“You can't refuse me,” Volcrian said in a low voice. “The price of your spell was one favor. It is in the magic that taints this store. In your blood.”
“I will refuse,” Malcolm replied bitterly, turning to face the mage, a small spark of defiance in his eyes. “You'll have to kill me if you want my ship.”
Volcrian knew that the frog-man was goading him. Malcolm wanted free of the spell, even if it meant death. The mage smiled grimly. “I could make your situation a lot worse,” he threatened. “How about another spell? One that takes your voice away? Or...one that takes your soul?” He raised an eyebrow.
The man's eyes widened, becoming perfectly round moons. “Y-you can do that?” he cringed.
“Of course,” Volcrian smiled thinly.
“Just...j-just a moment,” Malcolm said, his voice quivering. He limped into the depths of the store, vanishing in the maze of fish barrels. Volcrian's pointed ears twitched. He heard the sound of rummaging, the slide of a desk drawer, the man muttering to himself all the while.
When Malcolm returned, he held an oily scrap of paper in hand. “The title to the boat,” he said. “'Tis old, but sturdy. The crew will sail if you can promise them coin.”
“Oh,” Volcrian murmured, “I'll promise them something....”
Malcolm didn't seem to hear. He thrust the paper into Volcrian's hand. The mage took it, grimacing at the creature's wet grip. “Now leave,” Malcolm spat. “Leave, and never return here.”
“Oh, I don't plan to,” Volcrian smiled. It was a cold look. Then he turned and walked toward the door. As he passed the priestess, he put a casual hand on her shoulder. “Do your work,” he said darkly.
The corpse-woman groaned.
Volcrian winced. “Now.”
“Wait,” Malcolm said from the back of the room. “What do you mean? Who is this woman?”
Volcrian ignored the fishmonger and passed through the door. He closed it tightly behind him. He strode onto the docks, pausing next to the ocean, listening to the gentle lap of the waves against the wooden posts.
After a minute, he heard muffled screams from inside the store—only audible to his sensitive ears.
He didn't like the reminder of Etienne's untrained magic. It felt like a blight on his memory, some backhanded insult. There was no way to reverse a bloodspell, but he could kill the victim. Make the man's suffering shorter—perhaps end it completely. Only death would undo the curse and erase what his brother had done.
And he also wanted to test the priestess. See what she was capable of—if she would obey him completely, despite her rebellious spirit.
He lingered on that thought. He had killed the priestess only a few weeks ago, then raised the corpse. According to the spell he had used, she shouldn't be able to remember her old identity. And yet she maintained some semblance of will...part of one, at least. It wasn't supposed to be that way.
It was troubling. Perhaps his magic wasn't as perfect as he had thought. Maybe he had made a mistake, a flaw in the timing, in the amount of blood he had used.
No, he thought. He had read the spell in his great-grandfather's journal, over and over again, careful to follow each step.
He listened to the scuffles from inside the store. Eventually, the store grew silent. He felt a surge of satisfaction. The priestess had fulfilled her duty.
He thought back to when she had first greeted him on the doorsteps of the Temple, with her proud nature and hard brown eyes. She had spent her previous serving the Wind Goddess. Perhaps those Winds still protected her, retaining in her some sense of the woman she had been. Perhaps that's why his spell wasn't as perfect as he had hoped.
He didn't care to dwell on it. As long as she carried out his orders, he could handle a bit of complaining.
CHAPTER TWO
SORA LEANED OVER a bucket and tried to puke. She heaved several times, but her stomach was empty.
A week on the ocean and she still hadn't adjusted to the constant roll of the waves. It was constantly with her—a vague, lingering nausea that dogged her heels. She had tried everything to cure the sickness, from mint leaves to a bottle of wine. Nothing helped.
Sora sat back on her bed, closing her eyes, trying to distract herself from the nausea. Thinking of her quest only made it worse. A plague was sweeping over the mainland, brought on by the bloodmage, Volcrian. Crops were rotting, people dying in the streets. As it turned out, she was the only one who could stop it. Ironic, that.
