Gerriod Blake had been a mariner all his life, just like his father. He was also responsible for delivering supplies to the many islands of Lake Erras, just as his father had been decades before. Gerriod often thought of him out on the lake, especially here – Sanctuary – where it was believed he had perished almost thirty years earlier. The late afternoon sun lit Gerriod side-on as he sailed south towards the leper colony. Similarly, the starboard side of Gerriod’s trawler, The Crimson Dawn, was bathed in the sun’s thick light, as was the maroon and gold flag of Tuatha which streamed out above the wake churned up by the ship’s engines.
To aid his passage through the complex currents, Gerriod consulted a volvelle, an expensive piece of maritime equipment his father purchased at considerable expense from a Spriggan trader over thirty years ago. The volvelle was a map of sorts, an intricate system of revolving copper disks ranging in size. It indicated the direction and speed of the brutal currents that lay just below the lake’s surface. Very few sailors knew how to use the instrument properly, and even fewer would dare navigate the inner currents of Erras. But Gerriod had been taught by the best and although Gamelyn Blake had long since departed, his son remembered every lesson he ever gave.
A small archipelago off his starboard indicated it was time for Gerriod to swing the boat to port. Gerriod was the only man in Palia who could navigate a safe course to Sanctuary, the leper colony fifty leagues from the great lake’s northern shoreline. The further out from shore a vessel ventured, the more perilous the passage and the colony was so close to the insensate heart of the lake, the Worldpool, that only a handful of Myrrans had ever seen it, other than the 300 lepers who were made to call Sanctuary home.
The Worldpool defied natural law. Although the shallows of Lake Erras were temperate all the year through, the closer one came to the centre of the vast body of water, the colder the lake became. Five leagues from the churning vortex, translucent ice floes could be found, stretching out across the pale blue surface of the lake. Any ships that came within two leagues of the Worldpool risked being battered by tall icebergs that roamed the lake’s centre like silent predators. The waters closer to the Worldpool were wrapped in mystery as no vessel had ever returned from wandering so close to the maw. Nothing escaped. It was believed that even time itself was disturbed so close to the malevolent sinkhole. The lake’s centre was a living contradiction, a turbulent place where frozen waters were roused into violent motion, where waters made white by the freezing heart of the lake succumbed to its darkness and disappeared into a forgotten realm below. And yet, inexplicably, from dawn to dusk, the sun always shone on the Worldpool as if the clouds were too scared to venture so close to the glaciated maelstrom. It was a black hole, reaching out and sucking in all it could under eternally sunny skies.
Sanctuary’s close proximity to the Worldpool was deliberate; it meant that any desire a leper may have to return to the mainland was quashed by the irresistible natural force lying in wait in the dark, white waters beyond the colony’s rocky beaches.
The people of Palia, Gerriod’s village to the north, called the Worldpool by another name – Caliban’s End. Thirty years earlier, an entry was made in the dock master’s log in Palia. A vessel called The Melody had been chartered for passage to the Sanctuary colony. The manifesto listed two passengers: Remiel Grayson and his twin brother, a leper by the name of Caliban. The latter was particularly memorable. The day he arrived in Palia, he was placed in the quarantine station where all lepers destined for Sanctuary were kept until the boat taking them across the treacherous waters was ready to depart. Caliban had been brought into the station kicking and screaming. He pleaded with the locals to release him and when the Palians refused, he swore he would have the bloodiest of revenges upon the world and that the people of Palia would be first to bleed. Palia was a sleepy hamlet so the angry remonstrations of a seeming madman were long discussed and remembered.
'I know what you’ve done Remiel. I know what you’ve done!' This comment, whilst never understood by the Palians, was mimicked for years and eventually became part of the village’s vernacular.
The Melody was captained by Gamelyn Blake and the crew consisted of a single cabin boy – Gerriod, his son. Six days after the boat’s departure, it was found battered and broken three leagues up the coast. The boy was found wandering on the shoreline, his mind a blank, unable to explain how he ended up where he was. He was also unable to recall anything about the passengers. Worst of all, he had no idea what had happened to his father. From then on the fishermen of Palia called the Worldpool ‘Caliban’s End’ named after the apparent demise of a man who had so made an impression on the people of the town days before.
Many years later, Gerriod followed in his father’s steps and spent long years plying the waters of Lake Erras either fishing or making the lucrative run to Sanctuary. He became a respected mariner and knew the hazards of the lake intimately; but its darkest secret had been hidden from him…
The robed man said very little on the entire journey. He just stood at the prow of the ship looking ahead to the island. The sails above billowed in the eddying winds which restlessly danced above the sharp tips of the waves. The Melody navigated the labyrinth of inner islands with ease and was now ploughing its way across the North-West Strait with its destination – the leper colony – in sight. Her captain, Gamelyn Blake, proudly stood at the helm, his maroon and gold scarf licking at the air as the afternoon winds blew across the deck. Gamelyn’s russet-headed son sat cross-legged at his feet, splicing new lines for the mainsail. The captain turned a brass knob on the console beside the steering wheel and The Melody’s engine spluttered into life.
'I think we can take down the mainsail Gerriod. I’ll run her off the engine till we get to Sanctuary,' Gamelyn called to his son, who jumped to his feet and proudly went aloft and set about lowering the ship’s largest sail. On a bigger boat, this would have been a job for at least two men, but The Melody was a humble craft, a sixty foot trawler with three sails on top and an old boiler down below, and there was no need for a larger crew. The old ship was often the subject of ridicule at the Block and Tackle Tavern in Palia, but it was the only one who had a captain brave enough to make the Sanctuary run. Gamelyn looked up at his son retracting the booms and smiled. He had grown into a fine boy. Were his mother still alive, she would think so too.
Gerriod slid down the forestay connecting the mainsail mast to the prow of the ship, narrowly missing the figure at the ship’s bow. His name was Remiel Grayson and he had kept his cowl drawn over his head the entire journey, as if his visage was too secret a thing for a common fisherman and his son to see.
'Gerriod, truss up the clews as well, would you?' Gamelyn shouted to the boy, who quickly moved amidships and wound the clew-lines around the lower corners of the downed mainsail. Gerriod moved tentatively around this broad area in front of the helm, for here lay the reason for this trip to the leper colony. The leper’s name was Caliban Grayson and just like his twin brother, he had barely moved throughout the passage. He was young – nineteen years old – but his broken skin made him look much older. Gerriod edged down the portside rail and the leper seemed unaware of his presence until the lad tripped over a rusty killick, a small anchor which he had forgotten to place under the scuppers so it was out of the way. Caliban cocked his head slightly towards the sound of the young boy picking himself up off the deck, but even this small movement was restricted by the long, metal chain that bound him in place.
