Curse of the Forgotten City

by Alex Aster

  But, in the end, he sided with her. Only because he couldn’t bear returning to Estrelle, admitting he had given up.

  Engle didn’t feel the same way. “I say we turn back.”

  Melda studied him incredulously. “Since when are you afraid?”

  Engle did not meet her gaze.

  She took a step closer to him, hands on her hips. “Aren’t you the one who jumped off the balcony in the City of Zeal first, when the lips told you to? Aren’t you the one who adored that death trap of a zippy in the rain forest?” Engle turned away. Tor watched his jaw tense, his nostrils flare. “Didn’t you say, just yesterday, that you missed adventure?” She shook her head. “Since when are you afraid of anything?”

  Engle whirled to face her. “Since I almost died,” he yelled, no sign of humor on his face.

  Tor stilled. Melda just blinked at him. In the years Tor had known his best friend, he had never once seen him so serious.

  “Engle, I—”

  He walked away before Melda could finish her sentence. She turned slowly to face Tor, mouth ajar.

  Tor wore a similar expression.

  “He’s not okay, is he?”

  He swallowed. “No. I don’t think he is.”

  She nodded. “I can fix this,” he heard her whisper to herself, before she trailed after him.

  Tor wondered if he should check on them in a few minutes, if only to make sure one hadn’t pushed the other overboard. Engle had never said anything like that before, had never gotten angry, even. He would talk to him, he decided. Once Engle was in a better mood.

  He sat on the deck, sensing the life in the wood beneath him, in the ocean all around him. Felt the breeze against his nose, as if he was the ship. The connection that tethered them had gotten stronger in the last day, and somehow, Tor knew he could command the ship to do whatever he wanted, as long as he was aboard.

  It was a good distraction, testing this bond. Because if Tor thought really hard about Engle or the prophecy, he found he agreed with him more than Melda. And if he had it his way, he might change their course and turn around in the middle of the night…

  But Engle’s plan to go back and fight wouldn’t work, either. They were no match for the dozens of Calavera ships, all smoke, corpse, and bone. Only with the pearl’s power could they send the Calavera back across the horizon, to the bloodied waters from which they came.

  And what of the Calavera captain, the Swordscale traitor, and the mysterious spectral? They had disappeared in a flash of light, not relying on the ships to travel. Were they already close to finding the pearl? Would they use its power to destroy Estrelle while Tor was miles away, unable to help?

  He sighed, throwing his doubts behind him. All they did was weigh him down.

  They needed to find the pearl—without one of them dying. He didn’t care what the prophecy said. They would find a way to do both.

  Tor smiled, then. Because, as impossible as that seemed, they had done it before. A month ago, their lifelines had predicted their death.

  Yet there they were.

  He took a deep breath. Melda was right. A long-dead fortuneteller wouldn’t control their destiny.

  Tor spent the afternoon reading through the Book of Seas. The more he knew about the obstacles they might face, the better he could prepare for them. He read until he fell asleep, the sun shining across his arms and legs, the clothes provided by the ship light and airy. Perfect for sailing.

  When he awoke, the stars were above him, huddled together like gossiping old women. Watching him.

  He straightened. The deck was empty. Had they left him out here all night? Had they gone to bed without dinner?

  No, not empty.

  As Tor faced the bow, he saw something that knocked the air right out of his lungs.

  The Night Witch stood at the helm of the ship, watching the water. She turned, as if feeling his gaze on her back.

  “He knows I am gone,” she said. She walked slowly toward him, but the deck did not creak beneath her bare feet. “He knows my curses have been lifted.”

  Tor wanted to say something, ask a question, scream maybe, but his body had gone rigid. He couldn’t even open his mouth. All he could do was watch as the Night Witch walked closer, then closer still.

  Until she was leaning before him.

  “It won’t be long now. You are in danger, Tor Luna.” At her final word, she reached a hand forward and pressed a sharp nail to his forehead.

