The Jinxed Pirate (Graylands Book 2)

by M. Walsh

  “Lock,” she said. “Where did Deck go?”

  “Um,” he said, unprepared to lie to his sister. “The tavern..? Maybe he just wanted to go for a ride. Clear his head.”

  He shrugged, knowing how feeble that sounded, and Cassie’s frown confirmed it.

  “I know something’s going on,” she said. “I’m not stupid, Lock. I’ve seen you and Deck and Troa and Seria talking and whispering when you think I’m not paying attention. And I know it’s because of Deck. He’s done something, hasn’t he?”

  He attempted to speak, but the words caught in his throat. He found himself struck dumb by how perceptive his sister proved to be.

  “Lock,” she continued, looking serious and a little sad. “I know Deck would never tell me what’s going on either way. But you … if you say it’s nothing, or that it’s better I don’t know, I’ll believe you.”

  He took a breath and tried to think of how to respond. He thought she should at least know something, but he didn’t want to tell her the details. Especially if she was already mad at Deck. He wanted to say it was nothing to worry about—because it should be nothing now.

  But he still had that feeling it wouldn’t be so simple.

  “Cassie,” he said. “It … it’ll be okay. It doesn’t concern you and hopefully, in a few days, it will all be taken care of. I promise”

  She nodded, but didn’t look satisfied with his answer. Saying nothing more, she went upstairs to her room.

  Upon hearing her door shut, Lock rubbed his eyes and moaned. He walked to the den and sat by the fire, feeling awful. He wished Deck had never found that damned Gauntlet. He wanted the whole mess to go away already.

  Seria entered the den and said, “I’m going to make tea. Would you like some?”

  “No thanks,” he said and held up the glass of wine. “I’m getting drunk.”

  “You could do worse,” she said. “How is Cassie?”

  “Worried,” he said. “She knows something’s wrong, and she doesn’t like we’re keeping it from her.”

  “I guessed as much.”

  “How long until we hear from the Guardians?” he asked, slumping on the couch.

  “I can’t say,” she replied. “A few days at the earliest.”

  He sighed and gulped down some wine. “How bad do you think this might get?”

  As if in answer, a draft blew through the house, and the fire blinked out in a puff of smoke. Lock’s blood became like ice, and he felt like he was in the cellar again, alone with the Gauntlet. Worse, in fact—as though the Gauntlet had somehow come to life and was walking around the house.

  Seria felt it, too. Her tanned skin turned several shades lighter, and her eyes drifted off to some unseen vision in the distance. Lock was sure, if he asked, she would say she felt like someone danced on her grave.

  The temperature in the house dropped, and to his shock, he could see both his and Seria’s breaths. It was as if summer disappeared with the fire and the night had plunged into a sudden winter. His mouth went dry and goosebumps covered his flesh.

  Seria stood and drifted across the room, looking like she could see or hear something he could not. Her face was ashen, as if some dawning horror was coming upon her.

  Already knowing it was a stupid question, he asked, “What is it..?”

  Seria was shaking. Her breathing sped up—he could see the steam rapidly come from her mouth. “Get your sword.”

  Wasting no time, Lock ran to the front hall and grabbed his weapon. Seria already had her sword drawn. He tried to steady himself and prepare for whatever was coming. This wasn’t bounty hunters—he was sure of that. This was something very different and worse.

  Sword in hand, he turned to Seria and said, “Go get Cassie.”

  She was halfway up the stairs, when a gentle knocking came from the front door. She froze in her tracks, and they both stared at the door. Lock held his breath, hoping he only imagined it, but after a brief, tense silence, there was another round of gentle knocking.

  “Give us what we want,” said a deep but polite voice from outside. “And we’ll go away.”

  Lock glanced at Seria and saw the veins in her temple throbbing. Her jaw was clenched, and she glared at the door, pointing her sword at it as if expecting it to burst in any second.

  “Who are you?” he called out.

  “Give us what we want,” the voice repeated. “And we’ll go away.”

  Seria crept to the window beside the door. She looked outside and, as if burned, jerked back. “Oh gods, Lock,” she said. “We’re in trouble.”

