Chapter Three – Into the Heart of Torment

Blade quickly lowered himself down through the opening to join Peregrine. Fishing into a small pouch at his side, he brought forth a small handful of dust from within it. Holding it on the palm of his open hand, a light and airy whistle escaped his lips, one in the form of a melodic little burst of near silent song. The dust upon his hand swirled in response, coalescing into a ball that began to glow with a faint inner bronze light, casting illumination across the chamber beneath the ground that they had entered.

More expansive than they had first suspected, it loomed off into the distance, with a ring of large stone jars spread out at various collection points around the chamber, marking where other channels from above drained away. The chamber dipped away down in the centre, where stood an empty pool, black from the dried blood that had seeped into the pores of the stone. A large statue of red stone rose from the middle of the pool, like unto the form of a man, bar for the head and feet. Where a man’s head would have been expected to be seen was instead one of a vulture’s, with a razor sharp beak, and for feet it instead had taloned claws which were in the process of disembowelling a stone victim.

More so than the statue, or anything else that could be seen, what took their interest most were the chests piled up around the statue’s feet, of solid oak and with heavy bands of iron binding the timber tight.

A heavier fall sounded behind them, of Vaspari dropping his bulk to the ground. His eye focused immediately on the chests. “Mad Dog’s treasure,” he said. “Clever idea of yours, to take a shortcut like that,” he told Peregrine.

“Not what Mad Dog would have had in mind, I should imagine,” Blade added with a short, sharp laugh.

Vaspari hurried down the shallow slope, into the empty pool, and climbed up to where the chests sat invitingly. He rattled at the heavy locks that secured them shut. “We’d best make sure that these are indeed what we came for before we remove them,” he said.

The locks, while solid, were old, and much rusted. It took but a few hammered blows to snap them off. Vaspari eagerly grabbed the lid of one of the chests and threw it back. The pale bronze light shimmered across the contents, showing a wealth immense.

There were coins of silver, and even of gold, in vast profusion, the plunder of a dozen ships and raids, from the four corners of the known lands, all taken by Mad Dog’s bloody hands. Strewn among them were gemstones, both cut and uncut, burning with an inner fire reflected from the glowing light that Blade held aloft; sapphires and rubies, emeralds and diamonds and more.

There were ropes of pearls that had been snatched from the stormy seas, and rings cunningly wrought, armbands and bracelets and necklaces of precious metals, circlets and sceptres stolen from kings and princes, and daggers, their hilts encrusted with precious gems. From Metsheput, to the cities of the plains and coast, to the far off northern lands, the treasures had been wrested.

With Vaspari’s one good eye a look of avarice flared and burned almost as bright as Blade’s conjured light. He dug his hands into the accumulated treasures of the chest and took hold of a handful of coins, letting them fall back through his fingers to ring as they landed back in the chest.

“I had no idea that the old dog had accumulated so much,” he breathed, in the tones of one awe-struck. “And to think that he never got to spend it.”

“The trick now is to get away with it so that we can spend it ourselves,” Peregrine pointed out. Amazed as she was, much as the others were, hers was not an avaricious soul benighted by greed and mendacity. She would spend it, and enjoy it, yet one could not take wealth beyond with them, and so it would be squandered on pleasure, not hoarded away, whereupon it would be of little value.

Her words seemed to shake Vaspari back into some order of normality, and he began shouting orders back up through the opening, though he remained loath to take his eye from the chest, and his hands twitched. Corsairs dropped down into the chamber, bringing ropes with them. They set about lashing up the chests, making them ready to be hauled back up through the opening. They dragged the chests through the pool back to the opening, Vaspari hovering protectively about them the entire time.

“Haul away, you mangy dogs,” he barked out, “And take a care with them!”

Ropes were tossed back up and, one by one, the chests swung their way up out of the chamber, heaved aloft by corsairs straining as they hauled, to disappear back out into the open and the sunlight. Once the last was up, Vaspari scrambled up after them, joined soon after by Peregrine, Blade and the rest of the sailors.

Preparations were made for the transport of the chests, for they were too heavy and unwieldy to simply carry, even if the terrain of the jungle had not impaired their way. They cut saplings from the nearby jungle, and these they lashed to chests so that for each a number of men could bear the weight.

Afore that could be completed though, a shadow passed above them, one that brought a chill to any its path crossed. Upon the black stone of the altar a bird came to rest in a burst of silent wings. In form it was like unto a parrot, yet no parrot was so sombre in hue, for it lacked the vibrant plumage of its fellows. Instead it was of a uniform ashen grey, and for eyes all that could be seen was a deathly white that seemed to glow in the sunlight.

