Chapter XII - Weisuth Ocean - Lewis Obed

A quick glimpse at the lives of some other inhabitants of Phaedyssia - sailor folk searching for treasure in the depths of the eastern ocean.

The dry grit of sand and salt filled Lewis Obed’s mouth as he stirred to consciousness under the pounding heat of a foreign sun, a lungful of sea water coming up with him. He didn’t know where he was, or if he was even alive or dead. As far as he knew, he was still supposed to be on the ship.

He rose groggily to an elbow to spit and sputter the grains back onto the beach, but his mouth was just to dry to do much of anything. His bones were sore and creaked with every shift of his weight, and his skin felt like it had been set aflame. As his vision blurred to focus he took notice of the fiery red hue of the flesh on the back of his hand, and next to his was the hand of another; pale and bloated with seawater, leading up the arm to the empty gaze of a lifeless body. He would have panicked if he were not so dazed.

Many bodies, like that of his comrade, littered the coast, along with broken cargo, hunks of ship and driftwood that scattered nearly to the horizon. There was a storm, he thought, his memory slowly returning to him. It was a big one too. The three ships had waited patiently at the docks in Lissium for the aeromancers to give them the all clear, signaling that all adverse weather would pass them on their journey south. How they missed that one only further founded Lewis’s doubts about magyk.

Otemmo Ohra’s brig was the first to go down, its northern manufacture not suited for raging tropical storms; the winds tore it apart before her crew could even cut her sails down. Arin Pyker, however, refused to cut his sails, probably because he had spent so much money having the massive canvas dyed jade. His prized possession, The Emerald Dutchess, was split in two by a wave that could have swallowed a city whole. Fortunately for Lewis, the captain of the ship to which he had been assigned as deckhand had been smart enough to tie down the sails on the Voluptuous Plunder at the first sign of dark clouds.

“Batten down the hatches, ye scrubs,” Captain Salhor Swansea had growled, stroking his forked beard. “This un’s come to bugger us in ‘our arseholes.”

Their attempts at bailing proved to be fruitless, but all that mattered was that the Voluptuous Bounty had the means by which to weather the storm, which it did, for a time. The typhoon inevitably proved to be too powerful even for the fearsome battle ark. The last thing Lewis remembered was the deck crumbling beneath him and plunging into the tropical waters below.

Now instead of the roar of howling winds and deafening claps of thunder, only the moans of the few survivors peaked above an ominous silence. Lewis could see more clearly now, though his eyes still stung, but he could see that the dead vastly outnumbered the living. The dominant sight on the shoreline was the ruined husk of the Voluptuous Plunder, now not nearly as voluptuous at little more than an iron frame with tattered sails. Captain Salhor Swansea sat on a busted crate beneath her hollow hull, wrapping up a wound on his forearm. A few men had already gathered around him, desperate for advice. Lewis got up on his weary feet and began to make his way for the Middenese pyrat when he heard his name called.

“Deckhand Obed!” It was Privateer Yornsen, his commanding officer on deck, a large balding man from Midden seasoned in the ways of the sea. A small gash in his forehead was dribbling a thin trickle of blood down the side of his face, but other than that, appeared to be in fine shape. He was attending to the wounds of none other than Arin Pyker, whose once perfectly quaffed orange hair was now damp and matted by saltwater. Tears and mucus poured from his face as he whimpered in pain. “His leg is broken, badly. I need you to hold it in place while I set it.”

“I-it h-hurts so b-b-bad…” Lord Pyker sniffled pathetically.

Yornsen grimaced. “Do me a favor and shove this rag in that fancy f*****g mouth of his while you’re at it.”

The lordling shook his head but eventually accepted the rag which he bit down on, hard. Yornsen counted down from three, but set the broken bone right after two. The rag barely muffled the bloodcurdling scream as the Private wrapped two planks of driftwood around the leg.

Thinking on his feet, Lewis took to finding two pieces of driftwood; a long board and a smaller one. He bound them like a cross with some scraps of jade sail he’d found on the beach for Lord Pyker to use like a crutch. Seems only fitting, he said to himself. “You’ll be okay,” the deckhand told Arin as he handed him the makeshift prop. “You’re better off than most of these lot, anyway.” Arin only responded by vomiting into the sand.

Lewis nodded to Privateer Yornsen as he rose to his feet, and the two walked together toward where the Captain was sitting. Even from here they could already hear the pyrat rattling off orders at the remaining men.

