The conclusion…
After gifting ship and sword, Rhoye left the others at the beach, for he followed the four pirates, at a distance, to ensure that they held to their word and indeed left the island without mischief. He stood upon the dunes and watched as the sail of the little fishing boat dwindled to naught at the southern horizon. What became of them never would be known, but never again were they seen in Altarfaar, as pledged. Their guilts, and their fates, the Gods alone would weigh.
That night the survivors remained on Karkinosa, for they had sick and starveling men amongst their number, tides to consider, and matters more sombre to attend afore they might depart. All ate and drank their fill, and then slept in the comfort of the timber cabins, and, though rough and rustic those accommodations, palatial they seemed compared to the cold, loathsome floor of the cave where they had languished those long nights before.
The first watch, in the deepest hours under the moon, Rhoye kept alone, for he maintained that he would not sleep in any case in pain of his wounded arm. Naught stirred upon the haunted isle except for the crabs. He observed their movements, curious as a child. A change had come to their motives, some war won, some struggle ended, for away to the water the host began to retreat, homeward to their own demesne. Thus when Astropho rose to relieve him, still some hours ere dawn, the multitude had dwindled to a scattering. And, come dawn, but for a few limping stragglers too wounded to withdraw, and a few valiant dead, the crabs were gone.
Steeled by light of day, Astropho searched through the belongings of the dead priestess, finding books of arcanum and parchments of ancient lore, some of considerable value, both of learning and of coin. These he stowed in a trunk, to carry back for study by those interested in such subjects. But he also found the item he sought most fervently, his own godsilver locket, precious memory of his beloved mother. Its chain had been broken, a trivial repair for any skilled silversmith to make, but otherwise it was undamaged, and much overjoyed he felt at its safe return to his keeping.
At midday, Astropho returned with Rhoye to the shrine chamber. Kulira and Hanno they would leave as they had fallen, perhaps as warning to any future meddlers with such monstrous power, but Elgwid they carried down to the clearing, and laid him to rest in a grave dug there by Rhoye for the purpose. A hymn to Inannutu Astropho sang for his fallen countryman, well knowing that, but for Elgwid and his ultimate pluck of courage, events might have unfolded to a very different end. And also from within the shrine, Astropho collected the twelve zodiacal sigils, packing them back in the casket in which the shadowchantress had kept them.
“We should take no metal from here, that has lain too long in the idol’s presence,” said Rhoye in repeat of his prior warning. “It will be plagued with sickness, even godsilver, even gold.”
“These we dare not leave here,” said Astropho, “though what should be done with them…” He did not conclude the thought, much conflicted upon the problem.
As for Gastapar and the men slain upon the beach, the high tide overnight had carried their corpses away to sea, or at least, what little remains the ravening crabs had spared of them.
By late afternoon everything worth saving had been stowed, and all embarked The Silver Tambor, eager to depart. Though none aboard save Amileo were sailors by trade, their enthusiasm to be away from Karkinosa caused all to pull as one, and with the young fisherman overseeing, and Aona steady at the tiller, they made respectable headway southward away from the haunted isle, whose cragged and conical peaks dwindled behind them, consigned to dreadful memory, best to be forever forgot.
Later, as the sun began to sink, Rhoye espied Astropho stood at the starboard gunwale, the casket of the priestess in his hands, its weight perched upon the rail beneath. He stood beside, his stare cast out over the broad main of ocean, waves brushed to a bronzed burnish in the dipping sunlight.
“Quiet are you, my friend,” he said, “and not your usual self.”
“Torn I am, Rhoye, over these here sigils,” said the bard. “A long time have they been lost. Mere a quarter of them have I translated. Who can know what secrets they truly contain, and what forgotten lore might upon them be graven. And yet…”
Rhoye grunted.
“Yes, exactly!” Astropho continued. “Reluctant am I to deface or discard written knowledge, however base the source. For who can guess the future toll of such arbitrary forbiddance.”
“Not all is worth remembering,” said Rhoye. “Some things lost are better never found.”
“Very true,” agreed Astropho, “but they have been found. And I do not feel myself qualified to be the judge of their fate.”
“Fate? Well, there is an answer in that.” Rhoye reached into the pocket of his britches, and pulled forth a copper danaka, now the last coin he owned in all the world, save one. “Let the Powers decide,” he said.
“Confound it, man,” grinned Astropho. “Too well you know my vices.”
“Crown, they go; hart, they stay.” He flipped the coin, slamming it flat upon the timber rail, covered under his palm. But he did not reveal it. “Perhaps, instead, you should make the toss,” said Rhoye then. “Some superstitious souls might hold that I am a hex aboard a ship such as this.”
“Stuff and nonsense,” muttered Astropho. “Show the coin.”
Rhoye revealed the verdict. With a sigh, Astropho unclasped the lid, and tipped the twelve shining relics into the sea, throwing the emptied casket in after. And Rhoye, taking up the danaka, flicked the coin in too.
“To the nymphs,” said he, “for safe crossing.”
“We all have our superstitions,” laughed Astropho.
