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The Last Sea God

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Layout & Typeset: Close-Up Books

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www.ashleycapes.com

Published by Close-Up Books

Melbourne, Australia

Contents

Prologue

1. Notch

2. Notch

3. Notch

4. Notch

5. Flir

6. Flir

7. Seto

8. Ain

9. Notch

10. Nia

11. Nia

12. Ain

13. Flir

14. Flir

15. Seto

16. Fiore

17. Ain

18. Notch

19. Seto

20. Flir

21. Fiore

22. Notch

23. Ain

24. Seto

25. Fiore

26. Seto

27. Flir

28. Flir

29. Notch

30. Notch

31. Ain

“Very well, Renasi. I mean to restore someone long since lost to me.” She crossed the room and leant close. He shrank back, though all he could make out was a pair of smiling lips. “Now, clothe yourself and take me to your workshop – we begin immediately.”

“Yes ma’am.”

She straightened. “And enough of that. Do I truly seem so old? Address me as Mistress. And make haste.”

He flung his blankets aside. “Yes, Mistress.”

1. Notch

Everything was dry.

The air, his lips, his tongue and throat – the thin blanket on his hammock, the damnable walls of Melosi’s creaking tub, everything! Notch wiped at his face. Even his eyelids – shouldn’t he be sweating at least? Maybe he was; maybe his hand was simply numb from sleeping on it again.

In the dim quarters below deck Notch tilted his hammock and reached for a nearby pack, rummaging around the bottom for the tenth time. No more fire-lemon. Nothing had changed. Weeks since his fingers slid across the smooth, smooth surface of glass.

He knew as much, just as he’d known the other nine times he’d searched.

No matter.

Ecsoli, the land of the sun, would be swimming in fire-lemon and he only needed a little, just to remember the taste, just to brush away some of the fog that lingered. It had been receding over the days since he’d been limited to the swill the sailors portioned out – the little they’d been using to bolster their spirits.

Something that seemed to be happening more and more lately.

Still no land in sight.

Food and fresh water running low.

Bad weather looming; a storm that had been threatening for days but which never seemed to break. Always out in the half-distance, black clouds on the horizon or strong winds, continuous lightning strikes like temporary forests of searing light.

But no matter how close it drew, the storms never truly threatened the ship.

And it was all because of Captain Melosi’s secret.

Tersi.

Abrensi’s son, secret Storm Singer of the Hawk. Tersi was the reason Melosi had sailed last winter to retrieve Notch’s sword, the blade which even now hung from a post nailed into the door.

Whenever the Storm Singer’s clear voice, not unlike his father’s, cut through the wind and sent the savagery of nature away, or when Tersi instead chose to harness the wild forces and send the ship tearing across the waves, sails bulging, it was an awe-inspiring sight. And it would have been even more magnificent had Notch been sober for most of the displays.

Now the ship seemed to battle the ocean.

Notch pushed himself from the bunk and stumbled for the door. Movement set his stomach roiling and he gripped the wall. Bad idea. Still, fresh air, even the air from a stormy sea, suddenly seemed worth the risk.

Wind and sleet slashed through his clothing above deck, as if he wore nothing instead of leathers, vest, tunic and heavy overcoat as extra protection from the chill of spring on the ocean. It seemed winter was reluctant to relinquish its grip on the Northern Sea. Perhaps now, after six or even seven weeks of sailing north, they were closing in on their destination, though it hardly seemed the land of the sun would be so near.

Nor that it would be so easy to reach. After all, before the invasion, no ship had crossed the ocean in hundreds of years.

But the Hawk was no
t drawing near land precisely.

Men lined the rails and clung to the rigging, staring out across the dark sea to an enormous green island sequestered in still waters of glittering blue. The storm clouds, the rain and fury of the wind, it all fell into a calm before reaching the shore.

“What magic is this?” Notch whispered as the ship rocked. He gripped the rail.

A huge hand came to rest on the wood beside his own.

Alosus.

