Temple of the Fish Men Ch. 02

Annibale awoke the next morning with the sun pouring into his window. He always slept late when he was on shore leave, which his circadian rhythm had apparently decided this qualified as. Upon dressing and performing his morning ablutions, he left his room to find the house very quiet. Either his peculiar hosts were still asleep, or they had already gone out.

He made his way outside, finding a set of footprints in the sand on the beach, leading down to the water. He knew there wasn't much tide on this sea, and the beach could sit undisturbed for days, weeks at a time. There was no telling when these prints had been left, though he didn't remember them there the day before, and they lead right down to the water.

He looked out at the sea now. There was a ship on the horizon, he saw. This must be his ticket home that Mr. Brand had spoken about. The ship with the French captain. What had his name been? His mind was too full of Giacomina, her legs, her cunt, her ass, to fixate on much else, and he realized that he was thinking with dread of leaving this island. He wanted to stay with that bewitching woman, to try to make right whatever had gone wrong the night before, though in his heart he knew this was folly. He could waste his entire life chasing after her affections. Well, maybe she would give him one more tumble before he left. From his estimate, that ship should put to shore by evening.

He was turning away to return inland when he spotted another footprint, different from the human ones he had followed down to the beach. This one was different, but somehow, perfectly and distinctly preserved in the wet sand.

Five long toes spread out in different directions, almost like a man's hand, though the "thumb" pointed backwards. Long claws had extended into the sand, and he thought he could even see a faint impression of a web-like membrane between those monstrous digits. This was not made by a seal.

Further inland, he found his host, Aston. The Englishman was wearing a welder's apron and mask, and working with a torch at what seemed to Annibale to be some sort of diving bell. He waved to his host, who shut off the torch and lifted his mask.

"Wat ho, old chap," said Aston.

"I saw a ship on the horizon," said Annibale. "Must be your friend."

Aston nodded, as though relieved. "Wonderful. I suppose you'll be on your way back to Italy soon then."

"Mr. Brand, you are my host and I am in no position to interrogate you, but I must ask. What are those things in the water? They aren't seals."

Aston smiled mirthlessly and lit a cigarette. All his warmth from the day before was gone. "Did you fuck my wife last night?" he asked, as if he hadn't heard Annibale's question. "Don't worry, old boy. I don't mind," he said, reassuringly. "It's been a long time since I've cared what she does. She's fucked that frog captain, too, a few times. You and he can fuck her together, for all I care. I have bigger... fish to fry." He chuckled.

Annibale felt his fists clenching, but he took a deep breath to steady his anger at this disrespect to a lady. "What fish?" he asked, instead.

As he spoke, his eyes roved over the diving bell, and he saw what Aston had been trying to repair: massive claw marks, scratched into the hull of the bell. That they were from claws was unmistakable. "They attacked your diving bell," Annibale stated, flatly. His polite deference was gone. "Stop lying to me. What do you know about those things in the water?"

Aston seemed to consider, for a moment, finally relenting. "I don't know what they are, or where they come from. All I know is they're a damned nuisance. You don't suppose I've been holed up on this bloody island for, what, seven years for my health, do you?"

Annibale shook his head. "Giacomina said you were working on something. You're trying to excavate that sunken temple, aren't you?"

Aston looked dumbfounded. "How the devil do you know about the temple?"

"I saw your map, Brand. Look, I don't care. All I want is to go home."

Brand laughed out loud, almost kindly. "And you will soon, old boy! I wouldn't dream of stopping you! Alright then, consider this a parting gift. I'll answer your question, as best I can. You're no real threat to me anyway. I assume you're familiar with the story of Atlantis. Perhaps, like I had, you assumed it was just a story. Perhaps it still is. But there's more than just a temple down there. There's a city. I don't think those things built it. If I had to guess, they were a slave race, bred by the city's real masters. Or perhaps squatters who moved in after the masters drowned when the city sank."

"What makes you so sure?"

"My good man, have you seen the things? They're dumb animals. Whatever built that city was human. Or human-like. Very intelligent. Cultured. Not those degraded specimens that splash around the beach. But whatever they are, they're very defensive of their territory. Perhaps some vestigial memory, some racial obedience for their old superiors. Almost admirable, in a way. Something lacking on the surface these days." He smiled meaningfully - and condescendingly - at Annibale. "But it won't save them. Whatever they're guarding, I'll find."

