by Andrew Day
Through sheer exhaustion, Serrel fell asleep. That night, for the first time in a long time, he dreamt about the girl he had left behind. The girl he had been forced to leave behind.
He dreamt of the day they went swimming by the lake, which incidentally was the day she had told him how she had really felt about him. That had been a good day. And in hindsight, he should have realised it would never have lasted.
In this dream, though, he watched as Daphne Kraeter swam through the clear blue water like a mermaid. Then a huge red mass of tentacles and hunger rose up in the water beneath her. In a spray of water and a cut off scream, she was gone. When Serrel dove down, frantic and terrified, he saw her in the kraken’s grasp. She was pale and still in her death. And she wasn’t alone. He saw them all. First his family, then his childhood friends, and at last he spotted Kaitlin Astral’s distinctive blonde hair, spread through the water like a halo. All of Pond Scum were there with her, and they were all beyond saving.
Serrel could only drift in the dark water and watch as everything he cared about was carried away from him.
He awoke to the sound of his name being called, to find Holly standing over him, shaking his roughly.
“Hawthorne? You all right?”
“Wha?”
“You were talking in your sleep.”
“Just... Just a bad dream.”
“It’s your turn on deck.”
“All right, I’m going.”
Serrel slid ungracefully from his hammock. He glanced over at Morton, and found the broken mage still sitting on his chest, not a care in the world. Serrel shook his head, took his staff and went off for lookout duty.
A few moments later he stomped back, went over to Morton, and shoved him viciously in the chest. Morton’s eyes went wide with alarm, he flailed his arms around frantically as he lost balance, before he slid backwards off his chest and thudded painfully onto the deck.
“Ow...”
“Yes,” agreed Serrel as he walked away. “You’re a mountain all right.”
After the events of the day, everyone on the ship was on edge. Serrel could guess that nearly everyone in the flotilla was feeling the same way. At least some of the troop transports were large, and armed. The cargo ship the Hounds travelled on was frightfully small and vulnerable, and had sprung a few leaks during the fight with the krakens. Now the Hounds were taking turns to keep watch on the surrounding water, just in case they had any surprises in the night.
Serrel stood at the starboard rail, and swept his eyes across the featureless water. Brant was at the port rail, and Snow stood by the helm to “supervise”. The sky was clear, and the stars and a half moon lit everything with a soft glow. He could just make out figures on one of the nearer ships pacing back at forth, also on lookout. He tried not think about his horrible nightmare, but the images wouldn’t stop springing up in his brain.
Then he noticed the green light in the water.
It was tiny at first. But then it was joined by another, and then another. By the time he called the others over, the sea was lit from beneath the surface by undulating green light.
“What now?” he groaned.
Snow turned to the new captain. “Ever seen anything like this?”
The new captain was a dark skinned man named Merriman, and since his unexpected promotion he’d been locked in a constant state of worry. He shook his head, and looked ready to vomit.
Serrel stared at the glowing lights. They were moving.
“Can I have a hook?” he asked.
One of the sailors passed him a hook on a long wooden pole. Serrel dropped the end over the side and prodded at the glowing creatures. No one offered him any help. After some failed attempts, he managed to slide the hook into the strange thing and lifted it up onto the deck.
He dropped the gelatinous mass on deck, and the group crowded cautiously around.
The new Captain Merriman sighed in relief. “It’s a jellyfish.”
It was about the size of Serrel’s head, and somehow lit itself up with a brilliant green light. Serrel prodded it with the end of its staff. It stayed resolutely flat on the deck, not even bothering to go for anyone’s throat.
“Is it dangerous?” he asked.
“Not usually. The long tentacles at the bottom are painful if you touch them.”
Serrel pulled his staff back. He’d had quite enough of tentacles to last a lifetime, thank you.
“Is it suppose to glow like that?” asked Brant.
Merriman looked worried again. “Sometimes. But not really like this...”
