Beneath dark waters, p.1
Beneath Dark Waters, page 1
HALLOWED BLOOD
BENEATH
dark
WATERS
Also by Gwen Marsh
Hallowed Blood Series
Beneath Dark Waters
Written as Gwendoline SK Terry
Danethrall Trilogy
Danethrall
Rise to Fall
Ashes Remain
HALLOWED BLOOD
BENEATH
dark
WATERS
GWEN MARSH
TWO RAVENS PUBLISHING
Copyright © 2026 Gwen Marsh
All rights reserved.
ISBN-13: 978-1-7339996-7-0
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
www.gwensalir.com
Cover design by JV Arts
For my children
contents
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13
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23
BENEATH
dark
WATERS
1
EASTERN OCEAN
GHOST MONTH, 1514 ES
THROUGH THE MIST and gloom, the steely cliffs of Hebiwa loomed in the distance, white-crested waves roiling below the steep plunge of stone. The island emerged from the greyness and crashing waves like the craggy back of a great sea serpent, the mantle of vegetation on the island’s spine jutting like scales and spikes. The wretched kraken had led the fleet all the way to the other side of the world.
With the wind rumbling in his ears, Torin Maddox held tight to the gunwale as Tempest Rover lurched over another violent swell. He grimaced, stomach churning with every pitch and roll, his determination blazing ever stronger. Torin wanted to find and kill the beast and put an end to this months-long chase that was bleeding them dry.
Strands of Torin’s ebony hair whipped about his face, long since escaped from the leather thong that had once tied it back. He paid no mind, scanning the choppy waters for that damned kraken, his bright blue eyes narrowed against the cold ocean spray. It could emerge at any moment; they had to be ready.
Captain Tam Fraser whooped as Tempest Rover crested another violent wave. Controlling the steering oar at the stern, Tam navigated the longship over the roiling waters, expertly weaving through rugged stone islets, dodging rocky outcrops and sea stacks with ease. Weather-whipped crewmen lined the clinker-built longship, every one of them ruddy-faced and soaked to their bones, glaring into the fog and spray as eager as Torin to end the gruelling pursuit.
For almost six months, Torin, Tam and the Tempest Rover crew had been hunting the tentacled monster as part of a fleet formed by King Erik Stout-Heart of Vastrune. They embarked from the northern isle in the middle of spring, chasing the kraken from the Iss Gulf past the iceberg-strewn waters hemming the glacial Bleak Lands and through the unforgiving Kaldr Sea, skirting the Sirinean Empire’s immense coastline with caution.
The seafarers kept the kraken in sight but were wary not to get too close to the merciless Empire for fear of coming head-to-head with their vast naval forces. They had already lost almost a quarter of the fleet along the way, the ships battered into splinters by the kraken’s flailing club-ended tentacles or the thrashing bodies and gnashing maws of sea serpents. They couldn’t risk losing the rest to the Sirinean Empire’s cannons.
Two years ago, the kraken rose from the freezing waters of the northern continent of Jord, marking the beginning of its reign of terror. For months, the kraken wreaked havoc along the coasts of Fjordby, Ravenscar, Nordheim, and Vastrune, and all the little northern isles in between, before settling in the waters near Chillvein, one of Vastrune’s many fishing towns. There, the monster smashed fishing boats and devoured fishermen and their catches. When it ripped down the lighthouse from its perch on Dreadfall Spire, King Erik finally had enough. He sought to slay the beast, sending his entire navy to fight it, but over the months of their attempts, half of Vastrune’s navy was destroyed.
Fjordby, Ravenscar, and Nordheim offered what few ships they could afford to spare, their own fleets devastated by the grotesquery. King Erik reached out to the kingdom of Albion, requesting ships to bulk up his forces against the kraken. Of their five-hundred strong navy, Albion provided a poxy fifty ships to help Vastrune, while one of Albion’s neighbouring kingdoms, Aeferith, contributed another fifty, a third of the country’s naval fleet.
