The NoSleep Podcast - NoSleep Podcast S10E25

Episode Date: May 13, 2018

It's episode 25 - the Season 10 Finale! We are proud to present the full-length adaptation of C.M. Scandreth's epic tale, "Return to a Seaside British Pub". "Return to a Seaside British Pub" written by C.M. Scandreth and performed by Erika Sanderson & Brian Mansi & Mick Wingert & David Cummings & Andy Cresswell & James Cleveland & Armen Taylor & Graham Rowat & David Ault. Click here to learn more about the voice actors on The NoSleep Podcast   Click here to learn more about C.M. Scandreth   Click here for part one of A Seaside British Pub   Executive Producer & Host: David Cummings Musical score composed by: Brandon Boone Audio adaptation produced by: David Cummings Sound design by: Phil Michalski "Return to a Seaside British Pub" illustration courtesy of Charlie Cody Audio program ©2018 - Creative Reason Media Inc. - All Rights Reserved - No reproduction or use of this content is permitted without the express written consent of Creative Reason Media Inc. The copyrights for each story are held by the respective authors.   Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

It's the No Sleep Podcast, and this is our season 10 finale. Thank you for going on this journey with us. We are proud to conclude this season with our audio adaptation of C.M. Scandrith's sequel to her stirring tale, a seaside British pub. This production features Erica Sanderson as we rejoin the characters in that peculiar pub on England shores. And so, as we end up, Enter our short break at the end of the season, we're going on vacation. Won't you join us as we return to a seaside British pub? Ships aren't exactly a rare sight in the bay.

Inbound vessels chugged through the foam-scudded surf into the arbor, keen to return to land after a sojourn at sea. But when winter reaches its freezing zenith, bringing storms full of ice and 30-meter swells, Most of the ships huddling against the piers. Very few of them are large enough or foolish enough to brave the solstice seas. And so, a ship anchored out in the bay just before Christmas, especially a ship that looked so battered, is a rare thing indeed.

For three days it just sat there, shrouded in sleet and fog. The locals found it an interesting curiosity at first, but quickly lost interest when nothing came of its presence on the pitching rail. waters. But to someone like me, someone with her senses wetted to a razor's edge by daily proximity to the unnatural. The vessel in the bay wasn't just another rust-streaked fishing hulk seeking haven from the never-ending winter storms. I knew it was something more. A brass telescope, filthy and finger-marked, sat on a shelf behind the bar, one of several pieces of nautical junk decorating our lazily seaside-themed pub.

And after rubbing grime spots and fly ship from the lenses, I found it worked just fine. Perched beside Mona at her window table, I pointed the spyglass at the ship in the bay, picking out quite enough detail to confirm my suspicions. What can you see, love? Today, she looked 50-summit. Her fingers gnarled and yellow orange from nicotine

and an inch of ash hanging precariously from the end of her cigarette. I pressed one eye against the brass housing. Nothing good. I could practically smell the glamour cast over the ship. The shimmer of it was an oily overlay, hiding the real vessel beneath. If I stared long enough at the corrosion speckled mast, at the painted over trolling booms,

then the ghosts of ancient wood and tattered tan bark sails peaked through the veil just for a second, just long enough to tighten my gullet, and for the hairs on my arms to prickle with pretty natural foreboding. Whoever, or whatever, was on that ship, I had the distinct, uneasy feeling that it had something to do with us. Summit to do with the pub. The longboat slid smoothly through the tide,

pulled along by the powerful arms of burly sailors. It beached near the stone piles that were all that were left of the old pier. Its promenade rotted away decades ago. Lou watched silently from the door of the pub as the crew of the strange ship lashed the boat securely, then dispersed. The sailors, draped in stinking oil skins and wide-brimmed hats, went there various ways throughout the seaside township, disappearing into the rain-shrouded streets.

All except one. A tall, hump-shouldered figure. He lumbered along the grey foreshore, his huge head swinging from side to side. A heavy beard hid most of his face, but he moved like a lumping animal, scenting, seeking summit. With a prickle of prescient perception,

I suddenly knew that he was looking for the pub. I also knew that his intentions were anything but benign. Lou? I began calling out from behind the bar, but my boss stopped my warning with a finger to his lips and a shake of his head. As the shape in the massive black oil skin turned and drew closer, the fair-haired proprietor of the pub left the shadow of the doorway

and joined me behind the counter. Using every inch of his prodigious height, he reached into the dusty space behind the spirits on the top shelf and extracted a blown glass bottle of summit dark enough to be tar. By the time our stranger entered the pub, a tumbler of ancient rum, ripe and redolent, sat waiting for the man, was pouring a second glass for himself.

He was old, this sailor, old enough that his skin was wattled with creases deep enough to conceal coins. His spreading beard was so grey, it was almost blue, and his oil skin coat was a patchwork of so many pieces that I doubted any of the original garment remained.

Wordless, the only sound from him was the shuffle of his feet across the sticky floor. His rolling, sea-stout gait brought him to moor opposite Lou, where he sourly regarded the drink poured for him. When he turned his head to regard the rest of the bar, I swallowed. The lid of his left eye hung scarred,

slack and leathery, so fleshy and stretched that it dropped almost to the corner of his ragged moustache. A rough hand emerged from the sleeve of his patchwork coat and lifted the glass of rum. He drained the contents in one motion, then passed the tumbler back to Lou, who refilled it immediately. Drink for drink, the two men matched each other

until the ornate bottle was empty, and the stranger's chilly blue eye blazed with a strange vigor. Finally, he spoke. His voice were deep enough to shame a bull sea lion and resonant with subtle threats. Lad, I've come to take what's mine. It's time to give your grandad back his pub. The ancient mariner left after this cryptic announcement.

He flipped his rum glass upside down, donned his drooping hat, then walked out into the drizzling edge of an approaching storm. We weren't supposed to rain for another three days. Dano griped while nursing his Guinness. His lucky silver coin was out, rolling back and forth over his knuckles. I knew better than to ask Lou about the strange sailor claiming to be his relative. The bar proprietor could be stubborn in his muteness, and the queer glint in his usually warm blue eyes

told me I wasn't getting any answers tonight regardless. But Dano was always easy to bribe for information. Once a fresh Guinness, on the house, appeared in front of him, his slack mouth became animated by words, details tumbling off the Irishman's lubricated tongue with the ease of a natural bard. Of course, whether any of them were true, was always a gamble, but with few choices, I listened to Dano's story.

Captain Bay, the strange old sailor was called, and he was indeed Lou's grandfather on the maternal side. Without saying it directly, Dano hinted at some dire family conflict that had caused a deep rift between the two men and suggested that Lou thought the captain were long since dead. Dano spoke while licking foam from his lips. But our man'll be back

And if yonder straw-haired fool Don't hand over the deed T'will be in trouble After the bar closed I climbed the narrow wooden stairs To the first floor of the pub The upper story A remnant of the building's lineage

As an inn and a flop house And joined Lou at the window of our bedroom It was motionless Staring out into the thick sea fog Churned by the storm Swirling banks of it tinted blue By distant flashes of lightning I leaned against his brawny arm and ventured.

Are you going to give the captain the pub? He shook his head, still watching the weather, his mouth the grim, unyielding line. If you don't, will he try to take it by force? His broad, scarred hands were more suited to brawling than expression. Even with my encouragement, Lou had only managed to learn the very basics of sign language and used it reluctantly.

But I was patient. He explained with slow and stilted hand gestures that to take the pub, Captain Bay would have to make a legal challenge for it. What kind of challenge? What do you mean? Lou just grinned, lots of teeth and little mirth, and cracked his bloody knuckles. Whatever this challenge entailed, my Celtic prince seemed confident he could win it. The next day the storm set him properly. Bringing sleet so vicious it flayed the jaunty Christmas bunting hung from many of the seaside shops into red and green rags.

With few customers mad enough to brave the weather, most of the local businesses were forced to close their doors. But the pub was open, and of course all the regulars were here, even Janet. Stan shoveled great paws full of pork scratchings into his meaty moor, washing them down with slopes of rum and coke as he stared at the door. Dano sat across from him, moaning about the weather canceling some football match he had money on, but even his complaining was half-hearted. He sat with his back against the wall,

green eyes also darting towards the door far more often than usual. A little huddle of femininity, Mona, Janet and I sat in the booth behind the boys, a spreading cloud of cigarette smoke curling around us as Mona puffed up a storm to rival the one outside. She was somewhere in mid-transition at the moment, older than me, but younger than Janet. I tried not to notice as she not so surreptitiously

slipped a pill into the corner of her mouth not dangling a fag. Meth was no longer a poison. She'd moved on to heavy-duty prescription opiates. At least they seemed to prolong her youth better. Janet's legs jittered nervously under the table, and she babbled about work, telling us about the new junior tech in her team. who didn't shower and left balls of half-eaten food on his desk.

Neither morning nor I were truly listening, and Janet knew it. Everyone was just passing their time in their own way, until Captain Bay returned to challenge Lou. When the door finally swung open, admitting a blast of Arctic wind and an unnatural stink of broken permafrost, it was exactly midday, not a tick sooner or later. This time, the captain's captain's, him was not alone. With him were five other men, all dressed for the storm in massive scarves,

frost-dusted woolen caps and heavy oiled coats. One was short, three were average height, but the last was truly a giant, forced to duck his head and hunches me shape and shoulders to fit through the door. Ignoring the pub patrons, they arranged themselves on the stools at the bar. Dano flicked an irritated glare at the captain's back as he took the Irishman's favourite seat. Behind the bar, Lou simply nodded a greeting to the salties extet, then poured each sailor a totter rum. The silence was heavy, as everyone waited for the captain to speak. It took all of my experience to stay still, to just observe. There was something off about the entire crew, something wrong even with how they sat on the stools,

as if they weren't truly part of our world, only intersecting with it. As I squinted at them, hearing harder to try and see past whatever enchantment was spun around them, mourner blew a stream of smoke across the scene and tutted a warning. But I had already glimpsed summit, something that tickled my amygdala with a primeval and instinctive monkey terror. A true and cold fear born of huge ancient things

lurking in the blackest trenches of the deepest seas. Shivering, I pulled my cardigan tighter around me. Well, boy, are you going to give me back, my pub? I felt the resonance of Captain Bay's growl through the floorboards. Resting his elbows on the scarred wooden bar top, Lou laced his fingers and shook his head. His expression utterly unreadable. The captain nodded, as if this was a bit of a bit of.

exactly what he had expected, pushing his empty glass away. Then it's a challenge, me boy. A challenge for what's mine by right. Lou nodded once, then beckoned to Dano. The Irishman gave the seafarers a wide berth as he joined Lou at the taps. Once safely behind the bar, he unfolded a grimy piece of parchment from his pocket and placed it in front of the captain. Old challenges, go by to old rules. Four men, four trials, chosen and turn. Winner take all to pub and neverton belong to it. And if it be a draw, we fight. Dano's reply had a hint of green flame dancing on his brow. Captain Bay nodded, his grey beard bristling. The giant sailor

beside him stretched a slow and lopsided grin, full of mismatched teeth the color of old shells. The captain clapped his hands together, loud as a snapped rope. Who goes first, then, patty, my lad? Dano's mouth twisted sourly at the slur, his silver coin appearing as if by magic. We'll toss for it so. Heads. Bay called immediately, his single blue eye firing with Eldritch light. With an expert flick of his thumb, Dano sent the coin leaping into the air like a fish. Before he could catch it, the unnaturally long arm of the captain snaked out and snatched it from the air, slapping it down on the bar hard enough to make me jump.

