The Search for Aveline

by Stephanie Rabig

  "What did you—" the woman asked, looking stunned. Echo gave her a smile in answer, regretting it instantly as the motion pulled at her sore lips. She hurried away, searching the others' faces and bodies until she caught sight of a tiny woman who was holding the helm with only one hand. The other hand she held gingerly at her side.

  Rope burn, Echo thought, as she grabbed the young woman's shoulder.

  "How did—Captain!" the helmswoman yelled. "Cap', you have to come see this! The siren's up!"

  A blond woman with the sleeves of her white shirt rolled up to the elbow strode forward, inspecting her closely. "You sure you're ready to be up and around?" she asked. "Still look wobbly to me."

  Echo nodded.

  "It's quite a talent, Captain," the black-haired woman said, holding the now-useless bandage that had been on her arm. "Heard tales about how sirens could heal from most any wound, but I didn't know they could heal others. Look at my arm."

  "Quite a boon," Harry observed. "Thank you, Lady Silence."

  Echo nodded distractedly, her focus on the wide, thick scar on the Captain's arm. She pointed to it and then grabbed her hand, surprised when the Captain yanked away from her. Echo retreated, afraid that she'd offended her somehow. Granted, such an old injury would take longer to heal, but it could be done—

  "It's all right," the Captain said, rubbing at the scar. "This... this one I want to keep, that's all."

  Echo tilted her head curiously, unsure as to why anyone would want to retain a reminder of something that must've hurt like death. But it wasn't her business, and given the look on the Captain's face, she wasn't inclined to explain.

  Not that it mattered, she thought. Right now, the main thing was getting something to eat. Looking around at the faces of the crew, she was fading from seeing people she wanted to thank, to seeing people who would restore her energy quite nicely.

  Dangerous path, Echo thought. She needed to get back to the ocean, find a large fish or an octopus; something big enough to assuage her appetite. Perhaps she would come back, just to let these people know that she truly was well. They had tended to her when leaving her for dead would have been perfectly reasonable, even going so far as to bring in jugs of sea water to the small room where she'd been kept, rubbing down her wrists and arms, leaving a damp cloth on her forehead to keep her connected to her ocean.

  Yes, she decided. She'd come back, and heal them on occasion when need be. The sea was a dangerous place; she would make sure to the best of her ability that this ship remained safe.

  Giving a quick nod of thanks, she turned and dove over the side.

  The instant that Echo submerged, everything went red. She felt the chemical burning away at her tongue, saw her blood surrounding her in the water as she opened her mouth in a soundless scream. Salt water mixed with the chemical that Aria had forced her to drink, and tears fled from her eyes as she struggled to swim, but she couldn't, couldn't remember anything, there was just the crimson water and she was drowning, choking on her own blood—

  Then arms wrapped around her midsection and she grabbed hold of them, scratching and trying to pull them away as they both broke the surface.

  "Enough," Kai said. "You're safe. It's all right, little sister."

  Some part of her recognized him, but a stronger part still tasted blood, and she snarled at him as he lifted her into the landing craft. The rough wood at her back was the furthest thing from the enveloping water, and some semblance of where she was finally came back to her.

  Along with that came the realization of what she had just done, and she quickly reached out, intent on healing the cuts on his arms.

  He shook his head, pulling back from her as much as the small craft would allow. "Don't," he said. "You need your strength."

  But she didn't. What would she do with that strength? What had she ever done? Didn't any of them understand what she had done to countless people just like them? Why were they helping her now, if not to take advantage of her healing powers?

  Suddenly unsure of her position on the vessel, she curled up in the corner of the landing craft, closing her eyes tightly against everything.

  It was foolish, but all she wanted was for her sister to hold her close again. She was already a siren with no voice; now she could no longer even seek the refuge of the sea. What use was she?

