Sea of Revenants (Nysta Book 6)

by Lucas Thorn

  Nor hear the raider’s scream as Nemo, face no longer his own, carved the raider’s heart from his body and tossed it with a careless gesture onto the altar.

  He turned to another. This time the raider knelt. Closed his eyes. Shouted for the Madman to accept his body.

  Didn’t scream when Nemo took his heart.

  The yellow fog washed across the fresh corpses, hunting with tidal fingers. Bubbling with silent smoky laughter.

  The remaining draug were still. Sensing a change, their dark eyes fastened on the Madman whose brain was being pulled from his skull by each vicious plunge of the elf’s venomous blade. Gobbets of him were sent flying in gruesome arcs and his hands had ceased to grab for her. Now hung listless by his sides. Fingers twitching.

  The kraken also lapsed into lassitude. Its tentacles no longer thrashed and whipped. They slithered instead, like snakes. Touching the bodies again. One at a time. Oblivious to the elf’s ongoing attack.

  “Nysta!”

  Nemo threw another heart on the altar and the Madman’s body gave a tremendous heave before collapsing completely beneath her. She followed him down, still carried on a wave of hatred which seemed to have no end.

  “Nysta!”

  She hadn’t killed him. Couldn’t kill him. He was a twisted thing which defied death. The Shadowed Halls wouldn’t take him. No matter how much of him she dug out of his head, he’d never die.

  Another heart thudded onto the altar and Nemo wiped a blood-wet fist across his face. Smearing it with the blood of willing raiders. Crossbone raiders who unconsciously knew what was needed to subdue their god.

  Raiders who lay on the cold stone, lifeless and waiting.

  Waiting for the kraken’s tentacles to touch their chest. To tap the hole where their hearts had been.

  And wake them from the slumber death had delivered.

  Wake them as draug.

  When they rose, they looked around, dead eyes drifting.

  They turned to the Madman. Watched as Nysta lost all strength and hunched over his body and shook with emotions which stormed inside her heart. Slack behind him, the kraken shivered. Its heavy eye was open and the pupil slowly moved. Searching.

  Its tentacles reached.

  Reached not for the elf or her companions standing stunned at the top of the stairs. Nor to Nemo, who dropped another heart on the altar and stood before it. Mouthing words in a tongue none around him understood. Words spoken in a tone of gravel and heartache.

  The old raider’s eyes were the eyes of a ghost. A man whose soul had been drained into the knife in his fist. Replaced with a single solitary need to devote himself to his god. To his work. He bowed his head.

  Closed his eyes.

  Lifted his withered old arms to the Madman, and waited.

  The kraken sucked a breath. A huge breath which inflated the bladders inside its rotting head. Then it let loose a long keening cry which was at odds to the shrieks and screams which had filled the temple only moments before.

  It was an animal’s cry. Of confusion and loss.

  The great eye turned and its heavy tentacles clawed at the temple ground as it dragged itself away from the altar. Away from the destruction. Pulled by its own instinct to return to the sea.

  Home.

  The yellow fog suckled against its back, pulling in close and drifting across the elf as she dropped weakly from Ozric’s chest. She watched with a gaze cored of emotion as the kraken now took the Vampire Lord as its burden. An unmoving and quiet burden.

  A burden which couldn’t die, but which would sleep.

  With the hearts still warm on the altar and draug moving softly in his wake, Ozric slept. Slept and dreamed broken dreams which curled and whispered in the obliterated remains of his skull.

  The long dragging movements of the kraken slowly quickened as it was able to reach the vast pillars and wrap its arms around them, hauling itself with more confidence.

  It cried out again. Almost birdlike.

  And the elf closed her eyes, listening to the sweeping movement of the creature’s vast body across the stone. The padding of draug shuffling with sombre quiet behind.

  And the weeping of Nearne who pressed hard against Rockjaw. The ork breathed deep, standing with his weight mostly on one leg thanks to a gaping hole in the other where the draug had managed to tear into the muscle of his thigh.

