by A. L. Brooks
When Hawkmoth saw Gargaron standing there he acknowledged it with a smile. Then he fell flat on his face.
9
Gargaron took hold of the gunwale for support. He looked about, confused, even terrified. The last he’d known he’d been poised on deck watching the scar rush toward the ship. Then he’d felt himself being thrust somehow forward. In his own time and space, it felt as if some dark ocean wave had folded over him and there he’d tumbled. In his own time he had known this darkness for hours. He assumed he must’ve perished, that the scar had swallowed the ship. But somehow he’d never lost the ship from sight; it had always been there, just out of reach, as if caught in a bubble. Now here he were, as if he’d stepped through some membrane, stepping back upon the boat amidst a pattern of blurred light.
When he looked around he saw Hawkmoth lying unconscious, his body rocking to and fro as the ship swayed wildly. He heard snarls and screeches and as he steadied himself his eyes bulged as he realised the ship were under attack; some mighty Leviathan were writhing viciously around deck.
The sheer weight of the beast as it lashed the decks forced the ship to list dangerously, the starboard side were almost submerged, the top of the mast suspended horizontal out over the sea, the sail dipping into the waves as the tips of the grass stalks writhed and wormed, pulling, tugging, threatening to drag ship and all down into its depths.
Gargaron spotted Melai racing along deck to the forecastle, flying in small bounds, and firing arrows at the creature. Locke were astern, elevated on the aftcastle, blowing darts where he could, trying to avoid hitting his own serpent that were currently intertwined with the much larger sea monster.
Gargaron pulled out his sword, left Hawkmoth where he lay tethered to his own mooring rope, and marched into the fray. He leapt, his sword arm held high, bringing his great sword down into the beast’s belly. It split its hide, squirting blood and an acidic gas, choking Gargaron. He reeled back, shunting aside the monster’s face with his sword as its open jaws swung at him.
He stumbled backwards. The Leviathan twirled away from him as a barrage of ice arrows fired by Melai bit into it. It screeched and Locke blew his darts. They had no effect.
The leviathan lunged at Melai. She leapt aside, flapping her wings, just as the beast smashed into the forecastle, wood splinters exploding outwards. Melai landed heavily on deck and tried scrambling away, but her mooring line had become snagged in the monster’s limb. And it reeled her back.
Gargaron charged forward, and cut the line.
Here the beast, with a mighty thrust of its tail knocked Gargaron flying across deck. Gargaron smacked his head against the mast as he went, sending all thought from his mind in an instant. He lay there groaning, distantly hearing someone screeching, distantly aware that his body were sliding about this way and that at the whim of the ship.
He shook his head and pulled himself to his haunches. His sword had been dragged form his grip. Groggy, he looked about. Saw it nowhere. But caught sight of Melai as the ship listed, the grass dragging it further over. Melai were slipping toward the edge.
Gargaron pushed himself to his feet and scurried after her, his bulk sliding along the deck boards as the ship tipped higher on its side. Behind him, Zebra bit into the sea monster’s face, attacking it repeatedly, while Locke blew darts that suddenly tore holes in the beast’s hide, several rents opening up in its flesh as if slashed by some enormous invisible blade. Still, it were obvious it would not be enough, leviathan and Zebra were both sliding across deck. The ship were about to tip. They would all be sent over the side.
10
Gargaron slid heavily into the gunwale; the ship was at such an angle the bulwark were a narrow platform beneath him, the decking of the ship like a wall on his right, on his left naught but a dark drop into depthless sea. He began crawling toward Melai when some mighty force shunted the ship, pulling it back onto its keel, throwing giant and nymph back across the deck as it levelled out.
On his back in the centre of the carrack Gargaron looked about and saw what had helped right them. A second Leviathan. And a third. All writhing about the boat. Smashing masts, pulling down sails, the bulk of their forms lashing everything.
Gargaron were hit and thrown across ship, again knocking his head. As he shook some sense back into him and tried getting up, he were hit again, slammed into the deck and heaved up against the main mast. He felt his anger beginning to bubble up inside him. His blood were boiling. His temples pounding. He seethed as he were knocked again into the mainmast.
