The Great Darkening (Epic of Haven Trilogy) (41 page)

Chapter Forty-Four

Y
asen
had managed to rescue the last of the living crewmen from the sinking ship and get them to safety aboard the cockboats of the
Determination.
Though many a life had been spared and many supplies had been salvaged, Yasen would not feel peace until his friend surfaced from the now mostly-submerged wreckage. He knew that Cal’s efforts were not in vain, for nearly a dozen crazed horses had managed to swim out from the sinking
Resolve
and were even now being hoisted aboard the already crammed decks of the
Determination.

“Cal!” Yasen shouted towards the hatch of the nearly sea-swallowed vessel. “Cal! Hurry up, brother!”

Tahd called out from the other rescue boat. “We have to row away now! I don’t know how much longer we can wait here before the storm moves this way and swallows up our last remaining ship!”

“Cal! Cal, where are you, brother?” Yasen shouted in the direction of the sinking ship, ignoring the calloused albeit prudent words of the captain.

Thunder rumbled ominously from out of the black clouds of this ill-fated storm, and lightning clawed at the sky in greedy fingers of brilliant light. The two rescue vessels rocked and bobbed atop the agitated sea, waiting and hoping against all odds that Cal was not lost.

“Go ahead, Captain!” Yasen shouted above the noise of the approaching storm. “Get those men to safety, I will wait—” Yasen’s words were interrupted by the sounds of splashing and snorting breaking the surface of the water.

There, out of the mouth of the nearly immersed hatchway, the head of a large grey courser breathed desperately of the life-giving air that waited for him above the surface of the water. Yasen watched the scene unfold before him, and his heart sank as he waited too long for his friend to emerge. After what seemed like an eternity, the surface of the water broke again and the yellowed hair of his brave friend announced to all who could see it that not all had been lost here in this tragedy of sunken
Resolve
.

“Cal! Cal, are you alright?” Yasen shouted to him.

Cal made his way over to the grey courser, and held on to his large neck as the horse swam nervously through the cold sea. “Yes!” he coughed against the splashing water, his teeth chattering as he spoke. “I am alright, but we will both be better once we are out of this damnable dark water!”

“Agreed, brother! Agreed!” Yasen said with a relieved smile on his face. “Can you manage your way to the ship?”

Cal looked at the magnificent horse that his arms were wrapped around. He felt the beating of his heart once again, and knew that twice now their paths had intersected deliberately. A peace that was nearly indescribable came over the groomsman in that moment, and the wild eyes and hurried breath of the anxious courser went calm, even in the midst of the wide unknown of rolling waves.

“Yes … yes, we can make it,” Cal told his friend.

“Alright, I’ll see you on the dry deck, brother,” Yasen told him as the men of the cockboat put oar to sea and rowed their way back to the anchored
Determination.

A great loss had been had in the sinking of the
Resolve
; many supplies were beyond salvaging and too many men had bled out and sank into the watery bowels of the Dark Sea. There was no room within the already crammed holds of the
Determination
, so the wounded, the weary, and the horses alike all made their beds upon the open-aired decks of the lone grey ship.

When the last of the men and the last of the beasts had been hoisted up and over the branchlike railing of the ship, Seig gave the order to weigh anchor and set the sails. The winds of the dark storm behind them gave them the push of speed they needed to put ample distance between their last remaining vessel and the ravenous squall. The men were glad to be moving again, especially if it meant getting far away from the dark clouds and the sinking reminder of all that they had just lost. Despite their relief, however, the scene aboard the
Determination
was hardly cheerful. Men wailed and screamed as officers did their best to perform crude surgeries and mend the severe wounds from the day’s carnage.

While the governor kept himself away from most of the blood and death, taking solace at the helm-wheel of their last hope, Yasen walked among the weary and the wounded men. He breathed a prayer of thanks for the injured who would indeed recover from their wounds, and told them how they would be decorated with the scars and splints of a hard-fought surrender. It wasn’t until he came across the bloodied figure of a large, barrel-chested northman that he felt the sting of pain like the others who wailed upon the deck of the great ship.

“Well, Chief … it looks as if you will have to tell my comrades … that I won’t be able to do their work for them any longer,” Oskar coughed and sputtered bits of blood and tooth as he did his best to laugh away the gravity of this cold moment.

Yasen knelt in the wet and the blood of his brother woodcutter and held Oskar’s gashed face in his own two hands before he spoke. “Oh Oskar, what happened?”

“It was that … damned lightning,” Oskar tried to say as he wheezed and labored over each word. A gurgling whistle accompanied each one of his breaths, so Yasen examined his chest, looking for the cause of the fatal sound. “It’s my back,” he coughed. “The fiery ship stabbed me in my damned back.”

