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evanderhilloway · 10 months

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Souls at Sunset

Chapter Seven - Madness Maker

Evander’s heart weighed heavy with worry over Moose. In hindsight, his staying ashore was inevitable and definitely for the best. Evander just hadn’t expected it, - or hadn’t imagined it - what life aboard The Changeling would be like without the comfort and familiarity of that lumbering hulk of a sailor. Fortunately, the unanticipated boon of Vagor’s return did manage to lift Evander’s spirits a little. He held tight to the hope that his landbound friend would recover, and in the meantime, he could entertain himself with the adventure of cracking open the enigma that was The Changeling’s other lumbering sailor - Vagor himself.

In the few hours that followed their departure, Cap had grown just short of tyrannical - well, that might be putting it dramatically, but compared to his ordinarily collected demeanor, his uncharacteristic irritability grated on the crew. The captain’s patience had waned severely following their foray to Queensbane, a detour which had cost The Changeling a full day’s travel. And while the vessel had roared to life with the refreshment afforded by their unforeseen disembarkment, Taprick’s incessant barking now made quick work of whittling away the crew’s morale once more.

Cap’s listlessness, however, wasn't the only culprit unsettling the sailors.

As The Changeling charted its course swiftly out to open ocean, its own relentless advancement away from shore was met with the peculiar juxtaposition of ship after ship after ship pulling into port. Too many ships, in fact. A nonsensical number of ships. While the black of night and endless waves stretched out ahead the bow, the bay behind glowed, an eerie, amber fog billowing up as the black void of sea poured lantern laden vessels back into the jagged bay.

What's going on? Evander squinted at the shoreline. Queensbane was little more than a shadow beyond the tide now, its silhouette just barely discernible against the starless night sky. He surmised, unable even to properly convince himself of the idea’s merit, that perhaps the fleet of returning vessels had been called into port for some meeting or another other, a celebration perhaps. More optimistically still, they were perhaps Crown vessels, contracted to abide a curfew imposed by Queensbane port authorities. As he scanned the hoard of ships navigating to port, Evander ignored the pit of perturbation sinking its tendrils soundly in the lining of his stomach, knowing full well Queensbane had never boasted a fleet of that grandeur.

But it was a nice thought, much nicer, in fact, than any number of other ideas threatening to shimmy through sulci cracks to the forefront of Evander’s mind. And thus, Evander instead entertained untroubled musings of frigates keeping bedtimes as he clambered up the mast to the crows nest, scanning the dark horizon before him.

His pesky gut lolled again, the metallic tinge of paranoia clamoring through his veins, scurrying through every capillary.

Something was off. Undeniably and viscerally. A sharp inhalation below and sternward from Evander’s vantage spelled out quite clearly that Cap felt it too, though he hadn’t, as yet, breathed an unsavory word to the unsuspecting crew. The young sailor shifted his attention to the sea anew and to the creeping darkness of the night sky hovering just above it. He probed the bleak horizon, it seemed endlessly - though in truth only a few seconds had passed - before his gaze met the seam between sea and sky, noting an anomaly that to untrained eyes would have been damn near imperceptible in the darkness now surrounding them. Where waves should have appeared, increasing in both volume and frequency, the sea stood still. Instead, The Changeling coursed through glass calm waters.

Fuuuuuu–dge.

The crystalline waters granted an all too diaphanous window of ill omen, as a baleful shadowy sphere flashed in the water, just ahead of the ship’s bow, from Evander’s angle situated almost directly beneath the ship’s hull. He had little time to cry out to Vagor, whom he had left situated atop a crate near the mast’s base, and to the other sailors in earshot, “BRAAAACE!!!” From his vantage, he watched, a hint of panic blossoming through his chest, as the crew collectively froze in confusion, processing Evander’s vehement and unforeseen request, before in a flare of chaos, each and every sailor darted to clutch hold of the nearest rope or rail their fingers could find.

Evander himself clung desperately to the shaft protruding from the crow’s nest floor, cursing the disadvantage with which his current vantage had saddled him. He squinted his eyes, flexing and straining every muscle fiber on his body, bracing for impact.

Nothing.

The Changeling’s swift glide resumed, uninterrupted. The shadow Evander had spied beneath the water’s pellucid surface was gone. Am I seeing things? Relief would have been a welcome companion, but it too was nowhere to be found. If anything, the unease gripping Evander’s core sank its claws deeper.

On the main deck below, sailor after sailor raised angry shaking fists at Evander, howling profanities at the young lad’s foolhardiness. Steadily, the sailors carried on with their nightly tasks, grumbles continuing to echo here and there across the ship’s length, skeptical sidelong glances landing on Evander every few seconds, wary of what nonsense he might next concoct.

