The Passage of the Coral Horn.
By D. Nathan
Hilliard
“Unable to move anything but his eyes, he just
stared at me. I wiped the ichor off my dagger, met his gaze, and then slashed
his wrist. There really wasn’t anything that needed saying.
After all, we were both professionals.”
—Cargill of
Khrem, from The Ways of Khrem.
“Is it still
back there, Croe?”
The weathered
old mariner squinted down at the young deckhand, then back astern over the
tiller. The crevices in his salt baked skin were like chasms, adding years to a
visage already cracked by age. His pale blue eyes appeared washed out from
uncounted decades sailing the sun drenched Cambriatic Sea, but the boy knew he
had the sharpest vision of the crew.
“Aye, lad. It’s
still back there. Where else would it be?”
“And you’re sure
it’s Tagarr?”
“Aye,” the old
man chuckled, “It’s a Tagarr two-master. You worried about something, Ros?”
“Well, it’s
just—it’s just that I’ve heard the Tagarr can be dangerous if encountered alone
out on the open sea.” Ros tried to sound unconcerned, but the stories weighed
on his mind. He idly swabbed the sun-baked deck with his long handled brush so
he could stay near the steersman and talk uninterrupted.
“They can
be…sometimes.” The old man replied. His relaxed demeanor suggested he didn’t
feel this to be one of those times.
“Because of
their god?”
“Aye, lad.
Because of their god. Moleg demands sacrifice for each successful voyage of a
Tagarr ship, or the next one might not be so successful…if you know what I
mean…and the Tagarr are pretty damn fanatical about seeing he gets it. Now a
little fishing skiff can get away with the sacrifice of a few fish, but bigger
boats and longer voyages…well, I guess you could say the price goes up.”
The boy peered
at the tiny dot on the horizon.
“But a
two-master, that’s a pretty big ship. Right?”
“Aye. Big enough
to incur the price you’re worrying about, if that’s what you mean.”
“So the stories
are true!” The boy realized the entire crew knew this was his first voyage, so
he really had no reason to avoid looking ignorant.
“They’re true.”
The old man grunted. “The big Tagarr ships bring back a live man…or woman or
child, I suppose…and the crew takes him up the side of Mount Omber. That’s
where the idol of Moleg is. It’s this huge, ugly stone head with a big open
mouth. And that mouth is full of fire, like a furnace. Some Tagarr say that’s
really Moleg’s head, and that he’s buried up to his neck in the mountain. You
can see the mouth and eyes of the idol glowing at night, even when you’re a
half day offshore from the island.”
“And they throw
him inside?”
“Aye. They throw
them in the mouth…alive.”
“And you’re sure
that’s a Tagarr ship out there?” Ros forgot about his deck scrubbing for a
moment, and cast another worried look at the distant speck.
“It’s a Tagarr,”
the old man assured him with a chuckle, “but you can quit worrying about him.
He’s heading the same way we are. That means he’s either heading to do business
in Khrem, or more likely to pick up goods in Khrem and then keep heading north
to trade along the shores of the Akartic. Either way, he won’t be worrying
about grabbing a sacrifice until it’s time to head back…and then he’ll probably
just buy a slave up north, or grab some straggler from one of the coastal
villages. If I were you I would worry more about Topai catching you standing
here jawing, than another merchant ship. Topai is a lot closer.”
Croe nodded
towards the foredeck, where the brutish first mate emerged from the door to the
lower decks.
Stripped to the
waist, with his topknot pulled up high, the squat man looked every bit the
tribesman from the Southern Continent. His muscular torso gleamed under the
noonday sun, with the two tribal brands shining white against the swarthy skin
of his chest. But it was the short lash that he carried at his belt that
concerned Ros the most.
While Topai
might not be excessive with its use, he still wouldn’t hesitate to bring it
into play if he caught somebody shirking from their assigned duties. Ros had
only felt the sting of that lash once, but he had no desire to repeat the
experience.
He bent to the
task of scrubbing the deck, leaving the conversation with Croe till after he
finished the chore. Once done, he would have an hour or two to rest before
being sent up to inspect the sails in the afternoon calm. He knew his current
job amounted to mere busy work, but it would still earn him a stripe if he got
caught sloughing off. There were only ten crewmen on the Coral Horn, but it took a creative first mate to see that they
didn’t become too idle on the small Hessellian vessel.
Anyways, he
wanted to be in Topai’s and Captain Roth’s good graces when they reached Khrem
in four days. Shore leave in the greatest city known to man was a reward he had
no intention of endangering this late in the trip. And Croe said he would get a
third of his pay when they arrived, in case he wanted to buy anything while
there. Just the thought of wandering the huge city filled him with anticipation.
Perhaps a little
bauble from the markets of Khrem would be just the thing to convince a certain young
brunette back home that he counted amongst the type worth waiting for while out
on long sea voyages. Come to think of it, some kind of ring…something foreign
looking and exotic…might just be what the situation called for. It would prove
he could be counted on to raise her out of the poverty of her mother’s hut.
He could picture
himself pulling the ring from a little cloth bag, and reveling in Anilee’s
delighted squeals!
Then there would
be kissing. Oh yes…kissing, and holding, and burying his face in her neck and
hair. He could imagine the scent of her hair. He would kiss her ears, then her
neck, then…
“You keep
holding brush like that…” Topai’s brusk voice intruded, “…you marry it.”
Ros came back
out of his daydream to the hoots and laughter of the rest of the crew. He held
the long pole of the brush against his cheek, clutched in both hands in a way
not at all useful for scrubbing. A glance to his right revealed the old
steersman looking out to sea, slowly losing the battle to hide his own
amusement. It was the first time he had seen Croe smile the entire voyage.
“Only at sea two
weeks,” Topai trudged away, shaking his head. “Two weeks and hugging brush.
Three weeks…he kiss it for sure.”
Hilarity now
rocked the decks.
The blood
rushing to his face, Ros ducked his head and went back to scrubbing the
deck…his crewmates calling out good natured suggestions on where to take his
brush on their first date when the boat reached Khrem.
###
“All hands!”
Ros jerked awake
in his hammock, instantly alert. Light blossomed from the nearby lantern as
Pelig the Cook, carried out his assigned alarm duty with practiced speed.
Nobody spoke as the other inhabitants of the cramped forward compartment leapt
to their assigned duties with practiced precision…with Ros’ role being to lie
still and stay out of the way as the more experienced crewmen bent to their
tasks.