  He awoke again with a gasp.

  The sky was not night, but the bruise of late afternoon.

  Only Vesper stood on the upper deck, watching him. “Are you…all right?” she said awkwardly.

  Tor blinked half a dozen times in a row. He tried to stand but found that his legs were still slightly numb beneath him. His hands shook at his sides. “I’m fine,” he said, breathless.

  The Night Witch was visiting him, traveling through nightmares. Not to torment him…

  But to warn him.

  Vesper did not leave. She bent down and sat next to him. “That was a close call, right?”

  Tor had to think for a moment what she was talking about, mind still filled with the image of the Night Witch.

  She raised an eyebrow at him. “The creature in the library?”

  “Oh. Yeah.”

  “What do you think of the prophecy?” She glanced at him sidelong, waiting intently for his reply.

  Tor breathed out. Shrugged. “I hope Melda’s right, that fate is fluid.” Tor glanced down at his lifeline. It was a scatter of deep valleys and high peaks, too messy and complicated to accurately read or rely on. Engle’s and Melda’s were nearly identical. Did that mean that the three of them were safe?

  Vesper followed his stare. “Those don’t work out here,” she said simply. She held her own palm out. Just a faint rainbow line ran across her hands. Faded almost completely. Impossible to read. “Once, we had some, just like you. But the power of Emblem Island has diminished. The farther away from its land you get, the less it affects you.” She tapped against his lifeline. “As far as I’ve heard, these don’t predict what happens on the sea. Not anymore.”

  Tor hoped the waterbreather was misinformed. Because if both she and the prophecy were right, then it didn’t matter that their lifelines were long.

  Any of them could die.

  He tried to stand again and found that his body had completely thawed. As he stretched his arms over his head, wincing, he thought of something.

  “How did you escape the pirates? And get to Estrelle before them?” he asked. She had reached their shore far sooner than the Calavera. It was a fact that made him a little suspicious of Vesper. How had she escaped the pirates, when the rest of Swordscale had been captured?

  She studied him. Tor had a feeling she was making a quick decision, whether or not to tell him. Finally, she shrugged. “There is an underwater portal to Swordscale, just off Estrelle’s shores. When they attacked, my grandmother told me to go to it. And I did.”

  “What’s the portal tied to?”

  “A sunken ship.”

  Tor blinked. The bone boat—the one he had visited countless times on his swims over the years, the one he had not dared to touch, because of his town’s superstitions against it. “I know that boat,” he said.

  She lifted a shoulder. “I know.” Vesper’s face reddened slightly. “I’ve seen you before…from a distance. Swimming.”

  She saw him. Tor wondered how he felt about that. He teetered between being angry at having been watched and grateful that even when he thought he was the only person on Emblem Island who knew what it was like to love the sea, he hadn’t been alone.

  “It’s how I knew where to go when they attacked.” She didn’t drop his gaze. “It’s how I knew I could trust you.”

  Later that night, after dinner, Tor fell as
leep hoping he could trust her, too.

  * * *

  Tor awoke refreshed. He had slept peacefully, without a visit from the Night Witch. He had even slept through Engle’s nightmares.

  He knocked on his friend’s door, planning to speak to him in private before going upstairs. But there was no reply. He waited for a few moments before heading up to the deck, where he found Engle at the helm, scouting.

  “Nothing yet,” Engle said as he approached, grinning at him like he didn’t have a care in the world. “But Vesper says we’re close.”

  The waterbreather sat a few yards away, a miniature version of her colorful map spilled onto the deck before her.

  No sign of Melda. Tor asked the ship for some quick breakfast of banana hazelnut muffins and canela tea with cream. He was at the hatch that led below, about to bring some down for Melda, when she surfaced.

  “Thanks,” she said curtly, taking the pastry from him, but not taking a bite.

  “Melda, do you want to—” Before he could ask if she wanted to speak to Engle further, there was a yell from the upper deck.

