2. Chapter Two
Chapter Two
I am on the main deck of the ship. Barrels and buckets are scattered across the slick boards, and coils of thick rope lie piled beside the mast. It is mostly dark up here, only a few lanterns glow from the cabins beneath the quarterdeck, their light spilling through small fogged-up windows.
Even that light does not travel far, most of the deck lies swallowed by shadow.
I remember being on my father’s ship when I was little, though I never got to spend a lot of time with him and the crew– my mother didn't trust the other pirates around me.
I push my weight up by my palms, wincing as the ache in my arms reminds me of the climb.
As my eyes adjust, the shapes along the bulwark, the wooden barrier lining the deck, sharpen.
Dark iron mouths stare back at me from the gunports.
Canons. A soft gasp slips from my lips as realization settles in.
I only know two kinds of ships that carry cannons, those from the Royal Navy…
and pirates. I pray for the first. Humans fear sirens, but pirates hate us to death.
Honestly, the feeling is mutual. Besides my father and parts of his crew, every pirate I have ever encountered has been cruel.
Lifting my gaze to the mast, I search for the royal colors, red and blue, but the rigging disappears into the dark.
And where’s the guard? The Royal Navy would never leave a ship at dock without a watch.
My stomach tightens, a creeping unease settling in, though I force the thought away.
Through the thunder that continues to roll through the night, the angry voices of the Rats drift up from the docks below.
The storm swallows the clarity of their words, but I can tell from the sheer volume that they are arguing.
If my past run-ins with the Rats have taught me anything, it is that they will not give up easily.
Their kind never does. Once they have caught a scent, they hound it to the very end, no matter the cost. No, staying aboard this ship is the only chance at survival, especially seeing as they’ve probably already sent for nets for my capture.
I must remain hidden, even just until the morning.
I can jump off the ship in the morning and swim to the shore.
The wind makes the mast creak just as laughter bursts across the deck. A palm slaps against wood, followed by the muffled scrape of a chair. Then the cabin door swings open. A young lad stumbles out with a grunt, rubbing his eyes as he steps onto the deck.
“Lad, cast off the shore lines! And wake the watch!” a voice calls from inside.
The door swings closed again with a dull thud, leaving only the wind and the restless groan of the ship.
I press myself lower and hold my breath as if stillness could fold me into the shadows.
The boy stands perhaps fifty feet away. With an exasperated sigh, he strides toward the nearest mooring line and begins to work the knot loose, glancing downwards to the dark water below.
He is casting off the line. Are they leaving?
In this wretched storm? Surely they are not this suicidal.
If they truly make for departure, I lose the last path back to the shore.
There will be no escaping in the morning once we have reached deeper waters.
The boy's eyes lift to me. His hand stills, the rope goes slack, and his mouth falls slightly agape.
For a moment, we just stare at each other, chests heaving and eyes wide, neither of us knowing exactly what to do.
I must look feral in my white, ripped gown and scale-sprinkled skin.
I swallow and go through my options, but deep down, I know I‘m screwed.
If he calls for help, I am dragged back to the harbor, or worse.
If I jump, I‘ll fall into the hunter’s hands.
Only one choice offers any chance of survival at all.
I must use my song. Or whatever broken piece of it I can master.
He draws breath to shout. I, too, draw breath and let a sound rise.
It is not a full song, only a hum. A quiet, gentle release of a melody.
That is all I am capable of. It curls around my tongue, soft enough to not affect the men below, but clear enough to compel the boy in front of me.
I loosen a single thread of it, enough to tug at, but not enough to drive him to drowning.
It is bitter on my tongue, a sharp reminder that the magic I am using comes at a cost.
I rise and carry the hum with me as I cross the deck, the water still dripping from my gown, tracing my calves before falling away in a thin line.
Confusion tightens his face, then fear. He looks way younger up close.
A cabin boy, if I have to guess, maybe around twelve years old.
