Korax 18 – Inselaciune 2, 1308

  Elian was nowhere to be found. We scoured over the harbour and even sent a diver to check beneath the pilings. We questioned every shopkeeper still awake at this hour and the publican convinced some of the warehouse owners to let us search their premises. Nothing. As if he’d vanished into thin air.

  When a holder was possessed, the spirit’s essence lingered, drawing them towards familiarity and comfort. Elation could be seen in an amusement park or a playground; Courage and Violence tended to gravitate towards barracks, guard posts, and fighting rings; and Pride would most likely be sat by a mirror, admiring itself until its eyes bled. Not literally. Rarely literally.

  But I knew nothing of Elian’s mate, and this uncertainty was eating me up. The worst part was not knowing how dangerous Elian was.

  The others decided to split to cover a bigger area as if we’d been searching for a lost child or a runaway pet. This wasn’t the case of a ‘regular’ disappearance. What if Elian was a Holder of Frenzy or Rage? If he turned into a Rotten…

  I had to shake off those thoughts. But it was hard. Couldn’t even blame Concern for this feeling. Maybe I didn’t like these people, but that didn’t mean I wanted them to get hurt.

  ‘The whaling station’s empty,’ my best friend, the foreman, said, interrupting my thoughts. There was no end to this man’s rudeness. ‘We looked everywhere, even under the carcasses.’

  ‘What about his house?’ I asked.

  ‘Still nothing. Dafydd and some others are with the lass. Looking after ‘eh and stuff.’

  ‘Godsdammit!’

  ‘What now, Master ‘older? We’ve looked everywhere,’ the foreman asked me, almost pleading. I didn’t know what to tell him.

  When the group left the pub to begin the search, some asked the dockworkers to join us. However, without Concern’s influence, many decided, wisely, not to get involved. Sadly, the foreman wasn’t a wise man. He’d told us that he and Elian were mates so he jumped at the first chance to help.

  And since the Gods hated me, he ended up in my group, alongside the loud bloke and the holder-punching wife. At least we had the right person in case we needed someone to viciously attack a handsome holder.

  I briefly considered asking the dwarves and – Gods, what’s the matter with me? I got miffed when they called me a ‘promise-breaking dog’ for being Clei?ian, and yet here I was, using an old slur: dwarves. I was such a hypocrite. I had to be better. Do better. They were ‘daearannún’ and that’s what I’d call them.

  ‘Didn’t Elian used to work with you, Merfyn?’ the woman asked the foreman. Of all the times to make small talk. Maybe I ought to buy some biscuits at the grocer’s shop.

  ‘Nay. Used to be mates, me and ‘im. I got ‘im a job and then ‘e got sacked from the Tasty Siren. Drinking on the job and all that.’

  ‘The Tasty Siren?’ I asked, amused by the name.

  ‘Aye. It’s one of them shrimpers,’ the foreman said, pointing at the ships at the back of the docks. ‘If I recall, ‘is crewmates almost knocked you into the water, lad.’

  Almost knocked me? I mentally retraced my steps but I couldn’t remember when that happened. Something in my manner must have betrayed my confusion as the foreman answered the question I did not ask.

  ‘Earlier tonight. Or last night, I mean. You was daydreaming in the middle of the docks, and the men almost tripped on you.’

  ‘Oh. I remember now,’ I replied, a little bit embarrassed to be honest.

  ‘You think ‘e could be a stowaway? Elian sure loved that bloody shrimper. Almost as much as ‘is booze or the lass.’

  As unlikely as it seemed – we’d walked past those boats a score of times by now – that was our only clue.

  ‘It’s worth a shot’, I said. ‘Do we need to ask someone for permission to look inside the boat?’

  ‘Nay. The skipper’s my mate. Just don’t set it on fire or turn us into frogs, Master ‘older.’

  ‘I can make no such promises.’

  My three companions laughed. It was the kind of chuckle born of nervousness. The anticipation was tearing us inside. The unspoken question remained in the air: what would happen when we found Elian?

