by C. Vandyke
“Want to stop over for supplies, Captain?” called Genevieve over the wind, holding her tricorne hat in place.
“Are we short on anything?”
“No sir, I don’t believe so.”
He straightened up. “Full speed ahead. I want to hit Frostborne by nightfall. Have you ever been?”
“To Frostborne? No, Sir.”
“Gen, call me Gavin. It’s just us. You don’t have to put on airs for the crew. The rest of the crew is down in the mess below deck. We’ve been friends a long time.”
She smirked, raising an eyebrow. “Don’t get any ideas.”
“Oh, never. I wouldn’t dare lay a hand on the best shot this side of the Kraken. You’ll like Frostborne. It’s cold, secluded, and has lots of places to buy things.”
“I’m not one for buying, Gavin. I prefer to take what I want,” she said, walking over to him and straightening his jacket lapels.
“Go smoochie already before I hack up a hairball,” called Lunafer as she padded up the steps and leapt onto the starboard railing.
“Can you fly, Lunafer?” asked Genevieve, letting go of Gavin’s lapels and stepping back to take hold of the steering column.
Lunafer jumped on Gavin’s shoulder. “No, but unlike you, I’d land on my feet,” she said with a low growl.
“Enough, ladies! I will not have fighting on my ship,” he said, placing his hand on the revolver at his hip. “We need to stay as healthy as we can. Don’t none of us have any idea what waits for us in the White Wasteland. Are we understood?”
Lunafer draped her tail across his neck and onto his other shoulder, purring. Meanwhile, Genevieve nodded without taking her eyes off the horizon where the sun was setting.
“Good. I do so hate violence among friends,” he said, relaxing and pulling his jacket tighter around him.
There was a chill in the air. It would only get worse. Much worse. He knew Frostborne well, and he knew of the Lighthouse at the End of the World. Those weren’t what worried him. There were unseen things within the White Mist. Damned things that hell spit back out.
The cold bit like a Kraken. Gavin stood near the balloon for the heat from the flames as members of his crew tied The Corvus to a dock coming off the miniscule Frostborne skyport. Things had changed since Gavin had last been here.
“Should have stopped off at Orff instead,” he mumbled, disembarking the ship with Lunafer clinging to his shoulder, shivering.
Genevieve jogged up behind him and patted his other shoulder. “Look! There! Have you ever seen it this close?” she said excitedly, pointing in the general direction of Orff. She wasn’t pointing at the small island, but high above it, and even higher above the hovering island of Frostborne.
Looking up, Gavin couldn’t find what she was talking about at first. Once he did, he wondered how he missed it. Floating on the wind was The Archarrier. The Cartographer's Fleet. A series of balloons connected by rope bridges led to the city on the ship.
He chuckled humorlessly. His childhood home. "Yeah. Once or twice."
Gavin didn’t care for Frostborne. It was a marvel of engineering, yes, but something about it didn’t sit right with him. The environment was harsh, cold, and icy. An interior fire kept the streets, buildings, and people from freezing. Still, the elements in the Ice Talon Sea far below could kill. chains stretched from the underside of Frostborne to a sizable glacier which held the town of Braddock’s Bay, which was named after the Captain of the phantom ghost ship, The Midnight Scythe, that was said to patrol the skies near the White Wasteland.
“You’re all business, I see. What shall we pick up?” she walked past him and opened the door to a shop, nearly hitting him.
The interior was warm, and the scents of cloves and cinnamon bombarded his senses. Shelves lined the walls with essentials: jackets, packs, guns, ammo, and cutlery. “Pick up anything you think we might need. It’s gonna be rough going.”
“We’re pirates, Gavin. Why don’t we just take what we need?”
“Genevieve. As a pirate I live by a single rule: Never screw anybody over who doesn’t deserve it. The people up here are barely scraping by as it is,” he lectured her. “We are pirates, but we have manners,” he smirked.
Turning away from her, he browsed the aisles. Picking up a few bits and baubles, he searched for something he could use. A few minutes passed before he and Genevieve met at the firearms. The array was staggering. Pistols, revolvers, flintlocks, rifles, shotguns, and even crossbows.
