Dark Water

Chapter Eleven

The rocks are black in colour, volcanic obsidian from an inactive deep sea volcano that once existed in this area. Flynn can easily recall the legends of the night the water caught on fire and the oasis was formed.

The next thing he notices are the markings.

They're symbols from the original native language of the island people, the sort of markings his father had shown him when they went fishing together close to the caves.

The ones associated with monsters and demons - identical to the markings that cover the skin of his arms and torso.

Flynn begins to walk, his bare feet making little noise as he makes his way across the smooth plateau towards the item of interest.

A boat.

It's moored carefully in the centre of the area, placed so that whoever sailed it would be able to easily move it back along the channel and into open water.

The faded sails, once black and made of the same material as those on Flynn's boat, hang limply from the mast. They're torn in places and slightly rotten where they are attached to the old ropes.

The boat obviously hasn't moved in a long time.

Flynn comes up alongside it, reaching for the side where the name is painted in jagged red letters.

He scrubs away some of the grime with his sleeve and shivers as he reads what has been written.

'HOLLOW PRIDE'

The words are scrawled across the side in the same handwriting from the slate attached to the injured turtle. The phrase is bordered by the same symbols.

"You'll have to excuse my trespassing, I just want to know who you were and how you ended up as what you are now. We're both Hollow so we're brethren so I hope you'll understand where I'm coming from here."

Flynn isn't sure why he feels the need to justify his actions to the dark water as he boards the boat but he does anyway, feeling slightly wrong for trespassing on what was probably a dead person's home.

He makes his way across the deck, noting the slightly rusted and obviously bloodied fishing gear scattered across the deck haphazardly.

A tribal blade, made of obsidian like his own, is wedged into the wood of the mast. It looks like it had been thrown as a weapon and became stuck.

Without a second thought Flynn hurries into the cabin section of the boat, switching on his torch as he yanks the door open and enters.

The cabin is exactly like the one on his own boat, built in the traditional manner of the island tribes.

A single built in wooden bunk, a table that is fixed in the corner and a wood burning stove with a chimney that extends out of the roof.

The stove is dusty, the bunk still a mess from the last time it had been used (a long time ago given the build up of dust and mould on the loose blankets).

But the table seems to hold several useful objects.

Flynn feels the boat lean slightly as he approaches the table, turning his back to the door as he reaches for two dust covered journals.

Each book is bound in leather and is clearly handmade, the stitching and decor on each one is unique and delicate.

He picks them up and slides them into the inner lining of his jacket, hiding them between the layers.

He intends to share the information with his team once he's done his own research, he doesn't want them to jump to any conclusions or find out that he snuck off despite the risks.

He turns to leave, facing the open door and coming to a horrible realisation.

The boat was still leaning.

He freezes, staring in shock at what he can see.

A large figure is leaning on one side of the boat, using two oddly long arms and a lean torso to support itself whilst it's legs dangle in the water.

It's skin is scaly and almost black in colour, the markings on the arms and body mimic those of a hollow but glow a faint red colour. A stripe of red hair that matches an old style mohawk decorates what Flynn can only describe as the head of a human.

The creature lifts his head and Flynn finds himself staring into a pair of glowing red orbs.

He opens his mouth to scream.

The creature moves.