It was a little strange considering that a year ago she had been no more than a noble Lady, dreading her birthday party and her marriage to come.
Volcrian hadn't intended for his spells to grow out of control. He had summoned three wraiths from the underworld, but they had brought a dark power with them. The residue of the Dark God, released back into the land. The only way to stop the plague was to kill Volcrian and return the Dark God's weapons to their rightful place, wherever that may be. The first half was easy enough. Kill the mage, stop the plague.
I wouldn't be in this situation if it weren't for Crash, she thought bitterly. The assassin had kidnapped her after discovering her Cat's-Eye necklace, an ancient device from the War of the Races.
Sora grimaced and forced herself to stand up. I need some fresh air, she told herself firmly. She walked out of her cabin, a small room barely large enough for her bed, and into the ship's hold. A long, salt-worn hallway stretched in either direction. She chose the stern.
Halfway down the hall, a group of Dracians lingered in the doorway of another cabin. They were short men, only a few inches taller than herself, with bright coppery hair and eyes like the ocean waves, a mix of green and blue. They snickered when she passed. Sora tried to ignore them. They had all sorts of names for her now: Upchuck, Oatmeal and her personal favorite, Spew.
Good-for-nothing clowns, Sora thought. The Dracians were the most obnoxious race she had met so far. If they weren't teasing her in the hallways, they were cat-calling to her on deck or dumping seaweed on her head.
One day, when this was all over, she would get back at them. Somehow.
Sora climbed up the short stairs to the deck. The topsail flapped above her in a strong breeze. It was still overcast, the clouds roiling about like a frothing stew. They hadn't seen a day of sun since leaving Delbar. The Dracians had warned that queer storms hovered over the Lost Isles, magic that lingered from the War of the Races. It astounded her that the storms had lasted so long. The War of the Races was a legend to most on the mainland, an ancient history all but forgotten, having taken place countless centuries ago.
She shivered against the cold wind. A few drops of rain struck her nose. Another storm was brewing, a few minutes away from breaking loose. Perhaps this hadn't been such a good idea, but there were only so many places one could go on a ship, even a three-masted seafaring vessel.
“Sora,” she heard a voice call.
She looked up, surprised to see Burn approaching her. The Wolfy towered over her by almost two feet. He usually wore a giant greatsword strapped to his back, but today he was dressed in a linen shirt and snug breeches. His gold eyes met hers and he grinned, two fangs pushing against his lower lip.
“How are you?” he asked, pausing next to her.
“Oh, same old,” she muttered, and grimaced as another wave swelled beneath the ship.
“You look pale,” he observed. “Still haven't found your sea legs?”
“I'm beginning to think I don't have any,” Sora replied. Then she glanced around. “Where is everyone?” Usually the Dracians were all over the ship, clearing off the decks or manning the rigging.
“Jacques called us all to the captain's quarters. I believe he wants to discuss our course,” Burn said.
Sora frowned. “I haven't heard anything about this....”
“That's why I came looking for you.” Burn offered his arm, a surprisingly chivalrous gesture. “Let's go below deck.”
Sora sighed. The waves were worse downstairs, where she could hear th
e creaking of the timbers, the various rocks and debris that struck the thick wood. It made her shudder. She wasn't sure how reliable this vessel was. She felt terribly concerned about the storms, as though a thin sheet of paper stood between her and drowning.
Another thought occurred to her. A bit of anxiety cramped her stomach. “Will Crash be there?” she asked slowly.
“Of course,” Burn replied, a small frown on his face.
She took his arm anyway. “Right,” she said. She didn't treasure the thought of seeing the assassin. She had avoided him since the first day of the voyage, which was truly saying something, given the size of the ship. “Let's go.”
* * *
Burn and Sora entered the room just as Jacques opened his mouth to speak.
Jacques, the self-proclaimed captain of the ship, wore a slightly oversized, flamboyant blue coat. He had found it in the original captain's cabin, tossed over a chair. Although they had commandeered the ship, he had taken to wearing it. Sora thought of telling him how silly it looked, but she got the impression that he already knew—and he liked it that much better.
