Vulcan's Fury: The Dark Lands (37 page)

By the time dawn arrived, all of them, even Haakon, were exhausted. Realizing that his companions had nothing left to give, Pelonius had them stow their oars. Their survival would now depend on the mercy of the gods and the fickle winds.

After taking another look out the cloudy glass of the rear viewport, Pelonius told the others, “Three ships remain in pursuit. They would have overtaken us, I think, except they must have lost us sometime in the night. But they can see us now.”

Valeria looked up at him. “So, it’s over?”

Pelonius managed a smile, despite his pain and exhaustion. “It is not over until the gods will it to be so.”

“This bucket won’t get away from even the slowest trireme,” Septimus said. “Even without a good wind, their rowers can keep up a good pace for a lot longer than we ever could.”

Pelonius said nothing, but went to peer out the forward viewport. He stiffened, then pressed his eye closer to the glass. A stony expression on his face, he turned to look at the little bird in the cage hanging from the mast. It looked back at him, then chirped happily.

“What is it?” Marcus asked.

“The bird outside is dead.”

Valeria felt a cold snake uncoil in her belly and her skin prickled. “Death has come.”

“Death is outside,” Pelonius corrected.
 

“But how long can we stay in here and live?” she asked. “You taught me that when a mine caves in, those who are trapped eventually die. Even if whatever is outside doesn’t kill us, being trapped in here will.”

“Eventually, I suspect so,” he said. “That is why I built the cabin as large as I could, to try and bring as much good air with us as possible. How long it would last was to be determined by the first cruise.” He snorted. “And so it shall.”

Haakon, for once, showed a glimmer of fear. “Should we keep rowing?”
 

“No,” Pelonius said. “The breeze has freshened, and is still carrying us north. Let the wind do its work, and let us conserve our air as best we can.”

“I’m not going to complain,” Valeria sighed as she leaned back, cradling her bleeding hands in her lap. “What do we do when they catch us?”

Pelonius looked at Marcus, who said, “Your father didn’t want you to fall into their hands, princess,” he said slowly. “But that’s now your decision.” He bit his lip. “Sergius doesn’t want you harmed…”

“I will not be taken by that monster,” Valeria told him, shaking her head. “You will not let that happen.” Marcus slowly nodded. “None of you will, do you hear?” The others, including Karan, nodded, as well. “We all have to die someday. I would rather die with my honor — and yours — intact, rather than be a source of entertainment for that beast.”

The old centurion nodded slowly, a look of infinite sadness on his face.

***

“We have them now,” Tribune Proculus Olcinius gloated after one of the men caught sight of the strange vessel they had lost during the night, just on the horizon to the north. To his centurion, he said, “Make all speed toward them. I want to take Sergius’s prize and leave these accursed waters as soon as possible.”

“Yes, tribune!” The centurion began to shout orders, and the rowers lowered their oars and matched the pace of the drum beating time. They were all well rested, the ship and its two companions having moved only under sail during the night after having lost their quarry, and the trireme accelerated like a feisty war horse.
 

Olcinius signaled by hand to the two ships in company, and they, too, dropped oars and turned to follow.
 

“I have to wonder what they were thinking,” the centurion commented, “building such a strange thing. It must be tricky to control with that raised cabin acting like a sail.”

“When we board them, we can ask them to satisfy your curiosity, just before we toss the crew and the animal into the sea and take the princess back to Sergius.”

The centurion, chastened, clamped his mouth shut.
 

Moving at full speed under oar power now, the trireme cut through the modest waves, closing quickly on its quarry. The water between the vessels, Olcinius observed, looked rather odd. Stepping toward the railing, he peered down, and was surprised to see bubbles rising from the depths to burst when they reached the surface. Some were tiny, others were large, and the effect was deeply unsettling. He pulled back at the stench of rotten eggs that assaulted his nose.

As he pondered the meaning of what he saw, he began to breathe more rapidly and his heart began to beat faster. He heard the clack of wood striking wood, and looked back to see that the rowers were no longer all pulling in smooth, synchronized strokes. “Row in time, you fools! Stroke with the drum!”

