Wielder's Curse

by Elle Cardy

  “You should get cleaned up,” Brusan said. “By the time you’re done, this would’ve cooled. Take a good swig before going to sleep.”

  She stared in horror at the bottle.

  He shook it at her. Black flecks spun in the brown liquid, like mud disturbed from the bottom of a rank pond. “It will help with the cough. Get you back on your feet.”

  That explained his good mood. He’d found a new way to torture her.

  “I’m not drinking that.” She left Finn and Brusan staring wide-eyed at her back as she stalked from the galley. She was having none of it. He wasn’t her father, and neither was he a medic. All she needed was some rest. The cough would pass. He was right about her needing to clean up, though. Her clothes, hair, and skin were smeared with filth.

  Multiple shadows danced in her vision. She leaned against the bulkhead to blink away the spots. She couldn’t trust her eyes. She couldn’t trust anything or anyone. While she might’ve been able to escape the Oakheart Guardians, there was still the Beast. It could attack at anytime and anywhere. How could anyone hope to fight such a creature, let alone escape it?

  Jasmine found a bucket and filled it with washing water. A shadow followed her. She paused to catch her breath. Fine. She’d just have to take it slower. She doubted her dignity would recover if Brusan found out she’d fainted. No need to frighten Finn either. He too needed time to rest.

  She washed herself as best she could and put on a clean shirt and a worn set of trousers. By the time she was done, the need for sleep pulled on every limb. Her ship crooned to her. It offered her its comforting embrace. It promised to restore her strength and her magic.

  When she returned to her hammock, Finn was there. He held in his hands Brusan’s evil concoction.

  “I said I’m not drinking that.” Despite her weakened state, she was ready for a fight.

  “Please,” he said. “For me.” Simple as that. No attempts to remind her that Brusan cared, that he’d made the potion just for her, that he hoped to help. None of that. Just, “Please. For me.” How could she say no to that?

  Easily. Because he’d lied to her.

  Finn just stood there and waited, his eyebrows pulled together, looking innocent.

  Jasmine gave in and took the bottle. “Only for you, and only if you’ll return to the infirmary and let Brusan check on your wound.”

  He held up one hand. “I swear.”

  She pulled out the cork and took a big swig. She tried swallowing it before she could taste it, but the foul liquid touched her tongue and coated the inside of her mouth, mingling around her teeth. It was pure evil. And it burned her throat as it went down. As soon as she caught her breath, she swore the loudest, most obscene curse she could muster.

  “The man is trying to kill me,” she gasped out.

  “He insisted you sleep,” Finn said, unmoved. “He told me to warn you not to climb the rigging after taking it.”

  A strange tingling warmth crawled up Jasmine’s legs, into her chest and arms. She swore again. “Powerfulstuff,” she murmured.

  A blanket of weariness enveloped her. Finn helped her into her hammock. With fingers that lacked strength, she caught him before he could leave. She needed to tell him … she didn’t know what it was she needed to say … something important…

  Darkness wrapped around her. The last thing she felt was a soft touch on her forehead before sleep took her.

  * * *

  From the deck of the Prize, Jasmine watched as lightning strobed in the east and the sun sank in the west. Too short to tie back, her dark hair whipped about her face. Darkness expanded across the sea.

  Something large moved in the storm. A puppeteer’s shadow-dance projected behind the clouds? The flick of a giant mermaid’s tail?

  Someone stood beside her. A warm presence vibrating with vitality. Finn. His hair was shorter than it should’ve been, his skin paler. He carried a spyglass. The brass glinted in the strange half-light of the dying day. He squinted into the storm as if searching for something, yet he didn’t use the device in his hands.

  “May I?” she asked, indicating the spyglass.

  When his gaze flicked her way, no recognition lit his eyes. He frowned then studied the object in his hand. “You shouldn’t have this power.” With a might heave, he tossed the spyglass out over the ocean. The brass tube spun in the air and splashed into the sea, disappearing into the green depths.

  “Why did you do that?”

