Chapter 3
An Incredible Tale by Madame Olwen
Clay sat bolt upright in bed, his entire body drenched in sweat. His eyes flicked nervously around the room as though some apparition from his nightmare had followed him through the realm of dreams. But everything appeared to be normal. Cold, silver moonlight was shining through his window, casting a bright rectangle on the floor beside his bed. There was his chair, desk, and small wardrobe, which his father had proudly carved by hand and done quite well, considering that he was a fisherman and not a carpenter. A few books were scattered on top of the furniture, as well as discarded underclothes, a small satchel of ancient coins, and various odds and ends that he had collected while beachcombing.
All these familiar objects put Clay at ease, and his heart began to slow its frantic rhythm. But as he tried getting comfortable to go back to sleep, his nose wrinkled. Was that the aroma of smoke? Where would it be coming from? It was too strong to have drifted up from the shops below, especially considering it was quite late, and everyone had undoubtedly locked up for the night. No candles or lanterns were burning in his room, and he had watched his mother extinguish the fires in both the hearth and the cooking stove.
Fearing that the tavern was about to come crashing down in a blazing inferno, Clay leaped out of bed and began tiptoeing rapidly through the entire building. He even checked in the bushes outside. Nothing made itself known. He returned to his room, quite puzzled, and that's when he noticed something bizarre. Smeared across the sheets just below his pillow was a large black smudge of soot. Clay stared at the mark in bewilderment and suddenly jumped to the conclusion that he had somehow set his clothes on fire. Frantically, he pulled off his shirt and bandages and threw them to the floor. Both were also stained black.
Hoping that he hadn't somehow burned himself, Clay stood in front of the small mirror that hung from his wardrobe and turned his back to it, twisting his head as far back as it would go so he could see his reflection. That's when he saw it. The scratch from the skeleton was glowing: a glow like that of a fire that has nearly burnt itself out and been reduced to embers. Although the light from it was dim, the temperature had been high enough to start burning through his clothes.
For what seemed like an eternity, Clay just stood there in that grotesque position: head twisted all the way around, eyes wide, mouth partially open in horror. Could this mean that his dream hadn't been simply a dream? Did the cruel skeleton known as Flameheart now control him?
His mind whirling with questions, Clay began staggering toward his bedroom door to wake his parents, but a series of thoughts stopped him. How would his parents react? If they suspected that this curse could turn their son into a monster, they might put him under lock and key, or, worse yet, banish him from the Sea of Thieves entirely. Even if they promised to keep his secret, what about everyone else? Clay knew that the sea was swarming with pirates who, if they caught even a whisper that someone was turning into a servant of Flameheart, would not hesitate an assassination attempt. If someone tried to kill him, his parents would be in danger from crossfire. Clay shook his head firmly. No, this would have to be his secret… for a while, at least.
But could he carry this heavy secret alone? Surely there was one person he could confide in for the time being. His mind played over the events of the previous day and came to rest on one image: Madame Olwen's long, searching gaze. Members of the Order of Souls were hailed as great seers and fortune tellers, so perhaps she had detected the curse in Clay before even he had. Also, if there was anyone on the island who knew how to fight a curse, it would be her. As he stuffed the charred blankets and clothes into the backmost corner of his wardrobe, the boy began making plans.
"Slow down, my dear," chided Tasha as she watched her son scoop another large helping of morning porridge into his mouth. "That porridge isn't going to run away from ya."
"Sorry, Ma," Clay mumbled, wiping some spots of the mixture from his chin. "I just want to get down to the wharf so I can help Pa fish, even if I can't go with him." Chester Ambrose had already set sail in the Golden Pondie a couple of hours before. He had decided to let Clay stay home for the next few days to recover from his perilous experience, saying that his own wounds were healed enough. Tasha had given him a dubious look at this claim but didn't object.
Clay finished the last of his porridge, grabbed his fishing rod and tackle box, and strode out the door as fast as his still-tender ankle would allow. As he descended toward the village, his thoughts were in turmoil. He had known most of the people who worked here since he started learning to walk. They were all like an extended family to him. Surely, if they found out about his curse they wouldn't be so hasty as to kill him. But, then again, the risk of his secret leaking out from the island via a visiting sailor would be greatly increased. The fewer people who knew, the better.