  The Duel

  Captain Roberts took a slow sip of her beer, half-listening to her first mate talk about provisions they needed to restock. Most of her attention was across the room, at a half-drunk man who was busy ordering about a teenager in oversized, ragged clothes. The back of the boy's left hand was nearly covered by a swollen, red mark. She was certain that if she was close enough to see detail, the mark would prove itself to be an owner's brand.

  Across from her, Josephine sighed. "Harriet. You promised."

  She didn't acknowledge the comment, and Josephine reached across the table to take her hand. Reluctantly, she met her eyes.

  "You promised," she repeated, more concern than reproach in her voice. "The boy is not being taken to be sold; he is already owned. His master would not wish to part with such an investment; not for any price that we can afford today. I know you do not wish to hear that fact," she said, when Harry glared at her, "but it is fact all the same." She squeezed her hand gently. "We cannot save everyone."

  "I know," Harry admitted, and though none of the tension drained out of her shoulders, the acquiescence in her voice let Josephine relax slightly.

  Then the young man tripped as he was carrying the slave-holder's pitcher to his table, spilling it all over the floor and splashing some onto his owner. The man stood up with a roar of rage and backhanded the boy, sending him sprawling.

  Harry erupted out of her chair, and Josephine dropped her face into her hands. She had been so close.

  She watched Harry march across the bar and quickly followed. A couple of people raised their eyebrows in amusement, the ones who bothered to look up from their drinks at all. In her haste, Harry bumped into a man who was making his way to the bar. When she didn't stop to apologize, he grabbed hold of her shoulder.

  "Now look here, girl—"

  She didn't even look at him; just shoved him away and stopped in front of the slave-holder. "How much for the boy?" she snapped.

  He rolled his eyes. "More than you can afford."

  "I'll be the judge of that."

  "Four hundred gold pieces. Would be five if he wasn't so useless."

  Had she still been eating anything, Jo would've choked on her food. Four hundred gold pieces was far more than they could afford; bargaining from that wasn't even a possibility. That much gold would keep the entire ship in rations for most of a month. She saw Harry's shoulders deflate slightly, and the slave-holder chuckled.

  "Told you."

  Josephine moved around in front of the man Harriet had bumped into, who was stalking toward her exposed back. "Apologies for my captain," she said, pressing a piece of silver into his hand. "She is in particularly high spirits tonight."

  He glared at her for a few seconds, but then nodded. "Happens to the best of us." He then looked to the boy, who was cowering against the wall, and his expression softened a little. "They shouldn't sell them. Not that young. Good luck to her, then. She'll need it against that lout."

  He'd barely finished speaking when Harry's voice rang out.

  "Then I will duel you for him."

  The slave-holder laughed, clapping one meaty hand on his knee. "Oh, thank you, lass! Today's been a right pain and I thought nothing could improve my mood, but—"

  Then he swallowed, looking up very gingerly, the tip of her sword pressed to his throat.

  "I do not jest, sir."

  "Captain," Josephine hissed. "Can I talk to you for a minute?"

  "No," she said, not taking her eyes or the point of her sword off her would-be opponent.

  "Might want to listen to your friend, there," the man said.

  "I issued you a challenge. Do you accept i
t, or do you admit your cowardice?"

  His face grew serious. "Your terms?"

  "If I win, I get the boy. No cost."

  He grinned up at her. "And if I win, you join him, and wear my brand."

  "Captain..."

  "I accept."

  She withdrew her sword from his throat and nodded sharply at the door. Josephine followed her outside. The man walked past them, his slave scurrying after him, and walked out onto the moonlit sand. "I'll get quite a fine price for you," he said confidently.

  Josephine debated the wisdom of knocking Harry over the head and dragging her back to the ship. She had lost fights before and she always hated to see it, hated to see her friend confined to a bed in the sickbay.

  But this time there wouldn't be a sickbay, at least not one on their ship. If she lost tonight, the slave-holder would lead her away.

  Josephine clenched her hands into fists. What had she always, always told Harry? Never gamble with more than you can afford to lose.

