The Mad Voyage of Prince Malock

by Timothy L. Cerepaka

  “We thought our little island base was the safest place in the world,” said Garnal. “For years, we were the only ones who ever set foot there. We never even saw any other ships come, probably because it was located in the southern seas. We even began to believe that the legends about the southern seas, all of those tales about monsters and dangerous weather and mysterious beings, were just scary tales made up by cowards who didn't understand anything. We felt we ruled the southern seas and that that little island of ours was our throne. How foolish were we.”

  They must not have met the Loner God, then, Malock thought.

  “Then, about a week before we discovered you guys, everything changed,” said Garnal. “We were celebrating another successful raid, having recently stolen the crown of your mother, Queen Markinia, and—”

  “Hold on,” said Malock. “You stole my mother's crown? When did this happen?”

  “While you were out on this stupid quest of yours, of course,” said Garnal. “Anyway, we just evaded the Carnagian navy and decided to lay low on our island for a while. We decided to throw a party because it had been a few days since the last one and we'd managed to acquire some fine black beer from a dealer on Carnag. It was a great party. You should have been there.”

  “I don't party with pirates,” said Malock. “Are you getting somewhere with this story?”

  “Don't worry, gold blood, I am,” said Garnal. “I am just trying to remember the good times me and my crew used to have before all hell broke loose. Besides, I enjoy watching you get impatient because it confirms what I've always believed about you royals: you're nothing more than impatient spoiled brats who can't wait for anything.”

  Malock ignored the insult. “Continue, please.”

  “Anyway,” Garnal said, sounding more than a bit pleased that she had managed to anger Malock, “we were partying on the deck of our ship, a fine schooner called the Gray Ghost, when a storm suddenly came out of nowhere. This took us by surprise, partly because we were drunk as hell, partly because the night sky had been very clear and none of us had been expecting it to rain. The more sober of us managed to horde the rest of us into the cave to wait out the storm.”

  “And then what happened?”

  “As I said, I am getting to it,” said Garnal. “So we continued the party in our treasure cave, dancing and drinking and fornicating and all that good stuff. I don't remember even half the stuff I did that night, I was so drunk, but I can assure you that most of it would probably offend your royal sensibilities.

  “Then ... it happened.”

  “What happened?” said Malock.

  Garnal looked away, as if the very thought of it shook her to the core. “The roof of the cave was ripped straight off. The rain fell on us and then I looked up and saw the Verch.”

  “Verch?” said Malock. “What is the Verch?”

  “You mean you haven't heard?” said Garnal. “And here I thought you were supposed to be a lover of all things aquarian. Well, the Verch is a figure from the mythology of my people. According to the old legends, it is a powerful being, weaker than the gods but stronger than we mortals, who brings swift and terrible punishment down on those who have angered the gods. The word 'Verch' roughly translates to 'Punishment' in your human tongue, I believe.”

  “Interesting,” said Malock. “So you think this 'Punishment' attacked you?”

  “Think? I know so,” said Garnal. “Saw it with my own eyes. Standing there, hefting the roof of the cave above its head, its big red eyes glaring at us, smoke and smog shooting out from its ears, slime dripping everywhere ... it was the most horrible thing I have ever seen in my entire life and let me tell you that I have seen many horrible things in my life.”

  Malock leaned back in his chair, his arms crossed across his chest and a smirk on his lips. “How appropriate that thieves and murderers were punished by a servant of the gods. It is poetic justice at its finest.”

  “You wouldn't be saying that if you actually saw the Verch yourself,” said Garnal. “Anyway, to finish the story, the Verch killed almost all of my men, save for those dozen who managed to escape with me, destroyed all of our loot, and then smashed our ship into tiny little pieces. I believe the only reason we managed to escape, despite being drunk out of our minds, is because we got caught in a current that pulled us away.”

  “And you've been on the run since.”

