'Gerriod? Is it you?’
Gamelyn Blake twisted his head to better see his son. The vine that fixed him to his cross of bone tightened around his neck as if trying to restrain him.
Gerriod stared up at his father suspended on the strange crucifix before him. The ethereal glow of the shatterbugs hovering around his father revealed a face that was crevassed with wrinkles and lined with scars. Gamelyn looked so frail, it sickened his son to look upon him. ‘Who has done this to you?’ he gasped, each word like a stone in his throat.
‘Caliban. It was Caliban.’ Gamelyn’s dry, cracked voice reverberated around the grotto.
‘Caliban?’
‘Gerriod you remember. That day on The Melody. We had almost reached Sanctuary.’
‘The Melody? I… I don’t remember anything Dad. Not a thing.’
Gamelyn gazed down at his son. Gerriod had not moved. The concept of seeing his father after so long had temporarily immobilized him as his brain wrestled with the horrific situation. Gamelyn was less stunned, having long dreamt of the day his son would find him in his terrible prison. Within seconds, he could still recognise the boy in the man Gerriod had become. Gamelyn had played his son’s mannerisms, his demeanour, even the cadence of his speech over and over in his mind as a way to fend off the madness that threatened him in the sunless jail of the Endless. He had held countless conversations with the darkness pretending that his son was occupying the space in which he now stood. He had imagined this meeting – and countless variations of it – so many times, that the sight of Gerriod standing before him had a strange familiar quality to it – like déjà vu, only a lot more poignant.
Gerriod’s eyes were awash with the pain and heartache the occasion demanded. Gamelyn could see the silvery line of his son’s tears and an excruciating sadness swelled up within him. This was a precursor to a surge of memories that fell across the prow of Gamelyn’s mind with unexpected ferocity. He had seen those tears so many times before, like the time Gerriod had fallen from the yardarm of The Melody. And the time his son had caught his finger in a cleat whilst fastening the mizzen. And the time he had told him that his mother had fallen sick during the Long Winter and that she wouldn’t be getting better. It was almost too much for the old man to bear. His son shimmered like a mirage upon a Kheperan desert. For a stomach-churning moment, Gamelyn thought that he had indeed gone mad and that his son was now dissolving, but when the salty, stinging sensation of fallen tears spread across his parched lips, the old man realised that he too was weeping and that Gerriod, though obscured by a watery veil, was still standing before him.
Then the significance of Gerriod’s last comment fell upon him and he found himself confused and adrift.
‘What?’ Gamelyn croaked. ‘You don’t remember…’
Gerriod rubbed a tear-stained cheek with the leathery back of his hand. ‘I’m sorry Dad, but I don’t remember anything. The week you disappeared, they found me wandering the shoreline of the lake. I don’t know how I got there. Some reckoned I must have hit my head on a rock or something. My mind was – is – blank.’
Gamelyn looked crushed as he realized that his son had no recollection of their last moments together, had no understanding of what had ripped them apart and that his appearance in the Endless was apparently by mistake and not by design. Gerriod had no memory of the desperate actions of the man who was prepared to risk almost certain death to avoid immurement on Sanctuary. The grim visage of Caliban surfaced in Gamelyn’s mind and suddenly an acute awareness of the danger his son was in, here in Caliban’s realm, dispelled his sadness. ‘Gerriod, you’ve got to leave. Now! Before the leper returns.’
Gerriod was still dazed. He lifted his head to face his father, but his gaze was unfocused. When he spoke, his voice was distant, almost toneless. ‘Leper? I saw a man before. His skin… pale… broken. He only had one hand.’
‘Did he see you Gerriod?’ Gamelyn said with tremendous urgency.
The anxiety in Gamelyn’s voice was such that it pulled Gerriod out of his stupor. He had to free his father. He erupted into action, closing the space between them in a second. His eyes darted about his father’s strange prison, looking for a way to pull the old man down from his cross. There seemed to be no start nor end to the dark, green vine that bound Gamelyn to the huge bones. If he could somehow cut it…
‘You must go Gerriod. Caliban - he’s insane!’ his father rasped.
This was too much for Gerriod to digest. There had been too much talk about things he did not remember or could not comprehend. Too much time wasted. All he understood was that his father – so old and changed, yet unmistakably the same man – had been tied to a cross and left to rot. But luck or fate had led Gerriod to Gamelyn and that was all that mattered. He reached up to pull the vine from his father’s arms. As he did so the cloud of shatterbugs scattered, leaving the two men in temporary darkness.
‘Gerriod! Don’t! It’s not that simple!’
‘Shhh! I’ll get you down,’ Gerriod scolded. As his fingers wrapped around the vine, he felt it respond to his touch. Under his fingertips he could feel movement inside the vine, like the flexing of a muscle under one’s skin. Suddenly in the cavern’s dim light he saw hundreds of eyes open all over the green coil. It was not a vine at all. It was a creature of some sort, an animal that was as old as the stones and just as tough. As far as Gerriod could tell, it had no head nor tail. Under every singular eye a small orifice widened to show sharp teeth, all of which began gnashing violently.
Gamelyn’s body became wracked with pain as the horrible creature writhed around his broken frame, crushing him and tearing at his flesh. Blood had spurted out from countless deep wounds and the sounds of his screams were almost enough to drown out the crashing sound of the waterfall in the nearby cavern.
Gerriod staggered back, horrified by the effects of his attempt to extricate his father from his unique prison.
When the pain had subsided, Gamelyn pleaded, ‘Son, please don’t do that again!’
‘I’m sorry’ Gerriod spluttered as he slowly moved away from the crucifix. ‘Perhaps I could find a sharp rock and kill that thing.’ His voice was quavering. He was clearly flustered by the situation.
‘No killing,’ his father responded softly. ‘You cut me down from here and I’ll die. This creature does more than just hold me here. My blood passes through it and its blood through me. If you kill it, you kill me. Until it releases me, I am trapped.’ He hung his head forlornly.
‘How do you know this?’ Gerriod was repulsed at the thought of his father’s blood mingling with that of the serpentine monster.
‘It has kept me alive all this time. Or so Caliban tells me.’
‘Caliban? You keep saying that name. Who is he?’
