Cursed: Legend of the Grimoire, Book One

by Leah Ross

  Chapter Thirteen

  Two months later

  Wide hazel eyes peered through the rails at the top of the stairs. Remaining silent, the small boy crawled along the floor on his belly, trying to get a better look at what was going on downstairs. At four years old, he didn’t understand what was happening, but he could tell by the raised, angry voices that it was bad. Tucking his thick, sandy hair behind his ear, he listened hard.

  “You can’t do this!” a desperate female shriek carried up the stairs.

  “Like hell I can’t! I’m getting out of this poverty-stricken hellhole!”

  “What about your son, Isaac?”

  “The whelp is no use to me,” came the callous reply.

  She sobbed noisily. “Do you not love him at all?”

  Isaac had the decency to at least hesitate. “Love is no use to me either.”

  “When are you coming back?”

  “Don’t be thick, Angelica. You know I won’t be back.”

  “What am I supposed to tell Jonathan?”

  “I don’t fucking care! Make something up! You’re good at pretending.”

  “You’re an ass, Isaac Morgan, and a coward for running out on your family,” she seethed.

  “Rot in hell, Angelica. We’re done here.” Isaac stormed out, slamming the door behind him.

  Jonathan slunk back to his room and crawled back in bed, his small heart heavy with sadness. He may not have understood everything he heard, but he knew his parents hated each other and that his father was gone. Pulling his tattered bear into his arms, he buried his face into its threadbare fur and cried.

  ~*~

  Jonathan Morgan woke from his dream, cuffed the wetness from his cheeks, and gathered his meager belongings. It was time. He was only seven years old, but he already knew there was a better life for him out there somewhere. He pressed his ear to his locked door.

  “Don’t touch me!” his mother screamed.

  “I’ll touch you if I godsdamn want to! You and that brat belong to me!”

  Morgan’s neglectful mother and the violent brute she was pathetically dependent upon were engaging in one of the frequent batterings that his mother euphemistically called ‘differences of opinion’. Tears stung his eyes, but he gritted his teeth and solidified his determination to escape this domestic hell. His father had left years ago, why couldn’t he?

  “Where is he?!” Morgan’s stepfather thundered, his heavy steps echoing ominously as he approached Morgan’s room.

  “Leave my son alone!”

  Morgan heard the sharp crack of his stepfather’s palm slapping his mother’s face. He fought the incredible urge to rush out and defend her. He was done getting involved. She’d chosen this path, now she had to walk it. But he was damned if he was going to be dragged along.

  “Jonny!” the brute called with mock kindness. “I have something for you, Little Jon!”

  Morgan cringed. He hated any and all derivatives of his given name. His stepfather knew that and called him those names just to be cruel.

  The door rattled as the man pounded on it. “Jon Morgan! Get out here now, you good-for-nothing bastard!”

  Not on your life, cretin! Morgan checked the lock to ensure it was secure, then grabbed his bag and slid out the window. The sense of freedom that washed over him far outweighed any anxiety he had over the uncertainty of his future. A weight lifted from his small shoulders as he ran away from his abusive childhood. He’d make his own decisions now.

  ~*~

  He headed for the port as quickly as his legs would take him. Knowing this would be one of the first places he’d be searched for if anyone cared to look, he kept a close eye out for his mother or stepfather. There was no way he was going back to that house. He didn’t care where he went, as long as he was as far away from this dead-end town as possible. Lying about his age, saying he was twelve, he looked for a ship needing a cabin boy. After several days of rejection, hiding, and lean subsistence, a grand ship docked briefly to take on supplies. Morgan eyed it with great curiosity; it had such a unique design. He approached it and gasped when he saw her name carved into the archboard—Aeon Grimoire.

  The Aeon Grimoire docked here? he thought, astounded. The port of Ordennon was so small, it was rarely graced with such a grand vessel. They must need supplies desperately. It would be his dream realized to step foot aboard that ship, much less join the crew. The Aeon Grimoire had shot quickly into fame to become the envy of the Annali fleet in only a couple of years—thanks entirely to the determination and ambition of her brilliant captain and crew—and Captain McCabe was known for treating his men very well.

  Morgan backed away, letting out a breath he didn’t know he was holding, not even daring to aim so high.

