Wielder's Curse

by Elle Cardy

  She found Brusan in his beloved airless galley. It was a narrow room adjacent to the mess, and it stank of fish and old gruel. Rather than finding him sitting in the corner, drinking rum as she’d seen him earlier, he was bent over a benchtop, and he scrubbed the surface clean. His large form filled the limited space.

  She’d never seen Cook so enthused about cleaning. He used to eagerly toss her the task despite her lack of diligence. His new-found enthusiasm was downright strange. He’d even bothered to shave off his perpetual stubble so his flabby jowls were as smooth as a mango from the Papaii Islands. It wasn’t like there was anyone to impress. And why had he hidden his mug of rum in the cupboard? He’d never hidden his drinking from anyone. Ever.

  They were mysteries not worth her attention.

  “Hensley and Arassi made a delivery,” she said, leaning on the door frame. “The supplies are up on deck.” She threw a thumb over one shoulder and half-turned, needing to get back to her watch.

  “Great,” he said without looking up and without moving to follow her. “Thanks.”

  Granted, their relationship had always been strained, more so since she’d discovered he wasn’t her real father, but this was ridiculous. He had a job to do, and she didn’t have the time for delicate sensibilities.

  “You gonna leave the sacks up there? In the weather?”

  He stopped scrubbing a bald patch into the benchtop. “Awful busy right now. You can bring ’em below.” Still he didn’t look at her.

  This was the man who’d raised her, the one who took his job serious enough to gain the trust of his captains on matters more than just the crew’s meals. This disinterest wasn’t like him. Her dark visions pricked, and dread clung like sticky tar.

  “What’s wrong?” she asked.

  “Mind your own self,” he muttered.

  With her patience becoming as brittle as old parchment, she stepped into the galley proper. “You’ll be telling me now.”

  Brusan spun, hand raised to strike. Like old times. It was nothing more than she expected. She held her ground, ready to wield. He might try to strike her, but she would never let it land. Never again.

  He held his fist in the air, shaking. His body shifted, and he paled. After two heartbeats, he let his arm drop to his side. “I’m sorry, Midge.” Her old name. The name she’d used when her life was a lie.

  A bellow full of expletives erupted from the entry to the mess, announcing Captain Durne’s arrival. “What’s that eyesore on deck about?”

  Brusan cringed.

  Jasmine poked her head from the galley and eyed the stocky captain standing at the far end of the mess hall. She expected to see storm clouds and sleet. Instead she found confusion bordering on fear as he stared past her. She followed his gaze to an empty space in the mess hall. There was nothing there but bench seats, beaten old tables screwed to the flooring, and a few empty hammocks. A canary chirped in a wire cage, and a lantern flickered in its casing.

  Durne drew a pistol from his belt and pointed it toward the far bulkhead. “Halt! State your purpose or die.”

  Jasmine squinted through the low light. It didn’t help. Nothing was there but shadows. If Durne had been a wielder, she might’ve worried he could see some vision, but he was just a regular man. Had he lost his mind? She’d know if a stranger was aboard. Her ship would tell her if they had an intruder. Surely. Was this going to be the curse of the Wielder’s Prize? Whoever captains her goes mad?

  “I said halt!” Durne moved his pistol arm wide, as if he tracked something in the shadows. He fired his weapon. The explosion near deafened Jasmine. Sparks and white smoke plumed from the gun barrel. The stink of gunpowder burned her nostrils.

  With the force of a crashing wave, Brusan pushed her back. Durne bolted through the mess and leaped up the far ladder to the deck. Jasmine wrestled past Brusan. Not knowing what she’d find, she chased after the mad captain.

  On deck, Durne ran to the railing as a distinct splash reached Jasmine’s ears. He fired his pistol at the black waters. The splashing continued, growing distant as if someone swam away.

  Maybe he wasn’t mad.

  Jasmine dashed to her captain. Agitated waves rocked and swirled, the ripples receding into the dark. The high tide harbor waters lapped against the hull.

  “You were supposed to be on watch,” Durne said, his voice full of thunder. “What do you have to say for yourself?”

