Captives of the curse, p.1
Captives of the Curse, page 1
part #3 of The Kyona Chronicles Series
Captives of the Curse
The Kyona Chronicles Book Two
Deborah Grace White
Luminant Publications
Contents
Captives of the Curse
Map of Kyona and Beyond
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Six
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Epilogue
Note from the Author
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Captives of the Curse
By Deborah Grace White
The Kyona Chronicles Book Two
Copyright © 2020 by Deborah Grace White
First edition (v1.0) published in 2020
by Luminant Publications
All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, transmitted, stored in, or introduced into a database or retrieval system, in any form, or by any means, without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.
The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.
ISBN: 978-1-925898-22-4
Luminant Publications
PO Box 201
Burnside, South Australia 5066
http://www.deborahgracewhite.com
Cover Design by Karri Klawiter
Map illustration by Rebecca E. Paavo
For Reuben
Always keep exploring beyond the boundaries of your world.
Map of Kyona and Beyond
Chapter One
Jonan stood on the rolling deck, his feet steady beneath him. When he had first boarded the ship he would have been unbalanced by swells as large as these, but three weeks on the ocean inevitably had an effect.
His eyes scanned the horizon, his glance straying back northward, in the ship’s wake. Not for the first time, he found himself wondering what Calinnae and Elnora were doing at that moment.
Something boring and diplomatic, he assured himself firmly. You’re not missing anything. He sighed. But he was missing something. He was missing his best friend. Shaking his head, he returned his gaze to the horizon ahead of him. As exciting as the events of the past months had been, he didn’t want to dwell on the adventures behind him. Even if they did involve dragons and broken curses and magic swords. He wanted to look to the future.
Not that he regretted his part in the quest to reestablish the corrupted bloodline of his home country. He was glad, of course, that Cal had come into his own. And although Cal was somehow, impossibly, king of Kyona now, he knew it changed nothing between them. Cal had always been like a brother, and he would have gladly given Jonan a home and a role in the court at Kynton.
But Jonan had no interest in such a life. Back when he’d thought he was the one destined to be king, he had lain awake at nights filled with dread over it. Now that he was free, he had no intention of shackling himself to the absurdity of court intrigues by choice.
Besides, the best thing about being caught up in the events that had swept his old life away was that he had finally escaped the tiny fishing village where he’d grown up. He had always dreamed of sailing across the sea to explore the lands beyond. Now that he was finally doing it, the last thing he wanted to do was look back.
He sighed again and stretched his stiff limbs. It was only the period of inactivity, he reflected. He had boarded the vessel with excitement, ready to discover and conquer without hesitation. But three weeks of bobbing up and down over endless waves rather dulled the sense of urgency.
“Oi! You there! Throw me up that rope, would you?”
Looking around, Jonan spotted the sailor who had hailed him, and hastened to comply. He had a warmth toward the man, despite the sailor’s rough ways. He was the only one who ever sought Jonan’s assistance. Jonan felt a prickle of frustration as he watched the sailor busying himself partway up the mast. The unwillingness of the ship’s crew to give him even the smallest of jobs was another cause of his current aggrieved state of mind.
He had assumed that he would be able to work his way across on a fishing or trading vessel, but apparently experienced seamen didn’t place any particular value on offers of help from untrained outsiders. The master of this ship had been willing to give him passage for a fee, but it was made clear that he was to stay out of the way. With that offer he had to be content, and he hadn’t hesitated to part with a large number of his coins.
The only alternative would have been to barter the silver chain around his neck, and Jonan hadn’t wanted to do that. He fingered it absently now, unable to explain why he wanted to keep it. The royal signet ring that once hung from it now rested on Cal’s finger, where it belonged. Jonan didn’t regret losing the royal identity he briefly thought was his. But he couldn’t quite part with the empty chain.
So he had paid in coins. It rankled a little to know that he had so quickly needed the gold that he had been hesitant to accept. But he supposed he should be grateful that he had left Kynton with many more coins than he had possessed when he left his hometown of Nerita not so long before. There were some advantages to being the best friend of the new king.
And despite the few coins left in his pouch, Jonan’s heart was as light as his pocket. It was true he had no idea what he would find at his destination, or how difficult it might be to return, but he wasn’t worried. He was sure he’d find a way to make it work. Things usually had a way of sorting themselves out.
