by Heath Pfaff
I could see my foes approaching, but I was helpless to run, held tight as I was. Another black cloak grabbed a hold of me, pinning me in place, and two others approached with swords drawn and ready to strike. This all happened in a terrible slowness, a macabre dance set to my impending demise.
We don't die!
It's not time.
Two different voices sounded in my head, and I felt a surge of power coursing through my body. I struggled against those holding me. Someone twisted the arrow in my back and pain shot like fire through my limbs. I channeled that pain away from myself, and thrashed about madly. A sword streaked towards me, the blow a well measured stab set to pierce my restrained chest. I thrashed harder, roaring into the suddenly claustrophobic room. The hold on me slipped, but not enough to set me free. I felt the blade pierce my lower abdomen, instead of my chest, but it was angled upwards.
I DO NOT DIE!
We do not die.
"I can't die!" I screamed out in unison with two others voices, voices I would later realize were only heard by me. The Fell Beast and whatever else called from within, and though I struggled to stifle that darkness within, I felt myself carried away with it. I had no choice. I knew I must go with it or fall. My body throbbed with energy. My feet caught wood, the claws digging in firmly and I threw myself forward with all my strength. Black cloaks fell away around me. I was not done. The world grew slower around me, the resistance of the air grew stronger, but I sludged through it. The world was red, a blur, death and pain all around me. Death. Violence. Rage. Despite allowing the darkness free, I found myself fighting it as well, struggling to keep afloat, and then I was gone.
"Stop, you've won!" That was the next thing I remembered hearing, many different voices yelled it unison. There were hands all over me, pulling me away, claws tearing into my flesh. My arm was straight, my hand clutched around the throat of a writhing female figure dressed in a sun dress, her clawed hands digging at my wrist, gashing huge lines of blood along my arm as she struggled to free herself from my grasp. All around me the Black Patch Brigade, no longer fighting, struggled to set the woman free. As I came to myself again, I released her, and she slumped to the ground, gasping for breath. She was missing one of her legs, the limb severed below the knee. Where the limb had gone, I did not know.
The entire world around me was a mess of broken bodies and death. Sixteen corpses, all devastated beyond reason, lay in pieces, ruining the once serene cleanliness of the commons.
My body hurt. I looked at myself. I was covered in claw marks from those who had tried to pull me free from their female companion. A sword protruded from my abdomen, and I was bleeding from dozens of cuts ranging in severity from minor to serious. I pulled the sword free numbly, and let it fall to the ground. My blood followed it, pooling on the floor beneath me, disappearing in the already massive flood of ichor upon the ground. How much blood had I lost?
"You've won. We will wait, Drake Slayer. We will wait until the ship makes land." It wasn't one voice, but many that spoke to me, trying to calm the beast that lay before them. There was rarely emotion in the eyes of the Brigade, but now I could see the fear in them.
"Three months." I said, my tongue moving thickly in my mouth. My mouth was full of blood. Was it mine? I didn't know. "These people are dead for three months." I shook my head, and turned to leave. I found it difficult to walk, but none of the black cloaks came to my aid. I didn't expect them to. I put one foot in front of the other, and then again. I repeated that, forcing every step. I needed to get to my room. I needed Malice. I needed someone to explain to me why I had just murdered sixteen people to win three months of time. I needed someone to explain to me what sort of monster I had become that I had almost killed a pregnant woman.
I left bloody tracks in my wake.
I meant to walk to my room, but I found myself on deck instead. The sky was gray above me, and in the distance the horizon appeared to end at what looked like a great black wall, occasionally lit by a flash of brilliant light. The sea churned, and I wondered if it was somehow reflecting the turmoil I felt inside. Did the sea sense my disquiet? Was it struggling to quell the anger, fear, and sadness that burned inside of me? I walked across the ship, ignoring the eyes that fell upon my tattered body. I was cold, yet I burned all over. My body was struggling to heal wounds. I should rest, but I couldn't bring myself to face Malice. She had stood next to me for so long. I couldn't help but feel that, in my loss of control and brutality, I had failed her.