His yellow-toothed grin curdled as his leathery fingers parted slowly, revealing the upper face of the coin. Tails. Dano hooked his silver talisman back with an evil smile. Be it a pub on tomorrow. First light. And the challenge? Stan's reinforced chair creaked ominously As he swung the massive, ponderous weight of his upper body around The enormous man replied with naked and rapturous glee

An eating challenge When Lou prodded me awake I groaned and rolled back over Pulling most of the covers with me Hale was rattling the windows And a harpy wind shrieked Threnadies through the chimney tops Another pork in the ribs warned me he wasn't taking no for an answer. I crawled reluctantly out of my warm cocoon,

staring sandy-eyed at my blue tattooed bow. He pointed downstairs, then made the sign for kitchen. Gordon Bennett, Lou, it's 3.30 in the bloody morning. I shrugged on a dressing gown while grousing and made for the shower to run the taps until the half-brosen pipe stopped banging. He joined me there, Broad hands massaging tension out of my shoulders

as I stood under the blissfully hot water, dreading the task in front of me. With hooded eyes I spoke as I enjoyed the heat and the pampering. You know, I expect at least a wedding room for getting up at half-past three to make sandwiches and scampy for an eating contest between supernatural sea creatures. Lou just grinned, abruptly turned off the hot water and shoved a towel into my protesting hands.

Ten minutes later, our dressed and snatching bites of toast between buttering teetering stacks of bread in the pub kitchen, while Lou hefted up dozens of fresh kegs from the dingy pub cellar, and rolled in a massive cask of aged rum. As I worked, vast platters of club sandwiches grew beside me, and tray after tray of frozen minced pie slid into the oven, emerging to cool in piles like pastry bricks. The friars were heating behind me, ready for a mother-load of,

frozen chips and battered cod, and the steamy warmth in the kitchen built steadily, a welcome relief from the inclement weather. Music and shatter drifted into the kitchen as the patrons arrived, one after the other, and I pondered the madness of it all as I spread Branson pickle and sliced sharp cheddar and stilton. I had little doubt that if Captain Bain, his crew triumphed at these trials, we'd lose more than just the building. Our lives would be forfeit. Each one of us was part of the pub, We belong to it, just as much as the moth-eaten football jerseys on the walls, as permanently as the stone-anchored bar itself. I turned to Lou as he rolled in a second brass-bound cask.

Stan will win, won't he? Pausing, his blue eyes were clouded for a second. Then he lifted his hands and signed the word for hope. I didn't feel at all, reassured. Thunder was rattling the bottles above the bar when Captain Bain his crew arrived. It seemed that the storm had no intention of slacking in its intensity. Stan's chair had been moved in front of a rough-hewned trestle table,

which was already grown in with food, both fried and fresh. His challenger took the seat opposite, ringed by his mates. It was not the choice I had expected. The shortest of the six, an odd-looking chap with a bald crown under a blue cap, and a nose that drooped almost over. his upper lip, giving him a queer, permanent sneer. Off came his oil skin, followed by a blue woolen cud and a looping grey scarf woven loose as a dirty fishing net.

Thus unshooked, he revealed scrawny arms covered in blurry maritime tattoos and a pair of striped suspenders diverging either side of a prodigious potbelly. His grungy singlet was splotched with various food stains, and I felt a thrill of real panic as he regarded the feast before him. A ravenous hunger burned his deep-set eyes, a drive far beyond anything mortal. But then, our contender wasn't mortal either. Dano rose from his stool and moved toward the table.

As he passed, Bay gave him a cyclopean glower, arms folded over his blue-tinged beard. Before the Irishman could start speaking, Moena moved too, like some aging serpent, all but pouring herself into Stan's prodigious lap and smothering the surprised Colossus in a very passionate kiss. Leaving Stan speechless, she made a way back to her perch as smoothly as she had left it.

As she passed me, she quickly lit up a cigarette, the smoke haze in her features. But I've been here too long to be fooled. Mona had gifted Stan with Summit, some kind of weird supernatural aid. I hoped it would be enough to help a... us all win this fight. Dano raised his voice to proclaim.

To man what he'd most before sundown will be crowned champ. And if a fighter man pukes, that man loses outright. Stan and the pot-bellied sailor both stared steadily and hungrily at Dano, waiting for his signal. So, begin. The Irishman intoned, then took his seat at the bar, behind Stan. If I told you I'd never seen anything like it, I'd be lying. After all, I had seen Stan lick up the slurry that remained of the three young men

who had picked the wrong night to verbally joust with Janet. But this was nonetheless astounding to watch. Handfuls of club sandwiches lazily vanished into Stan's mouth, barely touching the sides as he swallowed, jowls rippling steadily. In contrast, his opponent gobbled and shewed with frenetic energy, skinny piston arms in constant motion as he snatched up sandwich after sandwich, his hands two tattooed shovels feeding fuel into a bottomless furnace. As the hours crept by and food vanished from the table, Lou and I scurried back and forth between the fryers and the oven. We dumped full tubs of volcanic chips and lukewarm pies in front of the two men, who continued to eat and drink with abandon, as if they had each dreamed of this day.

A pair of voracious fiends who couldn't believe their gluttonous fantasies had finally come true. They seemed perfectly matched. Whilst the pot-bellied sailor was quick as a snake and had a mouth like a piranha, Stan's languidly vast appetite was as inexorable as the tide, implacable and eternal. They were still even, snack for snack, when the ships blasted their noon foghorns across the bay. the keen eyes of Dano and Captain Bay, tracking every plate that vanished from their opponent's side. We're going to run out of food.

I cautioned Lou as I shook the third to last bag of frozen chips into the spitting deep friar. He held up a hand and as if on cue, a knock sounded on the rear door of the pub. Lou leapt to open it, revealing an utterly miserable delivery boy in a sodden uniform. His feet squelched puddles on the pub. floorboards as he and my boss started shuttling towering stacks of steaming pizzas into the

kitchen. My stomach growled at the comforting smell of melted cheese, reminding me that I hadn't eaten anything since tea and toast in the wee small hours of the morning, but my appetite was destined to flee when I started piling the pizza boxes in front of the two contestants. Anything edible is food, isn't that right, lass? The sailor on the right of Captain Bay Hist, his protuberant eyes. is rolling to fix on me. I guess so. I was unsure where this was going,

but certain I didn't want to find out. He chuckled like a draining bilge, nodding approval. Then let's make this more interesting. Before I could protest, he took a pizza box from my hands and ran his fingers lovingly over the soggy cardboard before flinging it open. No longer did it contain a doughy pizza

hastily made by underpaid shift workers. The shallow box overflowed with wobbling chunks of fermented grey pink fish flesh, swimming in jellied, greasy broth. And it stank, like a dead whale stuffed with a thousand rotten nappies. My gorge rose instantly, and I reched with such violence that my head hurt. Suddenly I was nothing but thankful that my stomach was empty.

Bays right-hand man laughed nastily, throwing open box after box until the air in the pub fair shimmered with the overpowering reek of maritime death. But even as the rest of us recoiled, gagging and covering our noses and mouths, Stan reached eagerly for the array of suppurating boxes. His eyes were not watering from the olfactory insult.

They were glazed shiny with happy tears. Sastrumming! His voice boomed, pronouncing the peculiar word perfectly, even as he slapped a slippery wet handful into his moor. Just like me mum used to make. The bulgied sailor snarled and reached for another of the carbure containers, transforming box after box into various culinary horrors,

from bruised piles of sulphurous black eggs to glistening tangles of raw fish guts and sun-bleached awful. Stan ate them all. His opponent was lagging now. His suspenders unhitched, his filthy shirt rolled back over his straining belly, ripe and round as a new blister. The sailor paused to suck down a bucket of ale, belching out a fetid waft, then reaching with a dawning hint of reluctance for some unnameable corpse from the bottom of the ocean.

Stan's fat paw beat into it. The half-crustation half-piscene thing slid down his cavernous gullet before the sailor could raise a noise of protest. I've not one of those in ages. He bubbled happily, gesture him for more. With a tea towel soaked in wintergreen essence pressed to my nose, I watched as Bay's first mate urged the pot-bellied sailor on, insisting that Stan's nonchalance was just an act.

But the sailor wasn't so sure. His growing struggle was quite apparent. A flush of sickly jaundice creeping up his neck as Stan folded two unopened pizza boxes in half and ingested them, cardboard and contents, with all the concern of a cow grazing a paddock. His crewmate Mermaid Summitt, and the queasy sailor rallied. You might be able to eat more than me,

but you can't drink more than me. The sailor smashed his fists onto the grease-licked table. Connor, bring me the rum. With a grunt and a nod, the giant moved, lumbering through the onlookers and shoving Louiside to heft one of the casks from behind the bar. He held it aloft with one hand, then smashed his horny fist into the old wood, splitting the top of sunder and releasing a spray of dark and pungent spirit. Lou glowered, rolling the second barrel around the bar to set beside Stan,

then broached it with his own not-insubstantial fist. He was not going to be outdone by some giants. With a surge of strength unnatural to his own size and stature, the pot-bellied sailor lifted the cask and unhinged his lanternfish jaw. Pint after pint a rum poured down his misshapen gulet. In response, Stan stuck his fat head completely inside his own barrel and began sucking like an industrial sump. I didn't realise my knuckles were white,

or just how hard I'd been digging my fingers into Luz's arm, until he patiently prized them off, My nails leaving red present moons in his pale skin. The ropey muscles of the sailor's arms were twitching with the effort of supporting the vessel now, but I could tell the barrel were empty, and sunset was almost upon us. The bar's windows glowed with the flicker of streetlights coming on along the foreshore. With a cry of agony in triumph, the sailor dropped the cast, where it smashed open on the table, drained dry to the last drop.

Stan lifted his bald head, shiny wet with a patina of rum. Liquid dark eyes slid slowly over his opponent, settling upon the man's overripe stomach. Then all hell broke loose. It began with a creeping line of white, a silvery stretch mark on the sailor's belly. As the line deepened to purple, it were joined by a dozen other rapidly widening stripes.

In less than a second, the spreading map on his tortured skin was etched in red, each branch angry and livid as an open saw. Then the sailor's stomach burst asunder, drenching the pub and everyone in it with a stinking torrent of blood, booze, awful and organs. Stunned, I stood there, dripping with fetid gore. There were an impossible amount of it. A sea of the stuff lapsed soupy, ankle wreaths. deep wavelets across the feet of every patron.

All of us standing shocked into silence. All except Stan. He changed, seeming to ooze and flow out of his clothes. His macerated shirt puddled as the sleek brown coils of his serpent cell slither to the flooded floor, and he began to ravenously devour everything that had come out of the sagging, deflated wreck that was the pot-bellied sailor's body. And of course, he disposed. of the container along with its content.

