Taken With A Grain Of Salt (Salt Series Book 2)

by Aaron Galvin

  He thought the island aptly named. The whole of it seemed dead beneath the lighthouse’s ghostly swirl. The jagged rocks and large boulders conjured unmarked gravestones in Kellen’s mind as he followed the line of captives toward the lighthouse. Each time a rock made him slip, he winced, half expecting a corpse to rise and snatch him below.

  Kellen glanced behind him as the sea crashed around them. He saw no second island. Only the ocean and the boat that carried him to this island Tieran named the Graves.

  “Keep movin’,” another hooded guardian yelled. “No time for sightseein’!”

  Kellen stepped into the lighthouse’s shadow and across the open door’s threshold into a dim, reddish light. Two spiral staircases stood before him—one ascending, the other…

  “Down ya go,” said his captor. “Mind ya keep both hands on the rail else ya pitch over the side.”

  Kellen peered down the staircase into nothingness, the same sort of overpowering darkness his basement held back home. The same black pitch his father banished him to as a kid whenever he tired of welting him with the belt.

  Kellen heard moaning below. Crying. Pain. He swore his father’s voice echoed up the stairs with the other sounds.

  What’s wrong, Kelly? Thought I raised you to be a man, not a little girl. You scared of the dark? Want your whore momma?

  It’s only steps, Kellen prodded himself along. Just going down a flight of stairs.

  He reached for the railing, felt the coldness of it seep into his sweating palms. The floor of it shook and squealed as he stepped onto it. Kellen shut his eyes and took a deep breath. He descended. Felt like the stairwell swayed from side to side, desiring nothing more than to toss him into the abyss.

  Get down them steps, Kelly. Quit your crying. Your momma’s not gonna save you.

  Kellen took another step. Another. Hand over hand he guided himself down the circular stairwell, the cries and moans intensifying with every step taken, the clangs of others following him down. He snorted at the musty smell.

  This is what a crypt smells like. His imagination ran with him.

  Kellen took another step, tried putting out of mind the constant thought of dead things living behind the slats to grab his ankle. Down and down he went until his hands found only air and feet discovered no more steps.

  Kellen opened his eyes. The walls had broadened and pale, greenish light illuminated the circular room and concrete sides. Ahead, the other captives formed a line, bound for another doorway. Some trembled. Others buried their faces in the shoulders of loved ones, or even strangers. It didn’t matter now. Most of those Kellen saw cried. Others seemed lost, deadened to their bleak surroundings already.

  Kellen steeled himself. Show them you’re not afraid.

  The line steadily shuffled forward.

  Behind him came the noise of skittering feet down metal steps. Kellen glanced behind him.

  Tieran reached the last step and stumbled toward the front of the line. “Righ’, listen up, you sorry sea-rats, if ya hope to see tomorrow. You’re about to go down the Gasping Hole. This is where we learn which of ya listen and which of ya die.”

  Kellen stepped out of line to see where it ended. He felt a sharp tap on the shoulder.

  “Back in line,” said a guard, holding his baton aloft for Kellen to see.

  Kellen obeyed.

  “Now,” Tieran continued. “When you get in the water, keep hold of the rope, and swim as best you can. Don’t fight. I’ll say it again. Do. Not. Fight. Less’n you wanna learn what it’s like to breathe water out your earholes.”

  Kellen heard another clamor from the stairwell. A moment later, the Frenchman, Henry, strode past leading a black girl by the arm. Another girl, thicker and taller, followed them.

  Kellen noticed all three wore one-piece hooded suits like Tieran and the guardians did. He watched them vanish through the doorway.

  “When you feel air on your face, take a breath quick like,” said Tieran. “You’ll be taken back down right after so be sure and hold your air in. Do all that and we’ll see you on the other side. Do it not, and you’re off to Fiddler’s Green.”

  Kellen glanced behind him. “What’s Fiddler’s Green?” he whispered to Bryant.

  “The afterlife for Salt folk. A heaven of crystal clear waters they can swim in peace,” said Bryant. “I don’t plan on finding out if it exists or not.”

  Kellen faced front. Me either.

  They continued their slow march forward, the sounds of splashing and struggle increasing with each step. Only a couple people stood in front of him now and Kellen swore he heard lapping water and woeful voices from within.

