by S L Matthews
“Stop, dammit! You must stop this madness!!” But Taryn might as well have been cursing at dead men.
Desperate, he climbed onto the rail. His hands latched onto tethered ropes as he clawed his way up random arms and legs. He crested the mob in one final effort to convince them to stand down. As he peered over their heads, the source of their fear materialized in the distance.
Another ship drifted toward them. Its hull was ghostly black, like death upon the water. Its sails were full, triumphant, and absorbed the light around them. Pirates. Their presence struck a chord deep within the souls of their victims, praying upon fear and quieting the hearts of courage.
Taryn’s eyes widened in fright. He knew of pirates in this area. Cooper and Jorel often spun tales of these high seas’ mercenaries, though the fear he now felt seemed oddly absent from all those well-worded stories.
A loud snap shot across the deck. Taryn felt open air behind him as the ship’s tired rail gave way. Dozens spilled from the back of the Promenade into the icy waters of the Abyssal Sea. Men, women, and children all fell in a chaotic blend of humanity and splintered wood, culminating in the water below.
Taryn tumbled end over end before slamming into the side of the Promenade. He dangled from the quarterdeck, his boot caught in a rope as he hung upside down a few feet from the water. Passengers continued to plummet from the deck into the icy water. He felt the chill and tasted the salty mist of the sea.
They were going to freeze, he thought.
His mind reeled. In that moment, he had a decision to make−jump into the frigid water, or climb his way up and prepare for battle. Taryn had never been a strong man, nor had he ever needed to be brave, but he managed to muster a combination of both as he reached up and scaled toward the deck. While other passengers jumped over the edge, Taryn pulled himself up and emerged back into the light. He surveyed the wreckage. The scores of Promenade passengers had been reduced to a few dozen fighting men, ready to defend their families. All others were cowered below deck or joining those already in the sea.
He continued to scan the deck and saw the faces of the brave few, some equipped, some not, all of them scared out of their minds. Taryn scoured the ship for any implement that would serve as a weapon, the naive hope it would be effective against a combat-trained pirate. Wild thoughts raced through his mind. What hope do a handful of civilians have against pirates?
As the black ship approached, it let loose a volley from its front catapults, a barrage meant to cripple the vessel, along with the courage of anyone left onboard. The projectiles ripped through the sails and splintered across the deck. Many who were brave enough to stand and fight realized they were not. They joined the others, flung themselves overboard, and escaped the chaos. Taryn’s heart sank farther with each passing moment.
Pirates swooped down from their sails and landed on the deck of the Promenade, their screams meant to create nightmares in children and able-bodied men alike. Taryn grasped the only weapon he could find, a large, broken piece of railing. It was splintered and bent, more suitable for firewood than as a weapon. He squeezed the end and felt the splinters wedge between his fingertips.
Wooden planks fell across the sea, the gap between the vessels now bridged. For the first time in his young life, Taryn felt sheer terror.
| Chapter VII
Blinding Light
T he drum of war sounded as boots barreled over the black water. Taryn crawled forward and surveyed the chaos from his quarterdeck perch. A few men still stood their ground with surprising success. He sank onto the deck and grimaced, wishing he could find that same courage within. Sweat poured from his brow as he reasoned the madness. They were defending their families. Of course they’re going to fight harder than most men.
Clouded visions of Wyvern’s Rest surfaced, along with vivid memories of brutality…children beaten, women raped, men tortured. His memories tormented him, nagging at his core, unable to stand up for himself, his family, or Ava.
Taryn wiped his brow and squeezed the splintered rail while the shadow of several ropes danced across the deck. He followed them upward, into the tangled web of sail and mast. Crazy thoughts stirred, ones he was reluctant to entertain. Taryn was not born from the sea, but his father had taught him about sailing and seamanship. He knew if he could find a way up there, he could help−somehow. It became a test of will. In order to reach the sails, he needed to climb. In order to climb, he needed to stand.
Standing, however, proved more difficult than Taryn could have imagined. While cries of battle echoed from the deck below, his legs were frozen, refusing to bend to his will.