‘Oh, Caliban is many things, but above all, he is my host.’ It was clear he was being sarcastic. Although his voice was soft and controlled, Gamelyn could not hide his contempt when commenting upon his captor. ‘And quite the talkative host he is. He taunts me, tells me his great plans, tells me everything, safe in the knowledge that I am impotent to change anything.’
‘Hang on Dad. Caliban? As in Caliban’s End?’
‘Caliban’s End? What do you mean?’ Gamelyn asked.
‘It’s what the fishermen of Palia call the Worldpool. It’s been called that for as long as I can remember. Named after some crazy leper who swore he would wreak vengeance upon the village for allowing him to be taken to Sanctuary. But he never made it. The ship was apparently swallowed by the Worldpool, taking Caliban and all aboard with it.’
Gamelyn was amazed by this information. In the blur of years he had spent upon the cross, he had played out many scenarios regarding what had transpired after he and Caliban had been pulled down into the Endless. In his most optimistic scenario, Gerriod had escaped in the ship, made his way to Palia and rallied a rescue team who found their way into the Endless and disposed of Caliban. In this daydream, father and son were reunited and the fanged, coiled creature binding him to the cross just withered and died. He and his son lived out the rest of their days in Palia fishing for carpu from the safety of the shores of the lake. But that was not the way of things. The reality was infinitely more unreal. His son had survived, but with no recollection of the event. The Worldpool had been renamed after the leper. There was no rescue team and no chance of living out his remaining days under an open sky. The coils of the creature tightened as if to remind Gamelyn of this bitter truth.
‘Gerriod, the ship you speak of was The Melody! You were on board that day. We had been hired to take Caliban to Sanctuary. Someone must have known this! Why weren’t you told?’
‘Days after they found me, I was taken away to an orphanage in Murias and that was that. No-one told me anything.’
‘I thought all this time you must have perished, or suffered some other fate at the hands of the leper’s brother.’
Gerriod’s brow furrowed as yet another puzzle piece was placed before him. ‘Brother?’ he said suspiciously.
‘His name was Remiel Grayson. Caliban’s twin. He had paid for the trip in advance and had been insistent on coming along. It was he who had his brother bound in chains on the deck of the ship.’
Gerriod tried to digest the details, as if dwelling upon them might spark an ember of memory. But he had nothing. ‘Dad, this man, this Remiel Grayson, you say he had chained up the very man who has imprisoned you here. Why were you concerned that he would do anything bad to me?’
Gamelyn’s eyes were downcast as he remembered with unforgiving clarity his final moments hanging on to The Melody’s gunnels. ‘Because of what he did to me. Gerriod, Remiel Grayson had a chance to save me, but it also meant saving Caliban. It was he who ultimately condemned me to this wretched realm.’
‘I have no memory of this man.’
‘Well Caliban hasn’t forgotten him. He wants him. He has his minions searching for him but they can’t find him. Caliban will tear the Myr apart until he finds his twin.’
Gerriod fell to his haunches. His head throbbed and he could feel nausea rising from the pit of his stomach. This was too much for him to cope with. Here he was, in a bizarre, subterranean realm he had never heard of, reunited with a father he had long thought dead, a father kept alive by a nightmarish creature that would not let him leave. A peaceful man by anyone’s measure, Gerriod now found his brain was heating up with thoughts of vengeance. He could not think of a way to save his father, but he would find a means to exact the bloodiest of revenges upon these Grayson brothers.
A mournful groan stirred the mariner from his dark reveries.
‘Gerriod. How long has it been? I have lost all track of time. I know it’s been a long time. You have lived a life since I was first placed on my cross. I need to know how many years.’
‘Dad, I am thirty-nine years old.’
‘Then... I have been here… thirty years?’ His voice could not have been more pitiful. An indescribable sorrow spread across Gamelyn’s face as he realized the magnitude of the wasted years. Gerriod had grown up, matured, and become a man without his father. If Gamelyn could have reached out to hold his son, he would have crushed him with love.
Similarly Gerriod’s heart ached for the godforsaken figure on the cross. He instinctively stepped closer to Gamelyn but the coiled creature stiffened its hold, threatening another savage attack upon its prisoner. Gamelyn braced himself for the onslaught. Gerriod jumped back and a few seconds later the creature relaxed its cruel embrace ever so slightly.
‘Gerriod, tell me,’ Gamelyn said through dry, split lips, ‘how did you get here?’
‘Through the Worldpool. My ship was attacked by lepers trying to escape Sanctuary. Somehow I survived the fall into this strange world, just as you did.’
A wry smile spread across Gamelyn’s sunken face. ‘So you’ve lost another boat! Gerriod, that’s at least two in thirty years!’ He laughed, a sickly, hacking cough of a laugh, but a laugh all the same. He eased himself out of his coughing fit and when his breath had returned, he tentatively asked his son, ‘Gerriod, what do you remember? About us?’
Gerriod could hear the desperation in his father’s question, Gamelyn’s longing to be told that he was still significant, that he had played a part in his son’s life. It was the saddest moment Gerriod had ever experienced. ‘Why everything Dad!’ he exclaimed, rushing his words out to reassure his father as quickly as possible. ‘Everything you taught me about boats, fishing, the lake. As soon as I was old enough to leave the orphanage I returned to Palia because that was where I was closest to you. I remember the time you first let me help navigate. I got us lost, but you weren’t bothered at all. You told me that a good sailor will always find his way home.’
Gerriod walked away from the crucifix and circled around behind it, keeping a reasonable distance from his father so as not to upset the green creature. ‘A good sailor always finds a way.’ His voice had hardened. There was a hint of steely resolve about it.
It was clear Gerriod had not given up on the thought of freeing his father from his torment. Gamelyn could not see him at the back of the crucifix so he craned his head back so that Gerriod could hear him. ‘No Gerriod!’ he cried hoarsely. ‘There is nothing that can be done for me. You must survive. I have much to tell you. Of Caliban and what he intends to do.’
Gerriod shook his head furiously and tried to alter the course of the conversation. ‘I won’t leave you here. Perhaps I could dig the cross out.’
‘And haul it to the world above?’ Gamelyn scoffed, trying to kill his son’s futile thoughts. ‘Gerriod, there is more at stake than just me. You need to listen. We have little time. It won’t be long before he finds you here. Nothing happens down here without Caliban’s knowledge.’
‘Then he will know my anger!’ Gerriod snarled though gritted teeth, pacing like a wild animal before the cross.