“I’ve been working on ships my entire life, but only ever between Naeruu and the Oasis.” Lewis broke the silence. “I’ve never even come close to seeing a storm like that.”

“I’ve been from Carren Helm to the tip of the crimson sea with Captain Swansea,” Yornsen replied. “And I’ve never seen a storm like that.”

As they approached, Salhor Swansea got a light in his eye that Lewis didn’t think capable of a man as grizzled as the Captain. “Yorn! Glad to see ye didn’t go n’ get good like some o’ these other land-lovers.”

“Have I ever let you down, Cap?” Yornsen smirked.

“Well now that yer here, help them sorry sons o’ w****s anchor what’s left o’ me poor Voluptuous Plunder. If we’re ever gonna get back, she’ll be our only chance.”

The Privateer set to his task swiftly, but Lewis just stood there, dumbfounded. “What do you mean, ‘get back’, uh, sir? You mean the storm didn’t just wash us back to the Oasis?”

“’Fraid not, lad.” The pyrat waved his hand over to the vast jungle of palms and pines just beyond the shoreline. It was so lush and green that Lewis couldn’t believe he’d been so dazed not to notice it in the first place. “Ain’t never seen no forest like this so close to the Kojan desert. No, my boy, we ain’t in Phaedyssia no more. We be somewhere else entirely” An eager grin flashed across Salhor Swansea’s face. “An’ we get to explore it.”

An almost frilly-sounding voice chimed in. “You can’t mean to tell me you plan on diving headfirst into that ghastly jungle?” It was Arin Pyker, who had hobbled up with just enough time to catch the tail end of their conversation. He was trying to maintain composure but his face betrayed the amount of pain he was in. “I always knew you were daft, Swansea. You have no clue what could possibly be out there waiting to eat you.”

“Ye know what ye signed up for, laddie.” Captain Swansea replied with a huff. “Ye can’t just buy a ship with yer daddy’s gold and expect the treasure to just land in yer lap. No, ye gotta be willin’ to risk yer life for it!” He stood up and approached the lordling until their noses were mere inches apart. “But I have a good feelin’ yer sails ain’t the only thing that’s green.”

Their was a noticeable lull, men who were working suddenly stopped to watch the confrontation. Lewis thought he heard someone mumble “oh s**t” under their breath.

Lord Arin Pyker bit his lip. “I can do anything you can do, Swansea. And I’ll do it with one leg.” His voice cracked. “Besides, my father didn’t have to rape and pillage to earn his position at court.”

Salhor Swansea’s grin only widened. “Make no mistake, jade boy. Yer father and I are both killers. The only difference is that he gets other men to do it for him.” His knife flashed from his belt, to his hand, to Arin Pyker’s throat. “I do my own killin’.”

Not a soul moved. Even Privateer Yornsen, who had just finished hauling the battered shell of the battle ark up to shore, didn’t dare step between the Captain when he got like this. Arin Pyker sniffled but didn’t utter a sound. After what seemed like an eternity, the Captain spoke again.

“But there’s been enough o’ dyin’ today.” He sheathed the blade. “Besides, ye would be too easy. I leave yer life to the fates.”

Scowling, but still not speaking, Lord Arin hobbled back to his small group of remaining men as fiercely as he could muster. Salhor Swansea remained standing, silent, rubbing the wound on his arm. Only then did Yornsen break the silence. “The sun will be setting soon, Captain.”

“Right ye are,” Swansea shook his head, beaded braids of hair clattering against each other. “Tend to the rest o’ the wounded, that means you, deckhand. An’ those who didn’t get good, start setting up camp. Tomorrow… we tame that great green beast.”

Finding a medical kit washed up on shore that wasn’t completely waterlogged, Lewis Obed helped sort the dead from the living, tending to those with minor wounds, breaks and cuts. The sewing that his older sisters had taught him back in Naeruu ended up being not so useless after all, helping him stitch up the gash on Privateer Yornsen’s head. Some of the men weren’t so lucky, however, and those with fatal wounds were put out of their misery. Lewis had to look away to avoid being sick.

By the time all the makeshift camps were set up, the sun was just a sliver above the horizon, giving those who were able just enough time to begin digging the mass grave. They ended their night with a torchlight service for the fallen. There was a vigil for the Thulogist Prophets, a vigil for the gods of Sol and Lune, and a vigil for the Pantheon of Elden. There was even a request from one crewmate for his fallen friend, the only man on the crew who worshiped the Pale-Faced God, a religion from the city of Phobos. He led the proceedings himself. From then until sunrise, not a word was shared. All in attendance went to bed somber.

