“Land!” Kes’ssan shouted from his position up in the rigging. The young man seemed to never tire up there, serving as lookout for the crew as they sailed. As of right now, he pointed off in the distance, along the coast.

“Aye, and we’ve seen coastline for the past few days.” Bes’sahn grumbled, scrubbing the deck. He stood up briefly to stretch his back, peering up and drawling irritably, “What’s your point?”

“He’s saying it’s a port,” Captain Is’shil replied suddenly, appearing from below deck unexpectedly, “aren’cha?” He peered up at the rigging, seeing Kes’ssan clamber through the ropes like some strange monkey. “We’ve been sailing for nearly a week. We should be close by now.”

“Close?” Willem asked, leaning on the vine railing, trying to peer into the distance. There was a sheer rock face that he could see in the distance, a massive cliff of red that seemed to rise out of the sea. It loomed imperiously over the horizon, like some great wall of stone that lined the horizon. Malifor, he thought dimly. The lands that lay to the south of Altaros, home to barbaric horsemen and swathes of desert. He had wondered at first what business the Vysians had coming here, but after seeing the chains nights ago, he now understood.

Many men took to slaving, not as their only source of income, but as another option to fill the coffers when purses ran low. Yet slaves were expensive for a reason—they were hard to procure. They were most common in lands frequented by war, where prisoners could be traded for goods. And so Malifor was an excellent place for slavers, if nothing else because of the structure of their society.

Centered around honor and strength, they disdained the cowardly and the infirm. With their lands devoid of many resources save for the grasslands along the coast, trade was essential for their survival. And so many slavers would come to Malifor, offering all manner of fruits and metals in exchange for slaves. It seemed obvious that the Vysians had come to do the same.

It was with this in mind that reminded himself that he was a guest on their ship. The best way to judge a man was how he treated inferiors, not his peers—Willem had learned that on the streets of Mea Vatal. The Vysians treated him kindly enough, but he had the sneaking suspicion that it was only because he was a channeler. After he had cast magic for them that night, he had woken to find himself in his own cabin with a cot and clean clothes waiting. What would he have been given if he had failed, if he had not proven himself useful? Would he have found himself sleeping alongside the crates—or would he have found himself in those chains?

Don’t be a fool, he reprimanded himself, shaking his head as he turned away from the railing. No one would ever take a cripple for a slave—there would be no buyers. His leg stump throbbed painfully as he thought, and he rapped his fingers on the wood. Taking in a deep breath, he watched as they neared the coast, approaching an inlet where the cliff face sloped downwards to yield what seemed to be a small bay.

As the vessel approached what seemed to be a crude harbor, the rest of the crew came up onto the deck. “Damn, no other ships?” Ves’shen asked, peering at the motionless dock. There were some bits of wood that made a pier, but the entire place seemed eerily quiet. Captain Is’shil seemed to think for a moment before looking up at Kes’ssan.

“Can you see anything, boy? People? Maybe’ve some people on th’plains?” he asked, gesturing to the rock that rose out of the sides of the harbor. As the ship drifted in closer towards the pier, there was a strange silence that fell over the crew. They all waited for Kes’ssan to give an answer, and yet there was a strange sensation in Willem’s stomach—he already knew what would be said.

“None, captain.”

“None? M’hara issei.” Bes’sahn swore before striding towards the front of the ship, hands holding a length of rope. As the ship neared the pier, he lashed the rope around a pillar, pulling in the vessel and securing it before vaulting onto the wooden planks. “What happened here, captain?”

“The ports’ve never been empty before. Did something happen t’the people?” he mused before waving a hand. “Bes’sahn, mankai, come with me. We’ll go t’look around. Nis’shan, Ves’shen, Kes’ssan, watch the ship. I don’ trust this place, Nessa watch us.” he decided before joining Bes’sahn on the dock. Willem paused for a moment before clambering down, his wooden leg awkwardly striking the pier.

“Aye, cap’n.” Ves’shen muttered lazily, waving them off with a sloppy salute. The three disembarked with a curious caution, heading towards the stairs carved into the cliff face that took them up the stone. Willem found himself swallowing hard despite the company, a strange dread settling into his bones. Perhaps it was the eerie stillness of the entire surroundings, or perhaps it was merely the unexpected situation, but he found himself expecting the worst. It was merely his instincts speaking, but as a lifelong cripple he had long since learned to trust his instincts before any other men. They had kept him alive on too many occasions to count.

His instincts right now screamed at him to flee.

They come close now, so warm, so hot, so soft. It hurts so much, I’m so hungry. So hungry—so, so hungry. I can see them, yes. I can see them. It’s so close—so painfully, painfully close. They are coming closer, yes, yes, a little closer. Can I go now? Can I go eat?

Please?

There was a town at the top of the cliff face, overlooking the harbor—or at least, as much of a town as could be expected of the Malifori. Without the resources for a strong infrastructure, their towns consisted of tents made from hide and leather, sprawling out over the lands. Wells dug into the ground were the only thing that kept people close—without them, there could be miles before reaching some meager river.