  But no sound came from Lux.

  The deathpriest simply leaned on his staff, eyes blind to the actions of those around him. Blind also to the consequences. A cunning smile on his face as Nemo slowly lowered his hands.

  “I don’t understand,” Rockjaw said at last. “Why did he stop? Did she kill him?”

  “Nothing can kill him,” Lux rasped. “He is beyond death. If even a drop of his blood remains, he will live. But he can be driven back to his dreams. There is always a priest in this temple. Always one who will deliver the blood he requires. The kraken is a simple creature. In the north, it spends its life building beneath the sea. Huge castles woven with rock and corals. There, they protect their treasures like the dragons of old. Their homes are complete only when they die. The first priest didn’t know why he built this place. But he built it. And continues to build it. Instinct, Rockjaw. Instincts must be satisfied in one form or another. Ozric wants blood. The kraken wants a home. For now, they are sated.”

  “And what about him, deathpriest?” The big ork looked to where Nemo stood silent and like a stone statue surveying the shattered army of warriors and the battered ground. “What about what he wants?”

  Lux sneered. Waved an arm to the few raiders left standing. “They live to serve their god. And today, they served.”

  “That thing wasn’t the monster here,” Rockjaw scowled. “The monster was you. You caused this. I don’t know how, but you did.”

  “I caused this? You fool. Ask her who caused this.” He aimed his cheek at Nearne. “She knows. They came here thinking to take the Crossbones for themselves. They’ve been coming here for years, seeding it with discontent. They tried to take the knife from Ihan, though it may have been better if they had. Instead, the fool locked himself inside and the knife could not be passed. It had to be passed on his death! The longer it was delayed, the more the Madman woke. He must not wake. Surely you can see why. Even I couldn’t hope to destroy him. The more who die at his hands, the more he can raise. Armies of draug would sweep the lands. Even with a weapon made to kill Vampire Lords, Nysta couldn’t kill him. And you can see how hard she fucking tried. She could only distract him. Delay him. While Nemo here did what had to be done. And he won’t be complaining. He has no regrets. Do you, Nemo?”

  The old raider turned blankly toward them, his eyes misted and grey. “The stone must be carved,” he said.

  “Yes,” Lux said. Pulled the cowl back over his dessicated head and let his mouth curl into a cruel line. “It must. So, why don’t you be a good little servant and go and carve it?”

  “You’re a bastard,” Rockjaw growled.

  “I’m what I need to be.”

  Nysta slowly prised herself from the cold stone floor and scanned the courtyard. Where the army of statues had stood, now there was rubble. Dust and shards of rock. Among that, bodies too torn to be reanimated as draug, and draug too broken to reform. Entrails curled in crevices.

  Blood. So much blood.

  She lifted her knees and lay her forearms across. Watched as a glittering shard of sun nursed the edge of the temple’s peak in front of her and tried to coax a coherent thought from her brain. The heat of her rage had been wrenched away. There was no sense of mourning for the lives which had been lost. No pity for those who’d survived.

  Just the quiet taste of peacefulness which came from knowing she’d survived another day.

  Nearne dropped lightly down beside her. Looking at the hand which had once held Queen of Hearts. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I tied it as best as I could.”

  “Don’t sweat it, kid,” the elf said. “You did fine.
Ain’t nothing was going to keep it tied to my fist in the end. Anyway, it got where it needed to be.”

  The young girl held out The Ugly. “I found this. I know you only borrowed it to her. She wouldn’t want you to lose it. I can put it back for you if you want.”

  “Obliged.” But she made no move to take the knife. Not yet. She was too tired. “What’ll you do now, Nearne?”

  “I’m going to Dragonclaw.” Said firmly. “And I’ll be a trader, like Mija wanted. But I’m going to find the others. Others like me. Those of us who didn’t want to be what we are. Who didn’t want to give their ears to Rule. I’ll find them, Nysta. No matter what it takes, I’ll find them. There’s lots of us, I know it. I’ll help them escape. I’ll help them start again. It won’t be easy and I don’t even know where to begin. But they trained me, and I’ll use that training against them. I’ll find a way.”