I could feel minor cuts and gashes sealing up, but there were so many injuries that even my powerful healing abilities were having trouble. The wound in my gut burned, and I felt a tearing pain with every step I took. The pain of my injuries fought back the numbness that was attempting to settle into my mind. I walked to the railing at the edge of the ship. A strong gust of wind grabbed my cloak and billowed it out to my side, revealing just how tattered the fabric had become in my fight. My wounds burned as the fabric pulled on them. I went to place my hands on the railing, and stumbled slightly when I realized that I had only one hand.
I stood like that for a time, watching the storm come in. It looked like a tempest of epic proportion. Footsteps approached me from behind.
"Lowin, Tower said that. . ." It was Malice's voice. I spun to face her, surprised that she had come. Her eyes went wide as they took in the wreckage before her. I knew my clothes, black through they were, were soaked with blood. Most of it wasn't mine.
"What happened?" She cried out, rushing across the last few paces between us. She didn't grab a hold of me, but instead she ghosted her hands over the wounds, afraid to touch the damage lest she cause me any further pain.
Tears formed in my eyes at her question, stinging to be released. I kept myself from blinking, knowing that if I did I would betray my own weakness. What could I tell her? How did you explain to someone you loved, that you were a terrible monster who had just murdered sixteen members of your own crew? I couldn't lie, and my silence would only hurt her worse.
"I've ended sixteen lives." I said numbly. "The black cloaks were going to revolt, so I faced them. I tried to stop things from coming to a fight, but I couldn't. I killed sixteen of them." My words sounded like an excuse. I was attempting to justify what I had done, but I knew my actions would never be justified. I would wear that burden for the rest of my days.
She reached out to me, touching a section of my arm relatively free of damage. "I know you Lowin, and I know you wouldn't have killed them unless you had to. You're not an evil man. Please don't look at me with those eyes." She pleaded, and I didn't know what look she meant. I could see the glassy reflection of tears in her green windows to her soul. Was she crying because she feared her words were false? Was she crying because she feared me? No, it wasn't the latter. I saw no fear in her eyes, only hurt.
"I'm sorry, Laouna." I hadn't meant to make her cry, and I certainly hadn't meant to kill all those men. My apology, my words that could offer no real compensation, was all that I could offer for all the wrongs I'd committed. How many more times would I need to do such things before I saved Kay? What would be left of me as a man when I was finally able to face my daughter again? I didn't know, but I was afraid. I was afraid there would be many more apologies, many more empty words that could never bring back those lost to my cause.
What I feared most, was the darkness in my memory. I remembered so much, so clearly, that the empty spots were the most terrifying part. I had lost control of myself again, like I had in the fight with the black drakes. In that moment of blind fury, I had become something more, and something immeasurably less, than a man.
Panic suddenly seized me. I reached up with my hand and touched my chest, pulling the fabric aside with ease, for it was torn to shreds anyway.
"What's wrong?" Laouna asked, seeing my sudden unease.
I ran my hand along my skin, and found that the fur that had stretched along my neck, at the line of my collar, had spread further down, creating a trail dow
n the center of my chest. I had changed again, like I had after the battle with the drakes and the Hungering. I didn't know how far, but without looking I could feel the difference. I reached around to my back, and I could feel the progression of fur up the center of my spine, not covering my entire back, but far higher than it had been before. Those black spells, my loss of control, it was all costing me more than just my memory.
"I'm changing." I said, my voice a harsh whisper, mixed with fear and the pain of all that had transpired. "I'm afraid I'm losing myself." I added, after a moment.
