Wielder's Curse

by Elle Cardy

  “And you know how to handle the crew when they’re out of line. Not what I had expected when I realized you were a—” He stopped.

  “A girl?”

  Cagg nodded. “My point is, you’re smart, you’re strong, and you’re not lazy. That makes you an asset to the Prize. With a mite more learning, and a good dose of discipline, you could join any ship anywhere.”

  As much as she yearned for this, she didn’t dare consider it. Maybe if the Beast didn’t hunt her and bad omens didn’t promise worse times ahead. Maybe if she wasn’t stuck with this curse of a power, things could be different. Besides, she was no man of learning.

  “I’ve discussed it with Durne,” he said, “and he is in agreeance. If you like the idea, then I’d be honored to offer my services as a mentor.”

  Such an opportunity should never be hers. She didn’t deserve it. Neither had she earned it. Truth be told, she was a danger to the ship.

  “Think it over and, when you’re ready, let me know.” His gaze flicked out to sea, and he frowned.

  Kask cried from the crow’s nest, “Ship ahoy!”

  Jasmine murmured a curse.

  In from the northwestern horizon, a ship followed them. Not the Sirocco or the Ambrosia. A different ship. A strange ship that glowed with an eerie pale light. Without rippling in the wind, the sails looked like they’d been frozen in time. The ship didn’t bob and shift in the waters either. What unnerved Jasmine the most was that her eyes couldn’t stay on it. Even when she tried to stare, her gaze slid off, and when she stared too long, the vision of the boiling seas bubbled up.

  Durne came on deck, wrapped in a dark blue robe. “Report.”

  “An unknown ship,” Cagg said as he stared through his spyglass. “Could be a mirror of the Prize but lacks details. No detail of timbers, or wood grain. No carvings or flags. Nothing to identify the ship, and…” He handed the spyglass to Durne.

  The captain put it up to his eye. “I don’t see it.”

  “It’s got no crew.”

  Jasmine’s vision erupted in smoke and fury.

  Ghost ship.

  Chapter 24

  Bailey’s fist connected with Pyle’s nose. An eye-watering wail shivered the sails and everyone on deck. The door to the captain’s quarters flew open, and Durne glowered, an explosion about to happen.

  From her vantage point on the forecastle, Jasmine winced. She’d been repairing a net when their all-too-brief argument came to fists. It had been over nothing, as were most of the recent fights. Men fought over crumbs, imagined slights, or because they could.

  The appearance of the ghost ship had escalated the problem. News of the ship had spread through the crew like a disease. The new star had been bad enough, but now a ghost ship made everything worse. Although it followed the Prize from a distance, it had kept pace, no matter what speed the Prize sailed. And it matched their direction. They were long past the point of no return. They couldn’t pull the same trick they’d pulled near Oakheart. They had no choice but to keep sailing.

  Pyle punched Bailey in the gut.

  The two sailors were about to get slapped with caulking duty, or worse. The look on Durne’s face said worse. Maybe the captain would tie them to the mainmast for a day as an example. They seemed oblivious to their impending doom as they fought on, punching each other in the stomach and head, spitting and yelling.

  Brusan came up behind them and forcefully separated them. He’d been doing a lot of that recently too. The fights often ended in bloody noses and bruised knuckles. Jasmine had stayed well clear of them, but Brusan had a knack for knowing when a clash was about to happen and was always ready to stop them before bones broke.

  Bailey taunted Pyle from behind Brusan’s mountainous form. Pyle tried rushing him but Brusan wouldn’t have it. With his meaty arms, the large man shook them both until they stopped struggling.

  “That’s it,” Durne hollered. “All hands on deck.”

  First Mate Cagg echoed the command in a booming voice. The echo repeated throughout the ship until the crew had assembled on deck. This was a trade ship, not a warship, so no one moved into a neat formation or stood at attention. They gathered in clumps and rubbed their arms and stamped their feet in the cold. Jasmine stayed where she was by the railing of the forecastle. The net wouldn’t repair itself.

