Excerpt from “Savage seas, Fauna or Fear.”

By Vadchek spirious

According to Cthonic law, the study of sea creatures without an official licence is tantamount to heresy. Despite efforts far beyond any logical reason, I have, unfortunately, been denied such licence at every opportunity and am forced to embark on my heretical journey into the depths to study the beings that surround us.

The validity of my writings is often questioned and this, in part, I feel is a matter of fear of the unknown and the mystique garnered by the Cthonic Council. This taboo subject is one of the many reasons that I have craved this knowledge, this forbidden and oh so delicious knowledge.

The second motivation for my critics is the credibility of my research. How, they ask, am I able to study these creatures beyond the occasional washed-up corpse or glimpse from afar?

As I have made my decision to remain in the shadows and hidden from the many eyes of the council, I feel it my duty to explain my methods and whence they came from. My former duties as a Magnite, and my talents in scientific application have gifted me knowledge of certain aspects of how the council succeed in crossing the sea aboard the Aileron Dwarf.

It is with these principles in mind that I can delve into the sea. With meticulous safety checks and rigorous testing, I am able to not only discourage the creatures from coming near me in my submersible but also potentially scare them away should they venture too close.

Crow Hoby

A high speed gun fight

Approaching a cliff edge without control

“Crow!” a cold, fleshy smack accompanied his shout, “Crow!” another smack and a white flash forced my eyes open. My body came to life in a slow flare of pain, an involuntary groan escaping my burning lips.

“You hurt?” Cal’s question seemed sarcastic as I focused on his vacant face; it took a moment to blink away the blur. He slapped my shoulder and thrust his familiar flask into my hand before he stood and fled from my sight. Even my hands hurt as I unscrewed the top and threw back a mouthful; instant relief coursed through me as I took in the scene.

The wagon was on its side. Great chunks of wood had torn through the canvas like broken ribs, exposing the bright orange flames as they clawed their way from the interior. Cal cautiously approached, silhouetted as the flames took hold of the wagon’s frame and spewed thick smoke into the night air.

Suddenly my memory kicked in and my head snapped around to see where we were; the vast expanse of cliff drop was still to our left, we’d avoided plummeting over! I was sprawled amongst the shattered seating from the wagon, entangled in the remaining tack as Cal had ridden in close and hacked the fleeing horses free. Detangling as I stood, my mind filled the blanks in my memory caused by the trauma of the high-speed disaster. I’d seen Cal come riding into view, swinging his hatchet and leaping from horse to horse like a deranged and sinister rodeo performer. Pure panic had caused me to tear through the wagon’s canvas to get to the empty driver’s seat as the steaming contraption behind me boomed and echoed through the night. Finally emerging, I froze as the vista opened up before me; the horses sped blindly towards the edge, and the massive weapon hissed into silence as if it sensed our approaching doom. I yanked on the reins with all my weight as I leaned out over the edge, dangerously close to the speeding ground beneath me as the wagon tilted. The bolting horses finally got the picture and switched direction in a heartbeat; the entire wagon lurched towards the cliff’s edge and toppled. The beams beneath my seat splintered and cracked as the weight in the back rocked the bulk of the wagon over onto its side. That was when Cal had arrived. As always, at the moment of pure despair, he hacked through the tack in one furious swing and the inertia was too much to take.

My sense of smell was the last thing to right itself. The stench of burning, acrid dung assaulted me and was all-encompassing. The billowing smoke was thick with it. I retched, but nothing came. I spat and took in the scene before me again, my vision sharpening, my night sight compensating for the glaring inferno. That’s when I saw the body. He’d crawled in desperation away from the fire, smoke rose from his seared skin; he’d made it some ten yards and given up. I ran over, shouting to alert Cal, who stood transfixed as the flames demolished the wagon.

I knelt by the prisoner. His burned skin smeared in black filth; his entire body shook as he mumbled incoherently. I touched a clot of the black stuff and it seemed to sizzle beneath my finger.

“Shit!” his shout startled me.

“I’m sorry! What shall I do?” I realised how pathetic I sounded straight away; he laughed, a demented and maniacal sound. I looked to Cal for inspiration, but he still gazed into the fire. Frustrated, I turned my attention back to the poor wretch before me.

“I’m gonna clean you up, OK?” His laughter dried up, and he looked at me, his eyes twitching.

“Sh… shit.” He whispered, as if pleading.

“I know. It’s bad now, but I’ll take care of you.” I began wiping away the filthy smears, and he hissed in pain.

“It’s shit!” he sounded angry now. No surprise. He’d had a rough night! “We c… call it a shit cannon!” He raised a shuddering hand to point at the bonfire behind me. His eyes bulged as the pieces clicked into place in my shaken head. The smell, the fire. The weapon burned shit for fuel! I reflexively drew back my hand. Shit completely covered his burns!

“This is not good.”

As if he’d waited for me to figure it out, his head flopped as I spoke the words and he lost consciousness. His night had just got rougher.

Callus

Could’ve been worse.

I hate fire.

Them flames took me back soon as I rode up. I climbed off that horse and saw to Crow, but my mind never left that fire. When you’ve lived as long as me, memories get blurred, but not that one. It was me they’d come for; I knew it as soon as I saw that smoking treeline. I’d ran as fast as I could, till my legs burned fierce, but the fire’d smashed them stained windows before I got there. That house of god burned by one of god’s own.

Might be that moment was the first on my new path. I could hear the whoops and cheers of Osset’s do-gooder posse as they rode away, but I knew Wilf was still in that church. I pounded on them thick burning doors, ignoring my scorched fists. There was a time when vengeance would have been my first and only thought, but Osset’s posse floated off into the night; I knew Wilf was still in there.

