AUTHOR'S NOTE: I don't own the characters (Miramax does) or the fairy tales referenced in this story. I'm not making one single penny off this story. (pauses) I wouldn't mind borrowing the boys for awhile though…
1) This is rated TEEN for a reason. There are some very adult themes and situations and angst in here and some violence. It deals with rather dark issues relating to familial rifts and deaths of family members (if you saw the movie, you know to what I'm referring). Can't handle, please don't read. 2) Although there are religious references in the story, nothing is based on any real people or cults. They were completely fabricated for plot purposes and if you see similarities to any real people or cults, you are squinting way too hard, if you know what I mean. Do not try anything you see in this story, boys and girls, because it's all made up stuff. So, if anyone flames for reasons of dark themes or religious references, I'm going to ignore it because I've given fair warning. 3) The opinions expressed by characters do not reflect the opinion of this writer. See Chapter One for the rest of the notes.
6
In the spring and summer, the docks of Catriona were usually abuzz with fisherman, whalers, passenger boats, and traders' ships. With the approaching winter, the fog, and the foul weather, visits from these ships were becoming infrequent. That afternoon, most of the vessels docked in Catriona's port belonged to local fisherman, but a few larger ships were anchored farther out in the deeper water of the bay. Their crew mingled with the native population on the docks, conducting their business and visiting the local merchants.
Inquiring among the natives, the visiting crews, and then speaking to the Port Master, Will learned that Jacob had booked passage on a vessel called 'Adalia' that would stop in France and England before making berth in Scotland. The ship had departed only two days prior to Will's arrival, and Will cursed again the delay caused by his visit to Hollenstadt. Jacob had paid to sail all the way to Scotland, but the Port Master would not be sworn to saying Scotland was the young man's destination.
"Cheer up, sir. If he's off to Scotland, you might still beat him there," the Port Master was sympathetic. "If you can find a ship sailing nonstop to Scotland."
"Do you know of a boat heading that way?" Will asked him.
The Port Master checked his books, but found nothing scheduled. "There's a whaling ship coming in on the twelfth, sir. The captain's a genial sort. He'll take you on, and if you can't pay, I'm sure he'll let you barter labor for passage."
Bad, wretched luck was getting nothing but worse. "I can't wait two weeks," Will groused, more to himself than to the kindly Port Master. For want of five days… Two weeks more, and Will would have no hope of intercepting Jacob…unless Will developed the sudden ability to sprout wings and fly across the sea himself.
As expected, asking among the crews of the few vessels in the port yielded no prospects for transport to Scotland or anyplace close to Scotland. So, Will sat down on a wooden bench outside the Port Master's office---frustrated and with no ideas for what he should do next. He watched the horizon for the arrival of any new ships until the last rays of daylight faded into another misty night, as if the weight of his stare would make a suitable ship appear.
Unconsciously, impatiently, he drummed his fingers on the cover of Jacob's book, which lay beside him on the bench, as he pondered the situation. Brooding would do no good, Will knew. He should return to the cottage and have proper rest. He could try again in the morning. But, Will could not bring himself to leave the harbor and return to the house. For one thing, he actively feared waking to find one of Serya's wooden puppet/children hovering over him. More importantly, absurd as it was, returning to the house was retreating. Jacob, the Altar des Feuer, and whatever peril his brother had gotten himself into were ahead of Will---somewhere across that damnable sea—not behind him.
Jacob had left on a boat five days ago. That meant, Will could safely assume that Jacob had not reached Scotland yet to (Will assumed) commence his search for that altar. His brother wouldn't be in peril (unless superstitious crewmen heard his stories or chanced upon the wand/blade and pitched Jacob overboard for fear he'd bring down a curse on their ship) until Jacob's feet his the shore. That eased Will's anxiety, but only a little. If Will couldn't find a way out of this port, Jacob wasn't going to stay alive very much longer. No, Will could not turn back, even for a few hours.
Therefore, he sat like a statue on that bench, wishing for ale, a warm bed, a warm female, wondering what in hell got into Jacob's mind, and wanting to be doing anything besides following this ridiculous errand for one more day.
Will's attention turned to the journal, still sealed with Serya's talisman. Altar des Feuer.
