Looming Shadow: Journey to Chaos book 2 (28 page)

Then, a golden-brown
web caught the monstrous fish and lifted it out of the sea. Poi cradled it in
his net arms and, no matter how it thrashed, it couldn't escape. The trickster
split the net in two; the fish monster in one and a smoke monster in the other.
The first panicked as would any fish in a net, but the latter was outright
frantic.

“What ugly catch,” Poi
said with a laugh. “Still, I bet it's tasty.”

The second net shrank
and thinned, compressing the smoke creature from all sides. The trickster's
flesh burned it and it shrank back into itself until there was nowhere left to
hide. At last, the trickster's chaos dissolved it entirely and the net was gone.
Then Poi dived underwater.

By then, Tiza had
dragged her semi-conscious teammates to the boat. Its crew quickly lifted them
up on deck. One performed CPR on Eric. Others stripped Tiza and Nolien of their
wet clothing, wrapped them in emergency blankets, and enveloped them in warmth
spells.

“I'm impressed with
your strength,” an ox beastfolk told Tiza. “There are few humans your age that
can pull themselves out of these waters, much less drag two people their own
weight with them.”

“Most humans aren’t
trained by Bloody Daylra. He made sure I can do stuff like this.”

“You’re not shivering
either.”

“Spider Daylra was also
thorough with my training.” She stood up tall and proud, and continued, “I can
also resist magical incapacitation and certain poisons, but which ones are a
secret.”

A wave rocked the boat
and Basilard climbed onboard. In his wake, he carried two shriveled and
bloodless monsters. He wasn't shivering either, which amazed the sailors all
the more. Poi floated up from behind him with two more smoke creatures in his
net arms.

The crew cheered Poi
and sang hymns in his honor as they cut up the squid-fish monsters. There was
enough meat on their bones to feed the entire crew for a round trip. Poi took a
bow then settled into the crow's nest. Team Four settled into the cabin with
towels and instant soup.

“What were those
things?” Eric asked. “They looked familiar.”

“Hotuna,” Basilard
replied. “Likely garden-variety cod that was caught in a mana storm.”

“Enforcers,” Nolien
said. “Those smoke creatures are enforcers.”

“Does that mean Nulso
recruited them for his grudge against me?”

“It’s possible,” Basilard
said. “Summoning local enforcers is part of a fully trained ordercrafter’s
skillset.”

“Is possible that Order
himself wants to kill me?”

Tiza laughed. Basilard
did not.

“Order sees you like
you see a germ; a tiny organism to be sterilized, but his table is as big as a
universe. That’s if he knows you exist in the first place.”

There were no more
incidents like the one with the Hotuna, but Eric was anxious regardless.
Whether the hit came from Order or just Nulso, the fact remained that
Order-based creatures had tried to kill him and he couldn’t fight back. To do
so, he needed chaos. He needed to become a chaoscraft like Dengel or he would
die. With this new perception, he found himself looking forward to his mission,
not just to crack open Dengel’s lair, but to find something useful inside.

As the days passed and
they traveled further south, the air became warmer, the sun brighter and the
water bluer. The shining sun filled them all with warmth. All day, the ship
traveled full in the sun; the glorious sun and easy breeze. After working his
novices all morning, Basilard allowed them to relax in the afternoon, but Eric
did not take him up on it. He stayed below deck.

The tropical sun
bothered him. He was fine in Mambi because it was cloudy seven days out of ten,
and in Roalt, the winter sun was weaker in both heat and light. Fire itself
diminished in this season as did snow in summer. That was why its soldiers
trained harder in the winter. Here, the sun was merciless. After a couple days
of just Tiza and Nolien lying out on deck, Basilard gave him a hood so he could
join them. On one such afternoon, the mage rolled over on deck. He had just
woken up from another nap; fully splayed out and relaxing.

“You know, other than
almost dying and the crew’s dirty looks, this has been a good trip.”

“Yeah.”

“Wanna know what I like
the most?” Eric asked drowsily.

“What?” Nolien asked.

“Basilard can't go all
drill sergeant on us.”

“Yeah...” Tiza agreed
and stretched. “It's nice.”

