Ebba’s cheeks warmed. “Why do ye keep bringin’ that up? Why does it bother ye so? I asked him to kiss me because I wanted to know what kissin’ was like.”
Jagger moved closer, until only a hand width separated them. Not enough distance to stop her feeling the warmth of his body. Not even close.
“If I were you, I wouldn’t push me.” Ebba crossed her arms, tilting her chin.
His lips trembled.
“Why are ye laughin’ at me?” she exploded. He never acted like this. Though she’d never spent time with him up here before.
“Ye’re bluffin’ and not even well. It’s funny.” His smile transformed his face, and she eyed the change warily.
Since he’d saved her life during the storm, Ebba had stood on the precipice of deciding to finally trust Jagger. If he was loyal enough to keep her alive in dire odds, the mean comments had to be from the taint. She’d been just about to relax more in his company and accept him as a friend and crewmember. Then he had to go and change on her again. There was just so much she still didn’t know about Jagger. And that made her feel like he’d never be a friend.
Clearly, the pirate was uncomfortable opening up. Or maybe just since being on Malice.
Actually. . . .
Against his size, Ebba didn’t stand too much of a chance. But just like Ladon, Jagger did have a weakness. Ebba couldn’t believe she hadn’t thought of it prior.
“What do ye think the thunderbird meant by callin’ ye the immune?” she asked him.
He blinked. “I don’t know.”
“How did ye stay on Malice for so long?” she asked next. “What kind o’ things do they teach ye in the rainforest? Do ye have siblings? How many? Who do ye like the most? Tell me a secret. Anythin’.”
Jagger fidgeted on the spot, and she held in a snicker, continuing, “What’s yer favorite color, Jagger? What were ye and Caspian talkin’ of when he gave ye the sword?”
The pirate slung a leg over the side, and she followed close behind.
“Where are ye goin’?” she called as he rapidly descended. “I wanted to talk!”
He didn’t look up, and Ebba laughed so hard her stomach ached.
She shouted down again. “Aye, Jagger, ye shroud-stealin’ heap o’ fish guts. Don’t mess with the queen o’ the crow’s nest.” She leaned over farther. “Queen o’ the crow’s nest. Don’t forget it.”
* * *
Ebba picked her way up the rocky shore as her fathers tethered the boat. She perched on a boulder to dust the sand off her feet. The rock was cold; it’d make her butt numb in no time.
Pulling her boots on and peering around, she said, “It ain’t exactly the kind o’ beach for sunbathin’.”
“Aye,” Stubby said. He stared at her booted feet. “Hold on, did ye just wil’ingly put on yer shoes?”
She arched a brow. “It’s rocky. Why wouldn’t I?”
Stubby blinked at her. “Aye?” He tore his eyes away and exchanged a long look with her other fathers. “Aye,” he repeated.
Whenever they told her to wear shoes because of glass and whatnot, they were usually right. Ebba had just thought to spare them the trouble of sneaking the boots onto the rowboat.
Caspian pointed directly up the beach. “There are trees right there. Are we looking for any particular kind of wood to replace the boom?”
Locks stood next to him, peering up and down the beach. What they’d seen from the ship had proved accurate. After navigating through two strands of the rocky outcrops in the rowboat, they were now on the core of the island. The rocks had grown in size as they rowed farther into shore, and now, either side of them, huge black boulders—at least three times Jagger’s height—took up most of the pebbly beach.
“We want a straight tree,” Locks said. “But beggars can’t be choosers. We’ll go with the best we can find and hope it holds true until we can fix Felicity properly.”
Stubby sniffed. “As she deserves.”
Plank rubbed his temples.
“Guess we head inland then,” Ebba said. At the back of her neck, Sally held on tight, shaking her head and rustling Ebba’s dreads.
She pushed her brown bandana back into place. “Sal, don’t be a wimp. We know yer afraid of sumpin’. We’ll walk on tiptoes, all right? And if ye want to try and mime out what ye’re worried about again, ye be most welcome.”
