by Alex Aster
Tor felt a pang of jealousy. He had daydreamed about his time in the forgotten underwater city, down in depths he would never have been able to explore without his new emblem. Breathing in the sea was completely different than simply swimming in it. He wanted a thousand years just to see every inch of seafloor, to encounter every sea creature at least once.
As promised, Vesper climbed up the ship’s ladder just a few moments later, dripping a trail of water across the deck as she walked toward him. “Pity you have to be the captain,” she said. “The water’s warm.”
She sat cross-legged on the deck and wrung her hair out. “You have no idea how strange it is to do this,” she said, making a puddle beside her knee. “I’ve never had to dry myself in my life.”
“Tell me about Swordscale,” Tor said.
She dropped his gaze like a weight. “It used to be magnificent. I remember it all, as a child. It was so nice, so beautiful. Back then, we lived in harmony with mermaids.”
Tor raised his eyebrows, and Vesper gave him a sidelong glance.
“Not the type you’ve heard about. These were torrytails, not much different from you or me. They breathed underwater and had a fin, but their tails… You could see legs within them. Stuck together, but there, so similar to us. They have their own origin story, a frightening tale.” She bit her lip. “One of them was my best friend. Salma. Our fathers, they ruled Swordscale together.”
Vesper closed her eyes, and Tor was surprised to see a tear slip down her face, getting instantly lost in her silver hair.
“One day, we were attacked. My father locked me in my room to make sure I didn’t try to fight; I was too young. By the time I broke out, my parents were dead.”
Tor bowed his head, not knowing what to say. He settled with, “I’m sorry.” He remembered Vesper yelling after her grandmother, but not her parents. He should have suspected.
She shrugged. “And all of the torrytails had fled. They left and never returned. Swordscale was badly damaged, and without solid leadership, it crumbled further. Things…changed. Our rules had relaxed over the years, but leaving Swordscale again became forbidden, for fear of spurring another attack. Still, I would sneak out, and I never saw anything to be afraid of.”
“Who attacked Swordscale?” Tor dared ask.
Vesper shook her head. “I have no idea. No one speaks of it. And most of those who might have known are dead.” She shrugged. “As I told you before, Swordscales are superstitious. They believe writing about bad things will make them happen. Speaking them is worse.”
“I’m really sorry, Vesper,” Tor said again, knowing it wasn’t enough.
She took a deep breath. “My people are already weak, already broken. If the Calavera succeed, waterbreathers will be all but extinct. We’re the last settlement I know of.” Her bottom lip quivered, and she bit it, holding it still. “My parents died protecting their people.” She lowered her head, her green eyes blazing. “I won’t let their sacrifice be for nothing.”
* * *
Later, the sea was still. It felt heavier around the ship as Tor navigated it, requiring more effort than usual. He was alone on the deck, compass in his palm, when Melda appeared. She offered to take over while Tor rested, but he declined. He wasn’t tired, and he liked watching the water, especially when afternoon turned to evening.
“It always looks a little lazy this time of day,” he said, staring out at the ocean. The few waves that did form around them had rounded crests, as if the sea was ready to get off work.
Tor couldn’t fathom ever getting tired of watching it. Each mile they sailed, the water looked a little different.
He turned to her. “You know, maybe Vesper isn’t so bad. Maybe we can trust her.”
Melda gave him a look. “Are you going off facts? Or are you biased, because she’s a waterbreather, like you?”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
Melda shrugged. “You’ve wanted this marking your entire life, and she’s the first person you’ve met who has it. I get why you’d want to trust her.”
“No, I just—” He wanted to tell Melda about Vesper’s past, but stopped himself. Doing so felt wrong. It wasn’t his story to tell.
Melda walked over to him. “Are you enjoying it, at least?” She nodded at his emblem.
Just a month ago, Melda had scoffed at Tor’s wish for a waterbreathing marking. Now, he saw no judgment in her gray eyes. He frowned at the sky. “It feels wrong, knowing the cost. And circumstances.” He looked up at her. “But—yes. It’s just like I thought it would be.” He straightened. “Sandstone—you should have seen it, Melda. It was bigger than Estrelle, like Zeal, even. But…down there.” He was grinning. “Breathing underwater, it’s incredible. It’s just like breathing air, but it’s thicker, you know? Sweeter, almost. And things are different underwater. You can walk, just like on land, or swim, and—” He stopped himself, took a breath, then slowly slumped over. “I know I sound strange. But I can’t explain it. I’ve just always been drawn to the ocean, like something’s waiting for me out here.” Tor shrugged. “Do you know what that’s like?”
Melda was looking past him, focusing very intently on a spot far away. Her fingers found the base of her throat, where her necklace once sat. Before she had sacrificed the rare drop of color it held to save Engle. “I do, actually,” she said.
Then, they were flying through the air.
Tor hit the side of the ship and bone snapped—his arm erupted in pain, like fireworks going off beneath his skin. He screamed out, and Melda crawled over to him. Engle jumped up from where he had landed, on the opposite side.
Something had struck the boat.
