Chapter III

-CHAPTER III-

Malachi stood leaning over the gunwale retching painfully, waves crashing heavily down over his head. The water was freezing, and sleet drenched him, chilling him to the bone. In a gap in the waves, he looked out over the water for sign of any land, but there was none to be seen.

They had followed Tavion up the coast for slightly over a week when a squall overtook them and savagely tore them off the chase. They had watched, in furious frustration as the vessel they were following at a distance of little more than a few miles breezed on ahead of the cross winds and rains that hit them harshly as an avalanche. That was nine days past. They had since been blown North and West the entire time, with the crew fighting the elements every inch of the way. They were wearier now than they had ever been before, but they kept on fighting all-the-same.

Malachi was appalled at the toughness of the men surrounding him and wondered if he could ever sustain such stamina and will, even in his youth.

With pain rippling through his abdomen, he stood up straight and marched over to where Captain Florian battled with the wheel. Clapping a hand on the man’s stone-hard shoulder, he roared over the wind, ‘How long do you think it will take us to reach Surat?’

The captain looked over at him bewildered and hollered back, ‘Surat!? We’re not going to Surat. Listen here Major, this boat is barely holding together. We’re taking on water something terrible. I’ll be impressed if we make any damn land, let alone Surat! Another few days of this, and she’ll break up beneath us! The Seafalcon was never built to run such a storm.’

Malachi’s face whitened. The thought of dying out at sea terrified him more than he cared admit. He felt bile rush up in his throat once more and ran for the side, where he was violently sick things he didn’t even know he had in him.

Behind him, he thought he heard a voice over the storm from the crow’s nest, but it was hard to tell. He listened carefully.

‘Cliffs!…We’ll!...Torn!…Damnit!...TURN!!’ Malachi got the message. He threw himself back across the deck back toward the captain.

‘Land, Captain! There are cliffs ahead, and we’re going to hit it unless we turn!’ he shouted in the man’s ear.

‘What did you say? What do you mean cliffs?’ he yelled back at Malachi.

Just then, the sky darkened, and a huge black shadow fell across the ship. They looked up, into the gates of hell. Straight ahead of them was a maelstrom of destruction. Huge, jagged cliffs towered into the sky, and at their base waves were pummelling the base like a sledgehammer. They were a mere hundred metres away and drawing nearer by the instant.

The captain cried out in fear and pulled on the wheel hard as he could manage. Cord-like muscles stood out beneath his skin like thick hemp rope, but the wheel barely turned.

Malachi threw his weight in too, and the wheel began achingly slowly to rotate.

As it did, the front of the ship rose onto the crest of a wave, and began, ponderously to turn. Ahead of them, a spire of rock leaned towards them like a spear.

Then they were falling off the crest of the wave, and the bow swept round suddenly, showing its broad, vulnerable side to the spear.

There was nothing they could do. Malachi grabbed hold of the wheel as hard as he could, and prepared for the collision.

When it came, it was like the end of the world.

There was an earth-shattering noise as the entire side of the ship caved in and the spire penetrated the inner hull and decks. Malachi was thrown to the deck like a ragdoll, but somehow managing to hold on. Pulling himself agonisingly to his feet, he saw pieces of wood metres long flying across the air like twigs.

Archon got hit by one of the larger flying pieces. It took his entire upper body with it, leaving just his legs and hips, innards flopping out, standing like some grotesque mockery of a statue on the deck before being swept overboard.

Malachi screamed wordlessly into the wind. Nearby, he saw the Captain, with one of his arms cradled against his chest, where the wheel had ripped back around and his forearm had snapped like twine.

The ship was rapidly disintegrating. Looking at the cliff, he knew there was only one thing to do.

‘We have to climb the cliff face! It’s the only way!’ he hoarsely decried at the top of his lungs. Leaning down, he drew Florian into a bear hug, then half carrying the Captain, he stumbled forward looking for crew, but scanning, saw there was no way to the fore of the ship. The spire of rock practically cut it in half, leaving just a yawning space between them. Both sides were being supported for the moment against the rocky cliff, lifted there by a larger wave than the others, wedged temporarily in place. On the front half of the ship, he saw Wendon with several sailors waving across at him, and point at the cliff gesturing to climb.

Malachi waved back, and he, the captain and one other sailor that had survived the crash on their side moved towards the side of the boat nearest the cliff.

