Blood in the Water (11 page)

“You’ve done many things for him. Suffered for him. What else would you do, little chick?”

“Anything.” Kyros closed his eyes and knew it was true.

“And what would you give up to save him from this fate?”

“Everything.”

Thunder crashed and Araceli grabbed his arm. They both jumped when the twins appeared inches in front of them, black skin glowing as if it had been oiled.

“Wait,” Kyros said, holding his hand out. “Wait, that was hasty. I misspoke.”

The twin with painted feathers handed him the jar. “It is done, little chick. No going back.” She pointed to the jar. “When Ghalil is inside, align the pins in this manner. It will lock, but not forever.”

“How long?”

“A year, maybe two. Then it will break free and kill you both.”

He gripped the jar and memorized the interlocking rings. A year or two. They could figure this out by then. They had to.

The twin with long nails took Araceli’s hand and placed something small into her palm. “Find the beast with this. Hold it to the sky during the day and it will show you the path.”

Then the crows screamed again, and Kyros felt a bolt of fear in his chest. He’d made a deal with the witch twins and it would cost him greatly. They needed to find Eric before he had to pay that debt. He pushed Araceli toward the door. “Run,” he said. “We are cursed.” And when the twins didn’t laugh at his words, he knew they were true.

****

November

Two months later…

“This is foolhardy, even for you, Captain.” Sven tacked Trovita toward the trailing escort of the man-o’-war’s caravan.

“I’ve noted your concern,” Eric said. He knew his purpose out here. Surviving the encounter was not on his list today. Sven would take Trovita. The men would follow him. Eric didn’t bother to consider the details after this fight. “Load all guns,” he shouted to the deck, “and prep the smashers!”

Ghalil shifted and Eric smirked. Here was the beast’s last opportunity to enjoy itself. Could it feel the end coming?

The crow called distances. They descended with speed faster than the Midnight Sun could reach, even with full oars in the water. Trovita didn’t slice through the waves, she crushed them under her bow.

The rear escort tacked to face them broadside. Spotted. “Tack to starboard, Sven.”

“Tacking starboard,” Sven replied.

“Ready port guns.”

The call came back, “Ready!”

Eric watched a sailor posted to the foredeck. Trovita was longer than the Midnight Sun by half a length. It made estimating their angles of attack a learning curve Eric didn’t have time for. His sailor raised a hand. Eric shouted, “Port, fire all!”

The escort ship fired six cannon. Trovita fired twenty-five. The shot passed each other in the air, a few of the balls striking and falling, inert, into the sea. Two impacts shuddered Trovita’s port side. The escort ship crumbled, fell in on itself, and the powder magazine ignited. It listed aft and the nose fell into the sea.

With seventy guns on three decks plus several specialty cannon fore and aft, the man-o’-war was the largest ship Eric ever had the pleasure of encountering on open sea. The escorts were smaller— twelve or twenty-four cannon each. Faster in the water, but not as sturdy. Two carronade armed the Trovita, though. How many other ships could claim a sixty-eight pound cannon ball in their armory?

The man-o’-war and three remaining escorts turned to engage.

Eric prepared himself. “Load the guns.”

****

November

An Hour Later

Kyros measured their time and marked his map with a shake of his head. They were off his expected course, way off, and there was nothing around but open ocean. He made a note of the current time, then met Araceli back at the helm.

“It’s still working?”

She held up the sunstone and light refracted to a line straight off their bow. “How far off are we?”

“Days.” Kyros shook his head. “I don’t like the feeling of this.”

“Do you not trust it?”

“I trust it better than my own measurements. Never doubt a witch, especially not the twins.”

Araceli shrugged her shoulders as if ridding herself of a bug. “They creeped me out. All the birds, the claws on that one…”

Kyros couldn’t get the worry out of his head that he had traded something he couldn’t live without.
What would you give up to save him from this fate?
He didn’t even know what fate he was saving Eric from— he never looked at the cards or the bones the witch threw.

But if he sacrificed their future together for survival now… Kyros wasn’t sure that was a trade he was willing to make.

He watched Araceli hold the stone up and correct their course. The trade was made, their future already set. He had to find a way to accept the path. He didn’t trust the twins to plot a future he wanted.

