Hidden Away (The Swept Away Saga, Book Three)

by Kamery Solomon

  “It wasn’t a lie,” he said mournfully. “Isobel is dead. The woman on the beach is a ghost, waiting for me to come accept my punishment for causing her death.”

  A stunned silence filled the space. I didn’t want to believe that what he’d said was true—how could I? But the pain in his voice and the heartbreak on his face couldn’t be disputed. The man truly believed the woman was his avenger, come to take her revenge on him. There were even tears in his eyes, his jaw working furiously as he turned away from us, clearing his throat.

  “How?” Tristan finally asked. “How can that be?”

  MacDonald responded without turning around. “When the shamans asked their gods to sink Atlantis to the bottom of the ocean, they moved the entire civilization into the spirit realm, where they could protect it without fail. The gate isn’t just a gate to the city. It’s a gate to what they call The Web of Life, where everything is connected and suspended in time. It’s where the shamans go to commune with their spirit guides. Any soul can appear there, should they wish it.”

  It was starting to make sense, why he hadn’t told us all of this before. He sounded like a madman. It would have absolutely been better if we’d seen it for ourselves.

  “And ye believe Isobel is there to speak with ye?” Tristan asked. “To condemn ye?”

  “Wouldn’t ye?” The Scotsman turned to us, his eyes red with misery. “If ye had the chance to see the person who killed ye?”

  “You killed her?” Watching him with renewed caution, I studied his face, his expression falling even further as he turned back to the window.

  “I might as well have.”

  More silence followed, everyone trying to absorb the explanation.

  “So Atlantis is in the spirit realm,” Mark finally said. “That would explain why no one has ever found it. How do we get there, though?”

  “The drums,” Captain MacDonald replied simply. “Shamans use drums to help put themselves in a trance. We do the drumming and their guards transport the ship to the edge of the realm, where we can safely make land and deposit the treasure.”

  “Guards?” Abella, who seemed to be having the easiest time digesting what he was saying, wore a questioning expression. “What do you mean guards? Surely, if there were a ship resting at a set point, people would have noticed them by now.”

  “Another shaman secret,” he replied softly. “They aren’t in a ship. They’re in the water. They’re the fish.”

  Mark made a noise of understanding at that, nodding. “The Apache are shamanistic as well,” he replied, smiling at my questioning gaze. “They believed that if someone were to gain enough trust from the spirits and the earth around them, they would be able to merge with it. A shaman could become anything, like an animal.”

  That sparked some recognition in my mind. “You mean like Skin Walkers?”

  He half smiled, looking at the floor. “That’s a bit of a derogatory term for it, but yes, like that.”

  “So the Atlantians developed trust with the fish?” Tristan asked, disbelief on his face.

  “It would appear so.” Captain MacDonald turned around, looking at all of us with his sad eyes. “So, now ye ken why Dagger must do the negotiating for us. I trust the man with my life. I would expect ye to do the same.”

  “Of course,” I replied, no longer worried about that part of our plan. “But what about you?”

  “What do ye mean?’”

  “You loved Isobel,” Abella stated, frowning. “And I’m willing to bet she loved you, if she’s waited all these years, trying to speak with you. Why not talk to her?”

  “Do ye ken what it is like, living without the person ye loved more than anything else for twenty-five years, only to find them on a beach in the Caribbean?” He laughed, clearly upset by the whole situation. “For five years now, I have watched her sit there through every transport, waiting for me to come to her. Believe me when I say this—any love that woman had for me died with her. I can tell from her face that she means to lecture me and call me to judgment.” He frowned, shaking his head once more. “I dinna want to spoil my memory of her with such things. I ken what I did, but I’m not ready to face her and accept it yet. Can ye blame me for that?”

  “No.” It was Tristan who spoke this time, stepping forward and placing a hand on the captain’s shoulder. “No. I may not have lost the woman I loved to death, or have been separated from her as long as ye’ve been from yers, but I know what it is to lose the one ye love. Ye face no judgment from me, or any of us, I would guess. Thank ye for telling us the truth. I know it wasn’t easy for ye.”