  Her grip on the railing tightened so much that the joints in her fingers hurt. Somehow, she found her voice. “I was on watch. I am on watch.”

  “You weren’t on deck, and you let an intruder on board.”

  “I saw no one.” She glanced at Brusan for help.

  Hanging by the hatch, the large man shrugged. “Me neither.”

  Her gaze found Aurelius a few paces away at the railing. He was frowning into the dark. He turned as if he had felt the weight of her gaze and shook his head.

  Durne swore an oath. “Another filthy wielder then.” He winced at Jasmine. “No offence.”

  “None taken,” she murmured.

  A wielder. On her ship. What had he wanted? Was he somehow connected to the Beast, and that was why she’d had the vision? More importantly, how had she failed to sense him? If Finn had been there, he might’ve been able to sense the intruder. Where was he?

  “How did you see him?” she asked Durne.

  “Her,” her captain said. “It was a she. Long silver hair. Short. Your build, though. Lithe. Young. Around your age. Seventeen. Maybe eighteen at most. She carried a dagger and what could’ve been a short quarterstaff. She moved like an assassin. Mighty graceful.”

  “That doesn’t answer my question.”

  “That’s not the question you should be asking.”

  “What did she want?” Brusan asked in Jasmine’s stead.

  “Indeed,” Durne said as he pulled at his beard.

  Chapter 3

  Forced to stay on watch, Jasmine couldn’t stand still. This night was getting worse. It was the first time she’d come across another wielder who could hide both her physical form and her magic — the same power Jasmine had. Marcelo had once claimed it was a rare ability and that Jasmine would make a great spy with that skill. Did that mean the intruder was a spy? Or an assassin as Durne had suggested?

  Whoever the trespasser was, she had made a mistake. This was Jasmine’s ship. Jasmine’s domain. Intruders weren’t welcome.

  Despite the warm breeze, she rubbed her arms. The dark vision had pulled her off balance and kept her uneasy. She was supposed to have been done with all that. She’d been free of the Beast and the visions since Kahld had been defeated at Sapphire Cove. She’d had three whole months of her new life as a true member of the crew. Why did the visions have to resurface now?

  They had to be connected. The intruder and the Beast. It was easier to think that than to suspect she had done something to draw the Beast’s attention.

  An unnatural splash on the starboard side made Jasmine race to the railing. Funneling her magic through her ship in readiness, she peered into the dark. A shadowy shape of a rowboat drifted on the waters, too far to see clearly.

  Durne materialized beside her without a trace of shortened breath or sweat despite having single-handedly transferred the sacks into storage. He pulled his weather-beaten spyglass from his belt and peered through the brass contraption. “It’s just the old wielder and his boy.”

  Finn. At last.

  In a breath, Jasmine let go of her magic. With his return, a life-saving tether had been thrown to her. After she held him close, she’d give him a piece of her mind for being so reckless, then she’d tell him about the vision. He was the only one who believed the Beast’s existence, the only one who cared. He too had been trapped in the Beast’s domain and had escaped with his life. Maybe he would know what the new vision meant.

  After much hollering and fumbling and demanding help, Marcelo clambered up the rope ladder. Once
on deck, he took to straightening his robes as if that action could restore his dignity.

  “Those confounded rope ladders,” he muttered. Like an anemone in the ocean swirls, his white hair shifted in the breeze. “Someone needs to invent something less cumbersome to climb.”

  When she had first met the man, he had come across as grandfatherly and kind. She couldn’t have been more wrong. Now he was caught in a perpetual bad mood. Jasmine wasn’t sure if that was because they knew his true nature now, or if something else wasn’t going his way.

  Eager to pull Finn into a tight embrace, she looked past the old man who stood in her way. Finn silently climbed aboard, showing more agility and skill than when they’d first met. His light brown hair had grown long enough to tie in a short tail at his nape. He remained cleanly shaven, though, which gave him an innocent, almost boyish appearance. The faint glow of his magic resting on him was a reassuring sight for both its familiarity and its warmth. Yet he moved as if a great weight had settled on his shoulders. Dark shadows under his eyes aged him as if he were forty instead of twenty.

