Golden Age (The Shifting Tides Book 1) (14 page)

By now Cob and Sal had reached Otus but there was nothing they could do. Dion ran over to join them, scanning the sky. ‘Riko could still be alive,’ he panted.

Something large and flailing plummeted from the sky a hundred paces away. It struck the rocks with a sickening crunch. When the group of three ran to the huddled mass on the ground, Dion’s heart sank as he saw that it was Riko. The youth’s eyes were wide and sightless, blood covering his clothing. He had died before having his first shave.

‘We can’t stay here,’ Cob said. ‘We have to leave them.’

‘They’ll be eaten,’ Sal said.

‘So will we if we stay,’ said Dion. ‘We have to go. Quick. Back to the cave.’

The three men sprinted to the cavern. Dion wondered how long it was until dawn. They all threw their possessions into the boat and then exchanged glances, Cob still holding his axe and Sal his sword.

Then Cob looked out at the night and pointed with a trembling hand. ‘By the gods,’ he breathed.

A pack of huge man-shaped figures lumbered along the beach in the distance, dark silhouettes far too large to be human. They were following the shore, in a path that would take them directly past the open mouth of the cavern.

‘They don’t communicate, do they?’ Sal whispered. ‘They’re no longer eldren. They’re just animals.’

‘Pack animals,’ Dion said grimly.

‘What do we do?’ Sal looked at Dion.

‘Only the furies saw us,’ Cob said slowly. ‘There’s no evidence they’re looking for us. This cave is defensible.’

‘We can’t take the risk,’ Dion said. ‘The three of us are going to have to manage the boat.’ There was a giant in the midst of the ogres, five feet taller than its companions. The pack was coming closer with every passing moment. Dion met the eyes of each man in turn. ‘Better to risk a leviathan than every wildran on Cinder Fen. We have to go. Now!’

21

‘
Cob, take the front on your shoulders. Sal and I will each lift a corner of the stern.’

‘This is madness,’ Sal muttered. ‘We’ll never carry it with just the three of us.’

‘Got a better idea?’ Dion growled.

‘If the boat was on the shore in the first place . . .’

‘The furies would still have come,’ Dion finished. ‘Get moving. Our lives depend on it.’

Each man went to his place and then Dion counted. ‘On three. Ready? Lift!’

The open-decked boat had been placed with the front facing the beach. Groaning in unison, they lifted, getting it up into the air and then moving forward. Dion had a crushing weight on his shoulder but he knew that to stop would be to die. His back screamed for him to set the boat down but he set his jaw and kept moving.

‘Watch your footing,’ he grunted. ‘Take slow steps. Move!’

Dion was on the left as they shuffled out of the wide gouge in the rock wall they’d called a cave and made their way over the precarious ground, bare feet stepping over sharp rock.

The pack of wildren on the beach saw them immediately and the monstrous creatures started a lumbering run toward them.

‘They’re coming!’ Dion said hoarsely. ‘Let’s get off these rocks, but the moment we’re on sand, we run too!’

He struggled to keep his attention on his task but his eyes kept going to the wildren. The giant opened its mouth and roared, desperate for flesh. It led the charge now, long strides pounding the ground. It ran faster than Dion had expected for a creature of such size.

‘We’re on the sand. Run!’ Dion shouted.

They almost dropped the boat as they shifted into their own ragged sprint. The boat slipped off Dion’s shoulder and stars sparkled across his vision as he lifted it back on. The beach began to slope toward the water.

‘Last stretch!’ Dion gasped. ‘Nearly there!’

He looked over his shoulder and saw a mouth the size of a dinner plate open wide, displaying sharp black teeth as the giant roared again. There were seven in the group; he didn’t know how he managed to count them but he did. Though no words were spoken, there was clear coordination to their actions. They were close enough for him to see individual scars on their bodies.

Dion’s feet plunged into the water and the sensation was so unexpected that the boat slipped forward and none of them was able to hold it up any longer. It struck the shallow water hard, but the keel held, despite digging hard into the sand underneath.

‘Get her off the bottom!’ Cob shouted.

Working together they got the boat moving once more. Dion thanked the gods that the tide was coming in as a wave sent water underneath the hull, lifting up the vessel and enabling them to push it forward.

‘Get in!’ Dion cried.

Cob was short and already in water up to his armpits. With groaning effort, he managed to haul his body over the side. Sal followed a moment later.

