Cyrus LongBones and the Curse of the Sea Zombie
Chapter 4

THE KEY

THE NEXT MORNING, after a cold breakfast of porridge and dry toast, Cyrus and Niels packed a lunch and headed out into the chill, moonlit morning. The scent of hay and damp soil permeated the farm. The brothers crossed a field of brown and purple mork wheat and walked towards an ivy-entangled tower. The tower rose fifteen feet above their heads and looked like a large barrel on stilts. At the base of the structure, Niels turned its rusted valve.

“Soil here just isn’t what it used to be,” he said, wiping, wet rust filings off his meaty palm.

Water began to spring out of the earth, quenching the stunted crop.

Behind the tower, like the bones of an ancient giant, slouched the burnt-down family barn. Cyrus stopped and stared. The barn looked so cold and alone in its grave.

“Come on,” Niels said, “Dad was a good man, a hard worker, no matter what Mom says.”

He took Cyrus by the shoulder and led him around to the tool shed.

“I’ve tried telling Mom we don’t need all these locks around the house,” Niels said, pulling out a ring of keys, “but she’s afraid blood-sucking klappen are going to break into the house in the middle of the night and run off with all our souls. She believes all those stories about fire-breathing dragons and giant wolves.”

Llysa’s keys, Cyrus thought. Niels unlocked the shed and began to load a wheelbarrow with the equipment they would need for the day’s work. This was Cyrus’ chance. His heart began to quicken. He could feel the veins in his neck swell. He entered the shed and started to look through buckets of nails and around shovels, picks and sledgehammers. His nose grew itchy with dust and rust. Cobwebs clung to his ankles and sleeves. He would have to grab at least three steel pegs to get the perfect fit.

“Don’t worry about that stuff, Cyrus, I got what we need.”

Cyrus grew hot. He ignored his brother and continued to rummage through the cold, grimy tools.

“Cyrus?”

“Wait, I dropped something,” Cyrus said, still searching.

“What?” Niels asked, his square frame moving closer.

Cyrus prayed to the Angels as he picked through the last tin can he could replace.

“Clothespins,” he whispered, through clenched teeth.

Niels put a meaty hand on his shoulder.

“Nothing, I guess,” Cyrus answered, unable to think fast enough, “just thought I dropped something.”

He choked down his disappointment and reluctantly followed his brother out of the shed empty-handed. I need those pins, he thought, I need to get away from this place. Niels began to turn the key in the lock. Cyrus searched his mind for some ploy or excuse. How long would he have to wait for another opportunity like this? The lock clicked shut.

“No, wait,” he blurted, his voice cracking.

He moved to the door, nudged his brother aside and unbolted the lock.

“Cyrus, what are you doing?”

He ignored Niels and began to search the shed, tossing aside buckets and bins and spilling nails and bolts.

“Thank the Angels,” he whispered, as finally, he found what he was looking for in an old coffee tin.

He rubbed a thin coat of oil off the three pins and placed them in his pocket. Then he walked out of the shed.

“I’m not coming with you,” Cyrus said, refusing to look his brother in the eye, “There’s something I have to do.”

“What are you talking about?” Niels asked.

“You have to cover for me. You have to tell Mom I was with you.”

“Cyrus, don’t be stupid. You’re coming to work.”

“I’m not. Not today,” Cyrus said, looking at the ground.

“And what if Mom replaces out?”

“She won’t. Not as long as you cover for me.”

“Angels, Cyrus,” Niels cursed, “You can’t continue to go messing around with that forest, and never mind village law or the curse. Something evil waits past that wall. I’ve seen it with my own eyes.”

Cyrus looked up. Evil? What was he saying? Niels looked away.

“It was a long time ago. I don’t like talking about it. But you stay away from that fence. And if you see glowing blue lights, you run.”

The blood seemed to have drained from Niels’ face. Glowing blue lights, hadn’t Edward mentioned something like that?

