Yo ho ho and a bottle of rum
Drink and the devil had done for the rest
Yo ho ho and a bottle of rum
—TRADITIONAL PIRATE SONG
29
WITH THE SAILS IN PLACE, THE TRIP moved in small, quick bursts, gaining speed and putting miles behind them, or none at all, as the ship moved at the mercy of the wind. Wes was on deck, in the crow’s nest at the top of the mast. He squinted. A small light emerged from the fog. It grew brighter and closer, and Wes could hear voices from the craft.
A ship!
Rescue!
Wes was not the type to believe in miracles but, against his better nature, he began to hope. If it was a mercenary ship, he might be able to make some sort of a trade—he just hoped it wasn’t a naval boat or a slaver. Then they were sunk. But if it was a fellow merc . . . Wes believed there was honor among thieves, among traders and vets and runners like him who worked on the fringes. Sure, they were scavengers and sellouts, losers and gamblers, but they had to work together, or they would be picked off one by one by the RSA, who would either throw them all in the pen or shoot them on sight, or by the slavers, who were far more dangerous and answered to no authority but their own.
He hadn’t told Shakes that Nat had told him about the stone, that she had confirmed it to be what they had suspected all along, and had even offered it to him. Why had he turned it down? He was supposed to take it—steal it from her—it was just a game to see who would win, who would give in first. Could he trick her into trusting him? He had won at last. So why did he feel as if he had lost?
She trusted him, so why was he so melancholy? Because Shakes would be disappointed, and didn’t he owe the guy his life? And more? Nah. It wasn’t that. Because if he’d accepted the stone and sold it to Bradley, they would be set up, rewarded, hailed as kings of New Vegas? Nah. It wasn’t that, either. Bradley could jump off a cliff as far as Wes was concerned, and as far as riches went, all he needed was a decent meal and a place to sleep and he was happy. He was in a bad mood because now they were closer to their destination than ever before. Only ten days away, and once they arrived there, he would never see her again.
That was what was bothering him.
There was nothing he could do to change that, nothing he could do to make her stay. He hadn’t planned on feeling this way, but there it was. Oh well, maybe he could make it up to Shakes somehow. Maybe today was their lucky day. There was a ship on the horizon.
“You see it?” he asked, climbing down to where Shakes was already at the rails with binoculars.
“Yeah. A boat.”
“What kind?”
“Hard to say.” Shakes handed over the binoculars and scratched the scruff on his chin. “Take a look.”
Wes did and his heart sank. It was a mercenary ship all right, but it was much worse off than theirs, without motor or sail. Just another unlucky crew like his, maybe even unluckier. The hull had a huge hole in it, but unlike their boat, it wasn’t patched, and the deck was quickly filling with dark water. It was sinking and was likely going to capsize at any moment. It was the ship’s luck to run into them, not the other way around.
He zeroed in on the crowd huddled on the deck. Through the green lenses, he could see a family with small children. They were waving frantically. Wes handed the binoculars back to Shakes, calculating the risks, the odds. Five more mouths to feed, he counted. Two of them children. They had so little already, they couldn’t possibly stretch their supplies any more; the soldiers were already eating bark. What could he offer this family?
His boys were massed on the deck, awaiting orders. The broken ship had drifted nearer, and now all of them could see who was on board and what was at stake. Wes knew how the Slaine brothers would vote, and Farouk would probably agree, although the adventure he had expected wasn’t turning out quite as he had hoped. They were all cold, hungry, and lost. But Shakes was ready with the rope, and Nat looked at him expectantly.
“We can’t just stand here and do nothing,” she said, almost daring him to argue with her.
“When you save someone’s life, you’re responsible for it.” Wes sighed. But even with his misgivings, he took the rope and threw it overboard, and someone on the other boat caught it. Better to let them drown, he thought; it was probably more merciful. But if he were that kind of guy, they would be heading to Bradley with Anaximander’s Map in hand and Nat in the brig.