Dion ran forward, pushing the boat ahead of him. He gave one final mighty shove and nearly lost his grip near the tiller, but Sal held out a hand and Dion threw himself forward, tumbling into the back of the boat.

He heard a series of unforgettable sounds: the crash of several sets of legs plunging into the water; the roar of the giant; the chorus of grunts from the ogres; bumping knocks of wood against wood as Cob fit the oars.

‘The tiller!’ Cob called with panicked urgency.

Righting himself, Dion saw that the tiller was hard against the stern. Cob had the oars going but with the tiller angled the boat would turn in circles. He grabbed at the pole and centered the steerage.

Waves pounded at the hull, pushing the vessel back to shore. Risking a glance behind, Dion saw snarling monsters now waist deep in the water, just a dozen paces from the stern.

But Cob had his jaw set and pulled hard at the oars. The light vessel rose over the crests of the waves and drew away from the pack of raging wildren. Looking back, Dion saw the creatures finally halt.

Their prey had escaped.

As the boat reached calmer waters Sal went up front to help with the oars. For a long time they rowed only to increase their distance from shore, and then both the oarsmen slumped in exhaustion.

They exchanged wide-eyed glances.

‘Come on,’ Dion said. ‘Let’s get the mast up.’

The sun had risen by the time they mounted the mast and fit the sail, running it up and finally setting the boat to rights. Dion pushed the tiller, turning the boat until they were once more oblique to the distant landmass, still too close for comfort. Wind filled the sail and the sea was calm, as it often was in the early morning
.

The growing light banished some of the fear from the previous night. But they had lost two men, and Dion kept wondering what he could have done differently.

‘We should never have brought Riko,’ Sal said.

‘It’s bad luck to speak ill of the dead,’ Cob murmured.

‘He saw some whale and called it a leviathan,’ Sal spat. ‘We should never have listened to him.’

Cob suddenly released the rope in his hands; his fingers went limp. He stared down into the blue water, then raised his head to look at Dion. His expression was strange, a look Dion had never seen before on the old man’s face.

‘I wouldn’t be so sure of that,’ he said.

Dion looked down into the water.

An expanse of serpentine flesh was passing directly underneath the boat. The monster was as thick as the biggest tree and it revealed its entire length to Dion’s eyes as it writhed and undulated, faster than the boat it was swimming beneath. The glossy silver scales went on and on, displaying a crest-like silver fin along its spine and a tail like an eel’s, swaying back and forth to propel the body forward.

Dion’s blood ran cold. ‘Serpent,’ he whispered.

‘Where?’ Close to the front of the boat, Sal’s movements were frantic as he tossed his head one way and another, peering into the depths. ‘Where?’ he cried. ‘I can’t see it!’

‘Under the boat,’ Cob said calmly. ‘We’re dead men.’

Not being able to see it was worse than knowing where it was. The serpent was smaller than the one at the narrows. But unlike the eldran who had helped clear the trade route, this monster was wild.

Cob shook his head. ‘Something has agitated the wildren in this area. Perhaps the eruption of Mount Oden. Perhaps the passage of the Ilean warship. Perhaps something else altogether.’ He met Sal’s eyes and then Dion’s. ‘Pray to the gods. There’s nothing else we can do.’

Dion heard a mighty splash to his left, in the direction of Cinder Fen. He caught sight of a curled body, gone as swiftly as it had appeared. The sea heaved, creating waves where the serpent had plunged.

He reached for his bow and quiver.

The three men stared silently into the depths. Dion began to hope it had left.

Then he saw it again. This time he caught full sight of the angular head and spiky frill as it traveled under the ship. He prepared his bow. Once more it vanished from sight. Dion drew in a shaky breath as he waited.

The serpent’s angular head suddenly shot out of the water a dozen feet away; in an instant it was heading directly for the boat and its occupants. Open jaws revealed incisors the size of daggers jutting either side of its mouth, yellow with extreme age. Remembering his experience at the narrows, Dion saw that this serpent’s eyes were different. Wild. This creature wanted only prey.

Dion had the string against his cheek, anticipating the serpent’s movement. As the head came forward, he released.

The arrow struck it in the very center of its eye.

Enraged, the serpent flung itself forward, passing through the sail, cutting a hole and stabbing into the water on the other side. A length of snakelike body came down on the boom, snapping it like a twig until the length of scaled flesh lay across the deck. The mast came crashing down.

The boat’s timbers creaked.

