Sea of Revenants (Nysta Book 6)

by Lucas Thorn

  Forced to dodge through the fog more than once, the elf’s ears seemed to fill with whispers when it touched her skin. Whispers with many voices. Voices in pain. Voices afraid. Hungry. Enraged. Voices pleading.

  Begging.

  Hating.

  Whispers of war and suffering. Of loss and love.

  Cackling mad laughter permeated them all, sometimes reduced to subdued giggling. But always there. Always amused.

  She shook her head, trying to clear the fog’s incessant chatter.

  Mother?

  Nysta stumbled as the word crawled into her skull on the tendrils of yellow fog. An old man’s voice. Afraid.

  Mother, is that you? Mother, they killed me. Killed me dead. I’m dead, Mother.

  She turned, confused. Vertigo swirled its acid spit inside her skull. It sounded like every word was being whispered inside her ear. Inside her brain.

  It moved inside her, its echo shaking her spine. Then another voice. Nasty and brittle.

  I wake.

  A shriek in the dark, like a knife plunging out of nowhere. The universe twisted and warped. Steel flashed. Blood sprayed. Spots of light popped on the edge of her vision.

  I wake!

  Shadows clawed through the light, smothering the streets with darkness so pure it looked dredged from the deepest corners of the night sky.

  “Nysta!”

  Jerked from her reverie, the elf looked around the mostly empty street. A few draug were shambling toward her. Lux and Rockjaw stood at the mouth of an alley, the ork’s red eyes burning with the fever of a man searching desperately.

  But it’d been the blind deathpriest who’d snapped at her, and he lifted his staff as she shook her head to clear the fog’s strange effects. “Run,” he called to her. “Run if you wish to keep your organs on the inside.”

  She ran, wiping her face with the back of her hand. Feeling sweat smear across her skin.

  Looking back, she saw two draug standing silently. Watching. Cold eyes expressionless.

  Pale shredded skin leaking seawater and thick black slime.

  They watched. Didn’t follow.

  But the glowing yellow fog did. It moved across the ground like a smoky wave, tasting her footsteps. Licking the drops of blood left from her savaged hand.

  Curling past the trash and over the crooked stone path.

  Its whispers growing too shallow for her to hear.

  “Shit.”

  “Come on,” Lux hissed. “You move slower than I do.”

  Rockjaw ignored them to lift his green head and roar; “Dalle! Nearne!”

  He shoved his way through lines of clothing which had been left out to dry. Kicked a bucket out of his path, sending its putrid contents splashing. Flexed hulking arms and squeezed giant hands into massive fists.

  Kept calling Dalle’s name. His shouts ringing through the streets.

  Seemed to find the house he’d been seeking and smashed the door open with his boot. Looked inside. “Dalle! You in here? Nearne?”

  No reply.

  The dark trembled within the small house, afraid of what was slowly creeping down the alley behind them as draug began to drift from the fog. Slow, but relentless.

  “They’re coming,” Nysta breathed.

  “She’s not here,” Rockjaw said. “Where the fuck is she? She’s supposed to be here.”

  “We ain’t got time to piss about. What’s the quickest way out of this town?”

  “I’m not leaving without her,” the ork snapped. He shouted again. “Dalle! Nearne!”

  Lux lashed out with his staff, smacking it across the ork’s shoulder. “Listen to her! We don’t have time. The Madman’s draug crawl over this doomed little town. They’re consuming everything that lives.”

  The ork rubbed at his shoulder. Perhaps only a coincidence, but the blind deathpriest had managed to strike just where the elf had once buried her blade in the ork’s arm. “And why does that scare you? You ain’t even alive.”

  “And neither will you be if you continue like this.”

  “Move!” The elf allowed no argument, pushing past them both as the draug behind them made it to the spilled bucket. Other draug were already hooting madly behind them, hunger calling them to the alley.

  “Fuck,” Rockjaw spat. Shouted with all his strength; “Dalle!”