  “More or less,” said Garnal. “Daryh got snapped up in your pathetic excuse for a trawl, which is how we found out about you. We were desperate, which is why we attacked you, even though we knew the chances of us succeeding were slim at best.”

  Malock scratched his chin thoughtfully. “Well, if your story is true, I don't see any reason to fear for my life. I've done nothing to anger the gods. I understand why you were punished, though. You had it coming.”

  “Perhaps,” said Garnal. “But I and my men looted, pillaged, raped, murdered, and plundered for years without any of the gods lifting so much as one finger to stop us. Why did they wait until just recently to punish us?”

  “The gods' ways are mysterious,” Malock said. “We do not always understand why they do what they do. I'm sure they had a good reason for it.”

  Garnal snorted. “If you say so. Now, if I remember correctly, you promised to let me free if I told you my story. You promised.”

  Malock grinned and looked at Banika. “So? Did she tell the truth?”

  Banika looked up and, without changing her expression even slightly, nodded. Garnal let out an audible sigh of relief.

  “All right,” said Malock. “As I said, I am a man of my word. But if you ever try to come back, I will kill you. Got it?”

  Garnal nodded. “I would not expect anything less from my new worst enemy.”

  “Good,” said Malock as he stood up, holding his soup bowl in his hands. “Banika, let's get this pirate out of here and back into the sea, where she belongs. She's wasted enough of our time as is.”

  ***

  Chapter Nine

  Garnal was made to walk the plank. Literally. A few of the sailors found an old board lying around and nailed it down to the scuppers. Garnal walked onto the plank with the crew yelling obscenities at her, jeering at her, and in general treating her with the level of disdain that only a pirate of her caliber deserved.

  Not that Garnal seemed to care. When she got to the end of the plank, she didn't look back or even acknowledge that she'd heard them. She simply jumped off and fell into the water with a splash and disappeared instantly. Some of the rowdier sailors got their guns out and fired into the water after her, but she was gone before they could shoot her.

  After that, Malock assigned two other sailors to the fishing crew: one was a human woman named Kocas Iknor, who seemed incapable of shutting up about her great hunting skills; The other was an aquarian named Byki, who resembled a squid in the face. Neither of them were trained fishermen or even just hobbyists, so Kinker spent the next few days teaching them how to haul in the trawl, how to clean and cook fish, and anything else about fishing that they needed to know.

  That was one thing Kinker noticed more and more as the days progressed. Since joining the fishing crew, Kinker had been doing much of the things that Deddio, the head fisherman, was supposed to do. In practice, Kinker felt like he was in charge of the group, spending much of his time telling the others, even Deddio, the proper ways to haul in the trawl and clean the fish.

  That wasn't very surprising. Kinker was the only professional fisherman on the entire ship. None of them understood fishing quite the same way he did. The others were definitely learning and improving, but they still deferred to his wisdom and experience whenever they had to make a difficult decision.

  But Kinker was not interested in leading. He wasn't a leader. He had never held a leadership position back on Destan or on any of the dozens of fishing ships he'd worked on over the years. He had nothing against leadership or leaders in general, but he did not feel that he was suited for the job. He was es
pecially worried about gaining prominence because it might force him to reveal his secret, a secret he had done his very best to hide so far.

  Kinker tried not to worry about his secret most of the time. None of the sailors aboard the Iron Wind had any connection to Destan or to its priests, as far as he knew. Yet he was still determined to take the secret with him to the grave. Even though he knew he didn't do it on purpose, he doubted the others would believe him. They would probably despise him more than he despised himself if they found out what he did.

  The only question was how long Kinker could keep this a secret. That was a long-term question and he didn't like to think long-term. That meant thinking about what he would do if they returned to the Northern Isles. He couldn't go back to Destan, not after his escape. He thought about staying with Jenur, but every time he asked her about her past or where she came from, she changed the subject so naturally that it wasn't until hours later that Kinker realized what she had done.

  What secrets does she have to hide? Kinker thought. She doesn't want to talk about her past, just like me. I wonder why.

