Sea of Quills (Tales of the Black Raven Book 2)

by Seth Skorkowsky

  She nuzzled against him. “We’ll find it tomorrow.” Her hand rubbed slowly along the hair of his chest.

  “How can you be sure?”

  “I just know it. If grandfather didn’t tell me its exact location, then he must have known I could find it easily.”

  “You loved him very much.”

  “I was his favorite, his little Ede. He insisted to show me how the business ran. More than once, he took me sailing as a little girl. Taught me fencing despite my father’s wishes.” She chuckled. “He trusted me with secrets and stories that neither my brother nor father knew. I think his biggest regret was that I was born a woman. He’d have wanted me to have the business, not my brother.”

  Smiling, Ahren kissed her. “Maybe that’s why he didn’t tell you. If he’d revealed it before, your brother might have squandered it.”

  “Perhaps.” She sighed. “But having that snake, Otto Dammlir, living in our house would have been avoided. It’s a greater insult than having to live the past year in near poverty. And the thought that he might find my grandfather’s money…” Her soft body tensed then released as she growled.

  Ahren slipped out from under the cloak and pulled his shirt back on.

  She sat up, breasts bare in the starlight. “Where are you going?”

  “I’m going to pay the snake a visit. Maybe overhear if they found anything or not.” He fastened his belt. “Just wait here. I’ll be back.”

  “But—”

  “Don’t worry.” He picked up his satchel and headed out into the night.

  Navigating by star and moonlight, Ahren crept across the rocky island. The sweet smell of roasting goat’s meat wafted in with the soft breeze. Ahead, an orange fire burned like a beacon on the opposite shore. Silhouettes of men moved in the campsite. Choosing his steps carefully, Ahren stayed low and moved closer.

  “This is ridiculous,” a man said, his voice nearly lost in the wind.

  Another man replied, but Ahren couldn’t make it out. Silently, he snuck closer and crouched behind a low pile of rocks. The Vorsehung rested quietly offshore. A single sailor was visible on deck in the moonlight. No lights burned in the windows. At a guess, Ahren suspected two, maybe three men were left on board to watch the ship.

  “There’s been no sign of them,” one man said. “Something’s happened.”

  “They probably killed a goat and got distracted cleaning it.”

  Ahren recognized Rosston Dammlir’s shrewish voice. He slinked closer, keeping to the shadows cast behind one of the three canvas tents.

  “Folker’s right,” Otto Dammlir said, gnawing a nearly stripped bone. “This rock isn’t that big for them to get lost. We need to go look for them.”

  A short-bearded man sighed.

  “Maybe they found it,” said a young sailor with a scarred brow. “They could just be digging it up or carrying it down.”

  “Father, if something happened, they would have sent someone or signaled the ship from the bluff. We’re the only people on this Arieth-forsaken island.”

  “How do you know?” Otto snapped, tossing the bone into the fire. “That thief could be here. We saw the footprints in the ruin. It’s not like Captain Spigheim to be late. Why can’t we see his men’s torches coming back down the slope?” He stood abruptly. “We’re going to look for them.”

  “There’s not—” Rosston started.

  “No!” his father snapped. “We’re going. All of us. Right now.” He turned and marched into one of the tents. “Light torches!” he yelled out.

  Ahren pressed himself deeper into the shadows as three of the men headed to the tent he hid behind. Had the captain and his party found the treasure? He wrestled with reporting to Edeline or following Dammlir and his men.

  Otto emerged, buckling a rapier belt around his waist. “Bring only what you need.”

  The scarred sailor took a swig from a wineskin and slung it over his shoulder. He lit several torches off the fire and issued them to his companions as they hurried from their tent, armed with work-axes and swords. With Otto in the lead, they marched up the slope to the other side of the island. Ahren held back. If he reported back, she’d likely want to go after them. It was safer he went alone. He headed after Otto.

  The searchers made their way up the rocky island. Trees and shrubs were more prevalent than on the other side, giving Ahren sufficient cover to trail his quarry. They marched straight, following no discernable trail. Every fifty to sixty steps, one of them yelled out for Spigheim and his men.

  The clatter of tumbling rocks sounded from behind him, and the bearded man spun around, holding his torch high. Ahren dropped to the ground, pressing himself tight behind a tiny rise.

