The Mantle of the Past

“Rage!” the voice echoed down the ship, “Your howling rage has transformed you. How many need to be slaughtered before you close the gate to this world of violence? How many good men would you see go to their deaths to satisfy your anger?” His words danced along the deck of the ship only to be scattered by the wind.

The sun dipped under the horizon, the bright light of the day turning to twilight. This argument had gone back and fore all day, and no resolution was in sight. None of this felt right. Pitae Kinsol wanted to do nothing else but turn and run back to Pittuntik. The rolling of the ship upon the water was making the feeling of dread in his stomach overwhelming, as if the sea were swallowing them whole. His head was spinning, as if floating on a dreamscape, the void between worlds, through which he could see only more death to come.

“We should go back.” he said, forlorn, “Return after we have had time to stop and think.” He was met by silence, none of his brothers in arms even looked at him. A hard voice, forged in anger, came from the prow of the ship, “He murdered Kolmosoi, what else is there to think about?” There was iron in those words, the sound of a hardened attitude bent on a single purpose. Kunae was not a man to be deterred from his path.

“Kolmosoi was his captain too, and you don’t know that he killed him Kunae. If he did, it was almost certainly an accident.” Pitae replied, tired of this duel.

Kunae Rososthup turned to face him, blocking out what was left of the sun’s light. An intimidating armour-clad, shadow fell over Pitae. Despite having the typical black, almost navy, hair of the Salxosu, with the pale skin and sea blue eyes to match, Kunae was not slight like many of his people. Instead, he was thickset and well-muscled across his shoulders, like an archer grown accustomed to years bending a bow. Those eyes of his now had flaming arrows in them. Kunae had not taken Kolmosoi’s bronze cuirass off since they boarded the ship. Pitae could swear that the heads of each hydra embossed on the front, picked out in white gold, had become enraged ever since Kunae had put the harness on.

“He was never really one of us.” Kunae said. But before he could continue, Thil Kolkisuasu spoke up,

“And what of that consort they say he has taken? Hulsen the mad prophetess come again she is. Sol was not in this alone, and his actions since speak of guilt.” Thil’s argument had more art to it, but the point remained the same. Thil’s eyes were always sharp enough to see the truth of things.

Pitae had no answer. It was true, Sol’s actions since Kolmosoi’s death only seemed to confirm their suspicions. Disappearing looked like guilt. But poisoning Kolmosoi, if that is indeed what happened, it did not feel right. What motive did Sol have?

“We should still go back, nothing good will come of this.” The only answer which Pitae could muster. The words barely had the energy to leap from his mouth. He felt like a shadow as he said it. A wraith of what he had once been.

Silence fell again, the waves breaking against the hull of the ship, the only thing to cut through the tension. They had a calming affect which Pitae found comforting, and the smell of the salt was soothing. He longed to dive in and find the tranquil world below the waves, the sea a void where he could forget about the troubles of his own world, about the turmoil that had engulfed them.

The chaos unleashed in the White Islands in the wake of Kolmosoi’s death had drained the spirits from all of them and left them mere shadows, trapped wandering the open sea. The shockwave of his murder had scattered the groups of sellswords he had been gathering, and they had gone wild. Turning to hunting and scavenging what they could. Each becoming a tribe unto themselves, gathering for protection in an untamed land. It was a wildness of which their small band were not entirely blameless.

The journey from Pittuntik was long. Pitae had hoped that two days aboard the trireme with nothing to do but think would allow calmer heads to prevail. If anything, the others had moved towards Kunae’s way of thinking. Sol had to die, a sacrifice to this new world.

A soaring wave crashed against the prow, the ship rolled over the crest and dipped back down, land came into view. Usually, land would be a welcoming sight having spent so long aboard ship. This time was different though, land meant that the reckoning was getting closer. It felt apt then that the lands that came into their vision were the ruins of old Kolbos. That wonderous city of a time before the Dusk, destroyed by its own hubris, and a family tearing itself apart. The haven loomed large in the minds of all the Xosu, but especially the Salxosu as it was where their spirits still lay.

