“There! The pirates have reached the shore!” Nimereen shouted just before the boat dipped down as the waves towered above them. Seawater washed over them right as Gele braced for the cold rush. Sawyer stood at the bow of the canoe, watching the enemy return to Vall. Three rowboats carrying twenty-seven roared as they braved the ensuing cyclone. The clouds overhead were twisting, and green rain mixed into the thunderous downpour.
What was the easiest way to avoid Arnold's eyes? That question hung over Gele when he had trudged through the swamp. The hike had taken him across the island, through the forests and jungles, across the rivers and plains of mud. Stone statues followed him, wearing the shape of different monsters as he returned to the marsh. But now, the wind had joined them too. Every path became known to Gele as if the map was drawn on the dirt itself. He could sense how far the ocean was, with tall waves crashing against the cliffsides. The pirate’s ship rocked on the sea, the crew preparing the rowboats to return. Gele and Sawyer had looked at each when the plan conjured itself. They’ll be focused on the storm, sights set right on the beach. Flanking was their only option.
One thing the two did not account for was how feral the weather was out in the Sea of Shrouds. Gele had sailed through a squall before, accosted by the spirits. And Sawyer herself had survived more storms than quarrels. But the canoe had not been built for the true fury of the sea. Small and cramped, Gele and Nimereen clung to the sides as they sailed out into the deep ocean and headed towards Arnold’s sloop only when they were behind it. The Second Sea still spat down fish and surges of green water. Schools crashed down as a barrage of arrows, perilous doom interrupting their migration. Pods of whales fell next, screeching in fear as they sent shockwaves and clouds of brine towards the feeble canoe. Gele held onto the mast and Sawyer turned the wind. The spirit was smiling as she fed the sail. Danger had a taste to it, Gele agreed. And he wore a grin too as nautiluses pelted the Sea of Shrouds like hailstones, and their shells bursting into shrapnel. Nimereen guarded his face as he helped turn the sail. The cloth was ripped and torn, but the canoe refused to sink. Melaopel’s boat, and Emned’s restoration, thank you both.
The shards of the nautilus shells sparkled like stars as they sank. Below, a pink and orange reef glittered with life. A cluster of crabs built burrows in the sand, eels living alongside them. Anemones and worms waved to Gele as he passed. And tiny fish sheltered themselves from the coming armageddon in spirals of coral. Those who could not find solace were victims to the sharks already frenzied by the raining meat.
“It was like this when I died,” Sawyer muttered. “The world below looked something like that. There’s a reef in Allecros’s bay, full of strange little things.”
“What if there’s a world below that one, as they live under us?” Gele thought as a forest of seaweed came and the reef was left behind.
“We’re close! Are you ready, Gele?” Nimereen announced once the canoe leaped over another wave. A rush of brine blinded Gele when he looked out towards Vall. Through Sawyer, he saw it. The flank had been successful, the ship was right in front of them.
Gele wiped the salt from his eyes and sank into the spirit’s memories. It became quicker to sort through them, but still, so much he could not see—like knowing a quarter of the cards in a shuffled deck. Clutching the sword, Gele was thankful. He only needed the memories he had already ventured to, ones of battles and brawls. Diving, he raised the sword and tried to reconstruct years of reflexes, instinct, and training. His muscles tensed and his stomach twisted. Not enough time. He had tried in the bog and twice out on the water. Only short dips into swordplay were allowed by the moment. Nimereen could not control the boat alone, and if he waited too long, it would cost Coan’s life. The warlord had nearly killed him in the temple, and he could not fail here. “No, I’m not ready,” he admitted to Sawyer, and to Nimereen he yelled, “throw the net!”
Nimereen stood, rocking the canoe, flinging his net onto the deck. Sharp stones caught on the railing, giving them a makeshift ladder. The storm and the Sea of Shrouds gave them no easy way up, thrashing water and wind at the rope as Nimereen held it firm. “Go!” He yelled, his mask blocking saltwater from flying into his eyes. “I’ll watch the boat, you save Coan!”
