The Harrowing Deep

by Miles A. Drake

  Twisting Ishcetus around, Cycladaean thrust with savage force, the diamond prongs of Pontumahár piercing deep into the rubbery flesh of the kharibdyss’ neck. It responded with an ear-splitting, abyssal howl, erupting from all five of its heads. A dissonant ripple tore through the ethersea, loosing a visible shock wave that disrupted the silt and haze before striking Cycladaean with the force of a reef swell. It was testament to his riding prowess that he was able to stay mounted, while keeping a grip on both his trident and the dazed Saranyss, who nearly toppled from the saddle.

  His ears rang as Ishcetus propelled him upward, out of reach of the monster. In his daze, he saw Akhamar gesture towards the beast. A pair of barbed retarius nets whistled through the water from different angles, loosed by the allopex riders. As the nets struck home, the kharibdyss shrieked again, but Cycladaean could hardly hear it after the first howl. Looking down, he saw one of the fangmora riders, immobilised by the first debilitating sound. There was nothing he could do as the beast descended, its writhing maws ripping into eel and rider, vivisecting them both with revolting speed.

  ‘Saranyss!’ he called, shouting directly into her ear. Her cowl had fallen, and her dazed features quickly regained composure. There was a faint discolouration on her skin, the bruising of concussive force, and Cycladaean saw the same on his own arms.

  He let go of her to retake Ishcetus’ reins. The deepmare, ordinarily a peerless apex predator, was little more than a frightened, isolated gnarcuda in the face of a charging megallopex. It wanted to flee, and Cycladaean fully understood. Every shred of rational thought pulled him away from the howling, writhing horror. But he grit his teeth, and forced his mount to comply with the irrational. For now, he was the hunter, and the beast was his prey.

  As the last of his disorientation faded into the backdrop of his ringing ears, he felt the rush of battle upon him, lending him an almost feral focus as he pulled the reins to wheel Ishcetus around. Akhamar was shouting something as the beast slithered across the ruins, haloed by smoke and debris raked up by its claws. Thrashing as it was, the harpoon-gunners on the leviadon and the netters on the circling allopexes could not easily target it. And worse, the beast was making directly for the abyssal rim. Shots went wide, and it was impossible to tell if those that landed had inflicted any meaningful damage.

  They needed to fell it now. If it dropped off the rim, their descent would be slowed, as Saranyss would need to adjust her aetheric channelling to account for the increasing pressure. It would be able to escape and hide once more. For now, in the open as it was, the hunters had the advantage.

  Seeing that the Dhom-hain had yet to rally and seize that advantage, Cycladaean raised his gleaming trident. ‘Strike now before it flees! We may not get a better chance!’ he called, though he could barely hear his own voice.

  With the leviadon drifting near, Saranyss leaped off the saddle and drifted through the darkness towards her beast as Cycladaean lowered his trident and spurred Ishcetus into a charge. With a rush of speed, the deepmare lowered its horned skull-plate and dived straight towards the kharibdyss.

  Somehow, the beast sensed his charge, eyeless though it was. Its heads reared back as it coiled to face him.

  Him alone. The other akhelian had not joined him. They hovered above, waiting. It took Cycladaean a moment to realise their delay came neither from hesitation nor cowardice. Akhamar had held them back deliberately. They were waiting for Cycladaean to die.

  Two heads lashed at him before he could retreat. Yanking the reins, he spiralled to the left, darting under the maw while thrusting up, his trident flashing with blinding speed. Golden light flared as it punched through the coiling neck of the first head. The other twisted close, lashing up at Ishcetus’ underside, but the deepmare’s tentacles wrapped around it, grappling with it to prevent its bladed mandibles from inflicting anything more than surface wounds. The first head coiled away with a shriek, and Cycladaean angled his trident down, thrusting again, punching two prongs clean through the beast’s lamprey mouth.

  A third and fourth head surged in simultaneously, and Cycladaean spurred Ishcetus forward. The deepmare detached itself and hurtled towards the central mass of the monster. Cycladaean skewered the third head with a lightning-quick thrust while the bladed mandible of the fourth tore through his cloak and clanged off his breastplate with staggering force. Nearly knocked from his saddle, he twisted, bringing his trident up and over his mount to strike on the opposite side, landing another thrust into the fourth writhing maw.

