Part 1 - Puzzle
Chapter 1 - The Atrocity
The sea had asked a question, and the sky had replied. Waves were leaping up to catch on the harsh winds blowing to meet the stricken vessel. She was up high, impossibly high, but even so she could not tell what was happening down below.
Her fingers were numb, and everything she touched seemed to fall away like shadows. The rain and the wind whipped against her face, water lashing into her eyes so that she could barely see. What was happening? There were screams and shouts around her, but the voices seemed strange and unknown.
There was a flash of white light, and a crack of thunder rolled across the waves. At this there was more panic from down below, and as she looked down she noticed the fettered canvas of a sail laying at her feet. She was standing atop a roof of some kind – how did she get up here? She was going to fall to her death, if the ship itself didn't get their first.
Her body shook, and she was confused to realise that she was wearing her nightdress. She wrapped her arms around herself foolishly, and suddenly could feel the weight of a locket around her neck. She twited the small opal pendant curiously. What was going on?
There were people shifting about below her, running, screaming. There was no order, no control, just sheer terror. They were better men than this, surely a storm would not cause them to lose all common sense?
But then she saw it. There was something down there in the water, something huge. It seemed to be pulling at the ship, edging it closer to the water, clasping at the railings and dragging it nearer. Through the darkness and the rain she could only just see an outline, a faint edge of something. Something impossible.
There was another crash of thunder, and in the brightness that followed she thought she could see tentacles, reaching out from the waves. But it couldn't be?
'
Fiona!' came a cry, but from where? It was Tamson, she was sure, but she couldn't see him anywhere. She tried to call back, but no sound seemed to leave her mouth. It was as though her tongue were asleep, stuck in her mouth, frozen to the roof of her mouth.
'
Fiona!' the voice cried again, and she looked around desperately. How could she get down from here? In fact, she realised, a terror beginning to build inside her, how did she ever get up here in the first place? She couldn't remember any of this, not at all. She tried to move but her legs were frozen, rooted to the spot. Another gale of wind pummeled at her, but she remained rigid where she stood. The ship continued to creak and groan as the something contrived to pull it nearer.
Fiona looked over the edge of mysterious palisade, terrified to see any more this strange unknown, but instead there was something even more inexplicable. Fernald was there, her brother. For a moment he was staring blankly at the strange dark mass that seemed to be heading towards him, but then he turned and looked up at her.
'Fiona?' he asked, and he raised his arm to point at her, a bloody stump where his hand should have been.
She tried to move again, to cry out, but there was nothing she could do. The crew seemed to have vanished, disappeared to nowhere.
There was an almighty crash of thunder, and suddenly Fiona realised she wasn't really standing on anything. She was floating, high above the ship, as the creature seemed to finally reach out and pull the ship under the water.
As she realised this, Fiona noticed she seemed to be rising higher and higher, further above the scene. There was someone else, stood on the deck below. Someone she had never seen before. How could that be?
The stranger was dressed all in black, his face hidden in darkness. He turned to look at her, and whispered loudly into her ear.
'What do you want?'Fiona woke with a start, and she sat bolt upright, her breath escaping in ragged gasps. For a moment she was unsure where she was, but only for a moment.
It was a dream, nothing more.
Her heart was thumping in her chest, and she was covered in sweat, her clothes sticking tightly to her. She was still breathing heavily, and for a while she just sat, trying to clear her thoughts. She was in her bed, in her cabin, on her ship. There was nothing to worry about.
She looked to her right, and saw the locket sat there, resting on a small desk. She eyed it warily. The tiny stones set into its surface caught the first rays of morning light, reflecting them back at her. Why would she dream about that, of all things?
As Fiona sat back she could barely feel any movement from below. They were in still waters, at least. There was nothing to worry about. They had been making good time, not that it mattered now anyway. There were far enough away that even if they did catch up with her, they had no jurisdiction here.
With a sigh she leant back, her head resting on the wood pannelled walls. Her heart was still racing, as though she had been running a marathon in her sleep. She needed to compose herself, clear her head.
Think.
