Beauty's Secret (Beast and Beauty Book 2)

by Brantwijn Serrah

  Less than an hour into our work, the fogs had lifted just enough for Torv and the others to climb up on the other masts and begin their work as well. Torv waved to us from the spar of the forward mast, and Jahn waved back. The smell had begun to clear out now, but the mists lingered, even as I looked up to search for the bright hot spot in the clouds, telling me roughly where the sun burned in the big sky beyond.

  The day passed slowly, and the work on the sails demanded a great deal of physical engagement. By midday, I was covered in sweat, aching from arms to ankles, and heaving like a bellows. On the other hand, being in the rigging exhilarated me, and I found myself daring to twist and hang in the lines with ever-increasing boldness, learning to swing and pull myself about, even working on a patch while hanging upside down from my knees. Jahn laughed at me while I experimented, calling me rig monkey and squirrel, and I decided to forgive him for believing I might be a witch after all.

  Though the fog lifted from the deck, the sea around us remained shrouded in thick, rolling clouds. Early in the afternoon I paused in my work, glancing out into the distance, frowning.

  "We aren't going anywhere," I said to Jahn, who'd climbed up to the crosstrees above me to have another smoke.

  "'Course not," he said, clenching the stem of his pipe between his teeth as he lit a match. "Fog like this, we could sail right into an island cliffside and find ourselves halfway to the sea bottom before we knew it."

  "Isn't it strange, the fog hasn't lifted?"

  "Not so much." Finally striking a flame, he lit the pipe and tucked his matchbox back in his pocket. He paused to take a couple gentle puffs, then gave a long, satisfied sigh, breathing silver smoke into the air.

  "Some days are like this. Sea gods holding their breaths, putting sailors ill at ease for what comes next. Maybe sun'll burn it off, maybe rain'll fall instead."

  I stared up, looking for a hint of the sun. "How long does it last?"

  "Hard to know." He tapped the pipe against one leg, following my gaze. "One day isn't too strange. Two days, not unheard of."

  "But if we're not moving..."

  Jahn might be thinking of sea gods and signs from above. Or below, as it were. I, on the other hand, couldn't help but worry about a different threat entirely.

  In Vash, it was a sandstorm. Here, heavy mists trap us in place.

  Trapped—For how long?—with a lurking, shadowy entity, and its wide, white, glowing eyes.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  The next day passed, and the fog did not lift. Another day, and still, no break in the dull, gray blanket upon the sea. We worked in the rigging, cutting and patching the sails, sometimes unable to see even each other through the thick, close mists, and each toll of the ship's bell deepened a growing, simmering sickness inside me.

  What is waiting for us out there? Like Alaric's horrid, hateful spirit lurking in the sandstorm. What vengeful intelligence is doing this to us?

  The Drekakona drifted, directionless. No wind filled the sails. We couldn't row, for fear of crashing up on some unseen reef or rocks. Restlessness and agitation hung over the crew like an awful smell, and everyone was more certain than ever the bloodied sails had been a terrible warning. Throughout the days, once the chores had been finished—what few there were on a ship at a standstill—the crew and the soldiers divided up into huddled knots, to drink or gamble or arm wrestle, or find some way to distract themselves from the yawning, empty hours adrift.

  If I spent too much time thinking about our future on these seas, I found myself wanting to vomit.

  Our team spent nearly a week repairing the sails patch by patch. Sometimes I looked up to find a spot in the clouds: the vague ghost of the sun moving across the sky. Other days, the chilly mists soaked through my leathers and left me shivering as I sawed through canvas and stitched up the gaps.

  I lay awake at night in Bannon's arms, waiting for the knocking at the door. My moony-eyed shadow hadn't returned since the fire, but its conspicuous absence only set me more on edge. Certain it would come at any second, the very moment I closed my eyes. Exhaustion eventually dragged me down to sleep, and in the morning when Bannon shook me awake, I struggled to rise, always casting a glance out the porthole to see nothing but thick gray clouds again.

  "What happens if we drift forever?" I asked him one afternoon, lying with my head in his lap as he stroked my hair. Again, we'd fallen into a listless, unspoken celibacy. I didn't know if it stemmed from the uncertain dread of the fog or from some lingering, wounded divide, keeping us distant and unable to say whatever it was we needed to say.

