The Veiled Descendants

by Sophia Menesini

Jo makes sure Aster is holding on to the ladder and then descends as quickly as she can as Shea hits the deck.

  At the same time, Beck races out of the harpoon launcher. Jo makes it to the bottom just as Beck manages to kneel down next to Shea.

  As Jo runs closer, she notes that Shea’s stature has already shrunken back down to her normal size. Her red hair covers her face and Beck pulls the captain into his arms as everyone gathers around to see if she’s okay.

  Jo kneels down in front of the two of them, her hand shaking as she reaches out to push Shea’s hair away from her face, and when she does, she’s not sure about what she finds.

  She looks the same as she did before the battle; her hair has gone back to its regular color. Her scarred eye is still scarred, and with as much effort as Shea has left, her eyes flutter open just enough for Jo to see the beautiful green in her right and the haunting white of her left.

  “Did we win?” Shea croaks.

  No one can speak, no one’s sure what to say.

  “Yes,” Poseidon answers for them all. “Rest. We have a long journey ahead.”

  Shea’s eyes close without objecting, and she passes out in Beck’s arms.

  “You should take her below. We need to get the sails repaired, as much of the bow as we can, and get under way. Who knows what else will smell the blood and come swimming with its mouth watering?”

  Caen, who had pushed his way through to Shea, opens his mouth to rip Poseidon a new one, but Jo stops him.

  “He’s right. We need to keep moving,” Jo commands, and the rest of the crew agrees, pirate and officer alike.

  Caen’s mouth snaps shut before he responds, “Okay. We have extra sail down below, if we work hard enough, we can get the Duchess up and running, fast.”

  “How fast?” Beck asks, holding Shea close.

  “As fast as we can. Alright, gents! I want a round off, who’s alive and who’s dead. Mister Tero?”

  Everyone waits for Mister Tero’s regular response, but it never comes.

  “Tero?” Caen shouts.

  There’s no answer.

  “Jim?”

  Still no response.

  “Didn’t he go below?” one crew member asks.

  “Well, let’s find out!” Caen snarls.

  The crew disperses, people go here and there, and Jo notices Aster kiss Shea on the head before running up to the afterdeck to check on James.

  James is halfway down the steps before he catches Aster in his arms and kisses him deeply.

  Jo’s eyes tear.

  Shea probably would have liked to see that.

  “I can take her,” Poseidon says, reaching for Shea, but Jo and Beck respond at the same time.

  “No!”

  Poseidon looks between the two of them with wide eyes, and Jo manages to compose herself first.

  “I mean, that’s okay. Beck’s got her; we’ll take her below.”

  Poseidon nods and heads off to wherever he needs to be.

  Jo’s eyes catch Beck’s, and at first she thinks he might be angry with her, but then his eyes soften and his lips quirk into a soft smile.

  “You were pretty brave out there, Your Majesty. I can see why she likes you,” Beck tells her as he stands and adjusts his grip on Shea’s lax form.

  Jo smiles, the tense pain in her stomach subsiding, and she takes in this strange boy. She can’t see the attraction physically that Shea must see, but she sees the bravery and kindness this man exudes. Perhaps, maybe, she could learn to live with him being a part of their life.

  “You too,” Jo replies, and she walks beside him all the way back to the captain’s quarters where they lay Shea down.

  Chapter 18: The Cost of Power

  Shea

  It’s been five days since they lost Tero.

  Shea woke hours after the encounter—she didn’t even remember killing the Megathirio, but all Caen had been able to offer was the old sea dog’s sword.

  These things happen. The deck crew saw him go down below. The last the lower crew saw of him, he was heading back up, and somewhere in the chaos of it all, Tero fell. Shea wishes they had a body to honor, but in a pirate’s life sometimes they don’t even get that.

  Beck and Jo were there when she woke. They told her all about her amazing feat and the magic she displayed, but she couldn’t piece any of it together.

  Tero wasn’t the only crewman who fell; they lost about six men overall and only two bodies were recovered.

