by Osku Alanen
They had vanished.
“This isn’t funny,” Ronan shouted. “Wait for me.” He waited for an answer but heard nothing. The jungle around him was silent; not a single whisper was heard.
You are in danger.
The voice was back. “No shit,” Ronan muttered under his breath. He drew his weapons.
Those cannot help you here.
“Thanks, but I think I feel a lot better with these on my hands.”
“Raven?”
“Rose!”
“Rust? Where are you?”
It was no use; his companions had vanished. There was nothing around him except for this thick, lifeless jungle. Had someone or something taken his friends captive, or did they simply leave him after seeing how he scared he was? He was worthless, wasn’t he? A man broken. It was what he deserved, after all. They didn’t need him for whatever they were doing. They were strong enough as is.
Can you hear me?
Ronan turned around, startled by the voice. It seemed… different, somehow. Weaker. Like it was coming from somewhere far away.
Ronan wiped the sweat off his forehead only to find it cold. Ronan gripped his hatchets tightly, knuckles turning white, barely managing to keep upright on his trembling feet. He felt a ringing in his ears, which grew louder by the moment. “What’s… going on?” Ronan gasped.
The ship.
A sudden high-pitched buzzing erupted through the jungle making Ronan fall to the ground in a sudden spasm of agony. It seemed to originate from the direction of the ship, just as the voice had said. Through gritted teeth, Ronan forced himself up. He took one hesitant step, and then another. He was forced to cover his ears, as the loud ringing threatened to shatter his eardrums.
The thick jungle subsided as Ronan reached the beach. Just as she stepped his feet on the coarse sand, he realized the mist surrounding the island and the ship had vanished. The sky around them was dark, but instead of stars, there was nothing but darkness. He rubbed his eyes in disbelief, closing them for a few seconds. But when he opened them again, he cried in shock as he saw a sudden, blazing curtain of fire coming from the ship. Was it on fire?
Ronan started running.
Despite his aching muscles and the shortness of his breath, Ronan managed to pull himself up the hull of the ship, fearing to find the ship aflame. However, when he lifted himself up to the deck, he was shocked to find a bonfire waiting for him. And atop the bonfire, was a large cross, where a small boy was bound from his arms and legs. The flames already licked the boy’s boots, and the boy screamed. Ronan would have known that scream from anywhere. “Keran?” Ronan shouted in horror.
A man stood by the bonfire, holding a torch, facing away. The man turned towards Ronan, smiling. “See, my friend? I told you I would help you find your son,” Raven answered. His raven-black hair looked like charcoal, as the flames highlighted his features. His eyes were afire.
“What have you done?” Ronan cried in agony. In a moment of sheer anger, he charged Raven with his axes only to find that they hit thin air.
What you see is not real. Do not lose yourself to anger…
Ronan ignored the voice, and charged the man standing between him and the bonfire. Raven deflected the blow with ease with his blade. The sound of metal meeting metal was barely audible over the screams of his dying son. “Out of my way, traitor,” Ronan spat.
Raven laughed. “No, my friend. If you want your son, you must go through me.” The eyes of his friend turned black, and fangs protruded from his mouth. He was a Daemoni, Ronan realized. He had been all along. Raven then stabbed Ronan through the chest in one swift move, the blade passing through muscle and bone.
The pain was enough to make Ronan topple to the ground and spit blood on the deck of the burning ship. “Forgive me, my son. I have failed you,” he gasped between pained breaths.
… neither is the pain. It is all in your head. Embrace the pain fully, and you know it to be true. I need you to come to your senses; your strength is needed.
“Who… are… you?” Ronan managed to say between each gasp for air. The blade had ruptured his right lung, and he knew he was choking in his own blood. He had only moments to live.
You know well enough. Think Ronan. Where are you now?
“On the deck of the ship. Raven stabbed me. He tricked me.” His son was already dead. There was nothing left to save anymore. The only thing left of his son was now the charred body he could scarcely recognize.
This is an illusion, Ronan. What you see and hear is not real. You are needed outside. We are in danger.
“Outside?”
Wake up, Ronan. WAKE UP.
