The League of Sharks

by David Logan

  A shudder ran down Brother Rard’s spine. He bowed his head and continued to pray.

  *

  It was early afternoon when the Casabia reached the town of Murias. There was some discussion about who would go to the monastery. After all, if Brother Rard was typical of the zealots in the order, it might well be dangerous. Junk made it clear he was going and no one was going to stop him. No one tried to. Garvan said he would go with him and Otravinicus wanted to go too. However, it was pointed out that he was not the order’s favourite person – not even in the top ten – or top one million – so it was agreed that it was better if he didn’t go Then Hundrig volunteered. Though he had only really been paid to captain the ship, so this was a little beyond the call of duty.

  They had a short walk from the Casabia to the base of the highest of all the sandstone rock pillars. It stood separately from any other rock cluster. It was tall and straight. Years of erosion had smoothed all sides and the only way in or out was an elaborate pulley-and-basket system that ran up the south-facing wall.

  When they got there Brother Rard explained that the basket could accommodate only two passengers at a time. However, because Garvan and Hundrig were so big, they would have to travel one at a time. Hundrig decided he would go up first, but Brother Rard said that wouldn’t work because the gatekeeper at the top – Brother Hath – would not know him and he was not expected so he would not be allowed in. He would be sent straight back down again. Brother Rard said that the only option was for him to go up first and announce them. Then he would send the basket back down. Hundrig wasn’t keen on this idea. There was no guarantee that Brother Rard would send the basket down and then their only option would be to sit and wait until someone left the monastery. There was no telling how long that might be.

  ‘I can go up with him,’ said Junk. Hundrig didn’t like this idea either. Junk was so small and puny. He assumed the rest of Brother Rard’s order would be as big as him. ‘It’s OK,’ said Junk. ‘I can look after myself.’

  Brother Rard wasn’t keen on this idea either, but he couldn’t think of a reasonable objection so he gave in. He and Junk climbed into the basket. The system was simple. Once in the basket Brother Rard pulled on a lever that released a heavy rock at the top. The rock fell and the basket rose. There was ballast that accompanied the basket for when one needed to descend that had to be hauled up again, ready for next time. It all seemed rather antiquated and inefficient, though it was weighted perfectly and the ascent was smooth and swift.

  When they reached the summit, they stepped out of the basket. There was a flat shelf of rock between them and the gates to the monastery. Junk was looking out at the incredible view. It was a bright, clear day and he could see for miles in every direction. There were about a dozen more rock pillars within view. There were buildings on some of the others but none as large or as impressive as the monastery.

  The gate was seven metres high and made of solid wood. The walls were made of sandstone and flush to the pillar’s edges on three sides, making it seem as if the monastery had grown out of the rock naturally.

  It took Junk a little while to realize that Brother Rard hadn’t sent the basket back down.

  ‘Is there a problem?’ asked Junk.

  ‘It is not permitted for me to invite anyone into the monastery. Only Brother Antor can make this choice,’ said Brother Rard.

  ‘You didn’t think to mention that when we were down there?’ Junk didn’t believe Brother Rard.

  ‘Your captain is not a reasonable man because he is godless. I did not think he would understand,’ said Brother Rard.

  ‘Probably not,’ said Junk. ‘So get Brother Antor out here and have him give them the OK.’

  ‘Brother Antor does not come running when summoned like a common servant. I must go to him.’

  ‘Well, we have a problem then, because I don’t trust you any more than the captain does and I’m not letting you out of my sight.’ Junk sounded more confident than he felt and was very aware that he was standing on a ledge that was just a few metres wide. If Brother Rard was so inclined he could easily throw Junk off and there was nothing he could do but fall a very long way and go splat when he reached the ground.

  Brother Rard looked hurt. ‘But I am a man of God,’ he said.

  ‘Try growing up in Ireland and see how far that gets you,’ said Junk.

  ‘Ireland?’ asked Brother Rard.

  ‘Ah, never mind. It’s not there any more,’ said Junk. ‘Look, please, Brother Rard. I have come a very long way. I don’t mean any disrespect to you or your order or your beliefs. I just want to find the man who killed my sister. She was only little and I should have looked after her. I was her knight, you see. Supposed to be anyway. I wasn’t a very good one.’

