The silent tribute

Previously: Esmiralda and her companions have discovered that the shattered ship—found upside-down and in the middle of a forest—was once captained by Harfirgorn the Merciless, a pirate of some repute that had vanished long ago. Following clues in a log book they find in the pirate’s quarters, they hope to discover clues to his final resting place. On the way, they meet up with a lady of the wood whose husband has succumbed to the vile magic of the pirate's witch.


Baram watched the fire smolder in silence. She may have wished for immediate revenge, but none came to investigate the source of the black smoke that curled up into the bright blue sky. None that we saw, at any rate. The forest was never quiet; creatures stalked at the edge of our clearing making small but innocent sounds. Now and again a bird soared overhear, some of them quite large and black, but whether they were spies of the Mountain Witch or not, we had no way to determine.


None of my companions wanted to disturb the Daughter of the Wolf as she watched her husband burn. I took note of the single trail of tears that flowed unabated and undisturbed. I was reminded of a day, long ago, when I saw similar smoke, smelled the same stench of scorched flesh and mourned one who had meant the world to me. I was just a young girl, then, clinging terrified to my wailing father's shirt. My mother had been all I had known. I saw no way forward without her kindness to ease the sting of my father's hand or harsh words. I understood Baram's grief--I suppose, in a way, we all did--but did not think that gave me the right to intrude on it.


Instead I flipped through the pages of Harfigorn's log, seeking clues to our destination or, at the very least, our foes. the idea that the pirate himself was the lesser evil was still growing in my mind. I thought it possible now, that he was merely a puppet for a stronger, blacker power. Perhaps even the witch Athelane did not know what she trifled with.


I found troubling accounts of battles against gigantic creatures, ambushes on hapless merchant vessels and the blood-soaked rituals that followed. It was a circle of horror; the fluids and pieces of those doomed traders called the dark things that lay wait below the surface of the Big Seas to the surface. Some fought and died, others were allowed to return to their gloomy domain. I could see no pattern in it.


Merrick appeared beside me, tugging his sparse beard. "Anything?"


I shook my head. "The tales are wild, but not too informative. They detail the witch's power and depravity, but not her purpose."


A grunt. "I suspected. Those who crave this dark knowledge rarely let us know why. For us, it is enough to know they exist and must be stopped."


"Do you think we'll be able to? If she has found a way to harness Ewl's power, or gain his favor, all the weapons we have might not be enough." I stared at Seymuhr as I spoke. He sat warming his feet by the pyre and munching on a dried spider leg as long as his arm.


"My--our--companions are stout fighters, and I've a few tricks up my sleeve," he said. "But there is no way to guarantee success in any battle. We can only prepare ourselves, bolster our own spirits, and do our best."


I nodded. Sound philosophy, of course. I had always followed it--and that was how I found myself bereft of coin and home and at the mercy Merrick and his agents of the Ministry of Human Preservation.


"That, and hope my luck changes," I said.


Baram bowed her head. I heard a few murmured words and then a deep sigh. She stood, brushing the grass from her backside and the tear trail from her cheeks.


"Enough," she said. "Let's be on our way. My sword is still dry and my soul hungers for vengeance."

The cleansing flame

Previously: Esmiralda and her companions have discovered that the shattered ship—found upside-down and in the middle of a forest—was once captained by Harfirgorn the Merciless, a pirate of some repute that vanished long ago. On a quest to find his final resting place and the treasure that he is most likely buried with, they are accosted by a shambling, undead thing and draw the attention of a mysterious woman. Now, they ponder their next move.


Later, we gathered wood for a fire and Seymurh placed Ranfyrd's body on it.


"You are certain of this?" I asked Baram. She had been quiet since she had instructed us not to bury the body of her husband, her gaze alternating between his shriveled, misshapen corpse and the blue mountains to the north. "Our errand is urgent, but we still have time to bury your man, perhaps build a small shrine...?"


"I am sure. Under other circumstances, I would be honored to give his body back to the land, so that he may sustain it for those who still live." She met my gaze and I saw a quiet rage there. "The evil the mountain witch infected him with must be contained. I would not want it to poison the land, or the creatures who may pass through here. It must be the fire. That is another crime this Athelane must suffer for--denying Ranfyrd his rightful place in the soil."


Merrick had drawn a short, thick vial from some hidden pocket. He shook it, dipped a finger in it and then inspected the green liquid that coated its tip. Satisfied with what he saw, he crouched over Ranfyrd's body, mumbling something, as he drew a quick circular pattern on unfortunate man's forehead. Then he closed his eyes and brought his hands together in front of his chest, took a deep breath and held it for so long I wondered if he would ever take another one.


HIs eyes flickered open and he flashed me a smile with no humor in it. "Merely a precaution," he said. "The flames should cleanse what the soil cannot."


Broo Fang Tane stood on the other side of the pyre, his head bowed in prayer. Seymuhr swatted a few more insects. I was not sure what, if anything, I should say, so I shifted my weight and held my tongue.


Merrick bent and picked up a log that jutted from the fire we had started nearby. The end smoldered, ready to give birth to new flame. He held it up to Baram. "It is time," he said, his voice soft and filled with compassion.


Wordlessly, she took the torch and held it below the shriveled corpse of her husband. the dry wood caught quickly, the fire spreading in great crackling leaps. the body was consumed in moments as the flames reached toward the clear blue sky. The black smoke curled upward, tinged with a bizarre, bright green.


I glanced upward, noting three large black birds that were circling overhead. the smoke would reach the top of the trees soon, and be visible for leagues.


"Will the smoke draw the attention of our enemies?" I whispered to Merrick, who shrugged.


Baram must have overheard. "Let them come," she said.


We watched the flames and readied our weapons.