"Perfect," he said, subtly not letting go of her wrist. "Is it healthy?"

"He's beautiful," she said, lost in the moment.

"Feel the bubble around us. There is a line running from it to where they are. Do you feel that line, that tendril?"

"Yes," she answered almost immediately. She was still looking towards the inn.

"Focus on the tendril, and close your eyes," he instructed softly, moving around to better see her face. "Emilee does not need us right now. But we are close by if she should. Where are you?"

"I'm out here, but I can see...like I'm peering through a window." Her expression was one of amazement. The base skill is there, she only needs to learn to apply and direct it. She is already feeling the increased power coming.

"Good," he said, barely increasing the pressure on her wrist. "Can you see the rest of the room, or just the one image? You may have to envision yourself stepping back a little. It is like when you stand too close to something and can see nothing else."

"Yes, it's working. There's Margaret and Elsa. Elsa looks worried, but Margaret isn't. Actually, she is, but she doesn't want Elsa to know."

"Good. They just need to see that the baby is healthy and right. They will see when he comes out. For right now I want you to not touch the baby. You still have to learn to be gentle. For right now I want you to watch. See how the baby looks, see his face--"

"His face is all squooshed!" she interrupted.

"That is normal. He is being pushed out. Picture in your mind the baby coming out, first the back of his head, and then his face, and then his shoulders. See him coming out perfect and healthy. See it the way it should be, and then let it happen that way."

"Margaret thinks he's turned the wrong way," she said suddenly. "But I can feel him! Why, I bet I could just --"

"Lynna, NO!" Agmar said sharply, as he threw up a barrier between her and the infant. He felt her react to it as if she had been suddenly slapped, and her eyes flew open, immediately welling up with tears.

"You are not ready to just reach in there and manipulate things," he said in a soft voice, letting his hand drop from her wrist to her hand and giving it a squeeze. "You do not have that control yet, and could have inadvertantly harmed the child. Children can come out faced towards the front like that, though the birth is less comfortable by far. It is more of a problem if the baby were flipped around entirely, which he is not."

"I'm sorry." Her face was filled with remorse and she wouldn't meet his gaze. He saw the first tear escape one of her eyes before she dropped her head entirely and he couldn't see her face.

"It is alright, Lynna," he told her. "I know you meant no harm. Just reach out again and watch. I will take care of helping turn the baby around, just let yourself feel what is happening around the child. All I want you to do is help encourage him to want to come out. Don't push him or try to move him in any way. Reassure him. Let him know his mother is waiting to take him in her arms." She looked up at him, and he saw that a few more of the tears had escaped her frightened eyes. "I will not let you harm the infant, Lynna. I know that is not your intent. Close your eyes and feel your way back to Emilee and her son again."

He closed his own eyes and followed the tendril back to the mother and child inside the inn, keeping a light mental touch on Lynna as he did. He could feel Lynna following him, tenatively, and hoped she'd be close enough to watch at least, as he reached in and gently nudged at the small person inside Emilee's abdomen. The child was resistant, wanting to settle back into the safe corner of the womb where he had been residing for so many months already, but once he was turned to the proper position, Agmar gave him another small feathery touch to send him in the right direction. He felt Lynna almost fading in and out alongside him, as she tried to get past her worry and reach out to the child. He could tell she had connected with this particular infant before, by instinct, and counted himself lucky that it was such a close friend of hers who was due to deliver first. He only hoped that there wouldn't be any extraordinary connection between Lynna and the child that might interfere with the child's connection to Emilee, as heard her making small sounds and words of encouragement out loud beside him, echoing them very lightly in the baby's mind.

"You are doing very well, by the way. Soon we will work on teaching you to relieve pain. That will be very helpful in the coming hours, but you will need more control first."

"What could I have accidentally done to her baby...if something had gone wrong?" She looked afraid, and Agmar wished he had been able to deflect her more gently.

"Do not worry about that now. Later you will better understand what you can and cannot do. There are a lot of things that magic cannot do, but babies are somewhat fragile." He put a hand on her shoulder, and she turned to face him. He smiled a little. It was a sympathetic smile, and she relaxed slightly.

"Usually it is boys in training that have the most difficulty learning control. You would have an easier time if there was more time for training and practice. Practice will be very important. And patience. It will not always come so instinctually."

"Are there some things that men can do that women can't, or that women can do but not men?"

"Not the way you mean, no. There are things that men or women do more easily, or do in different ways, but a tool is a tool, no matter whose hands it is in. Magic is neither good nor evil," he began, staving off her next question. "A shovel in the hands of an angry man can be a weapon, but in the hands of a gardener it is rather something else. If you had never seen a shovel before, and saw a man kill with one, I would forgive you for thinking it was purely a weapon. But imagine a town that made shovels against the law...."

"That'd be absurd," she said, laughing. The tension in the air and in her face had faded. Lecture time is over.

"Come. Let us take a break from this and go meet Emilee and Josh's new son, shall we?" She nodded her agreement and they stood up. He let the sound barrier dissipate and the noises around them seemed to rush to fill the empty space. The horses were agitated in the stables, hoofs restlessly pawing at the wooden stall doors. The sounds of a small baby wailing came from within the inn itself, along with a myriad of voices and daily working that chattered and clanged their way to his ears. The sudden sharpness of the sounds returning made Agmar wish for a moment that he was back in the bathtub from the prior evening, so that he might slide down and mute it some by ducking his ears under the water. He walked slowly back, allowing himself to re-acclimate to the volume as Lynna trailed quielty along behind him.

His ears separated the sounds from one another for him - the wooden thud of a bucket being placed on a wooden floor, heavily laden with water, the squeak of metal rings turning as more water was drawn up from the well just outside the kitchen, the slap of dough being smacked down on a table and hands kneading it into bakeable submission. There were also sounds of a variety of feet moving about on the clean-swept wooden floors of the inn, some scuffling along in soft leather soles and others treading more loudly with harder, thicker soles of cobbled leather shoes. Voices trickled through the hallways and reverberated through the walls. He let all the sounds sift through him, without allowing magic to interfere or deconstruct them in any way, reminding himself that sometimes magic was not the only way to feel the space around himself.

As they drew closer to the dining hall, the infant boy's voice drowned out the more subtle noises. He smiled, happy that the first child to be born today was a strong and healthy one. He hoped it would help calm the other mothers and the two Gretch women to see the first one be such a success.

The amount of women in the room when they walked in would have been enough to intimidate most any man. Mary had returned with the girls of her inn, it seemed, and with them and the others there were no less than 25 woman crammed into the dining hall, making it seem much smaller than it had before. Being the only man in the room attracted most of their eyes to him as he entered, and he felt sure that any other man might have seriously considered heading back out again at a reasonable pace, as the worry and tension in the room had escalated with the additional women. The only things that had stopped it from getting out of hand so far was the obvious strength of both Margaret and Mary, along with the safe arrival of the first child for today. Other expectant mothers were already hovering over Emilee, who beamed down at the little blanketed bundle voicing his hunger in her arms. Her husband was missing, and Agmar presumed he'd likely gone for things she and the baby would need from their home.

Mary was talking to Elsa as she tended to taking small samples of blood from the new arrivals to check them for pregnancy. Agmar made a quick check of his own and confirmed that two of the girls were currently pregnant, one of which was only a week at best. Agmar suspected she didn't know yet, and a look at her frightened face suggested to him that she might be better off not ever knowing at all. He decided he'd take care of that one himself at a point when Lynna wasn't nearby to feel the fetus die. The blood test wouldn't be accurate to have it show up anyway, he knew, and the girl would merely have some cramping and then think she was menstruating early. The other one was already almost three months along, and likely knew she was pregnant already. That one was going to prove more difficult.

In the middle of the crowd Emilee was beaming at her new little boy. Margaret Gretch was cleaning the boy up, and looked relieved. Eventually she was able to let the mother and child spend some time by themselves, and she stood up. She saw Agmar and, grabbing a towel for her hands, moved towards him.

"Well, I've never seen a three hour labor before," she said. "This one looks perfect."

"Yes," he agreed, motioning for her to follow him to the edge of the room. She did.

"Those born before midnight have good chances--those ready enough to survive, at least. Not all the deliveries will go so quickly. Any that are not born before sunrise will probably have no chance at all." Her smile faded some at that. He sighed a little, always having to bring bad news.

For all the things I can do, there are so many that I must do.

"These people have seen an easy, successful birth," he said at last. "You should clear them out before the rest. Some of the coming ones will be very hard, and those mothers deserve what privacy we can afford them. In some cases, it will be better for everyone if as few people as possible see the results."

Margaret looked around the room, surveying. "I understand," she said.

"You might want to take a look at these other women," she added, gesturing at the newer pregnant arrivals. "Most of them think they're here because there's a medical man in town, and I haven't told them otherwise. You could at least pretend that your expertise lies in medicine for their sakes."