  The captain nodded, taking a deep breath. Then, staring at everyone, he let it out slowly, defeat on his face. He walked to the window, staring across the ocean.

  On the deck outside, drums began to play, the beat starting slow and soft. It began to grow in intensity and volume the longer they played. It was a sure sign that in a short amount of time, we would be seeing the things we’d been told about.

  “Ye can go now. I’ve told ye everything.” Captain MacDonald sounded as if he were breaking inside, his voice shaky as he watched the water. “I would verra much like to be left alone now.”

  Standing on the deck, I watched as a few members of the crew sat in a circle, drums of varying sizes resting in front of them. They beat the instruments with sticks or with their hands, some of them wearing wristbands with little bells on them that jingled with every movement. The beat was steady now and monotonous, the sound of it seeming to drill into my brain. It felt like I was slowly drifting away from the present, the rhythm somewhat hypnotizing.

  Still, the world was the same around us. I didn’t think we’d done any traveling, or that magic-people-fish-things had come to take us to the edge of the spirit realm. Everyone was calm and relaxed, lounging about, listening to the drums. It was the first time I’d seen the crew not really doing anything.

  The whole situation made me feel like I had sand in my boots—uncomfortable and like I needed to shake the feelings away, but there was nowhere for me to sit and take care of the nuisance. Most of all, I felt nervous. What did they mean by “traveling?” The last time I’d been transported in a magical fashion, it had hurt like hell and I’d almost drowned. It wasn’t really an experience I wanted to relive.

  The longer I stayed silent, letting the thoughts in my head battle it out, the more I realized I needed to talk to someone about what was happening. It was the only way I would find some peace until whatever was going to happen was finished. Taking Tristan’s hand in mine, I muttered under my breath.

  “Do you feel any different?”

  He shook his head. “Would we, though? What if traveling is like falling asleep? One moment we’re here and the next we’re not.” His thumb brushed the back of my hand, his voice low and soothing. He didn’t fool me, though; I could tell he was nervous as well, his thoughts stuck on the same track as my own.

  Mark, seated on the ground beside us, leaned against the inside of the hull and whispered quietly. “We haven’t gone yet.”

  “How do you know?” Abella was standing on the other side of him, staring at the water. She sounded anxious as well, rolling her injured shoulder slightly in its sling, an expression of discomfort crossing her features.

  “They’re still drumming.”

  No one replied. After a beat, he seemed to realize we didn’t understand what he was saying and he elaborated.

  “It helps your brain focus,” he said softly. “If you listen long enough, it puts you in a bit of a trance state. I used to watch the Apache do it.”

  Looking at the crewmen, their forms hunched over the instruments, hands keeping a steady movement, I frowned. “It’s not just to sound cool or make you feel intimidated, then?” I asked, shifting from one side to the other. I still didn’t know how I felt about all the information I’d been told, or if I could even believe the whole mess. Spirits, shamans, other worlds . . . it felt like I was being sucked into a fantasy.

 
“Everything serves a purpose,” Mark replied, watching the drummers with mild interest. “This is different from anything I ever saw in Arizona, though. It’s . . . special, I think.”

  The explanation didn’t really help my nerves at all. I didn’t know how everyone else could seem so relaxed and carefree. Was it only because they’d “traveled” before? Surely, if it was a painful process, they wouldn’t be smiling and laughing, tapping their feet to the beat and nodding their heads along to the rhythm.

  Suddenly, the drummers stopped, one final beat ringing through the air with an ominous thud. It was as if the entire ship vibrated with it, a strange wave of air sweeping past us. I could see it rippling through the water, a small wave rolling away, like we’d suddenly set down from above and disturbed the calm sea. The boards beneath us groaned slightly and everything seemed heavy all at once, like a crushing amount of weight was suffocating the life and light from everything.