“I’ll return as soon as I have her,” Gele promised. Lunging from the boat, he reached for the net. Thread dug into his fingers. Some knots snapped whilst supporting his weight. Do not fall. Sawyer was already on the deck. Gele clenched his teeth and went to meet her. Scrambling to get hold, the climb was met with the storm’s interception. The canoe was pulled away from the ship, sent away by the current. Gele struggled to keep hold as Nimereen let go and the net went slack. The butterfly became trapped in a spider’s web. He exhausted himself, swaying back and forth, trying to surmount a wall that never stopped moving. Each breath came out heavy. The taste of the potion dwelled on his tongue. But he did not stop climbing. “Sawyer!” He saw himself, he saw her hand reaching out. A wave of seafoam splashed atop of him, blinding him again. He could only look through her, and he jumped up off the net. She snatched his hand out of the air and hoisted him onto the ship.
“Thank you,” Gele laid down on the deck. Rain had soaked the floorboards. A layer of water sloshed around atop the flooded deck. Up in the mast, folded sails threatened to come loose, either that or break off into the sea. Lightning flirted with it, crackling up in the clouds, threatening to strike.
“Pilke did the same for me once,” Sawyer said as she helped him to his feet. “Old man said he wouldn’t leave a man behind, nor a little girl.”
“Pilke?”
“He was the captain before I took over. Nice man to his crew, a butcher to the world. Always had respect for people who tried to be brave though. Said once that men are only actions, not words.”
“Do you believe it?”
Sawyer shrugged, “seen too much and too little to say for sure. You could be the nicest and most valorous person under the Second Sea, but what’s the point if you do nothing?” As she spoke, her gut turned. A second later she buckled to her knees. Her gills quivered, gasping and gasping. The wings tried to take flight, worthlessly flopping under her coat. “Gele!” She cried, pointing towards the stern—the captain’s quarters. “There’s something in there, not a man–”
“A monster?”
“No, an artifact. It’s calling out to me. It’s–” Forgetting everything, Sawyer stumbled into a run. She phased through the wall to the captain’s quarters, leaving Gele to follow.
Cautiously, Gele opened the door. If they were on the enemy’s vessel, the danger was already high. What spawned such frantic worry? Taking his first step inside, it was impossible to guess what vexed his partner. Oddities built up the walls, enclosing on him the second he laid sight on them. The first taste of how those across the ocean lived was potions wobbling with the ship and brass rods ringing together like windchimes. Books corralled him, tomes teasing him of a land he yearned to see. A shred of any page could have given him so much, and here the library promised him a trove of information on Allecrea. Triumphs of the Denevian Age, A Land of Filth and Ash, and dozens simply titled Magic or Alchemy and far too many with eroded spines rebound by thread and leather. Looking through them all, he saw the cot in the corner, with the strange toy made of patchwork cloth and stitches. It sat atop a chest of clothes and swords, waiting for the captain to return. Sawyer had laid eyes on it when she first came in, he had seen, but now she was crawling under the captain’s desk, reaching inside a wooden trunk inscribed with runes and copper.
“Sonia,” she whispered. Sawyer keeled over, holding her sides. “Gele, open this!”
The box was cold to the touch. Frost gathered on the latches. The same feeling as in the temple, but it’s definitely something else. Gele had to chip away the ice before prying open the chest with his fingers. Anticipation mixed with instinctual fear. Inside, half a rib cage lay on a bed of blue velvet. And among the bone grew fringes and plates . . . gills!
“The mermaid?” Was Gele’s first question, as Sawyer stood over it marveled and subsequently struck by dread.
“Half-right,” when the spirit knelt down, the bones glimmered with the same light that enraptured her. “She’s a chimera, remember? A mermaid walking upright across the earth. They outnumber us, the mermaids do, a hundred to one, some say. I think more. Sonia was a real witch from a hidden empire lost to time. Whispers say she buried it, others say she saved it. All I know is that she died next to Deneve when all the friends of the Barbarian Queen died in a battle against the Second Sea itself. And after two-thousand years, we stand here pilfering from legends. Whose fragments are calling out to the bone? Sonia or Deneve,” her hands traced her gills, “maybe both at once? I think a part of me was too.”
