Gently rolling on to my side, I eased the lad into the grass to evaluate his wounds. Harwood’s sword jutted from his gut, his teeth chattering with the chill of blood loss.
“Where’s the big guy? I could use another pair of hands.” Fingers trembling over the polished silver hilt, I tried to recall my emergency training under the Royal Guard. Soldiers taking a sting-ray barb to the chest wasn’t unheard of, I had seen it before and had even aided in the treatment. Even so, that was injury in the sea. There, bubbling blood evaporated in an instant, staining the current with a tang of rust that was quickly washed away. Here, it covered everything with sticky gore, its coppery stench gagging me.
Face reddening, Sterling turned his head in one direction then the other, searching the landscape for Potchis. “I don’t see him. He may not have made the trip with us.”
Tugging my shirt over my head, I balled the fabric into one fist. The other closed around the cold metal of the hilt. Filling my lungs, I exhaled through pursed lips. One steady yank. That’s all I had to do. Pull the blade, then mash the fabric into the wound, and apply pressure to slow the bleeding. It sounded simple—a clear indicator it was not.
“Run! You have to run!” The shriek sliced through the moment like a scythe.
Hand jerking from the sword as if it had scalded me, my head snapped in the direction of the rustling brush and heavy footfalls.
Veins at his temples bulging, Sterling jabbed a finger to the north of us. “The big guy is coming in hot!”
Potchis crashed into view, waving his arms over his head. “The captain! He’s coming!”
No sooner did his shout reach us than the Jolly Roger swelled over the valley. The entire massive ship was airborne, and sailing straight for us. Chains rolled and clinked, the menacing barrels of their weapons trained on us.
Arms falling limp, Sterling let them swing over his head. “I am really starting to hate this place.”
At the first cannon blast, I dove for Phin. Mindful of the sword, I shielded his body. The ground shook, earth and rock showering us.
Thrown forward by the impact, Potchis crawled the remaining distance between us on his knees and elbows. “Is he okay?” he yelled to be heard over the ringing in his ears.
Two more blasts screeched through the air. One smashed through a tree in a spray of kindling, the other exploding a crater in the dirt.
“He won’t be if your captain keeps shooting at us! We need to move!” Scooping Phin in my arms, I swiveled us out of the way as another blast caused the earth to buck in the space we vacated.
With a heave, Sterling folded himself in two and seized his pant leg. Frantically, he tugged for freedom. “Let go, let go, let go!”
Smoke and dust filled the air, each breath burning more than the last. Covering my mouth with the crook of my arm, I sought relief from the tainted air.
The sun disappeared overhead, blocked out by the bulkhead shadow of the Jolly Roger. Positioned at the helm, blood-soaked bandages wrapped the stump of Harwood’s wrist. His remaining hand guided the vessel onward, hate radiating from his glare. Malyn lingered behind him, holding up a ticking clock to keep the croc at bay. Even then, minding the duties of her station, regret and concern crumpled her features. Harwood was the first person to ever show her kindness, even if it was all a ruse. I understood the loyalty she felt to him, and held no doubts she would question it from that day forward. Regardless, if I could find a way to blast him from the sky, I couldn’t let myself hesitate simply because she was aboard.
“They were narrowly missing before,” I stated, in between coughing jags. “Once they are directly over us, we don’t stand a chance.”
Potchis risked exposure by pushing himself up on to his knees, his stare locked on the gorge a meadow away from us. “I could carry him. If we could make it to the base of the gorge …”
I followed his gaze, over the wide-open space that led to the drop-off. “No matter how fast we run, we won’t make it that far once they train their cannons. They don’t need a direct strike. They can take us out by proximity.”
“Someone throw a bloody rock!” Sterling swung back and forth, throwing his weight into the motion. “If it doesn’t snap the branch maybe it will knock me out and spare me the initial anguish of having my bits blown off!”
Dragging a hand through my dust covered hair, I searched for an answer or ounce of hope. Inklings of both rasped from the lips of the fading lad cradled in my arms.
