Shadows

The moon was high over the docks and glistening brightly in the shimmering waters of the dockyards. Twinkling stars that dotted the dark blue sky cast glittering reflections across the indigo sea, and on the horizon, where sky and sea met, they merged to present an endless ocean of night. The Waveskimmer bobbed against the pier it was moored to,[12] the weathered fenders thudding gently as the waves gently rocked it back and forth. Two voices, a man’s and a girl’s, could be heard drifting along the quayside.

“Well why call it a pineapple then?” said the girl. “The pine bit I get, but what loony looked at that and thought it looked anything like an apple?!” The man could be heard laughing noisily, which stirred some nearby seagulls floating on the water. A candle was lit in a nearby bedroom and the curtains twitched back disapprovingly. “If anything it looks more like a pear, so surely it should be called a pinepear? That doesn’t sound as good, though…” The voice got lost in thought and could heard muttering to itself: “Pinelemon, pinemelon?”

“So come on Verne, tell me – what was your last voyage all about?” Angie asked the man, who rapidly shushed her as they crept along the pier. This was very unlike him, she thought as they walked past several moored boats on their way to the Waveskimmer. Normally Verne would be sat in the Sailor’s Jaunt until the early hours booming stories from his latest adventure to all who would listen, not creeping back to his boat before midnight. He’d told Angie that he had something to show her and would explain all then, but the unfamiliar level of secrecy had her worried. Just what had he found?

Approaching the Waveskimmer, which was moored at the end of the pier and facing seawards as if ready to sail off any minute, Angie noticed several men stood on the deck dressed in thick leather armour and carrying swords and shields, or bows. As they stepped close they found said weapons pointing at them, swords raised and bows drawn taut, ready to fire. One young man with a bow looked so nervous Angie was worried they’d get shot by accident.

“Halt! Who goes there?” barked one of the more senior looking men.

“It’s me, Willem, and the young lass is Ange.” replied Verne, in a whisper that still was louder than an average man’s shout. “Now tell young Alfrid over there to lower his bow before one of us ends up with a hole in our head.” Willem nodded and Alfrid lowered his bow quickly, relief spreading across his face. This relief turned to panic again as he realised he’d forgotten to keep hold of his arrow, which fell from his grip and dropped towards his boot. He took a sharp step back to avoid it but tripped over a bundle of rope and fell to the deck with a clatter. Angie thought she’d never seen such a pitiful sight. Verne shook his head and muttered under his breath whilst Willem started to shout at Alfrid about keeping his head in a fight.

“Who are these lot?” Angie asked Verne, who caught a rope ladder cast over the side of the ship and offered it to Angie, who began to climb up.

“They call themselves the Knights of the Red Moon, though I call them a ruddy nuisance.” Angie swung her feet over the side of the ship and placed her boots smartly on the creaking deck. “They’re mercenaries basically, the best I can afford, though that doesn’t say much! Picked them up in the Stormlands. Had to take on extra men, you see, to help guard the-” Verne paused briefly. “Well, you’ll find out soon enough…” Extra guards? Thought Angie, what have you got yourself into this time Verne? A cursory glance revealed ten men in similar thick leather armour that she noticed had a small red moon with twelve rays shining out from it. Verne shook hands with the man called Willem, who had finally stopped yelling at the quivering Alfrid.

“All under control here, Captain. Nothing of note to report aboard the Waveskimmer, though one of the men said he saw an explosion and a dark cloud halfway up the hill late this afternoon-”

“That was me,” groaned Angie, “letting off a smoke bomb.” Had everyone seen what had gone on earlier at her stall? Willem looked taken aback, and he raised a bushy eyebrow in curiosity.

“Indeed?” asked Willem, shooting a look towards Verne who nodded and gave a wry smile. Willem’s eyebrow relaxed, though it looked permanently ready to jump back into its raised position. “Fair enough. In that case nothing of note to report whatsoever, Captain.”

“Good, good,” nodded Verne, who looked around surveying the men, “let’s keep it that way then, eh?” He patted Willem hard on the back as he passed and the man winced slightly, though did his best to conceal the obvious pain the blow had inflicted. Angie gave a mild comforting smile as she followed after Verne, though she didn’t think Willem appreciated it. He gave a small cough and turned after the retreating Verne.

