Tales from the Vatican Vaults: 28 extraordinary stories by Kristine Kathryn Rusch, Garry Kilworth, Mary Gentle, KJ Parker, Storm Constantine and many more

by David V. Barrett

  I stood on the beach and inspected the damage we had wrought. In the clear light of Day the once mighty Ku was revealed to have but a hollow shell. Heartened greatly, I called my men, and we continued to dismantle the Temple with new lightness in our Spirits. As we worked, we were further cheered by a shaft of winter sunlight forcing its way through the departing storm clouds, and for the first time since my adventures at the Temple began I breathed easily.

  Back aboard ship with the storm now a distant memory, the calm has afforded me some mental Clarity, and I have decided that my flirtation with Baseless Superstition has lasted long enough. I pride myself on being a rational man, and consider that Sir Isaac Newton’s Laws of Motion compel me to seek a rational explanation for recent events. I am now convinced that it is certain natural opiates in the native Ink inducing the strange Behaviours in my Tattoo, (my wheat stalks number three as of this morning) or perhaps similar properties of the Kava, as yet unknown and unstudied in the Western world. I shall instruct Mr King to procure a sample for Scientific Study on our return.

  I have resolved to return to England upon the turn of tide, and fancy that we might even be in Europe by Summer.

  [Unidentified stains obscure the text at this point]

  to Maui, in the hope of buying provisions for our home-bound journey. At one point we sailed close to the coast and espied some Hawaiians in their canoes, but they seemed resolute in keeping their distance

  [Missing pages]

  My wife Kaikilani visited me again last night. Of late my reveries are most Life-Like, and I awoke with grains of sand upon my pillow and hair. My dreams left me in excellent humour, and I left my cabin to conduct my daily inspections with a cheerful heart. However, mysteries were fated to abound this morning; my men were nowhere to be seen.

  Several minutes’ searching revealed my crew cowering on shore. I took a boat and called to King, who approached me with reluctance in his Gait.

  ‘Explain yourself,’ I commanded.

  ‘I ordered the men to remain aboard. But they . . . they were afeared.’

  ‘Why so, my good Sir?’

  ‘The creaking of the timbers, Cap’n. The noise half deafened them. And the wailing.’

  ‘Mere nightmares, surely. This behaviour is hardly fitting for grown men. Order them aboard immediately.’

  ‘I fear they will need persuasion. More than one swore he saw vegetation sprouting from the timbers in his cabin.’

  ‘Stand aside, Lieutenant.’ I approached the crew and silence fell. I addressed the array of ashen faces before me.

  ‘We sirs, are stout-hearted Englishmen. We must not act as children when the blackness of night Over-Stirs our imaginations. We run a tight ship, my good men. There is nothing to fear.’

  I expected this admonishment to have my crew aboard at the double, but they did not stir. I was displeased, and thunder rolled in the skies. Droplets of rain splashed onto the men, most still in their nightshirts. They shrank back when the rain touched them. As they cowered, so I advanced. Lightning struck the beach, and my amusement caused me to laugh.

  ‘This is punishment indeed for your mutiny. Aboard the Resolution at once.’

  They were obedient to every last man.

  [Missing pages]

  Friday, 12 February

  [ . . .] head of the Resolution’s Foremast was found badly sprung this morning. It seems the Wood is responding badly to recent climatic events, and the second lieutenant has discovered cracking at its core. There is unshaven bark in places, and signs of vegetation, and it would appear the Shipwrights were in Error for choosing unseasoned wood. I shall reprimand my crew for not alerting me to these dangers on our Outward Journey.

  We are also in dire need of supplies, and can find few natives prepared to exchange livestock for our remaining goods.

  The ears of wheat upon my arm numbered sixteen at last count.

  [Unidentified stains]

  Saturday, 13 February

  We sent the Foremast to the beach, by the remains of the shrine. Kalani’opu’u came aboard. He was over-inquisitive and seemed very much dissatisfied by our continued presence on the

  [Missing pages]

  Sunday, 14 February

  [ . . .] were stoned. Edgar and Vancouver were assaulted by stones, broken oars and staves.

  ‘We are obliged to use force, for they must not imagine they have gained advantage over us.’ I told Mr King.

