The Sheer

The Blood Sea churned in the early evening sun. In only a few moments, dusk would fall, shadowing the crimson waves. Already, a few fishing boats were already setting out, ready for their catch of juvenile demon squids. Each fisherman tossed over a few pieces of meat as they rowed out, an offering to the Deep One, lest his creatures grow hungry, tipping over the fisher boats and offering the fishermen themselves to those that dwelt below. A lion shark was the least of their worries. At least it would kill them quickly. Yes, if they fell into the sea, they hoped it would be a lion shark that ended them.

The Sheer was the southernmost island, on the very edge of Vanocorr’s limits. It was only accessible by a narrow cat way of stone, The Narrow Way, constructed some three hundred years ago during the era of the Black Empire. Only two weathered rope rails kept clumsy crossers from falling into the shifting seas below it. Lion sharks circled, their jagged fins, like sails, signaling their presence. There were a few laborers crossing, wrapped corpses strapped to their backs as they navigated the narrow bridge. The Plague God had stricken Vanocorr with the Ashen cough, a terrible disease that wasted away the body, marked by a black gray substance the victims would cough up from their lungs. The quarantine had only been lifted a few days ago, with hundreds of dead bodies lining the streets, homes, and beds of the affected areas.

Those that made it to the Sheer without falling into the sharks, and one or two usually did, stacked the white cloth sack covered bodies into piles by the cliffside. There was only one building on the Sheer; a lighthouse to help guide ships and fisher boats back into the harbor. It was manned by a priest of the Deep One, who made sure it’s Void Whale lantern was always lit. The lighthouse sat against the edge of the cliff, hence the name Sheer. It was a nearly vertical fall down. There were more sharks there than the rest of the harbor. It was their feeding grounds.

The last of the bodies for the day were finally placed down. They were like piles of potatoes, nearly a hundred bodies ready to feed the hungry patrons below. Some outside the Free City considered it barbaric. Why not burn the bodies, or bury them? But to a Vanocorr native, this was considered a great honor. This city’s patron was the Deep One after all, despite his controversy as an Outer God. These fellows were just giving back to the city that birthed them, an offering to a god who allowed them to exist.

The priest of the deep one, a middle-aged bespectacled man, exited the lighthouse, thanking the men for their hard work. He sent half of them home with a coin offering, but the other half he would need help hauling the bodies off the cliff. They would be allowed to sleep in the lighthouse afterward. It was cramped, but it was better than trying to cross the catwalk in the dark.

“What are we waiting for?” one of the laborers, a sun kissed burly man, grumbled. “Let’s send them to the Deep One already.”

“Not yet,” the priest sighed, reaching into his robe pocket and pulling out a pocket watch. He frowned deeply.

“First time doing this?” another laborer, a wiry man missing an eye, smirked. “We waiting on the Shadow Maiden’s blessing. Supposed to be a priest here.”

“The Shadow Maiden?” the burly man’s brow furrowed. “That cursed bitch?”

“Watch your mouth,” the wiry man warned. “She has ears everywhere. I’ve seen what she can do.”

“It’s the Shadow Maiden’s fault we got to haul all these dead bodies,” the burly man spat. “She’s the goddess of death, ain’t she? She’s the reason we got to deal with all this death.”

“The Ashen Cough comes from the Plague God,” the priest replied. “The Shadow Maiden is merely a guide, for those who that follow her, that is. A guide to the Beyond.”

“I’m not much for religion,” The burly man admitted. The other laborers gave him a look. “I gave an offering to the Deep One, if that’s what you lot are concerned about!”

“If don’t wake up tomorrow, i’ll know you pissed her off,” The wirey man chuckled.

It was an hour after the sun had set that a lone lantern appeared at the end of the catwalk. The laborer’s watch as it slowly bobbed its way across the bridge. It was a windy night, the salty gusts making the crossing much more difficult than normal. Perhaps nearly half an hour later, the man crossed.

The old Master was dressed in a dusty black coat, with a ragged top hat atop his ashy white hair. He walked with a slight hunch, a walking cane clacking against the stone in the hand that wasn’t holding the oil lantern.

“You’re late,” the priest huffed. “Thought you finally stumbled into the sea.”

