Ghosts of the Sea Moon

by A F Stewart

  Chapter Nine

  The Oracle

  THE SHIP LEFT THE TOWN of Llansfoot the next day with the rising sun. They left behind broken lives and a town in need of rebuilding. Their horizon promised more of the same misfortune as their first task unfurled to investigate the other attacks starting at Black Shoals. As they put to sea, Blackthorne and the captain stood on deck while the sunrise broke in a display of cerise and deep orange.

  In contrast to the night before, the first mate seemed agitated, peppering the air, and Rafe, with questions.

  “I can’t fathom this. If her sea creatures are truly free of your restraints, does that mean they have gone mad, unpredictable in their patterns? Why should the Moon Goddess attack the towns of Pentown, Echo Bay? If her goal is to strike at you, it makes little sense. Neither of them has a temple. And if she’s set her sights on the island of Black Shoals we may have other problems. The Royal Navy has a strong presence there and may not overlook this as is their usual habit.”

  Rafe took a breath. “Excellent points, Blackthorne, but I have little answer to this situation. Before I saw the devastation we left behind, I would have said what happened impossible. Now...I believe unpredictable an apt word, my friend. The very fact she’s broken the binding spell somehow is unthinkable.” He shook his head. “But as to your opinions on the Royal Navy...” Rafe snorted. “I wouldn’t fret over them. They’re content to patrol the Seven Kingdoms and let the Outer Islands take care of themselves. If the outgoing cargo ships get attacked, then we might see more of their presence, but they care little for the island settlements. Even the bunch at Black Shoals.” He cast a quizzical glance at Blackthorne. “You know that better than anyone.”

  “Aye, I do. I also know they don’t like trouble. Even out here. And trouble’s coming. A sticky mess we’ll be in the thick of now, won’t we?”

  “Aye. That goes without saying. We’re always in the thick of trouble.” Rafe shot Blackthorne a half grin. “But probably not today. So let’s put an end to worry, for now, and enjoy the sunrise while we can. It looks to be breaking onto a beautiful day.”

  THE CAPTAIN’S PREDICTION proved correct. The day morphed into a picturesque delight, a luminous illusion pasted over pending calamity. The sea swirled a teal and turquoise, gently undulating as the Celestial Jewel bobbed through its glassy surface waves. The wind puffed the sails into full white billows, pushing the ship speedily along its course. Above them, the sun glittered in the azure sky, dancing off the milk pearl, downy clouds.

  Rafe walked the deck, breathing in the balmy air with its salted fish crusted tinge and gazing at the ever-stretching horizon.

  Even with the world gone mad, there can be days like this. In this, there is hope.

  The thought warmed his cockles, and he smiled. A grin to nearly split his face in twain, and a little snatch of a tune formed in his throat, humming its way to his lips. For just a moment he let slip all the threats, all the cares.

  What a splendid day to be at sea, and feel the rock of a ship beneath your feet.

  But before the thought even cast itself into the wind, the clouds darkened near instantaneously, and a fork of lightning cracked the once blue sky. Rafe froze in his movement, sucking in his breath. The sea to the starboard side boiled and foamed, rising in a great spiralling eruption, shaping into a gigantic waterspout.

  “Hard to port! Hard to port!” The shout of Blackthorne echoed off the rigging and Rafe felt the ship shudder. He sighed, and yelled, “Avast! Heave to, lads! We have a visitor and it ain’t no use in running!”

  As crew jumped to his orders and adjusted the sail to slow down the ship, Rafe watched the waterspout. It hung between water and air, shifting to match the course and sway of the ship. He felt the Jewel quiver as the ship tacked, while the crew sheeted the sails and backed the jibs. He waited until the ship’s forward momentum slowed, and she eased against the wind.

  “Show yourself!” His voice rose among the passing seabirds. “I’m willing to listen, but make it quick! I’ve things to do and places to be!”

  A soft chuckle reverberated out of the churning water. The liquid curved and bent, arcing in close proximity to the sails, always keeping pace with Rafe’s ship. Slowly a face appeared within the depth of the moving spout and with a splash, a lithe and beautiful woman landed gracefully on deck. She rose from her crouched position with a smile, covered in naught but a few scant pieces of seaweed.