  As soon as Caen apprised her of the situation, she was pushing herself out of bed, much to Beck’s and Jo’s disapproval, but she had a ship to run, and now, a bos’n to replace.

  She called James into her quarters and gave him the bittersweet news that he would be replacing Tero as bos’n of the Veiled Duchess. Then she called Aster in to join him.

  Aster’s right, he’s too old to be her cabin boy. So, while James trains with Caen to take over Tero’s position, Aster will train with James to become the new helmsman.

  Neither expressed much happiness at the promotions, although they were gracious. Every promotion is always bittersweet because more often than not it’s a replacement.

  After she excused them, she kept to herself, trying to remember. There were flashes of the fight, but it was almost like her brain was stopping her from seeing, as if it was protecting itself from whatever happened.

  ​Jo stood at Shea’s side later that night as the queen experienced her first pirate funeral. The bodies found were wrapped in cloth, the cloth was sewn up, and Shea did the honors of punching the needle through each dead man’s nose.

  Paetre had done the same. He hoped to see any sign of life before he condemned the bodies to the deep.

  They laid the first man on the plank.

  ​The torches burned in the dark, casting harrowing shadows over the crew’s faces and the patched-up sails.

  ​She thanked each man for his service, naming each one lost before she gave the signal for them to slide the bodies overboard. They hit the water with a resounding splash.

  Shea produced Tero’s sword from her jacket—she’d wrapped it in the same cloth as the corpses—and walked to the rail’s edge, gripping the blade tight.

  ​“Tero was a dear friend, a great bos’n. He served on this ship almost since Captain Phoebus. He was Paetre’s confidant and someone we will never forget. Rest easy, old friend.”

  ​Shea dropped the sword overboard and watched it fall into the sea. She took a solemn breath as it sank below, gripping the rail tightly.

  ​A hand touched her shoulder and she looked back to see Jo with tearful eyes. Shea smiled at her softly and placed her hand on top of Jo’s.

  ​“Right,” Shea announced. “As you know, James will be taking over for Tero. Aster will be our new helmsman. We’ve still got a week until we reach Orena; let’s try to make the most of it. Mister Caen?”

  ​Caen had stepped up and saluted Shea with the utmost respect. She glanced around everyone’s sullen and withdrawn faces. They hadn’t had a loss like this in a while.

  ​“You have the deck,” Shea ordered and retired with Jo to their quarters.

  Poseidon stopped her on the way with the request to still start her training the next morning.

  Without much reluctance, Shea agreed.

  Four days passed since the funeral, and finally things have retained a kind of normalcy. They only have two more days before they arrive at Orena.

  James has taken to his position swimmingly, though it is strange to see Aster at the helm at most hours. Everyone seems to be falling back into their place.

  ​The rest of the repairs on the bow will need to be completed in Orena—with a great bit of luck, the hull of the ship hadn’t been compromised from the hit it took from the Megathirio. They lost the figurehead during it all, something Phoebus will definitely comment on when they arrive.

  Jo has continued working with Nol on his monster research, while Beck has found his own among the gunners. He’s also taken to waking
at the same time she does so that he can be on deck while Poseidon and her train in the morning. She can hear him cheer from the harpoon launchers as he does maintenance, when she gets something right. Furthermore, when the training is over, she finds he’s brought up breakfast and the two of them share the meal at the bow over looking the ancient waters. They talk about everything and nothing at the same time. His friendship feels more like her anchor at sea, helping her keep her head when her overwhelming emotions try to take over. Beck has truly become one of her crew.

  ​The only person who seems to be falling out of place is…

  ​“Shea!”

  ​Shea shakes herself out of her thoughts as a blast of water slams into her chest and knocks her off her feet. She slams into the wooden floor of the quarterdeck, gasping, trying to catch her breath as the wind is knocked out of her. Her eyes flutter, and Poseidon comes into blurry focus, standing above her.

  He reaches his hand out, which she takes gingerly.

  ​Dawn has just begun to rise over the horizon. The deck is pretty much empty.

  Aster is at the helm while James is supervising the end of the night shift, keeping the ship in top shape.