  [Unidentified stains, possibly blood]

  [ . . .] white heat of a dagger penetrate my skin, the shock of it causing me to fall into the ocean. I was conscious of the natives setting about me with daggers and stones, tearing chunks off my flesh, thus exposing my bones. Then the waters ran red, and I could no longer ascertain the Extent of my Injuries. Doubtless any lesser man would have been killed outright by the Violence inflicted, but I felt the force of life still strong within me, as if energised by the Fight. My body was crushed and sank beneath the waves. Nevertheless my spirit looked on in expectation of the Morrow.

  [Cook’s journal continues after his reported death on 14 February]

  Monday, 15 February

  I did not regain my Wits until Noon of the following morning, when I found myself adrift upon the shore. I checked my stab wounds, which were almost healed at this juncture, but still had minor bruising, and my lungs were wracked with pain after my night Underwater. Given my ordeals I was unsurprised to discover my body unclothed. I looked down. The wheat was now spread to my legs.

  All traces of the Resolution and Discovery were now gone, save for these few pages ripped loose from my journal during the stabbing, which I found under a nearby rock. I looked for a means of securing them to my person. I fashioned a rope from some vegetation, and bound them firmly to my thigh.

  Stronger now, I set out along the shore in search of sustenance. Some Islanders espied me, then briefly disappeared before bringing others of their number to stare and gawp. I stood proud, unafraid of my nakedness. They did not recognise me immediately, and it amused me to observe their reaction change from curiosity to fear. I fancied I spotted Touahah among them, and moved towards them, but they ran as I approached. I easily outpaced them and detained Touahah by the arm. He froze. Some of his friends made prostrate in the sand before me, whispering prayers, but most took the opportunity to flee.

  ‘I see your bravery has vanished my friend,’ I said. The trees shook in response to the thunder of my voice. The man gibbered, unable to even attempt speech.

  ‘What think you of my Tattoos?’ I continued. ‘I would say you have done a fine job. See, they are spreading onto my feet, even as we speak.’

  He looked down as I commanded, and saw the wheat multiplying ear by ear before his eyes.

  I laughed at his discomfort. ‘What? Have you never seen a god before?’

  I threw him to the ground, and headed for the tribal seat of Kalani’opu’u. My strength now increasing with each step, I reached the King’s residence in no more than a handful of bounds.

  ‘Terryboo,’ I called in sing-song tones. ‘Come now. I know that you are hiding in there.’ Gone were my crude attempts at the native language; I now addressed him fluently in the Hawaiian tongue, as I had with Touahah.

  I heard his thoughts scream out clearly from within the hut.

  ‘Master. Forgive me, Master. Save me.’

  I decided to spare his life, but was reluctant to let him go unpunished for the behaviour of his compatriots towards my men. I summoned a storm, and brought down shards of lightning onto his hut. I satisfied myself with the thought that if I so wished, I could extinguish his life with a single blow, just as I had with my wife Kaikilani. The sorrow of her memory grieved me, and I fell to my knees and wept. The thoughts of my true love, bittersweet as they were, softened my desire for vengeance, and I resolved to punish Kalani’opu’u another day.

  I felt the need to rest, and retreated to a clearing in the centre of the Island. I made a bed on the forest floor and shut my eyes. A cover
ing of leaves was sufficient, as I had no fear of predators. To conquer death was to never be vanquished again I told myself, as I sought sleep.

  Initially it was the prayers of the Islanders that kept me awake. ‘Heal my child.’ ‘Make my hunting fruitful.’ ‘Bring me a wife.’ Their voices were as familiar to me as old friends, but I felt unable to meet their requests until I had rested. I turned, and felt the ground shake with my movements. Soon I became cognisant of the sound of distant drums beating, boom, boom, as if on another Island. I endeavoured to sleep. Boom, boom, boom.

  Sunday, 16 February. Squally.

  I awoke. The voices in my head had subsided, probably due to the earliness of the hour; being new to divinity, all I sensed from the Islanders was the murmur of their dreams, gentler and more shifting than the distant waves of the ocean. Then gradually I discovered that with a modicum of practice I could attune myself to individual voices, and individual hopes and fears.

