As the curse giveth, it taketh away. Only weeks ago, while steeped in study with a colleague, I discovered something groundbreaking and so incredibly obvious that I wonder why I did not realize it sooner! The hormone that grants the werewolf a hyper-recovery period and transformative qualities is also a compound which reacts quite violently to metals containing any amount of pure silver! I watch the substances interacting in this controlled environment of mine, and I can only wonder what agony it must be to be dissolved from the heart outward! Yet, how just it is that a gift of natural magic is balanced with a punishment. I ask myself, is physical immortality more a curse, or more a blessing?
Geoffrey Mylus,
April 19, 1833
~~~
Two weeks passed, and Molly was eating breakfast when Tom burst into her room.
“I’ve brought all the charts I have,” said Tom, entering with an armful of parchment. “I expect you’ll learn them quickly with my help.” He looked at Molly, who moved to her small desk, awaiting instruction.
Intrigued, Molly began to examine the charts. The various old papers were richly decorated and yet still marked as one would expect of an instrument of navigation. They depicted constellations, the cardinal directions, seasonal changes (and resulting astrological events), while others showed plotted courses of merchant convoys and numerous ports of the Caribbean, Mediterranean, the British Isles and the Indian and African coasts. All along the margins were notes Tom had scribbled. They were written together thickly, wrapping carefully around sketches of strange creatures and symbols. Molly looked up at him, grinning.
“Not difficult, by any means,” Tom commented. “And you, being the daughter of … Well, you shouldn’t take long in proving to be an excellent navigator.”
Her grin disappeared. “Wait, what did you say?”
The captain paced about the cabin and continued. “Yes they aren’t the best maps, but nevertheless. Oh … I apologize. I haven’t left you any time to eat your breakfast. Will an hour suit you?” He quickly retreated to the cabin door.
Molly interjected. “Captain!”
Tom stopped, winced and turned. “Yes?”
Molly feared jumping to the wrong conclusion but asked anyway. “My father? I know it’s he whom you were going to name. Do you know him, or merely know of him? Answer me truthfully.”
“My father knew yours. I am not sure, but I believe I may have seen him once as a much younger boy, yes.” He sounded sincere.
“It’s just that I know nothing about him. You didn’t mention this before.”
“My father held yours in very high regard, as do I. His talent was what impressed me. I’m sorry, I should have said something.” He shrugged. “I just didn’t want to assume anything and be wrong.”
Molly’s eyes widened, suddenly anxious. “My curiosity outweighs my ire, I assure you. Magic? I thought he was gone! Can you tell me anything else?”
“Admirable fellow, your father. His was a very rare trade and a very difficult one to master. Not many have the innate skill for it. However, you, as I said, would, in theory, master it in no time. You are his daughter.”
Her smile was bittersweet.
Tom continued talking, attempting to cover his chagrin over keeping the secret from her for so long. “Haven’t seen him in ages. I can only assume he is still where my father last went to visit him. I’ve had a favor to ask of him for a few years now. I hope he’s up to aiding us along our way. Have you ever been to Barcelona?”
Molly thought for a moment. “No, not to my knowledge.”
Tom’s smile widened, and he nodded. “No matter, it will be a new experience, then. London isn’t far off, now. I must teach you these charts quickly if we are to keep our schedule, yeah?”
“Of course.” In truth, Molly was too surprised and lost in thought to think of anything but her father now. To think she was fortunate enough to run into a man who knew more than she did about her own father. She was thrilled, yet at the same time, saddened and embarrassingly suspicious of Thomas. More and more, his life seemed enveloped in a lattice web of secrets.
“I didn’t even know he still lived. Do you suppose I’ll ever see him?” she asked Tom.
An amused expression crossed his face. “Unless you intend to stay onboard while we stop in Spain, why shouldn’t you? That is, assuming you won’t be parting with me in London.”