  Nysta darted through the alley. Didn’t care if the others were with her or not. She didn’t owe Rockjaw anything. And Lux? Whatever purpose he had in mind for her, she doubted it was in her interests. Was also sure she’d slept through Maks’ bloody rampage through Stern’s waystation was also down to the blind deathpriest’s interference.

  At the time, she’d been tired. Exhausted. But not so tired she’d sleep through the kind of violence the one-eyed raider had inflicted.

  She’d come to Cold on the back of two real reasons, then. One, to find out what happened to Saja. While she felt no obligation to her, she still wanted to know if Maks had quietly slit her throat between the waystation and Cold, or whether she’d survived. Or even been a part of Maks’ betrayal.

  Second, she’d come to find out what Maks was betraying in the first place.

  However, the biggest reason she wasn’t right now running to the docks for a boat of her own, or back into the steep ridges of the island where she could easily evade the draug, was the knife she’d found in his boot.

  Its implications hurt more than the throbbing pain gushing up from her broken hand. And invited a stronger sense of urgency and obligation than the debt she might or might not owe the cunning deathpriest.

  She glanced back over her shoulder and was surprised to find Lux moving smoothly behind her.

  He seemed to skate across the ground, head low as though listening to the ground. The staff held in both hands, its tip probing gracefully across the path in front of him. The ork blasted out of the shadows behind him, hurrying to catch up. His face a mask of concern as his red eyes darted this way and that in search of the woman whose name he’d been calling.

  Grunting, the elf pushed herself faster.

  Whipped between two barrels and around a narrow corner in the alley. Saw a single draug squatting ahead. Fingers clawing at the torn belly of a woman. Sticky blood drooling off its hands.

  It looked up.

  Saw them.

  Opened its mouth to show rancid gums and rose slowly before hobbling toward them.

  A Flaw in the Glass was in her hand quicker than she could think. Quicker than the time between two heartbeats smashing in her chest.

  But then she was flung sideways to crash into the wall as the ork beat his way past to stampede toward the draug. His roar was bestial and frenzied as he lifted his massive arms and swung an axe which looked flimsy in his giant fist.

  The axe crunched into the top of the draug’s skull and the force of the hit was enough to drop it flat at the ork’s feet.

  He tore the axe free, mindless of the gore which spattered his face, and brought it down again.

  Again.

  Over and over until the draug was a quivering heap of jellied gore.

  And even then he looked like he wanted to keep chopping.

  Wrenching himself around, he whimpered in the back of his throat as he slowly approached the devastated body the draug had been chewing on. Knelt down. Reached out slowly to take the small head in his hand and gently turned it toward him.

  Red eyes burned as they searched the ruined face for sign of something he recognised.

  Then his heavy body sighed with a small shiver as he found nothing in the dead woman which resembled the woman he’d been searching for.

  “It ain’t her,” he said softly. “Thank the Dark Lord, it ain’t her.”

  Nysta rubbed her shoulder. Felt a flash of irritation as the pain from her hand slithered through the numb wall built by the dark shadows in her skin.

  “Next time you feel like running into the arms of draug, feller, watch who you’re fucking stepping over.”

  “I’m s
orry.” His voice a familiar whine. The same whine he’d possessed when she’d cut him in the Deadlands. The whine of a soul defeated by life. “I thought it was her. I couldn’t help it.”

  “There are more,” the blind deathpriest said. Though the ork was heaving hard and her own lungs were raw, Lux looked relaxed. Calm. Rested. Even his voice seemed more an observation than a warning. “They’re coming behind us. They smell blood and they like it.”

  “I have to find her,” the ork said, pleading. “I can’t lose them. Nearne’s just a kid. A kid! If the draug get her, they’ll tear her to pieces. I can’t let that happen. I just can’t. Please, deathpriest. Help me. I know you can help if you wanted to.”

  “I don’t have time for this,” Lux said. Papery lips rustling against dry teeth. “Have you any idea of the horror this Madman of the Crossbones could release? The draug are just the beginning. They’ll eat more than these islands if they are not stopped here and now.”

  Nysta turned her mind from the pair, ears catching a noise beyond the curling fog ahead. Clink of metal. A voice?

  She shook her head, trying to clear the sound. Was it just the Madman’s whispers?

