9 The Lamia

THE UNDEAD SHIP was named Lamia, and was only one of two such vessels remaining. Sometimes called death ships, a misnomer Threadfin attributed to the belligerent ignorance of breathers, they were faster, sturdier, and to his knowledge, unsinkable. The other ships had mysteriously vanished, however.

The Manes was the other and both had lain hidden within a secret cove a league west of Hatava, a place only three undead mages had known about, and two of them were gone.

Pacing the rotting deck, he observed the barnacle-encrusted railings and tattered sails. It was one of those odd vessels like the Atlantians used, which didn’t require oars, although there was no astrolabe on this old tub.

It was powered by viralic magic imbued into the wood of the ship itself. Even the groans it emitted on the high seas reminded him of old romantic acquaintances. It felt as though there was no one controlling it, as if it had a mind of its own, which was an uncomfortable idea.

To that end, the ship seemed intent on carving a path through the heaving waves, attempting to beat the storm coming at them from behind, far to the north. The main sail billowed, driving them at speed through the dark waters of the southern Adalcis Ocean.

‘You seem pensive,’ Oracle said as she leaned over the crusty rail, pale grey arms flopped over the side. Tinny tottered by, heedless of the heaving deck. It was a lucky thing the undead didn’t get seasick, but that thought only brought up memories of an ashen-faced Podral Pole, rushing from their cabin, cursing the name of Todder.

‘You have an unusual bent for a viral,’ he muttered, standing with hands clasped behind his back, robes billowing in the salty wind. ‘I’d go so far as to suggest a bit unnatural.’

‘Viralic magic is unnatural.’

‘Yes,’ he said, ‘well, you know what I mean.’

‘Some say the same of you. I hear what they whisper behind your back.’

Threadfin winced. ‘Oh, believe me, folks have said a lot worse to my face.’

‘I developed my abilities later than most,’ she said after a long moment of silence filled by the wind. ‘I don’t like my magic.’

‘Neither should you,’ said Threadfin. ‘Our power is born of the Darkness. We were created to destroy, to kill, to enslave worlds. We were products of the Grim’s experimentation. It just went wrong, and we’re the result.’

‘Us perhaps,’ she said in a sly tone, ‘but I hear you’re a little ... different?’

It was an inconvenient fact, but he’d come to realise that he was not the Grim any more then he was Rasnal Nalrost. He was his own person. And that was just fine for ol’ Fin Todder.

‘Yes, I heard about you and the Grim,’ she continued when he said nothing, ‘your relationship, if I can put it that way. I must admit, it shocked me. It shocked everyone.’

He suppressed a growl, the dragon within him stirring, restless and hungry. ‘You’ve got some backbone to bring that up, I’ll give you that. Doesn’t change the fact of what we all are, though, and that includes you.’

To her credit, she wasn’t to be put off. ‘I don’t care what we were created for. I care only what I choose to do with my power. As I know you do.’

‘You know nothing about me.’

‘I’ve also made a study of you, and I know that your reputation isn’t the real Threadfin Todder. You care about breathers, about this world and what happens to it. Don’t you?’

He had been looking north at the approaching storm, but now he turned and gave her a decent stare—one of his better ones. ‘Tezcat chose well. Yes, I’m glad you’re along on this trip. You’re strong and talented. Just don’t expect to be coming back.’ Harsh, but he was in a harsh mood, and there was no time to coddle anyone. Those days were gone.

To his surprise, she replied, ‘I know. Do you think any of us volunteered for a fishing trip?’

‘Oracle, what we are about to do is to go against Tartaros itself, and its prince, Lucifer. You understand what that means?’

She shrugged and leaned back at an angle, gripping the railing tight while ignoring the barnacles ripping into her palms. ‘We might be undead, but we’re not forever. We decay over time as breathers do, just slower, and we will cease to exist one day. Isn’t it best we do something worthwhile with the time we’ve got?’

She sounded too good to be true, and Threadfin found himself wondering about her. He was starting to like her far too much to be healthy, despite her lack of tact. Maybe because of it. It was hard to step back from her with any sort of objectivity, which alone made him suspicious.