Gavin picked up a pistol with six individual barrels welded together. Iron and gold latticework of cogs cascading down the barrels and onto the mahogany handle. Turning it over in his hands, he spun the barrel, causing it to emit a calming clicking sound. He had to have this beautiful piece of machinery.
“She has a mate, you know,” said a portly man in mutton chops behind the counter at the end of the aisle.
Gavin looked up. “What was that?”
“The six-barrel you got there. It comes in a pair if you want it.”
Genvieve and Gavin walked to the front counter. Genevieve carried a long barrel rifle. Black iron from butt to sights with a steam tank on the top and a hand crank to build up pressure. They sat the two guns on the counter.
Genevieve took out her coin purse. “How much for the two six barrels and the long rifle?”
The shop owner bent down behind the bar before reappearing with a small scale. “That’ll be five gold doubloons for the six barrels. Each. I’ll throw in their holster. As for the long rifle… That’s ten doubloons even."
After a good five minutes of the shop owner weighing the coins to make sure they hadn’t been shaved, Gavin and Genevieve headed back to The Corvus with their new guns in tow.
“You think all these extra guns are necessary?” asked Genevieve as they walked up the ramp back to the boat.
They walked up to the steps to the wheel, but before they could raise the lines and drop the sails, a scuffle broke out between two of the sailors. Gavin rolled his eyes, pulling one of the six barrels out and aiming it. Looking down the sight, he fired at one of the two men. One of their ears evaporated in a spray of blood and flesh, sending the man screaming to the ground.
“No fighting on my ship! Next time the shot will be fatal,” he yelled before turning back to Genevieve. “Yeah. They’ll come in handy.” He holstered the gun.
Gavin stirred in the pre-dawn grey coming through the windows of his quarters, pushing Luna off his side.
“Really, Gavin? Really? I let you sleep in my bed and this is the thanks I get?” she mumbled, moving to the foot of the bed.
The double doors to his chambers burst open. Genevieve stood in the doorway, covered in a thin layer of frost. “Ship on the horizon, Captain! Its sails glow like lightbulbs!” she panted.
“Man the cannons!” he roared, jumping out of bed.
Genevieve nodded, turning on her heels to prepare the crew. Gavin stumbled around, grabbing his clothes as he did so. Attaching his prosthetic with leather straps, he slipped his brown britches over them before pulling his suspenders over his long sleeve undershirt. Grabbing his hat and dark green jacket, he made for the door.
“What’s going on?” asked Luna, padding along beside him.
“I think we’re about to meet Bottomless Braddock.”
“You mean The Midnight Scythe? The ghost ship?”
“One and the same.”
Gavin’s breath plumed in the air as he stepped on deck. The frigid White Mist washed over their ship, coating everything in a thin layer of ice. The only thing that remained untouched was the balloon itself due to the heat within.
He transfixed his gaze on the distant tower lighthouse, barely visible through the mist. Their true destination. Once tall and proud, it was now wrapped in ice. The light still shone, somehow. Legend said there was a ‘frozen one’, a person said to be the brother of Braddock himself, who kept the beacon lit. Gavin tended to think it was magic.
Beyond the lightho
use? Nothing. White plains as far as the eye could see. People thought this was the end of the world. He was here to prove them wrong.
Icebergs densely dotted the sea below, like ice talons rising from the depths.The mist was thickening, causing the ice to accumulate on the ship. Even Gavin’s bushy two piece goatee was gathering frost. Ahead of them, lights broke through the mist. No. Not lights. Sails. The Midnight Scythe. It was a ghost ship. A ship of the damned. But that was a lie. A ghost story to scare the children of Rustowne, The Hub, Kimichula, Elysium, Halfaway, and the Cartographer’s Fleet. He never believed the stories, but the ghoulish reaper adorning the front of the ship stole away any doubt and any hope he had of making it out of this alive.
It was real. Gavin’s stomach leapt into his throat, forcing him to lose precious seconds until he could find his voice. “To your battle stations, lads!”