‘Gerriod, stop it now!’ Gamelyn barked, drawing on his remaining vestiges of strength as he chided his son. ‘I must tell you what Caliban has planned.’
Gerriod ceased all movement and looked guiltily at his father. ‘I’m sorry,’ he murmured so quietly, Gamelyn barely heard him.
The old man on the cross breathed deeply and began his story. ‘Long ago, so long ago it is beyond reckoning, hideous creatures called the Cabal crawled out of this realm and gouged their mark upon our world. They were aided by the Ghul who infest this place like rattu on a barge, a race so filled with hatred and spite, they make this thing look like a family pet.’ Gamelyn nodded his head at the coiled creature that was entwined around his body. It lay dormant, but Gerriod was fearful it would erupt into a gnashing fury at any given moment.
Gamelyn continued. ‘After a long, bloody period, the Ghul and the Cabal were cast back into the darkness and sealed here by old stones and even older magick. The Cabal, deemed the more dangerous of the two, were locked away in the deepest parts in the earth. For many centuries the peoples of the Myr were left alone and forgot about the terrors lurking below their feet. The Cabal and the Ghul disappeared from all knowledge.’
Gamelyn paused to draw breath and to rest. Gerriod said nothing, patiently waiting for his father to continue this most unexpected story. When Gamelyn had enough energy to proceed, he corrected himself. ‘Almost all knowledge. Caliban knew about them. Knew about them before he found himself in their desolate world. Ever since our arrival, the leper has been obsessed with two things: finding the Cabal and reopening the breaches that once gave these monsters passage to our fair world.’ He paused again, exhausted by the effort it took to get so many words out at one time.
Gerriod took a small step towards his father. ‘Dad, the Cabal – what are they?’
‘A collection of creatures as old and as dangerous as time.’ Gamelyn sounded as if he were quoting someone and Gerriod quickly realised that his information would have been given to him by Caliban, his jailer. ‘Somewhere, in the darkest parts of the Endless they lie scattered, waiting to be freed.’
‘The Endless?’
‘This realm beneath the Myr is called the Endless. It was named that long before Caliban and I were marooned down here. Long before the Ghul found us.’
‘Why did the Ghul not kill you when they found you? What happened that day you first came here?’
Gamelyn smiled at his son’s interest in the small details. Gerriod had always been focused upon the details. But Gamelyn had a larger story to convey and was worried he was running out of time for the telling of it. ‘We had washed up on the shores of the great lake beneath the Worldpool,’ he said as quickly as he could, responding to Gerriod’s question. ‘The Ghul surrounded us before we had any idea where we were. In their hands they held crude blades made of jagged bone and their intention to use them was all too plain to see. I was tethered to Caliban, wrapped in the iron chain he had slung around my neck seconds before we were hurtled over The Melody’s starboard gunnel. The Ghul pulled back their weapons to strike and suddenly Caliban started speaking gibberish. He spoke quickly and passionately, occasionally gesticulating to me with a sneer fixed across his face. It soon dawned on me that the Ghul understood him. He managed to bring about an uneasy truce. Caliban not only knew of the Ghul before we came here, but knew their language, their ways. There was one Ghul – Lucetious – who seemed to respond to Caliban more than the others and fortunately for the leper, this Ghul seemed to hold sway over the rest. At first I hoped that Caliban’s linguistic talents had saved us from a terrible fate. Within an hour, I found myself lashed to this crucifix.’
Gamelyn panted as he gulped in deep breaths. It had been decades since he had spoken so much and his husk of a body was heavily taxed by the exertion.
Gerriod knew his father’s energy was flagging but he wanted to know everything before Caliban discovered him and dragged him off to a similar fate. ‘What happened to Caliban?’
‘Years passed before I saw Caliban again. For a while, I thought he must have perished. But he was very much alive and wasted no time in exploiting the opportunity he was given when the Ghul spared his life. He taught the Ghul our language, our ways. He made terrible promises to them in return for their fealty. Then one day, he returned to me. He wanted to share his triumph with someone other than the Ghul.’
‘Triumph? What triumph?’
‘It was the day he unearthed Succellos.’
‘Succellos?’
‘One of the Cabal. Ugly, like the ugliest whore in Palia combined with the most monstrous beast you could imagine.’
‘With legs like needles?’
Gamelyn nodded. ‘Then you’ve seen her.’
‘Yes,’ Gerriod replied. ‘When I first –’
‘Shhh, my son! I must finish this tale and you must go.’ There was great urgency in his voice. He knew that it was only a matter of time before Caliban was aware of Gerriod’s presence. Somehow, over the years Caliban had achieved a form of omniscience. He heard and saw things from the most distant of places. Gamelyn was amazed that he and his son had spoken for so long without being caught. Down in the Endless good luck had a habit of turning bad and Gamelyn knew that this chance meeting between father and son was fated to end in disaster if Gerriod did not leave quickly. ‘A year ago – or maybe it was more – the Kobolds were brought down here, into the Endless. They had inadvertently breached the rock separating the city of Sarras from the Endless. Within hours of doing so Caliban’s troops had rounded up thousands of them.’
‘Caliban was waiting for the Kobolds?’
‘Yes. He had received reports of the sounds of their mining and moved his entire army under Sarras and waited. He didn’t have to wait long before he had gained access to the world above. The Kobolds were forced to accompany him back here. I imagine any that did not oblige him were slain where they stood. By the time they arrived here, after weeks of marching through the labyrinth of the Endless, they were so wretched they were almost unrecognisable.’
Gerriod was shocked and momentarily forgot his father’s request to stay silent. ‘You saw them?’
‘Yes. Caliban felt it was such a momentous event that it needed an audience. The Kobolds were brought before Succellos and she had her way with them.’
Gerriod’s face went ashen. Images of the two Myrran men he had seen earlier flashed across his mind. He could still hear the fat man’s screams as Succellos impaled him upon her sting.
‘Gerriod, once stung by Succellos a person becomes a mere puppet.’
‘A puppet?’
‘Succellos seems to draw out her victim’s will, their sense of self. Perhaps their very soul. The Kobolds are now little more than mindless slaves doing Succellos’ bidding, which of course is the bidding of Caliban now he has promised to deliver to her all the races of the Myr. If she has her way, it will not be long before she has all in her thrall. She is insatiable. Now she holds dominion over the entire race of Kobolds, she seeks more.’
