Heresy: The Book of Mammon

Chapter 9

Chapter 9



The smooth wood of the wheel was cold beneath his bare hands. Captain Abbadin stood against the might of the northern winds in silent observation. Below, the shadows of Ecclesia darkened the pale moonlit fields that swayed like waves upon the ocean.

Long range scouts were a dangerous assignment, but he could not help but admire the beauty of the world from above. The deck of the great dirigible was silent during the night, and offered little melody above the hum of the howling wind. His men stood at their posts, quiet and alert. The occasional whisper floated across the breeze, but they were low. None could hear their voice. His first officer, Namir stood beside him with his hands locked behind him. He stared out at the nothing before them with a scowl on his weathered face.

The biting chill of winter’s last grasp still clung to the northern lands. It ripped and clawed at him like an angered beast. His heavy blue waistcoat held its ground against the wind, but it did not offer him the warmth he was used to. It was a cold that he was unfamiliar with, one that he had not experienced since his last venture to the Ecclesian sovereignty. It was that time that he finally met the one of the prophecy, Valimaar.

Though he found comfort in the fact that they found him, it was hard to imagine that any man could conquer a Daemon, especially the first born son. Ithaca was a powerful entity, one that was known as the most powerful of Azaal’s Daemons. The scriptures referenced his strength many times, though it was hard to place faith in books written a millennium ago, prophecy was an incredible creation. This one however, was a particularly important one, for it was written by the hands of Peregrine himself, the first Daemonologist.

Prophecy had a way of seeing to its own outcomes,whether it was predicted or not. He knew that the chances of seeing it through, was scarce. He would however, do everything in his power to stop the coming of the darkness. If it meant supporting a Daemon, he would do it without question.

He breathed in the frigid air and stared out at the black expanse of the night sky. So quiet – peaceful. The evils of the world had no reach in the skies, for they were his domain. Here, he was the ruler. Here, he was the creator.

He scanned the black deck of his ship as its wood creaked at the onslaught of the torrent. Its bow stabbed at the great white moon that hung in the sky. Its silhouette jutted in its pale glow. He watched as the dark cloud slithered across its brilliance like a viper. Stars stretched from the zenith of the sky to the distant horizon below. It seemed as though they continued into the earth itself. Their shimmer looked as though they were diamonds shining in the firelight.

The northern mountains thrust through the earth as the ship continued its course. He looked below as the stars continued in their trek across the night sky, down beyond the horizon. It was an odd sight. He was unfamiliar with the constellations he was seeing. Perhaps the northern skies wore different masks.

Muffled shouts and calls sliced through the howl of the wind. The voice of the darkness was often a mesmerizing symphony. It often played tricks on an Avian’s ears, but this was different. It seemed too real. He blinked his eyes through the haze of night and focused on the distant stars that sunk below the horizon.

He smelled the burning of wood, and the cooking of meats. He gripped the cold, brass telescope in his hands and peaked through its glass. In the distance, he saw burning flames. Hundreds – thousands of burning flames. The shadows of men scattered about the lands and stretched from one end of the horizon to the other. It was an army like none he’d ever seen. One that hosted more men than he could count.

He spun on his heels and doused the lantern that burned brightly behind the helm. First Officer Namir leaned in close to him awaiting orders.

“Have the hands douse the lights. There’s be Ecclesian army on the horizon.”

Namir nodded and rushed off down the deck of the ship. He stopped at each station and continued on after he whispered orders to the men. Like trees falling in the forest, lights went out, and the black of the night swallowed the deck of the ship.

Below, the fires stood like beacons upon a black sea. Yellow halos enshrouded their lights and pulsated in the darkness. He could hear the gruff voices of men below, shouting and calling to one another in drunken cries. Tunes of singsong carried on the cold wind and fell upon his ears. It was a dull roar that sounded like the entire world’s people crying out in a single voice, but it was muffled like being sang through a wall of feathers. There had to be millions of them. Where could they muster such a force? It was unreal.

Thunder rolled across the great dark expanse of the sky. It was odd hearing it. Looking up at the clear, starry night, he puzzled the idea that there were no storm clouds on the horizon. The wind was gentle enough, and even the air smelled crisp. In his experience, Abbadin knew that there would be no rain this night.