Within thirty
seconds, the other five crewmen had completed their preparations and headed up
on deck, leaving Ros behind. The young sailor slipped down to the floor as the
last of his older shipmates left the room, and turned to take care of his own
job in this situation. Moving with rehearsed rapidity, he unhooked and stowed
the hammocks, leaving clear room to work or move in case they needed the
forward compartment for any reason.
As he worked, he
kept one ear trained for sounds from above, trying to divine the nature of the
emergency. His first thought centered on the Tagarr freighter shadowing them on
the horizon earlier. Croe hadn’t been concerned, but when it came to being
thrown alive into the burning mouths of foreign gods, Ros chose to follow the
voices of his own fears as opposed to the glib guarantees of others.
After shoving
the last hammock in place, he did a quick survey of the floor to make sure it
remained clear of any other obstacles, then headed out on deck.
Topside, the
full moon hung against a cloudless vault of stars, over a sea almost as calm as
glass.
Only the
lanterns beside the doors to the lower decks glowed in the night, giving soft
illumination of the deck but little else. The captain and crew were lined up
against the starboard rail, peering out into the night and talking in hushed
voices. The murmured tones against the gentle creak of the ship filled the
night with portent, and Ros hurried to the rail to join his shipmates.
Following the pointing arms of his comrades, he gazed out into the moonlit sea.
It was a ship.
The specter of
the Tagarr vessel reared in his mind, but then he realized this ship lay
forward and to starboard. A black silhouette against the waters, it sat about
half a mile out in unnatural silence. No glint of lantern or snatch of
conversation came back from the distant craft.
“What can you
see, Croe?” The Captain’s baritone cut through the dark. “Why the hell is she
running without lights?” He uttered this last more to himself.
“She’s
Palidesian, sir. At least that’s her make.” The old man squinted out into the
night, while the Captain beside him tried to use his spyglass. “A three-master…well over 400 tons. We’d have
to get closer for me to tell you more than that.”
Once again, Ros
found himself astounded at the old man’s eyesight. He knew the steersman was
Palidesian himself, and surely familiar with his nation’s ship designs, but to
see the details necessary to make that determination in this darkness was
amazing. The only thing he could tell about the distant ship was she was much
bigger than the Coral Horn.
“She must see
us,” the Captain lowered the glass and frowned at the distant ship. “We have
our lanterns lit, and we’re sitting right here big as brass.
“Could she be
hiding from something?” this from the second mate, Barnas.
“Out here?” the
Captain mused aloud. “And from what? I imagine even that Tagarr freighter
behind us would rather hunt smaller prey than tangle with the likes of her.
We’re also too far out for coastal pirates, and she shouldn’t be worrying about
any hostile navies this close to Khrem.”
“You got me,
Cap’n,” the second mate shrugged. “But there she sits…all dark and quiet as a
shut temple.”
The Captain
pinched his lower lip and glowered out at the mysterious hulk.
“Topai!” he
yelled. “Ring the bell. Let’s be polite and make sure she knows we’re here.”
The ship’s bell rang
out over the dark waters, a lonely peal swallowed without a hint of an echo by
the Cambriatic night. The first mate rang in three sets of three, the standard
greeting and announcement of one’s presence on these waters, and then waited.
The crew leaned on the rail, trying to hear anything in return from the distant
ship.
Nothing.
No bell, shout,
nor any other form of hail came from the hulk. Nothing but silence answered the
call of the Coral Horn’s bell. The
crew broke out in nervous muttering, uneasy in the presence of the mute giant,
and for the first time Ros began to worry about something other than the Tagarr
to the aft. Even an unfriendly reply to steer clear would have been welcome at
this point.
“Alright then,”
the Captain scratched his beard. “I reckon we’ve given anybody over there fair
warning we’re here. Let’s take a closer look.”
The eyes of the
entire crew settled on the portly Captain.
“Topai!” Captain
Roth ignored their looks. “You take the helm and steer us towards her. Croe,
you stay here and let us know if you see anything. Barnas, you get some men to
hang a couple more lanterns. I want to be sure that ship sees us coming, but I
don’t want us to light up to the point it makes the Tagarr back there curious.
The rest of you look sharp and get to your stations.”
As if freed from
a spell, the men broke away from the railing and scurried to their various
places on the ship. Ros moved to the
railing near the Captain, ready to run and fetch anything requested, or carry
orders not convenient to shout. Normally nervous about being this close to the
master of the ship, the boy actually felt grateful about his place as this
would let him listen in on whatever talk transpired between Croe and the
Captain.
With only the
faintest of breezes available, the ship moved slowly even under full sail. The
distance between the two vessels closed with agonizing slowness, giving the old
steersman more time to look the other craft over.
“Captain,” he
reported after they closed about half the distance, “I think she’s a derelict.”
“That would
explain the lack of response,” the portly Hessellian replied, “but what are you
going by?” He continued to stare suspiciously at the approaching hulk.
“The sails,
Captain. The jib is torn, probably from that storm two nights ago, and hasn’t
been repaired. Can’t see them too clearly yet, but a lot of the other sails
ain’t hanging right either.”
“You think they
abandoned ship? In a storm? It wasn’t much of a storm, but I can’t see anybody
wanting to ride it out in a lifeboat. And the storm shouldn’t have been much
threat to that ship.”
“Probably
before, Captain. Like you said, it wasn’t much of a storm, but I’m sure they
would have struck their sails if they had been aboard when it hit.”
“Plague ship,
maybe?”
“Perhaps,” the
old sailor grunted. “But I ain’t never heard of a plague that killed off every
single member of a crew, especially on a ship that size, and all at the same
time. That ship’s been adrift for at least three days, but not more than five.
Besides, I can see one of the lifeboats missing…but only one. Somebody got off,
but left a lot of people behind.”
“Then it could
be plague, and the survivors took the boat.”
“Maybe,” Croe
shrugged in the darkness, “but it don’t feel right. That still leaves an awful
lot of people suddenly up and dying at the same time. You would think there
would be a few still dragging themselves around, maybe able to reach their bell
and answer our hail.”
The Captain
grunted, and the trio watched the distant hulk draw closer.
Ros peered aft,
scanning the horizon for any sign of the Tagarr ship he knew had to be back
there. There were a couple of tiny points of light on the horizon that could
have been ship lanterns, or merely stars. Either way, it was still at least a
couple of hours back unless the wind picked up. He wondered if the sound of
their bell had carried that far.
“Captain,”
Croe’s soft voice spoke again in the dark, “I know that ship. That’s the Princess Argentia.”
Ros looked back
to see the great vessel now even closer, the tops of its masts silhouetted
against the low moon. This close, even he could see how its sails hung in
disarray.
