The Lore Series (Box Set): All 3 Books In One Volume

by Chad T. Douglas

  Thomas took to calling the weapon “Brother”. The blade was also special because it held powers beyond what was lent to it by the bloodstone. Brother was what magesmiths and sorcerers call a “soul well.”

  A soul well is any inanimate artifact that has the capacity to steal any number of lives from any number of living beings and house them within the artifact for the user’s purposes. Needless to say, such artifacts are rare. Soul wells are historically most sought after by necromancers for the purpose of implanting stolen lives into the bodies of the dead, whom they use as personal slaves or guardians. It has been discovered that a soul well also strips any and all curses from its target as well, because curses affix themselves to a life, not a body.

  The reader will recall that, according to folklore, those who are bitten and infected with the werewolf curse must kill their infectors in order to remove the curse from their body. Folklore is correct, yet it spares us the most important details. The infected must have a soul well in his possession upon killing the infector. Because any two lives are very different but curses are not, a soul well will almost always sap a werewolf curse from both a slain werewolf and his or her killer. At the same time it drains the life force from the slain. It is important to keep in mind that curses are not the same as sicknesses. The werewolf curse, for example, is passed like a sickness, but is not one. A curse can be stripped of a body with a soul well, nullifying the effects of a curse, but the effects themselves cannot be stripped in this way. They will disappear in time, yes, but recovery is needed.

  A carrier of the werewolf curse cannot kill just any other carrier and hope to be cured. Since a werewolf’s curse is most similar to their infector’s, one hoping to relieve themself of the curse must find the lupomorph who infected them.

  It is perhaps relevant to note that the vampire curse cannot be removed by any known means. If it is taken from the body, the body experiences instant and fatal atrophy. This is one crucial difference between the curses because while both vampires and werewolves’ children are born with their parents’ curses, a werewolf may remove the curse, while a vampire’s condition is permanent.

  Thomas was wise to heed his vision and craft Brother as a weapon and a soul well. The more intimate a relationship a soul well and a victim share, the more effective the process, and the more likely any curses will be completely absorbed. Still, a soul well need not be created with a weapon. It may be as simple as an old shoe, a piece of magic cloth, or even something as small as a ring.

  Geoffrey Mylus

  April 28, 1833

  II

  Lucia

  Nine weeks, and the worst of the spring storms were long behind and in the North Atlantic, but they had slowed the ship’s progress considerably. As the Scotch Bonnet approached the Mediterranean at the Strait of Gibraltar, Tom once more stood authoritatively behind the helm of a ship full of outlaws, transformed back into the maritime miscreant. Once the Strait was within sight, the ship was in unfamiliar seas.

  “Quartermaster on deck, man your posts,” the helmsman warned the crew.

  “Resume your duties,” Bart ordered the men, wandering over to Thomas, who gazed out over the sea. “Captain, we’re now in Spanish waters. I’m not familiar with them. Should I alert the watch to be wary of anything?”

  “Spanish galleys and any peculiar English ships—man-o-war, to be specific,” Tom replied. “I’d rather not become acquainted with a man I’ve been told now patrols these seas. Captain Roger William Locke.”

  Bart’s brow furrowed. “Locke? I’ll tell the watch—”

  Tom cut him off. “Don’t alarm anyone. They’ll know very well whether or not such a ship should be avoided. I expect Captain Locke will be sailing quite an impressive ship—one of the Royal Navy’s trophies, no doubt. Monsters, those ships are—easy to spot from a long way off. We should be able to make a fairly quick excursion into Barcelona and be on our way to familiar seas once again.”

  “Yes, Cap’n.”

  Thomas handed Bart the spyglass. “I’ll be in my cabin.”

  “Yes, Cap’n.”

  Tom made his way to the main deck. Molly, coming up on deck from the galley, watched as he lurked about, marinating his brain in private thoughts. She felt compelled to follow him about, but something held her back. Tom opened the door to his cabin and, in no hurry, entered and shut the door. Molly sighed, unable to comprehend what stopped her. She couldn’t be sure if it was the nature of things at that moment, her uncertainty, or her fear. Above all, Thomas wasn’t as approachable when he wore his tricorn hat. To Molly, it was a standout feature that signaled her that the wolf, not the man, was in charge. She headed back to the galley, deciding to save Bart the trouble of preparing dinner that night. She needed to keep herself occupied.