Ebba yelped at the answering sharp pinch at her nape as the sprite bit her. “Ye can’t be a queen, Sal. Queens don’t bite, and they surely ain’t recoverin’ alcoholics who replace their ad’iction with chewin’ on wood.”
“Maybe she got sick of ruling,” Caspian said as their party set off toward the middle of the island, picking their way through the boulders and scattered stones.
“Chh, who gets sick o’ tellin’ people what to do?”
He cracked a smile. “Not that part. The responsibility part. The restrictions on what you can do with your life. The lack of freedom.”
Jagger lifted his head, and Ebba watched as he studied the prince intently.
“Ye just need to manage the burden right,” she answered when the pirate didn’t utter whatever he so clearly wanted to. “When I’m captain o’ the month, it’s all about delegatin’ the tasks.”
She steadied Peg-leg as he stepped over a rock, his peg sinking down a few inches in the charcoal sand.
“Ye can’t compare bein’ ‘captain o’ the month’ to years of responsib’lity,” Jagger said to her.
. . . so he’d respond to her, just not the prince.
Caspian replied, but also looked at her as he spoke. “And when you haven’t chosen that life, such a burden is harder to . . . come to grips with.”
When did she become a messenger pigeon?
“Especially when failure means the death of everyone ye love,” Jagger added gruffly.
Ebba slid a look his way. He’d never once shown that he begrudged the burden of caring for his tribe, but she supposed that was a terrible burden to carry. She certainly wouldn’t want to carry her fathers’ lives in her hands. Ebba felt rather sad for Jagger right now.
Probably wouldn’t last.
The silence grew heavy. Apparently they were done talking to each other through her.
Ebba chh’d again, saying in a teasing tone, “What? Ye think people can’t die if a captain makes the wrong call? Ye think just anyone can be captain o’ the month?”
He and Caspian glanced over the present company. They both nodded. Was the two men agreeing a good ‘I might not kill you’ thing or a bad ‘Jagger plots for future murder’ thing?
“Nay.” She answered her own question. “Ye still need the respect o’ the people ye’re leadin’ or nothin’ will work right. Ye still need to know yer ship and what needs doin’.”
The prince grinned, his eyes twinkling. “A good point as ever, Mistress Pirate.”
“I’m full o’ them.”
“I’m aware.”
Jagger muttered, “I ain’t standin’ here while the two o’ ye flirt.”
Ebba tripped over her own feet, quickly recovering to gasp, “That ain’t what’s happenin’.”
The pirate smirked at her. “Are ye sure, Viva?”
She threw a glare at him and strode away from the pair.
Her. Flirting? Honestly. Did he even have eyes in his head? Ebba’s cheeks burned fiercely, and she was glad neither of the young men could see.
The ground underfoot evened out into smooth and slightly sloped black rock as they neared the tree line. Patches of shrubs, an odd milky spearmint color, increased in number until eventually they stopped before a sparse forest.
Plank’s raven curls fell back as he craned to study the trees. “I ain’t seen this wood afore, but I reckon the grain be straight enough.”
Stubby turned from the tree, folding his arms. “Just pick the best one.”
Grubby wrapped an arm around his shoulders. “Don’t be sad, Stubs. Felicity will be just fine.”
He sniffed. �
�I’ll believe that when I’m seein’ it.”
“This one be the straightest,” Jagger said from where he was weaving through the trees.
Peg-leg snorted. “We’ll be the judge o’ that, lad.” He limped to the tree and slowly moved his gaze upward.
Stepping back, he rubbed his nose, muttering, “It’s pretty straight-like.”
“Aye, looks like it could be a boom to me,” Ebba said, hardly looking at the brown trunk.
Something blurred in the trees to her left. She blinked and looked again, but the blur was gone. A cool breeze swept inward from the ocean and shook the leaves. “Sal, ye’ve put me on edge, ye flamin’ stirrer. I’m seein’ things.”
“What are you seeing?” Barrels asked, squinting into the trees.
What had she seen? Ebba couldn’t be certain. “Just the leaves catchin’ the light, perhaps,” she replied.
Locks adjusted his grip on the ax and studied the tree.
