by S. L. Duncan
“Will they sail through that?” Gabe asked.
“It should burn off by the time the ferry is ready to depart,” Afarôt said, though his stare lingered on the fog and worry shadowed his face.
“I don’t know. Looks thick.”
“I agree,” Afarôt said, squinting as he surveyed the water. “Strangely so.”
“You said it would clear up,” Micah complained and looked at the clock above the ticket booth. “The ferry is late, too. And why isn’t anyone here? It’s bloody weird. If it’s bad on the other side of the water, you’d think people would be evacuating to this side.”
“Perhaps the earthquake has disrupted the interior worse than I thought,” Afarôt said, looking for any sign of a ferry.
“There have been two earthquakes. Not one. You don’t think anyone over there is freaked out by that?” Gabe asked.
“Aftershocks,” Micah said. “That’s probably what they think. It’s not like they know a demon is out there trying to warp reality, you know?”
Gabe felt the fear rising again. The mere thought of what was ahead stole his strength. He shook his head, trying to rid himself of the dark thoughts.
Micah walked over to the digital display and then looked at the clock on the ticket booth again. “Stupid bloody thing hasn’t moved an inch. The power still isn’t working.” Her attention turned to a separate set of docks a short distance from the larger ferry platform. A man was there, securing his fishing boat, which had torn part of the dock away with the sea surge.
“At least there’s someone. Ask him if he knows anything,” Micah said to Afarôt.
Afarôt raised his eyebrows.
Micah nodded in the direction of the small boat. “Go on, then.”
Afarôt smiled and approached the fisherman, shouting something in Turkish from the edge of the pier.
The fisherman froze at first and dropped the rope. He moved as if he was going to jump off the boat and then returned to the stern before shouting back. His arm was waving at the wall of fog as he returned to working on the small vessel.
Gabe watched him. The man didn’t seem comfortable untying knots and wrapping rope. As if he’d not been a fisherman for long.
“He says visibility is under a hundred feet. The ferry will not run until the weather clears. But the earthquakes have not affected the service.”
“He’s got a boat. Tell him we’ll pay him if he can take us,” Micah said. “Whatever he wants.”
Afarôt spoke again to him, but the fisherman waved him off.
“Offer him more money,” Gabe said. “If we can’t . . .”
“Wait,” Micah said, cutting him off. She walked toward the water. “Listen. Do you hear that sound?”
Gabe stood still and heard it. It was lower in pitch, like a humming somewhere in the distance but getting closer. Louder. The fisherman took note too. As did Afarôt. It was difficult to tell where the sound was coming from. It seemed to echo off the ticket booth and the surrounding buildings. Afarôt and Micah turned in every direction, trying to figure out the sound’s origin.
But the fisherman’s stare remained focused. Gabe followed the man’s line of sight. He was looking into the fog. When Gabe looked back at the man, he was suddenly scrambling to get off his boat, trying to untangle himself from the ropes, climbing over pieces of the dock.
Gabe turned back to the fog. The sun seemed to be trying to break through as a single point of light began to emerge. The humming was getting louder. He recognized a rhythm to it now. An oscillation. And then there was another sound—the hush of water being thrown off of a bow.
He barely had time to react. As he screamed for everyone to run, the nose of a ferry, like a skyscraper on its side, emerged from the fog, steaming at full speed. It cut through the pier, shattering wood and throwing concrete and debris into the air. The nose crushed inward and tore open, spilling cars and vehicles from its innards.
The ship broke through, tearing down the ticket building as they ran, carrying with it a surge of water and splintered wood that swept Gabe from his feet, washing him into the street.
An engine exploded beneath the vessel as the momentum carried the wreckage onto land, digging up concrete and breaking steel and glass. It listed, spilling more vehicles.
Being hit by the tidal wave felt like getting broadsided by a truck. Gabe’s chest was crushed with the weight of the water, air forced out, his lungs burning as water rushed down his throat. Hard objects carried by the wave beat him. As his head bounced off the curb, a dizzying pain set stars in his eyes. They glowed bright in his vision until giving way to the dark of unconsciousness.