  Later that afternoon shouts could be heard above deck. Tom’s voice rang out above all the rest, issuing quick orders. Molly, just finishing her dinner preparations, snapped to attention and turned to the galley stairs, startled by the sudden commotion. Twenty or so crewmen cascaded down the deck stairs and further below onto the gun deck. Powder barrels were rolled to the deck below, cannons were heaved into place, and the gun bay portholes unlatched and opened wide. There were more shouts, most of them Tom’s. Quick responses called back in the distance, in loud Spanish. Molly’s eyes widened and she ran upstairs, swinging around the corner in haste.

  “You will let us pass!” Tom was yelling angrily. A hostile reply came from the adjacent ship, less than seventy yards away. “My ship is carrying only scarce amounts of sugar and some arms!” shouted Tom. More hostile remarks followed. Molly gazed out over the water at the opposing ship and anxiously clutched her blouse.

  Thomas called out again. “I am a supply ship for English war vessels! You do not wish to draw that kind of attention to yourselves!” The adjacent ship’s deck was lined with Spanish and Moroccan pirates. It was now fifty yards away. The ship’s captain began negotiating a nonaggressive “trade.”

  Bart translated for the crew. “He will board the ship and receive two hundred pounds of sugar in return for no casualties.”

  “Is that so? All right, invite him aboard.” Tom remarked, trying to hide a smirk.

  Bart gazed at Tom questionably. “Captain?”

  “Tell him.”

  Bart relayed the message. The gap between the ships closed slowly. The Spaniards smiled with dark delight. Molly, concerned, moved her gaze back and forth from Thomas to the Spanish ship.

  “Captain?” Bart said, fidgeting and tugging at his vest.

  “Not yet,” Tom replied, folding his arms.

  The Spanish captain stood high up on the railing of the port side of the main deck of his ship, prepared to board Tom’s. His men twirled boarding hooks and axes. Molly sucked in her breath. Thomas whispered something to a crewmate, who immediately dashed below deck, pushing past Molly. The Spanish Captain noticed, and his crew broke into a panic.

  Thomas burst into crazed laughter as thirty cannons erupted and beat the Spanish ship’s port side hull into mulch. The sudden recoil of the broadside assault startled Molly, inducing a scream as she dropped low to the deck, covering her ears. The Spanish crew, most of whom were thrown skyward, rained down onto the decks of both ships and littered the sea. The Spanish captain got to his feet again after having involuntarily flown the distance between the vessels and landed at Tom’s feet. The remaining fifteen or so Spaniards boarded the ship, blades whirling. Tom’s crew—double the Spaniard’s in number—retaliated instantly. Molly ducked quickly onto the galley stairs. Unarmed, and having left her pistols in her cabin, she could do nothing but listen to the battle above.

  The cannons sounded again, delivering a death blow to the Spanish ship. The noise died down gradually as the crew finished off the last of the assailants, and the Spanish vessel began sinking.

  “Take whatever you like and return quickly!” Tom ordered the men. “Clear the deck, and prepare to raise sail on my mark!

  The deck h
atch above Molly groaned loudly as it was thrown open. Captured cargo was being lugged through the hatch, down into the store rooms.

  “All crew on deck! Tally up any missing or dead!” Tom shouted. Molly slowly made her way upstairs, following the crew’s lead.

  “All accounted for, Cap’n!” Bart called, counting the heads on deck.

  “And the lady?”

  Scanning the scene, Bart could not immediately spot Molly. Smoke from the Spanish ship drifted through the air. Molly lingered timidly among the crew, mostly hidden from view.

  “Present, Cap’n,” Bart reported, seeing her and pointing.

  Tom approached her quickly. “Are you all right?” he asked, looking Molly over for injury.

  Molly offered him a weak but reassuring smile.

  “Don’t be afraid. There was never any real danger,” he whispered.

  “Of course not.” A small smile crossed her lips.

