by J B Black
Nereus smiled, enjoying the attention, but when nightfall came, the pod of mermaids had returned to their own dwellings, and even with the security and trust of those in his realm, Nereus had never been so alone. He wandered his castle, creating comforts and pockets of air within to enjoy if he ever had guests who could not breath underwater such as the selkies staying the night. The warm light of the magma flowing in the trench — radiating heat reminded him of home, and he settled by its edge, watching it slowly flow.
“My lord?” a deep voice called, and Nereus turned with a sigh.
A man with blue skin floated behind him. Instead of legs or a tail, he had eight tentacles that grew darker the further they got from his torso. Upon his head, he had no hair. Markings of darker blue and white spotted his skin, and his eyes were entirely black.
Nereus frowned. “I’m sorry. I don’t believe we’ve met.”
“My name is Preecha, my lord. I had hoped you would be willing to hire me as your first scribe,” the cecaelia said as he slowly approached. His eyes shifted between the god and the trench. “Are you feeling well, my lord?”
Nereus sighed, resting his chin in a hand as he brought his knees to his chest. “I have several siblings. Traveling here was so exciting, but I don’t really need sleep. Not as often as mortal beings, so now everyone has gone to bed, I’m rather alone.”
Preecha sank down to sit beside the god. “Don’t worry, my lord. You’ll soon find your bride, and you’ll start a family of your own.”
“Bride? That’s so unfair, isn’t it?” Nereus murmured, running his hands in the sand on either side of where he sat. “They don’t get a say in the territory. They’re destined for a god, so they just have to deal with ruling over this strange place and having all these expectations placed upon them.”
“But they’re fated, my lord.”
Scoffing, Nereus laughed, but the sound fell hollow beneath the water. “My parents have been kept apart by their duties because they are both gods. My father tortures my half-brother because my dam has wanted to retire for centuries, but none of us want that.” He paused, frowning as he glanced to Preecha. “I’m a son of Death, you know.”
The blue-skinned cecaelia nodded. “I heard so, my lord.”
“Don’t be so formal. If you’re to be my first scribe and advisor, I’ll need you to speak plainly with me,” the god informed the other man. With a sigh, he stared down at the trench’s steaming light. “They shouldn’t be called brides. They share our power, don’t they? Well...if they aren’t gods in their own rights, so why don’t they shoulder the responsibility too?”
“Because that is not their purpose,” the cecaelia reminded him.
With a huff, Nereus leapt up, swimming a bit away before he landed, walking along the ocean floor. “But how is that fair to them or to me? Fated mates are bad enough. As much as my parents love each other, I can’t fathom why! My sire is selfish and vengeful, and though I know I have that in my temperament, I seek fairness like my dam, and don’t you say it is a balance,” the god commanded, throwing up his hand as he spun to face Preecha. “If we are to balance, there must be a purpose, but we are gods, are we not?”
“I am not, my lord.”
“Well, that was rhetorical anyway,” the god grumbled.
A small smile played around the cecaelia’s lips. “I see, my lord.”
“And please, stop it with that. Call me Nereus,” the god implored, and when the other hesitated, he pushed, “I want my territory to be one of freedom. I’ll protect those who come to live here, but I want them to be free! Life is so full of rules already. Competition and conquest. No, my realm is going to be about freedom!”
Preecha ducked his head, hiding a smile as he said, “But it will still be your realm.”
This stopped Nereus in his tracks. Unfortunately, to maintain his godhood, he needed territory, and this was the place which called to him. The cold sea matched him. He adored the water and the coast, loving the way the territory provided for him, but the calling inside his heart which beckoned him here was in the same line of destiny as a mate, and as much as he did not feel a pull to anyone to denote a bride, he knew one day, he might. Perhaps a mermaid or merman would swim into his realm, and the whole water would sing their presence to him. A selkie might dive from a cliff or even a human could swim, and he would see his mate in them. It would be magnetic. As much as he denied it, he had seen the pull in the way his parents came back together and loathed everything that kept them apart.