  He said nothing. In a way, I thanked him for it. After what we'd been through, I didn't want him to patronize me with empty platitudes that everything would be all right. Maybe we'd drift until we died. At least our food supplies were still plentiful, and we hadn't yet had to discuss dwindling rations.

  "Why aren't you sleeping?" he murmured in my ear one night as we lay in the darkness.

  I reached for his hand, giving it a squeeze. "Waiting for it to come."

  "I am here, Sadi. I won't let it hurt you."

  He'd never seen it, though. He hadn't heard it that night, when it hammered on the door, when I screamed.

  "And the cat," he added, guiding my hand to where Schala slept curled up by my abdomen. "Cats can see through the veil. She'll warn us if danger is near."

  I stroked Schala, and she gave a deep, rattling purr as she stretched and rolled to give me her belly. I indulged her with a scratch. Is that why she came to me? To warn me, and keep watch for me?

  She pushed her head against my hands, basking in my touch. I'd come to adore her so much, and so easily. I'd never known the deep, nearly soulful bond one could feel for an animal like this, and yet already I couldn't imagine being without her.

  Is she a witch's familiar? Is she my familiar? How?

  I'd told Jahn, as I'd told so many others, of Alaric's disappointing attempts to teach me conjuration and black arts. Like the desert itself, any part of me that might have harbored spiritual ability lay fallow and barren. Empty and dry as an old, worn wooden cup.

  You have no power. I stole your power.

  And even if I did harbor some talent... I had no understanding whatsoever on how I might bring it to my fingertips.

  The altar with the serpent skull. My dream of the hunter... it was a sex rite, I know it. Haven't I been subject to enough of them to know?

  When I did sleep, if I didn't dream of endless corridors and moony eyes, I dreamed of serpent worshippers. A new and different Order of Akolet, bearing knives with curvy edges, calling up raw, ravenous magic from the cold shadows.

  Here are your people.

  "What do you need, Sadira?" Bannon asked. I knew what he meant. He asked the same question whenever I grew anxious and tense. What did I need to ground me again, to help me find order through the chaos of my thoughts and fears? I didn't want to ask, though. He seemed too far away, divided from me by some strange electricity, cutting me off from his warmth, his breath, his life.

  Cutting me off from everything... except it.

  A week passed. A week and a half. The first rumblings over rations and water supplies began passing from crewman to crewman. The vague, bright ghost in the sky showed itself less and less. The fog closed in, until we couldn't see from one archery tower to the next, or even the masts in between.

  I stood at the deck rail, elbows resting on the wood left slick from drizzle. The sea had a smell about it today, an ugly and stagnant smell. The smell of dead things. All I could think about was death, lately. Starvation at sea, or sinking deep into the darkness when the ship wrecked itself on rocks jutting up from the water like teeth. Fire, kindling deep in the Drekakona's belly, which would not be extinguished no matter how hard the brigades fought it.

  My bright-eyed apparition still had not returned. I wished I could take solace in that. Instead, my tension deepened until it throbbed and ached in my spine and left me too nauseous to eat.

 
Torv's voice startled me from my thoughts. "Elathae."

  I grimaced as he took a spot beside me, leaning on the rail exactly as I had. "Please, Torv, don't call me that."

  "It isn't an insult." For once, his normally boisterous voice was soft, and he regarded me with a steely, somber expression. "Not so long ago, the elathae were our most revered seers and spirit-callers. Holy people, guided by the hands of the old gods."

  I shook my head. "I know nothing about spirits or old gods. I have been hunted by one, yes. Maybe another hunts me now. But I have no insight to their ways, or how to be rid of them."

  "No, no." He waved his hands at me. "I don't ask you to drive them away. I ask for you to appeal to them. Speak to them, as you speak to your little familiar."

  I glanced down at Schala, as always seated at my feet. "I don't talk with her."

  "You do. You just don't know it. She does, though."

  He stooped down as though to touch the caracal, but she bristled and gave a high, whining rumble.

  "Protective." He pointed a finger at her, wagging it to emphasize his point. "Fearless little guardian. Keep her well, and she'll never leave your side."