  Beck even volunteered for an early morning shift in the crow’s nest, and Shea can just barely see him up on the platform.

  She groans as the wind catches the water soaking her clothes, causing her to shiver.

  ​“Didn’t I tell you to pay attention?”

  ​“I’m sorry. I just have a lot on my mind,” Shea tries, but Poseidon’s not hearing it.

  ​“We’ve been at this for four days and there’s barely been any improvement. What you tapped into was a fight-or-flight instinct against the Megathirio. You cannot expect that to happen every time. You need to train, hone your skills. You were lucky,” Poseidon growls, walking away from her.

  ​Shea scoffs. She summons the water from the flask on her belt and blasts it at the back of her father’s head.

  He shouts in surprise.

  ​“Lucky? I lost some of my best men that day! We’ve been training for four days and I still don’t understand what I did or how I killed that thing.”

  ​Poseidon sighs, wiping the water out of his eyes. “You need to remember what I said—”

  ​Shea chuckles, cutting him off. “I remember what you said! Choose an anchor, focus on that anchor, and use your magic to make it stronger, except I don’t remember how I did it!”

  ​Poseidon is quiet, the first time he has been in the four days they’ve been training.

  The first morning he taught her new forms and hand positions for summoning and offense, and surprisingly most of them worked. But whatever boosted his power when they sailed through the boundary has really made him stronger. Every time Shea faces him in combat, she loses.

  He always ends their lessons with a duel and when she loses, he pushes her overboard.

  The first time he did it, Caen practically killed him, but Shea managed to use her powers to manipulate the water, so it put her back on the deck.

  So far, it’s been Shea overboard four and Poseidon overboard zero—today will make five.

  ​“What did you think of? What was your anchor?” Poseidon demands, pacing in front of her.

  ​“Jo. I guess. I mean, I saw Jo and Aster up on the ladder and I just lost it. I knew I needed to protect them, and then I saw Beck struggling at the bow and something in me snapped,” Shea admits, trying to piece it together.

  ​“Is that who you’ve been thinking of now? Beck, Jo, Aster?”

  He takes a step closer to his daughter, examining her features.

  ​“I suppose? I don’t know. It’s hard to concentrate. We’re almost to Orena and when we get there, we have to gather all the supplies as quickly as we can. Get the repairs done, sail to Tenaro so we can find Triton so he can defeat Perses.”

  ​“That’s the problem.”

  “What is?”

  “You have to push all of that aside, and focus on what’s important, what makes you strong.”

  “You want me to push all of my responsibilities aside and focus on magic. I think that’s going to be a problem,” Shea drawls, rolling her eyes.

  “You need to calm your mind, center yourself. The moment on the deck when everything was happening, the world around you was practically exploding, you focused because of what?”

  “I don’t know, that’s what I’m trying to tell you,” Shea stresses.

  The wind passes through her water-soaked clothes again and she closes her eyes, reaching out with her magic to pull the water from the fabric. Surprisingly when she opens them again, she finds a ball of water in her hand and her clothes magically dry.

  “You focused because you wanted to protect them,” Poseidon tells her, smiling at her little trick.

  Shea looks up at him with a raised brow and forces the excess water into her uncorked waterskin.

  “You’re a leader, Shea. A protector. Instead of focusing on somebody else, focus on that, focus on that quality in yourself. The need to protect. Think you’re ready for our daily duel?”

  Poseidon takes a step back into a fighting stance, summoning water from both sides of the ship, and the seawater encases his arms, extending them into tentacles.

  Shea vocally gulps and pulls the water from her flask, stepping into the correct form.

  “I’ll give you to the count of three,” Poseidon proposes.

  Shea closes her eyes, searching for whatever power she supposedly holds inside. She thinks about Jo, Aster, Caen, and even Beck, though her mind starts to wander slightly at how much she’s come to care for him. Inwardly, she yells at herself to focus.

  “One.”

  Shea starts to panic; it’s like she can see herself standing in a room in her mind. She’s been here before, multiple times, but something new causes her to keep imagining the daydream instead of dissolving it into strategy.

