by Lucas Thorn
“They’re getting close,” Halvir called.
“Ain’t much further,” Maks gasped. He was clutching his leg even tighter and limping even more. But still kept the pace with a dogged will the elf grudgingly admired.
The trail was steep, jagging across the slope and leaving little room for mistake. If someone slipped here, they’d fall easily into the waiting arms of draug struggling to reach them from below.
More hoots bounced through the trees as draug began to converge.
When they finally made it to the cave, it smelled of animal piss and wet stone.
Saja winced as she saw it. “Are you sure about this?”
“I’m sure. Old Stern’s lived here for twenty-something years, the crazy old coot.”
He led the way down the throat of the cave, moving as fast as he could. Used his hand to guide himself until the way brightened thanks to the promise of light glowing selfish in the dark further ahead.
The elf followed close, half her attention still on the hoots of the draug beginning to reach the cave’s entrance. Some had begun to enter with tentative steps. Draug weren’t fond of buildings or caves. They preferred being outside.
Maks breathed hard. Every breath a forced drag as though he was was sucking air through a wet cloth. He wouldn’t last, she thought grimly. Couldn’t last. His leg was probably infected by the draug’s rancid teeth.
He’d die in the night. Or fall to delirium and take even longer.
And Saja and Halvir didn’t know enough of the island to try avoiding draug. Neither seemed capable of knowing what to do. Which in turn made the elf grunt as she felt a flash of irritation on she realising she was being swept up in something beyond her control. She felt as helpless as when she’d been flung into the sea and no number of knives could help her now.
The cave twisted sharply all of a sudden and they came to a room filled with light. A heavy round door blocked the cave, painted bright red and lit by two lanterns slung from the roof. Against the wall, a few empty crates were stacked neatly and a couple of sacks hung from a few nails stabbed into the face of the door.
Maks stumbled without warning and was unable to balance himself as he hit the door with his face. The heavy thump made Nysta wince. Falling, he reached out, hands snatching for anything which might stop him from falling. Tore free some of the sacks and as he twisted to the ground.
Saja pounded on the door, leaning over Maks’ unmoving body. “Hey! Let us in!”
The elf jerked her head toward the door as someone on the other side started working the heavy iron locks. “Relax,” the elf said. “He’ll let us in. Give us a good welcome, too. Breakfast. Maybe even second breakfast.”
“How do you know?”
She shrugged, twisting her lip into a sardonic curl. Nodded down to the sacks which covered the one-eyed raider’s upper body in a messy pile. “On account of this looks like a bag end.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
Maks was still breathing as they dragged him quickly inside, but Old Stern looked like he wouldn’t be breathing much longer himself.
He was deep into his seventies, with knotted joints and a face of dry leather. Leather which had been used as a pair of boots for too many years.
Dark brown eyes. Two lonely teeth. One chipped and black with rot. Beard which hadn’t been trimmed in years and was white but with a few precious streaks of dusty red which clung like an echo of youth he could no longer recall clearly.
Dressed in a long wool jerkin which might once have been pale blue. Dark pants with more patches than Nysta’s. Wore a loose cap which slid down the left side of his head and he constantly reached to push it firmly back in place.
Heavy eyebrows gave him a primal look. Deep carving lines on his forehead formed a natural scowl, so it was easy to see how he got his name.
As he helped Halvir carry the unconscious man inside, the elf held her breath and winced.
The animal piss, she thought, wasn’t animal piss.
It was Stern.
Saja shared a glance as she slammed the bolts of the door back in place. Knew exactly what the elf was thinking. Knew also she’d endure the stink rather than risk going back out into the cave which was now probably filling with draug.
Inside, Stern had carved a series of narrow rooms deeper into the cave. The main one, filled to bursting point with junk, served as an inn of sorts. A few benches propped against one wall. Mostly covered or surrounded by junk. Damaged pots, animal traps, empty clay urns, fisher nets and ship debris. Ropes. Tools of the land long lost to rust.
Hanging from the ceiling were the pelts and bones of beasts he’d trapped and hoped to sell to passing traders.