From there, the cliff was only a few feet away, and by leaning out they could just about reach it. It was wet and slippery to touch, with large, sharp handholds.

Malachi and the sailor forced Florian onto it before reaching across themselves. Further over, they could see Wendon and six other sailors doing the same.

The Captain couldn’t climb on his own, so he and the remaining sailor with him helped support him as they struggled up the massive cliff. The wind swept through them, doing its utmost to pull them away, and at first, all they could do was hold desperately to the face.

Malachi knew they couldn’t do it for long, or they would exhaust themselves and fall back into the sea and certain death.

He began feeling his way carefully up, finding handholds for himself, and those for the captain, pulling him up gently.

The other sailor, too terrified, or simply too concerned for himself moved away and started to climb ahead of the two of them.

Under his breath, Malachi cursed the man for a coward, and slowly, rock by rock, they made their way up.

Every now and then one of them would slip slightly, and for a moment, their hearts would be in their mouth as they scrabbled against the soaking surface for grip.

They were some five or ten metres up when they heard the screaming of wood on stone increase, and looking down they watched horrified as the front of the ship was battered apart against the cliff beneath them. It took mere moments before all that remained was wood and the odd bit of sail and corpses floating on the waves quickly disappearing from view.

Another few yards up and the captain’s strength left him. He started to fall, but Malachi caught him, wrenching his arm from its socket as he did so, and tearing open a large gash in his other hand. Bellowing in pain, he forced the captain to wrap his working arm around Malachi’s neck and hold on.

With all the strength he could muster, he began to climb anew shutting out the overwhelming weight bearing him down.

He had thought the climb before was agonising. Now, every tortured breath brought new suffering. He clenched his teeth so hard that one of his front teeth chipped and broke and he was spitting blood, but still he pushed on.

Above him, he could see a small ledge, and he forced himself just to think of that, and the safety it would bring. On his back, Florian whimpered painfully as his arm scraped against Malachi’s broad back.

His fingers were bleeding terribly now making the holds ever more slippery to hold, gashed open on the rocks and his feet were in a similar, or worse state; his shoes having been torn apart on the rocks.

After what seemed like an eternity, his fingers grasped the edge of the ledge, and he hauled himself bodily over it with the last vestiges of his strength. It was a wide, flat ledge, but the captain was only half on it, and beginning to slip back. There was nothing Malachi could do, he hadn’t the energy to lift his arm, and watched in terror as the man started to fall away.

A hand appeared from nowhere and grasped the wrist of the captain, heaving him back up and safely onto the flat ground. Forcing his eyes upwards, he found himself looking up into the eyes of Wendon.

The man grinned down at him, a tired and broken smile, rasped ‘took you bloody long enough didn’t it.’

‘How..many..dead?’ Malachi managed to murmur back, through the spit and blood foaming at his lips. Wendon lost his smile and got a faraway look.

‘Too many ‘Chi. Too many. Three of the climbers I was with fell and the other man you were with as well.’

Malachi grunted at that last ‘Should’ve stayed with us,’ but despite that almost gratifying thought, it was a total disaster. Only six of them remained: Malachi, Wendon, Florian and three of the sailors.

‘What happened to Archon?’ asked Wendon.

Malachi thought back to the ship. To the nightmare wet smacking noise when the man had been sliced apart by the flying wood. The shock on his face just before it happened. It was something that he knew he’d see in his dreams for the rest of his life; short as that was like to be.

‘Dead,’ he replied, and lost consciousness.

~

In a room above a dirty bar in the poor quarter of Surat, a man shouted at several other men, his saliva spraying across the room. He was furious.

‘What the hell did you think you were doing? How could you possibly send men to kill him in broad daylight, and on a ship no less!’

One of the men opened his mouth to reply, shut it again quickly, but the speaker noticed.

‘Oh, what have we got here? Were you about to tell me how ‘it was a great idea’, or that ‘it wasn’t meant to work out like this?’’ his voice was silky soft as he spoke now, and he moved towards the other man. ‘Hmmm? Speak Leo, what have you got to say for yourself? I am just a little angry is all. Don’t mind me,’ he continued softly, now standing right before him.