“You sure about
that?” the Captain sounded skeptical, making his Hessellian accent more
pronounced. “The Princess Argentia
runs silk between Anckot and Khrem. She’s a pretty far off course if that’s
her.”
“About four days
off course if she were abandoned while coming around the Pillar of Antus, which
would jibe with the condition of her sails.” The old steersman leaned forward
and pointed at the masts of the approaching ship, “See that double crow’s nest?
Ain’t no other ship got one set up like that. That’s the Princess Argentia, no doubt about it.”
Ros followed the
man’s finger, squinting at the odd shaped mass silhouetted against the moon at
the top of the main mast. He didn’t know how it differed from others, but made
a mental note that it did.
“Well, I’ll be
damned,” Captain Roth mused, “it is her.
I don’t see any plague banners hanging from her crosstrees, though. You, Croe?”
“No, Captain,”
the old man frowned up at the looming ship. “That don’t mean they were being
terribly picky about custom at the time though.”
“I had a drink
once with Captain Orless of the Princess
Argentia,” Captain Roth muttered, “and he struck me as a meticulous man…the
real picky type.” He scratched his beard thoughtfully for another minute then
turned around. “Topai! I want you to pull along side of her in her shadow. That
way the Tagarr will only see one dot in the dark when they get closer, instead
of two. It’ll be a while before they’re close enough to make out that ship is
too big to be us.”
“Aye.” The first
mate grunted without further comment and adjusted the heading.
“Barnas! Belay
that order on the lanterns! Get the men together for a boarding party.”
“Aye, aye,
Captain! Weapons?”
“Break out the
sabers. I don’t think we’re going to need them, but it won’t hurt to be
careful.”
“Aye, Captain!”
The second mate slid down from the crosstree after dousing the lanterns and
headed below decks.
“What are you
thinking, Captain?” It wasn’t a challenge, merely a mild request from the old
steersman.
“I’m thinking,
Croe, that shore pirates have been known to base themselves around the Pillar
of Antus this time of year. I’m thinking if there were enough of them, and they
had a rash leader, they just might feel brave enough to tackle something like
the Princess Argentia. I’m thinking they
tried to swarm her with shore boats.”
“That would be a
hell of a fight,” Croe whistled softly.
“Aye, and the
pirates might not have realized that until they were aboard and couldn’t
run. Then neither side can surrender,
and they fight down to the last remaining stragglers.”
“Which would
probably be from the crew of the Princess,”
Croe mused.
“Aye, but maybe
not enough left to man her.”
“Especially with
a storm coming on.”
“Exactly, and
they’re close to shore so breaking out a lifeboat and making for land is a
sensible alternative.”
“But what about
the sails?”
“I figure the
pirates made the mistake of wanting to take the ship whole for their own use.”
“Damnation.” the
old sailor shook his head. “I suppose that would fit the picture in front of us,
Captain.” Despite saying that, he didn’t look happy.
“Aye, and I’m
figuring one more thing. While they would have taken the ship’s strongbox with
them, the rest of it will still be in there. Just one crate of those silks
would be worth ten times our entire cargo. And I’m betting we can fit four of
them on the Coral Horn, maybe six if
the Tagarr give us the time. And there will be plenty left behind to keep the
Tagarr busy.”
By this time,
the rest of the crew had gathered round and were listening to the conversation
with large eyes and intent faces.
“You hear that,
men?” Captain Roth turned and addressed them, “If we can get four crates of
silk off her…just four…all of your shares jump from one to forty-one. Just like
that.” He snapped his fingers. “Even
young Ros here can set himself up well…with a real girl if he wants, too.”
The men laughed
and cheered, and if any held apprehensions about the approaching hulk, they
must have vanished with the snap of Captain Roth’s fingers and the thought of
those shares. The crew leapt into action, gathering the ropes and tools needed
for boarding.
“You hear that,
Croe?” Ros exulted, ignoring the joke at his expense. “We’re going to be rich!”
###
With her sails
now struck, the Coral Horn drifted
with slow silence past the prow and into the shadow of the much larger
ship. The dark outline of the prow
covered one sailor after another, as they stood lined up on the railing, the
darkness swallowing each of them in turn.
“Ready
grapples,” Barnas called. “Heave!”
Three lines
snaked through the night air, arcing over the railing of the Princess Argentia. One after another
they drug and snagged, jerking the smaller ship to a stop. The crew moved with
the speed born of both eagerness and anxiety, hauling on the ropes to pull the
two ships tighter together. Topai moved among them, making sure the lines were
secured properly.
“Okay,” the
Captain spoke in a hushed tone. “We want to do this fast and right. We’re going
up there, and doing a quick search of the deck. Barnas you take two men forward
with you, I’ll take two men aft with me. After we cover the main deck, we’ll
move down into the lower decks and holds.
“Topai,” he
continued. “You stay on the Horn,
along with Croe, Pelig, and the boy. Cover that last lantern. It won’t look
right to the Tagarr out there, sitting beside the shadow of the ship instead of
on it. We’ll break it out again once we’ve secured the crates of silk and we’re
ready to move them to the Horn. Croe,
take your station at the tiller. We’re lashed tight but we might need to change
that in a hurry.”
“Aye.”
Men moved with
purpose in the dark, two scurrying up the ropes to the deck of the big ship and
dropping a rope ladder for the rest below.
Croe gestured at
him, and Ros followed the steersman aft, where the two of them could watch the
activity from a distance.
“They ain’t even
looking for survivors now,” the old man muttered where only Ros could hear.
“Gods help the poor bastard if they find one.”
“What do you
mean?” Ros looked over at the shadow of the steersman.
The mariner watched
the shadows of the crew clamber up the sides of the ship before answering.
“I mean if you
hear a cry or scream, you just shut your mouth and don’t mention it after this
is over. Understood?”
The boy could
only gape at the old sailor.
“Understood?”
Croe demanded again.
“Yes, sir,” Ros
gulped.
As the two of
them watched the silhouette of the last crewman disappear over the railing of
the Princess Argentia above, Ros
found his enthusiasm of earlier gone. Now a sour feeling rose in his throat as
he considered the old man’s words.
“So we’re
pirates, then?” he whispered.
“We’re men out
on the ocean with an opportunity to get rich and nobody looking,” the old
sailor grunted. “That kind of reduces the rules to…suggestions.”
“We’re pirates.”
“Boy,” Croe
rounded on the young crewman, “you think very carefully about ever using that
word again. Those crewmates of yours won’t thank you for using it… maybe
because it might cut just a little too close to the bone, but that won’t help
your cause any. The fact is they didn’t come out here hunting for spoil, that’s
what a pirate does, but they just had it land in their laps.”