“Apologies Captain, but isn’t it generally regarded amongst sailors to be bad luck to bring a woman aboard, sir?” Angie shot Willem a filthy look. She’d been reasonably pleasant to the man so far but he was hurtling towards her bad books faster than she could throw him. Verne turned back to face Willem and gave a rather tired smile.

“Apologies Willem, but you’re not a sailor. Even if you was I’d still disagree with you. Besides, Ange here’s been aboard the Waveskimmer more times than you have and it’s not sunk yet!” Angie flashed Willem a look of mock superiority and followed Verne across the deck towards his quarters. She stepped inside after him as he held the door open, then he shut the door behind her and slid an iron bolt across it.

“Thanks for that, Verne.”

“Ain’t nothing to thank me for, Ange.” Verne replied, ambling over to his captain’s desk in the middle of the room, on which was a large map of the Empire and areas beyond. A compass and pencil lay beside it, which Angie felt was very appropriate. Less appropriate in Angie’s opinion was the mangy little dog curled up in Verne’s chair dozing noisily. From his book J.E. Skittle had Angie believing that all captain’s required a bird of some sort, preferably a parrot or other brightly coloured bird, to rest on their shoulder and spout such phrases as ‘pieces of eight’ and ‘Polly want a cracker’.[13] Angie thought such a bird would undoubtedly get very annoying after a short amount of time, but it was the done thing. Verne’s dog Polo was not brightly coloured, nor did he spout any interesting phrases, but at least he didn’t try and occasionally scratch Angie’s eyes out like Sapphire did so she didn’t mind him all that much.

Verne gave Polo a pat on the head and tussled its head affectionately. The dog woke with a dazed ‘woof’ and slumped off onto the floor, where its tongue lolled out sleepily.

“Hello, boy.” Said Angie, and Polo rolled onto his back and raised his legs dopily, hoping for a tummy rub. Angie crouched down and lazily scratched his belly a few times whilst the dog panted happily. She stood back up and surveyed the map whilst Polo looked up and gave an expectant whine, then gave up and padded off across the cabin towards his wicker basket in the corner.

“Sorry about that sorry state of affairs back there, Ange.” Verne sighed, slumping into his chair and rubbing his back. He stretched his left leg out and his knee crackled like footsteps on gravel. “Not as young as I once was!” Verne said, giving a hollow chuckle. “Willem’s not too bad but he thinks he knows what’s best for everyone, and there’s one or two of the Red Moons who know what they’re doing but most are wet behind the ears and don’t know their arse from their elbow. Take young Alfrid out there – brilliant singer, and he picks up the shanties like he was born to sing them, but if it came to combat I think he’d be more of a hazard to us than the enemy!”

“And who’s the enemy?” asked Angie eagerly, keen to learn what all this mystery was for.

“Blowed if I know.” Huffed Verne. Angie sank back into a slouch. “Now, don’t be like that!” said Verne, wagging a gnarled finger at Angie. “I honestly don’t know what’s been after us, and that’s what worries me. Lost most of me crew to it, which is why I’ve needed to hire the Red Moons to help me complete the job in the first place. Seeing your face has been a nice change and brought back my spirits a bit, but I can’t keep my mind off the job forever…”

“Well, what’s the job then Verne?” asked Angie, desperate to know what was going on. Verne sighed, his outwardly jovial mood deflating by the minute.

“Take a look at this.” He said, opening a drawer and pulling out a small locked box. He pulled a key off his belt and inserted it into the lock, which turned with a gentle click. Angie scooted round to see what was in the box as Verne lifted the lid. A warm red glow shone forth from the box, and Angie shielded her eyes as the light slowly dimmed. Blinking, she took in the contents of the box. Laid on velvet was a sphere, roughly fist sized, which glowed with a faint red hue. As she stared at it she noticed faint symbols she couldn’t interpret dancing across its surface, rising and falling like waves. For all its beauty, however, she could feel an irresistible power emanating forth from the sphere. She felt as if it wanted her to touch it, she felt her hand reaching out towards it, to hold it in her palm and seize the power it could give her. All her problems would drift away, a voice whispered in her head. Jacob Oxbrow and his friends? They would be nothing before the power it could provide. She would never have to work again – all would bow down before her might. It was so close now, and she willed her hand closer, her fingertips inching towards it agonisingly slowly…

The box shut with a snap and Angie felt herself stagger backwards and nearly fall over. She felt temporarily faint and could feel her hands shaking.

