by Jon Kiln
Vekal scowled, eliciting a confused reaction from pink gums of Plunkett, but Vekal wasn’t stopping as he made his way across the deck. The devil inside of him seemed to be loving this new found power that Vekal had. In what the priest thought was an act of spectacular cosmic irony, and one which was not lost on the demon possessing him at all, the devil was learning all of the crew’s terrible little secrets.
In just the few short days that they had been on board, the captain had released the priest’s services to the crew. He had heard about murders, beatings, stolen inheritances, stolen wives, arson, more licentiousness than he could ever wash out of his ears, and lots and lots of theft. Most of these crimes were petty, which Ikrit would dismiss with a frank “try better!” or a “mediocre!” But occasionally, for some of the juicier crimes, he would giggle and would make the spiritual equivalent of rubbing his hands in glee, which again made the priest feel dirty.
“I thought you liked this work, little Vekal?” Ikrit taunted, as Vekal kept his head down and turned around the main mast and headed for the top deck, where a nook behind the wheelhouse usually housed little more than a lookout and a resident gull or two.
“Healing the sick and converting the unfaithful? Preparing their souls for your feathered creator?”
Vekal grit his teeth. It’s not meant to be like this. They’re not meant to heal! So far, no one had miraculously healed in the same way that Dal Grehb’s daughter had, and the Sin Eater himself still had his body covered with scars, and still remained stubbornly pained when the devil inside diverted his attention elsewhere.
But the crew were unmistakably healing. He wondered whether Plunkett’s split lip would heal up entirely, or just become more manageable. Yesterday, when he had ‘eaten’ Plunkett’s sin of purloining and stashing brandy from their guests, the sailor had a face like a fresh graveyard. Now, he had teeth that could chew their way through a freshly-killed goat, bones and all.
But that wasn’t all the good deeds that had been delivered. One man’s gimpy leg had started to get mysteriously better, and another’s cough had receded to a sore throat. The priest wondered whether he was imagining that the hair of the sailors on deck had even appeared to be more lustrous and thick, and instead of drink-reddened cheeks and chapped, blotchy skin, there was now an infusion of warm golden tans.
How could this be the will of my Lord Annwn? he questioned himself, finding the spot at the rear of the boat, but keeping one side of the wheelhouse between him and the lookout.
“What’s the name of his missus? The crying one?” Ikrit unhelpfully teased.
“Lady Iliya.” Vekal grunted to the speckled grey gull that sat next to him, who hoped that he might produce some morsel of ship’s biscuit or dried fish. “She is merciful, and mournful, but even so, why would she heal these people and not the poor, besieged people of Fuldoon?” And why not me? Vekal thought, but didn’t add. Unfortunately for him, when possessed it is hard to hide any thought from the possessor.
“Watch it, priest! Pride before the fall, and all that…” the devil laughed. “So you have a power, a talent. A little chicanery. Embrace it. Perhaps it is all of that Sin Eater training finally powered by a first rate, premier-grade, rarefied devil,’ he said, apparently not seeing the hypocrisy with his earlier statement.
But Vekal didn’t like it. He didn’t like the way that the crew now looked at him. None of the changes were so immediate or dramatic as to instantly claim that it was the priest, but years of learning how to observe and pick up on what went unsaid was showing the Sin Eater that they were starting to think it. Captain Jons pretty much blatantly declared that all of the good luck that the Emerald was having recently—escaping a war-torn city, fine winds and fair weather, and the sudden outbreak of good health and good cheer on board—was all down to his ‘pet priest’.
“Yes, that is regrettable. We are nobody’s pet,” Ikrit complained, and on this occasion at least, Vekal agreed.
But without knowing why it is happening, I do not know whether it should, Vekal pinned down his dilemma. Perhaps, if this was the will of the gods, then it was a gift, and one that he was meant to use only with certain heroes and noble-minded people?
“Pfagh, don’t make me make you sick,” the imp informed him just what he thought of that suggestion, before alerting him to a nearing presence. Vekal turned, to see rangy Kraggers, the boatswain of the Emerald and the second in command. He bore with him a meaty boathook; a large rod of wood with a metal hook on one end as fat as a man’s face, used for hooking ropes or things fallen into the waves.