The Captain was the first to rise, waking all the men at first light by slamming a sturdy shard of driftwood into the iron hull of the Voluptuous Plunder. He had set up his camp beneath her shattered remains. “Up an’ at ‘em, ye dirty land-lovers!” He wailed. “Whatever’s gonna kill us out there, let’s get ‘em while they’re still sleepin’!”

Lewis had slept like a pile of rocks. Never had he imagined a sand dune with a ripped scrap of sail tossed over it could be more comfortable than his own bed. Reluctantly, he heaved himself up and joined the group that had gathered around the captain. Among the wreckage had been a chest of weapons; scimitars, battle axes, machetes and dual-tipped spears. Presumably they had been from Otemmo Ohra’s brig, because neither Swansea nor Pyker claimed the chest, so they doled them out to anybody who did not already have a weapon on their own.

Lewis chose a machete. He knew he wouldn’t be much use in a fight, but he could at least help blaze the trail through the thicket. They even shared weapons with the small group of men Arin Pyker had formed, who quickly armed themselves and took off into the forest as fast as Lord Arin could hobble, not content to stay with the rest of the group. He’d rather have the glory, or at least the satisfaction of proving Captain Swansea wrong.

After taking the time to form up and be given assignments for the sake for efficiency, the Captain and his men set out for the forest, following the rough trail Pyker had begun, but the trail still needed further razing for the larger group, which Lewis was near the front of.

For what seemed like a long while, nothing of note happened. No ferocious wild beasts or indigenous tribesmen in strange masks popped out of the brush to ambush them; just some birds, a strange-looking bug or two, and a curious tree-dwelling primate with bright blue a*s cheeks that howled like a war horn. But before too long, they heard screams that were silenced all too quickly, so the group quickened their pace until a bone-chilling roar stopped them in their tracks. An enormous cat twice the size of a man stepped out onto the trail before them, jet black with stripes like blue lightning bolts and a snarling jaw full of fangs dripping with blood.

It snarled, then pounced. It took three men to hold the beast back from the rest of the group, but they were successful, tossing the beast onto its back. It scrambled to its feet and lunged for another attack, but Salhor Swansea was on it in an instant with his scimitar, lodging it deep within the beast’s neck. It fell over with a whimper. Captain Swansea took a step back and wiped the blood off on the fringes of his cloak. “Yorn, fetch two men to carry the corpse back to me camp. Its hide’ll make a fine showpiece for me manse in Naeruu.”

He seems pretty dead set on getting back to Phaedyssia, despite the odds being stacked highly against us. Lewis shuddered. I don’t know if that should fill me with confidence or dread.

A bit farther up the trail they found what they expected to find; the remains of Arin Pyker’s group, torn to bloody ribbons across the dense thicket. The lordling was identified by his bright green surcoat, slashed by razor sharp claws and mottled red, and his crutch had been snapped in two. He had nothing of value on his person but the royal broach at his lapel, which had to be worth something to someone out west. Salhor Swansea snatched that for himself.

Lewis tightened his face in a deep scowl. He’s got his eye set on the treasure, that one! The treasure and nothing else, the foolhardy old b*****d. How can one be so blinded by greed? It was then that Lewis began to lament his decision to take on this foolhardy venture in the first place. I thought this could be my big break, finally bring home some decent money for the family… I never should have come here.

The group soon came to  a break in the thicket to the point where they didn’t need the machetes and scimitars to cut down a path in front of them. The group spread out, no longer confined to a single trail. Some began to see, through breaks in the trees, a structure that appeared to be made of large stones. As they approached, it became a temple, nestled at the base of an enormous tree canopy, adorned with stone carvings of great fanged beasts like the one they’d encountered earlier.

When Captain Swansea announced he was going in, a handful of men turned tail and fled, suddenly fearing for the wellbeing of the wounded they’d left back at camp. Lewis took a deep breath and held it for a moment. “I didn’t come this far just to turn around,” he resolved with that breath. The Captain took a flint from a pouch on his belt and took a torch from a sconce at the cavernous entrance to the temple, igniting it deftly. He signaled for what remained of the group to follow.

