Nevermor (41 page)

Perhaps it was
the storm that had persuaded him that he would not be stopped, but he could not
have picked a more dangerous night.  He, and the men he had brought with him,
just weren’t smart enough to know that.

“Check the
ship’s condition.  I want it ready as soon as possible,” he ordered the others
once they were tromping across the deserted deck.

“Yes, captain.”

The storm had
slacked, moving away over the sea, which made things easier for the weathered
sailors who scattered themselves across the ship.  They were experienced.  If
any could get the ship back in sailing condition, they would be able.

Euniz was not
completely ignorant of what he was doing.  He knew who the ship had previously
belonged to, but he supposed that man – the one they called the Scourge of
Nevermor – was dead.  One couldn’t come back from the grave, but even if that
horrible man did manage it somehow, Euniz guessed he wouldn’t have to worry if
he had an entire crew of men on his side.  They could dispatch one pirate
easily enough, no matter what the stories said about him.

While the men
were moving about, assessing the condition of the dark vessel, Euniz was more
interested in what he might find below deck.  Since he was to be captain now,
he was curious to see the shape of the cabin – and to discover what sort of treasures
the other might have left behind.

Maybe there are
maps.  Gold.  Weapons.
  Euniz would bet that no one had seen the inside of
the captain’s chamber in a long time, even before the ship had come to rest
here.  He intended to be the one who lived to tell the tale.

Perhaps he would
even take to calling himself
the Scourge
.  It had a nice ring to it, and
who would know the difference, now that the other was gone?  They would only
know that he was the terror on the seas of Nevermor, and his reputation would
precede him.

Euniz pried open
the door that led into the darkened belly of the ship, and a cold blast of air
stung him.  The breeze nearly blew out the flame of his lantern, but he held it
and pressed forward.  He was a grown man, and though this world might have
dictated that he fear ghosts and specters, he convinced himself that he did
not.  He had his cutlass in case trouble presented, and he didn’t assume he
would need more than that.

Pressing on
below, Euniz passed the steps that led into the berth and instead approached an
ornate door with a stained glass window.  It had been left open just a hair,
and Euniz was glad to see that he wouldn’t have to break it open.

The cabin was
dark, as expected.  It was damp and cold, smelling mildly of smoke.  He guessed
that the scent was embedded in the upholstery.  The rug on the floor was
oriental in design but was largely red, deep and thick as blood.  It muffled
the sound of his boots when he stepped onto it.

There was a
writing desk to the side, but the captain’s log resting atop it had several
pages ripped out.  Flipping through, Euniz found that the remaining entries
were from years before.  What had this
Scourge
hoped to accomplish if he
didn’t keep track of his excursions?  It was no wonder he’d been done away
with.

There were
cabinets lining the walls, but Euniz was not interested in those yet.  He moved
toward the back of the room where a couple of steps led up to the dirty windows
across the stern.

The pallor of
moonlight cast inside, illuminating a long table there.  Behind it was a chair
which had a frame made entirely of bones, and there was no mistaking that they
were human.  There was a skull mounted at the top of it, gawking at the room
with hollow eyes.

Euniz felt a
chill run through him, but still he placed his lamp on the desk and sat down in
the foreboding chair.  He put his hands on the rests, trying to imagine himself
as the sort of man who would sit in a chair made of human bones.  Was he vile
enough for that?  Could he take on this role?  It was only treasure that he had
a taste for, not blood, but he supposed those things must go hand in hand if he
was to be the captain of this ship.  Yes, he could imagine himself here,
planning their course, deciding what sort of treasure they would seek, counting
his gold—

His head snapped
up at the sound of a creaking floorboard, and he was halted in his musing by a
dark shadow in the middle of the room.

His heart leapt
into the back of his throat and he nearly choked on it.  He blinked a few
times, trying to convince himself that it was an illusion, but even though he
waited, it would not go away.  He was not mistaken that there was indeed a man
standing there, dressed all in black and soaking wet from the rain.  Euniz
could hear the patter of water as it dripped off his coat.

What…?

There was a
flicker of light as a match was lit, and when the dark one raised it to his
face to ignite a pipe, Euniz was able to recognize him.  He saw the long scar,
the eye patch, the one cold, blue eye looking straight at him.  A rush of fear
stabbed him, piercing his soul.

What the devil?

It was
him
– but how could it have been him?  Wasn’t he dead?  He had been gone for so
long that everyone had merely assumed it.  Yet here he was, standing in the pit
of the ship like an old phantom that didn’t know when to stop haunting.

No, this wasn’t
true.  It was one of the others playing a trick on him, trying to frighten him
for kicks.

“I thought I
told you to be checking over the ship.  I think I can handle things down here,”
Euniz said.

“You smell like
fresh bones,” said the deep voice from within that darkness, and Euniz couldn’t
look away.  He stared at the man’s face, past the stringy black hair that was
hanging in tangled strands much longer than his shoulders.

He was supposed
to be gone; Euniz had believed that.  Could the man have been hiding down here,
healing, making plans for the next time he emerged out of the darkness?  He
knew one thing, though.  Now that he had looked into the man’s eye, he could
not turn away.

“You’ve come to
steal from me,” the dark man accused, taking a step closer to the table.

“No!” Euniz
protested, but it came out as a hoarse whisper.

“Of course you
have,” the man said, blowing out smoke.  “Why else would you be here?”

His voice was
dry and mangled, as if he’d not had a drink in days.  Perhaps that was true,
but Euniz didn’t give it any more thought.  He answered promptly.

