining at least a few good bruises.

  A shout from behind him told Ade he had run out of time. He was about to set off sprinting again when he spotted his salvation: a small sloop sandwiched between two larger vessels, with no guard in sight. He launched himself forward, channelling his remaining energy to pump his legs as he sprinted up the gangway and onto the deck. Without a second thought, he dove into the wheelhouse and disappeared out of sight of the chasing coppers.

  Thankfully, the room was empty. Ade wasted no time in scrambling behind an old sail wrapped up in the corner. His heart still pounding, his chest rising and falling with ragged breaths, he reached into his old coat and pulled out the source of all this trouble: a shiny, red apple.

  He barely had the chance to savour a few slow, glorious bites of his prize before his enjoyment was interrupted by the boat’s flustered captain bursting into the wheelhouse. Ade shrunk further behind the sail as he watched a tall woman stride to the controls, her sandy blonde braid swinging as her gaze darted between dials and levers. This was the furthest Ade had ever made it onto an airship; it looked complicated.

  The woman glanced anxiously over her shoulder towards the dock. ‘Damn Constabulary,’ she muttered, shaking her head.

  Ade peeked from behind the sail. A clockwork panel at the far end of the wheelhouse whirred into motion, metal gears sliding and clicking into place as a series of bulbs flickered to life one after the other. Ade was transfixed. During his years on the streets, gazing at the airships as they left The Hub behind, possibly forever, he could only imagine how they might work and what flying one might actually be like. Hearing the engine roar into life and the lifting gas flood into the balloons above him sent a thrill through his body like nothing he had experienced before.

  Wait, what am I doing?

  He didn’t know this woman. He didn’t know where she might be going. The Hub attracted every sort and, although she looked upstanding enough, you could never be sure. The bobbies must have moved on by now; he had to get off this boat.

  Ade eyed the woman to ensure she was distracted by her preparations. He te
nsed as he crept out from behind the sail and headed for the doorway, barely managing a few steps before a loud voice stopped him in his tracks. The bobbies were back.

  ‘It’s no good, sir, we’ll have to search the ships.’

  ‘Shit!’

  The captain and the stowaway spoke the curse simultaneously, and for a moment they both simply stood, staring wide-eyed at each other from across the wheelhouse. Finally, the woman spoke.

  ‘Who in the hell are–’ The pounding of Constabulary boots on wooden planks cut her off. They’d be searching the boat any minute. ‘Shit!’

  With Ade gawping like an idiot, she pushed past him and began untying the ropes anchoring her small craft to the edge of The Hub.

  ‘Well don’t just stand there!’ she shouted, breaking him from his stupor. ‘Either piss off or lend a hand!’

  Still dumbstruck, Ade rushed over and scrabbled at the intricate knots with panicked fingers. Ade's nimble fingers may have been capable of sneaking scraps of food when necessary, but he was no sailor. In the time it took him to untie just one knot, the woman had managed half a dozen. He watched her as she worked, never slowing, her brow furrowed in concentration as her hands worked their magic.

  Ade’s stomach lurched as the propellers fired up and the airship pulled away from the platform. He opened his mouth to speak, but his words were drowned out by a howling alarm coming from the direction of the dock. He sprinted to the wheelhouse door. Two large, red bulbs flashed at the abandoned mooring, drawing the attention of onlookers and coppers alike.

  ‘Shit!’ the woman shouted again. Ade wondered if he’d heard the limit of her vocabulary.

  ‘What is that?’ he yelled in return, cringing as the alarm battered his eardrums.

  ‘Flint’s bloody “off schedule” alarm.’ The woman’s commanding voice cut through the noise easily, reaching Ade completely unhampered. ‘The Stickleback wasn’t supposed to depart for another few hours. So much for being discreet!’

  She glanced out of the window and shook her head.

  ‘We’re not going fast enough to lose them if they come after us. You,’ she pointed at Ade. ‘Have you ever sailed before?’

  What?

  ‘Erm...no, I’ve never...’

  ‘Well, now is as good a time as any to learn. Come here.’

  Ade’s eyes grew wide as she led him to the wheel.

  ‘Go on, it won’t bite.’

  Ade’s hands trembled as he closed his fingers around the wooden spokes.

  ‘The Stickleback is small, but she’s quick and handles like a dream. I’ll get the furnace fired up to maximum, you make sure we don’t hit anything as we clear The Hub. Deal?’

  Ade stared up into the woman’s hard, yet striking face, her blue eyes twinkling with the promise of adventure. He was going to do it. After everything he, his parents and his grandparents had lost, a Madroda was finally taking to the air again. A broad smile slowly spread across his face.

  ‘Deal.’

  Ade slumped into the captain’s chair, relieved to have relinquished control of the wheel now that they were clear of The Hub. His heart still pounded in his chest and he struggled to quell his shaking hands. Flying may be in his family, but he didn’t have his air legs quite yet.

  ‘You did good, kid.’ The captain remained at the helm, staring out into the cloud-filled sky. ‘So, now you’re officially part of the crew, what do I call you?’

  ‘Um...Ade.’ He hesitated a moment, unsure what to say. ‘I didn’t mean to stow away...I was running from the Constabulary, and...well...’

  ‘You don’t have to explain yourself, Ade,’ The woman glanced over her shoulder for a second, and he was surprised to see a gentle smile on her face. ‘We all have our reasons for wanting to get away. You can call me Sylvie.’

  They travelled in silence. Sylvie stood statuesque at the wheel, the only sound the soft hissing of the lifting gas, punctuated occasionally by the gentle click-clack of unseen gear mechanisms.

