Chapter 16

Ghost Stories

"How long?"

"About five minutes. Just on the edge of our vision."

Stefan closed his eyes and frowned. Haydric continued to watch the stalking ship through the gloomy fog. They could only be sure it was a ship because of the familiar outline of sails and body, but details were impossible. You could barely see a damned thing.

"What be da plan, Stefan?" said Lyra, joining them at the wheel.

He played with the growing stubble on his chin for a moment before answering. He didn't like it, but it was their best bet. "We keep going. Ignore them. Seeking trouble in the fog is more stupid than taking on a crocolisk with your pinky finger."

"And if they bring fight to us?" questioned Molgoby, lugging a cannon onto his shoulder.

"Then we'll have to pound their faces in, Mr. Goldplain," replied Haydric.

Stefan liked that trait of his friend: optimism. Was there a better word for when such thoughts are futile? Stefan couldn't be sure. Perhaps he should have read more books.

They returned to their posts, all the while wary of any change to their mysterious pursuers. Stefan went below deck, finding Mae immersed in a sea of her own. She was beached on a reef of paper and rotting cardboard, eyes darting along long rows of black ink. She closed one book, only to replace it with another. Her fingers were dry and cracked, the result of too much reading and not enough water. Her eyes were red-rimmed from the intense work the Dwarven scholar was putting them through. She looked up tiredly when Stefan came trotting down and made an attempt to smile at him.

"How're you holding up?" he asked, taking a seat next to her.

"Well," she sighed, "I've been trying to figure out a way to deal with the supernatural. We forgot to requisition a priest back in Winterspring. It's tough stuff, this Holy business."

He laughed at her joke. "I'm sure the Archbishop would disagree."

"Not if you ask him about the bullox it took him to get that pretty little title, I bet."

"Good point," said Stefan, rummaging through the books. "Any breakthroughs?"

"Nay. Without someone that has an ear for magic, it's going to take a miracle to push past a ship full of ghosts," she explained.

"Stefan!"

It was Haydric, from above deck. Stefan felt his heart begin to beat faster. He turned to Mae, who remained still and calm. Her eyes betrayed the fear she was trying to surpress. He layed a hand on her own, squeezing reassuringly.

"Don't worry," he said. Was there more to say? "Please."

She nodded. He let go, standing up and racing to the deck. His heart was a thumping drum in his chest when he reached the top.

---

"In front of us?" he stammered.

"I don't believe it either, Stefan," said Haydric.

It was there, right in front of him. Still wrapped in the gloomy tendrils of the fog, the ship was only an outline. But what bothered him was that the ship had overtaken them in minutes. They hadn't seen it pass them.

"Well, if we're dealing with ghosts, I guess anything is possible," concluded Stefan, checking his weapon belt. Haydric watched patiently.

"What shall we do?" he asked after a moment.

"What we do best, Hayd," said Stefan, fumbling with a pistol. "We fight."

He turned to look around the deck. "Where's--"

"Iyana? Right here," said Stefan's Elven companion, appearing next to him. He delightfuly caught her by the waist, and planted a kiss on her pouting, purple lips.

"Ready?" asked Stefan, after they parted.

"Of course."

"Now if you two are done making love, we've got a battle to prep for," said Haydric. Stefan mocked him with a face. "Ah, screw you."

Haydric moved on, helping Molgoby ease a cannon onto its cradle. Geraldros and Lyra were at the front, the Troll pointing off in the distance while the Dwarf fumbled with a gizmo that blinked like a festive light show.

"Mae's safe?" asked Stefan, walking along the deck with Iyana.

"Aye. She'll be fine," replied the Night Elf.

Stefan reached for her hand, easing her toward him. "Are you afraid?"

"That's a silly question," she replied, smiling. "Of course."

"Good," he said, turning and resuming their quiet walk.

Iyana stood perplexed for a moment, then hurried to catch up with him. "Good?"

"I thought I was the only one soiling my britches over this," he answered, pecking at her cheek with his lips. "I'm glad I'm not."

