Ghosts of the Sea Moon Page 3

  A flurry of harpoons and a series of cannon shots twanged and boomed through the night air, pelting the creature’s hide in a barrage. The creature screeched and lashed the sea with its fearsome tail as wounds blossomed across its crusty skin. The Jewel bucked in the tidal wave, saltwater sloshing buckets over the deck. Sailors scrambled to grab hold of something and not be washed overboard. Hugh instinctively reached up and clutched at the ship’s side, his arms wrapping tight around a cleat as the injured beast reared up for an attack.

  “The beast is coming up! Ring the bell!’

  The ship’s bell clanged in a series of furious tolls, and the air crackled in the shivering magic. The beast’s body rattled along skin and bone, and the creature screamed. A howl that gashed across air and sea stabbed past sensibilities and reason, piercing primal fear and provoking every instinct to flee. Hugh cried out, his voice ending on a whimper, but the crew didn’t hesitate, launching another volley of assault. One harpoon punctured the creature’s chest, and the creature fell back into the ocean, its body too grand to sink more than halfway into the water. Another great wave swamped the Jewel, pushing her around, and at the helm, Anders fought to hold her upright and steady. By the time she made it past the turbulent sea, the beast was gone.

  “Any souls out there boys?” Hugh heard the captain’s voice rise above the din, with the answering shout, “No sir! Either the beast got to them, or it was just trolling the waters!”

  Hugh closed his eyes, shivering at the memories as Captain Morrow gave the next command. “Keep searching! If they’re out there we need to find them first!”

  HOURS LATER, HUGH STILL huddled in the shadowed corners of the Jewel, even though it rocked gently in the safe berth of the Abersythe port. The ship—after a night’s search uncovered no more surviving souls, living or dead—had headed back inland, arriving in port well past dawn. The crew had retired for some much needed rest, leaving Hugh to his melancholy. Only now, as the sun crept low again on the horizon, did the deck stir again.

  A shadow fell across the misery of the dead sailor. “I think it’s time to finish our conversation.”

  Hugh looked up to see Elliot Blackthorne standing over him. “Why? What’s done is done. I’m lost. No more choices. A dead man without a home. ”

  “You have choices, sailor. You’re not still in this world by caprice or the whim of the gods.” Blackthorne snapped the words as if they were standing for inspection. “Something held you here tonight. Some thought or regret that prevented you from moving on to the After World. Find the answer to that question, and you’ll be able to choose to cross or stay with us.”

  Hugh pursed his lips and furrowed his brows. “When the ship listed, when it went under, my last thoughts were of my wife.” He glanced at Blackthorne. “We were only just married, not more than three months. I didn’t want to leave her a widow.”

  “And it was enough to tie your soul here.” A flash of regret bloomed and faded in Blackthorne’s eyes. “You’ll have to let her go to cross to the After World.”

  “Let her go? My Mary?” A sorrowful guise flashed across Hugh’s face, half mourning, half dread.

  Blackthorne gruffly exhaled. He hated the look they gave him. The same look every time. Different people, different families, but the same look.“I know it’s a hard thought to consider, but—”

  “And what if I don’t want to let her go!” Hugh’s anger sparked up from his being, smacking the words against the night.

  Blackthorne sighed. He hated the recalcitrant ones. “Then you’ll be staying in this world. You can’t cross into the After World still tied to this one.” A stern expression slid over the first mate’s face despite the gentleness of his next words. “There are places you can go until you decide. Until it all settles. We can find you residence at one of the island temples. Or we can give you a berth on the Celestial Jewel.”

  Hugh scowled. “On this ship? Am I to be pressed into service then? Is that what this talk is about? Was I right? Another doomed soul on a cursed ship?”

  A quiet exhale escaped the first mate. “No. None of that is true and you know it. Your fate from now on is your decision. However, if you stay here, you’ll be in good company. Many a walking soul has remained as crew.” Blackthorne paused, watching the anger and pain simmer under Hugh’s glower. He considered ending the conversation but continued. “I must warn you though. If you do stay on you’ll not be able to leave the ship. Off its confines, you’ll be naught but a shade haunting the living, unseen and unheard. Only here, or within the boundaries of a temple, can you be a semblance of what you once were.”

