by A. J. Smith
“Now we’ll see,” said Tasha, peering over my shoulder, as if holding her breath.
Dust, water, seaweed and frogspawn were thrown forth from the temple, obscuring our view. As the High Captain reloaded a second time, the rest of the fleet waited, hoping our wyrd-craft was as effective as we hoped. The loudest sound, as the explosions ended, was the clatter of two hundred Kneeling Wolves, rowing ashore, dripping with weapons and lantern oil.
Then the debris cleared. A handful of dead Sunken Men bobbed in the water, with the rest rapidly retreating below the surface. The corner of the huge stone block had been blown to pieces, with a good portion of the adjoining surfaces beginning to crumble inwards.
“Again!” I shouted, unleashing Wilhelm Greenfire’s catapults for the third time.
As fearsome as the frogs were in close combat, they appeared to be as vulnerable as all other living things to a huge boulder slamming into their bodies. That these boulders were charged with explosive wyrd was just the sweet surface on the destructive cake.
I moved across the quarterdeck to the starboard railing, as three more glittering blocks of stone smashed into the Temple of Dagon. This time, the explosions caused chunks of stone to erupt outwards. At least one of the boulders detonated within the temple itself, and strangled screams could just barely be heard.
Before the dust cleared, I’d locked eyes with Siggy Blackeye, standing at the bow of the Black Wave. The ballistae boats were close enough for me to signal myself, and I raised my arm. The three ships each had two ballistae decks, with eight engines each. Half would deliver casks of lantern oil, and half would deliver fire.
“Adeline, look,” said Tasha, pointing to the temple.
One entire side of the square building had disappeared, as had the roof. Within, dozens of tunnels were now exposed. I’d rescued Jaxon from the temple, but struggled to remember the internal structure. As water and masonry tumbled into the central building, fractures spread along the rounded tunnels. Moving shapes were visible, flailing through the water and trying to escape the collapsing structure. I couldn’t discern which were Mirralite and which were hybrids, but all were trying to flee. Perhaps the might of the Sea Wolves was truly enough to destroy this place.
I lowered my arm and Captain Hearth’s ballistae crews let fly, with a momentary pause between volleys. Twelve huge bolts, making less noise than the catapults, but equally well sighted, struck the Temple of Dagon, splashing lantern oil over every stone structure, and large sections of the low water. Then fire. The second volley, charged with wyrd, made the entire building flare into life. The broken sections, the crumbling inner tunnels, even the outer portions, still more or less intact, all burst into flame. There was a grating sizzle, as a thick layer of seaweed and slime was burned away, and a high-pitched screech of collective pain, as dozens of those within were burned alive.
The first signs of life appeared in the village, around the central building, a place where I’d seen pregnant Mirralite worship a hugely obese Sunken Man. Now, twisted hybrids, with gangly limbs and protruding bellies, slithered from the building. They yelped, flapping around on the mud of the village, pointing their wide, fishy eyes at the burning temple.
Captain Driftwood, the blonde bosun and Kieran Greenfire came to stand behind Tasha and I, taking in the spectacle. Across the other ships, Sea Wolves stood and looked. Burning hybrids tried to swim from the building, but wyrd fire was not easily extinguished, and all burned to death, floating on the surface of the Bay of Bliss.
“Signal the War Rat!” I ordered.
A signal arrow was fired from the Revenge, whistling inland, to where the Kneeling Wolves had rowed ashore. Above the village, standing on the encircling hills, emerged Charlie Vane’s raiders. They waited until hundreds of Mirralite and hybrids had left the buildings, to form on the muddy sea front, before rushing forwards and launching lantern oil and flaming torches at the central building. They lit up the gloomy village, and retreated to the shadows just as quickly. There were two hundred of them, but they managed to stay hidden, skulking in a half-circle around the Place Where We Hear The Sea. As the inhabitants panicked, and returned to their burning village, the hidden Kneeling Wolves threw more lantern oil, and more fire, enveloping Pure One and hybrid alike.
“We’re not so helpless after all,” said Tynian Driftwood.
“Just keep an eye out for the Ravenous Whip,” I replied. “It’s here somewhere.”
“Let’s all be patient,” said Kieran Greenfire, warily. “I don’t think this is over. And that huge Sunken Man.… is vexing me.”