Yasen reached gently behind the large man who had been propped up against the grey railing, and what he felt made his heart sink. Just below Oskar’s shoulder was a large jagged piece of what must have been the splintered mast. With each labored breath the blood spilled out around the impaling wood, its gurgling flow making it plain that this kind of wound would certainly claim the life of the brave woodcutter.

In the midst of all the commotion, Goran spied his large friend collapsed on the main deck. He hurried over to see how he might help him, but when he saw the trails of blood dripping from Oskar’s nose and out of the corners of his bearded mouth, he knew at once that the injuries would be fatal.

“Oh brother, I am so sorry … so sorry,” Goran said as the tears pooled in his eyes and rolled down his face.

“Will you say the words for me?” Oskar wheezed, the pain of every syllable lined upon his ashen face.

Goran looked to Yasen for guidance, and the Chief nodded in agreement, giving the honor of reciting the rites of passing to the grieving man. “Go ahead, brother,” Yasen told him. “He is not long left here in the world of the living.”

Oskar coughed violently and grimaced in excruciated pain as he asked his friend again. “Please.”

Goran took Oskar’s arm and held it with his right hand; he placed his left over the leaf-shaped flint that hung around Oskar’s thick neck. With tears welling in his eyes, Goran spoke the words of the Priests, with but one minor variation.

“May bones and breath be born again,

In limb and tree and light.

May flint and flame your soul reclaim,

So that our axes, once again, together may bite.”

As if he had held on just long enough for his comrades to come to his side and say the rites, Oskar’s eyes glazed over and went dark in the faint light of the morning’s first amber. Goran and Yasen sat silent for a moment longer, shut off to the commotion still clanging on all around them. When they had both finally accepted the passing of their fallen brother, they looked up and their eyes met.

“Let us return him back to this dark and cruel black that took him, huh?” Goran said with a forced smile and watery eyes to his chief and friend.

“Aye,” Yasen agreed. The two woodcutters raised their fallen friend up, and with a kiss upon his forehead they set out to release him to the watery grave of the Dark Sea.

“Wait a moment!” an angered voice protested. “Do not dispatch this brave ward of the Citadel to the cruel, pagan waters of this unholy sea!” A blood-spattered and salt-sodden middle-aged Priest swiftly approached them. “You would risk the anger of the THREE who is SEVEN with such sacrilege?”

The Priest railed on, indignant and yet half afraid of the complete disregard these woodcutters had for the way of the flint. The two friends halted for a mere instant, contempt clouding over the pain that lined their faces. “You would risk the lives of the rest of the living for the rigid adherence to your flintish ways?” Yasen protested.

“Risk the lives of the living?” the Priest questioned.

“Priest,” Goran reasoned, “there will not be soil for who knows how many days, and I, of all people, grieve deeply the death of my friend. But ritual be damned if the dead start rotting and disease comes from their decay.”

The Priest surveyed the bloody carnage on deck of the grey ship, and he knew in his heart that the woodcutters were indeed right in their thinking, though this departure from the holy ways troubled him gravely. “But what about the words?” the Priest asked the woodcutters. “What about the words and the planting of seeds? Soil or not, we must not so blatantly evoke a curse upon our voyage.”

“See to the dead and dying men of the Citadel, Priest,” Yasen said with little love in his voice. “Let us worry about what words are spoken over our brothers.”

The Priest looked down at the soiled and crowded deck of the grey ship in a subtle display of his submission before again meeting the eyes of the two men. “Very well, woodcutters. Though in my thoughts I deem this folly, my heart knows that grief and survival do not live well in the land of decorum. See to your comrades, and speak the words in your own way, for the deck is lined with many a man who still seeks the blessed passage to the next world.” With that the Priest turned and took his leave, going to whisper his holy words to the dying men before anyone else condemned the living with unsanctioned blasphemies.

The two men released their fallen brother into the cold, black waters of the Dark Sea, whispering their own farewells as he sank beneath its surface.

“I am afraid no seed or acorn would have the hope to sprout roots here in the middle of the sea, huh?” Goran asked Yasen.

“No, I suppose not, Goran,” Yasen answered him tenderly. “Perhaps we shall plant one in his honor when we reach the shores of the Western Wreath. Come, let’s go see to the rest of our brothers.”

Much of the rest of the day went on in the same manner. For some, wounds were mended and breath revived. For others, the words of the Priests were spoken over their dead and now lifeless bodies before they made the plunge to their rest in the deep water. Cal busied himself seeing to the rescued horses, making sure that they were securely hitched and that their wounds were tended to. As order began to return to the men of the
Determination,
Seig came to the front of the bridge deck and addressed his crew.