The dot on the horizon became a distinctly visible ship by noon, and by evening, it had laid anchor not far from beach, the name L'espadon proudly printed on its rusty prow. It was a humble, clanking, metal thing, a fairly small merchantman, and to Annibale, a dismal contrast to the luxurious pleasures he had known in Signora Brand's arms.

The beach was soon alive with men, unloading boxes from the ship and moving them into the Brands' villa. Watching it all with an uncharacteristic gloom was Giacomina, eyes hidden behind large sunglasses. The sailors stole glances of her wherever they could, at her smooth legs exposed by her sundress's flapping in the breeze, but she did not return their gazes.

"Mon petit choux!" boomed Cpt. Ruffin, approaching her. He was a big man, red-bearded and sun-scorched. He opened his arms wide to embrace her, but was disappointed.

"There's a man on the island," she said, coldly, in Italian. "His name is Annibale Brunetti. He was stranded here when his own ship sunk. You are to bring him back to the mainland."

"That should not be a problem," said Ruffin, warily. His own Italian was flawed, but serviceable. "This man is a sailor, you say? I'm sure he can pull his weight."

"As a favour to me," she continued, "I would also ask that you bring my horse with you. Find her a good home."

"I... should be able to do that," agreed the captain. "I know a horse trader in Cannes. He would be happy to accept the gift. What's the matter, my dear?"

She continued, as if she hadn't heard his question. "Captain Ruffin, you must leave tonight."

"Tonight!?" he cried. "But we just arrived! What's the matter, Giacomina?"

There were tears in her eyes. "I cannot tell you how I know, but this island is not safe. You must leave, and you must forget me."

"My dear," he said, sitting down on a crate, "if I tell the men we must set off tonight, they'll mutiny. They've been at sea for weeks. They need stable ground beneath their feet. We need to take on new fresh water, too."

"Then put to shore on some other island!" she cried. "Let them sleep on the beach and hunt wild goats, but not here!"

"You know as well as I that there's nothing around here but sandbars and rocks. We can't wait that long. Tell me what the problem is, Giacomina. I can protect you. Is it your husband? Is it this Brunetti?"

She shook her head. "Neither of them. I cannot tell you. One question would lead to another, and you would try to..." She seemed to catch herself, as though she had been about to give away more than she meant to. "To do something foolish. Please, Claude. When the time comes, be ready to leave. You'll need to run."

She ran into Annibale outside the house, resting in an armchair. He had a dazed expression.

"This has been a strange visit, signora," he said to her. "But I suppose there is not much that I can do to make sense of it all in the short time I have left on this island."

"I'm afraid not," she admitted. "Based on the time we've spent together, I must say you seem a good enough fellow, Annibale Brunetti. And I did enjoy last night. I doubt we shall see each other again, so know that I will always think fondly of you. But believe me: it is for the best that you leave, as soon as you're able."

Annibale was concerned. Part of him wanted to be mad at her, but he had no real cause for it. He hadn't been wronged in any way by her, beyond a bruise to his ego. "What about you? Where will you go? You're not safe here either. Eventually Aston is going to push those things too far."

"Things?"

"Those monsters out in the water. I know about them. He's antagonized the things. They'll be coming up to finish us all off any day now. That's why you want me off the island, isn't it?" She was silent, as though she had not idea how to answer his question. "Signora, whatever is going to happen, you saved my life and I will always be in your debt for taking me in. If there's any way I can protect you from those things, or from Aston, or from these Frenchmen if you're afraid of them, please tell me."

She smiled at his chivalrous attitude, but it was a smile of condescending amusement, not gratitude. "You are a good fellow, Annibale Brunetti. I do mean that. Believe me when I say that I will be fine. But you aren't the one to rescue me. Ruffin is a good fellow too. He'll take you back to the continent, where you'll be safe. You must forget about this place, and you must forget about me."

The captain joined the Brands, and Annibale, for dinner that evening. It was a sullen meal. Brand himself made his contempt for his wife very apparent to the uncomfortable onlookers, while both Brunetti and the Frenchman were distinctly aware that something was troubling Giacomina on a level she refused to give voice to. Afterwards, the hosts showed Ruffin to a guest room of his own, while his crew remained on the ship for the night.