The man, still too far to use it, stiffened when he saw Vekal turn and look at him, and Vekal wondered if Kraggers had been intending to use that hook to push him overboard. There was no love lost between them, and so it was with great surprise when Kraggers kept on walking forward towards him and the priest felt Ikrit tense, ready to deliver power, speed and strength to his host’s limbs.
Vekal visibly relaxed, as Kraggers said, “Hear my fish-spit confession, priest.”
“Uh, oh. Of course, child of the gods, of course,” Vekal responded, inwardly groaning. He might have preferred if Kraggers had attacked him instead.
But the imp was ecstatic. “Yes! I’ve been hoping we collect this one’s sin since the start. I bet it’s a good one. Just think of the hold we will have between him and the captain.”
“Not up here. Down below,” Kraggers whispered. “I don’t want any old sod hearing what I’ve done.”
Hang on… Vekal thought, remembering just how deeply jealous the boatswain was of the captain’s favorite pet priest. “Kraggers my good man, really it is much easier up here in the fresh air. Closer to the elements as the gods made them, you see…”
“Move it, priest.” Kraggers thumped on the deck, pointing to the nearest trapdoor. “Don’t worry, I’m not going to nobble you. Think what a hissy fit the captain will have if he found you with your head caved in, huh?”
Charming, Vekal thought as he pulled up the trapdoor, and started to make his way down the rope ladder inside. It doesn’t really fill me with confidence now, does it?
“Granted. But the man’s got a point, hasn’t he?” Ikrit considered.
You are no help at all, imp! Vekal countered, as his booted feet hit the floor of the upper storage hold. “Kraggers? Are you ready now?” He cleared his throat and began his breathing exercises.
“Not here, where anyone can wander in. Over there, behind those sacks of grain.” Kraggers led the way, thankfully leaving the boat hook stowed on a wall as if it had always been his intention to return it there. Vekal complied, doing as he was told until they found that they were in a tight corner up against the curving, tar-caked boards of the wall. He was sure that he could even hear the booming echoes of the sea outside. Vekal took a breath and cleared his mind, beginning the litany of the Unliving.
“You are the dead. The Unliving. You do not belong to the world but to those that live beyond it. You are made of this world but are not owned by it. I will cast no shadow, for the dead have nothing to hide…” Vekal began, feeling his mind calm and unfold like one of the complicated puzzle-boxes that he had once seen, spilling into him a sense of infinite purpose.
“Enough of that mumbo-jumbo, fish-spit!” Kraggers slammed him up against the wall of the boat, hard enough that his head bounced off the nearest beam and he saw stars.
“What! Treachery! What an evil little—” Ikrit was sending spasms of energy into Vekal’s system, reducing the pain and shock that Vekal felt, as Kraggers did it again, and again.
“Listen to me, priest.” Kraggers suddenly stopped. “I’ve got a bleeding sin to confess, only I ain’t done it yet. It’s called mutiny. I don’t know what sick little trick you are doing to people, making them think you are some holy conman or something, and I don’t care. Just if you do any more of that, or endanger the crew, I’ll bloody kill yer.”
Vekal felt rage pulsing through him, as he stepped off the bulkhead towards Kragg
ers.
“Kill! Kill!” Ikrit was panting with something akin to lust. It made Vekal feel sick, even as Kraggers tried to push him again, only to find himself rebuffed by the now immovable strength of Ikrit’s body.
Kraggers stepped back and rubbed his chin. “So you do have a bit of something tough in you, hey? Good. Because that means you’ll understand what I say when I say this. If you mess around with the crew or the captain anymore, I’ll lead a mutiny with the remaining men and we’ll dump all the ones you’ve addled over board, captain included. And you will get to watch, before I do the same to you, got it?”
“Tear his eyes out! Go for the throat! Kick him! Bite off his ear!” Ikrit was starting to raise Vekal’s hand, clenching it into a fist as Kraggers laughed at him.
“Oh, don’t bother, priest. You know I’m good on my word. You get to go to this gods-forsaken Gaunt Island. We’ll drop you off and there, done. We’ll never cross paths again and you never touch the captain or any of my crew again, got it?”
