Chapter 22
NOT A SECOND AFTER I kill him, the room fills with more Drifta. There are ten or so of them, each looking angrier than the last. I don’t recognize any of them. It’s impossible to tell if they know who I am, though I have a hard time imagining that they’d want to kill me any more than they already do either way.
There is the briefest moment of stillness, where I size up the newcomers. They look me over before turning to survey the six dead surrounding me. Hard to look innocent when blood covers my hands and clothes and blade.
I don’t give them the chance to move first. I pull out my pistol and fire, taking out the closest Drifta to me. Since I’ve no time to reload, I throw the weapon at another man. It clonks him square in the nose, halting his advance.
Then I run.
I bolt through the doors at the far end of the room and slam them closed. I slide one of my longer daggers through the handles of both doors to buy me some time.
Shots fire through the door, and I have to leap aside to avoid wayward bullets. I’m in the galley, and I land between two benches bolted to the floor. As I rise and race the length of the room, I hear bodies being thrown against the door.
They’re trying to break in.
I reach the kitchens, which is the last room on this level of the ship. There’s a cooking stove at the far end, washing basins surrounding it. Between it and me, there’s a kitchen island, a chopping center for the cooks to use. I manage to launch myself to the other side of it as the galley doors finally snap under the barrage of Drifta breaking through.
The island is what saves me. It forces them to come at me two at a time, one on each side of the island with me in the middle. I’ve got my rapier in one hand and a knife in the other, as I prepare to fight them two at a time.
The first man who runs at me on the left skewers himself on my knife. The man behind him practically shoved him onto the sword in his haste to reach the fighting. I let go of the knife and drop down to grab his cutlass instead so I can have a longer reach with my left hand.
I angle myself back a foot to keep everyone within my sights. I dodge and thrust simultaneously, stabbing one man through the gut while fending off the other’s blow. Flicking my wrist, I send the enemy’s cutlass flying across the island and slice the empty-handed pirate to ribbons.
The men waiting their turns push harder and harder, desperate to join the fight. One leaps atop the island, thinking to overpower me from above. I dodge a strike from the right, and that pirate’s sword goes charging between the legs of the man on the island, who then stumbles and land flat on his back. I stab at the first man’s now-exposed back.
They keep coming, each man thinking he’ll be the one to finally beat me. It’s truly astonishing the number of fights I’ve won because of male arrogance.
After another thrust into meaty flesh, I’ve no time to withdraw the sword before veering to the side to avoid an ax swinging downward. Above my head, pots and pans hang down from the ceiling. I grab a large cast-iron skillet, yank it off the hook, and swing. It clonks the ax wielder in the head, sending him sprawling atop the pile of bodies.
And then I hear a sound.
The clicking of a pistol.
The man atop the island regains his feet. I reach up for his shirt and pull him downward. He screams when the iron ball makes contact with his back instead of me, and I drop him with the rest of the corpses growing around me.
Blood gathers in puddles on the floor, smears under my boots, flecks on my clothing and skin, runs down my sword, and coats my hands.
A man charges me, dodging under my rapier and sending the breath from my lungs as I fall. He might have made some progress if we’d landed on solid ground. Instead, a dead body takes the impact, and with the leverage, I’m able to roll the pirate off me. I drop the skillet and go for another dagger now that we’re in closer quarters, raking it across his neck before I stand. Blood flies into my face with the movement.
They’re getting smarter as they watch me kill. More men climb atop the island at once. I throw a knife. It has just enough space to make one arc before embedding into one man’s eye. Then I’m forced back against the washbasin as five cutlasses shove at me at once.
I turn in a half circle, my rapier touching blade after blade, but there are too many. I knew this was a possibility, of course. That this mission might be the equivalent of me sacrificing myself.
This is it, I think. The moment when I meet my end. It’s how I always wanted to go. Dying for the sake of someone else. Dying for Alosa’s crew. Risking my neck so they have a chance of making it home.
But, for the first time in as long as I can remember, something is different about this.
It takes me far too long to realize that I don’t want to die.
It’s terrifying as those words form in my head.
I’ve always been eager to reunite with my family. To do as much good as I could in the meantime and gladly go when it’s my time.
But I don’t want it to be my time.