By the time Dano called sunset, the pub's floor was near spotless, and Stan was hauling up his filthy jeans, mercifully covering the worst of his naked, human brown bulk. I think that's a win for us. Mona laconically poured stinking goo out of her ashtray and lit up a pal-mal. Stan sagged back into his chair,

the multiple folds of his moving. rippling sleekly. He let out a long, satisfied belch like the beginning of a tubisolo, then glanced hopefully towards the wreck of the kitchen. So, what's for pudding? No matter how hard I scrub the carpet, no matter how many incense sticks are lit,

the pub still punged. Stan had done a pretty thorough job of hoovering up the slurry of viscera and victuals, but the splash zone was extensive. Gobbits of grub and gore were still being discovered hours later, splattered on the light fixtures, dripping morbidly from the underside of tables. When I eventually called it quits, it were after midnight. The smell clung to me despite a 20-minute shower as hot as I could stand it,

and I slept uneasily all night. In those grey lands between dreams and wakefulness, the stench was a living entity crawling up the worn wooden stairs, intent on slipping into my lungs to choke me to death. Lou, by contrast, snored like a badger. For him, it had just been another day in the pub. The mystery of the pub weighed heavy on my mind as I fought to get back to sleep. After I'd started working here,

even when I'd become aware of the uniqueness of the patrons, I hadn't ever considered that the pub itself were special. I'd assumed the magic was all looked up in the widows who frequented it. but Captain Bay clearly wanted this place. He wanted it badly enough to sacrifice his crew to possess it, so obviously the building was more than just a pub. I'd have just asked Lou, but I'd long since learnt that it was notoriously difficult

to wheedle information from the cryptic Celt if he didn't want to give you an answer, and that usually seemed to be when it was something important. This felt very much like one of those times. I often felt that Lou used his muteness as a convenient experience, to avoid difficult explanations. My boss-come boyfriend roused me at eight, pressing a hot cup of coffee into my hands as soon as I rolled over. He gestured to the window, making a rainfalling motion with his fingers,

then drew a finger across his throat. He was right. The storm had abated during the night. Still trying to find my morning voice, I husked. Well, that's something at least. But we're still going to have to get professionals into. to clean downstairs today, unless you've got some magic ego that can clean up supernatural food explosions. Hope flared as Lou dramatically flourished a bone-handled comb, then died as he began

using it to work the knots out of his long fair hair. Oh, very funny. As I tipped the tenth bucket of greasy grey water down the drain, loud hammering sounded on the door of the pub. Lou had flipped the closed sign as soon as the regulars had filtered inside and settled into their customary places but now it seemed like someone else wanted in and we all knew it wasn't going to be a bunch of tourists desperate for an off-season pint it was Bay and his crew Stan grinned fatly as the tar speckled sailors trooped in

provocatively licking his lips when the largest of them passed his chair if Bay noticed he gave no sign He just placed an open hand on the bar and waited for his rum. Lou had barely filled the glass before the grizzled mariner had knocked it back. The bang of the upturned vessel on the bar top was as loud as a musket in the quiet room.

The second trial will be a game of skill on my ship. If you're not there for midnight to start, the pub is forfeit. Lou just nodded mildly, clearing the empty tumbler. We watched as the sailors filtered out again, a silent, salt-reaking parade heading for their longboat. I don't suppose they'll be giving us a ride.

Dano hawked Flem, jerking a thumb at the pier. Got a meet with the boat. You get us there. Mauna looked up from her gin, pursing lips like a drawstring bag. And will you be representing the good folk of the pub in this game of skill, young Dano? The Irishman smiled, eyes slitted sly. His silver coin spun on the bar, limbed with green flame. Aye, you bet your arras I will. An ill-smelling fog draped the bay, opaque and oliginous.

Nothing else were visible, but the faint blue beacon from Captain Bay's glamoured vessel shone weakly through the murk. Dano's friend met us by the pier. His small and incongruously jolly boat lashed to the rotting piles. The man was elderly, his grey hair sparse, but his arms were like haws or ropes, and his eyes were very bright. He listed oddly as he approached, and I realised with a queer childhood joy, that one of his legs ended in a wooden post instead of a foot. This old seabird was an honest-to-goodness peg-legged pirates. I in Stan, the man's welcoming expression waxed dower, and he shook his head. "'Ain' near way my wee boat'll carry us on, se bastard.'

With a gelid shrug, Stan splashed into the shallows, then lowered his bulk into the sea and slithered away in a flash of sleek coils and perp fins. He didn't need any dinghy to make his way to the ship. Dano's salty old friend seemed unsurprised and simply nodded his approval. The rest of us pushed the jaunty little boat through the foam and tide rack, then clambered aboard, the ped-legged man pushing

oars through their rowlocks. Ney wind me lads and lasses. Tis brorn alone gets us out to yon hulk. Settling onto one of the bench seats, Lou rolled his shoulders to loosen his impressive fuse, then began rowing us out into the bay, each skull

of practice study in athletic perfection. Danor perched in the bow, cunning green eyes fixed on the distant beacon. The rest of us clustered in the stern, and I smiled to myself as I realized we resembled some peculiar coven. Three women of very different ages and backgrounds. Mourner fagged away, oblivious as ever to Janet's wrinkled nose. Truth be told, the menthol stink of the woman's cigarettes was familiar

and comforting to both of us, and we all began to relax. What kind of chance do you think we've got? Janet zipped up her sensible hiking coat as the boat pushed further into the fog. It was damp, clinging, and the temperature was dropping abruptly despite the lack of wind. Mauna spoke, husky and soothing. They'll lose, that's certain. Those that hold contract over the Irishman's soul carry a great hatred of bay in his kind. Who is Captain Bear? Mourna shook her permed head, lighting a new cigarette from the butt of her last.

The stub tossed into the murk, left a trail of firefly sparks. Can't say, love. Let's just say he's the kind of man who, if you speak his true name, only gains more power. And more power is exactly what we don't want him to have. Which is why he can't have the pub. You're a clever thing, aren't you? She smiled, like a crocodile from a storybook. The whole of the ship loomed out of the fog.

A wall likened with barnacles, and Danos' mate turned the tiller sharply, as Lou pulled in the oars. It seemed just an ill-kempt fishing vessel, rust streaking once-white paint, all ordinary and innocent. But my fay sight peeled away the lie, revealing ancient timbers black with unnameable waters, deeply scored with the wounds of many battles.

A rope ladder was lowered for us, and as we climbed into the swirling mist, I felt the air around me squeeze, then abruptly release, as if our woolen shirt going through, through the wringer of an old agitator washing machine. I heard Janet's sharp intake of breath as she passed through that queer boundary. Even without my gifts, clearly the glamour did not extend beyond that point.

Bay and his men waited for us on the deck. So did Stan, wrapped in a makeshift toga of rope and sailcloth. The ship was far larger than the glamour had suggested. Triple mass shot black and proud into the fog, the bones of the crow's nest lost in the soupy grey cloth. All over the bright work were carved the leering heads of gargoyles and monsters, iron chains hanging from their claws and fangs, clanking malevolently as the ship yawed in the chop. In this place, surrounded by this kind of power, it was hard to rein in my gifted senses. The bodies of Baini's crew boiled with possibilities, hints of their true forms bleeding and bubbling over.

Roinish ridges and squamous skin collided with human hair. and flesh to form things that shouldn't have been able to exist. Glad you came, and right on time. He gestured with a hand that puckered and seethed obscenely, elongating into a fleshy, flexing pointer. Let us adjourn to my parlour so the game can begin. Morners' yellowed fingers grazed my arm as we followed the captain. Focus on something else, anything else.

"'Well, do you no good at all to stare at them for too long.' "'The captain's parlour was just as ominous and impressive as the rest of the ship. "'The ceiling was vaulted, beamed with what looked like blackened ribs of ancient whales, "'and wrought iron brazier swung on twisted chains, "'dapling the rum with queasy sweeps of ruddy light. "'A chart table dominated the rump, "'a slab of inominate ebon wood, "'scarred by the points of thousands of knives.

Gesture into the high-backed heavy seats around the table. Bay cleared his throat. Hmm, be seated. Taking a chair. I noted the legs were shodd with iron spikes to stop them slipping and skidding when the ship rolled. Dano took the central seat on the aft side without hesitation, and a sailor in a shining oil skin immediately sat opposite him.

His eyes were unblinking, black and moist. Those eyes belonged to some prehistoric, mammalian ocean predator, and they had no business occupying the pretense of a human skull. Taking mourner's advice, I summoned all my will to look away. Instead, focusing hard on the game set up in the middle of the table. Checkers? I observed the plain bone counters and the eight-by-eight board. I turned to Lou. Really? It's just a game of checkers? His knee nudged me ungentle into silence under the table as Bay commenced to pace up and down behind his crew. The captain's hobnailed boots echoed savagely in the cavernous chamber.

A truly unpleasant sound that raised hackles I didn't know I had. The game will be played till dawn or till one man loses. And if dawn comes first, the man with the advantage wins. Stan played his throat as everyone absorbed this. Will there be any refreshments? His massive ironbound chair creaked as he shift uncomfortably, even those huge old seats could barely contain his sail-clad bulk. Bay's single eye fixed upon the shapeshifting pub patron, unamused.

Aye, do not question my hospitality, son of Sobeck. Right before Stan's greedy eyes, a gargantuan platter of fried calamari materialised, along with a voluminous horn brimming with golden mead. Dan's challenger spoke. You know, you don't look so good, friend. His sleek, drooping moustaches twitched meanly as the Irishman averted jaundiced eyes from Stan's greasy meal. Indeed, ever since we'd boarded Bay's vessel, Dano had waxed from plain Irish pale to distinctly green around the gills. It seemed that sea legs were not part of his fair consternation.

and the pitch and roll of the ship were making him increasingly nauseous. I'm just dandy. But the Irishman's one smile was tight and unconvincing. Three of the sailors barked and roared with mirth. But the fourth, his face hidden under a huge navy scarf, did not join their merriment, sitting still and silent as a masthead. A candle gutted still life on the table. It's blue flame casting a harsh and unlovely light over the game board.

The candle burns out at dawn. Bay took his seat beside Dano's challenger. And now we begin. Heads or tails. Dano asked almost before the captain's mouth had closed. His coins shone like a moon already in his hand. Away with your tricks. House rules. Guests always start.

Before Danor could voice a repost Mona grabbed the Irishman by the ears And planted her mouth square upon his surprised lips He struggled half-heartedly Then pushed her off as she drew breath to cackle Much to the amusement of Bay's crew But I saw Summit this time Summit that made me suspect Mona's talents

Didn't end with draining the life force from others Now I had a feeling she could gift it too Dano's hand shot out and moved one of the bone counters, a standard opening for checkers. His whiskered opponent responded just as quickly, those flat black eyes darting all over the board, gleaming with a dangerous, canny intelligence. Two more moves were exchanged before the ship yawed abruptly.

Disorientated by the brazias swinging mad strobes across the table, a grimaced, expecting to see the black and white counters slide sideways and roll away into the cracks of the floorboards. But instead of the counter sliding sideways, the whole game did. The board seemed to slip and shift through reality itself. And as it did so, it changed. From checkers to chess.

A flash of chagrin and anger charged Danos' sick pale face and his opponent barked out another sea-line laugh. Ah, you're jeepen-conquhart. Dano snarled with eyes narrow, green and dangerous. More of that irritating laughter greets his epithet, and the Irishman's ears reddened, spots of Kim colour blossoming in the hollows of his pallid cheeks. But Dano was as stubborn as a bantry bull,

and rigged games were, after all, his bread and butter. He set his jaw, the shape of his teeth visible through his skin, and casually moved a pawn, taking one of the sailors' pieces. Lou nudged me awake several times, and each time the game were different from when I'd last beheld it. The board and pieces were now entirely unfamiliar. I'd never seen anything like this game before. I'd fought fatigue as hard as I could, but even in this Eldridge place, full of ancient terrors and darkling pact, I could barely keep my eyes open.