The temple was very old, Lewis could tell at a moment’s observation. The steps down were weathered and chipped, chunks were missing from the wall, and gnarled roots of trees poked through the ceiling. Ornate, bronze pictograms lined the walls near the top of the ceiling; men holding staves, bushels of wheat, birds and lizards and other unidentifiable creatures, while some just appeared to be squiggles. What an amazing story these might have to tell if I could read them, Lewis thought.

Before long, the stairway opened up into a long corridor, walls graced with more hieroglyphs. Salhor Swansea was the first to catch the glinting of gold at the end of it and rushed ahead without explanation, leaving the rest of the crew behind and in darkness. They found him spread eagle in a mountain of doubloons and jewels, screaming at the top of his lungs, “I’M THE F*****G KING OF MIDDEN!” The grizzled old pyrat laughed like a little girl, scooping coins in his hands like water from a spring.

Delighted, the rest of the crew joined him, and in the immense chamber, there was plenty of room for everyone. Ceiling-high piles of gold covered treasure chests filled with precious gemstones of every color. Statues of marble and bronze and artifacts of all kinds dotted the golden landscape, but none of the treasures caught Lewis’s eye like what he saw at the very back of the chamber. Filling the entirety of the back wall stood a towering stone statue of a demon with massive horns that scraped the ceiling, and lodged in its forehead was a sapphire large enough to make his family one of the richest in all the Free Realm. He stood at its feet, mesmerized, staring into its stony eyes. For a moment, he thought he could hear the great horned beast breathing.

Everyone’s fun was halted momentarily when the Captain’s torch snuffed out suddenly. “Blast,” he muttered, reaching for his flint, but the booming voice of another silenced them all.

“More people?” The effeminate yet threatening voice echoed about the walls of the chamber, seeming to come from everywhere at once. It chuckled. “I never should have let the others live to tell of this place. You humans are so predictable. You’ll let anything rule you if its shiny enough.”

Lewis’s vision flashed red. His ears popped so violently that he clutched the sides of his head, but when he looked up, he found the chamber was illuminated with a dim red light, and at its source stood a menacing, slender figure. There was an audible gasp, hushed quickly by fear. The thing was all but human in shape, but with scaly, putrid-green skin, a long snakelike tail, and a single sharp horn that extended from its right temple. What would have been the left horn ended in a flat stump ringed in bronze.

“I suppose it’s for the best that you’re all here, however.” It spoke again, its voice sending chills down Lewis’s spine. “You see, I have some big plans, but the awful part is that there’s just not much krima out on an island as remote as this one. So, well, the long and short of it is…” The creature sneered. “I’m going to need your souls.”

With a relaxed flick of the wrist, a pale bolt of lightning burst forth from the tip of his finger, sapping the life force of five crew members at once. The rest of the men scrambled, but some readied their weapons and charged. The creature chuckled again, and the attacking men fell without even a death rattle, lives snuffed out in an instant. “Thank you for at least trying to make things interesting. A valiant effort, really.”

A spear hurled by Yornsen threatened to make contact with the thing from behind, but in a pop and a flash, the spear was hurtling back toward the Privateer, into his chest and out through his spine. “That’s what you get for attacking me from behind.” The creature hadn’t even batted an eye.

“Then try lookin’ in front of ye!” Captain Swansea rushed in like a flash, sword aimed for its scaly neck. The creature had to parry quickly, conjuring a wispy blade of shadow to defend itself. The Captain unleashed a flurry of blows, but the creature stood unwavering, hands tucked behind its back, the shadowy blade doing the fighting for it. Inevitably, Salhor Swansea ended up on the coin-covered floor, in four pieces, gasping through bloody breaths about his manse in Naeruu.

“Middenese, eh?” The creature licked its lips. “They do tend to breed them tough there.”

After a few more flashes and another snide quip or two, all that remained was Lewis, sitting beneath a colossal statue of a demon, surrounded by corpses for the second time since yesterday. In short, he was numb to thoughtlessness. The scaly thing approached casually, crouching down to meet him at eye level.

“You see that, up there?” It pointed. Lewis didn’t budge. “Of course you do, you’re sitting under it. That is what I have worked my entire life for, and you get he pleasure of being a part of it.” Lewis didn’t even blink. The creature chuckled again. “Sorry, why would you care. I’ve always had a flair for exposition. Best to keep this one a secret.”

There was a pop and a flash, and when Lewis Obed closed his eyes for the final time, he only saw his mother, his father the fisherman, and his two older sisters. At least knowing that he had done this all for them gave him some solace as his consciousness entered the great void.