The ships were welcomed, though King Erik was bitter that Albion offered up only the bare minimum. The king was forced to hire ships from independent captains, mercenaries, pirates and merchants alike, anyone brave enough to hunt the vicious kraken. He only hoped they would be enough.
The Sirinean Empire had a powerful fleet equipped with weapons that could destroy the kraken with ease, but King Erik Stout-Heart knew better than to become mixed up with them.
The kraken hunting fleet was made up of all kinds of ships, from whalers with mounted ballistae, single-masted cogs, galleys propelled by fifty oars apiece, and longships filled with battle-hardy warriors like Tempest Rover. Commanding the fleet on King Erik’s behalf was his eldest son, twenty-five-year-old Prince Dagr, chomping at the bit for the opportunity to prove himself.
There wasn’t much that bothered Torin Maddox, but the ocean made him sick to his stomach. He was in Albion when he heard about Vastrune’s need for more forces, and the wages King Erik was willing to pay each warrior. Torin loathed sailing, but the sum that King Erik was offering was too much to turn down. Swallowing his dread, Torin bought passage aboard one of the ships headed to Freystad, the capital of Vastrune.
The seven years he’d spent as a jaeger, an independent monster hunter, and the fifteen years before that as a mercenary in the Middenheim Guard, helped Torin negotiate a tidy sum of ten silver a month, almost the same wages paid to an experienced ship captain like Tam. With pay agreed upon, King Erik assigned Torin a ship to sail on.
Had to be Tam’s fucking longship … I should’ve asked for double. Torin thought angrily, the cold winds pounding his soaking face and hands, his belly growling. The jaeger had no intention of eating any of Tam’s shitty provisions until he was dizzy with hunger.
Captain Tam Fraser had signed his contract with the Vastrune king just days before the jaeger’s arrival. Tempest Rover was hired for five gold every three months with crew wages of thirty bronze per man. Tempest Rover was even equipped with a pair of shiny new ballistae to fight the kraken.
“Object portside!” The lookout’s voice cut through the howling wind and crashing waves.
Every head turned, ears sharp, crew squinting through the mist and spray. Torin shielded his eyes with his calloused hand. Chewing his bottom lip, he scrutinised every inch of the roiling ocean to his left. At first, he could see nothing but black waves, streaks of white foam, and jagged rocks – then he spotted it.
The clubbed end of a long blue-black tentacle surged from the waters five hundred metres ahead of Tempest Rover. It twisted and writhed in the air, reaching, stretching, flexing.
“Hold on, lads! The bastard’s rising!” Tam boomed.
With a deafening roar, the ocean swelled and vomited up the grotesquery. The kraken’s mantle broke the surface, fat, smooth and impossibly huge, like a floating island risen from the water’s depths, sending rings of waves crashing against the fleet. Water hissed as it gushed over decks and rushed through scuppers, swirling in the turbulent wake.
Tam barked orders over the maelstrom, and his crew readily obeyed, rowing against the raging waters towards the monstrous beast. Cogs, galleons, and whalers coursed past them, much faster and more powerful than Tempest Rover. With his heart pounding in his throat, Torin watched the ships soar ahead, his grip tightening around his lance.
“Fuck!” Torin hissed as more lashing arms and tentacles shot up from the waters.
Iron chains with barbed hooks exploded from ballistae. Some whistled past the writhing tentacles while other projectiles punctured its flesh. Blue blood spurted from the kraken’s wounds, but the grotesquery showed no signs of slowing down. Harpoon lines connected the kraken to the whaling ships, the ropes as tight as garrottes.
Weighted drogues and harpoons would sap the kraken of its strength, while nets and grappling hooks tangled its limbs, keeping it from retreating beneath the waves. If the grotesquery didn’t die from its wounds or from exhaustion, the fleet would drag it out the waters and beach it on a nearby coastline to suffocate. The shale and rock-strewn shores of Hebiwa were just as good a place for the monster to die as the black sands of Vastrune or the pebble beaches of Albion.