The crow yelled, “Sails on the horizon! Cannon fire!”

Kyros didn’t even ask for the spyglass. He screamed at his men, “All hands to the oars, full sail. Monkeys ready the cannon.”

Javier organized the sailors with his drum and rhythmic chant. The Hawk jumped forward and Kyros’ heart with it. He gripped the rail and watched the horizon. “Araceli, if anything happens to me, you take this boat and make something of it.”

“Nothing is happening to you, boy. You’ve sailed halfway across the Atlantic for this man, and I’m still right beside you.”

He looked down, then back at her. “I wouldn’t be here if not for you.”

“I know.” She settled on one hip. “Unless you still think a dingy and one oar counts as a fleet.”

Kyros smiled and shook his head. “I’m serious, though—”

“You’re not going to die, stop being so melodramatic.”

What else could count for giving up everything in exchange for saving Eric from his fate? “Alright, but still. If we make it through this, you deserve your own craft. I want you to have the Hawk.”

“You planning on picking one up while we’re here?” She spread a hand out over the water.

The crow’s distance calls dropped under a thousand yards, and Kyros just laughed. “Quartermaster, keep us on target for the closest escort.” He yelled at the crew, “Ramming speed!”

The distance shrank before them. The Nomad Hawk flew like her namesake, a dive across the surface of the water. The escort tried to turn, but she was already hobbled by several cannon holes in her aft starboard side.

“Brace for impact!”

The Hawk plowed into the escort ship, crumpling the smaller vessel like paper. Wood splintered in every direction. The new reinforcement on the Hawk’s hull deflected most of the impact. They crushed the escort below them and kept going. It rolled into two pieces and sank.

“Hard to port!” Kyros called the tack. “All hands to the guns.” He waved his hand over the crew. “Douse all but main.” The Hawk stalled in the water, her back end swung out and they drifted around. Kyros saw the man-o’-war and Eric’s new vessel lashed together. Men swung from ship to ship, doing battle by hand. The final escort ship sailed into the Hawk’s line of fire.

“Guns ready!”

“Starboard, fire all!”

The cannon burst, rocking the Hawk in the water. Their target fired back, but only a few shots hit the air and all fell short. The escort stalled in the water.

“White flag!” The crow shouted, “White flag, they surrender.”

Only the escort backed down, the larger man-o’-war continued to swarm with conflict. Then Kyros spotted Ghalil on the target ship’s top deck. It grabbed a man by the arm and eviscerated him. It took the time to shake the insides out.

“Get us next to the escort.” Kyros said, checking his belt pouch for the jar. “It’ll be faster to run.”

The escort bobbed in the sea beside the man-o’-war. The Hawk slid up beside, and Kyros used a line to swing from one to the next. Men on the escort didn’t try to engage. Between the Hawk and whatever horror terrorized the man-o’-war, they were done.

Kyros climbed rigging until he found a loose line. “Dammit, Kyros.” He heard Araceli below him and kept moving anyway. He let the sea dip him closer to rigging on the man-o’-war and leapt. Waves rocked each boat. For a second, he saw the entire slaughter on the man-o’-war deck.

Then he caught rigging and half-slid down to the blood-painted wood. Eric knelt by the mainmast, bloody and fading fast. A repeat of the vision Kyros faced back in Saint Lucia. He ripped the jar from his pouch and screamed at Ghalil.

****

November

Seconds Before

Eric coughed, on his knees for the last time. The sight of his chest torn open so familiar to him that he could admire the design of blood splatter decorating his pants. His fingers felt cold, and he didn’t seek out the pouch of cinnamon at his waist. It was empty.

He closed his eyes and hallucinated the sound of Vindex’ screaming rage. Eric wondered if any single sound could more accurately represent his life for the past six years. He squeezed tears down his cheeks and decided he wanted to die watching Ghalil realize its host would not survive this time. He needed to see the demon know this was its last hurrah.

Eric opened his eyes, ready to heave to his feet one last time. Kyros stood before him, facing off against Ghalil with jar in hand.

Again.

“Don’t…” Eric didn’t have the strength, or perhaps the will, to finish. He turned his head. Something punched through his back; a single point of blunt pain. A knife. Eric slid down to perch on his ankles and one hip. He turned and saw the Spaniard behind him fall under Araceli’s precise blades.