Usually lepers were bound with hempen rope and escorted to the hold, contained there for the duration of the trip, but this man’s brother had him brought on board bound in an iron chain so heavy he could barely walk. He was made to kneel on the deck and the chain around his arms was looped around his feet as well, leaving him with little mobility and even less comfort. As inactive as the prisoner was, under a coarse, woollen cloak his eyes depicted a flurry of mental activity. He surveyed everything, looking for a means to extricate himself from his dire predicament.
His gaze momentarily fell upon Gerriod and in face pocked by leprosy, Caliban’s eyes shone brilliantly, animated by a curious mix of intelligence and desperation. Gerriod felt for the poor soul. Although the boy recognized the necessity of confining the diseased to the lonely island, he found the manner in which the lepers were delivered to the colony to be disconcerting in the least. Sanctuary had a terrifying reputation and even the most decent and ingenuous of individuals found themselves considering all avenues of escape once the deadly contagion had become obvious on their bodies. Many chose suicide before the passage to Sanctuary and despite his youth, Gerriod had seen three lepers take their own lives en route to the colony.
There was little the prisoner could do to escape his bonds, and the fishing trawler had no weapons or armaments that would assist him should he want to try.
It was uncommon for a journey to be made for a single leper. Usually, the lepers were held at a quarantine station in Palia until enough were collected to justify the dangerous journey. But Remiel had paid handsomely for the trip and had no interest in anything other than reaching Sanctuary as soon as it could be arranged. 'Captain Blake, how long till we reach the colony now?' he called from his position in the forward pulpit. In contrast to his grim appearance, Remiel was softly spoken. His speech was refined and his accent betrayed his Pelinese heritage.
'Not long now Mr Grayson,' Gamelyn answered distantly, his concentration fixed on the swirling waters beyond the ship’s bow.
'Blake! Turn the ship around now!' sneered the leper. Caliban Grayson’s voice was little more than a rasp, his throat as raw as his contempt for his twin brother at the front of the ship. Gerriod’s father gave no indication that he had heard Caliban’s demand and kept his eyes fixed on the shifting waters surrounding his ship. Although the skies above had been overcast for the entire morning, patches of sunlight were appearing, a strange meteorological phenomenon to which Gerriod had grown accustomed. As cold as the winds were that blew across the centre of the lake, the sun always shone upon the darkness of the Worldpool. Gerriod watched the brilliant sunlight unfurl across the deck and it made his skin tingle. The leper however had quite a contrary reaction. As the sun split the thinning grey canopy of clouds above, Caliban’s body stiffened horribly under the chains, as if gripped by unimaginable pain. The light spilling across the deck seemed to have a corrosive effect upon Caliban’s skin; Gerriod could see it bubbling and blistering as soon as the sun revealed itself. Caliban retreated under the folds of his tattered robes and whimpered pathetically. Gerriod could not endure this strange scene and asked his father permission to leave the bridge.
His request granted, Gerriod found himself in the ship’s galley searching for a knife to scale the fish they had caught that morning. Away from the sound of the whimpering leper, he sat relatively happy in the hold amongst blocks of ice and slid the steel of his blade beneath the silvery skin of the morning's catch. It effortlessly peeled the scales off the fish’s flesh. His father was pedantic about every single item on board his vessel and there was not a knife in the galley that did not shine with pride.
However, after an hour in the hold where the stench of fish hung heavily in the air, Gerriod became restless and decided to return to the deck above. It was not until he stood back on the maindeck, buffeted by the cold winds cutting across midships, that he realized that he had absent-mindedly brought up the kitchen knife and a half-scaled fish. Gerriod placed the fish down on the steps leading up to the quarterdeck and gazed out to sea. Sheets of ice floated past the ship, some of them occasionally crackling as The Melody’s dense hull carved a passage through the unquiet waters. This was Gerriod’s favourite part of the journey. He was excited by the sense of dread that accompanied being so close to the Worldpool although he could not help checking that his father stood at the helm steering them out of harm’s way. 500 yards to starboard Gerriod could see some of the sharp icebergs that stuck out of the waters like the teeth of a submerged monster, ready to swallow them should they dare to come closer. The boy snuck across the deck to take a closer look.
'Wait…' mouthed Caliban as Gerriod edged past his shrouded figure in the centre of boat.
Realising he was still holding the knife, Gerriod tucked the blade under his belt and moved away from the leper, wary of any interaction with the fearsome prisoner.
'Gerriod!' moaned the huddled man softly, his voice wracked with a pain the boy hoped he would never understand. Gerriod looked over at Caliban hunkered down on the deck, only the light from his blazing eyes visible under the folds of his garb. The cabin boy quickly glanced up at the man at the prow of the ship and then back to the pathetic figure cowering on the deck before him. 'Water. Please bring me water. I’m trammelled up like a fish here.'
Gerriod flicked a look up at his father who was deep in thought as he consulted the volvelle. He knew he should not talk with the prisoner, or go near him, but he seemed in such a wretched state than it was impossible not to pity him. 'Please...' the broken man implored. Caliban’s head then sank to the deck as if exhausted by the mere act of speech and that was the end of the conversation.
Gerriod walked across the quarterdeck and dipped an old mug in the water barrel. He quietly made his way to the leper. At the prow of the ship, Remiel Grayson stood still, a dark figure in bright sunlight gazing at the blue waters surrounding the distant island of Sanctuary, whilst Gamelyn was concentrating heavily upon the navigation equipment. The boy inched forward, a cup nervously outstretched in one hand. This hand shook so much that half the mug’s contents had spilled before he had reached the crouched figure on the deck.
Suddenly, Caliban’s leg shot out into Gerriod’s shin. The knife he had tucked under his belt skittered across the deck and Caliban pounced on it and it disappeared into the man’s tattered garments. Under the robes, the leper was involved in a flurry of activity. A muffled cry of pure pain was a frightening prelude to something Gerriod would never forget – the grisly sight of crimson blood gushing from a severed hand, spreading out like a dark lake until it flowed away in thick straight rivers between the timbers of the deck. The boy was transfixed by what Caliban had done to himself. The blade had cut cleanly through his left wrist. His hand lay on the deck, a bloodied island of bone and skin, but curiously free of all the scabs and sores that were once covering it.
