Chapter 16 Knocking At Strange Shores #2
“What is this?” I half hiss, watching the stricken, pale faces of the crew and Rowan. I'd reach out to comfort her but I don't think I could bring myself to move. Another wave of heat brims out from Rhyland's hands and some of the icy feelings recede.
“Spirits of the restless dead. Nymph slaves who were torn from their home, went down on ships, and were unable to pass into Vaettirheim.
The Sea Witch collects their souls and keeps them here to guard her island.
They're particularly fond of wreaking vengeance on men similar to the ones who brought about their early end.”
His explanation is hardly off his lips when the howling starts. Low, primal screams, deep and pained. They twist into wails at the end that drive every hair on my arms skyward.
“What is that?”
Rhyland stares ahead, unflinching as the coast grows into view.
“Pirate, what is making that sound? The spirits?” Except it doesn't sound like spirits.
It's not the whispering, not the ethereal chant that gilds the corners of my mind, a song of longing for Vaettirheim, the Nymph spirit realm where we find eternal peace.
Where I won't be with my half-sister nymphs because of my mortal father.
The song—it's the pain of the living. The sounds of grown men, tormented to their core.
My eyes are a blur, looking between the faces of the crewmen, but they're all masks of calm concentration, stares distant and fixed.
When I look closer, I realize they've all got something stuffed in their ears.
It looks suspiciously like hardened bits of candle wax, shaped to fit inside.
Even Rowan has one, peeking through her sheet of auburn hair.
My hands shoot up to cover my own ears. “Pirate?” I say again, more forcefully, because the wailing hasn't stopped and it's carving at my insides. I'll be sick if it keeps going.
When he swallows, I watch the distracting rise and fall in his throat. The gentle beat of the pulse below his sharp jaw. I try to find comfort in it. In anything.
“The reason I didn't leave you below by yourself.” His voice is loud enough to be heard through my pressing fingers.
“The men screaming are in the brig. The spirits have found them alone and wanting.
They will make them feel the pain they've brought to the world. Our numbers above, together, overwhelm and hold them at bay.”
My hands slip away from my ears. “Solomon?”
He nods. “And Captain Searle.”
“Where's Sabre?” My voice rings hollow.
“Guarding them, so they don't break loose from their restraints and kill themselves.”
“But how does she—”
“Enough questions. We're almost there.”
He’s right. The coastline is in full view, all jagged black rocks and twisting trees.
There's a shallow lagoon that even I know won't be large or deep enough for the Nightingale to dock in without running aground.
Foliage grown up around it is haunting, from here a blur of black spindly shrubs and hanging katkins that sway in an ominous wind.
The last thing I want to do is go ashore.
The whispering stops. Their wailing turns to distant whimpers and then nothing.
“Anchor here.” Rhyland booms into the night. I feel the echo of it through his chest. Tobias reaches up to pull the little makeshift plugs from his ears, giving the captain a wily grin as he adjusts his hat.
“Alright you mangey brutes, land ho! Into positions!” Briggs’ shout shatters the night.
The crew below follows suit removing their bits of wax, safe in the knowledge we've passed the worst of it.
They begin moving in such a way that would suggest nothing ever happened.
Like they were never pale and still, their lives—sanities—hanging in the balance.
They're assembling the smaller boats, ready to hoist them down once they are loaded with those destined for the coast.
Sabre appears from below deck, blonde hair slick with moonlight. Her good eye is fixed on us as she weaves her way through the working men, up the stairs to settle between Briggs and Rowan.
“Any trouble?” Rhyland asks coolly.
“Not anything I couldn't handle. What's wrong with this one?” Her gaze flicks over me still cradled against his chest. I'm burning with embarrassment still. Consumed by it.
“Broken ankle. She'll be coming ashore.”
Rowan makes a small noise and reaches for me. I let her hold my fingers and give hers a reassuring squeeze. “I'm fine. The captain is being dramatic.”
Sabre moves the conversation forward as if I didn't speak at all. “Who else?”
“Briggs, naturally. Archer, Aizen, and Reave. You stay behind and keep order, watch after the novitiate. No one else comes ashore, under any circumstances.” He tilts his chin towards Rowan. “And have the men finish repairs. What supplies does Nicklas need?”
“Our carpenter is resourceful. And I doubt he'd allow a single tree from this cursed island to taint the Nightingale, even if he needed it.”
Rhyland looses a small sigh. “Your brother's as stubborn as you are and it will cost us if it continues.”
Sabre only laughs and then tugs at Rowan's free arm. “Come on, we'll gather up the crewmen he needs and then get you something warm to drink. Your skin is like ice.”
Rowan shoots me a quick look. I want to beg her to stay but instead nod her off. Whatever this island is, I don't want her on it. And though I now have more questions and reservations about Sabre, I still think she's better off staying behind with the woman.
They disappear in the rabble and Rhyland heaves me into a firmer hold before heading down the stairs where they're loading the longboats to be lowered into the dark water.
Briggs is a massive shadow behind us. The crew parts again to let us through and it's not until we're at the very edge of the rail that true panic wells up inside of me.
“I can't,” I say, low but fiercely.
“Can't what, Nymph?”
The urge to struggle against him rises up in me and I give myself over to it, beginning to thrash.
“I'm not getting on that little boat. I won't let myself be trapped on this strange island.” In ways an island is worse than a ship.
Surrounded by sea water, no escape, and no moving forward.
It's not home—not Aurorae. He could leave me here, force the truth out of me somehow and then abandon me to the mercy of the Sea Witch's whims.
I think of the nymph spirits that live in the mists. Remember my móeir’s warning about the sea—nymphs who drown in salt water are trapped there forever. Part of why she forbade us from visiting the coast. That and leaving the protection the eternal flame of Aurorae offers the fiernaids.
“Calm down, Nymph. You're going to hurt yourself.”
My movements slow because I do feel a tug of the stitches in my back, but sharp panicked breaths are still spilling out of me. “You could bring the herbs back to the ship. Leave me here.”
A frown. “I won't be parted from you.”
One might think it was a romantic declaration of the most heart wrenching kind.
But I know better. His look is steel. Iron.
He doesn't trust me. Wouldn't leave me alone on his ship, even under the careful watch of his crew, where I could hunt for his crown piece.
The cloudy brewing of a storm swirls over his midnight blue irises.
“Please,” my voice breaks. I feel like I could scream. Sob. “Please, I can't be that close to the sea water.”
“You had no problem leaping your way out to the cave and back.”
“Water I could touch in!” I snap, the words ripping from the deepest parts of my lungs.
“You'll be fine, Nymph. I won't let you go. That's a promise, and my word is my vow. May Ireus strike me down from his golden throne in Skoyr if I do.” As he says it he looks up at the dark sky and I swear I hear a rumble of distant thunder in answer.
This is a battle I won't win. If I refuse further, a part of me knows he'd bind me, wrist and ankles, maybe throw a sack over my head like stable masters do to calm spooked horses. Then toss me into the boat.
A shaky breath rattles out from my heaving lungs. I glare into his eyes. “And when he does may it burn with the fury of the ancient fires of Eld?heim.” The cursed underworld where the wicked burn and freeze into eternity. A cruel fate to wish on anyone—even a treacherous pirate.
His dark brows arch, miffed. Maybe even offended. “Now I know you must hate me to hope for such a thing.” He shifts my weight and steps into the boat, settling us at the bow.
I don't bother denying it.