Chapter 28
Riella and Jarin climbed from the rowboat on the beach and rushed to the broken figure beneath the tree.
In the dappled shade of the palm, Ferrante’s bleeding body seemed grossly at odds with the picturesque tropical surroundings. Jarin crouched next to Ferrante, touching his shoulder with care. Riella and Berolt stood back, surveying the tree line. The assailants appeared to have departed the island, and recently—drag marks in the sand indicated that a series of rowboats had been and gone.
The Pandora’s crew came ashore, armed with the axes and swords and clubs from the slaver’s stronghold. If only the ship had returned to the island sooner. They’d missed the attack by a slim margin, judging by the crimson freshness of the blood.
Riella feared for Kohara and the children. Along with Ferrante, they had been the only people to remain on the island after the Pandora set sail. Were they taken as hostages? Or had something worse happened?
Jarin eased Ferrante onto his back. A red bubble expanded from the old man’s mouth, and he groaned. He was alive, but perhaps barely. His face was covered in blistering burns, like he’d been held to hot coals. His legs were heavily lacerated and his skinny right arm was bent at a strange angle, as were several of his fingers.
Riella fought the urge to vomit. Injuring a defenseless blind man was more than she could stomach. To call the assailants animals would be an insult to animals.
“He was tortured,” said Jarin in a grim tone, raking his eyes over Ferrante’s wounds. “I recognize these methods. It was Artus.”
A fresh wave of nausea hit the siren. Why would Artus torture Ferrante? He was trying to find the amulet, surely. Or perhaps glean Jarin and Riella’s location to retrieve the map, depending on how much Artus already knew. After being blindsided by Polinth, Riella was reluctant to assume anything.
Ferrante rasped. Jarin put his ear to the old man’s mouth, frowning in concentration.
“He says they’re hiding. He must mean Kohara and the kids. Riella, see if you can find them. Call out. They’ll come if they know it’s you. We’ll get Ferrante to camp.”
She nodded and jogged into the tree line. Berolt and Jarin had begun the delicate process of relocating the old mystic’s crushed form. Ferrante’s anguished cry reached her from the beach, making her wince with sympathy. It almost seemed crueler for Artus to have left Ferrante alive.
“Kohara!” called Riella as she skirted the sandy path toward the camp. “Nuri!”
The only reply was the hypnotic buzz of insects and chattering parrots. Riella chewed the inside of her cheek. If the pirates would hurt a blind elderly man, she had little faith they’d spare a woman and children.
The absence of blood on the path did give her some hope that Kohara and the children had successfully hidden before meeting Artus and his vicious crew.
But any hope came crashing down when she reached the camp. The treehouses were torn apart, the shelters surrounding the fire pit knocked over, and the food supply ruined. Hessian sacks of flour and rice were upended onto the sandy ground, and stank strongly of urine—a stench worsened by the heat of the blaring sun.
With fresh fear, she headed down the track she and Jarin had taken to Ferrante’s caves. She figured that Kohara and the children may’ve gone farther inland to hide. The path was relatively undisturbed, suggesting that Artus and his men didn’t venture this way.
Riella cupped her mouth to amplify her voice. “Kohara! Nuri! Ruslo! It’s safe to come out! The Pandora has returned!”
She searched behind mossy boulders and inside hollow tree trunks, to no avail. But Kohara and the children knew the island far better than she did—if the siren found them, it would be because they wanted her to.
Ruslo dropped from a tree overhead so suddenly that Riella jumped backward.
“Gods, you surprised me,” she said.
Nuri leaped from the branch, landing nimbly next to her brother on the path. Their hair was messy and their faces were filthy, but they seemed unharmed.
“Are you alright?” asked Riella. “Where’s Kohara?”
“I’m coming, I’m coming,” said a voice from within the thick green foliage. A clutch of palm fronds parted and Kohara hobbled out. “I’m not as quick as the little ones.”
The older woman tried to smile—for the children’s sake, Riella supposed—but her bottom lip wobbled and her brown eyes were awash with grief.
“How is he?” she asked the siren in a hushed tone.
Riella glanced at the children. “He’s alive. They’re bringing him to camp. Are you hurt?”
She waved her hand and started down the path to the clearing. “Only my heart, dear. Only my heart. I’ve known Artus since he was a lad, you know.”
Jarin and the rest of the crew crowded the camp. They’d cleaned up one of the ground-level huts, its ruined contents heaped in a pile on the sand. Jarin’s low, reassuring voice came from inside, murmuring something to Ferrante, who cried out periodically.
Kohara disappeared into the hut while Riella hung back with the children, unsure what to say to them. Ulyss barreled into the clearing, wild-eyed and searching. As boatswain, he’d been below deck when they dropped anchor, and hadn’t been on the first rowboat ashore. Ruslo and Nuri ran into his arms and he hugged them tightly, tears wetting his cheeks.
When he finally set them down, he spoke in a strained voice.
“How would you two like to swim in the rock pools with me?” he asked them.