  Their stocky captain paced, eyeing each sailor as he passed. Cagg towered near the captain, arms crossed over his broad chest. Brusan had let go of the two sailors. Most of the fight had left them, so they glared at each other. Brusan moved to the back of the gathering, his eyes narrowed as he scrutinized the gathered crew.

  “The star means nothing,” the captain cried against the frigid wind.

  She had to admire a captain who got to the point. Their world had become miserable, cold, and dark, and no one except Jasmine wanted to stay topside longer than needed. When the Wielder’s Prize entered the Kranston Seas, the ocean had become a white-capped surge of steely expanse. With the same cold darkness, the clouds hung low and heavy, brimming with icy rain about to fall. While those clouds hid the new star from sight, it wasn’t enough to ease the crew’s growing agitation. And in the daylight, the glowing ghost ship had taken on the slate color of the ocean.

  “There’s no deep dark prophesy attached to the star,” Durne went on. “There’s no harbinger of death behind it, and neither is it new.”

  The Prize jolted against the waves. Jasmine stabbed her finger with the netting needle. She sucked on the cut, trying to ignore the certainty that Durne had lied. It hadn’t been her magic that told her so; it had been his tell-tale eye twitch. He too believed the star was new.

  “New stars don’t happen,” he said, still pacing, still angry. “And the ship out there is just a ship. It has remained at a distance and has shown no sign of aggression. Clear your ugly heads of misfortunate tales or ghostly apparitions. We are a fine ship with an even finer crew. Most of all, we’re family.”

  That there was the truth. Jasmine felt a surge of warmth that could only come from the knowledge that you’ve found not only your place in life, but your home.

  “We look after each other,” Durne cried. “We don’t tear each other down. If we can hold it together for a couple more weeks, we’ll have made it to our destination. A rich new port full of lucrative trade possibilities.”

  Low murmurs of begrudging optimism lifted in the wind.

  “Your bellies will be full, as will your pockets.”

  Heads bobbed in agreement. Fisher cheered, followed by Feldman and a few others. Jasmine had expected muttered grumblings, angry shoves, maybe even another fight to break out. There was no chance a brief speech could make a difference, no matter how rousing. Or so she’d thought. She was glad to see she’d been wrong. The crew took in Durne’s words like aged whisky, savored the taste, and warmed themselves on the liquid gold.

  Gley stood to the side, looking downright agitated, maybe even angry. She’d had that same expression since the discovery of the star and the appearance of the ship. Looking green, Aurelius clutched a rigging line as if it was all that kept him upright. Marcelo stood away from everybody else, shaking his head, looking churlish. He wore his usual thin robes yet didn’t brace against the cold.

  Jasmine leaned against the railing to get a closer look at the old man. His magic wove around him like the threads of a blanket. Soft, controlled, warm.

  “Now get back to work, you salty dogs, and make me proud.”

  A door slammed, breaking Jasmine’s concentration. The captain had disappeared. He must’ve returned to his quarters. The crew was dispersing, Marcelo peered out to sea as if he searched for land, and Jasmine had wrapped her hands around the railing balusters so tight that her knuckles had turned white. She let go and rubbed her cold fingers, wishing she didn’t know how to make herself warm now.

  “The captain wants to see you.”

  Jasmine spun. Cagg towered over her.

  �
��Immediately, this time.” He didn’t glower as was his custom when barking out orders. Instead, he looked amused. He probably thought he was being funny bringing up her previous waywardness.

  “Know what this is about?” No sense going in blind.

  “Wasn’t for me to ask.”

  Blind it was, then. She packed away the net and went straight to Durne’s door. A quick knock had him calling for her to enter. Durne stood at his wide windows, his feet firmly planted on the thick red rug. He had his hands clasped behind his back.

  “Lock the door,” he said.

  Jasmine hesitated. Kahld had once tried to kill her in that room. She’d narrowly escaped by using her power to hide. She didn’t like the thought of being locked in. But this was Durne and not Kahld. She could trust Durne.

  She turned the latch.