  The wooden door opened, squeaked on its rusty hinges.

  “You three with me,” said the doorman.

  The two in front of him took a step back.

  Show them. Kellen continued his reminder, his only defense against the fear pulsing in the back of his mind. He shouldered past the pair in front of him to be first through the door.

  A wooden baton slapped the side.

  Kellen stopped.

  “Quite the brave one, aren’t you,” Tieran said. “Righ’. I’ll take this one down.”

  The doorman’s gaze wandered. “Tieran…”

  “I said I’ll take this one.” Tieran clucked his tongue. “Never seen no one so eager to go down the Gasping Hole…think you’re special, do you?”

  Kellen kept his focus on the open door. He heard the sound of lapping water clearly now. Show them.

  “Hey!” Tieran tapped Kellen’s back shoulder with his baton. “I asked you a question, boy. Think you're special?”

  “No.”

  “Mmm. Special and a liar, my favorite. Go on with you, then.” Tieran motioned. “March through them doors.”

  Kellen stepped over the threshold. More of the pale green light lit the smaller room of likewise bare surroundings. Kellen tensed at what lay in the middle—a circular pool with a sheer surface of black. To his mind, it almost looked like a giant well.

  A seal surfaced and snorted for air.

  Kellen stepped back.

  “What’s wrong, boy?” Tieran chuckled. “Scared of a lil’ ol’ seal?”

  Another seal leapt out of the water onto the concrete deck. It shook its head and body like a wet dog might, sprinkling water everywhere. Both seals glanced at Kellen. One turned toward the other, almost as if they spoke to one another.

  Show. Them. Kellen faced Tieran. “What do we do now?”

  “Get in the water. Find out.”

  Only hazing. Kellen spun on his heel and strode for the pool. Like twelving.

  One of the seals barked.

  Still Kellen walked on, until he reached the edge of the pool. Kellen glanced down at the black water. For a moment, he thought of the pool as a big septic tank, the kind that once overflowed in his basement. Unlike the tank back home, however, this one gave no hint as to how deep it went.

  “Go on,” said Tieran.

  Kellen jumped in. The icy water punched him in the gut. Stole his breath away. Goosebumps relayed up and down his body. Kellen surfaced for air, gasping, already shivering.

  “Cold, is it?” Tieran laughed. “Just you wait, boy. It only gets colder from here.”

  Tieran tossed a lasso of rope in front of Kellen’s face. “Put that under your armpits. Remember what I said. Don’t fight if you want to see tomorrow and don’t loose yourself of the rope till we reach the other side. You won’t find your way back, I promise you.”

  Kellen took hold of the rope and lifted it over his head. His teeth chattering, he put his arms through and pushed the rope under his armpits. Then he tightened it. Kellen glanced up as Tieran donned his hood.

  Then Tieran changed. His face transformed into a seal, his nose and mouth bulging outward. He fell to his hands and knees as they became flippers.

  Kellen wanted to scream. The cold prevented it.

  A moment later, the seal that was Tieran crashed into the water. It surfaced ne
ar Kellen’s face, barked, then took the end of rope in its mouth.

  Wha-what’s it do—

  The seal dove, its hind flippers broke the surface. The last thing Kellen saw before his rope harness yanked him below.

  Down, down, he went.

  His body instinctually fought to surface.

  The rope harness warned against it, tugging, pulling him deeper.

  Kellen opened his eyes. Salt stung them, swirling black with bubbles.

  Air! Kellen’s brain cried out. His mind swam, attempting to learn where the surface lay.

  The rope harness loosened.

  Kellen swam forward. Bumped his face into rock, scratching his forehead and left cheek.

  The seal suddenly appeared in front of him. It bit the rope again, tugged down.

  Don’t fight. Kellen recalled the reminder. Swim with him!

  Kellen flipped and furiously kicked to follow the seal.

  Down, down, down they descended, angling right here, left there, and the water growing colder with every stroke.

  White spots popped in Kellen’s mind.

  He continued to kick.

  The rope harness tugged upward.

  Kellen followed it. Without warning, he breached the surface and felt cool air on his cheeks.

