Sea of Thieves

by Chris Allcock

  Now it was Larinna who went on the offensive, lashing out against the Gold Hoarder with blow after vicious blow. Her cutlass dented and sparks flew as its whirling blade struck against the skeleton’s gem-studded body. “You killed my captain,” she roared. “You belong dead!”

  The Gold Hoarder threw its head back in an obscene parody of human laughter, the sound echoing throughout the ruins and filling the smoky air. With a single shove, it brought the handle of its shovel up to meet Larinna’s cutlass, and her blade stuck fast in the wood. Wide-eyed, she released her grip on the sword just in time, for the cackling cadaver gave an almighty tug that would have wrenched her off her feet and tossed her effortlessly into the roaring flames.

  That left Larinna unarmed save for her pistol, which she unloaded ineffectively at the grinning visage of the Gold Hoarder before finally resorting to throwing the weapon itself at his head. The undead monster delivered another mighty swing of its shovel, and Larinna dodged again, but her throat was raw now, her eyes puffy and swollen. If she didn’t reach the safety of the passageway soon and seek refuge from the smoke and fumes, she was going to collapse and be lost beneath the rising tide of flowing gold, assuming the Gold Hoarder didn’t rip her apart first. At least Faizel and Ned will live on to tell everyone what happened, she thought. And then she had an idea.

  “It doesn’t matter what you do to me!” she goaded, calling out to the Gold Hoarder though it hurt to speak. “My crew are on their way back to the surface right now with the rest of your treasure. They’ll spend it in so many places, you’ll never get it all back, and they’re going to tell everyone what’s left down here. Imagine that! Ten thousand thieves, all coming for their share of your fortune, and you’ll never, ever be able to stop them all!”

  Enraged, the Gold Hoarder raised its deadly shovel high overhead, assuming the same stance that had felled Adelheid. It brought the jagged blade down toward Larinna using every ounce of its strength—but she was no longer there, having flung herself forward between two bony legs. The shovel’s blow struck the barricade, causing great piles of flaming wood to tumble down atop the Gold Hoarder, but his fury was such that he shrugged off the heavy blows and lumbered after his prey.

  Coughing and spluttering as she sprinted toward the exit, Larinna paused only long enough to pluck up a length of wood and thrust it into the roaring flames. The result was a crude torch, her only defense against the all-consuming blackness that lay ahead. She had the unpleasant feeling that the Gold Hoarder would be able to see just fine in the dark.

  She made it back to the room where they’d made camp just in time, driving the sputtering firewood like a stake into the ground and casting around for the lantern she’d left behind until, at last, her questing fingers curled around its familiar handle. The steady glow of its flame was a welcome relief, and as she clipped it to her belt and prepared to move on, she could hear the distant sound of booted feet advancing along the corridor behind her.

  She also took hold of a stout woodcutter’s ax that must have belonged to whoever had made camp here all those years ago, for it felt good to have a weapon clutched in her hands again as she sprinted through the gloom.

  At last, Larinna came to the great ravine that they’d crossed before. To her relief, she saw that the decaying bridge was much as they’d left it, although one of the ropes they’d previously clung to seemed to have given way. She’d feared that Ned and Faizel’s escape might have collapsed the entire thing, trapping her forever in the darkness with a murderous skeleton. Even so, she hesitated at the cliff’s edge, shuddering at the memory of lying sprawled on those planks with nothing but a few lengths of rotten wood between her and howling oblivion.

  It took another hiss from the Gold Hoarder, who sounded uncomfortably close behind her, to compel Larinna’s feet onto the bridge. The first of the remaining planks held her securely as she inched forward, as did the second. She clung tightly to the handrail, barely daring to breathe as she took step after heavy step across the divide.

  The third bowed under her weight, but held. The fourth plank gave way a few moments after she’d stepped on it, and a white-lipped Larinna increased her pace yet again, breaking into a trot when the far side of the ravine was just a few feet away. Finally, she gave one almighty bound for safety, dropping the ax as she landed roughly on the bare rock face. Her landing added to her cuts and bruises, but she didn’t care.

