A Monk's Tail

by Kyle Spencer

  “It’s the principle of the matter, darling. And besides, it’s technically not salting if there’s no salt involved.” He tries his most charming and roguish smile on me. I just give him The Look. He knows damn well what I meant. Sowing the earth with salt is so crude and inefficient when you can simply absorb all the life essence from the surrounding area, turning the land into a blackened shell for the rest of time. Ubel holds his paws up defensively, “Okay, okay, I admit that it wasn’t necessary but it has been quite a while since I’ve been able to spread my wings, so to speak. Although there truly wasn’t much living up there.” He holds out a gloved paw and a tiny whirlwind of green vapor twists upward. It curves towards his face and he inhales it like he would his favorite cigar smoke. He gives two sharp sniffs and sharply shakes his head.

  “A pittance.” I say. I remember the nights after we laid entire villages to waste, lying naked on the dead grass together, laughing and drunk off that green vapor that can be drawn from the living as easily as water from a well. Ubel looks wistfully at me and I know he’s thinking the same.

  We continue walking until we whirl around at a sharp crack behind us. Two skeletons stare at us with glowing green sockets; one’s femur has snapped and it is now laying on the ground. These last two skeletons - the undead Ask and Embla of Clan Shadowpaw - carry our provisions for the journey ahead. However, it seems the weight of it all is a tad too much.

  Good help is so hard to make these days.

  “I think it’s time, dear.” Ubel puts his arm around me and pulls me close. “I will carry our things for the time being.”

  “If you say so.” I sigh and snap my fingers. Instantly the two cats crumble to ivory dust which is quickly blown away by the strong wind coming down from the mountains. Both of us stare at the emptiness of the road behind us. Minutes pass before I speak again. “I just don’t understand.”

  “Understand what, my love?”

  “Why she just wouldn’t go with them? She was right there. They wouldn’t have harmed her and she…she…”

  “I know, I know.” He whispers. “It’s okay. The Ko’mori are a frightening sight and she was probably too scared to-”

  “That’s not it and you know it.” I sigh. Ubel is right though; even though it was mortally wounded and minutes away from death, that creature was truly a fearsome sight, even for one so used to such things. When it crawled into the throne room at Aodh’s keep it looked like something that only the great Zelig von Zerfallen would be able to conjure. If it had been surprised to see us there instead of the leopard warlord it did not show it. In an unexpectedly high pitched voice it recounted the events of its mission with the droning detachment of a stenographer. Ubel didn’t need to release it from the shackles of life; it finished its message with its final breath.

  “I know.” Ubel’s voice is calm, like the ocean before a massive hurricane. “When we find her we will sort all this out and show her the error of her ways. And she won’t run off like this ever again. Ever.” The last word shoots ice into my veins. “Until then, we will travel to Aquarian, find a ship, make a crew, and track her down.”

  “What do we do about her friends? Our daughter’s new…entourage complicates matters. Especially that firefox mancer.”

  “That’s simple.” His voice is still calm. “We kill them all.”

  Tai-fuu

  And as the horde sailed towards our shores with the largest invading force the world had ever seen, the god Raijin sent forth a 神風, a divine wind, that tore the vessels asunder and saved this land.

  -The monk 太腹, A History of the Gods

  Nine.

  Nine bodies. After the three days of preparation as per the crew’s customs - cleaned, anointed, etcetera - they are wrapped in the cut-up pieces of a spare sail and bound with rope. Bits of clothing from the crew decorate the bindings; a ribbon, a shred of shirt, a plundered ring. All are meant to keep the dead from losing the good memories of this life as they transition to the next. Lead weights, usually meant to weigh down the rigging, are bound to their feet to guide them down to the darkest depths of the ocean.

  The nine souls lie out on the deck by the railing with Captain Saltana and a large barrel at the far end of the ship. The captain begins by telling a short story about each of her lost crew then motions for all of us to take the cup that was given to us and dip them into the barrel. Drinks held high, we toast to the departed and down the murky-tasting liquid. It’s grog, a mixture of rum and water (but mostly rum). It’s a staple on all ships and the only drink we have that’s worthy of ceremony.