“Rip out his heart,” Ikrit was saying, before the red fog started to clear just a fraction. Despite the fact that he hated Kraggers, this outcome was precisely what Vekal the cleric wanted. No more healing, just get to Gaunt Island without fuss. With a great effort of will, Vekal managed to nod through the demon-rage, and watched as Kraggers lurched off through the ship.
“You coward. We could have killed him easily, with your training and my powers,” the devil scolded him. “And then we would have a boat. We’d make the captain understand. We’d make all of them understand that we are the better leader of this vessel,” Ikrit crowed.
“No,” Vekal said alone in the darkness, rubbing the graze on the back of his head as it started to throb.
“Why in the Seven Hells not?” the imp demanded.
Vekal groaned, as the pain in his head and back started flooding back as the devil withdrew its unholy grace. “Because I thought that you wanted to get to the Lockless Keys and get to heaven, devil,” he said through teeth shaking with tremors of hurt. “And how will the gods receive you if you got there by initiating a massacre?”
Stubbornly, unwillingly, and not entirely, the devil threw once again the glamour of numbness over Vekal’s tormented body but said nothing. Instead, the only sound to break Vekal’s weak sense of triumph was the distant lookout above calling out.
“Storm a’coming!”
29
The boat lurched the other way again as it hit the body of the opposite wave, and Vekal fell to his knees, feeling his stomach lurch to one side as he scrabbled on the rain soaked deck for purchase. The Sin Eater needn’t have worried, as the boat raised itself over the high crest of the storm wave and was thrown back in the other direction before he could tumble even to the side railing of the Emerald.
Amazingly, the crew were managing to keep their feet, even in this unholy storm, Vekal was stunned that any land-loving creature could bear to be above deck in this torment. Every moment brought with it fresh dangers, violent gusts of winds and waves the sizes of buildings. The driving rain hammered the deck as hard as hailstones, and first seemed to come from the east, then the west, and then even sideways.
“Reef and brace that sail, or we’ll all be for the drink!” Captain Jons was bellowing, pointing to the middle main sail that was still up despite the efforts of three crew members to try and bring it down. The other two sails of the fat-bellied Emerald were much smaller by a factor of degrees, and had come down in the first few minutes of the greying storm clouds that had boiled out of the north. The canvas cloth patched sails had been folded and stowed, and the poles unlocked and rolled to the sides of the boat where they were securely tied. The last, and biggest main sail, with its swinging crow’s nest carriage atop was still fully unfurled, and the rising gale was pushing and pulling at the fabric, and the boat underneath it.
“Fish-spit and god’s eye!” the devil inside of Vekal swore. “I didn’t climb out of the Seven Hells, swim through the lake of Tartarus, walk the Plain of Innocent’s Teeth, just to drown in some mortal puddle!” it thundered, although its host wasn’t entirely sure just what other option the creature had, should the boat go down.
The Emerald crashed into the trough of the wave, sending up plumes of white water over them all, and fish the size of cats skittering across the deck. The boat was already rising as the next wave built, and the storm winds were filling the sails and throwing her forward towards it.
The wood of the main mast groaned under the tension, and Vekal heard a shout just before a loud, metallic ping. One of the sail’s rope-hooks sheered from its place on the yardarms and the rope was sent winging over the deck.
“Down!” Ikrit dropped Vekal’s knees out from under him like a stone, and the broken metal rope-hook embedded itself into the timber of the deck like an arrowhead right next to where he had been standing. But no one had time to wonder at the priests’ cat-like reflexes, as one section of the sail was now flying free, pulling the boat around.
“She’s gonna hit broadside!” Kraggers was shouting from where he had just reefed the last of the ship’s supplies tight to the railings. The Sin Eater didn’t know what that meant, but as soon as he raised his head, he saw that they were starting to turn as they raced up the next wall of water, and they would likely crest it sideways, instead of by the prow or aft point. And I don’t need to be an expert to guess that will not prove the best for any of us… Terrified visions of the boat tipping over the top of the wave and landing in the drink, dragged by the recalcitrant sail to be battered and smashed by every toss and turn of the storm filled his mind.