  She turned, and found she could make out the Gold Hoarder in the darkness, for its glittering jaw and hand shone in the light of her lantern. To her surprise, it had already stepped onto the furiously swaying bridge. She watched the monster’s progress, certain that its footholds must surely collapse at any moment.

  The alternative, that the vengeful skeleton might somehow make it across the ravine, was unthinkable. Larinna felt utterly drained, and knew that she’d never make it back to the surface before the creature caught up to her and brought its mighty shovel crashing down. This chasm might be the only chance she had to put an end to the pursuit once and for all.

  The skeleton’s boot struck heavily upon the second plank, which creaked alarmingly under the sudden weight. Come on, Larinna thought, staring intently at the bridge as if she could force it to collapse through sheer willpower. Just as she hoped, the third plank did indeed give way as the Gold Hoarder stepped closer.

  Better still, the ravages of time seemed finally to have caught up with the decaying structure. One by one, the rest of the wood splintered and fell away, leaving the Gold Hoarder clinging to one last rope that spanned the ravine. She watched with some considerable pleasure as the skeleton struggled to keep a grip, its shovel crashing down into the darkness below.

  The gleaming skull turned toward her as Larinna watched defiantly, and then back to the handrail. Taking the taut rope in its jaws, the Gold Hoarder bit down, severing the line to which it was clinging. Now it was no longer dangling helplessly, but swinging toward her side of the canyon in a large arc with its legs braced for the impact.

  She heard, rather than saw, the creature strike the cliff with a loud clatter and a hiss. Peering down into the darkness, she could make out the skeletal form as it began to climb the rope, hauling itself up hand over hand and hissing more angrily than ever.

  Larinna’s hand flew to Adelheid’s knife, and she knelt on the very edge of the cliff, back braced against the rocky pillar to which the rope had been anchored. Her only chance at survival, she knew, was to cut the cord and send the ghoulish creature into the abyss once and for all. Strand by strand began to peel away as she worked furiously with the little blade, but the enraged skeleton was getting closer by the second.

  Now she was halfway through the rope, and the Gold Hoarder’s hands were ten feet away from the edge of the cliff. Three quarters done . . . almost there . . . three strands left . . .

  The rope snapped.

  The Gold Hoarder leapt.

  Larinna screamed as a golden hand seized her leg, claws raking across her flesh as the skeleton dangled. The pain and pressure as it clung to her limb like a lifeline was intense, and she was forced to hook her other leg around the pillar, which was all that stopped her from sliding across the floor and being dragged into the ravine. She flailed around, desperately looking for something to hold on to, for the Gold Hoarder weighed far more than one might expect from a pile of bones and rags. It’s the gold, she thought, fighting through the red fire of exhaustion. Gold is a really heavy metal. Heavy . . . but soft.

  Her hands closed around the woodcutter’s ax, and Larinna brought it down upon the claw that held her leg, issuing a cry to rival the Gold Hoarder’s own angered roar as the blow struck the creature mere inches from her own flesh. The creature scrabbled furiously at the cliff face with its other hand, realizing her intentions, and Larinna felt her grip on the rock give way.

  She began to slide inexorably toward the cliff edge, inches away from their mutual doom, and panic swelled within her. Clamping down on the feeling, she summoned up the la
st of her strength and brought the ax down for one last live-or-die attempt. This time, the blade sliced, unstoppable, through the golden hand until it struck stone.

  The Gold Hoarder had no expression to read, but its jaw hung open in surprise as it plummeted into the darkness, reaching for Larinna with the hand it no longer possessed. That hand was still squirming on the ground nearby, and she lashed out at it with a savage kick, consigning it to the void along with its owner. Only then did she slump fully to the floor, poking gingerly at her injured leg and wincing.

  Her eyelids were heavy and she yearned for sleep, but not as badly as she yearned for daylight and for the smell of the sea. Larinna permitted herself to sit only for a moment before getting unsteadily to her feet, testing her weight on her wounded limb.