With a sigh, Nereus settled his hands on his hips as he rose, spinning slowly to gaze out at his territory. “I don’t need a mate, but this is my territory. I don’t need romantic love. It’s my siblings I miss, so — Preecha, you’ll help me, won’t you?”
“Help you with what?”
“I am going to make my realm a safe haven for artists and scholars. While the rest of the sea gods squabble over territory and seek their fortune in the ruins of ships and men, I will keep this place — cold as it may be — at peace. A sanctuary, and you’re going to help me,” Nereus insisted with a bright grin. His white teeth sparkled in the dark like the pearls in his hair.
Preecha bowed his head as his tentacles fluttered. “I am at your service.”
Chapter Three
Ducking into an alley, Bellamy Drake crept down its length, keeping his back to the wall and the tatters of his cloak wrapped tightly around him. Gray clouds loomed overhead. They threatened snow, but none of that mattered. His eyes focused on the port dead ahead. Docks stretched to the sea with ships lined up one after the other. Some carried in goods. Others ferried passengers who would take them along the coast, but though they looked one like the other to his unfamiliar gaze, he knew the ship on which he would make his escape.
Though no one chased him, his heart thundered in his chest. Someone had to notice. No matter how he cleaned his face or combed his dirty blond hair, he couldn’t hide the rips in his cloak or the way his boots were slightly too small for his feet — splitting at the seams if anyone looked too carefully at the toes and heels. He could carry himself. Puff up his chest, and walk with his back carried straight, but his eyes darted around. Bellamy belonged to the streets. Orphaned. Urchin. A face more used to being chapped by the cold winds. Skin used to being too tight across his bones.
Still, Bellamy learned his lessons well enough. Knew how to recognize the value of what he couldn’t name. Light feet and even lighter fingers kept him alive. While the others died in the cold, he stomached the worst to find heat in the sewers. Slept with one eye open, never rested. Always hungry. But still he lived. Survived.
Standing straight, Bellamy removed his cloak with reluctance. He folded it carefully, hiding it in a corner in case he had to return for it. With any luck, he would never see this damn city again.
Men moved about the docks. None of them had cloaks. Just thick shirts and coats. Nothing loose to be caught in the rigging as they loaded up their ships, climbing about them like spiders to prepare to set sail. Blending with them, he kept his hands tight to himself, ensuring any eyes which watched him warily would see he made no attempt to pick any of their pockets.
Blending with the men proved easy enough, but he couldn’t climb onto a ship as it was loaded without drawing attention. Not, at least, the ship he intended to stay upon.
Leaping in to assist a man who struggled, Bellamy offered a crooked grin as he caught the corner of a crate before it fell. “Your knot’s come undone.”
As expected, the man offered little response, eyeing him up as another came and redid the knotting, so the first man could hold the tension to keep the crate from falling further. Then he was again dismissed. Told to stay out of their way.
That was fine. He just needed an excuse to get to this side of the dock. Not all the ships were loading. Not all of them carried cargo. Creeping between the ships, he climbed along the rim, holding fast lest he fall into the cold water below. Getting on board, Bellamy kept low. No one could see
him, or they might say something. He couldn’t afford this not to work.
Below deck, the crew slept late. The scent of alcohol hung heavy in the air, and not all of them were in their bunks. Some collapsed about a table with their playing cards still set before them as if they intended to wake up and go right back to playing. Deeper down, Bellamy descended, finding a corner to duck behind the barrels of grog and the stores of food already in place.
They had loaded in the dead of night while everyone slept, and they would likely sail out whenever suited them. This wasn’t like the other ships.
Curling up, Bellamy counted his blessings and took stock of where he stood in his plan. There was little to do now but sleep, so allowing himself to drift with the slight sway of the ship, he let his exhaustion overwhelm him.
When the ship shifted, moving beneath him, the young man awoke with a start. His hands dug into the wood, and as he calmed his breathing, his eyes glanced around in the dark. Above, the sound of footsteps echoed down through the wood. Loud noises rarely bothered him. Not when they were familiar. Growing up on the streets, he had learned quickly how to identify a noise which meant him harm and one which merely threatened his sleep.
