Chapter 5
The Soul Seer
After securing the unconscious guard in Clay's cell, the boy undressed him until he was wearing nothing but his black underwear. The keeper was just about Clay's size, so his clothes fit quite well.
"With that mask on, it will be nearly impossible for anyone to realize you're not him," Wooly approved. "Remind me, though, how I'm supposed to get out."
"After the ritual, I'll just come back to the jail," Clay explained. "That way, anyone who sees me will assume the jailer has gone back to his usual duty. Then we'll have at least until sunrise to escape before people even start to get suspicious. While I'm gone, at least stay in your cell with the door closed. That way, if anyone peeks in before I get back, everything will look normal. It's dark enough in here that a passerby will think that the unconscious guard is me."
Wooly put a hand on Clay's shoulder and looked him squarely in the eye. "Be careful out there."
Clay nodded. "I plan to be." He wrapped the black scarf around his head, fitted on the mask, and stepped up to the heavy wooden door that sealed off the prison. After a backward glance to make sure Wooly was back in his cell, he took a deep breath and pushed open the door. Beyond it was a flight of two dozen stairs carved out of the rock. After climbing these stairs, Clay found himself at the end of a long hallway. The passage was about eight feet high and six feet wide. Eight doors were set into the walls along each side. Dozens of figures dressed in the typical Crimson Crypt garb were entering the hallway through the doors and trooping rapidly but silently toward the other end of the hall. Clay melted into the back of the crowd, trying to look inconspicuous, and fortunately, no one seemed to notice.
As the procession continued up staircase after staircase, through hallway after hallway, more dark figures joined them until the line stretched the entire length of a hallway and a whole flight of stairs. Since more people were coming, Clay was having a harder and harder time getting a good view of which turns they were making. If he got lost on the way back from the ritual, he could not risk asking for directions. That would undoubtedly blow his cover. However, wandering the halls aimlessly would also provoke questions. To make matters worse, all the passages looked almost identical with their smooth rock walls and eight doors lining each side.
Clay couldn't help but notice the doors that the members of the Crimson Crypt were emerging from. They ranged in color from dark purple to forest green, and they all had strange symbols carved into the wood: skulls, symbols from an ancient alphabet, and even stars. Through some doors, Clay could see strange colored lights shining through the cracks. Some doors were standing wide open, revealing nothing but a pitch-black void beyond them. The doors that scared Clay the most, however, were the ones whose carved symbols were glowing. From behind these doors came the terrifying moans, groans, and howls that he had been able to hear in the prison. Sometimes he thought he could see a glittering eye glaring at him through a crack in the wood. Who knew what manner of demons they could have trapped in there?
Finally, after nearly three minutes of traversing corridors, the parade, which had swelled to about fifty members, came to a small, round wooden door set into the ceiling. The person at the head of the line pushed it up and open, and the dim orange glow of the setting sun came shining through the opening. The procession squeezed through the door one by one, and once he climbed through himself, Clay was in for a surprise.
To his amazement, he found himself standing in a roughly circular room that soared three floors above his head. Each floor was shaped like a ring above a central courtyard, which he now stood in. The entire building seemed to be made of planks, masts, and windows from hundreds of ships. Spiral staircases and ladders spanned the gaps between floors, and carpets, tapestries, and banners were everywhere. A mounted hungering one megalodon head gaped down at them from above the impressive double front door on the main floor above. It was obviously meant to be a place for merriment and relaxation, for there were kegs of rum everywhere, a small stage, and even what appeared to be a hot tub. Half a dozen tables with chairs stood on every floor.
Something about the place struck Clay as familiar. He squinted through his mask at one of the banners hanging from the ceiling. It was red with a flaming sword emblazoned across the front. Where had he seen that before? A memory from several years ago flashed into his mind: a memory of a ship with sails that looked the same as the banner. Now he remembered what it was: the emblem of the Flaming Jackal. Glancing around, he could see more familiar patterns: a green banner with a clover, a purple banner with a crown, and a blue banner with a shark. The realization of where he was crashed down on him: he was standing on the bottom floor of the Glorious Sea Dog's Tavern!
