by Ashley Capes
Luis waved to the sentry. “Ruveo.”
The short man had half-drawn his sword at the sight of them but re-sheathed it, though his dour expression did not ease. His hair was shaven close, exposing ears whose tips were wind-burned. “Luis? You’ve returned then.” He looked to Never. “Where’s Peat?”
“On his way home. This is Never; I thought he might as well join us.”
Ruveo narrowed his eyes. “What sort of name is that?”
“The one I was given.”
“We need more men by the looks of things,” Luis said.
Ruveo gave a short nod but said, “That’s up to Ferne.”
“Then we better go see him.”
The sentry stepped aside, grumbling as they passed. Never suppressed a sigh. Good. Another cheerful fellow with a grudge against everything. Such pleasant company was certainly an unlooked for boon on his trip. At least Luis was a good sort – what would Ferne be?
Luis hailed the group and once he convinced the treasure hunters of Never’s name, he asked after Ferne.
“In his tent,” one of the hunters said.
“Taking an afternoon nap is he?” Never asked.
The men snickered as they held their hands out to the blaze, but one shook his head. “He’s not fond of funny guys, newcomer.” A gap in his teeth winked black as he spoke.
“Spots is right, Never. I don’t think I’ve seen Ferne smile the whole time.”
“Maybe he’s ticklish but he just hides it well?”
Now everyone laughed, even Spots. Never grinned. It never hurt to get strangers onside early. Luis led him to the tent flap where he paused.
“Ferne, it’s me. Luis.”
A deep voice answered, a hint of surprise within. “What? Get in here.”
The lamp-lit interior was sparse; bed-roll and travel chest the only things of note. A large slab of stone served as a table, upon which maps were spread. A bear of a man stood over them, glaring as they entered. His bald head caught the lamplight and his beard was a black beast in and of itself. He wore an axe strapped across his back, daggers belted over a brown tunic.
Almost unassuming for a famous treasure-hunter, a class of folk Never had always found to be a bit more gaudy. But then, maybe it spoke to Ferne’s seriousness.
“Who’s this?”
“Never is his name. He’s a hunter. Peat and I ran into him on the way back.”
Ferne gave him a look of appraisal. “You can use those knives?”
“Very well.”
He grunted. “You know what you’re getting into?”
“The sea creatures?”
“No. The split.”
“Luis hasn’t had a chance to explain yet.”
“I take half and the rest is split between the group. And you and Luis count as one,” he said, glancing at Luis. “That’s the price of abandoning us. You don’t like it, then leave.” Back to Never. “How does that sound?”
“Generous.” Not that he really wanted the jewels but half split between six men was better than half split between thirty. On the other hand, one-sixth of nothing was still nothing.
“Damn right it is.” He looked back down to the map.
Luis made to leave, his expression dark, but Never lingered. “I must say I’m impressed, Ferne. You’re well-provisioned.”
He grunted. “Carrying it all over those bridges wasn’t easy. Nor gathering the capital in the first place. And I’d say it had been worth it, but that was before we lost most of the group to those filthy creatures. And we’re running out of food, so if you can fish, get to work.”
“Does the fire keep the sea creatures away?”
He glanced up, eyes narrowing. “Sometimes. Got any ideas?”
“Maybe. I hear they don’t like music.”
Ferne frowned. “Think I’ve got a minstrel in that chest?”
“I can play a little,” Luis said, producing the reed pipe.
“I never heard that about this place. It probably won’t work.” Ferne grunted. “But you’ll have your chance to try it tonight.”
Luis nodded. “Any luck with the door?”
“None.” Ferne said no more, returning to his maps once again.
Luis gestured to Never, before heading back out to the camp. “You might as well see it before it gets dark,” Luis said.
No more than a dozen paces across from the tent rested the door – solid stone in the outcropping; tall as two men, wide enough for a pair of carts to pass through. A faint line revealed where it would open, but no hinges, no handle, only a trail of symbols in an arch. Similar to those on the island earlier; like the ones Mother had used.
A blunted log lay to the side, most of it cut away for firewood. Impressive that the group had carried such a thing from one of the other islands.
“You recognise the symbols?” Luis said.
“They must be the key to opening this.” He glanced back to the tent. “Have you seen Ferne’s maps?”
“Not really. He doesn’t like anyone else looking. You think there are clues within?”
Never nodded.
“Then let’s hope he figures it out soon.” Luis had folded his arms, gaze directed across the water. He was tapping a foot.
“When will they attack?”
“At nightfall. Or with the moon.”
Never put a hand on his shoulder. “Then we better get you something sharper than that frown. Will anyone give you a weapon if you ask?”
Luis nodded. “Ruveo might. He got Fali’s spear as spare when one of the creatures took him.”
“Let’s find out and then get something to eat. I’m starting to feel weak from hunger.”
Ruveo still paced the rise. Luis asked after the spear and the man patted the purse belt at his waist. “It’ll cost you. Three silver pieces.”
Never raised an eyebrow. Not steep, but in a place where everyone depended on everyone else, it seemed a little...imprudent, ‘imprudent’ being a generous way of putting it.