---

There was a bump and the painful sound of wood grinding on wood as their attackers came up beside them. Shouts and curses filled the air as boarding hooks were thrown, and planks ejected. Then, like the sea itself, ghastly, transparent pirates surged onto the Tide Strider. For a handful of tense moments, only the sound of booted feet trampling over weathered wood was audible. Then, a staccato of abrupt crack's and boom's sounded off, and smoke burst from the cannons of the Tide Strider's arsenal. Molgoby and Lyra had set up cannons that ran perpendicular to the boarding planks, sending giant metal balls into the flanks of the pirate horde. Several were thrown from the makeshift bridges, disappearing into the water below. Molgoby's cannon was a lucky shot, reducing a boarding plank to splinters in the blink of an eye. Still more pirates fell to their doom.

What bothered Stefan was that there were no splashes. He cocked an eyebrow, then gave the signal. "Fire!"

Haydric, Stefan, Iyana, and Fineus squeezed the triggers on their pistols, unleashing a salvo of hot lead into the pirate ranks. With screams and shouts, more tumbled down. As Stefan reloaded, he noticed again that there was not a splash to be heard. He didn't let it phase him, cocking the pistol for another shot.

"Fire at will!"

Now the shots were sporadic. The pirates had not yet reached their ship, to Stefan's relief. And just as their numbers threatened to overflow onto the deck of the Tide Strider, Lyra and Molgoby had reloaded their cannons. They launched a second volley, this time aiming at the enemy ship. Wood was sundered as the balls hit home, destroying one of the boarding flowpoints. But there were two more, and the enemy wasn't stopping to think. As the first pirate set foot onto the deck, Stefan played their wild card.

"Geraldros!"

The Dwarf stepped forth from behind a pile of barrels, his usual assortment of arms and straps replaced with a contraption that was both comical and terrifying at the same time. It looked like an oversized musical instrument, a portable organ of sorts. The mouths of metal pipes were tipped with the gaping maws of serpents, giving the machine the look of a multi-headed hydra. There were eight mouths in total, and each was pointed forward, at the onrushing horde. The first of the pirates stopped their advance to look upon the wicked contraption with wide-eyed confusion.

Geraldros' face was a mask of fear and doubt, but still he pulled forth a wired panel, and pushed a large, red button. Then, the Dwarf shut his eyes tightly, and dipped his head into his shoulders like a turtle. A faint whistling sound began to grow increasingly louder, until the pirates had halted their advance, for fear of setting a doomsday device off if they moved any closer.

Nothing happened. There was a sputter, and then smoke began to leak out of the tubes. Geraldros opened his eyes, and saw the pirates slowly walking towards him, their rusty blades brandished and hostile.

Suddenly Geraldros was knocked off his feet as the contraption roared into life; he hadn't fixed the delay. The machine began to buck on his back as the missiles were launched, sprouting from the tubes like firecrackers. Some overshot, rocketing into the sky or past the pirates and hitting the ship. But a dozen missiles hit home, landing amidst the pirates in a hail of hot shrapnel and explosive powder. Geraldros laughed delightedly as his creation took its tole, reducing the pirate force to a score of ghastly buccaneers. His glee was cut short as a boot was thrown free and connected with the Dwarf's forehead. Smoke still pouring from the red-hot tubing, Geraldros tipped over onto his back, bobbing back and forth like an awkward turtle as the machine lifted his legs off the floor. He was out cold.

But the rest of them weren't, and the pirates were far from finished. The remaining few surged over the threshold, blades drawn. Stefan and the others brandished their own, and joined the ghosts in hand-to-hand. Though their clothes were worn and their weapons well-used, their teeth rotting and their hair in sweat-stained clumps, the ghosts were not expert fighters. Stefan could drop them in but a blow or two with little effort. But where one pirate fell, another took his place.

Haydric snuck a glance to the enemy ship, wondering if there were more. As if eavesdropping on his thoughts, a handful of fresh blood appeared on the decks, crossing over onto the Tide Strider. He felt a sharp pain as his opponent's sword cut a jagged line across his cheek, answering the attack with a fatal blow to the neck with his own sword. He quickly subdued another with a broad, horizontal slash that ejected the pirate's head across the deck.

They didn't bleed. When a pirate would perish, a sudden gust carried his disintegrating body away like sand. But the demise of the ghosts didn't matter, because there were always more. Soon, there would be too many for them to handle. Fineus was the first to show signs of waning resolve, a hasty parry letting a blade slip by to sink into his right bicep. He pulled the blade free and strengthened his defense, but the damage had been done. Slowly, the tides were turning against them.