Dammit, stand up! As Taryn berated his reclusive willpower, he placed the weapon between his teeth and reached for the ropes. He pulled himself upright, then felt his legs extend onto the rail, slowly supporting his body. With a surge, he pushed off the rail, squeezing tightly to the rope as it drifted down from the Promenade’s sails.
His eyes widened as screams echoed from around the stairs. A man dressed in black boots and a worn, leather vest tore around the corner. He spotted Taryn hanging precariously by the rope, hands bloodied and spirit broken.
The large pirate, wielding a curved instrument of death, lunged forward. Fear gripped at Taryn’s chest. He let go of the rope, raised his own crude weapon, and closed his eyes. The cutlass landed like an axe into fresh pine. The blade sunk deep into the wood, splinters flying into Taryn’s face. As the pirate pulled back for another strike, the rail pulled with him.
Taryn fought to free his weapon from the sword, but they were wedged. He felt his arms flying skyward and the rest of his body followed as his feet left the deck. The burly pirate lifted Taryn off his feet, flinging him toward the open end of the ship. Taryn stumbled, losing his grip with one hand while fighting to cling on with the other. There was no way out. His heart raced as his feet pressed closer to the gaping hole in the ship’s railing. With a scowl, the pirate shook his sword, kicked at his foe, then joined Taryn’s grip on the piece of broken timber and lunged forward.
Taryn backpedaled before stumbling onto his backside. He pushed with his legs as the pair tumbled to the edge of the deck. He felt the open air against his back and reached up, grabbing hold of the boards while his legs swung helplessly underneath. A distant splash echoed from below, and the pirate was gone.
Taryn crawled back up, collapsing onto the quarterdeck. He sat motionless and stared at the void in the railing. He looked down at his bloodied hands, then again to the back of the ship, dumbfounded. Kneeling over the edge, he struggled to comprehend the last few moments. He was no more a fighter than the passengers in the water below. He was no match for a pirate. He was nervous and scared, his heart pounded through his chest, but he was alive.
“Secure th’ hold!” came screams from the pirate ship. Many civilian defenders had fallen, and those still fighting were increasingly outnumbered. Swashbucklers raced for the cabin doors, throwing their shoulders into them to dislodge the barrier. Once more, Taryn slumped behind the rail, ashamed of his own cowardice. In this solitude, his thoughts returned to the why of it all.
Muffled cries echoed from the room beneath Taryn as pirates relentlessly rammed the door. Within moments, he heard the unmistakable crack of splintered wood. Frenzied echoes ensued as boots stomped across the hollow floorboard. Shadows crept between the cracks and fear shot through Taryn’s heart. He knelt, pressed his face against the wood, and searched for a gap in the floorboard. Without warning, a blinding light erupted from the cabin, followed by an ear-splitting crack that ricocheted off every fiber of his body. Taryn shot upright, stumbled over himself, and crashed onto his back.
His ears rang and his eyes watered while his world spun upside down. He looked skyward, expecting a storm—but there was only the open sky. The brilliant flash erupted again through the cracks of the Promenade’s deck. Taryn knelt again. He heard screams of terror; but they were not the screams of passengers, nor were they the screams of the men fighting on the de
ck. His mind reeled. The pirates?
A majestic purple bolt ripped across the ship’s deck, illuminating the dark cabin below. The muffled, howling screams of grown men soon followed, accompanied by the unmistakable smell of seared flesh and melted bone. Taryn had heard stories of the Parai, but never thought he would see one first-hand.
Could a dragon-touched really be aboard this ship? Unnerved, he sat on the quarterdeck and revisited his previous plan. His gaze drifted back to the sails, and the dancing ropes high above his head.
Taryn waited for another bolt to distract the pirates below. With a hint of grace, he hopped over the rail of the quarterdeck and clung to the nearest rope. He wrapped his legs around the taut cable and pulled. Purple bolts flew across the deck as he crawled high above the Promenade. His dexterity eventually failed, however, and his legs slipped from the rope. His splintered fingers ached while he dangled several feet above deck.
“Stand down, Parai,” shouted Jorel’s graveled voice. Taryn stopped squirming, then scanned the deck in search of his friend.
What is he doing here?