Gasping in excitement, Molly threw her arms around Tom. “This is so wonderful! I can’t thank you enough! It’s been so long! I’ll finally get to see him!”
Tom grinned, trying to maintain balance while holding onto her and reveling in the relief of escaping a lashing-out of anger. The girl was pleasant, he thought, but pleasant in a way that one would attribute to a housecat, whose moods were as serene or volatile as the weather at sea.
“Wonder if he’s still working his trade?” Tom said, half to himself.
Molly pulled back slightly. “Yes, about that…”
“Well, you’ve most likely never heard of such a trade. That is, my father and his fellow tradesmen always called him a … Oh, what was the term? … Magesmith! That’s it. My father and the like were the travelers who sought out valuable gems and minerals in Eastern Europe. Rather than selling them, they’d extract magic essences from stones and imbue them in something else. That was their business, and it was a hushed one for numerous reasons. Your father, like mine, was the kind of man who had the tools and skill to make them of use, you see.” Tom could see that the term held no meaning for Molly. “A magesmith determines the magical capacity of a precious or semi-precious stone, mineral or metal,” he explained, “evaluating its strength and yield and then crafting it into a tool or weapon. Take heart—gems are not just little, pretty, trivial trinkets, Molly. Beautiful, yes, but not only that, you see. My father owned twin rings, both fitted with identical sister gems. Each would seek out the other in case they should become separated. My father wore one, and my mother wore the other one. They were wedding gifts from your father, and when my family …” Tom frowned and looked away, not wishing to speak of the tragedy again. “Well, my father gave me his ring before I ran away to sea, and the other was meant for Harlan, but it never made it into Harlan’s hands. I think my father sold it after I left,” he explained, dipping a hand into his pocket and bringing out the ring for Molly to see. “This was inside the lockbox I took from Bermuda.”
As Molly took the ring, her eyes shone at the sight. Exposed to the morning light cast on the bed, the ring—gold-banded with a pale pink gem set into it—sparkled more brilliantly than an entire chest of treasures. The band was shaped to look like a natural vine, marked by grooves and ruts. Where both ends of the vine met was a detailed, oval frame that encompassed the nearly colorless gem. The gem itself was something of wonder. It was cut into the likeness of a woman’s face—her eyes closed and a faint smile on her lips. A white point of light appeared to swim within the stone, moving this way and that like a little fish in a bowl. It was not perfect or new. A slight patina marred the gold here and there, and the band had suffered some nicks, as if the fingers that had worn it previously hadn’t been all too kind to it. It was lovely and tried by time, traveled and worn—a befitting look for a pirate’s charm.
“The stone contains a map. But I can’t read it,” Tom said in disappointment.
“My father made this?” Molly asked, touching each detail with her fingertips.
“His name should be engraved into the underside of the band, there.”
Molly looked carefully, discovering the initials G.V.
“Gabriel Vasquez,” Tom explained.
By chance the ring caught the sunlight at the perfect angle and, in a bright flash, across the entire length of her bed, projected a luminous, expansive pattern of constellations that tilted and rotated with the slightest shift of Molly’s hand.
Molly gasped quietly in amazement. “These are the constellations.”
“What is it?” Tom asked anxiously, leaning over he
r and staring into the ring.
“You’re correct, it’s a map. An astrolabe, or sextant, maybe?” She looked to Tom in a questioning manner. “Can’t you see it?”
“I’ve never seen anything with it,” he admitted, still searching the ring, oblivious to the bright display stretching across the bed, visible only to Molly’s eyes.
“I don’t understand why you don’t see it. It’s shining on the bed.” She pointed where the stars shimmered most vividly. “As clear as day, er…night.”
“Seems you have the gift of magesight,” Tom said, happy for her. “Gabriel will be glad to see his daughter once more, I should think.”
Molly paused suddenly, her smile fading. “Once more? But I have no memory of ever seeing him. Why didn’t he come to find me in London or in the colonies?”