I allowed myself to hope that we’d won, before there was a sudden commotion from the Black Wave. The ship was close, on our starboard side, and the fishing net it had cast to the adjoining ballistae boat began to rise from the water. Everything had been still, with no current, and I’d failed to notice the patch of frogspawn that had drifted towards the fleet.
Captain Jacob Hearth ran to the bow as his ship began to list forwards. Siggy Blackeye, the mistress of the boat, shouted in alarm, ordering her crew to abandon the ballistae and arm themselves with fire. The ship was tilting forwards, as if its hull had been breached. The neighbouring ship was hauling in the ruined net, and its crew were assembling on deck, pointing short bows at something I couldn’t see.
Then a sheet of globular frogspawn crept up the bow of the Black Wave. It was consuming the wood, undulating through anything in its path. The ship was sinking, and its crew didn’t know what to do. The gelatinous substance bubbled across Captain Hearth, devouring him to nothing in three seconds, leaving no steel, leather or flesh to mark the passing of a great Sea Wolf captain.
Siggy rallied the crew, keeping the frogspawn at bay with fire. The closest ship fired flaming arrows at it, but everyone else was forced to watch. The Black Wave creaked, its masts folding inwards, and its stern rising out of the water. The bubbling frogspawn was easily burned, and retreated from the fire, reforming half the size on the surface of the water, but the damage had been done. The ship was stricken, and its crew flung themselves overboard, swimming in panicked strokes to the nearest ship. As the forward hull disintegrated, I could see more patches of frogspawn, bubbling around the fleeing crew.
From the heavy catapults boats, at the far end of our line, more shouting drifted across the small fleet. Two of the High Captain’s ships were sinking, with huge, oozing patches of frogspawn consuming their hulls. The Never was not stricken, though she had no space to manoeuvre in the shallow water, and her crew were frantically arming themselves with fire.
“Launch boats,” I barked. “Lantern oil and fire.” I gripped the railing with my hand, digging fingernails into the wood. We were too far from any of the stricken ships to help. No use of boats, wyrd or steel would stop the gelatinous slime from enveloping the three warships and their crew.
The Sea Wolves of the Black Wave were closest. They howled and gargled, with their armour, their skin, their flesh and their bones all reduced to nothing in a few seconds. Siggy Blackeye, the mistress of the boat, had managed to clamber up the listing aft castle of her ship, clear of the frogspawn, but she had no fire to hold it back. She was coated in wyrd, and used it to climb to the highest point of the sinking ship, grabbing a lantern at the aft, likely the only remaining source of fire that had not been extinguished by the water.
The other two ships were heavier, and sunk faster, with their huge catapults disappearing under bubbling pools of slime. The High Captain’s crew, aboard the Never, threw casks of oil and fire at the frogspawn, burning its edges before it could coalesce and attack any more of the fleet.
The Black Wave struck the seabed, leaving a chunk of the aft castle, and a mess of sails, sticking upwards. Mistress Blackeye hauled two sailors from the water, to stand on the shipwreck, but a handful more were consumed. Each body was whole one second, shouting and raging, then it was gone, as if dissolved by the sheet of slimy, globular frogspawn. It couldn’t reach the three survivors, but it had ampl
e wood to bubble through.
The fleet was enveloped in shouting and swearing, with boats frantically launched from the remaining seven ships to rescue survivors of the three. Fire and wyrd had significantly diminished the undulating pools of frogspawn, and there was barely enough left to consume what remained of the three hulls. Siggy and the other survivors of the Black Wave dived from the disintegrating aft castle, splashing beyond the glistening slime, and swimming to the approaching rescue boats. Almost as suddenly as it had appeared, the vile frogspawn was suddenly gone. The remains of three Sea Wolf warships began to float, and the slime that had not been burned disappeared into the shallow waters of the Bay of Bliss.
12
There had been over a hundred Sea Wolves aboard the Black Wave, and double that number aboard each of the huge catapult ships. In addition, several dozen Kneeling Wolves had died in the village itself, killed or eaten by the frenzied inhabitants. I’d wanted a victory, and we’d achieved a victory, but it felt hollow. Our craft had been successful, though we were faced with an enemy that did not fight in any earthly way. No blade had been drawn, and no combatant had faced us. The Sunken Men we’d not killed with fire or stone had fled beneath the water, but if each outpost of the Sunken God cost us three warships and five hundred Sea Wolves, I’d soon be facing the rising terror alone. And we’d still not seen the Ravenous Whip.