  His heart thundered as his blood roared through his ringing ears. The thrill of battle was upon him, and he experienced that moment of perfect focus one could only feel when in a situation where one wrong movement would mean certain death. He thrust again towards the main body of the monster, stabbing into yet another mouth, bizarrely leering from the beast’s chest.

  The larger, jawed head reared up, and Cycladaean instinctively pulled Ishcetus away. The deepmare’s tentacles were coiled around another maw, which ravenously thrashed up towards his mount’s underside. He thrust down as Ishcetus broke free, skewering the maw and forcing it away, giving himself room to manoeuvre.

  He pulled the reins, giving another rearing head a savage thrust as Ishcetus propelled itself upward and away from the monster. The kharibdyss howled again, and while Cycladaean certainly felt the impact, its effects were lessened thanks to his retreat.

  Free from immediate danger, he locked his gaze onto that of King Akhamar, who stared back, a cold snarl curling across his features. Cycladaean returned the expression and spurred Ishcetus into another charge, directly towards Akhamar.

  The king had left him to die. They’d had the perfect opportunity. Together, they could have ended the beast. But it would seem that King Akhamar had an ulterior agenda, just as Saranyss had warned. Cycladaean was not about to meekly ignore the obvious.

  As Cycladaean hurtled closer, the king and his retinue realised what was happening, and began to raise their weapons to receive the charge. Scores needed to be settled, and so Cycladaean angled his trident as Ishcetus propelled him through the ethersea towards his rival. He saw Akhamar’s eyes widen. Whether it was from fear, shock or anticipation, it did not matter. It was immeasurably satisfying. Cycladaean yanked the reins back, and Ishcetus’ finned tentacles splayed out, halting the charge but a few strokes from Akhamar.

  He would not shed the blood of his fellow idoneth, not unless he had to. A false charge would be enough of a message. He would not bow meekly to the unsubtle games of the Dhom-hain. It was clear enough why Akhamar and his allies had not lent him their aid, and Cycladaean would leave no doubt that he would repay any further treachery with his own righteous retribution.

  False charge aside, there were things that needed to be said, and Cycladaean’s rage would be vented. ‘Scheming coward!’ he roared. ‘We had a chance to slay the beast, and you spoil it for your own petty schemes!’

  Akhamar snarled something back, but Cycladaean could not hear it over the thundering of his own heart. A pair of morrsarr guard approached, their crackling lances lowered in threat. Halos of biovoltaic energy sizzled around their undulating mounts.

  Sound returned in a disorienting rush, and Cycladaean grit his teeth at the pain reverberating through his skull. He braced his trident, ready to meet the morrsarr guard should they dare attack him.

  Akhamar raised his hand, his expression curled into a sneer visible through his visor. ‘Your charge against the beast was most inspiring, outsider. We simply did not wish to steal your glory…’

  ‘Oh, I’m certain of that,’ Cycladaean spat, his face curled into a rictus as an icy flush of rage coursed through his veins. ‘I’m sure my glory was your chief concern, coward.’ Dimly, Cycladaean realised insulting the king in front of his retinue might not be the wisest idea, but at that moment, he did not care. He glanced back, taking his eyes from Akhamar and his guards for a moment to see the k
haribdyss throw itself off the slope of the continental rise in an avalanche of dust and oozing debris. The allopexes broke off their pursuit, and darted back towards the rest of the hunters.

  Akhamar and his steed lurched forward in a threatening manner, but Cycladaean did not flinch. The king pointed with his glaive.

  ‘Insult me again, outsider, and I will cull your treasonous tongue by removing your head. I gave you an opportunity to prove your honour in battle against the beast alone. But you were the one who fled like a coward.’

  Cycladaean’s lips curled into a sneer as he let out a cold, caustic laugh. ‘Go on, king, try to take my head.’ He twisted his trident in his grip, and pointed it at Akhamar once more. At their proximity, Pontumahár’s prongs almost touched the serrated tip of the king’s glaive.

  The morrsarr guard circled around, and a chorus of whispers went through the akhelian, but they hardly distracted Cycladaean. He knew enough of the Dhom-hain. If a duel was coming, they would not intervene.

