by Alex Aster
No, this was bad, this was making things worse—
There was a crack close by, like a mountain splitting in half.
Vesper appeared, coated in gold, a falling star wrapped in flames. She walked past them, then flung her hands down against the water.
Gold flashed through her fingers, in wide sweeps of color. A hundred screams ripped through the dream, and, in a flash, the bonesulkers disappeared, fracturing into a million balls of light. Even the lake seemed to shatter.
And Vesper sank down into the Lake of the Lost, still glowing. She swam quickly, right to Engle. The bonesulkers hadn’t yet sliced across his chest in bloody streaks. She pulled him up out of the water, into the boat.
“You’re okay,” she said. “You’re fine.” Then, she pressed a hand against his chest.
Light billowed out of him in streams like woven gold, and Tor saw that they contained memories. Little pieces from Engle’s mind, from the time he rode the zippy to the moment he broke his arm on the Twinetrees. Most were bathed in light, but a few, small enough that he couldn’t see what memories they held, were tinged in darkness. Vesper handled the moments with care and stretched them out like wet fabric. She worked quickly, making the good ones bigger and the bad ones smaller. Then, finally, she came upon the dripping memory of the Lake of the Lost. It was folded a dozen times, and when Vesper expanded it fully, Tor saw it was huge, taking up most of the space in Engle’s mind. Once unfolded, she shrunk it down, so small that all of the others smothered it.
Then, she walked out of Engle’s nightmare, leaving only a trail of sunlight behind.
The Pirate and the Turnip
Once, there was a cruel pirate, obsessed with the sea. He refused to port, even when his crew was sick, opting instead to throw them off the ship. When his men threatened to rise up against him, he procured a talisman that forced them to be loyal and unable to ever try to leave him again.
The pirate, though enamored with the sea, loved a land food more than any other—a root vegetable. Turnips. He ate them by the barrel and always wanted more. He forced the cook to put them in his every meal and made his men buy barrels of them at the shore.
He would trade any treasure for the vegetable, so sailors made a habit of stopping by his ship when they went past, to make advantageous deals. This made the crew hate their captain even more. They watched him exchange gold coins they had gone to great lengths to find for the turnips he adored.
The crew wanted the pirate dead, so they devised a plan. They set a net with bait and waited for months.
Until one day, they managed to catch a mermaid.
They presented the siren to the captain, and the pirate knew it meant he might be granted a wish. “I wish to live beneath the sea, like you,” he said.
The ship buckled beneath him, and he fell right through its hull. For instead of turning into a merman, the pirate had become a giant, hideous fish.
The crew had counted on the captain’s foolishness. But when they refused to release the mermaid, wanting wishes of their own, she turned them all into sea creatures.
And so the crew was doomed to follow the pirate captain wherever he roams.
18
Last Chance
That night, Engle slept peacefully, without the elixir on his pillow. Tor was not so lucky.
The Night Witch visited him once more.
He was back on the cliff, in front of her castle. She stood outside it, staring at Tor with a strange expression on her face.
She looked pained. Afraid.
“Tor.” Someone touched his chest, and he gasped, almost falling out of bed.
Melda was standing there, hand still outstretched. “It’s me,” she said. “Are you okay?”
He nodded. Sweat dotted his forehead. “Yeah, you just surprised me.” She was still wearing her nightclothes, and her ribbons were knotted in her hair. “Is something wrong?”
“We stopped,” she said.
Tor stilled for a moment. She was right. He got out of bed immediately. “Have we already reached the northern tip?”
Vesper was waiting in the hallway. Her silver hair was in a braid, tied up with a piece of ribbon Melda had lent her. “No,” Vesper said. She followed him up to the deck, where Engle and Captain Forecastle were waiting. It seemed he had been the last one to notice the ship had halted its course.
It was still dark outside, the stars thick like a blanket the sky put on at night to keep warm.
He rubbed the sleep from his eyes, then squinted ahead. There was an island that ran across the entire horizon.
“It doesn’t stop for miles,” Engle said, shaking his head. “It’s like…a wall. Blocking us from sailing any farther.”
Vesper opened her shell, the colors pooling around their feet lazily, as if they, too, had been asleep. “It’s not on the map. Not anywhere.”
Tor scratched the side of his head. The island was long, but not far across. It looked plain, just a stretch of golden sand. Not much more than a sandbar. “I suppose we’re going to have to walk over it, then,” he said.
Engle turned to look at him with a strange expression on his face. “Tor, what do you see?”
“What?”
“What do you see on the island?”
He frowned. “Nothing, it’s just sand.”
Captain Forecastle laughed beside him. He shook his head. “We see gold, boy. Mountains of it. And jewels the size of potatoes, growing from the ground.”
Melda sighed. “It’s clearly Isla Pomme. It’ll show you whatever it thinks will tempt you to make a deal with it.”
Vesper was very still. “I see my brother,” she said.
They went below to change out of their nightclothes. Tor thought about Melda’s words—the island would show him what he wanted most.
Then why did he see nothing?
