Dead Reckoning, page 1
THE BLACK YONNIX: DEAD RECKONING
A STORY OF PILEAUS
Copyright © 2024 Scott Colby. All rights reserved.
Published by Outland Entertainment LLC
3119 Gillham Road
Kansas City, MO 64109
Publisher/Creative Director: Jeremy D. Mohler
Editor-in-Chief: Alana Joli Abbott
Senior Editor: Scott Colby
Project Director: Anton Kromoff
ISBN: 978-1-954255-86-9 (trade paperback), 978-1-954255-87-6 (ebook)
Worldwide Rights
Created in the United States of America
Developmental Editor: Alana Joli Abbott
Copy Editor: Lorraine Savage
Proofreader: Em Palladino
Cover Illustration: Chris Yarbrough
Cover Design: Jeremy D. Mohler
Interior Layout: Jeremy D. Mohler
The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious or fictitious recreations of actual historical persons. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the authors unless otherwise specified. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Printed and bound in the United States.
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OTHER BOOKS BY SCOTT COLBY
THE DEVIANT MAGIC SERIES
A Date with Death
Shotgun
Diary of a Fairy Princess
Stranger than Fiction
Vengeance Squad
THE WORLD OF PILEAUS
The Black Yonnix: A Bitter End
Pileaus: Symphony No. 1 (editor)
OTHER BOOKS IN THE WORLD OF PILEAUS
The Unmade Man by Daniel Tyler Gooden
The Black Yonnix: A Bitter End by Scott Colby
The Black Yonnix: Dead Reckoning by Scott Colby
Pileaus: Symphony No.1 Anthology Edited by Scott Colby
THE STORY SO FAR…
KENSEY VARDALLIAN’S TO DO LIST
1. Exact revenge upon his grandfather’s murderer and retrieve his ancestor’s ancient journal from the greedy Count L’Vaillee – DONE!
2. With the aid of Captain Bron Lagash and the crew of the Black Yonnix, decipher that journal’s mysteries and locate his ancestor’s legendary treasure – IN PROGRESS
3. Identify and mitigate the frightening rune carved into his chest by a shuen sorcerer named Thranax – IN PROGRESS
4. Peel potatoes, swab the decks, general shipboard drudgery – NEVERENDING
5. Impress Empress Losa and aid in her defense of the capital against a Fae incursion – TOP PRIORITY
— PARLEY —
What have I done to deserve this?
Kensey Vardallian sank down to his shoulders in the warm water, his eyes closed, and he let the sweet scent of the veen oil Losa’s attendants had added to the bath fill his nostrils. According to Grandfather, the nereveenia blossoms that produced the fragrant extract only grew in the warmer southern climes, where the plant was known as a means of removing any and all stains and colorings from lij skin. Old Thuroth had known his botany, and so it seemed the Black Queen had gone out of her way to make Vardallian’s first real bath in months a luxurious reminder of his long-lost home.
He knew she wasn’t merely grateful for his gracious storytelling. The most powerful ruler on the continent didn’t have time for such idle diversions. Her position required her to act with purpose and intent.
Which meant she wanted something from him.
The thought mingled with the veen aroma in a way that left Vardallian feeling intoxicated. Finally, he’d found a respite. No more dungeons. No more scrounging for food and water on that damnable island where he’d been left alone. Just a hot bath and a bit of peaceful privacy in the hot spring underneath the empress’s personal villa—where, Losa had claimed, “the walls lack ears.”
Life had taken him so far from Brennik’s Reach so quickly. He hugged his knees against his chest, suddenly very, very tired.
As if on cue, Losa rolled in like a thunder cloud, filling the little cavern with an ominous pressure. She’d replaced her intimidating armor with a billowing white tunic and brown breeches. “You look five years younger, Vardallian,” she said, her unpracticed smile ghastly in the flickering torchlight.
“I’m naked!” he blurted, clutching his knees tighter. He hadn’t minded being undressed by her attendant, but baring it all in front of the Black Queen felt sacrilegious, even though he’d already shown her the shuen rune on his chest.