He stared at the silk seal, sorely tempted to remove the binding, in spite of Serya's warnings, and see if the contents yielded a clue about Jacob's unfathomable reasons for this errand. But, Jacob had entrusted (Will didn't want to even think the word 'bequeathed') his prized possession to his brother's keeping. It felt like an invasion of Jacob's privacy to consider reading the journal. On the other hand, it was all but guaranteed that the 'Anhängers vom Messer des Feuer' could be found somewhere in that book. If nothing else, Will might gain some inkling of where to search for that altar should he fail to intercept Jacob at any of the ports along the way to Scotland.
Having justification and no other clear course of action, Will gave in to his own curiosity and untied the cord and talisman that held the book shut. An icy gust of wind howled with an almost human-sounding noise of protest. Lightning flashed on the dark horizon. He thought he heard Sister's voice murmur on that breeze. He frowned in defiance of the elements. "If you have a better idea, I'd be interested to hear it!" he shouted to the empty sky.
The breeze fell still and the sky quieted. Didn't think so, Will smirked a bit.
The pages of the journal smells of age, ink, mold, smoke, of sweet and earthy scents like the roots Serya was drying…and of something else that Will couldn't put his finger on. Whatever it was, it set the hair on his neck on end and turned his blood to ice as he read the pages. Each page was filled, edge-to-edge, with Jacob's handwriting. Some pages even appeared to have been used and re-used on several separate occasions and Jacob ran out of space to write in the book---paragraphs of stories or research, for example, filling the center of the page and scribbles about completely unrelated subjects crammed into the margins. Not an inch of the journal's limited space was wasted.
Will could measure Jacob's enthusiasm for each subject by his handwriting: Subjects of great intrigue were jotted down in sprawling letters, as if Jacob's hands could barely keep pace with his racing mind to get the words onto the page. Matters to which his brother was giving close attention, analysis, and scrutiny were copied in small, neat printing to fit as much information as possible onto the page. The pattern held true even for entries clearly made when Jacob was only a child.
It wasn't the disorganized nonsense that Will had envisioned either. Jacob had copied entire collections of myths, fairy tales, legends, and other rubbish on pages made when he was a child up to pages made in his days as a scholar in Heidelberg. Most entries were the fodder believed only by superstitious simpletons. What nonsense some people will take into their hearts, Will mused as he flipped through the book. Jacob, however, had some talent for retelling these stories and legends, Will couldn't help but notice. It looked as if he'd even invented a few stories of his own. That surprised his brother. If the stories in the journal were an indication, Jacob could create tales so convincing that he might truly sell said 'simpletons' on the existence of any witch, warlock, or creature he concocted.
The beggar 'princess' of Hollenstadt, Lorelei, was one of the last entries in the journal. Jacob had imagined a fanciful tale of how the bearded woman was once a beautiful princess transformed into a monster for her selfish behavior. Fanciful enough to make Lorelei believe it as well. Will shook his head in amusement. Serya, the folklore of her nomadic people, and her wooden puppet children were mentioned many pages before Lorelei. A phrase written in what Will guessed was Latin, was noted on one of Serya's pages and had been labeled by Jacob: "An enchantment to animate the inanimate---works only on that which once had life (wood, grass, and related plant life is preferable)".
To 'animate' Serya's wooden 'children' to run and play like real boys and girls no doubt, Will scoffed mentally.
Still, they had run and played like real children…Will had no logical explanation for that display of magic, but he was sure he'd figure out Serya's trick sooner or later. Wooden puppets did not come to life, he knew that much.
Will turned to the next page and his smirk disappeared at once. There was Sister's face staring up at him from the page. Will jumped, half-thinking it was her angel poking its head out of the pages to scare him away from reading any farther. But, no, it was nothing more than a harmless quill and ink sketch. You've read too many of Jake's stories, Will, he chastised himself. Did Jacob draw this picture? Well, of course he did, who else could it have been?
