Espara part.04 (Witchhunters on the High Sea)

     A heaving ship far from home, far from the cooling winds, and the snowy crags, dressed in clothing so thin that they feel naked, these are the five men, the Captain Ronald, Navigator Patrick, Colonel Ganz, and First class huntsman Peter. They have been sent from their homeland to this far away place to finish what they started, to hunt the Witch Migdra, formally known as the Witch of the North Woods. They ride now to the southern islands via a merchant ship leaving their great kingdom of Merigland for the seas of Hayzore; infamous for boasting the presence of pirates. The merchants think they have hired mercenaries, although the captain of the vessel knows better, to deter pirates from attacking their vessel.

 

   The captain thinks back to what lead to this most unexpected turn of events. He remembers giving his report to the general, and the general burning the report. He had been chided for telling anyone they had witnessed Eckraick and a Witch’s pact being conducted. He warned him that the law of the Church was clear; any seeing such things would have unclean eyes that were to having boiling holy water poured in to prevent them from defiling any they looked upon until their death and ascension to heaven where sight would be restored to witness the glory of Garudan. The General would not allow the loss of his best Witch hunters to the current parliament of the Church and their string of new outlandish laws; pious though the general be; only the words of the book move his actions and not those of men too afraid to leave their ivory towers.

 

   That was not the end of it however, as the tale the captain told was not something of the book, the story their now departed scout had told of a story from the Fala Islands. The General swearing his captain to deeper secrecy lead him into the depths of a the abbey to see a very special sort of priest. A man charged with keeping a record of all the pagan and blasphemous texts that the church would sooner see burned than ever read by anyone. Charged with copying them, and remembering them, as they are not only their ancestor’s history but also speak of things the General knows all too well dwell among the many islands and seas of their world. Knowledge is the best weapon, and their ancestors collected tales of many a strange creature. Why wait for some missionary with his bestiary to come across and somehow survive such encounters only guessing at what is to be done or its origins when their ancestors already wrote it all down.

 

   The priest was an average looking man, not some great sage, or noble visage; a man who could walk down the street of any market and be instantly forgotten by anyone who saw him. The priest was privy to the tale the captain told, and retrieved who old texts. One a copy of a book from the Fala Islands as expected, another from the Hayzore nation which with its tropics would fit the description of where they were. In them two tales so similar yet worlds apart. The Fala Island text told the same tale as their scout, of seven divine heroes who defeated a great witch and sealed her into the sea and created and spread out seven gems. The Hayzore text was as different as the moon is to the sun. It spoke of a Goddess and referenced an older myth, the goddess who was there when the world was created, the Goddess of the Abyss Rhulan. It said upon her return seven devils came from the sky and battled with her; unable to contain her great unending light of creation imprisoned her in a gem, the symbol of mortal greed and cast her into

the sea.

 

   As clearly the Hayzore would be more inclined to be sympathetic and given the description of the island the general tasked these men to finish their mission and head for the islands to hunt her and find a means to conquer this new witch as well.  

 

    ******

 

    All that was stated by Captain Ron to his men.

 

   “Naturally,” says Patrick their navigator, albeit not so much on this voyage into the unfamiliar seas of the south, “The Hayzore are heathen pirates who refuse to accept the truth of Garudan into their hearts, so it’s only natural they would be sympathetic to a witch.”

 

   “What shit is that?” asks a Hayzore sailor who overheard him, “He drops the rope he was carrying and points at the navigator, “you northerners don’t know a thing about us, how we are we pirates when we let YOU on OUR ship. The captain agreed to help YOU look for YOUR witch. So who the hell are you to call us heathens.”

 

   Patrick scoffs, “have you accepted Garudan’s teaching into your hearts? If not then you are evil.”

 

  “Why the hell would I do that?” asks the crew mate, “your church does nothing but send these stupid missionaries who would insist we stop eating the only food keeping us alive, not have sex, and wear your idiotic thick clothing that would kill us in the summer to wear, and those they can’t convince they just invade and kill. YOU are the evil ones who pollute the minds of the people and murder anyone who doesn’t agree with you.”

 

  The other crew members nearby are getting restless at these words, Captain Ron and the others other than Patrick who is too focused on this one man are noticing the growing tension.

 

   Patrick pulls out his copy of the Holy Book of Garudan, “This has all the teachings, sure some take it a bit far, but it says to remove all evil from our midst, and holds…”

 

   “What proof do you have that, that is any better than what we already have?” asks the crew member crossing his arms and smiling.

 

   “Proof,” says Patrick waving the book, “Its right here, this is the proof, it says…”

 

  “and I say its fish shit,” says the crew member, “so why is what its saying more believable than me or my ancestors?”

 

   Patrick looks at the book and at him, “who are you? You are not a prophet, you don’t speak to Garudan like the high priests, this book says,”

 

   “How do you know,” says the crew member, “it says, because you were told it says, and that’s it. You are told these men do this and that, you are told, how’s that proof?”