  Panic seized upon me in that instant, memories of almost drowning in the Treasure Pit filling my mind. I hadn’t been able to breathe or tell which way was what, water crushing me from all sides. Rocks had cut into my skin as I was swept past them, white hot pain shooting through my body. This pressure was like that, crushing me, robbing me of air, burning me from the inside out—and then it was gone.

  Sucking in a deep breath, I grabbed onto the rail behind me for support. My stomach rolled, threatening to get rid of my breakfast, and I closed my eyes tight, head spinning. All the same, something felt different to me. I couldn’t tell what it was, but I knew without a doubt that we had moved from one realm into another.

  Carefully, I opened my eyes, staring in wonder at the deep blue color of the ocean below. I’d never seen that hue before, so incredibly rich and complex as it moved back and forth. A flash of pink moved into my view and I gasped, reaching behind me and blindly grabbing Tristan.

  “Look!” I whispered.

  I had never seen something so terrifying and beautiful at the same time. The tail was pink and green, with streaks of purple and spots of gold, dancing through the water. Fins flashed in the light, like they were covered with a layer of glitter, shining in the sun like jewels. Scales flowed seamlessly into skin, dotting the waist of the woman and spreading up over her chest. Long, blonde hair billowed around her face, almost like it was dancing to music I couldn’t hear. She was gorgeous, even with the many scars that marked her form. They were angry, white streaks and puckered lines, webbed over her tail and skin. A long spear was clutched in her hands. Cold, black eyes stared up from the deep, shining from her attractive face like an omen of dark things to come.

  “It’s a mermaid,” I whispered. “The shamans are mermaids!”

  Peering out further, I could see that there were more of the creatures, all of them swimming to the ship, like a small army, come to take us hostage. Some of them had barbs, like a lionfish, the long, thin needles giving the impression that they could kill with one strike. A half man, half squid creature crawled toward us in a terrifying manner, a pitchfork like object in his hands. Another one had claws like a crab, while I spotted another with shark like teeth. Several of the creatures had what looked like scaled armor covering their arms and chests, sea shells forming elegant helmets on their heads.

  The more I watched, the more in awe I felt. Each one was as unique as the creature they emulated. Even the weapons they carried seemed specific to each person, like they had been made specifically for them. I could have studied the sight for days and still never discovered everything there was to notice about them.

  Slowly, the ship began to move, the mass of transformed beings seeming to guide it along. The action suddenly drew my attention to the other things around me, and I stared in awe, not sure what to feel or think. Everything seemed more concentrated, colors glowing like I’d never seen before, sounds tinkling by like music. The air smelled like rain, but there wasn’t a cloud in the sky. It was as if I were hyper aware of everything around me, each sensation magnified one hundred times.

  It was immediately clear why the crew hadn’t acted out of sorts about coming. There had been a brief moment of pain, but it felt good here. The air practically gave me a high as I inhaled, warmth wrapping around me. I felt almost invincible, like every cell in my body was bursting with light and life, my energy rising, mind clearing, and a total sense of revitalization taking over.

  Turning to Tristan, I sucked in a sharp breath. He looked the same as he always had, but there was more contrast to him. There was an entire universe of color I’d never seen in his eyes, and his tanned skin seemed to glow slightly in the pink and orange light of the setting sun. His hair moved gently in the breeze, and when he spoke, it sounded like there were deep bells in his tone, a sense of music coming from him that I’d never heard before.

  “Sam,” he said in surprise, staring at me with wide eyes. “Ye look . . . well, the same, but—”

  “Different,” I interrupted, laughing. I could hear the tinkling in my own voice as well. “You do, too. It must be something about this place.”

  He nodded, breathing deeply, a smile of satisfaction gracing his features. It seemed ten times more inviting and happy than normal, and I laughed again, feeling explicitly joyful for no reason whatsoever.

  Glancing past him, my gaze swept across everyone else, taking in their enhanced features and pleasant expressions. Mark and Abella were still staring at the water, whispering to each other, their excitement almost glowing around them like an aura.

