by C. Vandyke
One of the guards shifted, watching them. Kyle glared, defiant. They could choose the direction of the ship, but they wouldn’t choose whether she and the person she loved were allowed to cuddle, damn it.
Teague, meanwhile, curled up into Kyle’s side, making themselves small despite their greater stature. They laid their head on the young captain’s shoulder and sighed, the only sounds around them the gentle creak of the ship and the muffled tread of the sailors’ footfalls above. The guard relaxed, his focus moving away from the two of them.
Teague spoke, their voice barely audible. “I wonder if it would have been wiser to stay in that room. Might have saved us both some trouble.”
Kyle stiffened, anger and anxiety gripping at her insides with equal fervor. If she’d had even an inkling as to what had been waiting for her at The Stargazer, Kyle would never have brought them with her. She had spent much of the time since arriving back cursing her own poor judgement, and her mind insisted on jumping to conclusions about whether or not Teague would want anything to do with her after this.
Or if there would even be an ‘after this.’
Kyle’s arm tightened around Teague’s shoulders. In the dark of the hull, as The Stargazer rocked around them, Kyle Talos had no witticism that would save the day. Her ship was no longer hers, her lover had been put in danger, and there was the very real possibility that none of them would survive to tell about any of it.
Tears stung at the back of her eyes.
Teague slid an arm over Kyle’s waist and around, pulling her close while nuzzling their head closer to her throat. They placed a small kiss on her neck, and Kyle shivered, relaxing slightly. “I don’t know if this is the time,” she said, breathing a laugh.
Teague chuckled, their lips so close to Kyle’s throat that she could feel their breath. “True. Perhaps, once this is all over, and we are back, you can find a way to propose then? Without all of this being abducted nonsense?”
Kyle nodded in the darkness, but then started, shifting to glance down at Teague’s face. “Wait, what? You knew?”
A giggle was their only response for a time, before they finally managed, “Emma told me.”
Emma, Teague’s older sister. Teague’s older sister whom Kyle had sworn to secrecy when she had asked her for help arranging a romantic breakfast, after what Kyle had hoped would be a night of lovemaking. “I trusted her!”
“Ky, the poor woman couldn’t keep a secret if her life depended on it.”
They both laughed.
The guard glanced at them again, but nothing more.
Kyle shook her head in the darkness, amazed. “Is that why you came with me?” she asked, her voice once again a whisper.
Teague nodded against her.
“Does that mean…” Kyle trailed off, her nerves wavering. She didn’t dare assume. There were too many variables. But what if these were the only moments they might have left for this connection? Her resolve strengthened, and she forced herself to speak. “Does that mean you would be willing to always come with me?”
“Of course,” was the reply without a moment’s hesitation. “I am still holding you to a wonderfully romantic breakfast and elaborate proposal once this is all over.” They gave another little squeeze to Kyle before letting out a yawn.
Kyle went, in half an instant, from anxiety to elation. It was a startling change, which meant she felt even less prepared when Teague said, ‘once this is all over,’ and the elation slipped right back down into worry.
As if sensing Kyle’s thoughts, Teague whispered, “There will be a ‘once this is all over,’ Kyle. We’ll make sure of it.”
Kyle hoped they were right.
What began as a slight drizzle and choppy ocean waters had become a tempest. A wave slammed into the port side of The Stargazer, shaking the ship to its very core. Not for the first time that morning, Kyle prayed to whatever god might keep her ship from being torn apart in the tumult. As it was, the entire crew was tossed to the side, some keeping their balance, others dropping to all fours.
Yet Vána stood straight and tall beside Kyle, her icy gaze pinning the young captain in her place at the helm. Two guards stood to the port side, and between them was the injured, half-dead heap of her father. Another guard to the stern stood, a hand roughly grasping Teague’s arm. Kyle had to admit, her grandmother knew how to motivate a person.
They were sailing around to the southern point of Elysium Cove, where Vána insisted the best point of entry would be in the eternal storms surrounding the island. Kyle had heard that fairy tale as well, though there were still no ships, no captains, and no members of a crew that had successfully made it through and lived to tell the tale.