  Then again, it seemed like everyone on the Iron Wind had secrets. Malock still hadn't talked about his experiences on Ikadori Island or what Garnal had told him in the hold. Jenur had a strange knowledge of magic and ways to kill people but refused to explain where she got that knowledge from. And it wouldn't surprise Kinker one bit if it turned out that Vashnas had some secrets of her own. With so much secrecy, he was surprised that anyone trusted anyone on this ship.

  Then again, he thought on the second day after Garnal's departure, glancing into the sea as he and the others hauled in the trawl for the day's lunch, when the only other option is try to survive in a sea that cares for you even less than your mother sea, I suppose learning to live with secrets is how one gets by.

  It was a week after Garnal departed from the ship, shortly after breakfast, that a large storm blew in from the east. The rain fell hard, the waves rose and fell, and the sky rumbled, but compared to murder season up north, it was bearable. Its sudden appearance was surprising, true (the sky had been clear), but Kinker didn't see any reason to freak out.

  Malock, on the other hand, seemed to be in full-on panic mode now. He was running around the ship, ordering sailors to tie down whatever they couldn't take below deck and to stay away from the bulwarks so they wouldn't get swept overboard by the waves. That Malock was personally ordering them himself and not Banika, made Kinker so worried that he actually decided to talk to Malock himself.

  He got his chance when Malock came to check on the trawl. The Captain's hair was being blown around by the wind as he demanded the fishing crew to haul in the trawl and take it below deck until the storm passed.

  “What?” said Kinker, raising his voice over the howling wind. “But we just tossed it back in.”

  “I don't care!” said Malock, raising his voice as he pulled the hood of his boat cloak over his head. “I don't like the look of this storm, not one bit, and I don't want us losing anything we might need just because we didn't take this storm seriously!”

  “Yes, sir, Captain,” said Deddio, saluting Malock. He turned to the others and said, “Men! Let's haul in the trawl! And then take it down to the hold!”

  While they did that, Kinker turned to Malock and asked, “What are you so worried about? It's just a storm.”

  Malock shook his head. “I didn't ask for your opinion, Kinker. Just help your fellow fishermen haul the trawl in and take it to the hold. That is an order.”

  Before Kinker could ask any more questions, Malock was gone, already making his way to the bow, shouting orders to the nearest sailors to furl the sails. Kinker looked up at the sky, seeing the dark, rumbling clouds and bright lightning, and decided that, whatever Malock's real reason for being so worried about the storm, it did make sense to haul in the trawl, just so the ocean wouldn't rip it off the stern.

  By the time the fishing crew managed to get the trawl onto the deck, the storm was in full swing. The wind whipped their clothes and hair about, the raindrops fell like bullets, the Iron Wind rocked back and forth like a cradle, and the ocean waves splashed against the ship's side, dousing anyone who happened to be near the bulwarks. By the time the fishing crew—dragging the trawl behind them—reached the hatch that led to the lower decks, their clothes were soaked through and through and the only ones who seemed to enjoy it were Byki and Gino, although even they looked a bit disgruntled at the iciness of the water.

  In some ways, though, Kinker would have preferred to be outside in the rain than inside the lower decks. Despite the Iron Wind's large size, there simply wasn't enough space to give each sailor—all 140 of them—their own room or space to stand in. The fishing crew spent several minutes dragging the trawl through the crowded decks and it took them even longer to find a spot in the hold to put it because quite a few sailors, having nowhere else to go, had decided to ride out the storm there.

  Once they did, they took up a space near the back of the hold. The hold was an unpleasant place to be, mostly due to the smell and lack of clean air, but at least they weren't being pounded with rain. The walls of the hold creaked and groaned, however, which made Kinker feel skittish.

  “This is a pretty violent storm, isn't it?” said Jenur to Kinker, her hands gripping the crate she sat on. “Worst one we've been through so far, not counting the one we found you in.”

  “Yeah,” said Kinker with a shudder. “Where's Malock?”