The kraken’s giant yellow eyes blazed through the tempest. It swung its powerful arms and brought them down on nearby vessels, smashing them to splinters, scattering their injured and dead. Even the two hundred-ton ships were no match for the fierce grotesquery.
Ever persistent and determined, the sailors held fast, shooting missiles at the monster, fighting to reel in the ones that missed. The kraken thrashed, dragging ships across the ocean by their lines and flinging th em like toys. Noise boomed all around in a chorus of chaos. Ballistae exploded, projectiles hissed through the air, stressed timber cracked, and decking groaned as it splintered. Rigging, chains, and loose gear clanged, rattled, and thrashed wildly in the strong winds, lines screeching. Heavy cargo broke free and slammed against the bulkheads in a frantic rhythm of thudding and pounding and turmoil.
Boom, boom, boom!
More chains and harpoons soared from ballistae. The kraken writhed and flailed, striking the waters and sending massive swells at the fleet. The vessels crested the giant waves and bore down on the monster, driving it towards the shores of Hebiwa.
Torin and the Tempest Rover crew clung to whatever was in reach – the mast, the gunwales, the benches lining both sides of the ship – bracing against the turbulent swells. An unlucky few were thrown about Tempest Rover like dolls, crashing into benches and crewmates alike.
Torin threw out a hand just in time to grab Kýlan Gormson as he tumbled passed him, almost flying over the gunwales as Tempest Rover listed and threatened to capsize. White-faced and panting for dear life, Kýlan nodded his appreciation to Torin, clinging to the nearest bench, trembling.
The coast of Hebiwa wasn’t far. If the remaining ships could drive the kraken to the shallow waters near the shore, they might have a chance to beat it. With the wind hammering down on the longship, the mighty beast loomed above them, its tentacles and arms thrashing, whale lines flaying the air like whips.
“Ready the ballistae! We’re getting closer!” Tam bellowed.
Portside at the bow, Torin was nearest the grotesquery. It continued to destroy the fleet as the ships forced the monster towards Hebiwa. The kraken lashed out wildly, trying to claw its way back to the open sea, its bloodcurdling shrieks tearing through the air.
The jaeger watched in horror as the kraken wound a massive, club-ended arm around Prince Dagr’s longship. The beast lifted it into the air, squeezing tight. The wooden planks of the ship shrieked over the din of the waves and chaos, its lines lashing and tangling into knots. With a bellow like thunder, the kraken crushed the ship in two, sending men and wreckage plunging into the angry waters.
Rubble pounded Tempest Rover’s hull. A blanket of corpses and debris covered the surface of the water as far as the crew could see. Guts and limbs floated on the dark, blood-clouded waters, a blanket of gore, bulging eyes and gaping mouths, horror fixed to dead faces. Some of the dead seafarers were impaled on shards of the ships they had been sailing on, others on their own harpoons and lances. The drowned were sinking.
Fifty metres away–
“Fucking closer, damn it!” Torin bellowed.
At that moment, Torin didn’t give a shit about beaching the bastard. He was there to kill it and that’s what he intended to do.
Thirty metres–
“Fire!” Tam boomed.
Bolts burst from Tempest Rover’s ballistae, hurtling towards the kraken. Blue blood spurted from the beast as the barbs sunk deep.
“Reload!”
Fifteen metres–
Tempest Rover came to a roaring halt. The wind was caught in the sail, but the ship didn’t move. The steering oar shuddered, and the gunwales shook inexplicably in the darkness. Crewman dashed up and down the deck to investigate, holding lanterns out and shining them on the water as the longship pitched in the waves. A tentacle longer than the hull of a galleon lashed at the steering oar, crunching it with its mighty muscles.
“Get that fucking thing off my ship!” Captain Tam snarled.
The kraken lashed one of its club-ended tentacles around Tempest Rover’s prow. One swift tug from the monster’s great arm sent Tempest Rover lurching towards the kraken. Bracing one foot against the bench, Torin tore his dagger from its sheath with his right hand, a hand-hook clasped in his left, a whaling lance strapped to his back. He leered through the rain and spray, waiting for his moment.