The man was sweating heavily, ‘well, you see Neraxes, we were going to…um,’ he paused. The man Neraxes smiled at him as if to go on. Leo started to open his mouth again. In a flash of motion, there was a very thin, fine knife in Neraxes’ hand, and a small line of blood showed on the surface. Leo looked petrified for a second. Bright red blood pulsed from the gaping wound in his throat, and he crumpled to the floor, grasping at the cut, until the gurgling slowed, and finally ceased.

Neraxes whirled to face the others, his one black eye burning like coal, ‘never do anything like this again, or I will have you all flayed and burned slowly to death!’ his voice a piercingly high pitch.

He took a deep breath, and brought his tone down again.

‘Listen to me. What is about to happen has been planned over decades. We cannot rush now.

In a few months, a huge Russian army is going to come tumbling into Europe led by one of our disciples and then the Holy Roman Empire will burn.’ He paused. Everything he said they already knew, but by now it was almost rote.

‘The whole world is going to burn. I may only know a very small part of the whole, and you worthless maggots even less, but the thought of what is to happen gives me a chill inside. Anarchy is coming.’

As if a single man, all the others in the room replied,

‘and we shall bless it with chaos.’

Neraxes continued once more, ‘this man, Octaviannus, is but a gnat in the vast scheme of things. I don’t even know why he is desired so. He is nothing, a nobody but some pathetic beggar rejected from a great family of the empire’ He raised his hand and held two fingers slightly apart, ‘Really, just a useful grain of rice, but it seems he isn’t interested in riches and glory.’ he paused. ‘This fine grain of rice has actually gone rotten. Find him, and kill him. Quietly.’ He snapped the fingers together before dropping his hands, and looked at the men around him in silent contempt for a moment. He stopped, and screeched, ‘Now get out of my sight and kill him!’ The men scampered as fast as their legs would carry them, leaving Neraxes alone in the room with the dead Leo. He smiled down at the body, then wiped his knife carefully on the other’s doublet before he too left and headed downstairs. As he emerged into the common room, his eye scanned the room for spies. It was full of day labourers gambling, conferring and drinking. No one was alone in a corner looking mysterious or acting strangely. There was even a stinking tramp there begging alms who accosted him at the bottom of the stairs for money. Amused, he pushed the man over and stamped hard on his hand as he walked out into the darkness.

~

Slightly ruffled, and rubbing his hand, the tramp regained his feet, and shook himself.

Tavion is certainly not going to be happy to hear this one Winston thought to himself.

He had been standing with his ear to the door for the entire meeting, but when he’d heard the closing remarks, he’d stumbled downstairs as rapidly as possible without drawing attention to himself. Not difficult when looking like a tramp off the street.

Winston had a quick look around, walked up to patrons of the bar, continuing begging alms to ensure he played the part; earning himself little sympathy and less coinage, barring an ale which he happily quaffed, then shuffled out the door and on to the cold street.

As quickly as he could, he made his way over to the palace, remembering to duck into an alley to discard his begging attire so that when he reached the gates, he again looked impeccable, as was his want.

The rather bored looking guard regarded him for a scant moment in silence, nodded and directed him through the gate into the grounds.

Palace was not the word he would have used to describe the place. It was a transformed ancient castle. From the outside it looked terribly dark and forbidding, but he knew the inside was decked out very prettily and gay. He shook his head in amusement and limped up the drawbridge.

At the entranceway itself, a house servant met him with a stiff bow and polite smile.

‘Winston,’ he declared.

‘Simeon,’ replied Winston.

Greetings done, Simeon led him inside and to a small lounge on the first floor of the keep. It was everything he remembered. All of the battle scenes had been removed from the walls, and replaced with beautiful hanging oriental rugs, and there were numerous sofas all around.

On one such sofa, a very beautiful woman reclined luxuriously, eating grapes from a platter by her side.

When she saw Winston, she squealed and jumped up.

‘Winston! Oh my darling, it is so good to see you!’ and she threw her arms around him. He stood there rigidly, and replied with effort

‘Cecilia. A delight as always, I’m sure. Might I enquire what you have done with my master this time?’

‘Oh him,’ she pouted theatrically, ‘it’s always about him! He looked silly, and told me he loved me again.’

‘Oh dear. You know how he is. What did you do with him Cecilia?’

‘Ooh, Winston! Don’t be such a prude. Hmmf,’ she crossed her arms under her ample bosom and looked at Winston critically. ‘Fine. Be that way then. He’s in the lower dungeons. Run to your master then. See if I care.’