Ronan startled awake. He gasped for air, feeling his chest, searching for the wound Raven had made mere moments before.
There wasn’t any. He was safe.
Ronan massaged his temples, still feeling a lingering trace of the pounding headache. He looked around the cabin; his friends were still there, sleeping. At a close glance, everything seemed fine, but when he shook Raven’s shoulder to wake him up, he found that he couldn’t rouse him. The man was sweating profusely, and so was Rust. “What is going on?” Ronan mumbled. He felt drowsy, as if he had been drugged. “Voice? Why did you tell me to wake?”
I did no such thing, Northman.
Ronan frowned. He had heard a voice in this dream of his, hadn’t he? But it had sounded different, somehow. Avalon? It had to have been him. Ronan looked around the cabin but found no trace of the man. He grabbed his axes, and headed out for the deck, knowing something was still terribly wrong.
The sky surrounding the ship was covered in the same, strange mist, just like in his nightmare. Ronan realized immediately this mist wasn’t natural and drew his weapons. He headed towards the prow of the ship, and saw Avalon, hood lowered, the runes on his scalp shimmering. The magus topped on the ground, taking support with his left hand while holding up his right hand towards the prow. “Hurry,” he gasped.
Ronan heard the sound then. It was like singing, both beautiful, and oh so alluring. It made Ronan forget his task until his friend’s pained breathing brought him back. He saw the shape of a woman coming towards him. A woman who looked beautiful, yet there was deep sorrow in her eyes as she sung. He then saw the scales covering the woman’s skin, finally realizing what was happening here. “A… siren?” Suddenly, everything made sense. The horrifying nightmare made real. Why his companions couldn’t wake. The beast had charmed them all. “Let go of my friends, you bastard,” Ronan shouted, slowly approaching the beast.
The siren stopped its singing, and cocked its head, looking at Ronan with curious eyes. “The human isss awake?” the beast hissed.
“Aye, I am. And if you don’t let my friends go, I’ll make sure this is the last time you are awake, as well.”
The beast hissed defiantly.
“So be it. My axes are thirsty for blood, for they have yet to see any. I reckon yours will sate them well enough.”
Ronan sprinted across the hull of the ship, the newly-forged blades brandished at his side. He jumped, aiming for the beast’s skull, but the siren sidestepped the attack, sending Ronan sprawling through the deck. He recovered fast, letting out a furious shout, charging at the beast again. This time, his blow struck its target as the beast covered its face with its hands. The axe cut the beat’s right arm clean off, and the arm flew overboard. He heard a small splash as the arm broke through surface and sank to the bottom of the ocean.
The beast screeched in despair. Its hair transformed into something that seemed like long, black tentacles. They grabbed Ronan’s body in a tight embrace—a hold strong enough to lift even a man of his size up into the air. He quickly lost feeling to his arms as blood refused to flow, and he watched helplessly as his axes dropped on the deck.
“You have losssst,” the Siren hissed. Another tentacle shot out from the creature’s head. It grabbed a hold of Ronan’s neck, and slowly started strangling him.
Suddenly, an arrow protruded f
rom the Siren’s chest, almost sinking into Ronan’s arm. The siren looked down with utter bafflement. It turned around, only to be greeted by the sheer cold metal of Raven’s blade. Before the beast had time to blink, Raven had stabbed it between its eyes.
Everything turned silent as the beast fell. The tentacles around Ronan’s neck and chest went slack, and he fell coughing on the deck.
“Was that…?” Rose asked.
“A Siren,” Raven said, wiping his wet prow. They all looked so pale. An hour or two and the beast would have drained all their strength.
“This far into the sea?” Rust muttered.
Ronan pointed at the island in the distance. “Siren inhabit islands such as that. We ventured too close, I reckon, and we were charmed by its spell.” He could see the crew of the ship had gathered around the scene of the massacre. They looked at the men who had saved them equally with terror and gratitude.
