Souls of the Dark Sea

by A F Stewart

  Chapter Eleven

  Old Mother Abel

  “SO DO WE TRUST HIM?” Blackthorne inquired of his captain, referring to Lord Merrill who was safely back on shore in Abersythe. The two of them stood together on the quarterdeck, Rafe finally above deck and talkative now that they were in sight of Outcast Key.

  “Lord Merrill? I think we do trust him. He still has his secrets, I’m sure, but don’t we all. And, for now, our interests align.”

  Blackthorne sighed. “That’s good. We don’t need more enemies, especially now. We left one at our back in Black Shoals and look to make another when we weigh anchor.”

  Rafe nodded. “I know. Pelham will have to wait for another day, but Mother Abel is not so much a fool as to make me her enemy. She’ll growl and balk, but she’ll cooperate if only to be rid of us.”

  “I hope you’re right. That woman is trouble.”

  “We can handle trouble, and time is of the essence more than ever.” Rafe shivered at the memory of what he felt coming out of the After World the night before. “Ashetus is growing his army.”

  Blackthorne fell silent and conversation ceased. Only the normal sounds of the ship heralded them into the port of Silver Haven, the only acknowledged settlement of Outcast Key.

  BERTHED IN THE HARBOUR, Rafe and Blackthorne disembarked the ship issuing strict commands for the rest of the crew to remain on board and be vigilant. The Key was well-known for being a home to ruffians, pirates and criminals of all kinds.

  The pair received stares and dirty looks as they strolled along the docks, making their way to the outskirts of town. More than a few men and women fingered knives on their belts, but one look from Rafe discouraged any further actions and they walked to Old Mother Abel’s hut unscathed.

  About five feet from her door, Rafe grabbed Blackthorne’s arm and yanked him to an abrupt halt. “Wait. Something’s not right.”

  The captain mustered a few strands of blue energy from his fingertips and flicked them across the air. They spiralled like arrows and then exploded in a shattering burst of light.

  Blackthorne jumped. “What the damnation! Why did you do that?”

  Rafe grimaced. “I didn’t. There’s a blocking spell across the path. It would have kicked us both back on our asses. I guess Old Mother Abel doesn’t like unexpected visitors.” Rafe summoned more magic. “It won’t take but a moment to break it, though.”

  He let a ball of energy fly full force at the spell, and the two magiks crashed together in a spectacular miniature cataclysm of sparks, sizzle, and luminescence. When the light show faded, Rafe strode forward past where the spell had stood. Blackthorne hesitated and then dashed after his captain.

  “So much for any element of surprise, sir.”

  Rafe growled. “Damn surprise and anything else. I’m tired of games and interference.” He swiftly marched up the path to Mother Abel’s door and pounded his fist against the wood. “Open up old woman! Your parlour tricks didn’t work!”

  Rafe’s knock at the door was met with much banging from the interior of the home and the hoarse shout of ‘Go away!’

  Rafe pounded on the door again and yelled, “Open the door old woman, or I’ll knock it down and you with it!”

  A scream of ‘Damnation!’ and hurried footsteps was followed by the crooked door being yanked open. A short thin woman with one good eye and a scar over the other glowered at them before recognition dawned. “God of Souls!” She shook her fist under Rafe’s nose and spat on the ground. “I’ll not go with ye! You’ve no right to arrest me, so you can take your damnable ghosts and ghouls and be off with ye!”

  “I’m not here for your sorry hide, Mother Abel. I’m here to do business.” He pulled a pouch full of coins from his pocket. “I’ll pay you for what I want and for your silence.”

  “Business? And why would I want your money?” She scowled at him even as she eyed the pouch. “You’ll ruin my reputation, you will.”

  “You won’t do wonders for mine either, you old hag. But you’ll take the coin and give me want I seek. You have no choice.”

  “Oh, don’t I? I can refuse you, same as any. What’s a man like you going to do? You ain’t no cutthroat.”