  “Lynna.” Rafe grinned, despite everything, seeing the gaping mouths and shocked expressions of his crew. Poor Blackthorne was as red as the setting sun and staring at his toes. “You do know how to make an entrance. But perhaps you might cover yourself while on deck.” He shucked out of his coat and handed it to her.

  She glared at the garment like it was a three-day-old fish. “Human conventions are a nuisance, but it is your ship.” She took his coat and slipped it over her body. Behind her, some of the crew sighed.

  “So what brings the great Goddess of the Sea to my small abode? Something other than sisterly love, I suspect?”

  “Of course. No offence brother, but I prefer the briny deeps to the surface. Too much noise up here, I prefer my peace and quiet, and the care of my creatures.” She suddenly sighed and scrunched her face in distaste. “Which leads me to why I’m here. Those abominations of the Moon Goddess, our dear sister. They’re not in hibernation, they’re still active past the full moon! What happened to your binding spell? Something’s awry!”

  “Why, Lynna, have you come with a friendly warning, then?” Rafe quirked an eyebrow, avoiding the awkward question about his spell. “Not at all like you.”

  Lynna scowled. “You need to do something! They’re stirring currents of turmoil, brother dear, making my darlings afraid to swim freely. And it’s not random, either, I can feel it. She’s got her hand in this. She’s up to something, directing those monsters of hers, planning something terrible. You have to put a stop to it! You have to put aside your hesitation and finally deal with her.”

  “I already know about her shenanigans, she’s attacked one of my temples.” Rafe smiled and watched Lynna’s placid reaction with a touch of smugness. “But I think you already knew that. What aren’t you telling me?”

  The sea goddess sighed. “It’s not just you. Those beasts of hers rampaged through one of my undersea shrines as well. And...” Lynna stared at Rafe, her voice hesitating. “I don’t want this task, but I have a message. Go to the Rock Island Temple. The Oracle wishes to speak with you.”

  “Does she now?”

  “Yes. Your precious acolytes roped me into delivering her request. They didn’t care that I don’t want to be involved.”

  “But didn’t you say our sister was causing trouble for you? I think perhaps you should take your own advice about hesitation. Stop hiding.”

  “Don’t twist my words!” In a fit of anger, she peeled off Rafe’s coat and leapt to the ship’s rail. She glared, but added, “I’ll try to keep an eye on her beasts, brother, give warning to the humans where I can, but that’s the best I can do.” With a wave, she dove back into the sea.

  Rafe stared past his ship, his gaze lingering on the water, still rippling from her dive. Then he shouted, “You heard her men! Raise the sail and change course for Rock Island Temple!”

  THE ALABASTER SPIRES and craggy cliffs of Rock Island silhouetted the horizon from a mile out, and the Celestial Jewel glided effortlessly into the harbour the following midday. With a flawless mooring, they dropped anchor at the pristine dock in the quiet port of Blue Bay, the town that lived in the shadow of the great temple.

  Standing on deck, the bustle of the crew around him as they docked, Rafe gazed upward at his most grand and famous temple. It dominated the centre of the island, built on a stone rise and ascending to the sky.

  The twin pinnacles loomed over the landscape and the commanded the structure: matched, corkscrew domed towers of white rock and brick. Between them stretched an arched, white stone wall and silvery g
ate, leading—Rafe knew—to a lush garden courtyard. Surrounding this atrium, spread rectangular rows of ornate halls and buildings of a blue and ivory hue. The temple personified peace and sanctuary, constructed to mirror the sea and sky.

  And it was home to the Oracle of the Soul.

  The woman he was here to see.

  Rafe straightened his shoulders and turned to address his crew. “You all have liberty in the port, while I conduct my business at the temple. Try not to tear the place down.” He flashed a forced grin, to belay his worry.

  Blackthorne cleared his throat to catch Rafe’s attention. “Do you want me to accompany you, sir, to the temple?”

  Rafe smiled again, this time a genuine one. “A kind offer, but no. It’s best I go alone this time.”