With Shakes’s help, they pulled the sinking boat closer, and one by one the soldiers helped the family climb up on deck. The first to board was a young woman, draped in heavy black robes, her entire body and face covered in the black fabric so that only her eyes were visible.
“Thank you,” she croaked, taking Shakes’s outstretched hand. “We thought no one would ever find us out here.” Then she noticed his fatigues and shuddered. “Oh god . . .”
“Relax, we’re just a bunch of vets,” Shakes assured her.
Following behind her were a mother, father, and two children. The group of them huddled in a blanket. The parents were deathly ill, with pale and gaunt faces, profoundly malnourished, and Wes guessed they had been out here for several weeks with little water or food, and whatever there was to eat or drink had been given to the children.
“Where’s the captain?” he asked, taking the rope. The girl and the family must have been cargo; they looked like pilgrims searching for the Blue. This had to be a mercenary ship, but where was the crew?
He took the rope and climbed down to the sinking ship. Since he’d opted to do the right thing, he had to see it all through.
“Don’t—” the girl in black warned. “It’s—”
But it was too late, Wes was already on board and had headed down to the lower decks to see if he could find the crew. Down below, the empty cabins were filled waist high with water. He walked back up to the upper deck to the bridge, and there he found the answer to his question. Two deckhands, both dead—shot in the head, it looked like. The captain was at the helm, slumped over, cold and dead, another bullet in the middle of his forehead. The bridge was enclosed in glass on all sides. Wes could see the holes where the shots had entered and exited. The bullets had come from another vessel, and the clean shots to the head told the rest of the story. If the ship had been attacked by slavers, the men would have seen them coming and hid from their fire. But the crew never saw these shots coming. Only a trained sniper could take out a mark from nearly a click. The dead men never even knew they were targets.
Whoever did this hadn’t even bothered to board the ship to look for passengers. With the crew dead and the hull leaking, the ocean would claim anyone left on the boat. Only the RSA would let its citizens drown and starve as punishment for crossing the forbidden ocean.
So, the naval carriers were out on patrol. They would have to be even more careful now, make sure none of the boys or Nat stayed up on deck during the daylight hours; the crew would hate it, no one liked being trapped down in the cabins, but if the snipers were out there . . .
The ship lurched to the side and Wes climbed quickly down the narrow stairs that led back to the deck. He nearly tripped on the last step. Something had changed, the walls were moving, the ship was taking on more water. The sinking ship had three open ports and maybe even a few blast holes that were allowing additional water to enter the craft, increasing her rate of descent as she sank quickly now into the sea. Wes reached the deck, but it was too late; one side of the craft had caught on the tip of a trashberg and the other was submerged below the water. The ship’s metal hull ripped and the ocean flooded in all around him.
Wes ran back to the bridge where the dead men rested. Their blank eyes stared at him from all sides. The black water was following him up the stairs. In a moment the ship would be entirely under water. He pulled the captain’s chair from its mount and rammed it through the broken glass. The shattered pane collapsed and the chair flew into
the ocean. Wes climbed out, cutting himself as he struggled to reach the roof of the bridge.
He leapt from the wreckage toward the rope that was dangling from his ship, but the distance was too far, and he flailed, falling to the water.
He locked eyes with Daran—who held the rope, his eyes flat and cold. Where was Shakes? “THROW IT BACK!” Wes yelled. Daran remained impassive, and Wes knew what he was thinking. Without Wes, Daran would only have Shakes to deal with, and that wouldn’t be too hard; he would be able to take care of Shakes and Nat, throw them overboard with the stupid starving family as soon as Wes drowned, then take control of the ship and head back home.
“THROW IT BACK, I SAID!”
But Daran merely shrugged. He watched without remorse as the water rose.
Wes screamed as he plunged below the surface. He tried to close his eyes and mouth, but it all happened too fast. The black fluid burnt like alcohol in his mouth. He pressed his eyelids closed in an attempt to push back the black water. His arms flailed in the smooth alien liquid. But his legs kicked hard, and he was able to pull himself up, and break through, gasping for air. He squinted, looking around, but his blurred vision saw only gray sky and water. The rope was gone.
