104

(Ezra)

Hollow Men

Ezra stood on the deck of the Sky Lion, the breeze snatching at his robe.

He watched as Ansel and the rest of the scouting part wended their way across the beach and up into the foothills in the direction of the great mountain. He scowled at it. The horrible thing dominated the landscape. It was impossible to forget its presence. Its very size demanding attention. Glancing back at the scouting party, he could see the single file of men relatively easy to pick out against the dull green of the bush, their armour gleaming as it caught the light. It looked like hot work. Almost, he envied Ansel, with his simple outlook and cheerful disposition, marching fearlessly into the unknown. Then he remembered he was not an idiot.

The bulk of the remaining crew was chopping wood, tending to their munitions and repairing the ships. Since it was impossible to find somewhere quiet to eat, Ezra left the Sky Lion and took his lunch to eat at the top of a nearby dune. After so long cooped up it was good to have solid ground beneath his feet. It was good to be off the ship.

Food finished, he went for a walk of his own to burn off some of his irritation. It probably wasn’t safe to do so but he was feeling wild. He needed a moment alone. One more minute surrounded by fools and he might throw himself into the bay to be food for the monsters that lurked beneath those innocuous pea-green waves. As he watched, a giant squid leapt out of the bay, chasing a smaller creature he could not see. It fell back into the water with a crash, sending diamond drops sky high.

A chill wind coming off the bay cooled his cheeks and he strode briskly, keeping a wary eye out, making sure not to stray too far from the ships and their activity. Or to go too near the water. He wandered on, finding some peace in his own company.

Ezra climbed up along a rocky cliff and came to an abrupt halt. Up ahead, someone was seated on a rocky outcrop, their back to Ezra. His first thought was irritation, that someone was interrupting his solitude. His second was alarm when he realised it was a savage. Then the person turned towards him and he relaxed. It was a wizened old woman. She was tiny, with a wrinkled brown face, great clouds of snowy-white hair, and milk-white eyes half-closed in the sun. She did not look like she could harm a fly.

"What are you doing here?" he said, harshly, before realising that she wouldn't be able to understand him.

"They're coming," she said. "They're coming. The wind is changing." She lifted her weathered face, as if to smell the fresh sea air.

"What?" said Ezra, his sword halfway out of his scabbard. “Who? What do you mean?”

The old woman’s wispy hair billowed out behind her. It took Ezra a moment to figure out why the effect was so unsettling. The wind that brushed against his own skin was blowing in the opposite direction. Without thinking, he reached out to her. His hand went straight through her elbow. It was like trying to grab a cloud, or an apparition. He leapt back in horror, fumbling again for his weapon, although he didn’t know what he would do with it. What was she?

“Rivers of blood," said the old lady, smiling toothlessly at him. He stared.

At the base of the cliff someone called out. Ezra turned his head for a second, frowning. When he looked back the old woman had vanished. He shivered despite himself. An omen? A premonition? What did the spirit want? What did it mean?

He walked away, fast, combing one shaking hand through the thicket of his hair. Ezra had seen spirits before. It was his curse. But they didn’t usually speak. And she had appeared to be a savage, by dress at least, but then how had he understood her? Had she been speaking a civilised tongue? Who was coming? Such a dire warning. Perhaps some savage shaman was trying to trick him. At least she had not attempted to harm him. He patted himself down, as if the old woman might have stabbed him without him noticing, but everything was fine.

He traversed the last part of the slope feeling uneasy, and was grateful when he returned to the shadow of the ships. The sun was sinking towards the west and the mountains in the distance were purpling. He climbed the rope ladder back onto the deck of the Sky Lion. Asking around he realised Ansel and the others were not yet returned. He wondered briefly where they were and if they were safe. He wanted to tell Ansel about the old woman. It was annoying not having anyone around to speak too properly. The other inquisitors all looked down on him because of his youth, jealous, a voice in his head whispered, of the circumstances of his birth. The crew were too bone-idle and ignorant to be of any use.

From across the bay, in the direction of the savage settlement came the tinny sound of a distant bell ringing.

“I wonder what that is for?” he wondered aloud. One of the deck hands eyed him from the edge of the rail.

“Ay, I hope the savages aren’t giving our lads any trouble.”

Ezra didn’t say anything, merely pursed his lips. His shoulder blades twitched. He was uncomfortable. Something was wrong. But then everything in this godforsaken land was wrong.

“Where’s the captain?” he asked. The deck hand shrugged.

“Sleeping,” he said. With Mammon, was the unspoken implication.

The sun sank like a molten glob of metal dissolving in a forge, tinting the distant waves with gold. Stars winked into being overhead, and the breeze died as the sky turned first to lavender, and then the darker grey of twilight. A shadow moved in the periphery of Ezra’s vision and he whirled. But there was nothing there.

The deck hand edged away from him, and Ezra resisted the impulse to curse. What would he give to be back at the training house in Stonehaven with his studies rather than surrounded by peasants in this demon infested pit of madness.