“What was—” Before Engle could finish his sentence, a long tentacle whipped out of the sea fast as the casting line of a fishing rod and across the deck. It landed with so much force, Tor, Melda, and Engle went flying backward once more.
The bone in his arm stuck out in a strange direction, almost through his skin. He cradled it as he rose, barely resisting the urge to cry out in pain.
Engle swallowed. “That’s a capsizal,” he said. “Five tentacles. Fifty feet long. Carnivorous.” He shook his head. “I knew something was following us. I wasn’t just imagining it.”
Melda screamed as another tentacle spiraled from the water and smacked against the ship, this time slithering down its side, underneath the vessel, all the way back around. “It’s going to smash us to pieces!” She turned to Engle. “Does it have a weakness?”
He nodded. “Terrible eyesight. Can only sense movement.”
Another tentacle had joined the others. Then another. And another. Its suction cups made sticking sounds as they fastened firmly against the wood—its tentacles went taut, and the boat cracked, a fracture running straight down the deck like a bolt of lightning. It was going to split the ship in half.
Tor recognized the creature—it looked just like the giant squid from Sandstone. He wondered how Vesper was doing below deck and hoped she would be able to escape through a window, if the vessel was crushed further. “How many of these exist?” he yelled over the growl that shook the ship, pain a pulse in his arm.
Engle was shaking. “Only one at a given time.”
Just then, Vesper surfaced from below deck, pushing heavily against the latch, which one of the tentacles had partially covered.
Tor took a step toward her and couldn’t believe he had just tried to convince Melda that Vesper could be trusted. “You took it, didn’t you?” He remembered Captain Forecastle’s words about the ship’s golden-edged sails; he had said it meant something aboard had been stolen. Tor had assumed the sails had sensed the Night Witch’s stolen cloud charm, but now—
“Took what?” Melda yelled. The sea at their sides bubbled like the ocean was simmering, a big soup they were about to be boiled in.
“The fortuneteller’s skull.”
That was why the monster had attacked in the library. And also why it had followed them all this way. “Give it back!” Tor yelled.
Vesper hesitated.
“You’ll kill us all!” Melda said.
Vesper reached into her pocket and made the skull grow into its full size. Then, she threw it into the water.
One of the tentacles retracted to fetch it. The sea stopped boiling.
For a moment, Tor thought the capsizal might just leave.
But then, the rest of the capsizal’s tentacles tightened. It seemed the creature wasn’t done with them yet.
The ship cracked again under its grip, and Tor winced, feeling the ship at the brink of breaking.
Vesper ran to the edge of the deck, and Tor imagined she was about to abandon them, before she yelled, “Jump!”
Melda looked like the last thing she wanted to do was follow Vesper, but they had no choice. They leapt into the sea.
By the time Tor landed in the water, the ship was no bigger than his thumb.
Its tentacles now gripping air, the capsizal fell behind them, roughly into the ocean. For a moment, there was just a faint buzzing in Tor’s ear, a bee that had made its way into the sea. He tasted salt in his mouth, having swallowed water that once would have burned his lungs.
The capsizal was right in front of him, and every one of Tor’s bones itched to swim far away… But he remembered Engle’s warning, and forced himself still. Even as his arm throbbed in blinding pain, made worse by the impact from jumping. The creature’s tentacles blindly reached through the water, desperate to grip one of them. Engle. Melda. Tor searched for his friends, wincing in pain, hoping they were able to not only stay still, but also survive the near thirty seconds underwater.
Time continued to click by, and Tor nearly shuddered in pain, a motion that might give him away, when the capsizal finally gave up.
With a final push of its massive tentacles, it disappeared into the deep, taking the fortuneteller’s skull with it.
The Cursed Sea and Its Forgotten Cities
The sea has its secrets. Tucked deep below, creatures roam; beasts that have never before surfaced. Entire cities go unnoticed.
Unless one is invited.
It is said that those worthy of a visit might come across towering gates in the middle of the ocean. An invitation.
And that those with the power to venture underwater might discover great riches and even greater secrets. But each has a price. For the sea takes twice as much as it gives.
Sailors are willing to bargain with the ocean, just for a taste of it.
The only way to overcome fear is to face it.
And the only way to live is to sail to different places.
A pirate’s heart is restless.
They would rather die than look in death’s eye and think their life was wasted.
11
Stormscale
Tor was back in his room on the ship without any recollection of how he had gotten there. It was warm as summer inside, though their journey had gotten colder as they had traveled up the coast. Had they changed direction for some reason? Melda hovered above him, about to place a thin piece of linen against his forehead. He was burning from the inside out, like the damage to his arm was an ember that had spread into a fire. Sweat trickled down his forehead.
The linen was cold as ice against his face and brought a whisper of relief.
“He’s awake,” Engle said, walking into the room and rushing to his side.
Tor looked down at his arm, which was pulsing with pain. None of them were curadors; they would need to find someone with a healing emblem to right the bone. It would be difficult, but every major city had one, and there were plenty of thriving coastal towns nearby. But, as his blurred vision cleared, he saw that his arm didn’t look like an arm at all.
“We saw it when we ripped your sleeve off, to survey the damage,” Melda said quickly. “You passed out.”