“If she’s with Deneve, she would have been below Chorllow, right? What are her bones doing here?”
“I only used a third of her during my last sacrifice, the rest left in her coffin. Mermaid bones and chimera bones are both used in rituals of all kinds. Could have been for anything. Maybe he had something else planned for this island.” Sawyer glanced around the room. Sinister glares snapped to every bottle and book, her face twisting as she identified only a sparse few. “Maybe everything here was once part of some strange plan. A man risking his life to come all this way across the sea, he does not strike me as a hoarder.”
Gele glanced around the room again. The books and treasures haunted him. The vision of the Second Sea crashing down flashed each time he inspected anything on the shelves. Magic could rupture the earth and bring doom to the world. Runes, instructions disguised as scratches, only commanded half of a ritual. The ingredients festered everywhere. Would there still be calamity on the other side of the world, even if he stopped it today? Part of him was willing to take his sword and slice the bones in two. Feed them to waves. Better to return the mermaid to the water than to let it be utilized by a madman. Would it be wiser to use the magic here for himself or to let it all sink in the storm?
Then, there was the scroll strewn across the desk. Split into two halves, red blemishes polluted the bottom right, spread out along the page. The top was a field of green, with lines carved across it. Millstonefish, one of them was called. And the red was named Allecrea. The map startled Gele. The Second Sea was vast and empty, with only a few dots of upside-down islands and coral. But the migration routes spread to every corner. With them, they could follow the creatures above anywhere across the earth. And the map of the world below made it known. Continents clustered together on one side, some a deep purple or a vivid orange. The red was small in comparison, left alone to contend with the blackened lands of ruins and the homes of beasts. But across blue waters, archipelagos and island chains were dotted in the same red. It stretched for miles and miles until the black of unclaimed territory returned. The Glass Islands and the Funnel dwelled there—Rem and the Shadow Isles. Emned’s home. And if the page went on further, Vall and Galu would be there too. The ensuing red would take them all, he was sure. Back on the beaches, before he set off, he had sketched the map of Allecrea enough to sear it in his memory. In forty-six year years, it had swelled to take hundreds of islands. And soon, that road would reach his home. It would come to Vall too, and surely the hunger for the spirits’ power was not held by Arnold alone.
Another look at the captain’s collection gave Gele pause. “I need this ship,” he admitted. “The world is unkind to us. But if we take this ship as a gift, it’ll be our first true weapon against Allecrea. Sawyer, you have seen so much but not enough. Half a century and so much has changed.“ Placing his hand on the map, Gele traced a line from the Shadow Isles to Allecros. “What I know now is not enough. What you have given me is not enough. Rem is trading with Allecrea, and maybe Galu too. But me? I have seen both worlds. Sawyer, I have seen fleets from your eyes. All they bring us today is a ship. When will these fleets come, and what will they ask for? They want the temple, they want to make chimeras, sacrifices, and more. I will not let them. I am no warrior, just a dancer from the gravel fields. But the Beckoning seems to have never ended, and I may have years left until it is time to stop.” Leaving the magic behind him, Gele drew the sword from his belt. I am small, I am nothing to them, but I will carry on anyways. “Sawyer, join my crew, lead the ship if you’d rather. But help me see the world in a new light. I cannot fear it anymore. I need Coan, and I need you.”
“From here to the Second Sea, I will follow, I will lead, or whatever you ask of me, as long as we go side by side,” she outstretched her hand. As they shook, Gele made no effort to hide his trembling. The sword in his grasp vexed him more than the thunder crackling outside. And Sawyer looked at him as if he was the one built from water. Whatever I am, she is a witness to it. The Second Sea will know too. I can wear shame and fear without reproach. Never have I been so free. Was that the offer? Peace for freedom?