But the drum beat, too, had become erratic. The men were acting like they were drunk!
 

Olcinius screamed, “I’ll strip the flesh from your backs for taking too much wine!”
 

Staggering to the side rail, he saw that the other ships, too, were falling into disarray. He drew his sword and headed aft, shoving stumbling men out of his way while shouting curses at the rowers below decks. With every word, it became more difficult to draw breath and his heart pounded in his chest.

As if on cue, several of the soldiers on deck wobbled, then collapsed. They were soon joined by their comrades, who could no longer stand under the assault of the ship’s gentle rocking motion.
 

Olcinius called for his centurion to discipline these slackers, but the man had already passed out near the stern.
Drunk!
Olcinius thought dully.
I’ll crucify him!

The men, both those who were still on their feet and those who had fallen to the deck, began to gasp like old men taking their last breaths. Then those still standing began to fall, one after another, into unconscious. Most hit the deck hard, while some near the railing fell overboard. The ship slowed as the rowers completely lost their rhythm and oars dipped into the water, never again to be lifted.
 

Olcinius, his chest heaving as his lungs fought for air and his heart near to bursting, saw that the other two ships were already falling out of formation, their crews suffering the same fate as was his. For a moment, he was angry, but then he seemed to forget why he should care.
 

Slumping over the deck rail, he slipped into unconsciousness just before his heart gave out.

***

Pelonius made his way back to the tiller, then pressed his face against the stern viewport. “Something is happening. Two of the ships are veering off!”

“They barely need one to handle the likes of us,” Septimus told him.

Getting up from the bench beside Paulus, Valeria went back to Pelonius. “May I see?”

Nodding, Pelonius stepped back and gave her room to peer through the tiny viewport. The view was hazy, as if she were looking through gauze, but she could see the other ships well enough. Perhaps too well. “They’re close!” she said breathlessly, with an accusing glance at Pelonius before she returned her attention to their pursuers. Just as Pelonius had said, two of the three ships, all of which had their sails set, were turning away, but something was wrong. It took her a moment to figure out what. “Their oars aren’t in time,” she said, “and some aren’t moving at all! And the ship that’s still following us…” She looked at Pelonius, her mouth open in surprise. “It’s not rowing anymore, and I can’t see anyone on the deck. Surely they’d be preparing to board if they were this close. Shouldn’t soldiers be standing along the railing?”
 

Pelonius nodded.
 

Valeria squinted, willing herself to make out more details through the glass. “The water looks strange. I see waves, but where the water should be smooth it looks almost like a pot on a slow boil.” She turned to Pelonius. “Are those bubbles?”

Again, the scribe nodded.

Haakon looked horrified. “We aren’t going to boil to death, are we?”

“Feel the hull below the waterline with your hand,” Pelonius told him, and Haakon gingerly did so. “Is it hot to your touch?”

The barbarian shook his head, a look of relief flooding his face.
 

Valeria turned back to the glass. As she continued to watch, the oars of the other two ships moved with ever greater discord, as if the rowers were drunk and no longer had any idea what they were doing. Then, slowly, as if they were great beasts succumbing to a silent death, the oars stopped flailing altogether and the ships began to drift in the water. The third trireme, which had continued to pursue them, began to fall behind, then veered away.

Valeria finally pulled away from the viewport. “They’re all dead, aren’t they?”
 

“I suspect so, yes,” Pelonius told her.
 

Looking up, her eyes tracing the outline of the canvas enclosure around them, Valeria’s gaze finally came to rest on the little bird that continued to enthrall Hercules. It was grooming itself, oblivious to the plight of the men on the other ships, oblivious to the doom that hovered over this one, and over itself.

“As long as the bird remains healthy,” Pelonius said, “I believe so shall we. The best thing we can do now is to rest, remain as quiet as we can, and pray that the winds take us where we must go.”

“And just where is that?” Septimus asked.

“To the Dark Lands,” Valeria whispered.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

“I hope hexatigers don’t get seasick,” Septimus observed as Valeria gave Hercules another dried fish. Thus far, all of them had managed to avoid that unfortunate maritime malady, as the seas had remained calm.