“You still think
they’re doing the wrong thing, don’t you Croe?”
“I think they’re
blinded by visions of gold, and they ain’t thinking this through. They ain’t
willing to consider any idea that doesn’t put those crates of silks on our
decks. For instance, the first thing shore pirates tend to do is fire a big
ship’s sails so it can’t run, yet there they hang.”
“But the Captain
said…”
“The Captain
said what he wanted to believe, even though they could have gotten more sails
later.”
The young man
stared at his older shipmate in dawning realization.
“You’re scared
about something!”
“Shhh!!! Damn right,
I am!” the old man hissed. “So would the rest of the crew be if the Captain
hadn’t dangled all that silk in front of their faces. This ain’t right.”
“So you do think
it’s wrong.”
“Not like that,
you damn fool. You can moralize about it to yourself later. That’s what you get
to do after everything is over and you get away alive. Right now I’m saying there’s
something wrong with this whole situation. What in the watery hells can wipe
out almost an entire crew of a big ship like that and force the rest to abandon ship at the same time?”
The lack of
sureness usually present in the old man’s voice was beginning to unnerve the
young sailor.
“And look at
that,” Croe pointed up into the tangled silhouette of the bigger ship’s
riggings.”They had their lanterns hung. Whatever it was, happened at night.
Those men abandoned ship at night, with a storm coming.” He fished a large
chunk of tobacco out of his tunic pocket and bit off a piece. The steersman continued to watch the big
derelict while he chewed and got the wad situated correctly in his cheek. Then
he spat over the railing before speaking again. “No lad, I got a funny feeling
you can rest easy over us cutting some poor survivor’s throat. I don’t think
there’s anybody over there.”
Ros digested
that piece of information, while the pair of them stood in the darkness by the
tiller.
He had felt sick
over the possibility that they might be raiding a ship with survivors aboard,
but now Croe had him spooked even worse. Tales of ghost ships he heard as a boy
rose in his mind, along with their lurid endings of dragging unlucky sailors
who messed with them down to the watery hells. The hulk that loomed over them
fit the descriptions of those stories with uncomfortable accuracy.
Ros tried to
keep his fears to himself, not wanting to look more like a wet behind the ears
kid than he was, but he found himself becoming seriously concerned over the
length of time since they had heard anything from the boarding party. He
started counting to himself silently, promising himself that he wouldn’t say
anything until he had counted to three hundred. The last thing he wanted was
another lecture tonight.
He only made it
to one hundred and eighty.
“Boy,” the old
steersman ordered quietly in the dark, “go tell Topai I said something is
wrong. Tell him I think we might need to be ready for trouble. Don’t say
nothing, just go. Now.”
Ros didn’t have
to be told twice.
He moved along
the railing and down the steps to the middeck. After two weeks on board the Coral Horn, he had his sea legs, but
moving on the small craft in darkness like this was a new experience. It took
him a few seconds to locate the first mate, standing by the main mast in the
darkness.
“Topai,” he
whispered, the old man’s demeanor rubbing off on him. “Croe says something’s
wrong. He said to tell you to be ready for trouble.”
The squat native
stood there silently with his arms folded, peering up at the bigger ship. Ros
started to doubt if the man even heard him, but then the first mate grunted and
nodded for him to follow. He strode to the door to the aft compartment, opened
it, and stepped inside. Ros waited at the door, forbidden to enter the aft crew
compartment without explicit orders. This was where the officers bunked, and
the weapons were stored.
Topai emerged a
moment later with four sabers under his arm. Saying nothing, he handed three to
the young sailor then resumed his place beside the main mast.
Ros wondered if
the man ever spoke more than twenty words on a given day.
With harried
care, he hustled back to Croe and handed him one of the sabers. The old
steersman took it without comment, then surprised the boy by giving it a few
test flourishes. He handled the weapon with a skill that surprised the young
sailor, drawing an exclamation of surprise.
“Gods, Croe!” he
whispered, “Where did you learn to handle a sword like that?”
“The school of necessity.
Now go give Pelig his so he won’t be standing there with nothing but his thumb
up his butt. Tell him I said it ain’t a cleaver so to try not to stab himself
in the foot with it…come to think of it, that goes for you to.”
“Thanks a lot.”
“You’re welcome.
Now get on with it.”
Ros grumbled as he
headed forwards again. Being the junior member of the crew and doing all the
fetching and carrying was bad enough without being on the receiving end of
every barb and joke…it never stopped, even in times like this. Using the rail
as his guide, he worked his way back to where he remembered the cook taking a
station at the furthest rope.
He passed Topai
down on the middeck, but the stolid first mate did or said nothing to
acknowledge him. The man simply stood there, continuing to watch the rail of
the bigger ship above, as unreadable as a post.
Coming up on the foredeck, he scanned the
darkness. Even with his dark adjusted eyes, it took him a moment to locate the
cook leaning over the rail.
“Pelig!” he
whispered with urgency. “Croe thinks we got trouble. I got you a saber.”
Pelig did not
acknowledge his presence.
“Pelig!”
No answer came
from the black shadow bent over the rail, and Ros came to realize the cook
hadn’t moved since he arrived.
“Pelig? Are you
sick?”
He felt stupid
the second he said it. The cook had been sailing these seas for the past twenty
years, and probably wouldn’t appreciate the insinuation of sea sickness from a
newcomer like him.
But that feeling
passed after a few more seconds when the man still didn’t respond.
“Pelig?” He
reached for the cook’s shoulder.
That’s when
several things happened at once.
Just before his
hand fell on Pelig’s shoulder, the cook’s outline writhed in a way that made no
sense at all. His back seemed to grow a hump that moved of its own accord, and
in a way that brought every hair on Ros’ body erect. It hissed, but before it
could move further the cook’s knees buckled, and caused his body to flop
backwards from the rail and sprawl on top of whatever crawled on his back.
Ros shrieked at
the sight of segmented legs struggling by his foot from beneath the body, and
fell over backwards himself.
“Topai!” Croe’s
voice barked. “We need light! Now!”
At any other
time he would have stopped and marveled at the tone the old man used while
addressing the first mate, but at the moment he was too busy trying to scuttle
away from the thing struggling to free itself from beneath the cook. He didn’t
know if it was some kind of crab or what, but he knew it didn’t belong there
and didn’t want near it. He just wished he could see the thing better.
A second later
he changed his mind.
Topai reached the
top of the stairs to the foredeck, holding the lantern high and bringing the
small forward deck under its illumination. In the soft golden glow of the
light, the pale gray creature that struggled to free itself from under the cook
came into sharp relief.