Dion grabbed another arrow and shot at the middle of the serpent’s body where he hoped to strike something important, but the arrow bounced off the tough hide. With the serpent’s long body lying across the deck, he saw the head of the beast circle underneath the boat, blood streaming from the wounded eye and clouding the water as it looped around the vessel.

‘It’s trying to squeeze the boat!’ Dion cried.

Spurred into action, Cob hefted his axe and swung with a strong overhead stroke at the scaled skin. His weapon bit hard, sinking to the haft, and the monster shivered.

The boat’s timbers cracked. Water began to seep into the floor.

Seeing Sal too stunned to react, Dion nocked another arrow and stood tall, riding the boat’s jolting motion as he waited for the head to appear. He suddenly saw it under the water, just a few inches below the surface, a dozen feet from the gunwale.

The serpent was so fast he knew he would have to lead the shot. In one smooth motion, praying for success, Dion drew and released.

The arrow jutted an instant later from the water, and this time the shaft was buried in reptilian flesh. The head rose to the surface, and he saw that the arrow had struck a soft part on the side of its head. The scaled body lying across the ship trembled again.

His chest heaving, Dion didn’t take his eyes off the serpent. But the creature stayed motionless.

Dion turned to Cob. ‘I think—’

Something smashed into the bottom of the boat, so hard that it knocked Dion clear off the vessel and tumbling into the water headfirst. He managed to keep hold of his bow as he fell, but holding onto his weapon made it difficult to swim. When he finally surfaced and looked back at the boat he felt the blood drain from his face.

The creature he had killed was only a serpent. This was a true leviathan.

Its head was as big as the boat, large enough to swallow the vessel in a couple of mouthfuls. It raised itself slowly out of the water, slippery and scaled, the crest behind the triangular head fully erect. The wildran fixed a baleful stare on the boat’s two occupants.

The leviathan opened its jaws and roared.

The deafening noise was the most terrifying sound Dion had ever heard. The teeth revealed in the open maw were the size of swords. Before Sal could react the creature arched its neck and shot down from the sky, snapping him in half with a single bite, spraying the wooden planking with blood.

Cob stood tall and held his axe in both hands. When the leviathan came for him he swung at the monstrous jaw but the creature dodged out of the way, faster than Dion would have thought it could move. Cob’s return swing never came.

The serpent’s huge mouth opened wide as it plummeted, swallowing the old sailor whole, together with a mouthful of splintered timber and surging water. The creature continued the movement to crash through the hull of the broken sailboat. The force of its passage created a swirling vortex of planks and rope as the vessel disintegrated.

Dion was sucked into the water behind its passage, together with the boat’s remains. The paddle-like tail of the leviathan grew ever more distant. He clutched at anything his fingers could find.

22

Dion woke and saw scales.

He had arms wrapped around him, arms that kept his head above water and pulled him through the water with the smooth passage of a creature born to the sea.

His mind clouded and eyes stinging, recollections came back to him in a series of flashing images. The last thing he could remember was grabbing hold of a plank as his body was dragged down deep underwater. At some stage he’d risen to the surface and thrown his body on top of the wood, draping himself over it like seaweed on a rock. Exhaustion overcame him.

Sadness took hold of his heart when he remembered the deaths of his crew, eaten by wildren. Cob was gone. Dion was alone.

Now he was being carried in a strange embrace. He was on his back, head carefully raised out of the water. His body was angled so that he was looking at his feet, which were beneath the surface. Below his legs he could see scales.

The long tapering body under his own terminated in a fish-like tail. But the arms that held him had soft white skin and feminine hands. The tail swept at the water; the arms held him tightly.

Ever so slowly, Dion rotated his head.

Out of the corner of his eye he caught a glimpse of silky silver hair and pale brown eyes, a heart-shaped face with a small chin and pert nose. He tried to turn still further but her pink lips parted and she made a strange shushing noise, her placid face creasing slightly in a frown before returning to an expression of animal-like contentment.

Dion was in the arms of one of the merfolk.

He had heard tales of men being rescued like this, but never believed a word of them. It was always the female wildren – mermaids – who saved drowning sailors, taking them to land and safety. Even now Dion couldn’t believe what was happening.

She swam on her back, holding him to her chest. Despite being so close to a wildran, rather than try to move, he was suddenly afraid that if he struggled she would leave him to die in the open sea, which was calm but showed a flat horizon with no sign of land in any direction. He hoped she knew where she was going; she seemed to have a plan.