Gerriod’s mind tried to gather itself in light of the violent act that had just been carried out. The gruesome act of self-mutilation went unseen and unheard by his father nor had Caliban’s brother witnessed it; both continued to be absorbed in other matters. Caliban became still again, and lay in a fetal position on the deck. Although he knew better, Gerriod’s concern for the leper overtook any concern he had for himself. He knelt down beside the man. 'Sir, are you alright?'
'Gerriod! What are you doing?' his father yelled desperately from the helm, noticing for the first time his son’s close proximity to the prisoner. At the sound of Gamelyn’s voice, Remiel Grayson spun around horrified to see his brother’s severed hand lying on the deck amidst of pool of blood.
'Boy, get away from him!' Remiel screamed, his voice no longer soft or refined.
Caliban lifted his head and smiled at Gerriod. The smile was almost toothless. Blood burst from cracked lips as the grin dissolved to a snarl. 'Am I alright?' he growled. 'Why, I’ve never been better!'
The leper exploded into activity. Without the encumbrance of his left hand, he pulled his left arm free of the iron chain, picked up the bloody knife and flung it at Gamelyn. It buried itself into the sailor’s shoulder and he fell away from the helm. Remiel had jumped from the foredeck and was sprinting across the wet timbers to suppress his brother. Caliban meanwhile had created a few yards of slack in the chain and awkwardly stood clutching the rusty links as if he were brandishing a sword. His skin was bubbling in the bright clear light, but he seemed to be oblivious to any pain that ensued. Remiel leapt at him to knock him back down, but the leper quickly stepped to one side whipping the chain around as he did so. Remiel howled in agony as the iron links slapped into his face, breaking his nose in the process. He fell back, clutching his face as it sprayed blood onto the deck where it mingled with his brother’s, bringing a brighter streak of red to a darkening pool.
As Remiel staggered back, Caliban brought around the chain a second time. The metal links sliced through the air and welted across the back of Remiel’s skull. His vision blurred and for a brief moment the pain of his broken nose left him as a more pronounced pain at the back of his head took over. He fell to the deck resembling the crumpled mess his brother was only minutes before.
Having dispatched both men temporarily, Caliban set about his next objective – to place the ship in enough peril that it would give him time to devise the means to escape capture. With unerring precision, he flung one end of chain around the helm and pulled down, jamming the links between the steering wheel and the metal post to which it was fixed. Almost instantly the boat went careering to leeward, and all on board felt the deck shift as the vessel embarked upon a new and significantly more dangerous route.
Gamelyn recognized the threat immediately. With the knife still lodged in his shoulder he pulled himself up to regain control of his boat. The thick sound of the keel pounding the waves was accompanied by the discord of the waves slapping back, and the thick currents beneath shook the hull of the vessel so much that she groaned trying to resist the pull of the water. Three leagues to the south, the Worldpool sucked the ice-strewn lake down into its belly, and the momentum of the ship suggested that it would not be long before she was added to the vortex’s endless meal. Gamelyn tried to turn his vessel windward but the links were wedged against the iron hub of the steering wheel. Weakened by the large fish knife embedded in his shoulder, there was little the ship’s captain could do to influence the direction The Melody had taken.
Suddenly a white explosion erupted across the ship’s prow. It had struck one of the innumerable shards of frozen water that lay between the ship and the Worldpool. Splinters of ice rained down on the deck.
Caliban had somehow managed to completely free himself of his bonds and gathered the chain in large loops at his side. Despite the impossible surgery he had performed on himself, he seemed to have found new strength and with little effort he marched up to Gamelyn at the helm and slung the chain around his neck and pulled tight. Gamelyn gasped for air as the rusted links bit into his neck.
Ten feet away Gerriod’s mind was gripped in a paroxysm of guilt, confusion and rage. He could see his father sinking to his knees, his demise seemingly ensured by either end of the chain that had held Caliban so securely before he had stupidly given the leper the means to escape his bonds. Between the end of the chain that was wedged in the steering wheel and the length that was choking his father into submission lay a tangled coil of about twenty feet of chain. Gerriod knew he could not beat off a grown man who had the audacity to cut off his own hand and the strength to ignore the searing pain of his flesh broiling in the sunlight, but he was consumed by a need to strike back at the one who had attacked his father and the only weapon he could see was the chain that the leper had used so effectively to turn the tables on them. All Gerriod wanted to do is take the chain and whip Caliban across the face with it. He wanted to inflict as much pain upon him as possible. It was a simple, thoughtless desire, and with less sense than courage, the cabin boy exploded into action.
Gerriod dived for the chain at the foot of the steering wheel just as the ship listed to starboard. A steep wedge of frozen water had careered into the portside hull. The boat swung on its axis, the portside tilting skyward whilst waters strewn with boulders of ice crashed over the starboard gunnels. Gerriod slid into the ship’s capstan and clung desperately to its wooden trunk. His father and the crazed leper were not so fortunate. As the ship continued canting to its right, another white wall of water broke on the deck sweeping Gamelyn and Caliban from view. In the tumult of noise that accompanied the violent clash of water, ice and wood, Gerriod thought he could hear the rhythmic clank-clank-clank of the chain slithering across the deck and over the starboard gunnel. His head whipped around to see his father’s head disappear into the churning waters of the lake. Caliban had already vanished beneath the Erras’ turbulent surface. And all the while the sun stared down dispassionately from above.
Gerriod clambered to his feet just as the vessel was hit by another frozen broadside from the left. As he felt the ship shift beneath his feet, a stranger sensation overwhelmed him.
White light flared up.
He was by the ship’s wheel. The tall figure of Remiel Grayson was before him, kicking at the iron lifeline that tied his father to the boat. 'Your father’s dead, boy. There’s nothing I can do.'
The white light burned across his eyes again and Gerriod found he was where he was seconds before, clambering to his feet, his eyes upon the starboard gunnel over which his father had disappeared. Fueled by the power of the Worldpool, now just over a league off the starboard rail, the water hit the boat with unabated malice. Gerriod was lifted up by the freezing surge and within the space of a second, sucked over the starboard gunnel, just as his father and Caliban had been moments before.
'Dad!' Gerriod screamed, panic and intense cold consuming him, hoping against hope that somehow his father had extricated himself from his dire predicament and was able to assist. But it was not the case. Now ten feet under the chilling water with a heavy chain wound around his neck, Gamelyn was losing consciousness and was in no position to help himself, let alone his son.