  The wretched look Hugh Corwin cast broke Blackthorne’s heart as had every similar morose glare that came before. He hated this part of his duties.

  Hugh stared at the deck. “So you’re telling me all the stories I heard are true. It’s happened. I’m not dreaming or still lost at sea. I died, and this is my end.” Hugh glanced at the first mate, a look full of daggers and venom. “Here I sit, on board an unfamiliar ship, no wife or kin, surrounded by strangers. Nowhere else to go, save perhaps a temple with more strangers. Where’s the choice in that? Where’s the hope?”

  “There’s more hope here than what awaited you in the sea. Devoured, consumed and gone from this world and the next.” Blackthorne’s sympathy evaporated into a frown and a harsh tone. “On this ship, you still have the same hope as every soul: to pass on to the peace of the After World. Now you have to choose. You can sit and pout over your rotten fate or find a way to let go.” Blackthorne straightened his spine. “I’ll leave you to it then.” He turned on his heel and left Hugh Corwin staring at his back. The echo of a name, Mary, ushered his departure.

  The first mate crossed the deck to find the captain departing the ship. He quickened his pace and gave a shout. “Where are you off to, Captain.”

  “A drink at the tavern. Care to join me?”

  “I believe I would.”

  A glint of surprise crossed the captain’s face, and then a smile. “Come then, Mr. Blackthorne, a long draught of ale awaits!”

  THE FAMILIAR SIGHT of the salt encrusted, weathered wood of the Black Barnacle Tavern sent a spark of delight through Captain Morrow and even brought a smile to Blackthorne’s lips.

  “Almost like home, this place, eh Blackthorne.”

  “My home was a bit more civilized, but yes. It is a comfort after a night like the last.”

  The captain chuckled, and the pair walked into a noisy, half-crowded room full of sailors, labourers, and gamblers. The air smelled of ale and sweat, meat pies and sausage, and the hint of old fish. The sound of laughter, conversation, and the friendly clink of the glass enveloped them.

  “There’s a free table at the back, Captain, by the window.” Blackthorne pointed through the crowd.

  “So there is.”

  They wended through the boisterous gathering and slid onto worn wooden chairs that hugged a knife-scarred table. Captain Morrow flagged down a serving girl with a wave and a nod.

  A familiar raven-haired tavern wench sidled to their table and flashed them a sweet smile. Blackthorne politely returned the smile, while the captain gave her a grin that guaranteed to flutter any heart.

  With a slight giggle and a wink for Rafe, she asked, “What’ll be for you two handsome gentlemen?”

  “A dram of rum for me, Rachelle. And a beer for my first mate?” Blackthorne nodded.

  “A beer and a rum coming right up, gents.” Rachelle departed with a swish of her skirts and another wink for the captain.

  “Captain Morrow! By the shoals!” A grating, gravelly voice intruded, falling upon Rafe and Blackthorne. A plump, grey-bearded man wearing a scar on his cheek and a woollen cap on his head ambled to their table. “It is you!” He slapped his hand on the table. “Do you remember me? Winston Jones.”

  Rafe flashed him a smile. “Winston! Of course, I remember you. Former scallywag off the Nighthawk Trident! How have you been, you old sea rat?”

 
“Can’t complain for nothing, though I’m a land dweller these days. Retired, I am. Me and the missus run a fish market down harbourside.” He chuckled. “I hear you’ve been up to your old tricks, though. Pulled one out of the jaws, I hear.”

  “Aye, Winston, we did. Barely got to him in time.”

  “For all the gratitude he showed.” A soft grumble from Blackthorne caught Rafe’s attention. He ignored it but tucked it away for later reference. Winston didn’t seem to notice or didn’t care.

  “Glad you got to one at least. Right shame about the Lily. She was a fine ship and a good crew. Hope the rest went quick and didn’t linger for food for them beasties.”

  Rafe held his tongue from the truth and, instead, tossed a lie to his friend. “No sign of that, Winston. With any luck, they passed over before the creatures arrived.”

  “Good, good. Glad to hear it. ‘Tis nice to see you again, Captain.”

  “And you. Care to join us for a drink? I ordered some rum.”

