The Doomed Amulet of Erum Vahl
By Ed Grabianowski
Captain Jagga crouched by the quarterdeck rail. Beside her, the steady rattle of lead shot striking the side of the ship rang in her ears. “Hard to port. Put on speed, Tripton!”
The sailing master, his demeanor that of an aggravated professor, was scrambling on all fours above a hatch on the gun deck. “Hard to port,” he yelled down into the opening, then turned back to Jagga. “We can’t do both at the same time, you know.”
Below, the helmsman heard Tripton’s call and pushed hard on the whipstaff, cranking the rudder far beneath him and shunting the ship to port. The Hammer of Triel groaned and came about.
The chatter of gunfire and other projectiles against the hull let up for a moment, and Jagga dared a look over the rail. To starboard was the lush jungle shore of Brathi; just aft were the low-slung, golden gunboats of the Redhands, mercenaries hired to protect the coastal trade routes. The same trade Jagga intended to take a piece of for herself. She flashed a manic smile at Tripton. “Do what you can, sir.”
Tripton looked up toward the fore of the ship, one last futile spray of lead peppering the rail to his right. The carefully sculpted goatee and wire spectacles riding low on his nose gave him a delicate look, but his skin was weathered and brown, and his gentle, precise voice changed to a sailor’s rough bark when he relayed orders for the captain. “Oi lads, straighten out and away from the shore, full sail. Got to get off these breakers.” The crew, no longer ducking rifle fire, moved about the rigging and set The Hammer of Triel on her new course.
Jagga watched the gunboats give up the chase and fade into the distance. She’d lost this engagement by coming in too far from shore, her four-mast barque easy to spot against the horizon. The Redhands had been ready for her, and Jagga wasn’t overly fond of a fair fight. “Tripton,” she called mildly. “A word please.”
He joined her on the quarterdeck and they watched the coast recede behind and to starboard, the sleek ship gaining speed as it got farther from shore, slicing along the ocean swells rather than crashing through breaking waves. They were headed south, the wind at their back, the sky clear and blue, though the air was thick with humidity. Jagga eyed Tripton’s heavy leather coat. “How you can bear the heat in that thing? I don’t think I’ve ever seen you take it off.”
He turned slightly and brushed away some lead shot that was embedded in the folds and creases of the coat, not quite resisting the urge to grin. Jagga laughed.
“My aim is to go another day south and try our luck again,” she said. “I consider this a trial run. Now we know the merchants hire mercenaries, and they have guns. Not very good guns, but those Redhand gunboats are too small and fast for us to hit with our cannons.”
Tripton shrugged. “I don’t see as we have much choice. We can’t very well return north. Not without an impressively large amount of gold to bribe our way past your many admirers.”
Jagga knew her reputation. They called her Jagga the Ripper, or Jagga the Bitter, or Jagga the Thorn of Gael. In the darker corners of Ulsh and Covengate they had much fouler names for her, filthy epithets that made her smile when she heard them. She’d spent the last year flying the jade flag of the Azeth Rebellion on The Hammer of Triel’s mast, patrolling the coast of Ulsh for any shipping between Ulshan loyalists and the exiled royal family. The Azethans paid her well, but when the King of Ulsh came roaring into Jaidh Bay with a full war fleet, she slipped away and headed south. She’d backed a rebellion, the rebellion had been crushed, and now it was Jagga who was in exile. The Ulshans knew The Hammer of Triel well, its low hull painted gloss black, Jagga at the helm, unmistakable, pale and tall, black hair chopped at ear length like an afterthought, tattoos winding along her arms and up her neck. Going back meant braving either the Ulshan navy or the knife-sharp ice floes of the far Upper Sea.
“The wind blows south. We go south,” she said. “And hope it’s a wind of good fortune.”
Tripton snorted.
They sailed the rest of that day, keeping the coast just in sight. Once the sun set, they anchored, unwilling to sail blindly into unknown waters. The northern kingdoms, consumed by centuries of savage war, had little contact with Brathi. Only in recent years had traders and explorers crossing the Ulash Mountains returned laden with silver and jade, and tales of a rich confederation of city-states united by a tightly controlled merchant’s alliance. Jagga, so inspired, had decided to try her luck, guessing shipments along the coast would be ripe for plundering.