Kyle guided the ship as well as she could in the tossing waves, the helm fighting her for each and every league they managed. Everything ached. Trying to keep her footing, as the boat rocked and the wind howled and the rain drove, was wearing her to the very bone with exertion.
And they weren’t even in the worst of it yet.
Vána looked unperturbed. The closer The Stargazer got to the supposed entryway, the more distant her gaze became. Kyle thought that might be a way in, a weakness in her grandmother’s armor, but she dared not try it with her lover on one side and her beaten, bloodied father on the other.
"There!" Vána shouted to be heard over the storm, pointing off to the port side.
Kyle squinted to see through the storm around her. Her eyes weren't as good as her grandmother's, but she could make out a stretch of the storm that seemed calmer than the rest. Of course, calm was a relative term. The approach to the isle had been one of the worst that Kyle had ever seen in her ten years as captain of The Stargazer, and this swath looked worse than what they had endured to make it this far.
Kyle realized she was staring at her death. At the death of them all. She was frozen by it, her white-knuckle grip on the helm not changing course to where her grandmother pointed.
"Damn you, child, steer to port or we will miss it!" Vána practically roared.
Kyle blinked, temporarily freed from her fear paralysis. She looked to Teague, desperate and pleading. Her lover met her gaze and then nodded, an almost imperceptible gesture.
With every bit of strength she had, Kyle turned the helm.
Hard to starboard.
The Stargazer pitched with the sudden change of direction. Vána fell into the helm, her weight helping Kyle to keep the ship on its trajectory away from the Elysium Cove, from the Well of Eternal Life and her grandmother’s great ambition. The guard clutching at Teague's arm fell against the railing, releasing them in favor of saving himself. Teague quickly used the advantage, pushing away from the man and down the steps to the lower deck.
"You peredhel bitch," Vána screamed, righting herself. She snatched at Kyle, who dodged away from the grasp, still holding the helm as best she could. Vána didn't have a physical weapon, but Kyle knew this made her no less deadly. Magic was Vána’s domain. The older woman’s lips were moving, and her hands glowed with an angry, crimson light. She reached for Kyle, and the half-elf could hear the hiss of rain turning to steam when it touched Vána’s hands. She dodged again, but she knew there would not be many more opportunities to avoid her grandmother's enchanted touch.
Vána grabbed at her wrist, and Kyle couldn't pull away without releasing the helm. Searing hot pain shot up her arm. Her grip failed, and the wheel spun wildly. The ship pitched again, this time struck by a swell of ocean water that hammered into the hull. Kyle lost her footing, falling back and sliding across the deck to hit the railing. She curled on her side, protecting her injured wrist. The skin burned and peeled, the flesh beneath blistering and red. The rain and wind around her made it hard to hear, and the pain made it impossible to concentrate. She didn't realize Vána approached until a rough hand grabbed a fistful of her wet hair. No longer hot, the hand clutched hard, pulling Kyle to her feet.
"How dare you," Vána snarled. Her free hand shot out, gripping Kyle's throat and sq
ueezing with a strength born from rage. "You think you did anything, peredhel? I'll just kill you and take your ship. It's that si—"
Vána didn't get to finish her threat.
Teague ran into her, throwing their weight into the Elven woman without mercy. Kyle saw Vána for barely an instant before she was pitched over the back railing, plummeting to the water below. Teague crashed into the railing but managed to check their momentum. They sank to the deck, chest heaving. Kyle hurried to them, checking to make sure they weren't injured. They smiled at Kyle and, once she was close enough, Teague took her face in their hands and kissed her, hard. "Are you all right?" they asked, shouting to be heard over the storm.
Her arm stung horribly. Her head hurt. They were still in the storm and not remotely out of danger, but the only thing that mattered to Kyle at that instant was that Teague was whole and safe.
"Captain Talos!"
