by Elle Cardy
Something pushed at Jasmine. She looked around and saw nothing there. It pushed again and she almost lost her balance. Was that Finn trying to knock her off her perch? She peered down and located the wielder. He stared up at her with a look of determination. She swore an oath and scrambled back. She had to hide from him. She couldn’t let him make her fall. She clutched the mainmast and closed her eyes.
“Be hidden,” she whispered to herself. When the pushing stopped she opened her eyes again. She must have wielded. Finn searched for her but he didn’t seem able to look at her directly. He seemed confused and frightened. She laughed in delight and climbed down to a lower vantage in the rigging. The men he’d sent up to get her couldn’t find her either. For now she was safe.
The Seahawk slowed to a stop regardless of the wind that blew around the ship. The Prize grew bigger as she approached. She was a glorious ship to behold. The wind filled her square sails and billowed them out like the gut of a rich man. She sliced through the ocean waves with the grace of a swan. She was large and, with her twenty-four cannons, she was formidable.
A boom in the distance echoed across the waters. The Prize had fired her cannons. The Seahawk shuddered. Timber shattered. Shards of fractured wood rained down on Jasmine as the topmast collapsed. The rigging shifted. Jasmine half jumped, half fell, to the deck. She rolled to her feet but lost her balance as the momentum tripped her over an unknown mass. She turned to see what it was and gasped. It was Captain Inness. His empty eyes stared up at the gray sky. His blood stained his silks and slicked the timbers beneath him. His throat had been cut.
Jasmine scuttled away and searched the chaos. She found Hensley, Curtin, Arassi, Philips and Stenson. They were all the men taken from the Prize and they were all armed. Commands and shouts surrounded her. Men fought. Men screamed. Men died. Never before had she experienced anything like this. Every time the Prize had seen battle, Cook had locked her in the galley. Horror paralyzed her.
Firm hands took hold of her. “Get below decks, Midge. It’s not safe here.”
She expected to see Cook but when she blinked, she looked into Doc’s familiar face. It was a relief to find his friendly presence. He was the one man aboard the Seahawk she could trust.
“I can’t,” she replied.
Doc fell heavily onto one knee in front of her. She thought he was going to convince her to run to safety but he didn’t say another word. He gurgled once and fell forward into her. She automatically caught him but his weight was too great. She already knew what she’d find when she let him drop beside her. The handle of a dagger jutted out from his back. Roberts stood over her. Sickness clutched her stomach. Blood covered her hands.
“He was one of yours,” she said in a daze.
“He was in my way.”
The man carried a cutlass and he intended to use it on her. She could have run. She should have run. Instead she froze.
The Seahawk shuddered. Her timbers squealed in protest. Faster than she thought possible, the Prize had closed the distance and rammed the smaller vessel. Anyone still standing lost their footing. Roberts launched off his feet backward and slammed into the railing at the far side of the ship. He lost his weapon overboard. Crew from the Prize flooded on board the captured ship. In a numb kind of wonder she watched more killing, she watched prisoners being taken, she watched Durne, the Prize’s first mate, take charge.
The battle was over.
“You did this?” Finn appeared in front of her. He looked pale and defeated, ready to collapse. She thought he meant her wielding but his gaze rested on Doc. She still crouched by Doc’s body. She was still covered in his blood.
Shock surprised her. The wielder thought she could do something like this? He thought she could kill the only man who seemed to care about her?
Movement behind Finn caught her eye. He turned to see what she looked at and gained Cook’s fist in his face. He had no strength left to deflect it or avoid it. He simply crumpled to the deck in a heap just like any other normal man.
“You did well, Midge,” her father said.
Chapter 11
Jasmine watched the Seahawk burn as darkness shrouded the world. It was a smudge of black smoke in the distance. The undersides of the clouds around it lit up with a hellish glow. Sickness turned her stomach. It had nothing to do with wielding. The horrors she’d seen that day wouldn’t quickly be forgotten. The smell of ash and blood still filled her nostrils. Doc’s blood stained her hands and her clothing. She grieved his loss and the loss of all those who had died that day. A horrific waste of life. She won back her home, but at what cost?
Apart from the haunting memories, when she stepped aboard the Wielder’s Prize, it seemed like she’d never left. People once again ignored her. She could walk the length of the ship in the open without anyone paying her any attention, without anyone slapping her up the back of the head, without anyone demanding an explanation. This was as it should be. Attention only got her into trouble.
She looked down at her suntanned hands. They were the same as always with long fingers and dirt caught under her short nails. But they weren’t the same hands. They could wield power she never knew she had, a power that could kill her, a power that could sink ships.
Her gaze drifted back to the burning ship in the distance. She could no longer smell the acrid smoke and for that she was grateful. She could still smell the blood and she could still see the surprise in Doc’s eyes when Roberts stabbed him in the back.