  Suddenly, the foreman grabbed me by the arm. I thought he’d start yelling again, but instead, he leaned in and whispered softly so the others couldn’t hear, ‘I’ve got your back, mate. Won’t let you fall into the water.’

  I nodded slowly. His words were sincere. Somehow, he knew how scared I was of this dreadful place. ‘Twas a little thing, but I appreciated the gesture nonetheless. Maybe he wasn’t so bad after all.

  The activity in the Quay dwindled as we headed towards the docked boats. The other groups still combed over the Quay searching for Elian, but their torches could barely penetrate the thick fog, and their voices were so distant that I couldn’t quite make out the words.

  The loud bloke was leading my group and was holding the torch in one hand, a small wooden box with a brass or copper handle. Despite the twin moons’ attempts to break through the clouds, the Watcher especially as it was full tonight, the fog and the starless night shrouded the harbour with a suffocating darkness.

  At least the night’s drizzle had stopped, leaving only damp crates and slippery planks to contend with.

  I’d never liked that about Kefnfor. Its winters were too wet. Not content with the ceaseless ocean winds, or the waves crashing against its shores, we also had to endure six months of constant rains. Sometimes it felt like the rain never stopped. Perhaps that’s why they called it The City of Tears.

  I’d hoped to leave the islands by winter’s end, in two or three moons. But I’d been saying the same thing for the last three years and Kefnfor was still holding me prisoner.

  ‘Holder!’ the loud bloke called out, his voice hoarse. ‘Use your torch. This damned thing’s burning my hand.’

  I pulled the torch from my pockets, the small, cylindrical object I’d bought at the Seasong’s markets. The shopkeeper assured me this new model was the best one yet, with batteries that lasted longer, and a frame that was easier to carry. The only downside was that its metal frame heated up faster than the wooden-box models.

  With a small flicker, the bulb inside began to shine. The lens was smaller than the loud bloke’s, but it’d serve us well.

  Uncomfortable leading, I handed the torch to our leader. He didn’t say ‘thanks’, but he grunted – a rather friendly grunt, all things considered – and kept on lighting the way.

  Several rats scurried between the crates and ropes littered throughout the docks, while small spirits of Elation, looking like spectral spider monkeys, chased them as if they were all playing a game. Even though it wasn’t possible since the critters couldn’t see their invisible playmates, I was vaguely amused by the sight. Below the planks, Fear pretended to devour a dead fish that floated on the darkened waters of the bay, keeping away the predators that usually swam by the pilings.

  And off in the distance, the intermittent glow of the trawlers illuminated the docks with its yellowish-purple light that—

  Why was a trawler glowing?

  I was no sailor or fisherman, or anyone who would know anything about boats, but I was sure boats didn’t glow intermittently.

  ‘Something strange is coming. Closer now.’

  It was the same voice I heard when I arrived at the Quay and that same familiarity was eroding my own thoughts once more. My companions didn’t react – why would they? It was a spirit calling out to those who could hear it, like those drawn out of hiding by their innate curiosity or the ones that shared the voice’s essence. And, of course, myself.

  ‘Stay behind me,’ I said, stepping in front of the group. The loud bloke handed me the torch and took a step back. At least they listened.

  The closer I got to the trawler, the glow got brighter, pulsing with a faint heat that warmed my face. The voice had stopped, but a current of unintelligible mumbling poured into my head, like the scurrying of rats below deck or the muffled shanties sung by drunk men. The murmur was low but constant. Annoyingly so.

  As I reached the vessel, it let out a loud, piercing whistle, like a sudden release of steam – a sound, judging by the others’ lack of reaction, only I could hear.

  All of a sudden, the flickering lights stopped. The ‘boat’ knew I’d seen it.

  The shrimp trawler seemed rather unremarkable – just an average-sized steam vessel with the usual masts, rigging, and cabin, its hull painted in a dark colour I couldn’t quite distinguish in the dark. Red or brown, perhaps. However, under its mask of mundanity, one feature betrayed its true nature: a face ‘carved’ faintly on the hull. It was the kind of illusion someone sees on a cold night, under the spell of both tiredness and paranoia.

  In this case, the face was real and it was watching me.