“The rules … don’t apply here. You … are … the Pan.” Phin hadn’t the energy to open his eyes, yet believed deeply enough to channel what was left of his depleting strength.
Chin jutting out with determination, I made it my solemn vow not to let that level of champion heroics be snuffed out. Easing the boy onto the grass behind a boulder to shield him, I drew my dagger and rose to my feet.
Sweeping my hand in Sterling’s direction, I saw the branches parting to spill my trapped cohort to the ground, and so it was. He slumped to the earth with a grunt, then sprang to his feet. Swaying and disheveled, he blinked to focus while the world righted itself.
“Get the sword out of the boy,” I demanded in a gruff tone that left no room for discussion. “And, do not let him die.”
Hands clapped to his temples, most likely in hopes of steadying the roar of his pulse, Sterling dropped to his knees beside Phin. “What are you going to do?”
Brandishing the blade to the heavens, like my own sacred totem, my eyes narrowed. “The captain thinks he can fly.”
Gathering Phin’s hand in both of his, Potchis’ nervous stare flicked in the direction of the floating ship. “He can fly,” he pointed out.
Closing his hand around the hilt of the sword, Sterling paused. “Wait, he can fly?” he questioned, stabbing a thumb Harwood’s way.
Glaring up at the Jolly Roger from under my brow, my voice dropped to a threatening growl. “Oh … he can fly.”
In my mind I saw the ship changing course, rocketing from this land at speeds that knocked the crew to their knees. I didn’t suggest the reroute. My will demanded it. Screeching to a stop, as if run aground by an unseen dune, the Jolly Roger repelled back. Gaining speed in its descent, shouts echoed from above. Bellowing his fury at the helpless crew, Harwood’s neck snapped to an unnatural angle. In moments, the crocodile would appear to spare them all his venomous rage. They would be long gone by then. The only tug of regret I felt was for Sergeant Malyn, peering over the port rail in shock as Marooner’s Rock disappeared beneath her.
Higher and higher they soared, the ship shrinking by the second. Until, at last, the tiny speck of it blinked from sight.
Arm falling to my side, a light chuckle of wonder escaped me. “He flew.”
Chapter Twenty-One
With no time to celebrate the victory, I bolted to Phin’s side in the same instant Sterling began his countdown to heroism or tragedy. “One … two … three … pull!”
In one steady motion, he extracted the blade and tossed it aside. Blood gurgled up from the cavernous wound, seeping out around him in a crimson cloak. Plugging the gash with my bundled shirt, Sterling applied pressure in hopes of slowing the fatal bleed.
Focusing yet again, I willed it to stop. Commanded the spurting vessels to clamp shut. To my dismay, the blood continued to gush, forming an inky pool beneath Phin’s slight frame.
“Come on, lad,” I urged, eyes burning with the sting of my own failure. Pressing my hand over his heart, I prayed for a miracle … that didn’t come.
Beneath my palm, his chest stilled.
His heart gave one last shuddered beat.
The world stilled, and a lifeless boy—who counted on me to protect him—lay cold in the grass.
Falling back on my heels, tears streaked my cheeks. “I failed him. He thought me a god, someone worthy of keeping him safe, and I …” head falling back, I watched the clouds of my anguish roll in, “failed.”
“It seems not everyone received the telegram,” Ster
ling mused, his inane rambling painted with a sorrowful pallet. “He wishes to play but knows not how.”
“What are you on about?” I snapped.
Flinching at my gruff tone, Sterling merely pointed to the section of grass alongside Phin. It took me a moment to see it, having to wait for one of the clouds of my creation to pass. Then, there it was. Phin’s shadow crouched by his boy, head tilted in search of a way to wake his playmate.
“Sterling, you’re a bloody genius.” Voice dropping to an urgent whisper, I drew my dagger once more.
“I’m in mourning,” Sterling tsked, shaking his head. “There’s no need for name calling.”