Will found more sketches near the front of the book, in what he'd dubbed Jacob's "early years" section. His brother had sketched their Mother, with her kind but sad smile, and objects Will had to puzzle over before he identified them as his own 'inventions'. As a boy, Will had always tinkered---lanterns that would ignite with the press of a switch instead of with matches, padding for his arms and legs, a necessity when sledding with the other kids in the days when the family still lived in the mountains (landings tended to be rough with the rocky terrain), and many other creations that Will had long forgotten. Some were simply toys Will had built when money was too tight to purchase any. I didn't know Jake paid any mind to them, he was always more interested in myth than in practical science. Will had known Jacob watched him work on his devices, but it was always from a discreet distance. There were also entries on more personal subjects: Some of their Mother's favorite poems, lists of precise instructions Jacob was assigned around the cottage, red winter begonias, and so forth.
The drawing of Sister riveted Will. It was not Sister as the little girl that she'd been in life. This sketch mirrored the angelic vision Will had seen in his dream. Jake saw her, too. This confounded Will---this sketch was in the 'early years' section of the book, not among the more recent entries. The page was not loose, not new, had not been added or stuck in to the journal. Jacob had to have drawn this as a child. Surely he didn't see Sister's ghost all those years ago? He was only a boy when he drew this…he had to have drawn it from his own imagination.
With that question unanswered, Will began to notice what he hadn't perceived in his first glance through the book: The entries prior to the drawing of Sister's 'ghost' were mundane, ordinary, childish things---the drawings of Will's inventions, the list of Mother's poems and favorite flowers, some harmless (and decidedly secular) stories Will and Jacob had created together during play before Sister's death drove a wedge between the two of them. After the page with Sister's specter, the entries changed. The mythology began. The fairy tales began. The legends, the rites, the mystical, the 'blasphemous'. There were even sketches of constellations with stories of the heroes for which they were named.
And there was an underlying theme to what Jacob had collected. He faintly recalled Jacob staying out after dark to watch the night sky until their Mother sent Will to fetch him. It was not random myths and folklore…everything he'd written centered on death, the afterlife, purgatory, and resurrection. The hero or heroine of each fable defeated death and brought his or her loved ones back from the afterlife. The rites Jacob had recorded were rituals meant to restore life after death.
It was in this section that Will found the scant entries related to "Anhänger vom Messer des Feuer" and a wand that could restore the dead.
'The Altar des Feuer' rests at the center of the 'forest of stone'. Tradition of the cult held that the rocks' position was at a nexus of spiritual power that could be channeled by the blade that their heathen gods had gifted to Desdemond, their leader, to resurrect the dead. It was generally believed that this was done by offering a human sacrifice to the heathen gods in exchange for the life of the departed. There would be an inscription on the Altar reading: 'Life is purchased with death'. This seemed quite practical. If one meant to use the Messer des Feuer at the price of his or her mortal life, it would only be used for matters of supreme importance.
'It is generally believed that the altar and the wand were destroyed by the priests who helped drive the Desdemondans out of Germany, leading to the eventual extinction of their cult. Most of the artifacts were lost, although some men who call themselves the Society broke from the church and are still dedicated to spending their lifetimes in quest to ensure that no artifacts remain even to this day. Expeditions to find any artifacts from this cult have been largely unsuccessful, to the point where some question whether Desdemond and his followers and their artifacts ever existed except in myth.'
Matters like bringing back the dead, Will filled in the blanks.
Jacob provided the answer with his second entry on the subject:
'On holiday in the Scottish Hebrides, a scientist named Francois Penegrast noted a bizarre rock formation he chanced upon in his wandering around the islands. The rocks, he noted, were marked with symbols, which he was unable to reproduce upon his return to the mainland. Penegrast noted a large rock near the center of this formation and swears to have seen a stream of fire pour from this rock…fire that left no mark on the rock and did not burn the grass around the rock. This claim could not be substantiated by his fellow travelers, as they did not witness the phenomenon. Efforts to take a closer look at the formations resulted in cataclysmic rockslides that deterred them from pressing up the mountain where the rocks were located. Their story was dismissed by all persons of authority, including scholars, due to the fact that most of the companions had been drinking heavily prior to and during this alleged event and Penegrast was never able to find the island again. The accounts for why the incident was never recorded but was passed along as folklore by word of mouth. Penegrast believed the island was located at the…
The final page with the location, naturally, had been torn out. That was flatly unusual for Jacob. Every page of his book was nearly sacred. He clearly didn't want Will to know where he was going if he ever did wind up with possession of the journal.
