Curse of the Forgotten City

by Alex Aster

  Melda was tense as she turned to Vesper and said, “Very well. Where do we find this blood queen?”

  Vesper moved her hand through the air as if strumming an invisible harp. The map narrowed to the coast, becoming more detailed as it zeroed in, until Tor saw a cave very clearly. Inside sat a woman with blue scales down her arms and across her chest. She had silver hair, wet across her back, and bright blue eyes. She blinked, and the colors scattered. The map zoomed out again, until they saw themselves on the water once more.

  “Look,” Vesper said. Tor focused on the ship, where a silver line began to form. It trailed away from the vessel, across the sea, beckoning them to follow. Tor, Vesper, Melda, and Engle walked slowly behind the line as it moved across the deck, up the stairs, and to the ship’s upper deck, weaving itself across Emblem Island’s coast. It only stopped when it reached an isle, where a miniature version of the same woman that had been projected before sat waiting.

  Vesper closed the shell, and the map vanished.

  “Now that we’ve found her on the map, it will show us the best route.”

  “That’s lightning!” Engle said. “Do you think she has food in that cave? I really didn’t have breakfast.”

  Melda sighed. “I find that hard to believe,” she said. “And we have bigger problems than your endless appetite.” She lifted her arms, turning for emphasis. “How in Emblem are we supposed to sail a ship?”

  Tor swallowed. He hadn’t thought of that. The vessel didn’t even have a wheel.

  Vesper’s eyebrows knitted together. She turned to Tor. “You said the Night Witch gave you her powers, right?”

  Melda shot Tor a look. He turned away from it, not knowing why he had shared so much with Vesper. A stranger.

  But he had. And they were all on the same journey now.

  Tor nodded.

  “This ship belonged to her, and it looks different from the others. Look.” Vesper stuck her chin toward the frozen row of boats, now tiny in their wake. “They have more ropes, and the masts are not the same. And there’s no wheel.”

  “What are you getting at?” Melda said.

  “By inheriting her abilities, this is your ship now. Only you can command it.”

  “And how do you propose he do that?” Melda snapped.

  Vesper kept her eyes on Tor. “Think of where we need to go. Picture it in your mind’s eye. Smell the sea, the blood queen, the isle, like it’s right in front of you.”

  Tor closed his eyes. He remembered the blood queen from the map, her hair dripping a dark puddle. A chill crept up his spine as he remembered a different woman. A different dark puddle. One like a torn-out piece of nighttime sky. One he had almost drowned in.

  There was a burst, and Tor opened his eyes just in time to see the cobweb sails puff up and out, like his father’s pastries in the oven or his sheets on the clothesline, filled with a mystical wind. The cobwebs fell away, replaced by a dark midnight blue fabric, speckled with silver stars.

  Then there was a snap as the ropes untied themselves from their masts. Once unmoored, they flew through the air, hurtling toward Tor.

  He made a move to duck or jump away, but the ropes were quicker, tying around his wrists and ankles in a flash.

  Melda gasped, but Vesper raised a hand to keep her from untying Tor.

  The ropes glowed faintly gold, for just a moment.

  Then the vessel turned, guided by invisible hands, and the ship began to sail.

  * * *

  Tor closed his eyes against the salt. Water sprayed the deck as the ship plummeted down, right into the center of yet another swell. The ocean hissed as the ship passed roughly through it, the waves so jagged and vicious, it was as if the sea was trying to block their journey.

  For an hour they had sailed, Tor tangled in the ropes.

  Melda gripped the side of the ship and turned to him, lips pale. “Can you try sailing steadier?”

  Engle grinned at her, looking thrilled as he was flung up and down, not bothering to hold on. “Can you try having a little fun?”

  Vesper sat below on the lower deck, twirling the charms of her strange bracelet, not looking fazed in the slightest at the rising and falling of the ship. Of course not, Tor thought. She was from Swordscale. The waves were her home.

  Tor tugged on the ropes around his wrist and ankles, feeling like a prisoner. His arm jerked up in response, as if he was a puppet and the ship was his puppeteer.