“Men of the first colony! We have suffered a grievous and tragic loss here at the hands of the wild tempest, but do not let your hearts be troubled. For all great victories must first taste the bitterness of defeat before the sweetness of triumph can truly be savored.” Seig spoke with a strange mixture of genuine sadness and pious detachment.

There was a bit of commotion at the bow of the ship on the foc’sle deck as Seig continued with his speech. “Soon we will reach the shores of the Western Wreath, soon we will plant our axes in the bark of a new light, and soon we will avenge the deaths of the brothers of our company with a great haul of—”

Just then the iron bell of the ship’s lookout rang loud and hurried, interrupting the governor’s speech with a frenzy of excitement. “Land ahead!” the lookout shouted. “Land straight ahead!”

Yasen shot a quizzical look to Seig, who, in like fashion, returned the questioning expression. “Governor, we are still two days’ journey, by all our accounts, from the shores of our destination,” Yasen said. “What kind of land could this be? Surely the storm has not thrown our course off this far?”

A smile spread across Seig’s features. “What kind of land, you say? What could it be, woodcutter, other than a good omen and good favor from the THREE who is SEVEN that we indeed shall not fail in our assignment?”

“My gut tells me that an uncharted island may not be as promising an omen as you might hope for,” Means said as he tugged thoughtfully on his white beard. “But my mind wouldn’t let me rest, not even another wink, if I sailed by without first exploring her shadowy shores.”

“Perhaps this is but a gift to our tired and weary crew,” Captain Tahd reasoned. “Perhaps the THREE who is SEVEN has seen fit to make amends for the drama of yesterday?”

“Drama?” Yasen argued, clearly flabbergasted by such a choice of words. “Drama you say? That was prideful folly and nothing else, and I have never heard of the THREE who is SEVEN rewarding either pride or folly!”

“Reward or not, folly or omen or drama … it makes no matter, woodcutter. For our ship is in need of repairs and our men in need of warm fires. Perhaps one, or maybe even both, await us on the shores of this mysterious isle?” Seig answered back.

Chapter Forty-Five

A
top
the bridge deck of the lone grey ship, Seig raised his spyglass to his eye and took in the promising landscape of the small island that lay just two leagues in front of their position.

“I have never heard tale of such an isle in all my days upon these waters, Governor,” Means said.

Seig could make out a large, columned manse on the sandy shores of the small relief of land here in the middle of the Dark Sea. On what must have been its eastern shore, a large wooden dock jutted out from behind a small wall of boulders and barnacles.

“There!” he told his helmsman. “Make for the eastern coast, I see a small port just off the rocky jetty that we can put in.”

The helmsman steered the ship portside, setting a course for the unknown isle.

“Perhaps this is turning out to be the gift that we had hoped for, eh woodcutter?” Seig chided Yasen.

“Easy access does not necessarily indicate a hospitable environment, Governor. Something you would know if you had spent any time in the wild, as I have. Nevertheless, I will follow your commands, however …
ill-advised
they might be,” Yasen replied.

The amber light of the great tree was at the weakest strength that any of the crewmen had ever encountered. Not even the mighty woodcutters of the northern territories had abided in such a faint twilight as this. Though it was midday, the men of the first colony had already begun to light torches to see by.

The seven silver sails of the
Determination
caught the wind and propelled the ship through the wilderness of water with deliberate haste, like a thirsty man who has spent many a day in the desert wastelands only to come upon a gurgling spring of fresh water. The hearts of the crew were drawn to this mysterious isle with an insatiable thirst to feel its sand beneath their feet and to discover what other gifts it may have waiting for them on its unlooked for shores. With the strong wind in their favor, it did not take the great ship long to come upon the small, hidden dock. The eager men secured the seven sails with astonishing speed in preparation to disembark their vessel.

“Governor,” Yasen called to Seig, looking for a brief conference before their company of men set foot on this unknown land. “Governor, have you given any thought about the friendliness, or lack thereof, that the inhabitants of this place might show to our men?”

Seig stared at the brave chief for a moment, making it painfully obvious that he had not given much thought to it at all. “Inhabitants …” Seig trailed off as he let the notion occur to him. “Think with me now, woodcutter,” Seig said slowly as he pulled his spyglass out from his cloak. He put it to his eye and surveyed the shoreline, and as he did his face brightened with a wide and greedy smile. “If the master of this manse was of the unsociable sort, it would stand to reason that he would have greeted us with swords or spears or the deliberate volleys of discouraging arrows, correct?”

