Chapter 1: Here there be Monsters

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Uncharted Waters
25th of the 6th Month, 1551 (by Kandar reckoning)
The Present

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Out in the mists, the huge shape moved again, and a long, resounding moan drifted across the open waters. The fog deepened visibly: an impenetrable wall on every side.

Captain Jonathan Consangth gripped the railing surrounding the Vionna’s aft deck tightly – so tightly, in fact, that his knuckles were white under the pressure. His blue eyes narrowed as he stared at the hulking shadow that stood out in the distance. He was sweating, because the immense weight of the fog was unbearable, and he had pulled his long brown hair back into a ponytail just to keep strands from sticking to his face.

All hands aboard the Vionna stood on the main deck, all watching the same shape in the distance – due north, in the middle of their course. Anxiety was as dense as the fog, not to mention as suffocating.

The crew was decidedly uneasy, and it wasn’t just because of the beast in front of them. Tension had been mounting ever since the outset of the journey, and now – a week and four days later – things just seemed to only be moving downhill.

Consangth was not easily discouraged, but lacking anything to show for his efforts had severely taxed his good attitude as well.

Bad weather had sapped the crew’s spirits since day one. Although no major storms had yet confronted them, the days had been humid and overcast, with grey skies, light showers, and distant–yet–threatening rumbles of thunder. The ocean waters remained calm, but the crew could almost feel the tension building: when the storm finally broke, it would be a monster.

And then, of course, anxiety dragged on morale. No ship in recent memory had sailed this far east from Kandar: things could go terribly wrong in the unknown regions of unforgiving sea. After all, no one knew exactly where the world ended, and ships had been known to disappear in pockets of unexplored ocean. Granted, the Vionna was still technically in Nevig waters but that really didn’t mean anything. As Kandar’s rival, Nevig’s monarchy was stingy when it came to sharing maps and resources, not to mention the fact that the nation was extremely territorial.

But perhaps the greatest cause of fear in the crew was the fact that their mission parameters were so unclear. With so many factors left to fate and Consangth’s intuition, it wasn’t much of a mission at all: it was a quest. While the crew trusted their Captain completely, none of them was exactly thrilled to be risking his life for an unknown cause – much less one that could go horribly wrong.

And now, with the appearance of this thing…

It was an ill omen, and sailors are by nature extremely superstitious human beings.

Consangth ground his teeth, going over the details in his head for the hundredth time – if only in desperation for some type of new understanding.

If they continued on this northwest course heading, they would eventually hit the shores of the New Lands – hopefully not far from Delathat itself, which was their destination. But once they reached the shallower waters off the coast of the unexplored country, getting their bearings to locate the city would be a cinch.

It sounded so good in theory, and yet Viaalkar, Kandar’s current monarch, had given Consangth little more to navigate by than maps and course bearings, and even those had been scant. The only thing that was really certain was that two weeks ago – almost three now – a plea for help had arrived from Delathat, a tiny harbor village on the shores of the New Land. Again, there were no specifics: just the basics.

And if one of Kandar’s territories was attacked, it could only mean one thing: war.

Delathat was named after the explorer whose vessel had first landed on the distant shores – barely five years prior. Built on nothing more than naïve hopes of success and prosperity, the city had sprung up like a weed, practically overnight. Buoyed by Delathat’s initial success, a surprising number of explorers had risen to the call for settling the new territory for Kandar. Yet no real advancement seemed to have been made: Delathat remained the first and only settlement in a land recently discovered, barely explored.

But according to their message, they were in trouble.

Viaalkar was a wise man, not one to swing at what he couldn’t see. Instead of dispatching the vast numbers of Kandar’s Royal fleet to deal with the crisis – if it was even worthy of such a title – he decided to first take precautionary measures. Consangth’s Vionna, the fastest ship in the navy, had been dispatched immediately with sixty additional men to find out what had happened in Delathat and – if need be – defend the city until help arrived.

One hundred and twenty-four men exactly, to defend a city of several hundred against an unknown foe in a land that had not yet truly been defined. It was absurd, and for all they knew, they would find nothing but Delathat’s ashes when they arrived.

It was a force too small for comfort, yet too large to accommodate. There were only sixty hammocks in the Vionna’s hold as it was, let alone another sixty for these extra soldiers. This also meant that they had sixty additional mouths to feed. Extra provisions had been made, of course, and yet the whole thing still felt wrong.