  The sound of drumming continued, nearer now. Boom, boom. I rose, and the trees shook in response to my movements. I sensed the presence of water nearby, and discovered a pool close to where I had made my abode. The ripples of the water circled outwards in perfect synchrony with the drumming. He is coming.

  I was hungry, and sought out the nearest cluster of huts. They were easy to trace; I merely had to follow the Islanders’ thoughts, which were louder now as the natives crossed from the land of sleep into the reality of the new day. The hut’s owners fled on my approach, as I knew they would.

  One brave soul, a ten-year-old stripling of a lad, stayed behind to defend his home. I heard his thoughts, and saw no need to disturb him. Instead, I sought my nourishment in his neighbour’s hut, where I helped myself to a fine pork breakfast.

  Sated, I examined my surroundings; I was curious as to the customs and lifestyle of my new-found Subjects. I found some sticks of charcoal lying on a grass mat, and resolved to record my strange Adventure in my Journal at the first opportunity. I was astounded to also find a looking glass, well crafted, with a finely worked ivory handle. No doubt it belonged to the treasure trove pilfered several days ago from our ships. I picked it up, eager to discover if the gouging inflicted on my face was yet healed.

  A monster confronted me. I stood aghast at the Hideous Nature of my face, covered completely in ears of wheat, even down to my eyelids and lips, and a terrible cry sprang from my throat. I sensed that the lad next door had heard me.

  The brave boy came into view in the doorway. ‘Are you not scared?’ he asked in his native tongue.

  ‘The mighty Lono, scared?’ I countered in the same language. ‘You are an impertinent child, to dare to look on this face and ask such questions!’

  ‘Even I can hear it,’ he said.

  ‘The drums?’ I asked.

  He listened carefully, and thought for a moment. ‘Not drums.’ He raised his eyes to mine, and I read concern in them. ‘He is coming.’

  I had no need to press him on the meaning of his words, and bounded back to my clearing, where my journal was hidden. I hastily scribble these words for I fear they may be my last.

  [Unidentified stains]

  came to consciousness aware of being dragged along the beach. Although I could feel my powers waning the closer we got to our destination, it nevertheless took sixteen men to restrain me. I tugged at the bindings on my wrists, pillaged no doubt from the Resolution, and after three or four shakes felt them loosen. The men hauling me were strained to their limit and had no spare effort to waste on speech, but when they saw me winning the battle with my restraints I could hear panic spreading among them.

  ‘His powers should be dormant by now,’ thought one, and ‘the Human Spirit is still strong in him,’ another.

  Encouraged, I pulled harder at my bindings. I sensed some of the natives who were dragging me lose heart, and with one final immense effort I rolled onto my ropes and freed myself.

  The men cowered before me. Their fear gave me the strength I needed to arise and address them.

  ‘I may be immortal, but yes, I still have the spirit of a human, and an Englishman at that,’ I declared, and strode into the undergrowth, leaving them far behind. As I distanced myself from the heiau I felt my courage restore further.

  I weighed my options. To remain on O’why’ge was foolhardy. I looked at the vegetation around me. Of course, I told myself. If a ship’s timber can become a tree again, then surely a tree can be turned into a ship’s timber! I shall be resourceful on my paradise island, just like Mr Defoe’s ‘Crusoe’, and fashion a boat. I shall sail back to England, and forget this whole sorry episode.

  Cheered, I set about my work. I tried to harden my mind against the drumming, now grown to fever pitch. Boom, boom. The brave boy from the hut had claimed the dreadful clamour was not a drum. Part of me knew this. The sound reached a level that would deafen any human ears. Then it stopped.

  I had no need to turn around. ‘Ku,’ I said.

  ‘Brother,’ said he. ‘I fear you have outstayed your welcome.’

  ‘I am changed. I have a human spirit inside me now.’

  ‘No matter. It is no longer your time.’

  I turned to face him. He was a monstrous sight, worse even than the Graven Image in the heiau. Nevertheless, I stuck to my resolve.

  ‘I have only just tasted divinity,’ I said. ‘I am not ready to relinquish it so soon.’

  ‘Then I fear I must take it from you.’

  ‘By force? Remember we are brothers, Ku.’ I trusted that the beating of my heart was not audible to him.

