Daughter of the dark sea, p.3
Daughter of the Dark Sea, page 3
“They’re getting closer!” the sailor shouted, peering around his shield. Blood oozed from a small cut on his head, mixing with his sweat.
“Good, let them come.” She didn’t stop to think as she yelled to her crew to drop to the deck. Sailors fell to the floor like a black wave, covering their heads with hands and shields as they approached the pass at rapid pace.
Two large jagged rocks formed the small pass, arching up to meet at a pointed curve. Barely tall or wide enough to fit her masts through. Kora winced. Her ship would suffer significant damage, but it was the only way through. She had to get to the other side.
Boom. Another cannon fired, breaking the peaked pass apart as chunks of moss-covered rock plummeted into the ocean.
“How’d they miss us?” The sailor frowned, his shield vibrating with nerves.
Hell’s Serpent sailed through, the jagged, crusted mass scraping against the sides of Kora’s precious ship. She shuddered as it creaked, panels cracking and breaking off. The rigging caught and tugged against the rocks, and Blake ordered the lancers to cut it free.
Their speed slowed and her heart thumped wildly. Boom. A cannon scraped the stern. These pirates certainly had lousy aim.
The top of the main mast snapped against the cresting peak and wood shattered, raining down and mixing with rock infested puddles. Another cannon blasted from Demon Sea Siren and rocky nature exploded, allowing more space in the pass for Hell’s Serpent to sail through.
Another cannon fired on the left. Right. Left.
“No,” Kora replied, realisation dawning. “They’re trying to fit through the pass.”
Almighty Thanos.
Kora released a sigh of relief once they cleared the edge of the archipelago, and she spun the wheel with her captain flair.
“Anchor!” she cried.
With quick precision, the crew descended the anchor as they passed over a reef patch, anchoring Hell’s Serpent port side. The ship whipped around, wind blowing in their favour.
The crew grabbed on to the right-side railing as it creaked and rocked heavily towards the anchored side, nearly sending them all overboard. She hooked her arm through the spokes of the wheel, crying out as ocean water sprayed onto the deck, soaking her legs as they slipped beneath her.
Jet-black sails fluttered in the wind as her ship aligned sideways with the narrow pass. Lancers were armed at the starboard side, black spears glistening in the sun, along with archers, their bowstrings taut and arrows nocked. The thunder of cannons loaded by the gunners reverberated throughout the ship.
Demon Sea Siren struggled to sail through, its masts splintering and shattering completely all the way down. The main sail tore in half and listlessly hung, no longer able to catch a breeze. Cracks splintered the wood, the side sails catching on the rocks and tearing holes in the fabric. Satisfaction filled Kora as the pirates broke their uniformity, yelling at Hell’s Serpent, who aimed at them with the full might of their artillery.
“Fire!” Kora bellowed, her voice straining as it ripped from her throat with vengeance. The ocean’s surface crested, like a tunnel spearing for their foe, and her core lurched with the movement, as if an extension of herself shot from her flesh before vanishing.
Blake echoed her command to the brig and the archers fired first, their movements powerful yet fluid, effortlessly volleying arrows. The pirates scattered like cockroaches as they sprinted away from the forecastle deck, cries ringing out.
The lancers swiftly followed, their lethal, sharp spears tearing the wood and foremast sails. Guts of pirates spilled as they were pierced by dark spears, their ribboned entrails pinned to their doomed ship. Blood exploded, splattering across the deck, stark against the royal-blue clothing and rich mahogany wood. Finally, the cannons blasted. Rocks broke apart, and the pass crumbled, collapsing onto Demon Sea Siren.
Her crew were relentless, firing one after the other in trained, tactical succession, all perfectly timed, giving the other a chance to reload.
Yet . . . something stirred deep inside her as the massacre of Demon Sea Siren unfurled. A tingle snaked across her skin, filling her with apprehension. This was what she’d been trained for. Why did she feel like something was wrong?