“Tempting, isn’t it?” said Verne, watching Angie carefully. She dumbly nodded, though she could feel her head clearing and regained her composure. “I thought so too when I first saw it. Nearly had my hand around it before my first mate Morgan got to it first.” Angie had a brief flash of a memory of a short man with sideburns and a red bandana.

“What happened to him? I didn’t see him on deck.” Angie asked tentatively.

“That’s cause not two seconds after he touched that orb here, it burnt him to a crisp.” Verne explained matter-of-factly, though with a tinge of sadness. He and Morgan had been friends for a good number of years now and Angie could feel the loss was still fresh.

“I’m sorry to hear that.” she said.

“I appreciate that, but if he hadn’t touched it it would’ve been some other poor bugger, probably me.” Verne admitted. “Let’s just say after watching that happen in front of your eyes no mystic voice in your head could convince any of us to go near it.”

“You heard a voice too?” asked Angie. Verne nodded.

“Aye, we all did. Promised Steers the cabin boy fame and fortune. Promised Multhern the bosun an island of his own and the most beautiful woman in the empire as his wife. Promised me an armada of my own that none could stand before, bloody stupid thing. What would I do with an armada, I ask you?” Verne sat back in his chair, and much of the light and life that normally shone in his eyes had dulled. The outward persona he’d been projecting in public had faded, showing the hollow remnants left. Angie had never seen the man so shaken. Verne had dropped the false pretence of normality and Angie could tell something was seriously wrong. She leant forward and rested a hand on his arm.

“Verne,” she asked, “what’s going on?”

Far away, in a cave that had lain untouched for hundreds of years, there was a stirring of spells cast long ago. A furtive tendril of magic sniffed the air, as if smelling the faintest whisper of a familiar scent. If it could have thought, it might have thought: Finally!

Somewhere else, across the Northern Sea, a dark creature stopped suddenly as if to listen to some far-off call. The road on which it stood was silent save for the rustling of the trees in the breeze and the soft chirping of crickets in the grass. The creature made no sound and even as it turned its head this way and that, focusing in on the inaudible whispers it listened to, it itself remained a void of silence.

It did not think either, as it had been made for a single purpose and independent thought was unnecessary for the task it was charged with. If it could have thought, it might have thought: A-ha…

It was very late now and Angie knew she needed to be in bed soon for work early tomorrow, but her mind was buzzing with frantic thoughts and cravings for explanation. Verne had tucked the box back away under the desk and poured himself a generous helping of whiskey. Angie had a small glass of whiskey in front of her, which she had politely accepted and ignored.

“It all started like any other job, to be honest with you,” began Verne. “You get a bloke approach you in a pub or you get word of someone wanting something doing for a reasonable fee. We’d sailed inland to Vaygenspire, taking a break to recruit some new crew members and get some well needed repairs done to the ship. Morgan was trying to convince me that we should head up the west coast in search of new jobs, and I was trying to tell him that only hermits and goatherds lived along the west coast and that the real money was along the east coast. He was saying that yes, that might be true, but everyone’s peddling their services along the east coast and if we headed west we’d be thinking ent-reperen-youra-lilly and dominate the business, or somethin’ like that.

“About five drinks in or so we started chatting about heading south to the Great Sun Sea, where no-one from the Empire’s been in years and there’s all sorts of rumours of lost treasures, gold and the like, which is when he approached us. Must have earwigged us chatting about lost treasure as he jumped in, bright as a button and started asking us about what we did. Well, I started the spiel and whatnot didn’t I, explaining how we were a merchant vessel that offered our services in transferring goods and obtaining certain materials on occasion, you know? That was when he got the glint in his eye, and I knew we had a sale. As soon as someone gets a glint in their eye like that it’s just a matter of working up to the price, you see?