  ‘When you smashed my Idol, was that the act of a brother?’ His eyes flashed red and gold, and he raised his fist against me.

  ‘Then by force it shall be,’ I declared, raising my own fists.

  He laughed in derision. The sound was fearful and deafening. ‘You wish to fight me like a human, Lono? I would not demean myself thus.’

  With that he focused his eyes on me, and I felt a burning in my belly. My arms and legs locked rigid with bonds far more powerful than the ropes from the Resolution. Sweat dripped from my heated skin. I looked for steel inside my soul with which to fight, but I confess that my heart was already defeated.

  From that point it was simple work for Ku to compel me to accompany him to the heiau. My thoughts travelled ahead, to the palings and idols I had thrust into the flames, and the smashed likeness of my brother. I had already experienced death as a man; now I imagined what it would be like to die as a god. As we neared our destination I felt myself stumble with each step, until I was no longer able to hold myself upright. Ku grabbed my neck in the crook of his elbow, and dragged me along the beach. He bore my weight easily, and we soon reached the heiau. There he threw me onto the sand.

  Exhausted though I was, I had half a mind to escape, and made careful observation of my surroundings. Ku must have read my thoughts, for he quickly snatched up a metal stake and chains, remnants no doubt of the ritualistic slaughter I witnessed when I was in human form, and drove the stake through the ground. He made short work of securing my leg to the post.

  Trapped now, I took stock of my situation. My strength was sapped, and my heart and ribs burned with increasing pain within my chest. I became aware of an itching on my skin under my Tattoos’ ink. I rubbed at it in an attempt to soothe myself, but the ink crumbled away under my fingers, taking skin with it and revealing my veins and blood. I shut my eyes, resigned to death. My breathing, however, was hale and deep, and I had the impression that my life force was not yet spent.

  I felt a tugging at my thigh. I opened my eyes to see Ku snatching my precious Journal. He examined its contents, then threw it down at my feet.

  ‘Meaningless markings!’ he said in disgust.

  I scrabbled to retrieve the pages.

  He laughed. ‘You think that your scribbles will save you? How your new human soul has changed you, my brother!’

  He turned his back on me. It appeared that whilst I was lying on the sand he had set about star
ting a fire on the beach, and now I saw him bend to fan the flames. He looked at it, and appeared displeased.

  ‘It must be hotter. I must leave for a while,’ he declared. ‘I have need of a cast-iron pot. I fear I must go to the next island for it. You may amuse yourself with your writings. Do not escape. I would find you, and you would only succeed in making me angry.’

  ‘Are you going to kill me?’ I asked.

  He tended to the fire for a few moments before turning to reply.

  ‘No,’ he said, looking deep into my eyes and smiling. ‘That is the last thing that I would wish to do, brother of mine.’

  [Missing pages]

  gold continued to melt in the huge vat over the fire, until only Ku’s head remained, the severed human arm still dangling from his mouth. Although nearly destroyed, the image chilled my heart just as violently as on the first day I encountered it. I regret not destroying the statue completely when I had the chance.

  The realisation that the vast cooking pot Ku has procured from the next island is not intended for me has eased my mind considerably. It has become apparent over the last two days that Ku is true to his word, and has no intention of killing me. He allows me a good night’s sleep on the beach before the blazing fire, and each morning he brings me a hearty breakfast.

  Whilst he was waiting for the gold to melt, he even took an interest in my seafaring tales. ‘You have a strong spirit,’ he remarked after one dramatic story, in what appeared to be genuine admiration, and I fancy that the tension between us is dissipating.

  Late yesterday afternoon he declared the gold ‘ready’. He balanced the cauldron on his hefty shoulders, and carried it deep under the heiau. I asked him several times why an immortal being would have need of molten gold, but he refuses to be drawn on the issue. ‘You will find out soon enough,’ is all he will say.

  For yesterday evening and most of today he has left me to my writing, joining me only for breakfast. He is strangely quiet.

  ‘I will miss you, brother,’ he said. ‘I have become accustomed to your stories.’

  After these words I have begun to entertain thoughts of my release, of my wife, and of England. I amuse myself by designing the boat I will build, and have begun to chart how far it must travel before I can procure a proper ship. Lost in my plans, the day has passed for me as if in the blink of an eye.