“Stand clear,” he called.
“Hold on,” Ebba said. Stepping to him, she extracted the dynami from her sash. She tucked the tarnished silver tube into the back of Locks’ belt.
The rest of them returned to the shore, safely out of the way of the soon-to-be toppling tree.
Ebba strolled around the rest of the group as Stubby and Plank returned to the rowboat to collect the other tools they’d need to form the beam. It’d take days to get it attached to Felicity and then to fasten the ropes and mainsail again.
A high-pitched clatter came from the boulders. To the left again. Ebba whipped her head to face the noise and saw nothing. It had sounded like small, falling rocks.
“Stop stressin’ yerself,” Jagger said. “It’s botherin’ me.”
She placed her hands on her hips. “I ain’t. And I don’t care.”
“There ain’t nothin’ there.”
Someone thought just because they were a tribesman that they were always connected to nature, in her pirate opinion.
“Timber,” Locks shouted.
They turned to watch as the tree tipped toward the right of them, slower and then faster until it careened to the flat, rocky ground with a rustling crunch of branches and leaves.
Stubby and Plank returned from the rowboat. Plank dropped his load of axes and saws on the beach while Stubby placed his on the rocks one by one, a uniform distance between them.
Ebba smiled, but the curve of her lips fell away as something else blurred in her periphery to the left. Except this time. . . .
“Ebba? Get workin’ on cutting off the branches, lass.”
She took the ax from Stubby, her mouth dry.
Jagger snorted. “She’s too busy staring into nothin’.”
Ebba jerked and glared at him. “What I just saw wasn’t nothin’.”
She strode to the thick bottom of the trunk and began hacking off the limbs alongside Plank. Licking her lips, she asked, “Plank?”
He wiped at the perspiration on his brow. Normally, they’d be dripping with sweat just standing here, but the climate in the Dynami was much cooler. “Little nymph?”
She glanced back at the rocks, not really sure how to phrase her question, only certain she didn’t want Jagger to hear her asking. “What do ye know o’ a man with wings and a hawk head?”
“And ye’d be askin’ that because. . . ?”
Ebba hacked at the tree and whispered, “I just saw one.”
“Where? Which way?”
“The boulders at my back, sixty feet.”
“Ye’re sure?”
“Nope,” she answered. “But I’m hardly likely to think up such a thing myself, am I?”
Still bent over the tree, Plank scanned the boulders behind her. “I can’t see anythin’, but we best alert the crew to be on guard.”
Ebba paused in hacking. “Aye, but what are they?”
He paused. “Daedalions, if I’m right.”
Plank sauntered to the others and Ebba watched the tiny ripple of tension flutter through them.
Stubby came down to join her, chipping away. “We get this done as quick as possible and leave.”
She nodded.
“What’s a daedalion?” Ebba asked, trying to act normal as they worked to clean the trunk.
Usually a prompt to Plank for a story would be met by heartfelt groans, but while her other fathers might groan in the safety of the ship, they wouldn’t when danger might be looming close by. At least, not anymore.
Plank opened his mouth, and Ebba knew that when he spoke, it’d be in his ominous voice.
“Thousands o’ years ago, on a land no longer above the sea . . .” He paused, and when none of her other fathers made sarcastic remarks, his brows shot up into his raven curls, and he continued. “. . . There existed a blacksmith and a builder who hated one another after the tragic death o’ a woman they’d both loved. Their lives were a constant struggle to best and undermine each other to the other island dwellers; to hurt the other’s business and family however possible. That is until, quite by chance, the blacksmith’s daughter and the builder’s son found themselves injured and alone with only each other to depend on.”
Plank stumbled to a halt as they continued to listen. “What’s wrong with ye?” he demanded. “Ye’ve norma’ly interrupted five times by now.”
Locks shushed him. “Hurry on with yer tale.”
Pink spread across Plank’s cheeks. Maybe praise from this quarter had been few and far between.