The tavern had once been a bustling hub of pirate activity and the headquarters of The Arena games. The Arena was a competition among six different teams, whose banners could be seen throughout the tavern. The goal of the games was to find and recover special chests buried on a certain set of islands and hand as many in as possible in exchange for silver coins. Teams could score extra points if they sank other crews. Clay remembered the team patterns because his father had once taken him to such an event when he was only seven. Ambrose had placed a wager on victory for the Golden Chaser team but went home that night in a foul temper. The Golden Chasers had been eliminated within the first couple of rounds.
Strangely enough, only a couple of years after Clay's first and only visit, the tavern had unexpectedly shut down without a word of explanation from the owners and organizers of the Arena. Now the building sat empty, choked by vines and young trees with most of the magnificent decorations hidden beneath a shroud of leaves. Little wonder the members of the Crimson Crypt had made their hideout beneath this place. No one would ever think to look here.
Clay had hardly any time to admire his surroundings, though. The members of the Crimson Crypt were already beginning to climb a series of ladders and staircases toward the top floor. Once they were up against the underside of the roof, the procession leader opened a large window at the top, and everyone gingerly stepped through onto the shingles. From there, it was a slightly precarious climb onto a boardwalk suspended by ropes and pulleys that led up to the flat peak of the island on which the tavern was mounted. In the final rays of the dying sun, Clay could see the fortifications of Hidden Spring Keep to the north and even the faint, broken outline of Shipwreck Bay to the southeast. Peering cautiously down the steep slopes, the boy could see a half dozen sloops floating in the shadows of the tavern, equipped with signature red and black Crimson Crypt cannons, livery, and sails.
Once everyone had assembled in a silent group at the peak of the island, two of the masked figures stepped forward from the front of the crowd and turned to face them all. Clay wiggled his way to the right edge of the crowd so he could better see who would be speaking. One of them, a woman, carried a tall red candle. The second, a man, carried a stone the size and texture of a cannonball. It was carved all over with symbols that glowed slightly crimson.
The woman began speaking to the assembled members in a voice that was surprisingly deep. "Honorable members of the Crimson Crypt," she began, "tonight will be slightly different than most. I have consulted the spirits before the ceremony, and they have told me that tonight was the night… for a purge." Not a murmur rippled through the crowd, but Clay could almost feel everyone tense instinctively. A purge? What did that mean? The woman continued. "The spirits have hinted that there is someone among us now… someone who is not a true member of this guild."
The youth's mind flicked to what Madame Olwen had told him about Captain Riley. "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."
Could Riley be the one? But a quick sweep of the crowd told him otherwise. Riley was a very big pirate, and since Clay could see no one that stood a good head taller than anyone else, it was safe to assume he wasn't there.
"Now," intoned the sorceress, raising the candle to the darkening heavens, "it is time… to summon The Soul Seer." The man holding the round smooth rock held it above the woman's flame, and the symbols began to glow brighter. After five seconds, the ball began sparking, and tongues of fire licked the air. After ten seconds, the man suddenly bellowed, "Canem vocare infernum!" He dropped the ball, and it landed with a boom as loud as a pistol shot. From where the ball landed, a red portal twice the diameter of a barrel's lid appeared, the edges shimmering and blazing with an eerie orange light. Clay could feel the hairs all over his body stand on end. What could they possibly be summoning? What was about to step out of that portal? He soon got his answer.
Three seconds later, a horrifying creature emerged from the gateway. It was a wolf the size of a Saint Bernard with matted fur that should have been light gray but seemed to have been burned and scorched to a sooty black. Its snout was twisted into a permanent snarl, and whenever it grated its jagged yellow teeth together, sparks went flying. Its eyes were just two sunken wells with glowing pools of orange at the bottom of them. Clay had a nasty feeling he knew what this abomination was. His father had told him horror stories about them when he was younger. This… was a hellhound.
Everyone was standing absolutely still, either from reverence or stark terror. Clay couldn't tell because of their masks. With mounting terror, he watched as the beast strode up to the first clan member at the front of the group and sniffed him twice. Apparently satisfied, it moved on to the next member, whom he also gave two deep whiffs. He repeated this process as he moved down the rows of assembled peoples. After every member was passed, Clay could sense each of them breathing a huge, silent sigh of relief.