"I beg your pardon?" Agmar was taken aback by her sudden change of tone, although he noticed she'd lowered her voice even more while saying it.

"You might find that some people can be of more use if you give them all the information in advance. Some people are better off not knowing, I agree. Others, like myself, are in need of all the information possible in order to do their jobs. My job here is to help keep the people in this town in as good of health as possible, Agmar. I know you've told me more than most already, but I also know that it's a little too rare to see a three hour labor, especially when the child was facing front. That baby flipped rather conveniently, I'd say. I also find it curious that you make a big deal about having these women brought here and then proceed to disappear out back for the better part of an hour, to entertain some likely dangerous topics with our mayor's daughter."

Lynna gasped softly beside them, stepping back a bit with a look of alarm. Agmar found himself sighing heavily, hoping Margaret hadn't just undone the small amount of trust he'd hoped he'd built with the girl.

"Mrs. Gretch, please. You are correct that you do not have all the details as of yet, but there is no need to suggest that Lynna --"

"I'm not suggesting that Lynna is at any fault, and stop calling me Mrs anything. Everyone calls me Margaret, and Mr. Gretch has been dead for years now. I think I have a damned good idea what you were up to out there, and it's a dangerous thing you're messing with. Not to mention you could do some serious harm to her reputation. This town's tolerance is only so high, and certain people keep their secrets for good reason." She gave a brisk nod to the astounded Lynna. "I know more about the people in this town than your father does, dear. Some things don't pass me by quite so easily is all. No need to worry over it, you've done a fine job of keeping it from everyone else."

"Margaret --" his voice trailed off under her gaze.

"Do you actually have anything to the point to say, or is this going to be another cryptic speech that basically doesn't leave me with more than a pit in my stomach and an urge to hide all the women of this town under my skirts to protect them from both whatever is coming and from you? Because Emilee's child was close enough to ready to be born today, but I'm still thinking I'd like proof before I start aborting any of those babies too young to survive being born. A couple of the others are likely to survive, a couple more are borderline, but about half the pregnant women in town won't have their babies survive being born today. Chickens killing a woman and a few angry dogs are not enough to convince me that their babies are going to turn into miniature monsters that could kill them and us."

Her voice had gotten lower, and he and Lynna were both leaning slightly towards her in order to hear. He sighed again, his shoulders drooping and his head dropping a moment while he collected himself. A part of him wanted to shake her in exasperation. A small part of him just wanted to cry. But he had no time for either at the moment. He took a breath and looked up at Margaret, meeting her eyes again. Another part of him idly noticed that they were of a blue-gray color.

"I know it is a lot to ask that you just trust me, Margaret. I am a stranger here, and likely more strange than most. But I do not know every part of what is coming. I know that the worst of it should be on the third day. This is day one. Mostly the animals are being affected today. The worst parts will happen at night. An ancient evil is going to try to do what it can to destroy anything and anyone it find in its path, and it will use whatever means it can find a way into. If I do not spend some time with Lynna, it could harm her greatly."

"If we don't get those children out of their mothers, as I explained before, they might just claw their way out when the evil changes them into beasts. If we don't tie down the animals, they will try to kill us. And, on the third night, when the evil is directly overhead, sleeping townsfolk will rise from their beds and go on a killing rampage if we do not prevent it beforehand. Those of us who are strong enough to resist, and I believe you to be one of those Margaret, will need to be awake to help protect the rest. There are other things that will likely happen that I am not aware of yet. I have read texts on it. It comes every 250 years, this evil, but no one has left detailed instructions on how to handle it. Just myriad accounts of the destruction that fell in its path. I'm here to help, Margaret, and to be blunt I could use a couple of people to just trust me, instead of constantly questioning my reasoning and ethics." He closed his eyes as he finished, and took a couple of deep breaths.

"He doesn't feel wrong, Margaret." Lynna said very quietly. He turned and looked at her curiously as she continued. "I mean, I sometimes get a feeling if someone wants to do something they shouldn't, or is thinking angry thoughts, and Agmar doesn't feel that way. If that helps at all, I mean." she looked around sheepishly and hung her head. Agmar could have hugged the girl just then.

"She should not be involved in this," Margaret insisted, inclining her head towards Lynna.

"Unfortunately, her involvement is not a matter of choice," he said, putting up a light barrier around them. It would be enough to muffle their conversation to keep anyone from overhearing specifically, but only just that much.

"She has the ability," he continued. "Because she has never had any training, she has no control over it. As early as tomorrow there will be enough power in the air to make it hard for her to not use it. The day after that it will be strong enough that every stray thought she has may well have visible consequences. Without training, she will unintentionally pull more power through herself than her body can handle. Letting her go untrained would be like running through a tool shed with an extremely big magnet. Without training and supervision she will inadvertently kill someone, if just herself."

"So I need to spend time working with her, or she will become a danger to herself and this whole town. It would not be her fault. She would have no control over it."

"What I have to do is difficult enough, Margaret. You have a dozen or so lives you can save. I will not be able to accelerate them all the way I did that one. Believe me when I say that you do not want to see what would happen if we were not doing this. Believe me when I say that you have enough to focus on without my having to explain every detail and every decision. Focus on the dozen or so you can save. I, and others, have the rest to worry about."

Margaret glanced around the room nervously.

"As long as we keep our voices low like this, no one else can hear our conversation. I have put up a barrier against that for the moment. One would have to step within it in order to hear more than muffled mumbling." He noticed she glanced around herself then, as if looking for the barrier itself, before turning her attention back to Agmar and Lynna.

"Understand please, Agmar, that I am responsible for these people. No less so than our mayor is, in fact there are occasions when it is more so. We've been through storms and plagues together. One year, most of the town burned down. But those things were apparent when they came. Easy to identify. This is different. And while you come in here and start telling me how I'm supposed to handle this, when it's over I'll be the one that has to clean up the mess, and who these mothers will hold responsible for their dead children regardless of who aborts them. They'll turn to me, and I'll have to deal with the aftermath as I expect you'll be long gone. If others find out about Lynna, she very well might need to leave town. Elsa and I might lose our place here as well, or worse."

"But, besides that, I take responsibility for these people. I want these mothers to be able to have beautiful, healthy children. They're not just people I happen to know, they're my friends. And, if there is any doubt at all, any way that you could be wrong and their children are not in danger..."

"There is not." He stopped her there, wishing he could answer her differently. "I can feel it coming. Evil, being drawn on its path towards us, angrily. Even without what I have been able to research on what is coming, I can feel its power in here," he touched his heart with his finger, "as much as I can in here," he ended by touching his bald head with the same finger. "I will not force you to do anything, but I do need your help. I give you my word, Margaret, that the things I ask of you are necessary. That far worse will happen if these tasks are not done. And that it will become apparent to everyone in this town, at some point over the next next few days, what would have happened if we had not. I believe that the mayor understands this already."

"The mayor is protecting his own ass just as much as he is the people of this town. I'm sorry Lynna." She winced, looking apologetically at the girl. "And he's not having to pull babies from their mothers. The things he's dealing with cost money, and people are more likely to be understanding when it comes to money than they are when it involves lives." She sighed heavily, and put up a hand, stalling Agmar from responding. "I will do what I can, Agmar. I will help you. But I won't be held responsible for what action I take if you are lying to me. You're a stranger here. I'm not as agitated when it comes to those who have abilities as others in this town are, but I still don't know you at all. But, for the moment, I believe you. However, I want to be kept informed. As I said, I need to know what's coming. As soon as you know something is happening, I need to know too, if I'm going to help keep these people safe and intact. Is that fair to you?"

"You don't want to know all of it..."

"You, sir, are underestimating me. I'm stronger than I may look." She lifted her chin, and her eyes dared him to say otherwise.

"Very well. I will try to keep you as informed as I have time for. And please keep me informed of anything unusual you hear of, as it may be a prelude to something much worse. Is that fair?"

She nodded at him. "It'll do."

It was all he could do to keep from rolling his eyes as he nodded back at her. These people are stubborn as hell, he thought to himself. I just hope they are stubborn enough.

Chapter 6

Stott was the older of the two brothers, so he was trusted with controlling the boat. Father and Etrick were pulling up nets forward. It was supposed to be the peak of the season, but the last three nets had all come up empty.

"Well, this doesn't look right," he heard Father telling Etrick. He looked forward, curious now. This net was full to bulging, but nothing in it was moving. No, that doesn't look right.

"Pa...they're all dead," Etrick said.

"Dump them," Father said quickly. The fish tumbled into the water and out of Stott's sight. Even the sound of them plopping into the water did not sound right. The air seemed...heavy, and a chill ran up his spine. Creepy.

It was then that he looked farther ahead. Father and Etrick had been working at the side of the boat. None of them had noticed the ship ahead. Even from here Stott could tell that something was not right about it.

Sails were out, but not taut in the wind, as if no one was manning them. They flapped and fluttered unevenly. There were dark shapes up in the rigging. He watched for a moment and noticed that they didn't seem to be doing anything. The ship looked to be headed to come pretty close to them.