  After downing the alcohol, a member of the crew comes forward and tells a story of the first lost crew in the line. Again we drink and afterward the body is dropped into the sea. We repeat this ritual eight more times. Songs are sung. Tears are shed. And as time goes on everyone aboard becomes properly smashed. When the last one goes overboard (Prisha, sent into the afterlife with a beautiful shanty from Aami) the captain raises her arms and her voice. “We have seen our family off to the next life and there is still half a barrel left. We have mourned their passing. Now let’s celebrate their lives!” Cups fly into the air with a mixture of cries and cheers.

  Bawdier songs are sung.

  Happier tears are shed.

  And as time goes on Sadness realizes it has no business on board this ship and fucks off for a while.

  ***

  “Bow. Bow! Wake up!”

  “Uhhhnnnn...five more hours.”

  “C’mon, get up now!”

  I scrape off the crust that glues my eyes shut and blink a few times to see an anxious Susi hovering over me. The glow of a lantern pierces right into my brain. Arrgh!The soft light! It burns! Ugh, and my mouth feels I’ve been chewing on rotten wood. I attempt to roll over but something warm and furry is blocking my path. I look over at the half-naked otter next to me and smirk. At least last night was fun. If only I could remember it…

  “You’re hungover.” Susi says in the voice of a chastising mother.

  “No shit.” I grumble. “Although I’m glad you’re not.”

  “Professor Zott took away my drink.”

  “Good.”

  “But then he gave it back to me two hours later. I don’t think he remembers that.”

  “He’s such a terrible role model.”

  “I’ve seen worse.” She flicks me on the nose.

  “Owww! The fuck? Why does everyone keep doing that?”

  “Get up. Captain says all hands on deck. Wake her up too.”

  “Why?”

  “Because the captain said all hands on-”

  “No I mean why did she say that?”

  “You’ll see. Although I don’t think you’ll want to.” She scampers away.

  Aw shit. What now?

  Saltana stands at the front of the ship without a single hint of last night’s debauchery (which was quite something, according to numerous crewmembers). Her face is jagged with worry as she looks out over us. A fierce wind blows through our ship, filling the sails and whipping her bandana over her shoulder.

  Behind her is a massive wall of gray, merging the sea and sky into one.

  “Oh sweet fuck it’s a 台風.” I breathe as my heart skips two beats. Talia stands next to me, eyes wide. She just nods slowly. She knows.

  “What is this ‘tai-foo’?” Archy asks with his usual inquisitiveness.

  “Big big trouble.” Saltana answers. “For numerous reasons. First, we’re roughly two-hundred fifty miles from any land. Second, this isn’t the season for such storms. Not even close. And third, look at the wind.”

  “What about it?” I ask, but Archy and the other otters seem to have picked up what the captain was dropping.

  “Usually with these kind of storms the winds blow away.” She points to the full sails. “Or at least sideways. But this one...it seems like the wind’s pulling us in.”

  “What does that mean?” Susi asks.

  “As I said, big big trouble.” The captai
n’s eyes narrow as she looks back at the storm. “And another Hel of a night. Say, any of you know how to sail?”

  “No.” The four of us say in unison. Saltana measures us for a second, then her pensive look twists into a smile. It’s the smile of a lunatic, someone who should’ve died more times than they can count and because of it has seen things that no mortal has the right to see. And they want to show it to the world.

  “Well I hope you all are fast learners.”

  ...shit.

  ***

  “Help-help-help Bowwwww!” The gale lifts Susi like a ragdoll and flings her over the side. Talia and I rush to the railing; Archy is too busy holding the rigging together against the constant pull of wind. Shielding my eyes from the stinging barrage of water I look for any sign of the maus.

  ...There she is! Hanging from her safety rope, spluttering in the waves and bouncing against the side of the ship. We haul her up, quickly and not too carefully, until she’s in the relative safety of the rocking deck. A few gagging retches and some spat-up water later and she staggers to her feet. She’s got a few bruises but otherwise not looking too much the worse for wear.