He couldn’t help but wonder what was going on inside her head. Did she think that perhaps he was one of her male kin, wounded and no longer able to swim? Was she intelligent enough to think of it as a good deed?

Feeling something entangled with his upper arm he stared dully at a length of curved wood, finally realizing it was his bow; he’d somehow managed to keep hold of it.

Dion laid his head back on her breasts and stared up at the bright blue sky.

Once more, weariness overcame him.

‘What do we do with him?’

‘You ask the wrong question, brother. How did he get here?’

‘He could have swum here.’

‘From where?’

‘A ship must have come into trouble somewhere near Athos.’

Dion was face down in the sand. Small waves broke over his legs; the tide was rising and he knew he had to move. But he was parched, desperate for water, and his head felt like a thousand hammers pounded against his temples. He groaned.

‘He’s stirring. Take that weapon away from him.’

‘No,’ Dion moaned.

He was powerless to prevent strong hands untangling his bow from around his shoulder. Opening his eyes and flinching from the glare, Dion saw an emaciated man in a white robe crouched on the sand, looking down at him. A bald crown topped his triangular head, which was devoid of excess flesh. Dark eyes regarded him from sunken pits.

‘I have your bow,’ he soothed, showing Dion the weapon.

‘And it will be returned to you when you leave,’ said another man nearby.

Eyes shifting, Dion saw that the crouching man had a companion, but he realized with shock that the two men looked alike in every way.

‘Can you rise?’ said a third voice from still further away.

Dion rolled and finally managed to push himself up onto his elbows. The third man was robed just as the other two. His face was the same. There was no way to tell any of them apart.

‘Where . . . Where am I?’ Dion asked hoarsely.

He tried to lick his lips but his tongue was dry. He needed water more than he’d needed anything in his life.

The crouching man closest to Dion spoke. ‘You are at Athos. Not just at Athos, but at Seer’s Cove. We are magi, devoted to the Oracle. How did you come to be here?’

Dion tried to speak but simply shook his head.

‘He needs water,’ said the closest of the standing magi.

‘If we give him water, we are accepting responsibility for his well-being.’

‘Then that is what we will do.’

‘I am not certain this is the right course of action, brother,’ the furthest magus spoke. ‘He is not here of his own accord. He brings no offering.’

‘Wait,’ Dion croaked, sitting up and holding up a hand. ‘I am here by choice; I simply met trouble on the way. Wildren. I want to visit the Oracle.’

‘Where is your offering?’ asked the suspicious magus.

Dion thought about the silver coins he carried, sewn into his tunic. He tried to recall everything he knew about the Oracle. ‘Here,’ he said, lifting up the silver medallion around his neck. ‘This is my offering.’

‘See?’ the two magi regarded their wary companion.

‘Give him water, then.’ The last man folded his arms over his chest. ‘He has chosen to step onto the path. The Oracle will know what to do with him.’

Dion tried to stand, but it wasn’t until one of the magi returned with water that his strength returned enough for him to stagger to his feet. He swayed and put a hand to his head until the dizziness passed.

He was finally able to take stock of his situation.

The three magi stood around him, looking at him uncertainly. He was on a beach in a small quiet cove, and just above him a stretch of grassy bank led to a long stone wall. Through a gap in the wall he could see a paved path made of brilliant blue stone. A mile inland was a misshapen hill; the area in between the hill and the wall was dotted with stone temples and rocky knobs.

Aside from the grass in front of the wall, there wasn’t a tree, bush, or shrub in sight. And fires burned on both sides of the path.

The flames flickered in a multitude of hues, from bright vermillion to warm gold. Green fires and blue fires burned on top of the rocks, though he could see no kindling beneath them.

White monoliths poked up from high points on the hill. The path curved like a snake and led to the dark mouth of a cave.

‘You must now set foot on the path,’ the closest of the three magi said. ‘And you must not stop until you have entered the cave.’ He gestured. ‘Go. The Oracle awaits.’

Dion nodded. Taking a deep breath to steady himself, he began to climb, and was conscious of the magi’s eyes following him as he passed through the wall and stepped onto the path.

He wondered what the Oracle would tell him about the future. Would she share what the omen of the tremor truly portended? Would she tell him whether there was coming danger for Xanthos?

Would she tell him what he should do next?

He concentrated on placing one foot in front of the other and tried to ignore the strange flickering flames on either side of the path. Finally, he reached the mouth of the cave, and before his courage could fail him he walked in.

