Chapter 25

  “This can’t be right…”

  Lying in the shadow of a lone spire was the town of Driftmoor. It seemed a storm had passed through, leaving the town in ruin. Even now, dark clouds loomed, brooding over the deserted settlement.

  It had been a fishing hamlet. The remains of rickety piers and stone jetties splintered out, snaking through the calm waters, deep into the fog. It smelt of salt and spoil. The winds had swept up all manner of sea creature. Silver-scaled Bass, Cuttlefish, but mostly rotting piles of unknown, foreign beasts dragged up from the briny depths to fester in the summer heat.

  Fia walked amongst the shattered rubble, picking through soaked debris wrapped in the slime of sea plants and covered in broken coral and twisting barnacles. Every few steps, she reached into her robes to feel the compass. Hot and growing hotter still. That such a small, insignificant village would be home to a powerful artifact defied belief, and yet the charm burned. At least there was no one here. The storm had done most of the work for her.

  But where were the people? There were none amidst the ruins. They had undoubtedly abandoned the village, but surely, not all would have survived. Perhaps they had seen the storm coming and fled as it gathered, but if that were so, why had they left behind so much, and so many things of great value? Coins, precious stones, and jewelry. Riches that would have made leaving their homes behind and starting anew far more palatable. It was this thought that bit at her, gnawing at the back of her mind, and leaving her ill at ease.

  Rising above the town was a large steeple. And beneath it, the wreck of a grand cathedral. It had weathered the storm better than most, battered by wind and water, but still standing. The compass grew white hot as she approached.

  Inside, the church was flooded. Water poured down its staircase, drenching the aisle in a thin film of mire. Growing from the long benches were large curving shells and strange, tangled weeds, like flowing strands of drowned hair. They floated, whispering green ghosts, writhing in a current long passed. Above, in the tower, droplets splashed ringing against the bell, sending tinkling chimes echoing through the chapel. And below, rippling to the surface, deep bellows, soft and low, the ocean’s lullaby.

  At the end of the aisle was the sanctuary. Raised over it, and sat upon an altar, was a dusty tome. It was a journal, opened to its final page:

  Summer storms, and beneath the mountain, Driftmoor waits. Wretched and unyielding. Our people cry out, R’lectha! R’lectha! But there is no answer. The sleeping god dreams on.

  The tide pulls back, and the waters grow wild.

  But still, she dreams on.

  We have sent offerings, each day since the solstice. Sinking ships, called home to her grotto. Nothing. R’lectha will not wake. Her dreams have turned against us.

  A world of light, drowned in her nightmare.

  Summer storms gather, and Driftmoor is lost. A shadow has grown across the hamlet. Is it too late to change our course? O’ R’lectha, what have we done to deserve this?

  What have we done?

  Soon I will join them.

  In the stillness between the tides.

  —Bonnnggg—

  Fia jumped, and the walls of the cathedral shook as the great bell tolled. From the tower above, there came footsteps. A dull thud, a slow drumming. Step by step, descending the spiraled staircase. There was a splash as something fell into the flooded hall.

  Fia raised her staff, sending a golden ball of flight flying towards the staircase. As it grew close, its light fell upon a shadow, illuminating a pale face, and it cracked open, letting loose a horrifying screech.

  “Don’t hurt me!” It wailed, “Please! I’m too young to die!”

  The light settled, and the shadows shrank, revealing a young girl cowering at the bottom of the stairs. She wore a tan drill tunic and bush trousers. Her brown hair was cut short, covered by a wide-brimmed hat. And her green eyes peered out fearfully from behind large wired spectacles. They were so large, in fact, that they kept sliding down her nose as she trembled.

  “Oh,” she exclaimed, as her eyes adjusted, focusing on Fia. “You're not a fishman!”

  “A fisherman?”

  “No. A fishman. I saw some slither into the water as I was arriving.”

  Fia did not like the sound of that. The waters of the flooded aisle were dark, anything could be hidden beneath the calm surface. She was glad to be on the chancel, raised above them. Removed from danger.

  “You better get out of the water then!”

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  “Oh, I think it's fine here.” The girl laughed. “It's far too shallow.” But she started splashing towards Fia anyway.

  “You can call me Cari,” she yelled, stepping up onto the sanctuary and holding out her hand.

  “Fia”

  “Well, Fia,” Cari replied, her eyes shifting around the room as she held her spectacles against the bridge of her nose. “What are you doing here?”

  “I’m looking for something.”

  “Hah!” the girl jumped, folding her arms and glaring at Fia. “I knew it! You’re after the Trident! Well, you’re too late, I’ve already claimed it!”

  “Oh, you’ve found it, have you?” How old was this girl?

  “No…I’ve claimed it. And once I’ve found it, I’ll return home, a hero!”

  “It seems like, if I find it, it’ll just be mine.”

  Cari stomped her feet, huffing, “That’s not how this works! I got here first! By the Law of Discovery, it is my right to first pick!”

  “The Law of Discovery?”

  She puffed out her chest, and Fia noticed a strange insignia pinned to her lapel.

  “Explorer’s Code!”

  “Aren’t you a little young to be an explorer?” She sighed.

  “You’re a little young…” Cari fell silent, but her eyes continued to search the sanctuary. “I’ll be a hero when I bring back the Trident…” She finally muttered.