  “No, I’m not.” Rafe leaned forward until they were face to face. “But I’m not a man either, old woman, and you’d best remember that. I can take everything from you, and I do mean everything.” He summoned a touch of magic, lighting his eyes in blue sparks and tugging gently at her soul. Old Mother Abel gasped, her heart fluttering until Rafe let go.

  She grated her teeth and stood her ground for a moment longer, before surrendering. She moved aside and ushered the men in with a, “Step lively and enter before someone sees you.”

  Once inside Rafe wasted no time. “We need a copy of the song, The Path of Sorrows. A full copy, no missing lyrics. We were told you have such.”

  For a moment she stared, a look of bewilderment etched on her face. Then she burst out laughing, bending over almost double in her glee. When her merriment ended, she wiped tears from her eyes and flopped in a rickety chair. “Well now, I didn’t expect that. By damnation, I near forgot about that. They said you would come nosing about one day, looking for that song. Damnation. I’ll finally get out from under the likes of them.”

  “The likes of whom?” Rafe asked, even though he felt he knew the answer.

  “My business, not yours. Don’t ask me what mischief I get up to, and I’ll stay out of your troubles. Men like you don’t go nosing about Outcast Key searching for songs without mischief behind it.”

  “No mischief, but you’re right. It’s nothing you want a part of old woman, and something you’re safer far away from. Give us the song, take the gold, and nothing else need be said.”

  She tapped her fingers on the arm of the chair. “Fair enough.” Then an odd look crossed her face. She rose to her feet and tottered to an old cabinet, opening a drawer on the left. “I’ve got something for you.” She withdrew a dusty tin box and trudged back to her chair. “Give me a minute to sort through. Most of my old odds and sods are in this box.” She shuffled papers, placing a few on her lap and generally rummaged around the box. A glint of something and a shiver in his blood caught Rafe’s attention and he grabbed Old Mother Abel’s wrist as she raised her hand.

  “I don’t go down that easily, old woman.”

  “Let go, you bastard! It’s not what you think!” She kicked out at him and the tin box tumbled to the floor. She swung her other arm, but Blackthorne stepped in and restrained her, essentially pinning her to the chair.

  While she squirmed and cursed, Rafe pulled the arm he held upward and forced her hand open. He plucked a red stone from her palm.

  “Be careful with that!”

  Rafe let her go and took a step back still holding the gem. She reached up and tried to snatch it, but Blackthorne pushed her back into the chair. She glared at the two of them.

  Rafe returned her glare. “A Shadow Spirit? You like to play with dangerous things, don’t you? What were you planning? To banish us to another realm? Or try and escape yourself?” He tossed the gem in the air before catching it and slipping it into his pocket.

  Old Mother Abel bared her teeth. “Neither fool. I told you, that’s for you. Same as that song you come for. Been waiting most of my life to give you the damn things and discharge my debt to that damnable Society.” She gasped, and a hand flew to her mouth.

  “So it was them!” Rafe grinned as Old Mother Abel glared.

  “You never heard that from me, but yeah. They gave me the charge of keeping things ‘til the day you came for ‘em. Or rather, blackmailed me, the bastards. But, like you said, both of us needn’t mind the particulars of how things came to be.” She nodded, giving him a defiant look. “That there stone’s for you. The Society said you’d be needing it, maybe. Though I don’t know what for and didn’t ask.”

  Rafe looked at the red gem. “I’m surprised you didn’t use it by now. A journey stone like this, it would
make a good escape plan or send a few enemies somewhere they’d rather not be.”

  Mother Abel snorted. “Don’t think I didn’t consider it. Would’ve got me out of a scrape or two over the years, being capable of travelling between places or sending people somewhere else. But you and I know it can only be used the once. Couldn’t take the chance. You don’t cross the wishes of some folks. You just don’t.” Mother Abel rose, keeping a wary eye on Rafe and Blackthorne. “But that ain’t the prize you come for.” She scurried to her cabinet and banged twice on the side on the oaken cupboard. A small, hidden drawer snapped open, and she plucked a folded, yellowed piece of paper from a bundle secreted within. Then she slammed the drawer shut.