The children nodded eagerly, and he led them away down one of the jungle paths. Riella was glad they’d be distracted while the crew tended to the camp and Ferrante. Children were not supposed to witness such horrors.
Riella helped with the cleanup in subdued silence. Ferrante’s cries rang ceaselessly at first, but gradually quieted. She prayed it was because his pain was being eased, not because he was dying.
The camp resembled something habitable when Jarin finally emerged from the hut, ashen-faced and dark-eyed. His hands and the front of his shirt were stained red.
He beckoned to Riella. She followed him a short way to a secluded pocket of the jungle, where they would not be overheard.
“He’s alive,” said Jarin. He went to rub his sweating forehead with his hand, then caught sight of the blood on his palm and grimaced. “He’ll be crippled, though. I’ll try to convince him to come to the mainland, but he’s a stubborn man, and Kohara’s a stubborn woman, and I believe they wish to remain here. He went right down to the beach to meet Artus. He sacrificed himself, so that Kohara and the children would have time to hide.”
“He’s brave,” replied Riella in a soft voice. “What did Artus want?”
“The map. He must’ve found out we had it, or at least strongly suspected.” A muscle worked in his jaw. “Ferrante told them what the map said. Not everything, but enough to sound convincing. Artus knows the full moon is significant, and that a siren is involved. They tortured it out of him. Artus threatened to go looking for the children.”
Riella groaned. “What terrible luck, that Artus came while we weren’t here to defend them.”
“It wasn’t bad luck.” Jarin flexed his blood-stained fingers. “The deserters from yesterday went right to him. Artus knew he’d have an easier time getting information from Ferrante than me. Why torture a man who can’t die when you can just find out secondhand from a frail old man? And you can bet he didn’t want to fight you head-on. Not if he didn’t have to.”
Riella rubbed her temples. “This is a disaster.”
“Artus would still need a siren’s Voice to access the amulet. And a way to dive deep enough. He doesn’t have those means.”
“And Polinth? He has a siren’s Voice.”
“But he knows nothing of the map’s contents. He doesn’t know where to look for the amulet.”
For now, thought Riella. How long would that last?
“Then, we find them both,” she said, determined to rally. She was going to die soon. This wasn’t the time to accept defeat. “It won’t be hard, will it? We know Polinth will be in Klatos for King Leonid’s wedding. At the very least, I can save Seraphine. And if we can kill him before he can locate the amulet or wreak any havoc, all the better.”
Jarin nodded thoughtfully. “Every pirate in the kingdoms will be drawn to the celebrations, like flies to honey. All those drunk wealthy noblemen and docked foreign ships make for easy pickings. I bet Artus’ll be there.” He frowned. “Unless he’s out to sea, looking for the amulet with the bits of information Ferrante gave him.”
Riella chewed the inside of her cheek. “Pirates talk, don’t they? For better or worse, word travels fast between you all. Can’t you plant a seed with your crew that a sorcerer in possession of a siren’s Voice will attend the king’s wedding celebrations? To bait Artus into showing himself?”
“I bet that’d work, but it’s a huge risk. What if Artus manages to actually steal your Voice from Polinth?”
“He won’t steal it. We’ll stop him.” Riella kicked at the sand with her battered boots, tense and frustrated. She couldn’t let these horrible people win. Either of them. Why else would her death be prophesied? She was meant to do more with her remaining life than wait around and dread that Polinth or Artus would succeed. “And I don’t have time to sail the seven seas searching for our enemies. That could take forever. We have the opportunity to bring both of them to us, in Klatos for the wedding. Let’s do it.”
“You’re right.” He touched her arm. “I’ll send my men with the biggest mouths to the mainland to spread the word.” He paused. “Ferrante wants to talk to you, by the way.”
A jolt of alarm traveled through her. “Me? Why?”
She dreaded hearing any more prophecies or vague, eery words.
Jarin shrugged. “Only one way to find out.”
They walked back to the camp together. He waited outside while she entered the hut where Ferrante lay in a makeshift cot. Kohara sat by his side, her back rod-straight.
Riella thought she’d been prepared for how he’d look, having seen him already on the beach, but her stomach still twisted at the sight of his battered face and body. Purple and black bruises covered his exposed flesh, blooming like ghoulish flowers among the blistering burns. His hand and arm had been set, and wrapped in bandages.
He turned his head slightly as she walked in. As she stepped closer, Ferrante’s milky eyes somehow managed to lock onto her.
“Jarin said you wanted to speak to me,” she said.
Kohara looked up. Riella expected the woman to be tearful, but her eyes were clear and her chin was high. “He went down to the beach to meet them. Can you fathom such fortitude?”
The siren nodded, fiddling with her talons out of nerves. “Jarin told me.”
“That’s exactly it,” rasped Ferrante, showing his gapped teeth. “Exactly what I wanted to tell you.”
Riella braced herself for riddles. “That you went down to the beach?”
“No, siren. That I got to choose my fate. There’s no greater gift. As I drifted near death, I Saw that if you stay on your path and be brave, in the end, you will get to choose your fate, too.”