Her hands were shaking with adrenaline, and she held up her right hand to see, tiny vibrations dancing along her palm. She could see the tattoo, the eye nervously staring back at her. Curiously, it had not been there in the dream, the tattoo. Her mind had subconciously removed that from her, something she alone could not do.
After a few minutes, Fiona forced herself out from under the blankets. She walked over to the desk and picked up the tiny locket. She held it for a moment between thumb and forefinger, eyeing it curiously, before returning it to the desk. Fiona studied her reflection in the small fragment of dirty glass that served as a mirror. Pale brown eyes stared back at her, the whites marked with lines of crimson. Her hair was long and matted, dirt and grime caked into the long tendrils that snaked down the sides of her face, but it was no matter. She looked tired, faint circles growing under eyes, as though she had not slept for days. It was no less than she had expected.
Fiona moved to dress herself, but once more the small locket caught her eye. She couldn't shake it, she couldn't remove it from her mind. And it was sat there, looking back at her, as though it were calling out to her. Fernald had given it to her, a few days before she gone to the facility. Why had she seen him? It had been a long time since she'd had nightmares about her brother, what was going on with her?
And still there was the locket, tempting her. It seemed out of place, almost uncomfortable in its surroundings, as if it no longer belonged here.
Fiona opened a small drawer in the desk, and took out its only contents; a slightly tattered but otherwise blank looking envelope. She took the locket and slid it inside, returned the envelope into the drawer, and shut it.
It didn't make her feel any better.
When Fiona came up on deck, the sun was hanging low on the horizon. The clouds were bright dots, cascaded oddly across the sky. There was a sharp chill in the air, but Fiona could barely feel it. She was used to the cold by now. It was a beautiful morning, one she wished she could languish in and enjoy. But there was no time for that, no time for anything at all.
'Morning' someone muttered, as they bustled past her.
'Aye.' she replied, heading off in the opposite direction.
She still could not shake the dream out of her mind, and she knew it would stay with her for the rest of the day at least. She hated that. There was enough stress going on when she was awake, she didn't need it in her sleep as well.
Fiona knocked on the cabin door before entering, in case he had fallen asleep, but when she opened the door she found Tamson stood, waiting for her. He had a scowl on his face, and his eyes looked tired and heavy, but he had not given up his watch.
'How are things?' she said.
'Much the same.' he said. 'Its awfy quit, but I dinnae expect much else. Did ye get much sleep?'
Fiona shook her head.
'I thought as much.'
'How is Rommo?' Fiona asked
Tamson simply shrugged. 'He's dying, and that isnae gonna change whilst we're stuck out in the middle o' nowhere.'
Fiona sighed. 'Do you blame me?'
Tamson simply looked at her, his hollow eyes connecting blankly with hers. 'I may do. Perhaps. Or perhaps I dinnae care either way.' He reached down and scopped up a few scraps of paper and parchment, trying to folde them away quickly, without Fiona seeing what written on them.
'What have you found?'
'Nothing that concerns you.' He hastily shoved the pages into a leather bag slung around his shoulder, as if that meant it wrtr the end of the buisness. 'I'm off to bed. Have a good day,
Captain.'
He spat the last word at her like an insult, and with that he was gone. Fiona waited for a second, to make sure she wouldn't catch up with him, before leaving the room herself.
Tamson blamed her for nearly everything that had happened since they had set sail. Some of it, perhaps, had been Fionas fault. A lot of it was unjustified. He had blamed her when they sailed into the storm. He had blamed her for the first mutiny, and everything else that had followed. And he had blamed her when The Madness had first set in. Perhaps he was right, but it didn't help anything.
There had been 57 of them when they had departed, and now there were barely 30 of them left. Some had died of sickness – they had not been in the best of helath when they had set out, after all. Some of them had abandonded them, given up hope that they would make it across the ocean, or that they could escape their pursuers. And others... well, maybe the others had been the lucky ones.
Down below decks there was a small room where the remaining crew would assemble for mealtimes, and Fiona headed there now. When she entered the room, the crew barely ackowledged her, and she went and sat on one of the empty rows of wooden benches, far away from the others.