Gerriod instinctively clasped shut his mouth and held his breath in hasty preparation for the plunge into the depths of Lake Erras. But he was caught before the lake could claim him and the world swirled around him as he was aggressively swung back over the deck and into the stunsail rigging.
'Stay there!' barked Remiel Grayson, who having saved Gerriod, set out to save Gamelyn as well. Clutching the hard, wet ropes, Gerriod exhaled a fearful gasp and his eyes darted feverishly over the choppy water looking for some sign of his father. All that could be seen was the chain, taut against the gunnel, slicing diagonally into the opaque folds of the lake.
Again the white light flared.
He was clutching the wheelpost. Remiel’s robes flapped beside him. Only ten feet away he could see his father’s eyes roll back in his head as consciousness left him. Above the crunching sounds of ice being comminuted in the maw, Gerriod could hear a voice. A harsh voice, made harsher under the tranquil blue skies that mocked the white chaos below. 'You have to choose Remiel! He’ll die if you don’t bring me aboard.'
Everything blurred as the scorching white light signaled Gerriod’s return to his immediate situation.
The Melody’s portside was almost completely below the waterline. The bowsprit kept dipping treacherously into the lake. The water chaotically pulled and pushed the ship. The violence of the movement of the lake was chilling, as if the very water was in its death throes, vainly resisting, before being taken forever by the ever-nearing Worldpool. The deck was continually swamped by the lake, so much so that it became difficult to differentiate between the ship and the water. In no time at all, The Melody would be yanked under by the vortex.
Seeing no sign of his brother or Gamelyn, Remiel scrambled his way up to the helm of the boat. He kicked sharply at the chain caught between the post and the steering wheel. With abject horror, Gerriod realized what he was doing. 'No!' the boy screamed. 'My father. You’ve got to save my father!'
Remiel kicked again, and without looking up stated plainly, 'Your father’s dead, boy. There’s nothing I can do.' He kicked again at the chain. It moved, but didn’t free itself from the wheel. If Remiel did not get the ship to starboard, the entire vessel would be consumed by the Worldpool. He tried to turn the wheel but it would not budge with the chain still caught in it.
Gerriod’s face was a beacon of rage. Remiel’s indifference to the fate of the men who had been swept overboard infuriated him, and he spat a Palian obscenity at him before he jumped out of the relative security of the rigging onto the shifting deck. Sped on by the callowness or bravery of youth, he raced towards the chain slicing into the oakaen railing lining the ship’s side and pulled with all his might. Gerriod’s effort was more a gesture than anything else, as the chain did not move an inch, but it was enough to compel Remiel into action.
'Get behind me boy. You’ll be more use to your father there.'
Gerriod turned to see Remiel straining with all his might, his feet locked against the iron bulwark surrounding the helm, his back arched. He was trying to bring in the chain. For a few seconds he resembled a statue, mute and still, but then the chain gave ground and Remiel’s upper body leaned back as his hands scrambled down the links and gripped a new section of chain. A sweeping rush of water pushed Gerriod back towards the helm and he clutched at Remiel’s robes when he was within reach. He slid himself into a position behind Remiel and grasped a length of chain.
'We pull on the next wave,' Remiel said, his voice soaked in the pain of the struggle. Gerriod nodded and the two prepared themselves for the next surge. They didn’t have to wait long. Within seconds, the ship pitched to starboard as the lake crashed over the gunnel. Without any other signal, Remiel and Gerriod pulled as one, and managed to haul in five feet of chain. Their hands danced down the chain and clamped on the links. As the water receded, the chain seemed to double in weight and Gerriod would have slid forward had he not wedged himself between the wheel and the tall, robed man. But the boy was not concerned for his own safety; he peered around Remiel's hips but could see no sign of his father.
Another surge of water and another five feet of chain were pulled in. The waters swamped the deck again, but this time Gerriod could make out a shape in the guts of the swell. His father threw out an arm and with more luck than skill managed to hook it over the railing. He was as close to drowned as anyone could be, and if it were not for his shaking hand, Gerriod would have thought his father dead. Gamelyn’s other hand was wedged between the chain and his throat. It had taken all his strength to stop the chain from snapping his neck. Blood leaked across his chest, swirling in the dark waters washing about him.
'Dad!' Gerriod screamed but he could not be heard over the deafening roar of the dark maw crunching on the frozen bones of the water only 300 yards off the starboard bow.
Remiel prepared himself for one last yank on the chain, but as the waters belted the deck yet again, he saw something that made him stop.
'Caliban!' Remiel sneered under his breath.
A gnarled hand was curled around a length of chain behind Gamelyn. Caliban had not been taken by the maelstrom. Remiel’s greatest fears were confirmed when the hand twitched and Caliban pulled his head free of the water and sucked in air voraciously – he had survived. The look on his face was one of triumph.
The Melody groaned as the coils of the Worldpool took hold. The ship was hurtling through the water, thrust forward by the serpentine currents that twisted around the rim of the great hole in the lake.
'Bring us in Remiel!' Caliban commanded. 'You’ll kill us all if you hesitate. He can’t hold on much longer. If he doesn’t drown or get crushed, the cold will kill him.'
He was right. Gamelyn’s head lolled about like a rag doll’s and his hold on the gunnel was tenuous at best. His fingers shook as his blood started to freeze. For all his bravado, Caliban did not fair much better. His head bled where a chunk of ice had torn the skin from his skull. The rest of his flesh continued to blister in the brilliant sunshine.
Remiel grimaced. The weight of the chain was now unbearable. His mind was racing. If he did not remove the chain from the wheel within seconds, the ship would be claimed by the Worldpool. But that would mean throwing Gamelyn to the mercy of the vortex. And if he pulled him in, he would also pull in Caliban who held Gamelyn in a desperate embrace, and would never let him go. With unerring certainty, Remiel knew that he could not save Gamelyn without saving Caliban.
If he brought the pair on board, he would have to subdue Caliban, and that would take more time than they had. In less than a minute, the ship would be swallowed whole.
The enormity of the decision was crushing. Gamelyn’s eyes were bulging, rolling back into his skull as the chain squeezed upon his flesh. He had lost consciousness and no longer held the gunnel. Only the chain kept him from the depths. Caliban, feeling Gamelyn’s body go limp and realising that his life was in the hands of his twin alone, gazed maniacally at the grip Remiel had upon the chain. He bared his teeth and screamed, 'You have to choose Remiel!' Caliban’s thin voice cut through the sound of the wind and waves. 'He’ll die if you don’t bring me aboard.'