He looked out over the bow of his great ship and stared into the black. Thunder continued to boom. Flashes of light illuminated the dark landscape below. They flickered like a candle that was holding strong against the raging winds. More thunder. He stared through his telescope and saw another dirigible far to the north. It was being fired upon.

He listened for the thunder that followed the flashes. Several seconds moved by before he heard it. It was miles away. He watched harder, and saw the flashed come from another ship. Was it possible? Ecclesia had its own Avian army?

"First Officer Namir!"

The grizzled man rushed to his side. He offered the telescope to his mate and the man stared to the north. The thunder rolled across the sky as he stared on. He lowered the telescope and turned to the captain.

"They have dirigibles?" There was a shock in his voice that was a rare tone for any Avian officer.

"It would appear so. Have one of the officers of the watch bring me a messenger. The first officer nodded and rushed away.

Captain Abbadin spun the wood wheel of the great ship, and the wood of the dirigible creaked as it turned to the east. This night would be a long and dangerous one. He knew there was little he could do for the wayward ship to the north, but perhaps he could see if his assumptions were correct.

It was dangerous to fly over the Army below, he knew that, but he had no choice. His mission was to gather intelligence, and this could be a vital peice of information for Lokken.

"Ready the Cannons!" His voice boomed across the deck of his ship, and men scattered and darted about. Some climbed the many rope that led to the top of the masts, others ran down old creaky wood stairs. Below, the thuds of the wood doors against the hull of his ship knocked like some beast upon an old door. He heard the steel wheels creak into place as his men pushed the guns to their positions.

It was a risky maneuver, and one that he was not familiar with. The dirigibles had never before had an enemy of the skies, and such a battle was unknown to him. They had never planned for such a thing to happen, but he knew it was inevitable. The world always changed, either it moved forward or backward, but either direction was a change. It appeared that Ecclesia had advanced much since his last visit, and he would not allow them to simply claim his world for their own. These were his skies, and he would defend them to the last man.

Men rushed about across the decks, and continued to pour from the bowels of the ship. He could hear the clanging of steel and iron, and he knew that they were readying their rifles and pistols.

The wind blew across his face like a starving animal that clawed and raked at his flesh. It was still only early in the spring, but the cold lingered on as it would for several months. Damn the wind. It always worked against him. It blew hard against his course and slowed the advance of the mighty ship. Abbadin pulled a lever to his left, and the hissing of steam whistled in his ears.

Silence was his ally on long range scouts, but he knew he could not afford to let this slip his grasp. Pistons fired, and the creaking and rumbling of metal clockworks turned in his ears. The ship began to gain speed against the headwind.

His first mate returned with a magnificent falcon. It roosted on the thick leather glove of the man, and looked this way and that. The hood held back its vision, but Abbadin removed it. Its call peirced his ears, as the eyes of the bird met his. Abbadin scribbled on a small parchment, and tied it to the birds talons. He nodded to the man, and he released the bird.

"We will need all the help we can get here."

The first officer nodded.

"What are your orders Captain?"

"We're heading over the army to the east, we will sail around that ship, and hopefully come about at its stern. I want a full broadside ready."

The first officer looked off in the distance and turned again to his eyes. "Captain, that would risk giving us away."

"I'm aware of this."

"Shouldn't we observe a bit more before going straight into the maelstrom?"

Abbadin shook his head. "These are our skies Namir. I will not allow those Ecclesian bastards to take them from us. That ship will burn before I see it sail across this horizon again."

The First Officer nodded. "Should I have the men ready the grappling hooks?"

"That will do First Officer."

He turned to the crew that hustled across the deck. "Ready the hooks! We have a ship to take!"

Captain Abbadin spun the wheel once more, and the ship turned to the north. The army was directly below them. He hoped that the ruckus created by the drunken mobs would muffle out the rumbling of his engines. Steam was a remarkable thing, but it offered little in the ways of stealth. He was sailing directly into hell itself.

"Ready the bombs."

First Officer Namir nodded and rushed off. If they were to spot him, he would not allow his ship to be destroyed without killing as many as he possibly could.

Below, the sing song of drunken men echoed above and the hoarse voices of men shouted across the distance that seperated them. Though he was not high in the sky, he could not make out the words. That was a reassurance. Surely, he was out of range of rifle shot, he hoped.

If they had discovered flight, surely they had discovered countermeasures of arial attack. It was a thought that dug deep into his bones. Dread filled him as his ship glided across the night sky. The men of the ship fell silent as they listened to the wayward melodies that floated on the cold wind of the night.