Without delay, Evander shimmied down the mast to the deck, foregoing the more prudent path of ropes and makeshift ladders, taking care and advantage to utilize the leather patches on his elbows and knees as the main points of contact as he slid himself swiftly down to the main deck, hitting hard on his feet and stumbling slightly. Disregarding his crewmates, Vagor included, Evander hurriedly gathered his sword and satchel, and dazed off, searching the faces of the small slew of sailors, until finally, his scrutiny led him into a locked stare with the ship’s captain. Taprick’s stern, determined gaze and clenched jaw were all the confirmation Evander needed. Cap knew exactly what was going on, had known, every bit as long as Evander, and some. And he’d said nothing. The searing hot pain of mistrust flashed through Evander’s nerves as he glared at Cap, tightening rigging lines and readying himself and the ship for the inevitable unknown.

Vagor, who had up to this point been gawking at the erratic back and forths of his young friend, broke his stupefied silence, “What in the devil is going on, Evander?” He demanded.

Evander headed off in a fixed march right past the half-elf, chewing his lips as he mulled on a response, trying to form a proper explanation, seeking out the right words - if the right words even existed. He jolted to a stop, just beside Vagor, shoulders brushing. Evander’s hardened leer was fixed firmly on the black glass waters ahead.

“Moon's mad.” Evander's tone was harrowingly empty.

No sooner had the words escaped Evander's mouth than he commenced charging about the sloop in preparation. He closed his eyes, desperately willing himself to a calm, but despite the valiant effort, he opened his eyes to his own out-stretched arm, palm facing down, fingers splayed wide, and shaking beyond control. He reached his opposite hand to rest over his bicep, sliding it down the length of his arm in a motion of self-assurance, stopping to clutch his own forearm tightly, and forcing it to steady a moment instead.

Vagor watched, first in perplexion and then in a fleeting suspension of helplessness, as his young friend devolved in front of him. Of all the things he had hated about this world so far, seeing Evander unravel like this topped them all.

Vagor wagered himself into Evander's path, thrusting his hand out to barricade his friend's pacing. He grabbed hold of Evanders biceps, snugly pinning his small frame. It served doubly to ease Evander's shaking, and force him to meet the half-elf's golden eyes.

"Evander, what the hells is that supposed to mean?!" Vagor queried in hushed tones, incredulously. "The moon's mad?"

Vagor's grip had left Evander's elbows unbound, free to flail about, and that’s exactly what they did now, as Evander flung his right hand straight up, pointed directly at the porcelain sphere floating above them, peaceful and still against the void of night. "Moon." It appeared Evander's ability to communicate had dwindled into an oozing pool of single syllables.

He threw his hand down, pointing just off the ship's bow, conspicuously gesturing toward the crystal clear reflection of the moon in the smooth mirror sea. Except it wasn't mirrored, not exactly anyway. The reflection staring back at its skybound counterpart was dark and ominous - a shadow, pledged to the motionless tide, of an ancient, sunken moon of old. And it followed them, its visage engulfing the water beneath and all around The Changeling’s gliding hull.

“Mad.” Yay, more monosyllabic pseudo-gibberish.

“Diminutive” was far from what Evander was trying to achieve, but at present, adequate layman’s terms didn’t exist, nor the requisite minutes mind you, to explain the outlandish truth to his companion, or anyone, in any comprehensible fashion - the Madness Maker had angered the moon. Period.

No, that doesn’t make sense, and it’s not supposed to - and it wouldn’t matter anyway, even if it were supposed to. All that mattered now was that The Changeling, in that present moment, found itself situated on the most treacherous set of coordinates this side of the whole bloody world.

Evander’s eyes sparked like firecrackers in the flickering light of a nearby lantern. He was frenzied, yes, but Vagor could sense the depth of verity enshrouded in his friend’s illogical words. Evander believed what he was saying, and so, in unquestioning solidarity, did Vagor.

“Alright.” the burly half-elf muttered, gathering his own racing thoughts. “Alright, what do we *do*?” He dropped his hold on Evander, solemnly awaiting further instruction, recognizing the time for questions had never come or gone, and never would. All any of them could do now was act, and pray to the gods that it might be enough.

“Tie yourself off. It’ll be a miracle if we get out of this one.” Evander cursed, casting another burning glare to Captain Taprick, who had situated himself at the helm, his stalwart facade growing brittle with every second of silent inaction, or perhaps more fairly, insufficient action. Cap steadied the ship as the unseen currents of wind and wave dragged the vessel further and further out to the deep end of the Ebony Sea.