“One,” Luis countered.
“Three or nothing. Three or have your new friend look after you.”
“You’re really going to demand money?” Never asked. “He’s good with a spear – the more of us the better, right?”
Ruveo glanced at him but did not answer. He turned back to Luis. “Well?”
“Damn it, Ruveo.”
Never raised a hand. “Let me.” He produced a gold mark and held it up between thumb and forefinger.
Ruveo’s eyes lit up. “I don’t have change for that.”
“Not a problem.” Never flicked his arm and the mark flew out, striking Ruveo in the throat. The man’s hands flew up and he coughed, bending down and scrambling about for the gold. Hardly a fatal strike, but annoying enough, no doubt.
Never grinned. “We’ll help ourselves then.”
“Bastard,” Ruveo gasped out once he had the coin in hand.
“Still lying by your bedroll is it?” Luis asked. Never thought Luis was doing a fair job of controlling his face.
“Take it,” he snapped.
Once Luis had a spear again his shoulders relaxed. He smiled where he stood beside Never, waiting as food was dished into bowls by Spots.
“Fish soup; not much else in it,” the man said.
Never sighed. “Better than chewing rocks.”
“That it is.” He paused between ladling the food. “Care for some advice?”
“Please.”
“Sleep light. Spread rubble around your bed roll, you might hear them stumble.”
He nodded. “Luis told me the sentries are being taken.”
“Aye.” He took out a silver, star-shaped pendant on a chain and kissed it. “Every day I thank Pacela when I actually wake.”
“Thanks for the advice,” Never s
aid as he moved to sit on a rock before the fire. Luis soon joined him. He kept his voice low as he ate. “So, why are you treasure hunting if you’ve got gold to throw around?”
“Last of my gold, I’m afraid,” Never said. “And that’s exactly why I’m here. I tend to be a little too free with my coin. Besides, I owe you, remember?”
“Then we’re even now,” Luis said.
“Don’t sell yourself short,” he chuckled.
Darkness had truly fallen when Ferne appeared to eat, sitting across from them and pausing only to remind everyone to rotate the watch regularly. Spots went off to relieve Ruveo, who ate in sullen silence.
Before Ferne left, Never asked about the symbols.
“Some move but that’s all I know. I can’t read them. Could you?”
“No. They have the look of something...older than Marlosa.”
“I agree. Let me know when you’ve deciphered it – if we survive the night.” Ferne returned to his tent.
“Well, my spirits are certainly high now,” Never said. The men chuckled – except for Ruveo, and Never bade them goodnight. Maybe it was forced and maybe it did little to ease the strain in their eyes, but it was clear there’d been little to laugh about of late. He’d drawn a middle watch and getting at least some sleep before it was broken meant retiring early. He spread some stones first then stretched out his bedroll near Luis and lay back, the sprinkle of stars above winking out as clouds crept across the black.
Never set his breathing to a regular pattern and waited for sleep.
*
He woke to screams.
The wet slap of webbed feet echoed beneath the screaming and shouted commands. He shot to his feet, drawing a pair of knives. His heart thumped in his chest. Moonlight and the glow of the fire, along with smaller points from torches, lit the struggle. Man-shaped things fought the treasure hunters, or those who remained. Only two figures stood by the fire, back to back, blades flashing in the firelight.
Steel scraped on stone.
He spun. One of the treasure hunters grappled with a creature. Beyond, another pair slipped from the water. No spear, was it Luis or not? Never leapt forward as the hunter drove a knee into his attacker’s stomach. The creature hissed, stabbing the man’s shoulder with its hand.
Never slashed with his blades. Scales rebuffed his attack but the thing dropped the hunter and turned on him. A sloped face that seemed to melt in the very moonlight regarded him, its eyes thin and bright.
He flinched. Was it human or beast? Never reversed his blade, ducked its slash and drove the weapon into the neck. Cold blood spurted across his hand and the creature fell back, taking the knife. Never drew another. The creature stumbled to the stones and Never crouched by the hunter.
Spots.
A barb protruded from his shoulder and his skin was already cold. Gripped in his hand was the silver star of the Goddess Pacela.
More figures were piling up behind the wounded creature, slipping from the ocean to scramble up the stones. Too many. He slung a knife at the closest. The hilt cracked into its face and it fell to the ground. Yet it stirred immediately. He drew another knife, then swore, sheathing them both.
Instead, he grabbed Spots by the ankles and heaved. Dead weight.
Still more creatures crowded the shore.
“Luis,” he shouted over his shoulder. “Wherever you are, play that pipe.”
Never released Spots and retreated. The man was already dead. Or so he prayed. The creatures fell upon the hunter, dragging him toward the water. A few followed Never, who backed toward the campfire. Were the other hunters even alive? He turned and ran for the remaining men.
Shrill notes cut the air.
The creatures stopped. From all across the island a hissing rose. “Keep playing,” he shouted.
The tune emerged – The Ballad of Stonefist – unsteady at first, but soon enough the sound of the reed pipe soared into the night. The creatures were turning, shoving at each other, scrambling for the water. The slap of wet feet was a brief thunder, followed by splashing and churning and then only the sound of the pipe and Never’s panting.