  I placed my hand on the trawler’s hull, and then I paused. My companions were probably not used to this kind of magic. Had they seen an Anchor before? I prayed that they wouldn’t do anything rash.

  ‘I know you can see me,’ I said, ignoring the odd looks from the foreman. Right now, all that mattered was the spirit inside the Anchor. ‘I see you through the mist and the darkness. Speak to me.’

  Silence was my answer. Literally.

  For a brief moment, the wind stopped its soft howling, and the rats’ scurrying noises were replaced by a silence too deep for the harbour. Even the waves, calm as they were under the Watcher’s gaze, held their breath.

  ‘Uhmm, lad?’ the foreman asked, gently grabbing my shoulder. He probably thought I’d gone mad. ‘Why are you talking—’

  ‘Go away,’ the trawler replied. ‘You do not belong here, vessel of another.’

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  Right on cue, my companions freaked out. The loud bloke began to curse all of the Gods, using profanities I’d never heard before. His wife cowered behind him, her shrieks drowned by her husband’s colourful expletives. At least the foreman fared a little better, though his voice quivered almost as much as mine.

  ‘Calm down,’ I said, trying to hide my annoyance. The last thing we needed was a trio of gutless wimps scaring the spirit.

  ‘But the nobby!’ the foreman yelled. ‘The bloody nobby is talking.’

  ‘What’s a nobby?’ I asked.

  ‘We are Nobby. The sailors gave us that name for we were born with none.’

  ‘Look, er, Nobby,’ I said, unsure if I wanted to know why it said 'we', ‘I need your help. We’re looking for a missing man. He may be hiding inside of, well, you.’

  ‘Go away,’ it repeated. ‘You are not welcome here. Our song cannot reach you. We cannot help if you refuse to listen.’

  ‘What song? I can stay if you wish to sign for me.’

  ‘We sing to those bound to death and the sea, that they may find comfort in golden memories. Your heart is closed to our melodies. To us. You are of no use. You are strange.’

  In the last twenty hours, a daearannún had insulted me and then I was punched by a woman at least a head shorter than me. Now an Anchor, the remnants of a dead spirit, called me ‘too strange’. What a day.

  At least now I knew what this spirit was: Longing. That explained the feeling of nostalgia I’d felt since my arrival, and perhaps also the Clei?ian smells and shanties at Dafydd’s.

  Cheeky little bastard, toying with my mind like this.

  Still, I could exploit its nature. If it refused to speak to me because I couldn’t hear its songs, I only needed to find someone who could. And if I recall correctly, my loud mate was a man of the sea…

  ‘Mate,’ I said, approaching the man cautiously. Somehow, he hadn’t run out of expletives yet. ‘Talk to the Nobby. Convince it to help us.’

  ‘You want me to talk to that bloody thing?! You out of your mind or something?’

  ‘I know it sounds weird, but it might know where Elian is.’

  ‘Bugger off, holder. I’m not getting close to that thing or any of your mumbo jumbo magic shite.’

  Whether it understood the man’s words or simply grew tired of my presence, the trawler trashed back and forth, rather menacingly. The oil lamps scattered on its deck flickered and its masts bent forward, towards us.

  Was it trying to intimidate us? So much for ‘the voice is merely observing, not making a threat’.

  ‘I can do it,’ the foreman said. His voice was shaking but his eyes were fixed on the boat. ‘Or… try.’

  ‘Aye, that’d be good,’ I snapped before he changed his mind.

  ‘What do I say to ‘er, ‘older?’

  ‘Appeal to her nature. She’s a spirit of Longing. She means no harm, I don’t think. Maybe she just wants to tell stories of past voyages in the sea. Start there. Maybe it’ll work.’

  The foreman nodded. For a brief moment, he stopped being the brash man who only knew how to bark orders or who acted like he owned the place. His voice had softened and even had a tinge of curiosity in his eyes. Why had he called it ‘her’, though? I pondered if he’d heard a voice from his past, just as I’d heard my brother’s.

