Chapter 8

An Enchanted Current

"Let her go," Chester told Riley, trying to keep his voice soft but firm as though he were talking to a lunatic. "I can assure you that none of us know where my son is now. We are worried sick about him and-"

"Words mean nothing," the greedy pirate sneered, still keeping the barrel of his pistol against Madame Olwen's head. "If he's your son, why would you not protect him?" His voice fell to a sinister whisper. "Perhaps some of my fellow members of the Crimson Crypt can jog your memory." He removed his pistol from Madame Olwen's temple just long enough to gesture to his ship. "Hop aboard! And no tricks, or you know what will happen." Chester and Tasha Ambrose exchanged worried looks. What else could they do? Riley was holding all the cards, and they were in no position to argue.

After Riley had relieved Ambrose of all his weapons, he tied up his three new captives on board his vessel, turned the ship around, and headed back to the tavern, leaving the Golden Pondie bobbing all alone on the dark waves. In the dim lantern light of the hold below, all three members of Clay's search party were exhausted. They hadn't slept a wink all night, and they seemed no closer to finding the boy than before. Would they ever be able to escape to continue their search?

As the first rays of the morning sun came shimmering across the calm waters, Wooly, Clay, and Matt shoved their crude raft off Thieves' Haven's northern beach and climbed aboard. They had attached a couple of barrels to the top of the raft and filled them with any planks and foodstuffs they could find. They planned to sail northwest until they reached the nearest outpost: Plunder Outpost. Matt had found a few valuable treasures scattered on the beaches and buried in the ground on Thieves' Haven, and he brought them along to sell for some much-needed gold. Once they had some money in their pockets, they could buy more ample supplies and possibly inquire about a proper ship to pilot.

Reenergized by a straight six hours of sleep, the three companions' spirits had risen, and they all sat back on the raft to enjoy the glorious sunrise. Clay even asked Matt and Wooly to tell him some of their best stories about their travels together. The two old friends enthralled him with tales of massive megalodons, gruesome skeleton captains, and hoards of treasure that nearly caused their ship to sink. Clay took it all in with rapt attention. Until now, he had always wanted to be a fisherman like his father, but with every story Matt and Wooly told, he began to wonder if perhaps the life of sailing the seas in search of adventure would suit him better.

At last, Plunder Outpost finally came into view. Matt turned to Clay. "Just to make sure you stay safe, climb into this empty storage barrel. I wouldn't be surprised if Captain Riley has spread the word about you or issued some kind of bounty." Clay nodded and climbed into the empty barrel, leaving the lid ajar just enough to let in the fresh air. When Wooly beached the raft, he was met with a few curious glances from the sailors browsing the stores and relaxing at the tavern. Most of them, however, seemed to have no interest in two scruffy vagabonds.

As Matt began making the rounds to the various company liaisons to sell the little bit of treasure he had managed to scrounge up, Wooly checked the quest board on the main dock. This board was covered with notices and parchments from random treasure maps to special offers from trading companies to messages addressed to other sailors. As Wooly's eyes roved over all these papers, one flier, in particular, caught his eye due to its large, blood-red lettering.

WANTED

DEAD OR ALIVE

Reward: 500,000 gold

Clayton Ambrose & Captain Seth "Wooly" Asbury

or any information regarding their current whereabouts

RILEY NELSON

Wooly called Matt over from where he had just closed a deal on a crate of fine sugar with the Merchant Alliance liaison. "You were right about a bounty," Wooly admitted, indicating the notice on the board. "'Wiley Riley' isn't going to let us go so easily. With this manhunt now in place, it's just going to get more difficult to ask for help without being detained and turned in."

"What are we going to do about getting a ship now?" Matt wanted to know. "With everyone on the alert, three tramps from a raft asking for a ship is certainly going to get people's attention and start invoking questions."

Before Wooly could respond, a sloop called Splinter pulled up to the main dock with at least a dozen castaway, seafarer, and captain's chests piled at the base of the prow. The captain had obviously returned from raiding an ancient vault and was stopping at the outpost to sell his loot. Many of the other sailors loitering around caught a glimpse of the shimmering stash of chests and came flocking onto the dock to get a better look.

The owner of the Splinter was a man about Clay's father's age and build but with less gray in his hair and beard. It was apparent that he was a long-standing sailor for the Gold Hoarders judging by his full Gold Hoarders costume and equipment set.

"Which vault was it this time, Brian?" one of the assembled sailors called out.