To Gerriod’s horror, despite the rising calamity around him, Remiel did nothing. His legs remained propped against the bulwark, but his arms did not pull in the chain further, nor did his large hands let it go. He just stared out over the gunnel where the Worldpool yawned like death.
'Remiel! What’s it going to be?'
And a choice was made. Remiel turned to face Gerriod who had almost exhausted himself pulling on the thick chain keeping his father from a watery grave. Tenderly running a gloved hand through the boy’s hair Remiel whispered, 'Forgive me,' but the sound of iron chinks slithering back across the deck was the only sound Gerriod could hear. Remiel had released the chain and condemned Caliban and Gamelyn to the Worldpool.
Before Gerriod could do anything, in a move that was as shocking as it was swift, Remiel kicked down hard at the chain wedged between the wheel and the post. It broke free and the wheel started spinning wildly. The ship spilled to port and Gerriod caught a painful glimpse of his father’s hand slipping beneath the waves, palm bared as if in some pathetic gesture of farewell. Remiel shot out a hand and managed to take hold of the wheel. He grunted loudly as he tried to gain control of the vessel, but the Worldpool had taken great interest in The Melody and would not let her go. He had no understanding of the rigging above nor the engine below, but he knew he had to bring the ship to starboard if they had any hope of escape. Inch by inch, Remiel pulled down the right side of the steering wheel, but his efforts seemed to have no influence upon the ship’s bearing.
Suddenly his back exploded in pain. Gerriod had taken hold of the killick he had tripped over earlier and slammed it into Remiel’s spine. An agonized cry escaped from the man’s lips as his hands reflexively swung from the wheel to his back. Gerriod held the killick up to bring it down on Remiel’s skull but lost his balance as the ship canted to port. Remiel used the opportunity to grab the boy and sling him to the far side of the helm where he slid for five feet before his head slammed into the brass coaming that lay across the door to the galley below. Gerriod hardly had time to grunt before Remiel picked him up and threw him into the darkness below, stating emotionlessly, 'You’ll be safer in there.'
The dark light was replaced by white and suddenly Gerriod felt himself thrust into a situation beyond his comprehension.
He was back on the deck of the ship but everything had changed. It was night-time and the ship looked different. The gunnels were lower and the hull shape was curved. Before him, shining in the brilliant light of a Myrran night, the Worldpool continued to dine on the frozen waters of Lake Erras. Someone was beside him. A leper. But not Caliban. She was clad in bandages. She was speaking to him. 'I was a dancer, you know...'
As the white light ingested him, he reached out and held her hand.
The darkness returned and Gerriod screamed out for his father. The only reply he received was the deep thumping sound of the hold door being shut. A thin, clicking noise indicated that he had been locked in. Gerriod wanted to break the door down, wanted to leap over the ship’s side and save his father, but had no energy left. Gamelyn was gone, the door was unbreakable and he was exhausted. A sweeping sense of his inconsequentiality overwhelmed him and as the next wave belted the ship, Gerriod fell to the floor not even bothering to brace himself for the impact. The ship careened even further to port and he let himself slide into a corner of the hold where he curled up, sobbing until sleep took him.
The straggling stars faded in the growing light of dawn and in the eerie yellow glow of the binnacle light Gerriod could see Remiel, piloting the boat towards Palia. He must have somehow pulled the ship away from the Worldpool and in the course of the evening brought the young boy back up on deck. He had placed a blanket over Gerriod and rolled up his outer robe to make a pillow for the lad’s head.
The scene before Gerriod was serene. The movement of the ship was gentle and rhythmic. The engine throbbed reassuringly. He could hear distant bleating of gillygulls in the cool air high above. There was no hint of the violence of the day before. The surging water had washed the blood from the decks and things looked almost normal on The Melody.
But things were not normal. His father had been swallowed by the Worldpool and Gerriod was all alone.
He sat up and instinctively rubbed various aches and bruises acquired in the tumult of the previous day’s battle. His head ached, his mouth was parched and he felt as if he had not eaten in days.
In his peripheral vision, Remiel caught sight of the boy's movements and made his way over to him. He knelt down on the deck. 'Boy, I am deeply sorry about what happened to your father. If there had been another way, I would have taken it.' He spoke slowly, purposefully. His voice quavered.
Gerriod was quite taken aback by the intenisity of the man’s emotions. The bottom of one of Remiel’s eyelids shook almost imperceptibly, but enough for Gerriod to know that he was struggling as he tried to make his peace with the son of the man he had just condemned to a horrible death. He looked much smaller and Gerriod realised he was not much older than a boy. His face contained all the uncertainty of youth.
Remiel bit his bottom lip, hopeful that he would be granted a sliver of understanding, if not forgiveness.
But Gerriod would not let Remiel’s sudden show of feeling influence his heart which was pounding with anger. His eyes darted around for the killick or some other heavy implement that he could ram into the man’s gentle face. 'There was another way,' he snarled, 'but you chose to save your own skin, and now I have no father.'
Remiel reeled back on his haunches as if physically struck. His brow furrowed and then he gave a small nod. 'I understand.'
'Do you? Do you?' shouted the boy. Above, the gillygulls, frightened by the outburst, flapped their wings and shot away.
Remiel put out a hand and then, thinking better of the gesture, pulled it back to lie flaccidly in his lap.
'Yes. I do. My own father is dying, and the thought of –'
Gerriod rose to his feet and shoved the tall man in the chest. Remiel fell back onto his rear and stared dumbstruck at the boy.
'How dare you!' Gerriod spat. 'You have no right to compare yourself to me. You have no right to say you understand.' Gerriod’s voice increased in pitch as disgust gripped his throat. 'How could you say you understand,' he screamed hysterically, 'when you killed your own brother so easily?'
Remiel’s eyes darted about as he tried to digest what the boy was saying. 'I’m not the –' But he knew better than to finish the sentence. In light of what had happened, he could not hope to convince Gerriod of anything other than the fact he was a cold-blooded murderer.
Gerriod had more to say. 'What was your brother’s crime Mr Grayson? Leprosy? It’s hardly a reason to kill a man.'
'You saw him attack your father. He was hardly innocent,' Remiel countered, striving to control his emotions by speaking slowly.
'You can hardly blame him!' Gerriod shouted. 'You bound him up like an animal.' Gerriod was surprised at his own sentiments. He cared less about the leper than his comments suggested, but the sight of Remiel releasing the chain that held his father was still fresh in his mind. 'What had he done Mr Grayson to make you hate him so?'
