Washed Ashore

Join Sister Ursula as she and her squad return to Cleathad in hopes of rest, only to find a new threat in the city's harbour. Written in 44 AS.

 

We arrived back to Cleathad in a torrent of wind and rain, deafening us as water ran from the brims of our helmets in thick, wobbling streams. The sound of the opening gate was indiscernible over the noise, turning the atmosphere almost dreamlike as the massive wooden doors swung silently open.

 

Or it would have been dreamlike, if the gate, carved with the knotted form of Fearsome Shark, hadn’t let through a blast of wind that forced our heads down.

 

Cleathad is built on a slope, its structures nestled into the steep ground as the streets run down to the bay. On clear days, you can see the entire city from its gate, and much of the waters beyond it. Now, the only waters we were seeing were those flung into our eyes and collapsing onto the streets and nearby rooftops, gushing down into the gutters and juddering wildly as wind fought against gravity.

 

The rain had soaked through my gambeson and was now finding its way underneath my cuirass, making my shoulders chafe. I tried wriggling them to get some relief, but to no avail. It didn’t help that a Beast’s weight was pulling on them.

 

It had once been a deer, but it was bulked up out of proportion. Its shoulders and neck were like boulders. Its hind legs had become so muscular they might well have been able to kick through actual boulders. Its antlers were a mess, all sharp ends and angles. And – thankfully – it was dead.

 

We had killed it perhaps an hour before. Ideally, the remains would have been burned on the spot, but – on top of the weather allowing no such thing – the people of Cleathad were new to our services and wanted to see proof of our prowess. Thus, we had taken ropes along, with which we now brought in our prey. Of course, we had embedded our Starsteel daggers into the Beast’s vital parts, lest it be resurrected again. But the Beast’s lack of life did nothing to alleviate its weight. I can’t speak for my Siblings, but after the hour-long haul, I was ready for a long and proper rest.

 

Alas.

 

Brother Vincent, our squad leader, led the way through the open gates, tugging on his rope while giving encouragement. Sister Philippa, Brother Will, Brother Charles, and I pulled on, dragging the Beast from sodden grass across muddy earth to slick cobble stones under the concerned gaze of Cleathad’s Protectors – or guards, as they call themselves.

 

We slowly entered the city, the gate clunking closed behind us, but before we went on Vincent made us stop. He had us reposition ourselves behind the Beast and told us to brace. He then pushed down on the carcass with his leg, allowing it to slide downhill until the ropes went taut.

 

Thus we continued, slowly guiding the Beast down as Vincent continued to push at it. It was awkward and heavy, but sometimes the carcass suddenly slipped of its own accord, and I appreciated being uphill from its twisting antlers when it did. We kept going without complaint, although I’m sure my Siblings’ limbs begged for mercy as mine did. Vincent continued to encourage us as we lowered the body down to the bay, where we were staying.

 

We were getting closer to the waters, and when the wind whipped gaps into the rain I could just make out the waterline creeping into town as the storm pushed the sea inland. Vincent noticed too, and made us stop a little ways away from where the hill levelled out into the bay proper. Will complained, but Vincent urged him to silence with a single sound.

 

He’d heard something. Something dangerous.

 

We pricked our ears, trying to parse the sounds underneath the beating winds, the lashing rains, the roaring waves. I closed my eyes, ignoring the strain in my body as I slowed my breath and listened, truly listened.

 

I heard a scream cutting through the noise.

 

Vincent cursed, casting around. It may well have been someone startled by a wave, but we would be remiss not to investigate. Resigned, he ordered for us to let go of the ropes. We obeyed, blood rushing through my strained skin and muscles as the Beast’s body sagged at the sudden lack of tension. Vincent ordered us to form up, and we did, setting the pain, strain, and discomfort aside. He placed us in the shape of an arrowhead, Vincent himself forming the tip with Will and myself forming the right side and Philippa and Charles the left. We plunged downhill, beyond the Beast, Charles and I wrenching our heads to the side to keep our flanks secure, Vincent, Philippa, and Will looking for the source of the scream.