The shout came from an unfamiliar voice. Turning to look up through the driving rain, Kyle saw one of the guards. She tensed immediately, shifting to put Teague behind her as much as possible. The Elven guard shook his head. "I saw Elder Raudnost fall from the ship, driven by the storm. We will not risk any more of our lives. Steer us out of here, Captain!"
Kyle did not need a second invitation.
Predawn light shone weakly through the windows of the captain’s quarters of The Stargazer. They were traveling north from the Elysium Cove, charting a course towards Torganal Island to drop off the handful of Elven guards that were still aboard. As it turned out, they had not supported the trip to Elysium Cove, but their allegiance meant they had no say in the matter. Since their leader was gone, they had been nothing but polite and accommodating.
Kind of them, really.
Kyle stirred slightly in the bed. Sleep was no easy thing, when one’s arm was salved and bandaged and one’s throat was bruised and sore. She had managed. She stretched, still half asleep, and reached her good arm over to wrap it around Teague. Except Teague wasn’t there. Kyle blinked and pushed herself up to sitting, glancing around the dimly lit room.
Teague sat on a bench, leaning against a generous windowsill while they looked out over the water, head resting on their folded arms. Dressed in a simple shift, the soft, first blush of daylight made their form ethereal to Kyle. “Are you all right?” Kyle asked quietly.
Teague turned and smiled, their brown curls falling over their shoulder. “Restless after all of the excitement and happy to see skies without storms in them.”
Kyle leaned forward and held the warm blankets open. “There are other ways of occupying time if you’re restless.”
Teague let out an exaggerated sigh and unfolded themself from their seat at the window. “There will be plenty of time for that after you’ve done some healing, Captain.”
Kyle cuddled them close when they climbed back into the bed, relishing the warmth and comfort that radiated from Teague. They stayed like that for a few minutes, silent, basking in the glow of the morning. Kyle felt herself drifting off again.
“So, we’re getting married?”
“Yes,” Kyle said, sleepily. Then she blinked and looked into Teague’s dark eyes. “Yes?”
“So long as you have no other relatives like your grandmother, then yes.”
“Don’t worry, love,” Kyle said on a yawn. “It’s just Dad now, and his parents. They’re all much more like me.”
“That… isn’t as reassuring as you think.”
Kyle chuckled and held Teague close, drifting back to sleep as The Stargazer sailed on.
The Screaming Harpies
Caroline Barnard-Smith
“Water wraiths off the port bow.”
Captain Tempest Brack leaned over the rail of her ship, crimson wood sticky with blood-sweat beneath the noonday sun, and watched for the nebulous shapes rushing beneath the water. The wraiths turned and writhed as they raced before the ship, sinuous bodies contorted by remnants of shredded fins and misshapen cavities full of teeth.
The clicking of long, multi-jointed legs across the scarlet deck announced the arrival of Tempest’s quartermaster. Mary Therese’s clockwork prostheses were as beautiful as they were wondrous, wrought from glossy brass and carved with intricate swirling death’s heads, but the second knee on the right side was buckling slightly. She would have to re-wind the limb before they reached Saltskiff or it would soon lock tight, and Tempest knew from bitter experience that this often happened at the most inopportune times; usually when the quartermaster was mid-flight on a boarding rope or blind drunk at the bar of a particularly rowdy inn.
Tempest drew a spyglass from her coat pocket and set its eye towards the horizon. “Wherever there’s a shoal of hungry wraiths, Saltskiff’s never far behind,” she said. “And wherever you find Saltskiff, you’ll find the Greasy Gallows. There she is now, bearing down fast, and ugly as ever.”
Mary squinted at the squat black ship. “They’re flying pirate colours.”
“That they are, but those lapdog goblins have no right to call themselves pirates. Not since they started taking Saltskiff’s coin to patrol these waters against the likes of us.”