“So he asks us if we’ve ever sailed out east, past the Stormlands and out into the Enchanted Isles. Well we had, quite a few years ago though mind, so I tells the young feller exactly that. It would cost extra what we was asking for o’ course, as the Enchanted Isles are out beyond the Empire’s territory and journeying out that far requires danger pay, export/import licenses, etc., you get the idea. Doesn’t seem to shake the young man, he wants something retrieving from out in the Enchanted Isles, money no object, and it seems he’s chosen us to do it for him.

“Now I didn’t mind that of course, I’ve been that far out a good few times and whilst it’s never a particularly fun journey once you’ve got by the Stormlands and the tides it’s clear sailing really. The Enchanted Isles are mostly deserted these days, so it’s a prime place to pick up old tat to bring back to the Empire. If you walk into the capital and declare you’ve got an ‘arcane relic of an ancient civilisation’, the rich folk’ll be over you like moths to a flame. So naturally I assumed that was what the man’s after, something he’s found in a book or heard someone talking about and got it into his head that he needs it. So I ask him what he’s after and he tells me he’s after this Orb that was the source of all magic for this long dead civilisation. I said why’s he wanting something magic all the way from the Enchanted Isles when he can stop by Fandango’s Magic Shoppe in Eider Street and get something there? Then he gets all defensive and says that’s not really magic – the magic he’s talking about is proper, old magic. The oldest magic in the book, he says. Magic with a ‘k’.

“Well I didn’t know what he was on about and Morgan was close to pissing himself laughing at the poor bloke, but I’m patient because running a trading vessel isn’t cheap and if this guy’s willing to pay top rates I’ll take the job no matter how much nonsense it is. So anyway, the man pulls out this map and shows us that it marks the exact location in which to retrieve this Orb, and I had to say it looked pretty genuine. So we shook on the job for top rate, half then and half once we’d brought the Orb back to the capital, and once the repairs to the ship were done we set off. North first, of course, to drop in and say hello to you, but also because you can get around the worst of the Stormlands currents if you head up round them to the north. Not many people now that, but it’s true. If you can stand the cold it’s well worth avoiding them.

“Anyway, after a couple of months sailing following this map we finally arrive at one of the islands in the centre of the Enchanted Isles, and boy is it a beauty! We made shore and began exploring the island for any trace of where this Orb might be – didn’t take us long of course as there was a massive great temple of sorts slap bang in the middle of the island. So we step inside and immediately are ambushed by a group of native tribesmen who demand to know what we’re doing there. Thankfully Multhern’s a dab hand with languages and we managed to communicate we were searching for a magical orb to return it to someone who wished to purchase it. They told us the Orb was indeed on the island. They didn’t take too kindly to us wanting to take it, of course, as they said their tribe had guarded the Orb for hundreds of years and were not willing to let it go. What I guess must have been their chief said the Orb was sacred yet cursed, and that any who sought to use it would meet with the fate of the Orb’s previous owners. I asked him more and apparently some group of humans eons ago found the Orb and used it to perform the most amazing feats of magic. So mighty they were that they went round taking control of everyone and bending them to their will, forcing them into slavery and killing those who went against them.

“This was all going well and good until they got into some kind of civil war and wiped most of themselves out. Didn’t take long for the peoples they’d been oppressing to unite and drive the last of them to extinction, though the chief said some believe the Orb’s owners were actually demons, and when they were killed they were forced back into the Orb where they remained imprisoned for all eternity. Load of codswallop in my opinion, though it made a nice tale. The chief pleaded with us to leave the Orb where it was or the tribe would fight to defend it, and you know me, I’m no cruel-hearted man. A job’s a job, but people come first. It was a long voyage out, for sure, but I wasn’t about to go slaying all these people and risk the lives of my crew just for money – a man’s got to know when to draw the line.

“I asked the chief before we left if we’d be allowed to view the Orb, in all good faith of course, and he must have seen my trustworthy face as he agreed to let us see the chamber it was held in. He takes us deep into the temple, far underground into a maze of stone and statues – let me tell you this, I’ve seen a lot in my time and this temple was pretty damn swanky. Eventually we reach this room with a plinth in the middle above which rests this Orb. He warned us that to stare too long incited madness, and to not touch it for fear of death, but we all scoffed a little. Not the first time I’ve had witch doctors and shamans trying to scare me and I’m sure it won’t be the last. What happened next I’ve already told you, to our surprise we all found ourselves drawn towards it, hearing this nice little whisper in our heads telling us it’ll give us all that we could wish for, if we only reached out and touched the Orb, and then – and then, well, Morgan touched it.

