The Wandering Isles by C. L. Schneider EPUB & PDF – eBook Details Online
- Status: Available for Free Download
- Author:C. L. Schneider
- Language: English
- Genre: Dark Fantasy Horror
- Format: PDF / EPUB
- Size: 2 MB
- Price: Free
should have run for cover when the sudden deluge woke me, beating
on my face with a sting of skin and a mouthful of water. But I’d gotten
used to the night sky splitting open and spewing its contents without
warning. The sea knew nothing of gentle this far out, and I’d accepted her
quick temper many moons ago.
Yet neither my ability to adapt, nor my tolerance for discomfort, were
why my feet were riveted to the deck. I was standing, drenched and windbattered, with the rain falling in sheets on my head—because it was falling
red. Furious, pounding drops, dark—like day-old blood—streaked the sails.
They pooled on the boards, slicking the deck and staining my white hair.
The taste of it on my lips was…
Not blood, I thought, relieved. And not water. There was a mild,
unnatural sweetness to the liquid, but I couldn’t place it. The fog was the
wrong color, too, though it was streaked with more of a rusty hue than a
true red. Blowing in with no warning, the bloated bank grew in seconds to
surround the ship, completely obscuring what lay beyond the rail.
Swelling billows glided across the deck. Slender tendrils stretched out
and drifted over me, full of moisture and cold and… Shapes, I thought.
Voices.
There must be another ship nearby.
Had we come upon land already?
It’s not possible. I couldn’t have slept more than an hour.
I glanced at the empty bottles rolling at my feet. Maybe two…
An uncomfortable thought hit me. “The anchor…”
Boots slipping, splashing red liquid as high as my knees as I ran, I kept
my eyes on the strange outlines and silhouettes in the fog. Their vague
forms followed me. Harsh, indistinguishable voices circled around, blowing
wordless whispers like ice on my skin.
Ignoring the sensation, I struggled not to bat at things reason told me
weren’t there. I yelled at them instead. “Whoever you are, get the hell off
my ship!” I gripped the heavy braided rope dangling over the side. It
responded with one, swift tug. Too fast.
Feeling far less resistance than I should, I wasn’t surprised when the end
cleared the water, slipped effortlessly up over the rail and onto the deck:
frayed and empty. The anchor was gone. “Of course,” I muttered, wiping
my eyes to peer out. Straining, I tried to detect some trace of land or another
ship, even a glimpse of the water, anything to tell me where we were.
It was pointless. The fog was like porridge. I could barely see the rail,
let alone past it. Where the hell did we drift to?
A scream pierced the cloud. Within its fading echo, I heard the
impossible.
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