Not when there’s still more that I can do. Not when I’m just beginning to realize that I might be worthy of having a life that is my own. Not that I’d ever abandon Alosa and her cause, but maybe there’s something I can do for myself. Maybe I can train more girls like I’m starting to do with Roslyn. Maybe I don’t have to hide. Maybe I can just be where I want, when I want.
And maybe I want a large brute by my side while I do it.
Terror lances through me in a way that makes me feel more alive than ever. For I do fear death, and I do have something to lose now.
This can’t be the end.
I hear a loud grinding sound bounce off the walls of the ship. The enemy freezes in place, even looks around, as though trying to determine the meaning of the sound.
“Is that—” one starts.
“The capstan!” another shouts.
Some of the men and women around me turn about, racing from the kitchen to stop the anchor from being raised, it sounds like.
No sooner have I started to hope, to think that I might survive this after all, when—
Those closest to me attack.
There are too many sharp blades. I cannot dodge them all.
I sidestep the one aimed for my heart, fend one off with my knife and rapier. But the third—
It slides into my stomach. The shock of pain has me just standing there, looking at the point of entry. A moment later, I hack into the one who delivered the blow. As he falls, he pulls his cutlass back out of me.
I scream.
Any Drifta remaining in the room leave to investigate what’s happening with the anchor.
Now that I’m hurt.
I stumble forward from the pain. My hand goes to my stomach, to keep in the blood.
I fall to my knees.
Stars, but it hurts. I have had many an injury over the years, but not like this. Never like this.
This one is serious.
I need a healer. Immediately.
There’s a shot from somewhere above, and the sounds of battle commence. I focus on my breathing, trying to find a way to do so without causing more pain, when a voice cuts across the fighting.
“Give them hell, lasses!”
Dimella.
They’re on board.
I look about me at the bodies and blood, looking for some answer to a question I haven’t fully formed. Some way to make sense of what I must do next.
There.
A skinny lad with his gun belt about his waist. He looks about my size.
I scoot along to him, get my fingers around that buckle, and loosen it. It slips free from his person, and I drag it over to me.
I grit my teeth. This is going to sting.
I place the belt over my injury, effectively covering the entrance and exit wounds, and cinch it tight.
A horrible sound escapes my lips, and I nearly black out as I fasten the buckle. I lie still on the floor, waiting for the pain to become bearable, but that doesn’t happen.
Nothing for it but to fight through it, then.
Getting to my feet takes an age, but once I do so, things get a bit easier. I’m not sure if I finally grow accustomed to the pain or if the belt is holding it in or something else altogether, but I’m able to gather my weapons, clean them off, and leave the room. Slowly.
What I find above deck is heartening.
My crew.
They fight off the measly remains of the Drifta aboard the vessel. It doesn’t take long at all, and it ends with the last two of the enemy surrendering. They drop their weapons and raise their hands into the air.
Kearan and Enwen dump them over the side of the ship.
They’ll probably make it, if they can get to a fire soon.
“Captain,” Dimella says by way of greeting when she sees me.
“Get us going,” I order.
“Aye-aye!” She barks out orders to the crew, and they get to it with an enthusiasm I’ve yet to see from the crew of the Wanderer , including Captain Warran, who takes it upon himself to go to the helm.
Kearan steps up to me, eyes me. The belt must be doing a good job, because he doesn’t find anything to point out. “How did it go?”
“Swimmingly.”
“You’re covered in blood.”
I worry he’s noticed the injury, until I realize of course I’m covered in blood. Drifta blood. “Makes me look more fierce.”
“It makes you look a great many things.”
His tone is flirty, and I can’t even fathom what I’m supposed to infer from his words. I say, “Get your arse to the helm. I don’t trust Warran with it.”
“Now you’re thinking about my arse?” he asks.
“I’m thinking about where I could stick my blades if you don’t get moving.”
He gives me my favorite grin, the one that says he knows he’s trouble, before heading up to the aftercastle. I would follow, but I don’t think I can manage more stairs right now. It’s taking everything I have just to act as though everything is fine.
As if I won’t die today.
Iskirra’s a fine healer, but I’m not so foolish as to think that blade didn’t hit something vital as it went clean through my stomach. I can spend the day having her fuss over me or I can captain this crew.
I choose the latter.
The lines keeping us close to shore are cut, the anchor is raised the rest of the way, and a steady breeze takes us away from land. Away from these cursed shores.
We haven’t gone far at all when a clamor steals our attention back on land.
Dozens of people race toward the boat. They clear the tree line, waving their arms in our direction. Screaming at the top of their lungs.
