The Jinxed Pirate (Graylands Book 2)

by M. Walsh

  “Hiya, Lee,” she said. “Miss me..?”

  * * *

  Even from Ivan, Katrina smelled the burning. The skyline was shrouded in black smoke, like a demonic entity hovering over the plateau. Word of the fighting spread through the district already. The riot had started, and Seba was eating itself alive. Some were fleeing the city—though where they planned to go, she couldn’t guess. Most were battening down and preparing for the worst.

  So what am I going to do?

  That was the question she kept wondering. Her left hand was still useless, but she was otherwise in decent fighting condition. She was confident she could handle anything she might encounter. But why would she even go? What was stopping her from leaving and letting the city burn behind her?

  Jagger …

  In the years since Vigor, he’d become a different man than the one she knew. He became a monster. A hired killer who worked for evil men. He’d beaten her. He buried her alive and left her for dead. He made it clear he hated her and wanted no part of her.

  But she still cared.

  She reflected on the things Scifer Olc said and couldn’t deny they were true. She looked back on her years in Vigor, and although the prophesied Chosen One was something thrust upon her, she really had wanted to save her people. Despite everything she’d gone through and all the pain and loss she endured, she couldn’t let her hate consume her. She didn’t want to be a chosen hero … but that didn’t mean she wanted to be dead inside either.

  “I still care, Jagger.”

  She looked at the burning city and knew she needed to at least try. In the end, as foolish as it might have been, she didn’t want to give up on him. She knew she was probably wasting her time, but she couldn’t let go of the man she loved yet. He’d done terrible things, but so had she.

  She clenched her left hand, hearing a crack and grimacing at the stiffness of it. She couldn’t walk away. Not yet.

  Grasping her sword, she headed into Seba.

  * * *

  As smoke began to shroud Seba atop its plateau, the docks of Frank flooded with people trying to board a ship and escape. Men and women fought to get as far away as possible, and dockworkers and seamen fought to prevent the ships from overcrowding.

  There was one man, however, who was going the opposite direction. People parted as he passed—either recognizing who he was, or sensing what he carried with him. Perhaps both.

  He strode toward the city with an eager grin on his scarred face. He hadn’t known about Seba’s state, but seeing the city in chaos filled him with great joy and anticipation. Despite all temptation, he hadn’t killed anyone on the voyage. He didn’t know what brought this about, nor did he care.

  Now that he was there, he needn’t contain himself any longer. His blades thirsted for blood, and they would be satisfied.

  The Jackal had come.

  54

  After leaving Big Jim’s house, Lily found herself in the woods outside Madoc. The night was quiet and still. She sat beside a tree, hugging her knees, and let the thick fog envelope her, wishing she could disappear into it forever.

  She thought of James and his talk of belief. She remembered Dust and his talk about evil. Most of all, she kept coming back to Benedict Vogel. According to him, she was an anomaly. A fancy word for freak—a thing that should not be.

  Maybe evil was just a word humans invented to describe the Black. And maybe good was only something they labeled the Light because it opposed the Black. Maybe good and evil were only things that needed to be believed in order to have power. She didn’t know, and she didn’t understand why she cared either way.

  She decided to leave Madoc that night. She wouldn’t bother telling Dust or give him the chance to change her mind. She’d head south and endure as best she could. She didn’t know where she belonged—if she belonged anywhere at all—but it wasn’t with the reavers.

  She crept along the edge of town, hoping to go unnoticed, when she sensed something in the Black stir. A reaver was nearby. Her first instinct was to ignore it, but she looked through the fog and found one in a field. It appeared to be Ashe—though she couldn’t be sure—and although he was in his human form, she was struck by how inhuman he looked.

  He was standing over something, hunched over and his legs spread. It was a pose that gave Lily the mental picture of a spider. Without thinking why, she got closer, passing through a line of trees and brush, and saw he was feeding. She squinted through the fog and saw the tiny form of a person beneath him.

  That’s … a … child..!