  A door is in the center of the darkness with power radiating off it.

  She takes a step toward the door, and instinctively knows that behind it is everything she needs.

  She reaches for the handle and screams fill her head. Aster’s cries from the night Mariner cut his ears, Mariner’s taunts during the duel, Paetre’s gasping breaths as he died, Jo’s sobs as she held Shea’s dying body. All of it fills her head, and she can feel the water encasing her physical hands begin to falter.

  “Two.”

  There’s not enough time. She’s going to lose, Perses is going to take it all. She’s not strong enough. She’s not.

  The door rumbles and Shea takes a step back. From behind it, a voice is calling out to her, louder than all the screams and pain filling the darkness.

  Light bursts from the door’s cracks, and softer voices are slowly drowning out the cries.

  Jo telling her how much she loves her, Aster telling her he’s proud to be her son, Beck calling her brave, Caen reminding her he’ll always be there for her, and then?

  She hears Paetre, and a conversation from long ago.

  A small child’s voice filters from the door. “Why did you choose me? I’m just a girl, an elf. I’m not anything.”

  Paetre’s voice rings through clear as the day he replied, “You’re something to me. You saved me, Shea, I was lost until I found you. And you were lost until you found me. Together, I know you’re going to grow and do great things. You’re a leader, Shea. Like me, but you have to believe. Even if you don’t, fake it. Make them believe you’re better, and someday, you just might be.”

  Shea strides toward the door confidently; she places her hand on the knob.

  “Three.”

  Shea opens the door.

  It’s like a blazing hot knife pierces her chest as the power from the door rips into her.

  She chokes, her lungs burning in pain—she can feel it, everything. The magic filling her feet, legs, arms, torso. There’s pressure behind her eyes. A strange sensation on the back of her neck.

  She knows that right no
w there’s a water blast racing toward her. She lifts her left hand and then opens her eyes.

  Poseidon is stronger, for now, but with enough concentration, she freezes the blast in midair.

  Her eyes meet Poseidon’s gaze, and he’s smiling at her with great triumph.

  Using his distraction, she summons water from over the starboard side and then jumps out of the way, releasing the sly blast before Poseidon can recognize what she’s done.

  She forces a substantial column of water in his direction, throwing him over the port side of the ship.

  Shea falls to her knees, shocked, landing in a puddle of water.

  The buzzing feeling of power under her skin doesn’t dissipate.

  The morning crew is clapping at her accomplishment.

  She can hear Beck whistling from above, and Aster crows from the afterdeck rail.

  Poseidon reappears on deck, but what catches her attention is the reflection looking back at her in the puddle.

  Her eyes are glowing, and the left is no longer pale. Her normal tunnel vision has expanded, and she realizes as she reaches a hand up and closes it over her right eye that she can see from her left.

  The scar from her eyebrow to her upper cheek is still there, but she watches from the puddle as her magic heals her left eye until there are two glowing green irises staring back at her.

  She doesn’t even realize she’s started to cry until Poseidon takes her in his arms.

  “How?” Shea whispers.

  “You weren’t ready to heal,” Poseidon replies.

  And Shea allows him, just this once, to hold her. She doesn’t even care that the deck crew is still watching.

  A few moments pass and she manages to compose herself. Shea pulls away from Poseidon, standing shakily. Clearing her throat, Shea pushes a loose strand of her hair away from her face and glances over in time to see Poseidon make the same gesture. She laughs at the similarity.

  “This doesn’t mean you’re done training,” Poseidon reminds her, and Shea nods. “You’ve unlocked your magic, but you still have limits.”

  Shea’s brow furrows. “You mean it could hurt me?”

  “Every demigod has the ability to become a god; it’s rare but it can happen if they survive the process. I saw a glimpse of your godly form when we faced the Megathirio. The change is permanent but dangerous. It’s nearly impossible to survive. Now that you have access, you can do more, be more, but you’re more at risk to experience the change,” Poseidon explains solemnly.