  "I'm glad for her, I admit."

  I scooped Schala into my arms and scratched her tufted ears. "One stray's adoption does not make me a spirit-caller, though. How could I talk to your spirits, Torv? How would I even begin?"

  He shrugged. "I'm only an old salt, girl. I can't tell you more than my papa told me about the old stories and nature's ways. You, though... you can hear them. You can see them."

  He gestured out, into the deep, dense fog.

  "We need you to find a way to speak with them."

  I put Schala down again and heaved a sigh, leaning over the rail again. I stared down into the flat, steely blue ocean, a hollow, empty sickness in my gut.

  After several long moments, something in the water caught my eye.

  "Torv." I pointed at it. "What's that?"

  The quartermaster followed my gesture, narrowing his eyes with a gruff "Hmph?"

  "There's another one," I said. "And there. What are they?"

  Even as I spoke, the shapes resolved themselves, and as recognition dawned upon me, I staggered back a step, stricken. The color drained from Torv's ruddy face, and my immediate instinct told me to somehow keep him silent, keep him from alerting the crew. It wouldn't have mattered though: already, sailors and soldiers along the deck had noticed the shapes bobbing to the surface, and the workers in the rigging started to cry out.

  Bones. Human bones. Skulls, ribs, whole skeletons. Bloated white body parts and drifting, floating scraps of disintegrating clothes.

  I brought both hands to my mouth to stifle a scream. As though he'd somehow sensed it, wherever he'd been, Bannon appeared at my side, throwing his arms around me and turning my head to shield me from the sight. Up and down the deck, people began to wail, and I buried myself against Bannon's chest, squeezing my eyes shut.

  "What does it mean?" I groaned. "Bannon, what does it mean?"

  Before he could answer, the ship gave a sudden, shuddering thump, and swayed to one side. We braced against one another, keeping each other from falling. Schala gave a feline yowl and leapt up to my shoulder; all around us, the wails of the crew turned to startled cries.

  "Did we hit something?"

  "Are we damaged? Did anything breach the hull?"

  Confusion swirled around us. I looked up into Bannon's eyes, frightened, and then the ship lurched again, her bow taking a sharp turn to the side. Beneath our feet, the deck tilted, and I found myself slipping from Bannon's grip.

  "Sadi!"

  He grabbed for my arms, but I lost my footing and tumbled to the boards, hitting my chin and rattling my teeth. Schala bounded down, wobbling as she tried to catch her balance, immediately whirling toward me, back arched, fur standing up in a stiff brush.

  Sounds of splashes and cries of alarm sent a wave of fear through me. I scrambled for Bannon's outstretched hands. Another shuddering bump rocked the Drekakona, and a loud, wooden groan rose from below.

  I had a flash of sudden memory: Mara, sliding and tumbling, thrown over the rail. I cried out, bouncing and rolling across the deck, tasting blood, and then came the harsh crack of the deck rail against my shoulder. I grabbed for it, but my fingers slipped and scrabbled against the smooth, wet wood, and then the world dropped out from under me.

  I hardly had time to catch my breath before I hit the water and sank beneath the choppy waves.

  Panic shot through me. A surge of adrenaline flooded my limbs and I reached up, searching for the surface. I sensed bodies in the water around me, and my hand closed around something cold and soft. A leg. A swollen, rotten green leg, ending in bone and gristle just above the knee. I screamed, sending bubbles of air out in a rush as I pushed it away from me.

  The bubbles. Follow the bubbles up!

  The water... so cold. My legs were pins and needles as I kicked and pushed. Bannon hadn't gotten around to teaching me to swim, not after the day at the waterfall. Moving on nothing but instinct, thrashing more than paddling, finally I found a rhythm with my legs and kicked upward.

  Voices filled the air around me as I broke the surface and sucked in a breath of air. I whipped my head back and forth. More body parts and detritus floated around me. Several crewmates had fallen in too, and they splashed and screamed and called out to the others above.

  There's something else here. Something moving in the water. Something—

  A dark, smooth, shining shape humped up out of the sea just in front of me. Gliding, sinuous. Then it disappeared beneath the frothing waves again. An eerie, resonant cry sent a spike of fear through my body.