Nat . . . , he cried in his mind, can you hear me?
Cold waves crashed over his head. He closed his eyes as he sank below again. Something crashed into his spine. Maybe it was a rail from the ship or just some random piece of junk; either way, it stung, and he opened his mouth involuntarily. Black water filled his lungs. He was drowning. He would die.
But just as he took his last breath, he felt a warm, powerful force lift him up from the water and toward the rope, and he lunged out and grabbed it, as Shakes and Nat pulled him to safety. He fell onto the deck on all fours, and they helped him up, Nat putting her arms around him.
“All right, boss?” Shakes said, patting his back. “I’ll get you a Nutri, be right back.”
“Thank you,” he said, taking Nat’s hand. He felt the lovely warmth of her skin, so like the warmth that had saved him from sure death. He should have kissed her the other day. He wanted to kiss her now.
“Nat . . . look at me,” he said. “What’s wrong?”
She bowed her head.
“Don’t cry.”
“It’s nothing,” she said, pulling out of his grasp.
Wes let her go, feeling his emotions roil within him. She’d heard him call for her. There was something between them they couldn’t deny anymore. It scared her—and it scared him, too. But another part of him was happy, happier than he’d ever felt in his life. He wished she hadn’t run away like that. He felt a sudden emptiness, as if she had answered his question without him asking it, and the answer, alas, was no. This was not meant to be.
“What was that all about?” Farouk asked.
“She pulled him from the ocean,” Daran spat.
“How’d she do that?”
“She can do that sort of thing because she’s marked, dumb-ass. Or are you as blind as Shakes?”
“She’s marked . . . right . . . I forgot . . .”
“And she’s not the only one.” Zedric nodded, pointing to the girl draped in black.
30
NAT STUMBLED AS SHE WALKED AWAY from the group gathered around the rail. She had heard Wes call for her—had seen his distress so clearly—the black water around his face, his open mouth in a silent scream. Before she knew what she was doing, she had been able to focus her power like never before, to send her strength to save him. He unlocked something in her that she’d never been able to do before, and it frightened her. She could sense the voice in her head was silent, disapproving. Wes was falling for her, too, and it was wrong of her to encourage it. It had been a flirtation, nothing more, but now . . . now it was different. The way he looked at her! He couldn’t feel that way about her. He would only get hurt. She could only hurt him. That’s what she did. She hurt people.
Fire and pain.
Rage and ruin.
Daran with his bloody, burnt hand.
She would push him away, she decided. She would make him forget her. It was wrong of her to have led him on . . . to have made him think that he could ever be anything to her but a runner she had hired.
When she’d recovered, she looked back to see what the crew was staring at—the girl wearing long black robes, a cowl over her head, a scarf around her neck and mouth, long black gloves on her hands. Her bright violet eyes and golden hair glittered from the darkness of her hood.
“I know what you are,” Daran sneered, pointing his gun at her menacingly.
“Leave her alone,” Shakes warned, coming up next to him and unlocking his gun.
But Daran wouldn’t stop or he couldn’t help himself. He’d gone unhinged, Nat realized. He was on the edge before, but now he was well and truly lost. Nat feared for the girl. Daran had shown his hand—had revealed his tell—he’d already tried to hurt Nat and, just moments before, he’d even tried to get rid of Wes. He was dangerous, a powder keg ready to explode.
“What do you look like under that curtain you wear? Like a candy-colored corpse? Or a painted skeleton?”
Zedric backed away nervously.
“She’s a guest,” Wes warned, his tone commanding. “And this is still my boat. Put the gun down, Daran. I won’t ask you again.”
There was an ugly silence, and no one moved; Nat felt as if she had forgotten to breathe. Daran shifted, and Wes preempted his strike, but Daran had already cocked his gun. He was raving. “I don’t want no dirty sylph around—”
“PUT IT DOWN!” Wes yelled, holding up his own weapon. He fired, the bullet clipping Daran’s elbow, but it was too late.