The Tonitora towered over him, his torso bare to the elements, the skin of his bald head and shoulders dusky ‒ almost the deep red of coals. His expression was difficult to read, despite the weeks of shared lessons in both modern and old Anaskari. If Alosus was surprised by what he saw out in the middle of the vast ocean, he gave no indication. In fact, if anything, it was a preoccupation that Notch detected. The man’s son and his family; Alosus held onto the hope that Vinezi had not ordered them killed, that his quest would not be for naught.

“Old magic,” Alosus said, using the ancient tongue. “We stopped here during our journey, I suspect, though I never saw the land, chained below as befitting a slave.” His voice was a low rumble, difficult to hear beneath the wind and hints of thunder.

“Then we’re close to Ecsoli. Or heading in the right direction at least,” Notch replied. Ancient Anaskari had not been as difficult to learn as he’d expected, but nor was it second nature yet.

“We are. And if your Storm Singer can continue to guide us all by himself, an impressive feat I can still hardly believe, then we should reach the silver shores within four weeks.”

“Four more weeks,” Notch muttered.

Four more weeks and he’d finally reach Ecsoli, the Land of the Sun, where his search could begin in earnest. He’d failed to save Sofia once; he would not do so again. There had to be a way to return her to life. There had to be someone in the old land who knew the magic, who knew how to free her soul from the Greatmask.

Gods, she’d deserved so much more. How could death be her only reward for saving the city? For saving all lands, for saving everyone from Vinezi’s depraved quest for bones of power?

It was a cruel joke sent down from a bastion of indifferent Gods.

“And no more fire-lemon to blur the days.” Alosus’ words broke Notch’s dark reverie. Again, the big man’s expression and voice were hard to read. Disapproval or subtle humour?

“Maybe the island will hold a few surprises.”

“I fear it might.” Alosus did frown now. “I may not have been able to see, but I heard the sounds of significant struggle. Vinezi and his brothers fought something here when they stopped to re-supply. If we can reach the island, we must warn the captain.”

“Agreed.” The wind was already dropping as the helmsmen held course, protected by Tersi’s song. Notch looked up to the giant. “Who brought Vinezi here, if he had no Storm Singer?”

“I have not been able to figure that out. Something amongst the items he stole from his father, no doubt. Perhaps it no longer matters.”

“I suppose not.”

Notch asked no more questions about Vinezi – it was a mistake, it always was because his thoughts invariably turned back to Sofia and his failure.

The wind fell away, and the Hawk surged forward, before flying across the still waters at a slightly calmer pace. Notch looked back; the darkness of the storm held at bay, waves churning and clouds afire with lightning. Ahead, the lush green of the island drew closer – trees climbing the sides of stony peaks, the faint cries of jungle birds crossing the waves.

Before it all stood a crumbling pier.

And waiting on the boards, a lone figure in a white cloak and hood.

2. Notch

The figure was gone when they dropped anchor and rowed to the pier.

And after mentioning it once to Alosus, Notch dropped the subject, since the large man had seen nothing. An unwelcome side-effect of the drink? It wouldn’t have been the first time he’d seen something that didn’t exist after – or during – long bouts of drinking.

Too bad there was little chance for fire-lemon out in the jungle.

“I’m not saying we won’t take heed of your warning,” Melosi said as he coiled a length of rope for the pack that lay at his feet. The tiny bird skulls in his beard clinked as he worked, and his black coat had been brushed clean. “But we don’t have a choice, do we? We need fresh water, fruit, and I’d even take monkey for fresh meat.”

Alosus nodded. “Caution is all I’m asking. Your crew numbers many but none bear a mask.” He spoke now in Anaskari; his command of the language was better than Notch’s ability to speak Ecsoli.

“The risk is worth it if your land is as rich as you and Notch claim, and if you can really convince them Ecsoli to trade with us.” He grunted. “And since Notch is leading this little expedition, I can always throw him to the lions if we run into trouble.”

“I see you still haven’t quite forgiven me for the change of course,” Notch said.

“No. I haven’t forgiven myself for agreeing to your fool plan, but it’s easier to be angry with you.”

“You can trust my word, Captain,” Alosus said. “The Land of the Sun is a rich land – too rich.”

“So long as you convince them to trade when we get there.”

“I will do my best.”

“We’ll need better than that, big man,” the first mate said. Gappilo held a boat hook and his own pack, his grey beard reaching his stomach.

