Ghosts of the Sea Moon

by A F Stewart

  “What happened?” Rafe heard the whisper of Hugh drift over his shoulder. “I thought the temples were a sanctuary. A safe haven.”

  “No longer, I fear. No longer.” The ache in Rafe’s heart bubbled past all defence as he answered, and his unstoppable wail broke the air. Behind him, he heard the crew’s shocked reaction, but he didn’t care. Only sorrow and pain mattered as he viewed the ghastly sight of the Temple of Star Reef...what remained of it at any rate.

  Rafe stared, remembering the majestic white marble twin towers and the beautiful enclosure of the main edifice. In his mind’s eye, he saw the colours of the blooming garden and smelled the fragrance of its flowers and fruit trees. He wanted to close his eyes and lose himself in the memory, deny the truth before him on the shore, anything but seeing the condition of it now.

  “Why, sister? Why?”

  The words didn’t erase the sight, nor did his wishing. The crumbling ruins of the right tower scattered across the land and the shallows, leaving a gaping hole shattered into the temple proper. The ornate, carved wooden entry gates swung half-broken on twisted hinges, revealing the devastated front gardens. Smashed hedges, battered and broken trees and long gouges sliced into the earth were all that remained of its beauty.

  Rafe drew in a painful breath. To see one of his places, one of his sanctuaries that stood refuge for lost souls so damaged...

  Caught among the rubble and splintered foliage, fragments of stone and roof tile could be seen strewn about, dispersed without pattern or care. And on the remnants of the temple still standing, hung hollows and breaks that crisscrossed the vestige of the structure.

  What has become of you?

  While the visible damage wrenched at his soul, Rafe saw past the physical. He saw the living and the dead milling aimlessly, some wailing, some silent. Long-standing ghostly residents hovered with the freshly departed, men and women he knew in life. Priests most likely killed in the carnage.

  “The temple wharf seems intact. Should we pull ashore here, Captain?” Blackthorne’s voice tugged him back. Lost in his desolation, he never heard him approach.

  “Yes, Mr. Blackthorne.” Misery couldn’t hold itself from his tone, but he gave the command. “We’ll put ashore here first. I have to talk to the Grand Master. But don’t settle in, we’ll most like be moving further along the shore to Llansfoot.”

  “Do you want us to dock or anchor offshore?”

  “We’ll dock. I’ll take her in myself. There’ll be no shore crew to help us this time. The Jewel will have to guide herself.”

  Blackthorne gave the orders to the crew, and the captain took the helm, Anders stepping away with a knowing nod. Rafe placed his hands on the wheel, brushing his fingers over the wood with reverence. Blue light emanated from his fingertips and twirled around the wheel, sliding into the grain and wending its way into the mechanics of the ship. Soft whispered words slid over his tongue. “Wake up. It’s time to come into harbour.”

  For a moment, nothing, and then a wave of sapphire sparkles danced across the deck before spinning upward and setting the sails alight in momentary radiance. Rafe manoeuvred the wheel, letting the feel of ship guide him inland. Then he released his grip on the wheel and took a step back.

  “All right, old girl. Take us in.”

  The ship creaked and heaved, and the helm adjusted course with no hand to steer it. Sails trimmed themselves, and the speed slowed, the ship gliding effortless across the sea to the temple wharf. Without a hitch or misstep, the vessel dropped anchor and docked itself in the Star Reef harbour.

  As the ship settled in its anchorage, the captain strode off the quarterdeck. “Time to go see to the troubles, men.”

  A small contingent of crew accompanied Blackthorne and Rafe ashore. As they navigated the ruins, they soon realized stone was not the only thing broken and decimated. Bodies of the priests and others still scattered the wreckage as well. The shapes they spotted on shore as they sailed in.

  “Why? By all that’s holy, why here?” A wail from Pinky pierced the air. “What did this?”

  A sigh from Anders answered him. “Nothing good, nothing good.”

  Rafe listened, looked at the horror, and his fingers curled into fists. “No, gentlemen, nothing good at all.” Movement caught his attention, and he saw a priest walking towards them.

  “Welcome sirs, even in this time of trouble. How can—” The priest stopped in mid-sentence, recognizing Rafe. As the captain approached him, the priest fell to his knees in veneration.