“Look,” the voice stroked Kora’s mind, and she released a shuddering breath as Demon Sea Siren was demolished, pirates’ screams submerged beneath the sea. She shoved her doubt to the back of her mind as something pulled her gaze to the west. The three remaining ships were sailing directly towards . . . Galen. Why were they sailing there? She hurried to the edge, placing her hands on the wide railing and squinting against the harsh light of the sun.
No.
Surely they wouldn’t sail into the Mist? They’d be caught in its tendrils, unable to proceed or return, suspended in a cloak of nothing. Kora leaned forward, straining to see across the vast blue miles. Heat shimmered off the ocean surface, and sweat, dust, and dirt coated her body, hair, and clothes.
Gods, she was so hot. She was so thirsty. She’d drink the ocean water at this point.
This had to be a mirage. The remaining pirates had to be in the archipelago preparing for another attack. Her heart pounded with adrenaline, her uncertain fear wallowing in the depths of her stomach, not daring to reveal itself to her crew. This couldn’t be over already. They were pirates, driven by murderous bloodlust.
“They’re going into the Mist,” Blake appeared beside her, his walk near silent. “It’s suicide.”
Shock slackened his face, as the elegantly built rear of Fallen Angel disappeared into the vapid Mist. They would be lost forever, wandering the endless grey void. His hands, a hair’s breadth away from Kora’s, were coated in dust from the rock explosions, and slick with oil from helping archers light their arrows.
“I don’t understand,” Kora spoke in hushed tones, the steady course of adrenaline draining away, as exhaustion crept in. “If they sail into the Mist, they’ll die. No vessel can pass the barrier.”
The Mist was a blessing, but also a curse. It kept the enemy in, but it kept the empire out, too. Her head pounded and she licked her dry lips, tasting blood. She gently brushed her fingers over her mouth, where a small, stinging cut was already clotting.
“We don’t really know that for sure. We’ll need to report this,” Blake said roughly. “If the pirates are allying with Galen. There must be a reason for sailing into that.”
At least it confirmed she wasn’t hallucinating. But pirates forging an alliance with Galen? This meant trouble, and not the fun kind.
Erick’s tales about the Galenite War swirled around in her mind. The Galenites had captured countless Azarian innocents, dragging them to their lifeless island to torture. To turn them against their own families, who remained devoted to the Talmon Empire. To turn them into weapons of destruction.
When the Mist came, trapping them in their soulless wasteland of an island, the conflicts instantly ceased, and the Galenite War ended. Peace returned after two long wars. All that remained were rebels in favour of Galen—and pirates. And soon, Kora would eradicate them all.
She had a personal stake in this. Her new life depended on it. She wanted peace and comfort, and to know she did all she could to avenge her previous life in order to move on with her new one. To ensure what happened to her, would never happen to anyone else.
It’d been ten years. Her memory was never coming back, of that she was sure. What mattered now was the present. Why else would Erick spend countless hours training her? Honing her into the ultimate weapon on the sea. The drive to follow in his footsteps, as a formidable force against the rebels, was all-consuming. A raging red haze sometimes blanketed her mind, and she would lose herself in grief for people, and a life, she couldn’t remember.
A totally, super normal response to her ‘trauma,’ as Erick liked to call it.
Erick had taken her in, and shaped her anger into something tangible. Ten years of gruelling training, and endless readings about the history of the wars and islands until her eyeballs spun in their sockets. Each day, she was one step closer to her goal, but now it had sailed away.
“Maybe they didn’t want to face the wrath of the armada’s most fearsome ship.” A grin lit up her face.
Blake rolled his eyes, but a smile tugged the corner of his mouth. Kora drank him in, noticing the smile didn’t reach his eyes. Wet hair framed his gaunt face from rationing, and dust covered his ripped shirt, along with a thin, bloody gash on his forearm.
“Blake! Why didn’t you say anything? You, there!” She snapped her fingers at the sailor with the bleeding forehead and he stepped forward, a slight tremor still shaking him. “Fetch some healing supplies quickly, and something for yourself.” She pointedly glanced at his head. His gaze flickered at Blake before nodding as he hurried to locate the healer.
“I’ll be fine,” Blake sighed. “It’s just a scratch.”
“A scratch, my arse. Sit down. Now.”
