The Secrets of Zothara, chapter two
A sword and planet adventure story
Tren awoke with a start, inhaling sharply. Dry dust flooded his mouth and throat. He recoiled, wheezing and coughing, then rolled over and dry retched. He needed something to clean out his throat, water or ale or…anything.
He pushed himself to his knees, fighting against the coughing. Looking around he saw… nothing. The darkness pressed in so close he couldn’t even see his hands before his face. Was he blind? He fumbled at his belt but he hadn’t been carrying a lightstone and his wand wasn’t there.
Then he inhaled too sharply and took in another load of dust. The dry, rasping cough took him again. He keeled over, his hands crunching into the sandy ground. The coughing slowly subsided and his wheezing breaths grew slow and shallow.
A flush of panic rolled over him but he quelled it. Forcing his breathing to remain steady. Panicking would avail him nothing. Then an all too familiar harsh whispering found him. He sat still, listening. It beckoned to him from some far off place. With nothing else by which to orientate himself, he began slowly feeling his way forward, following it.
He’d dragged himself across the brittle, crumbling crust of ground perhaps two or three meters when a distant, pale white glow caught his eye.
Was it the Ternius? Maybe, maybe not. Either way it was better than nothing. If it was the Ternius, what would he find there? Survivors and a ship in working order? Or ruin and death at the site of a catastrophic crash? A ruin and death brought on his crew by his own hubris.
He shook himself. They knew what they were signing on for. He had no time for such doubt.
He pushed himself to his feet, and quickly as he dared in the darkness, made for the light.
It drew closer only slowly. Apparently the distance was much greater than he’d first thought. But gradually it became bigger and brighter, softly outlining the shape of an Astroship laid on its side. As Tren drew near it, hushed voices floated over to him.
The light, as it turned out, was emanating from the orbs, no longer giving off thick, concentrated beams, but only a subtle glow. Framed against the overturned hull, a trio of silhouettes stood bickering in the gloom.
“Dead or no, we can’t just wander off into the darkness looking for him,” the first said, the drawling voice of Hamus.
“Angara’s adamant he survived, so it’s our duty to send out a search party,” said the second, the unmistakable croak of Brend, a deckhand from the red world of Trell.
“Duty?” Hamus snapped. “We don’t know what’s out there. Did you see those demons hiding in the cloud?”
“How could I not?”
“Then what sort of monstrosities do you think are lurking on the surface? Plus the deserters could be anywhere. Going out there to get lost or killed is stupid. Not when there’s so few of us left.”
They were talking about him, Tren realised. While he appreciated Brend’s unyielding loyalty, Hamus was right. The man had always displayed a ruthless self-interest which more often than not manifested as an undeniable pragmatism.
Tren considered calling out to them but dust still lined his throat and mouth, and he feared such an attempt would only elicit another bout of painful coughing. Instead he crept closer as they continued their debate.
“The cap’n would send a search party out for any of us,” Brend said weakly.
“Would he? The captain knows better than to send the living off to die looking for the dead. No, we need to sit tight, try to get the quanta jets reactivated. Maybe that way some of us will actually be able to get off this rock.”
“But what about–”
“Who goes there?” snapped the hard voice of Jerria as Tren drew near. Within moments she had her humming vibrosword drawn and ignited, casting a blue light over the four of them.
The trio’s eyes widened. “Captain?” They all burst out at once.
“Water,” he croaked as loudly as he dared.
***
“They all went mad, cap’n,” Brend muttered as they picked their way through the ruin of the main hold. All around them were scattered crates and barrels, cracked and bent, some leaking sizzling fluorescent liquids or putrid smoke. Spilt food supplies and damaged cargo lay everywhere. This didn’t surprise Tren. While the cargo on his ship was always well secured, little could’ve stayed in place after such a crash.
What surprised him were the bodies. Dispersed through the chaos were the mangled forms of both Rel and humans. A few had clearly been killed during the crash, but far more bore sword wounds or the distinctive round burns from voltspears. A battle had taken place.
“The Rel turned on us?” Tren asked, although he was sure he knew the answer.
“Them and some of the crew, sir.”
That gave Tren pause. “The crew?” He studied the body of fallen human, a blood crusted gash across his chest: Bandos, a veteran of Tren’s crew for the last six years.