He finally reached Madame Olwen's tent and peered inside. The booth was composed of four dark drapes that hung beneath the elevated platform on which the Pirate Emporium sat. The drapes were so thick that practically all light was obscured, creating a gloomy, mystical atmosphere within. The interior was littered with glass bottles full of strange liquids, skulls of all colors and sizes, and books written in nearly extinct languages and symbols.
Madame Olwen sat behind a small table, surrounded by at least a dozen foul bounty skulls and some colorful potions. She was dwarfed by an imposing figure standing across the table from her. He was a little over six feet tall and solidly built with muscles that were sharply defined beneath his shirt and leggings. His tattered clothes were dark gray with some highlights of bone white for the buttons on his jacket and the tips of his boots. His jacket was also edged with a border of dark, poisonous purple. His broad shoulders were topped with raven feathers, and another feather protruded from his three-cornered hat. A ring of what looked like small shark teeth circled his neck, and a dagger with that same bone-white gilding hung from his leather belt. The most ominous part of this entire costume was the mask. The stranger had completely wrapped his face with a black cloth, over which he wore a plague doctor's mask. The beak was five inches long, and a ruby-colored gem was set into the right eye socket, glittering menacingly in the faint light.
Goosebumps ran down Clay's back as he recognized the costume. This stranger was from the Crimson Crypt guild. Most sailors kept their distance from members of the Crimson Crypt. Even the Reapers, many of whom were the fiercest pirates to sail the seas, felt uncomfortable dealing with them. The Crimson Crypt was a mysterious, unapproachable lot with a heavy taste for demonology and studies of the occult. For this reason, they had frequent interaction with the Order of Souls to sell skulls and other magical items. There were even several rumors floating around that most of them were werewolves, vampires, or even zombies.
As Clay leaned closer to listen, he could tell that the stranger from the Crimson Crypt and Madame Olwen were involved in some heated haggling.
"What do you mean only seven hundred and fifty gold pieces?" demanded the sailor, his deep voice greatly agitated. "This specimen should be worth at least fifteen hundred."
Madame Olwen gave a frustrated sigh. "As I have told you a dozen times now, the decision is out of my hands. The Order has dropped the base price of these villainous bounty skulls as of last week." She motioned to one of the glowing, grinning skulls on the table before her, and Clay assumed it was one that the stranger was trying to sell.
"I had to battle the terrible Heave to Hughes himself to get this skull!" raged the pirate, pounding one massive dark-gloved fist on the table, making everything on it jump as though in surprise. "I demand at least fifteen hundred!"
At this point, Madame Olwen caught sight of Clay and motioned to him as if to say, I'll be right with you as soon as I get him out of here. She turned and fixed her visitor with a cold, unwavering gaze. "Seven hundred fifty is my final and only offer. Take it or leave it."
The stranger seemed ready to protest again but thought better of it and remained silent. Grudgingly, he accepted the small gold pouch Madame Olwen gave to him, whirled around, and marched out of the tent, roughly brushing past Clay as he went.
After leaving his fishing gear at the door, Clay entered, and Madame Olwen gave him a slight, apologetic smile. "Ah, Clayton Ambrose! My deepest regrets to keep you waiting."
"You couldn't help it," Clay consoled her. "He wasn't being amiable at all. Do you know him?"
Madame Olwen scowled. "Unfortunately, yes. That was Captain Riley Nelson, or 'Wily Riley' as many call him. He claims to be part of the Crimson Crypt, but all he values the skulls for is money. I think he just uses his membership strictly as a way of intimidating other pirates and threatening them with curses and hexes if they don't do as he says." After rearranging a few things on her table that Riley had knocked out of place, she gave Clay her full attention. "I know why you are here. You have been stricken with some terrible influence, and you want to know how to get rid of it."
Clay didn't even try to deny it. "That was why you gave me that odd look yesterday?"
Madame Olwen nodded. "You were emitting an aura I have not experienced in many, many years: an aura of the ashen curse." She leaned forward. "Tell me, how did this come about? Your father claimed you just took a 'nasty little tumble' that morning, but I suspect there is more." She got to her feet, crossed the small space, and lowered a curtain to cover the doorway. "Now, tell me what really happened."