  ‘Good day, M-m-ma’am Spirit,’ the foreman said as he got closer to the boat. Instinctively, I walked next to him, just in case. ‘I ‘eard you don’t wanna ‘elp my mate ‘ere. B-b-but we need you. One of ours is gone and we’re all mighty worried about ‘him.’

  ‘We know you. You have always been kind, even if you never sailed at our side. Are you happy?’

  ‘Aye. I am,’ the foreman replied, confused. I couldn’t blame him. Spirits are seldom as straightforward as people.

  ‘Your heart does not yearn for the sea like it used to. You changed. Something close changed you.’

  ‘My sister is with child. The babe will be born next spring. I ‘ope to be a good uncle.’

  ‘Will you tell the child about us?’

  The foreman looked back at me for reassurance. If I intervened, the spirit could become enraged and stop talking. All I could offer was an encouraging nod. He smiled back at me and I had to admit it was a warm, almost cute smile. I noticed he was a rather good-looking fella, rudeness aside.

  ‘Aye, I shall. I’m sure the babe will love to ‘ear stories about the talking Nobby who protects the Quay. But, will you ‘elp me make the story better? Elian was a deck’and for you. Used to say ‘ow much ‘e loved you. Please, tell us if you’ve seen ‘him.’

  The Anchor did not respond right away. An eerie silence fell over the rest of the Quay. It was thinking. Its reluctance worried me, but there was no turning back now.

  After a few excruciating minutes, it spoke:

  ‘The one you seek was of us. It wished for things to go back to the way they were. To restore the perfect paradise THEY had denied IT,’ the spirit raised its voice. It was getting restless, probably mirroring Elian’s inner turmoil. I stretched my arm in front of the foreman, ready to intervene if it attacked us. ‘It is now LOST. Its mind is BROKEN. It is hiding.’

  ‘Where?’ we both asked at once.

  ‘We shall show your holder the way,’ the Nobby said, referring to me. ‘It can see our lights.’

  Before I could ask why it kept saying ‘we’, the answer manifested in front of me. Scores of boats began to glow, their lights flickering with the same unsettling rhythm as the Nobby. Almost all the trawlers, drifters, and other fishing vessels swayed as violently as the one in front of us. Apparently, nearly every ship in this bloody harbour was an Anchor of Longing.

  ‘Master ‘older…?’

  ‘She’s showing me the way. Follow me.’

  I strode through the docks, almost leaping, as I followed the blinking lights of the Nobbies. My companions were still shaken up by the experience – who wouldn’t be? – but they kept the pace. The loud sailor, his torch now blazing, walked beside me.

  Further behind, the sounds of shouting and steps running over the wooden planks filled the harbour, but I didn’t dare stop to warn them. The Anchor’s words were concerning. If Elian was possessed by Longing, his own emotions were trickling down to the rest of the Quay. But there was another. The Anchors’ restlessness painted a picture of Rage or Frenzy.

  The Nobbies guided us to an abandoned shed of some sort that, according to the foreman, had been used to store tools for the trawlers and old fishing rods, before the harbour’s renovation.

  I didn’t like the vibes I got from the place.

  ‘Stay here,’ I said. ‘I’m going in.’

  ‘You can’t—’ the foreman protested.

  ‘No,’ I snapped. I wasn’t in the mood for their whining – couldn’t risk them getting hurt. ‘Whatever’s inside could be dangerous. I’ll get Elian.’

  My three companions looked at each other, their faces filled with worry. Part of me wanted to reassure them that everything would be alright, but I didn’t feel like lying. Maybe when all of this was over, I’d explain what had happened to their friend.

  ‘Be careful, ‘older,’ the foreman said. ‘But we’ll follow if we ‘ear trouble.’

  I opened the door and ventured inside the mysterious shed, torch in hand.

  The interior was more spacious than it looked on the outside, and it was eerily quiet. The only sounds were the clinking of bottles littering the floor – Elian’s for sure – and the creaking boards under my feet.

  The boarded windows muffled the voices on the outside. More men had probably joined my companions.

  I prayed no one would follow. I had a bad feeling about this place. If it came from my spirit inside, there was no response when I begged it to speak to me. There never was.

