Dynami’s Wrath

by St Clare, Kelly

  “Thank ye, but I be the sort to protect myself.”

  “Should I spurn you when you’re being protective of me then?” he asked.

  She flushed. “That ain’t what I meant.”

  His eyes twinkled again. “I’m merely saying that I’ll protect your back as you protect mine.”

  Her back wounds twitched as though hearing his words for themselves. “Perhaps I could use that,” she relented enough to say.

  Stubby was stroking the deck on the starboard side.

  Ebba blew out a breath. “Better go console Stubby. Good luck with yer choice.”

  The prince made no answer, and Ebba beelined for her father, ignoring Jagger who still stood in the bilge shadows.

  Closer to the helm, Ebba listened to Stubby whisper to the ship.

  “We didn’t leave ye, girl. We were as nice as we could be durin’ the storm. I’m fierce sorry for the scratching to ye—”

  She scrunched her nose at his ramblings. They all loved Felicity, but Stubby took things a scant step beyond love.

  “We better start with the repairs,” she said loudly.

  Stubby glared at her and returned to his whisperings. Finishing his apology to the ship, her father stood.

  “Jagger spotted an island through the spyglass. The current be takin’ us there,” he said. “We’ll anchor there for hope there’s sumpin’ suitable to replace the boom with.”

  Sally pushed open the bilge door, nearly catching Jagger. Not noticing him, the sprite floated sleepily toward Ebba.

  “Why do we need to gather materials? We have a spare boom in the hold,” Ebba said, eyes on Sally.

  “We had a spare boom,” Stubby growled.

  The sprite heard him and wrenched to a halt in midair. She quickly began reversing back to the bilge.

  Ebba braced herself for Sally’s latest antic. “What happened to it?”

  “It has chunks taken out o’ it is what,” he snapped. “Yer recoverin’ sprite exchanged her grog habit for a wood chewin’ habit.”

  She caught Sally’s eye just as the immortal reached the bilge. The sprite shrugged and disappeared from sight, away from Stubby’s wrath.

  “Sal’s been chewin’ on wood to stop herself drinkin’?” Ebba asked, her mouth bobbing open.

  The sprite was a bloody animal!

  “She’s your pet,” her father accused.

  Aye, but Sally’s title as queen of the wind sprites was a smidgen more concerning, considering what she’d taken to doing to stop a drinking relapse.

  Ebba blew out a breath. “But we can lash bits and pieces together to form a boom.”

  “Ye think Felicity deserves bits and pieces?” He withered.

  She should answer that with a no. Peg-leg’s moods over the lack of fruit and veggies were more frequent, but Stubby could definitely match his sulkiness when the situation arose.

  “It’ll take a while to get to the island.” Ebba changed the subject, jerking her head at the missing mainsail.

  Stubby’s face darkened. “Aye, we’ll be havin’ roast thunderbird for dinner if I’m ever seein’ him again. Hurt my ship, he did. Not just phys’cally. Em’tionally too.”

  That sounded a wee bit like hysteria in his voice, but she left him to vent, peering about while listening with half an ear.

  “What’s Peg-leg starin’ at?” she asked when he paused to suck in a breath.

  “Who cares?” Stubby snapped again, selecting a tool from his belt, sniffing mournfully.

  Ebba edged away, striding past the mast to the rigging on the opposite side. She leaned against the bulwark alongside Peg-leg who was gazing out to sea, eyes unfocused.

  Sally appeared out the bilge door again and checked both directions. She zipped straight for Ebba when Stubby’s back was turned, squeezing beneath her turban.

  “Couldn’t ye have chewed on an empty barrel, Sal?” Ebba muttered.

  Her answer was a series of highly defensive squeaks before the sprite fell into a mulish silence.

  “Stubby’s lost it,” she whispered to Peg-leg.

  “Ye’re only learnin’ that now?” he asked, deadpan.

  Fair point. She studied her father; like all of them, his face was drawn and pale. Hopefully when they got to the island, there would be time for rest. But though the storm was over, they were still in the Dynami with no idea when or where the next danger might come from. “Ye all right, Peg-leg?”