Clay nodded and once again found himself pouring out the story of his harrowing encounter at Flintlock Peninsula the day before. Madame Olwen listened most of the time without interruption, but as he described the ritual site and all the small symbols that had been drawn, she suddenly asked, "Can you draw what the symbols looked like?"
"I think so," Clay replied. "They were all quite small, but I'll try my best." Madame Olwen handed him a nightshine parrot feather quill and a piece of parchment, and Clay drew a quick sketch of his best recollection of what the symbol had looked like. When he finished, Madame Olwen leaned closer to examine it. Clay heard her give a small gasp and watched her eyes widen.
"Oh dear," she murmured. "Surely, after all these years… It couldn't be…" She rushed to the back of her tent and began rifling through a series of ancient, decaying volumes that sent billows of dust into the air. Now Clay was starting to get even more anxious. If Madame Olwen was becoming this worried by what he had stumbled onto, what had he stumbled onto?
Finally, Madame Olwen returned to the table, clutching a thick red book with the title spelled in curly black lettering: The Monsters of Ancient Myths. "I remember seeing that symbol in this book," she explained. "It references a very interesting story that, if my theories are correct, indicates that the entire Sea of Thieves is in grave danger." She opened the book and pointed to a page with a distinctive header: "The Banishment of the Phoenix." Above this banner was the same pentagram symbol surrounded by tongues of fire with the footprint of the bird of prey.
"Let me read this aloud, and I think you may see how this story and yours are connected."
Clay settled himself on a nearby stool. Normally he loved a good story, but now that this story was possibly linked to his ashen curse, all he could do was hope that the ending was a good one.
Centuries ago, when the first pirates entered the Sea of Thieves, there lived on Devil's Thirst a creature of power and fire: a phoenix. It lived as freely as the gulls and made its home in the depths of the molten rock that filled the volcanoes. Every night, even pirates as far away as Thieves' Haven could squint through their spyglasses and see it streaking through the sky like a living comet.
As the pirates began moving farther and farther east, building their outposts and forts, they drew closer to the Devil's Roar, and the phoenix could sense it. The phoenix sightings became fewer and farther between, and by the time ground was broken for the Charred Parrot Tavern at Morrow's Peak Outpost, it disappeared altogether.
There were a few brave and brash sailors who believed they could find the phoenix or possibly even capture it and bring it back as an attraction. A man known as Captain Magnum was determined to bring the phoenix out of the Devil's Roar in chains. He gathered the loyal crew of his brigantine, the Ancient Terror's Bane, and set a course for Devil's Thirst.
Upon arriving, they were lucky enough to spot the phoenix perched near the lip of the volcano, asleep. All the men aboard the Ancient Terror's Bane gazed up in awe at the creature. Its feathers of flames were burning more dimly than normal due to its slumber, but it still shone with the radiance of a star.
Captain Magnum was just beginning to formulate a plan for taking the phoenix by surprise when one of his crew members attempted to fire his pistol at it. The man had become quite drunk earlier from too much rum, and his intoxicated mind told him that the phoenix was just within a pistol shot and could be killed on the spot. His shot went completely wild, and Captain Magnum knocked the pistol from his hand. But it was too late. The phoenix awoke, and its fire blazed hotter as it turned its burning eyes down upon the trembling inhabitants of the brigantine.
With an enraged shriek, the flaming bird swooped toward the ship like a falling star, scathing talons outstretched for the man who had fired the pistol. Everyone tried to scatter, but the phoenix was too fast. In a rush of desert-hot air, it pounced on the drunken sailor and carried him up into the air. As it flew away, its shining wings brushed the masts and sails, setting them alight. The sailors could only watch helplessly as the phoenix gave one last screech of triumph and dove into the heart of the volcano, its unfortunate victim still struggling in its grasp.
Everyone was longing for vengeance, but Captain Magnum refused. The man was gone, and no one could follow that creature through molten rock. With heavy hearts, the sailors managed to douse the flames before they raged out of control and returned home. Soon, the story of the phoenix's attack spread like wildfire, and many began crying out for its demise. Every pirate agreed that the phoenix was too great a threat to be allowed to live.