Droop stumbled onto the deck through a narrow hatch. He carried with him two wooden bowls of guck made from seaweed, and by the aroma, ground-up fish.

He handed one to Oracle who began to eat straight away. Threadfin declined his. ‘Well, what about you, Droop? What’s your talent?’

The younger viral’s drooping visage turned dark. ‘I don’t want to talk about it.’

‘That bad, huh?’

‘Like I said.’

Threadfin decided not to push it. Whatever talent he might possess, it wasn’t something he liked, and he could sympathise with that. He was starting to realise how many virals disliked their powers.

‘Get the others up on deck,’ Threadfin then said. ‘We’ve got more training to do before we reach our destination. We need to be ready for whatever comes.’ They had trained every day for weeks since leaving Hatava, but Threadfin insisted they weren’t ready. Asher kept mostly to himself, watching. Threadfin just ignored the Atlantian as best he could. He hadn’t asked for a new Darken, and he didn’t want one. He didn’t want another friend neither.

Droop turned to go, but paused to stare off at the horizon on the port side. He raised a hand and pointed. ‘Hey, what’s that?’

At first, Threadfin didn’t see what had caught his attention, but it wasn’t long before he noticed smudges appearing. Dozens of them resolving into shapes to his viral-enhanced sight. Sometimes they vanished with the heaving waves obscuring them, but they always returned, and each time they seemed closer.

‘Get everyone up on deck, right now!’ shouted Threadfin. Droop tossed his bowl overboard and ran for the hatch. Threadfin turned to Oracle. ‘You should finish your guck,’ he suggested with a grimace. ‘I think you’re going to need the energy.’

‘Why?’ she asked, coming to stand beside him at the port rail. He knew she had enhanced sight like all virals, but she appeared not to see the ships, giving him pause.

He pointed them out as they rose above the waves again. ‘Because we’re about to be attacked.’

‡

Minutes later, all six mages were on the deck of the Lamia as the enemy fleet closed with the Lamia. Threadfin had touched the port rail, a trickle of his power filled with his intentions, turning the ship head-on to meet their opponents.

Massive oars dipped and rose as the unnatural-looking vessels grew larger. The enemy ships grew larger as they got closer, each one shaped like some nightmarish sea creature. Then he realised with a jolt they were creatures, forced into servitude. The idea appealed to him, and he wondered how such magic might work and what would be needed, before he mentally shook himself. This was no time to get sidetracked.

Threadfin stood near the prow, ahead and in the centre of their group. The wind had risen, the storm closer. The Lamia’s movements became violent, but each viral kept their footing. Threadfin knew they had to strike first, or they might not get the chance. He felt rather than saw Asher Tone join their number, but he had no time to worry over the breather.

He raised both hands, and sent a spiked ball of magic spiralling towards the lead vessel, which was now close enough to see that it towered over the Lamia. It struck the prow, which was made up of massive tentacles. The ship emitted a hideous screeching groan, which confirmed his suspicions.

On the deck of the lead vessel, he spotted movement, but it didn’t look natural. The crew, if they could be called such, appeared to be a jumbled collection of bones, which hurt the eye.

‘Am I seeing what I think I am?’ shouted Tinny over the roar of the waves and hissing spray.

‘What are they?’ cried Droop.

‘Enough with the chatter,’ Threadfin snapped. ‘Hit them with everything you’ve got once they’re within your range. We’ll try to cut through them.’

‘Then what?’ asked Tinny.

He didn’t answer because he had absolutely no idea. How did they know where to find us? Or is this just my infamous bad luck?

Droop, of course, did nothing. Neither did Lip, but Oracle gripped her head in her hands. After several tense moments, the deck of the lead vessel exploded, sending its misshapen crew into the air.

Forge sent a stream of dark flame to strike at a second vessel, which was also approaching fast.

Threadfin saw they would be rammed. They didn’t have the power to stop these ships, not least because there were too many. Cutting through their centre and running for it wasn’t going to work.