It was the most extraordinary thing Gerriod had ever heard. Caliban’s willingness to abandon fellow Myrrans to this sickening fate was beyond comprehension. ‘I don’t understand. Why does Succellos need Caliban? Why does she stay in this netherworld?’ Gerriod asked. ‘She could make her way through one of the breaches and...’
‘No. She never leaves the lake. There’s something in that cavern she protects but I don’t know what it is. But other Cabal have made it through,’ Gamelyn said ominously.
‘But you said the breaches were protected by magick of some kind.’
‘According to Caliban, it has faded over the centuries. The Morgai, the ones who first made the sealing spells, have dwindled in number and none maintain the breaches. Only the physical barriers have kept the Ghul from entering our world. And now, with the enslavement of the Kobolds, those barriers are coming down.’
‘Of course!’ exclaimed Gerriod. ‘The miners. Caliban is using the Kobolds to open up the other breaches!’
Gamelyn gave a wry smile acknowledging his son’s deduction. ‘You are correct. And that is why you must return to the surface, to warn the world of what lies beneath it.’
‘Dad, the other breaches – do you know where they are?’
‘They are all over the Myr. I know there is one deep in the forests of Morae, another in the desert near Sulis and one hidden amongst the reefs in the Sea of Telamon. I think Caliban mentioned a breach near the top of the Skyfall. Every few weeks another is opened up.’
Suddenly distant voices floated in from an adjacent cavern. A soft tap tap could be heard and it was slowly coming closer.
‘What is it?’ Gerriod asked his father whose face was frozen in fear.
‘It’s Caliban,’ Gamelyn whispered. His sense of dread clamped down on his throat like the jaws of a marrok. ‘Now listen. Don’t argue. Just listen. Find the wharf. Follow the Ghul to one of the breaches. The currents down here are swift and strong. You can cover great distances in a short space of time. Make your way to the world above and head for Cessair. The Chamberlain will know what to do. He will find a way to locate Caliban’s twin and deliver him to the leper.’
Gerriod shook his head in horror. ‘I… can’t.’
The tap tap grew closer.
‘Son, one more thing before you go.’
Gerriod glanced over at the grotto’s entrance. ‘Yes?’ he said nervously, half-expecting to see the gigantic creature with the dreadful sting squeezing her way through the opening.
‘Caliban is also searching for the Ghaddar.’
‘The what?’
‘The Ghaddar. I don’t know what it is but he had sent many of his soldiers to find it. This isn’t something he told me. I overheard it one day when –’
The voices in the neighbouring cavern were much louder now. Whoever was coming was near the entrance to Gamelyn’s grotto. In a panic-stricken voice Gamelyn commanded his son to go. ‘Come back for me once you have returned to the Myr. I have survived for thirty years. I think I can manage one more.’
Gerriod got to safety, just in time. It was remarkable that no-one in Caliban’s guard noticed the mariner scurrying off behind an outcrop of rocks at the far end of the grotto. He lay there for a second, up to his waist in the cold, subterranean water that encircled the small cavern. He could hear the tap tap sound getting louder and clearer, but did not dare to look lest he gave away his hiding spot.
Around him the rocks glowed with a soft yellow light and he realised to his horror that three or four shatterbugs had followed him. ‘Damn shatterbugs!’ he snarled as he tried to swat them unsuccessfully. They dispersed momentarily but a second later they were back hovering over his head. Gerriod tried to swat them again but his more vigorous attempt resulted in the mariner falling back on his rear causing a splash that echoed across the grotto. If he were not in such mortal danger he would have laughed.
Instead he drew a lungful of air that made his broken ribs scream and dived under the black surface of the waters. He could feel the tug of a current so he allowed his body to be swept up in it. He was spun around, caught up in the dark water’s flow like detritus. Occasionally he bumped against rocks and the hard bed of the river. Gerriod held his breath until, minutes later, a burning sensation in his lungs pushed him back to the surface.
With considerable luck, he had escaped the grotto. Gerriod had unwittingly swum through a culvert at the edge of the cavern and emerged in a long, flat passageway down the centre of which flowed the dark stream. There was no sign of the Ghul or of any other denizen of the Endless.
Gamelyn could hear Caliban closing in from behind, the tapping of his bone staff announcing his approach as it had done numerous times before. Usually Gamelyn would close his eyes and ignore Caliban’s presence, but on this occasion knew it would be better to grab his jailer’s attention immediately, giving Gerriod a chance to escape.
Caliban’s leering face came into view as he hobbled around the crucifix, flanked by his lieutenant Lucetious.
‘Caliban, it’s so nice to see you,’ Gamelyn sneered with the sarcasm that characterised his conversations with the leper. He tried to sound nonchalant, but his voice shook, his concern for his son in the forefront of his mind.
If Caliban was suspicious, he didn’t show it. ‘Dear Gamelyn, I’m sorry I have not visited for some time but things have been hectic around here.’ The leper was equally sarcastic, but his voice was calm.
‘I don’t care for your visits you madman,’ Gamelyn snarled.
Suddenly a splash echoed around the chamber and Gamelyn’s heart sank. With all his energy, he coughed up what saliva he could and shot it out at Caliban. Despite his wretched physical state, Gamelyn’s aim was good. The globule of spit landed square on the leper’s forehead. Before Caliban had a chance to react, Lucetious was at his side and with a swipe of his tongue removed the spit from his master’s face.
Then, without any fear of the beast wrapped around Gamelyn, the lieutenant leapt forward grabbing Gamelyn’s left hand and pulling it free from the thick coils binding him. Lucetious looked expectantly to Caliban for a nod to break Gamelyn’s fingers. Suddenly, the coiled creature’s eyes and fangs broke out across its green skin and Gamelyn and Lucetious were enmeshed in a paroxysm of teeth. Whilst Gamelyn howled, Lucetious just winced. It was clear he was in pain too, but he considered his welfare secondary to the pain that was being inflicted upon the old mariner. His eyes remained on Caliban, hoping for permission to break Gamelyn's fingers.
‘Lucetious, step away,’ Caliban said quietly.
