Cursed: Legend of the Grimoire, Book One

by Leah Ross

  “I have absolutely no intention o’ conversin’ wi’ an evil, manipulative, melodramatic pain in the arse. Leave me the fuck alone,” Declan said, his voice hoarse from sleep.

  Why do you insist upon speaking to me aloud? You know I can hear your thoughts, moron.

  “Hear this, then.” Declan let loose a string of curses in his mind, screaming his irritation at his mental interloper.

  Filthy bastard! And so inconsiderate, when I gave you that dream specifically to set you on the path to greatness.

  “I dinna want aught from ye. All ye’ve e’er given me is misery an’ hell. I dinna need any more o’ that.”

  I think you’ll want to hear what I have to say.

  “I seriously doubt it. Why the bloody hell are ye so chatty lately, anyway?”

  The entity snickered. I get stronger as your connection to that wench of yours strengthens. You do increasingly idiotic things as you struggle to control your feelings, and the chaos wrought from your stupidity is just about the most delicious nourishment I can get. So, thanks for the grand feast, mate.

  “Fuck off, asshole. We’re done talkin’.” Declan gasped and held his head as a blinding shot of pain ricocheted off the inside of his skull.

  We’re not done until I say we are! Now listen up, bitch! Events have been set in motion that no one can stop. I’m trying to give you a head start.

  Declan rubbed his temples again. “Why? Why do ye give a shit ‘bout me?”

  Because, as much as I loathe the notion, I’m bound to you, so I need your sorry ass to take action so I can reap the benefits. The most glorious wave of chaos is just on the horizon, and I mean to feed from it for the rest of fucking eternity.

  It was Declan’s turn to snicker. “I’m suddenly fair unmotivated to do a bloody thing. Ye’re gettin’ naught from me.”

  Laughter rumbled inside his head. Such confidence from one who doesn’t know the whole story. I do. I have very persuasive friends.

  “So do I.”

  Your friends are just as impotent as you are. No one can save your lover or her child from their fate.

  “Ye leave Laria an’ the bairn out o’ this,” Declan growled.

  No can do, friend. They are a critical part of the whole equation. All you can do is try to alter the path that fate has set for them.

  “Ye lyin’ piece o’ shit! I canna believe aught ye say!”

  Ordinarily, I would agree with you. Messing with your head is just so godsdamn enjoyable. But this time, I’m telling the truth. I do that on occasion, just to mix things up.

  “I dinna believe ye.”

  What if I told you that the information doesn’t even come from me? It comes from my friends in Eirlyndd.

  “The spirit realm?”

  Shit, you can be so thick sometimes! How the hell did you ever become quartermaster of this tub? Oh, yes, because McCabe is an even bigger dolt than you are. Yes, the spirit realm, genius.

  “If ye want aught from me, then I suggest ye stop wi’ the insults, or I’ll have meself locked in the brig an’ starve ye to death.”

  Nice try, but I know you won’t condemn your beloved to her fate when there’s a chance you can save her. So, what’s it to be, mate?

  Declan heaved an agonized sigh. “What must I do?”

  ~*~

  Guinn was in the chart room with Morgan, studying maps. Declan rested his hand on the boy’s shoulder. “I have somethin’ to discuss wi’ the captain, lad. Go an’ see if Nigel needs yer help, will ye? I’ll help ye wi’ this later if ye’d like.”

  “Aye, sir,” Morgan said, closing the door behind him as he left.

  Guinn sat back, sighing with frustration. “What’s on your mind, Declan?”

  Declan took a seat. “I ken ye’ve been searchin’ for somethin’, sir. I also ken better than to ask ye ‘bout it before ye’re ready to share it wi’ me, but I may have information that could help ye.”

  “Well, then, by all means. Enlighten me.”

  “Seems Captain Archer o’ Tyrian’s Lightning went to quite a bit o’ trouble to hide somethin’ o’ great importance. Sent two men out to bury it an’ record the coordinates, then had Tate, his quartermaster, kill the men,” Declan explained.

  Guinn sat forward eagerly, seeming unsurprised by the revelation, but intensely interested now in what Declan had to say. “Do you have the coordinates?”

  “I’m sorry, sir.”