Chapter 7.
Never stood before the door, arms folded.
A bright sun beat down, casting light but little warmth across the wind-swept stone of the island. The scent of smouldering ash filled the camp. Somewhere in the distance, a gull cried, a dim echo of the cries from last night.
“Well?”
Never glanced over his shoulder. Of all the hunters to survive the attack, why did Ruveo have to be one of them? Tedious fool that he was; the man glowered, as if such impatience would change anything. Ferne and Luis stood close by.
“I didn’t say I could open it – only that I had an idea.”
“And?”
“And what?”
Ferne grunted. “Time to share, Never.” He bore a long scratch down cheek and neck. Luis had escaped injury and even now, stood with spear in hand and reed pipe looped through his belt.
Never shrugged. “You said some of them move?”
“Slight depressions,” Ferne said.
“And you’ve pressed them all?”
“Of course.” He waved a hand. “Where are you going?”
He grinned; he’d seen a similar-principled lock back home, in the Quisa catacombs. Only it had been skulls set in the wall, not symbols. “Have you depressed them all at the same time?”
Ferne scratched at his chin beneath his beard. “Been here days and we haven’t tried that. Stupid.”
“Luis, give me a lift, will you?” Never asked.
The leader of the treasure hunters snorted. “Let me.” He bent down and linked his big hands. Never lifted his leg but paused.
“I apologise – I usually wipe my feet before standing on a person.”
Ferne’s expression was not one of amusement. Never stood, using his hands as guides against the stone when Ferne straightened. Despite the height of the door, he was able to reach the symbols. He applied pressure to one and it slid into the rock face with a tiny click.
“The others,” Ferne ordered.
Luis and Ruveo moved to the other symbols, faint clicks following.
“That all of them?” Never asked.
“Nothing’s happening,” Ruveo said. “This is pointless.”
Never thumped the wall. He’d been sure... There. A little higher – an additional symbol, a smaller, similar leaf. “Wait,” he said when Ferne began to lower him. “There’s more...” Ferne lifted him again and he reached for the fifth symbol with his free hand.
Another click – and something sharp jabbed his palm.
He jerked his hand back. A thin trail of blood trickled down the skin. Poison? The barb retracted and a grinding followed as the doors swung open to reveal a dark maw.
Ferne lowered him then slapped him on the back. Never’s jaw clacked. “Earned your half of Luis’ cut right there.”
“A pleasure.” He closed his hand. His blood felt as before, no worse, no better. Had the barb been a trap or something else? Had it once been coated with poison but over time...he frowned. Nothing to do except pay attention to his body.
If he fell in a heap twenty steps later, that’d be the first clue.
Luis was grinning but Ruveo only shook his head as he moved off to collect his belongings.
“Someone put bugs in his bedroll?” Never asked Luis.
“He’s always like that.” Luis shrugged but his eyes were bright. “We’re going to find the Sea King’s Jewels, aren’t we?”
“Maybe.”
Ferne was already back at his tent; he’d dragged the chest free and was rolling up his maps. Luis was repacking his own belongings, stuffing his thin bedroll into the bottom of his pack. His water flask followed.
“How much water do we have?” Never asked.<
br />
“Another week’s worth. Ferne tried to plan ahead.”
“We’d better hide whatever we don’t take. Those creatures won’t take kindly to whatever we leave behind, if the shore was any indication.”
“I’ll tell Ferne.”
By the time water and other provisions, including lamp oil, had been distributed, Never was tapping his foot before the opening. At least he hadn’t turned purple yet. Within could be the answers he’d been seeking since he was a boy; since learning just how different he was – thanks to the village bully. It was childish, as so many disagreements had been then. Fighting over a girl. Just one punch each.
But that was enough.
Once the flow began, he hadn’t been able to turn off the blood. He ended up covered in it. And the way she looked at him...worse than any dagger.
Only Snow had saved him from the mob of villagers.
Not that they’d been wrong to want him dead.
“Let’s get our treasure,” Ferne said, lifting his lamp and stepping into the darkness.
“No speech to stir our spirits?” Never murmured as he followed, Luis beside him. Ruveo walked rear, his own lamp casting conflicting shadows.
The passage ended in a set of broad stairs heading down into the chill darkness. Ferne took them without hesitation, footfalls echoing. Each step was worn in the centre. Little changed as they descended, the walls remained dark, featureless stone – only the cold smell of dampness grew.
When the stairs levelled off into a chamber with two adjoining passageways, Ferne paused.
“Any ideas on your maps?” Never asked.
Ferne shook his head. “They took us through the islands. But I have nothing for in here.”
Never nodded to a passage. “I say left.” He was sure the passages corresponded to his own map, which he wasn’t going to share with Ferne yet. Or even at all, just in case. But if the passages did, the left one would lead further along the island and eventually to the Amber Isle itself. The right passage was marked with a skull on his map. Not a good sign. He caught Luis’ eye, who remained silent, only offering a slight question with a raised eyebrow.