Not taking the time to clarify or explain, I palmed my dagger and shifted to Phin’s feet. Stabbing the point into the earth, I sawed his shadow free—much to its dismay. The faceless anomaly flailed and stomped in protest of my desperate act.
“Sorry, mate, greater good and all that,” I offered in a paltry excuse. One final swipe and their connection was severed, the black vine of mist that had connected them now gripped tight in my fist. Hand over hand, I rolled the shadow in, a wispy rope that wound up my wrist with barely a whisper of a touch.
“We both care for him, and this is the only help I can think to give,” I muttered in solace to the shadow. Careful as I could, I wadded it into a ball no bigger than an apple. It took both hands and a fair amount of force to jam the wriggling essence into the gaping pit in Phin’s chest.
“Wh–what are you doing?” Potchis asked, a twinge of hope daring to creep into his tone.
“Acting on blind faith.” Clasping both palms over the wound, I captured the shadow within Phin’s vacant shell.
“I–I think I actually can help here,” Sterling stammered, as if more startled by that realization than the rest of us.
“How?” I pressed as he edged up alongside me.
Placing his hands over mine, he gave me a sheepish side-smile. “If all goes well? We’re going to bring a roasted goose back to life.”
“That’s the first time I understood one of your … musings,” I pointed out. Wordlessly, I wondered what else he had seen in all his various jumps, and if it all gave merit to his seemingly incoherent mutterings.
“Terrifying, isn’t it? Now,” he jerked his chin in Phin’s direction, “focus.”
Working elbow to elbow, we trained all our energy and attention on young Phin. Behind my eyes, I saw his wound closing, felt the shadow settling in to be the spark of life within the boy, pictured it all coming together to bring him back.
The moment dragged on long enough to exhaust optimism.
Then …
Phin bolted upright, eyes wide with fright. Gulping air in frantic pants, his gaze traveled over each stunned face staring down at him. Clawed hands scraping my arm, he gripped my shirt sleeve in a white-knuckled panic.
Scanning the blood-soaked grass, I searched for that which acted as his life preserver in the treacherous waters of life. “His wood flute! Where is it?”
“Here, sir! It’s here!” Potchis scrambled over on hands and knees, retrieving the instrument from where Phin lost hold of it.
Accepting the treasured artifact with a nod of thanks, I offered it to the bewildered boy.
Phin took it without comment or question, his fingers instinctively tracing over the letters etched in the side. A million questions had to be racing through his young mind, yet the first that tumbled from his lips stunned me. “You saw something … within the mirror.”
My gaze settled on the golden frame nestled in the grass.
“I did,” I admitted, dragging my tongue over my bottom lip. “Unfortunately, it wasn’t enough to keep you out of harm’s way.”
Chin falling to his chest, the look that stole over the lad’s features held a wisdom far beyond his years. “My memory is foggy,” he confessed, index finger tracing over the letters engraved in his instrument. “I remember my mother’s face, and the feel of the sword running me through. Yet I can’t recall my last day at the castle, or how it was we came to be here.”
“Cling to your flute, as I have my stone.” Turning my palm skyward, I showed him the rock infused with the Ice Queen’s tear still tied there. While it didn’t possess the same sting on Marooner’s Rock, its chill each time I squeezed it reminded me of the cool waters of Atlantica. “Let it be your beacon of true north.”
“P … T … R,” he read off the flute. “I wonder how long it will be that I remember what it stands for?”
“I reckon until old age claims what’s left of your memory.” Bounding to my feet, I offered Phin a hand up. “Once we leave Marooner’s Rock, a detached shadow will be the worry of another realm.”
“Uh … Alastor?” Sterling interjected, raising one finger to catch my attention.
Placing his clammy hand in mine, Phin let me heave him from the ground. “And Harwood, how does he fair?”
“The Pan evicted him.” A mischievous wiggle of my eyebrows earned a giggle from the lad as sweet as an angelic symphony. “We have nothing to fear from the dastardly pirate any time soon.”
Rising to his feet, Sterling brushed the grass from his knees, then politely tapped me on the shoulder. “Alastor, this matter is quite an urgent one.”