“Need anything else?” he called up to the sailor.
The man grunted. “Some pitch wouldn’t go astray,” he acknowledged. “It’s in the big storeroom, in the stern.”
Jonan nodded, already on his way to the ladder that led below deck. Three weeks of aimless wandering in a confined space was more than enough time to be familiar with every aspect of the ship’s layout. He had never actually entered the storeroom in question, but he knew exactly where it was.
He passed a number of other crew members on his way, but no one spared him a second glance. The storeroom occupied one end of the stern. Something about it was vaguely familiar, but he was certain he hadn’t been inside it before. He wandered deeper into it, running a hand along the shelves as he searched for the jars of pitch that he knew would be there somewhere. Finally he saw them, right at the back of the space, on a shelf at knee height. He squatted down, picking up a half empty jar.
Before he stood up, however, he was distracted by the curved wooden wall of the ship behind where the shelf was attached. Just like the rest of the ship, the wood here looked old and worn. It was such a leaky bucket that he would have hesitated to accept passage on it if he had been one to worry about such details. You wouldn’t get Cal onto this ship in a hurry, he thought with a grin.
His eyes flicked back to the part of wall that had attracted his attention. Loops of metal that he hadn’t noticed anywhere else were bolted to the wood. They were so rusted and old that their original purpose was unclear, but they didn’t hold his gaze for long. He was more interested in the space between them. Something had been carved in large letters into the wood. It was barely legible, clearly carved a long time ago. Whoever left the mark must have made it very deep for it to still be visible at all. Squinting at it, Jonan thought it must be a name, although it wasn’t one he had ever heard before.
Alben.
Looking more closely, he realized that the “b” didn’t look right. Inside the round part of the letter was another circle, contained within the “b”. For a moment he wondered if it had been an accident, but the strokes were so deep and deliberate, it seemed unlikely. He glanced at the wall elsewhere at this height and saw that there were other markings too, but none in which legible letters could be made out. He looked back at the name. Alben. It had a strong feel to it, he thought.
Acting on a strange impulse, he reached his hand out and touched the letters, wanting to feel the groove they had left in the wood. Immediately he felt a surge—a strange feeling he couldn’t define. For a moment he felt as though his hand had been soldered to the wall, and he couldn’t have removed it if he tried. His hand looked strange though, unfamiliar against the wood, which seemed suddenly strong and sturdy. Glancing down he saw heavy iron shackles around his ankles, and he pulled his hand back with a stifled cry.
Reality returned at o
He stared at the markings again. What had just happened to him? Was he getting cabin fever at last, or was some kind of magic involved here? He could think of no other explanation. He had heard Cal describe such visions, but he had never experienced anything like it himself. And he could think of no reason for him to have any magical connection with this decrepit old trading vessel.
Looking around, he saw the pitch on the floor where he had dropped it. In his daze he had forgotten all about his reason for coming below deck, but he supposed that the sailor would be wondering where he was. He snatched the jar up and, with one last uneasy look at the carving on the wall, he hurried out of the storeroom.
Once back up on deck, he felt the strong sea wind clear his mind. It was easier to think straight up here where he could see the sky, overcast though it might be. He made his way over to the sailor, who had descended from the mast and was focused on securing the rope Jonan had previously handed up to him.
The man grunted his thanks when Jonan handed over the pitch. He didn’t comment on the delay, instead beginning work on a damaged barrel, putting the pitch to good use. Unsure whether to ask any of the questions swirling around his head, Jonan hovered nearby, neither engaging his companion nor turning away from him.
The man seemed unbothered by his presence, but after a few minutes he glanced in Jonan’s direction, seeming to guess that the youth was leaving something unsaid.
“If this wind holds, we should reach Nohl early tomorrow,” he offered.
Jonan started. “So soon?” He felt a smile growing, temporarily forgetting the strange moment he had just experienced below deck. “That will be a relief.”
The sailor chuckled. “Aye, I figured you’d had about enough of the sea. This life isn’t for everyone.”
“It’s not the sea I’m sick of,” said Jonan quickly. “I just don’t like having nothing to do.” His companion smiled indulgently, and Jo felt a bit foolish. He had seen for himself how hard these seamen worked, and he supposed that they would love to have nothing to do for a spell. But he couldn’t help it if they were unwilling to let him share the load.