Dominating the room, a counter chiselled from a solid block of stone. Behind that, shelves dug deep into the cave walls were full of jars and pots. Most of their contents didn’t look edible. Some were frosted inside with mould. But amid the chaos and disorder, the elf noticed a few barrels which served to lift her spirits as her mouth anticipated something to drink which would help take the taste of the air from the back of her throat.
Provided it was still drinkable and she could find a cup.
At the far end of the narrow central room, a heavy fireplace squatted, small fire already lit and sending a cheery glow through the dimly lit and cluttered room. The fire also served as a cooking pit and entertained a heavy pot slung across the flames. Her stomach rolled as the smell of the pot’s contents teased nostrils still offended by Stern’s stink.
Halvir grunted loudly as he lifted hard, straining to place Maks on the table Stern had motioned him to. As the heavy form of the one-eyed raider was dropped, the first of the draug made it to the heavy door outside and hammered on it.
Stern gave the door a proud grin. “Ain’t nothin’ getting’ through that,” he said. Walked up to it and slapped it with a gnarled old hand. “Why, I reckon even Rule hisself couldn’t make it through. This here door’s godproof. Made it myself fifteen years ago. Had a hammer. A chisel. Bit of rope. That’s it. Didn’t need nothin’ else, because that’s some good wood right there. Look at it. Grizzly once hammered on it all winter and all he got for his trouble was some sore fuckin’ claws, I tell you. Don’t believe me? I got its claws ‘round here someplace.”
“You got anything to help fix his leg, old man?” Halvir wiped sweat from his brow with the back of his hand.
“I ain’t much of a healer,” Stern said doubtfully. Then inched around to get a closer look. “But I got me a few bits and bobs out back. A little knife. Some fuckin’ string. I don’t know. Somethin’. Now, hey, look at him bleed. That’s a lot of bleedin’, I tell you. They sure took a bite out of him. Draug, you say? Huh. Funny, that. They ain’t usually up here. Ain’t they usually swimmin’ out at sea or somethin’?”
“Yeah,” Saja said, slumping onto one of the benches. “It’s been a bad fucking day.”
“Where you from, girl? You ain’t a Temple lass. I woulda seen you before, and I ain’t. I got a eye for a pretty girl and always remember them, I do.” He grinned, showing his gums. “Don’t take no offence, mind. Even if I had it in me, I ain’t got it on me, if you get me. Just it ain’t often these old eyes catch a look at somethin’ worth lookin’ at. Have to say, you’re a skinny-lookin’ thing. Maybe you want somethin’ to eat? Pot over there, it’s got some chow in it. Now, I ain’t a cook or nothin’ fancy like that, but I like to think I can make a stew you ain’t ever gonna forget. It’s got secret ingredients in it.”
“Secret ingredients?”
“Yeah.” He tapped the side of his nose and whispered. “Real secret. Why, some feller came out here five years ago and tried to steal it from me, he did. He said, what’s in the pot, Stern? And I wouldn’t tell him. Tried to squeeze it from me, he did. Kicked me. Hit me. Put a dagger right up against my eye! Tried everything. But I wouldn’t tell him. Wouldn’t tell him shit, I said. And then I stuck him. With a fork. Right in the kidney. Bastard took a month to die. Just lay down there in the corne
r saying the same thing over and over. He said, Stern? Stern, tell me what’s in the pot, Stern. And I wouldn’t tell him. Not even when he was dyin’ on his last day and breathin’ his last breath. It’s a secret. And secrets ain’t made to be said. So don’t you be botherin’ to ask.”
“Old man?” Halvir was doubled over, still trying to catch his breath. He nodded toward Maks. Sweat dribbled down his cheeks. “His leg, remember?”
“Oh, yeah. I’ll get my things.” He made to turn away. Then turned back to Saja. Pointed at the pot. “Go on. Don’t be sitting there wastin’ away. Grab yourself somethin’ to eat. Bowls are near the fire. You can pay when you leave. Whatever’s fair is fine. Box over there on the counter to put your coin in.”