Rhoye lingered on, sensing his friend not yet fully unburdened, despite the discarding of those evil sigils and their duty.
“A most admirable woman she was, the Priestess Kulira, in many ways,” Astropho said after a while. “Her strength of will, to brave the breadth of the Wandered Lands, to find the shrine. And yet, all for an end so misguided and deranged, it is hard to credit the sense of it. And though she died, I cannot help but think that she escaped far worse an end. For what torment would she have endured had she achieved her wish? An eternal life? Who would ever want such a doom?”
“Not I,” said Rhoye, glancing aft upon the young lovers as they conversed close in tender embrace. He smiled. “One span of life is enough, to be lived as it comes.”
The Silver Tambor put in to Altarfaar in the small hours, whereon even Locaon, most pessimistic of those aboard, at last conceded that they were indeed safe. In the ensuing days the sickened men were put up in The Southern Star, where Berephon and Aona, aided by the prayers and ministrations of mystics from the temple, guided them back to health. Each of them recovered to a man, the purple blemishes beneath their skin waning even as vigour of limb waxed anew, and gradually each departed, back about the business of their own lives, and richer than when they had been taken.
For in the captain’s cabin aboard the ship had been found a locked strongbox stuffed with coins of various strike and cast, all of gold, a small fortune, albeit a mere fraction of Gastapar’s rumoured wealth, though where the rest of that scoundrel’s treasure might lay buried would never be unearthed. Nevertheless here was money sufficient to salve much misery, and they decided to share the spoil in equal measure amongst themselves and the widows of those men lost. Rhoye naturally would accept not a piece of it, saying that what he had done had not been done for coin, his share also given over to the widows at his request.
Over a month Rhoye and Astropho remained in Altarfaar, and other escapades they shared there, ere they deemed the day fit to depart. Thus, on a morning bright, as most were in that sun-kissed land, they stood outside the inn, their horses fresh shod, belongings stowed and provisions packed, ready again for the dusty road and the unguessed marvels of the Wandered Lands. Farewells made to Aona, Amileo and Berephon, away they led their horses down toward the city gate, chatting the while.
Ere halfway there, however, they were halted by a holler behind, and saw Aona dashing up, her cheeks flushed.
“Wait!” she cried as she neared. “You cannot,” she said to Rhoye, half breathless, “you cannot go from us empty-handed. ‘Tis not fair, nor right by our hospitality, given all that you have done.”
“I have no want of the pirate’s gold, lass,” he insisted anew.
“I know.” Drawing close to him, Aona pressed a thing small and delicate into his mighty palm. Her locket of Melitala. “The Goddess of Home,” she whispered. “To remember us. And me.”
“I would not forget you, lass,” he said. “That I could never do. But, I cannot accept…”
As if easiest to still his objection, she tiptoed up to her fullest height and kissed him quick upon the lips. And then with a giddy laugh she flit away, that he had no means to return neither peck nor locket.
“Everything you have given to me, Rhoye of Khetaine!” said she, smiling. “The boy I love, my father’s good name, a ship, a fortune! So, yes, my friend, you can accept it. And did you not make me your captain? Well, this is my order!” And away she ran back up the street, her stable boots clicking on the flagstones as she fled.
“Some things are worth remembering,” observed Astropho with a broad and brilliant grin.
“Aye,” said Rhoye of Khetaine. And ere they had quit the city, he wore the locket at his throat, and a rare smile upon his lips.
Destiny deemed this not the last time Rhoye and Astropho would meet with Aona and Amileo. For, not long after, those young lovers would embark upon a new life and livelihood, as merchant traders aboard their very own vessel. The Silver Tambor she remained, for seafaring superstition deemed it an unlucky omen to rename a ship once sailed. Though her name remained her reputation did not, and where she might once have been shunned with scowls and sullen looks, latterly was she welcomed with smiles and fair favour. From Tikhashrah to Altamantia, Vaihannan to Kharkage, the Tambor and her master and mistress earned regard and good standing as traders honest and trustworthy. And adventures aplenty they shared aboard that splendid old vessel, seeming favoured of the Gods.
Thus the Tambor was far from Altarfaar that day, over a year later, when the earth shook and the skyline northward darkened beneath thick black cloud. The fishermen and stevedores hard at work upon the dockside stopped from their tasks, and stared, and some shrank in fear. But the tremors abated, and the far smoke slowly cleared, and after a time they went back about their work as before.
“What you reckon it was, then, gaffer?” asked a tanned stevedore of an old salt, some hours later, as they stood upon the wharf.
“Reckon? I don’t reckon naught,” said he. “‘Tis not trim for an honest fisherman to learn too much o’ the whims o’ the divine.”
So few souls ever set a course there that years flew by before the truth of that day would finally be known. That Karkinosa, the isle of the shrine of the Sick’ning Scarab, that day had disappeared, swallowed under the waters in rivers of molten fire, devoured under the sea, back beneath the governance of the Gods.
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‘The Isle of the Shrine of the Sick’ning Scarab’ Copyright ©2023 Robert Victor Mills. All rights reserved.