Cyrus LongBones and the Curse of the Sea Zombie

FIBIAN

FOR A DAY AND A NIGHT Cyrus and Edward sailed south, while the stranger slept, reeling in a feverish dream.

They had long ago lost sight of Rorroh’s vessel. Cyrus still searched the horizon for the oily ship.

In the grey morning rain, he wrapped the stranger in the wool blanket and mopped sweat from his forehead. Cyrus was in awe of how fast the creature’s injuries healed.

Over the twenty-four-hour period, the stab wound to the stranger’s chest knit itself together as if closed by unseen stitches, and his fractured nose became narrow and straight. Deep lacerations to his sharp cheekbones and angular chin vanished, leaving his sunken face unscarred and smooth.

Cyrus also found six incisions cut into the ribcage of the phantom’s suit. The eight-inch-long vents exposed two sets of shark-like gills that gasped for air as the stranger took in breath. Cyrus wondered how old the creature was. He looked childlike from one angle, middle-aged from the next.

The stranger’s eyes opened. Cyrus flinched.

“Uh, are you thirsty?” he asked, offering the stranger the canteen, “I’d give you some food, but we have none.”

“Thank you,” the stranger whispered, accepting the drink with his webbed hand.

“You were out for quite a while,” Cyrus said.

“I feel much better,” the stranger said, slowly rubbing his chest.

“My name’s Cyrus, and my friend here is Edward.”

The spider gave the stranger a slight nod, his expression uncommonly cold.

“Ah yes,” the stranger said, attempting to roll to one side, “allow me to introduce myself,” he bowed his head, “My name is Corporal Fibian, of her Majesty’s Secret Army. Aide to the Warrior Witch, keeper of the island prison, and I am what is known as a froskman.”

“Warrior Witch?” Edward asked, “Why did that monster call you a traitor?”

Fibian paused a moment, cringing as he adjusted his weight.

“That monster and the Warrior Witch are one and the same,” he said, “Your people know her as the Sea Zombie.”

“She was telling the truth?” Cyrus gasped.

A gale wind blew across the sea, spraying the crew in a salty mist.

“I am afraid so,” Fibian said, “She called me a traitor because that is what I am.”

“You set her ship on fire and locked her below deck. Is she dead?” Cyrus asked.

“Dead? You cannot kill what does not live, Master Cyrus.”

“What are you talking about?”

With some effort, Fibian climbed over to the seat at the bow of the craft.

“The witch may have been wounded, but she is not called the Sea Zombie in vain. She has been cursed to wander the ocean, lifeless and wretched. No mortal hand will ever take her from these waters.”

“And you served her?” Edward asked, his voice rising.

“I had little choice. She is my maker.”

“Maker?”

Edward scurried over Cyrus’ shoulder.

“How is she your maker?”

The froskman paused as if reflecting inward.

“In the beginning, the Angel King created the sea and everything in it, but he also created Angels to join him in this task. Your people speak of this, correct?”

Cyrus nodded, guiding the tiller.

“What you may not know is that the first Angel ever created was named Rorroh,” Fibian’s eyes flashed brightly as he spoke the name, “Rorroh was the most beautiful and powerful of all the King’s creations, and she loved her King more than anything, even her own beauty,” his expression became grim, “You see, Rorroh grew vain, and when she was not at his side, it is said that she would spend long hours admiring her reflection in the ocean.”

Fibian took a large swallow from the skin.

“It is said that one day the Angel King created a vast kingdom, and ordered his Angels to leave the heavens and serve all the beings of this new realm. But Rorroh, unable to live without her King, begged to stay. How could he send an Angel as beautiful as she off to serve creatures so weak and unworthy? The Angel King scolded her for her vanity and pride and ordered her away with the others. Feeling abandoned, Rorroh’s love turned to hate, and she planned an alternative course of action. One of murder and revenge.”

Rain started to fall in sheets, wrapping like thousands of fingers on the wet crew.

“She took counsel with Mor Hav, Mother Ocean.”

“You mean the sea itself?” Edward asked.

“Herself, yes,” Fibian corrected, sipping again from the skin, “Together they made a pact. Rorroh began to create an army of monsters, which she hid in Mor Hav’s belly. When the time was right, Rorroh planned to unleash her hordes and destroy all the King’s creations, leaving only her armies to rule the sea. In return for Mor Hav’s help, Rorroh promised her a kingdom of her own, but Mor Hav is a fickle mistress, and she double-crossed Rorroh, telling the King all.”

The wind began to pick up, causing the mainsail to flap and whip at the rain.

“The King then came to his most beautiful and powerful of creations and banished her from the heavens forever, cursing her to wander the seas, the most wretched and diseased creature imaginable.”

“Why would the Angel King allow this?” Cyrus asked, pulling his coat tight, “Why would he let that thing haunt my people?”

Fibian took another drink from the water skin, then handed it back.

“It is said that before Rorroh was banished, she dared the King to put his kingdom to the test. She said that if he let her and her armies wander the seas for one hundred thousand years, she would turn his creation of goodness and beauty into a wasteland of wickedness and evil. The King, wanting to show Rorroh the error of her ways, agreed to the unlikely terms.”

Cyrus and Edward exchanged confused looks.

