Gele looked up and stared into the talisman around the old man’s veiny neck. The thin silver chain wriggled like some kind of worm, the gray eye blinking rapidly. It was the only thing he could focus on lest be beset by Sawyer’s frenzied thoughts. He saw the children of Chorllow, sickly and green-skinned, as the corpse of the Siren and the things from the sky lay freshly slain. Never had he seen faces so lost, nor so broken, as the children when Saywer Jean butchered their beast from the Second Sea. Their fathers and mothers had their souls suckled from their necks and their flesh pickled by living brine. But it was Sawyer who made them build the funeral pyres and, in turn, built them a castle.
It was Maynard’s idea to raise them rather than just drop them off at some orphanage or willing townsfolk. Duncan laughed like a seal when he heard it. But Sawyer let the castle be a boarding school, for whatever it was worth. Most died of a strange sickness, a green pox. However, the few who endured earned their place under the Harpy’s black flag. They would survive to hear about its sinking, it would seem. Whatever happened thereafter dwelled in mystery, the answer guarded by the man with a gun to Gele’s head.
The Siren crawled back into Sawyer’s terror, made of slime and something else. It was cradled in the tomb of the Barbarian Queen. And all of it fed the Admiral’s ambition. Of the shared sensations, Gele witnessed the hollowness gore through the spirit, sincere want vanishing in the presence of regret. Ambition died, now feeding the gales as they whipped around, catching leaves and branches in their grasp, as the patch of jungle became the puppet to Sawyer’s caution. And for Vall, the island toiled its rage in another conjured storm, one of rumbling earth and schools of fish plunging down into the treetops, each a fat raindrop that clouded the sky above.
Captain Arnie’s eyes shimmered like lusterless gemstones and ice boiled together. “What happened to me?” He said, repeating the ghost’s question. “I became a product of the siren, forged by Allecros’s dungeons and reborn as a butcher belonging to the sea. And what happened to you? You’re feasting with savages and sharing yourself with dogs! Has The Salt Wench found her peace here?” It all came as a snarl as he pointed the brass sword at Sawyer’s throat.
“Captain, there is no one there.” A pirate with a tall pink face craned over his leader with squinted eyes. His chipped steel sword was pointed at Gele’s neck. And the torch in his other hand made his bald head glisten. “Are you talking to these cannibals?”
“A ghost, one who has been dead for forty-six years.” Arnold shrugged, poking the sword through Sawyer’s neck. “You do not have the eyes the Siren gave me, but if you did, all you would see here is a void of fire, in the trees and plants, off the savages hiding in the grass. All of them have souls, this land is flooded like the Second Sea.” He waved his gun through the bushes, pointing it at Gele. “This conduit’s soul is anchored to her. Bring it here. For the others, bind the wrists and ankles, and kick their sticks away.”
A pirate Gele could not see tugged his hair and pulled him to his feet. And the barrel of Arnold’s gun was pressed against his skull. The jade barrel kissed his forehead, drinking the beads of sweat that formed and tumbled down his cheeks, or was it tears? It was pushed deep against his skin. I will die here, he knew. Will I wake up with my father and sister in the Second Sea or in Hell with thieves I never met? Or will I get the chance to watch all of Vall die before joining the amber walls? The hair on his neck and chest stood up, his arms covered in goosebumps. He will see me after I die, wherever I go. He’s like Emned . . . No. The Siren twisted him. Gele had seen it himself and the void that lay beyond the reach of humanity. In the depths of the Second Sea, Sawyer only caught a glimpse of how far it was. What did this man see with the gift of tainted eyes, infected by what dwelled beyond heaven’s reach?
“Where is it?” Arnie asked Sawyer. “Where is the sanctum of souls?”
“Would I tell a stranger my deepest fear? Would I tell the Navy, with hot-iron prongs and the sprinkles of alchemy Allecros allows them, to know the location of Chorllow? And would I tell a wizard where my soul lies? How would you expect me, of all people, to spill my little secrets?” Tree limbs snapped. The gusts howled as a rampant chorus behind her words. The pirates braced themselves against the storm as splashes of green rain came down harder and harder.
“Right through the gills,” Arnie poked the sword through her again. Watching from his knees, Gele was sure he heard the creature inside the amber handle squeak. “The soul is like blood, swishes about the body, it lies in no heart or mind, it is everything, chimera.”
Sawyer recoiled, pushing herself away from the sword. Turning her head, she gave Gele sight of the soldiers of Vall. With blades at their backs and breathing down their necks, the pirates tied them up one by one. First, they got Nimereen, then an old weaver whose iron knife was then thrown into a tree. The pirate who flung it laughed and called it “the quickest war and the easiest hunt.”
Coan was still untouched, laying under the high stalks of grass with Mapsokas and a dozen others. Outnumbered, the pirates could not capture them all instantly, only waving their guns and swords. And the pistol was still against Gele’s forehead, reading his thoughts as he dipped into a panic. Quickened breaths fell from his lips as he stayed frozen, as still as the stone statues that surrounded them. In the corner of his eye, the sea serpent impaled on tree branches seemed to laugh at him with its unhinged jaw. Blood dripped down from its fangs and was snatched up by the air.
You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.
“Cannibal,” Arnold gazed down at Gele. His mouth curled into a stern frown. “Tell me where the heart of this island lies, or piece by piece, these sows here will match the Salt Wench. First, I will take an ear, then some fingers. Then I will carve gills from their lungs and wings from the skin on their backs. Then I will pluck out their souls, one by one.” He used the tip of his blade to lift up the amulet. The rotting eye squirmed and squinted on a rattling chain. “Tell me or I will start with you.” A raspy breath came slithering from his words. “Tell me, you must. Or I will mold you into a chimera, one of slugs and worms, and make you see the end of this land. For that fate will be graceful, compared to what Allecros would do if they came here themselves. Can you see it, the city Sawyer Jean could not reach?”