  Or something else?

  Something more alive.

  “I let too many die once before.” Rockjaw’s voice was quiet. His green skin paled and he shot the blind deathpriest a sick look. “If I can’t save Dalle and Nearne, then fuck your world. Fuck it to the Shadowed Halls.”

  “Little minds,” Lux muttered. “Why is the world so full of little minds?”

  “You’re wrong about that,” the elf said, turning toward the yellow fog as a dozen men came stalking through the gloom. Dressed in simple grey wool tunics draped over dull steel mail. They carried a variety of axes and swords, each dripping gore. Some of it from draug. Some of it definitely more fresh. They walked with growing purpose as they caught sight of the mismatched trio. And instead of looking like they were there to help, they lifted weapons. Drew their lips back into grins. The kind which spoke of a need to shed blood. The elf met their grins with one of her own as she finished; “Reckon there’s more grey matter in this alley than you think.”

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Rockjaw struggled to understand why the men were slowly fanning out. Aimed himself at the reed-thin man in the centre.

  A man with a scrawny black beard plucking at his chin. Hawkish nose flattened at the base. Crooked where it’d been broken some time in his past. Violet eyes shimmering. Thin sword in each hand.

  Everything about him was thin, the elf thought.

  The ork rose to his full height and called; “What’s going on here, Lockie?”

  The thin man scowled, waving his men to keep moving. Like wolves in the dark. “Been looking for you, greenskin. You and the long-eared bitch both.”

  “What? I don’t get it. What the fuck are you on about?”

  “Nath sent word down. It’s time. Time to take the Crossbones back from your kind.” He nudged himself forward. Not too far ahead of his friends. He wasn’t brave enough for that. Or stupid. “And put an end to the unholy bastard who’s ruled these waters for too long now. We’re taking the temple, Rockjaw. And there ain’t nothing you can do to stop us now.”

  Rockjaw put his fists to his forehead.

  Understanding what was happening, but refusing to believe it.

  “Ah, shit, Lockie.” He sighed. “I thought we were friends. I looked out for you, remember? Helped you out against those Dragonclaw thugs when your mouth nearly got you killed on the docks. This is how you’re gonna pay me back? By trying to kill me?”

  “It ain’t personal,” Lockie muttered. Then spat on the ground between them. “But I know you ain’t the type to see things our way. It’s war now, Rockjaw. And Nath put the call out for you. He wants your head. Wants it bad. See, ten years ago, he lost his daughter in a raid. Couple of orks did for her. Weren’t much left of her to put in a box. So, for him, it is personal.”

  The elf looked over her shoulder. Found the blind deathpriest standing at her shoulder. He nodded slowly, perhaps sensing her attention. Said, under his breath; “We don’t have long. There are draug right behind us. Maybe as many as the men ahead of us. Pick a direction, Nysta. And don’t lose the bell.”

  She nodded slowly.

  Exhaled, letting the tension ease as she rolled her shoulders.

  She had one good arm.

  Two good legs.

  A forehead she could use to smash some noses if she had to. Teeth to bite.

  “Fuck it,” she growled.

  And, without waiting for the ork to continue his conversation, she dived toward the thin man. Who let out a shriek and danced away, grabbing hold of a taller man with hatchets in either hand. “Gene! Get ‘er, Gene!”

  Gene hadn’t waited, though. Had already lunged into the elf’s path, hatchets swinging.

  She swirled into his reach, slashing with A Flaw in the Glass and wrenching her head aside. Felt one hatchet roar past her ear. Sharp sting as it nicked the tip.

  She landed on all fours, glaring at him as hatred pulled tight through her guts. Spinning the ball of fear. Ice cystallised inside.

  “Get some rope, Lockie,” the big man called, noting her wounded hand and grinning broadly. “We’ll hang her right here!”

  “Figures you’d hope for a lynching,” she spat. Leapt on him even as Rockjaw charged. His roar of sorrow-drenched defiance rang against the walls and she felt the ground tremble as he ploughed into the men, swinging his hulking arms.

  But she couldn’t spare a look.

