Sea of Quills (Tales of the Black Raven Book 2)

by Seth Skorkowsky

  The bottom entry read, “A Great Man.”

  Washed Ashore

  SOFT CREAKS ECHOED THROUGH the ship like a lullaby. A cool, salty breeze wafted in from open portholes, blowing out the stink of sweat and mildew permeating the crew quarters. Barefoot, Ahren slid from his hammock and crept past snoring sailors and through the hold. Stacked barrels and crates filled the long room, forming two narrow paths along the walls, packed with goods. Ahren crawled up the steps to the main deck and peered around.

  A dozen sailors lay sleeping on deck as several more worked the lines. Patches of dark clouds rolled across the starry heavens, cloaking the half-moon above. Captain Sysk stood by the helmsman, quietly talking. Ahren ducked back down the steep steps before anyone could spot him.

  He removed his picks from under his sash belt and worked them into the captain’s door lock. The bolt clicked. Ahren looked back to be sure no one saw him then quickly slipped inside and closed the door. Starlight peeked in through the open curtains, spilling faint light across the cramped cabin. Outside, the dark silhouette of Mercińa’s rocky coast rose on the horizon only a mile away. Keeping his ear attentive for anyone approaching, Ahren opened the captain’s sea chest.

  After six weeks aboard the Silberne Dame, Ahren had scoured the ship almost nightly in search of the eldosia vial. He’d opened crates, sifted through barrels, and plundered the quartermaster’s inventory. The captain’s cabin had been the first place Ahren had checked but with no success. Now, with only two days left before reaching port in Mercińa, searching Captain Sysk’s room again was his last hope.

  He searched the trunk meticulously, feeling inside the polished boots, patting down the clothes, even checking the bottom for a false floor. Frustrated, he returned the contents as he had found them and inspected the narrow shelves set into the wall. Footsteps clomped down the steps outside but continued the other direction. His tension rising, Ahren quickly flipped through books for hollowed pages. He opened an inlaid box. All empty as they had been the first time he’d scoured the room. His redundancy was wasting time.

  Taking a breath, he scanned the dim room. Something scraped up the outer hull wall, but Ahren ignored it. His gaze settled on a cheap, wood-carved whale mounted above the bunk. Reaching up, he unhooked it from the wall. The simple carving only depicted the left half of the beast, leaving the right side flat. Flipping it over, he found a sliding pane hidden along the back. He hooked his thumb into a small divot and pulled the door open.

  A twisted, crystal vial filled with metallic green fluid rested within a straw nest inside. A wide grin stretched across Ahren’s face. Found you.

  “Ship off the port side, closing fast!” someone shouted from above.

  Ahren quickly removed the heavy bottle. As he reached up to return the whale carving to the wall, someone screamed. Metal clanked against the hull.

  “Pirates! They’re already aboard!”

  Cries erupted from the deck above as pounding footsteps raced across planks. Ahren rushed for the door when it burst open. A slender man with a bushy moustache stood there, holding a drawn rapier. Without a word, the pirate attacked. Ahren leapt back, dodging the wild thrust. He grabbed the wooden box from the shelf and hurled at his assailant.

  It beamed off the man’s shoulder, and he staggered back. Searching for some kind of weapon, Ahren seized a bottle off the table and lunged. The pirate raised his sword, but Ahren dodged around it and struck him hard in the head. The sword clattered to the floor as the pirate staggered. Ahren struck him again, and he collapsed, unconscious. Shouts and clashing swords rang down from above as Ahren picked up the fallen blade and charged toward the deck.

  Sailors, armed with belaying pins and sea knives, rushed up the steep stairs to the deck above. Clutching the sword tight and still holding the precious vial of eldosia, Ahren raced up to join his fighting shipmates. The body of Routh, the first mate, tumbled down the steps, clutching a squirting stab wound below his jaw.

  Reaching the top, Ahren saw nearly a dozen pirates swarming the decks, locked in combat with the under-armed crew. More pirates scurried up a rope hanging over the side. Arrows sailed from a twin-masted ship twenty yards away.