Whichever way he went, would it all route back to the edge of annihilation? A gun against his skull and a hand pulling on his hair, how did he get here? What did Gele even want when the battle was done? Was he lost in the fervor—in the disgust, hunger, and the struggle—or was he on the cusp of discovering who Gele was once he truly left Galu? What was the difference, and did it matter in the face of the Second Sea?
With his sword poised in front of him, he left the captain’s quarters. Sawyer trailed behind, taking one last look at the artifacts, books, and the map for him. The mermaid bones still yearned for her. The sensation crawled across Gele’s skin too. Sonia, the one Sawyer sacrificed alongside so many others. Revolting. But . . . why would Lonnie bring them all the way here in a box locked away with runes?
The question did not bring Coan to him. Nothing did. With the looted jacket rippling in the wind with his scarf, Gele braved the storm and marched across the deck. The waves splashed down over him, taller and mightier than before. Seawater and rain wrapped together as they both poured down in a single great deluge. Dead fish paraded on the deck as they slid as a mass of chum that threatened to sweep Gele away with them. But he endured, finding solace in the lower decks just before a tidal wave cleaned the meat away.
“The Second Sea’ll run out of fish before the dawn comes,” Sawyer spat. “And when this is done we’ll live in a castle of bones and rank cat food.”
“Let’s make a cloak of all the scales and live like kings,” Gele said as they passed the gun deck, straight lines of cannons stretched from one side of the sloop to the other. None were shaped the same, molded by different makers. Rather, all looted from other vessels, Gele presumed. Thankfully, the pirates had closed the gun ports, leaving it dry and sheltered.
“No,” Sawyer made a face. “The smell would make me crawl right back into the Anima.” The next level made Sawyer twist her frown back into a nostalgic smile. “I remember living like this.” Bulkheads separated the deck into sections, splitting the gun deck. In the backrooms, a disorganized web of hammocks provided Gele with a borrowed wave of homesickness. Sawyer walked through the walls to see for herself. Forty hammocks were divided unevenly among five rooms. “Home,” Sawyer sighed, looking upon the mugs, itchy blankets, and other personal belongings strewn about by the ship’s now incessant rocking, “home at last.”
Gele’s balance adjusted to the wild swaying, leaning with the waves. The dexterity borrowed from the phantom at his side. Could it be my home as well?
“A little navy boy used to fall over all the time, scraping her knees until she grew up to become an Admiral.” Sawyer clutched her side, fingers clawing at the gills. “Look what I traded this for,” she spat, “I could have lived a full sailor’s life, short but free. That should have been enough. It should have been enough.”
Grew up to be an admiral, a monster, a friend. “We’ll get that shard of life back, share it even, once the morning arrives.” One last time, Gele fell into the memory of the pirate, trying to learn how to swing a sword. He should have learned when his father offered it to him or when he wanted to become a warrior. No. If Gele had made a different choice, he would never have met Sawyer, never met Coan, never met Mysk. It was his choice that brought him here, an amateur, surely, but on the precipice of halting a calamity. I am no warrior, the Beckoning is who I am, but I am here nonetheless. Taking one last breath, he descended into the cargo hold.
Darkness greeted Gele as he reached the maze of crates and barrels. Strapped to the floor, they loomed over Gele as he skulked past. Niall’s warning blared in his head as he searched for the brig. Sawyer scouted ahead for him, walking through barrels of salted meat and rum to find the jailer for him.
She found candlelight first, an island of flame in an ocean of chilled darkness. Gele slinked his way towards it, dipping behind boxes and clutching his sword close. What would happen to Vall if he died here? Stop. Questions like that were useless. And his heart was even more unhelpful. Pounding like a drum, it went doom doom, doom doom.
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It was time. The swordsman sat next to the candle, quietly watching the wax drip down like sweat drops. A curved cutlass rested in his hands while a white coat draped over his shoulders. He was humming some song, Sawyer recognized it was a hymn. And behind him was a wall of iron bars, his shadow guarding a sleeping woman inside. If Gele did not go, the Second Sea would fall upon the earth. If he ran, Coan would die alone. Coan saved him from the hot springs and she carried him to a dismal cave. Why did he go so far for someone who once tried to kill him? Her brother is dead because of me, because of the phantom, because of the captain.