Not many of the original crew of the Seahawk were left alive to bring aboard the Prize as captives. Of those who were captured, however, Roberts, Lars and Peters were among them. She wondered at their fortune. She had been sure they would’ve been the first to die. She didn’t think of them as men who’d give up without a fight.
And then there was Finn. Cook and Matthews had secured him in chains below decks. They hadn’t bothered to send the ship’s doc to check up on him. As far as she knew the wielder still hadn’t woken. As much as she was afraid of him, she didn’t think he deserved whatever fate the captain planned for him. If they planned to ask him to join their crew they would’ve treated him better. They could have reasoned with him. Then again, she’d been welcomed aboard the Seahawk with chains.
Would Finn cooperate? He was a powerful wielder. If he could send her to the void with that beast, then surely he could send anyone there as well. People feared wielders for a reason. Jasmine shuddered in the dark.
“Battle is a terrible business.”
She turned to find First Mate Durne standing behind her. He stood with his arms clasped behind him like a stocky monument to all that was solid. He stared out at the burning ship with a look of what Jasmine thought might be pain. He seemed to be the last man who would regret the actions of the day. He was a hardened sailor, who’d seen many battles on the sea. The Prize had won not only her old crew back, but it had also won a fortune in booty.
“I heard what you did.” He didn’t look at her, so it was difficult to read in his expression what he meant. “Facing a wielder like that was brave.”
Jasmine hadn’t meant to sigh but it escaped her lips and revealed her regret. Durne looked at her then and studied her face. She didn’t know what ran through his mind.
“Clean yourself up, boy. It will help you forget.” He wandered off then and left her with her thoughts. She didn’t think she’d ever forget, but the first mate was right. She needed to change out of her filthy, blood-splattered clothes.
Jasmine returned to the galley for the first time since she’d left the Prize on an errand for the captain in Port Lemos. It seemed so long ago and so far away. When she entered the galley, she thought she’d gain a sense of coming home. None came. It was just a dark, empty room infused with the stench of old stew even though nothing bubbled on the stove. It seemed her father hadn’t returned here either since boarding the Prize even though it was his habit to always have something on the boil. She wondered where he was.
When she was done, she dropped her bloodied clothes in a bucket of water to soak, and left the galley. The room had grown too stifling in that short time. She had to go outside into the fresh air.
Instead of returning to the deck, she found herself walking deeper into the ship.
She stopped and wondered what she was doing. She frowned into the gloom and turned around. She wanted the lofty heights. She wanted to watch the stars poke their faces through the clouds. She wanted to feel the breeze against her face.
Jasmine descended the ladder to the cargo hold. A multitude of fleeces were stored here. The entire cargo had been carted from the Seahawk before it had burned. The natural oils in the wool and fur pervaded the air and made the hold smell earthy and stuffy. She curled up her nose in distaste. Confusion turned her around. She unhooked a small lantern she found hanging on a post and lit it. Holding it high, she watched the long shadows cast demons across the pallets. The devils danced as she turned. The dark was playing tricks on her.
Rather than climbing the ladder, she walked deeper into the cargo hold. She stopped outside a wooden door at the back. Reason told her to walk away — curiosity never did her any good. Longing told her to climb into the rigging high above in the outside air. Self-preservation told her to flee. She ignored all those voices and pushed open the door.
She gasped.
Inside the tiny room lay Finn. Thick chains bound his wrists and ankles. He lay on his back against the bulkhead but his head was turned toward the door and he stared up at her. Only then did she realize that his power had brought her there. It was the only explanation. The voice of warning inside her head screamed louder. He was too powerful. Everything inside her told her to flee. She entered the room and latched the door behind her. She sat down in the opposite corner and rested the lantern beside her.
“What do you want?” she asked him.
He didn’t answer. He only stared at her. There was sickness in his eyes and a terrible weakness. His hair clung to his face in wet strands. His skin was clammy and blotchy.
She didn’t know how long she sat with him in silence. She was afraid to touch him but she was also afraid to leave him. It seemed their situation had been reversed, only this time, she didn’t try to help him as he had helped her. She shifted in the dim light at the thought of how he had helped her by plunging her into hell. Why was she still there with him? There was nothing she could do to help him.
Jasmine stood. Her plan was to climb the rigging and spend the rest of the night aloft. When she stepped near Finn, he reached out and grabbed her ankle. She screamed as if she’d stepped into a fire. His touch had sent chills of fear through her, yet his grip had been weak and easy to escape. When she righted herself, she felt foolish and caught Finn staring.
“What’s wrong?” His hoarse voice cracked. He barely had the strength to speak. What was he doing worrying about her when he should’ve been worrying about himself?
Miserable, she sank back into the corner. It wasn’t his power that kept her there anymore. She wasn’t sure why she stayed.
“I didn’t kill Doc,” she said into the room. Silence seemed to soak up her words. Had Finn heard her? Did he believe her?
His eyes were closed. He didn’t move for a long time. Her gaze traveled to his hand resting on the floor. It was the hand that had grabbed her. His fingers curled like the legs of a dead spider. A band of white skin circled his middle finger where a ring once lay.