  “Third time’s a charm, huh?” I smile as a wave crashes against the side of the ship, tilting it precariously and drenching us again for the umpteenth time.

  “Fourth time, thank you very much.”

  “Oh!” I raise my eyebrows and glance over at Talia. “Really? Fourth time. Hmmm.” Talia glares at me, knowing damn well the meaning of my look: She lost the bet. Pay up. “Well, either way your shift is up. Go below and rest up a bit. Nab some of that curry; it’ll warm you right up.”

  Hel knows what time it actually is; we reached the typhoon around sundown and have been battling the beast throughout the night and into morning. Everyone works in two hour shifts, going below deck for rest and food whenever we can. It’s funny, I never would’ve thought I could fall asleep with such a storm raging above, knocking the ship this way and that - at times I was afraid the whole damn thing would simply tip over. But with a belly full of the cook’s delicious curry (‘the secret is cacao!’) I was out like a light the instant I hit the hammock.

  When not below, everyone is required to have a safety rope around their waist at all times, the importance of which Susi has demonstrated already on a number of occasions. Even I found myself dangling from a mast one time as a rogue wave crashed over the ship and send me tumbling. Fortunately for me, the otters are fantastic teachers and in the precious few hours before stormfall I learned way more about sailing than I thought possible. That training is the only thing that kept me swinging from a mast instead of swimming for my life.

  As Susi makes her way below a wild cackle rushes over our heads on the wind. Saltana, the Avatar of Recklessness, swings over our heads. While most of us (her own crew included) struggle to simply remain upright, she rolls with the waves and rides the winds like she’s one with the ocean. The ship lists crazily to the right and she uses her rope to run along the hull almost parallel to the ocean, making one final swing to land next to her pilot, Niani. The little otter is strapped to the wheel by her right paw, her muscles bulging as she battles the sea for control. Her eyes are bloodshot from salt and her fur is whipped up in a furious floofy frenzy. But her wicked grin would give Saltana’s a run for its money. The captain helps her pilot with the wheel as the typhoon begins another violent assault, lashing out with everything its got. Waves grow in size, smashing again and again into the side of the ship, taking shards of railing and threating to tip everything - and everyone - over.

  “We’ve hit the eyewall!” Saltana and Niani shout together so their voices can carry over the howling wind. Barely. “Everyone grab hold of something! We’re going to ride the waves into the center!”

  Talia and I cling to the main mast. We’re both smooshed against the wooden pillar as Archy throws his massive weight around us. The waves toss the ship around like a cub’s bath toy. They lift us up, up, up, only to drop us for what seems like hundreds of feet. My stomach tries to escape through my mouth during the falls and some of the other crew lose their grips. They float up, attached to the ship’s umbilical cords, and slam painfully back into the deck. This thrill ride continues, us and the crew holding on for dear lives while Saltana and her pilot giggle like idiots.

  But we get through it. It’s like walking out from behind a curtain; one second the storm is Helbent on using all its sound and fury to kill you, the next second the sun is warming your drenched fur. Behind us a wall of clouds screams and swirls. It extends on either side and curves around to the front, laying siege to our already battered ship.

  “Thank the gods.” Saltana says nonchalantly. She walks around with arms open, absorbing the sun. “We’ve made it to the eye. Niani, take a break my dear. Everyone else tend to your wounds, get something to eat and catch a quick nap. We don’t have too much time before we gotta break on through to the other side.”

  “How long will that be?” Talia asks as she wrings out her clothes.

  “Hard to say. This is one of the biggest storms I’ve ever seen. With no real wind here I would say maybe two, three hours. Maybe a couple more if we’re lucky. But that’s assuming that-”

  “Captain! You might want to see this!” Aami calls down from the rigging.

  “Can’t it wait ‘till after curry?” Saltana grunts.

  “You really might want to see this!”

