Vulcan's Fury: The Dark Lands (38 page)

Lashing the tiller to hold it steady, Pelonius looked out the rear viewport, then staggered toward the bow to look out the forward one.
 

“What is it?” Valeria asked.
 

“Nothing…”

“Don’t do that!” she scolded. “Don’t try and protect me by smothering me with ignorance. Tell me what you see.”

“I am sorry, princess,” Pelonius said, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “I did not mean to patronize you. I…I am just not feeling so well.” With a sigh, he turned to face her, and fell to the deck as the boat was hit by an unexpectedly tall wave. Pelonius groaned with pain as he clutched his side. “We’re approaching the edge of a storm, it seems.”

With his words, a light patter of rain began to fall. In but moments, the sprinkle became a deluge that filled the cabin with an incessant roar as the raindrops struck the canvas. Much to Pelonius’s relief, the cabin remained water tight, which meant whatever evil in the air outside would hopefully remain there.

But what was outside was not their only problem. “Oh, no,” he whispered before he could help himself.

The little bird was acting strangely, as if someone had slipped it some wine. It hopped about, nearly fell over, righted itself, then fell face first into the slim bars of the cage before rolling to the floor. It chirped a few times as it tried to right itself. It almost made it back upon its feet, but then the next wave unbalanced it and knocked it back to the floor of the cage. Struggling upright, its legs curled underneath, the bird chirped a few more times before its beak slowly settled to the cage floor. Its tiny chest heaved rapidly as its eyes closed.

Valeria stared at the bird, unable to comprehend for a long moment what she was seeing. Pelonius still lay prone on the deck as the waves began to toss the boat around, and the hull heeled dangerously far to one side, then the other.
 

“The sails!” Pelonius cried. Pointing to the capstans, he added, “Let out the rope to lower the sails. Quickly!”

Haakon and Marcus, who were closest, moved to obey, but both men were humbled by both the growing storm tossing about the boat and by whatever was happening to the air. Gasping as if they had run a mile, they crawled to the capstans and, releasing the locking mechanisms, began to turn them to let down the sails.
 

“Septimus!” Marcus gasped. “Help…me…”

Septimus did as he was ordered, but slowly. Twice he fell to the deck, the second time nearly falling into the hold, before he finally reached Marcus. Together, working at odds as much as working together, they managed to lower the sail. The ship stopped pitching so badly, but still swung wildly to and fro. Some of the cargo in the tiny hold, mostly food and amphorae of water and wine, broke free and went crashing about, filling the cabin with the scent of fermented grapes, more dried fish, and stale bread.

Hercules mewled unhappily and tried to stand, but his legs were wobbly, weak, and he fell back to the deck. Valeria wrapped her arms around his neck, trying to reassure him and keep him calm. A few minutes later Hercules had fallen asleep. She thought that was terribly odd, given the circumstances, but it took her a long time to realize it as she herself fought for breath. Her mind was fuzzy, her vision dimming to a dull gray.
 

Looking around her, she found that the older men were all on the deck, unconscious.
Why would they do that, the fools?
she wondered.
Don’t they realize we’re in a storm and could sink?
The situation struck her as uproariously funny, but her laugh came out as little more than a hiccup.
 

Hearing an accompanying giggle, she turned to find Paulus still beside her, but fallen over on one side. She reached over with an unsteady hand and poked him, making him giggle again.

Something crashed to the deck in front of her. No, not something,
someone
. “Karan, you silly boy,” she chided in between gasps. “Why are you down there?”

He said nothing, but drew his short blade and began to crawl toward Paulus.

“Don’t you hurt him,” Valeria warned, “or I’ll have Hercules eat you.”

Karan didn’t answer, but kept dragging himself forward. He stopped and let his head fall to the deck. She would have thought that was funny, too, but the world was fading to a dull gray as her lungs labored and her heart pounded. Opening her mouth to say something, she passed out, collapsing against Hercules.