  “Blast!” Guinn struck the table with his fist.

  Declan eyed the captain warily. “Ye seem surprisingly unfazed by this news, Captain.”

  Guinn sighed. “I already knew about Archer. Several years ago, he came upon a very valuable item. After acquiring it, he and his crew began experiencing a string of unlucky events. He was pressured to get rid of the item. He chose to hide it instead. He wanted to be the only one with the exact location, so he had Tate kill his own men after the job was done.”

  “How did ye ken ‘bout this?”

  “Shortly thereafter, the Lightning was ravaged in a storm. Most everything that wasn’t physically attached to the ship’s structure was lost to the sea, including the captain’s log book.” Guinn held up a remarkably undamaged volume. “I’ve recovered it.”

  Declan’s jaw dropped. “How the bloody hell did ye manage that?”

  “I have very enterprising contacts,” Guinn answered with a grin.

  “Aye, that’s fair apparent.” Declan shook his head incredulously. “It doesna happen to mention where they were when this occurred, or what they hid, does it?”

  “Archer was no fool. No specifics on the item or its location. Though, I have a good idea of what it is.” Guinn shook his head at Declan’s raised brow. “I don’t want to burden anyone else with that information yet. This may all lead nowhere.”

  “I understand, sir.” Declan glanced at the book again. “Will anyone come lookin’ for that?”

  “I seriously doubt it. The Lightning has not been seen in the years since that storm, and neither has Archer or his men.”

  Declan shook his head with regret over his fellow sailors’ fate.

  Guinn tapped his chin thoughtfully. “How exactly did you come by the information about Archer, Declan? It corroborates what I’ve read in the log so precisely that it can’t be coincidence.”

  “I had a… dream ‘bout it last night, sir.”

  “A dream?” Guinn looked skeptical, but didn’t press. “Any chance you can dream up those coordinates?”

  “If I could control it, Guinn, I would like naught better than to oblige ye.”

  “Fair enough.”

  “Somethin’ ‘bout the location in my dream seems familiar, though.” Declan consulted one of the charts. “Perhaps I can at least provide us a startin’ point.” He spent several minutes poring over charts. Then he tapped one. “Must be here.”

  Guinn studied the map. Declan had pointed to Troqeht Archipelago, a vast expanse of tiny bits of isolated beach. “Mate, there must be more than two hundred bloody fragments of land there. It would take an eternity to search them all. If only we could get those coordinates.”

  I’ll get your blasted coordinates, Ashur hissed inside Declan’s mind.

  “I’ll see what we can come up wi’, Captain.”

  ~*~

  “What are we after, sir?” Morgan ventured, genuinely curious.

  “I dinna ken, lad,” Declan replied, looking up from the chart. “I jus’ ken ‘tis important.”

  Morgan made a few more calculations and took them to Declan, who plotted their course to the Troqeht Archipelago. Morgan noticed that Declan seemed withdrawn and burdened with heavy thoughts. “Can I help with anything, sir?” he asked softly.

  Declan sighed. “Oh, I’m fair certain ye’ll be dragged into this affair as well.”

  “That’s not what I meant,” Morgan whispered to himself.

  Declan looked up at the boy, surprised to see intense concern on Morgan’s face. “I’m fine, son. Jus’ much on my mind, that�
�s all.”

  Morgan nodded, not convinced in the slightest. He wanted to confess what he’d overheard between him and Miss Laria. Then at least Declan would have someone to talk to about it. He was carrying far too much on his broad shoulders, and Morgan could tell it was difficult for him to bear alone. Just as he’d worked up the nerve to broach the subject, Declan uttered a yelp of pain.

  You want coordinates? Take your fucking coordinates, bitch! Ashur blasted pain through Declan’s head, thrashing violently while hurling images and information at him in painful bursts that were impossible for him to comprehend.

  Declan held his head and groaned with the pain. “Canna… understand! Stop!”

  Morgan raced to Declan’s side, frightened and unsure how to help. “Sir? Mr. Maclairish? Declan! How can I help?”