  With a hiss, she grabbed him by the back of his neck and hurled him away. The child was a young girl no older than ten. Her strawberry-blonde hair looked faded to gray, and her eyes were hollow and distant. A thin gasping noise came from her mouth, and Lily saw with horror Ashe had been close to draining her completely.

  “Oi!” he barked behind her. “Get your own!”

  “You’ve almost killed this girl,” she said without looking at him.

  “Aye,” he said. “Been feedin’ on her since we got here. Lotta life in this one.”

  “If you take anymore, she will die.” Her voice was cold, and she hadn’t taken her eyes off the tiny, frail child at her feet.

  “Meh. It happens,” he said. “Lemme finish and—”

  Using her orc strength, she struck him in the jaw with the back of her fist. Ashe was launched five feet away and landed with a splat on the damp grass.

  There was a moment of confusion that turned to anger. His eyes glowed yellow, and he sprang to his feet. He crouched down, hissing, reminding Lily again of a spider.

  “Shoulda known you weren’t one of us,” he snarled. “Shade said you couldn’t be trusted.”

  Lily scowled at the creature before her, looking into whatever passed for his soul. He wasn’t like Big Jim or James or even Byron Stark. There was nothing there but hunger.

  Her eyes burning red and claws growing from her hand, she said, “She was right. I’m nothing like you.”

  Ashe charged, but the reaver proved to be no fighter. She dodged his attacks with ease until she snatched him by his throat and slammed him into the ground. She pinned him down and slashed his face with her claws, making black-colored blood splatter onto the grass.

  Ashe squirmed and struggled, making inhuman hissing and whining noises. In his panic, she saw his human form waver. His skin faded to yellow and looked too loose for his body. The whites of his eyes turned black. His teeth decayed, turning gray and jagged.

  “Mercy!” he choked, his voice sounding high and raspy. “Mercy please!”

  “Go back to your tribe,” said Lily, releasing him. “Tell them to leave tonight and never come back to this town.”

  He looked baffled, as if she was speaking a foreign language.

  “Go,” she said, turning her back to him. “Now.”

  She checked on the small girl, whose breathing was strained. Behind her, Ashe growled. She felt the Black and sensed emptiness from the reaver behind her.

  “You don’t give us orders, traitor!” he snarled, hooked claws growing from his hands. “We do as we please wherever we choose. The humans are prey, and we’ll feed on them as long as we desire!”

  “Not anymore.”

  Without looking, she drew a dagger from her boot and plunged it into his heart as he charged. Ashe’s face locked into a grimace of horror, and she took a step back as his body dissolved into rotten black and yellow pus. Reavers, it seemed, died not unlike succubi or incubi: messy.

  Lily watched the puddle of rot and bone that was Ashe and realized Dust had it wrong. Her kind were creatures of the Black, and their enemy were beings of Light. Humans, Eldér, Graigfolk, and all the rest were neither and both—capable of good and evil. That didn’t make them beneath her or her kind. It was the other way around.

  Ashe’s victim was close to death. Not knowing where she lived, Lily took her to the Pilgrim’s Stop in the town square and placed her at the doorstep. She knocked and d
isappeared into the fog—only far enough to see the keeper open the door and find the child laying there.

  She couldn’t be sure the girl would make it, but she was young—a better chance than most. Hopefully someone in the Stop will see to it she was taken care of and she’d recover.

  Otherwise, Lily had business with the carnival.

  55

  Early evening combined with the fires spreading all over the city and smoke wafting in the air, turning the sky a sinister shade of orange streaked with black. Krutch looked up at Audra standing over him. With the sky above her looking the way it did, a sword in her hand dripping blood and grin on her face, she had the appearance of a mad goddess.

  “Hey, Audra,” he said. “How’s things?”

  “I’m good, Krutch,” she said. “I’m feeling damn good.”

  “That’s nice,” he said, getting to his feet. “Uh, thanks, I guess. I don’t know if you—”

  Her grin turned into a crazed snarl, and she swung the sword with all her strength at his face. He avoided the cut—sensing the tip of the blade mere inches from his nose. Unlike the late Magistrate, Audra wasn’t thrown off balance by an unwieldy sword, and with fire in her eyes, she pressed her attack with more swings.