“Ezra! Excuse me, Your Grace!” someone was calling him, and he tore his eyes away from the shadows. He couldn’t remember the man’s name. They were all alike: burly and uncouth.

“What?” he said.

“The captains and inquisitors are meeting onboard the Warspite,” the man said, out of breath from climbing the ladder. He bent over, breathing hard. “Lothor sent me to find you.”

“Thanks,” said Ezra, and he set off into the twilight, his leaden feet just as eager as the rest of him to listen to the blathering of his superiors. Down the ladder he went once more, and across the intervening gaps between the resting ships. The Warspite’s bulk rested precariously on its fins, shored up against sand and soil, but the grounded vessel was large enough that it had a proper walkway. No climbing the ropes, here. More convenient, he found himself thinking, as he mounted the ramp, but less defensible. Although, of course it could be raised and lowered, with some effort.

The group of captains and inquisitors stood on one side of the Warspite’s deck, near the wheelhouse. The size of the ship was a bit of a shock after so many weeks aboard the cramped confines of the Sky Lion.

“This is a good vantage point,” Captain Marlow was saying, as Ezra joined them. Lothor nodded at him, the senior inquisitors’ lips a thin line in the grey of the old man’s face. Some of the inquisitors looked at him and he smoothed out his face, nodding pleasantly - making sure no hint of his desire to slug them in their smug, geriatric faces reached the surface. Marlow shaded his eyes, his gaze sweeping across the darkening wilderness.

“There is nothing here for us to build with. Those shrubs don’t have much wood. Do we have enough cavorite to move the fleet? I see trees a little closer to the mountain.”

“Barely,” said Captain Joris of the Storm Lotus. “But we could make it.”

“Do you think it’s safe?” said Captain Reuben of the Lazy Magpie, “to go closer to the savage settlement?” A scrawny, rat-faced man, Reuben might as well have had ‘king of thieves’ tattooed across his forehead. Although they sailed with the Empresses’ blessing, the expedition was, theoretically, a private venture. It had attracted all types.

“No, man,” said Lothor. “It is not ‘safe’. We would be naïve to assume such a thing. Remember Varangot.”

“We need to build a palisade,” said Ezra, unable to keep quiet. “Defences. As quickly as possible. We need something between us and–” he gestured out at the mountain beyond.

“There’s nothing there,” squawked Joris. The Storm Lotus’ captain was a merchantman whose once smart velvets were crumpled and creased. The cuffs were worn by the sea and the salt, and there were bare patches on his shoulders. Never had Ezra seen a man more uncomfortable with his life choices. He snorted, and opened his mouth to respond, then shut it again.

“Our priority has to be the cavorite,” said Marlow, looking troubled. “Our priority has always been cavorite.”

“Are we to ignore the events that took place on the Sky Lion, these few days past?” said Lothor in clipped tones. The senior inquisitor tilted his head, managing to look down his sour, pock- marked nose at the much younger, and taller captain. “Do we pretend that the savage woman did not murder, and consume the flesh of the Sky Lion’s rune master? That she did not toss crew men over the railing when confronted? That she has not ensnared Captain Boaz with her feminine wiles? That none of our souls are in danger?”

“Surely this is an overreaction,” said Reuben. “The woman is savage, yes, but we are enlightened men are we not? We can dispose of her easily enough once the cavorite is discovered.”

“Easy enough!” Ezra said, hotly. “Do you think I exaggerate my tale? Are you accusing me of lying?”

“No, no,” said Reuben, flapping his hands. “Of course not. I’m just saying, it has been stressful, emotions running high. It is possible you didn’t see what you thought you saw?”

“If you think that, then you deserve the death that is coming to you,” said Ezra.

“Ezra,” said Lothor, warningly. He bit back the words that boiled in his throat.

“You saw her bend the firearm,” said one of the other inquisitors.

“You should listen to him,” said Oskar, the Inquisitor for the Lazy Magpie, a pompous old git, for all he sailed with the peasants. “He’s a chime child.”

Joris looked at Ezra sideways, and then inched away. Ezra dug his nails into his hands, pretending not to see, repressing the urge to shout, to shake the man, to scream in his ear. It would do no good. It never did.

“You should listen to me because I’m right,” he said. “Not because I was born on the midnight hour. Although, granted, I have access to information you do not. I see things you cannot. I see the demon, and it is foul. The other Inquisitors know, even if they cannot see it with their own eyes.” The old men nodded, their brows drawn together. “There are things out here-” He paused, trying to find the words. He knew disaster was upon them, it might already be too late. Never mind the old woman, it was so much easier to ignore a demon that you couldn’t see. To ignore everything. He needed to persuade the damned fools, even if it would be more satisfying to watch them have their spines torn out by the demon-possessed witch and her fellows. But Ezra’s life was tied to theirs, as much as he hated it. “You will regret waiting,” he said, at last. “We all will. I am sure of it. It might seem more logical to wait but I assure you, every moment that woman lives our danger increases.”

Around him the other inquisitors nodded their agreement.