'He… he had…' Remiel was floundering. He wanted the boy to understand everything. After he had wrested the boat back from the Worldpool’s grasp, an impossible act owing its success more to luck than skill, he had spent the night replaying the turn of events over and over in his head. By the time the last moon sank behind the curved horizon of the lake, Remiel had reconciled himself to the fact that his actions were at least justified. But there was no way he could acceptably explain his reasons to Gerriod, and that was not an easy thing to bear.
He stood up and returned to the helm. He did not want to enrage the boy further.
Gerriod spent the rest of the morning looking out across the bow of the ship. Although the course Remiel had plotted was generally north, it was clear that the man only had a vague sense of the direction of Palia. At one point, Gerriod wanted to taunt him, tell him that as soon as they got back to the village he would have the local Magistrate arrest him, but he decided to keep his plan to himself, lest Grayson attack him before he got the chance to hand the murderer over to the authorities.
It was a hot day but Remiel did not move from the helm. Gerriod’s thirst got the better of him and he took a tankard from the hooks above the barrel, just as he had done for Caliban half a day earlier, and dipped it in the water. He took a deep draught and as he did so noticed Remiel’s gaze upon him. The man was staring intently as if waiting for something to happen. Gerriod glared back at him defiantly and wiped his mouth with his sleeve. The water was cool, but there was something odd about it. And just as this thought entered his mind, it started leaving it. His senses similarly were departing his body. It was like standing on a roadside and watching all knowledge of taste, touch, smell and sight pass by, headed somewhere he could not follow. The last sense to leave Gerriod was sound, the sound of Remiel Grayson walking across the deck and whispering into his ear: 'Forget…'
'Sanctuary - at last.'
A faint smile spread across Gerriod's grizzled face. He was only thirty-nine years old but the winds that blew over Lake Erras had weathered his skin, making him look much older.
He stalled the ship and went down below to fire up the boiler for the dangerous passage across the straits. The bunkering before the passage was crucial. He recently fitted the trawler out with a new engine. The Crimson Dawn was now powered by a frozen fuel called Cold, which was brought in from the mines of Sessymir. Gerriod could not leave the helm during the crossing, so he stoked the boiler with the niveous, blue clumps of petrified ice. The blocks of Cold hissed as they were flung into the fire and within seconds an inferno bubbled and blistered in the guts of the boiler. Satisfied with the fire, Gerriod strode up the companion way and out onto the deck.
To starboard he could see the dark waters of the Worldpool adorned with icy white shapes, like snowflakes on a deep puddle. He could feel the tug of vortex on the prow of the ship. The stern started drifting to port and at this point Gerriod pulled down hard on the brass throttle and the vessel lurched forward. Waves hammered the ship, but she drove on steadily. Icy floes passed by on either side offering little resistance as the bow-shaped iron hull sliced its way to the leper colony.
The passage of the North-West Strait took over an hour. The Crimson Dawn clawed through the water yard by yard and by nightfall had rounded a small isle marking the end of the strait. From this point the leper colony was only half a league away. Gerriod prepared to dock.
The procedure was always the same. The Crimson Dawn would only stay moored long enough to disgorge the contents of its hold. The stocks for the colony were always left at the end of the pier, where they would be collected some time after Gerriod’s departure. The mariner was happy with this arrangement. Tomorrow afternoon, he would arrive back in Palia where a small bag of gold coins would be waiting for him, courtesy of the Bank of Cessair. Gerriod made the trip out to the island every few weeks and this regular source of income from government coffers had allowed him to live a comfortable life in the quiet backwater of Palia. His life had stayed pretty much the same for the past twenty years and that was a source of great contentment to him. There were those who craved great adventure and new horizons, but not Gerriod Blake. He led a simple life unfettered by the unexpected. But that was about to change.
As The Crimson Dawn pulled alongside the long, rickety pier that led to the colony, Gerriod uncoiled the ropes and threw them around the thick, white bollards at the pier’s end. As usual there was no-one to meet him, not even the Warden of the colony who was a leper himself. Gerriod made his way across to the capstan and brought up the cargo from the hold below. Within an hour all the colony’s supplies had been deposited on the pier.
With one hand resting on the top of a bollard, Gerriod paused before leaving and looked across at the Skyfall at the eastern end of the great lake. It was illuminated by Arma, the Myr’s largest moon and stood like an ivory tower watching over the blue waters at its base. Gerriod felt at peace looking at the security of the Skyfall, always changing and yet always the same. The nearby isles were now cloaked in darkness, but the lake was lit with countless stars, each one rising and falling with the heaving of the water.
Gerriod turned his gaze to the leper colony. Lights could be seen in the dwellings beyond the small fortress wall. The gate at the end of the pier was also illuminated by a beacon fire which caused shadows to dance across the dock.
Gerriod squinted. Three shadows seemed to have taken on a life of their own and were moving towards him at a ferocious speed. Then he realized… he was about to be attacked.
The three shadows were escapees intent on taking his boat. Years earlier, some lepers had attempted this, but were foiled by his cabin boy who spotted them long before they reached the pier. But the cabin boy had grown up and left, and now Gerriod was on his own and his reflexes were slower. The escapees were almost halfway down the pier when he came to his senses and burst into action.
He quickly removed the lines from the bollards and jumped the gunnels landing ungracefully upon the deck. Gerriod groaned as the jarring impact reminded him that he was no longer the sprightly sailor who – years ago – would think nothing of jumping down from the boom above. His thumping landing and subsequent groan were accompanied by a strange, scuttling sound, but he could not determine the direction of the noise. Gerriod looked behind him - the three lepers on the pier were no more than twenty yards away. He fired up the engines which groaned into life. Murky water swirled and bubbled around the ship’s stern and after a seeming eternity, the vessel pitched away from the pier.
'Not so fast Captain!' a voiced rasped out of the darkness at the stern of the boat. A broken figure of a man lurched into the light of the pilothouse. The leper staggered forward brandishing a long knife. Without warning and at surprising speed, the blade flashed out at Gerriod, slicing across his cheek. Seconds later the warm touch of blood washed over his face and without seeing the wound, the mariner knew he had been cut deeply. 'That’s just in case you think I’m only here to talk. Stop the boat.'
Before Gerriod could respond, two pairs of hands sprung out of the darkness and clasped themselves to him, one pair around each arm. A third pair whipped a short length of chain around his neck. This chain, rusted and cold, cut cruelly into his neck. He was choking but could not bring up his hands to ease the pain. His larynx was slowly being crushed. Despite the disease which had eaten away their skin, the strength of the lepers was astounding, desperation fueling their fractured bodies.