  Tom smiled back. “You may stay in your cabin for now if you like. Your duties will be taken care of.” He turned, facing the crew. “If all are accounted for, raise sail and resume our bearing! Any injured, report below deck! Plenty to eat tonight!”

  After a loud victory cheer, the crew dispersed.

  “Got more pork than I can cook, Cap’n. And they were carryin’ some heavy coins,” Bart said, laughing, as he reported the new inventory taken from the Spanish.

  “Any arms?” asked Tom, nodding as Bart listed the prizes.

  “Seventeen pistols, only one good blade, Cap’n.”

  “Keep them on hand anyway.”

  “Yes, Cap’n.” With that, Bart descended to the galley.

  Crossing the deck, Thomas discovered the Spanish captain alive and clinging to a taut line. He was mumbling angrily and aiming a loaded pistol at Tom. The Spaniard, with one eye shut, was bleeding heavily, but his finger had the strength to pull a trigger. His one open eye glared a hole in Tom. His last wish: to put a shot in the body of the man who had ruined his ship and killed his crew. A stream of blood rolled down the Spaniard’s forehead and fell into the open eye, dyeing the cornea a pale pink and forcing him to blink, but the pistol never wavered.

  Thunder shattered the calm on the main deck. Molly stood at the door of her cabin, her pistol still smoking. The Spanish Captain looked at the place where his right hand had been. Tom flinched, clutching at the pain in his hip. Molly’s eyes widened as she dropped her pistol in shock, rushing toward Tom. She hadn’t been quite fast enough.

  The Spanish captain chuckled, his emptied pistol lying on the deck covered in his blood, smoke rising from the barrel like a dark soul from a spent body. He sneered victoriously despite his fatal, throbbing stump. Trying to help Tom, Molly fought the tears stinging her eyes. She cried out across the deck and hurried to him.

  “Oh, thank goodness!” she panted, “It’s not silver.” Delicately treating the spot with a scrap torn from her sleeve, she hugged him.

  Tom stepped forward, approaching the laughing Spaniard. Molly gently tugged his arm. “Thomas, please … you’re alright … he’s as good as dead already.” She hesitated to coax him further when she noticed the yellow flooding his irises. She released her grip.

  Thomas stopped to stand before the Spaniard, who grew silent. Suddenly the man yelled furiously and drew a sword with his left hand. Tom continued forward, the Spaniard backing away, swinging the sword in a vicious panic. The crew stopped to watch what was happening. They knew what to expect. Everything and everyone grew silent. The Spanish captain screamed again and thrust the blade forward, cleanly through Tom’s torso.

  Molly put her hands to her mouth. Some of the crew grew uneasy at the sound of her terrified whimpers. Tears streamed down her face.

  Tom continued forward a few steps. The Spaniard unsheathed another, smaller blade, burying it in Tom’s shoulder. Tom caught the knife hand, cracking the man’s wrist and finger bones in his grip. Lifting the Spaniard off his feet like a doll, eyes flashing, Tom hurled the captain across the entire length of the deck. The battered man crashed violently into the opposite railing. He tried to stand, fell immediately, and stood again. Tom was in front of him again by the time he recovered, and, swinging one arm into the Spaniard, Tom lifted him off his feet again, sending him spinning into the deck. The man’s bouncing body stained the planking red. He stood one last time, dizzily, and stumbled backward over the railing. A splash punctuated his fall.

  Thomas spoke calmly. “Helmsman, what is your bearing?” Receiving no reply, he continued, “Calculate your bearing and report to me. Full speed, all sails! Barcelona!” Internally, Tom tried not to panic, or look at the blood that had drained from his stab wounds. It’s getting out! Have to get it back in! Need to make it stop!

  Fumbling, the crew returned hastily to work, not wishing to upset the man who just survived two deadly strikes to the body in addition to a bullet. Tom swiftly removed the blades from his body, casting them aside and wincing. With a painful intake of breath he limped toward his cabin as his flesh began to stitch itself. Molly again rushed to his side. Thomas clung to her arm for support. “I need only something for the pain. Please bring it. The amber bottle in the cargo deck next to the other medicines …”

  Molly led him to his bed in the cabin before heading out again. She returned shortly with the amber bottle and a few rags. “H-here,” she stammered, standing aside and waiting to see what he was going to do about his injuries.