  Vertigo slammed against Declan, and he stumbled to his hands and knees on the floor. Swallowing hard against the bile rising up his throat, he fought the waves of nausea as he tried to answer Morgan. “Get… Guinn…”

  Morgan dashed for the door and skidded to a stop at the bridge rail, leaning over it and scanning the deck frantically for the captain. Another sharp gasp of pain issued from the chart room behind him, and his heart thudded wildly in panic. “Captain!” he screamed.

  Declan collapsed to the floor and curled himself in a ball, clutching desperately at his head to calm the maddening frenzy ripping his mind to shreds. Reaching a shaky hand toward the dagger at his waist, he sought relief in the only way that seemed possible.

  You don’t control me! That asshole captain of yours doesn’t control me! You’ll get what I want you to get, when I want you to get it, and however I choose to give it to you! Do you fucking understand me? You’re MINE! Don’t EVER forget it! I can destroy you, and no one will even know what happened.

  “This… ends… NOW!” Declan ground out between clenched teeth, pressing the tip of his dagger hard against his chest, between his ribs and over his heart. He dimly registered a trickle of warmth sliding down his side as the wickedly honed blade pierced his skin.

  No you don’t! You’re not getting rid of me that easily!

  The images in Declan’s mind finally resolved to one, blasted at him again and again, each blast hitting him like a physical blow. The blows came at him with increasing speed, pummeling him until he couldn’t stand the assault any longer. His brain defended itself the only way it could. Declan’s dagger clattered to the floor as his body went limp with unconsciousness.

  Guinn ran into the room and knelt at Declan’s side. “Declan!” The scene was alarming. His quartermaster was unconscious on the floor, sharp lines of tension and pain etched into his young face, looking like he’d been attacked with the dagger next to him and blood staining his shirt. Guinn’s gaze flew to Morgan, and his voice was lethal in its intensity. “What happened?”

  Morgan felt his blood run like ice through his veins, and the color left his face. Guinn was looking at him like he thought Morgan had attacked Declan. The boy fumbled for words. “Sir, I… I don’t know! He—he told me to get you… He was still conscious when I left, sir! I swear it! I would never…”

  Morgan and Guinn jumped as Declan suddenly grabbed Guinn’s sleeve. “Bloody fucking hell, Declan!” Guinn exclaimed in shock.

  “No’… Jonathan’s fault, Guinn…”

  Guinn helped Declan sit up, and Declan leaned heavily on his friend. When Guinn was reasonably certain that Declan could support his own weight, he glared at his quartermaster, a mixture of concern, alarm, and confusion swirling in his dark eyes. “I need an explanation now, Mr. Maclairish.”

  Declan shook his head. “I regret that I canna give ye one, Captain.”

  Guinn narrowed his eyes with suspicion, but decided to let it go. “I want Baskin to check you for injury.”

  “Aye, sir,” Declan agreed. “An’ then we have work to do. I have yer coordinates.”

  ~*~

  Several days later, Guinn sat with Morgan in a longboat in an open space of calm water, surrounded by the larger islands of the archipelago. Guinn could see the Grimoire anchored a fair distance away, the ship too large to navigate the maze of hidden sand bars. Declan was still recovering from whatever had attacked him, so Ballard, the boatswain, was overseeing things until Guinn returned. Declan’s situation worried Guinn greatly, but Declan refused to talk about it, despite Guinn’s numerous attempts, so Guinn had to let it go. Now he needed to concentrate on the task at hand.

  “Are you certain your calculations are correct, Mr. Morgan?” Guinn searched the immediate area for any indication that they were in the right place, but all he saw was placid water.

  “Absolutely, Captain. This is the exact spot of the coordinates that Mr. Maclairish gave us.”

  “Are the coordinates wrong?” Guinn asked, mostly to himself.

  “I would have no way of knowing that, sir,” Morgan answered anyway. “I was asked to get us to the coordinates we were given.”

  “Calm down, son. You did exactly as you were asked.” Guinn crossed his arms and tried to find an explanation.

  Suddenly, Morgan gasped as an idea struck him. “The tide, sir!”

  “Care to elaborate, lad?”

  “There are hundreds of little islands here. The smallest ones likely disappear underwater when the tide comes in.”

  Guinn peered over the edge of the boat. “You know, I wager you’re right.”

  “I’d bet my entire meager treasure stash on it, sir.”

