Eternal Gambit

by St Clare, Kelly

  Since her time on Malice—maybe even since her conversation with the Earth Mother—Ebba had wondered how the pillars were allowed to get a foothold in the realm again. Verity had told her some of how their power had grown since the wall crumbled, but now she knew the entire story. If the pillars had caused so much anarchy before magic was locked away, how was it possible the evil force wasn’t watched and followed and checked by the powers of oblivion after? The pillars, being the weakest of magic at the time, had returned first to the realm when the wall holding the creatures back crumbled, but what about the years after that?

  She’d looked at the six pillars as a passive evil, not one with their own agenda. After Cannon’s recount of how they’d taken root in him and his line, one thing was obvious.

  The pillars didn’t mean to repeat their mistake, and if they seized possession of the weapon parts, that was it. For good. The realm would forevermore be governed by evil. They sent Cannon to Davy Jones’ Locker two decades ago to ensure just that. And if the pillars did that twenty years ago, who knew what other plots were circulating around the realm that she was ignorant of.

  “I must thank ye all for solvin’ one problem,” Cannon said, resting a hand on one of the cliff faces. “I couldn’t understand why only a handful o’ my crew were able to set foot outside. Hell should’ve burst open a day or two after ye first arrived.”

  Ebba peered back through the dim light at Caspian, who walked immediately in front of Mutinous Cannon. He’d been right about the numbers. The tainted pirates were going to the exit each day to see how many of them could get through.

  Cannon’s eyes cut to her, and she quickly whirled to look at Peg-leg’s back again, stumbling slightly on the sandy floor of the crevice.

  “All that’s left,” Cannon continued, “is to decide which o’ ye betrayed me most when ye mutinied. Was it Barrels, my timid quartermaster? Ye must’ve figured out the log’stics o’ the escape. Or was it the sobbin’ Peg-leg or the weak-stomached Locks? Was it Plank? But that’s o’ no matter, I s’pose. I’ve already taken my revenge on him. Several times, if memory serves right. Ye named yer next ship after her, nay? Felicity.”

  At the front, Plank whirled around, shouting wordless fury. He shoved past Locks, lunging in Cannon’s direction. Ebba yelled with the others, jumping back into Barrels as Stubby shoved Peg-leg, who stumbled back.

  Righting herself, she scooped both arms under Peg-leg’s windmilling arms to steady him.

  Jagger had taken Plank to the ground, and Locks and Stubby were scrambling to help keep him there.

  “Aye, I’ve taken my revenge there well and truly,” Cannon crowed from the back.

  Ebba released her father, turning to the pirate. Heat flooded her cheeks, and her hands shook with repressed rage.

  His eyes passed over a stern Caspian, a shivering Grubby, and a quiet Barrels. Then scanned Peg-leg and Locks, Jagger and Plank, and finally, his bloodshot orbs came to rest on Stubby. “My former first mate,” Cannon said with a smirk. “I entrusted ye to keep the others in line when I sent ye to Pleo. Aye, that seems about the right size to me. Stubby, the biggest mutiny belonged to ye.”

  Cold dread filled her stomach. What would he do to her father?

  She turned back to the front, the coldness like a dagger between her shoulder blades. Jagger righted Plank. She watched as the younger pirate pushed her father in front of him.

  “Just around this bend, Captain,” Pockmark called back, undisguised glee in his voice.

  Ebba’s heart hammered.

  “Good,” Cannon purred. “Very good.”

  Something terrible was about to happen; she was sure of it. Her breath came fast, her chest rising and falling in a way that should have her breathers filled with air, except nothing seemed to be happening.

  Barrels whispered in her ear, “Are you all right?”

  Nay. She managed a nod, blinking through the dizziness assaulting her senses, the visible signs of the absolute terror she felt for Stubby.

  Ebba stumbled around the bend, resting a hand on the cliff faces either side of her in the narrow passage. Her heartbeat filled her head, obscuring the sound of her crew’s footsteps and their quiet murmuring.

  “Stop there, ye miserly sea pigs,” Pockmark snarled.

  She inhaled sharply, pulling up short behind Peg-leg.

  “Manners, Pockmark,” Cannon said mildly. “Or did my son raise ye to be a savage?”

  Who was he calling a savage? To her, it seemed like Cannon had no feeling except for his own ambition to get out of hell. What was more, his ambition wasn’t blinding. Cannon knew everything he was. That was true savagery.

  Pockmark’s face reddened, but he appeared to recover, ordering them out of the tight confines of the crevice and into the larger area immediately before the entrance to hell.

  The space was just as she recalled. Only enough room to fit a rowboat, with no wind, smell, or sound to hint at the realm on the other side of the sheer black-and-crimson stone wall.

  So close.

  She could get out. Caspian and Grubby could get out. Maybe even Jagger.

  But that wasn’t enough. Still wasn’t enough.

  “Jagger,” Cannon said, rounding the back of their row to stand before them. “If our positions were reversed, what would ye do?”

  “Lay over and die, I s’pose,” Jagger replied with a shrug. “I would’ve already given my body to the pillars, so it wouldn’t make sense to pretend I had a spine at this point.”

  Ebba’s eyes rounded. She gasped, her shock over Jagger’s reply momentarily cutting through her terror.

  Grubby snorted once. Twice. A high-pitched wheezing emanated from his lips before loud, uproarious laughter spilled out. Dread filling her boots, she turned to her doubled-over father, who was slapping his hand on his thigh.

  “That’s a right good one, Jagger,” Grubby choked. “No spine.”

  Barrels turned away from her, gripping Grubby’s forearm and whispering urgently in his ear.