"Hey, guys, what's up with that?" he asked loudly to carry against the wind.

He saw his father put his hand up to shield his eyes out of habit, despite the darkening sky. Etrick loosened the rope and dumped the load of fish before hauling the net up into the boat. A few dead fish came up with it anyway, and made a hard, flat thudding sound as they hit the wet wood of the deck. Etrick pulled them out of the net, tossing them into a bucket for a moment as he worked the tangles out of the netting itself. One of the fish stuck stiffly up, its head visible over the edge of the bucket, and Stott had a momentary feeling that it was watching him. He shook it off, annoyed that such a childish notion would even occur to him after the amount of gutting dead fish he'd done over the years. He turned his attention back to Father, who was waving his arm at Stott.

"Bring her 'round Stott. I'm not sure anyone's manning up there. She looks adrift. Cargo hauler from the looks of her. Full one too, she's heavy in the water." Father moved back towards Stott, neatly sidestepping the netting. "She'll run right over us if we don't move, but we might as well stay near enough to find out what's ailin' them. It's not as if we're busy haulin' in fish." He sighed and plucked the hat briefly off his head to run his fingers through his graying thin hair, as Stott turned the wheel to adjust their course.

"Father, should we consider heading back early? The storm clouds came up awful sudden. I don't like the feel of it. Something just seems...wrong today."

"Somethin' is wrong, Stott. The wind's goin' the wrong way."

Stott realized that his father was right. The wind tended to run crosswise, and they were able to use it both going into town and coming from it if they zig-zagged along. At the moment the wind was specifically pushing them back towards town. He'd been fighting against it all day, trying to keep the boat in place while they hauled in the nets and traps they'd set. They'd had better luck with the lobster traps the day before, and those were stashed below, but today appeared to be a total loss so far.

"Get that net secured, Etrick. The storm's gonna break soon and I don't want it whipping about." Father moved to the bucket with the dead fish, and plucked the top one out, turning it over in his hands to examine it.

"Can you tell how it died, Father?" Etrick asked, as he started gathering the mostly untangled net up in his arms and heading to stash it in one of the large wooden trunks they had bolted to the deck for gear. He stuffed it inside and then latched it securely shut.

"No. I don't see that I -- ARG! Damn!" Father dropped the fish he'd been holding and clutched his hand. Stott noticed, with some astonishment, that the fish now flopped around on the deck of its own accord. He suddenly saw that the bucket the fish had been in was now writhing excitedly with the movements of the other fish still inside it. "What in blazes..?" Father peered into the bucket, and then pulled his head back as one of the fish suddenly jumped up into the air, snapping at him with his mouth.

"Father?" Etrick quickly grabbed the bandages box out of its cubby and headed over to their father.

"Damn things are cursed or worse. Little bastard bit me!" Father exclaimed. "Get 'em off, now! I won't be havin' cursed fish on my boat!" He reached down and snatched at the fish that was flopping at his feet, looking at it for just a moment before flinging it back overboard. Etrick grabbed the bucket and dumped it over the side before snagging the bandages back up and taking a look at Father's hand. Stott turned his attention to the cargo ship, which had come close enough for them to start seeing some of the crew if any were alive.

"Father? Look at this," he heard himself say. He stared, slightly in shock, at the dead eyes of a man hanging from a rope around his neck off the near side of the ship. Other ropes and rope ladders dangled uselessly as they blew to and fro with the wind. His eyes moved to the figure he'd seen in the masts, only to find worse. That man was dangling upside down, his leg caught up in some netting. His head knocked against one of the masts over and over again, as the boat moved in the waves and his body in the wind. The sound it made was wet and hollow, and Stott could see that one of the man's arms was missing, just below the shoulder. The wound looked reasonably fresh, and the blood splatters across the nearby sail could easily have been caused by it.

Turning away from looking at the body, Stott saw that debris bobbed here and there in the waves next to them. Further down the ship there was a small rowboat, dangling half deployed from ropes that would normally secure it in place on the boat and then help lower it to the water when it was needed. He heard his brother whistle, having stopped midway through putting the bandage on Father's hand to gape at the boat. Father was peering up at the ship as well, a look of concern etched into his weathered face.

"Pirates?" Etrick pondered aloud.

"Looks more likely to be that than plague at least. If so, there might be survivors. We'll need to board her to find out," Father replied.

Stott turned the boat about and held it steady while the ship drew closer and Etrick finished the bandaging on Father's hand. With the ship closer it looked even worse. There was blood smeared on the side of the ship even.

When they were alongside the ship Father grabbed one of the dangling ropes and secured it to the boat, letting the ship tow them along with it.

"We'll go up by way o' that ladder, Stott. Don' fall in, there'll be sharks in the water with all this mess about." He turned, "Etrick, stay down here an' finish getting us ready to go in. We might have to do something about this ship, or it'll just slam into shore somewhere. Ship this size must've had a crew o' thirty, easy." And probably all corpses, he did not have to add.

The ship was easily a hundred feet, maybe another twenty besides. Her deck was a good fifteen feet above them. She had two looming masts with two large sails each. The sails looked a bit tattered. Whether damaged by weather or battle he couldn't tell. He saw another swinging body near one of the upper yard arms, and made himself focus on the ladder.

"It don't smell good here, Pa," Etrick volunteered. Stott could smell it, too. Death.

"At least it's not rainin'. Come on, Stott," Father said, grabbing the dangling ladder with his non-bandaged hand. "An' keep an eye for sharks, Etrick."

He grabbed his gloves out of his back pants pocket and slid his hands into them before grabbing onto the ladder and starting up. The soft leather helped him get a better grip on the wet rope and slippery wooden slats as he made his way towards the ship's deck. He felt the ladder steady some beneath him, and glanced below to see that his father had donned his gloves as well, before pulling the ladder taut for Stott. His brother waited to hold it for their father's ascent. Stott turned forward again and finished climbing, not looking at the rest of the deck until he was fully aboard. He saw that the ladder was in good shape and turned to survey the rest of the boat while he waited for his father. His eyes drew first to the man he'd seen before, hanging off the masts, and his stomach rose to his throat.

The man must have been dead for a couple of days now, as the gulls had already started tearing him apart. His eyes had been pecked out, and his flesh around the open wounds had been torn and pulled at. Stott moved further down, feeling his breakfast coming back up on him. He turned away from the center of the boat and another body caught his eyes. This one had been speared to the deck, the wooden handle straight up in the air from the man's chest. It appeared that he'd been stabbed several dozen times first, possibly more, as Stott doubted that the man's own mother would have been able to identify the body. Gulls had been at this one as well. Stott barely made it to the rail before he lost his breakfast into the sea below. He heard his father's feet hit the deck and he quickly wiped his mouth with his sleeve and moved to join him.

He saw his father surveying the scene, and marvelled at the man's calm. His father had served in the Navy for five years before he'd met their mother and settled down to fish instead. Stott suspected that this wasn't the first time his father had seen bodies before, though those stories never came up. He'd always been content to tell stories about the way battles were fought by boats at a distance, with flaming arrows, small catapults, and the like. He'd always glossed over the ship boardings. Stott waited, silently, for his father to tell him what to do next.

"This ain't right," he shook his head. "Let's find the Cap's log an' check below fer survivors. I want ta know if they saw this comin' or not. Cap'n will have likely written it up if they did." Stott saw his father pull his machete out of it's sheathe, strapped to his thigh, and pulled the long dagger he had out of the one he had strapped to his boot. He wondered if his father felt the same comfort as he did, having a weapon in hand. He followed his father around to the middle of the boat, where they found the door to the officer's area propped open by another body. This one appeared to have been burned beyond recognition. Stott wondered where the fire had been and who had put it out. He tried to swallow the lump in his throat, hoping he wouldn't throw up again.

It didn't take long for them to find the Captain's quarters which were neatly marked with brass letters on the wall above the door. They had to break down the door to get in, as well as push furniture out of the way. Another body lay on the floor, possibly that of the Captain, by the way he was dressed. A cutlass lay discarded on the floor nearby, as if it had been lost in a struggle. One of the man's arms lay extended in its direction, as if trying to get at it. He had a large, bloody gash across his forehead, as well as several slice wounds across his body. Stott's father turned and handed him the log, which had been lying open on the desk.

"Time to put all that book learnin' o' yers to work, son." Stott took the book and skimmed over the words quickly, trying to see if he could find the beginning of what happened. Once he had, he cleared his throat and began to read aloud.

Whatever is happening to us feels as if it has come on the wind. The crew is agitated. We've not been out long enough for this, but I'm going to cut in and add another couple of days at shore so they can shake it off. We should be able to reach Eagle's Harbor in another four days, wind willing. And it seems as if it is - the wind itself has oddly turned towards town. It's day, but the sky is black with clouds. I've never seen clouds like these before. I fear we're in for the worst storm I've ever seen.