Five metres–
“Don’t be fucking stupid!” Tam bellowed from the stern.
Torin smirked but didn’t bother to turn his head and acknowledge him. Tam had a sixth sense when it came to Torin and trouble, but Torin didn’t pay any mind to the grizzly old sod.
“No, Torin! Get down!”
The jaeger leapt from the longship, launching himself into the frigid air. With the wind and spray thrashing his skin and loose locks of hair whipping about his head, Torin soared towards the kraken, hook raised high, dagger ready, his startlingly blue eyes glinting with bloodthirst and excitement.
As he collided with the kraken’s mantle, the hook and dagger plunged into its thick, slippery hide. Projectiles fired from ships on the opposite side, drawing the kraken’s attention away from the jaeger, but for how long?
If the kraken was anything like its cousin, the squid, Torin was only a few metres away from the monster’s gills – that was as far as he needed to go. Dangling between his dagger and hand-hook, Torin swung across the mantle, moving towards where he believed the gills might be. He couldn’t risk climbing into the mantle cavity from the opening where the kraken’s head and legs protruded – he might get trapped. The gills were a safer bet.
The monster shrieked with every puncture, arms flailing, seawater spraying Torin as hard as gravel. Adrenaline thrummed in Torin’s veins, silencing the strain of his muscles. With a brutal stroke, Torin carved a deep gash in the grotesquery’s thick hide. The kraken shrieked, the noise ear-shattering. It lashed at Torin, but bolts shot from Tempest Rover’s crossbows stopped the grotesquery from knocking him off. Torin wrenched the gap wider and forced himself inside, wedging his feet between the countless filaments of one gill on the side of the kraken’s mantle, gripping the hand-hook tight.
If the kraken was anything like a squid, it would have three hearts located behind its gills. Clutching the hand-hook for dear life, Torin shoved his dagger into his belt sheath before yanking the whaling lance from his back. With a roar, Torin plunged the lance into the kraken’s mantle one-handed, hoping his aim found the monster’s heart and not an ink sack.
Pain exploded in Torin’s ribs as the kraken’s tentacle slammed into him. It wound around the jaeger faster than he could react, wrenching him out of the wound he’d created in the kraken’s mantle.
Torin barely had time to curse before the world was spinning, his breath caught in his chest. He flew across the waters, striking the surface with a bone-crushing crash. The jaeger plummeted beneath the waters, swallowed by cold, crushing darkness.
2
THE JAEGER GROANED, his throat raw and body aching. It took a few moments for Torin to register the waves sloshing over his legs, and the balmy breeze dancing in his matted hair. How long had he been lying on the beach? The storm had broken, replaced by bright sunlight and warmth. Last he remembered, Torin was launched into the ocean by the kraken, sinking into the dark depths of the unforgiving waves. Now he was lying on a shingle and scree coastline, his clothes filthy and stiff, crusted with salt from the seawater.
As though the very thought summoned it, Torin was hit by the overwhelming stench of rotten fish and brine. Thoroughly roused from unconsciousness now, Torin opened his bleary eyes to find the giant, rotting carcass of the kraken only a few metres from him, the sagging, ragged socket of its big, dead eye staring at him.
Seabirds and crabs were picking at the corpse, gulls squabbling over shreds of the kraken’s flesh. A large albatross, mid-feast, flicked a wary glance at Torin before tearing a rubbery strip from a tentacle. Harpoons, chains, and barbs protruded from the dead monster’s mantle. The corpse must’ve been ashore for a couple of days to be in this state of decomposition, but the weapons indicated that no one had discovered them yet, the projectiles would’ve been stolen if they had. Torin glanced down, relieved to see his own dagger still in its sheath, strapped to his left thigh.
Groaning and wrinkling his nose at the corpse, Torin forced himself to his feet, his head spinning, muscles stiff and sizzling with every movement. Wiping the dried sea salt from his face on his sleeve, Torin’s bright blue gaze travelled over the bodies and wreckage littering the stony coastline.