“No,” Sawyer reached out and tried to claw at Arnold’s neck. Her fingers phased through, and the captain only laughed. “What did you see Arnie, on Chorllow, in Allecros, what did you see of the Second Sea?”
“So many visions, unions, ends. I have seen the births of mermaids and the deaths of stars. All of it fake, I’m sure, elixirs though, are said to have sparks of truth. And I am old, and the pieces put together make me so afraid.” If he did hold fear, he hid it behind a smile. “And then you look outside, along the towers of Allecros, and see all of it coming to fruition. Big fish eat smaller fish. Everything on this side of the sea is already doomed.”
“Not me,” Sawyer spat. Fly, she wished, and that command branded itself to her and Gele’s interlocked soul. Wild branches pierced Sawyer’s stomach and flew through her eyes. The gales and their sticks all coiled around here, a legion of invisible vipers. Her wooden swords lashed at the pirates, pushing against them, forcing them to brace against the storm. Rope was torn from their hands, and their balance was broken. Sawyer grimaced, still not enough. Sticks and pebbles flew like grape shots, striking the invader and digging into their faces and eyes. The splatterings of the Second Sea and the blood of its dead fish joined the tempest, painting it red and green. And as debris sliced open the dead sea serpent, a waterfall of red flesh and guts came forth. Still not enough, but the ghost only had the island’s gift and all her worries. Instead of cannons, her artillery were hammers of meat. What an apt weapon for a monster forty-six years dead. The wings on her quivered, yearning to take flight. But she stayed with her boots firm on the ground. “Not me,” she said again, as the wind took the visceral and slammed Arnie with it like a crimson tidal wave.
The captain had no chance of avoiding the deluge of blood and bloated organs. It shoved him off his feet, pushing him away from Gele. The gun never fired, and relief washed over Gele as the feeling of ornate jade pressed against his head vanished. It hit nearly like a fever. As if the threat was just a dream, another memory of a woman. I will not die, Gele prayed to himself, crawling away, trying to find cover behind the trees. The island was breathing from the soil, ice coating the ground, melting just as soon as it formed. And the wind? Sawyer’s flurry only grew, aiming to end it now.
“Gele!” A voice came from the chaos. Pivoting, Gele watched as the thieves guarded themselves against the cyclone. Huddling, they gripped their muskets and swords. And the soldiers of Vall reached for their spears. Grass and sod were being uprooted as Coan rose from the brush. I need to kill him. Gele turned to the captain and heard the shout once more. “Gele!”
Beast blood splashed in his eyes, and he could not see whose mask it was at first. He saw their shadow, racing through the turmoil, brave enough to charge through the mess of water and wind. Kill him, so I do not have to. Kill Arnold, whoever he is. I will hesitate. I am no warrior. Kill him, save the island, please. Something grabbed him. Crawling out from the snare of gore, Arnie grabbed Gele’s hair, wrenching it, ripping it from his scalp. His eyes met the gun barrel again. A black void at the end of an infinite tunnel, so close he felt he could crawl inside. What if instead of shooting him, it just crushed him, slow and comforting? What would be nicer? More of his hair was torn away. Arnold was saying something, but everything was so loud. The sweat that dripped down his cheek, the beating of his heart, they were screaming, quieting, and everything else. Then there was a click and a soft sizzle whispered to him. Gele closed his eyes. I’m sorry, mother. The gunshot ripped through the discord, a clattering boom that brought forth a cloud of smoke. Gele coughed, his ears were ringing, and he realized he was still alive. Then, dread set in. Someone else had died.
The dead man’s mask had six eyes, black, white, and blue. For a moment, he stood like a slender tree, arms hanging listlessly at his sides. But then, he collapsed, his wooden box pulling him to the ground. Mysk the healer laid with his back arched over the box of herbs and cloth, a river of red pouring from his chest. The bullet, a lead ball, smashed through skin and bone, more like a hammer than an arrow. It had shattered one of his ribs, the fracture poking out like a finger reaching for the canopy above. There was a soft whimpering behind the mask, the sound of choking and sobs. But it quieted as soon as it began. There was so much he still needed to tell him about Galu and so much he wished to ask about Vall.
Kill him, Gele begged Sawyer. But now it was too late. Arnold reached for his belt, plucking a black-gold bottle and uncorking it with his thumb. Gele yearned to return to Coan’s Cave, to the spring, to the House, even the temple, anywhere but here. But the brass sword hovered over his throat and forced him to tilt his head up. “Drink,” the man commanded as he poured the potion into his mouth. It was bitter, sour, and tasted dry, a syrup with the texture of gravel with a scant sweetness. He tried to choke out, to vomit, to do anything, but once the first drop fell upon his tongue, the daze set in. Only a quarter of the bottle spilled before the wind knocked it away, armed with the skull of the sea serpent.
Gele felt warm, like basking on the silver sand on Galu’s beaches and as light as he was when he was drowning. The thing trapped in the sword’s amber handle was crying again. And Sawyer was saying something too, until she slumped over, snarling. Mysk is dead. The drink made him smile, as his head felt like waves were washing over his body, and a thousand little hands were embracing him. Mysk is dead. Sawyer was laying face down, her light nothing more than a dull flicker. And the captain had left him there to drool. The last thing Gele heard before he shut his eyes, shut his mind, was a vicious scream, one that shook the earth. Mysk is dead.