No bird of natural origin could appear thus. One sailor took up a fragment of stone that had broken free when they had enlarged the hole and shied it at the bird. “Fie, accursed beast,” he snapped.

The stone flew straight and true, and yet at the last moment before the missile struck home, the bird stepped aside casually, letting it whistle on by to clatter across the courtyard behind.

“Best leave it alone,” another warned, making a warding sign against evil.

The bird peered upon them with a baleful gaze before lowering its head and starting to tap upon the altar with its beak, producing a discordant rhythmic sound.

Blade’s head snapped around at the noise, his languid features torn away as he stared at the bird, surprise written large on his face, and more so, surprise mingled with shock and of horror. “We must depart, with haste,” he announced.

Catching the tone that lay in Blade’s voice, Vaspari began to bellow orders with more vigour, for the work in preparing the chests to be hurried along. Greed wavered with fear, yet for the moment the greed remained dominant.

Upon the altar the accursed bird spread wide its wings and, before their disbelieving eyes, it began to shudder in ways not natural, to warp and twist and bend. It swelled outwards, gaining both height and bulk, yet, for all of that, the only sound that came to them from it was a faint popping. Feathers shrunk and melted away, the beak shrivelled and talons gave way to feet. The display caused eye watering dread, one that twisted the fabric of reality as much as the columns that ringed the courtyard.

At last it came to an end and where once stood a bird now stood a man; of a kind. Like the bird, its skin had the hue of ashen grey and the eyes stood out white, similar to those of a blind man. Akin to the skeletons upon the columns it bore a resemblance, being both too long and thin for a human. Smooth and hairless all over, all that it wore was a long grey feathered cloak.

“Zoacanan!” Blade yelled in warning.

The Zoacana were no more. All knew that, except now one appeared to stand there before them. The Zoacanan tilted back its head, opening its mouth wide, and let forth a call like unto that issued by a bird.

In answer, from among the trees all about, there erupted a squall of winds and of raucous cries as birds burst forth, by the dozens, of black and grey and white; raptors and vultures and carrion birds, all unnatural to a jungle island.

“Hraega’s Hammer!” Peregrine exclaimed, her cutlass leaping to hand, swivelling lightly around on her feet to guardedly watch the flocking birds.

The birds swarmed in by the score, wings beating as they dove down on the confused and apprehensive corsairs, claws snatching at faces and beaks darting for eyes. Screams and shouts and curses arose to meet them as the sailors beat at the birds, trying to drive them off.

One darted at Peregrine, dropping like a rock with its wings folded tight to the side of its body. She struck with the spread of a coiled cobra, cutlass describing an arc of blue fire through the air. A flutter of grey feathers drifted down to the ground as the bird was cleft in twain. A curious white viscous blood ran down her blade as she raised it, pointing it at the Zoacanan on the altar.

From among the corsairs, some semblance of order began to establish itself and a few had regained wits enough to level their crossbows at the Zoacanan who they presumed to be the source of their troubles. The bolts whistled through the air among the shrieking birds, unerring in their flight, to strike the Zoacanan full in the chest. They shattered like so many twigs in a storm, as if its skin was formed of iron and not of flesh.

A spray of dust glistened in the air, flung forth by Blade. From him there issued forth an echoing whistle, a song of ancient sounds that whispered among the leaves of the trees. Angry screeches arose from the birds and they took to wing, rising to circle slowly above the corsairs. The Zoacanan hissed in response, head tilted to one side, its eyes aglow with wrath.

“Hurry,” Blade murmured, his voice strained from great effort, “I can not long hold them at bay.”

“Back, you dogs, back to the beach!” Vaspari bellowed. Half blinded men staggered away, cursed forward by Vaspari, deep into the confines of the jungle. Only one of the chests they dragged with them, as the rest were still unprepared for transport, and even that one only at Vaspari’s bidding, for he was loath to leave without some reward for all their efforts. Even the darkest of magics on display could not shake him into giving up that one chest.

Blade backed away last into the jungle, strain and sweat writ stark upon his long face. Peregrine, prowling on silent steps, awaited him at the rear of the pack of corsairs, and alone they saw the Zoacanan raised forth its head and vent forth a screech that shook the trees and tore at their ears. In doing so, it crumpled once more back inwards on itself, shrinking and warping until the form of the ashen parrot had returned. With a burst of wings it alighted from the altar, resuming flight, joined by the rest of the flock of birds. They arrowed off, a dire array, headed towards the shoreline of the island.

