Viper

by Bex Hogan

  I need to escape, but I have to wait for the right moment – and in the meantime I can’t arouse further suspicion. The easiest way to do this is to continue preparing for my Initiation, which I assume my father means to happen before he marries me off. As far as I know there’s still no date set for the wedding, not that anyone would necessarily tell me if there was. Channelling my energy into my training gives me purpose through the long hours at sea, and as my body strengthens so does my mind. Every ability I perfect will be vital to my eventual survival away from the Maiden and that knowledge drives me hard.

  Though I would be happiest focusing purely on combat, that would mean spending a lot of time with Grace, and since she returned from the Sixth Isle I’ve been doing my best to stay away from her. Fortunately Initiation requires other areas of study, and after one particularly gruelling session climbing up and down the rigging, my skirt constantly tripping me up, my hair flying in my face, I head to the cargo hold in search of our cooper. He’s a master at repairing the essential wooden barrels that contain everything from food and water to treasure, and it’s a craft I need to work on. We call him Cooper – though I honestly don’t know if this is coincidentally his name or if it’s just the nickname he earned from his talent. Either way, he’s good with his hands, which are as deadly as they are skilled.

  It’s gloomy down in the hold, and it takes a while for my eyes to adjust, but it’s soon apparent Cooper isn’t here. I’m about to leave when a noise stops me. It sounds like a dog whimpering, but there are none on board. Something’s not right, and I quickly scan Cooper’s tools for his broadaxe, pulling it out of the barrel it’s resting in. It feels reassuringly heavy in my hand as I head towards the sound.

  Toby is on the floor. He’s been beaten, his right eye already swollen shut and a steady trickle of blood coming from his nose. Cleeve is bent over him, his arm raised to land another blow.

  The broadaxe has left my hand before I even think of the consequences, pinning Cleeve’s arm to the wall by his sleeve. He stares at the blade, which is alarmingly close to his flesh, and yanks it free, spinning round to face me, his expression nothing short of murderous.

  ‘Leave him alone or I’ll make you regret it.’ And despite it being unlikely I can carry out the threat, I wholeheartedly mean it.

  ‘You bitch,’ he says, his voice a growl. ‘You dare interfere in my business?’

  ‘It is my business what happens on this ship. One day it’ll be mine.’ A stupid thing to say when I plan to escape, but it spills out before I have a chance to stop it.

  Cleeve’s hand hovers in the air, and I can tell he’s weighing up the merits of sending the axe right back at me. There’s nothing I can do but stand my ground.

  Instead he laughs, which in the circumstances is nothing short of sinister. ‘Will it indeed?’ he says with undisguised contempt. ‘One lucky throw doesn’t make you fit to captain this crew.’

  I’m not insulted by the slight. It’s a relief to know Cleeve credits my skills to luck – the last thing I need is my father finding out I’ve been hiding talents he’d make vicious use of. ‘I can try again if you like.’

  For a moment I think I’ve gone too far and that Cleeve will bury the broadaxe in my chest, but he seems to think better of it and lowers his arm. He adopts an air of casual indifference towards the pair of us but glares at me as he walks past. So much for not drawing attention to myself.

  When he’s gone I kneel down beside Toby and use my skirt to wipe the blood from his face. ‘Are you all right?’ He nods and I gently take his chin in my hand to inspect his eye. ‘Come on, let’s get you some salve for that.’

  He shakes his head, though, and in a flash is on his feet and running back to the ladder. His speed reassures me that he’s suffered no lasting damage, and I decide it would be wise to join him higher up the ship. I don’t want to be discovered by a returning Cleeve bent on revenge. Because I’m certain he won’t forget this.

  I’m not sure what I was expecting on my birthday, but being awoken by Grace bursting through my door before the sun has even risen wasn’t it.

  ‘Get up,’ she says, pulling back my blanket. ‘Meet me on deck. Bring your cloak.’

  Blinking sleep away, I watch her hurry out of the room. We’ve barely spoken since the Rock Island massacre, and I wonder what’s made her seek me out.