Finn’s ring had been a worthless piece of metal. There would have been no reason for someone to steal it unless they knew its true value. Without his ring he’d lose the strength to wield. There was someone on board who knew something of a wielder’s secrets. This was how they planned to control Finn.
She recalled the warning he’d once given her about wielders without talismans. They would eventually die. She had thought that applied to untrained wielders. If she had survived without a talisman for this long, then so could he. Surely. She looked again at his pasty features and her certainty faded. She didn’t understand. He was a trained wielder. He had the control not to wield. Then she remembered he’d wielded to get her down there with him, and he’d overworked himself defending the Seahawk. She remembered also what it felt like to pay the cost of these things. The weakness and sickness were intolerable, inescapable.
Jasmine couldn’t bear to watch him like this. He may have sent her to the void, but he also brought her back. Perhaps he didn’t know what he’d done. She couldn’t be certain of that but her compassion outweighed her fear. She reached out and took his hand in hers. It felt cool and soft. When she was at her worst he had helped her to fly, so perhaps she could do the same for him.
She closed her eyes and thought of floating on the updraft of a warm ocean breeze. She thought of the sunlight on her back and the vast blue sky above reflected in the vast blue sea below. She carried Finn with her as she dreamed the dreams she soared through when she went aloft on the Prize. That was where she lived. That was where she belonged.
Finn shifted and she opened her eyes. He was looking at her with awareness rather than through a haze of weakness.
“Thank you,” he whispered.
Jasmine wasn’t sure what he thanked her for. She was sure she hadn’t wielded because she felt no shuddering weakness overtake her. Perhaps it had simply been the touch, the thought behind the gesture, which made the difference.
“You know you shouldn’t wield,” she said. It felt odd to sound like the teacher rather than the student for a change.
Finn gave her a weak smile. “I should say the same to you.”
“I haven’t wielded since…well, since the Seahawk.” She was reluctant to remind Finn of the details.
He tried to laugh but it came out as a cough instead. He grimaced and tried to take a few slow breaths. “You have,” was all he managed to say. He gave her the impression he wanted to say more but he was too weak. She tried to remember wielding. The only time she felt sick was when she watched the Seahawk burn. No weakness accompanied that sickness so she was sure it wasn’t caused by any wielding.
She thought she’d been sharpening her control. She had hoped to prove Finn wrong about untrained wielders. Now he claimed she wielded. She grew annoyed and brushed it all aside. She released his hand and returned to her corner.
“So why did you wield?” she asked to change the subject.
Finn closed his eyes again. “I needed you.”
“What could I possibly do that you need me for?” It was not an offer of help.
“I need you to get my talisman back.”
Jasmine repeated his words in her mind and she giggled. It bubbled out of her like an artesian spring. It was the silliest request she’d ever heard. How was she supposed to get his talisman back? First, she didn’t know who had taken it. Second, if they knew its value then they wouldn’t be leaving it lying around in the open. Third, if she were caught trying to help a prisoner of the Prize, then she could jeopardize her own freedom. When Finn had lost his talisman, he’d also lost his mind.
The look on his face stifled her laughter. He was, of course, serious. And he was desperate. She scowled at him. “I can’t, Finn.”
“You must.”
“It’s not as if you could go anywhere even if you got it back, and it’s not as if you’d die without it.” The lofty heights were calling her again. She didn’t want to deal with any of this. She just wanted her life to go back to what it was.
“I can’t defend myself without it.” His words were no more than a whisper. It cost him too much effor
t to talk.
The thought of being defenseless scratched a wound she thought she could bury. Memory of the void crashed into her and an irrational anger swept over her. “You should have thought of that before you did the same to me.”
She knew her words didn’t make sense to him, and they lost their power because of it, but the need to flee overcame her. She bolted from the room. She’d left the lantern behind in her rush to get out, but she didn’t care. What was he thinking? She couldn’t help him. That was too much to ask.
She didn’t return to the rigging or the outside air. She instead found refuge in the galley under her nest of blankets. Curling up beneath them, she tried to hide from everything and everyone.
No amount of wielding would coax her back to that little room in the cargo hold.
Chapter 12
Jasmine spent most of the next two days aloft. She claimed the second spar from the top of the foremast and spread herself along the starboard yardarm. She could close her eyes and pretend everything was as it used to be. The creak of the lines and the flutter of the canvas sails comforted her. Even the gentle sway of the ship made her imagine that this was what it might feel like to be cradled in a mother’s arms. No one bothered her up there.
The only times she dropped to the deck was in search of food. She tried to avoid Cook as much as possible. The one time she entered the galley when he was there, he shoved a bowl of gruel into her hands and shooed her away. He didn’t ask her to peel or chop endless vegetables. He didn’t demand she knead bread. He had just wanted her to leave him to his work, and so she did without complaint.