---

It's getting worse. I don't know what to make of it. Maybe we've been cursed? The clouds still hang above, and it rains sporadically - hard rain when it does. Lightning has been hitting the waters nearby, but somehow not the boat itself. The livestock in the hold have gone nuts, and it's affecting the morale. They had seemed agitated before, but now some have chewed right through their ropes and kicked open their stalls. One of the boys was nearly killed by a pig! I'm ordering the livestock slaughtered. I hate to lose the profit, but if these animals are cursed I'm not going to be able to sell them anyway.

---

Crew seems bloodthirsty. Slaughtering the animals looked more like a party for savages, as several crew members joined in. I'd suggested that the beasts be killed, butchered, and the cook preserve the meat with the help of some of the boys, but there's not much left of them for the cook to work with. Crew set onto those animals like a pack of hungry dogs. Stranger than that, the eggs cook had on board for cooking HATCHED. Mitch, our cook, is very superstitious to begin with, and now the kitchen floor is coated with salt and he's hanging bundles of garlic all over the ship. It's hurting morale, and I'm having them taken down. I'll need to confine Mitch to quarters.

---

Another thing - there's no thunder with this storm? What kind of storm doesn't have thunder?

---

Gods help us all. Something terrible is happening. Men rose from their bunks and started killing eachother today. Some with their bare hands. The woman from the couple I'd taken on as passengers is dead, and last I saw they were raping her dead body. Her husband was thrown to the sharks. I couldn't save them, I'm not even sure I can save myself at this point, much less the ship. I've locked the rudder into place and barricaded myself into my quarters - the crew has gone insane. They are killing eachother. A few people have been tossed overboard and it was as if the sea was starving, they went under so fast. Objects have been moving on their own - a couple people have been strangled by ropes. The anchor rose up on its own and smashed my first mate's head open. I wish I hadn't taken on extra crew at the last port, though I'm pretty sure more than half the men on this ship are now dead.

---

I'm defending against my own belongings at this point. I doubt I'll be alive when this log is found. Just burn the ship, and everything on it. Don't take anything off - we must have something aboard that has cursed us, though I can't imagine what kind of curse could do this.

"Come on, Stott. Let's toss that log book down to your brother, an' then we'll go below and start a fire." Father looked more than just concerned.

"But he said not to take anything...."

"I doubt it's the log book that's cursed, Stott. 'Sides, it lists the names o' everyone aboard. Some o' them'll have family." Father moved out of the room, stepping wide around the dead captain. The corridor outside the cabin room seemed darker than it had been.

The door to the outside banged shut with cracking slam. The latch was clearly broken, and it started banging open and closed with a clearly increasing wind. They started that way, and during the open moments he could see past Father to an oppressive darkness outside.

"Storm's comin'," Father warned. At the door Father caught it before it could slam into them. "Arg, dammit!" he said, having without thinking caught it with his hurt hand. He grabbed it with his other hand and held it for Stott, who followed him through.

Once they were outside the wind suddenly stopped. It was calm--dead calm. A look to either side revealed sea that was suddenly stilled. Not a wave to be seen under the brooding skies. That's not possible, Stott's mind insisted.

With an abrupt and start-inducing thud a body fell from the rigging and smashed into the deck just a foot in front of him, and he yelled. The head smashed open on impact, some of it spattering on his legs. His stomach started coming back up on him.

They started towards the ladder over the side, and the rest of the hung bodies fell at them, one by one. Each landed with the same rotten fruit thunk. "This ship really is cursed," Father exclaimed when he dodged the third one.

"Pa! Stott! Help!" Etrick's voice's was filled with fear. They rushed forward and Stott's foot slipped, sending him face-down onto the deck. He slid towards the stern of the ship, before his momentum was stopped by the soft form of another body. As he pulled himself to his knees, he realized it was a woman. Her head was at an unnatural angle, and her eyes wide open, a look of terror frozen on her face. Her shirt was in shreds and her skirts were missing entirely. She lay in a heap against the wall, as if she'd been discarded, and bone protruded out of one of her legs. Stott turned and emptied his stomach onto the deck, heaving forth what seemed like everything he'd eaten in the past week, before there was nothing left to vomit. He looked around and found a large piece of sail that had torn from the mast and caught on some barrels, and used it to cover her before moving back to join his father. The image of her seemed burned into his eyes. She had not been much older than he was.

His father was nowhere to be seen on the deck of the ship, and Stott looked over the side to find his dad jumping down, having slid down one of the ropes with his knees and gloved hands. His father was swearing in pain as he did it, but Stott saw why he had, and immediately did the same, stuffing the log book into the back of his pants to not lose it. One of his gloves tore on the rough rope, and he gritted his teeth as he felt the outer layer of skin stripped from his left palm. He jumped off the rope, as the one he'd grabbed didn't quite make it all the way down to their boat, and he felt his ankle snap as he hit the deck and tumbled. Ignoring the pain as best he could, he pulled his knife back out again, and threw himself forward onto the shark, who's teeth were deeply imbedded into his brother's left thigh. His brother was screaming now, and his father was hacking at it with his machete, while grabbing it's nose with his good hand, trying to pull its mouth open. Stott moved his dagger under Etrick's leg, and jammed his dagger into the shark's lower jaw, using the handle as leverage to push it down. Between them, they managed to get it open wide enough that Etrick could pull his leg out. Blood started spurting into Stott's face suddenly, from the puncture wounds. Etrick managed to get his hands down on it, as Stott and Father flung the shark off the boat. The sea writhed as it hit the water, and he saw all manner of sharks, fish and other sea life fighting angrily to get to it. Not all were carnivorous.

Stott turned and yanked his belt from his pants, to strap it around some bandaging he quickly grabbed from the trunk. His father had already used his own belt to cut off the blood above the wound by the time Stott started applying the bandage. Etrick looked pale, and had stopped screaming but was breathing hard.

"It was dead. It was dead. It was dead," Etrick started repeating. Stott realized that Etrick was right. The shark they'd pulled off him had been dead. dead, but moving as if it were alive. Its color was wrong though. And its eyes looked dead. Like the fish from the net.

"He's in shock. We need to get him back to town. Get a fresh glove on, then go light that boat so we can leave, Stott." Father grabbed him by the shoulder. "And you be careful." He gave Stott's arm a strong squeeze before he turned back to Etrick, who'd fallen unconscious.

"I will, Pa." He ran below quickly and exchanged his damaged gloves for fresh ones, before grabbing the flint and a jug of lamp oil out of one of the watersealed trunks, stuffing the cargo ship's logbook into it's place. He latched the trunk shut again and rushed back up, being careful not to bump the jug. He stuffed the flint into his pocket, and used a chunk of rope to tie the jug around his waist, before climbing up the ladder he'd used before. He noticed Father was dousing the bandages on Etrick with alcohol, and had gotten some blankets to keep him warm.

His ankle hurt, but if he was careful it did support weight. At least its not broken. Somewhere there was lightning, but no thunder followed it.

"Hurry, Stott!" Father called out. "And careful!"

He did not bother answering as he clambered over the rail onto the deck. He stopped briefly to think. Below there would be hay for the livestock mentioned in the log. That would be the best place to start a fire.

He found a hatch that led below through the cargo holds. He decided if he had to hurry out he would rather have stairs than a ladder, so he moved aft to look for another route down. The hatch he left open.

Off the corridor that reached the captain's quarters was a stairway below. He supported himself with one hand on the wall, still being gentle with his ankle. The ship's layout made no sense to him, and it seemed to have far more corridors than it could possibly need. He passed through the galley, where a quick glance was more than he wanted to see. One cook lay on the floor with four knives in him.

He passed through and found stairs leading farther down. At the bottom of the steps was an aisle corridor with doors on both sides. It was too dark to see more than that. He backed to the kitchen and found an enclosed oil lamp hanging on a gimble that would let the lamp sway with the ship's motion. He took the lamp down and lit it.

With the lamp in his left hand he moved carefully down the steps. The corridor was a short one, with pantries and storage areas. The hold must be below, he thought, wishing he had just taken the damned ladder.

Finally he found what he was looking for. Part of the hold was divided into stalls, and he pointedly did not look in them. At the far end was a blocked off area with stacked hay bales reaching to the ceiling. He reckoned he was near the center of the ship, fairly low. Perfect.

He untied the jug of oil and poured some of it on the hay. He splashed some on the walls. Once it got low enough, he stepped back and hurled it at the ceiling near the top of the straw. It shattered there, splattering oil all about. None of it splashed onto him.

After a deep breath he pulled the flint and struck a spark that caught the oil at once. Flame instantly roared into life, spreading faster than the oil should burn. He stepped back from a wave of heat. It's like it wants to burn. Desperately.

Before he had even started moving it had spread across the ceiling. The lamp broke open in his hands, glass breaking as if it had been hit with some invisible hammer. With a jerk reflex he tossed it away from him before he could catch fire himself. He ran with all he had towards the rear and the steps up.