"The Snake Vault at Mermaid's Hideaway," Brian boomed cheerfully. "I had to practically throw myself through the door before it slammed shut to trap me, but I managed to walk away with every chest, as you all can see." He gestured to his glittering cache. "Once I sell them all, it'll be my one-hundredth vault of the year. To celebrate, I'm ordering everyone drinks on the house!" A cheer rose from the crowd, and everyone rushed off to the tavern to await the festivities to come. Brian began carrying his collection of chests to the Gold Hoarders liaison.

Wooly was looking thoughtful. "I think I know how we can get a ship," he murmured to Matt, nodding in the direction of Brian's vessel. "We may have to borrow it, but it's for a good cause."

"How?" Matt demanded. "There are too many people here, and thus too many witnesses."

"Not necessarily," Wooly pointed out. "I've heard about this Brian fellow, and I heard that he gives some of the wildest and most drunken parties after his successful vault raids. I guess it's his way of showing off his success. What I think we should do is wait until everyone has drunk enough grog to make them sleep until noon tomorrow, then make off with the ship. By the time they wake up, they'll have no idea where it went or who stole it."

"It's risky," Matt sighed. Then he grinned. "But then again, no risk, no reward, eh? What do we do about Clay?" At this point, thanks to the help of some of the sailors in the tavern, Brian had sold all of his chests and made his way into the tavern to begin the festivities. Music from a dozen different instruments swelled, and the laughter began to roll through the early morning air.

"Now that the party has started, it's probably safe enough for him to come out of hiding," Wooly admitted. "But he can't go into the tavern. Even if they are all giddy enough to see double, a boy in the tavern will still raise questions."

Both men returned to their raft and whispered their plan to Clay inside his barrel. "We're going to go join the festivities ourselves," Wooly told him. "In the meantime, you can wander around the island, but just stay out of sight and out of mind."

"Aye," Clay responded, removing the lid and stepping gingerly out of the barrel. He winced slightly as he stretched his aching limbs. "Where are we going next?"

"We figured it would be best to travel to where the dagger was last seen: south of the Devil's Thirst. If we want to get in contact with the merfolk, that would be just as good a place to find one as any," Matt reasoned.

Once Matt and Wooly had melted into the crowd inside the tavern, Clay found a shady spot at the back of the island to sit down and relax. Although he had slept for several hours the night before, it wasn't until then that he realized he was still tired. With the warm morning sun and the soft sea breeze all around him, Clay could feel his eyelids growing heavier and heavier until, finally, he fell asleep once more.

Clay was back in that dark void, surrounded by the circle of leaping fire that shed no light beyond it. This time, however, Clay was alone. There was no sign of Flameheart, but the boy was still tensed like a spring, waiting for something to leap out of the flames toward him.

"So, we meet again," jeered a familiar disembodied voice that seemed to come from everywhere yet nowhere at the same time. "When will you learn that all your efforts are futile?"

"I won't give up so easily, Flameheart," Clay retorted, constantly turning in full circles to watch through the flickering flames. "I may have the ashen curse, but I will stop you before it's too late, and I won't let you use the phoenix against us!"

Flameheart's rough laughter echoed through the surrounding black abyss. "Your resolve is strong, boy, but mine is stronger still. Once the phoenix's power is in my hands, no one will be able to stop me! Your time is running out, and you have no one to turn to."

"That's not true!" Clay replied, trying to keep his voice strong and steady. "I now have two friends who I know will fight with me through thick and thin!"

"Friends… family." purred the terrible skeleton. "Many claim they are assets, but in reality, they are nothing but massive liabilities. How are you puny humans going to stand against an army of the undead? Besides, I doubt they will be around long enough to be of any use."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Clay demand. "If you lay one bony finger on either my friends or family, I swear, even if this curse does turn me into a skeleton, I will hunt you down and make you pay!"

"That is a bold promise, but who said I would be the one to inflict pain upon them?" Clay could almost hear Flameheart's toothy grin. "I know how the curse inside you is simmering now, but given time, it will only grow stronger, and soon it will boil over like a kettle. When that happens, even those you deem most precious will not be able to escape." His voice rose to a terrible, gloating cackle. "Mark my words, boy! Just as when he last met, all those you love and cherish will die… by your own hand!"

At this point, the surrounding fire began to close in, making the circle smaller and smaller. The heat was beginning to become unbearable, and the roar of the hungry flames was deafening. Clay screamed, both in defiance at Flameheart and in fear of the oncoming fire.

Splash! Clay sat up, shaking as though he had the flu, to find himself drenched in seawater. Wooly and Matt were standing over him, concern etched on their faces. Matt was still holding his dripping bucket. "We came to get you and found you screaming," Matt explained. "We thought a good dousing of water would snap you out of it."