“I tell you this because I was one of Rorroh’s soldiers, hidden in the murk of Mor Hav’s belly. When I was awoken, I was raised from the deep, given the rank of corporal and charged with the duty of guarding the island prison. That is, of course, your island of Virkelot, Master Cyrus.”

“My island, a prison?” Cyrus asked.

“Yes,” Fibian replied, “It was my job to make sure no one ever escaped your shores.”

“Why did you become a traitor?” Edward said, his eyes narrow as he crouched on Cyrus’ shoulder.

“Over the centuries, I grew lonely and weary of my post, until one day a man named Jim came to my island. I was so grateful for the company that I did not try to stop him. He was a kind and gentle soul, and I felt a sort of kinship towards him. It was watching him and his love of the sea and its creatures that made me question my ways.”

Fibian slouched in his seat.

“When he died, I felt a great emptiness. Then, years later, you came along, Master Cyrus. You reminded me so much of Jim and my heart filled with joy. Then your brother drowned, and I felt a great loss for you. And when you escaped the island prison, I grew worried. Finally, when Rorroh captured you, I knew I had to help.”

“Why is no one allowed to leave my island?” Cyrus asked, securing the mainsheet.

“Long ago,” Fibian said, “The Warrior Witch told me of a prophecy. She told me that a savior would rise up from the most unlikely of places, destroy her armies and scatter her ashes to the sea. I think Rorroh believes that that savior will come from your people.”

“My people, why?” Cyrus asked.

“I was only the second line of defense,” Fibian explained, “Your home is surrounded by many other islands, full of monstrosities waiting to trap and kill anything that nears their shores.”

“Why would she go to such trouble,” Edward asked, “Why not just kill the entire village if they’re such a threat?”

“I believe she has a more devious plan in store for your people,” Fibian said.

Worse than murder? Cyrus thought. Well, maybe they deserved it. If it were up to them, he would be dead and buried. Then he thought of Sarah, of her soft smell and cautious smile. He pushed the thought from his mind. What could he do? He could barely save himself.

“So, we’re escaped prisoners?” Edward asked.

“I am afraid so,” Fibian replied, “and it is worse than that. I think the Warrior Witch may believe that young Master Cyrus here is that very savior.”

“Why would she think that?” Cyrus asked, almost laughing.

“Because that is what I believe,” Fibian said, matter-of-factly, “You are not like the rest. Your hair, your ears, your courage, and there is something else…”

Courage? Cyrus thought. Was Fibian making a joke? He did not appear to be joking. Was he insane?

“She will not stop her hunt until we are all destroyed,” Fibian concluded.

Cyrus swallowed hard, overwhelmed by the realization that they were fugitives, hunted by a demon witch.

“She called me a blodbad spider, poisonous and hostile,” Edward asked, “Why?”

“You know that yellow mark on your back?” the froskman said, “It is the mark of a blodbad spider. You come from a long line of the most powerful and evil creatures the Warrior Witch ever created.”

Edward’s mouth began to tremble, and his eyes grew wide.

“They were the guardians of the Dead Fence, the first line of defense. If any villager were to trespass over the wall, they would surely cross a blodbad’s path and perish. The spiders bickered and squabbled over many things, and at some point, they broke into two factions.”

Evil spiders in Hekswood Forest? Cyrus thought. Is that where the fear of the woods came from?

Fibian shifted in his seat.

“For many years the two armies battled until finally, they killed each other off, and the blodbad became no more. You must have only been a baby.”

He nodded to where Edward’s eighth limb had once grown.

“That is probably how you lost your leg, defenseless in the middle of a fight. You are the last known heir to King Fedor, the very first of your kind.”

“Are you saying that I’m evil?” Edward asked, “Are you saying that I’m the enemy?”

“No, Master spider, no more than I,” Fibian replied.

Cyrus peered down at his best friend as if he were a stranger. Edward, a poisonous killer? The tiny spider looked so frightened and alone.

Fibian turned to Cyrus.

“I have no home, no friends, and no family, but I can help you escape to freedom. I am a froskman, which means I am a fierce warrior, stealthy hunter, and a loyal comrade. All I ask for in return for my services is your company and friendship.”

Cyrus looked to Edward. The spider looked shaken and unsure.

“You can help us find safety, somewhere Rorroh will never reach us?” Cyrus asked.

“I doubt that,” Fibian said, “Make no mistake, one day you will have to face her. You are the only one that can. But in the meantime, I can help you escape to a safe refuge where you can buy time, ready yourself for the inevitable battle.”

Cyrus considered that for a moment. Fibian had clearly gone mad in his years of isolation, but he decided to humor the froskman a little while longer. He had been clever enough to rescue them from Rorroh.

“We accept.”

“A choice you will not regret,” Fibian said, a subtle smile exposing his ivory teeth.

“What about the rest of the island?” Edward asked, his voice shaky.

“My village?” Cyrus replied, “They wouldn’t believe a word of this. And even if they did, they tried to murder me. I’m not risking my neck for them.”

“You will,” Fibian said, “It is the only way you and yours can survive.”

“How do we escape these islands?” Edward asked, his eyes downcast.

“There is a creature so wicked and spiteful that he may want to help us escape, if in return we destroy the Warrior Witch,” Fibian replied.

“Wicked and spiteful?” Cyrus asked, his breath quickening.

“We must sail to the Himmel Garde,” Fibian nodded, “We must seek out the dragon.”