  As soon as the ship was moored and cleared with the harbourmaster, the captain disembarked. He threaded his way through the dockside market, busy with early afternoon custom. The culture of the islands enveloped him as a dozen dialects chattered around him, mixing with fragrant spices, the pungent fruit of the northern regions, and the tang of fish and sweat. Laughter and hawking patter filled the air, and the lively conversation of neighbours melded with the splash of bright patterned fabrics and shiny trinkets. He slid through the crowds with ease, swift and purposeful, despite the vendors’ entreaties to stop and sample their wares.

  Once free of the marketplace, he skirted the edge of town, taking the path along the coastal shore, and then uphill to the temple. He could hear the music well before the gates came into his sight, and the scent of the garden’s flowers wafted down along the breeze.

  Rafe sighed. Part of him wanted to turn back. Get on his ship and sail away. Keep sailing until he put his duties, his sister, all his family really, and his whole life behind him. But he couldn’t. He wouldn’t do that to the souls in his care. So he moved forward until he stood before the gates to his Rock Island Temple.

  He rang the small bell attached to the gate and shouted. “Captain Rafe Morrow seeks an audience with the Oracle of the Soul!”

  Almost instantaneously, a figure scurried to approach the gate, a temple noviciate Rafe surmised from the simple way he dressed. He pulled open the gate and then bowed, his close-shaven head level with his knees.

  As he rose from the obeisance, he closed the gate behind Rafe. Then—his head still somewhat lowered and his eyes downcast—he whispered, “An honour, Exalted One. The Oracle, she is expecting you. If you would please follow me.” He moved a few shuffling steps and glanced back covertly. Rafe suppressed a smile but fell in behind the monk.

  The man led Rafe through the beautiful garden, past the summer coral trees and the arbours of creeping vine blossoms, across the fishpond bridge, and along the winding rock bed terrace. They stopped at the private entrance to the oracle’s personal chamber.

  “She bids you go in alone from here, Exalted One.” And with a nod, the novice monk darted off.

  For a moment, Rafe paused, tracing the ornate seashell pattern engraved on the door. One moment more of peace before facing whatever troubled waters lay in his path.

  Then he turned the handle and entered.

  He walked into the shadowy antechamber, illuminated only by the sun streaming from the roof skylight. The aroma of flowery perfume and musky incense infused the air with every breath, and he heard the soft tinkle of wind chimes from somewhere within its depths. He strolled to the next room where the oracle awaited him.

  She sat in the middle of a sunlit room, perched in a high-backed velvet chair, rows of windows casting dappled radiance to every corner. The fabric of her throne matched the sea blue shade of her sparkling eyes, and its grand opulence a match with her demeanour. She wore a sleeveless, flowing gown of diaphanous turquoise, belted at the waist, and her dark black hair drifted free across her shoulders.

  “Hello, Captain Rafe Morrow.” She smiled, her lips more bright and joyful than the daylight. “Or do you prefer Exalted One?”

  Rafe snorted. “Most amusing. You know I hate being called that.” Then he returned her grin. “It is nice to see you again, Amaratha. I wish it were under better circumstances.”

  “As do I. But life never allows us to choose. It always surprises.”

  “More like a gut punch, I’d say.”

  She chuckled. “Perhaps. Perhaps not. I think the outcome of this depends on much, God of Souls, and not just on your actions.”

  “So you have had a vision. Was it of her, the Moon Goddess? Do you know what she’s planning? How she’s done the impossible?”

  A sorrow crossed her face, shading the sunshine. “I have seen glimpses, yes, of how and why, and of shadows on wings. I’ve seen terrible death images where the sea is as red as the blood. Your sister’s madness consumes her as always, but something else goads her, aids her in these new attacks. That I know.”

  Rafe frowned, impatience simmering past his outer facade. “Do you know how to stop her? That’s all I care about.”