Come morning, massive pillars of dark cloud thrust high into the western sky, far inland. Jagga stood at the forecastle with Myelle, her quartermaster, beside her. Myelle was startlingly thin, with a braided beard hanging to his waist. He eyed the distant storms. “If those clouds aren’t wrung out by the time they reach the coast they could be a problem.”
Jagga nodded. “Think how fast we’ll move under sail in a hurricane.” She gave Myelle a jovial elbow, but he was unamused.
The crew of thirty-five was generally in agreement with Jagga’s plan to look for Brathi merchants a little less prepared than the ones they’d faced the day before. Decisions on the Hammer were made on a semi-democratic basis, mainly because the majority opinion could hold sway by force, though it was expected that Jagga would encourage consensus at knifepoint from time to time. But just before midday, the coast changed, and so did the plan. The jungle gave way suddenly to a rough brown desert just a few miles wide, so sparse they could see where the foliage continued again farther along the coast. It was as if something had taken a massive bite out of the jungle, leaving a three-mile semi-circle of bare sand.
In the center of this desolate spot, just a few hundred yards from shore, stood a black temple, a pyramid with four tall monoliths, one at each corner. It gleamed in the sun as if it was carved from solid obsidian. Tripton and Jagga stood at the quarterdeck rail squinting at the strange edifice. Tripton withdrew a small spyglass from his coat and took a closer look. “Well, shit,” he said.
Jagga took the spyglass, and after a moment scanning the weathered yellow shoreline she saw what Tripton had seen. There was a woman fleeing the black temple. She’d seen their sails and was waving her arms frantically at them. Jagga lowered the spyglass and looked at Tripton. “Well, shit.”
Jagga gathered the crew to convince them it would be worthwhile to have a look at the temple, that it was bound to house valuable relics or hidden chambers of gold. But they’d been with Jagga too long, and knew better. A crewman named Plagg spoke up first. “Yer jus’ soft-hearted, Jagga, and always will be.”
“Jagga the Kind,” someone called out in a high-pitched, singsong voice.
“It’s a woman in distress, then?” shouted someone else. “Jagga just wants someone soft for her bed!”
The crew roared, Jagga along with them. “Jagga the Seducer,” she cried. “Oh, I see I’ve no secrets from you lot. But mates, you can’t see much at this distance. She might have a face like a walrus and naught but three teeth.”
As the crew laughed, Jagga heard Tripton murmur, “Jagga the Not Terribly Picky When It’s Been Rather a Long Time.”
Jagga’s only reaction was to show the crew that half-crazed grin. “Bring her in close and we’ll take the ship’s boat to shore. Maybe bring back a prize or two.”
The woman waded out to greet them. She was young, maybe twenty, with a tangle of dark hair and a semi-feral gleam in her eyes. She wore only a simple cotton shift, which covered her from neck to feet but was rendered nearly transparent by the spray of the ocean waves. Jagga caught herself staring.
“Neri,” the young woman said, pointing to the center of her chest.
Myelle stepped forward. “Greetings, Neri. I am Myelle and this is Captain Jagga. Are you in danger?” He spoke in Brathi—not perfectly, but he alone among the crew had traveled far enough south to learn a little of that sweetly flowing language.
Neri’s face lit up and she replied in rapid Brathi, pointing frantically back toward the temple.
“Slow down, Neri. Slow,” Myelle said.
She took a deep breath. “Eiyeria o considorae delomelai. An hah haani ery. Soenisohn sepidesonn eiyerio,” Myelle translated. “It is a haunted place. Something hunts me. I am alone and must escape this place.”
Jagga nodded. “We’ll have a look.” She waved the crew forward with her, striding across the sand toward the temple.
“No!” Neri cried. She reached for Jagga and clutched at her arm, pulling her back toward the sea. “No, please.” She said these words in Covantish, the North’s most common tongue.
Jagga gave Myelle a wink, then reached up to place a hand on Neri’s cheek. “It’s ok, girl. We’re warriors. Whatever hunts you, we’ll destroy.”
