Mary

The whole ship starts shaking, and I can hear faint shouts and screams outside Edward’s cabin.

“What the hell?” James says. He goes to the door and opens it. I hear him gasp.

“What?” Rushing over, I look outside and cry out, cupping both hands over my mouth.

One of the sails is one fire, and as I watch, another one ignites, bursting into flame. A roar pierces the thick fog, and I feel a chill begin to creep into my bones.

“Here,” Edward presses a sword into my hands. It had a basket hilt made out of copper, the blade itself as long as my forearm, a silvery gray in color. He must see the look on my face, because he grabs my biceps.

“Just in case. Any weapon is better than none.” A deep growl sounds from outside, and I rush out onto the deck in time to see a shadow swoop down, fire flickering at its head. A dragon.

The dragon dives, blasting the main-mast with orange flames. I stumble, tripping.

And land on a corpse.

It’s charred, singed flesh. All black and rubbery and completely unrecognizable. Bile rises in my throat, and I push myself to my feet.

“Mary!” I look up in time to see the dragon circle around the ship once, before lighting a whole strip of deck on fire. I scream. It swoops overhead, then lands on the other side of the flames, on the bow.

In other cases, the dragon would have left me breathless with its beauty. Now it just left me horrified, a sickly feeling taking root in my belly. It stands up to its full height, firelight reflecting in its scales.

The dragon was majestic and black in color, with two pale blue eyes on either side of its head. Six horns extended from the back of its head, two long ones and four short ones, with the last half of the right large horn gone, leaving a jagged stump. The dragon had a shaggy male extending from the base of its skull, made of thick black fur. Four muscled legs. All four feet had four talons, a dewclaw, and another talon not unlike a thumb. Each one ended in a curved, hooked black claw, the inside edge serrated. Two wings, both with a bicep, forearm, and a palm where four long fingers tipped by ivory black spikes extended, a fifth little more than a nub bearing a claw. A vast black skin was stretched between the wing fingers of each wing, the edges tattered and ripped, holes scattered along it, made by arrows. A cobalt blue tattoo stood out against the ridged black scales on the bicep of the left wing arm.

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A shaggy layer of black hair started between the dragon’s shoulder blades, and went all the way down a long tail, where it ended in a clump of hair with six black spikes sticking out of the clump on each side. Scars covered the dragon’s hide, long grooves cut across its hips, shoulders, and down the length of its tail. Silvery gray burn scars on its legs and wings, and a silvery pink burn scar going through the bigger of the two eyes on the right side of its head.

All four eyes move across the ship, scanning it. When the dragon sees me, it freezes, before climbing down from the bow, slowly stalking forward with the ease of a predator. When it reaches the border of the flames, it stops. Then it parts its jaws, showing rows of sharp, white fangs, a barbed tongue, and dark pink gums. Saliva dripped from the roof of its mouth, swelling around its scaled lips, landing on the wooden deck with a patter. I can feel my heart pounding in my chest, going so fast I fear it might burst. The dragon smacked its jaws back together with a wet snap, before spreading its wings. Rearing up onto its hind legs, it lets out a thunderous bellow. A clicking sound, then the dragon roars in pain. I twist to see Edward stomping toward me, pistil held in his raised hand. Blood caked one side of his face, and his uniform was torn and burnt in a few places.

Cannonfire rings out from the starboard side of the ship. Ignoring the dragon, I rush over, leaning against the gunwale. The water is churning, bubbles popping out of existence almost as soon as they hit the surface. A flash of orange, then nothing. Silence falls, thick as cotton.

“Are we. . .” I ask, turning to Edward.

“We’re not out of this yet. There’s still a dragon we have to deal with, and I’ll bet nine times out of ten that it’s a Dragonweaver.” He sighs, wiping a hand across the blood on his face.

“Where’s James?” I look around, fearing the worst.

“Right. Ugh. Here.” It comes from the nook under the stairs that lead up to the ship’s wheel. I hurry over, to see James pushing a singed coil of rope of his body. He stands and groans. I smile and help him out, then pull both men into a hug. Edward coughs awkwardly, so I let go and stand back, reddening.

A hum splits the smoke, deep and baritone. And coming from the direction the cannons were firing.

“What-” I never finish my sentence, because a ship darts out of the fog, carrying a host of men wielding rusted swords, swinging them over their heads, guns and knives stuffed belts, boots, and all sorts of places. The ship pulls up to broadside us, cannons pulling into the bowels of the ship, preparing to fire. I shiver goes up my spine, when James elbows me.

“Look, the sails and the hull.” He whispers. I do as he says.

The ship’s three sails are dull red, the color of wine. The hull, much like the Morning Glory’s, is a few feet wider, and I see why. Gemstones the color of rust coat the sides of the ship from bow to aft, the only gaps where the gunports are. A figurehead of a raven in mid-flight decorates the bow, its beck merging into the bowsprit, wings disappearing into the gems behind it, taloned feet raised and spread wide, tail feathers sliding under the water line along the keel. And in black letters, the vessel’s name hung, like a bloodspot on a white tablecloth, set for all to see.

Scarecrow.