  Brother Rard rubbed his chin and considered his options. Finally he nodded. ‘I will take you to see Brother Antor,’ he said. ‘I will accept whatever punishment he thinks is just for disobeying the rules of the monastery and bringing in an outsider without his permission. I believe this is the right thing to do.’ He made it sound more noble and courageous than it really was.

  Brother Rard turned to the great door and picked up a rock that sat beside it.

  ‘This is the knocking rock,’ he said, as if that was a normal thing to say. He used it to rap on the solid door three times. He set the rock down again and then they waited.

  After about a minute Junk heard keys being turned and bolts being pulled back on the other side of the door. The sound was heavily muffled and Junk guessed that the door was pretty thick. It swung back slowly and another monk, wearing the exact same type of cloak and black clothing as Brother Rard and sporting the same Mohican hairstyle, stepped forward. He was much older than Rard. His skin was wizened and sagging, his eyes a dull grey rather than the vibrant silver of Brother’s Rard’s. He was as tall and as broad as the younger monk but his physique had turned mostly to fat. Instead of a solid square lantern jaw, he had two fleshy sacs that hung pendulously below his jaw. The strips of hair on his head were wispy and white.

  ‘Dulluk,’ said the monk. ‘Tinggwa huum tal tinggwa chul.’ He spoke in a language that Junk didn’t understand.

  ‘This is the keeper of the gate,’ Brother Rard explained to Junk. ‘This is Brother Hath.’

  ‘Occootoo,’ said Junk. He knew it wasn’t the correct greeting. It was like saying buon giorno to a German, but it was all he had. Brother Hath glared at him, looking him up and down with a scowl. He and Brother Rard spoke purposefully for several moments. Junk had no idea what was being said, but judging from Brother Hath’s combative demeanour and Brother Rard’s more conciliatory tone, he assumed that Rard was asking to come in with Junk in tow and Hath was refusing. In the end, Brother Rard must have said something that swayed the argument in his favour, for Brother Hath harrumphed in a manner that was the same in any language and then stepped aside. Brother Rard looked pleased with himself and gestured for Junk to go ahead.

  *

  The interior of the monastery was bare and cold, as one would expect from a religious sanctum. There were a few small windows that allowed light in, but the long corridors and rooms they passed through were dominated by shadows. Deep, dark shadows in every corner. Everything appeared stark and unwelcoming. There was no comfort to be found in the Brotherhood of Pire.

  Finally they came to a chapel. It was the largest room Junk had yet seen, as high as it was wide. There were a dozen small windows high up along each of the four walls and shafts of light shone through each window, hitting the stone floor. At the far end of the room was an altar. Sitting on top of it was a small cube about the size of a grapefruit. It had a dull bronze finish and was etched with a plethora of lines, squiggles and other markings. Kneeling in front of it, deep in prayer, was another monk.

  ‘Brother Antor,’ whispered Brother Rard reverently to Junk.

  Hmm, thought Junk, if it isn’t the light, the air, the water, the earth himself. He was intrigued to meet this Brothe
r Antor.

  17

  They stood quietly for several minutes while Brother Antor finished his prayers. As the silence continued, Junk was struck by an urge to start giggling. He really had to struggle not to succumb. A couple of times the beginning of a chuckle escaped but he was able to turn it into a muffled cough. Though any noise at all drew frowns from Brother Rard and Brother Hath, who was loitering behind them.

  Finally Brother Antor finished and stood up. Even then he did not turn around immediately. He kept his back to Brother Rard and spoke in a deep, gravelly voice.

  ‘Doonk ka, Dulluk. Dinikanu,’ he said. He sounded cross. Brother Rard answered in a weak, stuttering voice and his body language was extremely penitent. He dropped to one knee and bowed at the waist. Brother Rard spoke to Brother Antor for a long time. Junk understood none of it but Brother Rard gestured to him occasionally so Junk knew he was being included in his recounting. He also heard him refer to ‘Otravinicus’ more than once.

  ‘What is your name, boy?’ said Brother Antor in Jansian. It took Junk a moment to realize he was talking to him.

  ‘Umm … Junk, sir.’ There was something about Brother Antor that demanded respect.