It didn't matter---Will could stand to read no more. He closed the book as the awful impact of what his brother had written shocked him. Leave it to Jacob to make hokum sound like scientific reasoning. To make it perfectly logical to find the blade of fire, sacrifice yourself to fix a mistake…such as fetching magic beans instead of a doctor for you dying sister. Complete rot and rubbish----- unless you believe in rot and rubbish like Jacob does.
This was Jacob's life work. This was the reason he buried himself in the mystical and set off to study in the larger cities like Heidelberg. His brother was going to get himself killed…commit suicide in essence…on an insane hypothesis that he could save Sister.
"What he's always done for me, Will," Sister had said.
"Mr. Jacob's trying to exorcise his ghosts. I guess you're running from yours. I wonder if it's the same ghosts driving both of you…" Serya had said.
Another gust of wind howled.
Will hadn't known---how could he? Jacob closed off whenever he was confronted about his fascination with the mystical world. He guarded his book as if his life depended on it…and now Will knew why. He had wondered, of course he had, more times than he could remember how Jacob felt about his mista---about their Sister's death, but he hadn't known. Hard as it was to admit to himself, Will had assumed, like everyone else around them, that his brother's descent into his own world of fairy tales and mythology was owed to being…er, well, not altogether right in the head.
Will had been angry with his brother since Sister's death. He hadn't tried to imagine his brother's point of view. Jacob understood the mystical and spiritual…naturally he'd dive into it with all his mind, would devote himself whole-heartedly, in the belief that it would yield a way to undo his mistake. And he thinks he's found his way. In the meanwhile, he saved as many 'damsels in distress' as he could: Lorelei, Serya, and who knew how many others.
Penances. Redemption.
"No sleeping on the docks!"
This time, Will did let out an involuntary yelp of surprise. Fully occupied with the book and without the benefit of sunlight to cast shadows, Will hadn't seen the man walk over and stop to stand over him. The wind and the crash of the surf must have drowned out the man's footsteps as he'd approached Will.
Reflexively, Will raised the book like a shield against the stranger before he regained his composure. The man was nothing but a harmless old fisherman, judging by his clothing and the stink of fish on his clothing, and not the least bit threatening…nevertheless, there was no point letting him pry into personal matters. Hurriedly, Will wrapped the cord around Jacob's book to bind it shut and tucked the journal under his arm for safekeeping. He didn't believe the wooden talisman was 'keeping evil spirits in or out' of the book, but he had a feeling Serya would make his life hell if she happened along and found the pendant and cord missing. That was the only reason Will still wore the talisman someone in the cottage had hung around his neck while he was unconscious.
"I'm not sleeping, as you can plainly see," Will pointed out. "I'm sitting."
"Ain't seen you in town before. You lost?" the white-haired man grunted.
"No."
"Waiting on a boat? There's no boats 'til morning if yer waiting for a boat," the fisherman persisted.
Will resisted the impulse to point out that the fisherman must have arrived by boat, so therefore boats were still arriving. Was this man angling for the Port Master's job? He wished the old man would go on his way. The fisherman's stare was almost as unnerving as Serya's wooden 'children'. "Then I shall be sitting for a long while."
Seconds ticked by, then the stranger asked: "Which way are you heading?"
Will was not at all sure he wanted the man to know. "Paris," he lied. "As quickly as possible."
The fisherman blinked. He'd been staring at the talisman around Will's neck, and the man's lips curled downward at the site of it. "You aren't a purveyor of the dark arts? Witchcraft?"
"Certainly not!" Will tucked the pendant beneath his shirt, out of the man's sight.
"Preacher?"
Will wondered how long a list of questions he'd have to answer before the man would leave him be. "No."
The man raised an eyebrow. "Don't believe in curses do you?"
"It's astonishing how many times I've had to answer questions like that this week," Will sighed and tried to anticipate any more questions the man could ask for the sake of ending this conversation. "No, I do not believe in curses, fables, folklore, witchcraft, myth, legend, haunted seas, magic wands, celestial nexuses, or bearded princesses…and I'm sure I'll find a logical explanation for walking marionettes."