  “Watch your step, boy,” a low voice rumbled behind him as he stumbled.

  Morgan whirled around, gaping up into the stern face of a very tall, very imposing man. He had broad shoulders and impeccably trimmed hair, and was obviously an officer, by the look of his fine clothing and the insignia on his collar. He towered over Morgan, piercing the boy with a hard, grey stare.

  “I… apologize, sir.” Morgan blushed slightly with embarrassment over his clumsiness. “I wasn’t watching where I was going.”

  “No harm done, lad,” the officer said. He looked Morgan over closely. “What’s a boy your age doing here in port?”

  “I’m looking to join a crew, sir.”

  The officer raised an amused eyebrow. “On this ship?” He gestured to the Grimoire.

  Morgan blushed again and cast his eyes downward. “Serving on that ship would be anyone’s greatest honor, but I dare not set my hopes that high.”

  The officer chuckled. “She is a fine vessel, eh lad?”

  Morgan nodded, reverence shining in his eyes.

  “Well, you certainly don’t want to settle for one of these run-down dinghies when an opportunity such as this stands before you.” The officer smiled as Morgan’s mouth dropped open in surprise.

  Morgan pointed to the Grimoire with a shaky hand. “You’re from...?”

  “Aye, lad. How old are you?”

  “Twelve, sir,” Morgan answered a bit too quickly, averting his gaze guiltily.

  The man eyed Morgan skeptically. “A bit small for twelve. Ten would be more believable. What’s your name, boy?”

  Morgan’s face flamed. He should have known he couldn’t deceive an officer of the Aeon Grimoire. “M-morgan, sir. Jonathan Morgan.”

  “Go by any other names, Mr. Morgan?”

  “No, sir,” Morgan answered proudly. “Jonathan or Morgan will do fine.”

  “Well, Mr. Morgan, it so happens we have need of a cabin boy. Interested?”

  Morgan’s jaw dropped again and his eyes widened. He could not believe his luck. He’d come to port hoping merely to escape, and now an officer of the finest ship in the Annali fleet was offering him a position. He stood dumbfounded, unable to respond.

  “Catching flies, lad?” The officer tapped Morgan’s chin and Morgan snapped his mouth shut with an audible click. The man turned and strode toward the Grimoire’s brow. “Well don’t just stand there, boy! We’re casting off. If you’re coming, get over here!”

  “Y-yes, sir!” Morgan ran after him up the plank. The deck of the Aeon Grimoire! I’m standing on the deck! He stood rooted to the spot, his eyes taking in every tiny detail. Gripping the rail behind him, he caressed the smooth, polished wood. The ship was everything he’d dreamed, and now he got to be a part of her crew.

  “Who’s this now?” a friendly voice called. Morgan looked up to see a man descending the stairs from the bridge. He was a bit shorter than the dark-haired officer, with red hair and twinkling green eyes. Morgan wondered if he was the captain, though he didn’t seem as fierce as the stories made him out to be.

  “This is our new cabin boy—Jonathan Morgan.”

  The man looked Morgan up and down. “Rather small for a cabin boy. How old are ye lad? Eight? Nine?”


  “He says twelve,” the other man said with a smile. “I told him he should shoot for ten, but my wager’s on seven years old.”

  “Seven? Yer daft, man! Seven’s barely older than a bairn. He’s too mature for seven! I’m goin’ wi’ nine.”

  The tall officer turned to Morgan. “How about it, lad? How old are you really?” He saw the apprehension in Morgan’s eyes and clapped the boy on the shoulder. “No worries, Mr. Morgan. I won’t send you back for being honest.”

  “Seven, sir. I’m seven.”

  “Och, hell!” the red-haired officer cursed, throwing up his hands in defeat.

  The other man flashed a smug grin. “Seems I get to navigate us out of port, and you get to do the tour, mate.”

  “Aye, Captain.”

  Morgan’s eyes widened to an impossible size. He looked up at the man who’d hired him. “C-captain?”

  Guinn smiled and extended his large hand. “Captain Guinn McCabe. Welcome aboard the Aeon Grimoire, Mr. Morgan.”

  Morgan’s heart hammered in his chest and his whole body shook with the force of Guinn’s handshake. “Thank you, sir.”