A large black crow sat on the chair behind him, shuffling its wings. The eccentric pet followed Jacques everywhere. It had the tendency to collect shiny objects. Sora had found a stash of small coins, buttons and thimbles on top of Jacques' bookshelf in his cabin. It was now eyeing the round compass on his desk, turning its head in interest.
“Ah, and we are joined by the last two members of our merry crew,” Jacques said. “Sora, I saved a seat just for you. Next to that bucket.”
Sora glared at him as a round of laughter moved through the room. Then she saw the chair he had offered and glared even harder. It was right next to Crash.
The brooding assassin stared stoically at the wall. She was glad that he didn't meet her eyes. A week ago, he had fought off a Kraken on the docks, saving her life once again. The sea dragon's bite had carried strong venom, and from what she had heard, the assassin was still recovering. Not that she cared. She had spent an entire night by his side, using her limited healing knowledge to pull him back from the brink of death. Then he had awakened in a thankless mood and she had stormed off, tired of his sarcasm.
Now that she thought back, she couldn't quite remember why she had been so angry, but she held onto the grudge anyway. It's about principle, she told herself. He should apologize, and perhaps even thank her for saving his life.
She sat down with a stubbornness to her mouth, then glanced sideways at him, taking in the assassin's black hair. It clung to his forehead, dampened by sweat. His face was slightly pale, his lips tight. His green eyes stayed focused on the same spot on the wall. It occurred to her, suddenly, that he might be seasick, too.
Burn stood next to her, bracing his legs against another roll of the ship. He nodded for Jacques to continue.
The bright-eyed Dracian turned back to the room. “As I was saying,” he continued, “our ship has sailed a little off-course. These storms are growing difficult to navigate.”
There was a murmur of concern from the crew.
"I propose we set a new course, try to find a way around the storms.” Jacques began pacing, walking up and down the front of the room. It was a broad cabin, doubling as a game room when it wasn't used for meetings. The tables were nailed to the floor, as were the chairs, to resist the motion of the ship. Just watching him made Sora dizzy. How could he maintain such perfect balance as the deck rocked and swayed? "This is why we have called all of you together, so we can take a vote on the best way to go. Tristan, will you do the honors of explaining our first choice?"
Jacques stepped aside and a younger Dracian took his place. Tristan winked at Sora, though the gesture was lost on her. He was a handsome specimen—two bright blue eyes, dimpled cheeks, and a strong chin. She looked down, swallowing hard, trying not to retch. The younger Dracian had been vying for her attention since they had first met. A bottle of hormones, that one, she thought blearily. He had brought her soup for a while until she vomited on his shoes.
Tristan turned to face the crew. Sora tried to listen to what he was saying, but she was too distracted by the storm outside. The clouds had amassed thicker and thicker; it looked like night beyond the porthole window, with the ocean turned a murky gray. The noise of the waves was deafening.
A flash of lightning split the sky. She heard a distant rumble. A shudder passed through her body, a hint of foreboding. This was a new development. It had rained constantly since the ship left the docks, but this storm looked far worse than the others, titanic clouds roiling above an iron-gray sea.
A few more flashes of lightning passed. Sora tried to listen to what Tristan was staying. Something about a coral reef. No one seemed worried about the storm.
No one except Crash, perhaps, who was trying to hide his seasickness. Sora stole a couple of quick glances at him, hoping he would puke all over the cabin floor. A smirk touched her lips. Looks like he's finally getting what he deserves, she thought smugly.
Then the ship gave a mighty roll, tossing them all back in their seats. Sora keeled over, dry-heaving.
Tristan glanced at her, grinning. Then he waved to the back of the room. “You owe me ten coppers,” he called to a friend.
Sora sat up, recovering from her episode. “You made a wager?” she demanded.
A round of giggles erupted behind her. She shot a glare over her shoulder. The Dracians ignored her look, muttering amongst themselves and passing coins back and forth.