The cave wound back and forth, initially dark but growing brighter as he continued. Rounding the last bend, he saw that the white light came from a pure flame that filled a circular cavern.

A woman leaned forward; her body was obscured by a black robe but her white hair was so thick and long that it covered her back and formed a fan on the ground around her.

‘Place your offering beside me and then sit opposite the flame,’ the Oracle said in a soft, whispering voice.

Dion unclasped his chain to remove the amulet with the trident of Silex. He placed it on the cavern floor, beside the Seer, then refastened the chain around his neck. Circling the white fire, he settled himself and looked at the Oracle through the flame.

He saw her place her fingers on the amulet.

‘You are . . . You are . . .’ she said.

The Seer suddenly shrieked, a piercing sound that echoed through the cavern, shrill and filled with pain.

Dion frowned. He knew little about the Oracle, but he knew enough to know that something was wrong.

He heard footsteps and saw a white-robed magus rush into the cavern. He had the same sunken cheeks and deep-set eyes, but Dion didn’t know if this was a new priest or one of the three men from the beach.

‘Priestess . . . What is it?’

The Oracle had her head down but she now raised it as the white fire between them ebbed. Dion saw through the flames that she was a young woman, beautiful and pale, with smooth skin and an oval face. She gazed at Dion with piercing green eyes, revealing a troubled expression.

‘This man . . . The materia does not respond to him.’

‘What do you want us to do?’

‘Take him away from me. He interferes with my abilities.’ She moaned. ‘I want him to leave.’

‘Do you want us to kill him?’

‘
No,’ the Seer said sharply. ‘I cannot say that his future is dark
. . . only that it is beyond my ability to see. Killing him could be a blessing to humanity, or it could lead us all to darkness. The gods decree that we do not seek to alter another’s destiny without knowing the consequences are clear.’

Dion was confused. His eyes went from face to face. ‘Please,’ he said. ‘I need to consult with you. Let me explain.’

‘Tell me nothing,’ the Oracle hissed. ‘Nothing!’

‘What do you want us to do?’

‘I want him gone.’

‘But, Priestess . . . He has no way from the island.’

‘Then give him a boat.’

‘Without provisions we would be killing him just the same,’ the magus said.

‘Then give him provisions,’ the Seer said. ‘I want him gone!’

The magus came and hauled Dion forcibly to his feet. He handed Dion his amulet. ‘Come,’ he said harshly.

‘Take him!’ the Oracle wailed.

Her voice followed Dion as he was hauled out of the cave.

‘Take him!’

When Dion returned to the beach, unsure about what had actually just happened, he saw with surprise that there was now a small boat, bobbing in the shallow water, anchored to the beach with a trailing rope that led from its bow.

He couldn’t believe his eyes. He had seen the magus with him make no communication with any other, yet here was a boat, evidently a reluctant gift to him from the magi.

‘Your vessel is here,’ the magus said after leading him down from the cave. ‘You will find provisions inside, along with your weapon. The Oracle has given you a generous gift, but there is a condition.’

Dion turned and met his dark eyes.

‘Never return to Athos. The gods are powerful, and the Oracle is their representative in the world of mortal men. Never return to Athos, on your life, and on your soul.’

‘I understand,’ Dion said.

He stepped slowly down the beach, leaving the emaciated man behind. Suddenly he couldn’t take his eyes off the boat.

It was small, not designed to carry more than three men, but wondrously proportioned, sleek as a cat, rakish and lean. Its hull was decorated with alternating horizontal stripes of blue and gold and the unpainted timbers of the interior glistened in the sun, polished to reveal the beautiful grain of the wood. A solitary mast sprouted from her center and there was no line for a headsail, but the material of the white sail rolled on top of the boom appeared as lustrous as silk, and the mast was so tall that Dion knew the slightest puff of wind would send it leaping.

Sailing across the Maltherean Sea meant crossing the open ocean, and typically a vessel of this size would be far too small. But this boat was a gift from the magi of Athos. Dion would trust it more than he would trust a vessel three times the size.

‘Her name is the
Calypso
,’ the magus behind him said. ‘She is yours.’

‘I’m traveling to Lamara, capital of Ilea—’ Dion began, preparing to ask the magus for guidance.

‘Do not tell me of your quest,’ the magus said, holding up a hand. He turned to depart, speaking over his shoulder as he left Dion alone on the beach. ‘Just never return to Athos.’