The fisherman remained stoic, ignoring what must have sounded like an incoherent rant. "Best you do believe in all that," he warned, pointing his finger at Will's chest, where the talisman still hung. "Sailors do. No one's going to board you on no boat with that on your neck…or carrying that book of yours, friend. No one wants bad luck on his ship. No one wants passengers who talk about luck or omens, neither."
In that case, I needn't worry about reaching Scotland…I'll probably find Jacob treading water in the sea somewhere between here and the Adalia's next port. "Thank you for the advice. I'll be sure to keep the charm concealed," Will attempted again to dismiss the stranger.
The man lapsed into another silence. Entirely frustrated now, Will was about to make his excuses and get as far away as possible when the fisherman made a noise by sucking air through what was left of his teeth. "Suppose if we don't take you on, you'll be sitting on this dock 'til Judgment Day."
Will didn't know if that offer was a Godsend or not. It was a chance, however slim, of reaching Scotland and the altar before Jacob, but something about the fellow still made his skin crawl. Then again, something in everything that had happened in his life for the last two weeks made his skin crawl. Surely he wasn't thinking of rowing to Scotland in that small craft of his? " ' We'?" Will asked.
"Got a whaling boat anchored out in the bay," the man gestured toward the harbor, but fog and darkness still concealed whatever vessels floated out there.
And then, with his next words, the stranger finally provided Will with a sound reason for his apprehension: "On our way back to Russia. We can drop you where you can get a lift to Paris easy enough…if you've got to get to your brother."
There was only one problem with the offer: Will hadn'tmentioned having a brother much less needing to get to him He began backing away from the man at once. "Thank you, no…"
Will broke off, mid-sentence, as his eye was drawn to something beside the man's rowboat. The mist receded for an instant, allowing moonlight to shine on the dark waters, and Will saw a shape floating beside the craft. It looked like cloth. He thought it might be a bag fallen into the harbor…until a wave picked up the object and rolled it over. Something fish-belly white glistened in the moonlight…
…it was a head. A bloated head, its skin pale with death, protruded from the clothing that Will had mistaken from a bag. The waves rolled the limp and lifeless body toward the beach.
Will did the only thing he could think of: He screamed.
The fisherman glanced at the body floating beside his rowboat and scrunched up his own face, as if the corpse had inconvenienced him. "Don't fret. He won't be coming to Paris with us, Mr. Grimm."
Will tried to bolt, but the man made a grab for him. He fended off the stranger with the only weapon he had: Jacob's heavy book. The stranger's groping hand connected with the cover of the journal and Serya's talisman came to life. The wind kicked up once more. Lightning, of sorts, crackled along the silken cords and coalesced at the charm before shooting outward to envelope the arm that had touched the book. The fisherman howled as his skin was burned and stumbled away from Will.
Will didn't care what had happened---magic or Divine intervention---or how; he seized the opportunity for escape and fled. Who was that man? What was he after? The book? Will? How did he know about Jacob? How did he know Will? Did it matter?
There was a loud whistle that seemed to emanate from the injured 'fisherman' behind Will. At the call, two more men appeared from behind the Port Master's office. "Don't touch 'im! And don't touch the book!" the 'fisherman' yelled to them. "Damn talisman 'round them is cursed!"
Will didn't intend to let these men get close enough to grab either his pendant or Jacob's book, but he'd spied the new attackers too late. One had an oar in his hands and swung it right at Will's head. Will feinted aside, but was only fast enough to avoid the worst of the strike. His attacker landed a glancing blow across his temple. It didn't render him unconscious, but it stunned Will sufficiently.
Will staggered, fighting blackness at the edge of vision to remain conscious, and then the trio was upon him. The two newcomers emerged from the shadows, flanking Will. One produced a knife and cut the cord around Will's throat. He watched, completely helpless, as the pendant fell into the sand. Will wrapped his arms around the book with what strength he had, covering the talisman that protected it. He wasn't sure why, but something told him to do everything he could to keep the journal out of their reach. They grabbed his arms and tried to pry them apart, but Will would not budge---he couldn't if he wanted to: His brain would not connect with his limbs despite the desperation to fight back. His arms were locked around the book and it was beyond Will or his attackers' powers to pull the journal free.
"Never mind it!" the 'fisherman' ordered his cohorts.