  Turning, she studied the girl’s face, noting the look of determination. The set of her jaw. And realised the girl meant every word.

  So young, and ready to battle with Rule.

  Ready to fight a long and taxing war.

  The elf felt a pang of jealousy which slid through her heart like a knife.

  “Wish I had your certainty,” the elf said, unable to raise her voice above a whisper.

  “Sorry?” Nearne gave a start, pulling herself out of her silent planning. She was already thinking about how to get to Dragonclaw. How to build a covert empire. Dreams of a child determined to make those dreams the life of a woman.

  Nysta’s grin was crooked. “Forget it, kid. It weren’t important. You do what you’ve got to do. Ain’t nothing better in the world than knowing what you are. And what you need to do. Luck to you.”

  “Thank you.” The young girl raised a hand, almost reaching for the elf’s sleeve. “You can come with me, you know. You could help a lot. You don’t have to kill anyone. You can help to save people instead.”

  “I ain’t one for building, Nearne.” She nodded to the gruesome remains of the dead. “This is about all I’m good for. Destroying shit. It’s all I know.”

  “That can’t be true.”

  “Yeah.” She looked down as her thumb twitched. Felt a flicker of satisfaction at that, though she couldn’t consciously move it on her own yet. But she would. Where Nearne healed her soul, the elf could only heal her body. “It is. Like you, it’s what I was trained for. Maybe it’s more than that. Maybe it’s all I’ve ever been. Ain’t ever felt like I was any different before this.”

  “That sounds sad.”

  “A person can change,” Rockjaw put in, heavy voice gruff and brimming with an uncertainty of his own. He squatted down beside Nearne, laying his heady hand on her shoulder but keeping his red eyes firmly fixed on the elf. “Trust me. They can.”

  “No one really changes,” she said, returning his gaze with a laconic grin. “They just get better at hiding from themself.”

  “I don’t believe that.”

  “I know,” she said, wincing as she rolled onto her side to climb unsteadily to her knees. Her eyes drifted to where Nemo was shuffling through the debris, his eyes glazed and his fist tight around the strange alien blade he carried. “But that’s how it is. I didn’t make the world. Just trying to survive in it is all.”

  “Wait!” Nearne reached, but her fingers grasped air as the elf avoided the touch with a grimace. “Nysta, please. Where are you going?”

  “Away from here,” the elf said. “But I promised to see you to Dragonclaw. I’ll do that. But I don’t want to hang around this shithole so I’ll head down to the docks. You get there when you’re ready. When you’ve done what you need to do with Mija. I’ll wait. And don’t you be listening to the ork there. The world ain’t always a friendly place, so you keep your eyes open. Keep your knife sharp. You’ll need it. Especially if you aim to point it at your own kind.”

  A shiver of determination slithered through the young girl, and her eyes flashed bright as she nodded. “I’ll make them pay for what they took from me.”

  “Ain’t no one can take what you don’t give. When you die, kid, you’ll stand in front of the Shadowed Halls like the rest of us. You’ll have your knife and, hopefully, it’ll be wet with the blood of your enemies. And when the Old Skeleton looks at you, he’ll see your ears for the scars they are. And that’ll please him. He likes scars. It’ll get you a good seat.”

  “I don’t need a better seat. I just want to be with Mija.”

  “Then work for it. Fuck what Rockjaw says. Get out there and work for it.”

  Despite the ork’s growl, Nearne’s fist tightened around My Ears. “I will.”

  The elf’s smile remained cruel as she turned from them to head toward the stairs and hopefully into cleaner air. Her body felt riddled with pain and a wave of dizziness washed through her as bloodloss threatened to send her back to the ground. But she endured the discomfort and forced herself to keep walking.

  Keep moving. To stop, she knew, was to die.