Perhaps it was my growing bond with the oddball, said to be my counterpoint, that had me dreading his words before he could utter them. I could feel the storm cloud of unease roiling within him. Keeping my expression at neutral for Phin’s benefit, I offered Sterling my ear. “What is it?”
True heartache creases the brow with a valley of suffering. It crinkles the corners of the eyes in threat of tears to come. The chin crumbles, quaking with sobs ready to burst forth when the dam of emotion finally breaks. This is the story that was scrolled across Sterling’s features, before he found the strength to speak the words. “He can’t leave here.”
Swallowing hard, I rasped, “Why?”
“Because the boy died here.” Gnawing on his lip, Sterling searched for the right words to help me understand. “The magic keeping him alive here doesn’t exist back in the realm we’re returning to. If he leaves this land, he reverts back to the version of dead that doesn’t hop back up and saunter around.”
Trust the ever-insightful lad not to miss the shift in mood. “What’s happened? Why do you both seem troubled?”
Filling my lungs, I rubbed my hand over the back of my sweat-dampened neck. Humidity clung to my skin, the air itself suffocating me. My gaze betrayed me by wandering to the mirror. Not in search of answers as much as one last lingering glance at Vanessa before I was forced to let the tides of fate tear us apart … forever.
Lips parting with a smack, my eyebrows raised in feigned acceptance of a course I could not change. “Well, it seems we won’t be leaving here after all. Not if we want to keep you above the daisies, instead of feeding them.” Bringing my hands together in a crisp clap, I forced a tight smile that I wager closer resembled a grimace. “Where shall we set up camp? I’d like to stay away from the mermaid lagoon, if it’s all the same to you. Wherever we choose, we could scavenge through the camp of Harwood’s crew for supplies and materials and make ourselves a rather posh abode.”
Planting his feet in a wide-legged stance, Phin stabbed his hands onto his hips. “No,” he demanded, with surprising conviction. “I will set up camp. You have a kingdom to return to.”
Even as emotional exhaustion set in, the lad’s efforts earned a hint of a smile from me. “I’m not going to leave you here, Phin. I’m a soldier that believes in honor and duty, and as such I would never desert one of my men. Especially when they’re pint-sized.”
“You haven’t asked me where I was.” The lad pointed out, kicking at the dirt with the toe of his moccasin.
Pulling back in confusion, I struggled to follow his conversational deviation. “Where you were? When?”
Head cocked, he peered up at me with a face of blatant truth. “I died, Alastor. You’re not at all curious where I went?”
Lifting his chin, a light breeze blew Phin’s chestnut locks across the apples of his freckle covered cheeks. “I found my parents. For so long I’ve missed them and prayed to be reunited—”
Breath catching with regret, I squeezed my eyes shut for a beat. “And I pulled you away from them.”
“Much to their delight,” Phin corrected, not in sadness but conviction. “They were heartbroken to see me there so soon, Alastor. Our reunion was filled with their tears over what should have been. My presence sullied their utopia. Not because they don’t love me, but because they wanted a long life for me full of adventure and experience. There’s no reason that can’t happen here.”
How he had gained such strength of character so young, I couldn’t fathom. When I was his age, my deepest thought was if manatees could be ridden. (They can, by the way. As long as the rider doesn’t care where they are going, or if they ever get there.)
“You stay, we stay,” I reiterated.
Hand on his knee, Sterling swiveled in my direction. “Pardon? Did you say we?”
Closing both hands around the flute, Phin shuffled through the meadow. His steps stilled when his toes brushed the mirror’s frame. “And what of the queen? I can’t recall her name, but I remember her to be kind and fair. Will you sentence her to death? That the sweet princess would be raised without her mother? They’re counting on you, Alastor. Can you willingly disappoint them?”
“What I can’t do is leave you alone,” I countered, folding my arms over my chest. “You’re a child … albeit an insightful one.”
The Unfortunate Souls Collection Page 36