I stop a step away and wait until his pupils widen and the stiffness leaves his jaw.
The line in his hand drops and swings between us.
“Be not afraid,” I whisper, keeping the hum steady in my throat. “I do not want to hurt you.” His gaze drifts down my torn gown and back up again, before leaning toward me, as if the tide is pulling at his weight.
“Are you a witch?” he stammers, and a soft smile finds my mouth. I have been mistaken for a sea witch many times in my life before. Humans simply cannot help themselves. They see something that is out of the ordinary and must put a label on it immediately.
“Not quite,” I answer, which makes his shoulders sag with relief.
He is easy to compel, being young and clearly having had no close encounters with a siren.
A prick of guilt jabs at the flesh beneath my ribs.
The boy will get a beating or worse if I force him to comply, and the crew finds out he helped me.
I keep humming anyway, because after all, I want to live.
And to be fair, so far I haven‘t lived at all.
Perhaps it is my softness that keeps me from becoming what I truly am meant to be.
My kind lure men to their deaths, pirates being their most preferred victims. In the deepest waters, the blackwater sirens even consume pieces of their prey to strengthen their magic.
My swarm never kept those rites. Instead, we give the sea a man.
A soul to keep in return for what we needed most from the sea.
The crueler the man, the greater the reward, and so pirates became our quarry.
I feel the same instinct, like a subtle hunger, yet I cannot act on it.
And truthfully, I am not sure I would want to, even if I could.
“What kind of magic do you wield then?” he asks, forcing the words out as he struggles against the pull whispering in his ears.
“That is not important,” I whisper gently. “What matters is that you show me where to hide on this ship. I am no threat to you or your crew, I swear it by the Six Seas.”
Water drips from the hem of my gown as I roll the fabric between my fingers.
The rain has passed, yet thunder still cracks across the sky, flashes of lightning briefly spilling white light across the deck.
One wrong glance from the cabin windows and everything will be over.
My song does not hold enough power to compel a whole crew.
When the boy hesitates, I deepen the hum to coax his tongue and step closer.
“The hold,” he blurts. “The lower part of the ship. We keep the loot there.”
The word is familiar, though ships have been rare in my life these past years.
After my mother abandoned me and it became clear she would never return, I climbed aboard the first vessel I could reach.
Kind fishermen carried me along the coast and eventually set me ashore near Aurelith.
Since then, I have been trapped on that island.
After I encountered the Rats, I came to realize how foolish it was to trust any passing crew, and I did not make that mistake again.
Tonight, my fate seems to choose otherwise.
The hold will make a good hiding place, especially with sailors soon crowding the deck to ready the ship. Not that there‘s any other option.
“Please show me the way. And make sure that no one sees us.”
He moves, and I follow, our bare feet quiet on the wet boards.
I keep the hum close to his ear to steady him.
We pass the gunports and head toward the mainmast, where a hatch leads down into the hold.
He lifts the iron ring, and the lid comes up with a soft pull. A steep run of steps drops into black.
“Quick,” he urges, glancing over his shoulder.
Carefully, I lower myself onto the ladder and descend.
Twice, my foot slips on the damp wood, nearly sending me tumbling.
Thick air gathers below, heavy with the scent of tar, rope, and something sweet that might be stolen fruit.
The lad comes after me and pulls the hatch close, leaving a thin seam of light above us before the dark settles.
We reach the orlop, where rows of hammocks swing softly with the motion of the ship.
Another ladder takes us further, into the hold.
The smell grows heavier down here. Crates marked with chalk stack to my shoulder and higher.
Water hushes against the hull, close and steady, as if the sea has pressed its ear to the wood to listen.
“Here,” he says, and guides me behind a tower of caskets. A torn sail is draped over a beam to form a kind of makeshift tent. This could work. Anyone passing by would have to look very carefully to notice someone hiding there.