  “Forgive us. Forgive us, Exalted One, for not protecting this holy place.” His body trembled and his anguish lashed the circling wind.

  Rafe sighed, another corner of his heart snapping. He knelt down and placed a comforting hand on the man’s shoulder. “You need no forgiveness. I’m here to help. What happened?”

  The priest stammered incoherently and genuflected as unsure and as gangly as a beached sea creature. For a moment, Rafe thought he might kiss his boots.

  “No need for that. Please, rise.” Rafe reached down and helped the man to his feet. The priest stood but kept his head lowered, refusing to look Rafe in the eyes.

  “Is Kyyn here? Did he survive?”

  “Yes, Exalted One. The Grand Master still lives.” The words spilled like loose salt, hushed and tiny. “He tends to the injured in the hall. It stands undamaged.”

  Rafe breathed out a small sigh. “Thank you. You may go now.” The priest scurried away in a crab-like manner, head downward backing off. Rafe watched him retreat before addressing his men.

  “I’m going to talk to the Grand Master, see the extent of what happened here. Make yourselves useful and help with whatever these people need.” Without waiting for an answer, Rafe stalked off, certain his crew would follow orders.

  He crossed through debris and ruin, seeing score marks in the tower rubble as he passed as if raked by claws. He climbed over a breach in a fractured garden wall and turned past the corner of the outer temple towards the inner sanctuaries. Here, the damage seemed minimal, and, as he approached the communal hall, it appeared entirely untouched.

  He entered through the open door unnoticed. A cheerless, low chorus of pain moaned to him as he surveyed the pallets and beds holding the injured. Priests and settlers both filled the space either as patient or caregiver, and the air stank of blood, sweat, and horror. He spied his friend, Kyyn, Grand Master of the Temple of Star Reef, sitting by a bed bandaging the arm of an injured woman.

  He looked up as Rafe approached. The captain gave him a sigh and a greeting. “I’m glad you’re well, old friend. Despite the devastation I see around us.”

  “And I am glad to see you, Exalted One. We are in need of your guidance and aid.” The Grand Master finished his bandaging task, before leaving his patient in the care of another healer. He joined Rafe and beckoned him to a walk.

  “What happened to the temple, Kyyn? Was it truly attacked by her monsters of the sea?”

  The Grand Master turned his head staring for a moment at the destruction. “It doesn’t seem possible, does it? Her children are forbidden, restricted by the magic geas you placed on them. Yet, it happened. A pack of black sea wyrms attacked at sunset with no warning.” Rafe saw a delicate shiver chase along the priest’s skin. “I had never seen them before. Few who stay ashore have. Such beasts, they were, the awful roaring, people screaming, panic and chaos.” He shook his head in sorrow and remembrance. “And not only here, but in the town as well, although the brunt of their attack...” A look of regret passed over his face. “They came to destroy. Such horrid violence. Smashing against the Temple with their slashing tails, skittering from the sea across the beach, their ravenous jaws causing so much death.” Kyyn paused, a film of tears at the edge of his eyes, and a catch in his breath. “If it only ended there. The worst of it—the worst thing—” A quiet sob broke through. “You must know, you must know what they did!”

  “They consumed the waiting souls, didn’t they?” Rafe’s voice w
as faint and held the mourning of a thousand horrors.

  The Grand Master nodded. “Yes. Near half of the unfortunate remnants still remaining. Vanished. Gone from life, death, existence. Consumed. Some were so close, and now...” Kyyn sighed. “At not only the waiting ones. My priests and those of the outlying settlement: poor souls newly killed by the creatures without a chance to cross. And more, by all accounts, in Llansfoot.”

  Rafe closed his eyes and halted his steps. The pain stabbed at him, gnawing a new hole in his already tattered heart. A desperate question formed on his lips, forestalled by Kyyn.

  “No, I do not think this was a random madness of her beasts. Or an aberration.”

  Rafe’s eyes fluttered open again. “You know me too well, Kyyn. You think the Moon Goddess had her hand in this?”

  “I do. She sent them here. She’s broken the binding and coming for you. The attacks were too coordinated, too precise, too planned. She directed her creatures to this violence.” He sighed. “She struck at you, Exalted One, using your temple as a surrogate. I do not know why or how, but she is the one behind this. Of that I am certain.”