Stott could feel the heat of the fire intensifying as he ran, as if it was somehow burning hotter. His heart raced, and his ankle seemed to be getting worse with every step. He could hear his own voice, yelling out, but he felt disconnected from himself, as if he was watching from a distance. Each placement of a foot was deliberate, and every other one now brought a yelp of pain. He'd definitely made the sprain worse, but the fire licked at his back as if it was reaching out to claim him for its own.

He nearly cried in relief when he finally saw the stairs leading out to the deck. Suddenly the world seemed to move in slow motion for him, as he started up them, grabbing at the wall to take some weight off his ankle as he did so. As he neared the opening, the doors above him slammed shut, one at a time. He only barely managed to keep his head from being hit. He pushed against the doors with his hands, to try and open them, but they felt as if something heavy had been placed over them. He shoved against them with his shoulder until he felt something pop and pain ripped through his arm. He then battered against them with his fists, screaming for help. There was nothing there but the darkness and the fire. And the fire seemed to have stopped short, licking the occasional tentacle of flame out to test him. He dodged, but one slipped across his face, setting the edges of his hair on fire. He managed to snuff it with his gloved hands before it could actually take hold, but the smell of burnt hair added to his fear. He turned, frozen in it, and looked into the flames head on.

"Mother of seas and oceans protect me as I sail to the deep unknown.." He found himself reciting words his father had taught him as a child. "I shall fear not your dark waters for I know that you are waiting." He had wedged himself up between the doors and the stairs, his arm thrown up as if it could fend back the flames. His face felt as if it already burned from the heat. "Take me within the comfort of your waves, where --"

A loud smashing noise came from one side of the doors above him, followed by the appearance of part of a blade near one of the hinges. Another came quickly after, by the other hinge, and then there was a great cracking and splintering of wood. Stott's attention was drawn back to the fire in the moment before his father managed to pull one of the doors aside, and it seemed as if the flames roared in anger. He scrambled through the opening as soon as it was large enough, heedless of any pain as he felt the fire lunge forth to try and consume him. His father's strong arms grabbed hold of him and pulled him free, letting the wooden door slam back down behind him.

They ran across the deck, Stott limping and a few steps behind Father. The deck was slick with blood. Flames poked out the still open cargo hatch. Fire shone through cabin windows already. ...Not possible.

At the rail Father waited and let Stott go down first, needlessly reminding him to hurry. Every other rung hurt, but he moved as quickly as he could. He dropped the last couple of feet to the rocking boat, trying to land on his good foot. It was not graceful.

He stumbled over to check Etrick, who was still unconscious. His face was pale with lost blood. His pulse was not very strong, but it was there and he was breathing.

"I'm untying the ropes now, Stott," Father called out, "unfurl the sail. Let's get as much wind as we can!" Lightning flashed angrily on the other side of the ship. Again there was no thunder.

Stott was already not far from the ropes for the main sail, and his experienced hands had the sail down with wind in it in fairly short order. Even still there was fire in the ship's rigging before they started moving away any. Stott moved to the wheel to steer away from the flaming wreckage. The wind was in their favor, and he steered to catch it as best he could. The boat leaned in the wind, moving for all it was worth.

They were both quiet and Stott watched the blaze behind him. His brain was still trying to absorb everything that had happened. He wasn't even trying to understand it yet. It was too much. At least there's no danger of it reaching shore...not burning like that....

The ship grew smaller as the distance grew. One mile. Two miles. As the distance grew he could see the scope of cloud cover. It was dark, especially farther behind the ship. They passed out of it, and he wondered how it was that they were traveling faster than the clouds. The ship was not the center of it, but even still it would be quite a few hours before they were under clear skies.

All three of them had taken at least some small hurt. He wished they had never seen that damned ship. He finally turned to look forward, wanting to see the rest of his family and know that they were safe now, that they were away.

He was dumbstruck to see Etrick standing, walking forwards towards Father near the front of the boat. Etrick was not even limping, as if he was not bothered one bit by his wounded and bloodsoaked leg. It was only then he saw the hook in Etrick's hand. It was a fish grabber, sharp for hooking into bigger fish to haul them aboard. In town similar ones were used in pairs for hefting hay bales, although those weren't as sharp as these.

"Etrick!" he finally managed to call out. Father turned at that, startled to find the younger boy suddenly standing right there.

Suddenly Etrick's arm cocked back and he swung the hook into Father's face. It tore flesh and Father fell back from the impact, sprawling on his back.

"NO!" Stott yelled, letting go of the wheel and leaping forward. He raced the length of the boat, ignoring the pain of every second step. Etrick swung the hook four more times in the time it took Stott to cover the almost thirty cluttered feet. The second swing tore a deep gash in the arm Father put up in front of his face. By the fourth swing Father had stopped screaming.

Stott lunged at Etrick, using the weight of his body to knock his brother back. Unbalanced, Etrick landed sideways, but managed to turn and impale the end of the hook momentarily into Stott's left shoulder before yanking it back out again. Stott screamed at the pain and grabbed at Etrick's wrist. It was slippery with blood, but Stott managed to get a purchase on the sleeve of Etrick's jacket and began slamming the hand with the hook against the deck, trying to get him to drop it.

"What's wrong with you?! Etrick?!" he yelled. Suddenly, Etrick's free hand was on Stott's throat, fingers attempting to close around his windpipe. Stott kept one hand on his brother's wrist while he brought the other to try and pry the fingers away as he started to cough from the pressure. In the process, he caught sight of his brother's eyes.

He couldn't see the pupils very well. There was a red film covering over Etrick's eyes, like a thin jelly. They were open, and unblinking as they looked straight at him. Stott nearly lost his grip on Etrick's wrist when he saw it. Words from the log book ran through his head, Men rose from their bunks and started killing eachother. Some with their bare hands. Etrick let go of the hand around his throat, and reached for some nearby rope, only barely being able to get to it. Etrick didn't seem to notice or care, though Stott feared his throat would not hold out long enough. He yanked his body back, pulling his throat out of Etrick's hand and looping the rope around it a couple of times. He looped the other end around his good ankle and kept it away from him as he turned his attention to trying to pry the hook out of Etrick's stiff fingers. He tried not to think about the stiffness, but his stomach lurched when one finger made a snapping noise when he pried it from the metal. Etrick didn't seem to notice, and Stott noticed he was making a low growling noise.

Stott got the hook free of Etrick's hand and flung it as far away from them as possible, hearing it tumble against the wood of the deck somewhere at the other end of the boat. Etrick suddenly moved all at once, and grabbed Stott's good leg with both hands. He was suddenly reminded that his younger brother was also slightly stronger than he, as Etrick twisted sharply, causing pain to rip through Stott's thigh and hip. Stott screamed again, trying to get away from him, but limited by the rope he'd connected to Etrick's arm.

It was as if there was a moment of stillness then, as Stott caught sight of Father's machete. He didn't remember reaching for it, just that he'd managed to get it out of father's sheath, into his own hand, and was now lying flat on his back on the deck. He slashed the rope he'd connected them with, and Etrick suddenly started punching Stott with both hands, in the stomach and face. Stott tried to roll and fend off the blows with his unarmed hand, but he was exhausted. And he felt something rise up inside him. An uncontrollable anger.

And then he was no longer defending against his brother, but swinging the machete. His voice echoed over the thunderless seas as he screamed, slashing again and again.

Chapter 7

The first baby had been born near the middle of the afternoon. It was almost suppertime now, and Margaret had suggested the next one was still hours away. There were eleven pregnant girls in that room behind him. He couldn't imagine what some of them might end up going through.

He pressed his forehead against a post holding up the roof over the porch and closed his eyes. Part of him still could not accept that this was happening. What if this is all a mistake? No, what Agmar had said had been compelling. More importantly, it had been disturbing.

If nothing was really happening, then Avern had let a stranger risk the lives of pregnant mothers and their babies. If nothing happened to the town, and all of it was for naught, then he would be personally responsible. The town would enact some revenge on him. At best, he would lose his position as mayor and possibly be told to leave town. If that ended up being the case then perhaps he would deserve that.

But what if...? If some evil really is coming, if the town itself risks destruction, then how can he not take precautions? If it happens, at least he did what he could for the town. If it happened and he had done nothing--that would have been especially tragic. No, he would rather risk believing and being wrong than not believing and being wrong.

The wind had picked up recently, and he welcomed the breeze on his face as he stood there. He could hear footsteps and soft voices coming from behind him within the inn, and he knew his daughter was in there amongst friends. He still wasn't sure if he should count Agmar in that category, but the man had seemed sincere about wanting to help Lynna, and Avern couldn't risk not allowing that either. We might have to leave town regardless. He'd already stopped at home and packed himself a bag, which he'd hidden in the pantry for now. Lynna would be doing the same just after supper.