  ***

  “Lass mich das klarstellen,” Ubel doesn’t raise his voice, not that it would’ve helped much; half the townsfolk aren’t paying attention to him. They’re too busy examining each other’s walnuts. Confusion spreads through the crowd like a virus; how could everyone get the rotten nut? From atop the central platform Ubel speaks again - much louder this time but just as calm. “Lass mich das klarstellen: Ihr schickt meine Tochter zu ihrem Tod, weil ihr zu schwach seid, um euch selbst zu verteidigen?”

  The only time my husband speaks our native tongue is when passion overwhelms him. The crowd doesn’t understand his words, although his tone leaves little room for interpretation. Their fool of a mayor stands beside us. He’s desperate to get away but Ubel holds onto his paw. Despite being more than twice my husband’s size he can’t break away. The crowd is too far away to notice and they won’t know what to look for, but I can see very clearly why: the stupid bear’s muscles are slowly atrophying. Soon he will be nothing but a mewling cub - unable to move or speak - completely at our mercy.

  I step forward and take my husband’s paw. The jolt of power is instant. And intoxicating. The townsfolk finally realize what is about to happen and they scatter like ants in the rain.

  “Sollen wir anfangen?” Ubel asks as the mayor lets out a long moan of pain.

  “Wir sollten.” They’ve nowhere to run; this prison that they’ve built for themselves will make our work easy. So much vitality within these walls. So much life!

  Tonight is going to be a very good night.

  Fiddler's Green

  “I’ve seen it all, young ‘un: Mermaids, Klabautermann, Duffer Jones…Hel, I’ve even seen me a Kraken or two - and yes its pronounced krah-ken. But the one thing that still evades these ol’ eyes is that one place every sailor worth ‘is salt wishes to be…”

  - No-eyed Jim, sailor and spinner of yarns

  “I don’t see what the big deal is.” I say to anyone willing to listen (which is no one). “So we discover some kind of barge sitting in the middle of a freak typhoon. I for one have seen stranger shit recently.”

  “Is still pretty strange.” Archy replies. Can’t really argue that.

  “Regardless. I just don’t know why the captain has confined all of us to the ship.”

  As restless as I am to get off this blasted hunk of wood, Saltana and her crew are not. After breaking through the eye wall, we discover this enormous rig adrift in the eerily calm waters. It looks like a giant cube that’s cobbled together from the husks of dead ships and bound with rope and shreds of sail. A few intac
t vessels are lashed to the sides and a large faded banner hangs near the top. ‘Fiddler’s Green’ is painted in dripping letters the color of seaweed.

  As we pull in closer that cube turns into a veritable jungle gym of walkways, corridors, huts, rooms, and railings. It’s as if Tortuga, the secret pirate hideaway found in numerous pulp novels, jumped from those pages and plopped smack dab in the middle of this storm. The ships docked beside it dwarf our own, and the whole structure dwarfs those ships.

  I would imagine that it’s all these large-ass ships that have the otters squeamish, but it looks like it’s that simple green sign that has all of them on edge. As we carefully pull up to dock next to one of the larger vessels, the smell of fresh-baked bread and fish stew sweeps over the ship. Music - jaunty reels and jigs from fiddles and mandolins - dances out lit windows and calls to us. All on deck begin to follow the siren song until Aami stops us. Everyone’s eyes follow her pointing paw to the chipped paint on the ship next to us.

  Th F ying Dac shu d.

  Teeth bite thumbnails and a symphony of spit rolls through the crew…which I think is a bad sign. Even Captain Saltana joins in.

  “So what’s so special about The Frying Dachshund?” I ask.

  “Flying.” Aami corrects.

  “…I knew that.”

  “She’s a bad omen - a ghost ship. That’s all you need to know.” Saltana butts in, much more gruffly than normal. “Sailors claim to see her in bad weather and any ship that runs afoul of her loses a crewmember the next night.”

  “A ghost ship. Wonderful.” I gulp.

  Time goes by and the music still plays and the smell of freshly cooked food still tugs at my nostrils. But here we sit, the crew repairing the damage the typhoon caused while the rest of us do our best to be as useful or out-of-the-way as possible. All throughout, the crew keeps a watchful eye on our neighbor.