You're losing! Dano's challenger proclaimed and plucked another elaborate bone piece from the board. Outside the cabin, a demon wind howled, and the ship bucked against its anchor. The board blurred again, as if reforming in response to the vessel's mood, then settled on a new configuration. Sweat dripped freely from Dano's brow, and his knee jittered an incessant jig beneath the table. He were a quick study, the Irishman. Within two moves, he mastered each new board, but his opponent had the upper hand. The sailor clearly knew the game's intimately.

and anticipated the order in which they morphed. The strange blue candle was burning low, and I guessed there was perhaps an hour remaining until dawn. A pang of fear banished my drowsiness. Whilst Dano's defence were valiant and brilliant, there just wasn't any way for him to win. I glanced at Lou. He was unreadable as a standing stone,

his jaw set and his eyes fixed on the board. Janet and I shared despairing, defeated looks. The black-eyed sailors tar-nailed hands twitched as he regarded the board. You're done, boy. You can't win. Even a miracle wouldn't save you now. Oh? Was that so? Aye, it is so. And you know it is. Just beneath the edge of the table, the shine of a silver coin glimmer, dancing adroitly across the Irishman's knuckles.

Would you care to make a wager on that? You have nothing I want. Neither gold nor jewels do I crave, only your defeat. The silver-araff crown spun onto the table, whirling on its axis. As it lost momentum, it circled the board once, then settled to a stop at Dano's fingertips. Emerald flame burned brightly from its centre. None at all. The lilt of the Irishman's voice was desire itself.

The greed that sees the features of bane is so. sailors was terrible to behold. Their weather-worn features writhed with it, any pretence at humanity consumed by pure avaricious malice. The bulge-eyed first mate stood up, shaking his head wildly as if tangled in a net, and slapped his hand down on the table. Come, it's a ploy.

Some foul trick conceived to tempt us from victory. Aye, you fool. The lust twisted Bay's face even as he spoke. Of course it is, but the man still can't. The ruse is making us think he can. The Arctic blue of his eye bore down on Dano like a thrown dart. But it's all a bluff. This better nonsense be distraction.

He still has nothing. But Dano's challenger, caught most directly in the current of the Irishman's blithe promise, was unsettled. His confidence at once foundering and bolstered by the siren call of the deal. He looked to scant at his captain. Bay nodded at once. Shrugging off his oil skin, the man folded it neatly atop the table, wept fingers stroking it lovingly.

The fine coat, we have a bargain then. Aye, a coin for a court. Now play. As the boat pitched once again, Dano cursed. The board slithered into a new configuration, now oceans away from the game of Czechos. as it had originally been.

Spindly pieces of bone and ebony menaced a random map of scroll-edged hexagons, their forced perspective like shafts to the underworld. This was surely a game never before beheld by human eyes. Dano's downfall was swift and brutal. Peace after piece lost to the sailors' eager pause.

It were clear the Irishmen had only a rudimentary grasp of this disturbing board, and as the last piece was claimed, The green flame on his coin flickered out. You loo. Dano agreed, quieter than I'd ever heard him. His voice tight with unspoken emotion. Sweeping the board and pieces aside with his hairy forearm,

the sailor leaned across the table and snatched up the silver coin, his dark eyes shining wet with covetous glee. For a moment he held it triumphantly between dirty thumb and forefinger, then moved to pocket. it. But the coin remained stuck. As he shook his hand madly, trying to unstick the silver token from his flesh, the ship booked, sending him sprawling onto the chart table. Throw the mullion glass at the fore of the cabin, lightning flashed, tinted faintly green,

and in response, Emerald Flame blazed bright about the coin, flickering a pretty dance up the sailor's forearm. No! He flailed his arm frantically. No! A wave like the starved. slap of Adaiti's hand struck the boat, followed by another flash of lightning, and the pitch sent the iron-shod chairs skidding despite their spiked feet. Captain Bay roared and drew a cutlass,

ordering the first mate in his giant sailands to hold down the writhing, screaming man on the table. Rolling thunder masked their words, the tangible boil of it dull leaving the sailors' cries of agony and betraying. But through it all, I could hear a sound. A sound had heard. A sound had but never to hear again. The bane of creatures that were but distant ancestors to hounds cut through the boom and crash of waves and weather, joined by the wail of mythic hunting horns and in human voices keening in frenzied fervor.

With another blazing bolt that painted every face and facet brilliant green, lightning stabbed at the heart of the ship and a splintering crash above told the tale of a mass split in twain. Lou had thrown Janet over his shirt, and was making for the door. Every step of pitched battle against the yore and roll of the ship. Stan were gone, so I grabbed Mona's hands,

and we clung to each other as we bounced off the timbers, attempting to follow Lou out of the cabin. Dan O'er just sat in his chair as it skidded back and forth, howling with mad laughter. The green flame had reached the stricken sailor's shoulder. His entire armour blaze, as bay lifted his blackened blade to cleave the man. limbs and body. An explosion shook the ship and flinders of glass and debris flew across the

wound. The lightning had breached the hull. My ears ringing painfully, nearly flashblind. I let Mona half carry me out onto the heaving deck, then dumped me into a wooden dinghy where Lou and Janet already clung. Lou slashed at the stair rope and the little boat hurtled downward. We bounced as it smacked forcefully onto the surface of the raging sea, then spun like a cork in a drain. The breath knocked out to me. I clung to a splintered bench and coughed saltwater while I fought for consciousness,

a fight that I soon lost, as another wave smashed into the boat and slammed my temple into a roerlock. Warm sheets, and the smell of hot tea greeted me when I came around. Janet's silver-ringed hand floated into my sphere of vision, holding a steaming cup. I sat up gingerly to take it, cataloging everything that ached.

I were in bed, my own bed, and Janet was patting my blanket-covered thigh. She preempted the questions cresting on my tongue. Stan brought us back, towed the boat ashore. The others? I cropped before blowing my beverage to cool it. Danor got out. All hail and whole, bar a few bruises and bumps.

As I replayed the chaotic events leading up to the escape from the ship, I wondered what this would mean for the pub. Clearly, Danor had put us all in jeopardy by so directly attacking Captain Bay. When I gave voice to my concerns, Janet shook her head. Lou assures me that Dano's actions lay squarely outside the rules of the challenge, and that by accepting his bargain, the sailor also accepted the consequences. I didn't feel very reassured by that. Still, they won't be happy.

Janet's smile was grim. No, I imagine they won't be. In any case, we still officially lost, so we're currently tied for the pub. I think we'll win. I think Lou has a plan. I bloody well hope you're right, because I sure as shit,

don't want to become the property of Bay and his crew. The next day brought a steady downpour. Enormous leaden thunderheads looming over the town with dammically in intensity. A few brave souls scuttled from shop to shop, looking for Christmas knick-knacks, but nobody apart from the regulars came calling to the pub. This was a day for staying indoors

with endless cups of tea and bad television reruns. The roads outside were awash with ankle-deep rivers, tangles a seaside rubbish blocking the drains. And whenever the odd car growled past the pub in a blaze of headlights, huge bow waves gushed either side of the vehicle. drowning the footpath and splattering the front windows with dirty water. I cleaned fretfully, obsessively, attempting to keep my hands and mind busy. It only worked for the former.

The patrons clustered together near Stan's chair, every nerve as frayed as mine, all of us waiting for the clock to strike midday. Lou's bronze-shod spear lay under the bar, its burnished head resting in a steaming trough of ice, and the man himself polished the same spot on the wooden counter above it, over and over. His eyes never straying from the entrance. When Bay's giant finally shoved the door open,

the slap of his meaty tar-stained paws on the wood made us all jump. Yet I almost wept with relief. That feeling was short-lived, curdling into trepidation as the drenched seaman filed inside, dragging a new atmosphere with them. For the game had changed. The air fair crackled with it, and Captain Bay's face was raddled with true rage. There would be no silent niceties with rum this time.

Blue fire burned in his good eye, a whirlpool of powerful phosphorants inside the ancient cauldron of its socket, and the slack drooping skin of his closed eyelid writhed, as if malignant with maggots. Hands on their cutlasses, the crew arrayed themselves around their captain, and I noted darkly that Dano's otter face challenger was not among them. Bear's leathery features cracked hard with anger. You've broken faith, boy. I lost a good man thanks to your trickery.

In response, Lou just shrugged. His palms upturned in a gesture of helpless appeal. No faith was broken. Your man was offered a bargain outside the bounds of the trial, and he accepted. My ship were near. Scuttled! Bay roared, with a black blade of his weapon half out of its pearl-studded sheath. Morner hitched her bony shoulders, dismissive.

Oh, yeah, that's the kind of thing that happens when folk make foolish packs with forces more powerful than they are. I wouldn't have thought Bay's expression could darken further, but his cheeks blossomed to a black red to rival the thunderheads outside. I moved closer to Lou, anticipating violence. at any moment. But with a guttural snarl, the captain let his sword snap back into its scabbard. For the damage to my ship,

I claim the right to call the next trial. Dan O' and Lou exchanged a look. Then Lou nodded. Fine, but we call the venue, which will be here in the pub. Agreed. The always silent sailor with the blue scarf around his face stepped forward without preamble.

What I could see of his skin was pale as melted wax, sallow in the ambient light of the bar. When he spoke, his voice was resonant and melodic, with a youthful lilt, not at all what I'd expected. When morn greets the deeps, as the sun meets the sea, I shall return, for this next test falls to me. An ordeal of rhyme, of song, of guile.

and the last man standing shall win the trial. Having delivered his poetic missing, the sailor turned on his heel and pushed open the door. The pub was silent save for the heavy hiss of torrential rain as he walked out into the grey downpour, followed by his crewmates. I spoke when the last of them had been swallowed by the weather. What did he mean?

Is this going to be some kind of medieval rap battle? Something like that. Dano spun his empty glass. I poured a fresh guineas for him. Possibilities whirling through my skull. And you're going to challenge him, right? You're the singer. He took the drink eagerly, but shook his head.

Can't go again, lass. It has to be a new man for each challenge. All eyes swiveled to Janet, who blinked rapidly as she realized the implications of our collective stare. Or woman. The Irish man. disassembled, tilting his pint at her as she raised her hands like she was bending off a curse. Oh, hell no, I can't sing for shite. As you all well know, this voice is only good for one thing.

Preempting my next thought, Mauna cracked a nicotine-stained smile. Can't hold a tune, love, let alone rhyme. Tin hear me, you'd have better luck getting a tune out of that stray moggy you fee behind the pub. A sick, liquid sensation slid down my spine and soured in my stomach as it dawned on me. When I dared to glance at Lou, the bastard was already grinning like the sun itself. He tilted his handsome head, brandishing an imaginary microphone in his hand and miming open-mouthed singing. You have got to be shitting me. I can't challenge that man.

What? Well, Lord knows what he truly is. And I'm just a student barmaid. "'Mona made a dismissive sound around her fag end. "'More than that now, so much more.' "'Fear curdled my gutt. "'Even so, I'll lose,' "'says the girl who recites Bayerwolf while she's cleaning the kitchen.'