  “No idea,” said Jenur.

  “He's top deck, in his stateroom,” said a familiar voice not too far away.

  Kinker looked to his right and saw Bifor striding toward them, his wand attached with a rope to his wrist. Ever since getting his wand back from Garnal, Bifor had kept his wand tied to him at all times. It seemed like an unnecessary precaution to Kinker, because he didn't think anyone on the crew would try to steal it, but he supposed it was none of his business.

  “Top deck? In this storm?” Jenur repeated. “Look, I know Malock can be a bit thickheaded sometimes, but come on. He made such a big deal about getting the rest of us below deck and now he's risking his own life for no reason?”

  Bifor sat down on the floor near Kinker and Jenur, but even sitting down he was at least a head taller than either of them. “I've learned that you don't usually question the Captain's decisions in times of crisis. I'm sure he has a good reason for doing what he's doing.”

  Jenur looked up at the ceiling, from which water dripped occasionally. “If you say so.”

  Malock sat in his stateroom, on his favorite chair, gripping the sides of his desk hard. The rocking of the ship had tossed about nearly everything in his room. The books on his shelf were scattered across the floor. The maps and papers and quills on his desk were everywhere, and even the sofa had been knocked over. Through the window, Malock occasionally caught a glimpse of a huge ocean wave or of a lightning bolt striking somewhere, often nearby.

  He was not alone. Banika sat on the floor nearby, her legs folded underneath her, her hands placed in front of her like prayer. It seemed an odd thing to do in a storm like this, but she had explained to Malock that this form of meditation—which she called 'calming meditation'—was useful for keeping one's balance in this kind of situation. He supposed it was true because, despite the constant rocking of the ship, Banika had not budged an inch from her spot on the floor.

  If only Vashnas had been as lucky. She had tried to sit on a chair, but that had resulted in her falling to the floor. Now she just lay on her belly on the floor, her hands on her head, wincing every time a particularly loud clap of thunder burst overhead. Malock wished there was something he could do to comfort her, but right now he wasn't particularly comforted himself, so he didn't think there was anything he could do to help her.

  Besides, if this storm was indeed the herald of the Verch ... well, then Malock figured being comforted was the least of their worries.

  Now Malock was hardly a superstitious man. Yes, he res
pected the gods and yes he understood that they were mysterious and worked in ways that mortals rarely understood, but that didn't mean he believed every myth, legend, or plain old story about them. In particular, Malock had always disbelieved the story about the god Grinf becoming a sheep and mating with a willing human woman, their union producing a monstrous half-sheep/half-human hybrid known as the Sheep Child that, according to legend, was killed by its own mother who was horrified by its appearance.

  But Malock remembered the fear he had seen in Garnal's eyes. Even though all pirates were liars and deceivers who always looked out for number one, Malock could tell that Garnal's tale about the Verch had not been a lie. Something had indeed attacked and destroyed Garnal's crew, something preceded by a storm on the ocean, and considering that this storm had come out of nowhere just like in Garnal's story, Malock felt justified in taking the precautions that he did.

  Of course, it could just be a normal storm, Malock thought. Just like how Ikadori Island could have been just a normal uninhabited island that wasn't home to a mortal-eating god. Best not to take chances on these seas.

  A particularly violent lurch almost tossed Malock off his chair, but he held on tightly to the desk and managed to remain upright. Banika was as calm and still as usual, while Vashnas had now placed one of the discarded books over her head. He had told them both about his suspicions of the Verch; in fact, that was why he had brought them both here. If the Verch was indeed coming, then he wanted to have two of his most trusted friends by his side to face it.

  The ship stopped rocking and swaying. The sudden stop made Malock's stomach lurch, but he held down his lunch as he looked around tentatively.

  Vashnas took the book off her head and also looked around. “Why ... why did the ship stop?”

  Banika's eyes opened. “Captain, do you hear that?”

  Malock shook his head. “Hear what?”