***

Karan had no idea what evil had invaded the cabin. All he knew was that, like a pus-filled wound, he had to lance it to let out the infection. It was an all-consuming thought that blotted out everything, even the memory that whatever lay outside would kill them, as well. But his brain had no energy to think or to remember. He had a single focus, and he held tightly to it using the iron discipline that had been the primary reason for his survival past the age of ten, when those who had been chosen as Swords reached their first winnowing. No more than half ever survived the trial of Earth, Fire, and Water that had awaited them. Those who survived bore the scars of Earth and Fire, and the terrible remembrance of Water, when the acolytes were forced to swim through a long, dark underwater tunnel. Those who had done well in the previous tests were forced to go last, to swim past the obstacles posed by their cohorts who had drowned and threatened to block the way forward. He remembered the feel of the bodies as he had brushed past them, pushing against some with his feet to help propel himself forward. They had been his cohorts, his friends, brothers and sisters, the only family he had ever known, but he spared them no pity as he struggled past, for he was consumed by the screaming, nameless agony in his lungs.
 

The memories of that trial flickered through his mind as he sucked the useless, dead air of the cabin into his lungs. Raising his head from the pitching deck, he forced himself forward. He pulled abreast of Paulus, who lay unconscious. Dimly, as if from afar, Karan heard the voice of Valeria, but did not understand the words. His entire world was the short stretch of deck between him and the canvas, which was shuddering against the howling winds outside.
 

He brought his right hand forth, grimacing as he did so. His arm was impossibly heavy, and it was all he could do to hold onto his blade. He made to push the long knife through the fabric. Instead, he only managed to slide his right hand across the wooden planks, not even bringing the tip of the knife to bear.
 

With his lungs nothing more than pits of agony in his chest and his heart thundering more rapidly than it ever had, he gave a cry as he put everything he had left into a final thrust, and was rewarded with a hiss as the razor sharp steel sliced through the fabric. Fighting to keep his grip, he jerked upward, lengthening the cut, then twisted the knife to one side and pulled, cutting a triangular opening in the fabric.

The wind and rain blasted through, hitting him square in the face. He opened his mouth and greedily sucked in the air. He dimly realized that, if the air outside was still lethal, he would die. But if he did nothing, he would die, anyway.
 

After a few breaths he was still alive. After a few more, the gray that had swept the color from his sight began to recede, and his lungs and heart began to calm.

Getting to his knees, he worked his way closer to the canvas and cut a larger hole, big enough to let plenty of air in, but not so large as to let in too much of the rain. In a drunken stagger, he made his way to the far side of the boat’s aft end and cut another hole, then two more in opposing corners of the cabin, which was quickly flooded with outside air. The air smelled fresh, with the peculiar scent of rain and the salt of the ocean.
 

Thunder exploded overhead and the world was lit by a bolt of lightning that was so close that the hair on Karan’s arms prickled.

“Pelonius!” He made his way aft toward the older man who lay groaning, but alive. He heard sounds and sensed movement from the others, which came as a great relief. Karan helped Pelonius sit up. “The air outside is safe for now, but the storm! What must we do with the boat?”

Just then a gust of wind and a wave both struck the boat full on the starboard side, nearly capsizing it. The others cried out in surprise and fear, and Hercules let out a terrified mewling sound.

“The canvas,” Pelonius said, still struggling for breath as he rose to his feet. “It’s catching the wind like a sail. Cut it away, quickly! But be careful not to cut the ropes that control the sails! Then find Haakon and send him to me. He’s the only one strong enough to hold the rudder in these seas.”

With a quick nod that was lost in the darkness, Karan scampered forward, trying to retain his balance as the boat was tossed to and fro. “Cut away the canvas!” he shouted to the others as he passed, “But mind the ropes to the sails!” When he found Haakon, he said, “Go aft and help Pelonius!”

After making sure that Haakon understood him above the growing fury of the storm, Karan took out his knife and began to slice away the canvas near where it was bound to the deck. Marcus, Septimus, and Paulus joined him, but their efforts nearly ended in tragedy. They were all cutting along the starboard side, from which the wind was blowing strongest. The wind poured in, but had nowhere to go but through the small holes Karan had cut earlier, and the cabin exploded as another strong gust swept across them. Marcus and Septimus were thrown across the deck by the canvas, slamming into the railing on the far side, while Paulus went sprawling into the hold. The canvas, whipping in the wind, hit Karan and nearly sent him sprawling overboard. He managed to save himself by slamming his knife into the mast as he went sailing by, clinging to the handle for dear life.
 