“I’m sorry, I forgot about that detail. Well, it’s merely a guess, mind you, but … Do you, perhaps, have in your possession any jewelry your adopted family bestowed on you long ago? Specifically, anything crafted of pearl?” Tom asked, knowing she’d mention the pistols.
Molly thought for a moment, her brow furrowing. “Wait.” She drew one of her two pistols, showing Tom the curling arrangements of small pearls embedded in the handle.
Tom examined it carefully. “Clever man. It’s no surprise you can’t remember him. A magesmith can do many things with his materials, such as keeping my father and mother always within sight of one another. Your father can craft a star chart without parchment, manipulate the elements, conjure spirits and even shroud himself from someone’s memory.” He handed the pistol back to Molly. “Very clever. He must have been quite concerned for your well-being, Miss, to have given you those items.”
Molly examined the pistol again, her gaze downcast. “I don’t understand.”
“Pearls are mysterious little rocks. They are most affiliated with the magical manipulation of memory and time. Do not think your father wished you away. You must understand that such a tradesman, a crafter of magical artifacts, attracts undesirables. You were likely only a little girl, and he knew if he even existed in your deepest memory, you would try to find him as an adult. Hence, the pearls. They would always be with you and, therefore, always being subject to their spell, you would have no recollection of him whatsoever. Despite his concern, your father kept himself out of harm’s way, and I expect he no longer risks trading such dangerous wares. I doubt he would object to helping an old friend, though, and of all things a visit from his daughter.”
“I see. I’m eager to meet him. I suppose I’ll be staying aboard after London.”
“I’ll leave you to your breakfast, Miss, and return in an hour. There is much to teach you yet.” His eyes widened with emphasis. “Much!”
“Oh, wait. Here,” called Molly before he left, handing him back his ring.
“Keep it on hand if you don’t mind, eh?” he said. “Doesn’t fit me that well.” He tossed it back.
“Thank you, Captain,” she replied with a soft look in her eyes.
The ring, upon being returned, shrank to fit her left index finger comfortably, still shining in its brilliant glory.
Leaving Bart temporarily in command of the crew’s operations, Tom gave the helmsman a final instruction—approximately fourteen degrees northeast, nonstop to the Thames, and London harbor. As Molly waited, she attempted to angle the ring in the sunlight to make the constellations appear again. The powers it held fascinated her. If magic was not just something of tales, as Thomas made it seem, what else was possible? How much of the world had Thomas seen that she knew of only from stories, legends and a handful of her own personal escapades? A light knock on the door interrupted her thoughts.
Molly stood up quickly, eager to begin. “Come in!”
“Good news! One month till London! I intend to collect all my useful possessions there before we leave for Spain. I’ve changed my plans only a bit. Rest for about a week, perhaps, and find new clothes, for you and myself. I wouldn’t keep a civilized lady far from civilization for long, that’s just inconsiderate.” He stopped. “Well I have only a month to teach you these charts, and for time’s sake, would you agree to begin now?”
“Of course.”
“Excellent.” Thomas arranged the various papers and pulled another chair up to the desk. “Here you are, then.”
Molly sat with him, examining the charts before her. Tom began to explain the numerous constellations of the night sky, how each will appear to the eye in different seas in different latitudes at various times of the year, and how each will always indicate a certain direction.
“You have Draco, Scorpio, Orion, Ursa Major, Ursa Minor, the Big and Little Dippers, Leo, Crux, Canis Major, Sirius …” Not only did he elaborately describe the shape of each of the major constellations, he also took time to recount the mythological tales concerning each’s origin. “Not important, but I find it fascinating,” he explained, finishing the story of Orion.
Molly nodded quietly with great interest, watching the captivating spark in Tom’s eyes as he related the stories. “Quite exciting, actually.”
“These stars were even more symbolic to ancient cultures—Greek, Chinese, Roman. Your father must have held quite an interest in the heavens, if he crafted the star chart you claim to have seen through the ring.”