He saw his sack, still hanging there, tied to mast. He saw Drenvel’s Bane. He groped for it. Could not reach it. He were hit again by a Leviathan tail but managed to keep hold of the mast. He pulled himself to his feet, reaching out toward his pack, finally getting his fingers around the hammer hilt, and as he did he felt that unfamiliar sensation return to his body. Of youth. Of strength. And of some fiend bigger than he were, stronger than he were, quicker and more nimble, with endless reserves of power and vitality…
11
Both Locke and Melai saw it. Drenvel’s Bane coming to life, the hammer gracing the end of the hilt. And Gargaron, if it were Gargaron, for the being wielding the hammer were bigger than Gargaron, were clad in black steel armour and helmet. He strode out swinging. They watched him smash the head clean off one of the Leviathans as it lunged at him. As its head flung end over end out into the Grass Sea, its body began to writhe and twist madly, blood spurting from its open neck. Gargaron hammered its body and sent it rocketing against gunwale, damaging the gunwale as its curling body slid overboard.
He turned for the remaining beasts, as they snapped at Melai. One were being assailed by Zebra who had coiled her body around it, squeezing it while at the same time striking her fangs into its neck. The Leviathan squealed and its strange arms grabbed at Zebra, attempting to strangle her. Locke filled it with darts that tore great reams of flesh from its body.
Gargaron marched on the other, winding back his hammer and swinging it into its hide. A mighty hole punctured through its bony ribs, and a mighty gush of wind popped out of it as the hammer sunk deep. Gargaron dragged his weapon from the beast and swung again, slamming the beast across deck while Melai filled its face with arrows that ripped its face apart in an explosion of meat, blood and bone.
It squirmed in silence, unable to make a sound, thrashing and rolling and Gargaron sent his hammer into it again, catching it against its spine which drove it from the ship and out into the grass waves, a mighty lump of faceless Leviathan flipping away like a dead eel.
Meanwhile, the third Leviathan were having its face effectively eaten off by Zebra. Gargaron turned on it and pulled back his hammer…
But… his rage faltered… the hammer head clunked into the deck. And he felt his fury wane…
12
The Leviathan wrapped its body around the crabman and constricted, coiling Locke in a death grip, his blow-flute and pipe held to him.
Melai flew to his aid. She had spent her rocket shots and were left only with ice shards that barely seemed to scratch the Leviathan’s scales. By now Locke were fighting for breath. ‘Ha,’ he panted, ‘do. Your. Best. Beast.’ Each word he spat with a grimace.
‘Gargaron!’ Melai yelled. ‘We need you!’
Hawkmoth were still comatose. And Gargaron knelt there on one knee, his head hung as if it were weighted, wincing at his sudden lack of strength.
‘Gargaron!’ Melai screeched at him.
Zebra did her best but the beast bit back at her and she were forced to retreat. As she did she saw Locke being squished by this creature and she did not need think. As the Leviathan wheeled around at her, its bloody jaws gaping open, hoping to bite her in two, she slithered up the mast, coiled back and thrust herself into the beast’s mouth and down its throat.
The Leviathan were suddenly distracted, giving out a strangled, muffled roar. It reared up and back, loosening its grip on Locke who fell heavily to the deck, gasping for air. The L
eviathan slammed once into the deck, scrabbled about as if clinging to the ship were now its life line. But then it reared up again and thrashed, snapped one of the stay ropes, recoiled, as if something were eating it from within. It arched its head and squealed one last time before its throat blew out and it flipped and kicked and reeled off the vessel and back into the sea.
It thrashed about the grass waves, tearing stalks, flicking clouds of grass into the air. Finally its body wriggled weakly, and it lay across the surface of the ocean for a few moments, moving slowly. Another hole were bleeding black blood. And another. And Locke’s serpent now pushed its head victoriously through one of these vents.
‘Quick now,’ Locke called to it, still catching his breath. ‘Quick, to the ship before that beast take you with it!’