“Who’s waiting for you at the other end?” the sailor asked. Jonan wondered if it was the prospect of arriving on land at last that had made the older man suddenly more interested in conversation.
“No one,” Jonan answered in surprise. The sailor looked at him sharply.
“I thought you were getting off at Nohl.”
“That’s right,” Jonan affirmed, nodding. “I thought I’d see a little of Balenol.” The man was staring at him now, and Jonan felt his own brows draw together in confusion.
“Thought you’d see a little of it? Balenol is not the country for some foolhardy adventure, kid. Not for a Kyonan. If you just wanted to wander around, you shouldn’t be making for the South Lands.”
Jonan shrugged, unconcerned by these strictures. He’d been drilled in caution all his life, and he’d never let it slow him down before.
The sailor was still shaking his head, but he didn’t persist. Jonan’s welfare was no concern of his.
“What’s the capital like?” Jonan asked curiously. “Nohl, I mean.”
The man shrugged. “Don’t know. Never been there, have I?”
“What do you mean?” Jonan asked. “I thought you said you’ve been crew on this ship for years. Don’t you sail this route all the time?”
The man grunted his assent.
“Then how…” Jonan trailed off, and the man sighed.
“We’re Kyonan, kid. We don’t linger in Nohl. We drop our cargo, then we continue straight on to Thorania. Methinks you should do the same. I’m sure the captain will let you continue on if you ask.”
Jonan frowned at the mention of the country that bordered Balenol. There was something behind the man’s words that he didn’t fully understand. But the more the other man discouraged Jonan from exploring Balenol, the more he found himself wanting to do it.
“No thanks,” he said succinctly. “Nohl is my stop.” He started to turn away, but he suddenly remembered his strange vision in the storeroom. If this man was in the mood for conversation, it was too good an opportunity to miss.
“I saw something below deck,” he began. “There was a…” He had intended to explain about the marking, but as the sailor looked at him questioningly, he somehow lost his nerve. “There was a metal ring attached to the wall. What would its purpose be?”
The sailor shrugged. “For the chains, I imagine.”
“Chains?” Jonan felt an ominous foreboding.
“Aye,” grunted his companion. “This ship was a slave vessel once.”
Jonan recoiled from the man involuntarily, realizing why the room had seemed familiar. He had been on a slave vessel once before, and the captives had been held in large cells in the stern of the ship.
“And you crewed the ship?” Jonan demanded, not bothering to hide the anger rising up inside him.
The man spat, although his expression remained unconcerned. “Nar, I don’t hold with that type of trade, myself,” he said. “It’s a sad thing when a man turns on his own countrymen. ’Sides, no guarantee you won’t end up in shackles yourself when you take up with them traders.”
Jonan slowly uncurled his fists, only realizing as he did so that he had balled them in the first place. “But I thought you said you’ve worked this ship for many years. Hasn’t the slave trade only started operating again in the last few decades?”
“Aye,” the soldier spat again, his attention apparently more on the barrel than on the conversation.
“So how long ago was this a slave ship?” Jonan asked with a frown.
The man sighed, apparently growing weary of the interruption. “When it was new, I figure,” he said. “Dunno how long back. Couple hundred years, maybe.”
“A couple hundred years?” repeated Jonan, startled. “Surely this ship isn’t that old?”
The sailor threw him an amused glance. “Were you thinking it was new, lad?”
“Hardly,” said Jonan dryly, casting a glance around at the state of the vessel. “But I didn’t think ships could last that long.”
“Mostly they don’t,” said the man. “But they’ll last as long as you like if you keep maintaining them properly. I expect this one was among the best when it was first made. A lot of ships either go under before their lifespan can be tested or fall apart from overuse and under-maintenance. I reckon this one took some damage though, and lay unused for a long time.
“The last captain acquired it fifty some years ago, I reckon. Guess he figured it was cheaper to fix up an old relic than build a new boat. It was well repaired then, and it’s been pretty well maintained most of the time I’ve sailed on it. Still, it’s pretty sorry these days. Daresay we’ll end up at the bottom of the sea one of these times.”
