The Weave of Fate

by S L Matthews

  Cooper sighed and stepped in front of Taryn. “I don’t think they’re in a mood to listen, Tar,” he said, brandishing his cutlass. As the soldiers created an arc around the group of men, he whispered over his shoulder. “You’ll see her again, I promise…but right now, I need you here.”

  Taryn’s heart warmed. His anger turned to determination as he stepped away from the railing. He turned to Cooper and met his eyes. He was still filled with confusion, disappointment, and annoyance, all of which were overshadowed by his new resolve.

  His brother grinned and extended the hilt of the cutlass. “I’ll take it,” he added as he reached into his vest pocket. “Now, all that being said…I’m about to do something really stupid,” he said, scanning the line of red-cloaked soldiers.

  Taryn turned to face the Cyrean ranks. His eyes grew wide as he saw their numbers for the first time, lined up and advancing. He looked up into the menagerie of nets, cables, and lines left behind by the fallen masts, then looked to the black waters of the sea.

  “Ho—shit, Cooper,” Taryn stammered as he took a step back. All of them were tall and muscular. The large one in the lead, however, commanded Taryn’s attention, standing a foot taller than the other armed men. The giant’s golden blond hair flapped in the wind, contrasting his black, bearded face. Taryn’s confidence faltered as his eyes met the large soldier.

  “Coop, maybe,” Taryn began, eyeing a small, maroon vial in Cooper’s fingers. “What…what are you about to do?” he continued, stepping farther away.

  “Like I said…something stupid,” Cooper said. He sighed, then pulled the cork from the vial. He took a quick breath and inhaled the liquid. After the last drop, he exhaled, lighting up the Promenade’s deck as flames spewed from his mouth, engulfing everything before him. Cooper turned left, then right, ensnaring everything and everyone in the conflagration.

  The fiery blast ignited the deck. Engulfed Cyrean soldiers leapt overboard, their cloaks a comet tail that chased them into the water. One after another, the soldiers fell, each followed by their own sizzling splash.

  The giant blonde-haired soldier stood directly in the flames and inched forward in defiance. His hair burned away, followed by his clothes and his cloak. His face blistered and popped as boils rose, then exploded. He crept forward, agony in every step, as the mountain of a man turned into a flaming column. Fiery residue fell from the soldier’s armor as it melted away, smoldering blazes erupting with each horrific step.

  Taryn looked on in horror as man-sized fireballs dispersed in every direction. Some jumped over the edge, some collapsed where they stood. A few pirates got caught in the crossfire, to which Cooper added a polite, “Sorry,” and a sincere wave goodbye as they joined the Cyrean ranks over the edge.

  “Fire…on a ship?” Taryn stammered, turning to Cooper. His older brother was alight with joy, reveling in the chaos he’d created. Cooper offered an innocent shrug of his shoulders as they both turned back to the soldiers, who were fleeing into the water…all but one. Taryn’s eyes stopped long enough to realize the seven-foot column of fire was a few feet away—and still coming!

  The grin on Cooper’s face faded and his hand wave turned to an indiscernible flutter as the burning soldier closed in. Taryn searched frantically for an escape, but they were already against the rail, backed into the corner of the cabin.

  Without warning, Cooper pushed Taryn onto the deck and threw himself on top. The soldier took a final step, then leaned forward with his arms outstretched. Gravity took hold as the fiery column began its long descent.

  A breeze swept across the deck, encircling the soldier. The breeze turned into a gust as it captured the flames, bending them upward in a torrent of air around his body. His fall slowed…then stopped. The soldier’s body hung, suspended in mid-air, as Taryn and Cooper let out a scream of anticipation. The winds swirled at a fevered pace, bending the flaming body to its will.

  “Kill her!” came screams from the Cyrean vessel. Taryn listened as the flames whipped faster. He pushed against Cooper, who looked down with the same expression of surprise. They should have been engulfed in searing pain…but they were alive…and unharmed? Her? Taryn thought.

  As the soldiers aboard the Orcus took aim with their crossbows, the winds around the burning soldier’s body grew to a fiery tornado. His feet lifted off the deck as his arms and legs flailed about. His screams rang out when his sacrifice would prove in vain. His body angled back and lifted farther off the deck, leaving fiery remnants along its path.