Consangth smeared sweat from his brow with a forearm, growling low in his throat. Nurturing his anxieties wasn’t helping the situation at hand; he had a bad habit of retreating inward when things got tough.

But the fact of the matter was that he was afraid, and far from ashamed to admit it. No matter how well they were trained, sixty marines might not be enough to save Delathat. They might be walking into a trap, or a war in which they should have no part.

Against his better judgment, Consangth had spent many nights since his meeting with Viaalkar rationalizing instead of sleeping. Again and again, he told himself that – if this was a truly serious threat – the people living in Delathat would have boarded their ships and immediately headed back to Kandar. He told himself that it would be a quick and easy mission, that they would perhaps get to Delathat only to find that the city’s militia had already handled the situation. He told himself that there was no possible way anything was going to go wrong.

Well, that was all well and good for the sake of his nerves, but the cynic in him demanded he keep alert and prepared.

He stared hard out at the waters before the Vionna, wishing he could see more than just twenty yards in each direction. The low visibility demanded greatly reduced speed: after all, it was rare for fog to hang over the water if there was no land mass nearby, and the last thing they needed was to run aground on an uncharted isle.

Were such a catastrophe to occur, it would take weeks – months – for help to find them.

If it ever did.

Consangth sighed forcibly, blowing droplets of sweat from his lips. They were making decent enough headway, even at this reduced pace. There was no sense in remaining so anxious: maybe they would even leave the mists behind soon.

Distracting himself, he ran his hand absently over the smooth wood of the rail, listening to the gentle creak of the rigging, pulled by the faint breeze above his head.

The Vionna truly was a magnificent vessel, unique for two main reasons.

The first was that she had been assembled in elven shipyards. Its graceful silver hull, which rose thirty feet out of the water at the prow, had been constructed with extremely pliable wood from the Elfland isles. The vessel had originally been employed as an unarmed ambassador’s yacht for the elven Lord, Percival, and as a result, she was relatively small when compared to other ships in Kandar’s navy. In standard measurements, the Vionna was only ninety-five feet in length, thirty-five in width, schooner class due to her pair of sails, and yet it was not her size that leant her majesty.

It was that second quality which made the Vionna so unique: her speed. With the wind at her back, she could reach a top speed of thirty–seven knots, thus able to outrun any other ship on the seas. In that respect, it didn’t really matter that the ship’s armament was relatively light. Consangth was sure that some type of elf magic made the Vionna so swift – it seemed that even when there was almost no breeze to fill the sails, they could still cruise at a steady nine or ten knots, and for this reason, he had little fear of doldrums.

I do, however, fear this.

Consangth chewed his tongue, unable to remove his eyes from that black mass out in the distance. It had shifted again – this time dramatically, gliding through the misty sea like a wraith, never removing itself from the Vionna’s trajectory.

No ship moved that way, serpentine and agile…

An audible murmur ran through the ranks as a low tremor caused the deck beneath his feet to quiver, and Consangth shifted his stance uneasily. The last thing he needed was a mutiny – especially now. His crew was loyal, but they – like all others – had their limitations, and Consangth couldn’t blame them for being leery.

A low moan shattered the stillness again, closer and deeper than before. The Vionna’s deck vibrated beneath Consangth’s feet again as a return growl came from somewhere in the distance – somewhere behind them.

So there were two of them, then. Whatever they were.

His throat was parched, and his eyes burned, but he could not blink for fear of the thingblocking their path. It seemed that the mist weighing so heavily on the Vionna and her crew had sucked all the moisture from within his body and condensed it on his flesh.

Rigging creaked in the stillness, the only sound to be heard. There was no wind, only the faintest breath of breeze that none could feel. They all held their breath as the thing in the distance grew and grew.

Under Consangth’s orders, scorpions and catapults had been armed and prepared. Spear–throwers stood with their weapons shouldered, and four archers stood behind Consangth on the poop – some of the soldiers sent with the Vionna for its mission. The ship was too small for full–sized cannon mounts, but several men had handcannons, which they had loaded and primed in preparation for the attack.

The thing continued to grow before them. Beyond massive, it was a solid wall that completely filled the horizon. It was like sailing directly at a mountain.

Consangth coughed to clear his raw throat. If only there were no mists so they could see what they were up against… The idea that the bulk could have been a ship had occurred to him, but he highly doubted that there was any ship in the world that size.

And ships don’t moan and roar like that, Consangth thought, twitching the wheel again. At least, not any ship that I know of.

