by Richard Nell
Contents
Title Page
Copyright
Map of the Isles
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Epilogue
Where to Find More
About
Richard Nell
Dark Sea's End
Book One of
Beyond Ash and Sand
Copyright
Dark Sea's End
Beyond Ash and Sand, Book One
Author: Richard Nell
Email: [email protected]
Website:http://www.richardnell.com
All material contained within copyright Richard Nell, 2021. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means without prior written permission from the author.
The following is a book of fiction. Names, characters, places, and events are either the product of the author's imagination, or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events, is purely coincidental.
Cover art by Felix Ortiz
Design by STK Creations
Map of the Isles
Chapter 1
Not one more, Chang thought. Not one more of his crew would die, or be abandoned. He whispered an ancient sea prayer, and swore it by Roa's treacherous heart.
He scraped his knife along the bumps and craters of the prison's stone wall, looking at the men he might make corpses. "Touch him," he hissed, "see what happens."
All around him the remaining crew of the Bahala rose with exhausted groans, their callused hands over shivs and clubs. They all knew their chief's killing voice.
The four marines before them—now prisoners in the same Alaku royal prison as Chang's pirates—exchanged sweating glances in the gloom. They didn't really want violence. All they wanted was a place to sit, and if they squeezed and kicked out a few convicts they'd have a safe, dry patch of wall to rest their backs. It wasn't much, maybe, but better than the alternative—better than being surrounded on all sides by criminals and privateers belonging to rival lords.
"He's a simpleton." The captured marine pointed at Old Mata, toothless now with one white eye, a broken man who stared at the wall as if it were the sea. "Why bother with him?"
Chang shrugged. The truth would suffice.
"Because he's ours."
The marines stared from sweat covered faces. They looked in Chang's eyes and saw what they needed to see. Without a word, they turned away, moments later attacking a smaller gang on the other side. Chang and his brothers waited, and watched—the crew of the Bahala knew violence. They knew it had a way of spreading like fire, and that you might start it by choice, maybe even for good reason, then watch as your whole life burned with you inside.
This time the fire ended quickly. The well-fed, well-trained marines knocked a few heads and spilled a little blood without killing. The beaten men crawled away and the others left open the space. Just like that, the new order of things was established.
Chang put his knife away and sat with his brothers. Soon the marine captain was squished up next to him, their bare shoulders pressed together in a wall of reeking flesh ringing the wall of stone. Chang didn't mind. The marine seemed right enough and he and his crew would do well. Another time, another place, Chang would have served with men like him. But that's not what they were anymore, not in here. In the young island king's prison, a man had to fight for a scrap of rice or a chair or a moment's respect. That's just how life was. Things were simple, without all the soft lies landsmen used to cover it up. It was difficult for the well-born sailors, no doubt. But it was all 'Lucky' Chang had ever known.
* * *
Time passed slowly in the dark. Chang had lost track of the days and counted by meals. Usually it was a few buckets of rice with whatever meat and sauce was left from the palace scraps. When he heard the guards he rose without thought to make his claim. He and his boys were the second largest crew and so they ate second unless someone wanted to settle it with knives. "Let's go, boys." He was up and pushing, eyes roaming face after face for threat. Finding none, he made it to the bars.
"There they are, coming like good dogs." The guard smiled. "Get your scum, pirate. You're coming with us."
Chang took his moment. He was here for piracy, and a man left the Alaku prison for piracy in one of two ways. Either one involved rope.
"Get your scum, I said." The guard worked at the metal gate as others formed up with spears and knives. Chang still hadn't moved.
"What we doin', Chiefy?" Scab-cheeked Basko shifted his feet at Chang's side and scratched at his fleas. Basko was a lazy scoundrel of a sailor, but a proper brute when things were rough. He bounced on his heels as he palmed his knife, wild-eyed and ready to die.
"Ain't no use," muttered the Steerman, already coming up to surrender. The little islander was as vicious as he was cowardly, and you could never know which for sure.
Basko hissed his contempt, but the Steerman was right. They could fight and hurt or maybe kill a few of the guards, but they'd lose. Even if they won there was no way out of the king's maze.
"We go." Chang stepped forward with his hands to the bars.
"Good dog," said the guard, strapping him with bronze chains. "Now get back you bastards!" More guards waved spears at the growing cluster of prisoners, sticking one or two to make their point.
Soon enough Chang and his crew were rattling their chains through the narrow corridors, led by spear and boot to another holding cell still too small for so many men, but luxurious in contrast to the prison.
"You got a guest," said the guard through the gate. "Asked for you special." He smiled. "I think it's finally time to die, pirate."
Chang didn't much like to talk unless it mattered. He found a wall and leaned, noticing a few shafts of light through a grate near the top of the cell.
"Ain't no execution," said the Steerman. "They'd 'a taken us outside where others could see."
"Might be torture," chimed in Basko helpfully. "Old Mata never did tell 'em where he buried all that silver. Might be they think we know."
