24. Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Four
W ith the darkness comes silence.
Nightglass moves through the crew, handing out candle wax, and each man presses it into his ears with rough fingers. No one speaks. No one looks at me. I cannot tell whether they are still processing what I did to Rat or whether the threat ahead of us has pushed everything else aside.
I feel them before I see them.
The magic in the water carries a familiar pull, close enough to my own that my chest tightens in recognition. Slowly, I step toward the railing and lean over it, careful not to tip too far forward. The surface below stirs, then smooths again in an instant, as if nothing had ever disturbed it.
A hum rises in the distance, faint and ancient, carried just above the water.
I hold my breath as it stretches into a song.
At first, there is only one voice, then another joins, then another and another, until there are too many to count.
They weave together until the sound fills the air around the ship, encircling us with the dangerous song.
I scan the deck for any signs that this is affecting the crew.
That the wax hasn’t worked as they’d intended.
The pirates stand in place. Some sway gently with the movement of the Noctis, caught somewhere between awareness and trance.
Others hold themselves rigid, jaws clenched, fists curled at their sides, the wax in their ears the only thing keeping them upright.
As a siren, their song does not affect me, but it sure does affect them.
“Go inside,” I shout, my voice echoing across the deck. I don’t know if they can hear me over the singing or through the wax, but it’s all I can do.
They hesitate, then begin to move, hauling the affected men below the quarterdeck and into the cabins. I release a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding as the deck slowly clears. Only Grim remains at the helm, his eyes fixed on the dark water ahead.
Even with their ears sealed, resisting the song cannot be easy.
I see it in him, the way his focus slips and returns, as though he’s fighting for something just beyond his reach.
Grasping for his consciousness to remain with him.
Behind him, a dark figure stands with his arms behind his back.
He places one hand on Grim’s shoulder, as if reassuring him.
Grim flinches at his touch, but doesn’t turn around.
His pitch-black eyes find mine, and I recognize him as my ghost.
I give him a small nod, and he returns it without a word.
The water stirs again, closer this time. I lean over the railing once more and glare into the dark.
Be brave.
My mother’s voice surfaces like a memory pulled from the deep water of my mind. I straighten my spine. I am not afraid of my own kind, and I will not let them tear this ship apart.
“There’s a child on this ship,” I shout into the void, anger pooling hot in my chest. I know they can hear me. “Retreat. Let us pass.”
The singing falters, cutting off so abruptly that my pulse spikes. For a brief moment, I think they might actually let us pass. But the song surges back, louder than before. Stronger. My fingers curl into my palms as I draw in a slow breath through my nose and force myself to stay steady.
Bang.
The hatch bursts open behind me and slams against the deck. Someone stumbles up the steps and collapses onto the boards, gasping, palms splayed against the wood.
He looks up.
“Lark,” I whisper, already moving toward him. He doesn’t have even the glimmer of a chance against the song of the dark water sirens. They’re too powerful. Too compelling.
His eyes dart wildly, skimming over the lanterns as though they find no focus. His breathing comes too fast, catching in his throat as he tries to breathe, tears streaking down his face. When he finally manages to pull in a full breath, it breaks apart into a sob.
He is terrified.
I drop to my knees and pull him against my chest, wrapping my arms around his shaking body.
“Shh,” I say, brushing my fingers through his hair. “It’s okay. I’m here.”
I glance toward the open hatch and then toward the quarterdeck. Nightglass hasn’t followed him up, which is unsettling given the fact that he is usually so protective of his son.
“Nothing’s okay,” Lark gasps, clutching at the fabric of my gown. His words cause tears of my own too. In this moment, I understand why they fear us. Why the Pirates see my kind as a sort of enemy. The sirens do not show mercy. They do not relent.
“I feel wrong,” he whispers. “Something’s wrong.”
Without letting go of him, I check his ears.
There’s wax in his ears, properly sealed.
Thank the seas, I dread to think how badly he’d be affected without it.