Laouna threw her arms around me. "You're not changing, Lowin. You're the same man I've always loved. Do you remember . . ." She tried to assure me, and it seemed for a moment she was recalling something, but then it slipped away from her, and she sobbed and grabbed me harder instead. Her embrace hurt. Wounds reopened and began to bleed again. I did not flinch away though, her closeness made me feel real. However, her words and her love did little to quell the truth that lay before me. I was losing myself, small pieces at a time. Lowin Fenly was becoming something else. I put my arm around the woman I loved, and closed my eyes tightly, as if I could make everything but the feeling of her body and mine vanish.
Thunder rumbled through the sky, and I felt the first cold touches of rain. The storm was upon us.
My wounds healed over the course of two weeks, the severity of the major injuries taking a long time to completely become whole again. I forced myself to rest as much as possible, but the storm brewing outside drew me inexorably to the deck of the ship. It came in slowly, growing stronger every few days, until the rain lashed at the hull, a relentless torrent pelting the skin, and creating such a cacophony of noise as it drummed on the wood planking, that one could not clearly speak to a person standing directly next to them. The sea churned and tossed, creating swells that the ship rocked uneasily over. We had encountered such storms before, but none that lasted so long.
I was returning from the deck, the water sheeting off of my cloak, when I encountered Liet in the hallway leading to my room. He was carrying a sword. Not just any sword. He was carrying my sword. When he saw me, he stopped in the hall and waited for me to draw closer. There was no hostility in his stance. I had not seen my sword since I'd forgotten it in the black cloak commons weeks before. I'd known it was missing, but I couldn't bring myself to go back and get it. The metal gleamed in the hall lights. It had been cleaned and maintained by the looks of it. That scrap of metal, though a finely honed tool crafted with precision and care, had never seemed as ominous as it did at that moment. Its existence was a grim reminder of the battle that had taken place on the other side of the ship.
"I thought you might need this." Liet said as I approached him. He held the weapon out grip first. I hesitated to reach out and grab it. The leather wrapped hilt looked darker than it had been, as though it were stained with blood that could never be removed. I stayed my hand. A question burned in my mind.
"Is the woman, did she. . ." I hadn't asked anyone yet. I hadn't seen any of the Brigade in days. I still did not know the fate of the woman that I had injured and almost killed. I was afraid to know. Had she died . . .
"She is fine. We stopped the bleeding, and she is recovering well. The child seems healthy, though we won't know for certain until it is born." Liet answered the unspoken question, reading the intent in my features, and the words I was too great a coward to speak.
Cool relief swept through me. It hardly helped the guilt I still felt, but it went a long way towards easing my mind. I had feared the worst. I reached out and took the sword hilt from Liet. The weapon felt warm in my hand, as though it were alive. I replaced it in the empty scabbard at my back, eager to get the feel of that tool out of my reach as soon as possible. The Fell Beast within me stirred at the touch of the bindings of my weapon hilt. It lurched forward in the darkness within me, testing the air. The handle of my weapon reminded it of death, blood, and battle, things it craved as a normal man craved a willing woman.
"You look troubled." Liet said, cutting through the brooding darkness that was threatening to creep up inside of me.
I nodded. "I am troubled. What has transpired has left a mark on me. It should never have escalated to that level."
"It was always going to escalate to that level." Liet answered, almost before I'd finished what I was saying. "They wouldn't have understood it any other way. Battle. Strength. Dominance."
"Why, Liet? Why couldn't they see how close we were to done with this journey? They died for three months of time. Do you understand how terrible that is? They could have had what they wanted if they'd only waited a little longer." My voice rose as I spoke. I had to bite back the anger that threatened to explode out of me. I was angry at the Brigade for pushing me so far, but more so, I was angry at myself for letting things reach the point where sixteen men had to die.
"Some men, fighting men, do not understand patience. It is difficult to wait, when what you want it right before you. You let it eat at your heart, Drake Slayer, but the black cloaks hold no grudge over what transpired. We know you did what you had to. Fight to protect. There you find honor. Kivann fought to protect. He had honor as well, but you won. We accept that. You should accept that was well." Liet said, explaining things as though it were the simplest concept in the world. I understood what he was saying. I could make myself see his point, but I couldn't accept it.