  In many of the places they frequented, such a challenge would've drawn a crowd. But here, there were only the four of them. If her captain did lose...

  Harry would hate the fact that she was even thinking it. "I lost a fair duel", she would say, or "Just because I'm a pirate doesn't mean I don't honor my debts".

  Honor was all well and good. But there were some things Josephine would not stand for.

  She just hoped that if he did best Harry, that she herself would be capable of taking him down. She doubted she could count on much help from the young man. He, understandably, looked scared of his own shadow.

  Looking to him, she saw him crouched down on the sand, watching the combatants with wide eyes as the fight began.

  The slave-holder drew blood first. And second. Josephine watched, every instinct telling her to draw her blade. Instead, she held herself still, watching as Harry dodged in low and got in a vicious jab at the man's side. He snarled in pain and lunged again, but too wide, and she easily slipped around him and cut him again.

  His teeth bared in rage now, he swung twice in wide arcs. Each time she blocked the would-be blow, and Josephine edged closer, worried now that he was no longer concerned with making sure she was alive at the end of the duel. His third strike knocked the sword from her hand.

  He smiled. "On second thought, you're not worth the hassle. The sea can have you." He stepped forward, raising his sword, and Jo lunged, snatching up Harry's sword and throwing it back to her. For the second time that night, the slave-holder found the point of her blade at his neck.

  "Do you yield?"

  "That was... we never agreed on accepting help!"

  "We also agreed on the terms of defeat, yet you were more than ready to take my life. Now. Do you yield?"

  He scowled, but dropped his sword.

  "You're free now, boy," Harriet said, as the slave-holder stomped back toward the bar. "You can go wherever you like."

  "I... I don't know," he stammered.

  "Don't know what?"

  "Where I am, to start. I don't know how long it's been—I know I was grabbed the day after my eighteenth, but how many years has it been since then?"

  "You don't know how old you are?" Harry asked, and Jo knew she might well have to convince her not to march back into the bar and cut the slaver's throat anyway.

  "No."

  "What's your name?" Jo asked.

  "Francisco Cardinelli. But—"

  "But?"

  "My family used to call me Lucky Franky," he said, and to Jo's surprise, the ghost of a smile dashed across his face.

  "Well, Lucky Franky, it looks like your name is an apt one again," said Harry. "Come on. We can take you home, wherever that is."

  Distractions

  Harry didn't think her crew had ever spent so much time in the water. With Kai there to warn them of danger, they could swim without fear of hostile sharks or merfolk. Many of them took to the water like they were mermaids themselves.

  Sometimes, Harry was certain that everyone on her crew was at least a little in love with him. The smitten smiles that came to their faces whenever he spoke to them—or, in Maddie's case, whenever he was even mentioned—were certainly evidence enough.

  It didn't surprise her that Maddie had fallen in with him immediately. Despite how violent she could be, in her usual frame of mind, Harry suspected that Maddie would call even Wrath Drew a friend if he apologized sincerely enough. And where Maddie went, Franky followed. She often caught the two of them leaning over the railing, having laughing conversations with Kai late into the night.

  Wilhelmina, who had been a touch nervous around him for the first several weeks—she hadn't had the best experiences with merfolk—had changed her tune right quick one afternoon when he had called to them from the water, asking if they wanted to see baby sea monsters.

  Held carefully in his hands had been almost a dozen Kraken, most no bigger than the coins on Zora's skirts. Wil had been quick to grab her notebook and clamber into the landing craft, and ever since, had been sure to take time each day to be lowered to the water, asking questions about ocean creatures and writing extensive notes.

  Kai hadn't needed to work at all to win over either Euphemia or Silence; his role in rescuing the young siren had been testament enough. And Hope, their healer, was fascinated by the medicines he had shown them.

