16. Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Sixteen
T he sea last night was rough as the Noctis made it through the intermaria. Though this time, the crew didn’t need my help. The Glim led them through the waters safely, and according to Lark, they have sailed through these waters many times before and know their way around.
When I step onto the deck that day, the weather has changed.
It is still warm in the Sea of Bones, maybe even warmer than in the Sea of Renewal, but instead of a cloudless sky, it is now a never-ending grey void.
An endless, dull sheet stretched from horizon to horizon, as if the world itself forgot how to make color.
The water looks all-consuming, as if I were to throw a stone in it, it would sink for days.
A sea like this could swallow the Noctis whole.
There’s no hint of coral, no light or sparkle dancing beneath the waves.
When the hull of the Noctis moves, ripples spread like ink instead of light water.
It looks like death itself cursed these waters.
Goosebumps spread all over my body at the thought of it.
The Glim is more visible in the darker waters. Thank the Seas, it has not disappeared yet, but ever since we passed through the intermaria, my inner siren is on high alert. She tries to break through, and I have a hard time containing her in the little, dark corner of myself I have cooped her into.
The unsettling feeling doesn’t let go of me, and it becomes worse after nightfall. I constantly shuffle in my swaying hammock, but my thoughts keep drifting back to the ink-like water and the death it seems to contain like treasure.
The sea shouldn’t scare me. And it is not necessarily the sea that uneases me, but the fact that besides Lark, no one was really excited about our arrival in the Sea of Bones.
The ship is quiet. I can hear water dripping from a beam somewhere above me while the waves silently crash against the hull.
It is too quiet, I decide. I sit back in my hammock just in time as I hear an odd splashing sound that doesn’t seem to match the rhythm of the waves.
Carefully, I swing my feet over, meeting the ground with a thud, and climb the stairs to the deck as quietly as I can.
I don't want to risk waking up any of the crew. When I reach the hatch and lay my hands against the damp wood, I hesitate. My instincts tell me that something’s wrong.
But I can’t risk not checking – we could be in danger.
So I push the hatch open and peek outside.
It’s pitch dark. I can’t even make out where the railing stops, and where the sea begins. Another splash. My stomach clenches tight as I push open the hatch with shaking hands. I get to my feet and let my eyes wander over the deck, searching for anything untoward. And then I see them.
Ghosts.
Their dark figures are standing along the railing, their outlines made only faintly visible by a flickering thin line of silver and blue.
My breath seems to solidify in my throat as they stare at the sea in front of us.
If they know I am present, they do not pay me any mind.
One of the ghosts breaks loose from the formation and turns to me.
It is the ghost with the loose tongue that has visited me during the night.
I recognize him based on the way he walks towards me, the movement slow and deliberate.
“Risa. You should not be wandering the deck at night,” he whispers as he reaches me. Weirdly, his familiar presence soothes me, and I release a shaking breath.
“What is happening?” I ask him, glancing towards the sea, but I can’t see past the ghosts, not even with my precise eyesight.
“Go back below,” he presses again, his figure flickering, almost blending into the dark if not for his unearthly light.
“I’m not going anywhere until you tell me what’s happening. I know something’s wrong.”
His fingers tighten around mine briefly, as though he is debating whether to pull me back into the orlop by force.
“This is not for you to see,” he insists, glancing toward the dark water behind him. “Some things are easier to accept when you don’t witness them firsthand.”
Another splash cuts through the night, and my muscles lock.
“Tell me, what is going on?” I press again, louder this time.
“They‘re jumping,” he murmurs at last, sorrow filling his voice.
I furrow my brows in confusion.
“Jumping?” I repeat. “From where?”
He closes his eyes for a moment, hesitating, but then nods toward the sea.
“Come,” he takes my hand in his and gives it a tug. His shadows dance over my skin, the prickling sensation causing goosebumps to spread all over me. I trust him, I decide, and follow after him, towards the railing and the other ghosts.
We’re sailing past another ship, or at least the remains of a ship.
