Chapter 14 Sunlight’s Touch
Creatures of grove and glenn, the Alseid are the shyest and most beautiful of the nymphs. They appear to have limited magickal ability and make the most docile house slaves.
–Excerpt from 'A Slavers Guide to Aurorae', by Crismund Burke
Heat slams over me, but not the kind I was expecting.
It's not brutal or cutting. It's not death ready to envelop me.
The kepra shrieks and there's a sizzling sound and the smell of burning flesh.
The heat intensifies. I'm reminded of warm summer days.
Of crackling fires lit in the hearth of a home where happiness lives.
When it grows stronger, sweat strikes to life, weeping down my forehead and arms. I open my eyes and see it—a light as brilliant and golden as the sun.
Blinding, but so beautiful I don't want to look away.
I could stare at it forever. Stare at him forever.
My pain is forgotten. Every doubt. Every fear, vanished, as if the divine light absorbed it.
Then it's gone. Pulling back into him as suddenly as it spilled out.
Rhyland Crow collapses to the deck, panting.
The runes carved into his arms maintain a soft glow, tinted harsh blue rather than the gold when the sunlight encompassed him.
But it's only a minute before that light disappears too and he pushes back up to his feet, swallowing and brushing those short, dark strands of hair off his sweat slicked forehead.
Both kepra are dead, their carcasses charred black as the sky above us.
Talon of House Sól, made of sunlight and wrath. These creatures must not fare well in the day, I think.
It's not until he comes over to me, kneeling and taking my hands, that I realize my whole body is trembling.
“Hold still.” His command is firm but soft as he draws my móeir’s blade from his waistline and moves behind me. I can feel the tug of the ruined skin on my back when he saws through the kepra's arm. There's a ‘plunk’ as it falls away, signaling my freedom.
“Get below deck. Find the surgeon called Mattias and ask him to remove the piece of the talon still lodged in your back. You'll need to be stitched closed, quickly.”
“What about you—?”
“I'll be fine, Nymph. But I have to stay here; the móri are sure to have woken and will board the ship in search of their sacrifice. If they find more than one above deck, we are all headed to Skelfir's realm tonight.” He stands before lifting me to my feet. “Go.”
The gods have never felt more real to me than they do now—not even that night the Shadow Weaver, Harlow's ship, was swallowed. I stare at him, studying the sharp cut of his jaw. The way his midnight gaze grows heavy and intense the longer I stand unmoving.
“Vale,” he says, and the use of my name on his lips jerks me from my momentary delirium. How did he learn that nickname?
I swallow against my dry throat, remembering the pain in my back and leg when I shift just the wrong way.
Without another word, I turn and limp for the latticed door, trying to forget what the blue of midnight looks like, or how the heat of his sunlight felt against my skin.
In fact, I try not to think about anything at all because every thought proves too dangerous and somehow manages to twist back to the rugged pirate god.
Mattias pats gently at the long, claw-carved gashes that run down my shoulder and back, but I still wince at how tender it is. My fingers curl around the scratchy blanket held under my bare front as the ship bobs beneath us.
“I’m sorry, my dear,” the old surgeon says quietly, dipping his rag again in the clear liquid that stings against my skin like the prick of a nettle bush.
“Kepra are filthy creatures. If I don’t use the antiseptic, the wound will fester and fever will follow.
” His round spectacles reflect the light from the oil lanterns he has burning.
They send eerie splashes of color around the room from the deep water outside his strange window.
“It’s fine.” I grit my teeth when he dabs it again, holding as still as I can manage. “But why didn't the crew come to help? Surely, they could hear everything going on. Those creature’s cries were ear shattering.”
More cool liquid is poured over my wound.
“That would be because of the móri. All crew members are instructed to stay below deck, no matter what they hear above. Móri are lethal, but Ireus inscribed rules into their very bones when he created them. An etiquette to be followed. Sailors who pass the Shadowed Sea must offer a sacrifice. They may leave one brave man on the deck to steer the ship. He may not talk. May not light a lantern or candle. May not do anything but steer the ship silently. If the móri wake from the watery depths and glimpse the ship, they may board and devour the sacrifice. Then they must leave peacefully if they find only one lone sailor on deck. If there is no sacrifice, or more than one is within sight, they may attack.”