“Aye, cap’n. After the crash, the Rel turned on us. Not much surprise there I suppose, but so did at least half of the old crew as well.”
“Why?” It didn’t make sense. Tren’d known there was unease amongst the crew about the voyage but he’d never suspected it would go as far as mutiny. Was there something more to the superstition the Rel’d been spreading amongst the crew? Some beguiling of his crew’s minds.
“I… I can’t say, sir. They all just went mad, weren't making any sense. Something about the call.” Brend shook his head hopelessly. “It all happened so quickly, sir. We were still reeling from the crash and suddenly our own comrades were killing us.”
A pit opened in Tren’s gut. The call? The beckoning whisper? He’d heard it too. Thinking about it now it seemed a strange, almost sinister thing, although for some reason up until now he’d thought nothing of it. If he’d been more attentive could he have averted this? Had he brought this on his crew? “How many turned?” He asked stiffly.
“I don’t know, cap’n. Half, maybe more.”
“And how many were killed in the fighting?”
“Alot. It wasn’t much of a fight though. We were really just doing what we could to survive. There’s only a handful of us left what didn’t turn.”
“And what happened to the Rel and the ones who did?”
“Gone, cap’n. We didn’t see where they went. Us that managed to survive had barricaded ourselves in the mess hall. I think when they realized we weren’t a threat, they off and left. Somewhere out into the darkness.” Brend made a vague, sweeping gesture.
Tren nodded. “Where’s Angara? I’d like a report from him.”
“He’s not much further, cap’n. We found him in the hold and we dared not try and move him. Only He’s–”
“Dead?” Tren went cold.
“Not as such, cap’n, at least not yet…Well you’ll see.”
Brend kept walking, leading the way into the depths of the hold.
Angara lay in the far corner, just short of the circular, rune etched moon steel doors of the powerstone bay. His flesh was blackened and rent with weeping lacerations. His eyes were closed. He didn’t stir.
Tren took another swig of his water bottle before kneeling beside him. “Angara?” he whispered.
He twitched but didn’t answer. His eyes flickered.
“He might not answer, cap’n,” Brend said softly. “We haven’t managed to get much sense out of him since the crash.”
Tren sighed and rose. “Why has the etherite smith not tended to him?”
“Sir, Smith Gaub joined the Rel.”
“Herazor be damned,” Tren muttered.
“Cap…tain…” Angara said in a weak voice.
“Yes, Angara.” Tren dropped to his knees beside him and laid a hand on his shoulder. “I’m here.”
“Tried…to stop…failed…sorry.”
“No, Angara. You did well. You saved my life and…”
“And many of the other hands during the crash,” Brend put in. “Don’t know if any of us would’ve survived if not fer your magic.”
“You see, Angara, you’re a hero.”.
“No…” he feebly gestured towards the powerstone bay doors. “The Rel came for the…power stone. Tried to…stop them.”
“What?” Without the powerstone nothing on the ship would function. Not the engines, or the communcation relay, or the life-support bay. Even the lighting would steadily dim until they were left floundering in the darkness. They were doomed.
“They…took it captain…sorry.”
“You’re certain?”
Angara nodded.
“How did they even gain access to the powerstone bay?”
“Alot of those what turned were officers or engineers, cap’in,” Brend said from behind. “Plenty with the passcode.”
Tren bowed his head. “How could this happen?”
“Sorry,” Angara muttered.
“No, Angara, you did well. We all owe you a great debt.”
“Not…well enough.”
“Better than the rest of us. Rest now, you’ve earnt it.”
But Angara’s eyes were already closed. His breathing was so shallow it was almost imperceptible.
He’ll be dead soon, Tren realised. And there’s nothing I can do about it. I’ll just have to make sure his sacrrifce wasn’t in vain.
He rose and turned to Brend. “The messhall is still accessable?”
“Aye, sir. It’s where us survivors have set ourselves up.”
“Good. Have what’s left of the crew assemble there. I’ll be along shortly.”