“Can you stand?” Avalon held out his arm, and Ronan took it gladly, surprised by the man’s sudden offer. He half expected him to heal his bruised ribs like he had when they fought the gigantic wolf, but this time he didn’t. And in part, Ronan was glad he hadn’t. For whatever reason, Raven seemed worried whenever his friend used his powers, and Ronan didn’t feel it right to push him. He, too, seemed pale—no doubt it was him alone that had saved them from the siren’s song. Somehow, Avalon had entered his mind during his nightmare, and woken him up while keeping the siren at bay with his powers.
“My… thanks,” Ronan croaked.
Avalon nodded. He kept looking at Ronan strangely, as if he—for the first time—saw something in him that he hadn’t seen before. A thought entered Ronan’s mind: had he sensed the presence in his mind? And worst of all, would he tell Raven of it? It was a frightening thought, Ronan had to admit; he would no doubt think Ronan mad. Then again, he was mad, wasn’t he? No sane men heard voices like he did. But unlike those truly insane, Ronan knew a part of him was broken, and this made him different, for he was in control.
The rest of the crew climbed up from the hold of the deck, followed by the Captain of the ship who staggered out of his cabin. Avalon saw them staring at him with wide eyes, so he quickly covered himself with his hood, hiding the runes on his scalp. He walked past the crew wordlessly while they muttered to themselves. The Captain walked right to Raven, who was inspecting the carcass.
“Anyone care tell us what in god’s name is happening here?” the Captain muttered, slurring his words. He went white as snow when he saw slain siren lying on his deck, dead. “That thing… that’s a Daemoni, isn’t it?” he swallowed.
Raven cleaned his bloody blade with a handkerchief, sheathed it in one swift twist of his arm. He smiled at the Captain. “Indeed, my good Captain. that there is a siren. If not my companion’s quick reflexes here, it would have drained all of us dry one by one. You and I owe him a great debt.”
“Aye, it would appear so.” The Captain wiped his hands on his jacket, nervously kicking the beast with his boot to test if it still lived. His hands were shaking, but he seemed to try his best to seem in control. “Never, in all my years at sea, have I seen a Siren in these parts,” he muttered.
“We live in changing times, Captain,” Raven said.
When the Captain felt confident the beast was truly dead, he quickly regained his former confidence. “You there, stop standing around, and do something about this… thing. I don’t want to see it on my deck!”
Ronan observed the shocked crew members scramble on their feet to follow their Captain’s orders. They lifted the beast off the deck with ease. Still, their reluctance was palatable. If not for the clear, black tentacles atop its head, the siren resembled that of a young, attractive maiden. And that had always made Ronan queasy; they were frighteningly similar in shape to men, but at the same time, they couldn’t be any more different.
“Are you all right, Ronan?” Raven asked. The touch of his hand on Ronan’s shoulder made him flinch—but only for a moment.
Ronan sighed. He noticed only now his hands were covered in the beast’s blood. “Aye, I will be. This is nothing I’ve seen before.”
“Just another day for the Berserker, I imagine,” Raven joked.
Ronan flinched hearing the name. He had been called that once, aye, but he wasn’t proud of the man he had been those days. Besides, he still felt… troubled by the nightmare the siren had induced. He couldn’t shake off the sight of seeing his son’s flesh burn by Raven’s hand, even if he knew it was but a trick.
“Aye.” Ronan found himself replying. He saw Raven looking over the horizon with pained eyes. Something seemed to trouble Raven, too. “Tell me, Raven. What did the siren make you see in the nightmare? I can’t help but notice how… pale you look, even now.”
Raven was taken aback by the question, looking uncomfortable. “I dreamt that I failed. And the world burned because of it.”
Ronan swallowed. “It was only a nightmare, wasn’t it? It doesn’t mean anything.”
Raven smiled. “You’re right; it was only a nightmare.”
“Right.”
Chapter 10
Alessia
Blasted tomes, Alessia vas Nerian cursed, slamming yet another book shut in a moment of unrestrained frustration. A scholar standing nearby looked at her disapprovingly, and Alessia muttered her apologies silently. She had almost forgotten that she was in hiding; she shouldn’t gather any unwarranted attention should she remain undiscovered. She was, after all, a princess of the kingdom—people would no doubt recognize her if they got a closer look. Luckily, she had stayed away from the court for so long she was a stranger to most.