Blake thudded down at the top of the steps as the sailor returned with supplies, a bandage haphazardly placed on his head, presumably by the healer. Muscled flesh peeked through Blake’s torn jerkin, and she admired his strong frame as he unbelted his cutlass sword and carefully placed it beside him.
The sailor hovered behind Kora, watching her curiously, his dark eyes lingering on her scar. It wasn’t uncommon for Kora to be stared at, but it felt as though he was boring a hole into the side of her head.
“You can go now. Check on the others,” she ordered, her attention trained on her first mate.
The sailor hesitantly scarpered off as Kora tended to Blake, who didn’t wince or moan once as she cleansed his wound and dressed it.
“You should be nicer to them more often,” he gestured to the nervous sailor. “This job is dangerous. They never know which voyage will be their last.”
“Being captain means playing a certain role. Besides, he was staring too much.” Her mask snapped firmly back into place, smoothing her features out.
Kora nibbled her bottom lip as she focused, ignoring the sudden guilt at how little she knew about her crew, including most of their names. But she’d been captain of Hell’s Serpent for a year, and couldn’t afford to lose the authority she’d worked so hard to gain. The slightest slip up and the viceroys would dismiss her, revoking her status as captain. Even after all this time, she still walked on eggshells.
“Come,” Blake’s familiar drawl soothed her inner rage from the battle. His hand lightly brushed hers and her body fluttered at the spark as she finished tying off the bandage. “Let’s get our reward.”
Oh, he was divine to stare at.
His eyes darkened mischievously as Kora followed him towards the bow, where uninjured crew members prepared small boats. She cast a curious glance back towards the bereft Mist.
“Look,” the voice repeated once again, clanging through her already-pounding head.
Look at what exactly, she wondered.
4
The shattered remains of Demon Sea Siren surrounded Kora. Swaths of royal-blue sails shredded into ribbons trailed in the sea, entwining with the limbs of scattered bodies. It reminded her of mermaids, swimming in the ocean depths, dragging sailors to their demise in the dark seas.
Panels of wood were torn clean off in the hull, courtesy of her crew’s deadly cannon fire, and the entire bowsprit and masts were blown to pieces, along with the main deck. Only the quarterdeck and the captain’s quarters remained intact, arrows and lancers’ spears decorating the once-remarkable woodwork. She admired her crew’s handiwork, and the sheer force and might of Hell’s Serpent.
The pirates’ attempt to replicate her ship irritated her. No one could impersonate Hell’s Serpent—or her. Kora’s reputation was as a cold, fearless captain, accompanied by an even colder and brutal first mate with an annoying drawl.
She was also a highly sought-after pirate-hunter.
She kicked debris and rocks out of her path as her crew picked their way across the hold, scavenging for supplies and survivors. Why would pirates impersonate a pirate-hunter? It didn’t make sense. Kora’s notoriety made her a target in the open ocean, away from the safety of the islands—something Erick incessantly fretted about. The meeting was strange, too. Two ships were a surprise, but not uncommon . . . but five, and in their centuries-old homeland? That was suspicious. Pirates were solitary creatures, driven by greed and lust. They’d kill each other if it resulted in a reward.
And why did they sail into the Mist?
Sailors collected arrows and spears still intact to stock up their artillery, whilst others rummaged for ration supplies. A cheer sounded in the distance and Kora smiled, her mind clearing—they’d found grog that’d survived the battle. After what felt like hours, they’d salvaged grog, water, and food—enough to last the two hundred sailors aboard her ship the weeklong trip home with minor rationing.
Blake summoned Kora to a golden weapons chest. He brushed away the rocks and debris coating it with a grunt and flipped open the unlocked lid, which was embedded with gleaming moonstones and pearls. High-level-grade cutlass swords, daggers, and an ancient-looking claymore greeted them. They were expertly crafted, and better than anything she’d seen in Aldara.
“Where did they find these?” Goosebumps pimpled her flesh as she fingered the curved, sharp edges of one of the gleaming silver daggers. Swirling silver patterns embellished the hilt, the continuous, evolving shapes connecting to an unfamiliar archaic symbol etched into the star shaped pommel. Blake knelt beside her and studied the chest’s contents with brisk attention.
