Deus Necros

“What is the meaning of this?!” Misty’s brows immediately knitted together. The drawn weapons and the gun on the captain’s hand were a clear indication that the group of desert-men and their captain were ready to draw blood. The deck creaked under a dozen shifting boots. Sunlight struck along knife-edges and the brass mouth of the flintlock, and the heat pressed in thick and close so that even the breath between words felt heavy.

“Lady Misty, I don’t know what you heard about this Davon guy, but I’m pretty sure that the Davon of Solania is dead. This one is an imposter, he already destroyed two oasis, caused their waters to run dry and killed everyone in there.” The captain said. Her voice had the roughened grain of a sailor’s rope, and under it there was a tightness that belonged to people who have had to choose between thirst and another day.

“I did all that? How come I don’t know any of it?” Ludwig said. He did not raise his tone. He looked at the ring of men once, then at the gun, then at the woman holding it, and in that gaze there was only impatience at being delayed.

“Stop talking!” she said as she held the flintlock closer to his face. The powder-scent sat bitter in the air between them. A few of her crew edged wide along the rails, hands set on hilts in a way that looked casual and was not.

Ludwig’s left brow twitched, along with his heart as it began to ramp up, thankfully the amulet calmed him down immediately as he let loose a long breath. The cool of it lay over the first stirrings of anger like a damp cloth over coals. He watched the dust caught on the captain’s sleeve lift and settle again with each breath she took.

“Kaela… I don’t know what you heard, but you heard wrong, this is the same Davon of Tulmud.” Misty said. She did not step between the muzzle and the man. She tilted her body one inch toward the captain instead, palm open, a stillness that asked for reason before anyone bled.

“That can’t be, we know he died by the hands of the guardian of the north, news travel fast and wide, and we peddlers usually know a lot about the world, you’re mistaken this is the same scammer that ended the lives of hundreds of people!” The captain’s eyes flicked to the dunes. She spoke like someone who had watched water go bad and had learned to hate quickly to live.

The air around Misty seemed to change. “Kaela… I told you,” she said, every word dripping pure self restrain, “This is the real Davon, I traveled with him five years ago, along with lady Titania. She even gave him her token.” Her stare did not waver. She let the names sit between them like anchors.

The moment Misty said that, Ludwig flicked his ring which made everyone agitated, and in his hand a golden token of the Holy Order appeared. Metal caught the sun and returned it in a steady glow rather than a flash. The engraved crosswork and tiny script were the kind that no back-alley smith could fake without the work confessing itself under a trained eye.

“That… that’s the real token…” Kaela said, hesitation clear on her face. Her thumb eased from the hammer a fraction. A few of the men who had dragged blades half out of their sheaths let them sink an inch. Suspicion did not leave, but it loosened its grip.

“Now tell me,” Ludwig said, “Who’s impersonating me?” he tilted his head. The question carried no outrage. It was a craftsman asking for the name of the thief who had copied his signature.

The captain dropped her weapon low, and placed it back in a holster, and so did the rest of the shipmen. She sighed a bit and said, “We don’t have much information, but what we do know is someone is actively wreaking havoc in the outer desert. They’ve taken your name and appearance for all I know, and are actively destroying any and all sources of water here.” Her mouth worked as if she could taste grit even now from those places. Around them the sail boomed once, took wind, then sagged in the heat again.

“For what reason?” Ludwig asked. The word reason landed soft and heavy. In deserts, reason often wore the face of cruelty dressed as necessity.

“Like I said, we don’t have much knowledge about that…” she said. “We can get more information from the nearest oasis, we need to stockpile anyway. Our water is running dry.” She said. Her eyes slid to the casks stacked by the mast. The pitch around their seams had begun to crack from the sun. Every man near them had the reflexive, watchful posture of people living next to a dwindling thing.

She then moved away from the ship’s entrance point allowing Ludwig and Misty to walk inside. The crew parted like sand cut by a keel, not out of welcome, but relief that the moment had stepped past powder and spark.

“I apologize for my behavior,” the captain said. There was a short dip of the head to Misty, then to Ludwig, as one offers courtesy to trouble when it proves less than expected.

“No worries, I would have acted the same, the safety of your men is a priority,” Ludwig excused her. His tone made it a plain truth. He had no interest in bruised pride. He had seen what thirst did to judgment. The amulet lay cool; the Heart hummed low and indifferent.

She smiled at him, “You really can’t be that fucker, boys bring the Rum! We can’t have our guests treated poorly! Andy! Blast the turbine, get this ship moving!” she shouted and one of the men soon headed to the steering wheel. Laughter rose, thin and relieved, like a wind that barely lifts the edge of a sail. A cask thumped onto a table. Tin cups clinked. Anger bled off into work.

The sails rose, flaring with magic and the ship vibrated once, twice, then many times after, as it began moving through the sand. Runes along the keel lit in a dull steady rhythm. The hull found its glide, a low purr in the bones, a sensation like riding a creature that wanted to move and was glad to be told where.

“You might want to steer a bit away from there,” Ludwig pointed. His finger marked a patch where the sand had a false stillness, like skin stretched too tight over muscle.

The captain looked at the end of his finger and frowned, “Worm holes…” she looked at Andy and said, “Increase the vibration, we have a worm colony nearby.”

“Aye captain!” he howled, and immediately the entire ship felt as if it was about to break apart for how powerfully it vibrated. The timbers answered with a long shiver. Plates on belts rattled. A few men cursed under their breath and grinned despite themselves. The desert answered. The pattern of the sand around them changed, small avalanches slumped down dune faces, and a distant line twitched like a cut vein.

The sand parted away from its side allowing it to move faster, and from afar, Ludwig could see the sand in the distance that was created by the worms shake and move as if the creature underneath it was running away. Trails bent away from their path, kinks in the surface unwound. The ship wore a warning like a scent.

“You scared them off?” Ludwig asked. “I guess they thought that a big predator was approaching?”

“Smart lad, yes, the vibrations the ship releases informs all creatures that its coming their way. The smart ones avoid it,” she said as the ship moved through the worm nest. She watched the dunes like a reader of old script, nodding when a ripple spoke sense, frowning when it did not.

That got Ludwig interested so he couldn’t help but ask, “What about the not so smart ones?” His hand lay lightly on the rail, fingers feeling the timbre of the wood. Salem turned in his shadow and stretched, a lazy smile with too many teeth, content with the thought of anything foolish enough to test hard oak and iron.

The captain smiled, “Natural selection is a thing,” she said. The crew laughed as men do when they stand next to something that could kill them and choose humor because the other choice is fear.

And almost immediately one of the smaller worms popped out as if trying to bite at the ship’s hull. All they could hear was the loud sound of a crunch, and once the massive ship moved away, a long streak of red blood was painted all over the sand. The spray fanned and darkened, then sank as the grains drank. The smell was copper and heat.

Ludwig couldn’t help but snicker. The sound was quick and sharp, not cruel, only honest. He watched the wake close behind them as if nothing had happened, desert erasing desert.