  Krutch put his hand up on reflex and caught a slash across his palm for it. The burning cut snapped him back to reality, and he ducked under another of Audra’s swings to run away, seeing no point in trying to reason with her.

  “Big bad Krutch Leeroy!” she shouted. “Afraid of little ol’ me..?”

  Unfortunately, even if his leg wasn’t injured, Audra was far more spry and athletic than he could ever be. He only ran a few yards before she came up behind him with a running kick to the center of his back.

  He flew through the air and landed on his stomach. His teeth rattled, and the tip of his chin scraped across the ground. He rolled over without thinking and dodged Audra’s attempt to impale him through the back.

  He reached his knees and thought to punch her, but with his wounded leg, he had no leverage. Audra took advantage of the opening with a spinning kick to his head that sent him stumbling face-first into a nearby brick wall. His vision exploded into black and pink confetti, and he crumbled to the ground with a bleeding nose.

  “Um,” he moaned, too dizzy to stand. “Would it help if I said I was sorry..?”

  “Nope,” said Audra, sounding playful. “I’ve moved on, Krutch. I found me a real man. A man who’ll understand me, as I understand him. It’ll be me and him against the world. And we’re going to have so much fun.”

  “Hey, good for you!” he said. “Why don’t you let me go, and you and your new boyfriend can—”

  “Nope,” she said, pointing the tip of her blade at Krutch’s throat. “See, my new man isn’t just going to welcome me with open arms. I need to prove I’m his match. The only way he’ll realize we’re soulmates is if I hand him your head on a platter!”

  She raised the sword, and he said, “That’s not true, Audra. Surely he’ll see it if you just be yourself. I’m positive he’ll love you all the same even if—BLARGH!”

  Ignoring the horrific pain it brought to his thigh, Krutch lunged at her and drove his shoulder into her gut. He tackled her down and without wasting a second smashed his forehead into her face.

  Audra clasped her nose and howled. Despite the pain in his leg and dizziness from blows to the head, Krutch ran as best he could, as fast as he could.

  First Clock, then Gash, and Evelyn. Elliot and Goblins. A riot and now Audra. He was halfway across Mannix Square, wondering what else could happen, when …

  “KRUTCH LEEROY!”

  He limped to a stop to find standing before him a disheveled man with a crazed look in his eyes. He was armed with a massive halberd, stained with blood, and wearing a filthy suit with white vest that looked singed, as if he’d been in a fire.

  “Remember me, Leeroy..?” Brother Eren Lucas bellowed, looking like the wrath of some angry god. “Remember me, you WRETCH?!”

  “Oh, fuck me.”

  * * *

  Deck Synclaire always fancied himself a warrior. Like many young men, he dreamed of charging into battle, sword at the ready, and cutting down his foes in the name of justice or honor. His encounters with bandits and mages aside, his sword hadn’t tasted much blood, nor he witness true battle. But what he found when he passed Roller’s Place came so fast, even he was overwhelmed by it.

  Sitting atop Dian, when he found the fighting in the street, he wasn’t sure how to respond. A part of him thought he should do something, but he reminded himself saving Cassie was the reason he was in Seba. Whatever was going on, he thought, it didn’t concern him. He turned to leave, only to find the chaos wasn’t limited to Roller’s Place.

  Looters appeared from Tramp Road and pulled him down from his horse. He hit the ground hard, and crazed men and women piled on top of him. Unable to stand under their kicks and smothering, there was a moment he feared he already reached the end of his journey.

  With a harsh roar, he forced his attackers off and drew his sword, cutting the jaw from the man nearest him in the process. Some scattered—either out of fear, or because they lost interest—but a handful of rioters remained with murder in their eyes. Deck had no idea how or why he earned their attention, but he didn’t care.

  The first two were cut down in a fluid motion, and one watched in horror as his rusty sword shattered under Deck’s blade. He might have begged for mercy, but Deck plunged his blade into his gut before a word could be uttered. The remaining two fled.