His skin was covered in dark scales, from his shoulder down to his fingers, where tiny shells had replaced his knuckles.
“It’s spread like wildfire. We’ve watched it grow. A few hours ago, it was just your elbow—”
“The pirate who held the blade to my throat, he had this,” Tor said quickly. “Do you know what it is? Is there anything about it in the book?” He vaguely remembered a chapter about sicknesses at sea.
Melda nodded. “We think it’s… We think…” She broke off in a sob and quickly turned away.
Engle looked equally gutted. He sat on the edge of Tor’s bed and said, “We think it’s stormscale, mate.”
Tor squinted. Stormscale. He remembered the passage now. No known cure, or at least one almost impossible to find…proven deadly in less than a day. “But that doesn’t make sense, that pirate had definitely had it longer than a day.”
Melda had wiped away her tears. Her eyes were bloodshot. “They were cursed, Tor, their lifelines frozen. His must have been frozen right in the middle of his illness, keeping him alive.”
Less than a day. He dared a glance at the window, its panes dark with night. He had encountered the pirate that morning, which meant he only had a few more hours.
Tor remembered the prophecy. One of them would die. It had been fated.
Somewhere deep inside, he was happy it was him and not one of his friends.
He tried to smile. “It’s all right,” he said. “Don’t stop sailing, okay? Try to find the pearl. Save Estrelle. And tell my mother—” His voice cut off, a lump in his throat. He swallowed. “Tell her I—”
But his vision blurred again. He tried to speak, but—
Tor tumbled into darkness.
* * *
Something waited in the abyss. The darkness moved and scattered, revealing a woman in a dress that was now tattered at its ends.
The Night Witch.
“Just a whisper from death,” she said slowly, taking him in. “Only my power keeps you alive. But it, too, will soon extinguish.” She shook her head.
Tor looked down and found himself whole. His arm did not pulse with pain; he did not feel hot all over.
In fact, he felt cold. Dangerously so.
“I want to show you something.”
She walked toward the darkness, the train of her ruined dress trailing behind her.
Tor followed.
He stumbled—and fell into a different world, like plunging through a portal. Before him, he saw a girl far in the distance. She climbed out of a boat that had washed upon an island devoid of color, as if a storm had swept through and taken all of its best parts for itself.
This was Emblem Island, thousands of years before.
And the girl was Estrelle, founder of his village.
“The charms she used to bring the island back to its former glory, the ones she used to create the first emblems…” The Night Witch was floating next to him, right on the sea, watching the young girl stumble across gray sand. “Did you ever wonder where they came from?”
Tor remembered the story. “Her grandmother,” he said.
“Yes, but who was her grandmother? What was the place Estrelle came from?”
Tor had never questioned it. Before a month ago, he had never even believed the stories, let alone examined them.
The Night Witch turned to face him. “After destroying this island, darkness found Estrelle’s home. She was the only one to escape, and she took her people’s most powerful talisman with her.”
The necklace. The one that held the charms that would become emblems.
She nodded, hearing his thoughts, and continued.
“Estrelle’s grandmother and the rest of her descendants sacrificed themselves, used all of their abilities to trap the darkness in their lands in their attempt to vanquish it. And for more than a thousand years, it was dormant. As Emblem Island’s power
grew under Estrelle’s influence, the darkness back at her home faded, until it was almost gone.”
The Night Witch nodded toward the island, which had transformed. A new girl stood at the coast, watching them. She had white, peculiar hair.
“Then, I was born with the first deadly emblem. The power to kill with a single touch, balanced by the power to bring anyone back to life. I could have been the key to killing the darkness across the seas for good—but instead, after the murder of my father, the darkness in me bloomed. Darkness feeds on darkness, Tor. Unknowingly, the more sinister and powerful I became, the stronger I made him, until he was resurrected.”
Him. Tor had so many questions. Was the darkness a person? A thing? Where had it come from? What had Emblem Island been before it had been destroyed, before Estrelle had landed on its shores?
She turned to him. “It’s up to you now Tor, to stop the same stories from being told once more.”
“But I’m dying,” Tor said. “I can’t help anymore. I can’t save the island.” He took a shaking breath. “You picked the wrong person,” he said. “I’m not enough. I wasn’t even able to face being the leader of my village, let alone protect all of Emblem Island. I’m not enough.”
She frowned at him and pointed at something in the distance. “You have something I never did,” she whispered. “You have help.”
With a whoosh, she was gone. Tor continued to stare at what she had pointed out, something in the night, sitting on the distant seas. Tor walked toward it, water slippery as ice beneath his feet. As he came closer, he realized the object in the distance was a ship.
Cloudcaster. Anchored in the middle of nowhere. He heard voices, rushed and loud—muted and echoing. Chaos. Soon, he saw Melda, Engle, and Vesper on the deck. All running as if the ship was sinking.
“Hurry, he’s almost gone!” Melda screamed. She was facing Vesper. Were they working together?
Had Melda forgiven Vesper for taking the skull and endangering their lives?
Before Tor could put together what she was doing, Vesper jumped into the water right in front of him. Not seeing him at all.