by Joshua Turner
in Issue 96, January 2020
Things beneath, things below; things in darkness, things unknown.
Viktor heard it again. It rang out through the back of his mind like that itch he couldn’t scratch. The lilting lullaby was louder and clearer this time as if whoever was singing floated directly beneath the docks. Viktor looked over the edge of the damp pier, contemplating a jump into the black waters to find the source of the song, but contented himself staring at the darkening sky reflected in the gentle waves.
“Viktor!” Garman’s shout distracted him from the itching. “Quit gawking and help me with the haul!”
Viktor tore his gaze from the sea and rushed over to assist his friend with the nets, both of which were filled to bursting with glistening, silver tarpon and salmon; the biggest catch the friends could remember.
“What were you looking at down there?” Garman asked as he dropped his end of the catch onto the docks. “Your deepmaiden again?”
“I know what I saw.” Viktor replied, perhaps too forcefully.
Garman smiled, his teeth exceptionally white against his olive skin, and shook his head. “Alright, I’m sorry. Tell me about her again. What did she look like?”
“Shut up.”
“I’m serious!”
Viktor waited silently, cursing himself inwardly for having even told Garman about what he’d seen the other morning: A deepmaiden, a lady of the sea, legendary creatures said to haunt the deepest depths of seas. The song had been louder ever since.
“You’re really not going to tell me?” Garman asked, crouching down to hoist one of the nets over his shoulders.
Viktor mimicked his friend’s action, though he wasn’t as large as Garman and he struggled a bit returning to a standing position. “First round is on you.”
“I’ll buy the first two rounds! We’re turning silver into gold with this haul!”
‘Turning silver into gold’ was Garman’s favorite thing to say. He must have believed itsomething clever, for every morning, without fail, he would raise a hand in greeting and shout “Ready to turn silver into gold, my friend?!”
“Her skin was the color of the sky at twilight, both blue and purple at the same time, and her hair shone and shimmered like a thousand gemstones,” Viktor said through grunts of strain. “Her eyes were pale…I think they may have been pearls.”
“Pearls the size of eyes? We’d never have to fish again.”
“I was just seeing things.” Viktor admitted with half a heart.
Garman sighed as he tossed his net down before the dockmaster’s quarters, which was, like most of Blacksalt Harbor, decrepit and reeked of fish. “Perhaps. But men have been telling stories about the Deepfolk for generations. There has to be some truth to it.”
Viktor dropped his net and turned to watch the sunset over the dark waters of the Inkwell. As bright as the sun got during midday it never could pierce the cold darkness of the sea. There was something about those waters, something ancient, primal, that touched deep into Viktor’s soul. As if by invitation the words danced across the salty breeze and past his ears:
Submerge thyself in waters cold; commune with things ancient, old
Viktor pulled himself out of his stupor before Garman caught him ‘gawking’ again and loosed his chestnut hair out of the small tail he kept it in. One day he would have to find the source of that song or he would go mad.
“Fifty francs for you,” said Garman, tossing a leather satchel his way. “And fifty for me. How about those drinks?”
The sparse, anemic light of candles cast dim shadows across the scored and gnarled wooden walls of the Roil Hall. Men laughed, bards thumped drums and piped flutes, and dark ale, black as night, flowed like swollen rivers. Despite being one of the more reputable taverns in Blacksalt the Roil Hall was neither clean nor particularly safe, but Viktor wagered if he could survive navigating the Inkwell then he could weather a night of raucous drinking.
“Four fish cooked golden!” Garman shouted above the din. “And more ale! Don’t stop until we’re dead!”
Viktor laughed and drained the last of his mug. “One of these days we’ll need to travel inland and find some drink that doesn’t carry a hint of fish.”
“You land a single, legendary haul and all of a sudden you’re too good for this place, is that it?”
“Of course not. The sea is my life and that will never change.”
“Ah, that’s right! What would you do without your lady of the sea?” asked Garman through a toothy grin.
Viktor’s eyes grew stormy and he spat onto the floor. “Don’t talk about that here.”
“Damn it, Viktor, I’m joking! Don’t be so serious all the time. If you want to go inland someday we’ll go inland. I promise.”
“Inland you say?!” exclaimed an excessively inebriated sailor that was sitting nearby. “You only go inland for the women! They don’t smell like fish out there, lads!”
“Don’t listen to this innocent maid! They still smell of fish!” another seaman added, eliciting a crashing wave of laughter that made Viktor’s ears ring.
“I’m going out to catch my breath,” Viktor said, putting a firm hand on Garman’s shoulder. “Don’t eat my fish.”