Although the lieutenant could not disguise his disappointment, he obeyed without hesitation. The serpent’s eyes and fangs closed, and the only thing that moved was Gamelyn’s body, heaving and shaking as a result of the trauma that had been brought upon it. But one corner of his mouth lifted, hinting at a smile that he could not hide. The distraction had worked. Gerriod had not been discovered.
Caliban noticed the grin. ‘Captain, does something amuse you?’
Gamelyn said nothing.
‘Perhaps you smile from the knowledge that your fingers are still intact, much to my officer’s disappointment.’
‘Officer!’ Gamelyn scoffed, clearly believing Caliban’s bestowing of military rank upon the Ghul to be a farce.
‘Or perhaps you are just smiling because you’ve had a pleasant day.’
A chill shot though Gamelyn’s broken body. Caliban was not in the habit of making meaningless comments. ‘What do you mean by ‘a pleasant day’?’ he asked tentatively.
‘Oh, you know, the usual,’ Caliban said in a taunting sing-song. ‘Catching up with friends and family…’
Gamelyn was crushed. Caliban knew. He had known all along. Gerriod was far from safe. ‘You knew,’ Gamelyn whispered, defeated.
‘After all these years, you still under-estimate me, just as you did that day on The Melody. How could I not hear your buffoon of a son tripping over his own feet and making a splash that could be heard back in Palia. And you, thinking you could use expectoration as a distraction. You’re as transparent as you are stupid Gamelyn. You will be pleased to know your clumsy son has now escaped through a culvert at the far end of the grotto. But he is far from safe.’
‘What do you want?’ Gamelyn said as all energy, all hope faded from him.
It was Caliban’s turn to give a wry smile. Between thin, lifeless lips, jagged, rotten teeth stood like tombstones. He took a few steps closer to his prisoner on the crucifix. His bone staff clattered on the hard rock of the grotto and echoed around the chamber.
‘Captain Blake, I’m afraid you and I would need a lot more time if I were to communicate to you what I want.’
‘I’ve got nothing better to do,’ Gamelyn said with his last ounce of defiance. ‘Come closer and tell me your aspirations.’
‘Ah Captain, this is as close as I come. I trust the beast coiled around you as much as you should trust the one wrapped around my heart.’
Caliban paused, thinking about what he had just said. He turned back to Lucetious and raised what was left of his eyebrows. ‘What think you, Lieutenant? I trust the beast coiled around you as much as you should trust the one wrapped around my heart. Spur of the moment. What did you think?’
Without smiling, or giving any indication of emotion, Lucetious replied, ‘It was overwhelmingly eloquent, my lord. Pure poetry.’
Caliban turned back to Gamelyn and winked, whispering conspiratorially, ‘Of course, they wouldn’t know poetry if they were clobbered with it, but one must take compliments where one can find them.’
‘Caliban, do what you will to me, but spare me your conversation.’
It was an effective insult. Caliban’s eyes betrayed his indignation. After so many years of Ghul sycophancy, Gamelyn’s insubordination was sometimes difficult to bear. Caliban composed himself before continuing. ‘Captain, I ask your indulgence for only one minute more. You and I are old friends and I thought it only right that I should tell you what we have planned for your son.’
‘You have no reason to harm him. He has done nothing to you.’
‘Oh, I quite agree. In fact, I have every reason to thank him. If it wasn’t for your son’s incredible feat of stupidity on board The Melody a lifetime ago, I would be stuck on Sanctuary, decomposing away in that hellhole, with no hope of ever tasting the power I hold here in the Endless.’
‘He pitied you and you abused his trust. Is that stupidity?’
Caliban waved his handless arm to show his contempt of Gamelyn’s statement. ‘You of all people should know what I think of the notion of trust, Gamelyn. It was trust that had me shipped off to Sanctuary.’ Gamelyn had clearly struck a nerve and Caliban, upset by the turn of the conversation hobbled away petulantly.
‘Wait!’ rasped Gamelyn from the crucifix. ‘My son? You were going to tell me of my son!’
Caliban did not turn.
‘Please. I must know! What will you do to my son?’
The tap tap sound of Caliban’s staff faded as he made his way out of the grotto.
Gerriod moved slowly down the underground stream. His mind was awash with thoughts of things so unfamiliar and terrible, he doubted he would be able to remember them all. For now, he decided to concentrate on one thing alone – find the wharf. His father’s instruction was clear enough, but finding anything in a place called the Endless seemed an impossible notion.
‘Think Gerriod,’ he whispered to himself in an attempt to calm his mind so he could tackle the problem rationally. ‘You’re in a river and there’s every chance that it feeds into a larger body of water. He wouldn’t have said to find the wharf, if it wasn’t nearby.’
Just hearing his own voice helped clarify things. In the absence of other options, he would stay on the stream and follow it. For all the evil and perverse things he had endured so far, it seemed a little bit of luck still hung around his neck.
‘Gerriod will eventually find the wharf. Do not kill him. Do not capture him.’
‘Yes, my lord.’ Lucetious stared blankly back at Caliban, despite struggling to see the sense in the orders he had just received.
Caliban slowly made his way to his favourite chair. It was the same throne upon which he had sat when he had tortured Samuel Melkin and given Porenutious Windle to Succellos. Windle had since left the Endless, but Melkin had remained. In a small room at the back of the cottage, the proud bureaucrat lay tethered to the floor, contemplating his next move in a game of Siege.
Caliban sighed contentedly. The appearance of Gamelyn’s son was a surprising but extremely welcome turn of events. Caliban knew that good things came to those who waited – and he was above all things a patient man – but the opportunities presented by Gerriod’s arrival in the Endless were almost too good to be true. Gerriod would help sow the seeds of panic more than any incursion of the Ghul and the Cabal. Gerriod would travel to Cessair and give the Chamberlain a name to attach to the attacks taking place across the Myr. The mariner would make sure that actions were taken. Spurred on by the knowledge that his father’s incomparable torment in the Endless, Gerriod would not stop until Gamelyn’s parting wishes were met and the Chamberlain himself addressed the issue.
‘I can sense unrest in you Lucetious. You are concerned that you have not been given orders to capture the mariner.’
Lucetious stood before the throne in a rigid pose. Even in the privacy of Caliban’s dwelling, he remained at attention. Caliban liked him. He was more astute than any other Ghul, more subtle but just as ruthless as the most mean-spirited among them. He always phrased his responses to Caliban with a certain amount of delicacy. Lucetious knew that Caliban was perfectly capable of drawing inferences from the plainest comments. ‘It did cross my mind, my lord.’