Everything happened too fast. He couldn’t track. Araceli put a hand on his shoulder and said something. Her lips moved faster than her voice and it got jumbled up in his head. Why were they here? He was supposed to drown today— they couldn’t be here for this.

He didn’t want them to see… how was he supposed to explain it? It was just inconvenient.

Ghalil appeared to Eric’s left. Araceli lunged away from it. The spirit didn’t slide into him, though. For the first time, Eric watched it watch him and saw his own nipple ring hooked on the creature’s empty eye socket. It had the form of a man with no skin, no eyes, no ears. It had fingers like bone with claws of black. It didn’t seem to breathe.

“Leave him alone!” Kyros advanced with the jar, and Ghalil willed itself away an equal distance, wary of the device. It circled the three of them.

Then it pointed to Kyros. Eric struggled to his feet, blood-light and cold. Ghalil would not take a new host.

****

Chapter VIII

November

Seconds Later

Kyros held the jar out in front of him but had no confidence in his ability to catch the demon. Already it had moved past him twice with speed like a blur of red, and he had no way to keep track of it.

And now it saw how Eric suffered and turned its attention on Kyros. He didn’t know how to catch a spirit, how to use one, what it wanted or why. He couldn’t begin to guess at its thoughts, but Eric fought to his feet beside him just as the thing blurred again, too fast to see.

It dodged the jar. Kyros felt the demon’s clawed hand pass through his own chest, then Araceli tackled him from the side and took the brunt of its attack.

The deck quieted. Eric collapsed, again, to his knees and held his hands against the open holes in his chest, gasping. Kyros scrambled back to his feet, slipping in blood. Ghalil disappeared.

Araceli lay motionless on the deck. Wait, not motionless. A ghost of Ghalil pressed against the skin of her face, deforming her dark skin into a featureless skull. Then it was gone.

“Oh, my god. Araceli.” Kyros hit the deck on hands and knees. He put the jar down, top open, and put his hand against her cheek. “Araceli, wake up. Girl, come on, wake up!” He wiggled her chin and thumped her chest.

Ghalil came back, deforming her face again into its own plain countenance. Kyros shrieked at it, wordless rage.

Something bright burned in one of Araceli’s pouches. Kyros shook Araceli and it bounced free. The sunstone flashed on the deck, and Ghalil seemed to separate from Araceli in an attempt to get away from the light.

Kyros grabbed the sunstone and held it close to his oldest friend. “Get out of her! GET OUT!” He pressed the stone to Araceli’s cheek, and it horrified him to see her skin burn on contact. A ghost of Araceli also divided from her body. The spirit screamed and tried to get away.

Someone slammed the jar down on both apparitions. Eric, coughing blood and half unconscious, trapped both Ghalil and Araceli’s spirit. Kyros shook as he heard her scream and scream and scream.

“No. No, get her out.”

Eric dragged the jar toward him, fumbled with the top.

Kyros lunged over Araceli’s body and tried to grab the jar. “Get her out, Deumont. Don’t lock her in. Not with that thing.”

They clawed for ownership until the interlocking pieces of the jar began to turn by themselves. Eric thrust the jar into Kyros’ hands. “Close it, man. End this.”

“No, Araceli—”

“Saved your damn life from a fate that was mine!”

And what would you give up to save him from this fate?

Everything.

“No.” Kyros barely saw the interlocking pieces through his sudden tears. “I’m so sorry, girl. I’m sorry. I’ll figure this out, I swear.” He pressed the top into place and twisted the line of pieces into place to lock the jar. He felt the device shudder and he hugged it close while he wept. He remembered the exact pitch of her screams.

****

November

Seconds Later

Eric closed his eyes for a single brief moment. It was over. The spirit was finally locked away in a place other than himself. He rolled from his knees to his side on the deck and coughed. He had been ready to die just moments ago, but Kyros wasn’t supposed to be here. Araceli wasn’t supposed to be in that jar with a monster. They weren’t supposed to come to his rescue like that.

Eric sighed. Then hard hands grabbed his shoulder and arm, supported his hip.

“Whoa, there, Captain. You’re not in good shape. Don’t be going to sleep just yet.”