  “Here’s a copy of the thing you seek, but I warn you, I never made much of it and I doubt it will be easy to find what you’re looking for. And you’ll be lucky to survive what needs doing, I’m guessing.” She cocked her head as if waiting for an answer.

  Rafe didn’t reply, only held out his hand for the paper. She waved it before snatching it away with a smile. “Not yet. You promised coin, remember?”

  “So I did.” Rafe slid the pouch out of his pocket and offered it on an outstretched palm. Old Mother Abel did the same with the slip of paper, and both grabbed their respective rewards.

  Rafe unfolded the parchment, read it, and sighed. She hadn’t cheated him by the looks of it. He had the song. He had what he needed. It wasn’t another trick.

  “Don’t trust me?”

  “Of course not.”

  She cackled. “At least you have brains.”

  Rafe tucked the valuable song into his pocket. “We’ll take our leave now. It hasn’t been a pleasure.” Both he and Blackthorne turned to go.

  “Wait!” She licked her lips. “About the stone. If you don’t use it, can I have it back?”

  Rafe looked back. “Maybe, old woman. I may return the gem when this is over. If it is unused, that is.”

  “Fair enough. And if you’re still alive to do anything, you bastard.” She chuckled. “Off with you then, both of you, and don’t set foot here again less you be returning the stone.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Rafe grinned. He opened the door to leave.

  “Just one more thing, God of Souls.” Rafe paused, his foot on the threshold and Blackthorne already out the door.

  “Yes, old woman?”

  “That ditty will only lead ye to the horn.” She cracked a grin at his astonished look. “Of course I knew, ye fool. I never do nothing without knowing the whole of it.” She cackled. “And they gave me one last message for you. If you want the bow, you’ll need to go to Raven Rock. To the Grey Sisters. They’re the ones I swore the oath to. They’re the ones who guard the secrets of the bow. The Society answers to them.”

  With a sudden chill, Rafe walked out the door chased by her laughter. He and Blackthorne hurried on to their ship, glad to be rid of the woman.

  Chapter Twelve

  To Raven Rock

  RAFE SAT ALONE IN HIS quarters, Outcast Key behind them and the course to Raven Rock set. A disgruntled Blackthorne stalked the decks above him, keeping company with a grumbling crew. No one, including himself, felt at ease sailing to Raven Rock to see the Grey Sisters.

  However, at that moment those worries were pushed aside as he studied the parchment and the strange words of The Path of Sorrows. He sighed, reading the words over again, the same words of his mother’s lullaby.

  Hush, hush, close your eyes,

  Against the night.

  Hush, hush, the stars will shine,

  Against the night.

  The horn will sound.

  The bones will fall.

  The Hunter stalks the Terror.

  Against the night,

  The bow will sing.

  The beast will die,

  Underneath the raven wing.

  So, listen well, oh, brave new soul,

  And stand against the night.

  Find the horn, and find the bow,

  Along the Path of Sorrows.

  He sighed again, mumbling to himself as he continued to read.

  “That part is recounting the history, I think, and this next bit...maybe it’s an old reference...maybe to the channel between Raven Rock and Seadog Isle.”

  The brave will seek,

  The brave will find,

  And ward against the night.

  In the deep, past the dawn,

  Between the dog and raven.

  Down and down,

  And down you go.

  To the Path of Sorrows.

  Only the brave remain alive,

  To chase that Path of Sorrows.

  He shook his head, knitting his brow. He leaned back in his chair, still muttering, “It’s this part I don’t understand.” He picked up the paper and stared at it reading the words aloud.

  Sail the brave, sail the line,

  In the shadow of the night,

  Where the dead bones lie,

  Beneath black sands,

  Between the seven keys,

  And a skull with many teeth.

  “That sounds like Pirate Keys, sir.”

  Rafe looked up with a start to see Mouse standing in the open doorway.