“I don’t care,” she replied. “Continue your story. I worry we’ve not much time.”
“Before what, My Lady?”
“Before Lady Dream’s army arrives in Deos.”
— CHAPTER ONE —
Let’s see the journal,” Davanon instructed, rubbing his hands together in anticipation. The tall mah’saiid engineer had been looming over me since we’d returned to the ship, our mission accomplished. He seemed to vibrate a bit whenever he stood still, and his strange floating walk had taken on a bouncing quality. His clear excitement made me suspicious.
After all I’d gone through to recover it, I almost couldn’t bring myself to set the little leather-bound book down on the table. A voice in the back of my mind insisted that if I released my ancestor’s famous journal, I would never see it again. Although I’d come to respect and rely on Lagash and the crew of the Black Yonnix, they were still the most wanted pirates sailing the Fong Qian.
A reassuring hand gripped my shoulder. “Come now, Kensey, don’t leave us all in suspense!” Ulysses said warmly. The handsome first mate’s smile lit up the captain’s quarters. He’d ignored Lori’s insistence that he rest and tend to the wounds L’Vaillee had carved into his side. His trademark good humor peeked through the sickly pallor that told me he should’ve listened to her.
“If we were gonna take it from you, we would’ve slit your throat and left you in an alley back in Vastille,” Tehenessey Blue joked—I think—from his seat on the foot of the captain’s meticulously made bed. He sniffed Lagash’s bedding and made a face.
I decided my fox-like friend’s reassurance was good enough. Although marii—Tehenessey Blue in particular—have a reputation as tricksters, I thought I knew where I could place my trust. Lagash watched knowingly from the other side of the round table as I set the book down. Davanon lurked beside the big man like a predatory cat ready to pounce. As I’m sure Your Highness is aware, the mah’saiid love secrets—both guarding their own and acquiring others’. Tempt one with a revelation and they all but burst. Yuin, Davanon’s green eye seemed about ready to leap from his skull and run off with the journal all on its own. The other—the blue one—was much better behaved.
Thankfully, Lucifus Vardallian’s journal neither disappeared nor spontaneously combusted when it touched that wooden tabletop. I caressed its outside edge with a finger and then flipped the cover open to the first page. Normally I would have read from the middle outward—as Grandfather had taught me—but I thought some dramatic effect pertinent.
Beneath our feet, the ship shuddered.
“Does it always do that?” Nicolette asked furtively from the corner. She still looked striking in her blue ball gown, even though she’d been seasick since the moment we’d come aboard. Somehow, she’d managed to hold onto all her jewelry, despite the crew’s unmistakable interest.
“The book or the ship?” Ulysses asked.
“Judging from our friend Kensey’s slack-jawed countenance, we’d best pay more attention to the book,” Blue said.
The marii was right. That first page was not the familiar first page I’d read over and over again in the jungle back home. Most of the words had faded to a barely legible gray—at least, those that hadn’t glowed bright blue. Clearly, those were important.
I translated them from my ancestor’s coded language. “That should’ve been enough to scare you off. If it wasn’t, and this isn’t…keep reading, fool, and I’ll make you rich.”
“I like Lucifus already,” Ulysses cracked, swaying.
A shiver ran down my spine. Grandfather and I knew the legends as well as anyone, but we’d never identified which parts of the text concealed Lucifus’s secrets. To have them revealed so blatantly and so suddenly shook me to the core.
“Why is it doing that?” Captain Lagash asked.
Davanon fiddled with a complex series of revolving lenses over his left eye and tightened the leather straps that fixed the device over his skull. He leaned over the journal to get a closer look and flinched at whatever it was he saw through that initial view. The device clicked and clacked as he cycled it through various lens combinations in search of the right one. “There’s magic at play here.”
“Clearly,” Lagash rumbled, crossing his arms impatiently across his broad chest.