The hull is almost completely swallowed by water, the mast looks broken and black sails hang uselessly and torn.
No lantern burns aboard her. No one shouts for help.
A sailor climbs the railing of the sinking ship, pauses, and lets himself fall into the water.
For a moment, I stand there, frozen, until my brain catches up to make sense of the sight.
“Man overboard!” I scream and rush towards the next rope. The ghosts gathered along the railing turn their heads towards me as I run past them, but do not interfere or make a move to help the drowning man. I try to pick up the heavy rope that is coiled on the floor and fail.
“Someone help!” I scream again, the muscles in my arm tensing as I try again, the fibers biting into my skin.
I heave up the rope and throw it overboard with all I have.
It splashes into the water and goes under.
In horror, I watch the next man climb the railing and jump.
He just sinks. He doesn’t even try to reach the rope.
His body disappears in the water, until only bubbles at the surface remain.
I stand there, utterly useless, as the Noctis silently passes the other ship.
“Their time has run out,” he says from behind me, his voice quieter now.
I keep my eyes on the dark water. “Run out of time for what?”
“For the bargain,” he says. “To rid themselves of the curse they were given.”
The ghost steps beside me and wraps one arm around my shoulder, then pulls me against his chest. I let him, because it tears my gaze away from the crew jumping into the water, one by one.
He feels so steady, so grounded, and I become acutely aware of the way my body fits against his.
Without meaning to, I lean into that stability.
He holds me until the sound of splashing becomes fainter, and I am sure we have completely passed the ship.
I look up to find black eyes staring into mine.
He blinks, slowly, and I try to remember how to breathe.
“Every pirate is cursed by nature, love,” he continues. “The sea does not let men take from her without demanding something in return. She gives them a trial. Sometimes a quest, sometimes a burden, sometimes a promise they must fulfill. It differs for each crew. But it is always binding.”
I swallow. “And if they fail?”
“They are called.” His fingers grip the rail beside me as he turns his head to look past the Noctis, where the shape of the other ship becomes smaller in the distance. “And the sea collects its debt. It pulls at them from the inside, until drowning feels like a mercy.”
When another swell lifts the ship, his hand slides from my shoulder to the curve of my upper arm. His thumb brushes there once, and warmth blooms beneath my skin, pushing back the fear.
“How cruel,” I whisper. “But I know that’s what the sea has always been.”
He lets out a low breath against my temple. “It is the only justice the sea believes in.”
I turn slightly in his hold so I can see his face properly, but it is nothing more than a blur of shadows. No matter how real his body feels against mine, he is not a man. I must remind myself of that.
“How often does it happen?” I ask.
“Often enough,” he replies with a sigh, his mouth tightening faintly.
“Crews vanish between one full moon and the next. We often find ships drifting around with no hands aboard. Some try to outrun it. But none of that makes a difference once the sea decides it is time. They sail home to follow its call. That’s why—“
“—It’s called the Sea of Bones.”
He nods softly, a sad smile tugging at his lips.
“Aye,” he says, his voice quieter. “Because this is where they end, where they come to sink into the depths. Layer upon layer of bone on the ocean floor, that’s what lies beneath us.”
“And this crew?” I ask, though deep down, I already know the answer.
He hesitates.
“This crew,” he says carefully, “is no different. They were cursed the day they became pirates.”
I am at a loss for words. My breathing becomes heavier, and I grip the railing in front of me to not tremble and fall.
Can you help us?
Lark’s words echo in my memory and wrap themselves tight around my heart. This is what he asked me on my first day in captivity.
They haven’t broken their curse. Their time is ticking, and if they fail to break it, this is what awaits them. This is their fate. The string of Lark’s words around my heart tightens and cuts deep when I imagine him climbing the railing and jumping overboard to drown like the others.
Tears blur my vision, but as I turn around, the ghost is gone.
The deck is empty. Only the dark water moves beside me, as if nothing has happened at all.
As if men did not just jump to their deaths in front of my eyes.