Darkfall: Shadows of the Deep, page 19
‘Yes, sir,’ the fisherman replied and quickly strode off.
‘Concerned?’ Assandra asked.
But Skivington shook his head. ‘Not at all. I doubt it’s anything, but it can’t hurt to be cautious.’
‘Did your men catch the other Deathborn?’ Vern asked.
‘I haven’t heard anything yet,’ Webster replied. ‘But he won’t have gotten far. It’s not like he could evade everyone in the village.’
‘He was the one who cut off my daughter’s head,’ Vern replied. ‘Don’t underestimate him.’
‘If he’s still alive, he’ll be caught,’ Skivington said confidently—though Assandra noticed a small amount of annoyance in his voice. ‘You just make sure your new protégé is ready. Speaking of which, I think it’s high time you started teaching her what she needs to know. My men will have everything ready soon, and then we’ll be pulling anchor and setting sail. I expect results tonight, Vern.’
‘It’s the Crimson Lord to you, Webster.’
Skivington just chuckled. ‘Of course it is.’
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
They had been sailing for around half an hour.
The pain in Max’s bound wrists and ankles was impossible to ignore. The bonds were so tight Max felt a constant tingling in his fingers and toes as his blood struggled to flow.
Max had earlier been carried aboard the ship and dumped onto the deck. Other men, all injured and suffering, had been brought on board as well, most of them begging for aid. Jack hadn’t been amongst them, however. He’s either dead or he’s escaped.
All told, there were seven other men bound on the ship. Then there were ten villagers who made up the crew, along with the Crimson Lord, Skivington, and Assandra. Those three stood away from the rest of the crew. An additional sailor manned the main wheel, and a final one was up in the crow’s nest of the front mast.
The bow of the ship, where everyone was gathered and where the foremast was housed, sat a couple of feet lower than the stern. A doghouse enclosure was situated at the level change, containing a doorway that led down to the guts of the vessel.
Stacks of crates lined one bulwark, and some of them were currently being opened. Glass jars were lifted out containing the black, leech-like spawn.
The waves of the sea that far out sounded much harsher than they had closer to the shore, and the movement of the ship was much more severe. The men on the deck walked around with little trouble, however, clearly well-adjusted to life on the water. Max noticed that Assandra looked a little peaky.
She was standing next to Skivington and the Crimson Lord; the man in red was explaining something to her. Max dearly wanted to try and shuffle close enough to hear, but he was simply too far away, packed in with the other prisoners all grouped together on the floor like slugs. They were also being watched by two guards.
Max wasn’t even able to discreetly work at his bonds—Bull had tied them far too tightly. For now, he could only lie in wait, and hope an opportunity presented itself.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
Several crewmembers brought more and more of the jars near Assandra.
‘Repeat it again for me,’ Vern insisted. Assandra closed her eyes and ran through the steps of the long ritual yet again—which had been drummed into her for the last half an hour. It consisted mainly of reciting certain words… though calling them ‘words’ was a stretch. Rather, they were odd, throaty sounds from a language completely alien to her. While practicing and repeating the sounds, her father had constantly corrected her, picking up on even the smallest detail and subtle nuances Assandra hadn’t noticed. However, Assandra had found that with more repetition, the wording had started to seep into her and become easier to repeat. It was less a case of simply committing the sounds to memory, and more that she just felt what she needed to say, trusting her instincts as her father instructed. Also, while speaking the strange phrases, Assandra noticed an odd sensation starting to take hold.
It had been a frustrating lesson. Finally, however, Vern seemed satisfied. ‘Very good,’ he said. ‘Tell me, when speaking the incantation… did you feel anything?’
‘I did,’ Assandra quickly said. It was similar to how she felt when using her abilities, but it was much more powerful, and had a sharp coldness and chill to it that ran through her whole body. It had been small at first, but grew stronger the more she repeated the words—filling her with a sense of wonder, even close to euphoria.
‘Excellent!’ her father said with a clap of his hands. ‘The words are ancient. Older than we are. Older than our world, in fact.’
‘Older than our world?’ Assandra asked with a raised eyebrow. ‘How is that possible?’
He chuckled. ‘My sweet child, I envy the position you are in. The experience you are about to have is something I long for. But for now, just trust me. In truth, the language is actually beyond us in many ways. Uttering the words I have taught you is, unfortunately, as close as we can get. It’s frustrating, really, being so bound by our human forms. But if you continue to listen and learn, you may reach Cora’s level, where the incantation can be invoked without actually being spoken.’
‘That doesn’t make sense.’
Vern laughed. ‘The language of the gods isn’t a verbal one; they communicate on an entirely different level. We just have to make do as best we can. So, to start with, you will need to verbalise. But you and your sister share the power needed to go beyond that.’
‘Because we’re wytches?’ she asked.
Vern paused before answering. ‘Yes,’ he finally said. ‘I suppose that is correct. Any normal person could not bear the weight of communion.’
Assandra remembered the Irishman back at Dalby. He had touched the monolith, and it had instantly put him into a catatonic state.
‘Why are wytches able to bear it when others can’t?’ she asked. ‘Just because of our power?’