“The corruption will spread,” Lothor said, and Ezra was grateful. The old inquisitor had not reached his age without knowing a thing or two about the shadows. “Already, Boaz has been taken, embraced by that foul evil. We cannot allow the witch to continue her influence. We should prepare a pyre.”

“As soon as we find cavorite,” muttered Marlow. He looked over his shoulder. “Where is Boaz, anyway? This meeting is supposed to be for all the captains.”

Ezra nearly punched the cabin wall in frustration.

“Are you not listening, man?” said Lothor, harshly. “The witch has him. He is no longer our man. He is lost -”

Ezra’s shoulder blades twitched. He peered across the unfamiliar deck. It was dark, the torches in the process of being lit. The deep shadows made it hard to see. Something moved. His eye was drawn to the movement, because it seemed jerky. Unnatural, but he couldn’t make out the figure. There was a strange noise – a rasping, hissing, groan - where the hatch led below deck, loud enough that everyone turned the same way as Ezra, some of them frowning, some of them alarmed. A red flair lit the sky.

“Something comes!” The watch screamed from above, the lad’s voice high-pitched with terror. A tortured wail mixed with the voice of a beast ripped across the deck, making Ezra’s skin crawl.

“What in the Empress’ name?” cried Marlow, drawing his sword. “What is it?”

“I don’t know!” came the shout from the nest, far above. “I just see blood in the doorway. There! In the darkness! Olaf! Olaf is being dragged, help him! Help him, help him, by the gods, it's eating him!”

“We are under attack,” shouted Lothor. “To arms!”

“Come on!” shouted Marlow, dashing forwards. Half the men followed him, the rest, cowards, lingered behind. Dark figures collided. Another scream split the air. It was lost in the rising commotion. Gunshots, screams and shouting echoed through the night. Flairs bloomed in the darkness above the Valiant and the Bright Terror. Whatever was happening on the Warspite was happening on other ships. By the sickly light of the flairs Ezra saw them – shambling corpses, half-human figures with rotting flesh. The light died. The sickening stench of sulphur and rotting flesh rolled across the deck. Ezra’s stomach clenched, as he ran, thinking of the old woman. It must be the natives! Some witchcraft, some shaman projecting evil magics? But then the time for thought was past.

A lumbering figure blocked his way. Where it touched, the night pooled – ink spot stains that rippled reality as the creature passed, before fading away. It was clutching a severed human arm. Ezra skidded to a halt, his brain frozen as he tried to process. The creature threw back its bloodstained maw and howled, the noise rattling Ezra to his very core but jolting him into action. He drove his blade into the creature’s stomach.

He expected more resistance, but the creature’s flesh gave like straw. Rotting flesh dissolved with shocking suddenness into a pile of ash-fine powder. Only the half chewed human arm was left, bouncing on the planks.

“Iron!” roared Lothor, behind him. The old man ran through another of the creatures, and turned to the rest. The deck was thick with them, but it was so hard to see. “Cleansing flame! Have faith, men!”

Ezra turned, blinking. Trying to parse the scene before him. To his right was another monster. One of the deckhands swiped at it and missed. The hollow man stumbled toward him on rotting legs, grabbing at the airman man with fleshy hands. The airman scrabbled away, and tripped. It fell forward onto him, sinking black oozing teeth into the man’s neck. He screamed, his bulging eyes goggling out of his face, the whites of his eyeballs clearly visible all around the edges. The noise stopped as the creature bit down on an artery.

Ezra ran it through, sobbing. It dissolved with the same shocking suddenness. The dead airman fell to the planks, blood spurting like a fountain from the wound on his neck. The deck was soon slick with crimson. Ezra stepped back, trying not to slip in the blood, searching the darkness for another opponent.

“Don’t let them touch you!” shouted Marlow from behind.

“Where are they coming from?” someone screamed.

It was a good question.

Ezra glanced around wildly. It was hard to focus. His veins pumping, his heart hammering in his ears and the air was thick with spirits. Attracted, he knew, to the blood. He dismissed the floating shadows and tried to concentrate. They were harmless. Probably. The rotting flesh creatures were not. There! In the doorway. A shadow had blinked into existence in the doorway that led to the mess. Clawing and scraping at the doorframe, it solidified and transformed into another hollow man. It was hauling itself as if through a window.

“The doorway!” shouted Ezra, “they are crawling out of the doorways… coming from nothing!”

“How do we stop them?” shouted Marlow.

“I don’t know!”

“Iron!” shouted Lothor, and Ezra was ashamed. He knew, had seen it, moments before with his own eyes, studied the texts but he had never been able to keep his head in a fight. He rushed to the doorway, slashing at the creature and it dissolved in a whoosh. Moving away, the shadows stared to pool once more.

“Steel!” he shouted, moving back. The shadow vanished. “Get your weapons in the doorways. We need iron in the doorways!”

“Spread the word!” shouted Marlow.

The shout went up, passing from man to man, and ship to ship. Slowly the chaos abated leaving behind only the rasp of exhausted men, and the thudding of their hearts.