A large form blocked
their light and all the novices opened their eyes. It was a seagull and it pooped
on Nolien as it flew over the ship. Neither Tiza nor Eric could stop laughing
as Nolien wiped off the slimy substance. Tiza laughed so hard she was gasping
for breath, and seconds later, Nolien was too. Both of them grabbed their
throats and heaved.

“Guys...?” Eric was on
his feet and at their sides. “What's wrong!?” They couldn't answer. “Guys!” He
reached for his staff and was already chanting when a hand clapped his
shoulder.

“Don't worry about them,”
Basilard said. “It takes a while to get used to Ceiha’s Barren Curse.”

“It reaches all the way
out here?”

Basilard nodded. “The
air is thin, the food is bland, and the water will never quench your thirst.”

The similarity was
eerie and confirmed his fears about this mission. What Basilard just described
was exactly how Eric felt when he returned to Threa. His body grew weaker by
the day as the mana flow in his body coagulated. A permanent ache settled in
his muscles. Some days, he felt like he was dying. Now he had to experience
that all over again.

Tiza and Nolien weren't
moving, but they breathed slow and shallow. Basilard wasn't worried, so he
believed they would survive. On the other hand, he didn’t believe Basilard
understood what they were about to endure.

“Then why doesn't
everyone leave?” Eric asked.

“The lack of danger,” Basilard
replied. “There are no monsters, no mana storms, and no mages. There aren't
even natural disasters or severe weather. In Ceiha, the only danger a human has
to fear comes from his fellow man.”

“Really? Then do they
live longer?”

“Nope.” Basilard was
smiling. “The life expectancy here compared with Roalt is about the same. Food
is in short supply, and when that happens, your life is in constant danger of
ending within a week. It more or less balances out.”

As
Margret
neared
Ceiha, its curse stifled the entire area. The wind died and the sky was
uniformly blue in all directions. The sea was increasingly calm until it was as
still as the land. One day, the ship's mana-drive engine cut off and part of
the crew jumped onto treadmills. They were connected to the generator Eric
noticed at the start of the journey. Watching grown men take turns biking, Eric
wondered if this is what ordinary Ceihans had to do every day.

 The coast came into
view days later and, with it, the first sign of life since
Margret
entered Ceihan territorial waters; grey stone towers. These weren't lighthouses
meant to guide travelers, but sentry posts with walls linking them. They went
up and down the coast for miles.

“Do they think someone
is going to invade?” Eric asked.

“Something like that,
yeah. Our souls are two magnitudes stronger than anyone here. Make sure you
keep yours suppressed or you might hurt someone.”

The ship followed the
coast and its guardians for hours. After they passed a horn-like rock
outcropping, Basilard told Eric to turn on his Magic Sight. Through his
mana-seeing eyes, the world was dark as dusk. The ocean was light grey, the land
was a dark shade of grey, and the sky was almost black. He looked around in
disbelief and saw himself and the others shining like blue stars. Turning back
to the coast, he spotted five lights at the base of the outcropping. Four of
them were diminished and the fifth shined brighter than any other, and with
green light instead of blue. He turned Magic Sight off and they disappeared.

“What do you think?”
Basilard asked.

After a pause, Eric
said, “The fifth person is maintaining a dark veil on the group. They're
drawing mana from Forol because there isn't any in the environment.”

“Fifty points,” Basilard
said. “Forol wouldn't come to this part of the world to save it. No, that man
is drawing power from Noitearc itself.”

“Oh! So he's one of
those Noitearc monks I read about. Why is he casting an invisibility spell if
there's no... 'The only danger a human has to fear comes from his fellow man.' They’re
risking their lives doing this, aren’t they?”

“Yes, they are. That's
what these walls are for and that's why a Noitearc monk has to hide people when
they fish outside them.”

 The only place
Margret
could safely land was the harbor town of Yebo. Unlike Roalt, it better
resembled a prison than a fortress. The guards on the ramparts were not facing
the sea, but the inner country. When
Margret
approached its gates, they
remained firmly shut. A soldier had to rappel on a rope line to ask the ship's
business. Haburt replied with hand signs. The soldier nodded and asked for his
paperwork.