It was a spider.
And it had a
body about the size of Ros’ fist.
It’s hard, shiny
legs scrabbled at the deck and, with a final twist and jerk, it pulled itself
free. It wasted no time at all in righting itself and scuttling straight for
the young sailor with raised fangs.
Ros shrieked and
slashed the saber at it as he crabbed backwards.
The blade hit
the spider with a brittle “crunch,” snapping one of its legs and sending the
thing skidding across the deck. It recovered in an instant and came straight
back with relentless ferocity. Ros continued crawling backwards, while trying
to regain his feet at the same time. He left a trail of blood where the saber
had cut into his foot after hitting the spider, and his ankle folded as he
tried to put more weight on it.
Ros went down
with a scream, trying to twist to keep the approaching horror in sight. The
maneuver resulted in him landing on his sword arm, pinning it beneath him. He
had just enough time to see the creature close the gap and gather itself for a
leap…
…when it
disappeared with a crunchy squelch under Topai’s boot.
“Spider’s dead,”
the first mate grunted. “Stop yelling.”
The young sailor
realized he had still been screaming, and fought to recover control.
He hoped Topai
was too busy to notice any new odors in the chaos, or he would really be in for
a good ribbing. He would need to sneak down to his locker for his spare pants
at the first opportunity. Fortunately, it appeared the first mate had other
demands on his attention.
“Topai!” Croe
called from the other end of the boat. “The ropes!”
Topai turned and
raised the lantern, illuminating a vista that caused even the taciturn
tribesman to gasp.
The railing of
the Princess Argentia was alive with spiders…all as big as or bigger than the
one they had just killed. Even worse, several were now making their way down
the ropes lashing the two ships together.
Croe had already
cut the rope at the rear of the ship and was moving towards the one amid ship.
The whites of the old man’s eyes showed wide in the dim light of the lantern,
even at half a ship’s length.
“Wait!” the
first mate yelled. “The Captain!”
“He’s dead!
They’re all dead! And if we don’t cut these ropes, we’re dead too!”
A spider leaped
at the old man from the line he was hacking at, but Croe swatted it out of the
air with an expert swipe of the saber.
The steersman wasted no time in getting back to work on the rope.
Topai only
hesitated a second, then strode towards the line that the cook had been
manning. With two powerful swings of his saber he severed it. The sound of
several splashes accompanied the rope falling limp against the side of the
bigger vessel as a group of spiders plummeted to the water below.
“Boy!” the first
mate shouted. “Man a pole. We have to push off!” He marched down to where the
poles were secured along the midship railing and pulled two free. Tossing one
to the steersman, the two men snaked the poles out over the railing and placed
the ends against the hull of the bigger vessel. Backs and arms strained as they
leaned into the task.
Ros stumbled to
his feet and limped over to grab a pole of his own.
Pulling one
free, he hobbled over a few feet to give the two men room, then ran the length
of ash out to touch the opposite hull.
The boy flinched as a pale gray form fell past the shaft and into the
sea. Then he leaned into the pole with all his might, fear powering his
muscles. It felt like he was pushing against a cliff face, nothing seemed to
budge.
The Coral Horn
did not mass half that of the larger ship, but this still counted as a job for
six men. With only half that, nothing happened in a hurry.
Again, the three
men strained against the poles, pushing with everything they had to separate themselves
from the infested ship. More gray shapes started to fall from the upper rail,
and Topai was forced to drop his pole when a spider the size of a dinner plate
landed on the shaft and scuttled towards him. But since it was a six man job,
three more poles lay at the ready to be grabbed. The first mate had another one
in hand within a second and went back to work.
After an
agonizing pause…long enough that Ros lost a pole to a spider as well, and had
to fetch another…the boy realized he had to lean far over the railing to
continue to push against the Princess Argentia. The ships had begun to drift apart.
“Pull’em in,”
the steersman called. “That’s got her done. Now let’s light these other
lanterns. These bastards don’t like light, and we need to see if any more of
them are aboard anyways.”
Again Ros
thought it odd to hear the old man giving orders, but if Topai didn’t object
then he had nothing to say either. The three crewmen moved swiftly, bringing
one lantern after another to light, till the whole deck glowed in the night.
Two more spiders were discovered crawling along the ships railing and were
quickly dispatched.
After scouring
the deck for more spiders, and finding it clean, Ros moved aft to where the two
other men were kneeling beside the cook.
“Is he dead?”
“No,” the old
steersman grunted, setting the lantern beside Pelig’s head. “Not yet.”
The cook lay
there, sprawled on his back where he had fallen earlier. His eyes were open,
staring at the sky, but only the gentle rise and fall of his chest gave any
indication of life. He neither moved nor spoke, and Ros wondered if he were
truly conscious.
“Pelig!” Croe
spoke sharply. “Pelig, look at me if you can.”
For a moment,
nothing…then ever so slowly one eye drifted over to stare at the old man.
“Damn,” the
steersman muttered. “He must have bitten you good. Usually people still have
the power to blink. The eyes are always the last to go.”
“You know what
this is?” Ros demanded. “Tell us about it!”
“Pelig,” Croe
waved the boy back as he continued to address the stricken man, “listen to me.
You’ve been bitten by a Felk Spider. I’m sorry, but I ain’t going to lie to
you…you’re going to die.”
Hearing that
last statement, Ros lost all desire to intrude. He looked at the two sailors
kneeling beside the third in the lantern light, and for the first time truly
felt like a boy amongst men.
“I know you
can’t answer me,” the old man continued, “so I’m just going to assume you don’t
know what that means. Its poison paralyzes you…permanently. There ain’t any medicine for it, and even if
there was we’re out here at sea. But it’s worse than that. It dissolves you
inside, over time, but it won’t let you die. That way the spider can keep
coming back and feeding on you. We killed it, so that ain’t gonna happen, but its
poison is already in you.”
Ros tried to
make out any movement from the cook, any sign that he could somehow fight the
effects of the little monster’s bite, but the man just lay limp. His one eye still
stared at the old seaman, while the other gazed at the sky.
“So here is the
hell of it,” Croe summed up, “we can let you lie here and the poison will
continue to liquefy your insides over the course of the next week while you
starve to death…or I can finish it sooner. I’ll wait till dawn, so you can see
the sun again, but then you let me know. Me and the lads have work to do, so
I’ll be back to check on you later. I’ll leave this lantern with you.”
With that he
rose and motioned to the other two to follow him forwards.
“What’s a Felk
Spider?” Ros fell into step beside him. Topai grunted his agreement with this
question from behind.
