21 Seagulls

THE MOUNTAINS OF LORIAX

Six men stayed behind, including Basco, Dizan, and Karil. Basco was in charge of securing the town, Dizan of taming it, and Karil was too old to be wandering in the jungle. Four men remained on the ship, along with the cook, and the other ten followed Mascardi into Loriax’s jungle.

Ginom was always at the head of the group. He was the best hunter, tracker, and beast tamer among them. He had acquired valuable knowledge from his journeys, and he also was the only one among them who had visited the islands in the past, or so he claimed. He led the way with his whip looped around his belt, a dagger between his teeth –since he never talked– and his meager clothes, with his black-skinned body slithering like a snake through the island’s thick vegetation.

The rest felt like fish out of water. Mascardi recalled the old military campaigns he’d taken part in under the Lion banner of Lothen. Him and Odet had spent countless horrible days dressed from head to toe in heavy, metallic armor and submerged up to their waists in the muddy terrain west of Lothen. Today’s expedition seemed like a walk on the beach compared to that. The thunderbolts over the horizon were their lighthouse, the mountains were their compass and so, ten Seagulls crossed Loriax’s untrodden territories in the harmless boom of thunder.

The first few days passed without surprises. The crew had carried food supplies but there was ample game to hunt in this area. The men had relaxed a lot and had grown so used to the unstoppable sound of thunder, that they slept peacefully in the nights. As lords of the woods, they lit up big campfires, roasted the animals they caught, ate, and drank, and even if Mascardi didn’t join in the merriment, he couldn’t help being drawn to their luxuries.

That night, in the heart of the jungle, everyone drank around the fire, when Mascardi sat next to Ginom.

“Don’t you ever eat?” The question had been formed in his head days ago, as the young man didn’t seem to be putting any food in his mouth since they’d left the camp.

“Never on the hunt, boss. Food makes me drowsy.”

Mascardi nodded in approval. “How many days till the monastery you think?”

Ginom had informed Mascardi about a mysterious building in the other side of the island. Nobody knew exactly what it was or when it was built and by whom; it seemed as if it’d always been there. Ginom had claimed he’d seen it in the past but hadn’t entered, afraid of the rumors about it – in every version of them, whoever entered, never came out. During those conversations, Mascardi had somehow been convinced that there would be treasure inside the mysterious building, and it had therefore become a priority to find it.

“I’m not sure, boss. We need a few more days to the mountains, and it’s not far after that, but it may take us quite some time to locate the building.”

Mascardi nodded, satisfied. The rest of the crew sang and laughed, their horrible, coarse voices drowned out by thunder. One of the men –Baltan, a sailor about Mascardi’s age– was staring at the thunder as he returned from the trees, holding his breeches up.

“That is odd,” he seemed to say, but only young Tomas, standing next to him, heard him. Baltan pointed at the horizon; Mascardi followed his line of sight.

“That lightning seems to be moving, can you see it?” he appeared to be telling Tomas, who got up with the aid of his spear. Mascardi approached both men and looked for himself. Grey-haired Baltan was right. The lightning bolts struck behind the mountains but some of them not only seemed to deviate, but also to be approaching fast.

“Ginom!” Mascardi shouted, and the man sprang up like a coil, narrowing his eyes in the dark. After a while, he pointed too.

“Black wings!” he yelled.

“What?” Mascardi asked, and then the men stopped singing. Complaints sounded from the far back of the group.

“Vesca of the Underworld!” Ginom growled, and even though none of them understood what he was talking about, it was enough for them to shoot upright, scared.

“Your weapons! Move! Bows and spears!”

Mascardi bellowed orders as he snatched his trident. They abandoned their packs and spread out in the clearing, watching a black cloud approaching, otherworldly electrical flashes streaking inside it.

A few moments later, a small flock of enormous black birds that looked like crows appeared overhead. Their caws echoed in the skies, piercing through the thunder, rippling through the air.