Carefully, I guide him toward the nearest barrel and sit beside him.
A lantern rests on top, casting a small circle of light that barely pushes back the darkness pressing in around us.
“You’re safe,” I tell him quietly, though I am not sure if he can even hear what I say. I stroke a thumb across his cheek, offering him a weak smile in the hopes that it convinces him that all will be well.
His brows crease together as he nods faintly, but his eyes keep drifting past me, toward the edges of the light. Each time the lantern sways, his shoulders tense again.
That’s when I notice.
As the lantern shifts, the shadow of the barrel stretches and pulls across the deck, and so does mine. But Lark’s doesn’t follow. Instead, it lingers at his feet, darker than the others, immovable by the swaying of the lantern light. Frowning, I lower myself a little to watch it more closely.
Lark’s shadow twitches. Not with the sway of the ship, not with the lantern, not mimicking Lark even. It moves entirely on its own. I tighten my grip around his shoulder and pull him closer, trying to give him comfort, while fear creeps in on me too.
This has nothing to do with the song of the sirens.
A cold rush settles low in my stomach as the shape at his feet begins to thin, stretching upward and slowly peeling away from his boots. Lark gasps, fingers digging into my sleeve, his whole body locking down again.
“No,” he whispers, panic surging in his voice. “No, no, no—”
The shadow slowly lifts, almost as if it is hesitating, like it isn’t sure whether it’s allowed to leave or not.
It draws itself up from the boards, lengthening, gathering form, until it stands there, in front of us.
In the shape of a boy, much like the one pressed into my side.
A darker outline of him. The edges of him waver like smoke caught in still air, in a faint shade of silver.
Lark lets out a broken sound.
“I don’t—” His breath stutters as his eyes find mine, wide and filled with so much fear. “I don’t feel right.”
There’s something different about them now. They look emptier than before, a contrast to the excited and so deeply passionate pirate I have come to know.
I pull him closer, one hand sliding up to the back of his neck, feeling in this moment that all I can do to comfort him is bring him close.
As I look up at the figure standing in front of us, I finally come to understand.
He blinks slowly, as if his existence unsettles him the same way it does Lark.
They aren’t ghosts.
They’re shadows.
And they belong to the crew.
The thought fractures into a dozen others before I can stop it. The curse I never learned about. The kind ghost. Sable. The lanterns that seem to follow him wherever he goes. I push them all down as Lark sobs beside me. Whatever this all means, I will deal with it later.
“Look at me,” I murmur, my voice steady even as my chest tightens. “You’re here. You’re breathing.”
The shadow shifts beside us, and my pulse jumps in response. The siren inside me stirs as the shadow starts to wander the deck, as if he’s looking for someone. I return my focus to Lark. He stares at his shadow, sweat now covering his face. By the seas, there must be something I can do to help him.
The idea hits me like a stiff wind. I have the ability to calm him – the power to. With shaking hands, I pull the wax out of his little ears and lay it aside on the planks, just in case it becomes necessary again. He looks at me, still visibly distraught, and I give him a gentle smile.
“I will sing you a song now,” I whisper. “And you will focus on me. Only on me. Do not give in to the pull of the sirens, understand?"
He hesitates, and a deep line settles between his light brows.
Something softens in his eyes, and he gives me a curt nod.
I take his hands into mine and caress the palm of his hand with my thumb, before drawing in a slow breath.
The humming behind my ribs comes to life, and I smother the swelling fire of fear that it ignites in my stomach with it.
I know what I am capable of should I not be careful.
An image of Rat flashes into my mind in a blinding light, him climbing the railing in a trance, followed by the dead, empty air where he fell from.
But this time, I will be in full control.
I am in full control.
I loosen a single thread of my power and let the hum come out in full.
Lark’s eyes widen in recognition as it slips into his ear, the muscles in his face melting into calm with almost immediate effects.
The hum turns into a song. I remember the words well, for my mother used to sing the lullaby to me whenever I couldn’t sleep.