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MASTER OF HELL


The wind whispered a chanted prayer between the seams of the barred window and wove its way through the stale atmosphere of the room. A man stood on the far side staring into a cracked mirror, hands behind his back, rolling to the movement of the ocean beneath his feet. Right now the boat was still and the dying engine completely silent, but normally the old machine would have been trying to cough out its final breath of air to push the ship across the water. Right now, the man thought to himself, I could be far away from this, instead of trying to fight the impossible.

The man slowly became aware of the prayer that was drifting around the room and winced at the familiarity of it. A quick look at the mirror told him once more that he was not anymore, nor could he ever be again, the man to bridge the gap between the mortal world and the spirit one.

"What was it to me?" he whispered to the mirror. "Nothing." The face in the mirror didn't move. "Nothing."

The door creaked open and a skinny lad with a scar on the right side of his face peered around the metal framework. "Uh... Captain Sythe, sir... I've been sent to tell ya--"

"That the scouts returned from their run, correct?"

The lad nodded and Sythe watched his eyes widen as they found his uncovered right hand. Sythe held it up and flexed his fingers with a smile. "I wouldn't stare. Most people consider it... rude."

He watched the lad's eyes dart back to watching the floor. "Yessir, sorry sir."

"You're dismissed. Tell the watchmaster that I'll join them on deck in a minute or so," Sythe replied with a shrug and turned his back to the door as it clicked shut.

He held up his right hand and perused it for a minute before pulling on a black elbow-length glove with a chuckle. This was the price he paid for trying to bridge the worlds.

Sythe opened the door to his cabin and stepped out into the chill of winter, his boots clanging on the metal as he descended to the deck. His breath frosted in front of him and his nose had already started to numb before he reached the bottom step. Winter was, without a doubt, his least favorite time of the year. It was a dead season--and it had too many connections to the only thing he'd ever failed at in his life.

"Well," he said to the men that the scouts had lined up on the deck, "Let's see what we found." He paced the line, staring each man in the face, before coming to rest in front of a boy no older than sixteen. "What're you searching for here?"

The boy's mouth twitched but he said nothing. Sythe sneered and leaned close enough to feel the boy's breath on his face.

"If you're looking for glory, you may not find it. If you're looking for heroicism, I can't give it to you. No amount of money in the world could possibly buy you true love. And there's no such thing as companionship aboard my boat. What are you searching for?" Sythe asked. When the boy remained silent he raised his voice sharply.

"This isn't a fairy tale--we're not searching for treasure lost on some forgotten island, we're not fighting little boys, and we are not going to have a great and fantastic adventure together. Eight out of ten will die on this ride into hell, the other two out of ten will wish they had died. We will fight gods to accomplish our task.

"Knowing this, what could you possibly be searching for?"

"You," said the boy in front of him. "You're the man who everyone called the Priest--the Savior of mankind--the one who could speak to spirits. I remember my parents talking about you like you were a god. And when you got kicked out of the temple your name was still famous, for leading an attack against the Citadel, for robbing merchant ships up and down the ocean, for killing more people in a night than most pirates in a lifetime. People said your ship was a ghost ship--one minute there and the next minute gone."

Sythe paused to stare at the shaking boy who was so frightened by his outburst that his entire body trembled. And he laughed.

"People tell stories to their kids to frighten 'em to bed. About how I'll cut out their tongues if they talk back. About how I'll take 'em away if they stay up too late. Always the same way--one minute there and the next minute gone," Sythe hissed, stepping forward until his face was mere inches from the boy's. His smile was cold and disconnected from the intensity that caused his eyes to glow with the mysterious fire behind them.

"Your name's plastered all over the sphere, an immortal, the man who is a god. The only man who ever tried to bring someone back to life," the kid continued, looking up into the smoldering eyes of the "Immortal" Captain Sythe. They were playing a game. To test wits--patience--intelligence.

"The only man to ever fail at bringing someone back to life..." Sythe pressed, testing the boy to see how much he knew.

