Chapter 24 #2
I don’t know who says it, only that the world tips a moment later, and my feet lose contact with the deck.
I flail in the darkness, fingers grazing taut ropes as I slam into those that have tied themselves to the mast. When the ship comes up to catch me, it’s with the railing, and my back arches against the blinding pain as the bones of my back slam into the wood.
On all fours, I look up to find the kraken has the ship curled in one, massive, suckered grip, the tentacle electrified by the roc’s lightning.
It buzzes and arcs with bursts of current that hit the deck.
Water floods and empties away from it, turning it into an alternating hazard of loose electricity.
The crew turns all the weaponfire they have, sinking bolts of bone and solid wood.
Some explode, like Otto’s. Others do little, the kraken’s mucus layer nulling any acidity or flame that tries to stick.
Rune manifests in the middle of the chaos, halberd brandished like he thinks he’ll get a chance to stab at it before the water electrocutes him.
Bolts fly over his shoulders, but he doesn’t flinch, his face fierce in the unnatural dusk.
The tendril grips the main mast. I rise as a bird tries to fly at his back.
My bola aims true, tangling its wing and bringing it down to where I can leap forward to press a blade into the space between its head and neck.
He turns as I untangle the weapon, our eyes meeting between one flash of lighting and the next.
Then he’s gone, lost in a flurry of ripped sails, flying shadows, and struggling bodies. I move to follow, but a force rips me backwards by the base of my tangled braid, shooting pain down my bruised spine, and it’s all I can do to draw Rune’s dagger as I’m yanked into the deeper shadows.
“You did this, you mangy bitch.”
Reid. His voice alone makes my stomach curdle. I spin, aiming the handle of the dagger into the sensitive lower bones of his ribs. He hisses and lets go, but angles his own blade to my neck, like he thinks he could move fast enough to use it.
“I’m a little busy, pissbreath,” I say, gesturing to the chaos around us.
His sunburned face is smeared with blood that leaks from a cut at the crown of his head. His eyes are wide, his grin almost manic. “We’re already dead,” he says, shouting over the wail of the wind. “Because of you.” The words are punctuated by a swipe of his blade.
I leap back. He’s taller and stronger, but it’s half a thought to parry, sending the edge away.
The blood in my veins is beyond boiling, but I’ve got bigger problems than a small man with an overinflated ego.
“Is this how you want to die, Reid? Felled by a pirate? Letting the kraken take you would be a much cooler story.”
He bares his teeth and swipes again. I step to one side, then leap to parry another sloppy blow, grinning now, because the look on his face might be the last pleasure I get before this ship is taken by the sea. “Harder to gut than you expected?”
A neat feint leaves him open and I snap my blade to the delicate skin above his collarbone. He freezes, arms wide, flushing redder with every passing moment. “Leave it,” I say, as if he were a dog. “Let the ocean have you. There’d be more dignity.”
I give him my back, irritated but not surprised when I double back to find his arm flung high, ready to bring his sword down to cleave me in two.
I dive behind him, catching myself in a half-cartwheel, wincing at the ache in my spine as I come up, brandishing my bola like a whip.
It’s a manoeuvre I’ve practiced a hundred times, more.
The long end wraps his unbalanced ankle and I pull with the weight of my entire body until it slips, and his knee jars against the wood.
Then, it’s nothing to press my blade to the back of his neck too.
“Do it again, and you’re dead.”
His brawny shoulders shake, and my face twists as I realise he’s laughing.
I step back, unsteady as seawater tugs at our feet again, but keep my blade lifted when he turns, his expression a tortured mix of amusement and pain.
“I knew I recognized you.”
I feel myself go still.
“You’re her. His daughter.”
The roar of the sea compounds with the blood in my ears. “What are you talking about?”
“The bola. I’ve seen it. Has to have been over a decade ago. There used to be a little village along the coast of Brackbay, just a speck on the mainland.” His grin widens impossibly more. “You ruined it.”
“The next words out of your mouth decide if you live or die.” I’m not sure if he hears me, but he doesn’t miss the way I lean in, just a hair, drawing his eyes back to the blade a handsbreadth from his face.
“It was you who killed them all,” he spits.
“Snuck into a tired old manor, slit the throat of the lord and lady, the gardener, their only son and wife who’d come to visit while he was on leave.
You ended a bloodline that night. It was Ivor that pulled your cowl back, just a little.
And you—your eyes were empty, even as they set the manor ablaze.
So young. Must have been born ruined, I thought.
Yeah. Don’t you worry, Nisse.” The name, the memory, tears something vital away from me, but Reid just shakes his head in mock pity.
“I won’t tell Rune. He’s had his chance. ”
“You won’t?” Everything in me screams that I should kill him, that if Rune finds out, it’s over.
The map. The keys. Hell, he might string me up like Reid has always wanted.
Even if I managed to get away, it would ruin any chance I’d have of starting over.
Without the treasure, I wouldn’t make it far, and it would only be a matter of time until someone found me.
But something in me, something small and weak and soft, has enjoyed how little blood I’ve spilled these last few weeks.
The same part that wonders if maybe Rune won’t spill my intestines into the sea the moment he finds out how much I lied to him.
Reid shakes his head again and I lower my blade by a fraction, wary. But when he speaks, the look in his eye promises death. “I’ll just have to let Ivor know where his daughter has gone. Who she’s fucking. And with his map in hand, no less. Tsk. Tsk.”
I blink, speaking before the words have fully processed. “Ivor would kill everyone on this ship.”
The man’s face shows no regret. “If they’re lucky.”
A breath. I give myself a breath to come up with a reason to let him live.
And then I jab for his throat.
He drops at the last second, and the blade slices his cheek and splits his ear at the lobe.
With a manic snarl, he heaves his blade towards me, but the attack hardly registers.
I’m already spinning the bola in my left hand, ready to wrap his wrist. As expected, he pulls up and back, but I use the leverage to step into his guard, and sink the narrow blade between his ribs until I feel his lung pop.
He sucks in a wet shuddering breath as the ship rises on another wave, the horizon a mountain range of peaks and valleys.
I loosen my hold and let him fall over the railing as we lean.
He goes like a felled tree, his body stiff, legs flipping so he hits head first and disappears. The storm swallows him.
Another secret, another lie. One I can’t bring myself to feel sorry about.
On the main deck, a man screams. I sprint that way, slipping in puddles of feather-filled ooze and patches of gore.
The storm rocs that are left have retreated, waiting for easier scraps.
Tavi and Rune hack away at the tendrils snaking across the ship.
They’ve managed to dislodge the big one, but if any of them get enough purchase, it will crack the ship in half.
I duck away from the suckered tip of one appendage, spinning to swipe at it for good measure. Rune doesn’t look at me when I make it to him, my blade drawn and ready to meet the kraken’s blind attacks.
“Don’t slip,” he says, jaw set. “I don’t have time to rescue you at the moment.”