Viktor stumbled outside of the musty tavern for a breath of fresh sea air. His head was blissfully swimming and his body felt warm and relaxed, as one would when wrapped in a heavy blanket. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had so much ale…and perhaps that was for the best. Turning to watch the sea, he took in a deep, full breath of the cool breeze that came from over the waves. Many of Blacksalt Harbor’s inhabitants resented living in the town, cursing the dull, endless beaches, the inky, unforgiving water, and the overcast skies, but Viktor found it beautiful. It was a rugged, almost cruel beauty, but he didn’t mind. Even when the Inkwell had taken his parents, dragging them down with their skiff in a sudden gale, he would sit at his window every night after the harbor had settled down and listen to the crash and thump of the waves against the shore. That’s when the singing began and with it the tug on his soul to join the sea. It was the voice of his deepmaiden, Viktor was sure of it, serenading him over the waves. Such a soft and sonorous voice like nothing he’d ever heard before. The mere thought of those hypnotic tones ignited the compulsion to rush into the surf and vanish beneath the surface. It was a constricting feeling; a massive tentacle wrapping and writhing about him, choking away at his resistance. Viktor wiped cold sweat from his brow and tore his gaze away from the tantalizing undulations of the water.
If precious life you wish to keep; open lungs, breathe deep, deep, deep…
Viktor froze in place. He’d not heard those words before. As if under a spell, he turned on his heel and locked gazes with a pair of pale, pearlescent eyes floating in the surf. She was watching him. He could feel it. How many nights had he looked out on the waves unaware that the waves watched back? A sudden shiver rushed down his back, his breath quickened, but he could not tear away from her hypnotic leer.
Open lungs, breathe deep, deep, deep…
Viktor coughed, his throat suddenly raw and dry. His breaths began to burn his lungs, each gulp of air a new ember in the growing fire. Croaking and gasping he made a mad dash for the water, unable to breathe the poison that surrounded him. Despite all that was occurring he felt no fear, only a desperate longing for the inky black sea before him. He plunged into the first wave he met, letting the cold water break over him and push him into the sand.
Breathe deep, deep, deep…
Viktor gulped greedily of the sea, filling both stomach and lungs, ignorant of the undertow’s grasp on him. The water was cool and sweet to the taste and extinguished the flames that had roared within him. By the time he had sated his thirst Blacksalt Harbor was a small, golden glow in the impossibly far distance. Perfectly content Viktor floated in the ocean of blackness, letting the current take him wherever it wished. He belonged here. He was home.
A smooth, cold hand brushed against Viktor’s cheek, rousing him from his sleep. It was morning now, and a heavy fog had settled above the water all but blocking out the rising sun. She was floating next to him, those alluring pale eyes cutting right through him.
Viktor ran a hand through her opaline hair as it floated on the water like oil. “You’re real.”
The deepmaiden did not reply, only smiled and continued to stare.
“What do you want from me?”
Wordlessly, the lady of the sea took Viktor’s hand in her gentle grasp and pulled him underwater. Instantly surrounded by nothingness he kept his eyes on the two glowing pearls that stared back at him as they dove deeper and deeper into the fathomless depths.
Submerge thyself in waters cold; commune with things, ancient, old
Though he was blind to his surroundings Viktor could sense the presence of others swimming nearby. He turned his head and glimpsed dozens of pairs of pale eyes gliding down into the darkness with him. The farther down he sank the more lights he saw until an entire host of Deepfolk, like a school of fish, swam about him creating a vortex of sallow light to guide his descent. Their shadowy forms danced lithely through the water, watching and waiting. Some of the Deepfolk rode great sharks with dark, soulless eyes and massive, serrated teeth. As Viktor and his guide neared the bottom of the sea the host began to sing the haunting and familiar chorus:
Things beneath, things below; things in darkness, things unknown
Submerge thyself in waters cold; commune with things ancient, old
If precious life you wish to keep; open lungs, breathe deep, deep, deep…
Tendrils of kelp and seagrass brushed the length of Viktor’s body welcoming him as he settled onto the sandy seabed. In the dim light of thousands of peering lamps, he could make out a formation of rocky crags sitting in a rough circle just up ahead. With her gaze never leaving his own, the deepmaiden led Viktor forward through the rotting bowels of a long-lost carrack and towards the outcroppings. Hideous, lonely fish prowled the waters about the rocks like foul eagles circling a mountain peak, and a single octopus, dark and colossal, watched the procession from his perch atop the carrack’s mast. Viktor stared with wonder at the deep-sea mountains that slouched over him as he passed. Strange corals in coats of crimson, orange and fuchsia grew in strange, almost runic, formations all along the length of the rocks. In the center of the formation grew a tangle of plants that Viktor had never seen before. They were tall, rising high above his head like vines, and glistened black like clotted blood. Nestled beneath the bizarre plants, like an altar in a temple, sat a knot of ancient and warped driftwood. Long, eel-like fish with six eyes and knives for teeth lurked in and about the wretched vines, their writhing movements mirroring the temple’s swaying motions. Viktor could feel a powerful force exuding from the shadows beneath the vines; a force that always had been and always would be.
Commune with things ancient, old
The deepmaiden stopped before the entrance of the undersea copse and extended an arm forward, inviting Viktor to enter. With a small but growing sense of trepidation, he stepped forward into the shade and approached the wooden altar, wary of the vicious school and their excessive eyes. Within the largest of the driftwood’s hollows rested a massive, black pearl almost imperceptible in the oppressive darkness.
