And rose.
Unable to sleep Virae dressed silently, climbed to the deck and wandered to the port rail. The night was cool, the soft breeze soothing. She gazed out over the waves to the distant line of land silhouetted against the bright, moonlit sky.
The view always calmed her, the blending of land and sea. As a child at school in Dros Purdol she had delighted in sailing, especially at night when the land mass appeared to float like a sleeping monster of the deep, dark and mysterious and wonderfully compelling.
Suddenly she narrowed her eyes. Was the land moving? To her left the mountains seemed to be receding, while on the right the shoreline seemed closer. No, not seemed. Was. She glanced at the stars. The ship had veered north west; yet they were days from Purdol.
Puzzled, she walked aft towards the second mate as he stood with hands on the wheel.
‘Where are we heading?’ she asked him, mounting the four steps to the stern and leaning on the rail.
His head turned towards her. Blank, blood-red eyes locked on hers as his hands left the wheel and reached for her.
Fear entered her soul like a lance, only to be quelled by rising anger. She was not some Drenai milk-maid to be terrified thus – she was Virae, and she carried the blood of warriors in her veins.
Dropping her shoulder, she threw a right-hand punch to his jaw. His head snapped back but still he came on. Stepping inside the groping arms, she grabbed his hair and smashed a head butt into his face. He took it without a sound, his hands curling round her throat. Twisting desperately before the grip tightened, she threw him with a rolling hip lock and he hit the deck hard on his back. Virae staggered. He rose slowly and came for her again.
Running forward, she leapt into the air and twisted, hammering both feet into his face. He fell once more.
And rose.
Panicked now, Virae searched for a weapon but there was nothing. Smoothly she vaulted the wheel rail to land on the deck. He followed her.
‘Move away from him!’ screamed Serbitar, racing forward with sword drawn. Virae ran to him.
‘Give me that!’ she said, tearing the sword from his hand. Confidence surged in her as her hand gripped the ebony hilt. ‘Now, you son of a slut!’ she shouted, striding towards the mariner.
He made no effort to avoid her, and the sword flashed in the moonlight slicing into his exposed neck. Twice more she struck, and the grinning head toppled from the body. But the corpse did not fall.
Oily smoke oozed from the severed neck to create a second head, formless and vague. Coal-red eyes glittered within the smoke.
‘Get back!’ shouted Serbitar. ‘Get away from him!’
This time she obeyed, backing towards the albino.
‘Give me the sword.’
Vintar and Rek had joined them.
‘What on earth is it?’ whispered Rek.
‘Nothing on earth,’ replied Vintar.
The thing stood its ground, arms folded across its chest.
‘The ship is heading for the rocks,’ said Virae and Serbitar nodded.
‘It is keeping us from the wheel. What do you think, Father Abbot?’
‘The spell was planted in the head, which must be thrown overboard. The beast will follow it,’ replied Vintar. ‘Attack it.’
Serbitar moved forward, supported by Rek. The corpse bent its body, right hand closing on the hair of the severed head. Holding the head to its chest, it waited for the attack.
Rek leapt forward, slashing a cut at the arm. The corpse staggered. Serbitar ran in, slicing the tendons behind the knee. As it fell, Rek hammered the blade two-handed across its arm. The arm fell clear, the fingers releasing the head which rolled across the deck. Dropping his sword Rek dived at it. Swallowing his revulsion, he lifted it by the hair and hurled it over the side. As it hit the waves the corpse on the deck shuddered. As if torn by a great wind the smoke flowed from the neck to vanish beneath the rail and into the darkness of the deep.
The captain came forward from the shadows by the mast.