There was no more frogspawn, and the Temple of Dagon slowly burned to the waterline. The War Rat and his raiders had cleared the Place Where We Hear The Sea, burning everyone and everything, until only a rotten ruin remained. There was crumbling stone in the bay, and smouldering wood in the village, yet still there were signs of life. Within ten minutes of the fire burning to nothing, large, fishy crests could be seen in the distance, as if the Sunken Men were keeping an eye on us. Many of them had died, and the rest had fled, but they’d not gone far. The fleet was still in shallow water, making it impossible for them or the Ravenous Whip to sneak up on us, but the tide would slowly turn to their advantage.
I was aboard a launch, slowly gliding towards the Temple of Dagon. The structure had been reduced to an irregular square wall, sticking out of the bay. Within, much was flooded, with dozens of floating bodies swaying in the wash. There was enough rubble to navigate the remaining structure, but flabby hybrids and wide-eyed Mirralite – mostly in pieces – filled every adjoining tunnel.
“What do you hope to find?” asked Kieran Greenfire, standing behind me. “Everything is either drowned or burned.”
“I want to see the altar,” I replied. “Where they flayed Jaxon Ice.”
Tasha came to stand as close to me as the bow of the small boat would allow. She held onto my arm, and stood on tiptoes to whisper in my ear. “Adeline, we’ve won. But a lot of dead people are in there. Harriet’s body is probably in there, and hundreds of other people they caged and violated. We killed a lot of wicked things here… but we killed some innocent things too. Let’s leave this place, while the tide is still our ally.”
The launch slowed, and ropes were thrown across jutting stone, pulling us to a stop next to what remained of the Temple of Dagon. Other boats had been launched, and at my word, a hundred Sea Wolves would enter the ruined structure and kill anything that yet lived. Their wyrd flared, as they hefted blades and flaming torches.
“Adeline,” insisted Tasha. “You know what’s in there. You saw more than us, and we saw plenty. But it’s all gone. The slave pens, the cages, the altar, the varn. Everything’s dead.” She frowned, pointing to a mangled body, spread-eagled across a broken prow of stone.
I took a moment, ignoring the pensive expressions all around me. The village and the Temple of Dagon had been scrubbed from the Bay of Bliss. We’d fought and we’d won, but had I truly learned anything new about the enemy? Dark Wing’s revelations were not meant to ease my mind, and they just added to my headache.
I faced Tasha, suddenly wanting her to tell me what to do. I’d seen three Sea Wolf crews dissolved by frogspawn, and it had made me angry, but nothing more. Everything I felt was being filtered through the Old Bitch of the Sea, and she only allowed me a sliver of emotion. I rubbed my eyes, and suddenly felt tired. I’d not slept since before I killed the Sunken Man at the bone palace. My head began to swim with emotions, but all of them were trapped in a net, with only the strongest feelings managing to wriggle free of the she-wolf’s notice and break the surface.
“Mistress Brand,” whispered Tasha Strong, with a warm smile. “You don’t need to keep going. We can go back to the ship. We can have a nice tea, while we sail back to the Severed Hand. I’ve got some lovely pork… I could make a stew.”
“What are your orders, my lady?” asked Kieran Greenfire, still insisting that he follow me around.
I craned my neck and peered into the ruined Temple of Dagon. There was barely anything intact, poking above the gently rolling water. The area of the altar was now a mound of rubble, where a huge chunk of the northern wall had fallen. All the passageways leading to the rest of the expansive structure were either destroyed or underwater. As the sea rose, the place would be swept clean, with much detritus and many bodies being carried away on the tide. For days, perhaps weeks, the coasts of the Red Straits would be witness to the might of the Sea Wolves, as dead Pure Ones, hybrids and Sunken Men washed up on a hundred shores.
“It’s done,” I said, turning to face Kieran. “All boats return to their ships.”
“Aye, aye,” he replied.