  He joined her at the window and looked out. The once clear night had become engulfed in a thick mist, making the rest of the world disappear. In front of the house were two robed figures, standing side by side like guards.

  “Give us what we want,” the voice said again.

  Both Lock and Seria jumped. The voice was deliberate and the tone stayed even, but standing by the door, it sounded booming and threatening.

  “Or we’ll come in.”

  * * *

  The cemetery was quiet as expected. Contrary to the scenery, the night air was fresh with the smell of damp grass. The only thing to suggest something was out of place was the sudden drop in temperature the closer one got to the church.

  Deck didn’t have to go inside to check on the Gauntlet. He only needed to approach the dilapidated structure, feel the abrupt chill in the air, and hear Dian whine and slow his pace. The evil relic was as they left it, and it could be felt from a greater distance every day. He likened it to wine spilled on a tablecloth—concentrated in the center and spreading outward.

  “You needn’t check on it,” said Troa, riding up beside him.

  “Just being cautious,” he replied.

  “What is it you expect to happen?”

  “Sheriff Rieko seems like a good man,” he said. “But do we know all his men can be trusted? Who’s to say one won’t see a chance for some easy money by stealing the Gauntlet and selling it to whomever’s after it?”

  “What makes you think Rieko told his men where it was hidden?” Troa asked. “And if you’re really worried about someone finding the Gauntlet, constantly checking on it isn’t going to help.”

  Deck sighed and turned Dian around. As they headed to the cemetery’s gates, he said, “I also just like getting out of the house.”

  “I noticed Cassandra isn’t speaking to you,” Troa said. “Does she know?”

  “I doubt it,” he said. “She’s mad that Lock had to kill that woman. She blames me.”

  “Have you considered talking to her, rather than hoping she’ll just get over it?”

  “She doesn’t want to hear from me. She hates this place.”

  Troa nodded and sighed. “Although Aster is fairly safe, I don’t think Cassandra was prepared for the potential violence of this country.”

  Deck reflected on what Lock had said after they left the Sheriff’s. His brother was right—he didn’t approve of telling the authorities and hoping they would take care of the Gauntlet. He hated sitting around and waiting. He hated leaving the Gauntlet—however safe it might be—stashed in some old church.

  But what were his other options? What should they be doing, if not that?

  As he and Troa reached the gate, he said, “I made a mistake bringing the Gauntlet to our house.”

  “We’ve been over this, Deckard,” said Troa. “We needn’t—”

  “I should’ve handled it myself.”

  Troa stopped his horse and stared at him. “Excuse me?”

  “I shouldn’t have brought it back to Aster,” he said. “I should’ve gone and found a way to destroy it myself.”

  “Deckard, you can’t—”

  The rest of Troa’s words caught in his throat, as all the color drained from his face. Deck felt it, too—the air turned bitter cold, and a thick fog appeared around them. The horses whined, and his blood froze. His stomach churned as he sensed an intangible energy in the air. It felt s
imilar to the Gauntlet’s power, and Deck at last understood what he was feeling was the Black itself.

  Dark powers were near.

  * * *

  Despite the prevalence of magic and sorcery in the world, Lock Synclaire had never personally experienced it. He’d heard tales of mages and warlocks who could control the elements, harness great powers from nothing, summon strange creatures, and commune with unseen spirits—but he never saw it firsthand.

  If it had been up to him, he would have preferred to go through his life never experiencing the power of mages. And if he had to find himself faced with it, he would have preferred it under different circumstances.

  “Give us what we want,” said the voice coming from the door. “Or we’ll come in.”

  Seria was sweating, and he could tell her mind was racing to come up with a plan. His heart pounded, and he felt his dinner threatening to come back up.

  “Last chance,” the voice said. “Give us what we want, or—”

  Acting on impulse, Lock snarled an expression he’d heard in Aster’s tavern: “Eat shit!”

  Clutching his sword, he plunged the blade through the front door. It slid through as if the wood was paper, and although he couldn’t see anything, he felt the tip strike something on the other side. A strange jolt traveled through the sword, and his hands felt freezing cold.

