The curse of Tandure tower.

An orphaned deck hand explores an abandoned tower while on leave. What could go wrong?

     The words of captain Jensen “Time ta head below deck boy, that place ain't for the likes of you” and the soft, sensual whispers of “Come to me my darling boy” fought for dominance in Grend’s mind. Now that he stood transfixed a half dozen meters from the forbidden tower, the warnigs of his captain became less pronounced.

     Grend stood staring at the dilapidated door that swung ever so lightly on its hinges that somehow still cling to the masonry it was attached to. The tower tho weather worn seemed intact enough to not collapse around his ears. There didn’t appear to be tracks or trampled pathway leading in and out of the entrance. Perhaps the captain and crew were being overly protective.

     He was after all, only an apprentice sailor on the schooner named ‘mist cutter’. Captain Jensen took him on after Grend was caught trying to pilfer some fruit from a cart vendor. His parents were dead or abandoned him as a baby so he had no family beyond the world savvy sailors with whom he sailed. The work was hard but it was better than being sent off to the colonies in the Americas.

     This particular cape they had sailed past just under six times in the same amount of months. Every time they would be remotely in range of spotting the tower it was always the same. “Time ta head below deck boy…”. Now that he was standing here in front of the tower it felt like Grend needed to explore the tower further before the days end.

     A muffled giggle could be heard coming from just inside the tower or was his mind playing tricks on him? “God, Grend your such a dolt!” He exclaimed with hand half way to his ear as if he needed to clean them out to hear proprperly. He knew he better hurry and explore the stone tower before the crew came looking for him or he turned tail and ran  because he psyched himself out.

     “Here goes nothing.” He muttered as he willed his legs to step forward. Despite the wretched state of the door, the tower seemed solid enough, it stood straighter than the main mast back on the ship. Dust laden curtains, if they could be called that fluttered by some small, unfelt breeze.

     Putting a finger in his mouth before holding it up, he confirmed there was no breeze. Not realizing he had stopped again Grend berated himself before trotting the final distance towards the tower. Once inside, he realized he was screaming. Rather shrilly as a matter of fact, he looked back to make sure no one heard him. No one would let him live that down for a very long time.

     “What the hell! Where’s the door and why can I still see with no visable light source?”

     Grend pushed against the stone wall where the door once was. He could not feel any seams that would indicate a way out. A soft light from an unknown source lit what seemed the entirety of the inner tower. Each stone step of the stairs that spiraled upwards seemed to be mortared in the wall. With no door to be found, Grend decided that up was better than standing on the ground floor, twiddling his thumbs.

     Testing the sturdiness of the first few steps Grend began his journey upwards. With his right hand on the wall for balance he couldn’t help but notice that the stones temperature remained constant. If there were any temperature variations Grend could not discern the difference.

     There were no windows or doors that could be seen, Grend saw no gas lights burning within their glass encased lanterns or even the remains of the pipes to indicate there were any mounted within the stone walls. 

     “Hurry little one, there’s not much time!” Grend had heard clearly. Was the voice spoken aloud or in his head caused by the curse of the tower to rob one of their faculties? A scrape of leather from above and the falling motes of dust that fell caused Grend to call out.

“Hello! Who’s up there?” He said and waited for an answer. When none had come, Grend wondered if he imagined all this. Was he still below deck of ‘Mist Cutter’ and safe in his bunk as his brain spun one fanciful dream after another? He pinched himself, the pain was real, so why didn’t he wake up?

     A large booming sound like a metal ball shot from a ships cannon shook the tower. Another frantic command of ‘Hurry!’ prompted Gren to run and so he did. Up and up, and up he ran in a madcap spiraling dash to exit the tower. When his legs felt as if they were being stung by a hundred hornets and his lungs felt like they were at their bursting point he ran aimlessly through another door.

     Grend knew not how far he ran but it felt like leagues. Collapsing to the ground once he reached the open his vision consisted of the ground and someone’s metal shoes. Looking up the body of who stood before him was a woman with such gangly limbs she should not be able to stand when encased in metal armor. 

     With open arms and predatory smile she said quite simply, “welcome home.”