“Are you here for the girl?” The swordsman asked, his voice evaporating bravery and slicing through the dense silence. Standing up, the gaunt figure looked more bone than muscle. Scars graced his skin, far more than Sawyer boasted. As waves screamed, crashing against the hull, the swordsman remained unphased. Ear-splitting thunder shattered the echo of Gele’s frantic breathing. That’s how he found me. The swordsman only waited, guarding the woman as he was told to do.
“Yes,” Gele rose from his hiding spot, surrendering himself to the moment. His footsteps boomed as he marched forward. “I need her back.”
“What’s your name?” The swordsman took a step back towards the cage. Taking the candle, he shined it over Coan. He had taken the time to bandage her cuts and clean the blood off, taking the paint away with it. But he had bound her arms to the bars, keeping her still as the boat slithered atop the violent Sea of Shrouds.
“Gele.”
“Kipper.” The man’s eyes flickered. And all at once, the two men advanced, their swords shared their own words, and Gele took Sawyer’s instincts and meshed it with his, and everything arrived at its apex.
Gele lunged to the side as the cutlass came down on him. Steel barked at steel as the two blades narrowly missed. Cartwheeling, Gele fell into his dance as the swordsman pursued him. Tranquil and weightless. In an instant, he entered the state of mind he forged whilst in the Beckoning. Nothing remained as Gele let himself melt, allowing the ebb and flow of battle to absorb him. The blades bounced off each other to a resounding clang! Through one pair of eyes, he saw Kipper and his keen movements threatening to slice open his neck, and through another, he saw a pirate girl swinging a blunt blade every night. Who saw what?
Blood dripped from a shallow gash on Gele’s chest. Another cut bit into his shoulder, only grazing him. If the swordsman was to stop and judge Gele’s skill, the dancer reckoned he’d say that the guard was adequate and everything else was novice at best. Gele never had the chance to swipe at his foe, only defend and evade. He survived dozens of slashes so far, but no man could go on forever. How far would I need to go? How far? That single question boomed in Gele’s head as he pranced around the sword and watched the titling of the floor. The ocean was no friend to either man. And the Second Sea would swallow them both if Gele did not free the warlord. Her brother is dead, Mysk was murdered. I cannot let her die too. The thought burning in his head, he thrust the sword forward, catching Kipper’s blade. The first step to victory. Twisting, Gele tried to disarm the man, but to no avail. The swordsman was far too quick. No, the years of experience carried the weapon as much as Kipper did.
Even the vicious wind was outmatched here. The labyrinth of crates and boxes blocked the flow of stale air. The cramped space gave no power to Sawyer as she watched from the sidelines, feeding orders and insights to Gele without saying a word. Swing low, she would tell him, tethering her words straight to synapses rather than his mind. Guard! She controlled his muscles as well as he did. But when Gele needed to jump away or slide across the tips of his feet, that was his own reflexes.
But it was still not enough.
Kipper rushed at Gele, aiming each swing at Gele’s neck, stomach, and wrists. More like a surgeon than a cutthroat, Sawyer’s comment rang like a bell. The Holy Church of Mehmaton trains its dogs well. For a moment, Gele could see it. A grand hall of marble columns, crests of gemstones draped over the statue of the God and Goddess, with a great glass ceiling that gave a glimpse right into the Second Sea. And for that picture of the world across the ocean, Gele was too slow to block the cutlass as it slipped across his skin. Coan could have won if the roles were swapped. A deep cut ran down his face and chest, from his forehead to his abdomen. Exposed muscle blared with writhing pain. Blood swished in his mouth as he staggered. Keeping his sword up, he aimed it at Kiper’s neck, halting him from striking again.