  Ade quietly marvelled at the clouds drifting by the window. I’m flying. I’m actually flying! He could have stared into the whirling nimbi forever, but his latent curiosity nudged at him until he was forced to tear his eyes away and ask the question he probably should’ve asked at the very start of this escapade.

  ‘Erm...Sylvie?’ He cringed at how frightened he sounded. You’re pretty much a man now, get a grip. ‘Where are we going?’

  Sylvie turned towards Ade with an eyebrow raised, almost as if she had forgotten he was there. He thought he saw her eyes dart to a satchel in the corner of the wheelhouse, but her gaze returned to him so quickly he couldn’t be sure.

  ‘Well,’ she said slowly, her eyebrows knitting together. ‘I have a...special artefact I discovered on my travels, and I need to take it to an expert to get it...evaluated. It’s very important.’

  Ade’s curiosity was piqued. ‘What kind of artefact? Where is the expert? What will they do?’

  Sylvie raised her eyebrow again, and he realised how childish he must sound. Here he was, travelling with a seasoned adventurer, and he sounded like an overexcited toddler. ‘Sorry...I’m just interested, that’s all.’

  The captain let out a bright laugh. It was unexpectedly melodic. ‘That’s fine. Since you make up half of the crew now, I suppose you ought to at least know where we’re going.’ She turned towards the oncoming barrage of clouds. ‘The Cartographer’s Fleet.’

  Ade rolled over on his makeshift bunk in the corner of the wheelhouse, willing himself to fall asleep. But how could he sleep when they were on their way to The Cartographer’s Fleet? This was the kind of adventure he’d been dreaming of during the lonely years without his parents. Hundreds of miles away from the predictability and functionality of The Hub, chasing storms and studying the world. Part of him worried that if he drifted off, he would wake to find none of this was real, and he’d be back in his crude shelter, shivering as the moving ships blasted air across the platform’s surface.

  Squeezing his eyes shut, he tried to block out his racing thoughts. But as his mind quietened, he noticed a new sound: engines. It wasn’t the small engines of The Stickleback—it was another ship. A much bigger ship.

  Ade jumped from his small sleeping spot and groped blindly through the room until he reached a window. He quickly identified the source of the noise: a huge airship heading straight for them. Ade’s chest tightened. A black and white flag flew from the mast.

  Pirates.

  ‘Sylvie!’ he screamed, sprinting onto the deck to search for the hatch to her captain’s quarters in the darkness. ‘Sylvie, please! It’s a ship! A pirate ship!’

  Ade jumped as a hatch burst open behind him and a dishevelled Sylvie barrelled up from below deck. She reached into her coat pocket, pulled out a small telescope, and observed the approaching vessel.

  ‘God damn it!’ she hissed through her teeth, folding the telescope and stuffing it back into her pocket. ‘Ade, come with me. Now!’

  He stumbled as Sylvie grabbed his sleeve and dragged him to the helm of the airship. He stood, useless, as Sylvie dug around in a small toolbox nailed to the wheelhouse wall. ‘What’s happening? Sylvie?’ He tried to suppress the fear bubbling up inside his stomach.

  Ade jumped back as Sylvie turned around. Large, round goggles now covered her eyes, magnifying them so that she looked almost alien. ‘It’s that bastard, the Red-Eyed Jackal. He found me!’

  Offering no further explanation, she strode to a large lever protruding from the wooden floor and used all her body weight to pull it backwards. Ade stared at the floor as the sound of moving machinery erupted from below their feet. Soon the entire stern of The Stickleback began to shift and transform in an array of moving cogs and pistons until, finally, a tremendous cannon, shining in stripes of copper and steel, ascended from below deck, transforming the once innocuous airship into a battleship.

  Sylvie turned to Ade, her huge, blue eyes shining in the flickering lights of the control panels around her. ‘I hat
e to ask this of you again, kid, but can you man the wheel while I show these fuckers that this stickleback has spines?’

  Panic swirled in Ade’s chest, but there was something else there, ready to take its place: excitement. ‘I’ll do it. Show them who’s boss!’

  A wide grin spread across Slyvie’s face. She nodded and ran to the stern, where she began powering up the cannon with a huge handwheel. Ade couldn’t help but admire the woman; she wasn’t big, but she was strong.

  ‘Ade!’ Her shout pulled him out of his daze. ‘Hard to starboard! Get me face to face with the bastard!’

  Ade sprung into action, grabbing the wheel and jerking it to the right. The Stickleback veered in front of the approaching pirate vessel. Ade’s knuckles paled from his tight grip on the wooden spokes, his faith in Sylvie battling with his fear of the much bigger airship closing in on its prey. As he struggled to get The Stickleback into position, he glanced over his shoulder and his stomach plummeted. Their pursuer was so close he could read the ship’s name emblazoned in golden letters across its bow.

  The Ambush.

  ‘Oh God,’ he muttered under his breath, working hard to stop his hands from shaking. ‘Oh God, oh God, oh God, oh–’

  A sudden explosion shook the airship. Sylvie’s cannon fired a blast of something fiery directly at The Ambush. The missile struck its port side, sending the airship rocking, but the inflicted damage looked minor. This wouldn’t be an easy fight. Sylvie rushed to recharge her weapon and Ade braced himself for retaliation but, to his surprise, the response came from a loudspeaker, not a cannon.

  ‘Give it up, Anchorfast!’ The captain of The Ambush was a tall, imposing figure standing at the helm of the opposing ship, speaking into some sort of mouthpiece. The lights from his control panel revealed a bald head and, causing a knot of dread to form in Ade’s tight throat, a bright red glass ball in place of his right eye.