 

As we entered the harbour’s abandoned main market square – a barren rectangle now that its stands were taken away because of the storm –, we allowed the arrowhead to melt into a line with Vincent at its centre. We spread out, water engulfing our feet, ankles, and calves as we progressed.

 

Without warning, a massive wave broke against the seawall in front of us, foaming water raising itself across the rain-darkened skies. The wall was designed to force waves back, but the sea was surging so violently that the water partially poured across it instead, almost barreling me over as it first pushed, then pulled at my legs. I looked to the left and saw Will, Vincent, and Philippa still standing, but Charles had been pushed over. Only, it wasn’t the wave itself that had brought him down.

 

Atop him lay a massive fish with a bulging body and a thick tail. Its skin was a mottled brown, slick with seawater and rain. Gills flared behind massive jaws, its broad face split in two by the long slit of its mouth, patches of thin white teeth dotting its gums. Atop its face sat a clutch of at least a dozen eyes jostling for space, a single fleshy rod arcing over them to end in a bulb now dangling in Charles’s face as he struggled to keep it above water.

 

We couldn’t fire in these conditions: our muskets’ powder pans were filled with water, and even if they hadn’t been, the chance of hitting Charles was too high. However, the latest addition to our equipment saw us bring our muskets to bear nonetheless: bayonets – affixed around the guns’ muzzles and extending in slender, triangular spikes – were levelled as we rushed through the water. They were Starsteel, hints of constellations glimmering under the falling rain as we plunged forwards to save our Brother.

 

Philippa was first to strike, her bayonet hitting the Beast near the spine. Then came Vincent, an expert thrust going into the gills and coming out at the eyes, bursting one in a spray of black ichor and clear jelly. Will finished the job by ramming into the Beasts’ side and heaving it off Charles’s chest, allowing me to grasp him by the cuirass with one free hand and heave him up, helping him stand.

 

Thankfully, the Beast’s mouth had come short of getting to Charles’s face or throat, its clumsy shape keeping it from lashing out. He cursed at the thing nonetheless, protesting that he refused to leave the world with the inside of an ugly fish’s wide gob as his final view. Will chortled at this, dubbing the Beast Widegob and telling us all to call it exactly that in our reports.

 

Before the mood well and truly lightened, however, we heard another scream, further along the harbour. Vincent set off immediately, ordering us to follow.

 

We sloshed through the shifting waters, past piers and docks lost to the storm, which gave no sign of letting up. Moored ships groaned at the onslaught, their masts creaking. With every breaking wave, we turned to face the sea and braced, our bayonets up lest another Widegob be hurled ashore. The screams kept coming, soon overlapping as more and more voices allowed themselves to be heard over the lashing wind.

 

Turning a corner, we came to a second, smaller market square. It was rectangular like the first, and its stands were taken away as well, but it was unfortunately much less abandoned.

 

Four clusters of thrashing people dotted the square, many of them screaming in panic and desperation as others tried to bellow muddled instructions. The market was slightly sunken, so that any water that made it across the seawall could drain back out through a series of holes. But the storm was far too much for any drainage system to handle, and between the groups of people dashed the dark forms of more Widegobs, not nearly as comical in their natural habitat.

 

Several had latched onto people’s legs, pulling at their victims as the rest of the crowd held onto them in a painful spectacle of thrashing water and tearing flesh. Other Beasts had already made off with their bounty, two writhing shapes gnawing at the watery silhouettes of those whose neighbours were unable to save them. Exactly why these people were out in such a storm was unclear to us, but that mattered little now.

 

Not stalling for a moment, Vincent began giving orders as we waded in, the water slapping at our knees. We split up, each of us rushing towards another cluster of people as best we could. Will reached the nearest group, close to the seawall. His earlier joviality replaced by tempered fury, he rammed his bayonet through the Widegob’s eye-clutch, angling it so that he wouldn’t strike the leg it held in its mouth. He pulled his musket free and jammed the stock in the Beast’s maw, levering it open so that the man being pulled on could be freed. I saw Will position himself in front of the group as I pushed past. He was holding his bayonet low while trying to explain how to tie off the man’s wounds to the people behind him.