But what could be done? Phoenixes were gifted with the mythical ability to regenerate after death, as far as anyone knew, an infinite number of times. Killing one was no simple matter. After much pleading from many of his friends, Captain Magnum visited the Order of Souls' liaison, Madame Oya, at Morrow's Peak Outpost and asked her if there was anything that could be done about the beast.
Madame Oya warned him that such a feat would be extremely dangerous and potentially fatal. Captain Magnum was insistent, however, so she crafted a dagger. But it wasn't an ordinary dagger. This weapon was a foot long and forged from one piece of obsidian. This obsidian was conditioned with a very old and powerful spell that has since been lost to time. In the hilt was set an amber brimstone: one of the few volcanic gems that were prized by the Order of Souls for their magical potential. Below the brimstone was scratched a symbol: a pentagram surrounded by flames with the footprint of a phoenix in the center.
Madame Oya handed the weapon to Captain Magnum, telling him that once the dagger pierced the phoenix, the beast would instantly be absorbed into the amber brimstone. However, trying to get that close to a phoenix would be very hazardous. Not only was there the risk of being ripped to shreds by its talons or beak, but because its body was made of fire, a person could easily burn to death by even a few brief moments of contact. Captain Magnum told her that he understood the risks, but they were risks that had to be taken.
Armed with the enchanted dagger, he and his crew returned to Devil's Thirst at sunset and lowered their anchor, waiting for the phoenix to emerge. Just as the moon began to rise into the brilliant night sky, a ball of fire came soaring out from the volcano's crater: the phoenix. It caught sight of the ship and remembered it from the last encounter. The creature screamed in fury and made a dive at the ship, ready to exterminate every soul on board. The light from its flaming feathers was so bright that the sailors had to shield their eyes.
In a sacrificial act, Captain Magnum leaped in front of his crew and into the direct path of the creature's deadly talons. The phoenix grabbed his arm and began carrying him up and away toward the volcano. Ignoring the scorching heat that was searing his skin, the captain waited until he was sure that he was a safe distance away from the ship. With his free hand, he managed to reach to his belt, wrench the dagger from its scabbard, rear back his arm, and plunge the obsidian blade into the phoenix's leg. The creature gave a final screech of pain and exploded in a rain of fire and ash. The concussive blast sent the Ancient Terror's Bane rocking wildly from side to side.
When the light had faded away, and the final echoes of the blast died with it, everyone began desperately scanning the area for their captain. They found him floating face down nearly five hundred feet away, his clothes reduced to ashes, his skin burned raw, and the obsidian dagger still clutched in his hand.
Everyone knew he was near death, so they brought him back to the ship and laid him in his quarters. As his dying breaths whispered through his scorched lips, he called for his first mate, Kaliber. When the man approached the bed, head down, his eyes stinging with unshed tears, Captain Magnum handed him the obsidian dagger and whispered, "Take this dagger and hide it where no one will ever lay hold of it again." And with these final words, Captain Magnum breathed his last.
The next morning at sunrise, the entire crew prepared to send their captain's body adrift in a rowboat toward the south. All ten stood solemnly on the southern beach of Devil's Thirst, watching as Kaliber laid his captain's body in the bottom of the rowboat, surrounded by his favorite cutlass, tankard, and notes of memories and good-byes written by each crew member and sealed in a bottle. Kaliber leaned forward, and to the watching crowd, it seemed that he was whispering a final farewell to his fallen hero. But in reality, he was secretly tucking something in the captain's clasped hands: the enchanted obsidian dagger. Kaliber knew that the only place where a pirate could never find the dagger was in and beyond the Devil's Shroud that surrounded the sea.
As the first mournful notes of "Becalmed" began to play, the first mate of the Ancient Terror's Bane looked down on the solemn face of his captain one last time before pushing the rowboat away from the beach. A strong current soon caught the small craft and began carrying it swiftly toward the misty horizon. As he watched it go, Kaliber was confident that Captain Magnum would soon be resting below the waves with his dagger, and both would remain hidden for ages to come.