A flight of fear took them back through the jungle, along the path that earlier they had carved through it. The corsairs were on edge, half expecting at any moment for the birds to return, to drop down upon them with rending claws and stabbing beaks. Shouts and curses resounded at the slightest movement in the trees, though it did naught to assuage the fear. It took all of Vaspari’s not inconsiderable authority, backed up by his raw physical presence, to bark some semblance of discipline into them, to keep them from scattering off in panic, and not to abandon the one solitary chest that they had been able to snatch up.

Along the path they scrambled, and to the stream with its laughing waters that flowed down to the ocean. More than once as they followed it a hail of crossbow bolts greeted movement in the trees as some unfortunate monkey or bird made its presence known.

With great relief they at last stumbled out of the jungle, back onto the hot sands of the beach, relief, that was, until they laid eyes upon the sight that awaited them there.

*****

Ossari and the others left behind were no more. All that remained of them was a charnel house of horror. The white sands ran red with their blood. Their bodies had been reduced to shreds, of hands and limbs and heads and organs strewn along the length of the beach. Eyes and tongues had been torn from heads, and even fingers had been ripped free. The boats they had been guarding had likewise been destroyed, reduced to shattered splinters by a swirling cyclone of death and destruction.

More than one of the corsairs retched at the scene; for this was savagery such as none had beheld before, or had contemplated in their darkest imaginings.

Amongst all the butchery stood the grey skinned Zoacanan, studying them with unblinking white eyes. Across its ashen features existed a smile both cruel and capricious, mocking their efforts at survival. It spread forth its lanky limbs, gesturing at the devastation wrought upon those that had waited at the boats, before pointing to the still living corsairs. The message was obvious; first these, then you.

“This place will be the death of us,” Vaspari said with almost fatalistic acceptance. “Zaotolan’s curse shall claim yet more victims before the day is done.”

“Hraega’s Tears!” Peregrine snarled, stepping to the fore, her cutlass whistling through the air as she spun it about in a blur before her eyes, loosening her arms for the coming battle. “Curse of no, I shall fight this foe. If it can bleed, then it shall.” Hers were a people for whom surrender was a concept seldom heard, who would meet any odds with defiance upon their lips, even certain death, for it was a fear that held no power over them.

With a fearsome cry she sprang forward, her bare feet running across the surface of the white sands, straight for the ashen Zoacanan. Her cutlass arced a glittering swift path through the air, crashing full well into the creature’s head – and shattering. Not a mark had been left on its head in reply. Just the hilt and a hand length of broken blade remained in Peregrine’s hand, the rest reduced to metal splinters that lay across the sands around them. The force of the blow all but tore what had remained of the cutlass from her grasp, and sent cruel jarring pains shuddering though the length of her arm.

The creature turned its colourless gaze upon her and opened its mouth. From its lips came a hooting laughter, alike to the sounds of a gibbering monkey. Peregrine snarled and tossed aside the useless, broken hilt of her cutlass.

“Disconcerting,” Blade noted from back behind her, his sleepy eyes looking over the Zoacanan, seeking for any weaknesses.

The corsairs cast troubled glances around, for from the jungles, as if in answer to the call of the Zoacanan, out onto the beach came monkeys gambolling, slithering serpents and great cats on the prowl, alike as to the birds they had seen earlier in hues. Not a one of them was aught but in the shades of death; pallid, ashen or ebon. The corsairs sank back into a tight packed ring, nervously grasping their weapons, their fears sharpening to strength sapping terror.

“If we can not end this one way, then it shall be by another,” Peregrine proclaimed, defiant to the last. She knew no other way. With a shouted challenge, she launched herself, unarmed as she was, at the grey skinned Zoacanan. For a moment it appeared taken back by the audacity of her assault, as if it had never countenanced such a rash response.

She barrelled bodily into it, shoulder driving into it as her arms encased its body and locked tight. It shrieked and hooted and hollered as she roared and, straining, lifted it from its feet. It beat at her with hands and lashed out with feet, each blow landing with the force of an iron bound cudgel. Only her innate vitality and stubborn determination kept her standing as her head rang under the weight of the blows, her senses spinning and vision blurring. She half staggered, her knees starting to buckle beneath her, but of the grip she held, it did not waver or relent. Far beyond the weight of a creature of its size should mass, she strained as she held it off the ground. Slowly, painfully, her teeth clenched tight, she stumbled forward, towards the waters of the lagoon. Blows split her lip and opened up her left eye until blood flowed like a red mask down her face. Hard as her flesh was, the force of the blows brought welts and bruises to the fore.