I feel a frown settle over my face. “But the kepra were attacking. Was it because I was on board, too?”
“The kepra were not created by Ireus, but by Harial, the trickster god. Rhyland's youngest brother. They are bound to nothing but their animal instincts to torment. And they're drawn by light, rather than sound like the móri.”
The urge to curse fills my chest when I think of the lantern I lit above. It must have drawn the kepra right to us, a beacon in the dark.
“So that makes the kepra the more dangerous of the two?” I whisper.
“Oh, no, my dear. Kepra can be killed. The móri are the dead who cannot die.
That is their punishment. To sleep within the waters beneath and hunger into eternity, only finding a moment's reprieve if a ship goes past not privy to the rules.
If Rhyland hadn't gotten you down here in time, the ship would have been overrun by the dead. Every one of us would have been cannibalized.”
My eyes flit up to the ceiling and a quake of fear echoes through me.
An electric feeling from my toes to the top of my head.
There's the soft creak of the wood, but otherwise silence.
Both fear and guilt stake a claim in my heart.
I risked everyone and everything on this ship when I didn't listen to him.
A great sigh escapes Mattias. “This is my fault,” he whispers, interrupting my thoughts—mirroring them.
“I’ve never medically treated a nymph before.
I had no impression of how quickly you’d metabolize the sedative.
They wanted to move you down deeper in the belly of the ship with the others, but I was worried the stimulation might prompt convulsions.
” His fingers gently prod the sensitive skin.
A sharp breath whistles between my teeth.
“And your guard slipped away to relieve himself.
He can shoulder some of the blame as well, but don't take it upon yourself, dear. You couldn't have known.”
I glance back, unsure of what to say, and watch him thread a curved stitching needle.
A wondering weaves through my mind. I think about my first moments of consciousness on this ship.
The concern in the old surgeon's voice as he looked me over.
And now, the tender way in which he stitches my skin together.
Using precious stores of laudenum to keep me comfortable. He doesn't fit here.
“How does a man like you end up working for the likes of Crow?” Even saying the words sends a low ache through me.
Sure, he's saved my life a few times now, but not for free.
Not for goodwill or kindness. Or even mercy.
He needs me. And I've seen the monster that lives in him, fierce and cunning.
The potential for pure, unbridled rage. He and his crew murdered dozens of men back at the cove who were simply following orders.
He threatened Rowan's life and then withheld treatment from her until I begged. He stabbed a man in front of his son. Cut the hand off from an old acquaintance without batting an eye. He’s one of the monsters my mother warned against in her stories.
A dusty chortle rattles out of Mattias. I feel his hands pause for a moment before moving again. “The disdain in your voice makes it clear you are not a fan of the captain's methods.”
“How could I be? He's ruthless. And insufferable…. And rude.” I add the last bit for good measure.
That chuckle again. “You're not wrong, my dear. You'll be surprised to know he used to be worse. But that was before my time.”
Hot pain rips over my skin when I turn too fast to look at him. “Before your time?”
A look of mock offense claims his aged face.
“He is a god, after all. Certainly Ireus wouldn't cast his son to this land in a body that would perish in a single mortal lifespan—” He frowns suddenly, before positioning me forward so he can continue his work.
“But I've said too much about that. Rhyland Crow is a different man now than he was when he first fell into Hlódyn, our realm of men.
At that time he'd been broken and didn't have the mercy of man. The mercy that time spent amongst mortals can bring. Whole civilizations fell beneath his blade. His fury, until his father had to brand him. To lock the godly power away.”
My mouth goes dry when I think of the runes carved into his arms. His own father did that? Branded him like cattle.
“As I said, I was found after that time. Without his power, he couldn't heal as effectively. That's where I came in, a young man, down on his luck....” His eyes go misty. Far away. “Well, it's a long story for another time.”
We lapse into careful silence as he continues his stitching.