Tempest bared her teeth in the Gallows’ direction as it approached. She would have preferred to avoid Ginny Gentle and her goblin crew altogether, but the Screaming Harpy was not a ship that could sneak into port undetected. If her immense size and hull painted with howling mouths full of bloody teeth didn’t attract attention, the crew certainly would. The last infestation of lice had swept their ranks ten years ago but the Harpies still kept their heads shaved, many covering their shorn skulls with thick black tattoos. They made an arresting sight when they swept into combat, each crewmember screaming into the wind astride their blood-red ship, smooth heads shining before the raging battle-torches. Tempest was the only Harpy to use red ink in her tattoo. A roaring skull with pitiless eye sockets that wept blood and flame swept up and over the back of her head, giving her two battle faces.
“State your business, Brack,” Ginny shouted as her ship finally pulled up broadside.
Tempest eyed her warily. The goblin may have been small in stature, but her entire body seemed to be comprised of solid muscle. Her ship was not to be taken lightly, either. The hull of the Greasy Gallows bristled with jagged fins cut from the backs of steel-tip sailfish, designed to discourage boarders.
“The Harpy’s in need of supplies,” she shouted back.
Ginny scowled across the gulf of water separating their ships, hand twitching towards the heavy spear at her back.
“The ship is satiated,” Tempest reasoned. “If I was looking to attack, wouldn’t I have come in screaming, blight-cannons charged and ready to fire?”
This satisfied the goblin, although the Gallows insisted on trailing the Harpy all the way into port. Tempest ignored the insult and turned her face towards the Saltskiff Bazaar. It had grown since she had been there last. More ships gathered at its edges, lashed so tightly together there was barely a space between them. Merchants hustled for customers from stalls built on the decks and shops pressed into cabins. Ragged bunting fluttered from masts surrounded by tables piled with bundled herbs, spelled candles, and bolts of cloth.
The Harpies disembarked, eager to disperse amongst the floating trade ships. Tempest and Mary watched them go before turning towards the brine-rotted towers of Dagspire, home to the infamous Flying Venus Public House.
The pub was a lurching turret cobbled together from pieces of wrecked ships. It rose above the other establishments clustered at its base like a crooked finger crawling with scabrous barnacles. Tempest and Mary walked through the main bar and climbed the stairs, heading to a small lounge on the topmost landing where Helga of the All-Seeing Eye held court.
Helga was seated at a table before a spread of fortune cards. When Tempest sat down, the fortune-teller’s elaborately embroidered, oversized cloak shifted around her, ornate patchwork eyes layered like dragon scales sifting and sighing.
“I have heard your eyes
see many things,” Tempest said, dropping a gold coin into the dish at Helga’s elbow. “So tell me, do you know why I’m here?”
Helga spoke from deep within her hood, voice low and edged with smoke. “All pirates share the same purpose. You seek riches what don’t belong to you.”
“To be fair, that which I seek has already been stolen from its rightful owners.”
A small, wrinkled hand snaked from the reams of cloak to turn over one of the cards, revealing the image of a distressed-looking pig.
“What does that mean?”
“The Downed Pig could mean many things. Perhaps you are confused about the nature of what you truly seek?”
Tempest slammed her hand down on the table. “I’m not confused, though perhaps you are. I’m looking for a map. It’s a unique object, inked on a strip of dragon skin.”
“Now I see,” Helga said. “You plan to rob the Pirate Kings. Their treasure lies in a hidden harbour, its location mapped on the hide of a mighty dragon.”
“Aye, that’s right. Did you see that with your… eyes?” Tempest glanced at the biggest eye, a frayed-edged oval sewn across Helga’s left shoulder. The silky lashes looked almost real.
“I did not,” Helga admitted. “But I have heard much talk of the Pirate Kings’ cache. One of their brethren has a big mouth.”
“‘Tis a shame.” Tempest slumped back in her chair. “Now it will be a race to the treasure and a hard fight to claim it.”
“The Harpies are more than up to the task, Captain,” Mary said.
“Wait.” Helga held up her hand. “I hear whisperings of a treasure what is closer to your heart than mere gold and gaudy gems. If you wish to know more, kindly place another coin in me dish.”
Slowly, Tempest withdrew a second coin from her purse and dropped it into the bowl. “If you scry wrong, I’ll swing you from that window.”