It suddenly occurred to him that he'd have to cook their supper tonight, as Lynna was busier than he at the moment. She'd taken on a lot of the duties his wife might have otherwise held over the years, had she been alive, and Avern felt sure that she would make some young man an excellent wife once she found one that she took a fancy to. He knew he'd miss her company in the house, but she was at the age when all the other girls were starting to marry off, and he worried that she seemed to show no interest in any of the lads who'd come by, hoping for a chance to build something with her. Some of them would have met with Avern's approval, but Lynna had dismissed them without hesitation. He supposed that there would be a whole new selection if they had to go to a new town. He refused to interfere with his daughter's choosing, as he understood what it was like to find one specific person and know that they were the one you just had to marry. He'd told Lynna about her mother often enough that he figured it was likely she was just waiting for the right spark.

"Avern?"

He was startled out of his thoughts by "Lady" Mary's voice, speaking soflty. He turned to look at her, wondering that she had used his first name. She generally addressed him by his title as mayor, or by using both his first and last names together. Except that one night. He looked away from her worried face as certain images flooded back into his mind. He pushed them away before any indication could be seen in his face.

"What is it, Mary?" he kept his voice even.

"I was just wondering, with all that's been going on today, how you were holding up." He looked back at her again, surprised and suspicious. Now was not the time, if she was trying to sell her "wares" to him.

"I've not drown myself in a bottle today, Mary," he answered icily, keeping his voice low so no others could overhear. "So I won't be needing your services, if that's what you had in mind."

For just a moment, he thought she looked hurt by his words, but the look flashed across her face so quickly that he couldn't be sure of what he had seen. Nonetheless, he instantly felt badly for saying them. She'd taken on an angry haughtiness that he'd become accustomed to seeing, and he steeled himself for her retort.

"I wouldn't bother wasting my time with such as you - mayor." She said his title as if it were a dirty word, and then spun on her heel and headed down the stairs of the inn. A part of him wanted to run and apologize, but outwardly he just sighed in frustration. In one moment of weakness, he'd managed to complicate matters with Mary that much more. He shook his head, mostly at himself, as he headed down the stairs and towards his home instead, already reviewing in his mind the things he'd need to say at the meeting after dinner was done.

"Sir? Mayor Mordan, sir?" One of the young orphans that Bruckert Tallet housed down at the docks, where they could earn money helping unload ships, came running up to him.

"What is it, young man? Daws, isn't it?" He recognized the boy, about 14 years old, as one of the ones Bruckert felt might be hired onto a ship one day soon, as he'd shown an interest in sailing.

"Yes sir. Daws, sir." The boy's head bobbed up and down in agreement. "There's a boat, sir. Blown up to the shore, near the docks. Master Tallet thinks you need to come and see, sir. He says I should fetch Mrs. Gretch and the stranger, Agmar, as well."

"You'll find them in the dining hall," he said, gesturing back at the Surf and Sleep and frowning. "We'll go together." He turned back the way he had come, wondering if he'd even have a chance to eat anything for dinner, much less cook it.

He led the boy inside, wondering if he would find Margaret and Agmar arguing. She had suddenly become more accepting of him a couple hours ago. He wondered what it was that Agmar had said to her. Probably don't want to know....

Eventually he found them in the kitchen, where they were both looking skeptically at something bubbling in a pot. Agmar looked up at him as he entered the room, but Margaret did not seem to notice his arrival.

"Agmar, Margaret, apparently we're needed down by the docks," he told them with a heavy voice. Margaret looked at him with a concerned expression.

"I'm not sure I should leave these girls, Avern," she said after some delay.

"There's a boat, Miss," the Daws boy said, rumpling a cap nervously. "There's someone hurt, and he don't look good. It's Stott Jacobs. Their boat blew ashore a ways up from the docks."

"What about Etrick and Porter?" Avern asked. "Why didn't you tell me who it was right away?"

"I'm sorry, sir. I didn' think...."

"Thank you, young man," Agmar said immediately. "Please take us there now." The boy looked greatly relieved at the change in conversation.

"It's alright, Daws," Avern said, gesturing for him to lead the way. They followed Daws outside, and he saw a dark cloud line near the distant horizon. It had not been there just a moment ago. Again the town seemed eerily quiet.

"What's going on?" Lynna had followed them outside, from where she'd been watching over Aleena in the dining hall. "You're leaving?"

Avern was relieved when Agmar answered before he had even started to decide what to say. He suddenly realized he'd handed authority over his daughter to this man and now he felt awkward deciding where she should be. He wasn't sure she should see what they were headed towards. Then again, he wasn't sure she wouldn't see it anyway, in someone else's thoughts.

"A boat has been blown to shore." Agmar said simply. He turned a moment and looked intently at Daws, before continuing. "Bad things have occured upon it, caused by what is coming. It will give us a better idea of what to expect, although it will not be pleasant to see. You may prefer to stay here with Elsa and watch over Aleena and Myrah instead." Agmar looked at her with such intensity that Avern had a feeling there was more being exchanged than the words he had heard. Lynna's face paled slightly, and then she nodded at him slowly.

"I may be able to be of better use here right now, actually," she said after a moment.

"That is likely, yes," Agmar agreed. "I am sure we will not be gone long." He turned and started heading towards the docks again.

"You'll be fine, Lynna. Just follow Elsa's lead, she knows well enough what to do." Margaret gave her a reasurring smile before turning to go, and Avern suddenly felt as if his own smile was inadequate. He stepped forward impulsively and hugged his daughter tightly.

"Hang in there, sweetie. We'll get through this," he said quietly into her hair. He gave her a quick kiss on the forehead before letting go and joining the others headed towards the docks. He found that he felt slightly better prepared for whatever might be next, and he hoped that Lynna felt the same, as he looked back at her. She smiled at him and gave a small wave before turning back into the inn.

Daws took the lead, keeping enough distance between himself and the adults following him that Avern was sure he was nervous about the things Agmar had said. It seemed clear to Avern that he'd looked inside Daws' mind and already knew what they were about to see. He wished the man had given them some idea of what to expect. When they reached the shore, he could see that Bruckert had brought a rowboat down the beach, and was on the shore at the moment, with Stott Jacobs wrapped in a blanket. The young man was only a year or so older than Lynna, and Avern's heart wrenched in a fatherly instinct at seeing him. Stott was shaking voilently, staring out into space in front of him. He had been sat down on the ground, and the Bruckert was trying to keep the blanket on his shoulders, as he didn't seem capable of holding it in place himself. As the blanket fell off of one shoulder, Avern could see that Stott was covered almost entirely in blood, his clothes and hair soaked in it. As he drew closer, he could here Stott mumbling something over and over again, though he couldn't make out what it was. He looked over at Bruckert, his heart dropping into his stomach.

"Bruckert? Where are the other two? Where are Porter and Etrick?"

The harbormaster just shook his head, sadly.

Agmar knelt down in front of Stott and placed his hands on either side of the young man's head. Avern felt sure he was using some spell in order to reach the boy, as he saw Stott's eyes focus. They were filled with fear.

"What is your name, young man?" Agmar asked him in a soft voice.

Stott did not answer. He sat gently and slowly rocking back and forth. His eyes were blank, his mouth slack. A line of drool out one corner marked a spot cleaned of blood.

"He needs some time," Agmar decided aloud. "Daws, perhaps you would please take him inside somewhere. There are a number of buildings right here. The harbormaster probably lives the closest, perhaps he would allow the use of some room."

Agmar looked around briefly, apparently surveying the buildings. Avern noticed his eyes linger longer on Tallet's house. Avern tried to remember if Daws's name had been brought up in Agmar's presence. He couldn't remember.

"Get him some warm soup and something to drink," Agmar said, coming back to Daws. "Try to get him cleaned up and have someone collect some clean clothes for him to wear. In the mean time, we will see to the boat and the others. The boy has been through a lot," Agmar continued. Try to help him relax and stay calm.

Here hardly a day and he's already in charge, Avern found himself thinking as Agmar stood. And to think he said he had no interest in running a town. Agmar walked up the beach to where the ship had rammed the sandy beach, and Avern and Margaret followed.

He had forgotten that Margaret was with them, she had been so quiet. He looked over at her as they walked, wondering if she were thinking the kinds of things that he was. Agmar had largely taken over her realm, too, he supposed. Right now she looked uncertain and insecure. He knew she had seen bad hurts before. It couldn't have been the blood that had silenced her....

"Agmar?" he asked trepidly, "whatever he saw--he saw it, didn't he? Whatever he saw...it's coming for us, isn't it?"

"In a manner of speaking, yes. He saw a small portion of what it can do."

Bruckert caught up with them, having given some instructions to Daws.

"Margaret, I'm not so sure you'll want to see this." He said, gestruring at the boat. "Hell, I'm not so sure anyone should see this. It ain't pretty. Daws is holdin' up well, but the other boy I had with me passed out cold from the sight of it. I ran him up to the house while Daws was fetchin' you all, then I came back an' unloaded Stott. The thing is - " he stopped as they got to the edge of the rowboat they'd need to get around to the leaning deck. "The thing is, I think the boy killed them. His pa and brother? He was still clutching a machete in an iron grip when I found him."