  He sighed and leaned onto his arms, bending his left knee up to take weight off his peg-bearing joint. “I’m okay, lass. I’m just angry that ye were hurt.”

  “We’re on a pirate ship, matey. That’s goin’ to be part of the job sometimes. Ye know I can handle it.”

  “I know,” he said, smiling slightly at her. “It’s not that I’m doubtin’. But no parent likes to see their child hurt, no matter how old they be gettin’. My bad mood is more me than you anyhow; there was a time I’d’ve been up that riggin’ in the middle of a storm, no problem.”

  Sally whirred sadly, and Ebba wanted to do the same. “Do ye miss it much, Peg-leg?”

  “Aye, lass. Every day. Ye have the rigger’s blood in ye. Ye know what it is to be up there. I have my memories to go off, and I’m glad to have those. But they’re sad and lifeless compared to the real thing.”

  She shrugged. “Why don’t ye climb the riggin’? Ye climb the ladder.”

  Peg-leg glanced at his peg without shifting his body.

  “Ye’re always sayin’ Caspian can do anythin’,” she countered. “Why don’t ye take yer own advice?”

  He set his peg down and turned to gaze up to the shrouds. He frowned.

  “Well?” she pressed.

  Peg-leg’s hand closest to the rigging shook before he curled his fingers into a white-knuckled fist. “There ain’t no good reason, I s’pose.”

  Ebba stared at her father, at the way he stared up at the rigging, his eyes filled with memories and pain. Did she look the same when staring at her beads tucked away out of sight?

  “Yer strong enough to climb the riggin’,” she told him.

  His mouth was ajar as he faced her. Peg-leg searched her face. “I’d hope so. I still do a fair bit around here.”

  “Nay.” Ebba cut him off, resting a hand over her heart. “Ye’re strong enough here, m’hearty.”

  Would her words be enough to fix him? That’s all that Ebba felt she needed to put her beads in again, after all—permission and reassurance. But maybe that wasn’t the case. Her father’s throat worked, and she waited on tenterhooks.

  “I ap’reciate ye sayin’ so,” Peg-leg said, eyes misty. “. . . I’ll think on it. How about that?”

  Forcing her disappointment down, Ebba nodded. “I’d like that.”

  There was his answer. A big, whopping no. A part of her had expected as much, really; she’d just hoped for an easy solution to his problems, seeing as she was experiencing a similar thing with the beads. Yet only Peg-leg could climb the rigging, and maybe only Ebba could decide what the worst moment of her life would make her.

  She leaned against the bulwark, shoulders sagging as her mind worried at the bead predicament. Stupid flax pouch. Stupid Jagger for giving them back to her.

  Her attention was caught by Caspian crossing the deck to Jagger, veritas in hand. Peg-leg turned around and followed her gaze. Together they watched as the prince passed the sword to the pirate.

  “Why’s he doin’ that?” Peg-leg asked. “Jagger wants to kill him.”

  “He thinks the sword helps Jagger put the tainted thoughts in one pile and the normal thoughts in another.”

  Peg-leg grunted. “That’s why Jagger’s been stealin’ the sword each night?”

  “Ye knew?”

  “No one farts on this ship without me knowin,” Peg-leg answered.

  Ebba laughed and shoved him.

  Caspian looked her way and smiled as Jagger disappeared through the bilge door, the veritas in hand. She’d only seen him enter the hold two or three times o
n their journey so far. If the truth sword made it easier for him to bear darkness, did it also help him cope below deck? Ebba recalled how cagey he’d been when she encountered him down there. On Malice, Pockmark had put disobedient pirates into a locked room in the deepest part of the hull where the pillars were at their strongest. That’s where he’d chucked her, too. She knew Jagger had avoided going below deck on Malice because fresh air helped him keep a clearer head, but was he genuinely afraid of the lower levels now? Maybe there was more to his rare visits below deck than she’d thought.

  She watched the prince return to the bow. “Hey, Peg-leg? I need some advice.”

  “Aye?”

  How to put the predicament with Caspian? “I’ve had a shift of prior’ties,” she said. Probably best to keep the conversation businesslike. “I be wantin’ things I didn’t want afore, and I’m unsure what to do about that.”

  “Yer readin?” he asked, a crease between his brows.