The trio got a grip on Will's unmoving arms and legs. He could only watch with a complete sense of detachment from his body as they dragged him swiftly down the shore to the waiting rowboat. The 'fisherman' used the oar to push the floating body away from craft while the other two dumped Will into the boat. Will heard the men speaking to each other, but to his still-sluggish and dazed brain, the words were gibberish.
Lying flat on his back at the bottom of the boat, Will felt the bob of the small craft and heard the splash of waves slapping its hull. He couldn't make his body obey his mind to do so much as turn his head. He could only stare straight up as mist and stars moved across his field of vision.
Stars. Constellations. Will knew those constellations. Where did he know them from?
Jacob.
"Jacob! Come in! Will, fetch your brother! It's dark out."
Will hadn't appreciated having to round up his brother---again. He pulled on his coat and scarf against the night air and poked his head out the door. He snatched up a lantern and shined it into the gloom outside. It still took a minute for his eyes to adjust to the darkness. "Jake!" he shouted, seeing no sign of his sibling.
"Will, I said go out and fetch him," Mother ordered.
The boy made a face---taking care that she didn't see it---and ventured out onto the deserted street. "Jake!" No answer.
Will was sure he knew where his brother had gone: The stone fence down the street from their cottage. It had been Jacob's favorite hiding place since the family had moved to Catriona. It was well within earshot of the house, when Jacob's concentration on his book didn't make him deaf and blind to the world around him. Sure enough, Will found Jacob there. His younger brother was perched atop the fence. He had a candle in one hand, a quill in the other, and his book was open on his lap. Jacob was scribbling furiously by the candle's meager light. He alternated his gaze between the sky, bright with stars in the absence of moonlight, and jotting down whatever he was writing in his journal.
"Mum's calling you," Will crossed his arms tightly around his chest against the cold air. With one hand, he raised the lantern so he could see his brother's reaction.
As expected, Jacob didn't so much as blink in answer.
"You'll ruin your eyes," Will added.
Jacob glanced sidelong at his brother, then continued with what he was doing. Will knew this game. There was only one way to get Jacob down off that wall. He walked over to the fence, took hold of Jacob's book with his free hand, and tried to tug the journal out of his brother's hands.
That won Jacob's attention. With a squeal of indignation, Jacob fought back and a tug-of-war ensued. One strong yank from Will tore the book away from his brother. In the process, Jacob was dislodged from his perch and fell to the ground. Will swore to himself---if Jacob hurt himself, Will would catch hell from their Mother---and, tucking the book beneath one arm, offered his brother a hand up. "You hurt yourself?"
Sullen, Jacob refused Will's help and climbed to his feet on his own. He retrieved the candle that had fallen with him.
"Did you hurt yourself?" Will asked more sharply.
"Give me my book!" Jacob snapped in answer.
Sighing, Will raised his lantern to check for himself. He couldn't see too well with its faint light, but Jacob didn't appear to have any injuries or scraps or signs of blood. He shoved the book back into Jacob's hands. "What are you doing anyway?" Will didn't know why he'd asked. It had to be more of his brother's nonsense. He just felt like he should do something nice to make up for causing that fall.
Jacob still sulked. "Nothing."
"You're doing something. What did you write?" Will tried to nudge his brother in the direction of the house. Jacob was intent on making sure his book hadn't been damaged in the tussle.
"I was drawing the stars," he finally answered.
That was new. Will was surprised. When did Jacob develop and interest in the stars? Was he planning to go into fortune-telling along with ghost stories now?
"See?" Jacob pointed to the sky. "That's Hercules. He fought a sea monster and married a princess. That's Pegasus, his horse. It had wings, so it could fly…"
"A flying horse? You have strange ideas, Jake."
Irritated with his brother's ignorance, Jacob corrected him: "It's Greek mythology. It's not strange."
If Will argued, he'd never get Jacob into the house, and his fingers were already getting numb from the cold air. He humored his brother by glancing at the stars for himself. "Doesn't look like anything but a bunch of lights. Where do you see a horse?"
Something lit up in Jacob's eyes. Will could see the spark---enthusiasm?---even by the lantern's faint glow. His brother plopped down right where he'd been standing and opened his book to the pages he'd been using a minute ago. He grabbed Will's coat sleeve and tugged his brother to kneel beside him.