At the cries from the struggling Zoacanan, the beasts upon the beach surged forward, rushing towards the cowering corsairs, leaping with snarling fangs and slashing talons. From the corsairs shouts and cries rang, for they defended themselves with the desperate fury of cornered animals with naught left to lose. Pikes stabbed forward, impaling beasts that had lunged at them, while axes and cutlasses carved vicious strokes through the air, to crash down on heads and cleave them in twain. Monkeys leapt to perch upon the shoulders of the corsairs, gibbering as they clawed and bit away at faces and necks. Panthers racked with razor sharp claws, disembowelling the unlucky with terrible mauling strikes. Men screamed as snakes struck with blinding speed, pumping venom into the bodies of their victims. Those thus inflicted fell back upon the ands, there to thrash and convulse, their feet kicking up sprays of sand while their hands clawed futilely at the air. Mercifully, the death agonies of those bitten were short lived, as the venom was toxic beyond that of a normal beast.

Peregrine remained but part aware of the fighting raging on behind her, in as much as she ever was instinctively aware of any danger at a subconscious level. It did not threaten her direct, and thus could be set aside for the moment, all concentration focused instead on the grey skinned creature in her arms, whose blows were coming near to sending her reeling into the dark of unconsciousness. With furious determination, and all the strength of will that came from her wild, primitive heritage, she waded out into the water, the lagoon lapping higher at her legs with each step she made. The screeches and howls of the Zoacanan creature locked in the vice-like grip of her arms sounded louder, and its attempts to break free grew yet more desperate.

A blow crashed down on her head, one so hard that it rattled her senses and her teeth in their sockets. She could taste the coppery tang of blood in her mouth. Staggered, at last her fingers weakened and the creatures slipped from her grasp, landing up to its knees in the clear waters of the lagoon.

It turned to try and run, yet Peregrine, even reeling from the blow as she was, still was too quick for it. With the instincts of a cunning predator, she swept her foot through the waters, entangling her leg with those of the Zoacanan’s. It stumbled and tripped, falling headlong into the lagoon. Peregrine pounced upon it in a thrice, forcing it down beneath the lapping waves. She thrust her knees full into its back, pressing down with all of her weight, while her hands sought out purchase on its head, preventing the creature from raising it up out of the water.

The Zoacanan struggled, thrashing about with desperate fury in an attempt to try and break free, but grimly Peregrine held on, every last sinew and fibre of her being straining with the effort. For an eternity it seemed that the Zoacanan fought on, but at last its efforts faded and a last few bubbles escaped before it lay still. Peregrine released her death grip and looked up at the beach.

The beasts that had beset the corsairs were fleeing, the influence the Zoacanan had over them broken with its death. Back into the jungles they disappeared, leaving behind a beach strewn with bodies and soaked with blood. Fully half the crew lay dead or dying.

Vaspari shook his head before spitting a mouthful of blood upon the sands. His hat had been torn off and his scalp opened up by the flailing claws of an enraged monkey. “I have partaken in many escapades of dubious certainty, boarded ships in the teeth of the howling storm, braved monsters of the deep and risked life and limb more times than I wish to recall, but naught has unmanned me or frozen the blood before this day. Horrors such as this come to life are more than a man should see. We may have but part of Mad Dog Khaladin’s treasure, yet I am of the mind that the rest can stay where it fell. What remains is still enough to make us wealthy. For me, I mean to retire to seeming respectability, to find me a couple of Cahadian wenches to keep me company, and give up this reckless life.”

Peregrine laughed as she waded out of the waters, passing by the shattered remnants of their boats. “You will soon grow bored of that life, I fear.”

“Aye, for a time, perhaps, and when I do, I shall look back on this day and remember, and count myself blessed to have emerged from it alive.” Vaspari looked across at those crew of his who had survived, and then out at their ship that gently swayed at anchor out at sea. “Come, you mutinous dogs, we have a treasure to return to our ship, and then we are done with this accursed place. Black Mardouf is still out there, and he will be well vexed with our success. For all that we have suffered, it will be as for naught should he happen upon us. So let us be away, for tomorrow we shall drink to the dead, and wench and carouse to celebrate our wealth.”

The End