  His gaze caught hers then flicked away. With his hands shoved in his pockets, he walked around Durne, putting their captain between them. The rejection was clear, but the reason for it left Jasmine guessing.

  “Fetch me a pot of tea, there’s a good lad,” Marcelo said and wandered down below.

  Without acknowledging Jasmine, Finn headed off.

  “Wait, Finn.” When he didn’t wait, Jasmine moved to block him.

  A heavy hand landed on her shoulder. Durne. She knew what he was going to say.

  “Duty comes first. You’re still on watch until Philips replaces you.”

  “He’s sick in the infirmary.”

  “Then you’ll be taking a double shift, or until one of the other crew can replace you.” Durne hooked his thumbs in his belt. “Wretched intruder. Wouldn’t surprise me if she came back.”

  Before she could say or do anything, Finn slipped away.

  Drifting in on the evening breeze, came a slurred song that may have passed as a sea shanty. She knew those drunken voices. Willem, Stenson, and a very sloshed Kask.

  Saved.

  With their boat cutting a crooked path through the harbor waters, it took them forever to reach the Prize. If she hadn’t been so anxious for a replacement, she might’ve found it amusing. When they eventually docked beside the ship, Durne gave them permission to board while Jasmine shimmied down the line to make sure there weren’t extra passengers hidden in the boat.

  Stenson staggered to his feet, threatening to capsize the rowboat. He reeked of cheap ale and flung his arms wide as he announced to the world that he needed to pee. With a grunt, Willem bravely heaved him over one shoulder and carried him up the ladder. Durne came down, took one look at Kask slurring the words to a sailor’s song, and chuckled. He picked up the crewman as if he were no more than a sack of flour and carried him up the rope ladder.

  When he got Kask to the top, he called down to Jasmine. “Stay on watch. I’ll take this flotsam below to let them sleep it off.”

  Not so saved, then.

  Durne was right, of course. An intruder on the Prize was bad news. And if that intruder was connected to the visions and the Beast, that was even worse news.

  She finished her search and found nothing. No intruders. As far as she could tell, anyway. She climbed the rope ladder. Before she could swing herself over the railing, her world shifted under her grip.

  Boiling seas rose to swallow her. Oily flames, thick with black soot on a destroyed sea. Ash-tainted air blew past as she fell through a choking fog of pollution. A sharp slap knocked the wind from her, sending a needling sting through her body. Burning. Searing. The vision roiled. She gulped for air and gagged on water.

  “Jasmine!” someone cried through the darkness.

  “Man overboard!” someone else hollered.

  Bells rang.

  Brackish hands from below grasped at her, plunging her deeper into the vision. Her world swayed and shifted as she sank. She needed to fight, to drag herself away, but the vision weighed her down toward a gaping void. She needed help.

  “Jasmine,” a voice cried. Close this time. Finn. The voice of brighter climes and of sunlit oceans. It skimmed across her surfaces like music on a breeze. Even as smoking fumes swirled around her, plucking and grabbing, she used his voice as an anchor.

  Breathe.

  She took gulping breaths of vision-soaked air, tasting death and destruction. Threads of vision clung like seaweed in a current. A sharp burn struck her cheek and rattled her mind. Someone had slapped her?

  No, never again.

  Pain and anger fed her willpower. Grasping the last of the vision strands, she contained them like folding ragged blankets into a sea chest. She closed the lid then caught the hand that swung to strike her again. Durne.

  She lay in the bottom of the rowboat with both Durne and Finn leaning over her. Aurelius poked his head past the railing of the Prize, his eyes wide. Jasmine was soaked through, as was her captain.

  “What happened?” she asked, running her gaze over his dripping clothes.

  “Did you hit your head when you fell?” Durne asked.

  Finn checked for injuries, his touch gentle. He let out a soft breath. “She’s good.”

  Durne grunted. “I know you can swim, lass, so why didn’t you?”