But Zebra were in trouble. As soon as she wriggled from the monster she could no more swim these strange seas than fly. She hissed as she wriggled in the thick grass, the Leviathan sinking without trace behind her.
‘Throw her a rope!’ Melai yelled. ‘Quickly, Locke, a rope!’
Locke scrambled to grab one. He pitched it into the waves but it would not reach. She were too far.
She squawked, trying to keep her head above water, and then she squealed as she tried her best to slither for the safety of the ship.
‘Swim!’ Locke yelled at her, hauling in the rope and tossing it out once more. ‘Swim, my little one!’
But the rope were too far from her, and she were being dragged under and no matter how hard she tried keeping her head above the surface it were no use.
Before she sunk and vanished forever, she let out a pitiful cry, like a pup calling for its mother, and then she were gone.
‘Zebra!’ Locke called. ‘Zeeebraaaa!’ He scrambled along the starboard bulwark, peering overboard, hoping she might resurface, hoping she may have somehow reached the ship and were clinging to it. But she were gone. And naught were bringing her back.
The grass held the ship for a few moments but the sheer weight of the vessel had it slowly rolling back onto its keel and as the carrack steadied Locke turned away and he could hold it no longer, tears fell from his eyes and ran down his face and he staggered off to bow of ship to be alone.
GESHA AND OOSHA
1
THE ship caught wind again. Snarls of grass hung from the bowsprit. Blood of the Leviathan glistened on deck and were splashed across the starboard bulwark and gunwale. Gargaron struggled to get to the helm to bring their boat round on a northways heading. He felt groggy, his head pounded and ached. He clasped the hilt of Drenvel’s Bane; he had a vague feeling he’d somehow brought it to life again. ‘Melai?’ Gargaron asked concerned, ‘Are you injured?’
She sat there upon deck, looking shell-shocked, pondering how close she’d come to finding herself swallowed by this sea. Yet she watched Gargaron with intrigue, as if he were some phantom. ‘I be well,’ she said with a grimace. ‘Just gathering myself.’
‘What happened to the sorcerer?’ Gargaron feared the Leviathan had bitten him, filled him with venom. ‘Were he attacked?’
Melai frowned. ‘Can you not remember?’
Gargaron regarded her. He were still reeling from the fight with the sea beasts. ‘Remember what?’
Melai pulled herself to her feet, grimacing. ‘You went overboard. Your mooring rope snapped. You were gobbled up by this accursed ocean.’
Gargaron’s brow held a hundred creases in that moment. ‘No… I were… I couldn’t have.’
She came toward him. She reached out and touched his leg to see if he were real. ‘I saw it, Gargaron. You were gone.’
‘Hawkmoth,’ Gargaron called. ‘Hawkmoth? Be you well?’
‘He brought you back,’ Melai said. ‘As he brought Razor back on that bridge.’
2
The revelation hit Gargaron like a hammer. He felt his breath leave him. Yet somehow he saw himself dropping down into the depths of the Grass Sea, falling, falling, becoming nothing but a swirling wraithlike mass, breaking apart and disseminating throughout the long smooth grass stalks, splitting into a million tiny droplets of flesh, converted to naught but vapour. A deep shudder passed through him. And he sucked his breath back.
Melai thought he were about to stumble, as if his legs might give way. He gripped the ship’s wheel to hold himself upright.
‘Right then,’ he heard himself saying, taking in a mighty breath. ‘Right then.’ He exhaled long and slow and calm, shutting his eyes for a drawn moment. When his eyes came open he swallowed and looked about and concentrated on his breathing. Exhaling slowly, inhaling calmly.
He searched the skies. The suns were setting. Night were coming on. They were not out of harm yet. Rumination and reflection could come later, not now. They still had work to do. He looked across at Locke. He knew that Zebra were amongst them no longer, though he had not witnessed her demise. Still, the squeals he had heard as he’d slumped there after the hammer had dissipated were enough to tell him she’d gone overboard with one of those sea beasts. And that she had sunk.
‘Locke,’ he called. ‘I am sorry for your loss. Honestly. Though we must mourn our causalities later. Night comes and I fear more of those creatures, and more of those accursed scars. Would you take the wheel for a time?’