  He let them go and caught his breath. His shoulder was bleeding—the arrow wound opened again. His head hurt from the fall, but aside from that, he was unharmed.

  He looked around and understood this was no mere scuffle or brawl. The city was at war with itself, and he needed to find Cassie now. Dian had fled, and with a sigh, he proceeded on foot.

  The chaos was indeed all over Seba, but he encountered little harassment. There was madness on every corner, but most of the rioters were focused on themselves, looting or settling whatever grudges or bloodlust they had. Every so often, Deck would be attacked or challenged, but he made quick work of them and pressed on.

  The fighting was worst in the Square. Goblins and armored men tore into each other as crazed Seba citizens pillaged around them. Deck kept to the edge of the Square, defending himself when need be, but focused on getting into the tower. It seemed the possibility of a proper plan was gone.

  With no choice, he took a breath and charged into the fray and fought his way into the tower. It seemed the majority of guards indeed left with Dune, as Deck found almost no one inside. With any luck, he thought, Gash and whoever else seeking the Gauntlet would destroy themselves and leave him and his family in peace.

  Although few guards, the hardest part was finding his way around. He assumed any dungeons would be in the lower bowels of the tower, but it was a massive structure full of winding halls and numerous chambers.

  He turned a corner, only for it to lead nowhere. He found stairs that only went up. Every door led deeper into the fortress, but no closer to what he was seeking.

  He ran blind, entering and exiting every door he came across. He passed rooms that all looked the same—only to wind up back where he started. He could swear he heard laughter coming from the shadows around him.

  With every wrong turn and dead end, he felt more frantic. It was as though his nightmare had come to life. Instead of the troll’s cave, he was lost in a darkened maze, knowing his sister was in danger and unable to find his way out.

  He was sweating, and his legs ached. Every so often, he passed a window and saw the fires in Seba spreading and the fighting no closer to stopping. He began to fear even if he did find the dungeon, Cassie would already be dead or gone.

  Finally, after what felt to him like hours, he came across a passageway leading to the lower levels. Once he found the dungeon, he called out Cassie’s name.

  There was no answer.
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  Deck nearly collapsed, his mind flooded with horrifying possibilities. Had Dune taken her with him when he left? Was she handed over to Dune’s employer? Was she somewhere else in the city? Was she dead?

  In desperation, he repeated, “Cassie!”

  “Deck!” she screamed out. “Is it really you..?”

  The relief came in a great wave, and with it, oddly, the urge to throw up. He resisted and rushed to her cell. “I’m here,” he said. “I’ll get you out of there.”

  He shattered the lock with his sword, and upon opening the door, Cassie rushed into his arms with tears in her eyes.

  “You,” she said. “You came for me..!”

  “I was due to do something right.”

  Her face lit up with a smile, and Deck swore he’d never seen his sister appear so happy or beautiful. She wrapped her arms around him and hugged him tight, repeating, “Thank you,” over and over.

  “Are you hurt?” he asked. “Did they do anything to you?”

  “No,” she said. “No, they just took me. But Troa..! I don’t know what happened to Troa!”

  “Don’t worry,” he said, even though he wasn’t sure if Troa really was alive. “Lock and Seria are looking after him. I’m going to get you out of here.”

  “Oh, Deck,” she said, hugging him again. “I’m sorry! I’m sorry for what I said! I could never hate you!”

  “You don’t have to apologize for anything,” he said. “I brought this on us. This is my fault.” He held her by the shoulders and looked in her eyes. “But that’s over with. I’m going to make it up to you now. You and Lock. I promise.”

  She smiled, tears streaming down her cheeks. Deck hugged her again, grateful he had a chance to make it up to his little sister.

  * * *

  “You escaped me at the mission, but not this time!”

  Upon seeing the vengeful Brother Lucas again, mental exhaustion returned to Krutch, and with it, the desire to just sit down and allow whatever might happen to come. It seemed to him this disaster in Seba was a fitting culmination of his curse. All his brushes of bad luck had come together in this one place to collide and combust.