  “Fire!” the soldiers cried as they shot a volley of bolts at the Promenade. Taryn sought cover behind his arms and hands; but no bolts hit him, nor did they hit the wall behind him. He peered through his outstretched fingers and saw the fiery body drifting through the air toward the Cyrean vessel. The soldiers continued to fire their crossbows, but like a vacuum, the bolts sucked into the torrent of air, spun in the flaming vortex, and fell helplessly to the deck.

  With a great lurch, the human fireball blasted toward the Cyrean ship and crashed into the crossbowmen. Chaos ensued aboard the frigate as the fiery boulder exploded into the deck, landing at the base of the main mast. The mighty frigate lit up like a torch on the black waters of the sea. The massive column, along with its sails, ignited while soldiers ran to combat the flames. With renewed vigor, the pirates rejoined the fight and clashed with the startled Cyrean soldiers.

  Taryn sat motionless while Cooper knelt beside him, leaning against the cabin wall as fires burned all around. They were speechless. Each watched as soldiers and pirates fought through the smoke and flame. They turned to one another, each offering a chuckle and an understanding nod.

  “Little warm down there, gentlemen?” asked a soft, friendly voice from atop the cabin.

  Taryn would have been startled by the sound of any voice amidst the chaos, but the polite, soft-spoken female voice made him jump out of his skin. He spun around, eyes wide. Standing on top of the destroyed cabin was an old woman, surrounded by a dozen small children, all hiding behind her flowing red dress.

  The brothers’ eyes softened and their hearts lifted to see a familiar face. Cooper turned to Taryn and shrugged his shoulders. “Now I’ve seen everything.”

  Taryn turned back to his old school teacher, disbelief wracking his brain. “Ms. Bellen?” he questioned. “But what—how—” The words struggled to find their way as he doubted what his eyes perceived. “You’re a…really?” he continued, still unable to put together a coherent sentence. “That was you?”

  “Now Mr. Quinn,” she replied, “it’s not like you to stammer about.” She knelt down and motioned the children around her to seek shelter on the far side of the cabin. She then turned back toward Taryn. “Come now, boys. You’ll be safe over here.” She gave them a beckoning motion with her hands and walked to the edge of the roof.

  Despite the echoes of war, Taryn relished in the memories of his old schoolmaster and his youth on the streets of Wyvern’s Rest. Though the hard times in the fallen city appeared to have taken their toll on Ms. Bellen, he would’ve recognized the warmth in her eyes anywhere. For the first time in years, the young man felt joy.

  Taryn scanned the deck. The battle for the Promenade had ended as ribbons of flame licked across the battered ship. His eyes fell on Jorel, lying limp against the far rail. Taryn pointed at the man, unsure what to call him now, “What about…him?”

  Cooper followed Taryn’s gesture. “I’ll get him.” He grabbed Taryn’s shoulder as a warm smile stretched across his face. He pointed to the fallen mast as it leaned into the broken cabin. “Follow Ms. Bellen. Let’s get out of here.”

  With a last glance, Taryn scaled the fallen mast. He braced his foot against the giant timber and pulled himself up, climbing until he reached the upper deck. The sound of wood snapping and cracking shot across the broken deck. Taryn froze, whipping his head around in search of the source. But he only saw small fires scattered across the Promenade. No immediate danger.

  There wa
s a final crack, like a massive oak splitting in two. Before Taryn understood what was happening, the center mast of the Orcus snapped and broke away. The pillar of flame plummeted toward the crippled ship.

  Taryn looked at his old teacher and yelled “Ms. Be…..!!!!!” as the giant mast crashed through the shattered quarterdeck. He gasped as she, and the children huddled around her, were crushed by the flaming timber. There were no screams, no crying. Just a snap, a crash, a splash.

  And silence.

  “Noooooo!!!!!” he yelled, but there was no response.

  Taryn ran to the edge of the cabin, but the wood splintered and gave way. He balanced himself and peered over the edge, only to see a large chunk of the ship had broken off and fallen into the sea. Debris and wood littered the water, along with dozens of lifeless bodies…of men, women, and children in search of a better life.