 

   Patrick visibly getting upset, “It is undeniable truth! All you have to do is read it and you’ll…”

 

  “I read it,” says the crew member, “front to back, I read about your horrible wars killing everyone who doesn’t agree with you, and your leaders claiming they were told to do it, and some light hearted fluff to convince fools like you to follow or else.”

 

   “Why you…” starts Patrick standing up, “you read it wrong then!”

 

  “Oh,” says the crew member laughing as some of his friends get closer, “I thought you said it was undeniable, how can your perfect God have his perfect prophets write something that someone reading it can doubt? Huh?”

 

   Ron puts his hand on Patrick’s shoulder and nods to get Patrick to notice that a rather large sum of the crew is gathering around them.

 

  “Your God is as big a hypocrite as you are anyway,” says the crew member, “your own book says that your oh so good God is brothers with your devil.”

 

   “What?” says Patrick shaking his head, “No it doesn’t.”

 

  He flips through the book, too fast for anyone to read anything, “It doesn’t say that anywhere in here.”

 

   “Creation 10:12” says the crew member, “and Garudan sacrificed his only brother the great goat into the flames of the inner world so that life and land could rise; that great goat Eckraik who would reside there as a test for man.”

 

   “Some evil,” says the crew member, “sounds like your boss’s brother is working for him, huh…”

 

   The other crew members that have gathered are laughing at the small band of Witch Hunters.

 

  “Th…that…” stammers Patrick, “that is…that is horse shit…bird shit…he…it doesn’t mean brother like…blood brother…it…”

 

   “Oh…” says the crew member in a mocking manner, “I thought you said it didn’t say they were brothers at all..so what crap are you going to make up right now, right here, which is only right and I’m wrong because YOU say so.”

 

   He talks to his other crew mates, “Just like that missionary back in Bali, dumb-ass hypocrits don’t even know their own teachings. Maybe if they did, they’d know its all fish shit.”

 

  The burst out laughing, Patrick as well as Ron’s other men are reaching for their weapons.

 

  “Enough!” shouts both captain Ron, and the ship’s actual captain at the same time.

 

  “Captain,” says the ship’s captain to Ron, “put a lid on your men, while they are on my ship, and you…” he addresses his own men, “we are three days from the nearest island, and about to pass the Crystal Island, I don’t need your damned hate and blood attracting that monster to MY ship! If this continues I will throw you and these witch hunters overboard. Is that what you really want? I’ll give you your own boats.”

 

  He walks over to the life rafts, “Here! Take two, you and these northerners can takes these two boats, row the fuck away from MY boat and kill each other out on the sea!”

 

  He glares back at the witch hunters with an eerie eye and back his own men who continue their work. He walks up to Ron and whispers, “it would be best if you and your men found another boat at the next port.”

 

  He glances over, “we are near the edge of the invisible miasma, hate will be amplified, and my men need to have only happy thoughts while going through it. The next island on the edge of it specializes in that. You and your men will not be welcomed there I assure you, safe journeys anyway.”

 

    ******

 

   It is as the captain said, the port of Baluun, an island that is said to rest on the edge of an invisible miasma that causes negative emotions to spiral out of control, is an island the witch hunters do not like; for it is an island of prostitutes, neighbor to the island of Baralan that rests on the opposite side of the invisible miasma. The Witch hunters sit in a bar trying to ignore the sinful decadence around them, the reason, the excuse as far as they are concerned, being that a ship full of prostitutes is one that while not as focused on duties is one where the crew can’t focus on anything negative, turning this part of their journey into a pleasure crew between the two nearby island ports. It is not long before an old laid back man approaches them, hearing that they need a ship to reach Baralan and continue onward to the place the great priest back home directed them to, that last part not something they are sharing with anyone outside their group naturally.

 

   Mere hours later the witch hunters find themselves working themselves half to death on a small vessel, they the only crew.

 

  “I don’t mean to talk of anything religious,” says the old man as the witch hunters work, “for that is never a go idea here on the high seas, let alone in this sea, but I fully agree that prostitution sickens me.”

 

  He *spits* over the side of the ship,  “these ships take on double or three times their normal crew turning their once proud vessels into orgies on the waves. Making them feed two too three times as many people and with that many who aren’t even working to keep the ship secure, in fact they are doing the exact opposite just to distract the crew.”

 

  He *winks*, “I came up with a better idea. I take on a smaller crew during this leg of the journey,”

 

   “and work them half to death,” mutters Ganz.

 

  “Secure those remarks,” orders Ron.

 

  “Its as you say,” says the old man, “all this hard work, just to stay alive, THAT is what will keep your mind busy.”

 

   “can’t argue with that,” says Peter, “wh….”

 

  He shields his eyes as a brilliant glare comes from near the horizon.

 

  “There it is,” says the old man, “the source of the invisible miasma, the Crystal Island of Shora.”

 

  “Crystal Island?” asks Ron

 

  “yep,” says the old man, “its home to the great witch Shora.”

 

  “A witch!” shouts Patrick.

 

  Peter shouts, “take us ashore! So we can kill it!”

 

  The old man laughs, “that’s the invisible miasma talking, feeding on those witch hunter minds of yours. Only a fool goes after one of the five great witches.”

 

  “Five…Great…Witches,” says Ron confused.

