Ade Grant - The Mariner

“But… but… You knew it was me,” he pleaded, stumbling backwards. “I brought her body down in my arms, it was how we met!”

At this Absinth’s head suddenly lurched back, his face contorted and limbs stretched wide as if shocked. Great judders seemed to run up and down his body, throwing his shoulders, spine arched.

The rest watched with horror, but the Mariner had seen this before — when the philosophy teacher had changed. But there were no chains this time, nothing to hold back the Mindless before him. The Mindless that now opened its furious eyes and focused them purely on the Mariner before it.

He ran, hampered by his exhaustion and his wounds, well aware that if it came to a fight he would be easily bested. That thing would tear him to pieces. In a matter of seconds he was out the tent and onto the path back down towards the ocean, fresh air replacing the incense from moments before. His nuts screamed, but their protests were ignored. His legs wailed but their dissent was firmly crushed.

The Oracle had already turned her attention back to her pupils and was soothing their concerns, telling them more anecdotes from their past. No wonder they were transfixed. Stories of the past must seem far more real than this island. Far better to listen than to acknowledge the demon their friend had become, a bloodthirsty creature that now charged after the fleeing ‘Claude’, ‘Cuntface’, ‘Edward’ and ‘John’.

Every step was heavy, legs twisted as they caught roots and slid between stones. Absinth was having just as much trouble, his own body bloodied from countless cuts and gashes endured during the desperate chase.

The Mindless didn’t care though.

The Mindless didn’t think.

The Mariner reached the beach, his running becoming even more sluggish in the sand. Legs skidded and sank, knees twisting to even more uncomfortable angles. Flailing, he turned to look, to see if the zombie was still following. He was close, a picture of demented fury, though there were no thoughts behind that twisted face, only animal hate.

And then, popping into his head like ink from an octopus, the Mariner remembered a conversation he’d had with a poor murdered lady, many moons before. “Who was Winston Churchill?”

Absinth’s face suddenly went slack and he ground to a halt, just a few yards away.

“He’s er…” said Absinth, scratching his head. “He was the Prime Minister during the Second World War.”

The Mariner didn’t know whether his answer was true or not, but he did know the old man was back to his old self. The Mindless creature was gone, locked away from where it had emerged.

They stood in silence whilst Absinth blinked stupidly. He turned, looked at the gorge behind. “How the hell did I get down here?”

“She made you into one of the Mindless. She stole a memory and told it back, making you think she knew everything. She knows nothing . She’s just a thief, stealing your thoughts, then telling them back. You’ve got a gap now, a hole in your head where the memory used to be. If you ever try to remember it, you’ll become Mindless again. You will fall into that gap and become trapped.”

Absinth stared in stunned disbelief.

“She’s not the Oracle then?”

“No.”

“What happened to the others?”

The Mariner looked up the gorge and shook his head. “She’ll have taken even more by now. It’s probably too late. Besides, why should I care?” He turned and headed for the boat. Grace, full from her meal, bounded over, eager to return to the ship now she’d had her fill.

“Where are you going?”

“I’m going back to the Neptune. There’s still answers out there and I need to find them.”

“Let me come with you,” the old man pleaded. “We’ll be a great team, you and I.”

“No,” and then he repeated the question he’d asked before. “Why did you come here?”

The old man appeared as lost as any child. “The world’s changed, Claude. I used to work in insurance. Do you know what that is?”

The Mariner shook his head. He didn’t.

“Then one day, the world just… came apart. It’s like I’ve fallen asleep and I can’t navigate my way out of the dream. There’s just ocean out there, and tiny fragments of the world I once knew.”

“I never knew a world, but I envy you for it.”

“I know where we can go to get supplies. A cave, not far from Brighton, but well hidden. All the tobacco you could want. And drink too. Wine, spirits, beer. Anything!”

The Mariner paused, tempted. The mention of wine had turned his stomach and itching had begun throughout his system. He shook his head, sad and uncertain. “Nothing’s changed, Absinth. We are incompatible.”

The old man reached into his pocket and pulled out a pistol. The Mariner jumped, sure in the notion that the old man meant the bullet for him, but instead he pointed it at Grace and pulled the trigger. The bullet passed through the Tasmanian devil’s back, severing her spine. It was so quick she didn’t even have time to yelp. Grace collapsed, her breaths laboured and weak, her eyes confused and in pain. They rolled up to the Mariner, begging for her master to take the agony away.

Not like this , her eyes pleaded. Not out of the blue .

And slowly, too slowly for any conscious being to tolerate, she died, losing her grip on the world.

“We weren’t compatible,” Absinth beamed. “But now we are!”

The Mariner slowly nodded, looking at his new shipmate, a member of the crew through dead-devil’s boots.

“And now we are.”

ABSINTH AWOKE WITH A SORE head. There had been a fair amount of drinking, a celebration to have survived the island and its cursed Oracle.

He’d tried to convince the Mariner that they should take his ship, a faster modern vessel, but the Mariner had insisted that they use the Neptune. “Only she can find the true Oracle,” he’d said.

So instead they had simply plundered Absinth’s, grabbing his alcohol, tobacco, bullets and bread. He had a good feeling about this union. The Mariner was crazy, and badly damaged, but he was also sharp. He would get Absinth to all the places other people couldn’t. And those are the places where riches are found. Who knows, perhaps they would even find this ‘ true Oracle’ of his?

They had drunk and sung together beneath the stars and thanked the heavens they were still alive.

So why, when he’d fallen asleep outside, did he now awake somewhere below deck? He was in one of the galleys, his arms and legs shackled to the wall.

“This used to be a prison ship. You told me that.” The Mariner had been sitting in the shadows opposite, waiting for Absinth to awake.

“What’s going on?” the old man slurred.

“Since you told me, I’ve begun hearing them. Sometimes I can hear them crying out for food, other times they’re being whipped. Always screaming. I think most of them never got where they were being taken. They’re still here somewhere.”

His eyes roamed the dark room, as if emaciated ghosts lurked in every shadow.

“I didn’t need you to tell me it was a prison ship though, I knew it all along. I knew. This is my prison. I don’t know why, but it is.”

Absinth looked at the Mariner, and, not for the first time, wondered who he was. “The Oracle slipped up because she didn’t know who you were?”