“I don’t recognise these weapons, or the symbols.” Kora reluctantly placed the beautiful dagger back in the chest. Damn, it was exquisite. “The stones on the chest . . . it’s from Galen.” She glanced sideways at Blake, arching a brow. Moonstone was Galen’s preferred gem, and their castle in Skybell was rumoured to be made of it. Something so dazzling didn’t belong to a place so cruel.
Blake’s mouth formed a grim line. “We’ll take it with us. This could be payment from Galen to the pirates. It’d explain why they’d willingly sail into the Mist. Maybe the pirates can reach their shores.”
“That’s impossible. Why would Galen want pirates to work for them? And no one has ever been able to survive the Mist,” Kora pointed out. “If pirates have found some way in . . . does that mean Galen have found a way out?”
Blake abruptly stood and slammed the chest shut, his body tense. He shook his head, denying her question. It was unfathomable. If Galen could escape the Mist, the Galenite War would reignite, blazing until it consumed the islands, disintegrating them into ash. He signalled for three nearby sailors to haul the chest to the boats, and Kora’s shoulders slumped as her favoured dagger was carried away.
Shame it’d been crafted at the sinister island.
“They attacked us because that’s all pirates do. Galen is up to something. Somehow, they’re contacting the world,” he spat, before helping her up. Their bodies hovered close together, mere inches between their entwining heats. Blake’s green gaze captured hers, sparkling like emeralds in a sea of death, and he released a breath, loosening his shoulders.
“We need to head back soon. Don’t get lost, I don’t want to have to rescue you,” he whispered with a teasing wink.
“I think you’ll find, it’s normally me rescuing you.” Kora tapped his bandaged arm, and Blake retreated to the boats with a chuckle, overseeing the remaining plunder. She weaved around piles of debris, missing the balance of her daggers strapped to her back. Swept away by the thrill of the hunt, she’d left them in her quarters on Hell’s Serpent.
The fragmented hull was silent and void of life, aside from the occasional arm or leg buried underneath the desecrated debris, and she eyed the suspicious door below the quarterdeck, leading to the captain’s quarters. No one had searched it yet. Kora motioned to the nearest sailor and stifled a moan as the trembling newbie approached.
“I thought you stayed on the ship.” Her tone dripped with irritation.
“No ma’am.” Blood seeped through his head bandage as he wiped his hair from his lean face.
Kora grimaced. She was by no means old enough to be addressed as ma’am. Erick had guessed her age as fifteen when he’d recovered her from the wreckage, and now she was approaching her presumed twenty-fifth birthday. They’d decided the day of her rescue would be her birthday. It was at the end of summer, before cool air swept in for autumn, soothing the raging heat.
“You may address me as Captain,” she reminded him.
He gaped with worry, shaking his head, but his eyes sparkled. “Please accept my apologies, Captain, I—”
Kora held up a hand, his sparkling eyes irking her. Did he think this was a joke? “It’s fine. I need you to help me reach the captain’s quarters,” she paused, remembering Blake’s suggestion, “please.”
The sailor stilled, glancing to the heavy-set mahogany door lined with dark iron bolts. He surveyed their demolished surroundings, dark eyes turning quizzical. Open space loomed between them and the captain’s door, decking strewn around in obliterated shards. Kora rubbed her chin, casting her stare over piles of rubble.
“We need to find a ladder, or barrels to stack.” She began searching, dust collecting on her clammy hands. Nodding at her command, the sailor silently picked through the debris, face paling at the fingers and limbs peeking through the wreckage. She curiously studied him as the sense of purpose eased the tremble persisting in his body.
“What’s your name?” Kora enquired reluctantly. Damn it, Blake.
“Finlay,” he replied without looking, “Finlay Blackstone, Captain.” His shoulders hunched, squishing the broadsword strapped to his back between his bony blades.
“As in the House of Blackstone?” Surprise tinted Kora’s voice. What was a son of a noble house doing on her ship? And how did she not know? Had Blake authorised his draft into the crew? She would certainly remember seeing Blackstone on the recruitment list.