"Sixteen more are dead, Liet." That number was one that haunted me. Any time it seemed I might put the experience behind me I found myself repeating that number in my mind, like a mantra of remembrance. "Our crew keeps getting smaller. The black cloaks are dwindling, and that's not fair. You deserve the chance to make a place for yourself in the world." I insisted, trying to get Liet to see my perspective.
My old friend didn't seem fazed. "We will find our place, Drake Slayer. The world waits. We wait for the world. You killed only our men, and there are too many of them anyway. We have a bright future ahead without them. All you've done is weed out bad leaders. Weak. Too quick to act."
The ship tossed sharply beneath us, and we both reached to the wall to gain balance. It had been happening so often over the last few weeks that it was almost second nature. I heard footsteps, booted, coming down the corridor behind me, and I turned to look. Telistera approached, moving swiftly down the hall, her arms outstretched to either side to maintain balance. She looked troubled.
She acknowledged Liet and me with a nod. She was dripping wet. It was obvious that she had been out on deck recently. I was not that wet. My shifting cloak did not hold water, but Telistera was not so well uniformed against the elements. She looked miserable in her sodden clothing, though the male part of me noted how well it clung to her sleekly muscled and feminine figure.
"Noble, we may need to take down the sails." She said as way of greeting.
I nodded. It had occurred to me the first time we'd entered a storm that it might be necessary to take down the sails in the event of really bad weather. At the time, when I had brought the matter to Telistera, she had said that it shouldn't be an issue. I wondered what had made her change her mind.
"Are they weakening?" I asked, looking for clarification.
"No, the sails are still strong, and we're still on course, at least I believe we are, as long as the instruments in navigation are reading accurately through the weather. This storm, though, is getting worse. I've never seen one like it before. I'm worried that if the wind picks up too much more, we may lose a sail. We don't have the fabric to waste if something catastrophic should occur." She explained.
"I see." My mind was churning. How much time would we lose if we had to take down sails? Another thought occurred to me, and I spoke it as it did. "What of the sea creature, will it find us if we take down sail and ride out the storm? That would be a fate far worse than possibly losing a sail to the wind."
Telistera shook her head. "No, in this kind of storm the beast shouldn't be able to find us on the surface of the water, especi
ally if we are drifting at the will of the storm."
"How much longer do you think this tempest will last?" I asked. I had never encountered one that stayed strong so long. I could tell by Telistera's expression when I asked the question, that I was not going to like the answer.
"I've never experience one that did not blow out in a week or two, but I see no sign of it letting up. I'd say we have another week of this, maybe less, maybe more." Her answer was not encouraging. A week longer on the rough seas did not sound appealing, especially if it was to be a week making no progress.
"Do what you think is best for the ship." I replied, giving her permission to take down the sails. It was a difficult choice to make, but without the sails we would be left with no way of moving of our own accord once the storm was gone. So far out to sea, we would be easy prey for the beasts that lay below. We would have to draw sail and wait out the weather. A blast of thunder roared through the ship, causing the wood to quake around us.
A look of concern hung over Telistera's features.
"Is there something you're not telling us?" I asked the silver-eyed woman. In that instant, as the thunder roared about us, she had looked as though she expected something more than merely the rumble of distant lightening.
She smiled, a somewhat nervous expression. "It's nothing. . ."
Liet cocked his head to the side, obviously picking up on the same unspoken signal as me.
"It's something." I said, pressing for more information. "What is it about the thunder that has you so on edge? Are you afraid of lightening? There is no shame in that." I had known grown men who quaked during lightening storms. There was something raw and terrifying about the forces of nature. They were to be respected, if not feared.
"No, it's not lightening." She began. After a moment's pause, as if she was considering whether or not she should say anything more, she went on. "When I was a little girl, my father once told me about these storms at sea that only happen every fifteen to twenty years. He said they were bigger than any normal blow, and that they grew more powerful the closer to the center one came."