Waves crashed against the boat. Rocking from side to side, the ship creaked, groaning as the sailors up above headed about their work. If the worst came to the worst, he could plead to join their crew once they were far enough out that it would be cruel to toss him overboard, but it would be safer if he remained hidden until they made landfall wherever this ship intended to go.
Of course, Bellamy never gained anything by luck. Destiny spat on him at birth, and she kept slapping him down whenever he tried to rely on anything but his own sweat and blood, so when the first man into the hold went straight for the barrels where he hid instead of the ones closer to the front, the young man had little time to react before the burly sailor wrapped an arm about his waist, lifting him when Bellamy tried to scramble away.
“What have we here?” the man drawled, and with a miserable laugh, he tossed the younger man over his shoulder, carrying him out of the hold and to the deck.
“Let me go!” Bellamy huffed, but he knew better than to waste his energy scrambling. He could not get away on the boat, and it was better to have energy if he needed to fight when the man set him down once more.
And the man did toss him down, sending Bellamy to sprawl before the wheel where a man stood. Dark eyes glanced down at him. Deep-set into a middle-aged face, the man had a dark beard kept neat and trim to his face. His brown hair curled about his ears beneath a blue bandana, and when his eyes fell to Bellamy, they held only a tired disappointment.
“A stowaway, sir,” the buff sailor announced.
The man at the wheel sighed, rolling his eyes. “Take him to the captain then, Bill. His life isn’t on me.”
Inching closer, Bill spoke in a low voice near a whisper, “Though you might want to — ya know…”
Bellamy tensed. Panic brewed in his belly. They talked about the loneliness of the sea back at port. More than once, two sailors kept close to one another, seemingly in a relationship though the Town Council which ran the town would have had their heads if that ever proved true. Even if it meant staying on the ship, he doubted he could stomach touching the dark-haired man.
Though more than once, another orphan on the street offered in hopes of gaining something over Bellamy for a night in shared corners, a disinterest swirled in his stomach. He had only ever wanted to touch another person that way once — a young man he had seen from a distance. Tall and tan, the man had stood half-naked with broad shoulders and a narrow waist. The round globes of his ass looked somehow soft and muscular all at once, and a longing woke slowly in Bellamy at the sight, but even then — he’d only wanted to touch to see if his eyes fooled him. The other dove into the sea. Bellamy never saw him again, and what use was it to wonder?
“Captain Teague ordered us not to take on another,” the dark-haired man retorted. “I’m not pretending I hired that scrawny bit of bones.”
Relief eased the tension in his shoulders minutely at that, but Bellamy remained on edge. “I’m strong,” he insisted, jumping to his feet. “And I can climb near about anything.”
Drumming his fingers on the wheel, the man sighed. “Too old to be a powder monkey. Do you have any useful skills?”
“He got on here well enough,” Bill defended.
“He got caught,” the man retorted.
Setting a heavy hand on Bellamy’s shoulder as if he were concerned the boy would run — despite Bellamy having nowhere to go on a ship in the middle of the ocean, Bill straightened his shoulders, towering over the other man. “We should vote on it.”
With a snort, the man at the wheel rolled his eyes. “Teague isn’t terribly fond of that, now is he?”
“Come on, Ned,” Bill pushed, and the men around them seemed to drift closer and closer at the conversation. Or perhaps the sight of someone new on their ship caught their eyes. “You know we all —”
“You all what?” a booming voice demanded, and a man like giant came up the stairs.
He towered above even the broad-shouldered Bill, blocking out the sun with his large black hat. Silvers curls poured out in frizzy disarray about his wide face, blending with the slightly darker speckled beard which fell in braids down his chest. Blue and yellow beads marked the edges, and there were singed hairs at the end, curling and splitting like fraying twine. His teeth reflected like polished mirrors, and his hand rested on the hilt of a sword at his side which thrummed.