  “Did you hear that?” He took a step in Ahren’s direction. The orange glow of torchlight moved closer.

  Another sailor raised his torch, doubling the creeping light. “I didn’t hear anything.”

  The bearded man moved closer, his light now passing over where Ahren lay in the shadow behind a lip of stones. “I heard something.”

  Ahren held his breath. He dared not move.

  “Probably a goat, Kass,” Rosston said.

  The light remained for several heartbeats before withdrawing back up the slope. Ahren let out a sigh and waited before braving a peek. Otto’s men had continued up the hill. Ahren set his jaw then continued after them, this time maintaining an even further distance away.

  Cresting the hill, the sailors passed through a dark grove of gnarled trees blocking out the moonlight. Almost blind, Ahren crept through the woods slowly, trying to maintain his silence. His targets moved briskly ahead and out of sight. Only the echoing calls for their lost companions assured him he was still on their trail.

  The black woods opened up, revealing a crumbled ruin of the watchtower against the starry sky. Orange lights moved inside, casting their glow through the narrow windows and holes from missing stones. Two more torches circled the perimeter. Ahren scanned around then crossed the open field to a blockish stone building fifty feet from the tower wall.

  “There’s steps over here,” one of the men called from the sea cliff edge.

  Ahren watched as the second outside searcher headed over to the steps. He strained to hear, but the wind and pounding surf below drowned them out. Otto and his remaining men left the derelict tower and circled around to the cliff edge to join them. They spoke briefly then headed down the steps to the sea.

  Ahren waited for several heartbeats before emerging from his hiding spot. As he crept around the sturdy stone building he’d used for cover, he noticed that the vines along the opposite side were torn away and trampled. Beneath where they had clung, a wide door into the ten-foot stone cube had been mortared shut. A discarded pickaxe leaned against the sealed door amidst a blanket of broken rock chips. Ahren peered through the hole the diggers had dug to see a second layer of stonework blocking the way. He briefly searched for any hole in which Edeline’s key might fit but found nothing in the faint light. Making a note to return in the morning, Ahren hurried to the cliff to check on Dammlir.

  Dropping to his knees, Ahren peered over the edge to see their torches moving along a narrow ledge of rocky shoreline. They turned and seemed to vanish into the cliff face below. Puzzled, Ahren leaned out to see their torch glow coming from a narrow cave.

  Following them would be dangerous. If they doubled back suddenly, he could be trapped and caught. But what if they found something? Ahren drew a breath, stood, and hurried down the carved stairs to the sea.

  Salty surf misted him as he reached the bottom. The narrow shoal hugged the cliff, pitted with tide pools. Pale crabs scuttled across the rocks. Silently, Ahren made his way to the fissure-like entrance, tall and narrow as if cut by a great axe. The inside was wet and partially submerged beneath a few inches of water. Torchlight reflected off the damp walls ahead from around a bend. Keeping as best he could to the rocks thrusting above the watery floor, Ahren crept after, before their lights could fade down the passa
ge.

  The stink of soured rot tinged with ammonia permeated the cave. Keeping his distance, Ahren remained in the shadows, using the dim light from ahead to navigate the rocky floor. Crabs and other unseen creatures fled as he neared, splashing into the black pools. More than once, he misjudged his step, plunging knee-deep into frigid water.

  The lights ahead stopped. Ahren slinked closer to see.

  “Why in Arieth’s name would he leave it here?” Kass, the bearded sailor, asked, holding up a sword. “Where are they?”

  “Spigheim? Birke? Anyone?” one of the men shouted. His voice echoed down the tunnel but with no reply.

  “I say we go back,” Rosston Dammlir said. “We’ll come back when it’s light.”

  “The morning tide will fill this up,” his father snapped.

  The scarred sailor licked his lip nervously. “We could use a boat.”

  “And have the surf smash it into the rocks? I don't think so.” Otto sighed. “They were here. Now, spread out and find them. Rosston, you and Walt check back there.”

  Ahren tucked back as Rosston and the young sailor turned and splashed toward him. Their torch lights grew closer. Ahren dashed into a side passage as the men’s lights flooded the tunnel. To his dismay, they turned and followed the same direction.