  “What if I helped you?”

  “I already know you’re after it! You cannot trick me!”

  “Well, Cari, if you must know, I’m something of a mage myself.” Fia held out her hand, the elm staff materializing in her palm. “I don’t need a trident because I already have a staff of my own.”

  Cari thought a moment, pulling absently at the straps of a large pack on her back.

  “Alright… But don’t make me regret giving you a chance.”

  Fia smiled. “I won’t. Now tell me what you know.”

  “The Trident is supposed to be in the church. But I searched here and on the second floor as well. Nothing.”

  “What about the Bell Tower?”

  “Bell Tower?” Cari looked confused.

  “Yes, didn’t you hear the bell ringing?”

  Cari frowned, shaking her head, “There’s no bell here.”

  And though Fia searched both floors, she could find no way to a tower, and no sign of any bell. She knew she had heard it, and she couldn’t shake the feeling that still rang, somewhere near her.

  **********

  “What did I tell you?” called Cari, as Fia waded through the waters towards her.

  “You were right,” Fia admitted. “Did you find anything?”

  “Come look at the altar!”

  It was unlike any altar she had ever seen. Made of black stone, there were no edges, only curves. A great oval, it rose from the sanctuary but was not of it.

  “Seems out of place, doesn’t it?”

  “It does.”

  “I think it was placed here to hide something.”

  “But how do we move it?”

  “It is too heavy; can’t you use a spell or something?”

  Fia tried, really tried. But the spells died as they left her. The stone rejected all of her magic. And eventually, she gave up, letting her staff go, watching it vanish as it fell.

  “Are you sure you’re a mage?” Cari eyed her, crestfallen.

  “Perhaps not a very good one. The stone has been enchanted. Whatever it guards, we must find another way.”

  “Dealing with enchantments is the sort of issue I thought you would be able to take care of,” Cari grumbled.

  Fia ignored her. There was no use in arguing with the girl. “Let's search for a lever or something.” She suggested. “Did you read any of the journal? There might be some clues in it.”

  “Just a bunch of ramblings about some god named R’lectha. Whoever wrote this was not right in the head.”

  “No, he was not. Did he write anything about what lies below the chapel?”

  “He writes quite a bit about a grotto.”

  “Does he mention how to enter it?”

  Cari shrugged, “There’s a lot about the gift of eyes. And look, he’s drawn the altar! Here.” She ripped a page from the book and held it out to Fia.

  Beneath the hurried sketch, hastily scribbled, it read:

  These eyes were never ours. A gift, stolen from the goddess. Made of brine and bone, shaped to behold her wonders. But we are unworthy, and to gaze upon her again, we must return what was taken.

  “Tears.” She smiled, closing her eyes. She thought of Sophie, she thought of Lina, and she thought of Eike. And soon, her eyes were wet, salty drops trickling down her cheek until, one by one, they began to fall, splashing down upon the black stone.

  There was a grinding and the stone began to sink. Cari jumped, stumbling back, and grabbing onto Fia, and they fell from the sanctuary and into the aisle. From beneath the stone, the tide rose. Black waters spilling out, flooding the chancel. There was a bubbling as dark creatures floated up from the depths.

  “Fishmen!” Cari cried, dashing towards the stairs.

  The fishmen were like men. They stood upright, like men, but were scaled, with limbs that were far too long, and much too slick. Beneath the scales stretched thin, slimy muscles, tinged in shades of gray-green as if they had been sculpted from wet clay mixed with the dredges of the ocean floor.

  Their pale eyes followed Fia, lidless bulbs, set wide on flat toad-like faces. Thin lips, jaws gaping wide to reveal rows of needle fangs. Their webbed claws quivered, and the fins jutting from their spines wobbled back and forth as they lurched to their feet.

  Then they dove, scattering beneath waves, scuttling about just beneath the surface.

  From above, Cari screamed.

  And they were upon her.

  The staff was in her hand, but there was no time; one leapt from the waters, its maw stretched wide to devour her. She swung it, and the wood caught the creature in a wheezing gill, sending it flying into the benches.

  A claw ripped at her leg, and she buckled, dropping to her knees, sinking deeper into the waves. A flash of gold and a shriek as a spear of light nailed her assailant to the lectern. And Ella stepped forward, eyes cold, face etched in stone.

  The remaining fishmen gathered around the lectern. Pulling at their fallen comrade, ripping at his flesh, and gorging themselves upon his corpse. There were still three of them.

  Ella strode towards them, and they turned spined fins flaring, snarling at her as she approached. But Ella could not be shaken. She held her staff aloft, and the room shone with the light of a dozen spears. They fell. Plunging from the high arches, crashing down upon her foes. And the fishmen wailed, howling shrieks of pain and terror as they met their fate.

  And when they finally fell still, and her task was complete, Ella faded, as she always did, vanishing into the mist.

  As the waters receded, Fia hobbled up onto the sanctuary. She stared down into the opening left beneath the altar, a black void, and at its ledge a ladder. There was no doubt in her mind. She stood at the entrance to the resting place of a slumbering deity.

  O’ R’lectha. She heard the name calling to her, and in the distance the bells tolled.

  Cycle: Timor 8-1