  Ahren rushed past sailors to the rope, the men locked in melee. He swung his sword, knocking back a bald pirate reaching over the rail. Screaming, the man fell and splashed into the water below. Ahren peered over the side to see a more men scuttling up the line from a pair of longboats. He hacked the taut rope with his rapier. The hemp fibers split and frayed. Striking it again, Ahren sent the climbing pirates crashing into the waves.

  An arrow whizzed past his face. Ducking, Ahren turned to see a dark-skinned Mercińan charging toward him. Ahren sprung to the side as the pirate swung his axe. The blade bit into the wooden railing with a hard crack. The Mercińan ripped it free and swung again. Ahren leapt back out of its path and then lunged forward, driving the long blade into the man’s gut. With a groan, the pirate fell back off the blade and onto the blood-smeared deck.

  “There!” a grizzled quellen shouted in Mercińan from the foredeck. Jabbing his long dagger toward Ahren, the small pirate yelled, “He has the eldosia. Get him!”

  A huge Mercińan brute rushed across the ship, wielding a thick-bladed sword. Dodging arrows, Ahren raced up the steps onto the aft deck. A blurring blade swished past as a black-haired man closed in. He swung again, but Ahren parried the blow, knocking it out to the side. Punching his sword up, Ahren smashed his basket hilt into the man’s face and sent him reeling back.

  Footsteps charged up from behind, and Ahren wheeled around in time to block the massive pirate’s sword.

  Metal rang as the rapier was knocked aside. Grinning through chipped teeth, the brute swung again. Ahren stumbled out of the way. He crouched and sprung forward, driving the needle-like blade into the pirate’s shoulder.

  Howling in pain, the muscled pirate punched Ahren hard in the jaw. Dark spots swam through his vision as Ahren staggered. He tried to raise his rapier to deflect the pirate’s sword, but the massive blade slammed into his, knocking the weapon from Ahren’s grasp.

  A sweaty arm wrapped around Ahren’s throat as the black-haired youth grappled him from behind. Another iron-like punch smashed into his cheek.

  “Bastard,” the massive pirate spat, ripping the crystal vial from Ahren’s hand. “Captain Oleos, we have it,” he said to a tall Mercińan in a green turban walking up the steps.

  “Good work, Jorge,” the captain said.

  Lunging back into the man holding him from behind, Ahren kicked Jorge hard in the gut then twisted around and punched his captor in the kidney. Ahren scrambled out of the man’s hold but stopped as the captain’s sword point pressed into his throat.

  The pirate captain gave an evil grin. “Enough.”

  Jorge’s massive hands grabbed Ahren’s shirt and yanked him closer. Fabric tore, and the giant pirate’s eyes widened. He stared at the pendant around Ahren’s neck. “Tyenee.”

  Oleos’ sword relaxed as he gazed at Ahren’s medallion then back to his face. “Kill him.”

  Ahren jumped back, barely dodging the captain’s blade. He punched the black-haired youth in the face and grabbed his rapier from the deck. Spinning around, he deflected the captain’s sword. Jorge lunged forward, swinging his wide-bladed sword. Ahren tried to deflect it, but the heavier weapon knocked his away. Sharp pain erupted from Ahren’s gut as the pirates’ blade sliced across his stomach. Ahren stumbled. Jorge swung again. Trying to dodge it, Ahren fell backward and over the ship’s rail. He saw the night sky between his feet, and then he slammed into water.

  #

  Coughing and sputtering salty water, Ahren woke floating in the sea. Shooting pain burned from the long gash across his abdomen. Rhythmic waves splashed into him, dousing his eyes with stinging water. Shouts and cries drew his attention to the Silberne Dame a hundred yards away, silhouetted against the night sky. The pirate ship had pulled beside her, and fresh pirates fought and murdered the r
emaining crew. Bodies fell from the side, and soon, the sharks would come to feast upon the spoils. A chill ran through him as Ahren realized his bleeding wound would betray him. Looking back, he could see the rocky Mercińan shores rising a mile away on the horizon.

  Weakly, Ahren paddled with the current toward the distant bank. Waves sloshed against him, threatening to drag him down. Gulping air between them, he pushed himself onward.