  The gathering clouds thickened and darkened. A fork of lightning stabbed the horizon, a jagged line of white fire. There was power in that storm, coming from somewhere else. Frightening power. When she looked again at Finn, she realized it came from him. He burned with it. He was the source of the storm.

  How could that be? Finn didn’t have that kind of power.

  Bubbles formed in the ocean where the spyglass had disappeared. Finn pointed to them and laughed. No, not a laugh. It was more of an unsettling snicker devoid of humor. The bubbles became a frothing frenzy, popping and boiling. The patch spread until it spanned the seas. The waters ignited. Soot and black smoke choked the skies.

  With explosive impact, lightning struck the Prize. The stink of electric energy charged the air. The main mast shattered into a hundred spears, raining onto the deck. A deadly storm of arrows. A volley of sharp wooden needles.

  A punch in the gut knocked Jasmine into the ship’s railing. In her side, buried deep, jutted a splinter the size of a spear. She clutched at it, attempting to pull it free, but it was slick with her blood.

  “Help me,” she cried to Finn.

  Still laughing, he pointed at her.

  Jasmine sank to her knees in a spreading pool of crimson, her life draining away.

  “Please,” she whispered.

  His laughter stopped. He blinked and glanced around, as if for the first time. When his gaze rested on her, he reached out as if to help. Her relief brought her close to tears. Taking the end of the spear in her side, he gave it a savage tug. As it came free from her body, the wind snatched away her cry. Finn lifted her up and held her close. She wrapped her arms around him and sank into his warmth.

  “I love you,” he murmured into her ear.

  Before she could reply, he lifted her off her feet and threw her over the railing. She slammed hard into the sea, the impact jarring her body. She couldn’t breathe. The black water swallowed her. Even as she fought for the surface, she sank. And Finn did nothing but laugh from the railing as he gathered more impossible power.

  With that power, he was going to end the world. She could see it in his eyes.

  Then the ocean claimed her.

  Chapter 16

  Wrestling with her hammock, Jasmine woke. She fell to the deck, gasping for breath and clutched at her side. No gaping wound from a shattered mast. No blood. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d had a dream as unsettling.

  Finn had ended the world. He had ended her.

  Her skin prickled. The residue of pain lingered in her side. She struggled to shake off the haunting memory — the look in his eyes as he threw her overboard, the deadness in them. He’d been possessed by darkness, taken over by evil. As a husk of his former self, he’d become formidable. Dangerous. She needed to stop him.

  Jasmine staggered. Finn would never, could never hurt her, let alone end the world. It had been just a dream.

  A lie.

  Not just a dream. It had the quality of a vision, coming from the unknowable place of power and fractured truths. The details might’ve been different, but somehow it had been the same vision the Guardians had seen, the same one that powered their need to end Finn. It had been a false vision crafted by the Beast.

  Despite recognizing the manipulation, she still needed to verify no such storm flickered on the horizon. She had to see for herself that Finn was still her Finn and not the monster of her nightmare. She had to find him, to make sure he was safe.

  Even as she
ran to the infirmary, she struggled to let go the dark warning. It had felt so real. When she burst in, she pulled up short. The sickbay was empty of folk except for Philips. The sailor sat on his bunk, head in hands, looking pale and out of sorts. Finn wasn’t there. He should’ve been there. He’d promised to return to the infirmary. Had that been another lie?

  “Hey, Midge,” Philips said, seemingly unaware he’d used her old name.

  “You okay?”

  He didn’t look okay. His hands were shaking, his eyes were red-rimmed, and his beard was a shaggy tangle. Shaggier than usual.

  “Bad dreams,” he murmured then shook his head. “Think it’s just leftover mojo from the business with our old captain.”

  “Aye,” she said, unconvinced. Where was Finn?

  “That, and this wretched ailment I’m fighting. Just a dose of gut rot.” He tried smiling, but it turned into a grimace.

  Philips’ weak stomach was nothing new. What was unusual was how long it took to get over it. Normally it didn’t take him more than a day to return to duty.