  Brother Antor turned then and looked down at Junk. He was even bigger than Brother Rard, taller and broader. He reminded Junk of a bodybuilder, ballooned on steroids. He was a little older than Brother Rard but fit and vital. His eyes were not silver, but golden, and they glittered in the low light. He wore the same black clothing as the others. He had the two strips of hair on his head running front to back but he had another strip running left to right. Possibly to signify his rank within the order.

  ‘This is a private order. You are not welcome here.’

  ‘I understand. Brother Rard made that clear. We didn’t give him a lot of choice, to be fair,’ said Junk. ‘Our captain’s awfully persuasive. He’s outside and would like to talk to you. Brother Rard says he needs your permission to let him in.’

  ‘It is not given, boy.’ Brother Antor glared down at Junk. Junk realized at that moment that he was shaking with fear so he held his hands behind his back so no one would see. ‘You will leave. You will take your people and go back to your ship and you will leave this place. You will not continue your search for the Room of Doors. Is that clear?’

  Something inside Junk changed right then. He was aware of it. Perhaps it was Brother Antor’s patronizing tone, the way he was telling Junk what to do. There was to be no debate. The thought occurred to Junk that this Brotherhood of Pire had no more right to the Room of Doors than him. Less maybe. After all, he had been inside it. He knew what it was. They didn’t.

  ‘Is that clear?’ said Brother Antor again, more forcefully this time.

  Junk looked him in the eye and shook his head. ‘No,’ he said. Brother Rard and Brother Hath gasped audibly. Clearly no one ever said no to Brother Antor.

  ‘We are the Order of the Room of the One True God, Pire,’ said Brother Antor through clenched teeth. ‘We are the Brotherhood of Pire. Defenders. Protectors. Avengers.’

  ‘Yeah, yeah. I got it,’ said Junk. ‘Brother Rard told us all that, but who are you to say who can and can’t go into the Room of Doors?’

  ‘We are the Order of the Room of the One True God, P—’

  Junk cut him off. ‘I know. I heard. But you don’t even know what the Room is. You’ve never been in it. I’ve been in it.’

  ‘Hanisiki,’ said Brother Hath from behind them. He bent his head in urgent prayer. Junk guessed ‘hanisiki’ meant something along the lines of ‘blasphemy’ or ‘lies’.

  ‘You may not enter the Room of Doors,’ growled Brother Antor. ‘It is not possible. It is a divine place. Only Walkers—’

  Junk cut him off again. ‘Only Walkers are permitted to enter. Envoys, right? Otherwise they’ll get their skin burned off their flesh and their flesh burned off their bones, et cetera, et cetera. Well, I’m not a Walker or an envoy or anything else. I’m just a kid from Murroughtoohy. I’m three million years away from home. You have any idea what that feels like? Of course you don’t.’ Junk was angry as hell right now. ‘Now I’m on a quest to find a murderer and I need the Room of Doors to help me. Brother Rard here says you have a key.’

  Brother Rard and Brother Hath both glanced automatically at the bronze box on the altar. Brother Antor growled at their stupidity.

  Junk took a step towards the altar. ‘So the key’s in there, huh?’

  Before he could take a second step, Brother Antor roared and pounced on him. He grabbed Junk and slammed him up against the wall, knocking the breath from his lungs.

  ‘For ten thousand years have we been the guardians of the Room of Doors and the key. In that time, many have tried to take it and all have failed. Their bones fill this mountain. If you try to enter the Room of the One True God, Pire, then we will hunt you down and destroy you. Take this message back to your captain: you travel with the coorratun, Otravinicus, which makes you our enemy. You have till sunset to leave Murias, then leave our shores, then leave our waters. I want you on the other side of the world.’

  ‘You can’t tell us where we can and can’t go,’ said Junk defiantly.

  Brother Antor’s nostrils flared. He dragged Junk roughly to the altar. There was a small door beneath, which he kicked open with his toe. Junk flinched. Inside was a furnace. A fire raged within. Brother Antor reached down to the base of the plinth and retrieved a metal rod about a metre in length. At one end was a small claw, which he thrust into the furnace.

  Junk glanced back at Brother Rard and Brother Hath. To his dismay, Brother Rard had his head bowed as if he couldn’t bear to watch what was about to happen. In contrast, Brother Hath was grinning sadistically.

