So, here we are at last, at the end of the short story of Vengeance. It has taken just under 3 months to write and present, and I hope you have enjoyed reading it as much as I have writing it. Again, I wish to thank the person who first requested it, it has been a bigger journey than either of us realised at the beginning.
This isn't the last time you will get to experience the story of Vengeance, because as you read this I am reworking it into a short book, with some noticeable differences that I hope will make it a different, but equally enjoyable read. There will be more on that as it comes closer to publication.
For now, enjoy the finale of Vengeance.
*
Men
screamed in shock and agony as the ghost ship pulled alongside the small
cutter, disgorging its phantasmic crew. Doran drew his sabre as an elf with
pallid, rotting flesh leapt down onto the deck before him. The stinking
creature lunged at him, but he neatly side-stepped the savage attack, his blade
scything through the elf’s guts. It screamed in pained outrage, and tried to
turn on him. However, Doran’s blade had cut deep, and the muscles separated,
sending the elf crashing to the deck in a shrieking heap – dark, coagulated
blood oozing from the massive wound inflicted by Doran.
Doran
turned to look along his small vessel and his stomach dropped. The deck was
swarming with embattled sailors – his own crew vastly outnumbered by the
ghostly horde that continued to flow from the other ship. He kicked out at a
man with half a face who had just landed next to him, sending him tumbling over
the ship’s rail into the sea. Another undead apparition suffered a sabre cut
across the throat, separating head from shoulders.
All
of a sudden, a piercing ringing filled Doran’s ears, obliterating all other
sound – drowning out the cries and shrieks of battle, and the clash of steel on
steel. He looked around, trying to find the source of the ringing. There was a
maelstrom of white light swirling at the ship’s helm, from which men and ghosts
alike were staggering back from. Raising his weapon, Doran headed towards it,
squinting in the harsh light and wincing in pain from the ringing. As the light
began to fade, a horrible figure came into view: it was tall, and at first
looked like Mr James, the first mate of the Tempest.
However, the next moment it took on the features of Mr Dask, and then the
slender cheek bones of and narrow eyes of the captain of the Acdrenc Stefna – Aldrid Shorthelm. Most
disturbing of all, to Doran, was the occasional moment where the shifting
visage would resolve itself into a familiar yet alien face that had the green eyes
that had haunted his sleep every night since the sinking of the Tempest.
He
faltered as he came close to the being, his sword lowering as the apparition
turned its calm, cold gaze upon him, its features becoming clearer as it gazed
on him. His breath choked in his throat and a shaky whisper escaped his lips,
“Renee…”
*
The
wind whistled past as once again, Renee sped through the night. This time,
however, with her mind clear, and Jonathan’s arms holding her firm, she felt
safe. The ocean below reflected the stars above, and she gazed down at the
glittering waters as they soared over them.
Jonathan’s
voice entered her mind, “I do not know what we will find when we get to Doran,
though I doubt it will be safe. Stay close to me no matter what.”
Renee
nodded her understanding. Her heart was racing, and the tears flowing from her
eyes had little to do with the icy wind. Doran. She knew it was not really that
long since she had seen him on the shore of the promontory, but it felt like a
lifetime. So much had happened since then, her life had been not her own – her thoughts
and desires crushed away by burning hate. In her mind she could see him,
standing at the prow of his ship, looking down at her with his broad, slightly
sideways smile flashing against his short brown beard. His hazel eyes shone
with love as he looked at her, twinkling from beneath his thick brows. She
remembered how he would raise his hand when nervous and run it back through his
brown hair, pushing it to one side. She smiled and sobbed when she remembered
the way he would wink at her, ineptly, as his ship cast off, and then would walk
the length of the ship as it left the harbour so as to stay within view for as
long as possible. Despite his strength as a captain, his wave farewell was
always as shy as that of a young boy. She remembered how he would hold her in
his arms when he came ashore, and how she would press her head to his chest as
he stroked her hair. Vengeance was wrong. He loved her, and she him.
Then,
another image filled her mind. Doran lying on the shore, his body shattered,
his blood pooling on the pebbles beneath him, his skin waxen and pale. All
around, the shattered remnants of his beloved Tempest. Renee cried out in grief and shock, her stomach churning
violently as she remembered the burning rage that had filled her in that moment
on the promontory, the very rage that had allowed Vengeance in, and had brought
her on this terrible journey.
“Hush
now,” came Jonathan’s voice in her mind, sending out ripples of calm, “The past
should remain where it is – do not let it govern your future. What has
happened, happened, and no amount of wishing or whimsy can change that. It is
the fate of all mortals to travel only forward in time. Dwelling on the past
will do nothing but drag you back. Dry your eyes, and be ready. I think we are getting
close.”