"'Mona regarded me through her veil of smoke, "'her eyes at once amused and matter-of-fact. "'Actually, I believe you sang it. "'Said it to a pretty little, Lorina McKenny tuned, didn't you love? Heat rushed into my ears and flamed across my cheeks with embarrassment. That was for an exam,

and no one was supposed to be listening. Looking helplessly at Lou, I leaned against the bar and jabbed my finger at him. If this was a story, you'd miraculously find your voice right about now and save us all from certain defeat. Emptying his guineas,

Danor pushed it toward me for another refill. Tain't a story. Niffin'were, some stories aren't all neat and tidy, lass. Six hours wasn't a lot of time to prepare, but I did my best. Lou pushed poetry books into my hands, while Dano practiced with me, throwing out stanzas to which I had to respond quickly and coherently. And I did. I counted synchains with couplets and reposted robust rhymes,

surprising everyone present, not least myself. You've got the gift. Dano was obviously pleased by my performance, but nodding like he'd suspected all along. The blood of bear strums in your veins. Being an English major probably helps. This talent girl. Pure talent. Lou's smile, annoyingly smug through his three-day-old beard, confirmed that this wasn't unexpected. The damn man had somehow known that Bay would call this particular challenge.

and he'd also known that I had these unplept depths inside me. I was almost angry, but the strange pleasure I derived from exercising my newfound knack, overrode any negative emotion. Stan pushed his plate of greasy chips towards me. Stan willingly share food? Eat, eat, eat. You'll need all your strength against the blue man.

I realised I was ravenous. As I ate, I poured through pages of the poetry books provided by the pub proprietor, memorising snippets of verse to mould with my mind during the fast approaching challenge. Dano forced me to choke down half a guineas, never my favourite drop, claiming that a touch of inebriation

would help lubricate my tongue and that the Irish stout was superior for that task. No barred airseng well with a dry mouth. Lou's strong fingers needed the stress and wearance, out of my shoulders, and I leaned back into him, blist from the booze. By the time Bane his bully boys arrived, dripping and dower, I was completely relaxed, near dozing. The other patrons had cleared a space near the front of the pub. Two chairs half turned towards each other for the challenges, and a row of seats for the spectators.

Stan reclined near the rear, his own custom chair contributing wooden creeks and groans, like we were still on the pirate ship. Captain Bay seemed in worryingly good spirits. When I slid into the spot opposite the blue-scarft sailor, the leader of the mariners barked out to laugh as surprise, slapping his breech-clad thigh. My opponent remained silent, regarding me with eyes as flat as pale coins,

his expression hidden by the thick blue muffler concealing most of his face. As the audience began seating themselves, Bay spoke. The rules on a trial be seen. simple. Each man... His lips twisted viciously as he paused. Or woman must respond to no more than ten heartbeats, rhyming in kind. A failed rhyme be a forfeit, and a poor rhyme will only be forgiven thrice. He settled into his chair, banging on the armrest for a drink, which Lou provided adroitly. Mourner was the last to approach the Roe's seats.

Instead of sitting, she stepped around them to embrace me in a bony face hug that caught me completely off guard. Give luck, doll. She whispered against my neck, and as the words left her mouth, something slithered out from inside her, wriggling hot through my skin and filling me with queer, bright energy. Every detail of the pub leapt into focus. My mind so keen and sharp that it fair hummed with lightning thoughts. So this was the gift she'd been given to the others. As she turned away, I saw the new wrinkles being born,

spreading eager tributaries at the corners of her eyes and mouth. By the time she reached her seat, the brittle blonde hair at her temples was shot through with silver. I felt at once hot and cold, wondering who this life force inside me had been, some awkward student she'd leached to death with her appetites, or some wealthy old arsole who prayed or, on underage girls.

My chain of thought was broken as the bescarved sailor cleared his throat. By the right of hospitality, I claim the first verse. Not really knowing how to respond to this, I simply nodded, hitching up the spaghetti straps of the nice green frock I'd picked out for the trial.

It almost felt like I was adjusting my armour. Doff in his cap, the sailor revealed a spume of white-blond hair, hair that rivaled even lose locks, and as he unwound his heavy muffler, steep Nordic cheekbones and a pale blonde beard completed the picture. Handsome though he was, the walk and power inside me peeked past his mortal mien, and I saw the truth beneath. He was a withered thing, hollow and old, wearing the blue skin a death. As my rival parted his lips, the tombrer of the rain outside shifted subtly, and I swore I heard the crash of waves against the hull of a proud ship.

The third afore this trial be, but the last for the lady in green. My words wield steel and ice and sea where hers are frail and mean. I felt the chill of frosted air radiating from the blue man, but the stolen thing mourner had placed inside me warded it away, pulsing protective heat, even as words fell molten from my ready tongue. I do not fear this old blue man, rhymes dredged from Ocean's bed. This fight was won for it began, and not by gulls long dead. The sailor's eyes flashed wide, then narrowed hard as he realised I'd seen through his glamour,

glimpsed his dead flesh for myself. Shrugging aside my taunts, he continued. This girl knows not of men in blue, scourge of the ocean's north, who reeved trespassers of their... do and raise their dead henceforth. The lighting in the bar flickered and dimmed as his words thrilled through the cool air. My breath fogged when I opened my mouth and my teeth ached as I cut back with a quick rejoinder. Threats and fables move me not, nor do I fear your eyes.

I've seen far worse, things ill-begot but opened up my eyes. Memories of my trial at the cauldron of resurrection fired my spirit, as I recalled the events that had changed me forever. I truly had faced far worse than this singing corpse with his promises accursed unlife. My spirit could not be broken by his chilly words. Verses flowed freely from both of us. Rivers of frost and sunlight, cutting back and forth through the expectant atmosphere of the pub.

We traded insults and epithets, each promising what we do to the opposing party should we win, and claiming that such fates did not move us. in the slightest. The taunting rhythm of the game became so diverting it was almost fun. So when the tone of the sailors' lyrics changed, it caught me off guard. For the first time I faltered, my mind groping for an appropriate response. Life's gift is yours to walk away and sing these songs no more, but my bones must eru that day they found the ocean's floor. The hairs on my arms prickled uncomfortably. A squeeze of sensation accompanied his

verse, the crushing, suffocating weight at the deep sea, and my mind flooded with cold black dread. But the warm core of my rationality fought back, and I realized there was something else off about the verse he'd just sung, something almost outside the bounds of the competition. And when I stole a glance at Captain Bay, it bolstered my suspicions and my tongue. The captain no longer looked happy at all. My sympathies to you, my friend, no man should perish so. Please tell us of thy briny end for all would like to know. I wasn't impressing anyone with my prose this time, but there was something happening here that I needed to understand.

There had to be a reason the sailor was reaching out to me in this way. As we continued to trade stanzas, I concentrated on using my words gently, tickling open the anemone of his story. A man of sea and sail was I, all once upon a time. A fair blue-painted ship was mine, Her hull festooned with rhyme

We sailed far with break a bow All through the northern ice I made it past To times welfare But did not make it thrice Five storms of white Of sleet and snow All through us from our course

And whilst we battled valiantly, Each tactits'd make things worse. The ship grew chill, the fuel grew thin, My sailor saw for dear, And whence we finally ran again, Six-Minted Mutineer. Entombed in ice, my ship lay dead, A corpse bride all in white

But with the season captain's arrogance I was still prepared to fight The men they hanged from mizzen mast Their souls too cold to flee Instead they went below the ship To feed the frozen sea With sledge and pick we hewed the ice

To try to break a trail To give the bow A course to ride But all to no avail On every bow The ice grew back As thick as permafrost And then we knew

The worst had come The ship was truly lost A captain must sink with his ship. Tis the measure of a man. And should she go, I would go too, But first I had a plan. My order flew, bring from the hold The sod and dynamite.

Through the ice, I'd put this madness right. They laid the charges straight and true Across the frozen field And when the time did come to blow The ice would surely yield But desperate plans oft go astray This far from southern shores We'd opened up hell's door

A giant steel Had pierced the leeward side Through the gap An icy deathly tide For man did jump To reach the ice Crushed red beneath the slid Clung fast all doom to drown

Beloved ship I shivered and found my eyes pricking The pain in the sailor's voice was very real, deep and ancient and well-harrowed. My enjoyment of the game was lost. Now even the stakes seemed less important than letting him give voice to his torment. As though in sympathy with the lost doomed ship, the walls of the pub creaked and moaned. My voice faltered as I implored in rhyme for the tale to continue, which he did, though I almost wish he hadn't. Well made she was my bride of wood to keep the sea at bay

And in her hold we huddled fast My pride in disarray The wood grew rime, Our breath grew chill All steaming in the air As in the dark the men raised up Their voices in a prayer To no avail the sea roared in, And I offered up my soul.

But evil fate would steal my ghost from even death's control. In Arctic depths I perish. in that blackened water way But my final master there The man named captain Anger was writ large over Bay's craggy features As he stared at his man Unable to believe his old had been broken enough

For the sailor to spill his long drowned And dangerous secrets But the captain could neither move nor speak Any interference would void the challenge and his forfeit would be our win. That the blue man was not a minion of the captain by choice had become very clear, and I not only needed to let him finish his tail,

the stakes were firmly back in my mind. Any further information I could glean might swing things in our favour. Tell me more of Captain Bay, who holds you in his thrall. It seems to me he raised you up, That sin is wherewithal. But dead you are and dead you'll stay Should you prevail this round?

No matter what the outcome is, Your soul's not heaven-bound. The blue man shook his head, His pale eyes all frostbite pain and ancient ice. Although tis true, my spirit's lost to yaw. under Captain Bay. The deal we struck meant that my crew would live another day. Upon my raised-up ship they sail, saved from an icy grave.

But freedom's winds are not for me. Bay's sad eternal slave. And there I had it. The implications of his words would take. terrifying and heart-rending. The man had sold his soul to Captain Bay. He had sacrificed himself to save his crew. As we sang back and forth to one another,

more details became clear. Should the blue man in front of me ever fail in his duties to Bay, the souls of those sailors, and all the souls of all their ancestors, would be Captain Bay's by right. My opponent was risking something unimaginable with every syllable that fell from his cold lips. I flubbed the next verse with a clumsy rhyme, my mind and moil of horror and guilt.

It was hard to care, because if I won this trial, it wasn't just the sailor in front of me who would lose, but also the unaccountable descendants of his original crew. So many innocent lives. I glanced at Lou, who would surely have grasped this fact, and was rewarded only with a familiar shrug, the gesture that was my lover's default for, Do whatever you feel is right. Lou never had forced me to do anything I didn't truly want to do, nor would he start now. Sickened by the scope of the situation, I dropped another barely passable rhyme

and only dimly registered the roar of approval from Bay and his two remaining men. One more mistake from me, and the pub was in jeopardy, along with the lives of all the widows I had come to call my friends and family. On the other hand, that one mistake could save thousands of people, didn't know. The sailor's voice, when it came again, was soft. All hints of half-frost thawed. This mortal girl perceives the truth what truly is at stake. She feels the terrors that follow this. What bay will then retake. Her now throw in the towel. Please let this dead man win. Her heart beats good and far too just

To doom my crew and kin I couldn't do it No matter what the stakes I simply could not allow this to happen Tears welled up No matter which course I took Bay would win I was trapped with no good options left

Just like the man sitting before me Had been all those years ago in the Arctic ice I moved to get off the chair to just run away, but something stopped me. Four heartbeats. Five heartbeats. I struggled, but I couldn't move. An unseen something had uncoiled inside me

and locked my limbs fast, pinning me to my seat. Six heartbeats. Seven. But it didn't matter. All I needed to do was fail to respond, and the trial would be at an end. Eight. Nine.