  “Maybe you should lie down and rest some more.”

  His grimace contorted.

  She thought about getting him a bucket and spied a fresh one already by his cot. Brusan must have put it there. “Promise you’ll get some rest?”

  When he nodded and lay back in his bunk, she left.

  In the passageway outside the infirmary, she did a quick mental search. She found Finn in the mess hall. He sat on one of the long benches, spooning gruel in his mouth as if he hadn’t been fed in a week. Color had returned to his cheeks. Life. He didn’t look possessed. He didn’t look evil. He looked normal. This was the Finn she knew. Nothing about him said soulless monster.

  When she got to the mess, she found him exactly as she’d seen him. His brown hair fell loose from its bonds, his skin now tanned from his life at sea. It was hard to equate this Finn with the one she’d seen in the dream vision. She felt ashamed that she’d considered, even for a moment, that the false vision from the Beast might’ve been real.

  It was Brusan’s fault. Him and his hellish potion.

  A smile broke out over Finn’s face. The sun rising over a calm ocean. “Jasmine, you’re looking more yourself.”

  “As are you.” She joined him at the long table, and he hooked his pinky in hers. A shadow of the betrayal she’d felt when he’d thrown her overboard intruded on her thoughts. She unhooked her fingers and sat on her hands. “You’re feeling better?”

  Finn put his spoon down. His bowl was empty. “Aye, still can’t move fast, but that’s what happens when you get stabbed.” He tried smiling, but it looked forced. “You shouldn’t have chased after my attacker, especially not without your prize.”

  She’d given herself enough lectures over her stupidity, she didn’t need to hear them from him. She took a breath, and her unwarranted annoyance eased. She had to remember it was his way of showing he cared. One of his many ways. And some words had to be spoken before they could be put to rest.

  “Aye,” she said to let him know she’d heard him.

  He blinked. He nodded. He frowned.

  “You need to be more cautious,” he said at last.

  He looked done, so she said nothing.

  After picking up his spoon again, he absently scraped it around the empty bowl. “I’ve been meaning to ask…” He didn’t look like he was in a hurry to finish his question. “When you went into town, did you…”

  She knew what he was asking. He wanted to know if she’d found his attacker.

  “No.” Yet another lie. She wasn’t about to add to his paranoia on top of that hidden, deeper-than-blood-and-bone wound. If he could rest easy, then he could heal well.

  She considered telling him he was safe. The problem was, while they might’ve left Oakheart and the misguided Guardians behind, he wasn’t close to safe. No one was. There was still the Beast and its growing power, and still the false visions.

  If the Guardians had seen anything like her dream, then they wouldn’t be content to let Finn escape. Cassian’s messenger birds would no doubt reach Auslam before the Prize, making the river town unsafe.

  It was going to take a month to reach Auslam. She didn’t have a lot of time to come up with a way to show Marcelo and the rest of the Auslam Guardians what they were up against. They needed to know their visions were false. She needed to convince them that the Beast was using the Order for its own purposes, that if it fed on another powerful wielder, it would likely escape its prison. Then the world would be doomed.

  She would give Finn a week to recover and then tell him everything he needed to know. Together, they had a chance of charting up a miracle plan.

  Carrying a bowl of gruel, Brusan ambled from the galley. When he spotted Jasmine, he paused. He looked down at the bowl, half turned toward the galley, then turned back. He approached the long table.

  “Another bowl for yer.” Brusan dropped the gruel in front of Finn.

  Finn pounced on it and spooned in huge mouthfuls.

  Brusan glanced at Jasmine. “It’s his third.”

  Jasmine nodded. Silence hung like a wet canvas.

  “You feeling better now, Midge, er, Jasmine?”

  She wished he’d stop trying to mend their relationship. They didn’t have a relationship to mend. He might’ve raised her, but he’d done it because of his loyalty to Kahld. There was no love in it, just as there’d been no love in each blow of his fist, each bruise on her face. She bore a scar on her upper lip because of Brusan’s loyalty to his captain.

