The Tunnels of Woe

Book 1: A Bounty Like No Other

Chapter 3 Part 2: The Lagoon of the Damned

Indeed, upon entering into this new would be haven it would seem their prayers had been answered. From their tunnel they emerged into an idyllic lagoon out from a waterfall towering above the lush green and yellow jungle beyond. Not far past the trees was a calm ocean with not a cloud in the sky, but not a gull or sea bird to be seen.

There was no buzzing of insects or chirps of birds. Only an idyllic silence. But one full of pregnant foreboding like the stillness of a graveyard or a mausoleum's doors. Still, unsettling quiet was more acceptable than the din of battle, and the springing of an ambush. Things were unsettling nonetheless especially when Tirro realized there was something missing.

This close to the sea the sound of ocean waves should’ve been a constant companion, but though the deckhand could see the waves crashing clear enough they made not a sound. Or at least they could not hear said sound.

This was a common curse with their magical manipulation of the tunnels of the in between. Their generators were naturally attracted to areas of high power, and chink’s in reality’s armor. In such places the odd and evil lurked. Yet another reason to avoid using the generators of the deep, or to use them in last resort and only in small portions. The more a Veni man used their maddening power the more his craft would be dragged towards those worlds and territory within those worlds with high energy, and as often as not the taint of evil. A double bladed sword was the generator of the deep.

Uncle Curroz was far more experienced than the average cartographer of the tunnels, and the silence was instantly noticed. Yet the lagoon was cut from the ocean waves by a thick finger of land that trapped their vessel within the watery mute prison. The pool was pretty with mesmerizing white sand stretching for miles and surrounded by plants which were both luscious and full of fruit. However tranquil it was not. A weight came on Tirro's chest. A wave of foreboding, and a single look into his Uncle’s eyes told the young man that his uncle had felt the unnatural wave of disquiet as well.

Yet, their fuel reserves were down to fumes. They had enough for one last medium length jump. They had to find the correct path on this path, or where they landed lost and dazed would be their final resting place wherever that might be. For that the navigational charts required the night sky and the path of the many wanderers in the vaults of the heavens. So with nothing more to be done they anchored their skiff, and rested what rest they could obtain with an oppressive invisible blanket spread over their hearts and minds. Almost as if a giant had placed a glass lid over the entire lagoon, and no sound could escape that impossible upside down bowl.

They could still hear one another, and the sound of a smallest metal fork striking the deck seemed as loud as a cannon barrage or an army screeching their war cries in their ears. For whatever reason neither boy nor elder man stooped to drink from the pool even though their stored water was stale and tepid. They neither drank of the lagoon nor did they refill their cantines or the tanks of water used for the magical engines. The pool was inviting yet sinister. Enticing like the fanciful colors on the sea viper.

The day dragged on, but no terror came from the woods, the calm sea, or from the waterfall fed lagoon. Triplet suns whose sizes and colors shifted and morphed the entire day slowly filtered across the sky as the small crew took turns sleeping in the odd untrustworthy pool. Indeed, if not for their trying ordeal Tirro would’ve found sleep impossible with the sense of impending dread hanging over his sleeping form. Yet, there was nothing more likely to drain the spirit to the bone than the rabided blood freezing encounters with monsters set on imprisoning your souls. Blissful, dreamless sleep consumed him till Tiro felt his Uncle’s boot shake the deckhand’s bunk for his watch.

As with most watches Tirro found his interrupted rest never enough to sustain him. However, by the closing of the afternoon even Uncle Curroz looked haggard and bleary eyed. Tirro thought this odd. The salty tunnel explorer seemed to have an endless supply of wit and drive no matter the morning or lack of sleep, and they had rested.

“Uncle are you ill?” Tirro asked, fearing the answer.

“No boy, you feel the drain too. This accursed pool waxes our strength. There is a fell voice in the air weaving a cursed tune. Can you not hear it?” Curroz said while grimacing up at the sky that was only now darkening. A few pinpricks of light marked the stars emerging from their slumber, yet not nearly enough for the enchanted navigational scrolls to work their tasks.

Tirro pondered his Uncle’s words, and strained his ears. To his shock, there was a sound in the endless blanket of silence around the lagoon. It was high and steady like that of a woman keening to a fussy babe, yet the sound put chains on your limbs and disquiet in your heart. That was no pleasant lullaby. That was a spell if he’d ever heard one. Something wanted them to sleep as the dead, and perhaps never wake.

“I hear the harlot now, Uncle. Honey’d and rotten like escremit fallen in the sweetest mead. I prepare for another struggle. Perhaps a monster of subtlety will pause at the failing of their treacherous spell.” Tirro said while readying a bolt into the arbalest.

“Perhaps. Even the leviathan thinks twice on his prey when warry, but do not count on the caution of the enemy. You would not be the first to water creation with thy blood on such assumptions,” Uncle Curroz said.

“Let an overworked deck hand dream Uncle!”

“Dream? If you wish to dream then dream us a heading so we may find true peace.” Uncle Curroz bantered with a haggard grin on his face.

“Now I must do both our tasks! So be it, but I will require both our pay in this venture’s conclusion,” Tirro held out his arms as if to say this was the only natural conclusion, and things were out of his hands.

Uncle Curroz laughed, but before he could retort Tirro saw a disquieting sight behind his Captain’s back. The trees for ever a brief moment faded and a world of storm and darkness could be seen beyond. Quick as if his spell-addled mind had conjured a fake image of the world, the vision faded, but Tirro didn’t believe the lies in his head. Yonder wizard or witch meddling was hampering both their minds’ ability to act. Moreover, he could sense a slight change in the tone when he saw the sunny bright world of the pool fade.

Uncle Curroz saw his look, and half drew his short sword while turning around. Suddenly the Captain stiffened. A second later he grabbed the crossbow from Tirro’s hands, and fired it directly at the closest swinging palm tree covered in vines. To the deckhand’s horror the tree turned into a jagged rock being racked by massive waves of rain and hail. All around him the facade of the calm pool wavered, and then the bolt exploded in its flashing light. The spell around them broke revealing the horrific truth.

Hail the size of small gold nuggets pelted Tirro’s face like a thousand angry wasps. His clothes were soaked to the bone from the coldest ocean spray and waves of endless fierce rain blown in a squall. Lightning streaked across the sky through the tempest revealing not trees but jagged rocks and crushed ships in a ring around the cursed pool their skiff was now rocked in. The waterfall was the mast of a massive sailing ship, her black ripped sails thrashing in the wind, and skeletons wearing tattered clothes with glowing green eyes were hanging on what was left of her rigging. Tirro wanted to call their slow ponderous movements a trick of the light or wind, but he knew better.

This was no tranquil lagoon. This was a pool of the damned. A haunted place where the dead walked, and enticed the living to their deaths. Worse in the water and resting on the rocks he saw the source of the evil. They were the passing flirting shapes of women with red eyes, fabulous beauty, and fish tails for legs. They were in a Siren’s pool.

The Story Will Continue Every Wednesday.

Click the image below to follow and support the Grizzly Clan, and keep the stories flowing.