‘I shall. When I return, I expect you to apologise to him, and run him a bath. He has had a very trying day, and I fear the news I bring will only make it worse.’

Cecilia turned serious, and bit her lip, worrying. She did even that beautifully, ‘Is he ok? I would be so upset if anything happened to him. I just wish he would stop loving me. I told him, “if you don’t stop begging to sleep with me right this moment, I shall put you in the dungeon,” and you know, he just looked at me, half dressed as he was, with that secret smile of his and he winked at me. So I had to keep my word.’

Winston sighed, and went to fetch Tavion. He didn’t know how such an intelligent man could be so befuddled by women. All it took was a smile, and he turned into a lovesick idiot.

As he neared the cells, he could hear his master calling for him and Cecilia in turn. It sounded like he’d been doing so for some time. His voice was rather hoarse.

‘Cecilia, we don’t have to sleep together, just let me rest my head on your oh so ample bosom!

Winston! Where the damned hell are you! Come and get me out of here. This cell is dirty, and they won’t give me any wine, or roast beef. They won’t even give me tea for heaven’s sake!’

Winston directed the gaoler to unlock the door and stepped inside the cell. Tavion was sitting in a small hole in the corner, holding a piece of the dismantled bed, using it as a spade, still shouting over his shoulder while working at his escape route.

‘Good evening master.’

Tavion jumped up like a deer at the smell of wolf.

‘What? Who? Winston! Where on earth have you been? Heh, earth. Get it?’ He held up his ‘spade’ proudly.

‘Yes sir, very amusing. Shall we go upstairs, or would you like to keep playing in the dirt?’

‘I think we should go upstairs, don’t you?’ he said regally, and walked, back straight, out past Winston, passing the make-shift spade to him as he went.

Hours later, having subjected Tavion to a thorough bathing, overseen by a giggling Cecilia, much to Tavion’s chagrin, they all found themselves once more in her lounge.

She had ordered for a fine meal to be prepared for the three of them as apology for her rudeness. The conversation mostly remained on frivolities throughout, which was forced onto Wilfred, since Tavion remained in brooding silence. It seemed strange to see him fully dressed for a change, in a long jacket and fine tight white trousers. He looked respectable indeed, like the member of the aristocracy he was. His Great Brightish trousers as he tended to referred to them were being thoroughly scrubbed to remove the grime, sweat and blood.

Come the end of the dinner, Winston thought it time to mention the news of the day.

‘I am afraid I have some grave news, and unfortunately it must put a shadow over this delightful dinner, but it is news that needs to be shared, and acted upon,’ the other two looked across at him. Cecilia, curious, but not entirely concerned; the other, with eyes shining and sharp, fixed on him like a hawk. Winston knew however that Cecilia’s affected disinterest was only that- affected. She was an incredibly intelligent woman, formidable even.

‘As you requested master, I spent my time searching around for any unusual characters and gossip.’ He paused to think.

‘It seems that there is an influx of desert Bedouins in your fair city at the moment,’ he said, turning to Cecilia.

Cecilia scoffed. ‘Well, that doesn’t mean anything, and besides, they tend to migrate. Every now and then we see them around in larger numbers. This is just one such occasion.’ she replied irritably.

Winston persisted, ‘there have also been sightings of large bands of them camped out around the city. Never the same band, and always in different locations. I fear they may be planning a raid of some sort.’

‘They have never been organised, and besides, they don’t have the numbers to attack a town, let alone lay siege to a city of a size similar to Surat! My city is perfectly safe from such worries.’

He shrugged, ‘as you will. Either way, I would subtly increase the city’s strength, fix weak parts of the wall, regular patrols, harder training regimes… Anyway, moving on, I kept hearing about a one-eyed man known for causing violence and stirring up trouble. I figured he could be the one we were searching for, so I tracked him down to a temporary flat above a cobbler’s shop on the dock front. I waited there for much of the afternoon to see if I could see him to find out if he was our man.’

‘Well, was he?’ interrupted Tavion.

‘Yes. He left the house a few hours ago, and I chanced to see his face. Not an easy one to miss I must say; One milky white eye, and the other black and fierce.’

‘That’s the man’ declared Tavion, ‘do you know where he went?’

‘Indeed’

‘Indeed?’

‘Indeed.’