“It’s a nasty
beast,” the Palidesian stopped and leaned against the main mast, “that lives in
caves along the Palidesian coast…some of the same caves that Blue Sea Moths use
to lay eggs that hatch into silk grubs. Normally the silk grubs feed on the bat
guano, the dire rats feed on the silk grubs, and the Felk Spiders feed on the
dire rats. But silk growers clean out the caves of rats and spiders, and keep
the grubs and bats happy.”
“Ugh! They have
caves full of those huge things? Why don’t they eat the grubs?”
“Because the grubs
are too small, boy. Those ‘huge things’ you just saw are hatchlings.”
“What!”
“Hatchlings…babies.
And I’m willing to bet about four days old. That’s what ran those men off the
Princess Argentia at night. They had an egg sack full of death hatch somewhere
in the holds beneath them. The Gods only know how many of that crew are lying
in their hammocks over there, still alive, getting fed on…probably most of them
since the spiders haven’t eaten each other yet.
As the ships
drifted further apart, Ros could see the rigging and sails of the Princess
Argentia now alive with crawling arachnids. They scuttled up and down the
lines, along the railings, and back and forth amongst the spars. The big ship
almost seemed to squirm in the moonlight.
“How big do they
get?” he wondered aloud.
“A full grown
Felk spider has a leg span of about six feet. They grow fast, usually eating
each other after hatching. When I was a boy I used to work in a silk mine. If
we found an egg sack about to hatch, we cleared out and waited a couple of
weeks. Then there would only be one or two left to contend with…but they’d be
mostly grown.”
“Damn.” It was
the only contribution Topai made to the conversation.
The three
sailors watched the big ship recede into the night, their own smaller vessel
suddenly much bigger around them.
“Topai,” Croe
muttered in the dark, “we have to hoist our main sail. I know it’s just the
three of us, but we still got the Tagarr back there, and now we’re a target.”
“But,” Ros
objected, “you said the Tagarr wouldn’t be a threat to us.”
“Remember what I
told you about opportunities falling into people’s laps, and how the rules
become suggestions when nobody is watching? Well that’s us now. I’m sure the
Tagarr aren’t planning anything, but we don’t need to be hanging around and
giving them the chance to figure out there are just the three of us over here.
That’s when we would start looking like one of those ‘opportunities.’ You
understand?”
“Yes, sir.” The
young sailor gulped, visions of stone idols with furnaces for mouths rearing
once again in his mind. He realized right then that, if he survived this, it
would be his last voyage. His little village was now enough world for him, and
he could find an apprenticeship as a blacksmith or cobbler.
Anilee would
prefer a man who stayed home anyways.
###
“It’s smoke,
alright. They must have fired her.”
Croe’s voice,
and Topai’s answering grunt cut through Ros’ dreams of ghost ships and crawling
horrors.
The young sailor
woke, stiff and sore, laying on the aft deck next to a large coil of rope. He
opened his eyes to brilliant blue skies and a mid-morning sun. Raising a hand
to shield his eyes, the boy groaned at the pain the movement triggered.
His body still
ached from the effort of raising the sails last night, an effort that resulted
in only partial success. The jib and the foresail were up, but the mainsail had
simply proven too heavy for the three of them. They had finally given up
sometime before dawn as the wind started to rise.
Ros had been
stumbling from fatigue, not to mention the saber cut in his foot, when Croe
told him to get some sleep. He hadn’t needed to be told twice and simply
collapsed next to the rope coil, using its angled shape for a pillow. Now his
body screamed from the combination of injury, abuse, and poor choice of beds.
And as he lay
there taking inventory of his various cramps and pangs, he remembered Pelig.
However much he hurt now, the cook’s situation reminded him how much worse things
could have been. Rolling his head over, he looked across midship to the fore
where the man had sprawled.
He squinted in
the bright light, bringing the foredeck into focus.
The cook was
gone.
Ros felt queasy
as the implications of that hit home.
Pelig must have
made his decision at dawn, and Croe took care of it as he promised. The fact
that they didn’t wake him only reaffirmed to him his junior status amongst the
remnants of the crew. All the same, he was glad they left him out of it…but he
found himself wondering if it was Croe or Topai who delivered the act of mercy.
Rolling his head
back the other way, he spotted the two men standing by the tiller. They both
peered aft, with Topai using the Captain’s spyglass.
Topai IS the captain now, he reminded
himself. Or at least he should be.
Which meant he
needed to be up and ready in case they needed him. The young sailor harbored no
desire to find out how Captain Topai would wake a seaman guilty of
oversleeping. Ros reached up and grabbed the rail, then pulled himself upright
in halting steps. He put weight on his
wounded foot in increments, encouraged when it held his weight.
It still hurt
like nine devils though, so he maintained his grip on the rail as he made his
way over to the two men. They ignored his approach, continuing to stare out
over the waters behind them. Following their gaze he spotted the tiny bump on
the horizon.
“What is that?”
“Smoke,” the
steersman replied. “It looks like the Tagarr found the ship. I’m guessing
they’re taking care of the problem.”
“They’re burning
the whole ship?”
“It’s a
solution.”
“Yeah, but all
that silk!” Ros shook his head at the thought of the Tagarr just burning a
fortune.
“Won’t do you a
damn bit of good if you’re dead. They’re just being practical, and doing all
those poor bastards aboard her a favor at the same time.”
“Why’s it
green?”
“What?” Croe
looked up at Topai’s question.
“Why green
smoke?” He handed the spyglass over to the old steersman.
For the first
time in Ros’ memory, the sharp eyed Palidesian put the spyglass to his eye. He
stood there, gazing out at the distant speck, shifting the large lump of
tobacco in his cheek. The old man frowned and spat into the water, without
removing the glass.
“You’re right,”
he grunted. “It’s green. Ain’t near as much of it as there should be either.”
He continued to
stare through the spyglass for another long moment. Then the old man lowered
the telescope, his face covered with sudden alarm.
“Those are
smudge pots! They knew! Somehow those bastards knew and they were ready for
it!” He turned to the other two crewmen, who stared at him in confusion. “We
got to get that mainsail up. We ain’t just survivors…we’re witnesses! And we
got to get out of here, right now!”
“What?” Ros and
Topai uttered in unison. “Why?”
“Smudge pots,
you damn idiots!” the old man waved his arms at them, then stopped and put his
face in his hand in an obvious effort to collect himself. “They’re using smudge
pots. That’s the same thing we used on the rare occasion we needed to clean
spiders out of a cave. We used a type of resin that made a green smoke that
killed the spiders. The same type the Tagarr are using back there right now.”