“Sounds generous,” the elf said, unable to hide the flash of suspicion. In her experience, generosity often came with a price she didn’t want to pay.
“Is it? Well, I guess maybe it’d sound that way to you, long-ear,” he said. “I mean, you look like a girl who’s had a hard life. All those knives on you. And you look like you know how to cut an old feller like me up real good with them. But what’s in that pot, it didn’t cost me nothin’ but some time to get. Mushrooms grow all over these parts. And the beastie which gave its life wouldn’t rest easy if I put a damn price on his remains now, would he? And I ain’t the type to want to be haunted by the ghost of a mad beastie. Got enough trouble with draug hammerin’ on my door.”
“Do you have beer?” Saja asked, first to head to the fire. “I see a few barrels over there. Please tell me that’s beer.”
“Beer, is it?” The old man gave a low cackle, heading at last toward a doorway leading to another room where he’d stowed his healing tools. “I’m sure I’ll have somethin’ to test your palate, girl. Oh, yes, I’m sure I will. Just take a seat over there somewhere. And mind the blind old feller sittin’ in the back. Try not to sit on him. He’s not a cushion. But he is a bit of a bastard, and he won’t mind me sayin’ so. Quiet one, though. You’ll be lucky to get two words from him. I’ll see to your drinks as soon as I’ve seen to this young feller’s leg.”
The elf’s eyes darted toward the corner. She hadn’t noticed him there.
A shapeless mass curled across one of the benches. Had mistaken him for more of the junk pressed into every available space.
Heavy woollen cowl drawn over his head, hiding his face from sight. Arms tucked away inside the folds of the flowing cloak and the only reason she recognised him as a man was the fact Stern had pointed him out. A staff tucked up into the crook of his neck and he leaned his cheek against it as though it was the only thing propping him up.
True to Stern’s words, the blind man said nothing as Saja squeezed close to scoop from the pot into one of the wooden bowls. If the blind man’s presence had surprised or bothered her, she didn’t show it.
Halvir was too concerned about Maks’ leg, so kept himself standing by the one-eyed raider’s moaning body. He also kept an eye on the heavy round door which coughed dust with every thump from the draug outside. Sometimes the big man flinched at the sound.
Alone, the elf stood in the centre of the room. Shoulder pressed against a stone pillar and thumb tucked up under the butt of A Flaw in the Glass as she studied the shapeless man hunched over his mug.
Something about him was wrong, but she couldn’t quite grasp what it was.
He didn’t move.
Didn’t even look to be breathing, though she caught a slight rise of his chest as Saja moved around him again in search of a place to sit. She decided on one, and cautiously moved a few empty crates aside so she could make room for herself. Set the bowl down and looked at it with a critical eye.
Poked it with her finger. Tasted. “Interesting,” she murmured. And began to eat noisily, chewing the ribbons of meat floating in thick soup. “Halvir, you should try this. Nysta, are you okay?”
The elf nodded. “Fine.”
She moved toward the fire herself, noting the slight shift of the hooded figure’s head as though he was listening to the air between them. Which is probably what he was doing, she figured.
The blind sometimes walked the alleys of Lostlight, as homeless as she’d been. The poor among them begged coin off passing strangers. A lot of the other kids she’d grown with had been intimidated by the blind beggars.
Almost afraid, as though they might lose their own sight if they got too close to them.
Because of this, they were treated like outsiders. Not quite hated. Mostly ignored.
But there was something different here. Something more alien.
Keeping herself angled toward him, she lifted a bowl with one hand and used the other to spoon stew into it. Admitted the smell wasn’t offensive, and chose a bench opposite the young woman. Close enough to keep the blind man in her sight. But not close enough he could reach out and touch her.
As she began to eat slowly, her violet eyes drifted often toward him.
Stern swept back into the room, a large tray in his hands.
Paused to glance at the hooded figure. “You alright down there, Lux?” And, when he received no answer, grunted. Dumped the contents of the tray on the bench beside Maks’ writhing form before scratching his head as he tried to figure out what he was doing. Aimed a quick look at the elf, perhaps sensing her tension. “You young ‘uns shouldn’t be too worried about Lux. He’s blinder than a fuckin’ bat with a thing around its eyes or something. Now. What to do here? Peel it back and clean it out, I reckon. What d’you think, young feller?”