  It was then that she noticed the ring, little more than a glimmer in the darkness, and pinched it up between her fingers to examine the black diamond set against the band. She pocketed it without much thought and staggered back through the ruins, taking the endless staircase at her own reduced pace. After some time, she no longer needed the lantern to see.

  Stepping out of the shadow of the fallen statue and into the warmth of a sunny morning felt even better than she’d imagined it would, and Larinna wished for the shade of a palm tree so that she might sit and slumber for a while. You can rest in a tavern when you’re safely home, she told herself. Today’s story ought to be good for a grog or two.

  She knew that the Unforgiven must be far away by now, Faizel and Ned having made their escape long before she escaped the Gold Hoarder’s clutches. Quite how she was going to find her way home was a puzzle that stumped Larinna for a while, at least until she remembered that the pirate crew that had ambushed the crew of the Unforgiven had come here in a ship of their own.

  She limped along the coastline until she could see the sails of the mercenaries’ galleon, still bobbing peacefully off the coast, at which point she waded out to sea. The salt water stung the cuts on her leg where the Gold Hoarder had grabbed her, and once she was aboard she shrugged off her coat, tugged at her breeches, and tended to the wound properly.

  Next, she raided the ship’s supplies until she found something she could eat that wouldn’t kill her, which turned out to be bananas. After hours underground fighting for her life, they were the sweetest thing she’d ever tasted.

  Working a galleon meant for a crew of four proved to be tricky but not impossible, and once Larinna had strained to raise the anchor and partially unfurl a single sail so she could see where she was steering, she found herself able to lean against the helm and let the ship’s compass guide her way. As long as she didn’t have to fight, she’d make it home. Her leg was feeling better and her spirits were lifting slightly, though her mind still drifted back to Adelheid and the others from time to time.

  She would have to sell the ship when she made it back to an outpost, she decided. Then, well, perhaps she’d buy a little sloop she could manage on her own. She wasn’t certain she was ready to find another crew, not so soon after her first disastrous voyage. If I had only let Faizel and Ned walk past me when I first landed at Sanctuary Outpost, she thought bitterly, they would never have been able to reach the map and Adelheid might still be alive. She shook her head, refusing to let herself wallow in might-have-beens, and focused on the horizon that was in front of her.

  A horizon, she realized, that had sails on it. Another galleon was sliding into view ahead of her, previously hidden from sight by the rocks of the nearest island. She was already altering her course to try to avoid a confrontation when she spotted the figurehead—a fearsome woman holding two crossed pistols.

  Letting out an unintended, joyful laugh at the sight, Larinna dashed all around her stolen ship, weighing anchor and getting as close to the island as she could for a better look. It was definitely the Unforgiven; she could even make out Ned and Faizel roving around on the shoreline, gathering food and supplies for the return journey. It felt better than she expected to see them again, and barely had they spotted her approach before Larinna had abandoned ship, diving overboard to meet her crewmates.

  They reunited in the surf and Larinna was startled, but not displeased, to find herself picked up bodily by Little Ned for a bear hug. Together, they made their way back aboard and clustered around the map table to tell their stories. Faizel seemed no worse for wear, so Larinna demanded to know why he hadn’t been crushed under the tumbling masonry deep within the ruins. “I have a very thick skull, yes!” he said, by way of explanation. “And my good friend Ned was kind enough to break my fall with his head.”

  “We’d have come back for you, but we thought you was dead,” Ned added apologetically.

  “And I for one do not believe that the Gold Hoarder was about to let us form a search party,” Faizel declared. “To see a Skeleton Lord such as he up close is not a sight I shall soon forget. I expected him to chase us all the way back to the ship.”

  “Well I don’t think he’ll be bothering anyone, at least not for a while,” Larinna said, a trace of pride creeping into her voice. As they listened attentively, she told them all about the collapse, the fight, the escape, and the battle at the bridge when she finally put an end to the monster’s pursuit.