  The oncoming bulk of the leviadon, approaching from below, did cause him to pull back, however. Its speed was not aggressive, but it was more than enough for both deepmares to part and give it room.

  ‘Fools! All of you!’ Saranyss shouted from atop the leviadon’s howdah, now at the level of the rest of the hunters. She glanced between Cycladaean and Akhamar. ‘We fight for the safety of Rúndhar and you choose to turn this into a dispute!’ She rounded on the king. ‘Callous and cowardly! Issue a duel in court or send assassins in the night tides, but do not jeopardise the hunt you declared to be so sacred!’

  Cycladaean pulled Ishcetus further away. He didn’t know whether or not Saranyss had true authority over Akhamar, but he respected her open rebuke of the king nonetheless. He felt the rage slip away, funnelling into the black, cold void in which all unwanted emotion went to die. When Saranyss turned to Cycladaean, he gave her a nod of acquiescence, and retreated, already following the beast’s path of carnage to the continental shelf. He would be the one to set the example, to set aside their differences, and return to the hunt. Such would play into his endgame.

  As the other hunters rallied and followed, the leviadon took up position in the fore of the hunting party. Cycladaean shared a glance with Saranyss. He’d only sought to put the fright of his retribution into Akhamar. That much seemed to have worked, at least. Perhaps now, the Dhom-hain would be more wary of him.

  When Akhamar gave the order to begin the descent and pursue the beast deep into the Halosheen Void, Cycladaean waited, ensuring that the other hunters were well ahead of him before doing the same. Beast or no beast, he would not show his back to an enemy again. And now, it seemed, he was surrounded by enemies.

  The tracks of the beast scrambled down the oozing slope of the aeons-buried caldera that was the Halosheen Void. The descent was steep, and Cycladaean wondered how the kharibdyss had managed to drag itself up the slopes before.

  With the party’s descent slowed by Saranyss’ intense efforts to keep the unbearable pressure of the hadal depths at bay, Cycladaean took the time to lean forward and inspect Ishcetus’ wounds. The deepmare’s movements were ever so slightly slowed by the slashes it had taken, but he knew the beast would not allow itself to be hindered by such minor injuries when the hunt was on once more.

  Eventually, the slope flattened into a wide, alien landscape of smoking fissures and overgrown thickets of giant crimson-blooming tubeworms. Boulder-like, slimy stromatolite mounds grew along the edges of glimmering brine pools that eerily resembled the glassy surfaces of the ponds and lakes Cycladaean had seen during the surface raids he’d joined. The ethersea became warmer, and the volcanic fissures became more commonplace as the kharibdyss’ tracks led towards some form of mountain looming in the distance, obscured by the hadal murk.

  ‘The beast must have its lair in a cavern somewhere within that mountain,’ one of the akhelian called.

  But the mountain was not, in fact, a mountain. During Cycladaean’s first foray into the seas of Ghur, he had trodden the warmer Atleus Ocean, and visited the court of the Nautilar. The ‘mountain’ before them bore a close resemblance to the gargantuan being upon which the Nautilar enclave had built its capital. This one was much smaller, but the resemblance was enough for Cycladaean to realise it was the same type of creature.

  It was a scaphodon, and by the looks of it, it was aeons dead.

  Cycladaean’s jaw tightened as the ossified husk of the immense, many-limbed isopod came into clearer view. The shell of the beast was half a league long, and almost a quarter-league high. The massive bony segments of its dorsal armour were overgrown with a forest of spindly, pale bryozoans, while dozens of massive crustaceanoid limbs, each as thick as a leviadon, jutted from its side. Beneath the flanged protrusions of its upper armour, gargantuan gill-vents were overgrown by drooping, bioluminescent marine lichen.

  The rear section of the scaphodon husk had sunk into a network of fissures, putting one of the gill-holes at the relative level of the seabed. The beast’s tracks led inside, into what was undoubtedly a claustrophobic warren that would favour the kharibdyss, rather than the hunters.

  Cycladaean shot a caustic glare at Akhamar. ‘I trust your plan to allow the beast to escape to more favourable ground was deliberate?’