Fortune, however misguided, had at least thrown the other sailors into action, as they mistook Cap’s demeanor for what it had hitherto, and without fail, signified - stormy seas ahead. Evander found small comfort in observing as his shipmates collectively took to fastening themselves in precaution to o-rings lining the ship’s rails. Colin and Pea had rigged a tow line of sorts down the deck’s middle that would allow a handful of the crew to maneuver the vessel without risk of being hurled overboard to their imminent deaths. Sea storms were, as it happened, not the most favorable circumstances in which to be attempting retrievals. Prevention is the best medicine, and all that.

The motionless seas and deafening silence crafted this wicked calm into an unnerving ordeal. Sailors fastened knots and moved loose barrels and crates to the deck and hold below, without a single murmur. The captain stood steady at the wheel, helming the ship to its certain ruin, face void of emotion. Only Evander could see the failing of his soul, shaking and paralyzed in fear and doubt.

Evander gulped. No medicine nor magic can save us now. He stole a glance at Vagor, catching the half-elf’s view long enough to betray his own terror, as the whites of his eyes glistened wet in the moonlight overhead. Vagor met Evander’s gaze, the same fear shuddering through his own fleshy carapace. Silence dangled between them. Vagor couldn’t know what Evander guessed, what horrors they would soon witness and endure - endure, and not survive. Words would never suffice in this, their final moments. And so, the half-elf resolved himself. He puffed his chest, drawing himself into steady composure, smiling at Evander, his brow furrowed in a mark of brave expectation of the inexorable peril that awaited them. He nodded his head to Evander, an unspoken pledge that if this should, and would, be their end, it would be just that - theirs.

And with that simple gesture, the dam holding back the pools of tears welling in the basins of Evander’s vibrant orange eyes failed. With every gasping sob, his anxieties were wiped away, as if the soft hand of Vagor’s oath had brushed them into the black void of night, so that in their wake, there was a little more room for Evander - a little more room for hope.

Hope. Evander started from his weeping, as an idea struck a chord within him. Maybe the boon Vagor had gifted him, was a blessing to be shared. He couldn’t bestow life, surely, but he could bestow hope, and maybe, just maybe, that would be enough. It had to be.

Wasn’t that how the Madness Maker operated anyway? A treacherous, fickle god, who preyed on the fears of man, siphoning every ounce of sanity from the world and its creations, replacing reason with riotous lunacy, hope and valor with dread and impotence.

Yet, if Evander could restore even a modicum of that hope to the crew now stranded in the epicenter of the Madness Maker’s damnation, perhaps he could tip the scales just enough to thwart whatever the despotic god had enacted. He could stop the Madness Maker turning the whole world on end, as if the threads of gravity tethering this world to the moon above had been menacingly snipped free.

He braced his arms behind himself, wrapping them fast around the mast, clenching his eyes closed a second to clear his own mind. A moment later, he tore them open, the ochre of his eyes glowing, surveying at once every last glowing soul present aboard the ship. Maneuvering his own mind and soul from seeing to now sensing, Evander extended himself, reaching out to touch and tether his own soul to theirs. He strained, pouring every ounce of his own will into willing these souls onward, and upward. His head and heart throbbed. This endeavor far exceeded anything he’d previously attempted, more even than that which he had accomplished with Moose’s faltering soul. But godsdamnit, it was working, and that spurred him on. One by one, the light glimmering in his own eyes, shone in the eyes of his crewmates. They stood a little taller, braced a little harder, less fearful and more ready. Their souls hovered higher, radiating brighter.

Evander breathed out a soft chuckle of disbelief, and relief. He paused a moment, taking in the courage of his friends - no, his family - his own mind swirling in wonder at how best to proceed. There was no signifying whether his efforts thus far had been enough. So he had to do more. He had to further cement their courage somehow…Gods be damned, he did the first thing that came to mind.

The sonorous tones of a breathy contralto echoed out over the ship’s deck, ringing in the ears of every sailor thereon, as Evander wished his melodic intent into their midst,

“Hold fast now lads, the winds are strong.

Steady yourself, somethin's wrong.

Look alert, as sea swells rise,

Stand ye firm, side by side.

Hold fast, lads. We’ve been through worse,

We’ve angered storms, we’ll brave this curse.”

The final note lingered, sonorous still in the salty air, when Collin’s own rich tenor rang out, beginning the shanty anew. By the second line, a few more voices had chimed in, the others following quickly after, until the final bar boomed, not a single lip sealed in reservation. Reckless abandon had been their lives and now it would be their legacy.