‘Oh, would you two stop it! Where did he go?’ put in a flustered Cecilia.

The two men looked at each other and grinned.

‘I followed him to the poor quarter to a bar, where he met up with various other nefarious characters for some form of secret meeting.’

‘and you listened in of course?’ asked Tavion, smiling wryly.

‘Of course. This is where things got really serious. They were part of a large, and obviously well organised group. At this meeting, they were discussing some massive attack. The Russians are going to invade Europe with a massive army, led by one of the leaders of this group.’

Silence greeted this, just gaunt faces.

‘Added to this, Neraxes- that’s the name of the one eyed man-was apoplectic about the attack on you this afternoon.’

‘I should certainly think so. It’s thanks to him that I got blood on my trousers!’

That earned him a scowl from both of the others, and he had the good grace to look embarrassed.

‘As I was saying, he was furious. Apparently, they want you dead, but Neraxes insisted on using more subtlety. They wanted you, but you rejected them, so now they are going to kill you, and likely everyone you’re close to. We need to escape the city and go on the run. Cecilia, how quickly can you find a ship taking us West to Egypt?’

‘Within a few days I should imagine. We will need to disguise him of course, and until then, he must be hidden at all times. No one can know he is here. You two cannot leave together,’ replied Cecilia resolutely.

‘No, you are right of course. We shall go separately. I can take another ship sometime later, as my life isn’t in as much danger. Besides, Tavion is more important, and word must reach Europe of the attack. Neraxes said it would be in the next few months.’

‘Agreed. I shall call for someone to escort Tavion across to a safe house by the harbour for now.’

‘No.’

It was said quietly, but, firmly. Both Cecilia and Winston paused in their discussion and looked over at Tavion.

‘I am not running from this man. I have been on the run for over a month now, and he has tried to frame me, assassinate me, send death squads after me, and threatened you. If I run, he will chase me and I will not be able to predict where he will turn up next. Jerusalem? Athens? Rome? He could appear anywhere, and no one would be able to stop a thing because no one knows what he has up his sleeve.

We can assume this is a huge organisation, so no matter how secret you try to be, he will discover where I am.

I am staying here and we are going to flush this b*****d out of the gutters like the scum he is. I will make sure I am as visible as possible. When he tries anything, you will be waiting, and we shall have him. Even if he knows it is a trap, he can’t resist trying, because he needs me dead.’

‘No, you can’t do that. You’ll be killed. You are going West on a ship!’ cried Cecilia, ‘Winston, tell him he can’t stay. Force him.’

Winston looked across at his master sternly; ready to protest at this sudden courage from a man who normally ran from danger at all cost. But when their eyes met and he saw Tavion’s pale but set expression, he knew they wouldn’t convince him, ‘he isn’t going anywhere Cecilia. I guess we’re going to have to just do our best to keep him alive.’

‘Thank you for your permission Winston,’ added Tavion sardonically, ruining the grandeur of the moment, ‘and for the warming faith in my ability for self-preservation. I think I have an idea of how we can catch these killers out.’ Tavion looked across at him and Cecilia then focussing on her, he asked bluntly, ‘are we being listened in to here?’

‘No. When I made this my home, I wanted to be certain that no spies could hear my private conversations in certain rooms. This particular lounge has some of the thickest walls in the castle on one side, and a sheer wall on the other, and there are no passages around it. You will also have noticed that the door is particularly thicker than the rest. The official reason is to try and keep the heat in, but unofficially, it is too thick even for the soundest of hearing. I tested it with a small orchestra, and all that could be heard was the faintest of sounds. Further, the room above is closed off and heavily locked. The room below is a kitchen where no one could manage to eavesdrop over the noise, and would certainly be spotted by the plethora of permanent staff’ she countered smugly.

He didn’t say it, but Winston was impressed, and he could see that Tavion was too.

His master nodded and continued, ‘good, but I still intend for the building to be closed off to comings and goings after I leave.’

‘Leave? You can’t leave. If you’re going to stay, you simply must stay here. Let them just try and get you in here.’

‘He’s right Cecilia,’

‘Of course I’m right. I’m always right.’ Cecilia and Winston stared him. He stared back defiantly.