A chain of shouting began, as all launches were told to fall back to the fleet. Most people were relieved, though a few bloodthirsty Sea Wolves, angry that their blades had remained dry, rumbled in petulant disappointment.
*
As soon as we left the ruined temple, the distant fishy crests disappeared, and all life appeared to have left the Place Where We Hear The Sea. Jonas Grief and Owl’s Bane had done their best to haul in the wreck of the Black Wave and the two other warships, but little of import had been recovered. The remaining ships, chastened by the attack of the frogspawn, but elated by our victory, began to make way to the east.
Kieran and Tasha made sure no one forgot about the Ravenous Whip, but the ancient creature had not been seen, nor was the water through which we sailed deep enough for it to sneak up on us. The Revenge, and the other six warships, kept to the Mirralite coast, travelling in a single line, with armaments pointed to the deeper channels of the Red Straits. It took time for the fleet to make way, and the ruined temple was again covered in seawater by the time it disappeared behind us.
“So, we won,” said Tynian Driftwood, as I emerged from belowdecks, as fresh as I could be after a twenty minute nap.
“How is the wind?” I asked, climbing up the steps towards the quarterdeck, and ignoring his comment.
“Fair,” replied the blonde bosun. “It would be faster if we could spread out.”
“We stay in the shallows,” I ordered.
“As she says,” agreed Captain Driftwood, screwing up his red-bearded face, and nodding to welcome me at the tiller. “The sea isn’t truly ours. We got here far too late for that. Don’t you agree, my lady Alpha Wolf?” As often with him, there was a subtle challenge behind his words.
I faced him, my footing now surer on the moving deck. “I do agree, captain. Though the sea will always be our ally. We just have to treat her more gently.”
He chuckled to himself. He was taller and wider than me, but frequently hunched, as if standing upright all the time was too much effort. He locked eyes with me, a wry smile on his face. “I don’t like you, Adeline Brand. But you scare the piss out of me… and you’re all I’ve got, so I will remain your loyal Sea Wolf. We keep to the shallows.”
There was a time when I would have reacted sharply to his comments. As it was, the only bit I cared about was his talk of loyalty. In that moment, I established a new principle – I didn’t care if my people liked me, as long as they were loyal. It was the kind of principle a she-wolf would live by.
&nb
sp; “Very good,” I replied. “Best speed to the Gates of the Moon.”
“Absolutely,” he said. “Five hours, my lady.”
He turned back to the tiller and began conveying orders to his crew. Kieran Greenfire went about his work calmly, with friendly camaraderie. The tall blonde bosun was more inclined to shout, and focused on minute details on the cluttered deck of the Revenge. With the two of them, acting in consort, the crew were a well-oiled machine, keeping us close to the coast, while maintaining a fair speed. The ships behind us, led by Owl’s Bane, were not quite as efficient, though none fell too far behind and all remained in the shallows.
I tried to remember the thrill I felt when I was first enveloped in the chaos of a warship, but it was distant and foggy, like a story I’d once heard but hadn’t lived. I stood on the quarterdeck of Halfdan’s Revenge, knowing that every single Sea Wolf aboard thought me terrifying and aloof. But they all remained loyal… even those who knew and understood how few warriors we had left.
“Sail ahead,” came a call from aloft. “Small boat, tacking towards us.”
Driftwood frowned, and took a spyglass from his helmsman. “Pure One fishermen are good at avoiding Sea Wolf ships,” he said, putting the glass to his eye, and screwing up his face. “They certainly don’t tack against the wind to meet them head-on.”
“What do we have, captain?” I asked, moving forward and trying to see the small boat in the distance.
“They’re not Pure Ones,” he replied, squinting into his spyglass. “They’re Eastron. The ship is sea-going, and… they’re signalling.”
From the crow’s nest, came another call. “Captain, rogue wave.”
“What the fuck?” exclaimed Driftwood.
The small boat came into view, creeping around the Mirralite coast. There was a man and woman, both Eastron, waving their arms and shouting something. Behind them, rising inexplicably from the calm sea, came a rushing wave. It splashed high on the coastal cliffs, sending walls of spray across the small boat. It wasn’t large enough to trouble a ship the size of Halfdan’s Revenge, but its appearance made little sense. At least until the cause of the wave became clear.