 

Vincent and I plunged into the square’s centre, thrusting viciously at a Widegob that let go of its victim and shot away at the last moment, escaping across the half-flooded seawall with a floundering leap.

 

Phillipa went further from the sea. Her target saw her coming and rushed her, but she speared it in a single fluid move, letting it crumple onto her musket’s muzzle as the bayonet sank deep.

 

Charles tried his best to get to the cluster across the square in time, but the Widegob managed to force the woman it had latched onto out of the group’s grasp just before he reached it, pulling her away. Desperate, he hurled his musket like a javelin. It skewered the Beast’s tail, but the tip failed to find purchase on the cobbled ground. The Widegob swam on, pulling the musket along. Charles cursed and drew his sabre as he plunged after the Beast.

 

He tried to catch up to the Widegob, but there was no hope of that as it slithered for the seawall. I was in a better position, though, and the moment Vincent spoke my name I darted forwards. Catching the Beast in the side, I sank through my knees as I struck. The water tugged at me, my padded clothing soaked and heavy, my cuirass filling with the sea.

 

Thankfully, Charles reached me before my head went underwater and hoisted me back up. We then pulled at the woman together, but the moment we lifted her face out of the water it was clear it was too late for her.

 

There were two Beasts left, still feasting on their victims. Vincent gave us the signal to be ready. Charles sheathed his sabre and retrieved his musket as he kept his eyes trained on the two murky shapes. They ceased eating. Instead, they lay still, their bellies caressing the cobblestones of Cleathad’s harbour. An expectant hush descended, as if even the storm was waiting for the Beasts to make a move. They had fed, sure, but Beasts crave more than food; they crave human death.

 

And so the Widegobs shot forwards.

 

Vincent sprang through the water, crashing down bayonet-first onto one of the Beasts. The second had been moving for Will, but suddenly turned to latch itself onto Vincent’s leg instead. Vincent yelped as the Widegob pulled, the sound cut off as his face was wrenched underneath the waves.

 

Charles and I rushed forwards, as did Will across from us and, further away, Philippa, but just then a massive wave broke across the seawall and crashed on top of us. We tumbled down, spinning through the water, spilling across the market square, arms, legs, and armoured heads banging against the cobblestones.

 

The moment the wave stopped pushing, Charles and I were struggling to our feet. We were completely turned around. All over the square, the people we were trying to save were flopping in and out of the water as they tried to flee. I cast around for Vincent, Philippa, and Will.

 

I saw the final Widegob first. There is no doubt in my mind now that it was the one that Vincent and I had missed, pushed back ashore by the wave. I saw my Brother second, his head hidden inside the Beast’s maw as he lay completely limp.

 

Charles screamed next to me. Philippa roared somewhere behind me. I sucked in air and gritted my teeth as we all burst forwards, our strides cutting across the waterlogged square as if it were a fine summer day.

 

Then Vincent burst up from the water, raising his dully glinting sabre in one hand while tossing a carved up Widegob aside with the other. It wasn’t him the final Beast had taken.

 

It was Will.

 

Before I could process what had happened, Vincent was by Will’s side. He brought down his sabre in a bellowing overhead cut. The Starsteel struck through the Widegob’s spine, ending it in a single swing. Vincent tossed his sabre into the water and grasped the dead Beast’s maw with his bare hands, forcing it to let go.

 

We reached Vincent as he lifted Will from the shifting waters, his face stuck in a warrior’s glower, and began to carry him out of the market. We followed, the wind still howling, the rain still crashing down, our minds focused on the task at hand.

 

Herding the panicked people in front of us, we ensured everyone was able to get to safety. Then we took off Will’s armour and put a bayonet through his heart to keep him from turning. Finally, we returned to the water.

 

In the continuing storm, it was impossible to collect our lost weapons, nevermind ensure the Widegobs could not revive. And so we stood guard, watching the waves as they continued to crash, ready for action. All night, the waves broke across the seawall. All night, we held steady, ignoring our exhaustion, ignoring our grief.

 

It was only when dawn began to break, when the wind laid down and the water began receding, that we could be sure.

 

The Beasts were dead.