  Rafe turned away, looking out to sea. He whispered, “What do I do?” his words floating as a poignant entreaty on the wind.

  Kyyn patted his shoulder. “What you must to safeguard the world, Exalted One, as must I. But for now, we pick up the pieces from these ruins.” He took a breath and exhaled. “Come I will show you and your men where best to help.” He laid a hand on Rafe’s arm. “It is help we welcome. The Temple ranks are greatly diminished by this attack.”

  The Grand Master strode into the wreckage. Rafe followed him. Soon, he and his crew were helping the priests collect and bury their dead, and look after those left alive.

  FROM THE TEMPLE, THEY sailed on the small distance to Llansfoot, the sun shifting towards the horizon. The town fared much better than the Temple, its seawall being a sturdy, thicker construction. But even so, many shanties, fishing shacks, boats and ships lay in shattered parts as well as several docks, and some of the port. They spied groups of people working to slowly clear away rubble and damaged boats.

  “The harbour is filled with debris, captain. Going to a berth will be tricky. It might be best to anchor offshore a bit, and travel by longboat.” As usual, Blackthorne was quick with his advice.

  “I agree. Find a spot, set the anchors, and prepare a landing party.”

  “Aye, Captain.” Blackthorne set to work and soon, a party of five crew plus the captain and the first mate navigated the wreckage and came ashore on the Llansfoot beach, east of the port. A group of fisherman salvaging some of their tackle eyed them suspiciously.

  One gave a shout, “Hey to you! What’s your business here?”

  Rafe answered. “’Tis Captain Morrow and crew come to offer aid to Llansfoot.”

  A hiss and a gasp echoed across the sand and rock, and the men doffed their caps in hasty respect. “Oh, Captain, apologies. You’ll be wanting the Lord Mayor and the harbourmaster. They’re up at the port proper seeing to the damage and the cleanup. Take the beach path in. ‘Tis clear.”

  With a nod and heartfelt thanks, the men beached their boat above the tide mark and headed up to the port. Rafe glanced back and, for a brief moment, watched the fishermen scrounge through the wreckage.

  “I wonder what they lost? Livelihoods? Loved ones? Both?”

  None of his crew answered, and they trudged the rest of the journey in silence.

  As they hiked into the usually bustling port, only the sounds and sights of the calamity’s aftermath were apparent. At the water’s edge, men repaired boats and ships or hauled away splintered wood and broken stone. Others gathered washed up debris and gear or brought food and drink to working men. And tucked away, past a still intact dock and jetty, lay two small rows of dead men covered in white shrouds.

  “Why are the bodies still out in the open like that? ‘Tis disrespectful.” A harsh whisper drifted from Pinky.

  In an equally low voice, Rafe tossed an answer back. “I’d wager they recently washed up and were fished out. They’ll haul them away soon enough.”

  Pinky ducked his head at the soft rebuke, and they trudged the rest of the way to the harbourmaster in silence. A tired-eyed and haggard-faced Lord Mayor scurried over and greeted them as they arrived.

  “Captain Morrow.” Equal parts relief and fear mingled in his voice. “Gentlemen.” He gave a nod to them all. “You are most welcome, though I wish it under better circumstances that you come. As you can see, it’s been a long hard night, and morning.”

  “Yes. Both the port and the temple have suffered greatly.”

  “You’ve been to the temple? Then I suspect you’ll be wanting our account of the attack.” Rafe nodded. “Come, come, best be discussed inside.” He took a step towards the harbourmaster’s door, but Rafe laid a hand on his shoulder.

  “A moment. My crew is not needed for explanations. They can help with your troubles while we talk.”

  “An excellent suggestion. They can report to the harbourmaster, down at the Breakwater Dock. Are you familiar with it?”

  “Aye, we know it.” Rafe turned to his men. “Blackthorne, take the boys down and lend a hand while I chat with the Lord Mayor.”

  The group separated, and the captain and his companion retired inside the shelter of the harbourmaster building. They settled into two worn chairs, and the Lord Mayor poured some whiskey found on a shelf into chipped mugs. He handed one to Rafe.