And again, at the final refrain of “brave this curse”, the crew carried the tune up once more, voices lilting in harmonious tandem.

It was magnificent - bewitching yet bewildering, transcendent yet sublime.

And it was too late.

●●●

THRUM.

Midway through the fifth round of song, every fiber of reality, every somatic component of the sailor’s beings and realities shifted a staggering half inch. Their voices continued belting out Evander’s chorus, but rather than lifting above as it had a half second earlier, the sound hung low over the ship’s deck, distorted and tinny - grotesque and otherworldly.

THRUM.

Through displaced vision, the sailors watched as a single rippling ring bulged from the water’s surface, tracing the moon’s angered reflection. Evander looked on through drunken eyes as what little store of hope he had doled out to his crew members drained with the sudden realization that stormy seas had never been a lesser evil.

THRUM.

Because it wasn’t as if the Madness Maker had lifted a set of cosmic shears and slashed some proverbial ribbon fettering the world’s moon to the flowing tides of Whimsie…That’s exactly what happened. And as some sick side effect of the distortion in gravitational forces, it was all too clear from the pulsating ring of water, that the moon in it’s fury was now calling something - no, to call it something is to suggest that whatever was now rapidly levitating itself to the surface had any right to exist in the world it sought to terrorize, that it was anything less than a menacing and gross aberration of nature - up, thrashing silently toward the ocean’s fragile veneer.

THRUM.

Cap was yelling something from behind the ship’s wheel, orders perhaps, or maybe some final prayer or sailor-branded last rites. The contorting atmosphere around the ship was too tangled now to discern words. Evander’s pulse throbbed in his temples. He blinked past the disorientation long enough to see a handful of crew mates scrambling to unfasten themselves from the ship, eyeing the rails with mad desperation. He closed his eyes again, focusing on his own rhythmic breathing and granting himself a moment reprieve from the sensory abomination unfolding around him. Fleeing was pointless, though he couldn’t blame his crewmates for trying. Maybe in another life he’d do the same - in another life he had. He winced, waiting for the tinge of regret that should have pierced his core at the thought of years past. But there was nothing, no pang of doubt, no flash of memories he wished he could relive or choices he could remake. He’d walked away from a life he couldn’t keep living, because no matter how well-intended, it hadn’t belonged to him. He was made for more. He was made for this.

There was no more fleeing for Evander. He was right where he belonged.

Whatever the now undulating sphere, rimmed with deadly sharp baleen spears calling itself into view from the depths beneath The Changeling, was, it looked very much alive - and as far as Evander was concerned that was paramount. Because if it was alive, that meant it had a soul - and that, Evander could work with.

Vagor stood close enough to his young friend to avoid necessarily wading through the perceptive muck before taking up a front row seat to the whirring gears of Evander’s mind. The half-elf watched on silently - he couldn’t bring himself to contribute further to the rancid cacophony brewing endlessly around him…he swore he could *smell* the sound at this point - as Evander’s countenance stiffened determinedly, leaning out from the mast to which he was fastened, eyebrows furrowed, one cocked slightly in scheming anticipation of the lurking enemy. Vagor was actively swallowing globs of bile back into his stomach, and could have slapped Evander for looking so smug.

THRUM.

One final warning before the beast pierced the surface, cresting in line with the single pulsing ripple outlining the black mirrored moon. It broke without a splash, the waters undisturbed, this surreal picture of teeth and flesh materializing from the illusory solid mass of an illogically frozen ocean. All at once, the twisting ether quelled, jolting the crew and vessel back to familiar reality, as the slick, whalebone-lined walls of the creature's gullet rose steadily upward, encasing the ship and the surrounding waters. The dripping flesh between the spindling bones undulated, expanding outward like fragments of a hot air balloon, before collapsing taught between spines once more, thrumming with every expansion. The makeshift cavern climbed higher and higher, reeking of rotting fish and sun-starved flesh.

Evander didn’t bother to untangle his arms and hands from behind his back. He didn’t need them. He only needed his eyes to tell him the obvious. This creature did, in fact, possess a soul, and its visage was all too recently familiar. Now the beast was in full view, it’s soul apparent and hovering there in its throat, bearing striking resemblance to the black voided reflection of the moon still just barely visible from beyond the sea monster’s gaping circle of a mouth, the only thing withholding utter darkness from encapsulating the ship and its crew.