  He sat down, his eyes red and swollen, and leaned toward the sea. Taryn crawled to the highest point and pulled himself up, but the ship angled closer to the opaque water. He peered over the ledge as the fight raged on aboard the Orcus, oblivious to the fact their fates were tethered to the doomed ship. Taryn looked back to the Promenade, back to Cooper and Jorel, and terror gripped his chest.

  Burning sails and netting had fallen across them, pinning them to the burning deck. Cooper fought to free himself, inches from the flames, as the icy water rose to meet them.

  | Chapter XI

  Broken

  A va stood at the entrance to Viktor Wray’s chambers, confused and afraid. Thibold’s prophetic message lingered while her master positioned himself before her, armed with a stiletto dagger and a wrought-iron candlestick. She stood before him, defenseless. He wore a long, silken robe, leather gloves, and metal boots. She wore her favorite dress, tied off at the shoulder, ripped down the front and side. Ava was tall and fit, proud yet vulnerable. He was fat, ugly, and reprehensible, and eyed the lovely blonde as a lion would a crippled lamb.

  Viktor Wray approached with a look of hatred. In all their time together, Ava had never stood up to him, not even a whimper when a client was present, and her punishment was always swift and decisive. She knew why he hated her. She knew why his knuckles wrapped so tightly around his weapons and why he looked down the bridge of his nose, his eyes seething with anger. Ava had shown the slightest bit of resistance, a marginal display of strength…and he would have none of it.

  Thibold, on the other hand, appeared sickened—a disheveled man who teetered between fleeing in terror and vomiting. His once-rosy cheeks were flushed of all color and his eyes darted between the floor, the gnarled cane in his hands, and Viktor. As though desperately searching for a way out, his gaze wandered the entire room, landing on everything—except Ava.

  “Mr. Wray,” Thibold said, his meek words trailing off to a whisper. “I beg you, listen to what I have said. You must understand!”

  Ava studied the odd-shaped man. His lips quivered and his hands shook while sweat poured from his forehead. She had seen fear take hold of a man, a vice-grip upon his soul. She’d seen men shrink before the sum of those fears, and seen others rise to the challenge. But in all her years, she had never witnessed one so consumed.

  Viktor continued his approach, weapons raised.

  Ava backed away. “You—you don’t have to,” she said, hoping to change at least one of their minds. Her master, however, was quick to correct her.

  “You do not presume to tell me anything!” he fired back. The anger in his voice complemented the redness in his face and the pulsing veins across his forehead. Ava had seen this before, but this combination of rage and indifference chilled her to the core.

  “Viktor!” Thibold screamed while a crude mixture of tears, snot, and slobber raced down his terror-stricken cheeks.

  Viktor spun, his bloodlust palpable. He raised the tip of the dagger, a cool, frosted mist lifting from the sleek blade. “I assure you, I heard every word, Lord Aerent,” he added.

  Thibold’s gaze finally lifted toward the hallway and the slender figure standing between the ornate double doors. His shoulders sank as hope seemed to abandon him. His tone echoed acceptance—and helplessness.

  “But…she’ll kill us all.”

  The gnarled cane slipped from Thibold’s fingers. His weakened knees buckled and his enormous body collapsed to the wooden floor.

  Ava froze.

  “What?” she gasped.

  Viktor turned his attention back to her. She sensed the anger coursing through his veins as he adjusted the grip on his weapons.

  “Not if I kill her first,” he said in a calm, deep voice.

  Ava turned to flee, the hair on her neck bristling and a deep chill ripping through her body.

  The double doors, so close only moments ago, now seemed so far away. She took several fleeting steps toward safety, but she wasn’t quick enough. A sharp pain pierced her shoulder and a frigid pulse shot through her right side. Ava’s body went rigid, then collapsed to the floor. She tried to regain her footing, but her right arm was unusable.

  As Ava crumpled back to the floor, she reached along her shoulder, searching for the source of her agony. An arctic mist enveloped her fingertips while they fumbled across the ornamental hilt. Blood covered her hand as the sensation took hold in her mind. The same weapon used to murder Dijor was buried several inches into her shoulder. She twisted her torso to see Viktor approaching, confusion draped across her face.