Daran had fired, shooting the dark-robed girl point-blank.
“NO!” Nat screamed as Shakes dove in front of the hooded pilgrim. But there was no need. The bullet had disappeared. In an instant, the sky darkened and thunder rumbled. Then the clouds parted and the strange light that had appeared the night before returned.
From out of the darkness came the screech of the wailer. One moment Daran was standing on the deck, and in the next, he was torn from the ship by an unseen hand.
“WHAT HAPPENED? WHERE IS HE?” Zedric yelled, spinning around, pointing his gun every which way.
A cry echoed across the water, angry and victorious. It wanted blood and had gotten it. Nat felt its exultation as if it were part of her. It was furious and excited, just like in her dreams. Fire and pain, rage and ruin, a dark uncontrollable force, waiting to lash out—murderous with revenge and hatred, it had taken Daran in an instant, had swept him off the deck as if he were a toy. Nat stepped back, unsure of what had happened—had she done that? Had she made that thing—that wailer—do what she wanted to do? No. It couldn’t be. The wailer wasn’t real, was it? What happened to the voice—to the monster in her head? She couldn’t reach it. She couldn’t hear it. She began to panic. What was happening?
“There he is!” Farouk said excitedly. “In the water—over there!”
Wes came up to the rails with binoculars in hand. He saw the small figure of Daran bobbing above the waves, waving his arms. Whatever had taken Daran had thrown him half a mile away in a few seconds.
“Bring him back!” Zedric screamed, cocking a gun and aiming it at the girl. But he wouldn’t get a chance.
There was a blow, and Zedric fell to the ground unconscious. Shakes stood behind him, holding his rifle aloft, trembling a little, but with a smile on his face.
“Sorry about that. I need to teach the boys some manners,” he said.
The girl smiled. “I am Liannan of the White Mountain,” she said.
“Vincent Valez,” Shakes said, smiling bashfully.
“Can you bring him back?” Wes asked impatiently, motioning to where Daran was flailing. They could hear his screams of fury echoing across the water.
/> Liannan shook her head. “No. The drakon took him and only the drakon can decide his fate now.”
“Well—we’ll have to get him out—he’s a jackass, but he’s still part of my crew.” With Shakes’s and Farouk’s help, Wes moved to push a lifeboat into the water, but a powerful gust of wind knocked them back on the deck. The sickly wailing sound returned, and Wes felt something hot and sharp rake across his back, tearing through the layers he wore and ripping into his skin.
He turned around, but there was nothing. Shakes returned his confusion with a dazed look on his face.
“What was that?” Farouk asked anxiously, holding his head.
“The drakon does not suffer him to live,” Liannan said placidly. “Do not cross it or fear its wrath.”
“We’re risking our own lives to help that jerk,” Farouk argued. “C’mon, boss, let him drown.”
Wes shook his head. “No—help me get this boat in. I’m not leaving anyone behind.”
“He killed the messenger, he assaulted its familiar, and so the drakon demands a life for a life,” Liannan murmured. “I must advise you not to go against his wishes.”
They tried again, and this time the wind stopped them, so that the ship teetered wildly and tipped to the starboard edge.
“Hold on!” Wes screamed, as Nat tumbled forward, Wes catching her just in time. As everyone scrambled for purchase, Zedric slipped, rolling toward the edge, but Farouk caught him and he was able to hold on to the mast.
“Shakes!” Nat yelled, as they watched Shakes tumble into the dark water.
“Get him!” Wes yelled to Farouk, but it was no use.
“Pull me out!” Shakes sputtered, his head appearing above the waves, his arms waving wildly. “Help me!”
But the wind kept everyone back, kept them clinging to the rails, unable to help. Shakes would drown. They were going to lose him, Nat knew. Spare him. Please, she prayed, not knowing whom she was entreating with her cry. Not him. Not Shakes. He is my friend.
Frozen: Heart of Dread, Book One Page 15