 “I was only
seeking you out,” the thieving man explained.  “The ship has been quiet for so
long, I thought you might still be here, hiding out below.  I was hoping to
pledge myself to you.”

Euniz was
immediately afraid and hated himself for saying it, but it was the only thing
he could think to save himself.  He heard the man walking toward him, and Euniz
winced with every step.  The dark man stopped just in front of the table.

“You’re sitting
in my seat.  Do you think that just because you are sitting there, you can take
on this mantle?  This ship?  Can you be what I have been?  Do what I have set
out to do?”

Euniz could feel
himself shrinking down in the chair.  He didn’t know what this man meant, but
he knew he didn’t want this anymore.  He regretted coming here.

“Nothing to
say?” the Scourge asked.  He tilted his head to look at the other man, the
darkness rolling off his shoulders like black fog.

Euniz had lost
his will to try.

“You’re still in
my seat.”

Euniz wanted to
jump up, but he couldn’t move.  He could feel tiny pinpricks inside him,
passing upward into his windpipe.  He could hardly breathe, and he certainly
couldn’t respond.  Was this death?  He had heard the tales of the Scourge, as
the rest of them had, but were they true?  Could he stop a man’s heart with his
glare?  Euniz felt panic, but he could not express it.

A smile crossed
the Scourge’s face and he stepped around the table to stand over him, perching
like a vulture.

“You thought you
were made of stronger stuff, didn’t you?” he asked, grinning wickedly.  “Let’s
see what you’re
really made of
.”

2

The door of the
ship’s cabin opened with an aching whine.  Heavy footsteps fell upon the wet
planks, leading all faces to turn, and all those who saw him turned white in
fear.  The man that emerged – the legend that they all dreaded – came forward
from the lower deck, and there was not an eye that wasn’t caught on him.

Beyond tendrils
of black hair, the dark man known as the Scourge looked around at the fear that
he saw on their faces.  He relished in it.

“All of you, you
thieving lot, are not worthy enough for
my
world,” he said, looking
around at them.  “Still, I suppose I must give you some credit.  Stealing from
me takes guts, and you’ll be lucky if I don’t show them to you shortly.  But,
since you’re here, I might as well make use of you.  It comes to my attention
that you need a new captain.”

He dropped
something onto the deck that had been hidden within his hand, and he waited for
them all to realize that it was the bloody heart of the man who had led them
here, fresh and warm.

He heard the
short breaths they drew in, none louder than the rest because each was afraid
of directing more attention to himself.  The Scourge didn’t have much interest
in these men, but he saw that he could still make use of them.

“Since you have
come onto my ship, I assume that means you’re intent on becoming my crew,” he
said leadingly.  As he spoke, he drew out a sword from his belt – he had
another still in its sheath – letting them all see the way it gleamed as he cut
his eye at them.  “Do any of you want to oppose this?”

He stepped
nearer to a cluster of them who were already dangerously close, focusing on one
in particular.  He was a balding man, slightly overweight with a scrappy
beard.  There was no hint of youth left in him, but the Scourge did not focus
on him because he was special in some way.  He was simply the one that his eye
fell on first, and he did not wish to break his stare.

The man
sputtered a bit before he dared to speak up.

“We were seeing
how the ship might be repaired, captain,” said the man, acknowledging his new
leader with a quiver in his voice.

“A worthy task,”
the Scourge agreed. “What is your assessment?”

“It will take
some doing, but she is not beyond repair.  Should we make preparations to set
sail?”

The Scourge was
pleased that this man was properly humbled and agreeable, but he expected no
less.  Since none of them spoke against it, he took it that this man spoke for
the rest of them as well.

“Not yet,” the
Scourge said.  “We have business inland first.  I have to start before he’s
ready – so he’ll know I’m done with his games.”

“Sir?”

The Scourge
looked up with a leering grin, his teeth bloody.  “We’ve got some lives to
burn.”

Some of them
laughed nervously.  He guessed that not all of them were the black-blooded sort
he was used to dealing with, but he didn’t care what they were made of.  There
were others looking for him; he knew this.  He would reunite with his followers
soon.

He stepped
toward the edge of the ship, turning his back on them but not fearing that any
would oppose him.  Some of the more bloodthirsty vagrants among them began to
rally, and then fell in line behind him without trouble.  Others probably
thought of slipping away at this opportunity, but that was not a concern of
his.

If they were
with him, he would tolerate them.  If they were against him, they would be dead
eventually.  He would gather what number he could at Bleed Neck Bay and then he
would be ready.

Oh yes.  He
would be ready for another war.

He imagined the
one that he loathed dying with his fingers wrapped around his neck.  The boy
would dangle there, pissing himself in fear, and that brought a smile to the
Scourge’s pale face.

Pathetic boy. 
He thinks he’s smart – that he knows all there is to know.

The Scourge had
been away for a while, but it had been time well-spent.  He’d reached a
revelation out there in the dark, and now he knew what he had to do.  It was
time to put what he had learned into action and do away with his enemy once and
for all.

Rifter – thorn
in my side, sword in my eye – the day is coming.  You know as well as I do that
this world wasn’t meant for both of us.  But don’t worry.  I’ll take good care
of it once you’re gone.

With that on his
mind – though the thought of killing his enemy never did leave his head – the
Scourge left the ship as the diminutive mist of rain continued to fall on him. 
He walked steadily as any man, one foot before the other, but everywhere he
stepped, the land died.

1

When the dawn
came on the next morning, the forest floor was marshy and wet.  The trees were
still dripping, but the world had survived the storm.