Melda and Engle were waiting for him in the hall. “We need to talk,” she said, craning her head to make sure they were the only ones still below. “Going across Isla Pomme isn’t a good idea.”
Engle gave her a look. “Of course it isn’t! It wasn’t our first option, was it?”
She glared at him. “You heard Vesper. She saw her brother, which means the island will try to make a deal with her to save him.”
Engle shrugged. “That would be good, right?”
Melda gaped at him. “The island is bloodthirsty, and she said, very clearly, that she would do anything to save her brother.”
“So what do we do?” Engle asked.
“We make sure she doesn’t sign a contract,” Melda said steadily.
Dressed for the day ahead, they gathered on the deck, and Vesper made the boat smaller around them, until it was just larger than a dinghy, tiny enough to calmly wash ashore. When they disembarked, Vesper clipped the ship onto her bracelet.
“Whatever it offers, don’t take it,” Melda said sternly.
Captain Forecastle surprised Tor by nodding, seconding Melda’s warning. “Anything the sea gives, it takes back twofold.”
Tor still saw nothing. The island was smooth and flat. Not even a tree in sight. He began the short walk across it, wondering what everyone else saw. What could possibly tempt Melda? Tor watched her as she walked, her gaze catching on things he couldn’t see. She shook her head, then held it high, walking past whatever had appeared.
Captain Forecastle rolled around the sand, laughing and filling his hands with invisible treasures. He howled like a wolf at the moon, and continued to splash around, sliding on his stomach along what Tor imagined might be an avalanche of diamonds.
Engle looked miserable, arms across his chest as he was forced to walk through what was no doubt the most delectable spread of food imaginable. Melda had made him read the Isla Pomme story before they left, and he knew that taking just a bite of the food offered would mean entering into a deadly ba
rgain.
Still, he looked like he was considering it.
Vesper had tears rolling down her face, falling straight into the sand. She walked silently as she cried, not turning to look at Tor when he asked if she was all right.
He was going to ask again when he saw that his island was not empty after all. Something sat at its very edge, so close to the other side a large wave could have swept it away.
An oyster. It flipped open to reveal something that made Tor sink to his knees.
A pearl.
The Pirate’s Pearl.
“It’s yours,” the breeze said into his ear. “If you want it.”
A piece of parchment appeared from nowhere, unraveling beneath his nose.
Tor read the contract.
The Pirate’s Pearl is a treasure of the highest value. In exchange for it, we ask the following:
Tor Luna, heir to the Night Witch’s power, will forfeit all of his inherited gifts, properties, and power.
Tor Luna will never return to Estrelle.
These terms are nonnegotiable. The term date is ten thousand years.
At the end, there was a place for his signature.
He looked over his shoulder. Melda was now staring intently at her feet, scowling. Vesper was still crying.
Tor asked for a quill. One immediately appeared in the air, and he dug its sharp metal tip into his palm without hesitation. Crimson broke through skin.
Before his blood could pierce the page, the parchment went flying, landing in the shallow water.
He turned to see Captain Forecastle there, arm raised. “Have ye lost yer head?”
Melda rushed over. Tor realized they might not have been able to see the illusion of the pearl, but they could see the very real contract, wet in the water, an arrow sticking it into the sand. She gaped at him, furious. “Were you going to sign that?”
Her eyes found the blood dribbling from his palm, and a hand found her mouth.
He ground his back teeth together. “It’s worth it. It’s a deal I’ll make.”
Tor had never wanted the Night Witch’s powers to begin with. He would gladly give them all up, especially if it meant saving his people by getting the pearl. Being banned from Estrelle would hurt, but he would live anywhere if it meant stopping the Calavera from destroying his home and harming his family.
Melda stormed over to the contract and tried to read what was left of the parchment. She scoffed. “Did you ever think to wonder why this terrible island wants your abilities?”
Tor was silent.
“Because it wants to offer it as a temptation, in order to get them to also sign a contract. The Calavera captain. Or even the spectral. Or someone worse!” She ran her hands through her hair, face red with anger. “The Night Witch told you how dangerous her power in the wrong hands would be. And you’re so quick to go off and trade it? Just because you don’t want its responsibility anymore?”
Tor’s hands were fists by his sides. “To save Estrelle.”
Melda laughed in his face. “You would do it to save yourself.”
Tor fumed. His face felt hot, though the sun hadn’t yet peeked over the horizon. “I didn’t ask for any of this! It was forced on me, and I’m supposed to accept it, just because it was given?”
There was a moment of silence, and Melda looked at him as if she didn’t believe what she was seeing.
Tor swallowed. He had never seen her look so disappointed.
She breathed out roughly. “Fine. Sign whatever you want, Tor. It’s your lifeline. Forgive me for caring about it.”
* * *
Once across the island, Vesper enlarged the ship. Tor boarded and made no move to return to his cabin. He sat on the deck, listening to the waves.
He had been so close to signing it—he would have signed it, if it wasn’t for the pirate.
Tor heard a creak behind him and whipped around.