“Your lenasi is rare in my land,” Alosus said. “I will come from a position of strength in that respect.”

“And your standing as leader among your people,” Melosi said.

“Yes,” Alosus replied. Again, his expression was even, his voice revealing no hint of the lie Notch had deemed necessary.

And whether Alosus could convince the Ecsoli to trade, to prevent them from destroying the entire ship with their Greatmasks, well, that was a hurdle for later. Now, they had to find water and avoid whatever had troubled Vinezi and his group of masks.

With only their swords and Alosus’ strength.

Tersi had stayed behind on the Hawk with a small crew, Marlosi unwilling to risk the Storm Singer’s life on the island. Notch found nothing to disagree with in the captain’s thinking there. Crossing the rest of the North Sea was impossible without Abrensi’s son.

Notch led them along the pier, Alosus close behind and Marlosi in turn. The wood beneath his feet was aged, colour drained by the sea, but it did not appear rotten.

When he reached the shoreline, there was only a small, circular beach of white sand before a winding trail. It led into the shadows, out of the bright sun where broad, smooth leaves built the canopy. Vines hung down, thin red flowers blooming along their lengths. The screech of distant monkeys filtered through the trees, chirping too. He caught the flash of movement above; a bird with a striped beak taking flight. Moisture thickened the air and his lungs were slow to adjust. Sweat built quickly.

Alosus seemed not to mind but Marlosi and the others were likewise troubled.

The path led higher, widening as it did. Twice they found parts of the trail where fallen logs, thick with moss and vines, had been cut in half and cleared. Vinezi or Marinus? And where had they run afoul of whatever lurked on the island? It had to be close for Alosus to have heard it… Notch slowed, lowering his father’s sword.

A clearing lay ahead, hewn earth and trampled sprouts, sunlight falling across the body of a scaled beast. Had it been standing, it would have been head and shoulders taller than Notch. But its eyes were lifeless yellow orbs, traces of black blood only remaining beside the open mouth, snake-like. The red and black scales formed patterns along its legs and forearms – all six of them. Long, sinewy-looking limbs were tipped with foot-long talons. Enough to rip a man open with a single swipe.

Notch approached slowly, eyes scanning the surrounding trees. “If this is what Vinezi found, I hope it was the only one,” he said. There was no strong stench of rotting
flesh; the gaunt thing was long-dead and oddly, had not been ravaged by animals or birds.

Alosus knelt beside the corpse. “As do I.” He frowned, then pried open the creature’s mouth, revealing a shrivelled piece of tongue – most of which had looked to have been cut, rather than chewed by scavengers. “They harvested the tongue, but I cannot guess why.”

Marlosi grunted. “I want water first. Fruit and meat is second priority. Understood?”

“Yes, Captain,” his men echoed.

They moved on. Notch gripped his blade, blinking away a blurring of his vision. Damnable drink! He’d need something before the shakes returned.

Every new sound in the trees drew his attention, even the trickle of dew pattering from huge leaf to huge leaf. But no creatures attacked, and by mid-morning they found a stream pouring down a gulley. The stone walls cast long shadows, giant vines thrusting up, clinging almost desperately to the rock face.

Despite Marlosi’s orders, they’d harvested some of the large, yellow fruit and coconuts along the way but at the first sound of running water, smiles had broken out across the men’s faces and even Alosus cupped his hands to drink despite having shown no prior signs of discomfort.

Barrels were passed along to the stream’s edge and filled, the sailors chanting an old song as they worked. Notch sat on a moss-covered log and drank from his own flask with a sigh. It wasn’t fire-lemon but at least it was cool. He glanced behind, checking on their back trail.

The woman in white stood amongst the trees.

Notch rose.

Her hood concealed all but her mouth and the edges of dark hair that peeked forth. The robe was more figure-hugging than a typical Mascare garment, which instantly came to mind. Was she an Ecsoli guardian left on the island for some unknown purpose? She wore no mask, of that he was sure, but what other power did she conceal?

She beckoned for him to approach but he did not move.

“Gappilo, do you see her?” he asked the man who stood nearby. The first mate turned, then narrowed his eyes. “I do.”

Soon the entire party had noticed the woman.