  Grace is waiting for me at the bow when I emerge on to the deck, and she must hear me coming because as I approach she points to the horizon and says, ‘Look.’

  I squint, and in the distance I can make out the distinct shape of land, a shadow against the rising sun, which sends goosebumps up my arm. ‘Is that the Third Isle?’

  Of all the six Eastern islands this is the one I’ve most wanted to explore, something Grace knows. It’s more than I dare hope for that we’ll land there today.

  ‘We’re going over,’ Grace says.

  ‘We?’

  ‘You and me,’ she says. ‘You’re mine for the day.’

  Adrenaline causes my heart to flutter. This is it. My chance to escape. All I need is a moment alone. One moment and I can be free.

  ‘Don’t get too excited. We’re going to be training. Taking the opportunity for some target practice.’ She’s talking about firing pistols – it’s not easy to shoot on board, too much potential for disaster – but she’s misunderstood why my eyes have lit up. ‘I have to gather a few things, but stay here. I’ll be back in a minute.’

  I stand with my face to the wind, breathing in the salt air as the island comes into closer view, waiting for the moment when I can catch a glimpse of the distinctive shoreline. Like all the islands, the Third Isle is often referred to by another name that reflects its unique landscape, and I confess its name is one of the things that’s always intrigued me most about it. The Black Island. I’ve heard stories about its forests, where the nightheart trees are thin and tall with trunks that glisten like they’ve been dipped in tar, their leaves charcoal that turns to dust in your grasp. The forest floor is said to be ash and if there is life to be found, it’s concealed in dark camouflage. Today I’ll finally find out for myself.

  I won’t get a better opportunity than this to flee. I try to imagine what I’ll have to do. Somehow I’ll need to lose Grace, and that will be difficult. For a brief moment I remember I’ll be holding a pistol but the mere thought of hurting Grace is too awful, so I decide to play that one by ear. Assuming I do manage to slip away from her, I’ll then have to hide. But it’s an island, and they’ll know I’m there somewhere – not to mention I’m at a distinct disadvantage having never been there before. Eventually they’ll find me and then what?

  The truth weighs me down like an anchor.

  This boat is a prison. I am my father’s captive. He will make me a killer or he will have me killed. And I have always known this.

  The stark reality of it hits me now like it never has before.

  I feel a shift in the air and I’m expecting Grace to have returned, but it’s Bronn who comes to stand beside me. He’s the last person I want to see right now, the last person I want to witness the tears swimming in my eyes.

  I want to yell and rage, vent every last scrap of my misery at him, but as I build internally to an outburst, I catch sight of his wrist. Tucked behind the leather band he wears, a scrappy piece of rope, knotted in several places, is straying from its hiding place, and though it’s filthy and frayed, I recognise it as one I made him many years ago. I can’t believe he still has it, let alone wears it, and my anger falls flat. I’m so tired of being mad at him all the time.

  He seems oblivious to my conflict; instead he passes me something wrapped in cloth. ‘This is for you.’

  ‘What for?’ It’s hard to keep my voice steady.

  ‘You didn’t think I’d forgotten what day it was, did you?’

  When I finally dare to look up at him, I see my own weariness reflected back. Our war with each other has taken its toll. I turn my attention to the gift. It’s hea
vy, and I fold back the cloth to reveal a dagger, the handle bejewelled with black emeralds. It’s exquisite.

  ‘Th-thank you,’ I stammer, lost for words. ‘It’s . . .’

  ‘It’s nothing,’ he says. ‘But, you know, it might come in handy one day.’

  And with a casual shrug he leaves as if he’d gifted me nothing more than a bit of old loot, which, on reflection, it probably is. I’m tempted to fling it into the sea. Instead I shove it into my belt. For once Bronn’s right. Never know when it might be useful.

  By the time the anchor drops and the men lower a small boat into the water, Grace has returned with a bag of weapons and supplies. She tosses the rope ladder over the side of the ship and gestures to me. ‘After you.’

  Not needing to be asked twice, I hurl myself over and downwards, struggling to keep from stepping on my dress.