Vesper stood there, eyes bloodshot, as if she couldn’t sleep and was looking for the same peace the ocean brought him. She turned to leave when she saw him.
He shook his head. “Don’t leave. Not on my account.”
She looked like she might leave anyway. Then, she carefully walked toward him and rested her elbows against the rail.
“Nightmares?” Tor asked her.
She shook her head. “I don’t get those. Not anymore.”
“Because of your mother?”
Vesper nodded. “She made all of my nightmares into dreams, until there was nothing left to be afraid of.”
Tor looked at her sidelong. “You aren’t afraid of anything?”
She gave him a look. “Of course I am. I just don’t lie to myself about it.” She shrugged. “I find you only get nightmares about things you haven’t admitted to yourself you fear.” Vesper stared at him, moments ticking by. “I understand, you know. Not wanting something that’s been thrust upon you.”
Tor said nothing.
“When my parents died, my brother renounced the Swordscale throne. He didn’t want it—all he wanted was revenge. He would leave for weeks on end in search of who knows what. Planning to fight, when we’re supposed to represent peace.” She swallowed. “The crown went to me.”
Tor looked at her then. “But you’re…”
“A kid?” She laughed without humor. “The throne doesn’t mean much anymore. We have a council made up of elders that makes most decisions. But the throne represents the enchantments that have kept Swordscale safe all of these years. My ancestors made the original pact with the blood queen,” she said. “If my bloodline dies, Swordscale ceases to exist.”
Ceases to exist. That was worse than being born a leader. To have the fate of a people on her shoulders since she was a child… Perhaps she did understand his attitude toward the Night Witch’s inheritance. More than he would have ever thought.
“In my village, in Estrelle, my bloodline has ruled for as long as we can remember. We have the leadership emblem,” he explained. “I didn’t realize how important that was and wished it away. That’s what started all of this. That’s why the Night Witch chose me.”
She looked at him. “I didn’t ask to be born into the family I was in Swordscale. To have its future reliant on my family line. No one asked me.” She shrugged. “You might not have asked to be the Night Witch’s heir, but it happened. It’s real. You can either accept it and use what she gave you to change the world for the better, or you can continue to feel sorry for yourself and try to forget what you are.”
“I’m not—”
Vesper held up a hand. “That first day on the ship, those ropes held you like a puppet. Only when you decided to master the ship, and the powers that came with it, did it release you.” She squinted at him. “Are you going to keep being the prisoner of your own destiny, or are you going to stop complaining and become the person the Night Witch knew you could be?”
Tor blinked. He felt like he had been slapped across the face and embraced, all in the same moment.
Vesper shrugged. “Just think about it, Tor,” she said. They stood in silence for a long while.
And Tor made a decision. Vesper, harsh as she was, was right.
Whether he liked it or not, he had a dark power. He would continue to sprout new emblems. And he could hide them, the same way he had been hiding his waterbreathing marking, ashamed of what he had become, or he could accept that no matter what power he had been given, he was still Tor.
Nothing could change that.
The sky had turned blue with morning light, and it was cloudless. Tor motioned toward it, grimacing. “You know what that means, don’t you?”
Vesper nodded. “It means it’s going to storm.”
The Forever Storm
There once was a man half crazed from his time in the sun, who claimed to have seen a storm swallow a ship.
> Not destroy, not demolish, not splinter, but swallow whole—in one quick swoop.
Ten years later, another man claimed to have seen the same ship again, in the center of a tempest, its sails tattered, but still holding together, riding a wave as tall as a tower. The men aboard shouted for help, but before anything could be done, the storm passed, and the ship was gone.
Once every ten years, the ship is seen, cloaked in clouds, winds, and rain, the men still looking the same as they did when their boat disappeared.
There was a riddler who claimed that those who free the ship from its storm would be given a gift.
But anyone who tries and fails becomes part of the crew of the cursed storm ship.
19
The Oyster
The ship lurched and spun, stumbling through the storm. Tor knelt on the deck, trying to keep Cloudcaster from capsizing. A wave knocked the hull so hard he went flying to the side, landing on his back. His hair was matted to his face, and he could barely see, wind pummeling water straight into his eyes.
The wood groaned, and ropes flew through the air, wrapping around his wrists to keep him steady.
Vesper opened the hatch from below and poked her head out. “We’ve gone off course!” she yelled. “We need to go east!”
He nodded, turning the ship slightly, and closed his eyes a moment before a wave came crashing over the siren and onto the deck. It might have swept Tor away, but the ropes held firm.
He was trapped between two equally raging storms—the rain that poured violently from dark clouds circling above him like an endless pack of wolves and the sea that seemed determined to reach the heavens.
Melda and Engle had protested when Tor asked them to stay below, but finally did as he asked. Tor didn’t mind being alone. He preferred the rain pounding against his head to the thoughts that raged inside it.
Another wave hit the helm, and it showered him in a glacial spray. He couldn’t see anything now, the rain blinding him completely, so he sank to the deck and rode the ship like a horse as it galloped across the seas, trying his best to keep it steady with the ropes around his wrists.