  Taking the bottle, Tom placed a kettle of fresh water over the fire in his cabin. “Just needs to boil. It tastes awful, but the effect is lasting.”

  Molly fumbled with a rag, dropping it to the ground. She looked at him and then quickly away, shuddering at his wounds.

  “Here, I’ll take it,” Tom offered, taking the rag.

  “A-are you sure?” Molly stuttered.

  Tom nodded, wrapping the wounds. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to frighten you.”

  “Well you did! Scared the life out of me!” She snapped at him, trying to quell angry tears. “I was so worried. How many times should you have died, Thomas?”

  “I don’t keep count.” Tom replied with nonchalance, “And I suppose I owe Harlan.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Harlan…He’s saved my life a hundred times, if you want to think of it that way.” Tom continued. “Today was no exception. And that’s why I’ll find him and make him stop.” He wrapped the bandages angrily. “That’s what I’m doing out here. That’s my only real purpose in carrying on this wretched existence.”

  Molly gazed down at the floor. She pitied him.

  “I’ll wait for my medicine to boil, and after dinner when the pain subsides, you can return to my cabin. Come then and inquire of me everything you will. I’ll tell you no lies,” Tom offered. “This could have been much worse.” He touched his bullet scar. “Who taught you to shoot?”

  “An old friend,” she replied, shaking her head dismissively. “If I had just acted sooner this never would have happened at all.”

  “Nonsense.” Tom argued.

  “I’ll be back when your medicine is through and we’ll talk more,” she said softly, turning to leave.

  “All right,” Tom said as he continued to bandage his wounds.

  As she exited, the tears began to flow freely from Molly’s eyes. The sight of Thomas, injured and in pain again, did nothing to improve her feelings. So what if he’d be like new tomorrow? She felt like a bad luck charm to Thomas, to Samuel, to all those she cared for.

  Molly shoved her pistols back into their hiding spot and tossed a few logs on the fire before going to the galley for dinner. Bart had put food for her in a cloth, and she took it gratefully before heading back to her cabin. She forced herself to eat a little but finally put the remnants away and left it. She could wait no longer. Sneaking to Tom’s room, she opened the door stealthily, trying not to disturb him. When she saw him sleeping peacefully she felt better. His wounds had already been healed. It was like magic.

 
“How was dinner?” Tom asked, yawning and propping himself up on his elbows, “I was told we gathered a few rare delicacies from our Spanish friends. Chocolate, perhaps? Now that would be good fortune. Doesn’t happen often though, I’m afraid.”

  Molly grinned. “No chocolate, but plenty to drink, I assure you.”

  “Well that’s good.” Tom got up, moved about, and placed various papers into desk drawers, slid a sheathed sword quickly underneath the bed and took a seat near his stove.

  “What need do you have for that?” she asked, looking under the bed at the silver saber.

  Thomas smirked. “What would any self-respecting pirate need one for?” He immediately tried to change the subject. “You’ll be pleased to know a few of the men found a unique item on the Spanish ship just before it sank. I had them take it below deck so I could give it to you later. It was odd to find one on a ship, but nonetheless I believe it will make your life onboard a bit more civilized. I hope you like it.”

  “What is it exactly?” Molly asked curiously.

  “Would you like to see?”

  “Of course.”

  Tom stood. “Follow me, then.”

  Tom led Molly to a large store room below the galley. “This is just for storing trinkets we find.” The lantern in his hand cast its light on piles of chests, loose heaps of coins, Spanish armor, jeweled weaponry, African royal headdresses and various silver and gold forks, knives, and daggers—things salvaged from the Spanish pirates’ ship.

  Molly gazed around in awe. “Quite a collection, Captain.”

  “I’m only saddened that I’ve had to begin again, ever since the Nymphe Colère. Here we are.” Thomas held the lantern above the large object in front of him.

  The light revealed a large ivory bath tub with solid gold metalwork around the feet and rim of the basin. A royal crest was set in gold in the outside of the basin. Molly gasped, a broad grin growing on her face.

  “From what I’ve concluded, it was fit for royalty, so I supposed you wouldn’t have any objections to using it,” Tom joked.