  Time dragged laboriously as he swam. Fiery pink and orange hues swelled in the distant sky, chasing away the stars. Gulls circled and squawked above. White foam crested the waves as he neared the shore. Struggling to remain conscious, Ahren fought to stay above the surface. A thirst, unlike any he’d ever felt, parched his throat, tormented by the endless water all around him that would only bring him death.

  The nearby crash of breakers roused him. Looking ahead, he could see the boulder-strewn banks rising from the sea. Pulling from the last of his strength, he paddled harder.

  White rocks towered ahead. The sea pounded against them with unending determination. Sizzling foam poured from the pitted stones after each wave and ran down the sides like frothy milk.

  A hard wave hit Ahren, dragging him down and then slamming him into the rocks. Ivory foam ran off his body, and he clutched a boulder, readying for another blow. Fingers of grass hung over the sides just a few feet above. Gasping, Ahren pulled himself up the jagged stones. Another wave pounded into him, threatening to pull him away. He tightened his hold, he let it pass, then struggled up another foot before the next one hit.

  His tired muscles threatened to give out as he neared the top. Setting his jaw in determination, he pulled himself up the last few feet and crawled onto the green grass. Darkness filled the corners of his vision. Ahren’s head lolled to the side, and he saw a gray wolf bounding down the hill toward him. He moved his tired arms to push himself up, but he collapsed and fell into unconsciousness.

  #

  The drowned and butchered faces of his shipmates haunted Ahren’s dreams. Their screams reverberated through the torrential sea as he sank deeper, watching helplessly as the murky depths consumed them. Gasping, he woke to find himself in an empty cottage. Heavy clouds of herb-scented smoke wafted in the air, calming his pounding heart.

  Ahren lay naked in a narrow, wood-framed bed beneath soft, tan sheets. He tried to move, but sharp pain shot through his gut. Lifting the covers back, he found tight bandages wrapping his abdomen. A long red stain seeped across the front. Ahren sighed and ran his hand across his stubbled face. What happened?

  The door creaked, and a slender woman with long, black hair, streaked with gray, stepped inside carrying a pair of sloshing buckets. She heaved them up onto a simple, round table then stopped. She turned toward Ahren, as if sensing his gaze. “You’re awake,” she said in Mercińan.

  Ahren lay silent, surprised by the woman’s youth despite her graying hair. She appeared to be in her late thirties with rich, dark eyes. A scarred cut notched her left ear just below the top.

  “Just in time.” She scooped a spoonful of water from one of the buckets then poured it into a wide pestle. She picked it up and ground a mortar into the bowl as she walked over to where Ahren lay. “I need to change your wrapping.”

  “Who are you?” Ahren groaned.

  The woman smiled and pulled the sheets back. “Marisella. Lift up.” Her gentle fingers slid under Ahren’s back as she unwound the bloodied bandage.

  Ahren clenched is jaw, grunting as the fabric peeled off his wound. A seam of small stitches ran across his flat stomach. “Where am I?”

  Marisella dunked the wrapping into one of the buckets as wrung it out. “This is my house.” She ran the wet cloth across his cut, cleaning away the dried, rust-colored blood and yellow clumps caked between the stitches. “I found you on the beach yesterday morning and brought you here.”

  “I was on a ship,” he mumbled, trying to remember everything that happened. He licked his dry lips. “We were attacked. Pirates.”

  “They frequent these waters.” Marisella dropped the filthy rag into the bucket and picked up her mortar. She scooped a wad of dark amber paste onto the pestle and smeared it evenly across the wound.

  “Captain Oleos. That was his name.”

  “This is his territory. I’ve seen his ship many times prowling the coast.” She stood and returned the mortar to the table then poured a tankard of water from the unused bucket. “You’re fortunate to have survived.” She knelt and offered him the cup. “What’s your name?”

  “Ahren,” he said, accepting the mug. He downed the cool water in heavy gulps, spilling a little down his chin and onto his bare chest. “Thank you for saving me.”

  “You’re welcome, Ahren,” she purred through a shy smile.

  He laid his head back onto the down pillow. “Did you see the battle?”

  “No, but I saw the ships anchored at sea yesterday morning.”

  “Probably moving cargo.”