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
Gabe’s eyelids fluttered to the ringing in his ears.
He heard water flowing all around him. Trickling by. Splashing, dripping. The echo of a drain swallowing the runoff.
Something sharp had lodged between his body and the ground. He attempted to roll over, but his stomach seized, and in a coughing fit, he expelled all the water from his lungs and gut.
He spit the remainder onto the street, the taste of salt, dirt, and bile lingering in his mouth.
Slowly, he found the strength to lift himself to his elbows, wiping his lips as he did. Where the ship ended and the earth began was impossible to tell. Beneath him was a sign for the ferry port, crumpled and twisted. Its sheet metal had cut his back. He felt a tickle of warmth against his cold, wet skin and twisted to see blood running steadily into the waist of his trousers.
His body ached, and his lungs burned. The coughing wouldn’t let up, and the urge to be sick returned.
Fog covered nearly everything, hiding most of the world except that which fell within a fifty-foot radius of where he lay. Nearby, the snapping sound of wood burning caught his attention, and Gabe turned to see a tree on fire, which he found amazing considering how wet everything was. A downed power line lay against the trunk, crackling with energy.
Gabe’s head felt covered in a fog of its own, the swelling of his crown growing beneath his skin. He rubbed his eyes, trying to clear his blurry vision.
Micah.
Gabe tried to say her name, but all that came out was a hoarse whisper. He coughed again, more water drooling out. More spit to the ground.
“Micah?” he said, his voice raspy, and then again, even louder.
“Afarôt! Over here!” Micah’s voice cut through the crackling flames, distant.
Gabe turned toward the water to see her running to him. He stood and then collapsed from the pain in his back.
“Oh, my God,” Micah said. Her hand went to her mouth as she looked Gabe over.
“Is it bad?” Gabe asked.
“Don’t look. Afarôt can fix this, no bother.”
Afarôt ran toward him, his feet splashing on the street. “Move,” he said to Micah as he pushed her from his way and immediately kneeled by Gabe. As it had in Axum, the prickling sensation of warmth flowed through Gabe’s veins. Ligaments reattached. Bones mended.
Unlike before, the glow grew on his skin, brighter and brighter. He watched as a look of concern grew across Afarôt’s face. The healer’s hands began to tremble, the light of his power blooming into a spectrum of colors. His eyes became wide, terror filling them. “I can’t . . .”
Gabe’s skin grew hot, especially the skin around his ring. “Afarôt, stop . . .”
Micah grabbed Afarôt and wrenched him back. The power released, detonating in the air above Gabe. Its concussion rolled out, throwing Micah and Afarôt onto the wet street.
The sensation faded, as did the light.
“What was that?” Micah asked.
Afarôt looked at his hands and then to the ring. “Solomon’s Heirloom,” he said. “It grows powerful. There is dark energy in this land.”
“I could feel it,” Gabe said. “Pulling in energy. And then your power grew. It made you stronger.”
“Yes. Repurposing dark energy. That is the ring’s gift. Did it work, though? Are you healed?” Afar
ôt asked. “The wound has closed.”
Gabe moved his leg and sat up. “I’m fine.” He felt the surge of strength in him, as if he’d been given adrenaline. His muscles were energized, and yet behind the strength, an uneasy feeling festered, reminding him that for everything the ring gave, there would be a cost. He nodded to the ruins of the ship. “What happened?”
“The ferry,” Micah said. “It just wouldn’t stop.”
A voice shouted in Turkish near the wreckage of the dock. Gabe turned to see the fisherman at the outer rim of fog, waving his hands and pointing toward the monstrous ferry, lying on its side. The ship’s hull was gutted like a rotting beached whale, spilling cars, trucks, and luggage onto the street. A shadow in the fog emerged from the breach.
For a moment, Gabe thought it was a passenger. “Look,” he said. “They may need your help. I’ll keep my distance this time.”