  “That won’t be necessary, Jonathan.” Guinn ruffled the boy’s hair. “Hand me an oar. The rise of the tide is rarely more than a meter or so; I should be able to feel any land beneath us with the length of the oar.”

  Morgan lifted an oar and was about to hand it to the captain, but then he swung it away again abruptly, nearly smashing it against the side of Guinn’s head. Guinn ducked just in time to avoid it, then raised a brow at Morgan. “I certainly hope that wasn’t an attempt to repay my doubt in your ability, son.”

  “No, sir. Look!”

  Guinn peered into the water where Morgan was pointing. Just below the surface, he could make out the faint shape of something bobbing gently with the slight current. “What is that?”

  “I believe it’s a kelpfin, sir.”

  “That’s a kelpfin? It looks like nothing more than seaweed.”

  “Aye, Captain. It’s supposed to. It’s an aquatic snake that mimics the movement of kelp underwater to lure small fish for food,” Morgan explained.

  “Sounds fairly innocuous. Why beat me with the oar, then?”

  Morgan grimaced. “I am sorry, sir. It is rather harmless, but its venom is quite toxic.”

  Guinn cocked his head at the boy, his expression one of incredulous wonder. “Do you have a damn eidetic memory or something, Jonathan? Where the bloody hell do you keep all of this trivia?” He shook his head. “Is the kelpfin aggressive?”

  “Not generally. It usually only bites when provoked.”

  “Well, then, this time hand me the oar, and I’ll deal with the snake.”

  “I don’t think that’s a great idea, sir. I can’t think of a better way to provoke an animal’s aggressive response than to bash it over the head.” Morgan fought a small smile. It felt a little silly to him to be lecturing the captain over dealing with a potentially deadly animal encounter.

  Guinn heaved a sigh and pulled his pistol from his belt. Then he drew his sword for good measure. “Pistol or sword, lad, you decide.”

  “Actually, sir, I’d rather you didn’t kill it at all.”

  “We need to work on your ‘attack first and then ask questions’ tactic, son. Seems you’ve got it a might backward,” Guinn said with a smile, putting his weapons away.

  “We’re the intruders here, sir, not him. It seems unfair to me to kill an animal in its natural habitat going about its life just because we don’t like the spot it’s chosen to go about it.” Morgan averted his eyes to avoid the captain’s anger.

  Guinn lau
ghed heartily. “Gods, Jonathan! I can only hope to aspire to the level of integrity that you seem to have been born with. I’ll leave the poor creature alone. What do you suggest we do?”

  Morgan sighed with relief. “Well, the kelpfin’s presence proves that there is land below us. Kelpfins bury their tails in sand to anchor themselves while fishing for food. A kelpfin’s average length is around a meter, so given the likely amount of tail buried in the sand below and the depth of the snake’s head under the surface of the water, I’d say the island is currently a little more than half a meter down. I’d guess we have a few hours until the tide lowers enough for us to be able to retrieve the item. Until the sand is above water, there’s not much point in us trying to dig… or disturbing the kelpfin, sir. The snake will follow the water as it recedes, so by the time the tide is out, we shouldn’t have to worry about it.”

  “I’m going to think long and hard before taking you on another mission, lad. You make too godsdamn much sense for a pirate.”

  “I’m sorry, sir,” Morgan apologized, lowering his eyes. “I know I’m an insufferable know-it-all.”

  At those words from the boy, Guinn was instantly transported back to his days at school when he’d first met Laria and labeled her with that exact expression. He chucked Morgan on the shoulder with a warm smile. “I guess we need to work on your sense of humor as well. I appreciate all of the useless knowledge filling your brain; it’s about to get me something very worthwhile.”

  Morgan smiled. “Glad to be of help, Captain.”

  Guinn settled himself more comfortably in the boat. “So, lad, got enough interesting conversation in your head to keep me awake for the next few hours?”

  ~*~

  Guinn and Morgan returned to the ship just as the sun was dropping below the distant horizon. Clapping the boy hard on the back, Guinn sent him off to eat, thanking him profusely. Then, glancing at the chest tucked under his arm with a wide, supremely satisfied smile, he strode directly to his quarters to safely stow his prize.