“Perhaps,” Yasen agreed.

“But look here for just a moment,” Seig said, passing the spyglass to him. “There is not a single blade or bow … and not one spear to be seen. However, what I do see is a great and fitting welcome for the governor of Haven’s first colony! This must be a most hopeful and hospitable place after all, wouldn’t you agree?” Seig’s eyes searched Yasen’s, eager to confirm that his dignity and authority were still fully intact.

Yasen gave Seig a confused glance as he took the wand of brass and leather and looked through the single lens of glass, but what he saw gave him a great sense of unease. It was hard to make out, but he could see that there, littering the shores of this small isle, were
men
; it did appear as though a whole contingent had been sent to greet them. Although Seig was indeed correct that not a one of them held blade or bow, what they did appear to be holding sent a frightful chill down Yasen’s spine.

“Sir, are those—” Yasen began.

“Enough!” barked Seig in annoyance. “They may be strange, but they certainly pose no danger to us.” He gave Yasen a meaningful glare, communicating without words that his decision was final. “Ring the bell!” Seig commanded the lookout at the bow of the great ship. “Make it known that we are here in peace and that we are about to come ashore.”

The iron bell rang its hard, low-pitched notes as a small gangway was lowered onto the docks of the hidden port. All the while, Yasen continued to survey the isle with nervous suspicion.

“What is it, Yasen? What do you see?” Cal asked from atop the bridge.

Yasen scanned once more before he answered his groomsman friend. “There are men. By my best count, a few hundred or so.”

“Are they armed?” Cal asked him.

“That is what bothers me,” Yasen said, focused on a deep and hidden thought somewhere in the back of his mind. “No, they do not appear to be armed.”

“Well then … why such dread?” Cal wondered aloud. “This might mean they wish to extend a hearty welcome to us, perhaps with some warm fires and red meat!”

“There is something amiss here, brother.” The foreboding sense to Yasen’s tone alerted Cal to his trepidation. The North Wolf was usually fearless, and Cal realized that perhaps he should take care to listen to his friend’s warning.

“If this were your isle, and a strange and uninvited vessel docked at your shores with three score of armed men, wouldn’t you make a show of strength, so as to show your authority here?” Yasen asked him.

“Yes, I suppose I would,” Cal agreed.

“But these men are not armed. In fact,” Yasen paused, peering at the host of men in the darkening distance, “not one of them is even wearing a shirt, let alone cloak or mail or helm. And they seem to be holding some kind of large, mirrored
looking glasses
.” Yasen’s expression was riddled with perplexed curiosity.

“Looking glasses?” Cal said in an unsettled confusion, disturbed by just how out-of-place that sounded. “Whatever for?”

“That is what haunts my thoughts, groomsman. That is indeed what haunts my thoughts,” Yasen told him.

“Alright men!” Seig addressed the curious crowd of crewmen. “The wounded and weary will stay and recover what strength they can here aboard the
Determination
. Captain Means will see to the order upon the ship. The rest of us will make our way inland and see just what kind of hospitality awaits us upon these beautiful shores and in that manse atop the hill.”

“What about arms, Governor?” Tahd asked.

“Yes of course, Captain,” answered Seig. “Bring your blades and unfurl our banners, but see to it that you keep the sharpened steel in your sheaths. We are not looking for trouble; the THREE who is SEVEN knows that we have had trouble enough to last our whole journey long. We seek only rest and a bit of mending. Pyrrhus, you and what’s left of your knights will be at the vanguard. Yasen, you and your woodcutters will take the center, and Tahd and I will follow closely behind,” ordered Seig.

Yasen made a face at Seig while his back was turned, a clear display of his disproval of this entire course of action. Cal noticed, and would have laughed out loud if the situation were not so potentially dangerous. As it was, he simply met Yasen’s eyes and nodded at him, a silent understanding passing between them that if things went ill, as they suspected, they would rally to aid each other first.

The men of the first colony formed their columns; their javelins were decorated with the green banners of Haven, whose silver sigil of the tree and the flint glinted in the faint amber of the fading day. They had marched almost the whole length of the hidden dock, but before Pyrrhus and his men could set foot on the sandy shores of this mysterious isle, a shirtless man approached them. Pyrrhus slowed, surveying the hundreds of men that seemed to spread behind the emissary as far as the eye could see. The men of the colony felt an uneasy tension as they looked at the host that lined the shores of the isle, all standing statuesque with barely a hair blowing in the sea winds.