  “Too many folk think they can come barging in here whenever they please,” he murmured.

  Jasmine wasn’t sure what to do with herself, so she hovered near the door. Maybe Durne wanted to speak with her about Cagg’s offer of mentorship. While she hadn’t given the first mate an official answer, he’d struck up conversations about various workings of the ship, the finer points of trade deals, how to source supplies for ship maintenance.

  Her captain turned his back and studied the view outside his wide windows. The ghost ship could be seen from there. It sat in the waters like a stone on dry land. The sight of it chased a shiver through her. There was no mistaking it was unnatural.

  “I could watch the waves all day if it were possible,” Durne murmured, and she recalled he couldn’t see the ship.

  A faint smile tugged on her lips. There was no place better than on the ocean. Any ocean was fine, from the crystal blue waters of the Papaii Islands, the deep green depths of the Fasslin Sea, to these dark rough waters of the Kranston. They all carried their own beauty, their own power, and they all spoke to Jasmine.

  She joined him by the windows. Cold air radiated from the glass, the corners of each panel frosting over. Outside, the ocean swelled and heaved and sluiced in the wake of the ship. White foam splashed like dancers cresting the waves. On the northwest horizon, a storm gathered over the ghost ship, a long way from immediate trouble.

  As curious as she was to find out why her captain had summoned her, she didn’t want to break the magic of the moment. She figured he’d let her know when he was ready.

  “All day,” Durne murmured. He sucked in a deep slow breath. “I need you to do a job for me.”

  “Whatever you need,” she said, eager to prove he could trust her again.

  With his hands still clasped behind him, he eyed her. “You don’t know what I plan to ask of you.”

  She held still, hoping her sudden uncertainty wasn’t showing. Although the view beckoned, she couldn’t pull her gaze from his.

  His black eyes glinted. “I want you to … gather some information.” He turned back to the view. “From Marcelo’s room.” His jaw was set, his bushy eyebrows jutted out, and his wiry beard brushed his barrel chest.

  “You want me to spy.” His request had the smatterings of Kahld asking Brusan to do his dirty work. Was this how it had begun? The jobs started as something small then gradually got worse?

  “I don’t trust the man,” Durne went on, not waiting for a response. “He is hiding something. If he knows the meaning behind that damnable star, I want to know what it is. If he knows more about the attack on Finn, I want to know that too.” He turned and held her with his intense, angry gaze. “If he is endangering my crew or my ship, I need to know what he is up to. Will you do that for me?”

  Durne wasn’t Kahld, and she wasn’t Brusan. Durne cared about the safety of every soul aboard the ship. His intentions were honorable.

  “Aye,” she said, no louder than a whisper.

  Chapter 25

  The parchment crackled under Jasmine’s fingers. She glanced up, afraid someone might’ve heard. A foolish response. She was alone in Marcelo’s room with the door firmly closed. The old man was topside, and Aurelius lurked in the mess hall. The kid was probably looking for crumbs or contemplating stealing food from the galley. Theft would get him a swift punch from Brusan and a nasty public punishment from Durne.

  The kid’s problem, not hers.

  To get the gist of the parchment, she picked out what words she could from Marcelo’s tight script. The sharp flourishes made her job harder, and her eyes ached from the strain. She’d lost count of how many she’d read among his messy collection of scrolls, books, charts, and illustrations. None of them had revealed any secrets, and she was beginning to lose hope. He was a wily old man; it seemed unlikely he’d leave anything of importance out for anyone to discover. But discover, she tried.

  She let out a soft sigh. As far as she could tell, the parchment she held was a detailed account of Captain Durne’s stubborn refusal to turn the ship around and sail for Auslam. Marcelo planned to file an official complaint when he returned to “civilization.”

  “Good luck with that,” she murmured. The captain of his ship was the king of his kingdom. He had full authority. While it was in his best interest to keep his crew and passengers happy, no law bound him except the basic laws of decency. No port authority would get involved if a passenger was a few months late getting to his destination.