  “Huuuuuuh.” He gulped down the foul-tasting air, savoring each deep breath. He opened his eyes, but saw nothing. No indication of how large the area might be. He thought to call out and hear an echo.

  The harness tugged him back under.

  Again, Kellen kicked and swam, his ears popping as they twisted this way and that, always descending. His air waned, heart thudded, and he felt the harness tug upward.

  Kellen clawed for the surface, snorting firewater as his body ached for air. He breached, coughing and gagging, thankful to suck down any hint of oxygen.

  Seconds later, the harness tugged at him again.

  The cold wore on his body. His limbs lethargically kicked and pulled at the water as the harness yanked him further below.

  Let it be over. Let me drown.

  The harness refused to let him quit.

  Blackness overtook his thoughts.

  He felt sleepy. Wilting.

  Salt water filled his nostrils. Trickled into his throat.

  The harness tugged upward.

  Kellen’s throat relaxed.

  Water gushed in.

  And then he breached. Felt cool air upon his face. Kellen immediately vomited mouthful after mouthful of seawater, his body wracking the liquid from his lungs. His head pounding, Kellen vaguely felt the harness tugging him through the water. He opened his eyes.

  The sight made him dizzy.

  He closed them and let the cold waters numb the throbbing in his head.

  He heard others sobbing. Another gasped for air as he had done.

  Kellen risked seeing again.

  The dark heavens glistened with sparkly light.

  Are those…stars? Kellen’s vision cleared with each new breath.

  The harness went limp.

  Kellen felt strong hands under his arms drag him up and out of the water. Still, his gaze transfixed on the sparkling lights.

  “Sit up, boy—”

  Edmund?

  “You’ll feel better.”

  Kellen did. His head swooned at the sudden movement. He tipped over and again felt someone right him.

  “Easy now.”

  “St-stars,” said Kellen. He shifted to see the elder marshal, beads of water caught in his grizzled beard. “I see…stars.”

  “Not stars.”

  “What?”

  “Look again.”

  Kellen did. What he thought the heavens, now he saw ended in stone. Long, thin rock pillars descended from the ceiling like fangs with diamonds trapped throughout.

  “Wh-where are we?”

  “Underground,” said Edmund. “Welcome to Crayfish Cavern, kid.”

  LENNY

  Lenny watched taskmasters surround Paulo. With Garrett gone, they ceased their pretense. Each took whips off their belts, though none dared crack them yet. A few looked toward the Crayfish’s head overseer in wait of orders.

  Fenton turned his cold gaze on Lenny. “Get these fools out of their coats.”

  Lenny felt a hand on his nose. Pop?

  “Open ya mouth, pup,” said Declan.

  Lenny obliged him.

  Declan jerked hard on Lenny’s upper lip to release him from his Salt form. The cavern’s cold seeped into Lenny’s human skin moments later. He fell shivering on the dock and noticed Paulo had likewise been released from his Elephant Seal form. Heavy steps clomped closer. Lenny watched his father step aside.

  “Captain Dolan,” said Fenton. “Our Lord Master Collins sent you to capture a slave girl. Instead you bring him an Orc calf.”

  “I caught the girl too.” Lenny dared look Fenton in the face. “I—”

  Declan backhanded Lenny. “Boss Fenton’s talkin’, boy.”

  The sting in Lenny’s cheek smarted from the lesson. Don’t say nuthin’, Lenny took the slap to mean. Give Fenton what he wants.

  “Your son has a lot to learn, Dolan,” Fenton said.

  “Aye, Boss,” Declan replied. “Stubborn and hot-headed. He’ll learn betta.”

  “So you’ve said for a number of years now…” Fenton’s gaze flickered back to Lenny. “And how is it a newly made captain caught not only Marisa Bourgeois, but an Orc calf?”

  Keep ya mouth shut. Lenny’s cheek throbbed. “I’m my fatha’s son.”

  Fenton frowned. “Proud of your accomplishments, are you?”

  “Aye, sir.” Lenny stood up. “Ya said Bourgeois was uncatchable—”

  “Of course I did,” said Fenton. “She wouldn’t have been much of a prize for Master Oscar to recapture and boast of otherwise, would she?”

  Lenny smarted from the sarcastic tone. “Whattaya mean?”