  Guinn gestured to the other officer. “This is my quartermaster, Mr. Declan Maclairish. He will show you around. I’m off to the bridge.”

  “Ye couldna be nine years old, lad?” Declan chided Morgan with a playful wink and a ruffle of the boy’s shaggy hair.

  “I can show myself around, sir, if you have more important duties,” Morgan offered.

  “Jus’ givin’ ye a hard time, lad. I’m happy to take ye ‘round.”

  “All hands!” Guinn called from the helm. “Cast off and prepare to set sail!”

  “Aye, Captain!” came the response from the deck.

  The mooring lines were loosed, the sails trimmed beautifully, and the ship slid effortlessly away from the dock. Morgan leaned over the starboard rail, feeling the wind and salt spray on his skin. He turned to watch the deckhands expertly man the lines and set the sails. The captain manned the helm with ease, a broad grin lighting his face. In no time at all, they were out in the open water with no land visible in any direction. Morgan looked astern to see a small flock of birds dancing in the air above their wake and thought he knew now what it felt like to fly like one of them.

  “Exhilaratin’, eh lad?” Declan whispered in his ear.

  Morgan grinned wider than he ever had. He couldn’t even speak amidst the excitement thrilling in his veins and the tightness in his chest as his heart swelled with unimaginable pleasure. He filled his lungs near to bursting with tangy sea air and then shouted an uninhibited wail of joy into the wind. Declan laughed and looked to the captain who was laughing too.

  “Good choice, sir!” Declan called to Guinn.

  “He won’t let us down, Declan! I’m certain of it!” Guinn yelled back.

  ~*~

  “Why did you need a new cabin boy, sir?” Morgan asked Declan as they returned to the weather deck. They’d been over the whole ship. Morgan had seen his bunk, been introduced to more men than he could remember, and even got to peek inside the captain’s cabin. The Grimoire was impressive, and the captain took great pride in maintaining her, as was evidenced by her impeccable beauty.

  “Captain McCabe likes to promote his cabin boys when they discover their innate talents. Yer predecessor is now the master gunner’s mate.”

  Morgan’s eyes widened. “The captain will let me go into whatever field I want?”

  “Aye, as long as ye have an aptitude for it. So try everythin’, lad. Perhaps someday ye may even be captain of this heap.”

  “Declan?”

  Morgan spun around, not expecting to hear a female voice aboard the Aeon Grimoire. A slender young woman was walking down the stairs. Morgan was captivated by her deep blue eyes. Her smile was warm and inviting, and yet there was sadness hidden deep in her heart. He could see the faintest shadow of it in her eyes. He looked harder, trying to read what she was trying to hide. She blinked at the intensity of his gaze.

  Declan elbowed Morgan in the ribs. “Stop starin’, boy!” Morgan shook his head to break the trance and looked down, his face red.

  She smiled. “Who’s this?”

  “J-jonathan Morgan, ma’am,” Morgan flustered.

  “Mr. Morgan here is our new cabin boy. Jus’ picked him up in Ordennon,” Declan explained. “Lad, this is Laria McCabe, the captain’s wife.”

  Laria knelt in front of Morgan and kissed his cheek softly. “Welcome, Jonathan. Guinn did well to hire you. You’ll do great things.”

  He blushed so furiously it felt like his hair was on fire. He wanted to sink into the deck to escape his embarrassment. “Th-th-thank you, m-ma’am.”

  Declan laughed. “Ach, Laria! How am I supposed to turn this boy into a sailor when ye reduce him to a puddle o’ mush?”

  She stood and giggled. “I don’t think you’ll have any problem with this one, Declan. He seems a natural born sailor.” She turned back to Morgan. “I look forward to working with you, Jonathan. We’ll talk later.” She waved and went back up the stairs to join Guinn on the bridge.

  “What do you think of him?” Guinn asked her.

  “Young.”

  “Only seven.”

  “Seven!” she exclaimed. “He seems older.”

  “Aye. Very mature for his age,” he agreed.

  “He’s had a hard life for someone so young.” Her gaze was trained on Morgan. Sadness drifted across her face like a cloud. “But there’s greatness in him. He’ll be indispensable to you, Guinn.”

