Ascending Shadows (The Age of Dawn Book 6)

by Everet Martins

  She had to be around here. Something reached into his mouth, tore at his cheeks. Fingers, he realized. Something grabbed his cock and squeezed. He stifled a yelp and uncurled her fingers from around him. At the same time, he resisted the urge to bite down and jerked her fingers from his mouth, grabbing her wrist. He traced his fingers along her arm, looped it under her armpit. She grabbed his bicep, and he started furiously kicking for the surface. The moon was his beacon, a shimmering orb glowing at least twenty feet above.

  He kicked and kicked, paddled with his free hand, Senka as helpful as a stone. His fingers and toes were going numb from the frigid water, sliding over his body and stealing all of his warmth. The moon grew closer, and his lungs started to scream for air. He reached the surface and sucked in a breath, dragging Senka up after him. She spluttered on water, coughed and choked. She released his arm and grasped his hand.

  She started to sink, but he held her up. “Th-thank you, Isa,” she coughed.

  Isa watched as the Sea Croc’s tail struck the Warwick and let out a croak, unable to make words. A roar split the air like a thousand thunderclaps. Planks and shattered bits of the Warwick surged into the air as it split down the middle. Water engulfed them, their hands latched together in a death-grip.

  “Stay under!” he screamed, dragged her down a few feet while the falling debris rained down around them. A few seconds later, he brought them up, the sea littered with shattered timbers, split sacks, broken barrels, and glittering glass. The water rolled with great waves, carrying them up and down between crests and troughs.

  “There,” he said. Isa and Senka both reached for an intact section of planks bound with a jagged strip of steel at the ends, big enough to serve as a makeshift raft.

  Senka dragged herself on top of it, gasping for air and smiling with relief. “What are we going to do?” she murmured, and fished a hand in her pocket, her smile vanishing. “What am I going to do? No, no. I lost my Angel’s Moss. I lost it!” She hammered her hand on the wood. “No!” She reached into her other pocket, then upturned them both. “Gone,” she said with defeat, staring down. “It’s gone.”

  “Senka. What’s wrong?” Isa peered around her head, inspecting for wounds. “Are you injured? Was your head struck?” He dragged himself onto the planks, icy rivulets of water streaming down his head and back, the taste of blood filling his mouth. He had apparently bit down on the insides of his cheeks, flesh tattered at the sides. His legs gave a sigh of relief, not realizing how hard he’d been working by supporting Senka. There was enough room for at least five bodies stretched out. It was a solid section as far as broken boats went.

  “No, no. It’s just…” She cut off, her breath catching as she shook her head. “What am I going to do?” she whispered.

  The burned-skinned sailor stared at them, his chest resting on a section of planks, eyes unfocused. “Hey!” Isa called and waved. “You there! You alright?”

  The sailor blinked and his neck twitched. The waves rolled and turned the raft around to show his backside. The lower half of his torso was missing. Blood spurted from his guts, his spine hanging out like a jagged tooth, offal and strings of flesh spilling out from his ruined body.

  Isa started to vomit, felt it pushing up his throat but forced himself to swallow it down, knew it might be a long time before they ate again. Senka turned her head and looked, stared at him with shaking eyes. “What are we going to do, Isa?”

  “Let’s gather what we can before it all sinks.” He reached out and snatched a closed sack, hoping it had something in it besides spices. They grabbed what they could, managing to snatch a few barrels of water and a few more sacks before they sank. They worked together to hoist them onto the raft, pushing their newfound sundries towards the middle.

  A half-filled bottle of whiskey floated by and Isa grabbed it. “The Dragon favors us.” He grinned at Senka, her eyes wide with disbelief.

  “Is that wise? Doesn’t alcohol purge you of water?”

  “Don’t worry, Senka. With all these supplies, we’ll survive. For a few days at least.”

  A dark severed arm swirled past them with a hunk of bone protruding from the elbow. They shared grim glances. The sea’s angry waves started to settle. Isa watched as half of the boat gurgled out the last of its air as it was swallowed by the sea, the other half soon following. “See anyone else?” he asked, squinting at the debris and trying to discern men from cargo.