The young sailor braced himself, steeling his own eyes into a tunneled focus on the monster’s bleak soul, swimming through the haze of darkness, searching for something, anything, tethering it to the Madness Maker’s villainous will. It was untraveled territory for Evander. He’d only ever added to a soul, or more recently, guided it, maneuvered it. He’d never dared to wade into it, never grasped it with the intent of taking something away. He hardly knew what to even look for.

Until suddenly, he felt it. A hitch, the weight of a thin thread coiled within the monster’s soul, thick with destructive intent, bearing what Evander could only assume to be the Madness Maker’s signature - his seal of calamitous approval. In his mind’s eye, he grasped the thread and yanked with the full force and capacity of his ability, feeling it catch, unwaveringly tensile against his pull. Beads of sweat poured down his brow as he ground his jaw, pitching his own will against that of a literal god. The sensation was repulsive. The harder he sought to prise the thread from the creature’s soul, the harder it wrenched on his own. He could feel every cell in his body being wrested away from each other in a disgusting deviation of corporeal proportions. The gravitational disturbance of seconds past was dwarfed in comparison to the all too personal hell Evander was now enduring alone.

His eyes watered from the repugnance of it all, every indiscernible hair on his body drawing to a stand from pebbled pores. It was electrifying in the most horrible sense of the word, and yet, he couldn’t back down. He ground in harder, offering himself up in sacrifice to the success of this impossible task. Where the Madness Maker had gambled mere intent, Evander would raise him his entire being.

And maybe, just maybe, some nameless god somewhere unseen saw Evander’s offer and tipped the scales, because at the moment when he thought his own soul would snap clean in two, he felt the thread of destruction lose an inch of tension, whirling as it began unraveling on itself, fibers snapping loose in every direction.

Vagor watched Evander’s eyes lighten once more, gleaming with triumph. He’d done something. Vagor couldn’t possibly know what that something was. But it was clear whatever his friend had been battling, he was winning now.

An impossible smile lit Evander’s countenance as he turned to face Vagor, gaze still far off in some ethereal realm, mouth ready and breath sucked in, about to speak…when the finally sloshing waters beneath the ship dropped without warning, sending the vessel clamoring down farther into the monster’s throat before slamming into the sunken waters with an menacing crack ringing through The Changeling’s hull.

But in Vagor’s ears, the crack was but a distant echo to the sharp “THWACK” of Evander’s head as it wracked forward and then back every bit as fiercely, battering into the mast behind him. Vagor’s yellow eyes ripped wide in horror as his friend’s body fell slack against the rope fastening his companion’s waist to the wooden pole. He’d had just enough time and presence to brace himself for the impact, clinging to a nearby rail and trusting his own tethering to dampen the fall. As the boat rocked violently, Vagor hurriedly freed his own bonds, and rushed carelessly to Evander’s limp frame.

By the grace of the gods, Vagor reached him without losing his own balance too egregiously, and immediately noticed the stream of blood pouring from the base of Evander’s head, his thick sandy brown hair masking its exact source, but flow and locale betraying a likely superficial lesion near the juncture of spine and skull.

Vagor did slap Evander now, attempting in desperation to call him back to the land of the conscious, when he was forced to abandon his efforts as a vengeful dread flooded his senses at the horror continuing to unfold around him…literally. Whatever Evander had been working at, and winning, it ended the moment the young sailor had lost consciousness. The monster's cavernous maw, now walled up a hundred putrid feet on all sides, split, unfurling slow motion into quill-lined petals flayed out across the sea beyond the moon’s spiteful circumference.

For a moment, all was hideously still.

And then, with ungodly force and supernatural momentum, the beast’s flapping jaws folded back in on themselves, threatening to crush anything and everything trapped in its center. Vagor screamed, gurgling as bile forced its path up and out the half-elf’s mouth. He wrapped his body around Evander, trussing his frame in one final act of dissent against their impending oblivion.

Everything went dark as Vagor clenched his eyes shut, awaiting the deadly blow that never landed. He popped his eyes open to see the monster’s throbbing and muscular flesh straining against an invisible force, some twenty feet overhead, wrapping itself in a protective sphere around the vessel and her occupants. Well not the entire vessel, as a good ten feet of bow and stern, respectively, found themselves outside the invisible orb, pulverized into splinters against the weight and force of the monster’s crushing feat.

And at the sphere’s epicenter, hunched over his slack-jawed snoozing companion, stood none other than the golden-orbed half-elf himself. Vagor.

He didn’t have a single clue as to who the Madness Maker was. Had never even heard the name. But it didn’t matter. Vagor was about to make this madness his bitch.

#fantasy fiction #fiction #orange eyes #female writers #writers #whimsie #doomed #hope #menace #monstersatsea

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