Danger lurked just below them, and any sound could give them away. The hiss of steam and the rumbling of metal gears and cogs clanged and whistled in his ears. He only hoped that in their drunken stupor, it would go unnoticed.

Cracks and bangs broke through the silence of the ship and he heard the whistling of something shoot past him.

"Take the helm!" He pointed at a surprised deck hand, and the man rushed to the wheel.

Captain Abbadin ran to the side of his ship and looked down. Fire burned and was quenched in an instant. He saw muzzle flash, and the smoke of black powder billow from the darkness below. They had been discovered.

"Drop the bombs!"

The crew of the ship rushed about, and below he heard the snapping of levers and steel. Seconds of silence followed before the thunder of explosion filled his ears. He saw a great flash illuminate the black below, and the ruckus grew to a roar. The heat of flames warmed his flesh, and more thunder came. The bombs were falling.

He looked down to see massive fires spewing liquid inferno over their enemy. He knew that he they had no chance in killing them all, but if they were to be shot down, they would take many with them. Gun smoke filled his lungs as lead flew past. The cracks of cannons burst through the roaring of panic and he heard cannonballs whistle past.

Wood splinters flew in every angle of the sky as the haul broke apart down the length of the ship. He knew that she would hold for some time, but not forever. He returned to the helm, and spun the wheel again to the east.

The ship sailed through a hail of cannon and gunfire. Each crack of the wood sent chills down his spine. The hull was strong, but it would not hold against an army’s onslaught. “Open the steam valves full! Raise her to the clouds!”

Men spun iron wheels, and steam hissed through the iron pipes that spanned the starboard and port rails of the ship. Pipes banged from the hot vapors slamming into condensate. He prayed that they would hold. Heat wafted from the surface of the metal and the ship ascended into the night sky. Its climb was slow, but there was little else he could do. He had to raise it out of their range, and maneuvers were far too slow against bullets.

“Let fly the mainmast!” He waved his hands at his sailing master who shouted orders to the deckhands. The man nodded, and barked at the crew. Men cranked iron wheels, and gears creaked on rusty iron spindles.

Ropes slid through iron rings on either side of the ship, and wood masts unfolded from the hull. The clang of metal rang in his ears as the masts locked into place. More gears turned, and canvas unrolled and snapped at the wind.

The ship sped through the rain of lead, and he heard cloth tear as bullets shot through it.

“Full port broadside!”

Midshipmen shouted orders down the expanse of the deck, and cannons returned fire upon the army below. The booms of their impact rumbled through the skies like thunder, and the enemy fire slowed. The cannons had hit their marks.

The ship continued to ascend into the heavens, and the whistling of bullets grew ever more scarce. It was not long before the last shot whistled by. Finally, they were safe in the heavens, but he knew the firing had alerted the dirigible he’d first seen on the horizon.

His first officer limped across the tattered deck to his side. His pants were soaked in blood down to his ankles. Other men lay dead, or wounded, but they were safe for a few moments.

“Half steam!”

The wheels turned again, and the hissing of steam lowered its pitch to a quiet whisper. The ascent slowed, and the ship leveled. The hull creaked and protested against the stress of the high winds. The mainmast bent like a crossbow as the sails whipped in the torrent.

“Captain, the ship be buckling.” Namir hung over the rail as he inspected the damage.

“She’ll hold.” He hoped.

He turned the wheel westward, and the ship drifted portside.

“Take the helm. Steady as she goes.”

Namir nodded and stepped to the wheel.

Abbadin walked down the deck. The strong winds pushed at his back, forcing him to trip over his stride. He stepped to the bow and raised the telescope to his eye. There was nothing but darkness. He scanned the stretching horizon. She was out there, but hidden.

He wondered what it was firing upon. There were two ships out there possibly. One was certainly not his ally, but he could only guess where the other had come from. He assumed his was the only Lokken frigate sailing the skies of the north, but Avian communication was often times slow and inefficient. The entire navy could very well be here, but it was nothing more than a distant chance.

He continued viewing the heavens before him, but he saw nothing. They were out there… somewhere.
The skies burst into flashes of light, and thunder rolled through the clouds above.

“All hands down!”