Lady Iliya! Vekal gasped from his place on deck. Mercy! Mercy!
Ikrit scoffed. “Your bird-brained gods won’t save us now. Who do you think sent the storm?” The devil was seething, and Vekal had to admit that the thought had crossed his mind that this might be a punishment for his new found, unholy powers. “Over there, see that? There’s a life-boat. Get in it, now. At least when this whole ship goes down we can cut ourselves free from the deadwood.”
Vekal was aghast that the devil could be so callous, before chiding himself for being so naive. Of course, Ikrit wouldn’t care what happened to the rest of the crew—it only cares about getting to the Lockless Keys. The Sin Eater started to feel his limbs move not of his own will, as the devil sought to force him to do his bidding.
“No!” he shouted at his own mind. “We must save them. Think of what the gods will do to you if you let them all drown?” He snarled, gripping the devil in his mind and forcing his feet to slow. He felt like he was pushing back against one of these impossible tides of water as his stubborn feet took another step, and then another, as he threw his scarred hands out to the edge of the small rowing boat already packed with supplies and water.
“No! I won’t let you!” Vekal was shouting, pushing back against the lifeboat with his hands even as his legs were seeking to climb in. If the whole world wasn’t currently being turned upside down with storms, then an onlooker might even have found the sight funny. But unfortunately for Vekal, that onlooker was none other than boatswain Kraggers.
“You swine!” the thin man snarled, standing on the other side of the lifeboat. Vekal looked up to see the man’s face contorted with rage as he brought down the heavy coil of hemp rope against the Sin Eater’s head and shoulders with a thunderous smack. “I should have known that you would be the first to damn us all.” Kraggers shouted as Vekal fell back, rolling over and over on the rising deck, the dizziness not giving Ikrit inside a second to gather his senses.
“You’re not running from this, whelp.” Kraggers snarled, bringing the heavy rope down once again on the disorientated priest. “If we go down, so do you.”
“Get up! Get up and fight!” Ikrit blocked all of the pain and cold from the priest’s mind as quickly as one throws a wet blanket over a flame. Vekal found himself gasping as anger surged through his limbs, and his muscles and tendons bulged with unholy power.
The m
ain mast groaned once again, and Vekal could see the length of timber that was as wide as a tree trunk actually bending as the wind tore more of the rope-hooks from its remaining yardarms. Beyond it, the sky was a froth of ugly black and grey clouds. It was enough of a distraction for Kraggers to look up and wail in animal fear.
“Cut her down!” he started shouting. “Don’t reef her. Cut the sail!”
A distant, still-himself part of Vekal thought that Kraggers had finally abandoned all hope. Without their main sail they would limp along the ocean, and be prey to any pirate or bandit that chose to pick them off. But if keeping the wind-possessed sail meant that they would all drown then the option was clear. All of these sensible and sane thoughts flashed through one side of Vekal’s brain, whilst the other one was reddened with demon mist.
The priest was rising on his feet behind the distraught Kraggers, grabbing him by the shoulder with one rage-fueled hand, and using the other to twist the hand that was holding the rope coil.
Human arms aren’t really designed to swivel too much, and the arm of the sailor was no exception, as Vekal heard a popping sound, and then a deep, structural snap and a shriek from the boatswain. To his credit, even after Vekal had released him, he still turned around with an ashen-faced snarl and tried to hit him with his other free hand, although Vekal caught the sailor’s fist easily, and started to crush it one-handedly with all of the rage and anger of the Seven Hells below.
“How dare you beat me like that? Like I was nothing better than a dog?” Vekal-Ikrit’s voice was deep and guttural, flecked with the soot and sparks of many lifetimes of damnation. “Do you have any idea who I am?” the devil—through the man—announced, as the sailors finally chopped the ropes holding the sail in place, and the large main sail tore free, ripping as it joined the storm winds, never to be seen again by the crew of the Emerald.
Kraggers was groaning as blood started to seep out from Vekal’s crushing grip. If the priest felt any discomfort, or if his own blood mingled with that of the boatswain’s, then his distorted, possessed and leering snarl for a face didn’t reveal it.