"Well, I'm glad you did," Clay sighed. "That was a horrible nightmare." Wooly offered him a hand to help him off the ground, and Clay reached out to take it. As he did so, the boy gasped and jerked his hand away. "My hand! What happened to my hand?" The tips of all ten of his fingers were glowing a dull orange. Wrenching off his boots, Clay was horrified to find that his toes were glowing the same ghastly color as well. His skin was also starting to turn a dark, ashy gray starting from his hands and feet and creeping toward his chest. There were even a few small glowing nicks like the large one on his back. "My curse is getting stronger," he moaned.

"That's why we have to get moving," Wooly snapped, hauling Clay to his feet. "Everyone in the tavern is dead to the world, so now is the perfect time to escape." Five minutes later, the Splinter was sailing rapidly away from Plunder Outpost toward the east. As Clay helped Matt adjust the position of the sails to catch the most wind, his mind was in a silent state of panic. It seemed that Flameheart appearing in his dreams was accelerating the curse's spread. How could Clay keep the evil skeleton out of his dreams? It seemed impossible.

After about another hour of sailing, the last islands of the Ancient Isles faded behind them, and the Splinter entered the Devil's Roar. As the sky above became tinged with ash and the water turned dull and gray, Clay felt his skin prickle with goosebumps. His first, and so far only, memories of this place were not good ones, and every nerve in his body was screaming at him to run away. But what scared him most was, deep within his soul, it felt as though something had awakened: a new sensation that had been lurking in the depths of his feelings and emotions since the day the ashen skeleton had scratched him. It was a feeling that seemed to draw in deep breaths of the hot winds from the volcanoes and geysers and relish the sight of the barren, windswept islands they were passing.

Fortunately, the volcano perched upon the Devil's Roar was not actively erupting when the trio reached it, but the ground did give slight rumbles and grumbles that warned of a potentially incoming inferno. Wooly dropped the anchor about five hundred feet from the western shore as they made their next plan: finding a mermaid.

"If we try to swim out far enough to summon one," Matt worried, "we could get eaten by sharks. Or, in the worst-case scenario, the volcano could start erupting and scald us to death from boiling water or kill us with a volcanic bomb."

"Maybe we could try a smaller island instead," Wooly suggested. "Then we won't have a volcano to worry about." He scanned the ship's map. "What about Flame's End?" Before Matt could respond, all three of them heard a familiar melody floating to them on the parched breezes. It was a mermaid's song!

"We've found one already!" Clay exclaimed, rushing to the upper deck and squinting in all directions through his spyglass. "Where is it?"

"Wait!" Wooly cautioned, cupping one hand to his ear. "I don't think the mermaid is the only one singing." Clay listened a little more closely and realized that Wooly was right. Mixed with the mermaid's melody was another tune: one that sounded nearly identical but edged with sadness and malice. It was the song of sirens.

Ten seconds later, four figures gliding through the dark waters rounded the southern tip of the island and headed straight for them. The one in front was a merman who had several nasty gashes along his arms and chest. The three behind were the sirens, their pointy serpent-like teeth glistening menacingly. They had apparently ambushed the merman and attacked, but their victim had managed to escape and was now trying to flee. However, he was growing tired, and the sirens were quickly gaining on him.

"Stop those sirens!" cried Clay. He whipped out the new pistol Matt had bought for him back at the outpost, took a firm stance, and fired. Clay wasn't the best marksman, and between the rocking deck and the moving targets, his bullet missed the first siren by a good foot. The sound of the gunshot, however, drew all three sirens' attention away from the merman, and they hissed ferociously. One of them fired a blast of bubble-shaped magic from its mouth, and Matt just managed to duck before it hit him in the face. Wooly took this opportunity to fire his pistol into the siren's right shoulder. The creature screeched in pain and swam away. The other two sirens, realizing they were now outnumbered, followed suit, each giving the three humans one last snarl before disappearing below the waves.

Clay ran to the other side of the boat and called down to the merman who was trembling against the ship's hull. "Are you all right?"

"I am now," the merman sighed. "I could not have fought them all off alone. Thank you for your help."

"It was no trouble at all," Matt assured him. "Those sirens were nothing but cowardly bullies. They thought you would be an easy target, but they turned tail the instant they realized they were outnumbered."

"My name is Clay," the boy offered as an introduction. "These are my friends Wooly and Matt. We were just talking about how to find a mermaid."

"It's your lucky day then," the merman chuckled. His voice had a melody that reminded Clay of waves lapping against the walls of a sea cave. "Merfolk names are too complicated for human tongues to pronounce, and since we had much closer ties to humans back in the ancient days, the merfolk wanted to use names that their human friends could say. Today, at birth, we are each given a human name that you land dwellers can call us, just like it was done so many centuries ago. You may call me Oliver."

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Oliver," Clay smiled down at him. "We actually wondered if you could do a favor for us." He hesitated. "It's a rather unusual one."