  Grace takes the oars and with elegant strokes sweeps us towards land. As the Maiden grows smaller and the land looms larger, I can breathe more easily.

  In no mood for conversation, I’m silent as we glide through the water, the sense of defeat I’m experiencing threatening to overwhelm me, the prospect of escape slipping fast away like a dream upon waking. I’m so distracted I don’t realise at first that we’re no longer travelling straight, instead Grace is taking us round the island towards a previously hidden cove. I raise an eyebrow at her in question.

  ‘Just being cautious,’ is all she says.

  I lean over the side of the boat, and allow the tips of my fingers to skim through the clear water. Though I look hard there’s no sign of life beneath us, no fish or weed, and at first this surprises me, until the water grows murkier and the seabed darker so that I imagine my hand is in oil. Looking up, I see the shoreline is as black as the forests found here. Grace smiles. ‘Beautiful, isn’t it?’

  She jumps out, the water reaching her waist, and drags the boat on to the beach. Mesmerised, I climb out and kneel to examine the sand, which looks like powdered coal, then rub it between my fingers where it leaves a smudge behind. Turning to show Grace, I see she’s hauling the boat right up towards the dunes. ‘What are you doing?’

  She shrugs. ‘Just don’t want anyone to know we’re here.’ And she retraces her tracks, kicking sand back over the boat’s plough lines.

  I frown, suddenly registering that Grace has been quiet too, even for her, and my senses prickle. ‘Anyone in particular?’

  ‘No.’ But she smiles a bit too brightly. ‘Just old habits and all that.’

  I’m about to push her further when she offers me a small box.

  ‘Here, you may as well have your gift now.’

  Trying to disguise my surprise that she’s got me anything, I take it from her and open the lid to reveal a compass. Set in gold, the compass face is surrounded by a circle of dainty cowrie shells that alternate with tiny pink scallops, both as fragile as they are beautiful. In the lid of the box is an exquisite painting depicting the same image of the shells, only with a larger scallop shell in the centre, and the letter V. For Viper. It’s like nothing I’ve ever seen before and tears spring to my eyes. ‘Grace, thank you. It’s perfect.’

  ‘I’ve been holding on to that for a long time, waiting for the right moment to give it to you.’ Her smile has an unexpected hint of sadness in it.

  ‘I love it.’ And for just the smallest moment I see my friend before me, rather than the killer I know she is, and realise how much I’ve missed her.

  ‘Good. Right, come on. You wanted to see the forest I believe.’

  We don’t have to walk far before all I can see ahead of us is dense woodland towering ominously like a wall of darkness. When we reach its outskirts, I worry that I’ll be as good as blind in there, but Grace walks in with such confidence I’m willing to follow.

  Within minutes my eyes adjust to the gloom. All the stories are true. The trees are so narrow it would be easy to mistake them as fragile, and they shine as if wet, but when I brush my fingers along the trunks they’re sturdy and dry to the touch. The leaves are sparse on the lower branches, only for the foliage to form black clouds that block out all light on the upper boughs. The ground of powdered ash offers a soft bed to fallen leaves and twigs, and scattered around are tiny black flowers, creating a soft floral carpet. I’ve never seen them before; Milligan doesn’t use them at all. I wish I knew what they were and if they had any medicinal properties. It’s exactly as I imagined it would be, yet somehow far more beautiful. And quiet. So quiet that every step echoes like a thousand tiny explosions beneath my feet. There is an unnatural absence of birdsong, and if any creatures call this place home, they are hidden from sight and sound. Yet the stillness causes me no fear, and despite my exertion my breathing feels a little easier, my mind a little lighter.

  When we have walked for a half hour or so Grace stops, shrugging her bag from her shoulders. ‘OK, this’ll do. Up for a bit of sparring?’

  ‘If you’re in the mood to lose.’

  She smiles. ‘You’re on. But you’ll have to find me first.’

  And she sidesteps, disappearing behind a tree, her Snake blacks an ideal camouflage in these surroundings.