“What is this?” asked Viktor after turning to address the host of wan candles that encircled him. His voice was clear, not at all garbled and subdued like he had expected. “Will this make me like you?”
A mere nod from the ever smiling deepmaiden was the only answer Viktor received. He took his time circling back to the face the pearl, a hundred thoughts swimming through his mind. What was waiting for him back home at the harbor? Years of fishing? The rest of his life spent tossed about on the sea, praying to whatever god would listen that he wasn’t swept under by a roiling storm. There had to be something more…and this, a life beneath the waves with his deepmaiden, was certainly more. Viktor squared his shoulders and pulled a long breath of dark, cool seawater into his lungs before grasping the pearl in his right hand. A pulse rippled through his body and everything around him began to change. The water was no longer a refreshing coolness on his skin, but a stabbing, frigid cold like the pricks of thousands of teeth. It pressed down on him, crushing him like a cruel, black hammer. Going for a steadying breath, Viktor was horrified to find himself choking on the icy water that he once inhaled as if it were air. He whirled around, panic welling within him, looking to his deepmaiden for answers and salvation. His scream was little more than a muted whisper. His deepmaiden, and all the Deepfolk that had escorted him to this cursed shrine at the bottom of the world, had vanished, leaving in their stead a legion of bloated corpses, floating and chanting in the ghostly light of ten thousand tiny, glowing sea jellies:
Embrace your grave, poor, drowned soul; you belong to the depths swallowed whole
Forever now, slave to the deep; in bed of salt sleep, sleep, sleep…
Trapped in the swirling rot and death, Viktor cursed, wailed and prayed, but it was all to no avail. Try as he might, he could not loosen his grasp on the vile orb, helpless to the power taking root beneath his skin, his very blood, spreading through every fiber of his being. A darkness infected him, overtook him, spoke to him in words his fracturing mind could not decipher. His lungs ached, desperate for air, and his head felt squeezed as if by a vice. It took all of Viktor’s mental fortitude to comprehend that this was the end; his final resting place. The last thing his eyes saw was a massive shadow, darker than the nighted waters around him, spilling over towards him like the shade of death. As darkness blinded him, he heard the dead chant to him one final time:
Forever now, slave to the deep; in bed of salt sleep, sleep, sleep…
Viktor awoke spewing rivers of foul seawater from his lungs and stomach. His vision was blurry, a lens of ground glass, but the creaking of boats and shouts of sailors told him he was somewhere near the docks. His entire body ached with such intensity that the tiniest movement, even shivering, sent pangs of pain racing through him. He was cold, so very cold. With monumental effort, Viktor forced himself onto his back to let the sun warm his face. *Did I dream? Was it all a dream?* His mind was still tossing and unable to focus on a single thought before being swept off to the next. Despite his horrible nightmare, he felt out of place on dry land. Like he did not belong.
“Viktor!” Garman’s distant voice shouted. “Viktor, hold on!”
The sound of feet padding through sand drew nearer and nearer as Viktor waited motionlessly.
“Viktor! Are you alright?!” through his slowly recovering vision, Viktor could see his friend kneeling over him with a blanket. “What happened to you?!”
Viktor’s voice was a hoarse croak. “I…I’m not sure…”
“Can you move? Come, let’s get you someplace warm.”
Viktor tried to raise his right arm but found it weighed down by something his hand desperately clutched. He dared not look, even think, what it could be.
“…What is that?” Garman’s voice was a whisper of disbelief. “Is that a pearl? A black pearl?”
Opening his eyes a sliver, Viktor forced his gaze onto the lustrous orb grasped within his blanched fingers. His heart lurched and his stomach burned sour. *It wasn’t a dream…* All of it, the deepmaiden, the corpses, the loping darkness at the bottom of the see, it had all been real.
“Do you know what this means?” Garman shouted, helping his friend to his feet. “We’re rich, Viktor!”
Viktor was silent as he staggered across the sand. Something dwelling deep in his mind was awakening; a black seed sprouting. This pearl was alive and powerful. This pearl was everything.
Garman went on. “No more fishing or sailing! We will live like kings!”
“No.” Viktor hissed, stumbling to his knees. His left hand curled around a shard of broken seashell lying in the sand; a dagger from the depths.
“No?” Garman knelt to look Viktor in the eye. “What’s gotten into you? Your eyes…there’s someth-”
The ocean’s blade cut through Garman’s throat, spilling warm blood across Viktor’s cold, wrinkled fingers. Viktor rose, a new power within him, and watched Garman’s life slip away.
“Sleep, sleep, sleep…”
©January 2020, Joshua Turner
Joshua Turner started writing in high school and never really stopped. While he currently works as a radiology technologist, Joshua hopes to one day make a living telling his stories. When not writing, he enjoys hiking, gaming, and spending time with friends and family. He hopes you enjoy his tale! This is his first appearance in Swords & Sorcery Magazine.