Everyone on shore slept alone that night, few of them well.

In the hours before dawn, a loud boom ripped through the morning calm, jolting Annibale awake. He stuck his head out the window to a heart-stopping sight: the mountain that crowned Isola de Incantesimo had exploded. The shock waves had shattered the glass of the windows, and part of the roof had sloughed off the house and onto the lawn, and a gray cloud of pyroclastic material was inexorably advancing down the mountainside, an encroaching wall of inevitable death. Annibale did not bother to dress himself beyond the pajamas he had slept in before leaping out the door.

In the hallway, he ran into Cpt. Ruffin, similiarly dressed. "Get to the ship!" shouted the captain. "The volcano is erupting!"

Annibale ran into Giacomina's room, hoping to help her to safety, but he found it empty. Somehow, she had already left.

In the confusion, the ringing in his ears, the continuing sound of the dust cloud, the battering rain of sky-blown stones, the screaming of the horse, Annibale lost track of Ruffin, lost his sense of direction. He thought he saw Giacomina's lithe silhouette running toward the beach, but he wasn't sure. Somehow he found himself at the site of Aston Brand's diving bell, seeing the Englishman frantically attempting to seal himself within it.

"Brand!" shouted Annibale. "Get to the ship, you fool! That bell won't protect you!"

Brand shouted something back, something Annibale couldn't hear over the tumult, before a wave of wet ash poured down the hillside, engulfing him and the bell together. For a moment, Annibale wanted to run and help him, but he knew it was too late. Aston was dead and buried already.

The ship had, bravely, not pulled out yet. Orienting himself toward the dock, Annibale ran, harder than he ever had before, ignoring the heat of the rocks on his bare feet, ignoring the pelting of stones on his back, ignoring the burning pain of his lungs, the boiling air around him, thinking only of that beach, the same beach where he had been so grateful to wash up days earlier, once again his salvation. All he needed to do was get onto one of that ship, he promised himself, and he would be safe. He tore through the bushes to the water, ran down the dock, where a pair of terrified shiphands were standing ready to close the shell doors, and Annibale collapsed, gratefully, into the rusty security of L'espadon's hold.

Ruffin wasn't far behind him, leading Giacomina's terrified horse.

"Ou et Giacomina? Monsieur Brand?!" the captain implored him, in French.

Annibale gasped, catching his breath. "Brand is gone, I'm sure of that. I thought I saw her somewh-" He was cut off by a shout from the deck.

"Madame!" It was one of the sailors. Ruffin, hurriedly, passed the horse's reins to a crewman and pushed up the ladder to topside, Annibale straggling after him.

The sky had turned black, the sickening sight of the cloud hanging in the air like a bruise over the crumbling island. What little remained visible of the villa through the dust had collapsed, the palm trees were flattened, and everything was a blasted grey.

Ruffin rushed to the gunwale, to where the crewman had shouted. The man pointed into the water, at a loss for words, and Ruffin gasped. Annibale jerked his head away from the devastation to see what had caught their attention.

Giacomina was swimming, gracefully, through the water, fully naked, her body obscured only by the surface of the water. But she was not swimming toward the ship.

It was as if she didn't see them at all. Suddenly, two dark forms coalesced up from the water around her, and the crew gasped, swore, cried out to God.

There was something almost human about them. Almost, but not, as though millennia of evolution had brought the piscine form to a similiar place to where man was now. True, they had two arms, two legs - and from the way they swam, almost like Olympic swimmers, it was clear that these were arms, not mere front legs - but these were unmistakably inhuman forms. Prodigious claws tipped their webbed hands and feet, and Annibale recognized the terrible instruments that had so devastated Brand's diving bell.

Heavy scales of a vivid dark green armoured their shoulders, backs, and batrachian heads, though their movements occasionally exposed a soft, paler underbelly to the astonished onlookers. Their heads were turned away from the ship, toward the swimming woman, denying a proper view of their faces, though there was little doubt that these, too, were monstrous.

A sailor raised a rifle toward the things, but Ruffin pushed the barrel up into the air. "Don't shoot them!" he cried. "You could hit Signora Brand!" Reluctantly, the man lowered his gun, and the fascinated sailors watched as the two creatures swam alongside her, like dolphins in squadron formation. One moved in front of her now, allowing her to move through its wake, the other darting beneath her, as though to carry her. It was clear to the men that Giacomina was not afraid of these creatures, whatever they were, though none could explain why.