One of the creatures called Vesca hovered over Tomas. The young man waited for it with his spear in hand, but the bird didn’t attack him; it stood facing him from a reasonable height. A moment later, its caw joined the thunder and a lightning bolt shot out of its beak. It struck the young man, scorching him and throwing him six feet away, to land on the ground. Tomas’s body crawled for a while, then it convulsed and stopped moving.

The men scattered around helter-skelter to avoid the attack of three more birds. The Vesca that had unleashed the first bolt lunged at the unmoving Tomas, and with immense force, dug its beak into his heart and started devouring it.

“Take cover!” Mascardi cried hysterically as he was trying to chase the birds away with his trident.

Ginom’s whip ripped through the air and coiled around the slim throat of the vulture that was eating Tomas. One sharp jerking motion broke its neck and the bird fell dead, its wings bent at a horrible angle.

Vario grabbed an axe and slashed at a Vesca coming at him. The bird’s belly opened up like a fillet, painting the warrior with its blood. With a leap, Mascardi pierced another one’s wings with his trident, while Odet hit another with an arrow, and he was certain he saw it fall clumsily into a tree’s branches a few feet beyond the clearing.

Mascardi finished off the last creature. For a moment, the crew stood silent next to a pool of blood and black feathers.

Baltan, his face distorted in horror, went to Tomas. He vomited when he saw the huge hole where his heart used to be and how deep and viciously it’d been dug in a single moment.

Mascardi anxiously paced around the clearing.

“Where are they? Are there more?” he was yelling, but nothing else seemed to be approaching. He turned to Ginom. “What kind of demons are these, Ginom?”

Ginom was breaking the wings of a dead Vesca and started skinning it with his knife, disgusting the crew.

“What are you doing?” Baltan complained. He was an old swordsman and knight of Lothen. His one arm was atrophied, and he couldn’t hold up a shield.

“It’s time to eat,” Ginom announced and then looked at Mascardi. “Those were the Vesca, the birds of the Underworld. They find passage to the world of the living through the black rivers of the dead. They bring death with just a touch.”

Mascardi swallowed. He noticed the look in his companions’ eyes and felt their despair.

“The island is filled with them,” the hunter added and shook the black blood off his hands.

***

The town of Loriax had grown used to the presence of the young men. The nights at the taverns were entertaining, so much so, that Dizan always felt bad for the different course the second group had taken through the jungle. Dizan filled the warm evenings with music, talked with the residents and flirted with the ladies, who seemed as if they’d forgotten the slaughtering of the previous days.

Basco had completely shaved his head again and was wearing a turban and colorful clothes. He was eccentric and lonely, and people whispered about him a lot. Serious, rarely speaking a lot of words, he preferred to isolate himself and meditate on the cliff that faced the vast sea.

The settlement’s peace, however, was partly false. Even though a lot of the residents acted as if they’d forgotten, there were others that certainly never would, and whispered plans in the dark, walking hastily through the alleys like shadows.

Old Karil read the cards in Basco’s presence, and showed him the Storm twice, a certain sign of turmoil, and not only with respect to the weather. Basco didn’t offer a specific answer; he seemed neither upset nor reassuring, but simply registered the information and returned to his duties.

As the days passed, he started noticing shadows on the distant rocks where the sea licked Loriax’s shore, under the settlement. Small, quick forms darting around, carrying their secrets. Aquats, he remembered Ginom’s words. The water elves were defter than any aspiring killer in the settlement, and wilder too. Their constant movement caused him bewilderment and nervousness. He felt like a cauldron boiling as the fire beneath it burned lazily and patiently.

When he was tired of waiting like a lamb for the butcher, he called Dizan at the cape and showed him the naughty creatures that, without a doubt, conspired against them.

“We can’t wait for them to make the first move,” he told Dizan. The musician gulped. He had grown accustomed to the island’s comforts and didn’t wish to find himself in trouble again.

“Maybe there’s no reason for concern,” he tried, but Basco’s look was ruthless.

He explained the decision he’d reached, Karil’s words, the Storm, and Dizan’s part in all this.