Halvir winced as the old man held up a serrated-edge knife. “Looks more like you’re gonna cut his leg off with that.”
“Too much knife, you reckon?” He let out another dark cackle. Thumbed the blade and grinned wider. “Don’t be judgin’ my tools by their looks. I use this here darling to pick me splinters out. And I get lots of splinters. It’s all the trees, you see. Everywhere you go out is trees. Now, let’s start pickin’ him apart. Grab some rope from over there, will you? No, not there. In the bucket by your foot. That’s it. Now, tie him down. Real tight. Then you can hold his legs, too. We won’t want him moving or I’m likely to slip and nick an artery or somethin’. Then he’ll be well and truly dead, I tell you. Nothin’ I could do to stop him bleedin’ out then. In truth, he’s lucky he hasn’t bled out already…”
Saja looked up as the door shuddered, this time heavier than before.
Glanced at Nysta, who shrugged.
“Hey, Stern?” Saja lifted her voice. “You sure that door can hold?”
“Told you before,” he said, growling a little. “That there door could hold back Rule hisself. You’ll see. No draug’ll be getting’ in here. Now keep your voice down. I got to concentrate.”
He started sawing on Maks’ leg.
The big raider heaved against the bindings, but Halvir clamped his hands down and kept him from moving too much.
“You think there’s a back way out of here?” Saja asked softly.
“Doubt it,” Nysta said. “Reckon if they get through, we’re dead.”
“Shit.”
“Door looks fairly solid, though.”
“Yeah?” She shoved more stew into her mouth, chewing quickly as though expecting the draug to smash through any second. “I ain’t convinced. You saw Flowing Tears. They burned it down. What if they get smart and use fire here, too?”
“They ain’t usually that smart.”
“I know. And that’s what bothers me.”
It bothered the elf, too, but she just nodded and chose to eat while she could. Could feel the same kind of terrified anticipation as Saja, but didn’t want to make it worse by talking about it. She allowed the draug could punch through the door if they stayed interested long enough no matter what the old man thought.
Everything she knew about draug said they were impatient.
If they couldn’t get their kill straight away, they gave up and went in search of meat somewhere else.
And these draug were used to
the sea. They wouldn’t want to stay on land too long.
But there was still the Madman. The mysterious near-godlike entity the raiders of the Crossbones had by all accounts come to worship in a temple. A creature of the sea who seemed to hold the draug in his power. Who should be using those draug to pull the boats of Rule down to the seabed and consume their crews.
Only now the Madman was, for whatever reason, attacking Fnordic ships, too.
And worse, following them onto the islands.
The elf grunted. When someone was called the Madman, chances were they couldn’t be particularly sane anyway.
She glanced again at the cowled figure, who didn’t move. Then shook her head before asking the young raider; “You said this feller, the Madman, hunted Caspiellan ships.”
“Yeah. He keeps them off our backs. It’s kind of an agreement. We look after his temple, and he looks after us.” She chewed thoughtfully. “He’s mostly kept his word before.”
“Mostly?”
“Sure. Only times he hasn’t is when the accord is broken.”
“Accord?”
“Yeah. We choose someone to look after the temple, right? To keep carving the stone. And right now, that’s Ihan. Every day he works the stone and makes his sacrifice in blood.”
“Blood?” Nysta couldn’t hide the look of disgust. “You mean, you sacrifice people?”
“No, not like that. Only those who choose it. You can’t be forced. You have to choose it. And then you’re reborn as draug anyway. We can’t just sacrifice anyone. The Madman doesn’t like if you try to give someone else to him in your place. In the early days, it’s said some of the villages sacrificed slaves to him. But that pissed him off. If he wants you to serve him, he’ll come for you. Trying to make someone take your place is cowardly.” She kept talking while shovelling another mouthful of Stern’s stew. “Sure, I know how it sounds. But it’s how we keep the accord. It’s nothing personal.”