The world was a big place, the limitations of which remained as yet unknown. It was possible but very unlikely that this thing was man–made.

Movement to his left attracted his attention and almost made him jump. The Vionna’s first mate, a lean female elf was ascending the ladder that led from the main deck up to the poop.

Her deeply tanned arms were bare, glistening almost like wax as mists condensed on her skin; the strangely shaped wolf tattoo on her upper left arm seemed alive. Gently curved ears poked up past a teal headband, and her auburn hair hung loosely about her shoulders. She stood about two inches taller than Consangth and knew more about the Vionna than he did. In fact, Consangth was fairly certain that the elf had some sort of mental or spiritual connection with the vessel. She had played a significant role in commandeering the vessel from the power–hungry Percival and had briefly captained the Vionna herself, running a miniature privateer fleet in service to the nation of Mansin.

Her name was Baradur, an Elvish word meaning “freedom”. She was the most faithful companion that anyone could ever hope to have, and her loyalties to Consangth ran second only to her loyalty to the Vionna. Consangth had more than once been seized by the realization that Baradur would most likely go down with the ship were the Vionna ever to sink.

She seemed to feel his eyes on her, because as she stepped off the last rung, she looked him in the eye and smiled thinly, almost amused. The captain gazed openly at her fair face for a second, then looked away, embarrassed. Although he was not romantically interested in Baradur, she somehow made him think of Mandi – back in Kandar.

The captain winced: thinking about his ex–lover was painful.

Shifting the subject of his thoughts again, Consangth inclined his head in the direction they were sailing. As he spoke, his voice came out in a croak: “Let’s hope that it’ll go back where it came from.”

Baradur nodded in agreement. “Indeed,” she said shortly. Her voice was rich, almost deep, and somehow suited her appearance perfectly. Her Man–Tongue was flawless, the accent distinctly elven.

Although Consangth was fairly fluent in Elvish, Baradur preferred to speak in Man–Tongue, perhaps simply to emphasize her departure from her people. Consangth wasn’t complaining: Elvish words – while beautiful to say, hear, and see transcribed – twisted his tongue into a knot.

They said nothing more to each other. The crew was maintaining silence – so as not to alert the thingto their presence, although Consangth had the distinct sense that whatever it was, it already knew they were there.

He let his hand trace absently over the Elvish runes impeccably carved into the wheel, drawing strength from the words he knew so well. As Captain, he hated facing situations in which he wasn’t in control, and didn’t know whether to turn back or plunge recklessly ahead.

Yet rank demands I still be the one who answers to the gods.

The hulk had gotten very close now. They still could see nothing but blackness, ever–growing before them.

The Vionna glided smoothly and silently through the waters, a sudden breeze dancing about her sails and blowing strands of Baradur’s hair in all directions. Waves gently lapped the sides of the vessel.

And then, suddenly, the sea in front of them opened up and the black bulk was alongside the vessel, so close that the Vionna tilted dangerously to port as the massive thing glided smoothly out of their path, creating massive swells that rocked the elven vessel dangerously.

The mass came to rest several hundred yards away, towering over them. An artificial night fell over them as the beast’s massive shadow coated the ocean.

Weapons ready, the entire crew and soldiers hurried to the starboard side of the vessel as the Vionna settled back to a more stable position in the water. But they still couldn’t see what the thing was – although there was little doubt in any of their minds.

Consangth gripped the wheel tightly as waves continued to buffet the Vionna. Imagination was a powerful thing when left in the dark.

“Steady!” Baradur snapped at the crew, unsheathing a glittering elven saber from the scabbard at her waist. “Steady – don’t provoke it!”

The crew heeded the order and held their fire, although tense looks did not fade from gaunt faces. Several of the men went so far as to light up their shot with fire – just in case – but held back their projectiles obediently.

And then the moan came again, but this time it was not so much a distant cry as it was a scream: an explosion of sound that caused the surface of the sea to vibrate. Swells larger than the Vionna buffeted the sides of the vessel, heeling it to port –

Rigging snapped, cracking like whips, and the mizzen sail tilted dangerously. Lines tightened as netting sagged towards the water, rope fraying away to nothing beneath the strain –

Sailors and soldiers alike fell to the deck, clutching their ears in dismay as waves rose up over the Vionna’s sides, soaking them all with brine.

Clutching the rail to keep himself upright, Consangth hurled the wheel to port with all the strength he could muster, jerking the Vionna away from the beast as the wall of water behind them grew to tremendous heights.