  She pondered that. “Aye, readin’. If I want to know whether I like readin’ or not, should I throw myself into lessons so that I might know how I feel a little sooner? Or should I wait and not rush the process, knowin’ I’ll figure out whether I like readin’ or not at the right time?” Ebba finished, happy with where she’d gotten.

  Peg-leg’s brows arched. “No question about it. Practice all ye can, lass. It be the only way I know o’ to get better at things in life.”

  Ebba scrunched her nose. “Do ye miss Sherry then?” Sherry was Peg-leg’s tea-drinking buddy on Maltu.

  “Huh?” His eyes narrowed. “What’re we speakin’ o’?”

  “Readin’,” she blurted.

  He watched her and shook his head. “Well then. Aye, never wait for things to happen. No one’s goin’ to raise the sails for ye; ye raise them yerself.”

  Hmm. “With every single thing in life?” she pressed.

  Peg-leg slapped the bulwark. “Aye, lass. Everythin’.”

  Peg-leg was telling her to take the stingray by the barb, in reference to reading perhaps, but still, his logic made sense when applied to her dilemma over Caspian too.

  She smiled at him. “Thank ye.”

  He kissed her forehead. “Anytime, lass. Never let it be said that I don’t give great advice to my daughter.”

  Fifteen

  “There are certainly trees on the island,” Barrels said as all eleven of them, including Sally and Pillage, stared at the land mass ahead.

  “Yeeeoow!” the ship cat whined, butting Barrels hand for attention.

  Ebba hummed. The island was an odd kind of. . . .

  “Have ye even seen land shaped like that?” Plank beat her to asking.

  “Nay,” Ebba chorused with the others.

  Spray flew upward as sea met rock, giving their crew a general sense of the island. The land mass appeared to have a large core and all manner of rocky protrusions wriggling outward from the beach.

  Sally floated in front of them, waving her arms. She held her hands splayed out atop her head.

  “Moose?” Caspian guessed. To the others, he said, “I saw one once but couldn’t stand to shoot it. Magnificent creature.”

  Jagger scoffed. “Moose. She’s bein’ an octopus.”

  Sally drifted closer to the pirate, blushing slightly, but shook her head.

  “Tree?” Grubby asked next.

  They all turned to the wind sprite. Ebba tilted her head. She could see a tree. Kind of.

  The sprite groaned, high-pitched and faint, and then pointed at the island and then dragged a finger across her throat.

  Stubby coughed. “That’s pretty clear-like.”

  “How do ye know sumpin’ be wrong with the place?” Plank asked her.

  The sprite weaved her hand up and down in a horizontal line.

  “Ocean,” Ebba guessed.

  “Wind,” Barrels said.

  Sally pointed at him, grinning broadly.

  Stubby glanced at him. “How did ye guess that?”

  “She’s a wind sprite.”

  That made sense. But also didn’t. Ebba screwed up her face. “Ye’re sayin’ ye know things because o’ the wind? How far does that work?”

  Sally placed her forefingers either side of her head to indicate a crown and then inspected her tiny nails casually.

  “We can take that to mean pretty far, I’m supposin’,” Locks said drily.

  Jagger glanced back. “It don’t matter, does it? We’re missin’ a boom, the spare be damaged, and we have no notion where more land be. But there ain’t any birds flyin’ around here. I ain’t liking that.”

  Such a mysterious tribesperson thing to say, Ebba thought, rolling her eyes. She conveniently ignored all the times they’d spotted land because of seagulls.

  “There are other islands on the Dynami map,” Caspian said.

  “Was this one on there?” Ebba asked.

  He and Barrels hesitated. “Well, no,” the prince admitted.

  Barrels added, “And the closest island is about a week from here, if we’ve managed to correctly pinpoint where we ended up after the storm.”

  Grubby looked between them, and Ebba patted his hand absently, saying, “Looks like we be needin’ to anchor and head in.”

  Sally shouted in each of their faces before disappearing to the bilge.

  “That queen has a temper. I’d hate to be one o’ her underlings,” Stubby said. “And what the flamin’ eels is she doin’ with us if she’s supposed to rule her own people?”