Afarôt pulled Gabe to his feet. As they walked toward the broken ferry, the fog lifted enough for them to see the entirety of the devastation. The fisherman yelled again and ran toward them, babbling something as he stormed past.
“That is a peculiar man,” Micah said.
“What’s he going on about?” Gabe asked.
Afarôt didn’t answer, studying the shadow in the fog.
It lumbered. Staggered.
“Is he hurt?” Micah asked.
“I believe so,” Afarôt said. “But not in a way we may help, I’m afraid.”
The silhouette seemed to take notice of them. It turned to face them, and in the fog, Gabe saw glowing red eyes. His blood ran cold. Afarôt lifted his hand, and a single burst of energy erupted from his palm and struck the shadow. With a howl, the body was destroyed.
“What are you doing?” Micah shouted. “They’re people.”
“Not anymore.”
Behind them, the fisherman screamed.
Gabe pointed toward the torn hull. “Look.” In the breach, he saw a dozen red eyes spark to life.
Micah pulled her sword off of her back. The blade ignited in flame. “What are they?”
“Demons. Body thieves,” Afarôt said. “Harvesters of corpses.”
Gabe remembered the monsters Septis wielded in Axum. Thirsty, hungry, like animals taking form from smoke. Yet these were not animals. They looked like people. The band around his finger warmed, and the fever faded in his skin, as if the ring knew more dark energy was near for the taking. Gabe felt an odd urge, an itch at the back of his mind that begged him to use the ring to bind the demons, to take in their darkness. In the center of the band, the engraved jewel seemed to brighten. He lifted his hand, staring into the pentalpha.
“No,” Micah said. She stepped to him, putting her warm hand on his, and lowered his arm. “Only if you absolutely have to, okay?”
From the fog, the first emerged into the open. It was a woman wearing a business suit. Her hair was tangled and hanging in her bloodless face. She limped because of a missing heel.
“They are the Damned,” Afarôt said. “A curse of one of the vials. Those who are of a darkened heart shall become the property of darkness.”
“What in bloody hell does that mean, Afarôt?” Micah said.
“They are possessed.”
Gabe watched as the woman’s head tilted, her eyes glowing like fire. Her arm lifted, hand pointing in their direction. She turned to the eyes still waiting in the belly of the ship. Her teeth chattered.
The woman charged, leading the pack.
“They are beyond saving,” Afarôt said. “We can only release them from their hell.” A bolt of bluish-white energy erupted from his hand and struck the woman. She disappeared in a burst of light and dust.
More demons streamed from the ferry and met Afarôt’s power. Micah ran forward, her sword blazing as she buried it in a man nearly at Afarôt’s back. Impaled on the sword, the red eyes, along with the rest of the body, disintegrated into a cloud of embers.
Micah’s face brightened. “Did you bloody see that?” she said to Gabe. “Amazing!”
The urge grew as a voice in the back of his mind begged him to bind the rest of the demons to the ring. Just once, it seemed to say.
Gabe fought it back and opened his other hand toward the two demons closing in on Micah. He let go of the feeling inside, and a column of that light shot out, taking with it all his strength. The ground shook as the energy found its mark, reducing the targets to a cloud of ash.
He staggered, finding just enough strength to stay on his feet.
Afarôt and Micah stopped and looked at him.
“Fortitudo Dei, indeed,” Afarôt said.
Micah looked into the fog covering the Marmara. “We’ll need a new way across.”
Something was changing in her voice. Gabe had heard it before, but seeing her confidence with the sword in her hand, surveying their situation, convinced him. She was finding her place as a leader, a commander.
There was a cry by the docks. The fisherman fell to his knees, his hands clasped together, and began to speak to the sky as if begging.
Gabe said, “He might be able to help.”
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
Once cleared of debris, the fisherman’s boat looked mostly seaworthy, though, admittedly, Gabe didn’t know much about boats other than that they floated. On water. It was small—an open-air, center-console vessel not longer than thirty feet—and had survived the crash with little damage.