Neri sobbed, “No,” and pressed her face to Jagga’s shoulder.
The crew turned in unison to stare up at the massive temple. It seemed to cast a shadow on them, though the sun was nearly straight overhead. The oily iridescence of the walls towering over them felt deeply unnatural. The side of the temple facing them appeared to have no door, although the seams of massive bricks could be seen at this distance. Its strange, baleful presence felt like cold hands tugging at their spines.
“Eh, I’m no ancientologist, captain,” Plagg said. “I’m good at aiming cannons and climbing rigging and naught else. Something’s wrong with that place, there is, and I don’t think I’d like to go inside it.”
The rest of the crew muttered agreement.
Jagga held her gaze on the temple, one arm carelessly looped around the small of Neri’s back. The salt air of the sea and the warmth of the girl in her arms swayed her. “Hurry back to the ship, then. If we’re going to make a habit of running away, we might as well be quick about it.”
As the ship’s boat made its way through the waves back to The Hammer of Triel, no one looked back. No one wanted to feel the presence of the obsidian crypt again. No one saw the sand at the shore stir and shimmer. And if they had, they still might not have seen the cold yellow eyes glaring out of the impossible shadows at them.
The hatch leading down to the hold was already open when they climbed back aboard the ship. One of the crew pointed at Neri and offered a crooked, malevolent grin. “Down you go with the rest of the cargo.”
Jagga came over the rail. “No.” She didn’t yell; in fact, she spoke rather gently, but there was no mistaking the command in her voice. It was rare for the crew to hear that tone—Jagga knew she couldn’t lead a crew of misfits and outlaws with too tight a fist, but her sharp wits and tightly muscled arms had earned her enough respect to demand authority when needed. The barbed blades she wore on each hip functioned as her badges of office. “Myelle, bring fresh water up, and some food. I fear she hasn’t eaten in days.”
“Very well.”
While Myelle went into the hold, Jagga led Neri to the quarterdeck and through the small door into her captain’s quarters. Digging through a half-empty chest, Jagga emerged with some clothes that were, if not clean, at least dry and better suited for life on a ship. “Here, these are for you. I’ll wait outside while you...”
Before Jagga could finish, Neri had dropped her cotton shift around her ankles, and Jagga discovered that Neri was wearing one other thing: an amulet, wrought of flat black iron in the shape of an elaborate and unfamiliar symbol, hung from a twisted length of rope around her neck. It fell just between Neri’s bare breasts, a harsh contrast with the lush umber of her skin. The amulet wasn’t the first thing Jagga looked at, but when she did, she felt a cold, uneasy tension in her gut, a strange echo of the feeling she had standing near the black temple. She lifted her gaze to Neri’s eyes and saw gratitude there, and an invitation. Jagga swallowed, her throat suddenly dry. “Your...your food will be waiting on deck.” And she left Neri alone.
The Hammer of Triel was quickly underway again. Jagga, Neri, and Myelle spent much of the afternoon on the forecastle, learning each other’s languages. Neri knew more Covantish than expected, so they were soon deep in conversation without Myelle’s translations. He left to grimace and glare at the rest of the crew, one of his favorite ways to pass the time at sea.
“My town was attacked, my family killed,” Neri said. “I fled into the jungle and stumbled upon the temple. I was desperate for shelter, but I fear my presence there awakened something.”
“Who attacked your town?”
Neri paused, narrowing her eyes against the low afternoon sun. “The town lies near the coast. Raiders from the interior come to disrupt the silver trade.”
Jagga felt an unfamiliar pang of guilt. “Ah. And something came after you at the temple?”
“A phantom. It came out of the shadows.”
“Well. You’re a long way from there now. You may be stuck with us for a while, though. We’re not often welcome at coastal towns.”
Neri smiled. “I understand. I don’t know where to go. For now, I just want to keep moving.”
They stayed in each other’s company quietly for a time, listening to the thud of waves slapping the hull, the sails snapping in the wind. Sea birds turned and dove into the sparkling water. Neri finally broke the silence. “Thank you.”