Upon hearing the plan, Dizan’s eyes bulged in horror. “I… I don’t…”

“Have you forgotten what we’re doing here?” Basco said. “Or did you forget what the others are doing while we’re talking, eating, sleeping and bedding town girls like well-fed Seagulls?”

Dizan answered nothing. He bowed his head, with a deep sorrow falling across his face like a shadow.

Basco didn’t question his loyalty for a single moment. He took a few steps back to give him a little space.

“Now?” Dizan asked, but his voice was dark and his face sullen.

“Now,” confirmed Basco.

The bard lowered on one knee and brought the lute in front of him with a heavy heart. He started stroking the strings. Soft notes spilled out, mixing with the island’s morning breeze. His voice spilled in the air, high, warm, and strong, like wrought metal that refused to bend. Dizan was indeed a gifted musician.

People from the settlement started gathering on the edge of the distant cliff that overlooked the sea. Dizan’s magical voice drew them like fireflies to the light. They stood in a circle around him; others squatted on the ground, not used to such events during daylight.

Patiently, Basco waited a few feet back. With his arms crossed, he inspected the area in front of him.

It didn’t take long for them to appear.

Slender, blue hands with membranes caught the edge of the cliff and pulled themselves up opposite Dizan. The creatures moved their membranes and gills at the sound of the music, and answering the call, they showed up, climbing the high cliff in front of them. Their eyes shimmered as they listened to the beautiful melody. Dizan kept his head bowed, refusing to look at them. Old Karil appeared next to Basco, a wolfish grin formed on his lips.

“The kid is good, eh?” A nod from Basco was the only answer to his question.

Basco took two steps forward. Over ten Aquats had formed a semicircle in front of Dizan, their backs to the cliff.

Karil frowned. “Lord Basco, is there water nearby?” he asked, and Basco took a breath.

“No, old man. It’s too far away.”

Karil looked around. “I don’t see a fire anywhere.”

“We don’t have a fire either,” Basco admitted.

Karil looked around once more. The trees stirred by a soft breeze that cooled his face. “I daresay we have the wind then?”

Basco nodded. “Yes, Karil. In a place as high and bare as this, we certainly have the wind, and plenty of it.”

After those words, Basco raised his arms high and started talking to the wind. People started whispering, scared. Basco’s loose clothes billowed in the rising gusts. The Aquats started making nervous, strange noises. Dizan’s melody was still strong, his voice unwavering. The trees bent more; Basco lowered his arms in a certain direction and the trunks bent that way.

A hat flew away from a young girl’s head and was lost beyond the cliff. The words grew stronger, along with the creatures’ noises; they hunched now, sensing the threat. They looked like dogs ready to attack. Basco’s voice rang as loud as Dizan’s now.

The creatures made a move to attack. They ran forward, ignoring the musician and zeroing in on Basco, who did a circular motion with his arms as if he was stirring the wind.

Stones started levitating around him; a straw roof was ripped away from a house and some people screamed. In the turmoil, a few creatures jumped into the air. Basco thrust his arms forward and screamed. Dizan stopped the music immediately and stared at the ground.

The creatures’ bodies collided with an invisible force and were tossed backwards. The wind, as if obeying to a call of its name, threw the Aquats over the cliff, sending them back where they had so laboriously climbed from in order to listen to the music. The people screamed, terrified by this new horror. The bodies traveled like toys and were lost over the cliff.

When the spell died down, Basco drew a deep, satisfied breath. Sweat dripped down his body, and the magic had exhausted him. Dizan had played his part in this mission, just as Basco had, and old Karil almost clapped his hands with joy.

The musician didn’t share the sentiment, neither did he feel any satisfaction by this victory, despite knowing that they wouldn’t have been safe as long as the creatures were near. He did feel sadness though. Because he knew that, this time, there was no sea to welcome them in its arms – only sharp rocks.

When they looked over the cliff, they saw their broken bodies painting the rocks with their blood. A whole group of them had just died in a horrible way, and the people would remember this forever.