  He gritted his teeth, trying to imagine the Night Witch on this ship. She would never have allowed the boat to command her. No. She would have led it the same way she had led Tor, Engle, and Melda to her lair.

  Angry and head pounding with nausea, Tor pulled with all of his strength against the ropes, shooting a firm message through his mind, the same way he had visualized the blood queen’s location.

  At once, the ropes went slack. They unraveled, landing in a heap at his feet. Slowly, the ship started to sail a bit smoother under Tor’s orders, commanding the waves instead of succumbing to them.

  “You tamed it,” Vesper said from below.

  Tor walked to where Melda and Engle now leaned against the starboard. Melda’s upper lip curled into a snarl. “I don’t like her,” she said quietly. “And, more important than that, I don’t trust her.”

  Engle shrugged. He bit into a strange, bumpy fruit Tor had seen Vesper give him, from a pouch of miniature foods on her bracelet that she could grow to normal size for eating. “She seems okay. She did warn us the Calavera were coming.”

  Melda rolled her eyes as Engle chewed with his mouth open. “She was also dying. She needed our help.”

  Tor lowered his gaze. “What are you saying, Melda?”

  She looked out to the sea. Estrelle was long behind them, and the coast was just a line, too far away for anyone but Engle to see clearly. “I don’t know.” She turned back to Tor. “Just—be careful, okay?”

  Tor nodded. “I have something for you, actually.” He reached down to grab the hourglass he had taken from the Night Witch’s castle. Dark blue sand shifted inside. It was tiny, barely bigger than his hand. “I’m not sure what it is, but I thought you might.”

  Melda studied it closely, tilting the glass up and down. “I think it’s an arenahora… We studied them in leadership.” A month ago, Tor thought, she might have added a remember? to the end of her sentence. But she knew him better now. “They can be attached to a task, or an event, or anything, really. They track time, depending on what you meld them to.” She closed her eyes for a moment, pressing the arenahora to her emblem. The sand turned purple to match it, then multiplied, shifting almost completely to one side.

  “What happened?” Engle asked. “What did you do?”

  Melda opened her eyes and grinned. “I just thought of the snowflake charm that froze the Calavera. If I’m correct, the hourglass has matched with the timing of the ice melting. So we’ll know exactly how much time we have, down to the second.” She turned to Tor. “Thank you.”

  He bowed his head, then took a step closer to his friends. “Look, I’m—” He took a deep breath. “I’m sorry.”

  Engle raised his eyebrows at him. Melda just stared.

  “It’s too soon for another deadly adventure,” he said, trying to keep his tone light, though dread stirred in his stomach like an elixir in a cauldron. “And again, it’s my fault.”

  Melda opened her mouth to argue, but Tor shook his head.

  “It is. The Night Witch is gone because of me, and her death is the only reason the Calavera are able to invade Estrelle in the first place.” He looked down at the fish painted in silver on his arm. It glimmered in the sun, undeniably pretty. “This wish continues to haunt me…us. I regret it every day. Every day.” He met their eyes again. “I’m just—I’m just sorry.”

  Engle planted a hand on his shoulder. “We know, Tor,” he s
aid. He walked past them, to the book Vesper had set against the upper deck’s ledge—the Book of Seas. “You know, sea monsters are even more deadly than the monsters in Cuentos.” Engle had always been fascinated with monstrous creatures, which had been useful during their last journey. He thumbed lazily through the pages, then grinned. “How about we start with the one about the blood queen?”

  The Blood Queen

  Once, the sea turned gray. Its creatures fled to its depths, to escape the darkness that had raged through Emblem Island and taken the ocean’s blue color with it. A darkness that wished to destroy everything Emblem Island had been—and the future of what it might become.

  But the mermaids suffered most of all. Unable to peek their heads up toward the clouds they once loved and soak in the colorful waters that had brought them such joy, some became sinister. Others perished.

  Many magical creatures went extinct in those dark ages, unable to live in perpetual night.

  When the evil finally passed, a single spark of energy remained. An ember of power, burning at Emblem Island’s heart.