“The young woman and young man fell in love, continuing their secret tryst long after they were saved. But their luck soon run out; they were seen and heard by the island dwellers, who’d always found amusement in the rift between the blacksmith and builder. The lovers were caught by the blacksmith, who locked his daughter away and flayed the young man within an inch o’ his life afore sending him back to his father. Yet nothin’ could diminish what lay within the young lovers. An endless, soul-deep love such as theirs could never die. In fact, their love was so strong that a powerful goddess felt their connection from afar and settled in to watch. The young woman had listened to her lover’s screams from her confinement. She’d cried at the window as he was thrown into a wagon and carted away. And as the young woman sobbed for her lover, the goddess sobbed for the young woman’s suffering. Unable to bear such pain, the goddess twitched her finger and unlocked the door holding the blacksmith’s daughter prisoner.”
“Did the young woman save him then?” Ebba whispered, her job forgotten.
Plank smiled sadly. “She stole into the house o’ her enemy and found her barely healed lover. Together, they made for a boat stacked with provisions, but the way was cut off, their plan come upon by both fathers. It was then, in the fevered hours of early morning, torchlights blazing and tempers high, that the fathers declared death for the young lovers, urgin’ the other members o’ their families to the battle. Death first before family shame—such was the blind extent of their hatred for each other. The two families chased the lovers from opposite ends o’ the island, converging as one on the highest cliff, trapping them against the crumbling edge.” Plank’s voice dropped to a hoarse whisper. “The lovers looked at each other, knowing what they’d seen in their fathers’ eyes. This was the end for them, but neither could bear to watch the other suffer. As much as such things were beyond them, love such as theirs transcended logic, and both of them knew what they felt would survive death. They would be together in the next life. Such was their connection.”
Plank rubbed his watering eyes, and no one made a sound. Ebba didn’t feel so far away from crying herself.
When he began again, his voice was thick. “Hand in hand, the lovers ran for the ledge and launched themselves off the cliff, relinquishin’ their fate to the jagged rocks below. But the powerful goddess sat bolt upright, face tear-streaked, furious at such an end to the lovers’ tale. Casting her powers forth, the goddess transformed the couple, giving each of them the wings o’ a hawk so that they might survive the fall, and sharp eyes so they mi
ght always see each other and their attackers, and finally, a sharp beak with which to protect themselves from harm. With a second burst, she killed every single person upon the clifftop, turning both fathers to stone, and ending the age-old feud in one fell swoop.” Plank looked at their faces, holding the tension calmly. “So it was for one happy second the two lovers were flyin’ into the sunset together, human but for their hawk additions. Yet an emptiness filled the goddess at the sight of them leaving. For once, long ago, she’d known pure love, and had it torn away. She could not be parted from them, so tethering the lovers to herself and her immortality, she instead took the lovers for servants so that she might look upon their love forevermore.”
Caspian broke the leaden quiet. “Did the goddess treat them well?”
Ebba hoped so. To go through so much to be together only to become slaves would be horrible.
“To begin, or so sources tell us,” Plank said, swallowing hard. “But to look upon pure love while never finding it again yourself will decay even the strongest resolve. Slowly but surely, the goddess was twisted inside, the cracks in her yearning heart turning to rotted crevices, tresses turning to snakes, goodwill turning to jealousy and loathing. Forever witness to the undying love of matched souls, she transitioned from goodness to gorgon over centuries and was afterward known as Medusa.”
Sixteen
“Medusa?” Stubby repeated as Plank trailed off. “Ye think she’s here?”
Plank shrugged, wiping his eyes again. “No idea. But if her servants are, I think we’d be foolish to assume she ain’t.”
“Human-sized hawks and a lady with snake hair,” Peg-leg mused. “How do we get ourselves into this shite?”
Barrels cleared his throat. “Perhaps we should leave immediately. We can make do with pieces of wood until we find another island.”
“If there’s another island,” Ebba said, kicking at another limb to snap it off the trunk.
Locks handed her back the dynami, and she tucked it into her belt. She reached for a thick branch with her hands, and it snapped like a twig.
“Let’s get this log done smart-like and make back for the ship,” Stubby said. “If we get the branches off, we can do the rest on Felicity.”
Dynami’s Wrath Page 15