“It’s a bad habit of mine, rescuing people,” Jagga said.
“No, a good habit. You are kind.” Neri leaned her head to Jagga’s shoulder, and the only thing that tarnished Jagga’s joy at this was the fact that most of the crew was likely watching. She’d never hear the end of it. She took a short step away.
“There is a reasonably comfortable sack of grain in a storeroom beside the galley. You can sleep there if you like, or on deck if the weather holds.”
Neri nodded, giving Jagga an odd half smile. The lowering sun set her eyes aglow, and Jagga caught herself staring again. When the sun dropped below the horizon, Neri simply turned and headed toward Jagga’s quarters. Jagga followed and found her waiting there. She locked the door and pushed Neri onto the bed, kissing her with a hunger and need that was both welcomed and returned.
Entwined, they slept little, Neri’s body flowing like a river goddess, Jagga’s muscles tensing and releasing. But Neri would not remove the amulet, and even at the height of passion, Jagga found it disquieting.
Later, unable to sleep, Jagga dressed and slipped out of bed to walk the deck. A lantern, turned low, hung aft, though the silver moon did more to banish the darkness. She stood still, looking over the ship, letting her eyes adjust. A sound came from the bow, clear and cold in the silence of the night watch. It was both familiar and wrong, like a long blade drawn across a leather strap, oily and slithering in a way that made Jagga grind her teeth unconsciously. Then there was a wet tearing noise and the low sound of a man moaning.
Jagga fell into a fighting stance, but she’d left her blades in her quarters. Empty-handed, she ran across the deck and found Plagg lying in a pool of his own blood, his throat torn open. Before she could cry out an alarm, a man-shaped figure emerged from the shadows by the bow rail, thin and wiry, cast in jet and shrouded in churning shreds of smoke, backlit by the moon. From its face shone malevolent yellow eyes, and when its mouth fell gaping open, there was nothing inside but a vast and starless void.
“Murder!” Jagga shouted. “We’re boarded!”
The night watch, up in the rigging, had not even been aware that anything was aboard. Jagga’s call was echoed across the ship, but before anyone could reach her, the creature lunged. Black claws like needles slashed, Jagga leaning back just enough to avoid getting her throat sliced open. She was filled with a malignant feeling, but far stronger now, stronger even than what she’d felt on the beach.
Behind her, Jagga heard a voice cry, “No!” The creature looked past her, then darted across the deck. Jagga turned to see it striding straight at Neri, who’d emerged from the sterncastle clutching a sheet around her body. The crew was rushing onto the deck, armed and confused. The cloud of shadow and smoke that shrouded the thing made it hard for anyone to take aim. Jagga alone gave chase.
Neri stumbled backward, the sheet falling away. The creature pounced, and as Jagga ran, she could see the ochre glow of its eyes bathing Neri’s terrified face.
But it didn’t attack. As Jagga sprinted, she saw that it held the amulet in its vicious claws, gazing at it with eyes wide, slitted pupils flaring with lust. Neri arched her body away, the rope on the amulet taut around her neck.
“It must not have it,” Neri said, gasping.
Jagga tucked her shoulder down and slammed into the creature at a full run, knocking it off of Neri as she tumbled after it. Its body was disconcertingly soft and when she touched it, Jagga was wracked with nausea, her throat clenching against the sudden urge to vomit.
She staggered to her feet. It hissed at her, flexing its claws. There was the crack of a pistol, and the creature gave a short shriek as it dissolved into a small mote of shadow that vanished into the night air.
“Cold iron shot,” Tripton said. Smoke rose from the barrel of his gun.
Jagga watched Neri retrieve her sheet. She reached down to touch the amulet, but Neri turned away. “Explain this to me.”
Neri’s eyes dropped. She huddled under the sheet. “I found it in the temple.”
“But you know something about it. You knew that that thing shouldn’t get its claws on it. Why?”
“The amulet is the Black Key. That was a...a god, I think. Its name is Erum Vahl. If it holds the Key, the world unravels. It’s hard for me to say. I saw a vision when I first held the Key. That is how I know.”
“And it’s been chasing you ever since?”