The sailors gradually lost sight of the strange swimming figures as their paths away from the island diverged. But as the sky continued to darken, they noticed, perhaps, an even stranger phenomenon.

The sea beneath them was growing increasingly transparent in the strange twilight of the eruption. Vast, unspeakable shapes were looming up in newfound clarity, and Annibale realized that this was the ruin that Aston had meant to excavate.

But as he looked at the alien subterranean arches, two things became clear to him.

First, the structure, whatever it was, was much larger than Brand had dreamed. Far from a single temple, it was a vast complex, a sunken metropolis that stretched as far as he could see beneath the surface.

The second thing he realized was that this was no ruin. The city was alive, shoals of the strange icthyoid beings darting through its alleyways and avenues, congregating in squares, moving in and out of domed buildings with the ease of nature, as though the city had been built for them, by them.

"I didn't know there were so damn many of them," said Ruffin, in his creaky Italian, at the rail beside him. Someone had draped a heavy coat over the captain, and a lighter one was being offered to Annibale now, which he gratefully accepted. "These things, whatever they are... They warned her the volcano was going to erupt, you know. She tried to warn me last night. I should have listened."

Annibale nodded. "You loved her, didn't you?"

"I suppose I did," admitted Ruffin. "I can see in your eyes that you did, too, after a fashion." Annibale didn't deny it. "But neither of us could give her what she needed. She cared about us enough to warn me, but she didn't love us."

He let the sentence sit in the air, its implications echoing in the Italian's ears.

She didn't love us.

On a sandbar, further out, where the ship was barely a speck in the distance, Giacomina collapsed onto the wet, smooth sand. Her muscles felt good, warmed up from the swim and ready. She lay on her back, the sand cool against her skin, her breasts flattened by gravity onto her chest, her long brown hair draped like seaweed around her head. The two creatures strode out of the water, standing over her. Her eyes roamed over their scaled bodies, athletic limbs, and up to their fanged heads, liquid black eyes, and prognathous, piranha-like jaws lined with pointed teeth.

Giacomina licked her lips.

Her eyes moved down now, between the legs of the two creatures. Two long, stiffening members were unsheathing before her eyes.

Giacomina rose up onto her knees between them, running her lips gently over the surface of the first cock, taking it deep within her mouth as she ran her hand over the length of the other icthyoid penis, gripping it tightly between her dainty fingers. Then she switched, sucking the other one. She alternated between the two cocks, worshiping them with her mouth, savouring the salty taste, once strange, that had become so familiar to her in the past few years, until nothing else could compare or satisfy her.

Forcefully, she pushed one of the fish men down into a sitting position. He lay on the sand now, her head bobbing in his lap over his scaley cock as she moved her hindquarters up, presenting her cunt to the other. He lowered his inhuman head, allowing his long pale tongue to rove over her hind parts, probing inside her pussy before withdrawing, to circle her asshole, then returning.

Giacomina's cries of pleasure were muffled by the cock in her mouth. She felt a clawed hand from the creature in her mouth fall to the back of her head. It thrilled her to know that the claws that so gently caressed her ears, her neck, her cheek were the same claws that could tear through metal and bone like it were nothing. Her own hand, she moved beneath herself, desperately flicking her clit as she reveled at the touch of the two creatures.

Finally, she shuddered and screamed, her whole body shaking. The tongue of the thing behind her, pushing up her willing asshole, her fingers' dancing on her clit, and the inhuman touch on her face all added up to too much to bear. Giacomina's legs shook and she released the cock from her mouth, screaming up at the cloudy, ashen sky as her orgasm cascaded through her.

Without missing a moment to catch her breath, she pulled her body forward, over the prone creature in front of her, barely allowing the one behind her to extract his tongue from her rectum. She slid her well-formed breasts past the monster cock in front of her, up his soft belly and chest, straddling him in the sand, delicately lowering herself onto him, impaling herself on his member, gasping in pleasure. She rocked her hips a few times, pulling her cunt lips up his length, to make sure the angle was right, making the creature grunt in pleasure. Clawed hands rose to gently caress her breasts, sensitive nipples rubbing against scaled palms.