‘Lucetious, there are bigger carpu to fry here. Gerriod Blake presents us with a chance to accelerate our plans a little.’
‘You are frustrated in the Cabal attempts to find your brother?’ Lucetious suggested.
‘No. I never really expected them to find him. He is far too wily. But Myrrans are gradually realizing that the Cabal do seek someone and they will associate the miseries befalling them with that person. They will want to blame someone and Gerriod will give them a name – Remiel Grayson. And that will drive my dear twin to me.’
Lucetious’ smooth brow wrinkled slightly.
‘You are wondering how Gerriod would know my brother’s name. How would he know I am seeking him?’
Lucetious nodded deferentially. ‘Yes, my lord.’
‘Gamelyn told him. In fact, he could not have done better had I given him a script. Everything Gerriod knows works to our advantage. He will draw Remiel out.’
Caliban reclined back in his chair and gazed around his domicile. For someone of his stature, it was a humble abode. The cottage as he called it was made entirely of the debris that had been swallowed by the Worldpool. Windows made from portholes looked out into the dull caverns beyond. The polished floor resembled the deck of a fine Tuathan yacht and upon the walls hung fishing nets from a range of vessels that had met their ends in the crushing embrace of the Myr’s most frightening natural phenomena.
Caliban thought of the Worldpool and grinned. ‘Do you know they call it Caliban’s End?’ he said conversationally.
Lucetious, not being privy to Caliban’s thoughts was at a loss to understand him. ‘I’m sorry, my lord. They call what Caliban’s End?’
Caliban shrugged as if the topic no longer interested him. Ignoring Lucetious’ question, his voice dropped in tone, becoming serious and authoritative. ‘Lucetious, I want you to make sure Gamelyn's son follows you to the Sessymir breach. Leave a boat behind. Do not leave until you are sure he is with you. Make sure he arrives safely at Nilfheim. He must survive the assault on the mines. Gerriod has become a most important piece on the board.’
Lucetious thought about this for a second. ‘My lord, there are other breaches much closer to Cessair. If you want to expedite –’
‘No Lucetious. Let us not be too hasty. Whilst this new development may hasten us to our goals, there is no need to be reckless. We want Gerriod’s escape from the Endless to have the ring of truth about it. It makes sense that he would follow you to Sessymir. It makes sense that your approaching battle with the Sessymrians would afford him the opportunity to escape. Furthermore, he will have to wait for the Sessymir breach to open and this will give us time to attack on other fronts.’
Lucetious had long learned that Caliban was the consummate strategist – methodical, meticulous and focused. ‘Yes, my lord. I see your logic.’
This response pleased Caliban. It was more than sycophancy. Lucetious was able to recognise the value of strategy, more so than any other Ghul. Although he was loath to trust anyone, Caliban was prepared to rely upon Lucetious – the Ghul commander had not let him down. ‘Lucetious, there is one other matter. When the Sessymir breach is established, you may do what you will to the Sessymirians, but there is one who must not be harmed. She is…’ – he paused – ‘important to me.’
‘Does she have a name, my lord?’
It was a dark, wet day in Pelinore the day Caliban’s daughter came into the world. The rain pounded the cobblestone street outside, competing against Annika’s screams as her long labour drew to a close. The window by Annika’s bed rattled, the brutal northern wind hammering it incessantly. Low-lying, deep grey clouds jostled in the skies above the harbour city and it looked as if the deluge would last for days. However, the moment Lokasenna was born there was a break in the rain. The sun splashed down across rain-soaked streets and her first cries mingled with the sounds of children playing in the puddles outside.
Caliban would keep the birth of his daughter a secret, just as he had kept private his relationship with the Sessymirian Annika Hagen. For all their industrialisation, the Sessymirians were as barbarous a race as could be found in the Myr and both Annika and Caliban knew that discovery of their illegitimate child would result in catastrophe. Caliban had even managed to hide the situation from his father and brother. There was no need to tell them; he only divulged information when there was a need – his need.
The Acoran Maeldune Canna was the only person who had known of the relationship and the child it had spawned. He had proven to be a most invaluable asset to the couple, often acting as an intermediary between them, helping the pair keep their risk-filled liaisons a secret.
Maeldune stood by the window of Caliban’s sitting room, looking out into the heavy rain that cascaded over eaves and gutters, sending people running for the cover of shops and houses. He was pleased the brief respite of sunshine had passed. The thunderous downpour helped drown out the insistent cries of the child that had just been born in the adjacent room.
Maeldune smiled to himself as his hand brushed an envelope in his pocket. His fingers toyed with the wax seal of the Chamberlain upon the envelope. He had just received news of his appointment to the position of junior clerk in the Ministry of Justice.
‘It’s a girl,’ Caliban said to the Acoran as he slowly closed the door to the bedroom behind him. ‘Her name’s Lokasenna.’
Maeldune turned from the window and extended a hand to Caliban. ‘I believe congratulations are in order.’
Caliban returned the smile. ‘For all of us, Maeldune!’ he said, alluding to Maeldune’s new appointment. ‘Thank-you for staying, but now I believe you should leave for Cessair to take up your new position.’ The Acoran had delayed his journey south to provide whatever support he could to Caliban. It was a strange show of friendship in one as cool, dispassionate and self-serving as Maeldune Canna.
It was on the day his daughter was born that Caliban realised Maeldune would be the one he would call upon should he ever need assistance. In the year following the opening of the Sarras breach, Maeldune had proven to be an invaluable ally. It was Maeldune who had retrieved ancient texts outlining the specific location of every known breach, it was Maeldune who had found the scrolls describing the Cabal’s whereabouts and it was Maeldune who had found Lokasenna in the remote city of Nilfheim.
‘Lokasenna,’ Caliban said finally. ‘Her mother named her Lokasenna.’
Lucetious nodded. ‘My lord, if the Sessymirians are in the mine when we burst through, I imagine it will be chaos. The Kaggen is not the most intelligent creature in the Cabal. I cannot safeguard this woman’s safety.’
Caliban thrust his staff angrily upon the timber floor. ‘You can and you will. My daughter must be delivered safely to me.’