It was beginning to dawn on Clay how much danger he was in. The leader of the ritual had mentioned purging someone who was not truly one of them. He was currently standing among them in stolen clothing and was attending this ritual strictly to figure out a way to escape. If the hellhound had truly been summoned to eliminate an impostor, it was going to take one whiff of him and tear him to shreds. But there was nothing he could do to escape now. If he tried to bolt away, the creature or the clan members would undoubtedly chase him down. All he could do was stand there in rigid, stiff-necked misery as the hellhound made its way down the ranks toward him.
Finally, an agonizing minute later, the hellhound was standing before Clay. The smell of burning fur seared his nostrils, but he didn't dare cringe away. The beast leaned forward, and its quivering nose stopped just an inch away from Clay's left calf. Sniff… sniff. The creature did its rudimentary two whiffs and paused. Then, sniff… sniff again. Clay could feel his heart trying to jump out of his chest. Any second now, that demonic dog was going to sink its teeth into him and eat him alive.
Just as the boy feared, a deep, rumbling growl began to form in the depths of the hellhound's throat, and the light in its hollow eyes blazed brighter. Sensing a disturbance, the woman holding the red candle and her accomplice who had been holding the magic stone swept toward Clay.
"Ahhhh," she purred, "it seems we have found the traitor in our midst." The man put a firm grip on Clay's shoulder, and the youth winced. He had the grip strength of a shark's jaws. The occultist leaned forward until the beak of her mast almost touched his. "Now, before the Soul Seer tears you apart limb from limb, who are you really?" Clay's throat was tight from panic. What could he do? There was nowhere to run and nowhere to hide. All eyes were now trained on them, waiting for the boy's response.
"I…," began Clay, but that was as far as he got. There was suddenly a high-pitched whine, and something exploded in a burst of multicolored light only twenty feet above everyone's heads. The bang that followed was enough to send Clay's ears ringing and even muffled his sense of hearing for a solid minute afterward. There was another whine and another burst of colored sparks, much closer this time. The assembled members were whipped into a frenzy of confusion as everyone began shouting and pushing and shoving to get out of the way. The head occultist began yelling and waving her arms at her fleeing members, trying to get everyone back under control. Her assistant continued to keep a firm grasp on Clay's shoulder.
As Clay looked up at the tell-tale approach of another projectile, he saw it explode in a familiar color and shape: a banana. Now he knew what was going on. Someone was launching fireworks. But who? No matter who was responsible, this would be the best time to escape. He tried breaking free of his captor's grip, but the man simply reached out his other hand and caught him by the arm.
"If you try running away again, I'll break every bone in your body," he threatened. He twisted the boy's arm painfully behind his back, and in a burst of anguish, Clay screamed, "Help!" even though he knew no one was close enough to come to his aid. Just as the cry left his lips, a familiar, searing heat flared up along his back, spreading from just below his left shoulder through the rest of his chest.
The hellhound had been standing rigidly in place during the fireworks display, its head lowered and hackles raised as it emulated a threatening snarl. Now, it whirled and lunged at Clay and his captor. Clay squeezed his eyes shut and gritted his teeth, convinced that his yells had provoked the creature into hostility. To his astonishment, instead of aiming for him, the beast sank its teeth into his captor's right arm: the arm gripping his shoulder. The man bellowed in pain and rage and let go of Clay as he began wildly swinging his arm around to shake the hellhound loose. But the monster would not give up so easily.
As the occultist struggled with the creature, a dark figure charged up the slope toward Clay. It was Wooly!
"Clay!" he bellowed. "I've found a way out!"
"What?" stammered Clay, his mind still dazed from trying to process what had transpired in the last thirty seconds. "But, what are you…" Before he could finish, his friend had thrown him over his right shoulder like a sack of grain and began sprinting as fast as he could for the plateau's edge. The realization of what Wooly was planning to do broke upon Clay with disturbing clarity. "Wait! Are you sure this is safe?"
"No, but this is our fastest and only chance to get away. Just be sure you hit the water right! Once you land, swim for the nearest sloop!" And with that, Wooly unceremoniously heaved the boy clear over the cliff edge before leaping off himself. The boy's stomach gave a sickening lurch as he felt gravity clutch his entire body and send him plummeting toward the churning waves far below.