  “I…” Senka looked up from her quivering hands and started to search in earnest. “No, don’t see anyone.” She stood on the raft, her knees bent for balance.

  Isa blew out a long breath. “They’re leaving.” He pointed. The back of the Sea Croc was in the far distance now, briefly rolling up and out of the water like an illusory mountain. At this distance, they almost looked like small islands. “Think they’ll come back for us?” Isa asked. They slipped back into the sea as if never there.

  Senka shook her head. “We’re nothing to them, I hope. Think they got what they wanted with the Kraken.”

  “Yeah.” He nodded, a shiver coursing through his body as his teeth started to chatter. “We-we should look for others.”

  “Is anyone out there?” Senka shouted.

  “Come to us if you can hear us!” Isa joined her in the shouting and waved his arms.

  “Derwood? Juzo? Sailors? Anyone!” Senka yelled. “The crew, I never got to know their names, and now they’re gone.” She sniffed, meeting his eyes. “Damn you!” She roared where the Sea Crocs had departed, her voice cracking with the effort.

  Isa bit his cheeks again, new blood filling his mouth with its iron tang. The sounds of splashing reached his ears. He turned towards it and saw a white head bob out of the water, gasping for air, a red eye gleaming. “Juzo!” he yelled. “Stay here, I have him,” he barked at Senka and dove in.

  He paddled out to him at least twenty yards away and hooked his arms under his from the back. “I have you,” he said, chest working.

  “Sorry, something’s not right with my arm. Can’t swim right,” Juzo said sheepishly and glanced around at him. “Don’t know what’s wrong with it.” He gave a wan smile with his carnivore’s teeth, and Isa thought that if he had to drown the man, he would.

  Isa started towing him back to the raft. “Don’t worry, we’ll look at it. Help me by kicking.” They reached the raft and Senka helped by dragging them aboard. Juzo groaned as he was brought on.

  “Oh, Juzo, your arm.” Senka clasped her hand over her mouth. “Help me splint it, Isa.” She knelt at their piled sundries in the middle and produced a few strips of broken wood.

  He shook himself off and tried to slough off some of the cold water, wiped it from his eyes and then saw it. Juzo’s arm was twisted around the wrong way at his elbow, flopping out to the side, a bone protruding from under the skin.

  Juzo waved them away with his good arm. “Not a bother, will heal on its own. Been through far worse.”

  “That’s right. Your body self-heals? Is that right?” Isa asked. “A benefit of—”

  “Yes, thanks.” Juzo nodded with labored breaths. “Any others?”

  “Haven’t seen any yet,” Senka said with a shiver. “Sure you don’t want it at least splinted?”

  Juzo half-smiled. “Alright, I suppose it will help it heal properly.” He scooted over to her on his bottom, and she knelt and started securing his arm with the wood and a strip of cloth. Isa watched her hands methodically working, jet eyes focused on the task.

  “I’ll keep searching,” Isa said. Senka had to reset his arm with a grisly pop before securing it in place. Isa spent the better part of an hour screaming “hey” until his voice was a rasp. They pulled other items from the water when the opportunity presented itself. They acquired two spears stuck in a section of wood, some netting, and a length of rope among other things. Maybe they’d be useful for fishing, or maybe they’d be a good edge to slit one’s throat upon.

  The night grew cold, the wind unrelenting and turning th
eir clothing into torturous prisons. They stripped down to their small clothes, showing all their scars, and huddled together while they waited for the morning sun. None slept. They discarded any notion of etiquette, personal space, pride, and notions of privacy. Muscles quivered, and bodies twitched reliving the nightmare of hours ago. The moon grinned down at them, laughing at their misfortune.

  Senka had an arm over his chest, her front against his side, skin as soft as silk. Juzo was on her other side, teeth chattering, arms and legs sprawled over her. It was an odd tangle of milky limbs stark against her espresso form. The wind tore at them in angry gusts, pounding them every way at once, leaving no bit of warmth untouched.

  “Good idea.” Isa stared up at the shaking stars, willing his vision to stabilize. “Where did you learn this?”

  “It’s what we did in the Nether, how you survived on the long hunt without having to carry many supplies,” Senka answered. “The nights were cold, but not like this. My father taught me.”