Molly looked down at her hand, the stars dancing along her wrist. “So you really can’t see it?”
Tom frowned. “I remember my father showing me once, but since then I haven’t been able to see it again.”
“I wonder why.”
“So do I,” admitted Tom with a sigh.
“When I was just a little girl,” Molly shared, “ I imagined the stars were giant, glowing diamonds and that my mother was up there with them, keeping them shining brightly.” She smiled sadly, looking back down at the ring.
Thomas watched her shifting gaze, his voice quiet. “Which star is she?”
“The one star I can always look to—the North Star. I always believed my mother was in charge of keeping that one particularly bright, a task I knew she could never fail to do.”
“Coincidentally, that’s the star you need to be most familiar with on these seas.”
“I think it may be much more than coincidence,” she replied. “Those we love find ways of staying close to us after passing away. They’re always watching us from places we wouldn’t expect.”
“Then we think alike,” Tom said.
“Everything falls into place, it seems.” Toying with the ring on her finger, Molly turned to Thomas. “Why didn’t you tell me any of this before?”
“You answered your own question, Miss Bishop. It fell into place. All of your questions will be answered in time. Until then, trust what you have found already.”
Molly looked away in distrust. “But you knew this whole time.”
“There are many things I know. Some things haven’t come to pass yet, others are long gone. Some I can tell you, others I cannot. It would only cause you to wonder and try to change the way things are and change the things to come,” he reasoned as he reached for the maps, folding them. “Shall we continue tomorrow?”
“You know so much, and I’ve been looking my whole life for answers,” she continued, not willing to let him slip away yet. “I feel as though my entire life and past have been withheld from me. I thank you for telling me everything you have already, I truly do. It makes me wonder what else you’re keeping to yourself. For these past months you’re the only source of a past or future I’ve had to look to.” Molly turned the ring around and around.
“I’ll always tell you what you need to know, and the truths, not the myths. But Molly, a life in the past is a life spent as a ghost. I don’t mind carrying you along with me into tomorrow. I can’t promise all the answers you seek, but I have a knack for finding out.” Tom smirked. “Maybe if destiny favors me, I’ll be given the duty of delivering you to your place of purpose. I admit it would please me greater than anything else. If what you say i
s true—that you believe things fall into place—I hope you’ll stay on my ship. It would be good luck.”
“Good luck?”
“Well, yes. Believe it or not, I’ve been injured less frequently since you’ve been aboard. I can always look forward to meals, too.”
Molly laughed.
To my knowledge, England, the British Isles and Scandinavia have been home to modern werewolves for longer than any other region of the world. I believe their ancestors migrated south from the Siberian Arctic and into Europe. I once thought that their country of origin lay somewhere in Eastern Europe. Dissimilarly, vampires first came to greater Europe by moving north and east from the Mediterranean and west from the oldest Christian holy lands. The oldest clans of werewolves exist in the northernmost expanses of the British Isles today, but a multitude of werewolves have always called London home. Perhaps, being the large city it is and the heart of an empire, it attracted werewolves just as it has drawn cultures from the most distant locations known to modern maps. Like a small spore, the clans were swept up by the buzzing drones of English exploration and brought back to the hive, to speak, to London—by force or fate.
Traditionally, werewolf clans and vampire cults have been rivals. Both depended upon mutual relationships with mortal man for survival ever since coming into existence thousands of years ago. Their conflicts are almost always incited by territorial offenses, which always become more violent when the world experiences broad-ranging hardship. Simple differences sometimes complicate when a particular clan or cult will promote “superior species” attitudes among werewolf or vampire youths. This kind of irresponsible teaching has led only to the formation of radical clans and cults over time. As mortal man’s empires grow, clan and cult territories shrink, and tensions rise.
The Lore Series (Box Set): All 3 Books In One Volume Page 8