The first man looked to be nearly four decades old; his hair was long and his beard was shaven. Then he spoke, and his eyes went from a dark, lifeless black to the wild yellow of a rotting lemon. “Welcome, men of Haven, welcome to Isle
Dušana
. The Lady Morana has been
eagerly
awaiting your arrival.”

Without pardon and without pause, another of the shirtless men spoke. He must have been no older than twelve or thirteen, still a young boy. “Come, please,” he said, bowing his yellow-eyed head in humble courtesy. “For the Lady Morana has prepared a feast in your honor.”

At the mention of the word feast, the men of the
Determination
were instantaneously intrigued, and Pyrrhus couldn’t help but salivate at the thought of what mysterious delectables lie deliciously piled high and steaming atop this Lady Morana’s table. The shirtless, motionless men with their black and yellow eyes seemed far less disturbing and out of place when they were graciously offering food and hospitality.

“Thank you for your generosity, sirs,” Pyrrhus spoke, eager to get to whatever table waited for him and his men in the manse upon the hill. “May I present to you Governor—”

“Seig,” the first yellow-eyed man said as he interrupted the now-befuddled knight.

The columns of men parted as Seig made his way forward to be received by this mysterious man who seemed to have not only been expecting him, but also knew his very name. One at a time, and yet with great speed and impressive precision, each of the shirtless men began to form a line on either side of the shell pathway. When the formation had been completed, the young boy’s eyes lit yellow once again and he addressed the tall, cloaked governor.

“Welcome, Governor Seig, Lord of the first colony and bravest among officers. Come, please, you and all of your men … for the Lady Morana awaits you at her table.”

Seig saluted the herald boy, and, flanked by Pyrrhus and Tahd, he led the company up the path towards the manse. As if on cue, the shirtless men, who were now standing in parallel lines, positioned their looking glasses in such a way as to both catch the fading amber light in their large mirrors and then reflect it again to the mirror of the next man. The light shot back and forth across the pathway from one looking glass to the next as each man held his mirror high above his head, creating a canopy of zigzagged light for the men of the first colony to walk beneath. The beam of amber traveled all the way up the winding path of shells and into the masterfully columned mansion.

“There is something about this that does not sit well with me, Deryn,” Cal whispered into his cloak. “Something dark lives here, I can feel it as sure as any other sense I have.” A bit of blue light peaked out from the lapels of Cal’s cloak as Deryn, the sentinel of the house of Iolanthe, observed the eerie scene that unfolded before them.

The men of Haven walked up the winding path, flanked on either side by an army of seemingly lifeless men. Since positioning their mirrored looking glasses, not a single one of them had moved a muscle, nor had they spoken any other words; it was as if they had become stone statues here along the shores.

Cal slowed his steps, and as he was at the rear of the line, no one seemed to notice his pausing to investigate. “Cal, do you see what I am seeing?” Deryn asked him in a hushed tone as he looked carefully out of Cal’s cloak at the unmoved men, trying to stay hidden from the view of the ship’s crew. “Their eyes … they are all black!” Deryn whispered in stunned anxiety. “Not a white or a color to them, just … empty darkness.”

Cal began walking again, slowly and carefully, not wanting to alert the strange host of his suspicions. “You’re right, my friend,” Cal tried to speak without moving his lips as he attempted to nonchalantly catch up with the rest of the men from the colony. “It’s all of them,” he said as they continued down the path, still a good distance behind the main party. “They all have the same eyes of dead darkness.” Cal risked a stop again to stare at one of the men.

Without warning, the statue of a man turned his head as his eyes lit up in that sickened, yellow color. “You must not keep the Lady Morana waiting, Calarmindon, for we have much to feast upon.” Cal jumped at the unlooked for sound of this man’s voice.

“And as for the Spriteling you are trying to conceal,” the yellow-eyed man said, “long has this world sat bereft of his kind. What delight the Lady of
Dušana
will take in beholding such an ancient one.”

The head of the man turned back, slow and deliberate, facing the same direction as the rest of his shirtless company, and without so much as a whisper of breath or sign of slumber, the eyes of the man returned back to the dead, dark color just as quickly as they had come to life. Cal stood there, motionless, for fear was beginning to strangle the sense of curiosity that this mysterious isle had but briefly held over him.

“This is a place of dark magic,” Deryn warned with quiet alarm. “You must stay on your guard.”

“How did he know our names?” Cal asked, his face stricken with the dread of the unknown forces at work. “I do not believe this place will be the respite that the governor hopes it will be, not at all. There is an evil just below the manicured surface here that I do not think I wish to encounter.” Cal reached for his blade, testing to make sure it was indeed still where he had last strapped it.