The merman nodded eagerly. "Of course! It is only fair since you probably saved my life."

Wooly now spoke to the merman. "We need you to take us to your monarchs, whoever they may be." He, Matt, and Clay had discussed this matter on their way to the Devil's Thirst and decided that the best way to enlist help from the merfolk was to appeal to their king.

Oliver seemed shocked by this request. "An audience with their majesties?" he repeated. "That is an unusual request. Humans have not visited the merfolk monarchs in many, many decades."

"This is an emergency," Clay pleaded. "It involves Flameheart."

Oliver's eyes widened. "I heard that he has returned to the sea," he admitted. "You know his plans?"

Wooly nodded. "He wants to release the phoenix to use in his drive to conquer the entire sea, including you merfolk."

"We need to talk to your monarchs in an effort to form an alliance," Clay finished. "I fear that the humans won't be able to defeat Flameheart alone."

Oliver didn't speak for several seconds. He was obviously in deep thought. "Very well," he finally declared. "I will take you to see them, for I live in the town that surrounds the palace, but be warned: I cannot guarantee that they will welcome you warmly."

"We understand," Matt assured him. "We're resolved to do anything that could possibly help in our fight against Flameheart."

Oliver motioned the three of them to jump into the water, and they all did so. Once bobbing upon the waves, the merman reached into the pouch around his waist and pulled out three bright pink clam shells about two inches in diameter. Each shell was attached to a string decorated with bits of coral in all colors.

"Wear these around your neck," Oliver commanded. "As long as you wear them, you can breathe underwater as freely as a fish." The three humans donned the shells and submerged themselves underwater. Sure enough, it felt as though a thin pocket of air had encased their whole bodies. Not even their clothes were getting wet anymore.

Oliver then pulled out a spiral-shaped shell as blue as a summer sky. He whispered some magic words into it, and a wide ribbon of water the same color as the shell instantly appeared below them. "It is a magical current," the merman explained. "We merfolk use it to travel the sea in order to reach any sailors who need us as quickly as possible. This one will carry us to the king and queen's palace. Follow me!" Oliver swam down fifteen feet until he reached the current. As soon as he entered, the water swept him away and out of sight. Clay and his two friends hovered above the magical stream for a few moments.

"Are we really ready to do this?" Clay asked. "Oliver had a good point. The king and queen may not receive us cordially."

"You said yourself," Wooly pointed out, "that we have to do something before time runs out. This feels like something to me."

"Aye!" Matt agreed. "Besides, merfolk and humans have been friends nearly as long as memory. There would be no reason for them to be hostile to us." He began to swim downward. "In any case, I'm ready to carry on!" He entered the current, and he too was almost instantly swept out of sight. Wooly was close behind, leaving Clay still hesitant. Was this the right thing to do? What if this whole expedition failed? It would be precious time lost. Then Madame Olwen's words filled his memory again: "Don't let your curse define you as it so often does. Instead of letting it infect you with evil, become its master. Turn it into power to do good."

I have to do this, thought Clay. We are the only ones who can stop Flameheart, and the whole sea is relying on the success of our mission. I can't turn back now. With new strength, Clay swam down and immersed himself in the bright blue ribbon of water. He felt the current instantly take hold of his body and send him shooting forward. It was fast enough to nearly take his enchanted breath away as he went zooming through the vast expanse of the ocean toward an uncertain destination.

Flameheart was growing more and more impatient by the day. Ritual after ritual had failed, and he was running out of time and options. He had taken to pacing up and down the length of his throne room for hours at a time, muttering to himself. The ashen skeletons guarding the room knew that this was the best time to keep their distance and jaws closed.

Another of the ashen lords, Warden Chi, entered the throne room.

"Your subjects are awaiting further commands, my lord," she declared.

Flameheart stopped pacing long enough to snap, "There are no orders as of now. Just make sure the guards are well fortified in the tunnels and catacombs." His pacing routine now disturbed, Flameheart returned to his throne and sat down. "I am mostly frustrated with that boy Clay," he fumed. "I may have underestimated his determination and discipline. My intrusion into his thoughts is certainly causing the curse to take hold of him faster, but his mind has yet to change with it. All I can do now is whittle away at his confidence until I break him." Warden Chi simply nodded.

"There is also another matter," Flameheart mused, his eyes burning a little brighter. "I sense there is something he is searching for. He always tells me that I will lose, and I have always assumed it was just talk. And yet… something is driving him to resist me. Perhaps the grounds for his pathetic hopes are anchored in something I do not know of: something that could tip the scales and reroll the dice of fate. I must probe deeper, for if I find what the "something" is and steal it away, his resolve will be reduced to dust."