They looked out at sea again, where the waters around and beneath the flotilla were brightly illuminated. But only around the flotilla. The rest of the sea seemed dark and unremarkable.
“Does it spew acid?” Brant asked.
“Not normally.”
“Do they sprout legs and scuttle around?”
“No.”
“Oh, I know. It stings you, lays eggs in the wound, and then its young rip their way out of your body.”
“Gods, no! What’s wrong with you?”
“Are you telling me that’s all it does?” he pointed at the flat and seemingly lifeless jellyfish as it lay squished on the deck. “I find that a little disappointing.”
“Unless,” Serrel said slowly. “Something big is going to come up and eat the jellyfish. Like some... I don’t know, giant monster crab or something.”
They thought about that.
“Clams,” said Brant.
“What?”
“Giant clams. I read those things can be real monsters. They grab your legs and never let go.”
“Urchins,” said Snow. “Three crowns says it’s urchins.”
“You mean, like... orphan kids?” said Serrel in confusion.
“No, it’s like a starfish, but with these big spines sticking out of it. I say urchins. Three crowns. Any takers?”
“Sure. Giant crabs. Three crowns.”
“Ravenous clams!” said Brant excitedly.
“How can you people find this funny?” asked Merriman in annoyance.
“It’s laugh, or go completely loony,” replied Brant.
“All right, lads,” Snow said with finality. “Enough fun. Get back on duty. Find me my urchins.”
Serrel went back to his spot. No one was going to say it aloud, but there was no doubt this wasn’t natural. The way the jellyfish clustered around the flotilla...
He looked up into the starry sky. Because it was so clear, he knew what to look for. It took a moment, but there it was: a few stars that disappeared from view, and blinked back to life, one after the other in line.
“Sir!” he called to Snow, pointing upwards. “It’s back.”
Snow followed his gaze. “What is that thing? It’s too big to be a bird.”
“Dragon?” suggested Brant.
“Dragon’s are extinct.”
Brant quietly thought for a moment. “Flying clams?”
“You deserve to lose your money, Corporal. Good eye, Hawthorne. Watch it. If it comes any lower, let us know, so we can shoot it down.”
“Bad luck to shoot birds at sea,” said Merriman.
“Worse luck not to,” replied Snow.
Serrel agreed. Weird monsters started appearing, and then that thing was flying overhead? Not a chance that was a coincidence.
The rest of the night passed by uneventfully. By the time the sun rose over the horizon, the jellyfish had disappeared back to wherever it was they had come from, and all the sailors were visibly relieved. Serrel didn’t share their optimism. He’d lost sight of the flying creature sometime in the night, and it was nowhere to be seen at daybreak. But he didn’t think the seas were through with them yet, so he stayed on deck, even after he was meant to be relieved. As the day drew on, he turned out to be correct.
“Sharks!” called out Holly. “You owe me three crowns, Sir.”
Snow made a show of patting himself down. “I left my gold in my cabin.”
&nb
sp; “That’s all right, Sir. You can pay me later.”
Serrel looked over the rail to see numerous sleek grey forms cutting through the water. They seemed small and inoffensive. As the day progressed, the small sharks were replaced by larger ones. The large sharks were replaced by huge, ugly, prehistoric looking sharks. Eventually Serrel caught sight of a fin, coasting unperturbed through the water, belonging to a shark as large as their ship.
He watched it swim by, slowly and menacingly, and wondered, if this was what was in the water, what was going to be waiting for them on land.
Apart from one gigantic shark attempting to take a bite out of a troop ship, the day passed without incident. When the sun set, and the sharks had all but vanished beneath the waves, Serrel retired back to the hold. He managed a few hours sleep, before he was again woken by Holly shaking him.
“You need to go up on deck,” she said. “You as well, Morton.”
Morton looked over in interest.
When they emerged on deck, it was to find the sky awash with ribbons of bright green light that undulated across the heavens. Serrel could only gape.