‘Fine, mostly right. Well, anyway, I’m right in this. In the morning, you are going to throw us out of here, and you are going to do it believably. If you don’t, these people will know something is amiss immediately and go underground. The idea is that we have had some spat, and you don’t want to see me again, so you throw me out, and bar your gates in a petty show that I can’t come back. This will act twofold. Firstly, they can’t get any spies in or out of here to find out the truth. Secondly, it will give you some measure of protection from them and they might even believe I haven’t told you anything. I’m counting on you for this Cecilia.’

She looked ready to object, but just sat still, and nodded once firmly.

‘Once we’re out on the street, I plan for us to stay in a large, defensible inn somewhere crowded, so it’s easier to blend in. Each night, I want another two or three of your best men to be playing cards at the same inn, and several others around the city. Make it look like you’re just keeping a surreptitious eye out for me. I will of course avoid engaging with your soldiers at all points.

In fact, have your soldiers searching for me, but only in the taprooms, with orders to keep an eye on me if found and report back to you. This way, if any of them belong to our enemies, the only information they can give is that they’re keeping an eye on the scoundrel that so irked their lady. If anyone attacks me, all I will have to do is shout, and your fine men will come to my aid,’ and with that, Tavion sat back and smiled beatifically at his companions.

After a few moments silence to let it all sink in, Winston put in, ‘that’s actually not half bad master. I’m surprised.’

‘It is isn’t it. I shall of course have to send off riders to warn of the coming danger, but I think I will leave it a week, to give you time to find these Anarchists, but, I am only giving you one week. After that, you come straight back to me. I will not brook argument on this. Agreed?’ demanded Cecilia.

After some coaxing, she managed to draw the others into agreement, and long into the night, and they planned the moves to be made come morning.

~

Opening his eyes, it was light, and peaceful with the sound of waves peacefully knocking against the ship. Then the roof came into focus, and he saw it was stone, rather than wood, and for a moment he was confused, before reality came crashing back to him.

‘Hey, I think he’s awake!’ someone said over to his right.

A worried face loomed over him, and suddenly he was looking up at Wendon. ‘You look terrible’ Malachi coughed.

Wendon smirked, ‘you don’t look so good either ‘Chi.’

Malachi tried to ease himself up; not an easy feat with both hands and feet bandaged. The effort of getting himself leaning against a wall tired him out. In front of him, he could see that they were in a cave in the cliff face. Outside, the sky was blue and clear of the clouds they’d been seeing at every waking moment for over a week. By a fire in the middle of the entrance, a sailor stirred a pot that smelt delicious. Over on the other side, he could see the Captain, white as a sheet, asleep under some blankets.

‘Where are the others, and where the hell did you get these supplies?’ he asked, impressed.

Wendon looked ashamed for a moment ‘One of the remaining the sailors died during the night. He was simply too tired to carry on living. As to the other, he is looking for ways up to land through this cave. It goes on for miles ‘Chi. With regards to supplies; the back half of the ship is still wedged in the rock, and we’ve been going down and hauling up necessary supplies when we could.’

‘That’s damned foolish! What happens if it were to break up under your feet?’ replied Malachi.

‘Oh, it’s firm alright. The sea only served to further force it into a jamb in the cliff. Now that the storm has gone, it’s sitting pretty several metres above the water.’

Malachi grunted, nodded, then directed a look over at Florian, ‘how’s our captain doing?’

‘Not well. He hasn’t regained consciousness. The pain might have broken him. We don’t really know what to expect if he comes too. I can’t understand how you managed to get him up here to be honest. It took two of us just to lift him into the cave!’ His eyes shone with admiration for Malachi. It made him uncomfortable. He mumbled something under his breath about how his limbs were saying he should’ve let the man fall, then moved on, ‘so, when can I have some of whatever that sailor is cooking up. I feel like I am dying here.’

Wendon nodded and fetched him a bowl of broth, and one for himself. Companionably, they sat and drained a few bowls of it together, thinking about what should happen next.

Thankfully, they were to be saved from trying any more climbing, as soon after, the other sailor came back, shouting of a way up and out to the surface. The others beamed at him, and Malachi nodded approval.

It was decided that they would make the attempt to reach the surface the following day, so after a bit more nourishment, and checking on Florian, all of them simply dropped where they were and slept, far too exhausted even to dream.

The nightmares would come another night though; Malachi knew it in his bones.

Reviews

[Craig2591]

A good chapter. I especially liked the shipwreck part in the beginning. You described it very well. Very intense! I could really visualize it.