It was too late, I already knew. I knelt there that entire night as them flames purged me. Too late I realised Wilf would have gone down to my cellar to escape the fire, but a blaze that big took everything. All I could do was wait out the night on my knees, every second stretched out, every memory burned into my soul. Wilf would have said it was a cleansing, but there weren’t nothin’ clean ‘bout that night. In my mind I could hear His voice preachin’ as he did, ‘bout the ghosts of my victims, ‘bout reversing the curse and the long hard road to redemption. If there was a hell, that night was my homecoming.

There weren’t much sun in the morning, I didn’t care anyhow. The fire’d gone, left a few bricks that smoked like stoves. I jumped down where the stairs used to be, into the cellar. Wilf had given me this sanctuary, a kindness I didn’t deserve for a price. Until that night, I couldn’t pay.

I found his bones and his hip flask. I buried him with my old life in that churchyard and kept his flask, case I ever forgot Reverend Wilfred J Berkeley and the burning need inside me to murder his killer.

Crow Hoby

Entangled in the wreckage of a Shit Cannon.

Middle of nowhere.

Cal eventually shook himself from his fiery reverie but remained withdrawn and quiet; I suppose there wasn’t much to say until he swung the prisoner over his shoulder and looked at me.

“Run!” Then he was off, not at a sprinting pace, but I still had to push to catch up to him; my legs were still a little befuddled, but at least I wasn’t carrying a fully grown naked man!

I’d wiped most of the excess dung from him, but it still ingrained many of his burns; I knew that meant trouble. I’d seen what infected wounds could do to cattle without clean water and extra care, but Cal did not seem interested in having that conversation. It was the fire that had spooked him, not the threat of pursuit.

We jogged in silence for a long time, longer than I thought I was capable of. I reached for my pocket as I ran and felt the bump of Cal’s hip flask; for a terrible moment, I thought I’d left it in my jacket pocket, way back, crumpled and covered in excrement of an unknown origin. I think I always knew what the flask contained, but whenever my mind skirted over the subject, I shut it down and locked it away along with the image of my Pa that I’d created as my farewell lament.

We’d run through the night; a grey streak was bleeding over the horizon, highlighting details of terrain on the higher ground. Cal stopped; he was tiring but as he looked at me he appeared focused again. The run had shaken off whatever had passed over from the fire.

“He needs a bed.” He said as he twitched his head to one side; the prisoner had not so much as stirred, even when Cal had stopped to switch shoulders.

“What about you?” I looked out at that ominous grey as it brightened before our eyes. The loss of Cal’s box went unspoken, but a fear was creeping up on me never the less.

“Think there’s a cattle town out here somewhere; we got another hour or so.” He hefted the prisoner and turned.

“What then?” I asked, obvious worry squeezing my voice. He turned back and grinned at me before he set off.

“You’ll have to bury me.”

Somehow, the pace increased. My legs burned and my lungs felt like they were getting smaller with every stride. I couldn’t tell if Cal had been joking, but his grin was not one of a worried man. Such was the exhaustion that was ravaging my body. I could not bring the assessment of it properly to mind, and so I just kept running.

Each small rise offered a view of the landscape ahead, a barren place scattered only with malnourished trees and randomly scattered rocks. Despair whispered over my shoulder.

We relayed between strange metal occurrences, like twisted stumps that rose from the ground, usually in groups of four. Cal seemed to use them as landmarks. I was too tired to care; the idea of finding this town he’d spoken of was getting more and more futile as the sepia sky prepared for the sun’s imminent arrival.

I set my eyes on a ruined structure that maybe once housed one of the obsolete structures, clearly our current destination, and this was surely our last. My dry lips hung open as I staggered towards it. Even Cal had slowed by then. The sun would have been upon us if not for a tall, weathered wall just ahead, our final shadowy shield in Cal’s hour of need.

Cal unceremoniously dumped his human burden as he reached the shaded corner. He stretched his back, and we both dropped to the ground, entirely exhausted.

“Flask.” He gestured at me with his fingers; It amazed me he could still speak. I tossed it to him, but he dropped it. Then, kneeling with his back to me, he seemed to make a fuss of picking it up; his arms moved as though he were tying a knot. Then the flask landed in my lap.

“Fraid the work’s not done yet, friend.” He nodded at the flask, then dug into the earth with both hands. Once again, I pushed all thoughts of the thick red liquid’s origins away and swigged it down without mercy. The clarity it proffered made me suddenly more aware of my surroundings; the air was cool with a welcome breeze and on it rode a sound I had not noticed before. I sat up and strained to hear as vigour writhed through my spent muscles.

Music.

Music and voices carried on the wind. I looked at Cal hopefully; he had scooped a sizable hole from the earth. He looked up and rolled his eyes.

“Just beyond the ridge.” He said whilst grinning at my wonder, “I told you!”

I returned the smile, my despair carried away towards the distant voices.

“Now get digging!”

It’s no surprise that there’s something very unsettling about burying your only friend in the ground while he continues to talk to you nonchalantly. He assured me it had been a standard routine before he’d acquired my Pa’s wardrobe, but the force of will it took to scoop earth around his upper body was phenomenal.

“Just keep going,” he said when only his head poked out of the ground. “I’ll come find you tonight when you got somewhere to stay.”

“I don’t understand.” I was really struggling with this idea. “How will you breathe?”

“I won’t.” He answered as a curtain of golden light broke from our sanctuary and edged across the ground towards his face. The sun had breached, and it was probably the only thing that could have actually forced me to do it. He spoke again, a little faster, a little more anxiously.

“I don’t sleep like you do…” He frowned and spat out a lump of loose earth. Unable to shrug his buried shoulders, he raised his eyebrows and spoke.

“I die.”