Bill’s eyebrows rose. The hand he held upon Bellamy’s shoulder shook. “Sir — I-I think —”
“You? Think?” the low laugh of the man rumbled, and the crew which drew closer quickly scattered, focusing on whatever tasks would take them as far away from the scene as possible. “I thought you had a decent crew when I took your ship, Rowell, but all these men with all their thinking…” The giant shook his head. “You — boy — do you know what ship you climbed aboard?”
Bellamy glanced between the three men before giving a slight nod of his head. “Yes, sir.”
“So you know this isn’t just some merchant vessel. You climbed aboard a pirate ship,” the giant bellowed, gesturing toward the black flag which waved in the air above their heads.
“Yes, sir,” Bellamy affirmed once more.
Ned shifted; his hands clenched on the wheel. “Captain Teague, we need —”
“We? We don’t get needs,” the large man cut in. Lifting his sword a few inches from the shealth, he smirked as both Bill and Ned flinched. “If you want a new crewmate so badly, just tell me which one you’d want to send to Davy.”
Though Bellamy heard rumors of Jonathan Teague before coming on board, the man held an iron grip upon his crew, and if anyone had a chance of not giving a damn about the men after Bellamy, it would be this giant of a man.
While neither Bill or Ned would throw one of their own under the blade for him, Bellamy had no qualms doing whatever he could to push himself into Captain Teague’s good graces.
“Sir, I —”
But Captain Teague lunged, grabbing Bellamy by his right wrist before he could say anything more. Terror seized the young man’s heart as a spark lit in the pirate captain’s eyes. Teauge peeled down Bellamy’s sleeve, revealing the ornate gold cuff that he wore beneath.
“What’s this?” Those mirror-like teeth shined. “I wouldn’t mind taking this as payment for keeping you alive. I could use a cabin boy! The other one didn’t have much fight in him.”
As the man fiddled, trying to get the golden cuff off of Bellamy’s wrist, the young man struggled. “Please, Captain Teague, it can’t be removed. I stole it from a wizard commissioned to make the cuff for King Ulric!”
“Then perhaps I ought to sell you right back to him. Ulric ain’t fond of thieves, after all. He’ll have you on the wall quickly enough,” Teague laughed, grinning even as his eyes narrowed in mounting frustration. “But first, I t
hink, I’ll take this damn cuff off with your hand!”
Out came his sword. It hissed like a serpent, glowing red as he brought it down, and before Bellamy could warn him, the blade slammed down upon his wrist, shattering and casting whatever monstrous spell belonged upon it back upon its master. Teague’s hand fell off. Blood spurted, and the ashes of his sword took every drop.
The wind howled, and the shattered pieces reunited until the giant captain fell to his knees. Leaping up, the sword swung, and of its own accord, it severed Teague’s head from his shoulders, and the man’s flopped over, leaving his head to roll without a drop of blood coming from the mangled remains of his neck which withered like a flower’s rotting stem.
For a moment, everyone stood frozen. Bill stared down at the bloodless corpse of his former captain with wide eyes. Hands drifting from the wheel, Ned came out of the trance first, tugging Bill over to take the wheel as he approached the sword which remained floating in the air between the head and body of Jonathan Teague.
“Don’t move,” Ned commanded, and slowly, he stepped closer. “What is your name, boy?”
“Bellamy Drake.”
Those dark eyes pierced him in place as Ned crossed, and rolling up his sleeves, the dark-haired man inhaled. “That sword is cursed, Bellamy. I’m not sure how it would react if you tried to take it with that cuff of yours, but let’s not take the risk.”
Taking the bandana from his head, he formed a noose, and Ned jumped forward, pulling the loop tight on the hilt before he spun, launching the blade out to sea. It sank down into the ocean, and the men came forward, quickly sending the body of Jonathan Teague to follow off the opposite side of the ship.
When the water splashed around the corpse, Ned sunk back on his heels, running his hands through his dark hair. “Well, Bellamy, if you’ve freed us of that beast, so you have a place on this ship if I have any say, but we’re a democracy here. No man’s word weighs more than another.”