Page 97 of Captive of the Pirate King
“It’s jump or be smashed! Come on, love—I won’t let you drown!”
I open my eyes a painful crack. With a shock I realize that theRaven’s Frenzyis keeling over, tipped nearly on her side. Locke and I are on the side nearest the water, skimming above the churning waves.
“Jump!” he roars.
A command, like the one he gave me when we boarded theLady Marcella, when we battled her crew and he protected me. I trusted him then, and I trust him now.
With a terse nod to him, I step onto the railing, suck in a breath, and leap.
I drop like a stone into the ocean.
The water slams shut over my head, a seal I can’t break. Darkness, and the gurgle of water in my brain—I’m spinning through blackness, my mouth pinched tight against the invading force of the sea.
And then I’m bobbing up again, my head breaking the surface for a second—but there’s so much spray I can barely manage a decent inhale before I’m going down again.
A hand locks around my wrist, a manacle of determination.
I stop fighting, and I let myself be towed by that hand.
A man less tenacious and cruel might not have been able to save me. But this man has dragged himself up from the dark, clawed and killed for the future he wanted, paid for it in sweat and blood. I can trust this man with my life.
My head surges above the waves again and I snatch a breath. Locke told me not to thrash when we were in the water, so I try to relax, only kicking occasionally when I think it might help propel us forward. I have no idea if we’re heading toward land, or if there’s any land to be had. All I can do is trust, and breathe.
With a lurch, Locke changes his movements, dragging me upright. “Ground,” he says hoarsely. “Get your feet on it.”
My legs kick wildly until they contact the bottom and then I stumble forward, half-supported by Locke. We’re staggering up a bank of broken shale, slippery and sharp, scattered with indecipherable debris. Through the gray mist of the storm, I can make out ghostly shapes—lumpy masses, spires, webs—the carcasses of wrecked ships.
We clamber farther up the bank, into fields of clumpy saltgrasses. The wind is less violent here, and in the distance up ahead I can see shafts of pale, ghostly sunlight, as if we’re passing through an outer ring and entering the calm eye of the storm.
Locke stumbles, nearly throwing me off my feet. He’s covering his eyes, teeth bared, harsh breaths hissing through them.
“Locke.” I tug at his arm. “Are you all right?”
He lowers his hand, and I gasp. His eyes are red and swollen, and his lids, cheekbones, and forehead are lacerated with a dozen tiny cuts. He had to keep his eyes open and forge a path to land, while he dragged my helpless weight behind him.
“Gods, Locke,” I breathe. “I’m so sorry. Can you see?”
“Yes, but it hurts. And this eye is—” He blinks and squints. “Never mind it now. We have to keep moving. Do you see any of the others?”
Amid the tangles of destroyed ships, several silhouettes are moving slowly inland.
“Yes, I see some of them. Not sure who, but there are definitely survivors.”
“Good.”
We pick our way through the gray mist, while the eddies of the storm swirl and soften around us. Ragged sails flutter in ghostly streamers from the bones of the shipwrecks. Something crunches beneath my boot—a human ribcage, all flesh scoured away by salt and storm. The pale skull leers up at me, two rows of mute teeth and a pair of empty eye sockets.
A little farther on there are bodies—whole bodies, half-clothed or naked, some fresh and some rotting. Whether the storm or something else stole their clothes, I don’t know. I’m not sure I want to know.
The wind moans and murmurs through the cracked hulls and broken timbers, an eerie song as the surviving crew of theRaven’s Frenzydrifts nearer to us, one by one, coalescing around their king. He’s limping—one of his legs must have been injured during the escape. Guilt sours my stomach because I’m more or less whole—just bruised, wet, sandy, and sick because of what’s coming, who I have to face.
If this is Mordan’s doing, it’s unforgivable. The dead strewn across this shore aren’t just pirates, but merchants, soldiers, women, and animals.
My gaze falls on a group of bodies not far away. One woman—two children—oh gods.
The sea is no place for children, yet here they are, lying in the coarse grass, their tiny pale features upturned to the clouds.
This little family survived the wreck of their ship. I know, because their chests have been dented in, sucked concave by the force of air magic as it crushed their lungs. I’ve seen it before.