The last heartbeat stretched time Like a quiver in my chest Then, accompanied by a rush of abject terror I felt my mouth open against my will And I began to sing The verse tripped light and vibrant off my tongue Dumbounding my sad opponent with its sudden loquacity and complexity Having known I was going to back down

He was a crippled thing His repost clumsy and leaden His last rhyme barely even coherent I burned with rage and chagrin as my mouth, lips and tongue, no longer even remotely under my control, lashed him with couplet after couplet, quickly wearing down the last shreds of his equilibrium. I felt it now, the thing that was ruling me. It was the very same vitality Mona had infused him just before the challenge began. But now, instead of bolstering me, it had utterly taken me over, turning me into her puppets. Her presence was. wormed and burrowed into my mind, finding the core of my ancient bardic abilities and flooding it with power. Synapses burned like stars, brilliant and unquenchable, a meteor shower of soliloquy

spilling from me. The blue man's eyes grew pale, his skin fading fast, grey, an eggshell blue. No matter how much of his own power he poured into his poetry, my augmented abilities simply could not be counted. Eventually, his lovely, broken voice stuttered and stilled, and he bowed his head. A yeel. Mona's influence held me in place. A bland, benign smile pinned to my lips, even as Bain his defeated crew left. Inside the cage of my skull, I howled and screamed, clawing at her control.

When she finally released me, a fair flew from my chair and battered and scrambled at her bony, with my fists and fingernails weeping with rage. How dare you! Dare you! I sobbed the depths of my anguish, coloring my voice unfamiliar to my own ears. Lou gently pulled me off the wretched old woman. He barely managed to restrain me as she started to flush with newfound youth

right before my disbelieving eyes. I wanted to murder her. Mona tapped a cigarette out as she moved to her seat near the window. Had to be done, love. That man made a bargain he shouldn't have made, and that's not our problem. Her hair seemed a lie. Taunting me as it curled, so lush and glossy.

The smooth, plump lips of a 17-year-old smile to be coiling. And why the hell are you young again? Dano spoke up. His voice low and edged with a true anger I seldom heard from him. She might pray on fools and fiends for the most part, but the true fear of the Liannon and the power of poets. I felt a strange panic as I realised what he was saying. Reaching deep inside myself, I felt for that spark, for that creative power that allowed me to spin words into gold with my voice.

I'd only just discovered that the bardic instinct for song was part of who I was, that it had always been part of who I was. And now, it was gone. sulking seemed an appropriate course of action, and that's precisely what I did. As leaden morning dawn, Lou brought me a bouquet of impossible peonies and breakfast in bed, but I neither smiled nor budged one inch from my nest of blankets. Sleep had done nothing to calm the anger and loss inside me, simmering strong in that place emptied by mourner's theft. And I was angry at Lou.

Yes, because in a sense he'd planned it all. Not directly, but through subtle manipulation of events, and I couldn't help but notice that whenever he employed that method, my blonde bore always seemed to get exactly the outcome he desired. He was quite aware that I blamed him too, presenting his outer presence peace posy like a talisman. He avoided my eyes, staring at the floor. When he gestured downstairs, I shook my head.

No, I'm staying up here. Why? he signed carefully, spelling each letter out with his hands. Because you don't need me anymore, Lou. My voice cracked. I sounded tired and petulant, but I didn't care. I've played my part. I've taken my curtsies in your little dance with Captain Bay. So now I'm going to stay up here, right here, as far away as possible from that thing we call Mona. Lo's blue eyes clouded as they searched my face and he judged that I was serious.

Nodding glumly, he touched me once on the shoulder, then headed downstairs. It would be another four hours before Bay arrived to hammer out the conditions of the final trial, so I did my best to stay occupied. I half-heartedly flipped through a volume of poetry, but it reminded me too much of the previous night and I felt it all over again.

The bloom of self-discipline. discovery, then the betrayal that stamped it into the dirt before I could even discern its true shape. Mona had stolen something from me, something tender that had lain just under the surface of who I was, waiting for the right conditions to germinate. More than that, I were angry because it wasn't hers to take. That gift had come direct from my ancestors, handed on through their lineage from person to person until it had come to me. Mona had violated that sacred chain. I didn't realise I was crying until hot tears splashed the page, blurring the words I wasn't really reading anyway.

I closed the book, putting it aside, and raised my wet face towards the window. Lou had opened the curtains to let in the pallid winter daylight and a rough putercy showed beyond the foreshore. The distant blob of Bay's boat bobbed in the chop, and my gaze was drawn to it. Hatred and fear welled up within me, displacing even my flood of self-pity with the hard truth of what was at stake. And it wasn't just the pub.

This was personal. And beyond personal, it threatened far greater loss than just part of myself. We had to win the final trial, whatever it might be, for there was no way I would end up forever bound into the dark captain's service like the blue man had been. I had guessed enough about my boyfriend in his ancestry to fathom whom bay might truly be, and the thought of that one-eyed fiend gaining control of this place of power replaced my rage with a crawling terror. I was roused from a restless door,

snatched from the half-lighter sharp dreams by the sound of raised voices downstairs. A glance at my phone showed that it was just past midday, which meant that the captain had arrived with his remaining crew. I couldn't make out what was being said, the words muffled by thick beams and floorboards. But when the murmur-a-talking ended, I heard the door crash open, then slam shut, followed by a string of salty epithets out on the street.

A combination of lingering fear and muleish stubbornness kept me staring out the window, refusing to go downstairs and discover the outcome of the meeting. But it wasn't long before there were footsteps on the stairs, and Lou, Janet and Dano shuffled into the bedroom. Janet plopped down on the bed without ceremony. That was Bay and his ass-lickers. But you probably already guessed that. I could ignore Lou, but I couldn't ignore Janet.

She was my friend, and she hadn't done anything wrong. I musted my sensibilities and made it clear that the only blonde in this room I wanted answers from was female and not mute. So what's the upshot? We picked the trial, they picked the venue, thanks to the order getting fucked up by the actions of a certain Irishman. Dano just grinned like a could. running sheep, one hand fidgeting in his pocket. I knew instinctively that he had his coin back,

though I didn't dare ask how. I see. Janet's eyes narrowed just a fraction, but she continued. The trial will be a wrestling match between Lou and the Giant. We'll be taken to an island offshore a little before five o'clock where the fight will take place. I thought about this for a moment. Although I didn't want to sound like I was even interested, I couldn't seem to help myself. but there aren't any islands offshore. There's nout but ocean out there. My friend just nodded, matter of fact. You're quite right about that.

There was no point in questioning her. I'd seen grown men blown to pieces by Janet's own voice and the dead brought back to life with magic. I suppose an invisible island was small potatoes compared to all of that. Try you not to look at anyone. I picked up my cold half-full cup of tea and held it in my lap. Good luck to you all.

At my unspoken declaration, Janet's mouth compressed into two thin lines. Then she folded her arms and glared at me so hard I could feel it, even without looking at her. And with Janet, that wasn't good. But I didn't take the warning. Oh no, if you think you're not coming, then you've got another thing coming.

I'll not be around that face spirit sucker ever again. frustration twisted Janet's strong features for a moment and a low growl, almost subsonic, started in the back of her throat. Before anyone could react, every object in the run began to vibrate in sickening sympathetic resonance. Most especially, the cup nestled in my lap, rattling panicked against its saucer. With an abrupt snap, the china shattered, startling me after death. All right, all right, I'll come! I escaped the tea sodden sheets as quickly as I could.

I scowled sideways at Janet as I started to pick up the shards of my favourite cup. But if that hag gets within five feet of me, you'd better make sure her horrid head explodes. The longboat was a similar design to Bay's ancient ship. All dark wood and iron chains threaded through ugly carvings. The first mate greeted a souler, his eyes bulging even more than usual from the hood of his grey oil skin. drawn tight against the cold, misty rain sweeping across the beach.

Clad in our own motley of heavy coats and hats, our erstwhile crew climbed into the strange vessel seating ourselves. I made sure I sat as far away from mourner as possible. I didn't want to look at her, but I couldn't help myself. And a heady mixture of jealousy and bereavement twisted my insides as I beheld her wasp thin waist and perfect pert breasts. Even in a cheap yellow plastic aneur, She looked like a post-war pin-up,

glutted with ill-gotten luxuries. Standing in the bow, the first mate shouted a command. The iron-shot oars shudded in the rollocks, then slid forth of their own accord, digging into the sand and pushing us out into the surf like the legs of a foundering crab. Once the boat was beyond the breakers,

the animated oars dipped and ploughed, smooth and swift, pulling us along by unseen hands. Dan O' muttered through the dirty tartan of an old scarf he'd wound around his mouth. Nice trip. Into the mist we travelled, ghosting through the waves. As the peaks grew progressively steeper,

the Irishman's complexion waxed more and more green until he yanked down his scarf and emptied his horrible breakfast into the ocean. Mona cackled like a storybook witch as I rubbedano's bony back, encouraging the last of what was once Guinness and cold chips over the side. Janet snarled at Mona. Oh, for fuck sake, will you just shut it? You've already done quite enough damage. No one needs you antagonising the girl any fucking more.

With a liquid shrug, the blonde bombshell retrieved a pack of cigarettes from the depths of her court. When she placed one between her plump lips, Janet gave voice to a growl so deep that even the first mate swiveled one protuberant eye to regard her with concern. hastily, Mona fumbled her fag away, pretending to be content to stare out into the thickening fog instead. Through banks and mist, the longboat road, visibility declining until we might as well been sailing the skies inside a thunder cloud. I'd never been in a fog so thick that even my own hand in front of my face was a dim shape, and chill water condensed and beaded on my face, my hair, my coat, slicking every surface. Even sound was trapped and distorted by the sodden atmosphere

