Demons and the Deep

by Andrew Knighton

jabbing out towards the remains of the imp. He smacked the back of Saul’s head, making his ears ring.

  ‘What did I tell you?’ Aristeas’s wrinkled face was screwed up in rage. ‘Focus! You’ve lost half the sand.’ He struck Saul again, sending him sprawling miserably across the planks while Lucian watched, frowning but not intervening. ‘Think you're some mighty spellcaster? Think again, you miserable worm. Almost a man, but still you act like a pathetic child. Now clear this up.’

  He gave one last kick then stormed off, abandoning Saul on the floor, tears running down his face as he scrabbled for the remaining sand.

  That night they made anchor off a small island populated by fishermen and their families. Fat goats grazed unrestrained among the olive and lemon trees that crowded the hillsides, and the pirates traded plundered cloth for two of the young animals. Roasted until their flesh slipped tenderly from the bone, the goats became the centrepiece of an exuberant celebration, the free men of the seas drinking rich Roman wine and dancing wildly on the sands.

  Aristeas made Saul labour long into the night - washing and mending worn robes, sorting cargo stolen from recent prey. Saul worked until his arms were a distant ache, just like every day. Where was the joy that he had felt when they told him he was free? Where was his feast?

  When he was finally allowed to rest he grabbed some scraps of food and crept away from the drunken pirates.

  The spiced flesh and watered wine were like dust in his mouth. There was no hunger in his belly, no cheer in his soul. The beatings and the day’s fighting had unsettled him, and where the heart went the stomach followed. He perched on the prow of the ship and watched the men at play, but in his mind he was back out at sea, smelling not bonfire smoke and roasting meat but the salt scent of sea-spray and blood. He heard the screams of the oar-slaves dying trapped in their chains, the roar of the demon trying to break free.

  Taking a small oil lamp, Saul crept towards the stern and into Aristeas’s cabin. No-one else was aboard, but the habits of subservience clung to him like a shroud. The soft footfall, the quiet voice. After so long serving the foul-tempered brute, he barely knew anything else.

  Inside the cabin, he grabbed a bundle of empty pouches from beneath a bench. The rear wall was lined with shelves of jealously horded jars, pillaged from ships of every nation. He knew each one by heart - the name and nature of the spices within; their flavour, colour and scent; above all their uses, beaten into him over long years. The raw strength of pepper, the sweet luxury of cinnamon, the fresh breeze of mint. Even the slimy, bloated seaweed called bladder-wrack had its place in simple spells.

  Saul approached the jars purposefully. Selecting only those he needed, he took a handful of each herb and spice, placing them carefully in separate pouches, brushing his hands clean after each one. He wrapped his hand in a heavy cloth before reaching into the last jar, which was filled with sharp iron filings. The dark fragments glinted in the lamplight.

  Checking that everything was as he had found it, Saul scurried out of the cabin, his heart in his throat. At the stern of the ship, out of sight of the beach, he set to work. Crouched in the shadows, constantly watching in case someone should approach, he sat chanting spells and mixing herbs until nearly dawn. With each new spice and each charm spoken he felt a growing exhilaration, and a trepidation for what was to come.

  Smells of scorched pine and hot cayenne overwhelmed the salt sea air, making Saul’s nostrils tingle to the point of pain. The demon leapt from the deck in front of Aristeas, landing with a shower of sparks on the Roman galley drawing up alongside. The beast towered above the armoured legionaries. Turning in alarm they flung their javelins into the swirling red cloud. It screeched and flailed with massive fists, crumpling armoured helmets and sending men flying into the sea.

  The Romans had been sent to hunt pirates, and they had come equipped. A mage stood on the stern of their ship, arms spread wide, blue toga flapping in the wind. Pulling a handful of dripping green herbs from an amphora he scattered them into the air, calling out in Latin. The herbs floated, spun, and expanded into a tall demon, its face blank, four arms protruding from its watery sides. Fine glowing threads ran back to the mage.

  With a roar like a storm through rigging, the demon advanced.

  The deck trembled as the demons charged. Fists swinging like great maces, they pounded at each other. Steam erupted all around as fire and water battled for dominance. The Roman demon grappled Aristeas’s fiend, pinning him with one arm while the others set about his body and head. In response the fiery creature bit his rippling green foe, gouging him with sharp teeth. They staggered across the deck, trampling legionaries and pirates.