  “Think he just saved our lives,” Juzo added. “I’ll be sure to thank him in the great beyond.” Juzo wriggled against her back, squeezing in tighter.

  Isa closed his eyes, wondered who his father was and what he might have looked like. It was all guesswork, imaginings of a discarded child, but it never stopped him from trying every night before he slept.

  “Sorry,” came Senka’s soft voice.

  “Sorry for what?” Juzo asked.

  “There’s nothing to be sorry about,” Isa said.

  “No. I saw something the other day on the sea. I think I saw the Sea Crocs following us,” Senka whispered. “I should have said something.”

  That made two of them, Isa thought. “Out of your control. Don’t pay it any mind,” Isa muttered. He dropped his hand and found it had fallen into Senka’s upturned palm. It felt right there, warm where their skin intersected. He made no effort to move it nor did she. He hoped she didn’t move it for a reason other than staying warm. He cautiously closed his fingers around her hand and gave it a squeeze. She squeezed back, and for a few minutes, he forgot about the cold.

  “Suppose this means our mission was a failure.”

  “No. We’re still here, still alive,” Senka snorted.

  “Still alive,” Juzo echoed.

  One by one, they shivered themselves into the arms of sleep, falling silent and praying for the wind’s reprieve.

  Eight

  The Far Sea

  “It is not the gods who steal the lives of children. It is us. Only us. The Shadow Realm presses on my heart, turned all fantasies into ice, sending them into ruins. I am reborn, able to place my own designs upon the world.” – The diaries of Nyset Camfield

  Something screamed somewhere far off. Why wouldn’t it stop screaming? Death Spawn? Juzo’s heart thundered in his chest, snapping his eye open to a world of blinding white light. There was a sudden wetness on his cheek. He pushed himself upright with one arm, squinting at the brightness of the sun reflecting all around from the shimmering tips of waves. “Water, so much water,” he croaked, his throat parched, though water was not the liquid he desired.

  Senka was standing in the middle of the raft, peering down at him and giggling through the hand covering her mouth.

  “What?” Juzo felt himself involuntarily smiling at her, pressing his lips down to try to hide his teeth.

  She tapped the spot on his cheek where he had felt the wetness.

  He wiped the back of his hand across his bony cheek, at the same time peering up at the pair of gulls circling above. He knew what was on his hand before he saw it: white bird shit. “A wonderful way to start the day. How long have I been sleeping?” He bent over the side of the raft, washing off his face and hand.

  Senka shrugged. “A few hours after sunrise. Needed it, I gathered.” He was a little disappointed to find her clothed now with pants rolled up above her knees and a dark cotton shirt flapping against her lithe form. He enjoyed being pressed against her last night, feeling the firmness of her ass against his cock. He missed women but knew allowing himself the ecstasy of sex would only end in death. Her hair was matted flat on one side where she had slept, her nose and cheeks reddened with sunburn. Her armor was strewn out to dry in the sun.

  Isa was on his knees, carefully pulling the cork on a water barrel, then tipped a bit into his mouth. Despite the ghastly pallor of his skin, he seemed unaffected by the sun’s ravages. He wore a tanned shirt with a deep neckline, pants that stopped at his calves. They were all barefoot with their stiff boots drying out with the other piled sundries.

  Juzo licked his lips, which were sore and peeling, his face aching with sunburn. He slipped the splint off and worked his elbow in circles, finding his range of motion already restored.

  He could feel his reserves of blood had drawn down from the healing of his elbow, which likely explained why his sunburn persisted. He’d learned over time that more blood would be used for more dramatic healing. His body, his curse, was wise enough to conserve the vital amount he needed to function, and it avoided using the last of it for healing. His strength and speed would wane over time if he didn’t find a new source of blood. In a day or two, he’d be weak as any other mortal. A few things did persist though: his ability to see magical objects, feeling other’s anger, and the blood of the living smelling like a roast just pulled from the oven. To be so close to them sapped his willpower with every passing minute. He was like a toddler staring at a plate of freshly baked cookies placed before him.

  “What are you?” Senka breathed, inching away from him.