“Kolbos.” Thil muttered under his breath in an almost reverent way.

“A reminder of what once was, and the tragedy that folly can bring.” Pitae answered him, eyes transfixed on the ruins.

“Debris is all that is left of that world. The gateway to the old kingdoms was slammed shut when the city fell.” Kunae replied with an almost complete disinterest.

Their craft drew ever closer to the ruins, as if they could sail across the sea back to the time of the city’s heyday. But more of the destruction came into sight each time the prow of the ship descended, slowly eroding that thought. Instead, an eerie feeling danced its way into Pitae’s mind. The sea around old Kolbos always felt rougher than everywhere else, raging like an angry leviathan, furious with all who crossed it. The air smelt acrid, tinged with iron, and a storm always raged like a canopy over the ruins. The result of some dark actions which brought about its fall.

A distant rumble greeted their approach, like the hooves of a thousand thousand horses rampaging across the sky, released from the storm above the ruined city.

Dusk was falling quickly now. The fires of the sunset erupting from the horizon, and the light of the evening star was all that was left to illuminate the world. Even so the half-submerged ruins came much sharper into focus. He could see down the arrow straight channel known as the Funnel into the great circular harbour of the city of smiths. It was said that fire had spewed from the forges of Buto, below Mount Zilgulon, which loomed over the port, and down the Funnel, when the city fell, like the death throes of a monstrous hydra.

The ruined port curled around the broken land that had been shaken by the god’s fury. At the head of the ancient metropolis, he could make out the temple of Buto, resting on the island of the Eye of Sem within the Thelonbet. The white gold zilthum wall of the Thelonbet coiled around the abode of the god and rose straight as a trunk to meet the branching arms of the raging storm above. Inside the temple the oracle of Buto still lingered, the last vestiges of life left in this place and the only remaining connection to the world that was lost when old Kolbos fell. Pitae suddenly felt as though he had to try one more time.

“It was the word of the oracle which set us on this path, Kunae.” He tried to speak in a commanding tone. “The people of Butophulo ignored her warnings, and as a result we were thrown down in defeat by the King of the Doldun. Twenty years of bloody stalemate and then the mantle held by the Salxosu when old Kolbos reigned supreme, so close to our grip again, was cruelly snatched away.”

Kunae looked at him with a renewed fury,

“What is your point Pitae?”

“Those of us cast into exile by the victorious Doldun have been determined not to make those mistakes again. How many years have we listened intently to the utterings of the oracle, searching for a way home? Why be so reckless and single minded now? How does this help us achieve that noble goal?” Pitae answered with a passion he had been struggling to find. Kunae merely allowed a sinister smile to be drawn over his lips.

“It was those whispers that led us here, Pitae. Sol stands in the way of those plans; his corpse is a stepping stone for us to recapture Butophulo. Enough of this! Sol dies today.” With that he turned his back and paced to the prow of the ship.

Pitae sighed, forlorn. He turned back to face the ruins that were quickly passing by and letting himself get lost in the white haven’s wonder. How many people once lived here? He thought. Hundreds of thousands, at a time when Butophulo was little more than a village. The stories his father used to tell of the city came flooding back. Site of the Xosu’s greatest triumph, and their downfall.

Pitae imagined the old heroes assembled on the plain in front of the city. Men greater in stature, strength, and greed than those of today, dancing their deadly dance. The losers condemned to insignificance, the winners, fame and immortality. Their lot decided by the single thrust of a spear. He could almost hear the clash of arms as the wild, fiery king, Tildun, duelled with the calm and scholarly Semontek in front of the Gate of the Hydra. He imagined the twins, Kilposh and Koltik, attempting to scale the great, god-built walls and bring death into the city. Every single glorious act all turned to dust and ruin now, but immortalised in poems that granted a window onto that wonderous past. The crumbling moon pale ruins passed slowly by as the ship made its way along the coast.

Another few hours slipped by before a small, ruined watchtower rose into view. Perched on a rocky outcrop which in the twilight loomed over the ship like a mountain scraping the sky. They had arrived.