Genevieve’s demeanor changed from panic to focus, as if a switch were flipped. She pulled her new rifle from her back, along with a new pair of goggles from her belt. She clicked multiple lenses into place over her left eye before raising the ornate black iron and gold latticework rifle up to it to make sure the sights were still straight. Nodding, she cranked the handle to build up pressure before turning and climbing up to the walkway around the balloon.
“What do you need me to do?” asked Lunafer, jumping off his shoulder and landing with a thud on the planks of the ship.
Gavin removed his goggles, letting his flat cap hit the deck, causing his neatly combed hair to come loose, framing his face. “Go get my mask. Then, for Kraken’s sake, stay hidden!”
A moment passed before Lunafer returned, carrying the mask with her clockwork tail. He grabbed it and put it on. Iron and shaped like a bird, it covered the eyes in red protective lenses. The warmth of the mask interior cut the cold like a knife, and bathed the world in warm red light.
The ship creaked. Gunports slamming open shook the vessel. The Midnight Scythe neared, its crew now visible. Gavin’s stomach churned. It dwarfed The Corvus. The deck was lined with hundreds, if not thousands, of decomposing waterlogged bodies crawling over each other like ants, their milky white eyes unblinking and their smiles in eternal toothy grins. Barnacles hung from each and every body, as well as the rusted ship. Roaring blasts and blinding light became evident over all the commotion. Splintering wood cascaded around Gavin as three rows of cannons fired into the side of The Corvus, causing it to list. Multiple rotting planks of wood were thrown onto the deck of the ship, as they leveled out with The Corvus, followed by wet, dripping ropes.
Despite this, his attention was drawn to the helmsman. Standing seven feet if he was an inch, he wore a long, tattered light keeper’s knit hat and long coat. Metal tubes extended from the maw of his skeletal visage, running down to the shredded skin over his exposed ribs. Gold metallic mesh covered what once were his eyes. The flesh around them was burned, and the meat of his face looked melted. It was like goggles had fused into his skin. Wisps of blood-stained hair and beard still hung from what flesh remained.
The ghoulish inhabitants of The Midnight Scythe swarmed to cross to The Corvus any way they could: ropes, planks, and jumping. Gavin took a step back, drawing his two pistols from his hips, all twelve barrels loaded to unleash death.
The undead crew washed over The Corvus like a plague of locusts. Gavin fired indiscriminately, skulls exploding left and right. The deck grew slippery with blood as the fray thickened. The sounds of gunshots from overhead droned on as Genevieve cranked the pressure up and fired repeatedly, picking off ghouls as fast as humanly possible. It wasn’t fast enough.
“Abandon sh—” he tried to call. But a putrid, decaying hand grabbed him by the throat.
A grotesque face with melted mesh goggles looked up at him and lifted him off the ground. “Ye stumbled into my story when you found the lighthouse. You best start praying to whatever god you believe in that I don’t make you join my crew,” said Braddock, his voice resonating and metallic like he had iron lungs.
The world around Gavin crawled to a near stop as the wails of dying men and the stench of burning flesh mixed with gunpowder and flames. The heat from the cannons washed over him as another volley tore into the side of The Midnight Scythe. Barnacles, wood, and bodies flew into the air before disappearing into the iceberg littered ocean below.
Bottomless Braddock stumbled a step. But that was all it took. A blur as black as the surrounding sky leapt through the hellfire surrounding the men. Lunafer landed on his face, biting and clawing, as she wrapped her tail around his throat. Braddock grabbed her by the metal contraption on her back that connected her tail and threw her overboard. He looked back at Gavin, his bottom jaw now missing. He reached for Gavin before two shots from Genevieve’s rifle rocked him.
Gavin holstered his guns. Dodging an incoming blow from one of Braddock’s crew, he rushed to the port railing. “Lunafer!” he screamed into the icy depth below.
“I told you I always land on my feet!” called the cat from far below, joy obvious in her distant voice.
Gavin’s focus darted back and forth, frantically searching for where the voice was coming from. There, far below, stood Lunafer on top of a barrel-shaped escape pod hanging below the ship.