  “You better get up here, Captain Luna!” Engle yelled, mouth clearly full.

  A distant field of mountainous spikes laid out before them, like a sea monster barring its teeth from beneath the sea. Tor stared silently at the jutting rocks. They seemed to grow taller the closer they got.

  And they were getting closer quickly.

  The ship rushed at the Devil’s Mouth at full speed, tugged toward it like the pull of a waterfall. Too fast, it would be nearly impossible to navigate through the labyrinth so quickly. Tor closed his eyes and pulled on his connection with the ship, trying to slow it down. His back teeth ground together painfully with the effort. But a current had quickly swept the ship into its hands, whisking it right toward the deadly maze.

  That’s what made it so dangerous, Tor thought—not only how close the sharp rocks were together, but the speed at which they would have to face them.

  Steps clattered behind him, then Melda was at his side. Her expression turned grim. “Right, then. Let’s prove this fortuneteller wrong.” She turned to him. “Tor, you control the ship, which means you can’t hesitate. Move around the rocks as quickly and accurately as you can. Consider the current, the wind, the speed, everything.” She turned again. “Engle, while Tor focuses on what’s right in front of him, you look ahead. Make sure there aren’t any surprises he needs to know about.” She winced. “Since you’ve only been sailing a couple days, it’s very possible we’ll have a collision. I’ll see about finding anything to treat leaks.”

  She disappeared below, and Tor focused ahead.

  They had officially entered the Devil’s Mouth. Rocks like giant swords jutted out of the water, high into the sky, mountains cut into slices and used to form a labyrinth. Crashing into just one would undoubtedly sink their ship.

  And there were dozens.

  An ancient shipwreck laid tangled to Tor’s right, a mighty vessel now just a skeleton wedged between two rocks, its sails tattered. White birds were perched on what was left of its mast, cooing sharply.

  “Tor,” Engle said.

  He steadied himself, both feet planted heavily against the deck, head tilted high. He hummed, fishing for the connection of the boat, and, right on cue, the ropes that had once trapped him flew through the air, then wrapped around his limbs, one by one. This time, instead of being a puppet, he felt like the puppet master.

  “Ready?” Engle said.

  Tor nodded.

  Before he could blink, the ship lurched in the unforgiving current and all he saw was rock—thick as the helm and tall as their mast. He pulled his left arm down, the rope going taut, and the ship moved at the last moment, the rock scrapping loudly against its side.

  Engle made a face. “That’ll leave a mark,” he said.

  The vessel swayed in the path of another rock, this one thin and tall as a tower, and Tor dodged it more easily, missing it completely. Ahead, two more jutted from the sea just yards away from each other, both a hundred feet high. It was too late to go around them both, the current knocking the ship around like they had been sucked into the center of a storm. Tor gripped the ropes hard and charged forward—toward the narrow space between them.

  Engle gulped. “You think we’ll fit?”

  Tor gritted his teeth. “We have to.”

  He focused, sweat dripping down his temples as the rocks neared. Closer. And closer. He steadied the ship, maneuvered it carefully, tipping it this way and that, testing the current and grip, making sure it would clear the rocks and—

  A wave came out of nowhere, knocking them violently to the side, right toward one of the rocks.

  Before the starboard side of the ship could shatter, the rock simply disappeared. Except no, it was still there—just made so small, the ship went right over it with a slight bump.

  Tor whirled around to see Vesper, hand outstretched, panting. “I can’t do that again, not for a while.” She slumped down to the deck. “You’re on your own now.”

  Engle grabbed Tor’s shoulder. “Watch out!” He yanked Tor’s arm like it was a wheel, and they barely missed another rock, just a few feet tall, but solid and sharp enough to shred the bottom of the ship like scissors across fabric.

  Tor nodded thanks to his wide-eyed friend. Then, he swallowed.

  Ahead stood a wall of rocks like a row of daggers, too close together to navigate around.

  And the current pulled their ship right toward its center.