The library was eerily quiet, with only the occasional scholar walking past her, absorbed by whatever scholarly topic they were currently pursuing. They were what Alessia aspired to be, and she had nothing but the highest respect for the men and women who dedicated their lives for knowledge. With a lantern to light the pages in front of her, Alessia turned over page after a page, but so far, no book had brought her any closer to an answer. Who was the strange shapeshifting assassin? His father seemed to think he hailed from the Nubian Empire, and so far, all the evidence seemed to point towards the same conclusion. But for some reason, it all seemed too… convenient an answer. Why would the Nubian Empire, after all these years of inaction, suddenly send a single assassin to get rid of all the male heirs? In the past, they always seemed content competing over contested territory. Their invasions were always direct, with simple goals. Why the sudden change?
Alessia looked around the vast library around her. The inner balcony she inhabited was half-way to the top—ten floors in total—each focusing in one area of scholarly pursuit: history, sciences, anatomy—among others. The Eyrian kingdom has always been the forefront of technological advancement, and other nations sent their scholars to this very library to try to replicate their secrets. Amongst Eyrians, there was no higher honor than having their child wear the gowns of a scholar. The nobility, of course, was a class of its own; much to Alessia’s disgust, their children were too self-absorbed, too drunk in their wealth to do anything meaningful with their lives. She wanted to think that was one of the reasons she didn’t have any real friends among other ladies of noble birth atop the Royal Plateau. Sure, the Eyrians always were a warmongering nation—which was why the technology their scholars invented often found applications in the battlefield. With reluctance, Alessia had accepted this conclusion as inevitable; no king would dare finance a study which yielded them with nothing tangible. Something they could use. Something to make them more… powerful.
“Princess Alessia Vas Nerian, I presume?”
Alessia swallowed, slowly raising her gaze from the book she had been studying. Someone recognizing her was the worst thing that could have happened right now. “Y-yes?”
The stranger clapped his hands in delight. “It is you. My goodness, how you’ve grown.”
She stared at the bearded man with both confusion and horror. The man’s fac
e was hidden behind a meticulously trimmed beard. His tired, wrinkled eyes were decorated by thick, round-rimmed glasses, and Alessia wondered if he truly saw anything through that block of curved glass. The man’s style of dressing was peculiar, too. He wore a meticulously buttoned, brown overcoat and a top hat to match it. And when the stranger at last smiled, Alessia gasped in sudden realization: he knew the man.
“Doctor Meridian?”
“In the flesh.”
Alessia stood up without a moment of hesitation and embraced the man. “I have missed you dearly, teacher.”
“Easy now, dear. By bones aren’t what they used to be.” The man gently pushed Alessia away. He placed his gloved hands on Alessia’s shoulders inspecting the young woman in front of him. “My, you have blossomed into a fine young woman.”
Alessia felt her cheeks redden at the complement. She bowed. “Thank you.” She had forgotten his old teacher didn’t shy away from such… direct comments, very unlike other men and women of noble birth.
“How long has it been?” Meridian asked, sitting down in the same alcove, opposite to Alessia. She could barely see him behind the stacks of books.
“Five years, perhaps?”
“Five, huh? The last time I saw you, you were but a child, and now you are well into your adulthood. You were always amongst my brightest students; you cannot imagine how glad it makes me to see you here.” The old teacher’s voice turned morose. “I tried my best with your siblings but, alas, they never understood the true value of knowledge. I have heard of your… experiments, princess, and I approve. You work towards a great cause.”
“Thank you,” Alessia whispered. She looked past her alcove and was glad to see they were alone. She could talk with her old teacher in private. “Doctor Meridian. No doubt you have heard what has befallen my family?”
“Oh?” The man looked at the princess with confusion. “Oh!” he gasped with realization. “Pardon my manners, my lady. Sometimes… my memory fails me. I have spent so much of my time in solitude, and I often miss events atop the Royal Plateau. It’s my age, you see. Only a few years ago I could remember every detail, every book I ever read—down to every detail. I am truly sorry about your brothers, Alessia.”