"They told the tales but whispered your name. Orpheus. The man who could charm any woman to his bed, to marriage, but who chose a whore off the street. The man who charmed Hades to give him back his dead wife, who charmed his wife up into the sunlight, who lost her to the darkness because he stopped playing his flute too soon.

"I'm searching for you." Although the boy's voice was strong and his eyes intense, his hands still trembled.

Sythe's mouth twitched at the corner as he stepped back and surveyed the line of new recruits. They were all looking somewhere other than his face--at the deck, their shoes, the railing, the sky, into the distance--the boy was the only one who kept his gaze level. Finally Sythe looked back at him and something turned over in his chest.

"And why are you searching for me?" he asked, intrigued now by the boy who knew so much about his past.

"You are dangerous--the Seven Children think it is time for the price on your head to be payed," the lad replied calmly. "And I want to train under your command so that I can learn your strengths and weaknesses. Because one day, I'm going to kill you."

Sythe stared at him for a moment, all his curiosity fading into shock at the lad's straightforwardness. Then he began to laugh again.

His laugh carried across the deck and down the current of the wind--it rasped in the ears of people on the far side of the city and sent a shiver down the spine of a monk carrying water into the temple. It was a melodious laugh shadowed by years of screaming and singed at the corners by the burning of the conscience. It was the laugh of the dead.

Sythe finally stopped laughing and put a hand over his face as he chuckled. "So," he began with a snort, "Let me set this straight. You want to train under my command. So you can... kill me?"

"Yes."

"Brilliant. But why bother to tell me? Why not just give me an answer like... Because I ran away from home and I need somewhere to go?"

"Because I don't think you'd take a sixteen year old boy into hell with you," the lad said with a straight face. "That is where you're going, right? To meet Hades. To charm him one last time into breaking the contract you made."

Sythe blanched.

"How do you..." he growled. This time the boy stepped forward so their noses were almost touching.

"Why do you think Hades made that contract with you? Why do you think he made such a specific agreement?" The boy gently began to pull off the glove Sythe wore on his right hand. "He wanted a son, an immortal son. A son his wife could never bear him."

"And in order to make that son, he needs a soul. A HUMAN soul," Sythe whispered to himself. Realization sank down through his chest--carrying hope with it. The lad nodded, recognizing the man's moment of enlightenment.

"You have until the winter solstice of the next year to complete your task. But when the gate to the spirit world opens for that final time--I am going to kill you."

Sythe stared down at his right hand--

--Through the glass-like flesh he could see the deck of the ship.

It's much better than most things I've seen, but I really think you need to strengthen your verbs. One of the "sins" of early writing is the habit of what I call "adjective vomit" - that is, you (I mean young writers in general) bulk up each sentence by throwing in description after description....while to an extent that it really useful, the line between "so-so writer" and "omg fantabulous" is the next step, the verb. Right now, I'm still getting a lot of passive sentences, and even in my mind I'm recreating stronger sentences and active verbs. That's the sort of step I think you could really benefit from.

Also, I don't get a lot of the characters by way of action. You're telling me who they are, but you're not proving it via dialogue or action. There is a lot more character development to be seen here.

There are several grammatical errors as well, although I'll try not to be a grammar nazi by pointing each one out. I can, however, suggest that you check tenses, which is another issue common amongst budding writers.

I can see potential, but this is still a long way from the kind of writing I would praise fully. Don't take this negatively, but this is your brutal honesty.

I belive that is is very good

It was an interesting plot, but again, too much description. If you sped up the plot a little more, then I think you could have a great story.

That is a really awesome story. When's the next piece going to be posted?

I have officially been put to shame.

Btw: I've just joined the forum and I wouldn't mind having a few literate friends for a change.

So, yeah..
Let me know.

I could not have said it better. I hope you continue writing@

I must say that is a awesome intro to your story. Believe me i have read stories similar to your's, it rivals General Grievous's saga in fanfiction.net a trilogy "called The Legend of Uzumaki Naruto".