“So,” Snow said conversationally. “I don’t want to alarm anyone, but I feel I should point out that beneath this calm and collected exterior, I’m blubbering like an infant. What is this?”
“No idea, Sir,” said Serrel.
“Not the answer I was hoping for.”
“To be fair, Sir, I was still in training only a few days ago.” Serrel stared upwards in thought. It was an amazing sight. Hopefully not a lethal one. Something did occur to him. “It looks... Well, it reminds me of the way some of my spells light up when I weave... It’s a discharge of ether energy...” he realised.
There was a slow, sarcastic hand clap from Morton. “Well down, tin soldier. You got there far quicker than I would have thought.”
“Sod off, Morton.”
“This, ladies and gentlemen,” Morton went on, ignoring him, “is the Aurora Ethereal, the energy of the ether discharging itself over the Faelands.”
“I’ve seen the aurora, Morton,” said Snow. “It isn’t this big. And maybe you’ve noticed, with all the water and all, that we’re still at sea.”
“The Aurora Ethereal,” Morton said, as if he hadn’t heard Snow, “is a natural discharge of energy over the Faelands, in which, I’m sure you all know, the ether flows with much less resistance into the physical world. The walls of reality there are... thinner, I suppose you could say. Sometimes the ether bleeds through as light.”
“This isn’t natural,” said Snow.
“No. It isn’t. Someone in the Faelands has tapped the ether, and is draining energy out into our world at a remarkable rate.”
Serrel pointed at the aurora. “Someone’s trying to weave the ether? And this is just the... leftovers?”
“Indeed. Imagine the amount of energy they must be utilising. It is... beautiful.”
“I don’t suppose either of you can tell me what they’re using it for?” asked Snow optimistically.
“I’m going to go with: nothing good,” replied Serrel.
“There’s no reason to suggest that this is in anyway harmful to us,” said Morton.
“Apart from kraken, glowing jellyfish, and giant bloody sharks? Not to mention the thing that isn’t a bird that’s been watching us?”
“Hawthorne’s right,” said Snow. “Whomever, or whatever is doing this, is sending us a message. They’re trying to scare us.”
“With respect, Captain,” Morton said impatiently. “Someone with this sort of power would have no need to play games with us. They would simply crush us, like the insects we are. We would be better off attempting to make peace with this person. Just imagine what we could learn from them...”
“I’m not sure I would like the lessons.” Snow stroked his beard. “Well, if this isn’t going to destroy us all at once, I would suggest we all get some rest. In a few hours time, we are going to be landing on the shores of the Faelands. I want everyone ready.”
Serrel watched the lights in the sky ebb and flow. He wasn’t even sure what it was he had to be ready for.
Part 2: Until Blood is Drawn.
The entire flotilla was in uproar as the shoreline of the Faelands finally began to come into view in the early hours of the morning. The Legion prepared themselves for battle, unstowing carefully packed weapons, honing the edges of blades, and making sure supplies were distributed.
In the narrow hold of their own ship, the Hounds were doing likewise. Serrel had not unloaded the pack he had been given when he left Fort Amell, so all he had to do was make sure all his belongings were together, his staff was in his hand, the small flask of the Elixir of Vorkeph was in its padded pouch on his belt, and that the bronze coin of service was still around his neck, and then he stayed out of the way as the rest of the Hounds pulled on leather armour and strung bows.
When Caellix came into the hold, she perfectly matched the image Serrel had of her in his mind. Clad in leather, with her spear in one hand, a pair of axes in her belt, and half her face painted blue, she was the perfect image of a barbarian warrior.
“On deck in five minutes, you dogs!” she told them. “The last one up there gets my foot up their arse.”
“Well I do have an itch, Sergeant. Heheh.” With an axe in hand, Dogbreath managed to look even more disconcerting.
“Not you, idiot. If you aren’t ready in five, I’m cutting off your beard.”
For the first time in two days, the smirk was wiped off his face. “You’re mean, Caellix.”
“You’re only just figuring that out?”