The tower had been built by the League of Butophulo, at the height of its power, to control the trade passing by. It lay in ruins now, the island overgrown and dense with trees and shrubbery. Only twelve years since the fall of the League and nature had already reclaimed the place, returning the land back to its natural splendour before the rise of man. Sol was rumoured to be using the island as a base from which to raid the passing shipping.

The pilot of their trireme steered the craft as close as he could without running aground, the ruined jetty no longer fit for purpose. They would have to wade to the shore. Kunae spoke. His voice hard, with a purpose as true as an arrow loosed from a magnificent bow, brooking no dissent,

“Put your armour on.”

Pitae wanted to answer, but he could see the fight was lost. He stood and picked up his horsehair crested helm. Brushing the sea blue crest lightly, letting his fingers dance across it, before sighing and slowly putting his panoply on. His brothers in arms, Thil, Kivuun and Puso followed suit, as did the company of spearmen on board. All that remained of The Daemons of the Deep.

The rest of the company had gone east to fight under the banner of the King of Gelodun in another vainglorious war. There was little to no glory in the life of a mercenary, but it was all that was left to them since the Doldun had smashed the League of Butophulo on the field of the Bulodon’s Wail.

The water was surprisingly warm and calm, the expected cold shock as he hit the sea did not come. Kunae was already well ahead of him. Pitae began to wade forward, pushing against the current in a strange dance. His armour felt heavy in the water. The layered cotton of his lamellar cuirass soaked up the sea and felt like it doubled in weight. Pitae found himself envious of Kunae wearing Kolmosoi’s bronze cuirass now. He gripped the ashen shaft of his spear tighter, the splash of the others following them sounding behind.

The slow paddle to the shore gave Pitae time to think. Sol was once their brother in arms it was true, but, even if he wasn’t the murderer, Kunae did have one point in his favour. Sol’s actions had poisoned the peace that Kolmosoi had managed to forge.

“What next?” he called to Kunae, “After Sol dies. What do you see us doing next?”

Kunae continued walking forward, silent for a moment, but eventually Pitae heard a reply,

“We continue with Kolmosoi’s plan. Build our strength in Pittuntik, return order to the White Islands, and then we sail to Thasotun and overthrow the Red and White Council and kick out the Doldun’s puppets. It is the purpose that The Daemons of the Deep were forged by Kolmosoi to fulfil. Maybe then, the door to Butophulo itself will be open to us.”

Pitae had expected that answer,

“Kolmosoi tried that once though. Years we spent feigning loyalty, building a power base in Pittuntik. Coiling ourselves around its hoard of mineral wealth. But the plan failed.”

“The plan did not fail! Kolmosoi was betrayed!” Kunae shot back.

“One break in the plan and the whole edifice we built collapsed, just as we were about to break from Thasotun. What do you think would have happened if we had taken that step and our coalition was proved to be so fragile when the stakes were so much higher?” Pitae retorted. Kolmosoi’s death had changed everything. No one was sure what had happened, poison probably. Kolmosoi had lingered in a coma for days, his skin pale and scaly, the only signs of life the occasional writhing in agony.

“These are all ifs and buts. The truth is that Sol murdered Kolmosoi and for that he must pay.” Kunae seemed to increase his pace as he spoke. Sol was the last person to have seen Kolmosoi conscious and his disappearance immediately afterward would seem to confirm his guilt. That he had then taken to piracy was even more suspicious.

“Then we rebuild our weak alliance and try again. Will the same sacrifices be required Kunae? Betraying others like we were forced to turn on Zolmos the Conjuror?” Pitae shouted, now the forlorn feeling was returning. Kunae did not answer. Maybe he is right, Pitae thought. Perhaps it is the only way to fix this mess and bring justice for Kolmosoi, Sol must die.

The beach was quiet as they approached, no sign of life and the dark of the night had descended. Kunae was the first on shore and eager to forge ahead to the tower. Pitae called out to him, “Kunae, wait! If we are to do it this way, we will do it together. You don’t know what kind of force Sol has waiting for us and I would rather meet that with twenty spears than two.” Kunae faced him, clearly pained to wait, but nodded in agreement.