  “Such a pity,” Faizel said sympathetically. “To think of the largest fortune any of us have ever seen. Lost down there, possibly forever. We were unable to grab more than a handful of coins. Enough to repair and refit the ship, perhaps, but hardly Athena’s Fortune.” He pointed across at a distant fog bank. “From the crow’s nest I could see the Devil’s Shroud appears to be advancing, perhaps even moving in to claim this place. I think perhaps we will be the last ones to come here for some time.”

  His expression grew serious then, and he leaned forward across the map table. “We have a long journey home,” he declared, “and we are once more a crew of three. Would you, Larinna, consent to being the acting captain of the Unforgiven?”

  Shocked, Larinna looked back and forth between them, unable to tell if they were joking. “Me? You want me to be the captain?”

  “We need a steady hand upon the helm, and I see no reason why it should not be the mighty pirate who single-handedly fought off the Gold Hoarder!” Faizel said, encouragingly. “At least until Adelheid returns.”

  Larinna stared at him, uncertain if he was cracked or simply making a joke in very poor taste. “Adelheid’s dead, Faizel,” she said, as gently as she could manage.

  Now it was Faizel’s turn to look at her as if she was playing some cruel joke, and the two of them stared at each other in mutual incomprehension for a moment. Ultimately, it was Ned who broke the deadlock.

  “Faizel,” he said, a low rumble of mirth making his shoulders quake. “I don’t think anyone’s ever told Larinna about the Sea of the Damned.”

  Emotions appeared to be fighting for control of Faizel’s expression, and Larinna felt like she was going to launch herself across the table at whoever said the next thing she didn’t understand. “What,” she growled dangerously, “is the Sea of the Damned? And so help me, if either of you laugh at me, I’ll—”

  “Forgive us, forgive us,” Faizel interrupted, holding his hands up in supplication. “Sometimes I forget that you are still new to the Sea of Thieves, though you have had quite the maiden voyage. Let us try to explain.” Larinna marshaled what little patience she had left while Faizel settled back with his arms behind his head, deep in thought.

  “You must understand that what I am about to say is the result of much conjecture and half-remembered experiences,” he said slowly. “No one truly understands the Sea of the Damned, not really, and I hope you will come to understand why no one really enjoys talking about it. We do not even know if the place has a real name. If it, itself, is completely real.”

  He caught Larinna’s glare and continued his story. “Whatever it may be, the Sea of the Damned takes the form of a vast, dark ocean whose waters are icy to the touch. There are no stars to chart by and no sun with
which to tell the time. You cannot see the horizon as there is only ever an endless fog through which vague shapes can be seen but never reached. Down in the waters, if you look closely, you can see writhing shapes that seem to be neither mer nor human. Are they the spirits of the dead? Could they be the same lost souls who find their way back to our world and plague us as skeletons? Some would say so, but who knows for sure?

  “When you wake up in this strange place, you have a body and you have your belongings, but you are not quite alive either. Caught between two worlds, perhaps, on the deck of a ship that is not your own, a galleon that sails this endless ocean. She is an ancient ship with a strange creature for a figurehead, and her walls and railings are marked with the names of some who have sailed in her before you.”

  This was sounding more and more like a ghost story to Larinna, but she found herself captivated by the idea nonetheless. “A ship? Does she have a crew?”

  “Indeed! They are gaunt and bloodless, shambling and obedient, for their captain is a tall and fearsome man with wild hair and an outfit that seems as ancient and ragged as his ship. The first time you encounter him, you wonder if you are perhaps his prisoner, or if you have been plucked from oblivion to serve as a deckhand on his endless voyage through limbo. In truth, you are more like a passenger, rescued from an unknown fate.”

  “That’s why we calls it the Ferry of the Damned,” Ned cut in. “The cap’n hardly ever speaks, though. S’pose he’s not got much to talk about except how he’s sick of the job.”

  “And where the door to the captain’s cabin should be,” Faizel persisted, “there is a great portal, sealed tight, with no lock or handle. And so you remain aboard until the ship’s captain, your Ferryman, decides the time is right. That is when the door will open in a burst of light—true light—from the living world. And when you step through—”