They needed another advantage. He felt for the dragon within him, and visualized it opening one lazy eye, the Watcher spreading its wings as it rose from its slumber. The change occurred quicker each time. His body enlarged, his head and jaws, all his bones snapping and reforming. His tail emerged, and then finally his wings.

For a moment, perhaps no more than seconds, the Watcher fought him for control. The undead dragon turned its head, eyeing the prey at its feet. It knew no difference between friend and foe. Such distinctions were foolishness to the Watcher, for there was only predator and prey; light and darkness.

Before it could destroy the Lamia and his friends, Threadfin managed to regain control; the Watcher was enraged as he mentally shoved it aside. Good, you old half-eaten buzzard, he thought, you can save that rage for our enemies.

Crowding the deck of the Lamia, Threadfin didn’t waste time and leapt into the air, aware of the shouts from the others, ignoring them. It was safer for them if he left the ship. He had no idea how long he could maintain his grip on the beast that was his magic.

He saw the enemy fleet better and realised there were many more than he’d feared. Hundreds of vessels, each with decks full of those odd-shaped crew. He guessed there were more below decks. Folding up his tattered wings, he dove towards the nearest vessel, which the Oracle had already damaged, and let loose a thundering roar.

‡

Hundreds of black barbed spears shot upwards from the enemy ship, a few glancing off Threadfin’s scales, others striking home. He opened his wings and banked, but not before letting loose a torrent of dark flame from his jaws, raking the deck and incinerating scores of misshapen creatures. The dying sea creature began to flounder, tentacles coming loose, as it sank beneath the waves.

Wounded, Threadfin headed for the next ship, but he saw the problem. There were too many, and he was one dragon with limits. No other viral could use their magic to transform this way, none that he’d met at least. He was alone in this fight.

A blast struck the deck of another ship sending pieces of bone and flesh into the air. Oracle was doing what she could, but he knew it wouldn’t be enough. The Lamia wasn’t going to reach Raddhon after all.

He tried to draw on his magic, but found he was weakened. The spears that had struck him had been magical, and they had gone right through him. It wasn’t just his undead flesh they’d damaged, for that he could have withstood. It was his half soul. More hits like those, and he would be done for.

He dove at a new target, this time swerving to avoid a volley of projectiles. This time he collided with the deck of the ship and its strange occupants. He realised, belatedly, they were all armed with vicious blades. Those whom he hadn’t crushed with his teeth, body, or wings, now attempted to slash at his scaly hide. He whirled on the deck, wings, and tail thundering into more of them, smashing some to pieces, while tossing others into the dark depths. He doubted any of those things could swim.

Despite his wounds, he was enjoying himself, having spent months waiting for the chance to lock horns with the enemy. It felt good to be doing something useful.

Once more, he spotted it too late. A vanth, one of the fallen angels from a Rift higher than most, and given over wholly to the Darkness, strode towards him across the deck.

The deck itself was not made of wood, but was like the pebbled surface of a creature’s hide—the same creature, which formed this ship’s structure. I should have targeted more of the creatures themselves, he thought, and not just those riding them. Guess there is still too much of the old soft Todder in me. After all, those creatures were innocents.

Cloaked, nothing visible but four unblinking eyes from beneath its hood, the vanth slowed. Taloned wings emerged as the Fallen One revealed its terrible visage. The cloak ripped asunder, as its body enlarged, and fell to the deck. Its four inhuman eyes were locked on its prey.

Threadfin reverted to his human form, his power weakened, soul wounded. He stared up at the fallen angel as it loomed over him, and then as it was about to strike, he launched himself at it. Colliding with the vanth, he felt several bones in his body crack. Talons dug into his back, as the creature began to feed off his half-soul.

Lightning illuminated the ship and the titanic struggle between shadow and darkness. The storm was closer, thunder rumbling across the sky as the wind whipped at the combatants.

Threadfin managed to force the vanth to the edge of the ship, which had no rail. It dug its talons deeper, sucking at his soul, its four eyes never leaving his face. Then they both toppled over the side, and into the cold depths of the Adalcis Ocean.