“After that they were very keen for us to leave, they feared Morgan touching the Orb had awoken it and to be honest I could see what they meant. It had started to glow more and those little rune thingies that float around it had started to move more, that’s for sure. We were all heading to the exit when all of a sudden this shadow in a shape of a man is blocking our path out. Where it came from I don’t know, and it seemed to frighten the hell out of the natives. Didn’t take long to frighten the hell out of us, too.

“I’ve never seen anything like that shadow, Ange. It darted through the air like smoke and choked the life out of man after man. Nothing we could do could even touch it, and every second someone else was dead, lost into the shadow and torn to shreds. I can’t remember exactly what happened in that room but I remember the chief yelling at me and shoving a small bundle into my arms, then running for my life with some of my panicked crew and the tribesmen behind me. We hit air again and pelted down the sand to the boat, the sounds of screaming, tearing, ripping, behind us. The sun scorched our backs and the dry air threatened to choke us before that shadow even reached us.

“About a third of my men who went onto that island got off – I’ve no idea about the tribesmen. I remember trying to drag one out of the temple but his leg was snagged by rubble and the shadow was breathing down the back of my neck…

“My hands were shaking, I can tell you. Not done that in a long time. Not felt the fear of death as close to me as it did in those underground tunnels. Only once we were adrift again and sailing away from that forsaken island did I remember the bundle the chief had given me. I gingerly parted the cloth and inside it was the Orb, shining red and whirring with life, as if the lives lost on the island had poured into it. I don’t know, I’m not good with words… but it looked hungry.

“I didn’t want to look at it any longer, so I wrapped it back up and hid it away in this box. I stood on deck and I stared back at the island until it was out of sight, and do you know what Ange? I could have sworn I saw that shadow staring back at me the entire time. I had visions of it, coming closer, slowly, oh so slowly, but closer all the time. I struggle to sleep at the thought of it. I tried to convince myself it can’t have followed us, but we made port for a few days in the Stormlands for supplies and I swear I saw it then. I don’t think it can move in daylight, but I can’t chance it. The shadows, that’s where it moves. Night’s the worst.

“We get the Orb to the buyer and then it’s his problem. I didn’t ask for this, none of us did. But there’s no going back. I don’t know how the shadow fits into this but if we don’t keep moving it’ll catch us and it’ll kill us. We’re staying here a week to restock and then we’re off. A week’s too long as it is, don’t know how close it is behind us. You can’t tell anyone about this, Ange. It could be anywhere and I don’t know who else knows about it, so its top secret, understand? I’ve already told you too much, I reckon, but I know you wouldn’t stop asking questions if I didn’t tell you.

“So that’s what’s going on, Ange. A mysterious buyer, a magic orb, and a shadow demon that wants to kill us all.” There was a nervous silence as Angie and Verne sat, breathing anxiously and staring into space. “As far as the tales of my adventures go, I think you’ll agree it’s not the happiest or the funniest.” Verne sighed. “I just hope I live to see it to the end.”

[12] Pier two was the oldest dock in Velayne. Piers two to five were the original four constructed when the city was only a small trading port, then piers six to twenty-two were gradually added later as the port expanded. Pier one, or the Imperial Pier, was the most impressive and had been constructed around the same time as pier sixteen. It was originally intended for use during Imperial visits, but no Emperor had bothered to travel as far north as Adwich since it was built around 92 years ago, so it was mostly used by visiting aristocracy.

[13] The late Professor Joseph Eligard Skittle (853-882 AU) had never set foot on a ship in his life, but had very exciting and colourful ideas about what life on the high seas consisted of. He had written a good number of books before he was tracked down by a group of rather erudite and also rather disgruntled pirates upset at their literary portrayal. What happened precisely to Professor Skittle was never found out, but his story serves as a cautionary tale to future authors on the importance of accurate research.