As the world started to go dark, the last thing T’ruck saw was Admiral Peter Verit’s head battered to a pulp, his perfectly groomed facial hair finally ruined.
Chapter 7 - North Gale
Nerine climbed up onto a deck awash with blood. The sun was rising low in the east, giving everything a warm feel and casting deep shadows across the pools of red spreading over the planks. As she stood still, taking in the carnage, one of the puddles spread to her feet and seeped in around her bare soles.
Yu’truda had come up on deck first, and she stood still as stone, her mouth hanging open at the sight before her. All of Nerine’s shadows were gone, but the massacre they’d left was nothing short of sickening even to the witch, and she’d witnessed more than one massacre in her years. Some of the soldiers were still alive, clinging to what little strength they had left and calling for help, but most were as dead as they could be. Some were little more than parts sitting in their own congealing blood.
Nerine heard retching and glanced sideways to see Yu’truda emptying her stomach. It was the smell that offended Nerine more than the blood. She’d seen rivers of red before, but death had a peculiar smell about it that couldn’t be denied, almost as though human flesh rotted the moment it ceased to live. It was acrid and foul, and Nerine felt her lip curl.
Her skin felt raw and exposed, and her legs shook from the effort of keeping her upright. It was a side effect of extensive contact with the Void. So much power and magic had been channelled through her, it had left her feeling stripped away. Her own reserves of strength were almost depleted, and only her iron will was keeping her going. She would need to rest soon, and rest long. Any more attempts to channel magic could leave her with permanent damage.
Not bothering to step around the pools of gore, Nerine headed aft towards where she believed the captain’s cabin might be. Captain Khan may have claimed it for himself, but Nerine needed to rest before her strength gave out completely, and she doubted she would find a more comfortable sanctuary than the cabin the admiral had been sleeping in. She went to step over a body and recognised the face. It was the officer she’d enslaved.
Kneeling down in the man’s blood, Nerine turned his head towards her. To her surprise, she found him clinging to life, stubbornly refusing to admit that he was dead. She’d expected him to die when she sent him up the ladder with her shadows, and it now appeared that his own crewmates had cut him down and left him for dead.
“Do you recognise me?” Nerine said softly.
The officer didn’t say anything, but Nerine thought she saw recognition in his eyes.
“All this is your fault,” she continued, holding the man’s chin in her hand so his head couldn’t flop away. “I would have let you all return to your backwards kingdom and hang the pirates if not for your fervour. You thought me a slave, and thought to use me for your desire. I am a terror beyond your understanding, and I would never consent to be touched by your filthy hands.”
There was no comprehension in the man’s eyes. Nerine wagered he was long past anything but the barest slip of consciousness. He would die soon, of that there was no mistake, and she would let him.
“Yu,” someone shouted from the deck above. “Yu, Cap’n’s in a bad way.”
Yu’truda broke into a run, ignoring the treacherous footing and rushing past Nerine, taking the steps up to the next deck two at a time. Nerine stood slowly, marvelling at how much blood had soaked into her tattered dress, and followed at a more leisurely pace.
At the top of the steps she saw more bodies – mostly soldiers, but a couple of Captain Khan’s crew also lay there. Those pirates who remained – Nerine counted only eight of them – were gathered around a giant body that could only belong to Captain Khan himself.
Nerine approached slowly, her feet leaving bloody prints on the deck behind her. As she moved closer, she saw that the captain had a number of shallow wounds and one that wasn’t so shallow. A sword was buried deep in his gut, almost up to the hilt, and blood leaked slowly from his mouth. He wasn’t showing any signs of life that Nerine could see. She would have to strike a deal with Yu’truda now, and hope the woman was as amiable as her deceased captain. Now was not the time though. Nerine turned away from the funeral.
“Can you help him?” Yu’truda said in a voice that barely carried over the lapping of the waves and the creaking of the hull.
Nerine glanced back at the hulk of a corpse and felt a twinge of sadness. “I cannot bring back the dead. And even if I could, you would not like what came back.”
“He’s not dead,” Yu’truda said urgently. “Not yet.”
Nerine approached the circle of pirates slowly, and they parted to let her through. She knelt down by the giant body of T’ruck Khan and placed two fingers on his neck. It was very faint, but there was the barest beat of a pulse. With the wounds that he’d suffered, she doubted he would last for long.
“Can you heal him? Like you did before?” Yu’truda said.
Nerine sighed. “As I have said, I cannot heal, only speed the natural process. There is no natural process that can heal him now.”
“Isn’t there something you can do, anything to save his life?” Huge tears were rolling down Yu’truda’s cheeks.
Nerine shook her head slowly. “I cannot save his life. But I can give him yours.”
Chapter 8 - The Phoenix
Keelin watched the ship’s boy as she dangled precariously over the side of The Phoenix, attempting to reach the jelly that had attached itself to the hull. Aimi had a rope tied around her waist, and Feather was attached to the other end. Feather wasn’t exactly the largest or strongest of lads, but Aimi wasn’t exactly the largest or heaviest of women, and the boy was just about managing to keep hold of her. Aimi had walked down the side of the hull and was reaching for the jelly with one hand while keeping the other firmly on the rope.
The Phoenix cut through another wave and the force of the spray knocked Aimi to her knees. Feather grunted, but held on tight all the same. Keelin smiled at the scene, enjoying the sight of Aimi soaked through.
“Don’t you have captain things to do, Cap’n?” Smithe said, having sneaked up behind Keelin.
Fighting the urge to turn on his treacherous quartermaster and thanking the sea goddess Rin that the man hadn’t taken the opportunity to throw his captain overboard, Keelin waited just long enough before replying for Smithe to bristle.
“The safety and well-being of the crew are captain things, Smithe.” Keelin pushed away from the railing and turned on his quartermaster, cursing that he had to look up at the man. “But that’s something you’ll never need to know.”
Smithe’s jaw clenched and veins popped out on the man’s neck. He was just over six feet of bronzed muscle with close-cropped hair, muddy eyes, and a burning desire to see The Phoenix in his own hands. He was a dangerous man, and even more dangerous since being voted into the position of quartermaster, but no matter how much Keelin would like to rid himself of the surly bastard, he couldn’t. Smithe had many allies among the crew, and they wouldn’t be pleased should the man disappear. For now the two were stuck in a dangerous dance, but Keelin was under no illusions that, should the opportunity present itself, he would find a knife in his back and Smithe attached to the handle.
“Crew want paying, Cap’n,” Smithe said, the sun lending extra menace to his eyes. Which, Keelin had to admit, were normally more than menacing enough.
“Right now?” Keelin said. “What are they intending to spend it on, Smithe? Rat racing? Or are you bending over and taking payment these days?” It was a petty insult not really worthy of a captain, but Smithe had a way of making Keelin want to hurt him.