The two sailors
looked at him blankly.
“Don’t you get
it?” Croe sighed in exasperation. “They knew! They were carrying the exact type
of smudge pots needed to wipe out a ship full of Felk spiders, even though such
a thing has never happened before. I had been wondering how an egg sac the size
of a burlap bag full of potatoes could have accidently gotten aboard a ship.
Well, it didn’t! It was snuck aboard by somebody working for the Tagarr.”
“Eggs hatch
later,” Topai concluded, “Tagarr show up and get big ship full of silk without
a fight. Nobody knows nothing.”
“Exactly,” the
old man growled. “Except we showed up and boarded her first. And now here we
sit, on the horizon, watching the smoke of their smudge pots.”
Ros had listened
to this exchange with dismay, once again shocked at the lawlessness that peeked
out from under the veneer of honest trade on the high seas. When he got to
Khrem, he intended to sign on with a nice respectable caravan and take the long
way home. He was mulling over how much safer that would be when the
implications of Croe’s last statement sank in.
“Oh gods!” the
young deckhand whispered aloud. “If they think we’ve figured out what they’ve
done…”
“Now you get it,
kid. We’re in trouble. It won’t take them long to realize some of those bodies
on the Princess ain’t part of her
crew…and there’s only one other ship in the area.”
“But what do we
do? We tried to get the mainsail up last night, and couldn’t”
“I don’t know,
but we better figure something out. If we don’t get it up, we got no hope of
outrunning them. We might be able to stay ahead of them for a day, maybe two
with just our foresails…but Khrem’s four days away.
“What if we
lighten our load?”
“Good thinking,
kid. But those bales of wool are too heavy. We could get a few off, but it
would take too long and we would wear ourselves out before removing enough to
matter.”
“Cargo pulley.”
Topai spoke up.
“Yeah, that
would help. But we would still be needing more hands to get the bales into
position in the hold.”
“Use it for the
mainsail.” The tribesman replied.
Croe stared at
the first mate for a second, then slapped his hand to his forehead.
“Of course!
Damn, I’m getting old! Why didn’t I think of that!”
“Huh?” Ros
looked back and forth between the two men in confusion.
“It’s a big
block and tackle we have for really heavy cargo,” the old steersman
explained. “Don’t use it often, so it’s
stored down in the hold. Topai just suggested hauling it up the main mast, then
using it to raise the mainsail. It would be slow, but it would work.”
“I’ll go get
it.” The squat tribesman turned and headed for the door to the lower decks.
“Okay, while
you’re doing that me and the boy will run a pulley line up the mast so we can
pull it into position.” The steersman tied the tiller to keep the same heading,
then motioned for Ros to follow.
For the next
five minutes they struggled together to pull a large pulley and a coil of rope up
to the level of the bottom of the topsail. Beneath them, Topai lugged an even
larger block and tackle out onto the main deck, then returned below decks.
Meanwhile, the two on the mast came back down to the deck for a second pulley.
“What’s this one
for?” Ros grunted as they started making their way up the rigging again.
“The block and
tackle ain’t long enough to raise the sail in one go. So we got to raise it,
secure it to another rope. Then raise the block and tackle, secure it beneath
the crow’s nest, then use it to pull the mainsail up the rest of the way. We
can do it, it’s just going to be some hard work.”
“But we’ll be
able to outrun the Tagarr?”
“Yeah, with our
mainsail up and them loaded down, we ought to be able to keep ahead of them.”
“And then what?”
“And then we’ll
see when we get there. Let’s just get there first.”
Ros couldn’t
argue with that, so he bent back to his task.
The two sailors
wrestled the pulley into place then worked their weary way back down to the
main deck. Ros went over to the water barrel for a drink, while the older
sailor went to check on the tiller. The water was tepid from sitting out in the
sun, and tasted of the barrel, but the boy still had to force himself not to
drink too much. He settled for wetting a rag and throwing it over his head
instead.
“Where did Topai
go?” he asked, joining Croe on the aft deck.
“To get some
grease for the block and tackle.”
“How long will
that take?”
“Not this long.”
Ros looked over
in puzzlement at the steersman. The old man leaned on the tiller, watching the
door to the forward compartment with a scowl on his face.
“You think I
should go help him?” the young crewman offered.
“Nope.”
“No?”
“No. I think
we’ll just wait right here. If he ain’t back in a few more minutes we’ll go
ahead and start hoisting that block and tackle ourselves. We can do it now that
we have the pulleys up.”
“But,” the boy
gaped at the old man. “What about Topai?”
“He can help if
he ever gets back.”
###
“Alright, lad!
That’s got her! C’mon down!”
Ros whimpered in
both relief and fatigue as he began the descent back down the Coral Horn’s
rigging for what seemed the hundredth time.
Below, he could
see Croe tie off the last of the lines to the mainsail, securing it in place.
The lowering sun cast his shadow out over the deck, a bent black outline on the
weathered planks. He had no idea how old
the steersman really was, but the man had kept pace and carried his end of the
work all day. The old man seemed as tough and durable as leather.
Ros gingerly
made his way to the deck, and fought the urge to collapse where he stood.
Gathering his strength, he tottered on rubbery legs back to the aft deck where
the old man now rested beside his tiller, and flopped down on an overturned
bucket next to the rail.
“You did good,
lad,” the steersman chuckled. “Before today, I would have never thought two men
could have done that.”
“And we’re done,
right?”
“Aye. As far as
the sail goes…unless a storm comes up, of course.”
“Right,” the
young sailor groaned.
Ros sat there,
watching the wind fill the mainsail, and started to feel a sense of pride over
what the two of them had accomplished. The Coral Horn was meant to manned by
fourteen men, but generally ran on a crew of ten to save costs. Now it was
being manned by three…or two, so it seemed.
“Topai ain’t
coming back up, is he.” Ros stared somberly at the door to the lower decks.
“I figure not.”
“He’s dead?”
“Only if he’s
lucky.”
Ros considered
the ramifications of that.
“Damn.”
“Yeah,” Croe bit
a plug out of the wad of tobacco he carried. “Yeah, that about sums it up.”
The two of them
sat there, gazing in gloomy silence at the door.
Ros thought of
the stoic tribesman, laying there in the dark with a large pale spider feeding
on him. He wondered if Topai could still feel everything…his insides slowly
dissolving, the lance of the spider’s fangs every time it fed. He wondered if
the man lay down there, facing in such a way he could see the spider approach
each time it got hungry. However harsh the first mate had been to him, he
hadn’t been cruel, and the thought of him lying alone in the dark with that
thing turned Ros’ gut.