  She returned the parchment. It had been a challenge to put everything back the way she’d found it. Even though Marcelo had left his quarters in complete disarray, she suspected he knew exactly where he’d placed every book, every paper, every trinket. No sense alerting him to a spy in his midst.

  If Marcelo had visions about the Beast, or some dark future he wanted to avoid by returning to Auslam, where would he put such an account? She’d already been through his desk, which looked less like a workstation and more like a dumping ground.

  In the corner of the old man’s quarters sat his precious bromeliad. He used a pile of battered books as a stand for the plant. Wedged under that pile was a squashed scroll. After some wrestling, she rescued the scroll. She half expected the water-stained parchment to contain a detailed account on the care and feeding of bromeliads. Instead, it revealed a sketched map of Oakheart with a circle around a side alley. Next to the map was a description of a tagged wielder named Cal. Underneath that was the word “Abomination” which had been underlined three times in thick black ink.

  A prickle of anger warmed her. That confirmed it then. Marcelo could lie to her face without being detected. Nothing the old man said could be trusted. He’d known Cal had been an abomination, and he’d orchestrated events so that Finn would be forced to silence the wielder. But why involve Finn?

  And if Marcelo was so desperate for Cal to die because he was an abomination, why not do the same to her? The old man knew she too was an abomination, so what held him back?

  Everything in her wanted to confront the old man. He had the answers she needed, the key to all the mysteries. But what good would it do? He’d just lie.

  She sent her magic off to check on him. He was still topside with Cagg. The first mate kept him busy with endless questions about Auslam. Marcelo was so enamored by his hometown that he eagerly spoke of it to anyone willing to listen.

  Her ship shifted. It was different to the normal rock and sway of the ocean swells. It had been as if the deck had moved on its own to trip her up. She tapped into her prize to search for the cause. Her magic shuddered away, like a flame shying from a breeze.

  Darkness. Black flames. The vision surged in the corners of her eyesight. Pinpricks of light and dark boiled against each other, filling her view.

  Dropping the scroll, Jasmine staggered. A faceless anxiety crashed down, taking her breath away. Sweat broke out on her forehead, and her skin tingled at every nerve ending.

  The ship was under attack.

  But how? The ghost ship hadn’t changed its behavior for weeks. Maybe it was finally making a move on them. She needed to see what was happening.
/>
  Fighting the vision so she could see enough to clamber from Marcelo’s quarters, she spilled out into the passageway and barged into Henk.

  “Ho, there, lass,” he said, catching her elbow to steady her. His brown coat had once stretched across a broad frame. Now it hung limp and loose. “What be your hurry?”

  Didn’t he know? Couldn’t he see? Danger filled the passageway. The spaces between decks rang with it. Compartments above and below screamed with it.

  She pulled away as she tried to tell him to run, but her tongue couldn’t form the words.

  “About to start a game of cards with Willem,” he said, hooking a thumb over one shoulder.

  A lie. The man had lied.

  “To take my mind off me hunger,” he said. “Want to join?”

  Soot billowed over the sailor. Destruction rained down on him. She stared wide-eyed as he shrugged through swirls of burning ash.

  “Suit yourself.” Henk edged past her and continued up the passageway as if nothing were wrong. He’d known she’d turn down his offer, and he headed in the opposite direction he’d indicated, away from where Willem slept fitfully in a hammock. Why had he lied?

  Finn. She needed to protect Finn.

  She charged through her ship, a phantom in a storm of darkness. She took a different route to Finn’s quarters, down a service ladder, through the gun deck, and toward the stern. Crewmates staggered to get out her way. Curses chased her. Twilit murk whirlpooled around her.

  When she arrived in the passageway outside Finn’s room, Henk appeared at the opposite end, a silhouette in a turmoil of smoke and ruin. Light glinted off the curved edge of a cutlass in his hands.

  “Walk away, Henk,” she said.

  The sailor moved closer.

  “Stop.” She didn’t want to hurt him. He’d been aboard for the majority of her life. He was like a big brother. He was family.