  With a start, I realized I could see their auras. I could see everyone’s. They weren’t big rainbows or clouds of color, like I’d always imagined, but light, almost invisible, shimmering air surrounding everything. The auras where what gave the air its glitter-like quality and made everyone seem like they were glowing. They didn’t necessarily show me what everyone was thinking or feeling, but more marked us as living, breathing creatures.

  “There,” Tristan said, drawing my attention to him as he pointed in the direction we were moving. “Do ye see it?”

  Observing where he indicated, I saw a tiny island, not even big enough for our entire crew to camp on for the night. A thick stand of palm trees covered it, with a white sandy beach leading down to the ocean. There were a few driftwood logs and grass growing in patches, but other than that, there was nothing.

  Mark and Abella, having finally torn themselves away from the sights in the water, joined us, eyes wide in awe.

  “I can see every thread in your shirt,” Abella said in wonder, touching my shoulder lightly.

  “Aye, there is much to be seen and felt in this place. Something is missing, though.” Tristan frowned slightly, still studying the island.

  Inspecting the land, I instantly realized what he was saying. “Where’s the gate?” Confused, I shared a glance with the three of them.

  The sound of a door opening behind us caused us all to turn, watching as Captain MacDonald emerged from his quarters. The red of his kilt was dark, like blood, the hammer in his hand almost vibrating with a strange energy I’d never seen before. It was like the wood was as alive as the rest of us, buzzing with a magnificent force of purpose. It made the captain seem all the more fierce, his visage battle hardened, as if he were readying himself to go to war.

  It was then that I realized something else had been missing from the island—there was no red headed woman, waiting for her lover to return and speak with her.

  Pausing, Captain MacDonald nodded at the four of us, smiling slightly. “It’s a bit of a shift in perception, eh?” When we didn’t answer, he laughed lightly, brushing a hand over his beard. “Dinna fash. Ye’ll get used to it. The hard part is returning to our realm and realizing the world isn’t as beautiful as it was anymore.”

  “I can’t imagine ever wanting to leave this place,” Abella replied, staring at him with wide eyes. “It feels so perfect. How do you and your men do it?”

  Amused, he shifted the hammer from one hand to the other. “Perhaps it’s with the
knowledge that we’ll return in the future, or the sense of honor and duty we hold with The Order. Whatever our reasons for leaving, I’m sure ye’ll discover yer own when the time comes.”

  “Captain, Zaka has appeared on the beach.” Dagger, calling from the helm, pointed to the tiny island.

  Glancing back, I sucked in another sharp breath, catching sight of a woman standing in front of the stand of trees. Her skin was dark and tattooed with gold symbols, long dreadlocks reaching to her waist. Colorful patterns adorned her dress, feathers fanning out from her shoulders. Despite still being a small distance from the ship, I could see the wisdom in her eyes, as well as the aura spreading around her. It moved exactly like the hammer that Captain MacDonald held and I was suddenly curious as to where it came from and what the jittery movement of the air around it meant.

  “The Gatekeeper.” The Scotsman sighed, as if considering his options, and then nodded. “I will approach her this time, Dagger.”

  “But, Captain—”

  Captain MacDonald held a hand up, silencing him. “It is a great favor we are asking. I should be the one to do it.” He didn’t seem particularly happy about the decision, but there was an air about him that was different from when we’d spoken to him earlier in the day. He seemed resolved and confident, though I thought I caught a glimpse of fear shivering beneath the surface as he looked toward the shaman and her stand of trees.

  “Sam.” Tristan’s soft whisper drew my attention to him and he pointed at the beach once more.

  A woman with long, flowing red hair was now sitting on one of the driftwood logs, wearing a white dress. She stared forward, her spine straight, watching the ship with a neutral expression. Captain MacDonald had been lying when he said his drawing of Isobel wasn’t very good. It matched her almost perfectly, down to the curve of her chin and the dainty look of her fingers. There was only one thing about her that was different—she had no aura. The air around her was plain and empty, the absence of the life-like shimmer clearly letting anyone who saw her know she was dead, a spirit waiting on the beach.