We held our collective breath as the mah’saiid reached down and gingerly turned the page. Nothing melted, levitated, or transformed into something dangerous. Pages two and three also featured a few glowing words.
“This spell is triggered by the sea,” I read aloud.
“As I suspected,” Davanon said quickly, trying to assert himself. Blue rolled his eyes.
I continued. “The sea will not be happy about this.”
“The sea will have to deal with it,” Ulysses said, also tr
Still watching carefully through his lenses, Davanon reached down and tentatively turned the page.
“When the sea becomes angry, the magic will fail,” I translated. “Relocate to a less temperamental area and it will return. This is for your own safety. Trust me.”
I barely got that last bit out before the glow faded away and the text returned to normal. The subsequent pages proved similarly uninteresting, as did the bits we’d already translated when Davanon wisely thought to check those. Lucifus—as I would come to learn—was a lot of things, but he was not a liar.
The Black Yonnix rocked just enough to trigger another mass exchange of furtive glances. Lagash pushed Davanon aside and closed the journal.
“All hands,” he commanded calmly. “Get us out of here.”
As Ulysses turned to implement Lagash’s wishes, a heavy knock on the door froze us all in our tracks. “Captain!” Tarik shouted from outside. The short, burly man burst through protocol and the door alike. “Sir, you’re needed on deck!”
The first mate squeezed the quartermaster’s shoulder as he brushed past onto the deck. “All hands!” Ulysses shouted, though he clutched at his wound afterward. “To your stations, my friends!”
Lagash rounded the table, moving surprisingly fast for a man his size. “What’s happening out there, Tarik?”
“Damnedest thing, sir.”
The ship rocked again, hard this time, and we all stumbled. I grabbed Nicolette’s hand to stop her from falling. Mind you, Your Highness, I was just a poor peasant boy—still am, to be fair—but I didn’t know a person’s skin could be that smooth. We traded a glance, and then I let her go.
“Damnedest thing,” Tarik repeated, still clutching the doorframe he’d used to steady himself. “Like the ocean itself is tryin’ to tip us into the drink!”
We all traded anxious looks. Lagash picked up the journal from where it had fallen to the floor, holding it shut so tightly his rock-like knuckles turned white. “Any shuen in the area?”
“None we can see, Cap’n!”
Footfalls echoed across the decks outside. Ulysses embellished a command to raise the anchor with a few obscenities I’d rather not repeat.
“Out, now, all of you,” Lagash instructed as he stormed out of his quarters. “Blue, you’re in charge of our guests. Keep them alive and out of the way.”
The marii sighed and sat back up. “Come along then, children. Mind your manners or it’s bread and water for dinner—and no dessert!”
The Black Yonnix rocked hard to port as we stepped out onto the deck. Nicolette lost her balance and crashed down onto her hip. Her face hit the wood hard. Blue zipped around me to her aid.
“These are pretty, but they’ll do you no favors on a ship,” he said as he pulled her slippers off her feet and tossed them over the side.
She spat out a gob of blood as I pulled her onto her bare feet. “Guess I’ll need a whole new wardrobe,” she muttered, shivering as she pressed herself against me. I loaned her my cloak, the navy blue one Nyomi, our contact in Vastille, had gifted to me.
At the starboard rail, a dozen men and women with harpoons and boathooks stabbed the pointy ends down toward the sea. Elenwe’s came back up with a long, golden fish.
“Got dinner tonight!” she crowed merrily.
“Not if they tip the ship!” Tarik shouted. “Stab like they’re here for yer dear ol’ grandmas, ye lazy fools!”
Splat-splat-splat-splat went the bodies of the fish as they threw their flanks against the ship’s hull. I took firm hold of a line leading up the main mast and pulled Nicolette close. Captain Lagash and Apo, each lugging a cannonball, took advantage of the sloping decks to rush starboard and drop their heavy projectiles over the side.
Beside Nicolette and me, Blue clung to the mast with his sharp claws. “I dislike your ancestor already,” he snapped.