Ahead,
there was a blot on the smooth glass of the ocean. A great cloud of fog sat
over the water, swirling slowly but not moving or dissipating. At the heart of
the brooding mass was a white glow that flickered through the mist. Renee felt
Jonathan’s grip tighten as he saw it, and heard him snarl, “That is not
possible.”
As
the came over the fog, he shifted into a dive, and within seconds the came
crashing onto the deck, scattering men and ghastly creatures every which way.
Jonathan gently released Renee, who stepped forward, desperately seeking about
for Doran.
*
Doran
parried a blow from the apparition’s blade, white sparks showering from where
the blades touched. He moved quickly to the other side of his opponent, oil
skin coat swirling about him as he moved. The fog was becoming heavier, and he
could feel the moisture clinging to him, plastering his hair to his scalp.
There
was a crash behind him on the deck, and the split second he spared to look over
nearly cost him his life. The apparition’s blade whistled past and he felt it
slice through his collar, the tip just scratching his skin. He returned to the
fight, not knowing the cause of the disturbance on the deck. He unleashed a
flurry of blows, his blade flashing like molten silver, but each and every one
was countered by the apparition.
Desperate,
he spun on his heel, bringing down a thunderous blow on the creature. The blade
stopped mid swing, caught in the ghostly white hand of the creature. Renee’s
face peered out at him and she whispered, “Why, my love? Why do you seek to
harm me?”
Blood
pounding in his ears, Doran roared, “You are not her, you are not Renee!”
Mr
James’ face replaced Renee’s, “No? Then perhaps I am every man you abandoned to
the depths!”
The
apparition’s face flickered, its appearance changing rapidly, shifting through
the face of every crew member of the Tempest.
Doran felt sick as he remembered their names. Hans, Robert, Maine, Brown, Baldred, the names rolled over through his mind, filling him with despair.
The
flickering faces finally resolved themselves into those of Aldrid Shorthelm, “Well,
human? Have you no words for all those who you left to rot in the seas while
you breathed the air still?”
“I
never asked to survive, or to live again,” whispered Doran.
Suddenly
the visage changed to that of a man with perfect features, his voice deep and
resonant, “No, but I ensured you did. Your death and rebirth gave me everything
I needed to return to this world.”
With
that, the creature squeezed, shattering Doran’s sabre, then kicked, sending the
captain sprawling onto the deck. The apparition strode forward, raising its
blade to strike. As it went to plunge the blade into Doran, however, something
huge appeared behind it and grabbed it around the throat – hefting it violently
from the deck.
The
apparition screamed in rage, its form shifting over and over again as it
struggled to break free of its captor’s grasp.
Someone
was kneeling beside Doran. His vision was blurry, and his chest burned where he
had been kicked. He coughed and felt warm blood fill his mouth. Someone was
calling his name, taking his face in their hands. Soft hands, small, and
smooth. Not sailor’s hands. He felt warm lips brush his forehead, and long hair
fall on his face. He heard sobbing. He blinked and looked at the face in front
of his. Green eyes, brimming with tears, gazed into his. He raised a hand to
Renee’s face and she pressed her cheek into his palm, her eyes closing as his
thumb brushed away her tears. He whispered her name and her eyes opened again.
“Please,”
she whispered, “Please get up.”
Doran
struggled to order his mind, but slowly began to move, heaving himself from the
deck with Renee’s help. The apparition was still being held by the huge figure
behind it, who leaned forward to reveal a rugged, tattooed face. He said in a
calm voice, “Doran, take your blade and come here.”
Numbly,
Doran stepped away from Renee and lifted his broken sword and then approached the
struggling creature. The huge man said, “You cannot kill this thing as you would any mortal creature.
We must step out of this world to truly defeat it. I can guide you, but you
must be certain that you wish to do this.”
“What
will it cost me?”
The
man looked down at the deck, “I cannot say.”
Doran
shrugged, “This needs to be ended, one way or another. I will do it.”
The
man nodded, “Come close, and place your hand on its chest.”
Doran
did so, and white light began to envelope all three of them, and they began to
fade from view. As Renee watched on with
wide eyes, Jonathan looked up at her with sad eyes, and his voice entered her
mind and said quietly, “I’m sorry.”
As
they vanished, Renee fell to her knees, screaming.
*
To
Doran it seemed he was standing in a grassy field. His clothes were still wet
from the ship, and he could feel the blood caking on his neck and face. His
broken sword hung loosely in his hand. Across the field stood the apparition.
A
soft voice said next to him, “Are you ready?”
Doran
turned. The huge man was there, dressed in rough hunter’s clothes and covered
in swirling blue tattoos. His face was serious as he looked at the sea captain.
Doran
asked, “What do I need do?”