“Thank you, “ I whisper, offering him another quick smile. “I don’t think anyone saw us.“
“I hope not,” he answers with a weak smile, though his voice trembles.
I let the hum warm again and change the melody, shaping it into something small that fits in his head. “You did not see me,” I tell him. “If anyone asks, the deck was empty. You were never here.”
His throat bobs as he swallows. “The deck was empty,” he repeats. “I was never here.”
“Now go,” I say, choosing my words wisely. “Do not come back unless you must.”
He nods, though his eyes cling to me for one moment longer, as if he’s fighting the magic. Then he turns and climbs, and the seam of light widens and closes before disappearing entirely as the hatch clicks.
I am alone with the sound of the ship’s heart, the timbers creaking in uneven beats, each dull thud carrying through the hull.
Crouching beneath the sail, I draw my knees close to my chest. The hum fades until it is no more than the ghost of a breath.
Salt lingers on my tongue, and a dull, throbbing ache begins to swell behind my eyes.
My mother never taught me more than this — a note to coax and a note to calm.
No lessons on the deeper songs that invoke an answer from the sea, or songs that drive men to drive from cliffsides. Unfortunate, I know.
Before I can close my eyes for sleep, boots begin to drum on the deck.
The men start talking to each other as though in a hurry, all while the storm that the Sea of Crowns is known for is still rumbling in the distance around the island.
Slowly, I sit up again, trying to listen to what they are saying.
“All hands,” a voice calls above. The voice is rough and sends a shiver down my spine. Only someone with command could give an order like that. It‘s either the captain or the First Mate. “Single up.”
“All single,” a mate answers near the rail.
“Let go bow,” he says, his voice coming closer.
“Bow gone.”
“Let go stern.”
“Stern gone, Captain.”
“Ease the forward spring.”
“Easing.”
“Hold there,” the captain says, quieter now. The crew falls silent, waiting.
“Let go springs.”
“Springs away.”
Lines slap the water, and a heavy rope groans under strain. The hull eases from the pilings, and the ship slowly shifts under me. I brace my palms on the wet planks. My heart quickens as my thoughts knot.
I was right. They’re actually leaving the harbor. In this storm. In the middle of the night. Are they truly mad? And yet, if they’re bound for another island— or another sea—it could be my chance. Anything is better than Aurelith. This could be an escape. Or it could be death, if they find me.
“Double-reef topsails. Let fall. Sheet home,” the voice barks above. His heavy footsteps stop right over my head. I do not know what the commands mean, only that the crew moves fast to answer them.
There is a sudden tug as the sails take and fill. Caskets shift, one thumps to the deck, and the whole ship creaks as she begins to move.
“Hands aloft,” the captain bites. “Make her fly. Follow the Glim.”
“Aye, Captain,” the crew shouts, settling into their work.
We are actually leaving the harbor of Cantora.
I swallow, panic rising within me. I hear the water crashing against the hull in a steady rhythm, and for a moment I think I‘m imagining the tune that starts low at the bow. But then another voice joins it, then a third, until the boards carry it through the ribs of the ship. They’re– singing?
Heave ho, boys, clear the quay
Heave ho, she won’t sail free
Heave ho, and don’t look back
There’s more than wind in the black
Brace and haul and mind the gale
When the sun is gone, shadows sail
Heave ho—keep her tight
Count by hands, not shapes in night
The harmony thickens until it rattles in my teeth.
A low voice enters on the last line, the kind that does not need to be loud to be obeyed.
It slips under the others and turns the chord darker.
I know it is the captain without seeing him.
I also know that only men called by the sea raise black flags.
My earlier suspicions have proven to be true.
Pirates.
As the deck falls silent again, speed builds and water runs fast along the skin of the ship.
I pull the sail closer to my body, hoping it will warm me a little.
I am too tired, too cold to think about where we are going, or what the so-called Glim is that they are following. Morning will not be a quiet quay.
Morning will be open water, pirates overhead, and nowhere to go.