No. Sawyer’s boots stomped against the floor. Her eyes were as wide as saucers. Stoic rage poured into them as if she took the Anima’s hundred glares as her own. Clenching her teeth, they ground together with the sound of crinkling glass. And her hand reached for her scabbard. Nothing was waiting for her there. I could kill him, I could have slaughtered them all like the warlord almost did. I am the Salt Wench, I was one step away from flying to the Second Sea. Act like it! Her hands outstretched. Tiny shards of ice formed around her fingertips. Invisible to Kipper, the only proof of her desperation came as frostbite climbed on his throat. Sawyer tightened her grip, trying to strangle him. Wind rushed in and out his throat at once. Look how weak I am now! Even now you cannot fly! You cannot even protect him! Sawyer’s face contorted to an expression devoid of everything but disgust. Pathetic!
Were her thoughts dripping into his own? Did she want him to hear them, or could she not stanch them anymore? Pain snaked around him like anvils, the shockwaves of agony leaving no part of him untouched. But he went forth anyway. Of all things, the map on Arnold’s desk crawled to the forefront of his head. No matter where he went, Allecros would be encroaching on the shores. Even if Arnold was killed, how long until another man arrived with the same intentions? Would there be other men looking for other things on other islands through the same violent means? If Gele kept going, how many would he have to endure? Every single one. Gele gripped his sword and lunged forward. The sharp pain searing across his body evaporated the peace he dreamed of when Shuran once spoke about the world. The only resting place that remained was the Second Sea itself. The dull side of his blade bashed against Kipper’s cutlass. As he choked, the swordsman failed to save his weapon, allowing it to fly across the cargo hold. “Let go of him!” Gele yelled. Spinning, he slammed Kipper with his heel, throwing his strength towards a heavy roundhouse kick.
“Gele!” Sawyer let go of the pirate as he collapsed. She ran and wrapped her arms around her partner. Mistakes mutilated Gele. The duel granted him new wounds, deep cuts that no invited death to slither into his shadow. Many dead men had cleaner flesh than he. Blood rained down as he stepped forward. Would he even live to see the morning?
“Raise your hands!” Gele shouted at the pirate, hovering the tip of the blade over his neck. Kipper’s face was flushed with a paleness, as he looked upon the dancer in horror. Then, Gele gave one command to Sawyer, “Promise me, if I fall now, that you will destroy Vall, use a cyclone, a waterspout, anything to stop Arnold. Sink the island, so no one can find it again.” The desperation plagued his thoughts, and he felt a bizarre sickness creep into his stomach as he even contemplated the thought of drowning the House. It would be the only way if we cannot stop Arnold soon. Sawyer only nodded, her arms limp at her sides. The emotions that rushed through her before had dispersed, leaving only dread in its wake. “Raise your hands!” Gele yelled again at the pirate.
Kipper followed the order, lifting his palms. “What was that?” He asked, still bewildered.
“A ghost. Now, open her cage. Hurry!” Gele used the sword to point at Coan. Would he even have the strength to get her back to Vall?
Holding a pair of rusted keys, Kipper glanced back at Gele. His face still held a glint of animosity, a desire to keep fighting. “You’re a magician too. What happened on the island? Were there really cannibals?”
“No,” Gele groaned. “Arnold will bring the Second Sea down from the sky. Ask Niall. He lost an eye and a hand trying to stop him.”
“Niall?” Kipper muttered as he opened the cage, the hinges creaking, the keys snapping the lock apart. “He’s with you?”
“Come with us,” Gele said. Never had he felt so fragile. If Nimereen is lost in the storm, someone needs to take Coan back. “Talk to Niall yourself, hear what he has to say. See the island. Then tell me that it’s full of cannibals. Or you will die here, alone in the bowels of this ship.” As if it agreed, the ship tilted with the waves. Up above, the mast creaked as the gales tugged on it. They were in the belly of a beast rather than something built by man. Or at least something now commandeered by nature. “The Second Sea will swallow us all unless you help me bring the girl home.” Could Coan suture his wound closed? Maybe Mysk taught her. Gele grit his teeth, begging for the possibility.