The pirates had formed a perimeter around the broken door, taking cover behind whatever crates, barrels, or bodies they could find. “We ‘ave no business with you,” Jorel continued, followed by silence.
Seagulls circled, squawking like hungry rodents and waves crashed against the ships. It was the first time Taryn had heard either since they left port. His bloody fingers screamed as he strained to grip the rope. His grip failing, Taryn lurched forward and swung hand over hand until he reached his destination.
He straddled a narrow beam high above the pirate-infested ship and listened for Jorel’s voice. He loosened several sandbags for makeshift boulders, prepared to free his friend from danger. From the corner of his eye, Taryn caught the sight of another sail. Not the black sails of the pirate ship, but hulking crimson sails from the north. Those are Cyrean colors!
The deck of the pirate ship sprang into action. They grabbed whatever bows and crossbows they could find and braced themselves for the enormous frigate.
“You’ve made it my business, dear child,” echoed a calm, female voice from the cabin. Taryn froze. “And you boys will have to go through me now.”
All at once, the pirates aboard the Promenade seemed to notice the massive Cyrean frigate. Many dropped their weapons and sprinted across the deck, hurdling the gap between the two vessels. “Shit…a necklace isn’t worth this,” one of them spoke as he bolted from behind the crates. He made it to his feet as another bolt of lightning shot from within the cabin. The raider flew several feet before crashing against the opposite end of the ship, collapsing in a smoldering heap. His charred flesh sent a gentle billow of smoke skyward.
Jorel’s familiar voice called to his high seas companions, urging them to action. “That’s it…Board ‘em up, men!”
The other pirates stalled.
Taryn’s gaze returned to the Promenade, along with overwhelming confusion.
He’s−one of them?
“I said lock ‘em up! Fuck ‘em! Send ‘em to the Seven Hells!” Jorel’s words resonated with anger as he imposed his will upon the crew.
Most heeded the call and pushed crates toward the door, but a younger, dark haired man said, “You can't be serious.” He stepped in front of his fellow pirates, palms up, his hands sweeping across the deck. “He’s here somewhere. We saw him board. You gonna just send it to the bottom with him?” Cooper continued, pointing to the cabin.
Taryn’s mind spun end over end. Jorel? Coop? What the? His legs buckled and he found himself leaning against the mast, no longer sure of what side he was truly on.
Jorel scowled. “Out of my way!” He looked around at his comrades, but it was apparent no one wanted to follow his irrational request. As the frigate bore down upon them, the other pirates heeded Cooper’s sanity. Enraged, Jorel drew his cutlass and headed directly toward Cooper.
Taryn looked on from his lofty perch as one friend approached another, the glint of steel flashing in his hand. Cooper backed up and waved his hands to slow the pirate’s gate. “Now, listen,” he said. “He looks like a giant egg…not like he’ll be hard to find!”
Jorel’s pace quickened while he pushed through his men. “You’re not talkin’ your way out of this one, Quinn!” Cooper took a few steps back, away from the open cabin door. The rest of the deck was chaos. Most pirates were running back to their ship. Others had conceded to the Cyrean vessel and hurdled the deck, a distant splash confirming their departure from the fight.
The thump of Jorel’s boots created a haunting rhythm as he raised his sword to strike. With a loud crack, the pirate’s sword fell into place, wedged deep in the cabin wall.
Taryn shook his head as Cooper leaned against the cabin, that same, familiar grin stretching from ear to ear. Both pirates paused for a moment before Cooper leaned into Jorel’s ear and whispered. Jorel’s expression turned confused, but Taryn couldn’t tell if it was because of what was whispered, or how Cooper slid away without a scratch.
After an eternity, Jorel broke the silence with a gleeful question, “Heartshorne?”
Cooper combed his long, matted hair out of his eyes, straightened his coat, and said, “You know, Heartshorne.”
“What about her?” Jorel questioned, regripping his cutlass.
“We made a killing, you and I!” Cooper exclaimed. “The Lord of Cambridge gave us over 700 marks for his daughter!”
Taryn listened in disbelief. Kidnapping?
Jorel thought for a moment, then stated in a thick, brutish accent, “You said we only got 400 marks for Anya.”