Neri’s eyes were dark pools, tears cascading from them to splash her cheeks. “Yes. It came to my town. It kills and kills. I fled to save the others there, to save anyone else I know from this fate. But each time I escape, each time anyone injures it, it returns.”
As Jagga stood thinking, from the forecastle came a despairing cry. “Oi, it’s done for poor Plagg, what a bloody crime this is.” As the crew gathered up Plagg’s remains, Jagga felt their fear turning to anger.
“I’m bound to protect you, Neri. I have that much honor, at least. Give me the amulet.”
Neri wiped her face, her expression growing stern. “Never. It is my burden. I would flee my entire life to save anyone else from this endless tragedy.”
“Ah,” Jagga said softly. She sank to one knee, her face close to Neri’s. “But I don’t think you’re the wandering kind, sweet one.” She kissed Neri’s face, salty from the sea and tears. They returned to the captain’s quarters. Myelle gave quiet orders to the crew, who obeyed him in sullen silence.
The creature came again the next night, but they were ready, lanterns on every mast to dispel its foul shadows, each crew member armed with cold iron shot. When it returned two nights later, Jagga took a wound in her shoulder, her skin shredded by its vile claws. She spent the following day clammy and heaving, wracked by a ceaseless ache that left her arm nearly useless.
On the fourth night the shadow god manifested in the bilge and crept through the bowels of the ship, murdering seven of the crew before Myelle drove it off with an iron sword. The crew seethed with anger and Jagga knew it. Still she spent hours with Neri, talking and caressing. She didn’t have the words in any language to describe her feelings. But she knew something had to change.
“Why not throw it into the deeps and be done with the damned amulet?” asked Old Jonn, the ship’s cook. His tone suggested he wouldn’t bother removing the amulet from Neri before casting it overboard.
“It would find it,” Neri said. “It will find it anywhere. And then all this,” she waved her hand as if to encompass the entire world, “Will become ash.”
“Tripton, bring her about and tack into the wind. Head back north,” Jagga said.
He tilted his head in confusion.
“We’re taking Neri home.”
The crew muttered, but Neri only sighed. Later, Jagga found her weeping in their quarters.
“Please don’t,” she whispered. “Please do not send everyone I know and love in this world to their deaths.”
“I’m not.” Jagga coiled her body around Neri, running her rough hands over Neri’s skin. As Neri relaxed into Jagga’s arms, Jagga deftly gripped the amulet and snapped the rope that held it. “Just me.”
It took a week running against the wind to get back to the black temple, battling the creature each night. Wearing the amulet now, Jagga caught a glimpse of the visions Neri spoke of: a sky blackened by ash, the ocean boiling, and the name etched in her mind—Erum Vahl. They traveled another day past the temple to get closer to Neri’s town, though as they passed the glittering black pyramid, she felt it pulling at her like the tongue of a great beast drawing her into its mouth. That final night, with the ship at anchor and the shadow god temporarily banished after a hard battle, Jagga sent the crew below. She and Neri slept at the bow, lying naked in each other’s arms under the slowly turning stars and the soft touch of the sea breeze. Jagga found herself kissing tears from Neri’s face again, mingled with her own this time.
In the morning, Jagga rowed Neri to shore alone, and they embraced on the beach.
“Be safe, sweet one. Return to your home and live and love for all your days.”
Neri kissed Jagga hard, then turned and ran into the trees.
When Jagga returned to The Hammer of Triel, her face was grim. “I am Jagga the Accursed, now. Jagga the Hunted. Jagga, of Neri’s Heart.” Her voice grew coarse with emotion. “We head back north, then west past Ulsh. From there, I don’t know. I’ll keep moving as I always have, and battle Erum Vahl every night. You can stay with me or not, but you’ve all tasted the shadow god’s breath. You know what it means to carry this.”
She held the Black Key up, the iron oily and hot in her fingers.
“You can try to take my ship from me if you choose.” The blades at her hips glimmered darkly in the low morning sun. “But I’ve fought worse.”
Jagga’s gaze fell on the empty beach, and she felt an ache she couldn’t name.
“When night falls, I’ll be waiting.”