Avern saw Margaret pale visibly.

"He only killed his brother and primarily in self defense, Master Tallet." Agmar said suddenly. "It was his brother that killed their father."

"And how the hell would you know something like that?" Bruckert turned to Agmar, looking angry and suspicious. Avern put his hand up to stall him, giving Agmar the chance to say something. Bruckert's hand was hovering dangerously over the hilt of the large dagger he kept at his belt to cut through ropes on the dock when he needed to.

"I had hoped the young man would be able to tell his tale himself, but it would have done him harm to bring him so quickly back from the dark place his mind is hiding in right now. So instead, I reached in and looked at his recent memories leading up to this point."

Bruckert's eyes grew dark, and his dagger was quickly in his hand.

"Bruckert, wait." Avern moved between the two. "We need him right now. You know the saying - fight fire with fire? Stott loved his brother and father. Whatever happened on that boat..."

"You haven't seen the boat Avern. And since when do you throw your lot in with wizards?" Bruckert turned and spat.

Avern's heart and mind raced. A thousand different things went through his mind, but he knew he couldn't say most of them. None of the townsfolk here had ever known that Avern's wife had been a wizard.

"I have to agree with Avern here, Bruckert. We'll need his help to get through this. Put the knife away." Margaret's voice was soft and calm. Avern suddenly realized that Agmar must have let her in on his profession as well. He already heard words forming in his mind for the speech he'd have to make to announce it to the rest of the town once it would be clear to them that they needed a wizard's help right now.

"Enough!" Agmar's voice boomed across the sand and water around them. "We do not have time for me to explain myself to every person in this entire town."

Out of the corner of his eye, Avern saw Agmar wave his hand, almost dismissively. The dagger in Bruckert's hand suddenly squirmed and hissed at him, and he flung it away from him into the sand. The snake reared up and hissed once more, before transforming back into a dagger again. Bruckert swore angrily, but left the dagger where it was.

"Show us the bodies, please, harbormaster. And there is apparently a log book from another boat aboard that warrants collection." Agmar said icily.

The two men stared at eachother for a moment, Bruckert's jaw clenched, before he turned and stepped into the rowboat, without a word.

The boat itself was wedged partly on shore, but mostly still in the water. It had turned on the way in, and was now leaning towards the sea. Bruckert got them onto a rowboat so they could approach it from the easier sea side.

It was about thirty feet long, with a deck that would have been ten or a dozen feetwide . They could see the top of a forty foot mast.

"I've already furled the sails on her. I didn' want the wind shifting her position and her drift off," Bruckert mentioned.

Once around it was clear that there was a lot of blood on the deck. There were two hatches that led below deck. Both looked securely latched. It was not until they were close up along side that they could see the two bodies that had rolled to the sidewall.

"After you," Bruckert said to Agmar with undisguised contempt. Agmar ignored it and climbed aboard. Avern and Margaret followed, and Bruckert followed him after tying the little boat to a cleat on the bigger one and grabbing a lantern from a small wooden box at the back.

The blood was dried, so it was possible to move around the deck. Jagged gashes had been torn in Porter's face, but it was recognizeable. The other, smaller body could only be Etrick, but only because Avern knew the three. He was glad that Lynna was not here, and decided he should do what he could to keep her away from Stott, as well.

"How terrible," was all Margaret was able to say. Her voice came weakly, and her face was a little pale. Avern knew she had seen a variety of wounds, but but she looked almost as if she had been slapped.

"They had crab and lobster, but it looks like they're all dead," Bruckert said from one of the hatches. "They don't look...right, either."

Avern looked up from the bodies. Bruckert had lit the lantern, and was sticking it into the hold to see better. From where Avern was he could not see anything clearly.

"There is a log book stowed in the cabin. If I might borrow the lantern?" Agmar asked Bruckert. Bruckert handed it over reluctantly and Agmar moved to the other hatch. It opened to the side, and it fell open with a heavy slam against the angled deck.

The cabin was small, having room for little more than two bunks and a couple of water-tight trunks. Tiny portholes near the ceiling let in a weak light, and the lantern cast unsteady shadows around them. The four of them barely fit in the room, and Avern found himself wondering why they had all followed him down. Maybe none of us wants to stand up there alone right now....

Agmar found the book he was seeking in one of the trunks. A colored ribbon marked a page, and he opened the book to that page. From where Avern was standing he could tell that it was the last entry, but he could not read it. Once finished, Agmar handed it to him, and he read it aloud.

He skimmed last page before starting, and chose the final two entries the captain had made, though he saw that there was more information relating to the situation in some of the previous ones as well.

"There's a little more before that, detailing it coming down on them. Wind shifted, black clouds, lightning but no thunder, the livestock went crazy so they slaughtered the lot of 'em. Oh, and their eggs hatched." He handed the book over to Bruckert. "Porter would have likely set the boat afire after reading that."

"He did." Agmar said.

Avern ignored the glare Bruckert was giving Agmar, and tried to focus on the details at hand.

"What else? What did Stott... What did you learn from Stott's memories?"

Margaret sat down weakly on one of the bunks' edges, listening. Bruckert was pretending disinterest as he rummaged through the open trunk briefly before latching it shut again. Avern knew the harbormaster better than to think he wasn't listening. Agmar closed his eyes and relayed the tale as if he was seeing Stott moving about the boat and the ship they had found.

Everyone was quiet for a moment afterwards, mulling over the information. Avern started mentally listing off precautions that he thought might help them.

"Tying people to there beds isn't going to be enough." Agmar said, eyes open again. "They will be helpless if we leave any objects in the room with them that could fly around and hurt them. There is also the matter of fire. In the case of a normal fire, I could use magic to encourage it to stop burning, so to speak. In this case, fire will be a tremendous danger. It will have a will behind it. It will want to burn, and it will hunger for lives to consume specifically. I am starting to think that the more fear it can generate and the more lives it takes, the more power this evil has under its control."

Avern nodded slowly, his plans already intending for additional fire precautions.

"We usually have a short period of time during the year, when the grasses are brittle and dry and we take extra measures against fire. I'll put those measures into effect twofold. That ought to help cut down on it some. What do you recommend for dealing with objects moving on their own? We can't exactly bag or box every loose item in town, nor nail it down for that matter."

"No, but we can gather people into large groups and put them in rooms where such objects have been removed." Agmar answered, as if thinking aloud. "And there will be several who I have already seen that ought to be able to stay awake and have the will to resist and help defend the others."

"What do you mean by resist?" Margaret asked quietly.

"Stott, is an example. In the end he lost the will. He fought hard, but he was already wounded, he'd just watched his own brother murder his father, and that same brother was trying to kill him even though he should have been unconscious. In fact, Etrick was unconscious. That was the main problem. But, while trying to defend himself his will broke and the evil that comes took hold of him for a short while. From that point until the evil chose to let him go there was nothing he could do but watch as he turned on his brother and brutally slashed him with his father's machete. He no longer had control, but was being used by the evil. That is how this works. There is no one monster, one singular beast to slay. There is only a darkness that controls the weather, the objects, the animals, and those who fall asleep. And, friends, if you allow it passage, it will gladly take control of you as well."

Avern felt a chill run down his back, and he saw Margaret hug her arms around herself as if she was cold. Despite his scowl, Avern felt it unlikely that all of this was lost on Bruckert either.

They stood in silence for a few minutes. The lamp cast unsteady shadows, and none of them was looking around in depth. Avern was trying to decide what--and how much--he would need to tell everyone at the meeting he was supposed to hold before too much longer. On one hand they had a right to know what was coming. On the other hand, he had to keep them calm.

He had to tell them about Agmar. Agmar was under enough pressure as it was. It occurred to him that he did not know what could happen if Agmar grew angry enough to lose his control to the evil. He would have to cut short any future confrontations.

"How much time to do we have?" he finally asked.

"These three were not at the center of it," Agmar began. "What happened to them will probably hit here on day two--tomorrow or tomorrow night. It did little twisting of inanimate objects to attack them. That will come mainly on the following day. Day four will likely resemble day two."

"Avern," Bruckert said almost timidly, "the fishing boats have been coming in. Everyone I've talked to has said more or less the same thing. They've all come back empty. Fish are coming out of the water already dead. Some of them are right fearful about it."

"Make sure they know I'll be having a speech at the Surf and Sleep. Make sure they all come, will you?"

"Yeah," was all the answer Bruckert offered. He looked lost in thought, but so did the others.

"I need to go tend to Stott. Bruckert, will you row me around to shore?" Margaret said, breaking the silence. Bruckert nodded silently.