  Ahren sprung from rock to rock in near darkness, desperate to stay ahead of their light and trying to find a niche he could hide in. He jumped onto a nearly submerged stone, but it squished beneath him, sending him splashing down into the water.

  “What was that?” one of the men said, rushing forward, bathing Ahren in light.

  Ahren scrambled up onto a stone shelf and turned as Rosston and his companion drew their swords.

  Rosston stepped closer. “You. I remember you.”

  His light fell across a mutilated corpse on which Ahren had stepped. Rocks covered the lower half of its body just inches below the surface. Bits of bone and teeth showed through its pink mangled flesh.

  “Saint Vishtin,” Walt breathed.

  “What is this?” Rosston fixed his sword point on Ahren. The rocks seemed to slide off the body as he stepped beside it, exposing the rest of the mangled form, clothed in a shredded blue shirt and leather vest. “Laurence?” His eyes returned to Ahren. “What is this? What have you done?”

  Ahren stepped back against the wall. His gaze moved from the closing rapier to the two long rocks seeming to glide through the water near the other man’s leg.

  “Answer me!” Rosston yelled.

  The scarred man suddenly screamed and fell thrashing into the water. Rosston spun, and Ahren drew his dagger. Pink and blue light tinged the edges of the two rocks affixed to the Walt’s leg. He hacked at them with his sword and then fell still. His torch sizzled out in the water. Ribbons of colored light coursed across the things on his leg as they seemed to transform into slug-like creatures mouthed with whipping tentacles. Veins of light seemed to appear from the watery floor.

  Rosston screamed and lunged from the water, driving his blade at Ahren. Ahren sidestepped the attack and drove his dagger deep into the man’s gut. Rosston didn’t scream, didn’t flinch as a stabbed man should. He fell limp to the floor. A pulsing creature on his leg tightened its hold as he slid back into the water to his waist. Poison. The flaming torch in Rosston’s other hand fell to the floor and rolled into the water with a hiss of steam.

  Panicked, Ahren staggered back, his hand sticky with the dead man’s blood. Dozens of glowing creatures, all nearly a foot and a half in length, seemed to appear throughout the entire cavern. Their bodies lit up like a wave coursing down the tunnel. Otto and his men’s screams echoed in the distance.

  The things glided through the water, casting ribbons of light across the cavern wall as they descended on the bodies. Ahren’s panicked breaths calmed as he watched them. Stripes of color fluttered across the pile from creature to creature, as if continuing on the same beautiful pattern like ripples from a stone cast in a calm pond. Bands of every color ran across them, some narrow, others thick. Ahren watched them smother their prey, pulling themselves up above the surface by their long tentacles. His body weakened. He slid to the floor, his gaze transfixed. Somewhere, as if far away, music softly played.

  Intoxicated by their beauty, he watched. Their luminescence followed the hypnotic beat of distant instruments he’d never before heard. Rainbows of color danced along the cavern’s damp walls. Ahren looked down to see one of the things dragging itself up onto the stone shelf on which he sat. Its six tendrils stretched out, inching its flat body slowly closer. Its eyes stared up at him. He giggled. Its tentacle found his boot and pulled itself closer. Ahren laughed again but didn’t know why.

  The music grew louder; it seemed to fill the entire world but didn’t echo. Drunkenly, Ahren lolled his head to the side. Walt, the scarred man, lay still, half submerged beneath the surface. At least four of the glowing creatures slowly ate him. Ahren felt the one gnawing through his boot. Another swam up to the dead man and latched onto the wineskin slung over his shoulder. Its tentacles wrapped around the leather pouch and pulled.

  Have a drink. He giggled again.

  Purple wine belched from the side of the skin, and the creature shot away, leaving a glowing cloud in its wake. A wave of darkness spread from the spot, and the lights extinguished. The music stopped. Terror seized Ahren’s chest, and he kicked the thing off his foot. It hit the wall with a squish and splashed into the water.

  The cave was dark save the light from the greenish blue cloud where the one had sprayed. It spread out, breaking into little beads of glowing globs that slowly faded. Scrambling higher onto the rock, Ahren pulled his flint and tinder to light a candle. After several quick strikes, he caught the wick and nurtured the flame to life. Holding it up, he scanned the water for any of the monsters but saw nothing but the men’s gnawed bodies.