"Just listen, and be ready." Chang's voice silenced the rest. "If I say go, we go. Got it?"
"Just listen," repeated the Boatswain, stretching his thinning shoulders. The Oarsmen brothers cracked meaty knuckles, the Pitman stared off at nothing, and the Swabbies nodded with youthful vigor.
They all stunk like filth and death now even more than usual. A hundred days they'd been fighting and running on a broken ship until at last the kingsmen had caught them moored and helpless trying to make repairs. Then it was shackles and guilty this and guilty that and 'so says the king of the isles'. Now here they were, trapped like rats, but from listening to Chang they were still alive.
Soon the guards were greeting a visitor outside, and Chang signaled the men. He didn't know why they'd bee
n brought here but it made no difference. This was the best chance they'd have—one chance to maybe rip off that grate and climb one by one to the fortress above. No one escaped the Alaku prison proper. Not one man in a hundred years. So it was the grate, or it was nothing.
A key fumbled at the door, and Chang's heart quickened as the hinge creaked. A tall man in a dark robe walked inside, his hands calmly tucked into his cuffs.
Chang stared and felt his mouth gape in recognition. The men's nervous eyes danced across him, waiting for a sign that didn't come.
"Good morning," said the greatest killer in the isles, his smile calm as a Bato breeze.
"Well?" The Steerman licked his lips in the silence, hunched forward like a dog with a scent. Chang shook his head, still unable to speak. "Well?" The Steerman said louder, the others lurching with restless panic. Chang managed to say 'no' just as the man lunged.
Their visitor sprung as if waiting. Bone cracked against bone as his hand smashed the smaller man in the chest like a club, dropping him instantly to his knees. He slumped over, coughing and gasping for air.
"You are Lucky Chang," said the robed killer—the dead king's assassin, and terror of the isles for a decade. His almost pleasant eyes gazed into Chang's. "You are the crew who survived the pirate purge?"
The crew stared at their fastest man groaning on the stone, and all thoughts of violence vanished from their faces.
"No," said Chang, doing his best not to show his fear. "I'm innocent. We all are."
The 'spymaster' smiled with what seemed genuine, if tepid, pleasure. "I'm here to offer you a deal, Chang. Honest employment, and afterward, freedom. For you and as many men who would follow you."
Even the injured Steerman perked up at the words, horking phlegm as a few wide eyes roamed Chang for assurance.
"Why should you offer us anything?"
The killer smiled his smile. "Take the evening to think it through, if you like."
"We both know I've got no choice. Just tell me why."
The visitor shrugged and stepped away, knocking again at the door. "You'll do well, I think. I need good sailing men, Chang, that is why. And because no honorable, free sailors would accept my offer."
Chang didn't much like being a prisoner, but he liked being a slave even less.
"Tell me why gods curse you." He felt his hands ball to fists, though he knew just as well that he was trapped like a damn landsman, metal shackles like he'd worn as a boy. The spymaster turned, the same smile on his terrifying, forgettable face.
"A curious pirate. How interesting. You'll soon see, my friend. You needn't worry. You'll soon see."
* * *
Nervous guards had waited outside their meeting, and Chang realized this meant their guest had chosen to come in alone. He'd wanted to be locked in a room with ten desperate men who all had hidden scraps of wood or metal tucked away. Which meant he had wanted violence, just so he could put it down.
The thought disturbed Chang through the long night and into the morning as more armed guards marched him and his men from their pit. They clattered their chains through long corridors of the palace maze, then into royal gardens where they were stared at by clean, frowning servants. Instead of the gate they'd been inside those months ago, this time they were taken to the coast, to a royal harbor filled with warships.
"Look at that," said the Pitman, awake now that the sea was close, gesturing at a huge rammer. "One of them new coastals with the wider sails."
"Must be five hundred ships," muttered an Oarsman. "Never seen so many in one place."
Chang said nothing, though he'd never seen so many, either. The guards took them past the dozen swaying docks that led to the Royal Alaku Navy, past the warehouses and drydocked vessels, marine barracks and construction.
A single ship was moored near the beach, a nearby transport weighed down with an iron anchor and lashed with thick hempen rope. The dead king's spymaster stood in front of it, hands in cuffs, frozen smile etched on his face.
"Loa," he greeted them in the island custom with a half bow. "From now on you may call me Captain Eka, or just Captain. This will be your ship for the forseeable future."
Chang walked closer to the vessel, and the more he did the stranger he realized it was. Twenty years now he had spent on ships in the thousands of Pyu islands—twenty years of trading, robbing, and raiding amongst the greatest navies and best ships in the world. He had never seen anything like this.
It was facing them, the angled curve of the sleek but high hull incredibly steep from deck to bottom. A long spar jut from the front like a spear, with countless lines lashed all around it. And the mast! No, Chang realized, there were three masts, all built in a row, towering above like castle spires twenty times the length of a man. He found himself staring with all the others, head turned this way and that as he tried to understand.