But the fisherman looked motivated to take them across to the far shore. Fear will do that, Gabe thought. The man looked a mess, as if he felt as bad as Gabe did, and he didn’t seem comfortable captaining the boat. Gabe was beginning to wonder if it was even his at all. In the end, Afarôt had to pay him money before they were allowed to board. Money will motivate, too.
Gabe moved to the bow, and Micah took a seat beside him. She moaned in complaint and held her hands up as if she’d touched something disgusting. Everything was wet, and nets were strewn across the floor, creating a tangled obstacle course.
“It smells,” she whispered. “Like fish.”
“You’re worried about the stink? Seriously?”
She hit him on the shoulder, her knuckles sharp. “I’m not worried. It’s just gross.”
In the cockpit, Afarôt was speaking to the fisherman. Afarôt pointed to the dense fog, apparently explaining where they needed to go, but the fisherman kept shaking his head. The more money Afarôt pulled from his pocket, the more agreeable the man seemed to become.
“What do you make of him?” Micah whispered.
“He’s scared of us. Of whatever those things were in the ferry. But not scared enough to miss an opportunity to fill his pockets. And I have a feeling this isn’t even his boat.”
“Yeah. He’s a bit of a creeper.” Micah took a hard look at Gabe. “That thing you did. Was that the ring?”
“I don’t know. The feeling inside is different here. I can sense the dark energy, and the ring turns it into light, kind of like a solar panel or something, forcing it through me. Like I’m the battery it’s charging. You know?”
“How do you feel?”
“Up and down. Great. And then like I’m rotting from the inside. I just want to get to my dad.”
Micah brushed her hair from her face, letting the wind take it around her head. “I’m worried about you. You look like you haven’t slept in years. I’m sorry for Joseph, and I’m sorry—”
“For what? You didn’t take him.”
“You don’t know what I was going to say.”
“You’re not sorry for my father?”
“No. Yes. I mean, I’m sorry he’s missing, but that’s not what I’m talking about.”
“What, then?”
“I’m sorry for . . . I don’t know. For everything between us.” She looked horribly uncomfortable. “The you-and-me thing. I used you, because it made me not think about stuff. It hurt you. But you should know that it hurt me, too.” She looked sad, her eyes imploring him to let her off the hook.
“It’s nothing to do with what I want, you know? It’s just the timing.”
Gabe burst out laughing. “Timing? I have a demon ring on my finger that, by the looks of it and by the feel of it, is killing me. I’m not sure there would ever be a good time.”
“You mean so much to me,” Micah said. “I just don’t want to lose that.”
“Might not be up to you.” He coughed, tasting a familiar metallic saltiness in the back of his throat.
Afarôt stumbled over the nets as he walked to the bow. The engines cranked, and the boat lurched backward, pulling the vessel away from the shore. “He’ll take us,” he said and sat down between Gabe and Micah.
The interruption shook Micah free of her thoughts, and she turned her head to the Marmara.
Afarôt leaned into Gabe. “Did I miss something?”
“No,” Gabe said. “We’re just ready to go.”
“Well, we are going. At last.”
Gabe leaned over the side of the rail, his body shielding him from the others. He spit—red—and coughed again. The skin around the ring had grown dark, as if an infection had set in. He realized it hadn’t itched in a while. His finger felt numb when he touched it. Little veins, like rivers of green and yellow, branched into his skin. Gabe wiped away some of the dirt. Under the filth, he could see just how far the veins ran. They traveled up his arm, into his shoulder.
After several tries at the ignition, the fisherman got the boat to sputter and pull away from the dock. Floating debris scratched and knocked the hull and was pushed out of the way as the boat maneuvered into the deeper water, its bow pointed through the mist, toward the thicker fog. It looked unnatural, a cloud rising like a gray wall from the water, structured and almost solid.
Once the small vessel was clear of the wreckage, the engine revved again, and a white wake trailed as they moved away from shore. The fisherman said something from behind the wheel, but Gabe couldn’t hear his words over the sounds of the engine and the wind.
“What is he saying?” he asked Afarôt.