  “It gets worse beyond it,” Engle said. “There are too many.”

  “Turn around!” Melda yelled, rushing up to the upper deck. Tor tried, yanking to the side with all of his might. But the current was stronger, and it pushed him back into the path of the rocks.

  There had to be something they could do, something they could use. Tor squinted, digging deep inside himself, calling the Night Witch forward.

  Help me, he pleaded.

  But there was no response.

  His hands turned to fists. Just a few more yards and they would be shipwrecked, tangled in the Devil’s Mouth for eternity.

  Where were those powers he had supposedly inherited? Where were the gifts the Night Witch had given Tor to help him fight the darkness she promised would come?

  Where—

  With a crack, the wooden siren carved into the front of the ship animated, its top half breaking free. She looked back at them with sea glass eyes, the ones the blood queen had gifted her. She held a sword, covered in barnacles.

  With her head high, the mermaid turned to face the rocks, blade raised. And carved a path through them.

  Each monstrous rock the siren struck crumbled into powder. She wielded her sword expertly, slicing through each one that dared block their way, and Tor watched as the great shards of mountain sunk back into the ocean like pieces of broken glass.

  She cut each down with long slices, only to turn and slay another.

  When they had cleared the wall of rocks, the siren broke completely free and slid silently into the sea. Tor spotted her glimmering tail far ahead, reflecting fractured rainbow beneath the sun, and then the mermaid leapt from the water to cut down the leftover rocks. He navigated the ship easily through the rubble, following the siren like a guiding star.

  And as suddenly as the Devil’s Mouth had pulled the ship in, it spit them out.

  The current left them in calm, sparkling waters.

  “Did she…leave?” Melda said, staring down into the sea. She jumped back with a shout as the siren leapt before her, found its place against the mast, and went still.

  “Thank you,” Tor said, unsure if the mermaid could hear him. He turned around, heart still a racing roar in his chest, and watched the maze get farther away. His arms felt heavy and already sore at his sides. At his command, the ropes at his wrists unravel
ed, and Tor winced as his knees buckled.

  “Up ahead,” Engle said.

  Tor jerked his head around, fearing another obstacle had entered their path. But there was only a golden line smeared across the horizon. Just a tiny smudge. “Indigo Isle.”

  How many had died trying to get to it?

  “It’s ridiculously small,” Melda said as they approached.

  Indeed, Indigo Isle was smaller than their ship, a single palm tree in its center. Not much more than a sandbar.

  They came to a stop before reaching it, the waters too shallow. The moment Tor thought they would need a rowboat, one appeared, tethered to the vessel with rope.

  Shoulder to shoulder in the small dinghy, it was a short trip to the isle. The waves were smooth and frothy, and soon Tor’s paddle dug into sand.

  “Could they be any more literal?” Engle asked. “I mean, I know they say X marks the spot, but…”

  X, did, in fact, mark the spot: a red X of colored sand, right in the palm tree’s shade. Engle shrugged. “Got to love the uncomplicated,” he said, then began using his hands to dig. Tor joined in, then Melda. Vesper spotted a large conch shell a few yards away, with spots along its spiral.

  “These are rare and coveted in Swordscale,” she told them as she picked it up.

  An hour later, they had a hole almost large enough to climb into, and Vesper was resting against the tree, conch shell in her lap. Tor began to doubt the obviousness of the X, whether it was a trap—or a distraction.

  Until his fingers slammed into something solid.

  Vesper lifted her head at his gasp. He dug more furiously, fingers finding the edges of something hard and square. Melda and Engle leaned back as he pulled it out and dusted off a golden jewelry box, covered in an ornate seashell pattern. One that might have held a ring or necklace once.

  “Well, open it,” Engle said, sand caked into the sweat on his brow.

  Tor did.

  Vesper sighed from behind his shoulder. “That’s not a compass.”

  He gritted his teeth. It wasn’t. Seated on the cushioned bottom of the box was a ripped, yellowed piece of parchment.