Gavin grinned broadly. “ABANDON SHIP!”
Multiple hatches opened on the bottom of the ship and more barrel-shaped escape pods dropped with members of his crew inside. As for Gavin, he climbed over the railing after letting down a rope ladder.
Cannons bombarded the side of The Corvus. He descended quickly down to the escape pod, his clockwork leg clanging heavily, wreathing him in smoke. Letting go, he landed hard on the top of the escape pod where Lunafer sat with the hatch open.
He climbed inside, closing the hatch behind him. Before he could say anything, Lunafer pressed her paw on the button to release the rope holding the escape pod in place. Gears whirred and popped until, trapped in the highly glossed wooden interior, they were in a freefall to the Ice Talon Sea below.
Barking seals greeted Gavin as he woke from a blow to the face. Lunafer stood over him, slapping him with her tail until he awoke. Covered in snow, he looked around. Still in the escape pod, the hatch was open. He hoped it had all been some horrible dream.
“What did you get us into?” asked Lunafer, her large goggled eyes looking down at him from outside the hatch.
He brushed off the snow and stood. “My crew! My ship! Genevieve...” he mumbled, climbing out of the escape pod.
He stumbled and fell out into the snow. Standing, he dusted himself off. Now on the coast of the White Wasteland, not far from the lighthouse, he thought he might see Orff in the distance, but it was hard to tell. What was unmistakable was the smoking shell of The Corvus at the base of the lighthouse, slowly sinking into the water. Bodies lay strewn across the ice. The only sound was Luna licking herself and the crackling flames of what was left of his sinking ship.
Beyond the lighthouse, valleys and mountains stretched as far as the eye could see. He was right. This wasn’t the end of the world. For him and Lunafer, this was just the beginning.
Another Kind of Immortality
Dani Atkinson
Here Flies Herac "Thrice-Over" Hidgins, Third Mate of the Looming Storm
Told Patrick Stone, Barkeep of the Crimson Cog, that he had been knocked three times over the rails of his skyship and "knew in every broken bone" that a fourth was coming. So he came for the Whispering Isle, and its Well of Immortality, that the fall might never again hold terrors.
Found by our scavengers adrift in the air currents Northwards and Upwards of the Isle. Drowned.
The fall holds no terrors for him now.
May He Find Another Kind of Immortality
Here Flies Guy With A Red Hat
Name unknown. Did not stop at the Cog or the Dregs before he tried for the Isle. No one we asked had spoken to him.
But he had a very nice red hat with three very large feathers and a brooch in the shape of a flying
fish.
Lightning-struck.
If you recognize him from this information, please speak to Saiseriat. I have left extra space for a name.
May He Find Another Kind of Immortality.
Here Flies Orphelie de la Tempete of the Cartographer's Fleet
Came, most unusually, to seek not the Well hidden beyond the storms, but the storm itself.
In her strange ship full of strange devices, and her stranger crewmate, Jemison Rayne, she came and asked Us, the scavengers and the keepers of these graves, about the winds and the clouds, the spinning water and the currents of the air. Not how to pass them, but for their own sake.
"The Cumulocarta is written on the storms. Your storm could be the final piece of the map of everything."
She had, also, many theories about how the secret to immortality might be bound to the secret of this Cumulocarta. This seemed dubious to Us. Just because two things are both secret and both strange does not mean that they have anything else in common. But she laughed and said that at the very least, if she found eternal life, it would guarantee that she lived long enough to see the map completed.
She did not.
Ship exploded. Burned.
May She Find Another Kind of Immortality.
Here Flies Jemison Rayne of the Cartographer's Fleet, Formerly of Fiddler's Maroon, originally of Tunis Asteroid
Came with Orphelie de la Tempete. Engineer of her skyship and builder of many of its devices.
Said they had been stolen from their home many years ago by a kraken, a vast creature of grasping tentacles reaching across unknown oceans between worlds and behind space. They had been forced to live here when the kraken spat them out on the wrong dimension's shore, but had not done so happily, saying "I can't breathe with so much air on top of me."