  A broken shovel leaned against the wall and I took it while cursing myself for not bringing a real weapon. I hadn’t thought I’d need one, to be honest.

  Then I heard it. A squeal, the desperate, frenetic cry from some poor critter, cut short by an abrupt silence.

  I wished there were spirits that could tell me what lay ahead. But there were none here. Their utter absence was telling. Something in this place was inherently wrong.

  Another squealing sound came from the back, followed by another and then another. They all followed the same pattern of increased desperation before being suddenly silenced with a thud.

  I followed the poor creatures’ cries.

  Standing by the doorframe of the furthest room of the shed, I saw him. He was hunched in a corner with his back turned to me, and a mountain of rats lay in front of him, all of which were full of bites and had large chunks of flesh missing. Their tiny faces were locked in absolute terror. A puddle of blood had formed underneath the crouching man, covering most of the room’s floor.

  He was eating them…

  No. He was devouring the rats like someone who hadn’t eaten in weeks. There was desperation in his breathing and pain in the way he chewed.

  He was transforming into a Rotten.

  ‘Elian,’ I called out, weapon in hand. ‘Your daughter sent me. She’s worried about you, mate.’

  The man, or monster, didn’t reply. His prey had tried to flee when it noticed me but it couldn’t escape the man’s grasp. He was faster. Impossibly faster.

  ‘Whatever it is you’re feeling, I can help. Let me help.’

  ‘So hungry,’ he growled, his voice echoing distant and wrong. ‘I’m so cold. The hunger hurts. So much pain. Make it stop, please…’

  Elian lunged at me with inhuman speed before I could react. His muscles twitched and turned so violently that I could hear the cracking of bones under his skin. It was a wet, sickly sound.

  I kicked him with all the strength I could muster in a desperate attempt that sent him tumbling a few metres back.

  The struggle sent my torch clattering to the floor, away from me, but I didn’t need its light to see the monster’s face.

  His eyes burned red with molten fire dripping down his face like hellish tears. This fire, if you could call it that, had melted some of the flesh, revealing the bone underneath. As he moved to stand up, a drop fell on one of the rats, dissolving the poor critter’s body in mere seconds.

  The monster’s left arm, or what little remained of it, had its flesh peeled back to the shoulder, but instead of a human arm, the bones had combined into some sort of serrated blade, its teeth clogged with bits of flesh and dried blood.

  When the creature charged again, I grabbed my weapon with both hands and swung as hard as I could, hitting him right on the right side of his ‘face’. Something in his skull cracked with a lurid sound and drops of blood and fire flew off towards the walls. Then, the monster stopped in his tracks, stunned.

  The monster was looking at… not me? His flaming gaze was fixed on my fallen torch and its dim light. Instinctively, I followed his gaze with mine, trying to figure out what had stopped him.

  ‘Is this how you SAVE people, holder?’

  The voice sent a chill down my spine.

  Laying next to the torch, its front legs crossed in a mocking shape, a hulking beast watched the fight. It looked like some kind of hulking cat, with a muscular body and a large rounded head. Its large yellow eyes glowed with a sinister touch, and his jaws seemed to be dripping blood and… smoke? The creature’s most disturbing feature was the golden coat that covered it and the black spots that swirled and danced on top, like the shadows from a flickering flame.

  I’d never seen such a spirit.

  ‘Yes, you have seen one such as I,’ it mocked me as if it could listen to my thoughts. ‘Have you forgotten me already? Ow, you wound me, child.’

  ‘D-d-d-d-despair?!’ I tried to say, my voice failing worse than ever. ‘B-b-but that’s imp-p-p-p-ossible!’

  The spirit motioned with its head to something behind me as if warning me. Or perhaps just mocking me. Either way, it was too late…

  ‘Good night, little bird. Do not let this failure consume you.’

  Elian stabbed me with his bladed arm before I could turn.

  The pain was sharp and immediate, sending jolts of agony all over my body. My insides were on fire while my eyes darted, with a mind of their own, towards the torrents of blood pouring out of my belly.

  Dazed by the pain and the thoughts of Despair, the world darkened around me.