Another hesitation. ‘I will explain it to you one day soon,’ he said. ‘For now, know that you will be completely safe, just as your sister was during the ritual.’
Assandra thought back to Cora’s appearance in her final days—disgusting and monstrous. It turned her stomach to think she might end up the same way.
‘We’re almost at the location where we fish for the spawn,’ Vern said. ‘Where I believe the entity slumbers.’
‘Slumbers?’ Assandra asked. ‘It’s sleeping?’
‘To something like that, sleep and death aren’t the same as we understand them.’
More riddles.
‘Do we need to be this close?’ she asked. ‘You spoke to it when in the forest. Why the need to sail out here?’
‘As I told you before, Cora was strong, and her monolith was refined. Distance was not as much a concern, and Dalby Forest was somewhere I considered safe—which I now realise was a mistake. You, however, do not have her practice. The monolith I’m going to guide you to create likely won’t be as powerful. Getting as close as we can will help make the connection.’
Assandra had no choice but to take him at his word. Everything was still overwhelming to her. It was also terrifying.
She looked over at the captured men, all injured, some skirting the line between life and death. She also made eye contact with Max for a brief moment.
‘Are you ready?’ Vern quickly asked. She turned back to him and realised he was watching her intently.
‘I am,’ she said. However, even she could pick up on the doubt in her own voice.
‘Are you sure?’ Vern asked. ‘By forming the monolith, those people over there, and the creatures below deck, will become part of it. You will be the one to create it, and you will be the one to condemn them to that fate. It’s a considerable weight to bear: taking lives, even though you know it's for the greater good. Can you handle that responsibility?’
Assandra hesitated. She didn’t know how to answer truthfully.
‘Why can’t we just use the creatures below deck?’ she asked. ‘Wasn’t that the original plan?’
‘Well, I do believe they will work. The monolith requires living beings to draw on. It needs their blood. Their… souls. But those creatures are… impure. They are twisted and mutated, their souls and blood… tarnished. While I do think they would have facilitated contact, I feel human beings will work far better. And it turns out, we now have sacrifices available.’
Assandra looked down at the deck. ‘I don’t know if I can,’ she said.
‘Tell me,’ Vern went on without missing a beat. ‘Why are you doing this? Going through with the whole thing?’
Assandra thought about it for a few moments. ‘I think I want to know why it was so important to Cora, to the extent she willingly became what she did.’
‘Am I also correct in thinking you feel somewhat guilty about your sister’s death?’ he asked. She nodded. ‘So, that guilt is driving you to try to understand more about her? That all makes sense, Assandra. However, I want you to understand something. Once you begin down this road, I guarantee you will not be able to pull yourself away from it. What you will learn and experience will be too incredible to ignore. It isn’t overly grandiose to say your life, and your view of our existence, will never be the same again. That’s how it was with Cora. So yes, the things we have to do are absolutely worth it. Not just for yourself, but for everyone on the planet. I know that doesn’t make much sense now, but it will soon, I swear it. I made the same promise to Cora. As you know, she never looked back.’
The speech seemed rehearsed to Assandra, but that didn’t take away from the impact of the words. Her guilt over Cora had been driving her ever since she’d returned from Dalby. Beyond that, though, Assandra couldn’t deny she was deeply intrigued. But could that come at the cost of the lives of others? She looked again to the bound men, to Max. Could anything really be worth that?
Assandra then considered what her life would be like if she didn’t take the next step. She could simply return home and wait for the Deathborn to intrude on her again—or she could run, spending the rest of her days hiding and living in fear.
Ultimately, the life she’d enjoyed previously had been forcefully taken from her against her will. Maybe Cora had been right all along: to hell with everyone else. She took a breath and looked away from Max, feeling a level of anger grow.
‘I’ll do it,’ she said with determination. ‘Get everything ready.’
While Max couldn’t hear what Assandra and the Crimson Lord were speaking about, he could read her expression. She’s going through with it. He had been hoping she would have resisted whatever the Crimson Lord was trying to coerce her into doing.
Max would have considered himself completely doomed at that point, had it not been for one thing: in the corner of his peripheral vision, he’d caught sight of a form in the doorway leading down to the hull. Making sure not to be obvious, he turned his head and spotted a person from within looking back out at him, trying to get his attention.
It was Jack. His hair was wet and plastered to his head. Max tried to swallow his anger. The bloody fool!
Now the idiotic Deathborn was stuck out at sea with them all, instead of on his way back to the Deathborn. They were vastly outnumbered, and Max couldn’t see how they would survive. Which meant no one would be able to get word back.
Though, in truth, did they really need to survive… or just stop what was happening at all costs?
After his fight up on the plateau, Jack had descended the cliffs to the shore and swam out to sea. He moved around the bow of the ship and ascended some ladders he found on the far side. Max’s orders be damned.
Once up on deck, he ducked behind a collection of large containers and wooden cages, which were presumably used to collect and hold any hauls the vessel collected. Those crates were situated next to a small rowboat which sat on the deck and only had room for four people. Within the boat were two oars, as well as a bunch of old rags and lengths of cloth. Jack had used one of the longer sections of cloth to dry off with, then he wrapped it round himself to keep warm. There had been only a few people on deck with him, but all stood a distance away, meaning he would be able to move around undetected… as long as he picked his moments.