  He would’ve liked to say he didn’t feel a surge of excitement at seeing her fear, seeing it as an opportunity to strike had he the urge. But these were friends. And friends didn’t drink the blood of other friends, right?

  He felt Isa’s eyes, saw them shrewdly narrowed. Did he have an inkling of his thoughts? Perhaps his urges were too transparent. He needed to control himself. “Water?” Isa offered, sliding the barrel towards him.

  “No, not now.” Juzo raised his hands. “The answer to your question, Senka… I thought you knew about my curse?”

  She shook her head. “No, I knew. I just forgot for a moment. My memory wasn’t what it once was.”

  Juzo went on, staring out at the sea. “One of the benefits of the Blood Eater curse is rapid healing, more strength than the average man… a bit more than Grimbald’s, by my estimation. A bit more speed, though not like Isa’s.” He nodded at him. “What I’d give for reflexes like that. Ah well, the benefits do come with a hefty price. Seems like most things in life though.”

  “You’d have to give up your life,” Isa said. “Many have died by my hands trying to pass the Test of Stones. Few survive.”

  Senka furrowed her brow at Isa then at Juzo.

  “The Test of Stones?” Juzo asked, dragging on his pants and slipping on his shirt, still damp but warm from the heat of the sun. His skin was wrapped as tight as a drum around his torso, showing the curve of his hips and deep furrows between his ribs. His flesh was a canvas of scars, more skin marred and raised than not. His long gray hair was swept into the air on a refreshing breeze.

  “Mhm.” He gave a grim nod. “Not a whole lot I can say about it. But what I can tell you is about one in ten survive it. I was one of the lucky ones, cut with the Knife of Stones.” He dropped a handful of deshelled almonds into his mouth, pausing for a minute while he chewed. The gulls screeched for a sampling of his food, and he glared at them with unbridled hatred. He let out a breath. “It’s a Milvorian artifact, supposedly stolen from a Necromancer’s lair, one who was a scourge on the land long before Asebor’s sealing. Went by the name of Terror, or was it Terar maybe? One of the Wretched.”

  Juzo’s back stiffened, and his skin puckered with goosebumps. “What did you say? Say that name again.” His upper lip and brow beaded with tingling sweat. “Say it again.”

  “Juzo?” Senka arched an eyebrow at him and crossed her arms.

  “The name, damn i
t!” He stomped his foot, sending out a ripple from the raft. The sealed up door of those memories had been torn free. He thought he’d purged them from his mind, but there they were. The endless nights of torture all came back in a rush. He heard the hammering of Terar’s taskmasters chiseling his teeth into points. He felt their cold blades on his neck, his flesh burned, ragged strips torn from his bones, his eye gouged from the socket.

  Terar’s abuse was intended to control him, but it had only served to stoke the fires of revenge. He was to be made into a minion of the Shadow due to his ability to wield the demonic sword, Blackout. It was prophesied that the wielder of Blackout would lead Asebor’s armies to victory. Terar’s fatal mistake was reuniting Juzo with Blackout, thinking the two of them could be controlled.

  Isa’s hands formed fists, and he broadened his feet into a fighting stance. “Get a hold of yourself, Juzo.”

  Juzo uncurled his fists, unaware he’d even formed them. He let out a heavy breath. He felt his posture slump, remembered the bite of the spiked chains digging into his wrists. He shuddered, and his guts spasmed with the urge to vomit, forcing him to his knees. He let out a choking sob, holding himself up with one arm. He saw Terar flipping his mask up and bearing his teeth, felt them biting into his neck all over again, drinking and licking at the hot blood worming around his throat.

  “It’s okay, it’s over. He’s dead. I think… I think I killed him.”

  He looked up and saw Isa and Senka exchanging concerned looks. He raised a pleading hand. “Don’t worry, just haven’t thought of him in a long time. Just brought all those memories back. I was tortured by him, by Terar.” It felt strange to be saying that again, the last person he remembered telling was Walter. Why did you have to die? It should have been me. He blew out his cheeks, stood and nervously laughed, shaking his head. “Sorry. So… you said something about some Milvorian artifact?” Juzo lowered himself and sat. “What does it do?”