“Help!”
“Wait!”
“Please!”
These aren’t the undead. They’re the remaining Drifta.
There are children and livestock among them. Women and men of all ages.
“What are they saying?” Dimella asks.
“They’re asking for help. They want to go with us.”
“Pfft,” Enwen says. “That’s rich. They try to kill us. Try to kill our captain three times over. Now they think they’re in a position to ask for anything. Show us yer gold!” Enwen shouts the last sentence. “Then we’ll be more likely to open our ears.”
Obviously they can’t understand him, but it doesn’t stop him from yelling at them.
“Stop the boat,” I order.
“What?” a handful of people ask simultaneously.
Dimella does no more than raise a brow.
“They didn’t ask for any of this. It isn’t their fault. Those are civilians. Not warriors out there. Lower the rowboats and bring them ashore.”
“Can we even fit so many?” Captain Warran asks.
“We’ll make room.”
“And how do you intend to feed them?”
“The sea will provide.”
“But—”
“Lads, to the rowboats! Bring the Drifta aboard!” Dimella shouts, cutting off the captain’s further protests. When no one moves right away, Dimella says, “Pull your weight or we’ll make you weightless in the depths of the sea!”
That does the trick.
Kearan is already by the railing, working on lowering the lifeboats. Enwen, Nydus, and Taydyn quickly join him. It’s not long at all before the boats are in the water and sailing for the shore.
I watch as the lads row closer and closer. I brace myself for some sort of trickery, but just as I suspected, there is none. The natives board gratefully, and the lads row them back, handing families onto the ship before rowing out for one more load of people.
Dynkinar is among those aboard. She is with her little translator. I hear her say, “Ask for who’s in charge here.”
“That would be me,” I say, sidling up to the pair.
The speaker looks me up and down. Since I understood her just fine, she doesn’t have to guess my identity. “You didn’t die.”
“No thanks to your people.”
“And yet you still let us board.”
“I would have aided you from the beginning, had you not tried to kill me.”
“You are the only thing stopping him from becoming truly invincible.”
“Or maybe I’m the only way to truly stopping him. Kearan told you of our queen. He wasn’t lying.”
Dynkinar holds herself up as tall as she can manage. She is silent for a moment. “I’ve misjudged your people, Captain Veshtas.”
“You were only looking out for your own, just as I would have done. Let us start fresh.”
Apparently, I’m feeling a lot more forgiving now that I know I’m dying.
Dynkinar nods.
“What happened?” I ask. “Why were you fleeing to the sea?”
“The undead attacked in full force. They were killing everything in sight. We are all that made it out alive. The King of the Undersea must be stopped.”
“We’ll stop him. When we regroup with my queen, we will form a plan of attack immediately.”
Dynkinar bows her head. “It is our only hope now.”
“See to your people, and I will see to mine.”
She nods before helping to locate space for people below and above deck.
And I eye my sailors, who are rowing like mad for the ship, and I see immediately why.
The undead have arrived.
They pour out of the trees by the hundreds, their movements jerky and unnatural. Their eyes glow that peacock blue, even from here, and they move as one force.
One mind behind them all.
“Hurry it up, Kearan!” I scream at him.
“Thought I’d take in the sights first,” he fires back petulantly.
The undead reach the shoreline, but they do not stop. They plunge right into the water, sending it foaming and frothing upward. They march in over their heads, disappearing into the unknown depths.
“Damn,” I say.
Are they swimming? Are they walking the distance? How long will that take? Obviously the boats will reach us first, but will there be enough time to help everyone aboard?
The crew moves as quickly as possible. We haul all the newcomers aboard, and then the lads bring up the rowboats.
“Get us moving, now!”
They don’t need telling twice.
Captain Warran takes the helm again, and he gets us going while Kearan assists the smaller children about the ship. If anyone has noticed that I haven’t moved since coming up top, they don’t say anything.
That bundle of heat within my chest flickers slightly.
“Fighters to the starboard and port of the ship,” I call out. “Keep an eye on that water. If anything tries to climb aboard, slice it!”
As the ship begins to move, the crew takes position at the edges of the railing, peering into the water.
There’s a silence, as though everyone is holding their breaths, waiting to see if we’ve made it. I manage to walk myself to the side of the ship and look into the water below.
Nothing but a smooth surface.
And then I hear screaming belowdecks.