  Marisella blew a lock of curly, black hair from her face and unrolled a faded black sash. “Lift up.” Ahren arched his back as she wound the tattered cloth around his waist and over the stitched cut.

  “Did you see which way they went?” he asked, wincing as she tightened the bandage.

  She shook her head. “I was here tending to you. They were both gone by afternoon.”

  Gone. Off to sell their prize and the Silberne Dame as well. “I need to go after them.”

  “No you’re not,” Marisella growled like a stern mother. “You’ll be healed in a couple of days.” She uncorked a bottle of milky fluid and brought it to his lips. “Drink this.”

  “What is it?”

  “Something to help you.” She poured it slowly into his mouth.

  The bitter syrup coated his tongue. Ahren fought not to gag as he forced it down. A numbing warmth flowed through him, relieving the pain.

  The slender woman returned the bottle to the stand beside the bed and stood. “Supper is almost ready. I’m sure you’re hungry.”

  #

  The late afternoon sun shone vibrant orange through the window. Marisella sat by the bed feeding Ahren lamb stew. She told him of her late husband, murdered when he had gone to the city four years ago. Ahren shared tales of sailing and distant cities on the mainland. As the evening continued, Marisella opened a bottle of wine and listened to Ahren’s stories. Eventually, despite her insistent protests, Ahren manage to coax the widow to let him out of the bed.

  Holding his hand across his bandaged stomach, Ahren slowly set his feet on the floor. Suppressing a hiss of pain as he felt one of the stitches rip, he carefully rose.

  “Are you alright?” She brushed her black hair over her maimed ear.

  Ahren forced a smile. “Good.” He glanced down at his own nakedness. “Do you have anything for me to wear?”

  Marisella’s dark eyes widened in awkward surprise. “Of course.” She set her wine down, opened a dusty, wooden trunk in the corner, and dug through an assortment of folded clothes.

  Taking the moment while her back was turned, Ahren scrunched his face and allowed the pain to pass.

  “Here,” she said, removing a black bundle from the chest. She pressed the fabric to her nose and inhaled deeply. “It was my husband’s.”

  Ahren took the stale-smelling clothes and removed a pair of sturdy, loose trousers. Its jet Mercińan dye was far darker than anything available on the mainland. Black fabrics always quickly faded into splotchy patches of gray. Struggling to put them on, he hissed in pain, nearly losing his balance. But Marisella quickly helped him into the pants.

  “Thanks,” he said as she pulled a long shirt down over his head. The black garment hung down to his knees with purple-trimmed splits up the front and back that came to his waist.

  “Hernan always looked so good in this,” she said, adjusting the collar. Pulling Ahren’s shoulder-length hair up, she wrapped a long, purple cloth around his head into a small turban.

  Ahren peered into a round mirror
against the wall. The billowy sleeves and head wrap were far different than what he was accustomed to wearing. His tanned skin, bronzed from weeks at sea, made him almost passable for a Mercińan, yet his slender nose, thin eyebrows, and icy blue eyes corrupted the illusion. “It’s very nice. Thank you.” His gaze wandered to the open chest. More clothes lay nestled inside with a pair of worn riding boots. Picking up the half-full bottle, Ahren refilled the beautiful woman’s cup. “Now, señora,” he said, offering her a seat. “Let us enjoy this evening together.”

  #

  Crickets fervently chirped outside as Ahren slid from the bed, careful not to wake Marisella sleeping soundly beside him. He crept barefoot to the open trunk and removed a belt and the boots. Holding everything in his arms, he opened the door, took one final look back at the lovely widow who had saved his life, then slipped out into the moonlight.

  Ahren pulled on the clothes as he headed toward a narrow barn. His feet slid loosely in the overly large boots. A brown and white mare snorted as he stepped inside. He patted the sleepy animal then removed its saddle and pad from the wall. The bandaged wound in his gut tore open as he hoisted the saddle onto the horse’s back. Pursing his lip, he pushed through the pain and tightened the straps. The animal whinnied in protest as Ahren shoved the bit into its mouth and fastened the bridle. He took a deep breath and held his stinging stomach then swung himself up onto the mare’s back.

  He urged the horse toward the door then froze.