And it took me some time to decipher the occasional thump on the hole The dull splash of something large and sleek keeping pace beside us But of course Stan had joined us at some point in the journey Jesus feels like the boat scene in Charlie and the chocolate factory The mist ate my words even as I spoke them The air so dead and leaden in my lungs it was difficult to breathe Huddling into Loo, I groped for his hand,

my gloved fingers stiff as wood as I laced them through his. When the fog at last began to thin, the oars stopped their relentless pull, and the longboat drifted on an abruptly calm sea. Through the last tangles of mist rose the shape of an island, tall and ringed with cliffs of white. Huge gulls screlled and swooped about the craggy moor atop. Their voices echoing a mournful lament,

but we saw no other signs of life in this strange, impossible place. At the foot of the cliffs, a cave had been carved out, either by tides or tectonics. Our self-sailing boat began to slip toward it, until we were swallowed down a narrow throat of cavern walls, striped with ancient strata. We beached on a spit of gravel, barely wide enough for us all to disembark. Then the first mate gestured to a flight of stone stairs hewn into a natural tree. chimney in the rock. Janet gave me half a smile and muttered. You're right? Really does feel like Willy Wanker-Wonker. The climb was rough. The stairs were slippery with sea spray and slime, and handholds were

scarce. Mourna fair bounded up them, all hateful with unnatural youth. I willed it a trip, even while I struggle to haul my fat back side up every step. Janet could have outpaced even Mornor, fit as the proverbial fiddle and well used to this sort of thing from her long heights. But she stood with me, urging me on and offering me a ropey arm to pull me up whenever my legs started shaking too much. Behind me, Danor puffed and blue, groaning and cursing and unfit sympathy and residual seasickness, while Lou brought up the rear, ready to catch anyone should they fall. I lost all concept of time as we climbed, so when weak sunlight and a bracing breeze bless my sweaty face, and he wept with relief. Janet pulled me out of the cleft and onto the

tough, sparse grass of a mower. Captain Bain, his giants stood close by, watching our rag-tag party emerge. Welcome. Dano heaved himself from the split in the land and lay panting. Hope the climb weren't too difficult. Janet glowered at him, but said nothing. Sitting on the spiky turf, I rested my trembling legs and took in the view. From this vantage point, the fog we had sailed through looked solid, a thick band of white encircling the realm entirely. At the very edge of it, Bay's damaged ship wallowed anchored offshore. Upon the moor itself, great chunks of pale stone jutted forth from the land,

forming a huge circle. I knew without asking that this would be the wrestling ring, and the sight of our final battle. The captain spoke to Lou. When you're ready, boy, come join us at the ring. The rules were simple, as Bay explained. It would be best of three rounds. Each round ending if a man yielded,

were pinned down for ten heartbeats, or was thrown after the ring. We arranged ourselves around Lou, who had stripped to the waist and was methodically binding back his hair with a leather cord. Can we win this one? I asked him as I stared past his shoulder at the massive misshapen giant that waited in the ring. Stood still, the creature could almost have been mistaken for one of the men here that flanked him.

In response, Lou just shrugged. His eyes were calm, flat blue as he sized up his opponent, flexing his fists in a pop of knucklebone and sinew. Might be a close call, lass, unless our boy has some real tricks up his sleeve. Lou set his shoulders and stepped up to the ring Morn her moved like a grass snake to intercept him But I'd been waiting for the move and I was ready I stopped her dead with my best high school rugby stiff arm

I snapped and shoved her as hard as I could You get away from my man You'll not be putting your sorcery inside him Channeling her anger The woman found her balance quickly And tried to step around me But I was still ready I struck out one sense of

dot Martin catching her thin ankle and sending her sprawling across the uneven turf. You witness, mortal, you'll pay for this. I may very sure not to look in her eyes, not to let her touch me as she scrambled to her feet. If any of us survive this trial, then you're welcome to try me. Then Janet was in between us, a shrill edge in the air as she yelled at us to sit the fuck down and behave, or she'd explode both our stupid heads. Either oblivious or ignoring us, Lou had paced carefully up to his massive opponent

and stood squarely in front of him. The pub's proprietor was by far the tallest man I knew, but the sailor had a fold two feet on him in both stature and shoulder, and the size difference made even Lou look fragile. The giant had also doffed his shirt, and his body was a strange lump and mess of mixed proportions, like some child's attempt to make a superhero out of play door. A pelt of coarse grey hair matted much of his massive chest,

not quite covering crude tattoos of fighting bears. When he flexed his pectorals, their faded lines rippled, prehistoric cave paintings come alive. With no preamble, Captain Bay roared. Begin! The wrestlers began to circle each other warily. Each trying to take the measure of the other, making only cautious baints.

Louv managed to clamp the giant's enormous wrist with both hands, but released it quickly and ducked away when he judged his opponent was far too strong to throw. A nasty liquid chuckle from the first mate turned the pang of doubt that shot through my gut into an oily wave, and my mouth flooded, sour with fear. Quick as a desperate serpent, Lowe tried several more moves, but each left him forced to retreat, barely dodging the huge questing hand that grabbed for him. A brief flood of triumph ripped a cheer from my throat when he rode knee.

through the legs of the shambling Colossus, kicking the giant's knee out from behind. But Connor barely stumbled, planting his steadying foot in the turf so hard that it threw up a shower of peat and left a crater, and Lou had no time to take advantage. Lou shook dirt from his hair, apparently undaunted, and changed tactic like he was born into battle. The blonde warrior leapt for the giant's head, encircling the tree-trunk girth of the creature's throat with both arms, trying to lock them. pawing and slapping at him with a noise like someone hacking into a cider beef. The giant hooked Lou's belt with a fingernail. The nun ceremoniously hurled him out of the ring.

A roar of approval rose from Captain Bay. Round one to Connor! Lou lay there for a moment, face down in the wet earth. I began to run. My heart already a dead thing in my chest. Then he rolled onto his back, only winded. Janet scrambled to his side just as I did And together we hold him to his knees

Where he stayed Pushing air like a bellows I had no idea what to do except wait Steadying him with my hands on his shoulders As he winced and probed his ribs After what seemed like ten years He gave me a shaky OK sign Then pushed himself to his feet

With a fist planted in the dirt I'd never doubted Lose strength before I really hated myself for doing it You can't win this, can you? My lover raised his head like a king and gave me a look so old and proud that I felt out to time and place. His jaw clenched, setting itself into a stubborn and noble line,

and then Lou walked back into the ring, his concentration more lion than human. This time, the giant didn't wait. Having gained the measure of loose powers, perhaps sensing the sea change in the game, He simply charged and grabbed for the Celtic warrior with both bear trap hands. But Lou bunched his legs, an impossible locus crouch, then sprang into the air. He sawed, a dancer, a spinning sycamore seed,

then thumped down on the giant's back with a piston thrust of both powerful legs to the base of that huge neck. The extra momentum was too much. The monstrous beast stumbled, staggered and tried to stop himself by strabbling at one of the standing stones. but before anyone could fully process what had happened the giant had fallen onto his side outside the ring the resounding thumpers he connected with the earth had a grace note the stone he had unseated fell along with him round two to lou

Dano crowed all raised fists and Irish glee the giant lay still for a moment his huge shape stretched out like some new long man carved into the old peat and I had a fleet in hope that he was out-culled or better yet, that Lou had somehow killed him. But no, he shuddered, then rose, dragging his feet around the fallen stone to meet his captain. Say nothing, he bowed his massive shaggy head and listened to both Bay and the first mate talking at some length before nodding. Any hope I had garnered immediately fled again when his lap boomed out, loud as the sea slamming echoes from a cavern.

Lowe stayed quiet beside me, simply observing as his opponent stalked back into the ring. Connor clenched both fists, then threw back his head and bellowed. There was nothing human left in that sound. It was a roar straight out of some primeval woods, the rage of a bull mammoth realizing its extinction, a cry echoing into our time from ages past. Twisted tusks erupted from the giant's jaws,

and his skin rippled like the tide was rushing in beneath his flesh. Then his grey third frame doubled in size before our very eyes. Now, three times the size of lull, the nightmare creature stood, swaying and dripping saliva, a horrifying hybrid of megafauna from histories not written for our own earth. Some features were unnameable. Others are recalled from childhood zoo trips and dinosaur books, orchard teeth, polar bear claws,

the great tusks of a woolly mammoth. The thing was an unholy mixture of super-preditor and ancient Pachydar. Janet tried to hide her terror by kicking a stone, but her face was paler than chalk. Well, that's it then. Yes, we're fucked. Mona's eyes flashed yellow as she took a step toward Lou. Not quite. We still have a chance.

Mona extended a delicate white hand. She glanced towards me, and her next words hid none of the needles they should have. Her tone was oddly cautious, genuine, probably the first time I had ever judged her so. That is, if your lady here will let me? As the thing that had been Connor roared a blast of spittle and brine, birthed in bulges of new muscle along limbs that were already thick as barrels,

I hastily nodded. Do it, we'll deal with the consequences afterwards. The hands encircled Lou's head, bonds of gentlest silk. And then the Lainan woman placed her pouty mouth on my man's lips, kissing him with passion and white fire. Too frightened and desperate for rage, or even for true jealousy, I simply watched. And all the life force flowed out of a moanour and into love. The top porcelain of the woman's cheek slackened,

then wrinkled like tissue as she held the kiss. Her glossy hair began to die before my eyes. streaking chutes of grey, then fade into a pure, translucent white. When she finally released him, the fingers that let him go were knotted and twisted as the diseased twigs of an ancient elm tree, and she tottered on legs too frail to hold her up. Dano caught her in waiting arms. Wasting no more time, Lou strode into the ring. Each step was the coming of spring, vigorous and sure, and his eyes shone like the northern lights, so blue they were nearly green. Bright flowers sprang forth from his footprints, spreading new petals to seek the sun.

Even the scrubby grass of the mower where he trod suddenly sprouted new shoots, lush and feckoned. To call the wrestler's men would do them a disservice, for neither was a man anymore. Lou radiated something no story could give a name, something far beyond the bounds of mortality. He was a demigod, a legend. Standing on the edge of that stone circle, I knew I were witness to something eternal, a myth both written long ago and only been written while I watched, an event that would somehow shape the fate of the world itself.

The world knew it too. When the two beings finally clashed, the very earth beneath our feet began to rumble and shake. Though tiny compared to the con a creature, my Celtic godling was just as strong. His Mike condensed like some dwarf and Nordic folklore with stone and steel for his fabric. Although he fought in silence,

I almost saw the unvoiced laugh that he escaped his lips when he shrugged off a mighty blow that should have crushed his skull. Letting the Titanic Grey Paw slide off his shoulder, he drove his own knuckles into the kneecap of the monster and staved it in as if it were a sheet of tin. The stones of the ancient ring rattled in their socket, tearing their roots from the earth to bounce into the air as the fight raged on.

A great crack ran out. The rough fume stairs behind us giving way, sliding down the rock chimney with a noise that left the air tortured for several minutes. I thought I heard cannon fire, a rhythmic crash and boom from the sea beyond the cliff, but it was too natural. Great chunks of rock were cleaving from the sides of the island and plummeting into the waves, sending up impossible guises.

Janice and I clung to Danoa mourner, steadying ourselves and trying to shield the frail husk of the old witch from the chaos. Storms and water pelted and lashed it. The island shuddered in the throes of simultaneous birth and death, and our shrieks combined in one note when the ground beneath us dropped away, the whole moor losing several feet in height as a new dale was created right where we had stood. Erely similar were the screams of the gulls far above us. The birds startled from their craggy perch By the upthrust of a new mountain peak

Swelling like a fresh boil Inside the wrecked ring Now just a circle of toothless holes and newborn scream The fighters bled freely Blue's blood of a million so brilliant it pained the eye Conner's so black it sucked in the light around it A 20 foot spear of granite reared and rushed out of the ground Near Lou's head

Then detonated as he smashed his valiant fist against it, flaying the monstrous connor with flinders of razor stone. Their fight was older than the Battle of David and Goliath, but that comparison were impossible not to make. One party is small yet indomitable, the other a juggernaut, both glory in their mythical life. The narrative deemed it truly an even fact, and all witnesses could see that this was so. Through the maelstrom of the Shatrin Island, I glimpsed Captain Bay As he leapt away from a new chasm, his expression just as uncertain as my own. Then, in a single instant, everything changed.