Stefan ducked a wild jab, arcing his mace into the pirate's remaining good eye, causing the patch on the other to fly off. Another pirate came from behind, grabbing Stefan by the shoulder and thrusting a dagger into his side. The rusty blade was deflected by the tough leather of Stefan's armor, and he gave the pirate no quarter for his folly, swiping him across the cheek with one of his maces. In the brief respite, he turned to see Haydric doing well, dancing around his opponents like it was more of an art, and not a war. Molgoby was in a corner, but in no way was he pinned down. Any pirate who strayed too close was pulverized by the cannon the giant Tauren was wielding like a mallet. Lyra and Iyana were back to back, fending off the pirates with a tornado of short-bladed weapons. Fineus was managing to hold his own, but just barely.

That's when he heard a stampede of foosteps, and the doors to below deck burst open. Mae was standing in the doorway, looking around with an odd sense of calm written on her face. Had she gone mad? He fought her way over to her, cutting down two pirates who attempted to bar his path. As he downed the second one, he watched in horror as a pirate descended on her, blade raised. Just before it brought the axe down on her, he saw the way the Dwarven scholar was looking at the pirate, and believed her to be truly insane. She was looking at the pirate as if he were an unamusing entertainer. Then the axe dropped.

It passed right through her. Even the pirate was confused. But then it seemed to understand, and a moment later, blew away with a sudden pick up in the wind. Then Mae was moving toward Stefan, her calm expression directed to him.

"What the hell was that? Was it that easy to learn Holy magic?"

"Hush, young one," she said, soothingly. "And listen. What are we fighting, Stefan?"

"Pirates! Bloody f--"

"Nay. Not pirates. Ghosts," she interrupted.

"Aye! Ghosts that tried to spill my guts over the deck!"

"Fine, cursed ghosts. Now, how do you get rid of a ghost?" she asked.

"Better talk fast," started Stefan, looking behind her. "Cuz this one's about to rip you a new one, Paledust."

The cool composure she held as she turned to face the oncoming pirate angered Stefan further. She must have lost it.

"They're not real, Stefan," she said, her eyes not moving from the ghost's ugly countenance. "And if they're not real, then why do you believe in them?"

The ghost's steps faltered. It stumbled the last few feet, until it was right next to Mae, looking at her with a defeated expression.

"Because you're afraid. Because you don't understand them," she started, taking a step forward. The pirate took a step back.

"They're just ghosts. Childhood frights. Wish them begone, to a final rest. End their eternal anguish," she continued, slowly advancing on the retreating ghost.

"To the nether with you, pirate. Your memory is no more."

And then it was gone, vanishing with the wind. Stefan could hardly believe it. Mae had just scared off a ghost.

"Lyra! Iyana!" he shouted. "Molgoby! Haydric! Fineus!" They shot glances in his direction as they continued the fight.

"They are ghosts! Fairytale creatures! Do not believe in them! Wish them away!"

Haydric spun his sword about, creating a gap in the fight. He took this time to stare at Stefan. "Have you gone bonkers?"

"Hear me!" said Stefan, approaching the skirmish. He picked a small pocket of pirates, whom upon looking at Stefan, suddenly withdrew. "They feed off your fear! They exist because you believe they do!"

He advanced on them, eyeing the ragged ghosts like they were vermin. "You can change that. Wish them away. Do not believe they are flesh and blood, and they will not be."

He watched as the pirates faded from view. "Whispers upon the winds of history."

Haydric got the basic idea, pushing back the pirates a safe distance before testing Stefan's crazed theory. He couldn't believe it when one of the ghosts faded from view. Molgoby was next, sauntering out of the corner and snuffing away the ghosts with powerful leers. Lyra, Iyana, and Fineus had joined them at the center of the newly-barren deck of the Tide Strider Haydric shook off the tense silence with a hearty laugh, and was joined by the rest soon after. Stefan glanced at the decrepit ship that was slowly floating away, unmanned and abandoned, as it had always been.

"How'd you do it, Mae?"

"Well, not all ethereals are blessed with Holy and Shadow magic. Some are simply stirred from the dark past of mortal memories. They can be as real as we make them. But they're just ghosts. Memories. Nothing more," she stated, waving around a book.

Stefan caught sight of the title. Dealing with Night Terrors by Scholar Sius.