Crash turned to her, unexpectedly. She looked at him in surprise. “It helps if you stay focused on one point,” he said quietly.
She rolled her eyes.
“Childish,” he muttered.
Her face flushed. She bit her lip. She was not going to be forced into a conversation.
Tristan collected his payment and continued speaking. He was describing a coral reef to the north, which he had spotted from the crow's nest earlier. “We either need to backtrack and go around it or head to the south to avoid the storms.”
“The clouds are thicker in that direction,” Joan interjected. The female Dracian sat next to the window and pointed outside. “Looks pretty bad right now.”
“Do we have lifeboats on this ship?” another voice piped up: Laina, the street child who had accompanied them from the lower plains. Her pale blond hair was slightly mussed, as though she had forgotten to brush it that morning. She looked small and thin, even next to the Dracians.
Sora glanced over at her. Just yesterday, she and Laina had met for an hour to sew. It was a womanly task that she didn't relish, but someone had to mend the sailors' torn clothes. The thirteen-year-old had taken a liking to Tristan and had insisted on darning his socks. Sora couldn't imagine why—perhaps because of the Dracian's dimpled chin and straight teeth.
“There might be a few lifeboats,” Tristan said.
“You mean...you don't know?” Laina pressed, her voice turning petulant. “You've stolen a ship without lifeboats?”
“We assumed you all knew how to swim,” Jacques said defensively, standing up in Tristan's place. “Raise your hand if you need swimming lessons!”
No one budged.
Sora sighed. The meeting was wandering off-topic fast. Typical.
There was another loud boom and the ship tossed more violently, tilting to one side. The crew members turned to the window, watching the massive, turbulent swells. Everyone listened to the storm, the thrum of heavy raindrops on the deck above. It was difficult to see outside; the sky was darkening quickly, obscuring the vicious ocean.
The timbers creaked, groaning like a wounded animal. Sora's hands grew clammy. There was a sudden commotion on deck, drifting down through the ceiling—the dim shouts of voices and thrumming feet.
Suddenly, the door flew open.
A Dracian crew member rushed into the room, a wild look in his eyes. "Get down!" he yelled, and threw himself to the floor.
No one moved, but looked amongst each other in confusion. T
he ship began to dip downward. Sora turned to look out the window. The blood drained from her face.
A solid wall of water met her eyes, blocking out the clouds. The wave was huge, far higher than any she had seen before. It peaked above their masts....
The ship dipped down, then tossed sideways as the massive wave crashed over them. One moment Sora was sitting in her chair, the next moment the room was backwards. The floor became the wall, the walls became the ceiling. She crashed to the ground, rolling to the side as the entire ship tipped and kept tipping. A loud, terrible crack! split the air.
“The masts!” someone yelled. “We've lost the masts!”
The lanterns flickered out. Darkness. The room was filled with scattered cries and screams. Sora scrambled to her feet and then slammed into a table. A body crashed into her from behind, knocking the wind from her lungs. Her thoughts spun in panic.
Then the windows shattered inward.
The table blocked her from the glass, but not from the flood of water. It gushed into the room like a spewing mouth. She was struck by an icy wave. The ocean greedily forced itself in, sweeping over the floor, consuming every inch of space. Before she knew it, she was up to her waist in freezing black salt water.
There was no time to think. The Dracian on top of her was panicking, trying to claw his way over her, away from the water. Sora shoved him off and struggled toward the door. It took her a moment to realize that the room was sideways and the door was, technically, beneath her boots. Submerged. More people bumped into her, panicked members of the crew. Burn, she thought. Laina, Crash....Where were her companions?
She was pushed back by the force of the next wave. The ship rose again, then plummeted downward, rolling and spinning. She sucked in a desperate breath, then the water slammed her up against the wall. Or was it the ceiling? The ship listed drunkenly on the waves, tossed back and forth by the violent ocean. The meeting room was on the lower deck of the ship, flooding by the second. They were sinking.
The water was now over her head. She swam upward, searching for air, and caught a quick gasp. The entire room was almost submerged.