A gravelly voice, this time a female’s, scraped against his ear: 'When we release you, don’t speak. Just stop the boat and back it towards the pier. Okay?'
Gerriod nodded and the lepers who had pinioned his arms released their hold. He looked up at the man who had first spoken. He was dripping wet and clearly exhausted from the arduous swim he had just undertaken. The other three must have waited until he had reached the ship before they made their way down the pier. Whilst the man’s covert boarding of the ship was unexpected, there was something else about him that was even more surprising: he wore an old denim jacket that had the word ‘Warden’ proudly emblazoned upon the lapel. Gerriod stared at the word dumbly, as the enormity of the occasion dawned on him - this was an insurrection.
With the iron chain still tightly wound around his neck, the mariner brought down the throttle to idle the engines and prepared to reverse the vessel as commanded. As he swung his head around to dock The Crimson Dawn, Gerriod obtained his first proper look at the three lepers who had jumped from the pier onto his ship. Their state of leprosy was significantly more advanced than the Warden’s. The woman had lost most of her hair and the majority of her face was swathed in bandages. The men with her were missing numerous fingers and toes. The man on the left, a member of the proud, beautiful Acora was nothing more than a mockery of his former state. He was stooped, misshapen and ugly. Where his nose should have been a seeping cavity lay, like a dark pit on a rugged landscape. The characteristic pointed ears of his race were nothing more than shapeless lumps. The other man was a Helyan and despite his affliction still upheld the Helyan tradition of wearing virtually nothing. His skin was just as ravaged as his companions.
The woman, a Tethran by her accent, spoke again. 'Slowly Captain.' Her voice was not so raspy that her contempt for him was lost. She held the chain tightly in a mottled fist and gave a cold, lipless smile. Gerriod knew at once that she would not hesitate to order his throat be slit open.
He looked over the gunnels to the pier to find it full of shadowy, decrepit figures. Sanctuary’s walls contained close to 300 inmates and every one of them had piled onto the pier. Gerriod had been ambushed by the entire colony. With a rapidly increasing sense of dread, he eased the ship into reverse and she chugged back towards the dock.
The sight of the diseased mob cast panic out across his body. The closer he drew to the pier, the more anxious he became. The lepers looked so desperate he doubted whether they would see any sense in keeping him alive. The ship was perhaps twenty yards astern of the pier. 'Enough space to get up speed,' he muttered to himself. The three men on his boat went to the gunnels to throw the lines back onto the bollards on the pier, but the Tethran woman remained beside him watching his every move. She gave the chain a savage tug just to remind Gerriod who was in charge. Unexpectedly, vague memories of his father danced through Gerriod’s mind, teasing him.
He flung the ship into action and accompanying the lurching action of the ship, he could feel a momentary slackness in the chain as his captor’s grip on it loosened. It gave him the opportunity he required. Gerriod dropped to the deck and rolled under the wheel. He rose on the other side, slipping out of the chain which he coiled around the hub of the wheelpost.
The Crimson Dawn surged forwards, slightly to starboard and the aft came about like a slow-moving pendulum. The back quarter of the boat slammed into the old pier. The timbers of the dock shattered against the iron keel and many of the advancing lepers were unceremoniously thrown into the darkening waters of Lake Erras.
The ship hurtled forward at maximum speed out into the lake. The Acoran on the forecastle lines had fallen into a pile of fishing nets and was thrashing about furiously to free himself. The other, the Helyan, had toppled over the side and sank within seconds to Lake Erras' stony floor where he would die a lonely death. The Warden had also fallen awkwardly and clutched at his ankle which he had twisted when the ship struck the pier. His face was a portrait of rage. 'Kill him!' he screamed to the Tethran.
The woman rushed at him, pulling a knife from her belt as she came. For the second time, Gerriod’s cheek was sliced open and blood spurted across the deck. His hand went up instinctively to the gash, but he had enough presence of mind to stay focused on his own survival. He kicked out at his assailant’s legs and she fell back, her fall accentuated by the listing of the ship to starboard - the Worldpool’s influence upon the vessel was evident even though the lake's churning heart was almost seven leagues away.
The Warden had picked up a rusty brown pike, used for gathering in the lines, and pulled himself to his feet. The man, enraged by Gerriod's defiance, lurched across midships, swinging the pike wildly as he came. 'We don't need you… just your ship,' he sneered declaring his murderous intent. He did not notice that he was crossing the grate above the main hold, but Gerriod recognised the chance to rid himself of another assailant and dived for the release lever.
The Warden toppled forward spectacularly as the floor beneath him disappeared. He was swallowed up by the hold and after the initial clunk of his head striking the hold’s metal bulkhead, he was heard no more.
The Acoran had extricated himself from the forecastle nets and had circled around the deck to attack Gerriod from behind. Sensing movement to his left, Gerriod turned to face the man. A gruesome snarl spread across the leper’s hideous face, but his eyes betrayed the fear within. Gerriod sized him up and, encouraged by the poor physical condition his assailant was in, ran at him with all his might and thrust him against the capstan. The leper was stunned by the viciousness of Gerriod’s attack and covered his face as if to protect its fragile state from any ensuing blows. Gerriod pressed his advantage. He took the leper by his ragged clothes and flung him to the deck. The man’s body stiffened as a five inch davit hook sliced into his back just beneath his ribs. Gerriod clambered over to the davit’s controls and threw his weight on a large lever which set the winch in motion. The impaled leper was slowly lifted high above the deck, swinging with the listing of the ship. He thrashed around, the hook buried deep in his back, a flailing fish whose decomposition was already in advanced stages.
Gerriod spun around, half-expecting the Tethran woman to attack with her knife. But there was no such attack. He searched the deck but she was nowhere to be seen. To his left, the pilothouse was empty except for the chain he had hastily lodged in the steering. To his right, nothing moved save the figure convulsing in the throes of death at the pointy end of the winch.
Had she fallen overboard?
Unlikely.
The mariner moved slowly towards the bow of the ship, his eyes darting here and there, his body tense as it prepared for an unseen attack. The Crimson Dawn raced forward, pummelling the waves as she went, but Gerriod could hardly hear or feel anything but the pounding of his heart.