“I’m not going anywhere near that place,” Cyrus said.

“I hope you lie better than that if the Mayor’s men catch you. They’re not joking when they say they’ll hang you by the neck or worse.”

A small tremor shook the earth.

“An earthquake?” Cyrus gasped.

“It’s okay,” Niels said, “Mom’s been drilling a few new wells. Supposedly, they happened daily with all the well drilling during the Hoblkalf Water Works Project.”

Cyrus did not feel reassured.

“I’ll be back in time for dinner,” he said, turning in the direction of the nearby woods.

“Be careful,” Niels whispered after him.

Cyrus made his way quietly through the forest until he was out of earshot of his home. Then, like a fugitive, he started to dash through the woods, springing over fences and ducking under fallen trees.

He passed a grey mill bordering the Virkelot Ring Road and took cover behind a blue-leafed bush. To the left of the structure, a windmill resembling a large, wooden dandelion spun in the wind, pumping water up from the earth, into a nearby water tower.

Inside the mill, an old grey-haired man drank from a flask and mumbled to himself about the good old days as he tinkered with the mill saw’s motor.

The steam engine resembled a large tin drum resting on its side with belts and pistons rising through its casing. Out the back, an exhaust pipe dripped water into a small canal. The engine’s excess moisture, along with many other village machines, helped feed tiny waterwheels, dams and other such mechanisms before flowing out into the South River.

Cyrus hunched low. A twig snapped underfoot.

“Wha-, who’s out there?” the old man asked, looking up from his work.

Cyrus’ senses spiked. He took a deep breath, then sped across the gravel street and plunged into Hekswood Forest.

“Wha- the Sea Zombie…” he heard from the old man’s direction.

Cyrus ran so fast down the trail that he nearly crashed face first into the Dead Fence. Ignoring his brother’s warning, and village law, he threw his lunch over the wall and climbed, struggling, to the other side. Then, within the forbidden part of the forest, he snatched up his bag and continued towards the seashore.

Dawn blanketed the coast in a dark blue hue. The setting moon rimmed rocks and trees with a silvery sheen. The stars glistened like gold dust, and the breeze felt brisk and light. With time running out, Cyrus tucked his hair behind his pointed ears and ran towards his best friend’s tree.

Cyrus found Edward snoozing in one of the silk hammocks he had taught the spider to make.

“Edward?”

The little hammock shifted and sagged.

“Cyrus?” the spider asked, through half-shut eyes.

“Get up. We’re going.”

Edward sat straight up and accidentally flipped out of his bed, landing like a plump berry in Cyrus’ open hand.

“Right now?” Edward asked.

“Yes, quick, before sunrise,” Cyrus said, dashing towards the cave.

Within the cavern, Cyrus lit the lantern. The contours of the boat appeared out of the inky blackness.

“Secure the jib and mainsheet. I’ll go out and block the river,” he said, setting Edward down on the boat.

“What if it’s not safe over on the island?” Edward asked.

His two eyes grew moist, and his seven legs began to tremble.

“That’s why we’re going over to explore it first, make sure it’s safe,” Cyrus said, “If it is, we’ll come back tonight, steal some supplies and leave tomorrow for good.”

The little spider nodded, took a deep breath, and began to spin silk to fasten the sails. Cyrus ran from under the waterfall and followed the South River over the stone tile, up into the forest.

He found the rope tied to the stone counterbalance and lowered the board and ball down from the trees. Then, searching his pockets, he collected the three pins of slightly varying thicknesses. Kneeling down, he slid the board into place, locked the lever and tried securing it with the first pin. The steel was too thin. The lever unlocked. He tossed the pin aside and tried the second. The steel was too thick. Wrenching it free, he dropped the fat piece and tried the third. It was even thicker.

“No…” he breathed.