“Zaticana!” Eric
shouted.

The soldier stared at
him, but Haburt drew his attention back with more hand signs. Internally, Eric
continued his revelation.
These guys don't have Zaticana's blessing. They
wouldn't understand our language. That's why Haburt uses sign language.
Haburt
gave the soldiers a sheet of paper, the soldier looked it over, stamped it, and
asked for another, which Haburt supplied. After several rounds of this, the
soldier gestured to his fellow on the top and the gate clanked open.

Inside the harbor was a
low-lying haze that limited visibility. Eric could see buildings beyond the
dock but couldn't make out what they were from the water. There weren't any
other fishing vessels here or passenger ferries. There were only tankards
unloading their cargo. From the smell and the size of the containers, he
guessed they dealt in oil. Humans rolled out barrel after barrel in a
never-ending line. A dragon flying overhead mistook them for ants at a whale
corpse.

Margret
weighed
anchor at the wharf and the crew was glad to get off the bicycles. Haburt
jumped to the boardwalk dock to meet a pair of customs agents that carried the
same equipment as the soldier. They engaged in another round of paper shuffling
while Team Four left the boat. As soon as the agents spotted Basilard, they pulled
out black boxes and said, “I’ve spotted the Crimson Killer. I repeated, I’ve
spotted the Crimson Killer. Send back up to the wharf immediately.”

The three novices
looked to Basilard and asked, “Crimson Killer?”

Basilard’s eyes glowed
and he gripped BloodDrinker’s hilt.

 More soldiers quickly
arrived and surrounded the mercenaries on land, sea, and air. All of them
carried weapons that lacked any sort of blade. Only Eric recognized them as
guns and so he was the only one to feel even slightly afraid. He remembered
being shot at with muskets at close range, but that only felt like a bee sting
because of his barrier.
I wonder what they hope to accomplish?

One stepped forward and
said, “Crimson Killer, you are under arrest for the following charges: murder,
practicing magic, kidnapping, spreading disease, and consorting with
supernatural creatures.”

Basilard signed. “I’ve
never visited this country. How could I have committed a crime here?”

“Don’t play innocent!
You match the description of witnesses
and
photography.”

The spokesman produced
a photo of a man bearing an astonishing resemblance to Basilard: height, body
type, clothes, red hair, red eyes, and even the sword was a match. At the sight
of it, Basilard grew so mad his blood lust knocked out most of the soldiers.
The novices, too, felt faint and scared from being so close to it.

“Enough!”

A butt of wood clapped
on the ground and another figure approached. Instead of military uniform, this
one dressed in priest-like robes of midnight black. His hood covered his face,
but the skin of his hands was deathly pale. He carried a scythe in his right hand
and a book was tucked into a harness under his left shoulder.

“I will speak with
him.”

“As you wish, Brother
Neuro,” the soldier spokesman said. “Fall back; let him handle it.”

The soldiers backed up
and the dark priest advanced. His eyes shined as he stared at Basilard and
spoke with his scythe. They conversed about many things such as bloodline,
guilt level, and appropriate supplies of
kon
for someone his age.
Basilard was still and silent until he was finished.

“Is that BloodDrinker
in your sheath?”

Basilard unsheathed the
sword and showed it to him, but wouldn't let him touch it. Neuro ran one finger
on his scythe’s blade and held out the bleeding finger to the sword. It lurched
forward, glowing and whining. Basilard needed both hands to keep it from flying
into the priest’s wound.

“Yes, that is the
genuine article. The one wielded by the Crimson Killer does not react around
blood, and so it must be a fake. Ye Not Guilty.”

The soldiers stood down
at once. One of them radioed to their base that the call was a false alarm. The
customs agents resumed their paper game with Haburt and the death priest
continued to speak with Basilard.

“I was stationed here
to watch for someone who obstructs Lord Death's work. He corrupts corpses,
pilfers souls, and steals
kon
to power forbidden arts. His codename is
‘Crimson Killer.’ I contacted the local reaper, but he has not provided any
useful information. If there is any that you can provide, I would sincerely
appreciate it.”

Basilard's grip
tightened. A moment later, he relaxed and sheathed the sword.