The hesitation that led to the swordsman’s pause gave Gele hope. Kipper paced through his thoughts silently. His fingers went to grasp the dirty white jacket. He held it like how a husband embraces his wife or how a baby caresses a blanket. It looked like the only shred of warmth in a frozen tundra. And when Kipper glanced back at Coan, he had his answer. “I was once a hunter of wild witches,” he whispered, “I am more than that, more than this. Someone needs to lead the poor thieves home after Arnold falls.”
“Prepare a boat, if there is one. I’ll bring her up to the top deck.” Gele muttered. His fingers went to his wound. Would he make it? It hurts. Dizziness set in. But he promised he would save her. Why? Do I even like her? She tried to kill me. Sawyer is a chimera. Do I even like her? Does any of it matter?
“How do I know you’re not lying to me, Gele?”
“You can either go see for yourself, or stay here wondering. And all the while, Arnold and his magic shall bend the world to his will.” Gele said, clinging to consciousness with withering desperation.
“Niall has the full story,” Kipper said, looking upon the dying man. “But you’re right. Neither of us can stay here.”
“Thank you. Let us both make it back to shore safely,” Gele said as he turned his back to the pirate and climbed inside the cage where Coan was confined.
The warlord sat there whimpering, her limbs tied to the bars. Her breath smelt of the potion Gele had been forced to drink. He drugged her too. Cutting her restraints, Gele held Coan, his arms wrapped around his stomach. “Sawyer, do the same you did with Kipper, but we need to make her vomit.” Fists clenched tight, Gele tried to push the drink back up her throat. Sawyer stuck her hands through Coan, right into her guts. “I don’t know if this will work,” she admitted. Coan’s breathing was already quiet and slow. She needed to be on her feet if they were to bring her back to the House. Every man from Allecrea would see them as nothing, two weary people from across the ocean, clinging to life by a splintered thread.
It made things no better when Gele nearly fainted from the metallic smell—like rotten meat and spices were spilled into a forge. Coan wretched up the potion onto the floor with a guttural scream. The puddle had the same color as mercury, shifting to a rustic green before it bubbled and evaporated. Half her mask was tilted up, and Gele could see her mouth. Deep scars carved pink canyons in her jaw, shards of metal still stuck inside. Pushing it back down, Gele wished he never saw it.
“No!” Was the first out from Coan’s lips as she slapped his hand away. “Where’s the next one!” She screamed. “I know a thousand more are coming. I am not dead yet . . .” Her fury quelled when she felt the cold. Backing herself against the wall, she stood on trembling legs. Her hands were reaching for something that was not there. “Gele? Where did my weapons go? Did the monsters retreat? What about the one who could speak?”
At first, he struggled with what to say. What did she see in the dream? “I’m here to take you back to the House. Please, come with me. I don’t have much time.” The wound that ran down his body painted his clothes a deep sickly red. Every time the ship rocked, he expected to go spinning with it. Get her home, that was the only thing he could think about. Maybe it was the last thing he could do.
“Home?” The word came out as foreign. “The House is gone. My family is dead. The monsters, thousands of monsters invaded from the sky and the shore.” Her head drooped. “I was the last one fighting. I was fighting against the onslaught for years. How long has it been?”
“Hours since Mysk was murdered,” maybe he should not have been honest. “You were taken on this ship, and the pirates are going to the temple,” they know now because Arnold saw your nightmare. He refrained from saying that.
“My brother is still dead?” Coan fell to her knees. “The monsters ate him countless times, I thought maybe he was going to come back. My mother too. The monsters kept falling and falling. And we would keep getting back up ready to fight, to be eaten. I died too, I think, but even then I never stopped.”
“It’s–” Gele almost said it was over. “Arnold is at the temple, he will bring the Second Sea down upon Vall. Help me. Help me stop the extinction of Vall for real.”
“In my nightmares, the monsters came on ships too. Rem came and destroyed my mother, and the pirates came and murdered my brother. What will come for me?” She pushed past Gele, walking on her own. She answered her own question with an angry sigh. “Maybe, I will be the last one alive. Would you bury me with my family, Gele?”