  Winston hesitated as if contemplating, and licked his lips. But he shook his head. “Mighty kind of you, but I’d best get home to the missus. She’d have my hide if I’m late.”

  “I understand. Farewell then.”

  “Be seeing ya, Captain.” And with that Winston Jones turned up his collar and strode from the tavern.

  Rafe leaned back in his chair. “So the word is out we have another soul on board. And one you don’t like, the poor wretch. He’s not taking his death well, Blackthorne?”

  “Not well at all. More than per usual this one. A bit resentful, and angry. Sullen and spiteful. You think he’d rather have been eaten for all his self-pity. It never seems to change. They all take it hard, but this one...” A frown blossomed, then faded. “Last I saw of him, he’d found a corner of the deck to curl into, mumbling his wife’s name out loud.” A small sigh from Blackthorne’s lips hit the air. “Do you ever wish for something different? Than dealing with these souls? It’s hard what we do.”

  Rafe’s smile turned wry and a bit bitter. A sad reflection looked back at his friend. “Neither one of us had much of a choice, now did we?” He idly traced a pattern on the table. “Not much point in wishing otherwise.”

  “True, but sometimes I can’t help but fancy the world wasn’t so capricious, so harsh.”

  Rafe inhaled, and the air in the tavern crackled for a tiny frisson of a second. “Maybe you were born too late, my friend. The world was different once. Softer. Sweeter. The Goddess of the Moon protected the people. She was a good sister. My favourite sister.” He softly sighed. “Back then sailors loved the full moon, for it meant a blessed passage across the sea.” He paused briefly and then continued, his voice seeping regret. “But that was before she fell in love and went mad.”

  Blackthorne twitched. “Aye. ‘Tis a sad story that. Maybe’s that’s my problem. Why dealing with those like Hugh bother me. Never loved enough that the loss would drive me mad.”

  The captain smiled, sympathetic and slightly amused. He couldn’t imagine Blackthorne desperately in love. “Perhaps, but it may be a blessing. Love destroyed my sister as she destroyed her beloved, flesh and spirit.” He traced a circle on the table with a finger, the memories bubbling up. “I warned her against it, her futile and misguided attempt to make him immortal.” A small sound escaped his lips. Not a sigh. Not a wail. Something older, darker, and in-between. “She wanted me to fix it. To bring back his soul, but you can’t restore or repair what no longer exists.” A wry and sour grimace flashed through his lips quicker than a wave slapping the bow. “But you’ve heard all this before.”

  “Aye, but I can listen again if you have the need.”

  Before Rafe could answer, Rachelle swished back with their drinks. “Here you go, a rum and beer.” She clinked the glasses down with a smile and blew a kiss to them both as she left.

  Rafe took a sip of rum, hoping to lighten his mood, but the feeling of morose sentimentality clung. The words tumbled out. “She hated me for that. For not saving him. It’s why she embraced the madness so fully.” He stared at his first mate, studying him for signs of languor or disregard, but saw only attentive commiseration. He idly wondered how many times he told this story after a full moon. He took another swallow of rum.

  “She grieved so much, hated me so much, she birthed abominations onto this world, in the name of her wretched passion. That’s the madness of love, Blackthorne.” Captain Morrow turned his eyes to the window and stared at the harbour tide. “The horrors beneath our seas arose in defiance of her mistakes. The Kraken, the wolf eels, the black sea wyrms, and the other soul-eating ilk. Her dark, twisted spawn. Her children are her revenge on this world. Her way of punishing me.”

  He swigged the last of his rum and signalled Rachelle for another round.

  Chapter Five

  Ghosts

  THE NEXT DAY DAWNED with a bright and cheery sunrise as if the previous storm and its lingering effects existed only in dreams and memories. Much of the crew came to duty nursing hangovers and sluggish with grumbles on their lips. Many took shore leave the night before to chase away bad memories, and the ale and grog flowed freely. This morning they paid the cost of their revelry.

  Even Blackthorne felt the throb of an alcohol-induced headache, although it did nothing to stay his chastising of the crew. “Look lively boys, and keep to your duties! The salt air will do your wretched souls good!”