“We’re sure it isn’t the shuen?” Nicolette asked.
“If it was the shuen, they’d make sure we knew it,” the marii replied.
I thought of the blocky rune Thranax had drawn on my chest. The shuen could be damn mysterious when they wanted to be, and it was easier to believe they were behind this assault on the ship than that the presence of my ancestor’s journal had angered a large swath of the ocean.
Your Highness, I must say: there are days I miss my former naivety. Yes, I suppose life has taken a turn toward the complicated for all of us.
The ship shuddered. I glanced around the mast at Ulysses in the pilot box. The first mate leaned heavily against the wheel, his eyes bright and his smile sharp, despite his clear discomfort.
“Shouldn’t someone help him?” Nicolette asked, tracing my attention and clearly sharing my concern. Steering the ship was an important responsibility even on days the entire sea wasn’t trying to destroy us.
“We all have our assigned tasks,” Blue replied, shaking his head as he assessed the two confused land dwellers that represented his. “For better or for worse.”
The ship’s sideways momentum halted, and then it began to sway back in the other direction. Our friends at the rail clung onto the ship or each other. Blue cursed, but not as vehemently as Nicolette, who made it very clear that she despised the ocean and everything in it, specifically the Black Yonnix and—for reasons that remain mysterious—hermit crabs.
“Hold fast, men!” Lagash bellowed. He gripped the rail with one hand and Elenwe’s waist with the other. The Mana’Olai’s manic smile told me she was having the time of her life.
“Great advice, Captain,” Blue snarled under his breath.
The ship shook mechanically as the pontoons folded outward on either side. I glanced back and found Ulysses crumpled against the control lever, panting for breath. Something deep within the Black Yonnix rumbled once, twice…and then roared.
We accelerated forward, faster than any sailing vessel had a right to travel, leaving a shower of salty spray in our wake. I braced my feet against the deck and gripped both the line and Nicolette as tightly as I could. She returned the gesture. The crew cheered; once again, the ship’s mysterious engine had saved the day.
But the sideways momentum rocking the Black Yonnix hadn’t ceased. The port pontoon crashed down heavily into the ocean.
And the ocean—by virtue of its own dense existence and not through any malice toward Lucifus Vardallian’s journal—snagged the pontoon like a hand snatching a thrown spear.
The Black Yonnix spun.
Wood shrieked.
Somewhere above us, the knot holding the line I clung to let go.
The line, now emboldened with a length of slack, whipped Nicolette and me away from the main mast and out over the sea. One of us screamed, though I know not which of us to blame, and I know myself well enough not to presume.
Nicolette’s nails dug into my shoulders as the fibrous rope tried to burn a hole through my hand. Reflex shouted at me to ease the pain and release both, but something far more powerful demanded I hold tight. I bit down hard, taking it out on my tongue as I focused on maintaining my grip.
The wind rushed past my ears as we whirled out through the void, dancing our way through the air like demented lovers enraptured in song and each other. The slack line dropped us toward the sea, went suddenly taut, and then jerked us back toward the side of the ship. This was reassuring until I remembered that the Black Yonnix possessed a sturdy hull.
We spun. Every other heartbeat, I saw the distant horizon beyond an endless expanse of ocean. Every heartbeat in between, I saw the heavy wooden planks that were the exterior of the captain’s quarters, waiting patiently to clobber us.
Nicolette lost her grip on my shoulders and slipped, but she grabbed hold of my bicep with both hands. Fire raced up my arm as I desperately pulled her into my chest; I wrapped my fingers into the shoulder of her gown, but I knew that flimsy thing wouldn’t be up to the task if her momentum pulled at it. My navy cloak hung precariously from her elbows, fluttering in the wind as if trying to drag her away.
I didn’t want her to hit the ship first, so I leaned into the spin and turned us faster. I’d judged the distance and the rotation properly, and I struck the ship’s hull flat on my back.
Your Highness, that hurt. Sometimes I can still feel the ringing in my skull.