"See?" Jacob pointed to the pattern of dots he'd sketched. He traced lines lightly between the dots, until they connected to form the vague outline of a winged horse. "Pegasus!" Jacob finished with a flourish. Below the dots, he had neatly copied the story of Pegasus.
Will was surprised by his own interest in Jacob's project. He pointed to another cluster of dots. "What's this one that looks like a 'W'?"
"Cassiopia. The queen." Jacob traced it. "She's on her throne, see?"
"And this 'Orion'---?"
"Boys!" Mother called from the house.
"In a minute, please, Mother?" both boys called back to her.
Hands grabbed Will by his arms and legs again and hauled him from the rowboat. With much effort, he managed to turn his head just a bit to see that he was being hefted up the side of a much larger ship. Was it a whaling ship? Will couldn't tell. He could see the female figurehead carved into the front of the vessel, but nothing else of the ship.
More of the mystery men were waiting to lug the semi-conscious Will over the side and dragged him along the deck. Their voices, distorted and distant (more like echoes in Will's disoriented brain), were beginning to speak in words Will could understand…or else his daze was beginning to release its grip on him.
"…waiting for him…below…"
"…can't touch…damn…shocked me…"
Shock. Lightning. Yes, Will had seen lightning. Where? Jake's book. Serya's pendant.
Jake's book.
Panic strengthened his need to fight off the stupor that subdued him. Where's Jacob's book! Will forced himself to move his head again, searching…and saw that it was still there. He'd managed to hang on to it despite having no faculties or control over his limbs at the moment. His fingers had seized the journal in a death grip, and his abductors were reluctant to try to take it from him after watching their friend get burned.
Will was being carried along the deck, past men who rushed to prepare the ship to make way. Dark stains splattered the deck, he observed in his state of detachment. Blood? He didn't know. Then, he was being shoved down a ladder, through compartments dimly illuminated by lanterns, and then down more ladders. The ship stank of grease, waste, unwashed bodies, bilge water, blood, and rot until Will nearly vomited. He heard the squeak of metal, the bang of a hatch being opened, and then he was falling…no, his captors had dropped him.
He'd recovered the motor control to let out a grunt as he landed. Mustering his strength, Will turned his head and squinted into the gloom. He might be in a cargo hold of some sort. Still more men were waiting in this new compartment, and they swiftly shackled Will's hands while still avoiding contact with the book. Then, the dark shapes of his abductors lumbered up the ladder, out of the room, and slammed the hatch closed above him, leaving him alone…
…No, not alone. Three other prisoners lay sprawled across the decking, motionless as----Will swallowed hard---as the dead. Blood marred their skin and clothing and the blankets draped over them. These were bodies; were they prisoners or the real crew of this vessel murdered by the men who'd abducted him? They'd been dumped like refuse. Two lay in heaps; one looked to have died shackled to the wall across from Will.
"Well, then…it seems he was wrong…big brother did come searching…admit I wasn't expecting….so soon."
The voice was male, and a male with a British accent. Will concentrated with all his might on working the fog from his brain. He peered into the dark room and spotted another human shape, this one standing in the corner of the hold not very far from the corpses. The British shadow moved closer to Will.
Will had been expecting another burly lout, like the muscular abductors, but there was nothing vaguely sinister or intimidating about the man who stepped into the lantern light. He was a full four inches shorter than Will, lanky, with curly and receding brown hair, a wide face, and large green eyes. He was dressed in an immaculate suit, as if headed to a social dinner instead of sailing out to sea in a boat full of kidnappers and dead bodies. There wasn't even a grain of dirt on his clothing or beneath his nails.
The man noticed the bruise forming on Will's temple and frowned at it. "Tsk…look what they've done…apologies for that…get a bit carried away…love their work." He knelt in front of Will, sizing up the younger man. He glanced at the book, but kept his hands a safe distance from it. "So, you're…Wilhelm Grimm? What a privilege to finally meet you. My name is Gerit Torsten."
Shackled, Will couldn't shake hands, so Torsten had to nod a greeting instead.
It was with all his concentration that Will's brain made his mouth finally work: "…want?…"
Torsten figured out the one-word question. "…very simple…answer…you live…want the Altar des Feuer…altar of fire."