  She couldn’t remember falling. Falling into the vision, yes, but not falling from her ship. Durne must’ve dived in after her. Her cheeks turned hot. She tried not to disappear.

  “The fall must’ve dazed me,” she said, pressing her hand against her head. There was no chance she was going to admit to her captain a vision had overtaken her, making her a danger to herself. There was no way she was going to even hint that she might not be fit for duty because of her cursed magic.

  His gaze traveled over her, and he nodded. “For all the years I’ve known you, you’ve climbed like a monkey over the rigging. I’ve never seen you slip, let alone fall. Are you well?”

  “Aye, Captain.” She clambered to her feet to prove it, rocking the small rowboat.

  Finn caught her hand in his, perhaps to steady her, perhaps to give and gain comfort from that touch.

  She tightened her grip. “I’m sorry, Captain.”

  “You’re hail, is all that matters.” He pulled at his sopping vest. “Might get me a change of clothes. And you should too once I come back. If you don’t mind waiting. Can’t leave the ship unattended.”

  Was that a request rather than an order? “Aye, Captain. I don’t mind.”

  “Good.” He scowled at the surrounding waters. “Watch yourself and the ship while I’m gone. This is a night full of bad omens.”

  He scrambled up the rope ladder with the ease of a master seaman.

  “He’s right,” Finn said. She hadn’t taken him for a superstitious person. “You need to be more careful.”

  Oh. Right.

  He feared for her as much as she feared for him. He’d been gone too long in a dangerous town. She wanted to press against him, to hold him and assure herself he was safe — but she was dripping on his boots. She squeezed out a bucket of water from her clothes. At least it was a warm night, so her dunking wouldn’t give her a chill.

  She scanned the dark waters. As much as Finn needed to know about the intruder and the visions, she didn’t want to have the conversation on the flimsy rowboat. More than ever, she needed the security and strength her ship gave her. “Follow me up? I need to speak with you.”

  She scooted up the rope ladder and swung herself onto the deck of the Prize. An incongruous ceramic pot of tea sat on a barrel near the railing. When Finn climbed to the deck, she pointed to it.

  “It’s the tea I was fetching Marcelo,” he said. “When you fell, you were wielding. I sensed danger so I ran. Why were you wielding?” There was a current of fear in his question. “Marcelo warned you not to wield.”
>
  She was sure Finn expected her to implode at any moment. He’d never been completely comfortable with the potential magic she could wield. Because the entire ship was her talisman, she had the power to wield more magic than most. A lot more. It made her different. Dangerous. She hated to think what he’d do if he knew the full truth — that she was the former captain’s daughter, that she had Kahld’s same ability to learn new ways to wield, that she was an abomination.

  She rolled her shoulders in discomfort. “No, he told me to refrain from using my magic as much as possible.” She shook her head. “It doesn’t matter. I have something to tell you.”

  Durne had left a trail of soggy footprints leading to his quarters, and she was leaving a spreading puddle. The deck would need swabbing. Unable to get her thoughts straight, she went to work with the swab, her strokes brisk and short.

  “You should try to contain your wielding.”

  She closed her eyes and leaned on the swab’s long handle. “Finn, listen to me.”

  He stopped and waited.

  “Something’s not right,” she said, steeling herself for the rest.

  His eyes grew round, and his gaze ran over her. Checking for horns and a tail, probably.

  “Nothing’s wrong with me.” She made plain her annoyance at his reaction. She didn’t need reminding that her magic made him nervous. Admittedly, she should’ve simply said, “Finn, the visions are back.” Only it wasn’t that easy. Not even close. It was an admission she didn’t want to make because she didn’t want any of it back, and neither did she want to remind Finn of the scope of her power. A quiet life at sea was a good life at sea. Dark visions and uncontrolled magic would end all that.

  “I mean, Durne was right. There’s something not right about this night, this place. We had an intruder aboard earlier. Durne chased her off.”

  Finn frowned. That was all. No questions. No demand for explanations. No warnings to be careful. Something caught his eye. He walked past her and collected the pot of tea from the barrel. The scent of chamomile didn’t soothe her.