  Fenton shook his head. “Did you truly believe Master Oscar was sent on his first hunt with even the slightest chance he might return empty-handed?”

  Lenny felt sick as Fenton continued.

  “That our Lord Master would truly entrust the safety of his only son to an unproven lot of catchers? Let alone the rather small hands of an ill-made, nipperkin captain?” Fenton tsked.

  “Maybe we was unproven before,” said Lenny. “Not now. I didn’t just catch Bourgeois and the Orc. I caught the Silksteala too.”

  The other taskmasters laughed at such a claim.

  Fenton quieted their laughter with a raise of his hand. “The Silkstealer? That haunted boogeyman of Selkie children lore?” he asked skeptically.

  “Aye,” said Lenny. “Wait till Tieran gets here. See for ya’selves what I done.”

  “What you did,” said Fenton. “Did your crew not help?”

  “Aye,” Paulo said. “We did.”

  “I see,” said Fenton to Paulo. “And were you ordered to abandon your mission, in lieu of what Captain Dolan apparently thought of as a much more enticing target, or did you disobey Master August’s orders willingly?”

  Lenny glanced at Paulo as his large friend hesitated to answer. He also noticed the surrounding taskmasters had unfurled their whips. One even swished the ends of tattered leather across the floor, no doubt eager to swing and call screams from the brute before him.

  Lie, Paulie. Lenny’s earrings flashed. Tell him I ordered it. They didn’t break these whips out not to use ‘em.

  Paulo glared at the Selkies around him. “I did it willingly.”

  Lenny sighed.

  “A noble answer.” Fenton shifted back to Lenny. “And where is the remainder of your crew, Captain Dolan? I recall seven were sent out, yet only the two of you and Master Oscar have returned.”

  “Tieran kept Ellie behind,” said Lenny. “Henry abandoned us when his slave girl ran off.”

  “Abandoned, you say?”

  “Aye,” said Lenny, unsatisfied when Fenton’s face gave no hint as to his feelings on the matter
. “Ask Oscar if ya don’t believe me. He’ll tell ya the same.”

  “I’ll do that,” said Fenton. “But that’s only six catchers accounted for. I believe you were assigned a sprinter, a pup. Where is Racer?”

  Lenny’s chin dipped. “He ran off with Henry’s girl.”

  Fenton’s gaze flickered to a hooded taskmaster. “Fetch the pup’s father and lock him in the stocks. We’ll make an example of him soon, along with these two—”

  Lenny heard the deep bellow of a conch-shell horn echo throughout the cavern. It sounded a second time. A warning? Lenny looked toward the main entrance, along with all those standing at the dock.

  A pair of triangular-shaped dorsal fins breached the surface, the two swimming side-by-side.

  “Nomads…” Lenny heard a taskmaster whisper.

  The pair of fins approached far faster than anything Lenny had ever seen swim, trailing white V’s in their wakes. He watched their dorsal fins dip beneath the surface twenty feet from the dock. Seconds later, two short-fin Mako Sharks exploded from the water, soaring high above, transforming as their arch reached its apex. Their sickle-fin tails split in two to form human legs. Arms burst from their pectoral fins like hands shoving through tight sleeves. Both finished their conversion to human before landing upon the dock and taking a knee.

  Lenny backed into Fenton as both Nomads rose to their full height. Their human legs sheened bluish-grey, retaining their Nomadic hue, and Lenny noticed their human toes were webbed. Sinewy muscle cleaved to their lean chests and arms. Tattooed runes and symbols lined their extremities. Lenny thought their markings familiar, but struggled to place where he had seen such patterns before.

  The shorter of the two wore a triangular patch, carved from a seashell, over his right eye.

  Lenny forced himself not to look away as the lone eye’s gaze fell on him. Something in Lenny’s core whispered that eye peered deep inside his soul, and he exhaled when it glanced away.

  The one-eyed stranger finished his slow surveillance of those amongst the dock and mumbled in a Nomadic tongue.

  His companion stepped forward, arms open. “Greetings,” said the stranger, his voice clear and distinct. Eyes sharp. “I am called Quill. This is my brother, Watawa.” He motioned to the one-eyed Nomad. “The Open Shell.”