Up ahead, he saw a doghouse enclosure with an open door in the front. Once it was clear, Jack snuck over to the doorway and made his way down to the hold. At first, he panicked at seeing a collection of creatures down there, all chained up and lying on the floor. There was a winged monstrosity, a small, ugly thing with an insect-like bottom half, and several other abominations. There were also stacks of crates, bigger than he was, some with partially open lids. Jack’s presence stirred up some excitement in the beasts, so he climbed inside one of the large crates, finding it was half-full of straw and hay. While hidden away, he waited and considered his next move.
Before long, Jack heard people descend the stairs and start to look around, as if they were aware someone was on board. As quietly as possible, he moved the surrounding hay over his body, trying to conceal himself completely. A few seconds later, he heard the lid open and felt the heat of a torch above him.
He held his breath.
Thankfully, whoever was searching decided the crate was empty and moved away, and then the footsteps ascended back upstairs again.
Eventually, Jack felt the swaying of the boat increase—they’d set sail.
He spent a long time hiding in the crate, accompanied only by the intermittent growls of the beasts around him. Eventually, Jack felt comfortable enough to emerge from the hiding place. He skirted the periphery of the hull and made his way to the stairs, careful not to disturb the creatures that lay there, many of which had their mouths gagged or tied shut with thick leather belts.
Jack moved up to the doorway and peeked outside, surveying the scene. He saw Assandra with the man in red and the younger man up near the head of the ship. There were other men up there, Bull included, as well as a cluster of prisoners on the floor—and Max. After a few moments, the Shadowhand glanced back over and laid his eyes on Jack.
Jack noticed a brief look of realisation wash over him. However, that was followed by an annoyed frown.
He didn’t care. Jack ducked away and began to think. Getting to Max looked impossible. There were simply too many people up on deck.
However, he couldn’t just continue to hide and do nothing. As he was thinking, he heard something happening out on deck, so he looked out again. The prisoners were being moved to a central position, close to Assandra, along with jars filled with… spawn.
‘Hurry,’ he heard the man dressed in red bark out. ‘Then bring up the creatures from the hull. Make sure they are secured.’
I’m going to be getting company, Jack thought to himself.
He quickly descended the stairs again, desperately trying to come up with a plan. He realised he would have been better served listening to Max in the first place. He looked around at the creatures in the hold: horrific monstrosities, all bound and helpless.
They don’t have to stay that way.
A smile crossed his mouth. Jack then tentatively approached the winged creature from behind and reached out a nervous hand to the ropes binding it.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
‘We are ready,’ Vern told Assandra.
Only minutes before, the anchor had been dropped and the ship had halted.
‘Shouldn’t we wait for the creatures to be brought up?’ she asked.
‘They’ll be here shortly,’ her father replied. ‘We can start now. Begin with these men.’ He waved an arm before the gathered prisoners who lay on the deck in front of them, some pleading for help. Assandra couldn’t bear to look at them. If she did, she knew the guilt might overwhelm her.
‘You know how to proceed,’ Vern told her. ‘We’ll release the spawn, and then you can begin the incantation. Focus. Embrace the feelings that come to you. Accept them. Let them overcome you. It is all part of the ritual, part of the ancient power running through you. Let your body act as the conduit. The spawn will then mold to your will. Do you understand?’
Assandra held her breath for a moment, then slowly released it. ‘I think so.’
‘Good,’ Vern replied and stepped back. ‘Then please… begin.’
Anxiety caused Assandra’s body to shake. She’d never felt nervousness like it before. She took another deep breath, and her eyes fell on the man closest to her. He looked to be in his late thirties and his legs were a mangled mess, with the skin and flesh around his shins completely shredded.
‘Please,’ he begged—but Assandra pushed his words to the back of her mind.
Concentrate.
She began reciting the first of the words. It was much easier than it had been just an hour ago, as if the previous recitations had embedded them in her psyche, rather than just her memory, with her feeling them rather than just speaking them. At first, her throat felt sore at the unnatural sounds it was being forced to make again, but eventually that eased.
The spawn had all been removed from their jars and placed on the deck. As soon as they were free, they had all started to move off in different directions, but suddenly they began to turn around and slowly crawl back. They moved towards the man Assandra was focusing on.
She felt her body surge with energy, like it had when she’d previously practiced the incantation, but it was infinitely stronger now.
Eventually, the spawn reached the body of the struggling prisoner—he desperately cried out, ‘What are they doing?!’
Assandra continued, repeating the first part of the rite over and over. The form of the spawn then began to change.
They started to flatten, almost as if melting into themselves, and their black bodies became a viscous black sludge that oozed over the prisoner and connected with the bodies of its brothers and sisters, forming a large expanse of gelatinous mass. It encapsulated its screaming victim, moving around him and leaving only his upper body free. The mass grew larger as more of the spawn joined it, their bodies also melting and expanding to astonishing lengths. The black matter then expanded out towards some of the other prisoners on the deck, ensnaring them as well and pulling them in.