Lucetious cocked his head to one side when he heard this. ‘Your daughter?’ he said softly. It was not a question meant for Caliban. It was an expression of surprise. Caliban had not mentioned the fact he had a daughter in all the years he had spent in the Endless. The revelation was a reminder to Lucetious of how guarded his master was, and how carefully he stepped. The Ghul commander lowered his head and clasped his hands together in a gesture of acquiescence. ‘I will find her and bring her safely to you, Lord Caliban.’
‘Good,’ Caliban said, pleased with his lieutenant’s tone.
Lucetious thought more on this mission. He knew how critical it was to Caliban. He decided to ask one more question. ‘How will I recognise her?’
‘She has a distinctive birthmark,’ Caliban replied. ‘Across her left eye. But worry not. I do not think you will have to look hard to find her. I imagine she will make herself known to you.’
A knock sounded from the thick, oakaen cabin door at the far end of the room. Lucetious strode up to the door, opened it slightly and looked into the cavern beyond. He promptly slid outside, shutting the door quietly behind him. Moments later, he returned into the room and opened his mouth to speak.
Caliban cut him off before he had the chance to utter a syllable. ‘The Pryderi witch Meggan is here to see me,’ he said plainly, pre-empting the announcement.
‘Yes Lord. She is.’
‘Let her in, Lieutenant,’ Caliban commanded, his eyes twinkling in anticipation of what his guest would bring him.
‘Do you want me to leave, my lord?’ Lucetious asked.
‘Would it embarrass you to stay, Lucetious?’ Caliban asked curiously.
Lucetious was slightly puzzled. ‘My lord, the Ghul have no concept of embarrassment. It is a distinctly… Myrran notion.’
Caliban smiled at the answer. ‘Then you will stay. I have more to say to you.’
Lucetious bowed respectfully and said, ‘I will admit the witch.’
Meggan Galley looked pale, her manner subdued. She slithered across the wooden floor and when she reached the throne, she prostrated herself before Caliban. ‘Lord Caliban, do you require my services?’
Caliban was totally dismissive about this servile display. ‘Meggan, get up!’ he said coldly. ‘You know why you’re here.’
She arose immediately. She knew exactly what to do. It was all she had done since the Ghul had coaxed her down into the Endless with the promise of being reunited with her daughter, Agatha. This had not yet occurred, but Meggan clung to the hope that agreeing to all Caliban’s demands would keep her child safe until such time that mother and daughter were brought together.
She rose to her full height, almost touching the thick dark beams crossing the cottage’s ceiling, and slithered behind the throne. Caliban slowly closed his eyes, waiting for her, his fingers anxiously tapping his left knee.
A low hum filled the room as Meggan began the incantation. Strange words flowed from her lips and the air became heavy. Caliban’s jaw relaxed as the spell began to take effect. A warm orange glow emanated from the witch’s palms. Caliban let his head fall back into Meggan’s hands and he gave a small cry of pleasure as the magick took away all the discomfort of his skin condition. The glow spilled over Caliban’s leprous face which radiated with vitality. Although the pockmarks and scabs of the affliction remained, his skin was considerably less obscene to look upon. He looked many years younger. Healthier. A broad smile of satisfaction spread across his face as Meggan’s magicks coursed through his body.
Caliban opened his eyes like a child coming out of a deep sleep and for a second it seemed as if he did not know where he was. ‘Lucetious?’ he said absently.
The Ghul commander stood sharply to attention. ‘Yes, Lord?’
‘I have more to say,’ Caliban said, slurring his word as the magick continued to pulse through his veins, an anaesthetic to the disease that had been inflicted upon him three decades earlier. ‘I sense you still have qualms regarding the release of Gerriod Blake.’
Lucetious knew that the only response he should ever give his master was an honest one.
‘I am confused as to why you did not let Succellos have her way with him.’
‘Succellos is not the answer to all our problems, Lucetious. Free will is a commodity you should not undervalue.’
Lucetious just stared back at Caliban who knew that he had not understood and was waiting patiently for elaboration.
‘Take this Pryderi witch for example, Lucetious. As you know, the Pryderi do not respond well to being enslaved to Succellos’ will. For some reason, it impacts upon their magick.’
‘But we found other ways,’ Lucetious offered.
‘Yes, stealing their children was a master stroke of yours. Such is the bond between mother and daughter that these witches will do what we ask without Succellos’ intervention. It was good advice,’ Caliban said magnanimously.
‘Thank-you, my lord,’ Lucetious said humbly. ‘But what of the mariner? He has no magick that would be spoilt by Succellos’ touch.’
Caliban stretched out in his chair as Meggan’s restorative spell continued to soothe his body. He had absolute trust in her. Although she could probably release an incantation that would turn his head to pulp, he was certain of her compliance – Agatha, Meggan’s one year old daughter, lay chained to a post in the Nursery, safe whilst the Pryderi witch obeyed him. Caliban groaned in delight as his dead and dying cells were reanimated. His skin tingled under the incantation and the temporary return of such sensation was like a drug. The spell would fade, but Meggan would return again and again, kept loyal by the maternal bond all Pryderi felt.
‘Gerriod’s free will must remain intact, Lucetious,’ said Caliban returning to the matter. ‘His news will draw my brother out. Remiel will feel the truth of Gerriod’s tale and that will drive him to me.’
‘But…’
‘No. My brother is not easily deceived. If Gerriod were under Succellos’ thrall, Remiel would feel it. It is –’
A rapping at the door broke his train of thought. Strange sounds could be heard coming from outside: the sound of hooves upon rock and the swishing of tails. Caliban sat up and brushed away the witch’s hands. ‘Enough Meggan. Enough. I will see you tomorrow.’
Silence swallowed up the cottage as she stopped her incantation. The orange glow surrounding Caliban’s face faded and his skin slowly returned to its unwholesome state. She slithered away towards the door. Before she reached it, she paused and looked expectantly back at Caliban.
He nodded, knowing her mind. ‘Meggan, I am in a benevolent mood. Lucetious will take you to the Nursery.’ Caliban looked over at the Ghul. ‘She may have an hour with her child. Watch her closely. Then head to the wharf and lead your troops to the Sessymir breach.’
Lucetious bowed. ‘Yes, my lord.’
‘Now admit the good professor and his assistants. I am looking forward to hearing about their progress.’