  The leader of the mermaids, Casamara, felt that spark. She knew if she could reach a drop of that power, she could save her kind. So she volunteered to go to land, knowing that once she did, she could never go back to the water. For a mermaid that leaves the sea can never return.

  Casamara found the ember of power and brought a piece of it to her people, saving them. For years she lived in a cove on land, staring longingly at everything she had once loved, before dying of a broken heart.

  Once ever century after that, a mermaid is chosen to make the same honorable trek Casamara had, to bring a bit of power to the sea. Most saw the sacrifice as an honor—but one mermaid, Mora, rejected the journey.

  Still, against her wishes, the sea washed her ashore. Forever bound to land, Mora swore vengeance against the mermaids. She not only refused to bring the ember of power back to the sea… She took it for herself.

  Mora’s lifeline extended to twice its previous length, and for two hundred years she lived in the same Cove of Casamara, bringing ruin to her former people. To keep her immortality, she made a deal with the Night Witch. In exchange for being the keeper of keys to the Night Witch’s curses at sea, Mora’s lifeline would lengthen for every person she killed.

  So Mora became a blood queen, keeper of the ocean’s secrets and curses, and the deadliest of its creatures.

  4

  The Cove of Casamara

  The Night Witch’s ship was fitted for a full crew. Below deck sat ten rooms, small, but ornately decorated, as if the witch herself had used them once. As soon as Tor entered his after a day of sailing, a candle ignited atop a richly carved nightstand. Cobwebs and dust clinging to the corners of the room fell away, the ship cleaning itself, and a fresh set of sheets appeared from thin air, unrolled themselves with a crack, then floated gently onto the bed. The ship was enchanted. Every inch of it.

  Tor looked out the tiny rounded window. Waves crashed against the thick glass, then rescinded, only to return. He closed his eyes and could feel the boat—some part of him had melded with it. It was an extension of himself.

  According to Vesper, they would reach the blood queen the next morning.

  He swallowed, remembering her story. Just like the Night Witch, she gained power by killing others. How long had it been since travelers had happened upon her cove?

  Would she kill them before they could get answers?

  The ship lurched to the side, and a vase fell to the floor, shattering into a thousand sea glass pieces. Before Tor could stoop to clean them up, they vanished.

  He needed to go to bed. He buried himself under the sheets, and the candle blew itself out.

  With darkness came dreams.

  And with Tor’s dreams came the Night Witch.

  He had dreamt of her almost every night since their journey. She was dead, yet immortalized in his mind. It was always the same—the Night Witch smiling as dark power billowed out of her. Still smiling as she dug her nail into his palm. Then, the nightmare ended with the Night Witch plunging off the cliff, becoming a dozen birds, half dark and half bright.

  This time, however, Tor’s dream was different.

  This time, she spoke.

  Her hair floated around her, as if she was submerged in water. They were both back in that cave on the cliff. The Night Witch looked almost the same as she had that day, yet slightly changed. Her eyes were glazed over, her skin was slightly translucent. She smiled sadly. “I hope you remember what I told you, Tor Luna,” she said, voice deep as the depths of the sea. She took his hand and traced his lifeline. “He’s coming. They all are.”

  She walked away, silk dress dragging behind her.

  “Who’s coming?” he asked, his voice sounding far away. “How do I stop them? Where do I find the pearl?”

  The Night Witch looked over her shoulder at him, head tilted. Her toes lingered just inches from the sharp edge of the cave. She opened her mouth—but before she could speak again, a scream barreled through the air. Her eyes widened.

  And she plunged off the cliff once again.

  Tor sat up in bed, the candle flickering immediately on. His shadow cast against the wooden wall, long and bobbing along with the rhythm of the sea.

  His heart beat fast as an Eve drum. The thin sheets stuck to him in a sweaty layer. He stepped out of bed, and that’s when he heard it.

  A scream through the darkness. The same one that had interrupted his dream.

  Tor rushed out of the room, into the narrow hallway. Melda was already there, eyes wide. “It’s Engle,” she said, and a moment later, they swung his door open.