 

  “Great…Witches,” says Patrick, “I knew the Hayzore were heathens but that is too much.”

 

  The old man laughs, “don’t get us wrong my friends, we don’t praise these sea monsters. They will attack men, sink ships, and feed on our emotions. I remember my grandfather claiming that the prostitute tradition was started so this great slimy beast could feed on the sexual energies and avoid attacking the ships to feed on the equally strong terror. Of course no one likes the idea of placating or feeding one of these monsters so the story that its to distract the crew so as not to feed her is much more popular.”

 

   “Its…a witch or a sea monster?” asks Ganz

 

  “Both,” says the old man, “guess you northerners don’t know about these things…eh…you never do. And trust me I’ve seen more than my fare share of hunters who accompany the missionaries go after one of these…the one from the marshy island of Gala…who would be the witch Gala of course…easiest to find, but kills them all every time, she’s a giant crab from what I hear.”

 

   “giant crab?” asks Ganz.

 

  “indeed she is,” says the old man, “and this Shora is a giant eel woman, seen her once, had a witch hunter like yourselves with me that day, he went mad with his rage and took a life boat. Poor soul didn’t get halfway to the island before she lept from the waters and dragged him

down.”

 

  “Never…” says Ganz, “have I heard of a witch like that…”

 

 

  “They are different from most,” says the old man taking out a pipe as the men work, “from what I hear they didn’t make pacts with demons like you normally hear of witches doing you see. They made a pact with the Queen of the Abyss, now don’t get huffy about this, but in Hayzore tradition she is a monster that makes your devil look downright peaceful by comparison.”

 

  Ron puts his hand out and glares at Patrick not to speak.

 

  The old man continues, “It’s said she sleeps at the bottom of the sea, trapped in a crystal created by the gods because if she were free it would be a million times worse. People blame everything on her from bad fishing to storms; they say a strange wave larger than any ever seen before that washed through the Ocsha islands recently was caused by this monster. They describe her as a giant octopus or squid woman.”

 

  The witch hunters stop and stare at each other from that description.

 

  “According to the stories,” says the old man, “only a witch who doesn’t have the scent of a demon’s covenant upon her may make a contract with her…sounds pretty impossible to be a witch and not be like that,”

 

  He laughs before continuing, “those that have managed it, these five women in total, were granted the immortality and power they desired, by being turned into horrific sea monsters, creatures of pure lust and destruction.”

 

  Patrick turns, “captain!”

 

 The ship is heading full speed towards the port, straight for a beach actually.

 

 “We have to lower the sail!” yells Ron, but the old man only smokes his pipe.

 

  Blackness.

 

   The witch hunters open their eyes, people standing over them. They are soaking wet and covered in sea weed. Behind them the ocean is filled a giant mass of sea weed and trails on the beach where the people over them had dragged them from it.

 

  “What…” stammers Ron while coughing up some sea water and weeds.

 

  “The ship crashed,” says Ganz, “I think…last I remember we were heading towards the port at full speed and…”

 

  “This port?” asks a local confused, “a big wave full of seaweed carried you men to the beach, you wash ashore, we thought you were all dead.”

 

   “We were on a ship,” says Ron, “about half the size of that one,”

 

  He points far down the beach to the docks, “we were the only crew, us and the old man captain..”

 

  One of the people a sailor says, “that’s impossible, you are only four men, you can’t run such a ship by yourselves, who was the captain?”

 

  Ron draws a blank, as do the others, Ron says, “How…how’d we not get his name? We met him at a bar in Baluun, then…”

 

  He sits up soaking wet, surprisingly healthy despite appearances as are the other witch hunters much to everyone surprise there, “then we were on the ship and right off of that Shora island.”

 

  The people start to murmur.

 

  Ron continues, “then we were crashing here right after he was talking about that Queen of the Abyss legend the Hayzore have.”

 

   “Queen of what?” asks a man shrugging, others around him shrug their shoulders too.

 

  “When was this?” asks a man as the witch hunters stand.

 

  “To…today,” says Ron with a furrowed brow, “It…no…yeah…the sun never set right?”

 

  Peter look back at the sea, “yeah, like maybe five hours I’d say…”

 

  “That’s impossible,” says a man there, “this is Baralan, that’s a two day voyage on the fastest ships.”

 

   The people all *gasp* as a phantom ship appears a little ways out at sea. The Witch hunters stand, reaching for weapons that are missing, stowed away below deck on the ship they were on, the ship they recognize despite now being transparent. It vanishes, and the old man stands on the water, on the sea weed. He too vanishes, and in his place is the witch Migdra with her long black hair and long white gown, her laughter echoes through the air as she too vanishes.

 

 

  “H…how…” says Ron taking a Holy White Feather from his pocket, “how could she…the relic should have cried out when a witch is near…why…”

 

  “Five Great Witches,” says Patrick, “should have been a clue…damn it!”

 

  “If she was telling the truth,” says Ron, “that would make her the sixth.”

 

  Ron looks at the people, “We need to see an archivist, any holy man you have here that would know anything about…”

 

   He points out at the sea, “that!”