It was a tiny room, made even tinier when 30 grown men were crammed inside, but it somehow sememed empty. There were empty space, and when Fiona looked at them all she could think about where those they had already lost, and wonder how many more they were yet to loose.
Aside from the odd contemptuous look, she had barely spoken to any of them for days. Not since Rammo had begun to fall ill. Their joruney had been a tricky one, and their leaving so hurried that it had almost been instinct for her to take command. She had the most experience of sailing, and she was much easier to get along with than Tamson. But the journey had been hard, and with each day the distance between her and them seemed to grow larger and larger.
The food was unkownable, a lukewarm gruel that it was much better to leave unquestioned. It filled her stomach, and that was good enough. As she ate, locks of hair would continue to fall from her sides into her face, and she would awkwardly brush them away, trying not to see the staring eyes fixed upon her. With each mouthful she noticed that her hand was still shaking unsteadily.
'What's happening?' piped up a voice.
With trepedation, she put down her spoon, and it clanked awkwardly in the bowl.
'What do you mean?' she replied, staring fixedly at them all.
'Rommo, is he alright?' came another voice
'Yeah.' struck up another. 'We don't know whats going on.'
'We haven't seen him for days.' said the first voice again. 'We have a right to know these things.'
Fiona sighed, and for a moment she was unsure what to do or say. But only a for a moment.
'What do you fools think is happening?' she replied, her voice cold and quiet. 'The same that happened to the others, the same as will happen to you if we don't keep our heads down and our mouths shut.'
There was some muttering and gasps at this, but Fiona simply ignored them.
'I know what you all think of me, and I know what you all say behind my back. That I'm too young, too naïve, too stupid, that Tamson knows best, that we should all listen to him. Well.' she let out a small chuckle at this. 'You're wrong, I promise you. You're right though, The Madness is on us once more, and before the day is out, Rommo will be gone.'
At this, the crew erupted, a wave of noise and shouting building between them all. Some of the men turned to each other, nodding in agreement; others cried out in disbelief and disgust; and some just stared with fierce determination.
That was when Fiona noticed him.
They had been adrift for seven weeks now, lost with no direction, and so she knew them all. All of these men, each one of their faces, was locked into her memory. There were no strangers here. And yet there he was, a man whose face she had never seen before. He was sat at the back, the furthest bench away from hers. He had short dark hair, and a plain and quiet face, one so featureless as if to be a mere brushstroke, waiting to be filled in. When all round him were moving and talking, he was sat in silence, staring back at her.
How could this be? This was impossible. There was nothing about the man that made any sense, his presence here and now an arrogance that made Fiona feel sick. In facy, he was distnictly odd that Fiona was sure she would have seen him there when she first entered the room. It was as if he had appeared from nowehere. And somehow, then, she knew. The voice from her dream played in the back of her head.
They said it was the first sign of The Madness, to see things that were not really there, so perhaps that meant it was too late for her already. She was not sure which option she preferred – that she was sane, and this man had appeared from nowhere in the middle of the ocean, or that she was mad, and this man was the beginning of her doom.
Fiona rose from the table, and at once the squabbling and babbling of the crew stopped, an expectant hush falling upon her.
'I know this is hard, for all of us.' Fionas voice was louder now, more confident. 'But think how far we have come already. We can do this. We can get there. We just have to stick together through this.'
'How do you expect us to believe that?' shouted another voice.
'Because it's all we have. And because I believe it.' Fiona sighed, and moved her feet out from under the table. 'I must get back to work, as should you all.'
'Captain.' said another voice, and the man had his hand raised, like a student in a classroom. 'Is there anything we can do? To protect ourselves, I mean, against The Madness.'
Fiona looked at the stranger, still sat unmoved from his seat at the back of the room. He was looking at her, his lips pursed. There was the ghost of a smirk upon his face, as though he was laughing at his own private joke.
'Worship.' said Fiona. 'As often and as meaningfully as you can. Pray to god that he will spare us his wrath.'
The room returned to its babble of chatter and shouting, and as she left it took all of Fionas willpower not to look back.