"Impressive, isn't it?" The killer-turned-captain smiled. "Don't be too pleased. It's complex beyond reason, and you'll need to learn every piece of it."
"How many crew?" Chang managed.
"Ten, ideally. We could make do with five."
"Then it's just us? You've no other men?"
Eka tilted his shaved head. "And the pilot. Does that concern you, Chang?"
"No." He shrugged and met the man's eyes, despising games when they didn't favor him. "But what's to stop us cutting your throat the first night, Captain, and tossing you in the waves for Roa?"
The assassin's smile widened, as if he had assessed this threat and found it trivial. "If your moral upbringing fails you, Master Chief, then nothing, save for my own humble efforts. And that of the pilot."
Chang snorted. "Two against ten. You're a fool. I won't board a ship captained by a fool."
Eka shook silently with what might have been a laugh.
"Did you hear that, Savage?" he called to the ship. "I think you're going to like this one."
A form emerged audibly from the hull, his footsteps thudding along the wood. Chang felt his own feet move back. Sun glared off the pale, bald flesh of a hairless scalp, then bare shoulders as wide as a tree. A deformed giant rose next to the closest mast, impossibly tall and lithe for his muscle. His people were known to Chang. He was an 'ashman', from the far South, a people who had killed and butchered islanders for the past two years before the king made peace. He stepped down the gangplank, his strange, golden eyes turning on Chang and his men. His scarred frame gleamed with sweat, and he held what might have been a carving in his huge hands. All his life Chang had survived by taking the measure of violent men, and in his new Captain he had recognized a killer and acted accordingly. In the golden slits before him, squinted almost painfully against the sun, he saw a monster.
"Yes, I heard," spoke the creature, his voice as deep as the sea. "He's right. You are very foolish."
"Look at his eyes," muttered the Steerman, rather rudely, turning to the others with something like disbelief. "That's their leader. The sorcerer, with golden eyes. That's Bukayag The Butcher."
Chang remained silent. He had never seen the ashman leader, but he had heard descriptions. A deformed giant with golden eyes, just as was said. Chang couldn't imagine there were two.
"My name is Ruka," said the barbarian warlord. "And I am no threat to you. I lead nothing, not even this ship. Look to Eka, and to yourselves. I will look to the stars."
With that he turned and ascended the ramp with heavy steps, humming as he polished the carving. Eka half bowed and extended a hand.
"Come, gentlemen. There is much to do. We sail West as far as West goes—beyond the far lands of the mountain tribes, beyond the continent, and into an endless sea. I should like to leave with the tide."
Chapter 2
Chang watched the sails of The Prince expand, somewhere between fear and awe.
"More mainsail!" Eka shouted from his perch atop one of the masts. Their new 'captain' had exchanged his robes for the typical short cloth shirt and pants of an island sailor. He could clamber up and dow
n the rigging as fast as a born marine, and seemed to know the trade as well as any of the crew. It was, in a word, infuriating.
Chang gestured and the Pitman raced to obey, grumbling curses in some far flung tongue of the Western isles. The Pitman's sole job was the sails, and he was accustomed to being a master of his trade, working largely alone on a single mast. But this ship was too large for one man to handle, and so the whole crew had to learn. Chang looked over at Basko fumbling with a growing cluster of line and growled, running to help him sort it.
"Makes no bloody sense," he said, red-faced, as Chang grabbed an end.
"Rigging is rigging. There's just a lot of it. Here." He threw away three he didn't need and pulled at the highest, which flew off instantly. The day was windy, and the huge cloth sails whipped and curled with tension, thrashing like beasts as they fought their restraints.
"More mainsail," Eka shouted from above. "And what's the bloody problem, third mast?"
Chang stared daggers but held his tongue. 'What problem?' he wanted to shout. 'What bloody problem? We should have five more men! We should have less sail and more time to practice in safe waters.' But he had already voiced these complaints, and was met first with contempt from the captain, then a baffling explanation from the pilot. In both cases it meant 'shut up and deal with it'.
"It's like a navy ship," Chang explained to Basko. "Like the flagship Old Mata stole from the Molbog. The lines are just thin, use only a hitch knot, the smallest you can."
"Aye, Chiefy."
With that sorted, Chang ran across to the main mast.
"Where's my bloody sail, Master Chief?" the captain barked from the nest. Chang grit his teeth and tried to understand the thick cluster of line just as the Pitman cried in triumph and released more sail, the cloth flapping wide as it unfurled.
"There's your god cursed sail, you bastard," Chang growled as the men laughed and whooped, stepping away. Chang seized a line and moved to the rail, looking out across the bow towards the coast of the continent. As he did he watched the sea. Soon he blinked against the cool air and spray and knew it wasn't just the wind. The water moved away from him far faster than seemed possible. The three sails were full, the huge cups of cloth strained against their spars. And what became clear was a simple fact: this ship could damn near fly.