Gerriod continued to wade down the lonely stream. Hours had passed since he had fled the grotto; how many hours, he did not know. He yearned for the open sky where the sun marked his passage through the day. The water around him was cold and Gerriod found he was beginning to shake uncontrollably from its chill. He would have left the water course behind and headed up one of the many paths that climbed up from the river’s banks, but doing so would not help him find the wharf. He rounded a bend to find a broad expanse of water littered with boats and a warm feeling rose up from his stomach – he had not let down his father.
Gerriod stayed in the shadows in the middle of the stream. He felt the rocky riverbed fall away quickly, indicating the harbour before him was deep. The wide curving shore to his left was ablaze with activity. Hundreds of Ghul soldiers were loading long boats with weapons and what looked like leather sacks containing supplies. They swarmed all over the wharf like insects on the carcass of a grizzum. In all their industry, they seemed totally oblivious to his presence and he hoped they would remain so.
Gerriod slowly swam to a rocky outcrop to his left. He would feel less vulnerable behind the rocks and would be in a better position to stow away in one of the small vessels should an opportunity arise.
The wharf was comprised of thirty-three piers carved out of the luminescent rock that ran throughout the Endless. The light of the piers shimmered on the water so that where shadows would usually lie under docks were flickering ribbons of soft red light. The wharf ran in a massive arc spanning almost half a league from end to end.
From his vantage point behind the rocks Gerriod could hear the coarse conversations of the Ghul as they prepared for the journey to the breach under Nilfheim. Suddenly, the soldiers went rigid, standing to attention as a commanding officer appeared at the land’s end of the nearest pier. He strode purposefully down the pier.
Taking advantage of the distraction, Gerriod quietly swam through the waters to the stern of a small boat that was tethered to the end of the pier. Fearful that someone would notice his approach, he looked up but he had nothing to fear – all the cadaverous beings on the pier above him had fixed their eyes on the face of the newly arrived officer. It was the one who had snapped the fingers of the dark-skinned man Gerriod had seen earlier.
Gerriod saw his opportunity to board the small boat before him. It was a supplies boat of some description, containing what smelt like bags of rotting meat. At the rear of the boat some animal hides lay in a pile. They were not particularly large but they would be enough to cover the mariner if he curled up into a ball.
He dragged himself up the boat’s hull. It felt strange. The boat was not made of wood. The entire hull seemed to be crafted from a massive skeleton and over this bony cage had been pulled a smooth, dark green hide that resembled something reptilian. Ignoring the pain in his ribs, Gerriod grabbed the knobbly rail and hauled his torso up over the side followed by his legs. He fell to the soft deck with the grace of a stone. A groan escaped his dry lips as his head hit one of the boat’s thick futtocks.
As he pulled the animal hides over his body and curled up into a foetal position, Gerriod heard the crack of a whip. It was an unmistakable sound. He had heard it many times in his youth. Tuathan ranchers would drive huge herds of grizzums past the orphanage in Murias, cracking their whips as they steered the beasts towards the grassy pastures above the town. But he wasn’t familiar with the prolonged gurgling note that followed. So intrigued by the sound was he, Gerriod risked peeking out from under the hides to see what had made the strange noise.
The Ghul officer he had seen earlier now held the handle of a long, leather whip. The far end of the knotted strand that ran out from the handle was wound tightly around the throat of a small, lean Ghul who stood almost directly above Gerriod’s boat.
‘I do not remember giving you permission to take your eyes from me!’ snarled Lucetious.
‘Lieutenant, I am sorry,’ gasped the small Ghul who was finding breathing to be almost as difficult as talking in his current predicament. ‘I thought I heard –’
‘You are not here to think, Private!’ snapped Lucetious who made his way up the whip so that he was only inches away from his subordinate. Then, in a movement so fast Gerriod was unsure what had happened, the blade of Lucetious’ sword swept across the soldier’s neck, simultaneously freeing the neck from the coils of the whip as well as the soldier’s head from his body.
Lucetious bent down and picked up the head. Holding it aloft, his voice rang out across the wharf: ‘Such will be the fate of all Ghul whose gaze drifts from our goal.’ Lucetious spun the head in a bloody circle and lobbed it out across the open water. It landed with a sad plop twenty yards from the end of the pier. ‘Listen to your orders. The advance party will take the Kobolds to the Sessymir breach and replace the team that is currently there. I will accompany the second fleet which will be comprised solely of infantry and weapon smiths. The third fleet will drop off supplies and return here to ferry more infantry to the breach. Are there any questions?’
Gerriod was not surprised when none dared to ask a question. Horns rang out across the wharf signalling to the three fleets that it was time to move. He scrunched down under the animal skins and tried not to retch from the foul-smelling stores surrounding him in the boat.
The air quickly became thick and heavy under the weighty hides. Gerriod felt dizzy in the confines of the skins and if it were not for the exhaustion creeping across his body, and his father’s decree that he make his way back to the surface of the Myr, he would have slunk out of the boat and found somewhere safe to lie down and sleep.
Suddenly the boat jolted and Gerriod could feel it swivelling on its axis. For a moment, he thought he was gently floating away from the piers, as if the boat were adrift, left to docilely wander across the waters of the Endless without a care in the dark world. But that was not the case, and when forward momentum gripped the boat, like an iron ball being loosed from a Tuirrenian catapult, Gerriod spilled back across the aft of the vessel, rolling out from the covers to find himself in a sprawled heap against the smooth skin of the transom.
Fortunately, and inexplicably, there were no Ghul aboard his boat. His tiny vessel was at the back of the third fleet which spread out before him like dull green clouds. Consternation overruled any thoughts of fear as Gerriod tried to work out what was steering his boat and thrusting it forward. He thought for a second that the vessel was being towed but no line ran out from the unusually-shaped prow. An explosion of spray to his left caught his attention and Gerriod almost screamed in shock when he saw a massive, green-skinned arm lift from the hull on the port side and sweep through the air in a loping arc. On the starboard side, another arm repeated the action. At the end of both arms, huge splayed claws raked through the water, like nightmarish paddles.
A wave of nausea crashed down upon Gerriod as he realised what he was sitting in was not a boat at all. It was alive. For the second time in the space of a day, he felt the world around him spinning. His dizziness took over and he fell back into the animal hides and bags of meat. Fighting the desire to faint, Gerriod lay back and stared at the roof of the cavern flying past.