  Carefully, he picked up Rosston’s fallen sword. Ahren searched the water again but saw nothing. Keeping to the low rocks above the surface, he stepped over to Walt’s body. Something moved in the corner of his vision. Ahren turned but saw no sign of the creatures. Keeping his rapier ready, he lowered himself and pulled the submerged wineskin from the dead man’s shoulders. Dark wine bled from a v-shaped cut and dripped down into the water. As the droplets touched, a lumpy and pitted piece of the submerged floor suddenly flattened into a gray shape as it sped away.

  Smiling, Ahren gently squeezed the skin, sending a purple stream down the passage. The water rippled as the creatures fled. He’d drunk enough cheap sailor’s wine to know it was half soured. Two casks vinegar for guards. He’d definitely found Strounet’s guards. Hopefully, a half-empty skin and the two bottles in his pack would be enough. He shouldered the sopping pouch, raised his candle, and continued down the tunnel.

  Dribbling the wine into the water every few feet, Ahren jumped from stone to stone. Torchlight flickered around a corner ahead. Shielding his candle, he peered around a rock to see Otto and his three men lying dead in the water amidst the bodies of two others that had previously been hidden. One of their burning torches rested on a stone ledge where it had fallen. Flat pieces of rock rested on the men’s limp bodies.

  Ahren squirted another stream of wine into the room. The creatures shot away from the corpses and fled. He carefully made his way into the room, keeping his feet as far from the tide pools as possible. Squeezing the last of the skin’s contents, he crossed the mutilated bodies, set down his candle, and picked up the torch. Another piece of stone seemed to move as he neared. This time, Ahren drove his rapier into the pool.

  A flat creature appeared to morph from the stone, its body impaled on Ahren’s slender blade. Its tentacles thrashed. Its body pulsed with colors, black, brown, and gray, like the watery floor. Its skin boiled, alternating between smooth and rough, mimicking the stones. Ahren twisted the blade. Orange blood belched from the wound. The animal struggled briefly and then fell still. Its skin was the same colorless hue of a shelled oyster. Two short, we
bbed fins stretched the length of its flat body all the way to the squid-like appendages beneath its brown, two-pupiled eyes. Ahren tossed the dead thing aside and slid the rapier under his belt. He removed one of the bottles from his pack and uncorked it before moving on.

  The passage continued. Bodies from the rest of Spigheim’s party lay submerged beneath the surface. Ahren dribbled the vinegar as he passed. The tunnel split. One passage curved off while a second had been carved into stairs leading out from the water. Ahren leapt over a deep channel and headed up the steps.

  A skeleton lay on a narrow landing, covered in dust. Ahren stepped over it and continued his ascent. The stairs wound higher. The top ended in a square-bricked room. A broken skeleton of another man lay at the top beside a mortared door. Deep cuts and scrapes ran the length of its thigh bone, reminiscent of the marks left when stripping a ham. Gouges ran between the stones from when they had tried to dig their way out. They were shoeless. One wore a medallion of Saint Perlic, Patron of Sailors.

  Poor bastards. Starved to death, afraid to go back down to the water, and knowing freedom was just on the other side. He wondered how long they’d been there and how long it had been since the monks of Bogen Helm had sealed the entrance. After a brief search for a keyhole or sign of the treasure, Ahren headed back down the steps. He dribbled the last of the bottle into the water and uncorked the second one before stepping out over it.

  He made his way back around to the other tunnel, sparingly dripping the precious vinegar. The water deepened, and the stepping stones lessened, forcing him to trudge knee-deep through the cold water. The outline of a tentacled creature glowed orange, and Ahren sloshed the vinegar at it. A jet of glowing ink shot from the beast as it sped away. Eyeing the remaining contents in the bottle, he frowned. He’d have to turn back soon.

  The cavern ceiling grew lower. Crouching, he followed it into a wide chamber lined with shattered stones. Rusted iron rings protruded from one wall beside a broken brick wall. He hopped up onto the stones, thankful to be out of the infested water, and approached the hole. A tarnished brass plate rested in the remaining brickwork, a triangular hole at its center.