  “Why?” she whispered as she turned toward him, but he had already planted his large boot, the other one hurling its way toward her face. As the question fell from her mouth, his brutal, steel-toed boot landed. Its full force caught Ava in her jaw.

  Blood sprayed across the floorboards. Broken fragments of teeth skipped between the double doors and her body spun end over end. She collapsed with a thud, facing the hallway, her one portal to safety. Ava’s world spun and her vision blurred. She reached for the doors, praying they would pull her free, praying there was some magical release from her maniacal owner.

  There was not.

  Another devastating kick landed against her side. Cracks and pops echoed through the large room as ribs broke, splintered inside her small frame. Blood poured from her mouth as her fragile body tumbled closer to the empty hallway.

  Ava’s sight blurred. She gasped for air, imagining herself outside of this awful room. The hallway, her corridor to safety, lay but a few feet away. She knew now, it would be her tomb.

  In a moment of self-preservation, she rolled to face her punisher. Viktor was advancing on her prone body, as angry as ever. Thibold, however, had succumbed to his fear. Thick vomit covered the front of Thibold’s robe, along with the wooden boards that lay before him. His face was ghostly white, aside from the red, puffed rings around his eyes and nose. He knelt in the corner frozen, the look of a sickened, repulsed man in a world he did not belong.

  Ava reached for him. She begged with her eyes, unable to speak.

  His gaze strayed to the floor, as though attempting to reason the madness. He stripped the satchel from his chest and lifted a black amulet from the darkened corner. He pinched the amulet between his fingers, then deliberately placed it on the floor, forming a perfect circle.

  He stumbled to his feet, retreated toward the seaside window, and, with a flick of his wrist, flung the worn satchel into the old market below. Like a timid lamb, he shuffled back to the large, oak table.

  “Uh—Lord Wray,” he said in a broken voice. “Viktor. If you are to succeed at—this,” he continued, struggling to look in Ava’s direction. “You’ll need to get her out of the sun. The corner, maybe?” His pudgy fingers pointed to the shadow of the corner.

  Viktor stepped again and planted his foot into Ava’s stomach, his metal boot sinking into the pit of her abdomen. A sick, guttural sound emerged as blood and vomit spewed forth, coating his foot and the hem of his silken robe.

  The enraged man stopped to look down at his ruined robe and soiled boot. The anger grew in his eyes. Ava l
ay there, emitting noises barely audible as human. Her senses were fading. Her life was nearing an end. Her mind retracted as thoughts of her miserable life came to the forefront.

  Ava fought for life. No, she fought for death. While she held onto her last breath, Viktor raised his boot high over her head. He clenched his teeth, snarled, and brought the metal framed weapon down upon her.

  V iktor’s breathing had stopped, but the flow of blood did not. Viktor’s breath slowed and his eyes opened. He looked down at the bloodied body at his feet, uncertainty and fear stretching across his face.

  “Stupid bitch,” he snarled. “Looks like you wet yourself for nothing, Thibold,” he said as he puffed out his chest. Viktor spun around, startled to find his prospective business partner on the far side of the room, coated in vomit. Viktor grinned while Thibold wept.

  “The corner, you say?” Viktor added with a malevolent smile.

  Thibold’s expression morphed into a snarl of contempt and the personification of guilt. “You’re a damned fool,” he said. His voice turned submissive, desperate to avoid Ava’s fate. “You have no idea what you’ve just done.”

  “I’m sorry to say,” Thibold began, shaking. “The Crimson Merchant Guild of Crossroads will not be doing business today, Mr. Wray.” He straightened slightly, but his anxiety was palpable. Viktor stared at Thibold, soaking in the words.

  Viktor took in a long, steady breath. He turned and shut both doors, then flicked his wrist to lock them in place. He clenched his teeth and spoke in a hushed tone. “It takes a certain strength,” he began. He knelt before Ava’s helpless body and grabbed the purple lotus hilt. “To do business in a city like Wyvern’s Rest,” he said as he yanked. The blade slipped out with a sickened slurch, followed by a stream of blood and a pathetic whimper.

  Thibold swallowed as Viktor gripped the dagger in one hand, the candlestick in the other, and advanced. “Bu—but you don’t understand—”