  “Here, Captain. I think we both could use it.”

  Rafe accepted and took a sip, then asked, “Grand Master Kyyn said they were attacked by black sea wyrms. Was it the same here?”

  “Yes, a swarm of them attacked the sea wall and did some damage as you no doubt saw coming in. But the wall held. It was on the fishing boats outside the port, and those sailing home, they wreaked the most horror. So many lost.” The Lord Mayor bowed his head in a moment of remembrance before continuing. “They retreated when the crew of the Whistling Teacup turned her guns of the beasts and drove them back, brave lads. We were lucky the ship was just coming into port, and not yet docked, or we might have fared worse. Especially with what happened next.”

  “There was more? The sea wyrm came back for a second attack? That’s not like them.”

  “Not the sea wyrm. A blood fin titan. It did the most damage in the port with its tentacles and pincers. By then though, we had the port’s cannon primed, and we finally drove it back as well.”

  “A blood fin titan?” Rafe couldn’t keep the incredulity and dread out of his voice, though he tried. “Are you sure?”

  “Aye. And I know. One of them hasn’t been sighted close to shore in nigh on a hundred years. Can’t say I was happy to have the privilege.” The Lord Mayor gulped his whiskey and turned a worried face to Rafe. “Tell me, Captain Morrow, is she coming for us at last?”

  Startled by the question, Rafe blurted “I don’t know.”

  The Lord Mayor sighed. “I was afraid of that. I bloody hope you can find out before we all die.”

  Rafe stared a moment into the whiskey, before downing the remainder, and giving an answer. “I’ll do my best, sir.” Then he stood. “I thank you for your time. I’ll join my men now. You’ll be needing all the hands you can get today.”

  “Aye.” The other man rose as well. “I’d best get back to it as well.”

  And the pair went back out into the broken port.

  A grim and taciturn Rafe wandered down to the Breakwater Dock to lend his help and his presence to the port’s needs, but the conversation with the Lord Mayor rattled him. Something changed under his watch and slipped past his guard. The impossible had happened, and in all likelihood could continue to happen. The captain glanced out to the sea, his home, his comfort.

  He shivered.

  Chapter Seven

  Goodbyes

  THE Celestial Jewel stood anchor outside Llansfoot harbour, overlooking the beach. Rafe leaned against the rail, wat
ching the townsfolk gather driftwood for a bonfire. Watching with him on opposite sides, were Blackthorne and One-Eyed Anders.

  “The fire. ‘Tis for the memorial?”

  “Aye, it is, Anders. Once the sun goes down, they’ll light the wood and let the smoke rise to the stars and sea with the departing spirits of their loved ones. There’s usually song and prayer as well. It’s generally a lovely service.”

  “But not this time, sir?” Blackthorne’s voice added itself to the conversation.

  Rafe shook his head. “Too many dead for it to be anything but tainted. Too many dead, and for wrong and unsettling reasons.”

  Blackthorne ignored the implications of the captain’s remark. “Will you be attending, sir?”

  “Aye. I can’t in good conscience do otherwise.”

  “If I’m not needed aboard ship, I’d also like to attend.”

  “I would too. With your permission, Captain.” Anders threw his request into the mix.

  “You can both go, and any of the other crew that care to. Ghosts or live souls will be welcome here.”

  “I’ll inform the crew.” Blackthorne walked away followed by Anders, leaving Rafe alone with his thoughts, none of which remained happy, most riddled with guilt.

  My sister did this. For no better reason than she could, than she wanted to hurt me. Her madness is getting worse. She wants a reckoning.

  Rafe gripped the rail, his knuckles turning white. He watched the survivors of Llansfoot collect the driftwood, picking up fuel like the pieces of their broken lives.

  The consequences left by gods.

  Consequences his sister would see repeated until he stopped her. He sighed.

  There’s no avoiding a confrontation this time.

  Rafe continued to stare at the beach, the sea wind ruffling his hair.

  THE OBSERVANCE BEGAN after dusk as the now waning moon rose and the stars stretched out into infinity. Standing on shore, toe scuffing the sand, Rafe glared at the moon as if it had no right to be overhead. A bit petulant, but the moon was hers. To him, on this night, its light was tainted.