  A whine came from the other side, and for just a moment, the atmosphere inside the house returned to normal. He pulled his sword out and glanced at Seria. She looked at him with an incredulous expression.

  “Bad idea..?” he asked.

  Before she could respond, he heard Cassie shout, “Lock! What’s going on? What was that noise?”

  She was on the stairs, and he was about to warn her to hide, when he heard a quick gasp—as if something very big outside drew in breath—and the door burst inward with the sound of thunder. The front windows exploded into broken shards, and a terrible shriek echoed throughout the house.

  Lock flew through the air with a large portion of the shattered door slamming into his head. He hit the floor at the foot of the stairs with splinters raining around him. His ears rang, and for a moment, he felt like he was floating.

  Still regaining his bearings, an invisible grip grabbed him by the throat and lifted him into the air. He flailed about, struggling to breathe and trying to free himself from nothing at all.

  Mist poured in through the door, followed by a tall figure wearing a black robe. He dropped his hood, revealing a white-faced man with solid black eyes. His long hair was slicked back and streaked with gray. He looked at Lock and glided toward him, his pointed face scowling.

  Behind him, the two other robed figures from outside glided into the house. Lock barely registered what was happening. His breathing strained, and he was getting lightheaded. He kicked and flailed, but the dark-eyed man in front of him was out of reach.

  “That was ill-advised.”

  Lock hovered a foot above the floor. His face was turning purple and veins bulged in his neck and temple.

  The mage glared at him, as if looking into his very soul. “Wye! Do you sense it? Is it here?”

  Wye removed his hood, revealing a bald man with a long face. He looked around and said, “It was here.”

  “And you, Zee,” said the leader. “What do you sense?”

  “It might still be here, Yu,” said Zee, a woman with a wrinkled face, black hair, and pink eyes. “The taint is strong.”

  “But it might be gone,” Wye added.

  Yu grumbled. “One more chance,” he said to Lock. “Tell us where it is, and we will go away.”

  “Stop it!” Cassie shouted from up the stairs. “Leave us alone!”

  “Tell us where it is,” Yu repeated. “Or we make her scream.”

  Lock’s strength was fading. The world became hazy and far away. Unconsciousness came upon him. Seria..?

  As if in answer, Seria charged from the den, swinging her sword at Wye. She struck him, and there was a flash of white, followed by an echoing screech. The mage threw his head back, and a burst of what looked like ink spewed into the air. The black robe dissipated into dust and ash.

  Wasting no movement, Seria hurled a dagger at Yu while swinging her blade at Zee. The female mage evaded the attack—launching herself into the air with a crazed scream like a banshee.

  Yu dodged the knife, and the grip keeping Lock in the air released. He crumbled to the floor gasping, and acting on instinct, grabbed his sword and threw all his weight into an upward swing at the mage in front of him. Yu dodged this attack, but not the kick to the gut Lock followed it with. The mage hunched over with a grunt.

  Zee’s face was a grimace of rage. She raised her arms, and her hands glowed with what appeared to be purple fire. “Die!” she shrieked. “Die! Die! Die!”

  A glowing ball of purple fire shot from her hands at Lock, but Seria tackled him before it struck. The foot of the stairs exploded into a rubble of stone and dust.

  Debris struck Seria in the head. She slumped to the floor, groaning, with a stream of blood pouring down her face. Zee, now cackling with glee, pounced onto her like an attacking insect. She held Seria by her hair and extended her glowing hand.

  Lock swung his sword at Zee’s arm, severing it before it struck Seria. Zee made no noise, only staring in shock at the stump where her hand had been. With another swing, Lock lopped off the mage’s head, and like Wye, her soul tore out from her robe in a spray of howling ink.

  He turned his attention to Yu, but the warlock hurled another ball of flames. Lock dodged the explosion and dove into the study with a cloud of dust behind him. He pressed his back against the wall, coughing, and braced for another round of fireballs.

  Instead, he heard Yu bellow, “Enough! Tell me where the Gauntlet is, or this one dies!”

