35. Survivor
Survivor
Sorcha walked beside Kyron as Maelan and Niall walked behind, their boots crunching over broken shells and dried salt.
The wind still carried the ocean, but it was buried beneath sweat, stale beer, and the reek of fish that had been dead too long. It clung to the rock walls, soaked into the boards, and twisted in their lungs. The closer they got, the worse it became.
A narrow stair carved into the stone led them down toward the edge of the cliff side.
Faint light flickered through an opening below, a warped wooden door wedged into the face of the rock.
Just outside, two men were locked in a drunken wrestling match, rolling through muddy puddles and laughing like they didn’t care who was watching.
A third leaned against the wall, swaying slightly, eyes glassy and unfocused.
Sorcha wrinkled her nose as they passed. The air was thick with unwashed skin, soaked linen, spilled drink, and something sour that had sunk deep into the earth.
“This must be the place,” Maelan muttered, voice low.
“Ey, this is the place,” Niall added.
No sign hung above the door. No name carved in wood or scratched into stone. Just a place men crawled into when they didn’t want to be found.
Kyron glanced at Sorcha. “Ready?”
She didn’t answer. She just pushed the door open.
The door groaned open on rusted hinges, and heat poured out to meet them, thick, wet, and awful.
Sorcha stepped inside first, and the wall of scent nearly knocked her back.
Sweat. Piss. Spilled beer soaked into wood.
It was worse than outside, which she hadn’t thought possible.
The tavern was packed, shoulder to shoulder.
Men shoved past each other, slamming mugs on warped tables.
A group near the hearth bellowed out a song three verses too long, all off-key.
One sailor barked out a laugh just as a barmaid threw a tankard of beer full in his face.
He staggered back, sputtering, while she grabbed another and kept moving.
The three of them split up, slipping through the crowd. Sorcha moved left, weaving between tables and sidestepping a falling chair. Kyron kept to the right, eyes scanning faces, shoulders squared. Maelan and Niall went straight ahead, brushing past a man who reeked of rot and bad decisions.
When suddenly they stopped. Near the farthest wall, almost swallowed by shadow, a man sat alone. Hood low, shoulders hunched, drink untouched. Maelan glanced back and caught Sorcha’s eye and gave the smallest nod, they’d found him.
“Mind if we sit here?” Niall asked, sliding into the seat closest to the wall.
“Theres plenty of other seats,” the man muttered, not looking up.
“There actually isn’t,” Sorcha replied, calm but firm.
The man looked up from his drink, eyes sweeping the room. He realized she was right, every table was full, the place packed and loud.
“Sure,” he said dryly.
“Thank you,” Sorcha murmured as she slid into the seat beside him.
Maelan and Kyron pulled over a pair of chairs they’d grabbed mid-step from a table where two sailors were too deep in a shouting match to notice. They settled in around the table without a word.
No one moved to speak at first, unsure of how to start the conversation. It was Maelan who broke the quiet. “You from around here?”
“Mm-hmm,” the man answered, eyes still on his drink.
“Then you must’ve heard the stories,” Maelan said, voice light as he waved a barmaid over.
The man didn’t respond. His silence was louder than the tavern around them.
The barmaid arrived, wiping her hands on her apron. Maelan ordered a bottle of whiskey and a tray of glasses.
“We’ve heard about a ship being swallowed whole,” he continued, as the barmaid returned “Only one man made it out.”
The man’s eyes lifted.
“We’re about to head out,” Maelan said. “Figured we should know what we’re sailing into.”
The whiskey hit the table with a soft thud. The smell of honey, smoke, and spice filled the air.
Niall poured the drinks, sliding a shot toward the man.
He took it without pause, downed it in one gulp, and set the glass down hard.
“You’re looking for Cavan,” he said, watching them now.
“Yes,” Sorcha answered. “We want to know what happened.”
“And what we could run into out there,” Kyron added.
Cavan gave a bitter laugh. “You’ve heard the stories. He’s mad! Out of his mind.”
He slid the glass back to Niall, who poured him another. When it returned, Cavan took it slower, eyes drifting as memory surfaced.
“It was the largest snake I’ve ever seen. Bigger than this cliff. Bigger than anything that should exist.”
His voice trembled and so did his hands.
Sorcha reached across the table and gently placed her hand over his. He flinched at the touch, but didn’t pull away. Slowly, his eyes met hers, they were wet and rimmed red.
“It had teeth like blades,” he said, voice breaking. “It screamed. I’ll never forget that sound.”
He shook his head and kept talking.
“It slammed into the ship and tore it apart like paper. Wood snapped, men screamed as blood hit the sky. Then the Merrows came. They pulled the crew under one by one.”
His hand shook beneath Sorcha’s.
“I was a coward,” he whispered. “I didn’t fight. I crawled into a barrel and watched them all die. Used the wreckage as oars. That’s how I made it back.”
He slammed his fist into the table, hard enough to rattle the glasses.
“I should’ve died with them.”
“You survived. You did what you had to,” Sorcha said softly.
Cavan didn’t look at her, but he gave the smallest nod.
“We have to be going,” Kyron added, rising from his chair.
“We’ll leave this here,” he said, motioning to the half-full bottle as he stood.
Niall placed a hand on Cavan’s shoulder before following. “Anyone would’ve done the same. There’s no shame in survival.”
He gave a small squeeze, then turned and began pushing his way through the crowd.
Maelan lingered. He didn’t speak at first, just stood watching as the man wept quietly over the bottle of whiskey.
“Thank you,” Maelan said at last, voice low.
Then he turned.
Sorcha and Kyron followed, their footsteps quiet as they disappeared into the crowd.
Cavan watched them go, eyes lost in the space they left behind.
They stepped out into the alleyway, the tavern door groaning shut behind them. It felt like night.
The cliffs rose high on both sides, turning the narrow path into a tunnel of damp shadow. The smell of old beer and ash still clung to their clothes, thick in the quiet that followed them.
Their boots echoed against the stone as they walked. Far below, waves slammed into the rock face, distant but steady.
When the alley opened, the light hit hard.
It was sudden, the sunlight pouring in from above, bright and after the dark.
Sorcha blinked against it. Her eyes needed a moment to adjust. Ahead, the town had returned to life.
Voices shouted from rooftops. A cart creaked past with sacks of flour strapped down in twine.
The breeze carried the scent of spices and sweets baking nearby.
And beyond all of it, the harbor. Ships bobbed gently at anchor.
Sailcloth flapped and ropes groaned under the shifting of the tide.
Sorcha stepped forward and slowed near the edge of the dock.
Her eyes caught something farther out, just beyond the outer line of boats.
At first, it looked like a shadow in the water, nothing more than a patch of sea caught in the wrong light.
But it moved slow and unnatural. The shadow rolled just beneath the surface.
She stared at it for a long time, lips parted, not speaking. Then she turned to the others.
“I have a bad feeling.”
Kyron watched her, but didn’t say anything. Maelan shifted his weight, glancing toward the water.
“That thing Cavan spoke of,” Sorcha said, her voice low, “I don’t think it ever left.”
She looked back at the sea.
“It’s out there. And it’s waiting for us.”