"Agmar, I'll see you back at the inn once I've finished, but it may be a bit. Bruckert's wife, Adya, will have stopped his bleeding, but I'll need to do some stitching on those wounds. Elsa can handle the pregnancies for the moment, I'm quite confident. She doesn't know many details on what's going on, but she knows we need to deliver as many babies today as possible. I've also already told her that if she has questions and I'm not there, she's to ask you, Agmar."

"Thank you, Margaret." Agmar nodded to her as she gathered her skirts and headed up to the deck behind Bruckert. Avern stayed where he was, unsure if he should leave or stay. Bruckert had taken the lantern with him, and Avern couldn't see Agmar's face in the dim light.

"What are you going to tell them tonight, Avern?" Agmar asked quietly. Avern couldn't be sure, but he thought the wizard sounded worried.

"I don't know yet. I need to tell them the truth, but I also don't want a panic on my hands. That would only make things worse."

"Indeed."

"I ought to tell them about you though. That you're a wizard, I mean. Otherwise you may have to explain it to every person who encounters you using magic. And it would eventually spread from rumor anyway. Bruckert may be understanding the necessity right now, but that may not stop him from telling his wife. And the wives love to gossip. Not that their husbands aren't known to share a tale or two as well, mind you, but that's usually not as daily an occurance."

"I had hoped to keep it quiet longer, but I agree. It is time." Agmar sighed heavily. "Should I be present at this meeting then or out of sight? I will be nearby, regardless, as I am still checking for those who have the strongest will to resist, but I wonder if I should be visible or not?"

"Perhaps not," Avern frowned. "I don't honestly know how they will react to this news. I've spent most of my time here trying not to find out, for Lynna's sake."

"Well, I shall try to set a good precedent prior to them finding out about Lynna, but I can make no guarantees. I will do what I have to here. Some actions I take may not seem that way to those who see me take them, but hopefully it will become evident in some measure. As with the babies today. Let us just hope we have identified all the women who are pregnant."

They sat quietly again, both deep in thought, until they heard the sounds of Bruckert stepping back onto the deck. He didn't bother to descend to them, but hovered at the opening to the deck instead.

"Avern? Agmar? You're needed in town. Folk are in an uproar. Pregnant animals are birthing left and right. About half are bein' born dead, and the other half are -- not right. Demons is what folks are sayin'."

"Damnit! Animals!" Agmar said suddenly. Avern was startled to hear the man swear. "I was so busy worrying about the people, I did not consider the animals more than penning them up."

As they hurried out onto the deck and to Bruckert's rowboat in the early evening light, Avern caught sight of the two bodies again. They lay heaped in the crux where the floor met the wall, blood smeared along between them and where Avern suspected they had originally fallen. That's what happens if we can't keep it together. That and worse, from the sound of it. We all die. Horribly. I have to tell them the truth tonight. Most of it anyway. I have to get them ready.

He stepped onto the little rowboat and took the time as they headed to shore for slow, deep, cleansing breathing, as he tried to ready himself for whatever came next.

They reached shore as the last rays of golden sunlight flickered away from the horizon. It would be the last they'd see of the sun for the next three days.

Chapter 8

Her inn was ready. She had gathered her girls and told them as much as she knew, although she had admitted to them that not everything had been shared with her. There had been some sympathetic mumbles at that.

All of these girls knew at least a little bit about feeling like an outsider in the town. Each of them had at one time or another been accosted by someone who had made them feel less than welcome. Yet she had never been warned to close her inn, or change its order of business. They had never been told to leave, and no one had ever tried to interfere with the business. The locals often enough disapproved, but they were obviously unwilling to lose the business and traffic she and her girls encouraged to come to Eagle's Harbor to begin with.

There was a wooden chair on the porch and she dropped herself onto it. She was still irked at what Avern had said at the Surf and Sleep. She was also frustrated with herself at continually expecting too much from him. He was the mayor of a small town, with small town morals and sensibilities, despite his actual background. You'd think him, of all folk....

She looked around at what she could see of the town from the shadowed porch. She was at the edge of town, and at this end was primarily storage and warehousing. There was a barn where animals waited to be bought or sold. She looked at the barn, picturing in her mind the houses beyond.

The animals in the barn were bothered by something. She could hear them stamping hooves. something snorted and one horse neighed--it sounded angry, she thought. There were gaps in the plank walls, and she could see light poking out. Someone was in there with a lantern, probably Hosef, the barnmaster. Maybe his wife Nara.

The noises in the barn grew louder and more intense. One particular kick against the wall she could have sworn she saw make the planks shake visibly.

"Hosef, are you in there?" she called out loudly, standing up.

There was no answer, and she stood up from the chair again, moving to the edge of the porch nearest to the barn. After a moment, she heard a lounder noise, like a splintering of wood, and a pig squealed loudly in response. The barn wasn't overly big, she'd seen much larger warehouses used for the same purpose in the cities, but it was often full to bursting. There were frequently some cows tethered just outside during the busier shipping seasons, when the sea was calmer.

Fortunately, it wasn't as busy right now and Mary suspected that Hosef had a few stalls free, although he usually had at least four types of animals housed in there at a time. Pigs, cows, horses, and mules were the usual stock although he'd been known to see a few less common ones from time to time. He'd once housed a shipment of camels that had come in off one of the boats, bound for Ithetine across the continent, and the whole town had turned out to get a look at them.

"Hosef?" Mary called out again, stepping down from the porch and onto the dirt road that ran along the front of her inn and then curved left to head down to the docks, joining with some others along the way. She lifted her skirts and moved with hurried caution over to the building. She noticed, as she approached, that the white paint that Hosef had applied just before the last harvest festival was peeling around the edges of the wooden planks the building's walls were made of. She wondered idly just how old the building now was.

She could hear more hooves pounding against the ground and the stall walls inside as she neared the door, which had been left slightly ajar. Light streamed out in a flickering shaft that drew long on the ground within the growing shadows.

"Hosef? Are you in there?"

"Aye. Whossat?" she heard Hosef's slighly accented voice drift back at her from somewhere within. She stepped forward and stepped inside, opening the door wide to keep from snagging her skirts before pulling it mostly shut again behind her.

"It's Mary. Are you alright? I heard a crash, and the animals seem bothered."

"Aye, they are. One of the mares is about to give birth, which often gets them riled up, but they're especially edgy tonight." He came around the corner of one of the stalls, wiping his hands on a cloth. His hair was a peppery gray and his face weathered, but his sharp eyes had always given Mary the impression that the man didn't miss much. "Might be a storm coming in, might be whatever Avern's been making speeches about."

"Did you say one of them is giving birth?" Mary's mind suddenly snapped back to that with worry. Agmar said the animals would be affected first, she thought suddenly. They're trying to birth the babies before something has a chance to go wrong with them. She realized she must have let her worry show on her face, as Hosef was looking at her strangely.

"Aye. I did. Something wrong Mary?"

"Hosef, there could be something wrong with the foal. Did you attend Avern's speech?"

"I didn't have time for that, there was work to be done here. I figured I'd go to the one tonight, but now I'm not so sure I'll be able to make that either. I'll need to birth the mare. What makes you think there's something wrong with her foal?"

"There's a man in town, a doctor of sorts. He's here to birth the babies, among other things. Something bad is coming to town and it could affect the unborn children. He also mentioned that it could affect the animals first. If I understood him correctly, the children will come out wrong if they aren't born before it gets here entirely. Whatever this bad thing is, it's like a storm rolling in - we start with a little rain and clouds before the whole storm hits us. That's about all I know. Avern was going to tell everyone more details at tonight's meeting."

"Well, now that's quite a tale. I'll, ah... I'll watch my back Mary. I appreciate your concern. Now, if you don't mind, I need to be getting back to the mare." He gave her a smile that suggested he didn't believe even half of what she'd told him, and turned his back on her. She followed him, grabbing him by the upper arm.

"You're not listening to me, Hosef. This is serious. Something bad is coming and it's affecting the animals first! If nothing else, please don't birth the foal alone. Just to be safe."

"Right then." He wrenched his arm out of her grasp, his eyes flashing angrily at her, and grabbed her arm instead. "You can just stand watch for me then eh? If you're going to be such a nuisance today." He yanked her forward, half dragging her to one of the larger rear stalls, where he shoved her hard against the wall at a corner. "Just stay the hell out of the way while I do my work, understood?"

Mary just nodded silently, having never seen Hosef so angry before. She nursed her bruised arm as she shrank back into the corner away from the mare who reared up, her swollen belly clearly outlined in the lantern light. Mary could also see blood running down the mare's hind legs and soaking into the hay-lined floor. She wondered if that was normal, having never seen a horse give birth before.

Mary could not hear what Hosef was muttering while he tended the mare. Other animals in the barn grew more anxious. Mary found herself watching, frozen. She did not know what else to do, and in a lucidity that confused her she wondered why she was just standing there. Yet there she stood.

More and more the animals kicked and stomped and reared. Squeals and snarls mixed together, yet it seemed as if Hosef was ignoring it. The noise grew louder, and she wondered if he could hear anything over it.