***
When Tren stepped into the mass hall, it was clear the scant remnants of his crew had been growing impatient. He was frustrated as well. Reaching his own quarters with the ship on its side had proven far more challenging than he’d anticipated. Then once inside, searching through the chaos of strewn papers and charts, scattered clothing, and broken trinkets had been a nightmare, but in the end he’d found what he was looking for: a fresh jacket and tunic, the bottle of three hunded year old whisky he’d been saving for almost a decade, and his spare vibrosword.
Of his thirty-two strong crew, only five remained. Brend, Hamus, Jarria, Gramn, and Toh. Six if one counted Angara, but if he wasn’t dead already, he soon would be.
Like everywhere else on the ship, the mess was a sight of carnage: upturned and splintered tables and chairs, splattered food, leaking water barrels and winecasks, all churned together and tossed haphazardly about. The floor was slick and sticky, with the smells of sour wine and already mouldering fruit–now free of their broken stasis crates–heavy in the air.
To the survivor’s merit, they’d managed to right a table and set of chairs, as well as salvage a fair amount of food, which they’d laid out upon it.
A quiet conversation petered out as Tren clambered in and he was greeted with nods and hoarse grunts.
“We saved you a space, cap’in,” Brend said, gesturing to an empty chair at the table’s head.
Tren strode over to it, dragged it out and then froze. A Rel sat in the corner, his dark scales camouflaging him in the gloom. Tren’s hand went to his sword.
“Oh,” Toh said in his rumbling baritone. “Don’t worry about Sizzik. He don’ talk much but ‘e’s with us.”
“He fought bravely against the other Rel when they turned on us,” Jarria added.
Tren nodded and sat, then poured out a mug of whisky for each crewmember. He didn’t care much for Toh’s judgement but if Jarria vouched for the Rel, he could probably be trusted. They’d need all the help they could get after all.
“Come, Sizzik,” Tren said. “Sit with us if you will.”
The Rel stared at him, not moving and silent, dark eyes and reptilian face unreadable. A shiver ran down Tren’s spine. Beside him Brend grunted, giving Sizzik a dark scowl. He opened his mouth to speak but Tren silenced him with a raised hand.
After a moment Sizzik rose, gliding over to them on lithe, sinewy legs. He righted a chair and sat down in it awkwardly as if he wasn’t quite sure how. Brend gave him a sideways glance. Jerria gave him a curt nod. The others pointedly did not look at him.
“Thank you for helping us against the other Rel, Sizzik,” Tren said.
The Rel stared back silently.
“Don’ bother cap’n,” Toh said.
Tren gave Sizzik a respectful nod. “If Jarria vouches for you, that’s good enough for me. I’m glad to have you with us.”
He turned his attention to the rest of the crew. They all sipped at their whisky greedily. “Thank you for meeting with me,” Tren began. The faces he saw around the table were worn and downcast, utterly bereft of hope. Even implacable Jarria looked defeated. Only Brend even acknowledged him and that was sluggishly at best.
They think our situation is hopeless. Perhaps it is…
“I know things look bleak.”
Gramn snorted with contempt. Toh nudged him, sushing loudly.
“Bleak is an understatement, captain,” Hamus said. “This is a disaster. Brend told us about the powerstone. What hope do we have?”
Tren nodded. “I fear you’re right, Hamus. This is easily the most dire situation we’ve ever been in as a crew. Probably the dire situation I’ve ever been in, in all my twenty-nine years of astrosailing. But–”
“‘ere it comes,” Gramn muttered.
Toh nudged him again and gave Tren an encouraging nod.
Tren chuckled grimly. “You’re all expecting me to give some rousing speech. To come up with some daring plan to save us.” He shook his head. “But what good are my words? What good are bold and daring plans now? The powerstone is gone. The oxymould in the life support bay will already by withering. Soon we will even lose the lights. I don’t know if we’ll ever get off this rock alive. I don’t know if we’ll ever be able to see our loved ones again… I truly don’t know” He paused and stood, then continued in a stronger voice. “There’s one thing I do know however. We’re still alive. For some reason the gods saw fit to spare the seven of us.”
“More like Angara sacrificed himself to save us,” Gramn muttered.
Tren nodded solemnly. “Aye, he did at that. He truly is a hero and I for one intend to make sure his sacrifice was not in vain. No matter how hopeless our situation seems, while I still live, I’ll do everything I can to honor his memory and his sacrifice.”
“Here, here,” Toh and Brend said together.