“That
creature is the twisted remnants of one of my brethren. He has turned not only
from the path of the gods, but has opened his heart to true darkness, and has
taken the lives of innocents. He is completely corrupt. He stole the body of
your beloved to gather greater power, and sought to do nothing but kill. If he
survives, he will continue to kill, to corrupt, and to destroy.”
“Then
do I simply strike it down here?”
The
man shrugged, “I cannot honestly say for certain. He is an anomaly, a creature
like no other. However, there is one thing you must know.”
Doran
raised an eyebrow.
“That
creature is what brought you back after the sinking of the Tempest. He is responsible for you surviving.”
“Then
he is also responsible for the ghosts. What of it?”
“Should
you kill him, I cannot be certain you will not die with him.”
Doran
faltered. Could he sacrifice himself like that? Could he lose Renee so
willingly? His sword began to slip from his fingers. The man placed his hand on
Doran’s shoulder, “I understand the turmoil you must feel.”
Doran
wheeled on the man, “Do you? Do you really? Do you have any idea what it must
be like to have to choose whether to lose the love of your life? How is that fair,
or just? I never asked for any of this!”
The
big man’s face became hard and he growled, “I do know that feeling. It is a
decision I was forced to make many years ago. And it is a decision I will never
cease regretting.”
Doran
went pale, “What did you choose?”
“It
does not matter,” said the man, “What you must do is make your own choice. Both
decisions come with a price – one is certain, the other less so. I cannot help
you decide what to do, but I can help you once you have chosen.”
“What
will happen if I do not destroy this thing?”
The
man’s eyes glowed blue and he touched a fingertip to Doran’s head, filling his
mind with images.
Ships at sea blazed with
fire, men screaming as they were cut down mercilessly. Forests burned, their smoky
haze covering the world. The streets of Kormouth ran red with blood. Doran’s
house stood gutted, its door smashed from its hinges. Inside lay Renee’s broken
body, a small form in swaddling clothes clutched to her lifeless breast.
Doran
pushed away from the man, tears filling his eyes. He looked up at the man, “Enough,
I will do it.”
The
man nodded and reached out to touch Doran’s sword. Blue light covered it, and
stretched from the shattered edge, creating a new blade of light. He said, “This
foe is devious. Do not for a moment lose your focus. No matter what is shows
you, or pretends to be, it is evil and must be destroyed. Do not falter, Doran Colgan,
do not fear. Strike it down.”
Doran
stepped forward, then stopped and said without turning, “And Renee?”
“She
will be safe.”
The
captain nodded and strode across the field.
The
apparition stood waiting, still wearing the face of Aldrid Shorthelm. He
grinned broadly, “Ahh, Doran. Have you come to slay me?”
“Yes,”
hissed Doran.
“The
angel told you the cost, did he? That you will die?”
Doran’s
eyes narrowed, “Yes. Better one man who has already died, than thousands more
who are innocent.”
Aldrid’s
face shifted and was replaced by Renee’s. Her green eyes were glistening with
tears, her voice hoarse with grief as she said, “And me? Will you abandon me?”
Doran’s
gaze was steely, “You are not Renee.” With a wordless yell, he struck out with
the shining blade. As the blue energy passed through the apparition’s side, the
illusion surrounding it shattered, and it fell back, formless and hideous.
The
creature began to shift and grow before Doran’s eyes. Its skin turned an inky
purple, like a deep bruise, and began to harden into scales. Its arms began to
swell and lengthen, claws as long as daggers growing from its fingers. A tail
exploded from its back, and ugly red spines ran down its back and along its
tail. Two savage pairs of horns grew from its elongating face, which was
beginning to look more and more like a muzzle. Two sickly yellow eyes glared
down at Doran. Shadow covered him as it spread leathery wings that blocked out
the sun.
Its
voice was thunderous, and filled with bestial rage, “Cower before the might of
Nihilus, last of the Seraph of Elmuthia!”
Doran
took up a fighting stance, looked Nihilus steadily in the eyes, and said, “No.”
A
purple fist smashed down, forcing Doran to dive aside, landing painfully on his
arm. He grunted as he got back to his feet. Before Nihilus could react, Doran
plunged his sword into the beast’s thigh, the blade punching cleanly through
both sides of the leg. Nihilus bellowed in pain and swatted Doran away, sending
him sailing across the grass. He did not relinquish his hold on the sword, and
Nihilus cried out once more as the blade was torn savagely from him. Rather
than blood, golden light spilled from his wound, swirling about his body as it
drained from him.
He
flapped his wings and lifted himself from the ground, rising high above Doran.
The captain was prepared, however, as the beast dropped on him, and he dove
between its legs as it landed. Skidding across the grass on his back, Doran
swung his sword hard at his foe, separating its tail from its body. Nihilus
screamed even louder at that, and whirled about faster than Doran anticipated,
gripping him in one hand and lifting him up to eye height.