  Morgan was very aware of Laria’s eyes on him. He turned to Declan. “The captain’s... Mrs. Mc—”

  “Ye can call her Laria, lad.”

  “Miss Laria,” he compromised. “Does she ‘see’ things?”

  “Laria McCabe is an incredibly gifted mage. She’s always had impeccable intuition. Recently, though, she’s been developin’ that particular skill an’ has achieved a certain level o’ empathic awareness. She senses things, especially when they’re strong. If she tells ye somethin’, lad, ‘tis best to pay attention.” Declan straightened his waistcoat. “Now then, are ye ready to get to work, young Morgan?”

  Morgan nodded eagerly and followed Declan. Laria watched them go, then closed her eyes against an intense wave of sorrow and heaved a weighty sigh.

  ~*~

  A low boom sounded below deck, and the ship shuddered slightly. Declan frowned. “What the—“

  “MACLAIRISH!” Master gunner Calum Beckett emerged from the companionway, dragging a shaken and sooty Morgan with him. Beckett tossed the boy at Declan’s feet. Then he crossed his arms and glared at the quartermaster. “Not just no, but hell no! The whelp nearly blasted a hole right through the ship! I’d make him clean up the mess, but there’s no way in hell I’m letting that accident back into the magazine until he learns to respect the weapons!”

  Declan met Beckett’s glare with his own. “He’s seven, Calum. Have a wee bit o’ patience. How is he supposed to learn if ye willna teach him?”

  Beckett jabbed his finger into Declan’s chest. “You can do it!” Then he turned and disappeared below again, muttering curses under his breath.

  Declan sighed and looked down at Morgan. The boy was cuffing at his face, trying to hide the fact that he was crying, but the telltale tracks through the soot on his cheeks told the truth. Declan knelt and ruffled Morgan’s hair, and then helped him to his feet. “So, ye’re no’ goin’ to be a gunner, then.”

  Morgan shook his head.

  “‘Tis all right, lad. We’ll find somethin’ else.”

  Declan placed Morgan with the boatswain next. Ballard was not thrilled. “I dunno, sir. He’s too young to haul lines, and the rest of the work is too physical for a boy his size.”

  “Give him a chance, Vic.”

  “Well… I suppose he is just the right size to get up in the rigging. Let’s see what he can do.”

  Morgan inspected and conducted inventory on the ship’s cordage, traversing
the yards and ratlines with ease, and completing the task faster than anyone had before. His fearlessness was admirable, but it was also his greatest liability. One careless step had the boy plummeting toward the deck. Fortunately, he’d been able to grab a line and swing safely down, but he’d cut his palms open on the rope.

  Ballard shook his head as Morgan stood next to Declan, gazing dejectedly at the deck, while blood dripped from his hands. “I’m sorry, Declan,” Ballard said. “Maybe when he’s older and stronger. It’s too dangerous for him now.”

  Declan escorted the lad to the infirmary and stayed with him, leaning against the wall. Morgan winced as Dr. Baskin fished strands of rope from his bloody palms, but he gritted his teeth against the pain and refused to cry. Declan admired the boy’s tenacity and willingness to learn; he was determined to help Morgan find his place.

  Once Morgan was bandaged, his palms already on the mend with Baskin’s muttered spell, Declan turned to Baskin. “Thanks, Lucas. Ye dinna happen to need any assistance here, do ye?”

  “I suppose, from time to time.” Baskin knew what Declan was getting at. “When I do, may I call on you, lad?”

  Morgan beamed. “Yes, sir! Anytime!”

  “Good. Now, you’ll need to take it easy for the rest of the day, but the healing spell I administered should ensure your hands are fairly well healed by tomorrow.”

  “Thank you, Doctor.”

  Declan led Morgan up to the deck above. “Feel up to one more challenge today, lad?”

  Despite his exhaustion and desire to rest, Morgan nodded. “Of course, sir.”

  Pushing through the door to the galley, Declan called to the cook. “Ahoy, Nigel!”

  The man’s large head peered around a hanging cabinet. “Aye? Dinner’s a bit off yet, sir.”

  Declan smirked and whispered to Morgan, “Dinner’s always a wee bit ‘off’’.” Morgan covered his smile with his bandaged hand.