  My adrenaline starts to pump, the perfect balance of fear and exhilaration, and I cautiously set after her. I tread lightly, not wanting to alert Grace to my presence, but moments later her arm swings round a tree and catches me right in the stomach. Winded, I stumble backwards, though still manage to pivot in time to avoid her next attempt. She tries again, kicking her leg high, but this time I’m expecting it and stop her foot with my hands, pushing her away. Now Grace is the one off balance and I capitalise on her momentary weakness, my arms landing strike after strike on to hers, while she does her best to fend me off.

  The exchange is just what I needed. Both of us are glad to be in the open air, free to stretch our limbs and minds, eager for the challenge and hungry for the win. Soon the sweat drips down my back as I try to find a way to break through Grace’s defences.

  ‘Come on,’ she goads me. ‘Getting older’s made you slow.’

  ‘Just don’t want you to feel bad.’

  ‘I can handle anything you throw at me.’

  ‘You asked for it.’

  Jumping up, I grab the branch above me, swinging towards her so she only just has time to duck out of the way. I land behind her, and wait as she springs to her feet. She comes at me fast, and I have to parry an endless stream of blows, our arms moving with increasing speed until I do the only thing I can to end it: twist my feet round hers, my dress tying us in knots. It sends us both hurtling to the floor, where we look at each other and burst out laughing.

  ‘Not bad,’ Grace says, standing up. ‘Not bad at all.’

  ‘Thanks. What next?’

  She hands me a pistol. ‘See that tree?’ She points to a slightly deformed trunk with protruding knots. ‘Hit it.’

  ‘With pleasure.’ It’s been a while since I fired one, but my aim is sharp and soon the air is dense with gunpowder. When my forefinger is cramping from pulling the trigger, I pause.

  ‘Good,’ Grace says. ‘I’m impressed.’

  She also sounds relieved.

  ‘What’s wrong?’

  ‘Nothing.’ She rubs the back of her neck. ‘I’m just pleased to see you doing well.’ She meets my eyes and I know she’s not telling me everything. ‘But there’s always room for improvement. Keep going.’

  We train until the hour is late, the sun just beginning to drop and the gloom increasing. When we can barely see any more Grace says, ‘Come on, time to go.’ But I notice she sets off in a different direction to the one we came in.

  Assuming she has good reason, and more than happy to delay returning to the Maiden, I follow her. My dress is covered in gunpowder and I smell like battle. When we emerge from the forest the relative light hurts my eyes. We’re near the sea, but not at the cove where our boat awaits. Large slabs of dark rock mingle with weeds dusted in charcoal sand and, as we walk over them, I imagine how filthy my f
eet must be. Ahead of us is a dilapidated building, and Grace seems to be taking me there. She has remained silent for too long and nerves flutter in my stomach as we approach the structure.

  Just before we reach the door she turns to me. ‘Whatever happens, I’m with you.’ And without waiting for a reply she goes in.

  The atmosphere noticeably changes when I step into the building. Derelict and abandoned, I suspect we are the first people to stand within its four walls for many years – apart from those waiting for us. All the Maiden’s core crew are already here positioned in a semicircle. They’re staring at me – even Bronn, whose jaw is clenched. My father waits in the middle of the room. Someone kneels before him, his hands tied behind his back and a sack over his head. I can smell his fear instantly. Beside me I feel every muscle in Grace’s body tense, and know something terrible is about to happen.

  ‘My child,’ my father begins, and a chill spreads across me in anticipation of what is to come. ‘Today is a momentous day. Not only do we honour your birth, but the time has come for your Initiation to take place.’

  My Initiation. I hadn’t imagined it would take place today; in truth, I had struggled to imagine it ever taking place. For so long I’ve dreaded this moment, but now there is nothing to do but confront it.

  ‘What must I do?’ I try to speak formally, fittingly for the occasion but, honestly, it’s an effort to speak at all.

  My father walks towards me and takes my hand in his for a moment, before he places a pistol, his pistol, into my palm. Then he takes a step back as I fight to keep my breathing steady.

  ‘Kill him.’ He gestures towards the captive kneeling on the floor.