His head grew light, and his blackened eye ached. What was he going to do? He could not stand to be on that miserable island a day longer than needed. And would Niels let him back into the shed? Why had he not grabbed a few more pins just in case? Keep your head; there’s got to be a way to fix this, he thought. Then it occurred to him. He fought back the panic, took the fattest of the three pins and began to work it into the hole. The wood bit and stiffened around the steel. He picked up a rock and started to hammer at the pin. He looked up. Would someone hear? He decided he did not care. He was too close to escaping for good. He pounded the steel clean through, forcing the hole wider. Then again, he tried the medium-sized piece. It jammed. He worked it around a few times until it fit perfectly. He fell to his seat, relieved and out of breath. The river had been damned, and the waterfall would not impede their craft’s voyage.

Back along the shore, he ran through the trickling fall and into the cave. Edward skittered across the boom and bit a loose thread from the mainsheet.

“That’s the last of it,” he said, springing onto Cyrus’ arm.

“Then this is it.”

It was time. Time to do what he had planned to do, dreamed of doing for so long. Cyrus grew hot and clammy. What if all the stories were true, the monsters, the Sea Zombie? He thought of the alternative, going home to his stepmother. He made up his mind. He walked to the ledge, collected the lantern and placed it in the boat. Then he moved to the bow and began to drag the craft out of the cave and towards the sea.

“Edward, hold on.”

He hauled the boat over the grating sand, through the pool where the waterfall had previously poured, and into the ocean. The cold water lashed at his legs as waves crashed over the prow. The pontoons bounced and jostled.

“Quick, hop in,” Edward said, from his shoulder.

Cyrus threw his body over the side and into the craft. Then he clumsily found his seat, grabbed an oar and began to paddle. The surf foamed and frothed. His hands felt tender gripping the damp wood. His back strained with each stroke. He looked out into the sea, felt it roil beneath him. A sense of helplessness began to creep into his bones.

Once they were beyond the chopping waves, he looked down at the floor of the boat. There was a small pool of water from where the waves had crashed over, but the craft itself seemed watertight.

“It works,” Edward said, “The boat works.”

Cyrus exhaled a tense breath. He continued to row the boat towards their destination, Myrkur Island.

Besides Virkelot, Myrkur was the only other island around for as far as the eye could see. It was much smaller than Cyrus’ island, yet shared its same dome-like shape. Because it was on the forbidden side of the fence, the villagers considered it cursed and haunted and ignored its very existence. The only true evil Cyrus had ever crossed was waiting for him at home.

“Cyrus, the sails.”

In the commotion, the sails had become unraveled and were half blowing in the wind. Cyrus threw the oar to the bottom of the boat and started to untie the mainsail and jib. The two sheets floundered helplessly as waves chopped against the craft. Cyrus controlled the mainsheet and rudder and turned the boat into the southern wind. The sails began to flap and flail. He started to doubt their design.

Fwump!

The sheets filled to their full girth. The boat jerked forward as if being pulled by a pod of whales. Cyrus felt electricity tingle through his limbs. Freedom! The craft bucked through the whitecaps and started to veer off course. He began to panic. He forced himself to relax. He had seen his friend use the wind many times to float his web from one branch to the next.

“Edward, what now?”

“Hard right,” the spider replied, running from one shoulder to the next.

Cyrus cranked the rudder left, steering the boat right. The sails began to flutter and fade.

“Duck,” Edward shouted.

The wind caught the starboard side of the mainsheet. Like an axeman’s blow, the boom swung portside. Cyrus hunched. The boom clipped a few strands of his hair. He pulled hard on the mainsheet. The sails caught another belly full of wind. He had to hold back his excitement as he reestablished control over the ever-rushing craft.

The two trespassers sailed through the dawn with sea spray in their faces and briny air strengthening their resolve. They zigzagged their way towards Myrkur Island with only the seabirds as witnesses to their bold endeavor, or at least that is what Cyrus thought…

FROM THE DISTANT SHORE, keen eyes and a sharp wit stalked the newcomers. It watched with deep interest as the two interlopers neared its forsaken island.