  Lock looked around the study’s door, and his heart jumped. At the top of the stairs, Yu held Cassie by her throat. She kicked and squirmed, but to no avail, and Lock could swear his sister had never looked so small or fragile.

  “Last chance!” Yu snarled. “Master Bane’s Gauntlet! Now!”

  Seria was still down. Despite the distance, Lock could see Yu’s grip on Cassie’s neck tighten. He saw the pain on her face.

  “Okay!” he shouted. “You win.”

  * * *

  Despite everything, Deck couldn’t help but be amused by the situation. He and Troa were trapped in a cemetery, during a dark and foggy night, and literal evil powers were out to get them. Drawing his sword, he realized with a smirk he was now in the old campfire stories his friends would tell each other when they were kids.

  While trying to keep their horses under control, Deck and Troa saw two figures emerge from the fog. They wore flowing black robes and looked like devilish wraiths amidst the cemetery’s tombstones.

  “It is near, Vee,” said one of them.

  “I know, Eckz,” she replied. “I feel it, too.”

  “They know where it is,” Eckz said.

  “Do we make them tell us?” Vee asked. “Or do we make them scream?”

  “It’s close. It’s very close …”

  “Then we don’t need them …”

  “The hell with this,” Deck muttered, jabbing Dian in the side and charging forward. The two mages disappeared into the fog before he reached them. This didn’t surprise him, but if there was to be a fight, he would rather it get started than listen to them blather.

  Troa had drawn his sword. The mist, which seemed to be glowing, swirled around them like malevolent spirits. Deck, having never battled magic-users, held his sword tight and braced for anything.

  Beneath him, Dian screeched and collapsed to the ground. He just missed cracking his skull on a tombstone in the fall—but his arrow wound exploded in pain. When he looked, skeletal hands were clutching the horse’s legs and holding it down.

  “Deckard!” Troa shouted. “Get away from the graves!”

  Suddenly, Troa’s horse was wrapped in what appeared to be glow
ing purple vines from the ground. The animal shrieked, and he dove off before getting dragged down.

  Deck returned his attention to Dian and saw the skeletal hands clawing at the horse’s neck. Gritting his teeth, and ignoring the burning in his shoulder, he hacked the decaying hands away and allowed Dian to get up and flee the cemetery.

  Somewhere in the fog, childish laughter echoed. Holding up his sword, Deck yelled, “Fight me, cowards!”

  Eckz emerged from the mist. Saying nothing, the mage raised his hands into the air, and all around Deck, the dead erupted from their graves. Most were down to their skeletons. Some retained their rotting flesh with maggots and worms dripping from them. They shared glowing purple eyes and let out inhuman snarls as they turned to Deck and charged.

  “Eckz!” Vee called out. “The Gauntlet! It’s in the chapel!”

  The two mages glided away, fading into the fog toward the church. More of the undead burst from the ground, ready to fight. Without saying anything, Deck and Troa started cutting their way through the hordes of animated corpses.

  The creatures were lumbering things, only able to swarm with large numbers. They clawed and bit, but Deck and Troa cut them down with relative ease. Ahead, barely visible through the fog, Eckz and Vee were about to reach the church.

  Displaying strength Deck had never seen before, Troa leapt high into the air—reaching nearly ten feet—and hurled his sword at the mages. It plunged into Vee’s back, and Deck heard a quick cry of pain before the mage burst into what looked like an eruption of black ink.

  Eckz turned his attention to Troa, and with a blood-curdling roar, raised another dozen corpses from the ground and pointed them at the Eldér. Deck watched in horror as the undead creatures swarmed his friend.

  Despite his instinct to rush to Troa’s defense, he cut his way to Eckz. The mage almost didn’t see him coming—too focused on seeing the Eldér killed.

  Deck saw dawning fear in the mage’s eyes before he brought his sword down in a chopping motion between Eckz’s eyes. Like Vee, Eckz burst into nothing, and with him, the animated corpses disintegrated into dust.

  In a near instant, the darkness passed and peace returned to the cemetery. Deck rushed to Troa and was relieved to find the Eldér alive—covered in cuts, scratches, and even claw and bite marks, but alive.