  Junia so clearly coveted the sword he had brought to Harry back on his island that several days ago he had brought up a dagger for her, a wicked-looking thing curved into a half-moon shape. Junia was so thrilled at the gift that she'd given him a brief hug in thanks, which had startled Harry to no end. Though some members of her crew were tactile almost to a fault—Katherine and her bone-crushing hugs came to mind—Junia was not one of them.

  Zora had also been entranced by the things he was able to bring back from the ocean's depths; any time they landed at a port, she asked to be shown to any wrecks that were within her own diving distance. Many times, ones that close to the shore had already been stripped of everything truly valuable, but Zora's definition of "valuable" didn't always consist of gold and jewels; she had found countless oddments, including a delicately-filigreed hand mirror that she'd spent hours shining up before giving it to Tessa as a gift.

  Even Jo had been drawn into a water fight one afternoon, where she had 'battled ruthlessly and well'. She'd proclaimed this with a grin, wringing her long, curly hair out over the rail, as Harry arched both her eyebrows in disbelief.

  She was glad the crew got on so well with him. She just wished sometimes that he wasn't so distracting.

  To the crew.

  Right now, he was in the landing craft, explaining the idea of auras and how each of theirs looked. Maddie listened to him and then stared at her own hand in fascination, as if by focusing hard enough, she could also see the bright-yellow glow he'd told her of.

  "How about the Captain's?" Agnessa asked with a grin. Harry, startled at the sudden inclusion, worked to keep a stern expression on her face as she walked up to the landing craft.

  "I'm thinking it's red with impatience, due to the lack of work being done."

  Agnessa laughed, and the others were smiling as they moved back to their posts. Harry gave Kai a brief nod and turned to walk away, pausing when he spoke.

  "You're wrong, you know."

  "About what?" she asked, though the context of their conversation made it perfectly clear. She wasn't sure she wanted to know a thing about her aura; she already had plenty of suspicions.

  "Your aura. It's not red, it's black."

  Harry remembered what he'd said about Wrath Drew's aura and felt something in her heart freeze. She started to back away, and something must have shown in her face, because he reached out and grabbed hold of her hand.

  "That isn't a bad thing," he said. "The color itself is only one part of an aura. There are other considerations. Yours is nothing like oil. It's the black of the night sky. A comfort, if inscrutable. And when you're not at rest, the edges of it
catch fire. It's beautiful."

  She found herself wishing that he was an expert at cards, was a skilled liar, because then she could tell herself that he was just trying to be a flatterer. But the words were said with such sincerity that she had no choice but to believe them, and she had no idea what to do with that.

  "Well," she finally said. "That's... that's good to know, I suppose."

  Feeling utterly off-balance, she tugged her hand out of his and turned to go below decks. Something, somewhere, had to require her immediate attention.

  Fading Memories

  "How much?" Jo asked, pointing to a quite charming hat with a large red-and-gold feather in the band.

  "Twenty drachmas," the vendor said, grinning as he looked her over. "But I'll give it to you for ten, and a kiss."

  Though Jo knew it was a good deal—and there hadn't been any nastiness in the way he'd looked at her, simply appreciation—the derisive look was on her face before she could rein it in, and before he could react, she moved away.

  There were some days when she hated visiting the markets.

  She heard Maddie whoop with joy and glanced over to see the girl waving three newly-purchased penny dreadfuls, much to Harry's played-up chagrin. Beside her, Franky was laughing.

  Jo leaned against the dusty wall of a nearby building, half-watching the crew as they milled around the busy market, most of her concentration on the memory of a night so many years ago, when she'd snuck into Aveline's room and dared to steal a kiss. She'd been emboldened by the fact that Ave was leaving the next day, that she wasn't sure when the two of them would see each other again.

  At least that night she had known the separation was coming.

  She wasn't a fool, at least not completely. She knew that she was holding out hope for a woman who was likely long dead.

  Sometimes, in her darker moments, she prayed that Aveline was gone. Because most of the alternatives were so much worse.

  But until she knew for certain, until she had some kind of proof, she couldn't seem to let go.