The Mariner

Out of the blackness, the creature that used to be Pryce emerged, all nails and teeth, mad eyes roving wildly like a dying cow’s. The Mariner recoiled, yet in this position there was nowhere to retreat. Pryce clawed at his face, drawing blood, thrusting his body on top, using his weight to pin the Mariner down.

“Pryce! Pryce don’t do this!”

A mad screeching was emanating from the monk’s throat. How had he ever confused the random jabbering of the monks with this? Their noises were random, yet deliberate. The sounds that came from a Mindless were inhuman, as if a foreign body had seized control of the voice box and didn’t yet know how it worked.

“Who was Winston Churchill? Who was Winston Churchill?” he screamed, but there was no respite. What had worked on Absinth now failed.

The Mariner was keeping Pryce’s teeth at bay by holding him about the neck with both hands. This however left the monk’s arms free to scratch and claw at the Mariner’s head. He craned back as far as possible, tilting to avoid the fingers as they came dangerously close to his eyes, brushing the lashes. It felt like he was wrestling with a snake, rather than the man that had welcomed him some weeks before.

He had to get his gun. It was there, holstered in his pocket, but how to buy the time to reach for it? He only needed a second, but a second was a luxury he did not have and Pryce’s fingers were inching closer. Something had to be done! With a deep breath, he released one hand from Pryce’s neck and used it to feel for the Mauser. Halving his strength had a disastrous effect; Pryce suddenly lurched closer, fingers reaching the Mariner’s left eye. Tips dug deep, agony flaring inside his head. White and dark lights swirled as he thrashed in agony. The Mauser, only just in his grasp, fell free, making a metallic scratching sound as it slid across the rock into the thick smoke of night.

Pain had a galvanising effect upon the Mariner. He heaved, screaming at the top of his lungs, and pushed Pryce to his side. The man fell onto his back, squirming like a wild animal, thrashes that knocked the lantern over. A brief wavering flicker showed this, and then… nothing.

Partially blinded by the pain in his eye and now totally blinded by the extinguished light, the Mariner scrambled across the stone, trying to put some space between him and the Mindless. He could hear it howling incoherently in its fury. Fearing the worst, he braced himself for another strike… none came. Pryce was just as blind as he.

The Mariner kept as still and quiet as he could. It took strength of will, but he managed to get his breathing under control. Haggard breaths became shallow; subsequent dizziness unpleasant, but necessary, his chest quivered with the exertion, reluctantly succumbing to his commands.

The feeling of oppression was immense. A strong breeze and sound of waves were the only betrayal that he was outside with space to flee, otherwise he’d think he were trapped deep underground with the Devil itself.

Pryce grew quiet, his growls and hisses subdued. Was his Mindless spell fading, as it had done for Absinth?

Was it over?

Suddenly, the bestial creature was about him, screaming and snarling. Yet the attack was a lucky guess and it seemed to surprise Pryce as much as it had the Mariner. Their limbs tangled in the confusion, both figures once again crumbling to the ground, each trying to pin the other down. A puff of wind against his cheek and a bony snapping sound horribly close, told the story that Pryce was trying to bite his face.

Now it was the Mariner’s turn to get some luck. He lashed out, his fist connecting with Pryce’s nose. It squashed under the blow, blood squirting out, warm and wet about his fingers. The Mindless creature howled in pain, giving the Mariner just long enough to scramble away in the direction of the extinguished lantern.

He moved quickly, tracing the surface of the rock with his hands. Behind him he could hear Pryce desperately searching, jabbering incoherently. The Mariner knew he didn’t have long, the Mindless would soon hear him and react.

Pryce was getting closer, attacking the night air over and over, hoping to find his victim.

The Mariner kicked something by his feet. It skidded with a familiar metallic scrape.

Pryce roared with triumph and sped towards his position. Only a pace or two away.

One.

Two.

And then he found it! The Mariner grabbed the Mauser off the rock, turning and firing wildly into the dark, Pryce’s mad rictus grin revealed in the flashes as the gun vomited hot lead. The first three missed completely, the fourth hit Pryce in the throat, turning his roar into wet deflation. The fifth shattered the man’s jaw, cocking his head forward painfully.

If he hadn’t felt blind before, the Mariner certainly did after the flashes died, leaving the image of Pryce’s imploded face lodged in his brain.

A wet crack followed — the sound of Pryce’s head hitting the rock.

Echoes in his mind all that were left.