Serrel decided not to be the last one out. As he moved towards the ladder, Caellix appeared in front of him. She held up a bowl of what looked like blue mud.
“Sergeant?”
“It’s tradition in the Hounds, Fresh Meat,” she told him.
“What exactly is it?”
“Woad. We paint it on our faces before battle. My people believed it instilled us with strength and ferocity, and our enemies with fear. It does not come off until blood has been drawn.”
“My blood or someone else’s?”
“Preferable someone else’s, but in your case, I will make an exception. Put it on.”
Serrel tentatively dipped a finger in the woad, and dabbed some on his cheek. Caellix rolled her eyes impatiently. “Oh, for the love of...”
She pressed her hand into the bowl, then slapped it hard against the side of Serrel’s face. When she pulled it away, he had a perfect hand print painted across his cheek, with the thumb over his lips, pointing up his nose.
“Now you look scary,” she said sarcastically.
“Thanks, Sergeant,” he replied sardonically.
“It’s why I’m here. Now get moving.” She went off to harass someone else.
As Serrel went up the ladder, he caught sight of Holly, woad painted in a thick line across her own eyes, smirking and trying not to laugh.
“What?” he asked.
“Nothing.”
He climbed up on deck as gales of laughter erupted behind him.
Up above, Brant saw him, and clutched at his chest in mock terror. “Ye, gods! It’s Grarax the Destroyer, come back for vengeance, everybody run!”
“Oh, shut up.”
“Wait, wait, no, my mistake. It’s only Serrel.”
“Ha, bloody, ha.”
Just to make things worse, Snow patted him on the head and said, “Aw. You remind me of my daughter. That time she went to a costume party, dressed as Caellix.”
“Thank you, Sir. Thank you so much. Now if no one minds, I’m going to go throw myself overboard.”
“You have to be the most adorable beserker, ever.”
“Please stop.”
Snow smiled in amusement. “Now listen. I don’t know what’s going to be waiting for us on that beach, so I want you to stay behind Brant at all times. He’ll keep watch over you. I trust you know what you need to do?”
“
Shield us from incoming archers, magical artillery on command,” Serrel recited. They had trained for this at Fort Amell, but that didn’t make the idea of doing it for real while someone tried to kill him any easier.
“Good lad. If someone goes down, leave them for the healers. Just keep moving.” Snow patted him on the shoulder. “You’ll do fine, Caster.”
“Thank you, Sir. I won’t let you down, Sir.”
Snow nodded and moved on.
The sun was rising now, and Serrel had his first look at the Faelands with his own eyes. He didn’t know what he was expecting. He could see a wide beach, beyond which lay a thick line of trees. None of it looked particularly mystical or otherworldly. It just looked like large patch of sand and some trees. It could have been anywhere.
Then he remembered the kraken dragging down ships, and the enormous sharks, and his stomach began to churn.
The Hounds assembled on deck. The last one out of the hold was Morton, who emerged dressed in a neat, dark green wizard’s robe carrying only a tiny satchel. True to her word, Caellix was there to kick him hard in the rear end, and sent him sprawling across the planks, much to the amusement of all.
“Don’t say you weren’t warned,” Caellix told him.
“Thank you, Sergeant,” said Snow. He turned to his men. “Hounds, I know I don’t need to tell you what to do. We’ve been in this situation enough times before. Just remember: this is the Faelands. You will be fighting the elves, and though they may be stronger than us, and faster than us, perhaps even prettier than us, though not me, obviously, they are not tougher than us, or meaner than us.”
Caellix called to them, “You smell an elf, what do you do?”
“Hunt,” the Hounds replied.
“It runs, what do you do?”
“Chase!”
“And when you catch it?”
“Bite!”
“What are you?”
“Hounds!”
“WHAT ARE YOU?”
“HOUNDS!”
Caellix passed the bowl of woad to Snow, who dipped his hand in it, and smeared it in a diagonal line across his face.
“Hounds,” he told them, “off the leash.”