“The last thing we need on a little ship like this is a hungry hexatiger, although I can think of someone I’d feed to Hercules first.” Valeria reached into the bag beside her for another fish, which quickly disappeared into the huge cat’s maw.

Septimus, maintaining a straight face, persisted. “Well, even if he doesn’t get seasick, I hope we make landfall before it all comes out his far end.”

“That’s enough, Septimus,” Marcus sighed. Then, after a moment, he added, “Although you’re right.” He looked around the enclosed cabin. Aside from Hercules’s overwhelming bulk, it would have been quite spacious for so few people, now that he could see it somewhat better from the small rays of sunlight shining through the view ports. Then he forced his face into a grimace. “That would be bad.”

Paulus snickered, and Valeria shot him a look. Turning to Pelonius, she saw that the old warrior scribe, who was now sitting on a makeshift seat that Haakon had built with carpentry skills that had shocked everyone, was staring straight ahead. The muscles of his cheek twitched, then he sucked his lips between his teeth. Haakon snorted, then put his hands over his mouth and nose. And Karan…Karan’s eyes had grown comically wide as he looked first at Hercules’s face as the cat consumed the latest fish, then slowly traced the length of the animal until his gaze lingered on Hercules’s rear end.

That finally did it. Unable to help herself, Valeria burst out laughing, which triggered a much needed bout of laughter from the others. The exhaustion and unspeakable horror of the previous night had become more than Valeria could bear, and she shook her head at Septimus, who, smiling, merely twitched his left shoulder up in a half shrug. It was a gesture she had associated with him for as long as she could remember.
 

Unbidden, images of her father and mother came into her mind, and her laughter unexpectedly gave way to sobs of grief.

Paulus came and wrapped his arms around her, rocking her gently in time with the motion of the waves against the hull. The others, the levity drained from the moment, fell back into their silent melancholy.

After Valeria’s tears had stopped, Karan hazarded to ask Pelonius, “When do you think we shall reach land?”

Pelonius, who was now grimacing from the pain inflicted by his broken ribs after his ill-conceived bout of laughter, shook his head. “There is no way to tell. I think the wind is driving us more to the east now than north, and has been since mid-morning.”

“We’re heading toward the bloody end of the world,” Septimus said in a dark voice. “No one has ever gone farther than those poor bastards in the triremes that were following us and lived to return, have they?”

Again, Pelonius shook his head. “No. We’re the first, or would be if we could turn back and tell our tale to someone who would not first crucify us.”

“What is at the end of the world?” Paulus whispered.

“Just that, boy,” Septimus said. “The end. We’ll simply fall from the sea and eventually land in the River Styx, if we’re lucky.”

“And how would you know?” Haakon asked, his head cocked to one side.
 

“One of my uncles served on a merchantman his entire life,” Septimus explained. “He sailed as far as any man and saw things most would never believe. He says he saw the edge one day, like a huge waterfall that went straight to the Underworld. They barely made it home from that one.”

“That is not true,” Karan said, a look of utter disbelief on his face. “This, what you call the Haunted Sea, ends far to the north in the great land of ice that covers the top of the world.”

Septimus made a noise that could, at best, be characterized as undignified. “And how would you know that if you spent your life in the arena?”

“Because one of the murals, the great paintings, inside one of the greatest of the Master’s homes showed all the world.” He frowned. “I only had a brief glimpse before I was taken to fight one of his Swords and do not remember much, but I do remember the ice. If we followed the coast of the Dark Lands to the northeast as far as you could go, eventually you would find the part of the world that lies frozen.” He gulped. “But I should not like to go there. I do not like the cold.”

“But you’ve never seen it with your own eyes?” Septimus demanded.

“Of course not,” Karan said.
 

“Well, then…”

“Stop it, both of you.” They both swallowed their arguments at Valeria’s husky voice.
 

The cabin fell silent for a long while. After a time, the motion of the waves became more noticeable, and the light coming through the small viewports began to turn dark and gray.