He made his way slowly around the pilothouse. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw something move. He whipped his head around to see a thirty foot pinnacle of ice glide past. Like the pealing of distant thunder, a deep groaning sound filled the air. Seconds later, The Crimson Dawnthe entire boat was shoved forward as two colliding icebergs hammered into her stern. Another iceberg shattered across the port bow and nails of ice spilled over the deck. The ship was listing badly to starboard but Gerriod had to ignore it. The Tethran leper was desperate and despite the fact that his boat was being assaulted on all sides by the frozen sentinels at the heart of Lake Erras, Gerriod had to consider the woman to be the more immediate threat. She would stop at nothing to acquire his ship; his bleeding face was testimony to that.
Suddenly, he felt the deck being pulled out beneath his feet as another iceberg smashed against the starboard hull at a frightening speed. Gerriod twisted about in midair reaching for something to halt his fall. But nothing was within reach and he hit the deck hard. His skull bounced of a small killick he had left lying out in the middle of the quarterdeck and after enduring a sensation akin to a thousand sharp needles being simultaneously pushed into his brain, his mind succumbed to blackness.
And the darkness faded to white. Blinding white light, but the blinding was only temporary.
He was staring up at a dark sky. He could see one of the Myr's moons hanging in the heavens high above. It was Arma. She stared back at him impassively, far removed from the orgiastic writhing of the ice and water surrounding him. He was in a small skiff. On the seat next to him, furiously paddling an oar that was a splinter of its former self, a Sapphyrran stared grimly across the bow of the tiny vessel.
'Are you scared?' he heard himself ask the Sapphyrran who smiled and stated coolly, 'I’ve fallen three leagues down a waterfall. I think I can handle this.'
Gerriod heard himself laugh and mutter, 'Yeah, I’m terrified too.'
The scene faded to white and the white to black.
He was lying face down on the deck. A violent throbbing at the base of his skull told him he had hit his head on something and lost consciousness. He had no sense of how much time had passed. His thoughts were all awry, but he knew that he had been looking for someone. He staggered to his feet and walked clumsily across the quarterdeck. As he moved out from the pilothouse, he saw her - the Tethran who had tried to kill him. She was standing by the starboard rail with her back to Gerriod, unaware of his presence. Strangely she seemed to have forgotten about him. The woman was just staring out at the lake, leaning against the rail as if she were on a cruise ship. Gerriod stepped forward apprehensively, suspecting a trap.
The sky above was predictably clear but in the waters beyond the ship no reflection of stars could be seen – just darkness and ice. And then with gut-wrenching clarity, he realized why the Tethran had abandoned her fight – they were dead already. In his battle for survival Gerriod had ignored the Worldpool, but now he could see it, or rather the darkness it created off his starboard bow. His stomach sank, and for the first time in twenty years out on the water, Gerriod felt nauseated as he looked out across the lake.
He made his way over to the rail and stood there next to his adversary, staring out across the black maw that filled their vision. It lay there on the starlit lake like some monstrous predator of the deep. It had wrapped its stygian tentacles around The Crimson Dawn and there was nothing the mariner or the leper could do about their fate. There was no escape from the Worldpool’s grasp.
Another flash of white.
'Remiel! What’s it going to be?'
Gerriod could hear a harsh voice screaming to be heard above the gnashing of frozen waters upon the ship’s hull. He was on another boat, a much older boat by the design. The Worldpool poured its malice over the gunnels and he was taking refuge behind a tall man clad in black robes. In the ferocious surge that attacked the starboard of the ship, Gerriod could make out two figures attached to a length of chain that ran out from the ship’s steering wheel.
'Forgive me,' said the stranger beside him.
The iron chain cut through the water swamping the deck until it disappeared entirely, taking with it the two men at its far end.
The brilliant white light flared up and Gerriod was back on the deck of The Crimson Dawn.
Unexpectedly, under the din of the crushing waters surrounding the ship, he heard a voice. 'I’m sorry Captain. You did not deserve this.' The woman was softly spoken and clearly remorseful for her attack upon the innocent mariner.
'No, I didn’t,' Gerriod said without any hint of the enmity that had existed earlier. Now they were about to be taken by the Worldpool, there was no need to fight or even argue.
The leper turned her head from the screaming gulf and looked up at Gerriod. The leprosy was not quite so advanced that it hid her youth. She would have been no older than twenty. The fire in her eyes had died, and Gerriod could see a sadness that had existed long before she and her fellow inmates decided to take The Crimson Dawn. 'We were desperate to escape from Sanctuary. We were prepared to do anything.'
'But why now? I thought you were looked after in Sanctuary.'
'We were,' she replied almost too softly to be heard. 'Until the beast came.'
Gerriod was perplexed. 'The beast?'
Suddenly The Crimson Dawn dipped sharply as waves bearing massive chunks of ice poured over the ship’s bow smashing the pilot house to splinters. The vessel’s iron keel creaked and groaned as the vortex tore at the hull. It would not be long now.
'For the last two months we have been persecuted by a huge black creature from the skies. It killed fifty inmates before we devised this plan to escape,' she said painfully.
'I'm sorry it turned out this way,' said Gerriod sincerely.
'It's still an escape,' the Tethran replied.
A wave of prodigious proportions swamped the deck, pushing the two of them away from the rail. A long shard of ice speared deep into the woman’s abdomen and she yelped in pain. Gerriod both pulled her up and grasped the metal rail as if their lives actually depended upon it, but it was an act of futility. The Worldpool would soon swallow the ship whole along with anything and anyone on board. The mariner and the leper stood side by side in an unconscious act of defiance. The vortex continued to roar.
Tears welled up in the Tethran’s eyes. 'I was a dancer, you know. I once performed at the Scarlet Rock Theatre before the Chamberlain himself.' Her voice was both proud and hopeless, soaked with a tragic awareness of her own evanescence.
Gerriod smiled tenderly. His hand slid down the railing and grasped hers. Although her hand was wrapped in coarse bandages, and the skin underneath insensitive to touch, she was aware of his gesture and she curled her fingers around his in response. The ship's speed increased terribly and the vessel began to list so hard to starboard that the bilge and keel were almost completely exposed. The Tethran gazed up at the swirling waters that would end her life. She vainly clung to the rail but her strength failed her. She let go and was ripped from Gerriod. With a scream that could not be heard, she slid over the rail and vanished into the darkness of the Worldpool.
Gerriod wound one of the ship's lines around his arm, and could do no more than watch his own demise. Up above, the brilliant stars of the Myr's skies whirled around an ever-spinning circle of white streaks. The disk of blurred light spun faster and faster, became smaller and smaller until finally there was only darkness. Cold, swirling darkness.