  Engle thrashed across his bed, the blanket tight in his fists as he moved violently from side to side. A prisoner trying to escape his chains.

  But his eyes were closed.

  Melda rushed to him, then hovered there, uncertain of what to do. She turned to Tor. “He’s still asleep.”

  Engle screamed once more, and Tor took him by the shoulders. “Engle,” he said firmly. His friend kept moving, head going from side to side, eyes scrunched tightly closed.

  “No,” Engle wailed. “It hurts, it hurts!” Suddenly, Engle gripped his own torso, and yelled again, then whimpered, chest concaving as if he had been wounded.

  “Engle!” Tor yelled into his face, but his friend didn’t wake. “En—”

  Melda grabbed the glass of water from Engle’s bedside and threw it into his face.

  Engle gasped and straightened immediately, nearly knocking heads with Tor. His chest rose and fell as he panted, eyes wide, water dripping from his light brown hair, down onto his freckled cheeks.

  He looked around, blinking furiously, then gaped at Melda. “Did you just throw that at me?”

  Melda put down the glass with shaking fingers and raised her chin. “I did.”

  “Why in the world did you do that?”

  “You were moving like you were possessed!”

  Engle pressed his palm to his forehead and winced, like it hurt. “Oh. Sorry about that. Did I wake you both?”

  Melda and Tor shared a look.

  “Does this…happen a lot?” Tor asked gently.

  Engle scratched the back of his head. He shrugged. “Kind of. Ever since…ever since the Lake of the Lost.”

  A chill snaked down Tor’s spine. That was the worst day of his life—but he hadn’t even considered it was Engle’s as well. His friend hadn’t spoken a word about it afterward.

  The image flashed in his mind—Engle being snatched away by the bonesulkers and pulled deep below the Lake of the Lost’s gray waters. Engle had been a whisper away from death that day, would have died if it wasn’t for Melda.

  Tor blinked, and there was Melda, just inches away from Engle, gripping his hand. “I have nightmares about that, too,” she said softly. “Do you…
do you want to talk about it?”

  Engle stared back at her intently. Squeezed her hand back.

  Then, a moment later, he shook her grip away and grinned deviously. “I hope you’re not trying to get me to forgive the fact that you threw a glass of water at me. Let’s see if you like being awakened like that tomorrow morning!”

  Melda’s gaze narrowed, and she didn’t say another word before leaving the room.

  Engle shrugged. “No sense of humor. Goodnight, Grimelda!” he said loud enough for her to hear down the hall, grinning at Melda’s full name. He stretched his neck to the side with a satisfying crack, and turned back to Tor. “I’m fine, don’t worry about me. Go back to bed. Can’t have Captain Tor bleary-eyed tomorrow, can we?”

  Tor wanted to stay and make Engle talk about it. But he stood and smiled for his friend’s benefit. Once in bed, he stayed up late, wondering how the three of them were going to succeed on another deadly quest when they hadn’t even gotten over the last one.

  * * *

  In the morning, Vesper was gone.

  “Your screaming probably scared her off,” Tor said lightly, though his stomach was in knots. What if Melda had been right? What if they couldn’t trust the waterbreather, and she had disappeared in the night?

  They searched every room, closet, and corner of the brig.

  “I hate to say I told you so,” Melda said as they reached the deck. Just like below, it was empty. “But I did say—”

  “Anyone fancy some sea-foam for breakfast?”

  Tor, Melda, and Engle raced to the edge of the boat and found a bobbing silver head in the water. Vesper. She was holding a curved oyster shell filled with something sparkling.

  She seamlessly climbed up a ladder carved into the side of the boat, shrinking the bowl, and making it large again once she was seated in front of them. Her hair was plastered against her head and shoulders, her scaled dress glimmered in the early-morning sun. She produced a spoon from a tiny purse—one of the many charms of her strange bracelet—and motioned toward the sea foam. “If you get it fresh, just after sunrise, the salt hasn’t gotten to it yet, and it’s delightfully sweet.” She offered the spoon to Engle, who took it without question.