  “Is it now?” Her tone tossed back a rebuke. “Then you are short-sighted, oh great Exalted One. The path to resolution is not solitary. Stopping her will come only if you remember who she truly is, Captain.” the Oracle leaned forward. “I have seen one path to her redemption, her peace. You will have a choice at the end of your long battle. Make the right one. Don’t let pride and anger stand in the way of her salvation. That choice may have lasting consequences.”

  Bewilderment filled Rafe. “Why would I want to stand in the way of my sister’s peace? The end to her storm born chaos is what I want.”

  “Emotions are a strange thing, Captain. Capricious. And as I said, she is not alone in this. One decision may topple worlds.”

  A chill ran through his bones, like a winter wind across his bow. “How very ominous.”

  “More than you realize.” She smiled again. “Come sit, we will have tea, and I will tell you everything I saw.” She waved her delicate fingers at a nearby chair and rang a small silver bell for her attendant. A girl materialized from an adjacent room. “Bring us some tea. A blend from the Wakeford Islands, I think.”

  With a nod and a bow, the girl hurried off, and Rafe pulled up a chair and sat down.

  “Lynna visited me. She said you sent her.”

  Amaratha laughed. “I did. She didn’t like it either. But I feel Lynna’s...involvement may be necessary later.”

  “You planning on telling me why?” Rafe leaned back in his chair. “Sometime today would be nice.”

  “I will. But these things are best discussed over tea.” She folded her hands demurely and refused to say another word until her servant brought in a tray weighted with two cups, milk, and a steaming pot of tea. The girl poured the hot liquid for her mistress and guest, her hand and body shaking, and then quickly fled.

  Amaratha seemed amused by the girl’s behaviour. “I do believe you make my attendant nervous, Captain Morrow.”

  He shrugged. “I seem to have that effect on most temple neophytes, even some aged priests. I’ve gotten used to it.”

  “I suppose you have. Does it get any easier, living as you do after this many years?”

  Rafe picked up his cup, inhaling the scent of tea, and then answered. “No.”

  “A shame. For my tidings will not lessen your burdens.” Amaratha joined Rafe, scooping her cup into her hands.

  “I didn’t expect they would. Whatever game the Goddess of the Moon is playing, it is not for the good of this world.”

  “No, it is not.” She took a sip of tea. “She plays the game of death that one, and annihilation. Though I am not sure she understands the whole. Or is simply past caring. The visions her actions have engendered...” Amaratha shuddered.

  “Tell me.”

  She hesitated, staring into her cup. Then her sweet voice lilted soft words. “I saw two worlds, this one and the one beyond. Bleak, cold, full of grey and dust. Husks and empty shells, no light, no life. Only broken gods and empty seas remained. The skies rained ash, and the ground spread cracke
d and black.”

  She raised her head, a wild, haunted look burning in her eyes. “I saw the worlds consumed, Rafe, the whole structure of existence gone. She lashes out in her anger, but on the behest of...another. The magic she now wields, the consequences of using it will leave nothing.”

  So, it has come to this, my sister. A chill quaked under his skin. “How will this happen? What events will put this ending into motion?”

  Amaratha sighed. “I don’t know. That I didn’t see. Just glimpses.” She suddenly leaned across and grabbed his hand. “But I know something’s crept out of the darkness, Captain, something ancient, older even than your kind. A creature of shadows and sea, of black wind and death. Its mark is on the magic that set her children free of your restraints.” She released his hand and leaned back in her chair. “All I saw was a vision of the portal in the sea. You, your ship, and...Your answers may be there, I think.” She sighed, a sound delicate like rustling lace. “And, Rafe, warn the temples. They must guard the souls and the portals. And let any souls who wish to leave this world go. They will be safer in the After World. For now.”

  “She means to confront me then, at last?”

  “I fear so, yes. Aided by this other...thing.”

  Rafe put down his cup, his tea untouched. “I can’t worry about whoever’s pulling her strings. Not now. She’s still controlling her beasts and they’re the biggest threat at the moment. Do you know what her next move will be? Where she will strike next?”

  “Go to the portal before the next full moon. That’s all I was given.” Her face cast a grim expression. “I fear, if you do not go, the worlds will turn to obsolete dust, Captain Morrow, and there will be no souls left to call you god.”