With Lou enveloped in his abyssal arms, Connor fell forward like a breaking wave and pinned our champion to the groaning ground. Even with his strength girded by the power of Mona's gift, there was simply no way Lou could lift 20 tonnes of dead weight. He fought like a badger and kicked like a. a bull in his attempts to squirm free, but the cathonic bulk of the beast covered him completely. Worse, the impact crater left by Lou's opponent as he landed was certainly not filled with spring shoots and flowers. It oozed brackish water, black with slime and rising fast.

With the pressure of the bucking stones below pressing him into the wet folds of turgid, tumorous orca flesh above, Lou was trapped in an airless prison from which there was no escape. I swear that the unquiet earth itself abruptly stilled and froze as I did. I swear I could hear all our hearts hammering in unison. And as my pulse fired ten times, each shot louder than the last, the pub patrons groaned collectively at our terrible loss. Dust hung thick in the air. Settling fallout slow as Connor heaved himself off low.

I was shocked to register that the pub proprietor was even conscious, let alone hold. I'm not sure what terrible pulp I'd expected to see in place of my lover. I ran toward him, through the drifts of shale dust and debris, jumping riffs in ditches with an athleticism I'd never possessed before, nor ever have since. That's two trials for two. Bay grabbed forwards into the remnants of the ring, his rolling sea-savvy gate serving him well to navigate the destroyed terrain. We have a stalemate.

Lowe's eyes were open, staring up at the sky through a crusted mask of blood and dirt. He nodded even as he lay there, confirming the captain's call. I helped him carefully to his feet, then he beckoned for the others to come forward. Dano still carried the enervated mourner in his arms, some ugly withered offspring. Janet was all raw nerve and uncertainty, her grey eyes flicking between the transformed giant, Captain Bay. and the evil-faced bull-eyed first mate like she was stuck in a feedback loop. Where's your pet's world serpent?

Surely you want him in this fight? You know, bloody well Stan couldn't climb those stairs. That's why you chose this place. My festering fear was making me brave. Tis a shame of kill that creature myself. As if on cue, reports of distant cannon fire, real this time, sounded from the day. direction of the dark ship. And in response, something massive and reptilian bawled a

water spout of anger and agony as those heavy shots found their mark. Everything happened so quickly from there that it's hard to even recount the events in order. Lou threw me behind him, then charged at Captain Bay, who bellowed like a walrus and brandished his sword. The giant Connor lumbered forward, his blood-streaked poor raised fit to crush a sword. The whistling blow was stopped dead by the stick-thin arm of the skeletal hag still cradle protectively Bardano. Needle teeth sprouting from an ever-widening more, eyes grown tiny and lambent. What had once been the first mate sprangly, his grey oil-skin caught flat wildly, the flagellum tail of a predator from the deeps, jack-knife in forwards to consume its prey.

As his jaw unhinged, as I smelled fathomless darkness and rot, My throat opened like I was about to sing. The words ripped themselves forth from my very blood. Red bubbles are sound rising from the core of who I am. A thibar real! There came a wail like a plummeting missile, the pitch building in intensity until my eardrums screamed in sympathy. At first, I thought it was Janet,

and I braced for the inevitable spray of gore. But when emblazing meteor, a bronze struck the first mate through the head. Killing him outright, I recognised it. And then I knew what I had done, what I had summoned, without even knowing that I could. It was loose spear from behind the bar. The sailor lay spasming on the ground, stinking black eye-core boiling tarry in the wound. The furnace heat of the magical spear was roasting the first mate from inside out. But there were no time to think about it now.

To my left, a very different battle would be. impitched, this one intense and still. His immense poor held fast by Mona's impossibly frail fingers, Connor was fighting for the very essence of his life. I could see the power leaching out of him,

great muscles atrophying, collapsing in on themselves as Mona sucked him dry, her ancient hollow body eager for the rich soup of his soul. This was a war he couldn't win. For Mona was even hungrier than Stan, and her

read far less pose. Her eldritch appetites were as unstoppable as a gaping singularity drawing in the light and matter around it. When his grey husk finally fell to the ground, not but a sack of saggy flesh and rattling bones. Mourner licked lips that belonged to a fairy queen of another age. Her crown, the golden green halo of her hair. Her features were so alabaster perfect that it hurt to look at her. Lou and Bay wrestled for the sword, their feet carving more deep furrows into the wounded earth as they strove against each other. Dano yelled summit to Janet,

then grabbed both Moana and I by an arm apiece, dragging us behind a fallen monolith. As I turned, Lou seemed to almost twist the sword out of Bay's hand, but his foot skidded in a puddle of sea slime and he slid sideways. Sees in his advantage, the captain swung the blade in a deadly arts.

The cut was true. Lou's right hand spun away from his wrist, cleave cleanly through. In the shocked Lull that followed, Bay dropped his weapon, then grabbed his slack heavy eyelid with both hands and yanked it upwards, revealing the eye that was always hidden. Lou didn't even have time to bleed. He simply died, sublimated to nothing as though from an atomic blast. Only a whisper of vapour remained where my love had lain.

As Bay turned the dreadful nover of his gaze upon us, Danos swore and threw his silver coin into the air. Time took a slow breath as the lucky talisman hung there, shining like a moon. Two things happened then. The first being that Janet's eyes rolled back in her head, blank, milky white orbs, and she birthed an almighty scream.

The second, around Dana, Mona and I, A wall of warm green light crackled into existence, insulating us from the chaos unfolding all around. Bay stood frowning for a second, bemused at why his terror gaze hadn't atomized us. He opened his mouth to say something, but speech was transmuted into a roar of naked, unabridged pain as Janet's fully unleashed power slammed into him. Flesh bubbled and seethed as Bay's internal fortitude tried to resist the full might of Janet's celestial rage, But he were caught unaware. His small, unassuming woman had played no part in the previous kests,

and he had badly underestimated her as the least challenging of the pub's crew. In fact, she was his doom. Unprepared for the true savagery of Arjanit's omnipotent anger, his own power buckled, then broke. The unnatural substance of his body erupted into a steaming column of pure ebon liquid that came back down over the island in a hard of... burning rain. Captain Bay was no more.

Wide-eyed and shaking, Janet staggered over and clung to me as the hissing icos spattered around us, staining our clothes and raising welts on our skin. Mona joined us, gliding over like a swan in a plastic anorak. Something twisted and shining held aloft in her hand. It was the ruin, melted slurry of Dano's beloved coin. I stared at it,

and my eyes welled. I hadn't cried for Lou, but there was a good reason for that. This was something else entirely. Where's Danor? Mauna replied, pointing across the ruined moor. Gone, love. The power of Bay's eye broke his contract, and now he's free. Following the graceful line of her finger,

I looked out over the island to where a white hound stood wagging its plume tern. It quirked red ears at me, then lulled its tongue as if it were laughing at the best joke in the world and leapt away. Its body faded to nothing as it passed the edge of the island and trotted out into the mist. Before I knew whether I was smiling or weeping or both, Janet spoke, clutching at her throat. It's gone too. I can feel it. The curse is gone. The anger is gone. She laughed and hugged us both, her grey eyes shining with unfamiliar happy tears. We stood like that for a moment, watching the gulls as they left too, riding the warm-up draft left in the wake of the black rain. They called to each other, no longer maudling, sounding like a crew with jolly sailors rigging a ship fit to sail after a long winter.

The air smelled clean, like the promise of that turning season. In the distance on the sea The cannon fire from Bay's ship had died Right as the captain did Now there were a new sound from that horizon A tearing splintering sound As the huge brown coils of an immense Bleeding triumphant sea serpent

Coiled around the vessel and began crushing it to driftwood We had won When I'd finished with it I took the cauldron of resurrection Back into its hiding place And headed up the coast towards home. I knew that when I got there, Lou would be waiting for me, handsome and whole. And indeed, when I pushed wearily through the door of the pub, balloons, flowers, a cake,

and most importantly, my very alive boyfriend waited for me inside. I don't suppose all of this means you got your voice back. Shaking his blonde head, Lou signed a fluid, perfect sentence. No, but I have been practising this way. talking a whole lot. A well-banded stand grinned and raised his glass to me while Mona and Janet nodded from the seat at the window, a familiar veil

of cigarette smoke curling around them. But my eyes were drawn inevitably to the empty seat at the bar. Dano's arse polished seat, gaping like a wound in the fabric of the pub itself. Someone had poured a pint of Guinness, and it sat like an offering on the bar top. I knew that as long as

long as I worked in this pub, that glass would always be kept full. Don't be sad, girl. He's in a better place. His existence here was torture for all of his jokes. Be happy for him. For now he has what he always wanted. He's part of the wild hunt. Even so, I couldn't help shedding the tears that splashed on the cake plate Lou had handed me. Wiping them away, I looked to. down. Instead of brightly coloured icing over vanilla sponge, some of else rested on the paper plate. The ring was made of familiar silver, still slightly twisted lest we ever forget Captain Bay's power. Into it was set a brilliant emerald, the size of a pea, and the colour of a new spring. Before he could raise his hands to ask, I threw my arms around my new fiancée's neck and

answered him with kisses, then with words that didn't. need to be poetic. Yes. Yes, a thousand times, yes. As we untangled ourselves and he slipped the ring onto my waiting finger, Mona approached us. One last thing, I hear you something. She smiled, gentle, and almost unsure of herself. Call it an early wedding gift. Touching my startled head, her grace-all fingers poured something back into me. something vital, something that danced, alive and potent with the rhythm of myself and my ancestors, the very gift that have been so cruelly and so necessarily stolen from me. And in this place, in this moment, I knew exactly what to use it for.

My mouth opened, and this time it was utterly and wholly of my own free will. Oh, Dernie boy, the power. The pipes, the pipes are calling From glen to glen And down the mountainside The summer's gone And all the roses fall I must buy

But come ye white-witty, dear boy Oh, Dany boy I love you so Oh, Danny boy Oh Danny boy I love I imbued every note of that song With the old music I found inside me

And I can only hope it was as sweet as the pipes That surely called him home When the last note faded The ring was warm on my finger And everyone was silent The hush was broken by a clapping and meaty hands from the corner. Stan grinned over at us, his jowls quivering.

I love me a happy ending. He licked his lips thoughtfully. Now, who feels like a fish curry? You have been listening to, Return to a Seaside British pub by C.M. Scandrith. Produced for the No Sleep podcast by David Cummings. Starring Erica Sanderson. as the barmaid, Mona and Janet,

featuring Brian Mansey as Dano, Mick Wingerth as the poetic sailor, Andy Cresswell as Stan, David Cummings as Captain Bay, James Cleveland as the eating sailor, Armin Taylor as the Chekker's sailor, Graham Rowett as the first mate, and David Alt as the peg-legged sailor.

musical score composed by Brandon Boone sound design by Phil Mikulski Thank you for joining us at the No Sleep Podcast This concludes our 10th season Please visit the no sleeppodcast.com to learn more about the show and how you can sign up for season pass 11 when pre-orders start on May 15th On behalf of everyone at the No Sleep podcast,

we thank you for listening, and we hope you'll join us on June 3rd for the start of season 11. This audio production is copyright 2018 by Creative Reason Media, Inc., all rights reserved. The copyright for this story is held by C.M. Scandrith. No duplication or reproduction of this audio program is permitted without the written consent of Creative Reason Media, Inc.