Something had to
be done.
“Maybe we should
check to see if he’s close to the door.”
“No.”
“Maybe we can
help him…at least pull him out of there.”
“No.”
“He saved my
life last night, Croe. Maybe if we…”
“I SAID NO!”
“By all the
Gods, why not?!” Ros was stunned to find himself standing, almost nose to nose
with the elder seaman, almost quivering with outrage. His outburst appeared to
momentarily surprise Croe as well. The steersman glared at him in shock for a
second before recovering.
“Because,” the
old sailor growled in a low tone, “as long as that spider has him to feed on,
it’ll stay down there. I imagine at that size it could live off him for a week.
But they only feed on living creatures, and if we sneak down there and kill
Topai then the next time that thing gets hungry, it will wait till night and
come up here. Is that what you want, boy?
Ros swallowed,
trying to meet the man’s gaze.
“Well?” Croe
demanded. “What about it? Do you want to spend the next four nights looking
over your shoulder and in every shadow? Because it will come, and it will be sneaky about it. You could put your hand
down on the rail right beside it, turn around and find it hanging on the mast
beside your head, or it might jump out from behind a barrel or coil of rope
when you walk past and bite your leg. Or you might just go to sleep and wake up
unable to move and find the damn thing sucking out your guts. You want that?
But I guarantee that won’t happen as long as it’s not hungry.”
Ros stared at
him in agonized indecision.
“You’re sure
about that?” It made him sick to even ask it.
“It’s a cave
creature, Ros, and it will stay below if it has any choice in the matter,” the
old man turned away and looked out over the waters at the setting sun. “I’m
just giving it that choice.”
“But it’s not
the only one faced with a choice, Croe. We’re making a choice here too.”
“No, we’re not.
When one of the choices is staying alive, there ain’t any other choices.
Survival ain’t a choice, it’s the outcome of doing what you have to do.”
“And you can
live with that?”
“Living is the
whole point.”
Ros clenched his
jaw and turned away. He stared at the door to the lower decks again.
Four nights, he realized. Four nights with the Tagarr behind us and a monster below us. And
every night that monster stays below, is another day closer to Khrem…and
another day the man who saved my life is down there getting eaten alive.
The young sailor
slowly pulled himself to his feet and picked up the saber he had left laying
beside the coil of rope earlier. Using it as a makeshift cane, he hobbled back
down onto the main deck. Croe paid no attention, just shifted position to
better watch the setting sun.
Ros limped to
the door that Topai had disappeared into earlier and stopped.
He licked his
lips, and stared at the worn handle. He knew from his few trips through it that
it descended to the officer’s berths, then doubled back down to the forward
hold. Gripping the saber with his right hand, he reached out a shaky left for
the latch. With infinite care, he pulled the door open, revealing a dark portal
barely penetrated by the reddening light of the dying day. The gentle creaks of
the rocking ships timbers issued up out of the blackness.
A glance back
over his shoulder revealed Croe to still be ignoring him, looking out over the
railing to the west. The old man leaned forward, spat over the railing, then
went back to watching the sunset.
Croe had made
his choice.
Ros turned back
to face the blackness before him. It was time to make his…
###
Anilee hustled
back from the kitchen, carrying four more platters of mutton for the new
caravan arrivals.
Merchants and
farmers dickered at many of the tables, while a group of local lads matched
wits and luck with a traveling dice player on the floor back by the fireplace. Other
travelers stood around or sat at the bar. She made her way through them with
care, still not having totally mastered the skill of moving while carrying the
platters.
The first two
platters were delivered with care, immediately attacked by the two ravenous
caravan guards who belched a thanks in her direction. The third elicited a
satisfied grunt from rug trader in a greasy turban. With a sigh of relief, she
safely delivered the last to a ragged looking traveler in a leather hat before
turning back towards the kitchen.
“Thank you,
Anilee.”
She stopped,
almost stumbling, when the recognition of that voice sank in…a voice she hadn’t
heard in two years. The young barmaid closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and
then slowly turned to face the sitting figure.
“Ros?”
“Yeah, I guess
so.”
He looked so
much older…his skin weathered to a rough tan, and his eyes faded by too much
sun. His face wasn’t lined, not yet, but the haggard shadows of their
precursors were evident. He looked ten years older, instead of two.
“Ros! I thought
you were dead! Your ship never came back.”
“We ran into
some trouble. Most of us didn’t make it.”
“Oh.” It sounded
inadequate, even to her ears. “I – I‘m glad you’re alright.”
“Yeah.” Ros
looked at her, then down at the plate of food. He didn’t appear hungry.
Anilee stared at
the young man she used to know, dreading what she had to say next.
“I married
Conlee, the tavern keeper’s son.”
“I heard. He’s a
good man. Solid future.”
That stung…even
though she didn’t see a hint of venom in those pale eyes.
“It had been
seven months. I thought you were dead.”
“I understand.”
“Do you?”
“Yes,” he stood
and readjusted the hat on his head, “I do. You did what you had to do. There
aren’t any choices Anilee, there never are.”
“What?”
“We all do what
we have to do. And most of the time we kid ourselves into thinking we chose to,”
he looked at the floor for a moment, and then met her eyes. “We are what we
are, and the world is what it is. There aren’t really any decisions. I’m glad
everything turned out alright for you.”
There was not
even the slightest hint of judgment in his voice, but Anilee found she wanted
away from this new Ros. Something about him bothered her. The Ros she knew
could have never said the words this man spoke…not and meant them. He was a
stranger wearing the weathered face of a young man she once loved. She watched
him turn and walk to the door, relieved that he was leaving.
But before he
left, she needed to know…
“Ros?”
“Yes?” He paused
at the door, and looked back.
“What happened
to you out there?”
He stared back at
her for a moment, across the room and what seemed a thousand years.
“I thought I had
a choice…and found out I actually didn’t.” He flashed the bleakest smile she
had ever seen. “But I can live with it, because that’s the point. I had four
whole days to figure that out.”
“I don’t
understand.”
“That’s okay,
you don’t need to. It’s really better that way,” he opened the door. “Goodbye, Anilee. Be well.”
“Be well, Ros.”
“I will.”
With that, he
stepped back out of the door and into the world.
Authors Note
I hope you
enjoyed, The Passage of the Coral Horn. Like other stories in The Tales of Nur
series, it features places and/or creatures mentioned in my novel, The Ways of Khrem. In this case, the
Felk Spider is the central creature to this story. It also appears in the novel,
but in the form of a full grown monster encountered by the main character,
Cargill, in the depths of the Undercity.