  “I’ll get you some grub,” he said.

  Before she could turn down food, he disappeared into the galley. Wasn’t long before he reappeared and placed a bowl of gruel in front of her. It smelled like he’d added cinnamon to her portion.

  “While I was in town…” she began, leaving the bowl untouched.

  Brusan straightened, looking attentive, his face open, his eyes wide. It was oddly distracting.

  “While I was in town, I found something you might be interested in.”

  “What might that be?” he asked, easily baited.

  She didn’t know why she tortured him, teasing him with the hope that life could be pleasant between them. She pulled out a damp piece of paper that had recently taken a dunking. She handed it to him. As he carefully unfolded it, the damaged sheet flopped open. He went still as he stared at it.

  “What is it?” Finn asked with his mouth full.

  “A wanted poster with his face on it,” Jasmine said.

  Brusan pulped the page in his meaty fist. “Not my face.” He backed away toward his galley. Jasmine rose to follow him, to ask him what he’d done.

  A gentle touch on her hand stilled her. “Leave him be,” Finn said.

  “He’s a criminal.”

  “You knew that. Why else would Kahld need to rescue him from the gallows? Does it matter what he did in the past?”

  Of course, it mattered. The man had beaten her. For so many years, he had stopped her from joining the crew. He’d tried to keep her in a world of lies, to make her into his galley slave, locking her away from the beauty of the sea.

  “The past is the past,” Finn said.

  “Is it ever?” An extra sprinkle of cinnamon didn’t cover the debt of a lifetime. “And what about you? Why did you lie to me?” She knew the story, Finn had already explained and apologized, but she still hurt more than she could admit.

  He closed his eyes and shook his head. “Because there was nothing I could do to change what I’d done. Because I wanted to spare you the details.”

  “I don’t need sparing.”

  A faint glint flickered in his eyes. “I realize that.” The corner of his mouth curled up, and he offered her a helpless shrug. “I wanted to put the ugly affair behind me.”

  She let his words sink in. From what the Guardians had said about the attack, his claim that he’d had little choice was likely true. Sh
e could relate to his need to put it behind him.

  He squeezed her hand. “And because I was foolish.”

  Her heart softened, and a crooked half grin escaped her. She rested her hands on his, and he let out a breath.

  The ship’s bells tolled. The insistence, a clear warning. A deep boom muffled through the ship’s timbers, making its bones shudder.

  Brusan appeared at the galley doorway, his expression darker than pitch. Another boom, and the ship tipped, sending Jasmine into Finn.

  Brusan didn’t shift a muscle. “We’re under attack.”

  Chapter 17

  A raspy cry came from above. “All hands on deck!” First Mate Cagg.

  Jasmine pushed herself away from Finn. Beads of sweat pricked on his pale brow. His wound may have reopened. She needed to check his injury. She needed to get above decks to protect the ship. She looked from Brusan to Finn.

  “Go,” Brusan said. “I’ll take him to the infirmary and keep him safe.”

  Filled with gratitude, she ran for the hatch that led topside. Before she reached it, she slammed hard against an invisible wall. The wall grunted, and Jasmine toppled. With an agile push of her legs, she regained her feet and readied herself to wield.

  A woman appeared, sitting on the floor. Small, even petite. Long silver hair. Legs splayed and hands up in surrender. “Don’t wield. It’s just me.”

  “Gley?” Jasmine swore. “For all the deep seas, what are you doing trespassing on my ship? Again!”

  The girl shrugged. “Sorry?”

  That wasn’t good enough. Jasmine grabbed her by the scruff of her shirt and hauled her to her feet. She was short and surprisingly light. “You can’t be here.”

  She shrugged again, reminding Jasmine of Aurelius’ fondness for weak replies.

  Brusan towered over them both. He flexed his muscles, looking like he didn’t belong in an apron. Of course, he’d never belonged in an apron. He was a man of the sea, never a cook.

  “You know each other?” Brusan asked.