A moving mountain –

Baradur was shouting orders that went unheard in the continued screech. The Vionna was rising up on a magnificent wave, swaying to port, lying almost parallel with the water’s surface –

– and it was all Consangth could do to stay on his feet as he willed the Vionna to go faster – away from the creature before it could crush them, before the growing tidal wave could bury them. The violent waves continued to roll, washing over the Vionna’s decks, but they were actually pushing the tiny ship further away, aiding their escape. The rumble was beginning to subside: maybe the creature had run out of breath –

Consangth felt horror freeze his guts as he heard not one this time, but two return growls, somewhere in the distance, but growing louder. How could they possibly escape three of them?

– and suddenly, sunlight exploded over the Vionna, and the mist was gone as the vessel lurched out into open seas. Waves rolled all around them, and Consangth lost his footing. He fell to the deck, sprawling onto his back as the Vionna’s aft end slewed violently to starboard, spinning the whole ship around with a massive crunch of wood –

And with a final lurch, they came to rest, rocking as the waves died away to nothing but choppy swells.

Consangth lay on the deck, soaked and trembling, staring up at the blue sky. His heart racing, he slowly forced himself to a sitting position, looking past the silver rails to the vessel’s port side – now on his right – where the impenetrable wall of mist hovered: a towering curtain to conceal what lay within.

A faint growl sounded from somewhere distant within, although he knew the beast could be no more than fifty yards away in that direction. The mists shivered and undulated.

The captain struggled to his feet, dripping, squinting in the dazzling sun. His coat had disappeared from where it had hung over the rail – swept overboard by a wave – but his saber was still strapped dutifully to his side. He stood at the top of the ladder leading down to the main deck and surveyed his ship.

The mizzen sail was swaying like a pendulum, supported by mere safety lines that would not hold for long. At least the mast hadn’t splintered or been swept overboard – even a swift ship like the Vionna would not make good progress on only one sail.

The crew was slowly getting to their feet, dazed and soaked amidst the strewn debris. Several men lay still on the deck, apparently unconscious.

“Report!” Consangth shouted, finding his voice.

Baradur stood at the foot of the ladder, dabbing a bloody handkerchief at her ears. The warm breeze was blowing again, playing with her hair. “Minimal damage to mizzenmast, but the sail seems intact. Two men overboard.”

It was better than he had expected, but loss of life was always intolerable to a captain.

Consangth balled his hands into fists. “Damn,” he muttered, working his jaw. “How long will repairs take?”

“A couple hours, no more,” Baradur replied mildly. Her gentle nature, coupled with her perpetual state of peace instilled a contagious sort of calm in the Captain.

“Alright, everyone to your stations,” Consangth shouted. “Tend to those men, and all available hands commence repairs immediately. Lower anchor for the time being!”

As the crew scurried to do their bidding, the captain descended the ladder to stand beside Baradur. “Are you alright?” he asked in an undertone, eying her bloody earlobes. He could only imagine how badly her head must be spinning.

“I’ll be fine.” Baradur smiled disarmingly and tossed the scarlet–speckled handkerchief over the port wale. Undistracted as always, she was the one to keep things moving seamlessly. “We might have been in quite a fix if the men had panicked.”

Consangth smiled wanly. He needed no reminder of how close the encounter had been. Things certainly could have been worse. However, they had lost valuable time.

“Oversee the repairs to the mizzen,” Consangth ordered wearily. “See if we can’t make up for lost time.”

Baradur saluted easily, and turned to weave her way through the crowd of sailors bustling on the main deck. Escaping the foggy prison seemed to revitalize the crew – that, or perhaps fear of pursuit inspired their fervor.

Either way, it was incentive, and that was something.

As he ascended the ladder to the poop, Consangth couldn’t help but spare another glance over the port rail at the dark pall hanging over the dark sea, barely a hundred yards from the Vionna’s current position: the place of the monsters.

He came to stand by the ships compass, with the intentions of checking their bearings. Yet, somehow he couldn’t tear his eyes away.

The gods were merciful, he thought grimly, almost smiling at that personal irony. We should be grateful to be alive.

And if this instance was indicative of how the rest of the mission would play out, perhaps piety was something the entire crew – and Consangth – should be seeking.

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A/N:

Check out my profile for maps of Secrets geography. I’m open to any suggestions.

Thanks, all
“Ken”

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