  “Don’t be too hard on the lads.” Rafe stepped up on deck, chipper, and showing no signs of wear from the previous night’s imbibing. “The lot of them are most likely feeling none too well.” He grinned. “Especially you, Anders, I suspect. You fair drunk yourself under the table at the Black Barnacle.”

  One-Eyed Anders, despite his pale complexion and queasy expression, straightened his shoulders and retorted, “No sir, I can handle my liquor better than any man. Excepting you, of course, Captain.”

  “Good man. Carry on, the lot of you.”

  He strode past his men and beckoned Blackthorne into a private conversation. “Have you seen our newest sailor? Hugh, wasn’t it? Hugh Corwin?”

  “Aye, sir, but I haven’t seen him this morning. I thought the surly wretch was brooding below deck.”

  “I searched. I wanted to have a chat with him, given what you told me, but no sign of him.”

  “Well, he isn’t on deck, that much I’m sure of.” Blackthorne frowned. “You don’t think...”

  “That he jumped ship last night? Aye, it’s a possibility.”

  “Damn.” Blackthorne’s face flushed, his lips sporting an angry grimace. “Stupid fool. Bloody stupid fool.”

  His first mate’s uncharacteristic profanity made Rafe twitch. “This one’s truly gotten under your skin.”

  Blackthorne took a breath. “Maybe a little. He’s going to be a handful. I knew it after speaking to him. Now we have an unsanctioned spirit running about town. If the harbourmaster finds out, we could face fines. Or worse.”

  “Don’t worry about that. I’ll go hunt him down. Everything will be well, Blackthorne.”

  Rafe gave him a grin and a reassuring clap on the shoulder before disembarking the ship.

  The dockside appeared relatively lively in the morning sun, the busiest activity confined to the far wharves past his ship where two more vessels unloaded cargo. He wandered down, spotting no sign of Hugh and hearing nothing save the grunts and curses of the workers and sailors wrestling with the shipments.

  Rafe moved inland to the marketplace above the docks. This place was quieter with only a few early traders setting up their wares. Without the usual crowds, searching the market proved simple, but gave no sign of the sailor so he moved on, winding his way along the cobblestone lanes back down to the docks east of the Jewel.

  There, fifteen minutes later, he spotted Hugh.

  The forlorn shade of the former sailor drifted beside those eastern docks, nothing more than a grey shadow invisible to all save him. Rafe moved alongside and in step with the ghost. Hugh
said nothing, only shrugged a glance the captain’s way. The pair moved side by side along the waterfront.

  “How long did you try?” Rafe’s voice finally broke the silence.

  Hugh cast another glance in Rafe’s direction. “Try?”

  “To make yourself seen or heard. To rejoin the living.”

  “I—I didn’t, I mean...” The lie trailed off, a hopeless bluff. “An hour, sir. I tried an hour. Shouting, cursing, begging. None of it to any use. I don’t exist anymore. Not here among regular folk. I’m just a remnant. A sad scrap without the sense to die properly.” He tried to kick at a loose stone. His foot passed through the rock.

  Rafe sighed, a sad acquiescence to fate. “Sometimes I wonder if any of us has sense, young man, to live or die properly.”

  Hugh shot him a baffled look, and Rafe smiled.

  “We can only do what we do, and make the best of the consequences. Come back to the ship, and we’ll talk.”

  Hugh stopped moving, standing as still as the doldrums. “Why, sir? Is there a point?” Bitterness dripped faster than overflowing ale. “Talking won’t fix anything. I’m—I’m—well you know, and there’s no going back. You should have left me to the sea. Better nothing than this half-existence.”

  “Well, aren’t you full to the brim with self-pity.” Rafe matched Hugh’s bitter attitude with his own disdain. “I’ve seen souls consumed by her beasts, and I wouldn’t wish that fate on the worst of my enemies.” Something akin to a shudder pulsed through the captain. “So no, being left in the sea is not preferable. And you won’t be abandoned to wander about, either. You will report back to the ship, sailor. For a good dressing down if need be. That’s an order!”

  Hugh snapped to attention by habit, with a smart, “Yes, sir!”

  Rafe chuckled softly. “Or, we could just have a talk. Your choice, Mr. Corwin.”