  "Help!" I screamed, flailing my arms and desperately kicking to keep myself afloat. My foot struck something thick and solid, something alive.

  Some of the others had caught sight of it, too. They pointed and clung to one another as a long, sleek shape surged up from below, and an enormous, green, tapering whip of a tail rose up, up, slicing through the air, and then came crashing down again, sending a massive spray into the air.

  No... no, not a snake... please, not a snake, not him, not that snake—

  Ropes came flying down from above. Voices called my name, and I twisted toward them in a halting, ungainly manner. The end of one of the lines floated a short distance from me. I reached out, stretching for it, kicking my feet. I'd almost reached it when that echoing sound came again, and a slithering length of the creature below wound up through the water, pushing the rope away.

  "No!"

  More bodies. Bones, bobbing against me in the churning foam. I couldn't keep my head up—my limbs burned with exhaustion—and the swirling sea threatened to suck me down once more.

  I gasped in a lungful of air just as a fierce current pulled me under, and despite my struggles I sank deep into the dark, cold void.

  That sound. What is that sound?

  Again it came, a strangely curious peal, clear even through the water. I could only make out shadows and brief, weak flashes of light. Bubbles and foam swirled around me, nearly blinding me.

  Then two huge, pale, shining shapes appeared before me. Wide, round circles of light—like bright, beaming moons under the water.

  I stared in terror. The huge, white eyes cut through the darkness, pointed right at me. We looked at one another, and I forgot to kick my legs. I forgot to reach or pull with my arms. Cold down to my bones, I froze, caught in its burning gaze, stunned into total, mindless fear.

  Something crashed into the water above me. Someone's arms wound around my midsection. I was pulled upward through the black, until we broke the surface. Someone's voice came, frantic at my ear, but I couldn't move. Numbness enveloped me. I couldn't shake my thoughts from those eyes, the horrible, familiar, wide, white eyes, enormous and shining under the waves.

  What is it? What is it?

  "Hold on tight, Sadi. Come on, now, get your arm around my neck—"

  I wa
s only vaguely aware of Bannon's arm curled around me while he swam, carrying me along. We were pulled up from the water like fish on a line; a team of soldiers hauled us up, over the railing, back onto the deck. The instant I felt the wet, slippery boards beneath me again, Schala pounced on me, butting my shoulder with her head, crying plaintively.

  "Where did it go?" I whispered. Bannon leaned close to me, and I grabbed him by the collar of his soaking, clinging vest. "Bannon? Where... where did it go?"

  "Quiet, Sadi. Catch your breath. You're shaking like a leaf."

  At the rails, other sailors hauled the ropes, pulling soaked crewmates up over the rail. Lookouts were scanning the water, shouting back and forth. Arne and Torv stormed through the crowd, checking the survivors, demanding to know if they'd been hurt, bitten, bludgeoned. Ailsa had already gone to work tending to a man who appeared to have broken a leg.

  I felt dizzy. So dizzy, and so sick, and so cold.

  "Clear over here, Captain!" one of the lookouts shouted.

  "Nothing over here, either!" another rejoined.

  Bannon rested his strong, steadying hands on my shoulders. "There now, kitten," he soothed. "You're all right. It's all right."

  "No," I managed through numb lips. One hand clutched Schala close to my chest. The other, tangled in Bannon's vest, gripped harder until my knuckles burned with pain.

  Where did it go?

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  I fell into a daze, hardly cognizant of the motion and voices around me, clutching Schala close and burying my face in the ruff of her gray fur. I couldn't shake the feeling of the cold, wet depths, a hungry, animal fear gnawing at my heart, as though I'd never been pulled up from the water at all, as if the ocean meant to devour me even now.

  Someone—surely Bannon—brought me to our cabin and stripped me naked, then wrapped me up in a warm quilt. I lay with my head in his lap as he toweled my hair, and the only sound in the room was Schala's strong, ferocious purr, as she licked my face and the very edge of my wet hairline. A deep, terrible fatigue sank its claws into me to pull me down, making my whole body heavy. I wouldn't sleep, though. Sleep seemed far, far away, perhaps in another land altogether. Perhaps in Sanraeth, which I might never reach at all.