This town was no exception, the main landmark a massive stone well with a handle of metal, one of the few things important enough to warrant the material. Tents circled around the well, supported by sticks and large enough for three men on average. There were pits for campfires and trenches for waste, bones and bits of rotten food scattered around and blowing in the wind. Yet it was all disturbingly empty.

All the people there had vanished seemingly without a trace.

Silently, they walked towards one of the tents, an air of tension and nervousness surrounding all of them. Bes’sahn was the first to peel back the entrance, letting the halfday sun shine inside of the tent. A sudden stench of death and decay poured out from inside, cloying and heavy like a shroud. Willem flinched instantly, his eyes watering and his heart freezing in his chest. “Five and three curses!” he swore, peering over Bes’sahn’s shoulder only to stop in fear.

There were nothing but bones inside the tent, scattered into vague piles. While some were large, there was one that clearly belonged to a child. The dirt around them was stained with dried blood, and bones themselves picked utterly clean. Even at this distance, Willem could see the gnawing marks on the bones, where the flesh on them had been utterly devoured.

“What...happened?” Bes’sahn asked in horror, and Captain Is’shil suddenly ran. Making his way over to another tent, he threw open the entrance as well, the stark white of his face delivering a clear message. Again and again they went through the town, finding nothing but bones of the dead waiting. Above them, Willem saw carrion birds cawing in circles. A few dared to land, but they were withered and skinny—clearly there was not even anything left behind for them to eat.

Captain Is’shil shook his head sadly, his eyes downcast. “They’re all dead.” he muttered sadly before stopping by the well. There were bones inside there as well, from men that seemed to have fallen inside out of desperation. There were bones everywhere, from grown men to the smallest of a newborn infant. They had all been picked clean, like something done by starving animals. Yet what animals could decimate a village like this?

“Most of them were inside their tents.” Bes’sahn replied softly. “They were most likely sleeping when they were killed. And it doesn’t seem to be the work of any men.”

No, not men, came the thought. Willem remembered the dream that he had on the ship. He remembered the swarm that had descended to feast upon his body. He remembered the bones that were left behind after, picked clean to the marrow. They had looked just like these bones. The swarm had devoured these people—he knew it.

“We need to get back to the ship.” he spoke quickly. “It’s not safe to stay here, if whatever killed them is still around.” His eyes were wide, his heartbeat thumping loudly in his ears. Certainly, he had no evidence that this plague had not left as quickly as it had come, but that sensation of danger and doom refused to leave him. Together they ran back to the harbor hurriedly, yet Bes’sahn let out a shout as they were still making their way down the steps.

Looking out at the port, he saw the ship drifting out on its own accord, the rope fastening it to the port now loose and fallen into the water. There was no movement on the deck, the ship apparently abandoned as it left the port.

“What the hell?” Bes’sahn yelled, bolting across the pier. Willem looked into the rigging, seeing movement amidst the ropes. Was it Kes’ssan? Yet as he looked harder, he saw something tangled in the ropes, blowing in the wind. As the gale picked up speed, they began to fall and clatter on the pristine deck.

Bones. More bones.

Willem froze on the steps, watching in horror as those bones clattered onto the wood. Bes’sahn had stopped as well, and an eerie silence descended upon them. There was only the lapping of the waves, the whistling of the wind in their ears.

“Wait…” Captain Is’shil muttered, his face pale with sweat. And Willem strained to see, strained to listen. There was more to the silence—a soft humming. It resonated through his flesh and blood, building in his ears like a distant pressure that only grew.

Louder and louder the humming grew, until it was more like a buzzing. Bes’sahn began to inch backwards nervously, the ship suddenly stopping its drifting.only to turn as if pivoting. It wheeled about to face them, the prow pointed straight at Bes’sahn. That buzzing noise grew louder, and abruptly Bes’sahn began to run.

He bolted down the pier without preamble, a look of raw fear on his face. Captain Is’shil was still as ice, staring at that ship with an unreadable expression. Even Willem could not look away, despite the terror that seized him—or perhaps because of it.

A black cloud flew out of the ship, slipping out of the cracks and seams in the wood only to coalesce in the air. That buzzing grew louder, became a veritable scream as the cloud of shadow flew towards Bes’sahn. Despite his efforts, it swallowed him whole. That incessant buzzing only grew louder still, such that Willem could not even hear the Vysian scream.

There was blood dripping from the shifting cloud, dripping onto the dock below. In the span of a few seconds, the cloud lifted, dispersed. What they left behind was enough to make Willem turn away, to make him run back up to the cliff and run through the dead town. He did not know where he wanted to run, did not know how he planned to get away. He only knew that he needed to get away from that buzzing, needed to distance himself from that cloud of voracious shadow.

He only knew that he needed to get away from those bones.