The Deepcombers

Chapter Five

Lon had done it. He'd survived. Still dressed in dirty sailcloth pants, he took a step forward and smelled the jungle air and rejoiced because he felt so vastly improved. His feet in the sand on solid land; he dropped to his knees to study his reflection. In the dim light of the burning sail he saw how his wild teeth had been tamed and although his jaw was still felt sore and his gums were maimed, he liked his new smile. His head felt different and so did his arms and legs. He walked on solid ground and that also felt strange. A glass plate framed everything his eyes could see. Was this real? He touched his face to try and find the injury where the sheet was inserted but he could find no wound. There was only his long white hair in his hands.

The lad looked around and saw that by some miracle he was the only passenger not ruined by the landfall. Hah! Praise Amon this was providence. Because he was tied to a heavy object he'd survived the shipwreck in style. 

The red hot stone made torrents of steam which glowed as the sail blazed overhead. The circle-under-the-line sign appeared in his mind. The sigil fed him still and encased him in strong armor; he felt like nothing in the world could hurt him.

The chesty sailor who'd sat behind the ring and steered the ship was the first opponent to rise. He'd witnessed the freshly transformed sacrifice step free, but found himself on the wrong end of a broken boat and unable to apprehend the slave. He tried to get forward to face the fugitive but the red-hot altar, still lashed to the mast pole blocked his way. The back of the vessel rose in the swell which made it difficult to walk but the mariner was nimble and crouched to keep low. At the center of the splintered craft he grabbed the mast pole and tried to step through the ring. Barrooonng. He was pushed back, violently. His living body was hurled from the boat as though he'd stepped onto a springboard. Kerrrsplash.

At the front of the wreck, the mustached officer bobbed in saltwater sprinkled with broken wood. He'd heard the ring's alarm and saw his friend get flung. He tried to climb the splintered planks but the stern was continuously hammered from behind by lapping waves. 

Lon spotted the Crol he despised and heard him gasp in terror at his approach. No wonder he was scared. Here I come.

This was sweet revenge for the seventeen-year-old who'd suffered so much cruelty at this tyrant's hand. He enjoyed the look of fear in his abuser's eyes and it fueled his anger for their kind. This Crol, like all members of their tribe, was a coward and he was the very evil doer that had caused him so much pain. But how shall I destroy him?

As if providing the implement, the altar hissed and wobbled and a length of heavy chain fell from the spar overhead. The young lad wouldn't let that hot iron go to waste. He reached down and picked up the steaming links at his feet.

The metal line burned his hands, but he didn't care. Aware of the significance, he chose to stand on the bench where he'd sat and rowed all week. He stood tall where this bully had whipped his back and had inflicted so much harm and strife. Now his tormentor clacked Crolean words and begged for his life.

Lon stared down at the helpless foe. The sea drover wasn't moved by his desperate pleas or any false apologies. He watched the coward's face and saw his eyes worm about the wreckage for his lost sword or anything that could help him avoid the reckoning he knew he deserved.

When the Crol realized these were his last breathes, he clasped his hands together in prayer and spoke a verse of contrition. The sailor must have believed the Ghost of Alocer had loosed the True Pattern feigor to punish him. Of course, that's what I'd look like to them, divine retribution. It wasn't true; Lon despised the prophet Alocer. He wasn't doing anyone's bidding but his own. He used both his strong arms to heft and twirl the metal links over his head. It probably weighed forty pounds which was much too heavy for a flail but he liked the feel of the iron flying through the air and not cuffed to his ankles.