Doran
struggled to breathe as the beast’s fist squeezed tighter. He struggled, and
his locket slipped out of his coat. It flashed red as it caught the sunlight,
and then brushed against Nihilus’ hand. The beast cried out as his flesh burnt
at the touch of the locket. His other hand came up and a talon tore the locket
from Doran’s neck, flinging it away in the grass. As it spun away, Doran saw it
pop open, and saw the painting inside. His heart pounded as he looked once more
at Renee’s face, and he felt power filling him.
“Clever,
Jonathan!” cried Nihilus, “But even such ancient bonding magic as that has no
power over me!”
Jonathan,
standing where Doran had left him, called out, “Maybe not you. But who said I
had forged that spell for you?”
Nihilus’
bestial face looked puzzled, “Wha-“
Doran
roared in fury, and with a grunt broke free of Nihilus’ grip. As he dropped to
the ground, Doran braced for his landing, and as soon as he struck the ground
he surged forward. In his surprise, Nihilus did not react quickly, and fell
back shrieking as Doran’s sword crossed his chest; once, twice, thrice.
Nihilus
fell onto his back and Doran rammed his sword home, pushing it up under the
beast’s chin and through its head. The beast screamed and exploded into golden
light, leaving a burned outline of itself on the grass.
Jonathan
made his way to Doran’s side and placed his hand on the man’s shoulder.
“Well
done,” he said, “It is over.”
“What
now?” asked Doran as the field began to fade from view.
“Now,”
said Jonathan, “We find out what price you must pay.”
*
Doran
blinked as the ship came into focus. The deck was quiet now, the ghosts and
their ship were gone. His chest burned, and felt damper by the second. He
reached down and felt a wooden spar protruding from him, his blood oozing out
around it.
“Oh,”
he said as his shattered leg gave way, sending him crashing to the deck. He
reached up to his throat, panic filling him as he fumbled for his locket. It
was gone, left in the field where he had slain Nihilus. As his vision began to
swim and darken he sobbed. This was the price then. He would die for saving
others. It didn’t seem right. It didn’t seem fair.
Renee
fell to her knees next to him, taking his hand in both of hers. She looked at
his wounds, remembering when she had first seen them at the promontory. She
looked up at Jonathan, who was standing by impassively, and cried, “Can you not
do anything?”
“No,”
said the Bealdor¸ “The natural order
must reassert itself.”
Renee’s
body was racked by sobs as she watched Doran drifting away, his hazel eyes
locked on her face, a slight smile on his bloody face. He whispered to her, his
voice choked by the blood filling his lungs, “I love you, Renee. I always loved
you.”
The
light faded from his eyes, and Renee screamed, her face to the skies, her hands
still cradling the head of her beloved. Her scream went on, passing from rage
to something more. Lightning flashed, and the deck around her began to shake.
The sea about them leapt up, but no water fell upon her or Doran. This time no new power filled her, but she continued to shriek her furious grief to the heavens. Then,
drained, she collapsed, resting her head on his chest as though he was simply
asleep and she was lying with him.
Jonathan’s
voice broke through her sorrow, “He died a hero.”
Renee
looked up at him with reddened eyes, “He didn’t need to die to be a hero. I
didn’t love him because he was a hero, or even because he could be one. I loved
him because he was a kind man, a good man, who did what was right no matter
what it cost him.”
Jonathan’s
eyes were downcast, “That is what he did this time too.”
“I
know,” whispered Renee, “I’ve always known that I would lose him to his own
stupid nobility.” She pounded her fists on Doran’s still chest, “Why couldn’t
you be selfish just once, you bastard!”
It
was Jonathan who supplied the answer, “Because if he had been selfish, he
wouldn’t have been the man you loved.”
Renee,
numbed by that, nodded.
“Come,”
said the angel, “let us take him home.”
*
Renee
stood atop the promontory, her skirts flapping around her as the wind blew back
her ponytail. Around her neck hung a locket, which her fingers caressed
absently, lovingly. She watched the procession of sailors make their way along
the pebbled shore, carrying the casket that held her beloved. She held back her
tears as the lowered the casket into a small boat, and bit her lip as they
pushed it off from the shore, and began to row out to the small island of
Captain’s Grief.
The
tears didn’t come until she saw their boat leave the island, this time without
Doran’s casket.
She
ignored them as they saluted her from the beach.
After
many hours had passed, she reached into her pocket as the sun began to set and
looked at the gilded jewel that she now held in her hand. Perhaps this had the
power to bring him back.
Then,
she thought of his smile as he looked at her. His dying words. He died with
love in his heart, and his conscience clear.
She
smiled sadly and cast the stone out into the waters below the promontory.
Jonathan
had been right, dwelling on the past would do nothing but drag her back.
Fine