  “I knocked, but you didn’t seem to hear.” The lad looked contrite. “Didn’t mean to eavesdrop, sir, but, begging your pardon, that sounds a lot like how smugglers used to refer to Pirate Keys.”

  “Excuse me? Smugglers?”

  Mouse smiled. “Back in my day, when I was still alive, I did a stint aboard a smuggling ship. I expect you remember them days, back when the Seven Kingdoms went and shoved those taxes on all the good folk of the Islands?”

  “I do, but was preoccupied with another matter during those months. I heard of the increase in smuggling, but can’t say I paid much attention.”

  “Oh, it was a right lively trade back then, run out of Pirate Keys. How the place made its reputation. At least in part. Other things were going on in those islands too, which is why we all took to being cagey. You never knew who was listening back then. Take what you were reading. The main island down there is called Black Sand, and there is a little cluster of seven keys to the east of it. And we used to joke about the islands around Skull Reef, calling them its teeth.”

  “And ‘where the dead bones lie?’”

  “That’s Shipwreck Cove. Sailors and smugglers alike used the saying, ‘stay away from where the dead bones lie,’ for the island. On account of the pirates that lured in ships and wrecked them.”

  Rafe stared at Mouse and then at the paper. “That’s it. Beneath, between, that’s the location. You’ve solved it, Mouse. It’s the Pirate Keys. Specifically Shipwreck Cove. The horn is on Shipwreck Cove.” Rafe grinned. “Have a seat lad and see what you can make of the last bit.”

  “Certainly, sir, but Commander Blackthorne did send me down here to check on you, sir. Shouldn’t I be reporting back?”

  “That can wait. In fact, if we puzzle this out, we can go up together. Now have a seat.”

  “As you wish, sir.” Mouse crossed the room and perched gingerly on the edge of a chair. “What did you want me to puzzle?”

  “This.” Rafe picked up the paper and leaned back in his chair, reading aloud.

  The storm will blow,

  The bones will fall,

  When the mouth of stone,

  Shall open wide.

  From the giant’s maw,

  Above the hand,

  In the sky above the ruins.

  Rafe looked at Mouse, who frowned. “Anything?”

  “Don’t know about a mouth of stone or a maw or hand, but there’s a giant sure enough on Shipwreck Cove. A jut of land on the west side, a cliff called the Giant’s Eye. Maybe if there’s an eye, there’s a maw and hand?”

  “Perhaps. Nothing else comes to mind?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Well, at least we have Shipwreck Cove as a starting point. And this Giant’s Eye may prove worth looking at.”


  “As long as it doesn’t look back, sir.” Mouse grinned, and Rafe answered with a returned smile.

  “I think we’re safe on that account.”

  “So that’s where we’ll be headed then? After Raven Rock?”

  “Most likely, unless the Grey Sisters shed more light on the whereabouts of the horn we’re seeking. A dangerous journey I know, but we haven’t any choice.”

  “I’d say more of a lark for this crew, sir, sailing through pirate territory. A bit less off-putting than monsters and goddesses, sir. And whatever else awaits us.”

  “I suppose that’s true. Let’s go report to Blackthorne, shall we, and tell him I have cause to stop brooding in my quarters.” Rafe rose with a smile. “He should be thrilled to have something else to fret about other than me.”

  “I shouldn’t think so, but he will be glad of a report.” Mouse scrambled to his feet and fell into step behind Rafe as they left and made their way on deck. Blackthorne spied them as they emerged into the sunlight, the first mate standing at the edge of the quarterdeck, his hands on the railing, looking down.

  “So you coaxed him from his den, Mouse. Good lad.”

  “He did more than that. He solved our conundrum of a riddle.” Rafe grinned as Mouse blushed, the sailor retreating into the milling crew. The captain bounded up the steps and came face to face with his commander. “I know where to start looking for the missing horn.”

  Blackthorne stepped aside to allow Rafe to pass on to the upper deck. “Where, sir? Some black abyss full of bloodthirsty monsters? Would be along the lines of how our luck is running these days.”