  The surviving raiders loped ahead of her, hardly daring to speak. Numbed by the brutal violence. Bereft of emotion. They’d grieve for lost friends later. Weep for lost family. And drink for lost hope.

  Lux, face shaded beneath his cowl, didn’t speak. Turned his cheek toward her, but seemed content to let her leave without offering either thanks or goodbye.

  And she offered him nothing in return.

  Because she had nothing. And wanted nothing from him. All she could feel was the need to get away. To find a ship eager to leave the Crossbones behind for good.

  Halfway up the stairs, she heard the ork call out; “You want to work on that bleak view of things you got, Nysta. You keep carrying it, it’ll break you. You take my word for it. I’ve seen some tough fellers die real quick because they couldn’t hold it any longer. They broke inside. And I figure even for an elf, you don’t look old enough to carry that kind of bitterness for long. You’ll die too young. You ain’t stupid. You know I’m right.”

  The elf paused. Turned her head slightly toward the ork. “We’re all broken. And I reckon you’re right. You either carry your weight, or be crushed by it. Might like to think about that yourself. For me, I plan on following the Madman’s lead.”

  “What?” The ork’s face reflected his horror. “You’re going to try becoming draug?”

  “No, feller.” Her lip curled tightly toward the scar on her cheek. “Plan on living long enough to become a great old one.”

  EPILOGUE

  Lux sat on the edge of a wide flat stone as big as a large bed. Cross-legged with his staff laying across his thighs. Head bowed and unmoving.

  A few feet away, Nemo worked the stone with chisel and hammer.

  The old raider muttered to himself as he worked, in a tongue not spoken since the Night Age. The words were short, yet eloquent. Even in his rough mouth, sentences were strung together like glittering necklaces of gold and pearl.

  A beautiful language.

  But cold, Lux thought. As cold as the icy wastes which had covered the land when it was last spoken.

  There were times when the old man was lucid. When the strange alien tongue was driven from his lips and he spoke with his own voice. A voice bewildered and afraid as he spoke of things he couldn’t quite understand.

  Things which left him horrified and weeping as he desperately tried to claw himself from the soft whisper of his nightmares. Tried to escape the consequences of holding the Madman’s knife.

  In those moments, the deathpriest did his best to calm the raider. Sometimes with promises. Other times with threats. Anything which worked to still Nemo’s mind and focus him on questions Lux wanted answered.

  Needed answered.

  But these times were rare and the blind deathpriest was thinking they would become rarer still. He’d begun to suspect that Nysta’s destruction of the Vampire Lord’s head had something to do with it.

  As if the clarity afforded some of the Temple’s priests in the past had depended on th
e corrupted Vampire Lord’s health.

  On reflection, it might have been a mistake to have brought her here in the first place. Too much could have gone wrong. It had been a dreadful risk.

  His withered lips formed a quiet smile. It had been worth it, though. Worth it just to feel the power inside her. The terrible and broken power. A malformed shard from which he could envision a perfectly-cut diamond.

  Vuk had been right about her in many ways.

  But so very wrong in others.

  She was dangerous. Very dangerous. But was she too dangerous?

  No. Just enough. Enough he had worked to limit the effects of the call of the Madman’s knife on her. It had been close. He’s seen her twitching as its song reached into her skull. Begged her to reach for it.

  If she’d been too dangerous, he would have let her take it.

  Let her spend the rest of her life chipping away at rock. All thoughts scooped from her mind and dumped at her feet like sludge.

  Yes, she was just the right amount of dangerous and no more.

  “The Mother,” Nemo said suddenly, voice ringing through the little quarry. “She flew on wings of fire. Skin of shadow. Eyes of burning blood.”

  “Tell me, Nemo. Quickly. Before you leave again. Tell me about her. About the Mother.” Lux lifted his head, snatching at the old man’s fleeting lucidity. If he could have worked moisture into his mouth, he’d be drooling as his blind eyes widened in desperation. “Tell me everything.”

  Author’s Notes

  Thank you for reading the Nysta series. I hope you’ve enjoyed the series so far.

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