“Unfortunately,” the Master’s voice crackled. “My Maiden still has plans for me, it seems.”

“This the Shadow Maiden priest?” the burly man asked. He was seated on a crate near the bodies by a small lantern. It was a cold night to be wearing a sleeveless shirt. He was jealous of the Master’s cloak.

The Master slowly lumbered over to the body piles, his cane audible over the howling winds. The priest took his lantern, helping to illuminate the corpses. The burly man saw him reach into his cloak pocket, pulling out what looked like a small brass bell. The old man leaned over the bodies, ringing the bell as the priest stood a short distance away. Even over the wind, it rang out. No, it was like the wind stopped so that the noise could be heard. It made the laborer’s shiver.

“That’s a creepy noise,” the burly man coughed. “I hate hearing it.”

Ring. Ring. Ring. The Master rang that bell, shrugging, before moving to another corpse.

“It’s almost like you can hear it in your soul, huh?” the wirey man muttered. Unlike the burly man, he had a ragged cloak. It barely covered his thin body, but at least it was something.

Ring. Ring. Ring. The Master continued. The wind bellowed in between, seeming to stop at the moment the bell rang. He moved on.

Ring. Ring. Ring. It went on and on.

“Looks like nothing tonight,” the wirey man commented. “Shame, would’ve loved to see your face.”

“For what? What’s he looking for?” the burly man asked.

Ring. Ring. Ring.

“Hm?” The Master stopped.

Ring. Ring. Ring. Over the same corpse.

“This one,” the old man cackled.

“I see,” the priest nodded. He turned towards the laborers, gesturing for one of them to come over.

“You should go see,” the wirey man told the burly one.

Curiosity got the better of him. The man got up, shivering against the cold, walking towards the priest and the Master.

“Open it, please,” the priest directed.

“Is that safe? I mean, they told us not to open the sacks, because of the Cough…” the man protested.

“It’s fine, you’ll be all right,” the Master croaked, flashing him a hollow grin.

The burly man hesitantly reached down, reaching for a small knife he kept on his belt, cutting open the white sack. He nearly jumped back. Yes, he had been hauling bodies all day, but somehow it was easier when he didn’t see what was inside. It was the pale face of a child. He was emancipated, and his lips were dark purple. There was a stench that erupted from it, making the burly man glad the wind was so strong tonight.

“Ah, what a small child,” the Master chuckled, kneeling down and lifting the bell over the boy’s face.

Ring. Ring. Ring.

The boy suddenly gasped, coughing up a black-gray liquid. He convulsed, clawing for at his throat for air.

“Breath, breath,” the Master calmed the boy.

The boy continued to cough, color returning to his cheeks and his lips. His red eyes darted side to side rapidly, confusion and panic-stricken onto his face.

“By the gods!” the burly man panicked. “He was still alive! We have to check the other bodies!”

“No, no,” the Master chuckled, shaking his head. “This boy was very much dead, and his soul has very much dearly departed us.”

“But he’s…” the burly man pointed.

The boy finally stopped coughing, seemingly losing consciousness. The burly man thought he had died again, before noticing that he was still breathing.

“Unfortunately,” the Master sighed. “My good years are behind me, so I’m going to need help bringing this boy across the Narrow Way.”

“Across? Now? In this wind?” the burly man questioned.

“Yes, I need to get him to my home as soon as possible,” the Master replied. “His link to this plane is tenuous at best, even with the Maiden’s help. I need to stabilize him with potions.”

“But, the wind…” the laborer muttered.

The Master reached into his pocket, before placing the object into the palm of the burly man’s hand. It was cold. He looked down at it, trying to make it out in the dim light of the lantern.

“A silver mark?!” he gasped.

“And one more once we get to my home,” the Master grinned, turning and taking the lantern from the priest. “And perhaps a half mark for your silence, yes?”

The burly man rushed, picking up the boy into his muscular arms. He was such a small, fragile thing. Nearly bones. He must have suffered when he died.

“Thank you,” he thanked the priest. The priest nodded his head in response, before gesturing to the other laborers.

They got up, walking past the burly man as he followed the Master.

“Told you so,” the wirey man whispered as he moved past.

The last thing they heard was the sounds of the bodies going over the cliffs, and the slushing of the shark frenzy below as they made their way back across towards the city.