Locke did not argue. But did not speak either. He returned to the aftcastle and took the wheel as asked. Gargaron placed a comforting hand on the crabman’s shoulder. ‘Thank you, my friend. I am sorry for Zebra. Truly I am.’ He felt shallow somehow saying this but he thought of no other words of comfort right then.
‘I watched her hatch as a babe,’ Locke said, his eyes gazing out to sea. ‘We were bonded for life. I shall etch her passing onto my horns as I marked the passing of my wives and children.’
Gargaron nodded, squeezed the crabman’s shoulder again, briefly admiring the myriad pictograms etched into the crabman’s horns. He moved away down the wooden stairs to main deck toward. There the sorcerer still lay.
3
Gargaron untied Hawkmoth and carried him to the aftcastle and lay him down on his bedroll. He noticed how stiff the sorcerer were, as though his limbs had hardened, as though his back were now entirely ironwood bark. He ignored it. And looked about. The day were fast drawing to a close.
‘Hawkmoth?’ he said close at the sorcerer’s ear, ‘do you hear me?’
No signs of acknowledgement in the sorcerer’s face.
Gargaron went on regardless. ‘Hawkmoth, hear me, I pray. I know you would probably rather rest yourself than face more concerns but night is drawing on, and we may face more dark threats as the stars rise. You said you had some strategy to get us safely through the dark hours.’
Melai watched on closely. The sorcerer’s eyes were shut. There came no response to Gargaron’s words. Gargaron slapped him lightly on the cheek. ‘Hawkmoth, hear me!’
Melai knelt down. Gently she pushed Gargaron’s large hand aside. She smoothed the sorcerer’s greasy fringe from his eyes. And softly pushed her thumb to his forehead. ‘Hawkmoth,’ she whispered, ‘hear us. We need help.’
There were no change to his blank expression. But Melai kept her thumb nail pressed into his brow, her eyes shut as if feeding on his thoughts; a small gout of blood appeared beneath her nail.
Hawkmoth’s mouth opened slightly. His lips moved as if straining to speak. That proved the extent of his response.
‘Hawkmoth?’ Gargaron asked, trying to stimulate him further, ‘can you hear us?’
Melai put up a hand to shut Gargaron’s mouth. Some moments later she withdrew her thumbnail, droplets of Hawkmoth’s blood dripping to deck. Here she took hold of Hawkmoth’s sidepack, reached in, felt about, eventually withdrawing a pair of objects that looked to Gargaron like old strands of wood, twisted and gnarled. Melai lay these on the deck, regarded them curiously. She pressed her blood stained thumb against a little barb on each of them, drawing off her own blood; green mixed with Hawkmoth’s red.
It were like wak
ing a pair of hungry pups. Instantly the twisted objects twitched, moved, rolled over, writhing, sniffing out the source of their sustenance. Melai pursed her mouth as she let them suckle her thumb. When they were satiated they stood, ugly critters, looking about with large goggling eyes, limbs like the roots of shrubs. ‘Gesha,’ Melai heard herself murmuring. ‘And Oosha. Hear my command, and through my thoughts, understand our predicament. Keep this vessel under your guard till the suns rise and we can see our way again.’
4
The bizarre little root fiends appeared to survey their surroundings, to take in the situation. They gazed up the crooked mast that had been battered heavily by the Leviathan attack, and up at the sail. Then just like that, they got to work. One scurried to the helm, effectively shoving Locke aside (if that’s what the action could be described: this being that barely came to Locke’s knees, attempting, without any hesitation at all, to heave the crabman away from the wheel.) Humoured more than anything, Locke obliged.
The creature’s tiny root arms grew first, and then its torso. It gained little in the way of bulk as it did so. Though it did grow taller, until it were of sufficient height to operate the wheel.
The second root being scaled the mast effortlessly, pulling itself up high and into the crow’s nest where it too underwent a small transformation, growing taller, gaining enough height to allow it sufficient survey of the surrounding seas.
And there the two of them posted themselves for the night.