Jerria nodded.
The rest stayed still, uncertain and silent.
“How?” Asked Hamus.
“Well the way I see it, we’ve got only one option.”
“‘ere it comes,” Gram muttered again.
“The Rel took the powerstone. Without it the ship cannot fly, and even if it could, the oxymold will die and the atmoshell will fail. What I propose is simple. We go after them. Hunt them down and take back what is ours.”
“There it is.”
“It’s suicide,” Hamus said, crossing his arms.
“Maybe, but it’s better than staying here to starve on the ship.”
“Starv’n is slower,” Gramn said.
“We also might not starve,” Hamus said. “We have food enough to last a week or so if we’re careful, and we all know the oxymould will take longer than that to fully die off. The Banking Clan is on its way, remember? We could hold up here and wait for their arrival. Surely we can barter for passage with them.”
“And how do you propose to send a signal to the Banking Clan without a functional powerstone?”
“Well, I… They might find us, they’ll be scanning Zothara.”
“Did you see the atmospheric interference? We certainly weren’t able to perform a surface scan when we arrived. And let’s say you’re right. Say the Banking Clans do find us. What do you think they’ll do?”
“Shoot us dead,” Gamn muttered.
“That’s right. The Banking Clan is no friends of ours. Not after all the trouble we’ve caused them over the last few turnings.”
“We might barter passage. The Clan loves money more than vengeance.”
“They won’t even let you get close enough to open up negotiations. And we would be in their power.” Tren shook his head. “I have no doubt they’d kill us and take anything of value we have left. No my friends, fraught with peril as it is, hunting the Rel and retrieving our powerstone is the only way.”
“Friends ‘e says,” Gamn said to the table.
Hamus nodded. “You call us friends?” He spat. “You’ve lead us to ruin and death.”
“Don’t speak to the captain like that!” Brend shouted, jumping to his feet and reaching for his sword.
“Peace, Brend,” Tren said. “Let him have his say.”
Brend hesitated, then grumbled and resumed his seat.
Hamus continued, although not with the same fire as before. “It’s your fault we’re stranded here. Your fault so much of the crew lies dead. We told you Zothara was cursed. Angara told you right from the start and now he's dead too. So many good men and woman are dead.” His voice cracked and he paused, collecting himself. “And now you want us to follow you again? Out into the darkness?” Hamus shook his head. “I won’t do it. Your lust for glory has cost us too dearly already. First that slagstorm and now this? This quest is cursed. We’re cursed. And it was your greed that cursed us. I’ll bet more than finding the powerstone, more than honouring Angara’s sacrifice, you just want to go look for riches out there.” He took a big sip from his mug.
Gramn nodded in agreement.
The thought of looking for Herazor artifacts had crossed Tren’s mind. He wasn’t about to admit that though. Tren drank before answering. “Thank you for your honesty, Hamus. You’re right. I do lust for glory. You all know that I want nothing more than to have my story, to have our story, added to the Grand Saga. But in order for that to happen, I need to escape this place so I can tell it. Right now, I look only towards our survival.
“In all the years you’ve sailed with me, I’ve never once lied about the dangers and never once forced anybody to follow me unwillingly. I will not do so now. Going after the Rel may well mean all of our deaths. I do not know what is out there and so I cannot say how dangerous it will be. But I truly believe retrieving the powerstone to be our only chance, slim though it may be.” He took a deep breath and drank again. “I plan to leave within the hour, for every moment wasted puts the Rel further from our grasp. If you would join me I would welcome your help. I do not command this as your captain though, I simply ask this as your shipmate of many years and many adventures. If you do not wish to come.” He turned to face Hamus and Gramn directly. “None will think any worse of you. I certainly won’t. Having people here to watch the Ternius would be a boon to us all, and if… no when I return with the powerstone I assure you no grudges will be held. But if any of you wish to follow old Captain Tren on one last fool's quest, prepare yourselves but pack light, then meet me on the main deck as soon as you’re able. We have some Rel to hunt.”
With that he drained his mug and left.
Thank you for your time and attention.
"Certainty of death. Small chance of success. What are we waiting for?" Gimli (Lord of the Rings)
Sword & sorcery. George Lucas would approve, I think. Space zombies ?