  ‘Don’t!’ said Junk, trying to pull away from Brother Antor, but his grip was vice-like. ‘What are you doing?’

  Brother Antor turned and grabbed the front of Junk’s shirt. He ripped it open, exposing his chest.

  ‘You say I can’t tell you what to do, but I can and I am and you would do well to heed me.’ With that, he wrapped the end of his sleeve around the handle of the metal rod and drew it out of the fire. The tips of the claw were bright orange. ‘The only reason I am letting you live this day is because you are a child.’ And with that he pressed the red-hot claw into the flesh of Junk’s chest.

  Junk screamed like he had never screamed in his life. He felt the pain in every inch of his body. It spread out from his burning skin and travelled to the tips of his toes and the centre of his brain. The world around him flared into whiteness. He felt as if the bones in his legs had suddenly turned to liquid and they flopped uselessly beneath him. He sagged violently. The only thing keeping him upright was Brother Antor. He was a puppet master manipulating an impotent marionette. Finally Brother Antor pulled the rod away, letting it clatter to the stone floor, and Junk’s agony subsided. ‘I will not be so tolerant again,’ said Brother Antor. With that he hurled Junk halfway across the room, where he landed hard at Brother Rard’s feet. Brother Rard helped him to stand and half carried him towards the door.

  Junk pulled away from Brother Rard. He would walk himself. He felt angry and humiliated. The excruciating pain emanating from his chest pulsed out to the edges of his body. The room was spinning. He was sure he was about to vomit. His footsteps were shaky and faltering but he was determined not to stumble. Brother Antor’s arrogant certitude reminded him of the priests back home. Whatever they thought became the word of God, and no one was allowed to question it. He pulled his shirt together to cover up the wound. Brother Rard laid a gentle hand on his arm but Junk shook it off angrily.

  ‘Don’t cover it like that,’ said Brother Rard sympathetically. ‘The cloth will … adhere to the skin and it will not be easy to get off.’ Junk let his shirt flop open. Perspiration was pouring down his face and he concentrated on walking. He didn’t want to fall down. He wanted to get out of there as quickly as he could.

  They didn’t speak as they headed back to t
he huge front gate. Brother Hath was with them and he unlocked the gate. He shot Junk one last sneer as Junk hobbled out.

  Brother Rard escorted Junk to the basket and settled him inside. Brother Rard paused and looked as if he was about to say something but he didn’t. His shoulders sagged and he let the basket descend.

  On the way down, Junk let himself cry. He was brimming with rage. He stopped before he reached the bottom, where Garvan and Hundrig were waiting. Despite Brother Rard’s warning, he covered up the wound before he got out.

  ‘Are you OK?’ asked Garvan in English. Junk nodded. ‘What happened?’

  ‘I’ll tell you back at the ship,’ said Junk. They started walking, but Junk was finding it increasingly difficult. He was struggling to remain conscious, but soon lost the fight and crumpled to the ground. Garvan and Hundrig dashed to his side and saw the burn on his chest. They couldn’t find words between them so said nothing. Garvan gathered Junk up and carried him back to the ship.

  *

  Back on board the Casabia, Junk woke in bed to discover a clump of foul-smelling wet grass sitting on his chest. He reached up to remove it but a hand came out of the darkness and stopped him. It was Lasel.

  ‘No,’ she said, ‘it’s buchelous grass. It will help the wound. Go back to sleep.’ Junk did as he was told.

  *

  Junk slept for a few more hours and woke feeling better. His chest throbbed dully and was stained green by the buchelous grass but its restorative qualities were impressive. The burn had already started to scab over.

  He got up slowly and got dressed. He found his clothes washed and neatly folded at the end of his bed. His shirt had been repaired so that the rip was nearly impossible to see.

  He went up on deck and found Lasel, Garvan, Otravinicus, Cascér and the crew all together. They had been discussing what to do but hadn’t reached any sort of consensus. Otravinicus wanted to attack the monastery in revenge for what had happened to Junk. Though what the doctor really wanted was for Hundrig and his crew to attack. Otravinicus wasn’t planning on storming any monasteries himself. Hundrig, like all of them, was outraged by the torture Junk had experienced at the hands of the monks but he was not entertaining any talk of attack.