  A papaya bounced off his head. Stubby rubbed the spot and scowled over his shoulder at Sally, who—judging by her own scowl—had heard every word.

  They hadn’t had time to talk about her royal majesty. After the thunderbird, they’d been thrown into chaos that wasn’t exactly slowing down. Ebba didn’t just want to know more about Sally, she wanted to know more about Jagger being ‘the immune’. And what the god of souls said about Caspian and Jagger picking her. And all that other mumbo jumbo.

  But survival came first.

  “Well, we can’t row back to Zol,” Caspian said. “It appears we only have one choice.”

  Peg-leg tapped Ebba’s hand. “Up to the shrouds with ye,” he said. “We’ll take the ship in as far as is safe. Bringin’ the beam back out on naught but a rowboat won’t be easy. We’ll have to make a raft.”

  Plank eyed the spray. “I’d say we worry about reachin’ shore at all.”

  Aye, so much spray was a bad sign.

  “I shall see if I can get anything more from Sally about what’s on the island,” Barrels said, hurrying away.

  Ebba turned for the mast to climb the sole intact rigging and spotted Jagger already on his way there, veritas swinging from his belt.

  What was he. . . ? The pirate grabbed the rigging, swung up and began to climb.

  Sodding. Cur.

  That was her job!

  Ebba sprinted for the rigging and began to climb after him, several paces behind and much slower because of her back. How dare he? Two weeks on their ship, and he thought he owned the place? She gritted her teeth at the thud above as he landed in the crow’s nest.

  Ten seconds later, her back aching, she swung over the side and landed.

  Jagger doubled over. Her knee in his stomach might’ve had something to do with it. . . .

  Ebba ripped the spyglass from his hand as he wheezed for air and set it to her eye, adjusting the end to bring the glass into focus. Using the spyglass, she scoured from the outer rocks all the way to the shore and then along the shoreline, assessing the island for the best way in.

  “Ye’re angry I’m faster than ye, I take,” Jagger said. She felt him straightening behind her.

  She snorted and didn’t answer. They were more than even—when her back wasn’t injured.

  “We could share the job, ye know.”

  “I don’t share—I’m spoilt” she replied, throwing his words back at him.

  She studied the water between the ship and the shore again. The long stra
nds of rocks were uniformly spaced where they protruded from the center, except for two, which appeared much farther apart. The island was shaped kind of like a sun.

  Jagger said, “Exactly what I’d expect from a girl with six parents.”

  “Aye,” she answered, only half listening. “I’m a fierce woman-pirate. And I take what I want.” The words left a bitter taste in her mouth. If Ebba was being honest, she felt nothing close to fierce after Malice.

  “Do ye now?”

  Ebba lowered the spyglass and jerked at how close he was. “Why are ye so close?”

  Unshifting, he arched a brow. “Not much room in here.”

  “Nay,” she agreed. Though the cramped nest was definitely more his fault than hers. “So ye’re much better to stay on the deck where ye belong, Jagger.”

  “Maybe I don’t mind bein’ cramped next to ye.”

  She narrowed her gaze. He was laughing at her. His eyes were silver again, and he was teasing her about something. “Well ye should,” Ebba said, placing a hand on his chest and pushing gently. “Keep out o’ my nest.”

  “That ain’t what ye were sayin’ when I helped ye on the boom.”

  “I didn’t say anythin’ when ye helped me,” she retorted.

  Jagger pitched his voice higher, batting his lashes. “Thank ye for savin’ my life, Jagger.”

  Despite herself, Ebba laughed. “What are ye actin’ like a codfish?” Or was he acting this way because of where they were on the ship and because veritas was swinging from his belt?

  He smiled, glancing out to sea.

  Ebba leaned over the side, shouting down. “Oi, head west to anchor. There’s a larger gap to be gettin’ through there.”

  Peg-leg called back to acknowledge her order, and soon the ship lurched as he adjusted their course.

  She turned. “Why ain’t ye gone yet? Get out o’ my nest.”

  “Ye said ye take the things ye want, so I’m waitin’ for ye to do so,” he said low.

  His tone made her shiver. Were they still speaking of the nest?

  He continued, “Is that what ye were doin’ kissing the Exosian on Zol? Takin’ what ye wanted?”