Cyrus LongBones and the Curse of the Sea Zombie

THE PHANTOM

CYRUS AWOKE achy and nauseous. His nose filled with the stink of wood rot and mildew. Had it all been a bad dream? His head felt swollen and his vision blurred. He heard the toll of a bell.

“No…”

Ice slid down his spine, and he began to sweat. Cyrus tried to move. He discovered his wrists bound by rope as he dangled from a meat hook overhead.

“The Sea Zombie!”

He struggled to recall how he had gotten there. His memories were hazy and green. He felt cold and realized he was clothed in nothing but his underwear. Where was Edward?

“Edward, you here?” he half whispered, half cried.

“Edward?”

He recalled his friend trapped under a glass jar. He peered around the room. His surroundings were ill-lit and full of shadows. The only light in the chamber came from a potbellied stove rusting in the corner.

The furnace glowed with orange embers, and on its top sat a cauldron large enough to boil a pig. Within the iron pot bubbled something that stunk of lard and seaweed. Cyrus’ vision focused. His eyes adjusted to the shadows. He saw steel shackles and what looked like the skulls of children hanging from greasy walls.

“What in Kingdom?”

His heart began to pump fire into his limbs. He was an insect trapped in a web. He prayed Edward was somewhere safe.

He searched for a way to escape. At the back of the room, several shelves stood stocked with objects such as crystal orbs, steel swords and strange jars of liquid. Cyrus peered down a narrow hallway leading to the stern or aft of the ship. Two dim blue lights appeared from within the darkened socket. Cyrus froze. His breath grew rapid. The orbs drifted out of the passageway. The stove’s fire lit the contours of a dark, slender figure.

“No, get away,” Cyrus hissed.

It was the creature from the lake. The one Jim OddFoot had described in his journal. It was male, clothed in a flesh-tight suit. The suit was made of black whale skin. It covered all but his head, shins, and forearms.

The newcomer neared. He drew a knife from his belt and raised it overhead. Cyrus tried to scream.

“Sshh,” the creature said, fixing a grey, webbed hand to Cyrus’ mouth.

The stranger began to cut his bonds.

“Oh, thank you,” Cyrus whispered, as the newcomer helped him to the floor.

Cyrus’ body felt stiff and numb, and the welt on his side stung, so with one arm over his shoulder, the stranger helped him towards a door in the corner of the room.

From the deck above hinges creaked and footsteps crept downstairs. The stranger’s eyes dimmed. He signaled silence, then dragged Cyrus into a corner, behind a row of shelves.

“Silly child,” a muffled voice whispered.

The cabin door opened and in hobbled Rorroh, gripping a palmed-sized, crystal sphere. Aghamore followed, carrying a small cork-topped vial.

“Call off the hunt. I’ve found him,” Rorroh said, speaking into the glowing, green orb.

“As you wish, Mistress,” the orb replied.

Its emerald glare cast shadows across Rorroh’s face. Her red painted mouth drooled with need.

She paused as she noticed the empty hook.

“Aghamore, what have you done?”

“Nothing, Mistress,” the small, hooded figure answered.

Like an owl, she twisted her head to the right. The tendons and vertebrae in her neck snapped and crackled like crushed shellfish. She craned her head towards the ceiling and sniffed the air.

“A trespasser aboard my ship?” she asked, her tone eerily playful.

She peered down the shadowy hallway. Something drew her attention back to the hook. Then slowly her head turned in the direction of the darkened corner. Cyrus’ breath grew shaky. What were they going to do? They were trapped in the belly of a rotting ship with a creature claiming to be the Sea Zombie.

The blue-eyed stranger leaped from behind the shelves and grabbed Aghamore by the neck, holding a knife to his gilled throat. Aghamore dropped the glass vial. It did not break. Cyrus slumped against the wall, his limbs still numb.

“Make one move towards us, and I will cut your puppet gill to gill,” the stranger said.

His voice was odd. It hummed as if there was a bee in his throat.

“What have we here?” Rorroh asked, “A traitor in our midst?”

“The door, young Master, go!” the stranger demanded.

Cyrus’ hands and feet were full of pins and needles. He stumbled in the direction of the door. Then he noticed a small, black shape trapped within Aghamore’s glass. Edward! He moved toward the standoff. The spider appeared to be unconscious.

“I would not touch him if I were you,” Rorroh said.

Cyrus looked up. His eyes focused on the grinning witch. She moved ever so slightly forward. The stranger’s body tightened. Aghamore let out a squeal of pain. Cyrus reached out and grasped the vial. Then he scrambled to the door and tried the knob. It was locked.

“Looking for this?” Rorroh asked, producing a greasy, black key from within her cloak.

“Hand it over,” the stranger demanded, pressing his blade to Aghamore’s throat.

Aghamore’s gilled neck flared and his misshapen eyes peered about crazed.

“You misunderstand, traitor,” Rorroh said, her eyes twinkling with the glow of the furnace, “I do not serve Aghamore. He serves me. Attack!”

Cyrus watched dumbstruck as Aghamore threw his head back and struck the stranger in the face, breaking his nose. The stranger lost his hold. Aghamore spun around and again head-butted his opponent. The stranger wiped blood from his mouth. Then he clutched Aghamore by the collar. He flipped him over his back, slamming him to the deck. Then he grasped an arm and a leg and, spinning on his heels, cast the villain headfirst into a nearby wall. The boards splintered and Aghamore dropped like a broken marionette to the floor.

“Break the door open,” the stranger shouted.

Breathing heavily, he pointed to a row of battleaxes resting at the bottom of a shelf. Cyrus set the snoozing Edward down near the door and grabbed an ax. The weapon was heavy, causing his injured side to ache. He struggled to raise it shoulder height.

Rorroh began to creep closer.

“Tell me, child, how were you able to tame the blodbad spider? Even I would not dare handle such a hostile and poisonous creature. Besides, I thought them all dead.”

Cyrus’ breath quickened as he chopped at the door. Blodbad spider? Poisonous and hostile? Did she mean Edward?

The door was old and hard like stone. With each awkward blow, the wood chipped away in small, jagged shards.

“Stay back, witch,” the blue-eyed creature demanded, raising his knife.

Rorroh ignored his words and shambled closer.

“Even if you were able to flee my ship, there is nowhere to run. You saw the map. Wherever your boat lands, my minions await.”

Terror lent Cyrus strength. The ax became light in his hands.

“I said back,” the stranger repeated.

He reversed the grip on his weapon and flew at Rorroh. He brought the blade down hard at her skull. Cyrus watched in horror as Rorroh caught the blow mid-air and turned the knife. The stranger slammed into the witch, impaling himself on his own blade. Steel pierced his back.

“No!” Cyrus cried.

“You have grown foolish and weak, traitor,” Rorroh spat.

Black bile dripped down her horn-like chin.

“Better than what I once was,” the stranger choked.

She struck him with a backhanded blow, casting his limp body to the ground. Cyrus looked past the panting witch, at his rescuer lying blood-spattered and battered on the damp floor. The knife had penetrated his heart. Dark blood pooled around his still corpse. Cyrus grew faint, watching as all hope drained from the room.