  ‘Silence, you conniving parasite!’ Akhamar hissed. ‘Your words of division have cut deep enough, even out here! If you speak again, I will sever your head, if only to silence your lies!’

  ‘I’ll give you one swing, before I obliterate your soul with the light of Teclis’ judgement,’ Cycladaean replied, a cold smile twisting his lips. He raised his trident as his grip on Ishcetus’ reins tightened. Pontumahár glowed with savage intensity. ‘In all the courts I have visited, I have never encountered an akhelian as stubborn and regressive as you. Would you wish your people to degenerate into the very beasts we hunt? Into little more than predator or prey? Has Ghur twisted you so?’

  The morrsarr guard shifted their position at the insult, curling around Cycladaean’s flanks. Cycladaean smirked, seeing the eyes of the fangmora riders around him. They had once looked upon him with arrogant disdain. The dismissal of a weakling outsider, hiding behind extravagant colours, too soft to ever match one of the Dhom-hain. But now he saw hesitation in their eyes. They saw an outsider that had fought alone against an unknown terror of the deeps. They saw an outsider who openly defied their king, who stood alone against the shoals of foes surrounding him, unblinking and unafraid.

  The intensity in their eyes, swallowing their hesitation, told him enough of what was coming. They were going to try and kill him. Saranyss’ warning had not been an unlikely scenario. He did not know whether she knew, or merely suspected, but it was enough. He could see it. The other hunters had instructions to slay him at King Akhamar’s command. The predatory glances he’d received should have warned him prior, but Cycladaean had refused to believe that the Dhom-hain would stoop so low. Even after they’d left him to die against the kharibdyss, he had refused to accept such a possibility. But now he could see their anticipation. Confrontation was coming. And they were afraid of it.

  Cycladaean did not let his revelation show. He would play the fool, and ensure that these unsubtle assassins would not gain the advantage they thought they had. Instead, he gestured with his trident towards the half-buried gill-vent the beast had slithered into. He took a diplomatic tone.

  ‘Or we can finish what we set out to do, and settle our differences later…’

  Akhamar stared at him, unblinking hate burning in his gaze, but he said nothing. He spurred his deepmare forward into the gaping tunnel in the scaphodon’s porous exoskeleton, leading the hunting party deep into the gloom of the long-dead behemoth’s innards.

  Cycladaean followed just as soon as the other hunters entered, smiling to himself. He would not let them strike at him first.

  Inside, the same bioluminescent lichen illuminated the petr
ified tunnels, while giant, gaunt anemones reached out for them with slimy, translucent tentacles. The tunnels were wide enough for most of the bond-beasts, but there was no way for the leviadon to fit. As such, Saranyss and her beast remained outside, where she could channel the ethersea into the scaphodon husk.

  Moving through the labyrinthine warren, they emerged into a massive hollow cavern. Ribbed and vast, it was several hundred strokes across, at least, and blooms of pale bryozoans grew like fanned branches from almost every surface, while veritable drapes of lichen hung like tentacles from the ceilings and walls. Eviscerated pieces of all manner of benthic creatures littered the glassy brine pools dominating most of the chamber’s floor, eerily preserved alongside the desiccated remains of countless smaller crustaceans and fish. Dozens of tunnels branched away in every direction, and Cycladaean realised that the kharibdyss could be hidden within any of them.

  ‘Fan out, seeker shoal!’ Akhamar commanded.

  In response, the morrsarr guard split into small groups, channelling their mounts’ biovoltaic energy into crackling electrical fields that would allow them to flush any hiding creatures out from whatever cover they might find. The allopexes joined the search, relying on their acute sense of smell, and the keen eyes of the huntresses riding them.

  Cycladaean panned his gaze across the cavern, directing Ishcetus as close to the ceiling as he could. He glared at Akhamar. Now they had to hunt the kharibdyss in its own territory. Every brine pool, every tunnel and every clump of overgrown mess could contain the beast. Nowhere was safe. Cycladaean was not about to risk his own life to sniff out the beast, for he was certain that when the ambush came, it would be the death of whomever was nearest to it. He’d let someone else be the live bait.

  But his thoughts were cut short, for the ambush came sooner than any had expected.