  Didn’t have time to watch him begin tearing them to pieces.

  Had time only to bring the enchanted blade screaming to block Gene’s efficient strikes while twisting her torso to avoid his second hatchet. Her damaged hand hung frustratingly useless, dark worms still knitting flesh.

  Blood spattered to the ground.

  Was soon joined by more as the hatchet sliced across her thigh. Not deep enough to cut muscle. But deep enough for her to stagger awkwardly.

  Looked up to see him looming above, both axes high. Made to drive A Flaw in the Glass straight into his guts, but was forced to scramble as a terrifying shriek blasted past on a ball of blinding green energy. It punched into his chest before exploding out through his back, the green missile taking Gene’s blood with it for about ten paces. Then it burst like a bubble, spitting green energy in all directions.

  Energy which hit like acid, gnawing through flesh and bone wherever it hit.

  Lockie caught a spray across his face and squealed, diving onto the ground and corkscrewing his body into a tangled knot of limbs as he scrubbed at his face to tear the fizzing energy away.

  Lux let out a dark cackle as he strode past where Nysta was frozen in place.

  Aimed a glance at her, blind eyes looking past her cheek as though he was seeing some part of her she didn’t know was there. “Are you coming?”

  The smell of magic made her flinch, but she nodded. Looked around to see Rockjaw, bleeding from a dozen cuts, standing in the middle of a small pile of bodies.

  “Bastards,” he wheezed. “Fucking bastards.”

  “Well, they certainly weren’t gentlemen,” the elf allowed.

  Then moved quickly as hoots taunted them from the shadows. The draug were coming.

  And, judging by the slap of bare feet, there were a lot of them hidden in the thickening gloom.

  Sheathing A Flaw in the Glass, she headed past Lux, aiming for the end of the alley and ducked out. As Lockie began to scream again, draug spilled into the street from the windows of nearby buildings. Their bodies moving like spiders who’d lost half their limbs.

  Crawling.

  Shambling.

  Shuffling.

  Hunting.

  A few more of Nath’s raiders in grey ran past, not stopping. Their heavy boots pounded dust and their frightened eyes were too filled with fear to notice her hovering just outside the alley’s tight-lipped mouth. Didn’t see the or
k towering over her shoulder. Or the blind deathpriest cocking his head as he nudged up beside her.

  All they saw was the path in front of them as they searched desperately for escape from the horror consuming the town. A horror they’d obviously underestimated.

  Several draug dropped from surrounding rooftops, sending the men scattering. Swords flashing, Nath’s raiders fought as best they could, but they were doomed the moment they’d stepped into the street.

  The elf watched from the shadows as the first man fell and was dragged, kicking and howling, back into the dusty street where a hooting draug popped the screaming man’s arm from its socket in a fountain of crimson gore.

  “Shit,” she said. Looked around. More draug, enveloped in the cloak of yellow fog.

  Everywhere, the undead roamed in pockets. Bringing death.

  “Grim’s teeth,” Rockjaw moaned, scrubbing his hair with his big green fingers. Like he wanted to pull his skull apart. “Even if she’s alive, I’ll never find her in this.”

  “We don’t have time to search,” Nysta said. A part of her reluctantly felt his anguish. If Talek had been here, she’d be tearing the town apart board by board until she found him.

  But Talek wasn’t here, and the ork’s problems were his own.

  “We need to get to the temple,” Lux said, already weary of telling them. “Now.”

  The ork scanned the chaos one more time, red eyes draining of hope as his gaze skipped the mutilated bodies and shredded flesh littering the street. He nodded.

  Heavily.

  “Sure,” he said. “Sure. It’s this way. We’ll have to run, though. We can fight a few of them, maybe. Break them up so they can’t chase us. But they’ll just put themselves together again and follow you like fucking ants on a sweetroll.”

  “We all know what draug can do,” Lux said, voice testy as he tapped his staff against his boot. “Just take us to the temple.”

  The ork led the way, weaving through narrow streets as he aimed them toward where the town climbed up the side of a steep slope. A slope whose ragged edge outlined against the sky and promised no easy path.