Men fell to the deck and eyes darted about in panic. More of the hull burst into wood splinters and rained against his skin. They were sailing into a full broadside. Cannonballs crashed into the shell of the ship and slammed into its lower decks. Below, he heard the cries of men who shouted in panic. He smelled smoke. The lower decks were on fire.

“Drain the condensate! Now!”

Iron pipes banged as residual water sprayed out. The hiss of sizzling water relieved his worries. Perhaps they still had a chance.
“Port round her!”

He stared down the deck, and watched Namir spinning the wheel of the ship. It turned westward and he jumped to his feet. He stared through the telescope to the darkness at his starboard side. A shadow broke the twinkling light of the stars. He found her.

“Full port broadside on my order!”

He waited. The shadow continued to drift to the aft of his ship. It was almost there.

Upon it centering on the starboard side he cupped his hands to his mouth. “Fire!”

Cannons fired and boomed. Powder smoke rose from the behind the rail of the ship. He heard the shots slamming against their target. It rang a familiar tone. It was an odd sound that he could not place. It sung a high pitch like a sword upon armor.

Realization came over him as he stared through the darkness. The thing was clad in armor. How was it possible? Surely the weight of it would sink it to the ground. How could Ecclesia have advanced so much in so little time?

He shook his head knowing there was but one option remaining. “Bring us alongside at pistol shot!”

They had no choice but to board. “Ready the grapeshot!”

The shadow grew closer until the two ships nearly slid hull against hull. Gunfire spat from both decks, and men fell. Bullets flew past and whistled into the night, but the chaos was short. They slipped by, which he’d hoped they would.

“Bring in the starboard mainmast!” Men turned the cranks once more, and the sail folded itself back to the shell of the ship. “Hard to starboard!”

The port side mast bent in the stress of the wind, and he could feel the wood of the rails creak. He hoped it would hold. Clubhauling was a dangerous maneuver, but if it was successful, they stood a chance. The horizon spun in front of his eyes, and the turn was dizzying. The turned round and their enemy sailed in front of them.

“Let fly the Starboard mast!”

It unfolded, and they once again sped into position. They inched ever closer to their target, and sparks from pistols and rifles lit the darkness. The chaos was a nightmare. All about, men fell to the decks with blood pouring from their wounds. Shouts and calls poured through the night as they battled in the heavens.

He prayed that they had not readied another broadside. At this range, he knew his ship would buckle from the firing. Below, cannons burst. His heart raced but he heard the shots clang against the armored hull of the floating titan.

Men loosed grappling hooks, and stretched planks from the rails. It was their last chance. He dashed across the boards alongside his crew with sabre in hand. They met upon the steel deck of the behemoth and the clashing of swords rang out. Pistols fired, and men dropped.

“To the last man!” He shouted in the chaos, and his men cried out in unison. It roared through the deafening war with heart lifting beauty. They would fight until they all lay dead if it came to that. These were his skies, and he would die before he saw them taken away.

Abbadin’s vision focused through the crowd of men, and settled upon his target. He dashed forward and the man’s sword slashed through the air. He raised his sabre in defense of the attack and steel sang against steel. He kicked the man in his knee and his target staggered backward. His blade came upon him and the mist of blood sprayed his face as the slash cut across his chest from shoulder to hip. He collapsed, and Abbadin drove the blade through his back.

Another came upon him and he spun to his left, driving his fist into the back of the man’s head. He pulled his pistol as the assailant staggered over the body at his feet. He took aim and fired. The man fell lifeless to the deck and he turned round.

His men fought on with every ounce of their might. Orders called across the sea of faces, and the chaos burst into a rising storm. Cannons fired below, and he watched as his ship burst into flames. Powder below exploded and sharp splinters shot forth like a rain of arrows. Men fell with shards of wood sticking out of them like needles. Shrills of agony spewed out and lingered in the squall of violence. The ship descended, and planks fell from the rails of the iron giant that remained in the skies.

His dirigible was gone. This was in fact, their last chance.

Blood pooled across the steel of the deck, and he slid as though he stood on greased glass. Men staggered and stumbled over one another as they fought to remain upright. He felt the ship slowly losing altitude. The explosion had clearly done extensive damage to it. He looked up to see holes dotted throughout the leather balloon that hovered above.

Regardless if they were breathing their final breaths, they had reclaimed the skies from this titan. The final wave of men poured up from the gun deck, and the battle continued. He knew though, that it would soon be over.