“I wouldn’t let you– “
“Answer the question!” Never had Gele heard a shout so loud. Viscerally somber, Coan hugged Gele tight. Her fingernail dug into his skin. She knew how wounded he already was. How long did she see herself surviving? “Thank you for everything, but promise me that when I die tonight, you will bury me next to my mother.”
“What are you planning?”
“I will lead the last vestiges of Vall’s soldiers to the temple, and we will defend our home,” Coan affirmed. “The children left behind at the House may get to live in a few years of peace until the next invaders come. Maybe they won’t be soldiers or warlords. Maybe they’ll be slaughtered before they face the same struggle I have. I don’t care. It should have been someone else who took this face, everyone is already dead because of me.” Tears fell from her cheeks. Clawing at her bandages, Coan hid her sorrow well. “Take me back to my people, Gele, please.” She hugged him again. “You’ll go to the Second Sea with Sawyer, won’t you? And I’ll be with my family. If I don’t get the chance to say it, goodbye.”
Gele was close to screaming. Sawyer stood stunned at the warlord’s words. “I hate her,” the spirit said in despair. “I hate her.”
“Goodbye, Coan. When tomorrow comes, I hope that we both get to sleep through the day and meet again at dusk.”
“Me too, I am so tired,” Coan nearly laughed.
Neither could march up the stairs alone, so they had to lean on each other to make the climb. Gele needed Sawyer’s support as well. The three went to the top deck, where the storm had evolved to a cataclysm that surmounted even hurricanes. Gele could not even see two feet in front of him, the rain was as thick as steel. And if the raining daggers were truly made of metal, Gele would have had to brave curtains and curtains of guillotines. The storm that struck when he left Galu was only a tenth as tumultuous. Holding onto Sawyer and Coan, Gele marched into the downpour.
The waves dipped, dragging the ship down. Walls of water rose above the mast, threatening to smother the sloop. And then they did. A globe of water surrounded them. The roof of seafoam collapsed just as it formed. On the other side of the ship, Kipper was wrestling with a rowboat up until the last second. “Shelter!” He screamed before running for the captain’s quarters. Kipper never made it. Coan tugged on him, trying to pull him back below deck. But there was no time left.
The ocean snapped the mast first, shattering it into splinters. A desolate creak rang out as a death cry. Wood and brine came down at once. Coan shoved Gele to the floor as the mast fell, smashing the deck in two. It cleaved it in half like an axe before sliding into the water. A web of rope and sails came too. Coan tried to dodge it, but the ship tilted. And the sails took her down below with them. Sawyer caught Gele right before he joined her. Her hand held onto his wrist as she floated over the edge of the broken deck. She was saying something, but Gele was so scared that all he heard was rain.
Kipper had already been washed away. The captain’s quarters were erased from the ship entirely. Only strewn about books and a toy skewered on a spike remained. Sawyer pulled Gele into her arms. Holding him tight, all Gele could see the Anima revisiting her thoughts. Trying to wring the wind to her command, she attempted to calm the seas. The ocean was everything and could not be quelled. And for her stipulation that the storm could be survived, a rogue wave as tall as the last loomed over the tiny sloop.
“Shit, it’s just like before,” Sawyer whispered.
The deluge plummeted atop the deck, sweeping Gele away. Blinded, he did not know when he hit the water, only the terrible sensation of no longer being able to breathe. Sinking below the surface, the current snagged him. He struggled, desperate for air. But his flailing only pulled him deeper. Where is it, where is the Anima? He needed his sword. Where is my sword? Reaching for it, Gele thrashed around. Books and potions sank with him. But where was his sword? It was becoming harder to breathe. Swimming was impossible, he was already so far below. His wound ached, blood spilling from it like ink. In the darkness, Gele saw sharks coming for him. There was a stingray too. A school of fish rushed past. Their scales glowed in the darkness like stars in the absence of night. All of them were fleeing from Vall. No, they were going to it. Gele reached for one of them, maybe they could save him. But what his hand caught was a bone. His fingers felt the ridges, the gills. When the rib touched the brass bangles around his wrist, he could see.