The Tunnels of Woe

Book 1: A Bounty Like No Other

Chapter 5 Part 1: The Sea Maiden's Song

Tirro fell to the deck, and if not for the quick hands of a practiced deckhand would've been swept into the sea by the torrent of waves and rain washing past them. In an instant the bone freezing waves of rain were pulled miles clear.

The sun, no suns Tirro corrected upon counting, burst from the canopy of clouds burning many of the undead, and slowing the rest. Like a school of demented possessed fish the denizens of the lagoon fled in all directions whaling. Only the sirens, and beasts of less dead flavors remained with their horrid mistress.

The now blinded and dazed deckhand had just recovered his footing in the suddenly calm sea when another cry reached his ear. Muffled, and far as if from miles under the waves beneath his feet. Then there was another answering shout whose words were intelligible, but whose tones were unmistakable to a boy who’d spent his summers and winters in the house of the Doge's best cuirassiers.

They were the battle cries of warriors. They were coming for sure, and though Tirro had no way to discern their allegiance he felt the likelihood of them aiding the seahag to be remote given the effect the echoing shouts had on their would be captor’s minions.

This time the sirens abandoned the field. They were ambush predators at heart. A fight on the field of battle let alone one above or below the waves was not their way. Theirs was the path of the temptress and seducer, and though inhumanly strong in their true forms they were far from durable.

More than one of the undersea depraved hussies had been reminded of their fragility on the deck of their skiff. Now just another stain of gore for a very tired and overworked deckhand to cleanse once they finally made port. If they ever found their way home from this adventure.

Unfortunately, the rest of the minions of the cursed lagoon seemed bound or more than willing to fight, and endure the suns though many of them keened and wailed distress up at the pure blue skies above their heads. Uncle Curroz was never one to sleep when his opponent acted in error. The skiff revved to life again even as he kicked the last of the nautical monstrosities off his half of the boat. Tirro shook himself, joining in finding only one hammer headed shark man on the bow to contend with.

The being was distracted by the sounds of trumpets bellowing underneath the waves otherwise he would’ve been more than an opponent for the young deckhand. The beast’s size was difficult to gauge with half of the bulk hanging over the side of the ship, and the top half flopping over the bow of the ship.

The fangs were long and dripping, the eyes burning black, and the expression disturbingly human. The arms were what would stick with Tirro. A shark just shouldn’t have such appendages.

With the crossbow machinery going through its arduous reload, Tirro instead took up the hook and harpoon hybrid polearm Uncle Curroz had used on the unnatural demons of the tunnels while listening for that click which would mark another light bolt prepared for cleansing more monstrosities. Running forward with the arbalest under in his armpit Tirro drove the makeshift spear right into what appeared to be a neck in the shark man’s torso. The point went directly into a gill, and would’ve punched clean through if said neck wasn’t four feet thick. Nonetheless the desired effect was immediate.

Blood black as night smelling of rot and dead fish sprayed the deck and deckhand alike. The monster flailed and roared like a lion being strangled, and Tirro pushed with all his might which for a boy his age was considerate. Unfortunately, the fish man weighed more than a thousand pounds by any estimation.

Its immense bulk threatened to capsize the boat so though the beast teetered and bellowed it did not slip under the waves to die. Worse, the beady black eyes that seemed to burn in unholy darkness focused on their tormentor in a flash. That might have been it for a brave but foolhardy deckhand if not for the click of the crossbow under his arm.

The sound of the machinery finishing that bolt for fire was a beautiful symphony to Tirro’s ears. He would not make his mother grieve over a wayward child dead before his prime. At least not yet.

Dropping back to the deck Tirro felt the whoosh as the massive hand slashed the air where his body had stood. While he fell the deckhand brought up the arbalest as the sharkman flopped like a fish on the bow from his failed strike and blood loss. The monster had just managed to rip the polearm from his gills when Tirro let fly. At this range the giant was nothing more than a massive oversized slobbering target.

The burst of the demon's brains was satisfying like that of a butcher chopping a fish’s head for a perfect filet. If the monstrosity had managed more human traits than shark perhaps Tirro might have felt more disturbed by the prospect, but in fact he was far more busy wondering if his sudden hunger for his mother’s tuna filets and buttered loafs was borderline cannibalistic. Better to let the priests worry if he needed to beg forgiveness at his next confession.

Regardless of the tastefulness of shark headed men the act had left their decks free of pests, and the suns were warming Tirro’s bones and soul. He had worried that this world would be three times as hot as his own, but in fact these burning lights in the sky seemed smaller or perhaps farther away.

Whatever the case, each sun was less scorching than their own meaning things felt cooler, but they may have simply been in an arctic sea for all Tirro knew. The deckhand looked at his Captain who, though doubled over the helm, smiled a gold tooth grin at his nephew.

“If this cursed passage of the damned lasts longer, nephew, I will bore of monsters lusting after our souls and flesh.” Tirro laughed and checked his arbalest. One bolt left before he would need to load more into the mechanism. He pondered just how low they’re store of shot had dwindled.

“Then Uncle we best turn this vessel to familiar waters. A Veni man without the fear of the denizens of the devil’s host would surely bore of life soon after, and then where shall he soften the dull doldrums of port life?” Tirro called back as he searched the bow storage for more bolts. He only found three. Four shots would have to see them home.

“Ha, but as there are no stars for our guidance lad we be stuck here as well as anywhere. Shall we play your game of seahag charging once more?”

“Most definitely Captain!” Tirro grinned broadly as he dumped the last of the bolts into the magazine of his arbalest, and felt the skiff turn back toward the rocky skull island lurging like a determined drunk. The rogue wave had pushed them surprising far from the scraggly black stones, and the ship was finally acting up after the extensive abuse. Still, she would ride them to their target true enough.

There on the island a far strange scene awaited the Veni men. Trumpets continued around them, as well as the shouts of nautical warriors unseen but drawing nearer with each cry, but around the crag of jutted stone and cursed lighthouse was a song. Sweet was the melody, but potent in its upbeat tempo.

Each word in languages unknown permeated the air till the atmosphere felt thick and electric. No normal song then. An enchantment sung on the water where the waves resonated with its tune, and if Tirro wasn’t mistaken even seemed to dance to the war song.

There outside the main doors to the towering lighthouse was the merwoman who, if the age of such creatures could be judged next to man’s, appeared no older than Tirro himself. A scepter was now in her hands and instead of the black crown a wreath of lilies rested on top of a silver crown that reflected the light in most blinding fashion.

There the Seahag faced her small form, and it would seem that the merwoman would be crushed. The song of the young sea maiden sang was more powerful than the deckhand could guess. With each beat the hag screamed and writhed, however some of the witch's minions were not as hampered, and Tirro took aim as he saw the wretches begin to close on their would be ally. He prayed they would reach her in time.

The Story Will Continue Every Wednesday.

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