Cooper’s eyes widened. “Yes, 4…400. What was I thinking?” he questioned, awaiting Jorel’s reaction.
The pirate held another inquisitive look. Puzzled by Coop’s words, he gave a yank on his cutlass. It did not budge. He regrouped and gave another heave, dislodging his weapon from the wall. He looked to Cooper, back to the deck, then leaned in. “There ain’t no princesses on this ship, Coop! ’Sides, Rowan said the amulet was worth a fortune, an’ I ain’t leavin’ without it.”
Cooper stared, dumbfounded at the pirate’s comprehension. “No,” he said, rolling his eyes. “But there’s a Parai on the other side of this wall, in case you hadn’t forgotten. If we can get 400 marks for a lord’s daughter, how much do you think we’d get for her?”
Seconds went by before Jorel understood. A smile came over his face to reveal a handsome pair of teeth, one on the top and one on the bottom. He transferred the cutlass to his other hand and stared into the darkness of the cabin. Jorel was moving forward to claim his prize when a jarring crash sent him flying into the side of the Promenade.
Civilians, pirates, and debris flew over the side as the Cyrean vessel plowed into the ships. Planks split and ropes snapped as humanity spilled into the frigid water. The massive warship severed the pirate’s grasp and released the Promenade…momentarily.
The Promenade’s masts snapped. One beam crashed across all three ships while another split the shattered deck of the Promenade. The massive timber smashed through the cabin door and crushed through the quarterdeck, and anyone that stood in the middle of the room. Screams rang out, then went silent. Entrance to the cabin became impossible, as did any escape.
Taryn spilled onto the deck as the sails collapsed around him. He fell into something between a tumble and a flop, landing against Cooper. Both men made eye contact, meeting one another with incredulous stares.
“What are you doing?” Taryn screamed, waving his hands across the broken vessel.
“What am I…what are you doing?” Cooper glanced back to the shadow of Wyvern’s Rest. “Now you listen to me?”
Screams of war sounded as Cyrean soldiers poured onto the Promenade’s broken deck, weapons drawn. Cooper grabbed Taryn’s arm and shoved him out of the way, then reached down to grab Jorel’s cutlass.
Crimson-cloaked soldiers screamed across the deck. Cooper’s expression contorted to one of c
onfusion. He relaxed his shoulders, lowered his weapon, and turned back to Taryn, asking simply, “Where’s Ava?”
| Chapter VIII
Purple Lotus
A va stood at the top of the darkened stairwell, her thoughts lost amidst the clank of glasses and the hushed murmur of the tavern below. The musky odor of the inn blended with the salty sea air to form a crude scent, one she’d learned to love, and hate: the scent of home. As she stood, her emotions battled, as did the pain forming across her lip and cheek. Her anger boiled, yet she found solace. Repulsive, abominable excuses for men toiled at their leisure, at her expense; yet they were weak. For the first time, she felt something new, a subtle ray of light.
But first, she had a part to play.
She listened from the hall while Thibold and Viktor’s voices echoed inside. Their words were muffled and broken, until the doors clicked closed. Despite her efforts, there was only silence. The familiar creak of the tavern doors rattled from downstairs, followed by a brisk, morning breeze that whistled through the darkened stairwell.
Cool air filled the upstairs hallway, seeping through Ava’s dress and covering her skin in gooseflesh. She examined her gown, torn from the neckline to her navel, and split down the side, held together by a simple knot that limply clung to her shoulder. Ava reflected on the events of the morning, appalled that of all she had heard and seen, the state of her favorite dress bothered her the most—until her thoughts turned to the small boy, crumpled in the darkened corner.
Her head snapped to attention. “Dari!”
She ran to the edge of the balcony and peered into the tavern below. Dari sat quietly on a bear rug, warmed by the heat of the giant, blackened hearth. His face reflected the flickering firelight, as did the tears falling from his cheeks.
Ava ignored her master's words, leaping toward the shadow of the stairwell. She bounded down the steps and pushed her way through the few remaining customers, determined to reach Dari. He sat in the center of the rug, his elbows resting against his crossed legs. His feet were blistered and bleeding and his pants were ripped at the knee. Ava had never felt more sorrow for another life.