As he wrapped his arms around the mast, a booming
crack
sounded right above his head. Looking up, he saw the mast pitch over the port side, nearly crushing Septimus, who was still struggling to his feet near the railing.
 

Over the howling wind and rain, Karan heard Pelonius screaming, “Cut the ropes!
Cut the ropes!
”

The boat began to heel hard over to port, the combined drag of the mast and sail acting like an anchor in the water.

Lightning flashed again, the thunder so loud that Karan thought his eardrums might burst, and the unearthly cyan light revealed a terrifying vignette. Haakon stood at the stern, his face in a grimace of desperation as he fought with all his great strength to control the rudder. Pelonius was beside him, knotting a rope around Haakon’s chest to keep him from being carried away by the waves that were now crashing over the railing. Septimus was bringing his sword down on one of the ropes trailing over the starboard railing, which had been smashed to splinters where the mast had fallen. Marcus was enmeshed in a coil of ropes as if he were being consumed by serpents, his raised sword gleaming in the lightning with the brightness of the sun. Paulus was caught in mid-leap as he half-walked and half-jumped from the dark maw of the hold toward Valeria. The princess clung to Hercules, and in that moment Karan could see that even the greatest of gods could know the full measure of terror. The great cat had its claws driven into the deck like spikes, holding on for dear life as the boat was tossed by the wind and waves, and his howl rose above that of the wind. Valeria, her arms wrapped as far as she could reach around the hexatiger’s neck, had her eyes fixed on Karan.
 

Unsheathing his sword, he set about helping the others cut free the mast. Karan worked with Marcus and Septimus, their weapons rising and falling in a desperate frenzy as yet more waves broke over the boat as it threatened to founder. With one final slash of Karan’s sword, the last rope parted with a snap, and the three men were thrown to the deck as the boat lurched free.
 

With Pelonius shouting commands, Haakon managed to impart some small amount of control over the otherwise helpless craft. Karan looked toward the oars, thinking they might be able to row to help keep the boat pointed in the right direction, but that was a forlorn hope: all but one of the oars had either been swept away or snapped off.
 

The boat was hit by another wave, and Karan heard a scream.
 

“Septimus!” Marcus cried.

A flash of lightning showed the centurion leaning over the railing, arms outstretched, but Septimus was nowhere to be seen.

As quickly as he dared, Karan staggered and crawled to Marcus, who himself was in danger of going over the side.
 

“Help me!” Marcus shouted.

Looking over the side, Karan saw that Septimus dangled over the angry sea, Marcus clinging to him with one hand.
 

“Let me go, Marcus!” Septimus shouted.

“Shut up, damn you!” Marcus shouted in reply.
 

Karan sheathed his sword, then reached for Septimus. “Take my hand! Hurry!”

Shouting a string of oaths, Septimus swung himself forward, reaching up with his free hand as he pulled on Marcus’s hand for leverage.
 

“I’ve got you!” Karan cried as he caught Septimus with both hands. To Marcus, he shouted, “Pull!”

The two men grunted and strained, dragging Septimus over the railing.

Lightning again flashed, and in the edge of his vision Karan saw something he could not immediately credit. A wave at least as tall as the mast had originally stood was nearly on top of them.
 

He tried to shout a warning before it hit, but his voice was lost as the wall of water crashed into the boat, breaking his grip on Septimus’s hand. With a chorus of screams from the others and a squeal of fear from Hercules, the boat capsized, and Karan was swept into the dark, roiling sea.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

Valeria stared in horror as a wall of black water rushed from the darkness. As if in slow motion, it slammed into Septimus, driving him against the outer hull of the boat just below the rail before consuming him. Marcus, who had one arm hooked in a loop of rope as he struggled to help Septimus up, was flung back to the deck. That side of the ship rose up as if Neptune himself had taken the vessel in his great hand, toying with the terrified mortals aboard. The worst part of the image burned into her brain, however, was of Karan: his grip on Septimus’s hand was broken as the wave took him, and he sailed past her, caught by the wave as it curled above the deck.