  A cry rose from the Roman ship, followed by a rattling of chains. Two long, spiked beams crashed down, piercing the pirates’ deck and binding the vessels together. Legionaries swarmed aboard, swords darting from between their shell-like shields.

  The pirates rushed to meet them, blades flashing and crashing in the midday sun, while towering above them the demons fought on. The Romans were better organised and better armoured, pushing the pirates back across the deck of their ship. In the heart of the fray Lucian swung his great club, buckling shields and smashing armoured heads. But his laughter was gone, drowned in desperation.

  ‘Time to earn your keep, boy,’ Aristeas snarled at Saul, shaking the chains with which he had tethered his demon. ‘Take these while I summon another.’

  Saul looked at the chains that bound the creature, just like they bound the slaves in the galley below.

  ‘No,’ he said. He feared Aristeas wrath, but the thought of binding another to servitude was more than he could bear. ‘This time, my way.’

  ‘What?’ Aristeas shrieked, but Saul was away, dashing across the deck and scrambling up the main mast. He didn’t stop until he was in the crow’s nest, staring down at the fight below. Level with the demons’ heads, he could see their bloodthirsty expressions as they gouged and tore at each other. His heart was pounding, not just from the race to get up there, but at the thought of what would happen if he failed. Aristeas might beat him, but the Romans would do far worse.

  He pulled a pouch from inside his tunic. It smelled of bay and of thyme, of salt and of cinnamon, of every spice of every people who sailed upon the ocean. It smelled fresh and wild and free.

  Opening the pouch, he grabbed a handful of herbs. The demons were too far away, and for a terrible moment Saul thought all might be lost. But their fight had brought the creatures onto the pirate ship, and they were staggering his way, the Roman demon pushing their own back. He watched in fear as the battle above was replicated below, uniformed legions pushing ragged pirates back across the deck.

  At last the demons came close. Forcing down his doubts, Saul pulled back his arm and flung the charm he had prepared. Herbs and spices flared as they hit the glowing threads linking the Roman demon with its master. The magic flared and faded into spray, blown away on the breeze. With a gurgling, triumphant roar the demon released its opponent and leapt to freedom, crashing into the ocean and disappearing beneath the waves. Down below, Aristeas cackled with malevolent joy.

  The pirates howled in triumph and pressed against their foes. No quarter was given as the free men and their demon pushed the legionaries back across the blood-slicked deck. Captured soldiers were flung overboard, sinking fast beneath the weight of their armour.

  Saul looked at their own demon. It was no longer joining in the carnage, but stood straining at its chains, body rigid with tension. It stared at the rippling waves where its opponent had disappeared.

  A crawling sorrow filled Saul’s heart, and a jangling of nerves. Reaching into the pouch, he grabbed another fistful of herbs and flung them into the air. There was a white flash as they hit the magical chains tethering the demon. An icy wind swept across the deck as the coiled power of the bindings was released. The demon gave a wild cackle of laughter. Free after years of servitude, it leapt into the air, arms spread wide. It soared above the mas
t-tops, twirling and spiralling as it rose towards the sun, and vanished at last into the distance, leaving only a heavy scent of scorched spices.

  Saul smiled at the sight, at the thrill of his own first taste of freedom. Down below, Aristeas was screeching with all too familiar rage.

  The Romans were hauling up the boarding spikes, the galley master whipping his slaves into action as they pulled away. At first it looked as though they would flee, but then they turned, still building speed, their iron ram pointing straight at the pirates.

  Saul spun the pouch around his head and let it fly. It hurtled across the waters and burst on the deck of the Roman ship, releasing a cloud of spices. His heart soared with pride at the rattle of chains falling away. Oars faltered and fell as the slaves found themselves suddenly, unexpectedly free. Instead of charging forward to sink them, the galley drifted to a halt.

  Saul grinned as he clambered back down the mast. But Aristeas was there to meet him, his face twisted with rage.

  ‘You…you…you…’ Words escaped him. He lashed out, his fist swinging towards Saul.

  Lucian caught the fist and pulled Aristeas back.

  ‘The boy saved us,’ he said, as the rest of the crew formed a ring around them, watching and waiting to see