  Ebba’s chest tightened as she glanced back at Cannon for his reaction.

  His eyes weren’t fixed on Grubby though her father’s ill-timed hilarity bounced and doubled through the passage, back the way they’d come. His eyes were on Jagger.

  Cannon ambled closer to the pirate, a curious smile quirking one side of his mouth. Reaching out, he stopped just shy of touching Jagger’s chin. “How I would’ve loved to meet ye outside o’ this place. Then the dec’sion would’ve been a fair one.” He leaned in, his face level with Jagger’s.

  “What dec’sion?” Jagger asked in a steady voice. Ebba didn’t know how he remained so outwardly calm. She wanted to go over there and drag him farther away.

  Cannon smiled and stepped back. “Pockmark. The purgium.”

  Pockmark did as bade, snatching the black stone case from Swindles. He swaggered up to Cannon, opening the lid.

  Cannon peered into the box and then turned to stare at the entrance.

  Back rigid, he extended an arm as he walked toward the solid rock. When he reached the sheer wall, his limb slid through like a hot knife through butter. Though she’d known some of the tainted pirates could now get out, the reality of it still unsettled her. As subjective as the thunderbird was with sorting people into the Locker, she was under no illusion that the majority of the inmates hadn’t done something horrible in their time to warrant being here.

  A sigh escaped Cannon’s lips.

  “I used to come here each day in the start,” he murmured, shoulders sagging. “Once I claimed my territory, I would test the passage. Doing so nearly drove me mad, and the temptation became . . . a weakness I couldn’t afford others to see. They couldn’t know how much I wanted the entrance to open. They could not guess my plan. I have done this for my masters, I alone. They will reward me. Exalt me as they promised over forty years ago.” The muscles around his shoulders leaped as he moved the hand no longer visible on their side of the wall. “I feel the wind on my skin. I feel the s
ting o’ cold. Rubbin’ my fingers t’gether, I feel the grittiness o’ salt. No pirate should be chained. We ain’t meant for cages.”

  No, they weren’t.

  Cannon inhaled and drew his hand back in, bringing it to his mouth. “I taste the salt from outside. Freedom be within my grasp at last. At long last.” He curled his fingers into a fist and lifted his head to look at Stubby. “And I will have it. Stubby, my disloyal first mate. Step up.” Cannon gestured to the black stone case. “It be yer lucky day. Ye’re about to be freed o’ the taint.”

  Ebba stared at Cannon, buzzing filling her ears as she shifted to look at the box holding the purgium and then her father. “Nay,” she said.

  Cannon slid his yellowed eyes to look at her. “Aye. My orders were not to harm any o’ ye because to harm ye would just bring more evil to the Locker. My masters were needin’ ye free o ‘taint for hell to burst open.” He looked over the line, lingering on Jagger’s end. “But five o’ ye be tainted. And to my way ‘o thinkin’, that means the rules be changed.”

  Ebba swallowed, unable to glance away. Unable to say a word through the vise of fear around her throat.

  “Yet killing him won’t achieve your purpose either,” Caspian said, stepping forward, determination etched in his face.

  “King Caspian,” Cannon said in greeting.

  Caspian didn’t show any reaction to the remark. “We were warned by a great power that healing any of Ebba’s fathers would kill them.”

  Cannon tilted his head as though contemplating the words. Ebba inhaled as quietly as possible, as though that could upset the balance of what happened next against her crew.

  Cannon’s mouth twisted, and he barked in laughter.

  “He be o’ equal use to me tainted as if he were dead. I need him pure. So tell me, great king, what have I to be losin’ by havin’ someone place the purgium on his skin?”

  The hope in her chest withered and died. He’d already made up his mind.

  But that wasn’t happening. It couldn’t. She wouldn’t let it.

  She slid a look at Peg-leg and Locks, who gave shallow nods.

  “Now, now,” Pockmark said. “None o’ that.” Drawing out his pistol, he released the hammer, aiming the weapon at Ebba’s head.

  She clenched her teeth. Did he really think that would stop her? It might stop her fathers, but nothing would prevent her from attacking whoever tried to harm one of her crew. Rage unfurled in her gut as she crossed up to Pockmark.

  The words out of her mouth were so filled with anger, she barely recognized her voice. “Ye better go on and pull that trigger then, Mercer, because I’ll hap’ily kill ye four times a day for the rest o’ yer damned life rather than see my father hurt.”

  Doubt flickered through Pockmark’s face.

  “Do it,” she shouted at him, stepping so the muzzle was a mere breath from touching her forehead.

  Cannon called lazily, “Unless ye wish to lose a daughter and one o’ yer crew, I’d suggest ye control her.”

  Ebba managed to evade Barrels’ swinging arms. In a swish of skirts, she dodged around Pockmark, ducking Peg-leg’s attempt and skirted around Locks’ stocky frame.

  Stubby stood by the box, looking inside.

  Then Jagger blocked her view. “Nay, Viva.”

  Ebba stared up into his silver eyes. “Ye best be gettin’ out o’ my way, Jagger. Nothin’ comes between me and my fathers.”

  They both ignored Cannon’s laughter at her comment.

  “That’s where ye’re wrong,” Jagger said, low and fast. “I’ll always come between ye and danger. Even against yerself.”

  Ebba transferred her weight back to dart around him but trod on the back of her skirt. The hem tore, and as quickly as she managed to regain her feet, it wasn’t quick enough. Arms clamped around her from behind.

  She glared up at Plank. “Let go o’ me!”

  “Be smart, little nymph,” he whispered.

  One of her fathers was about to die. Ebba thrashed in his grip, relishing the yells of surprise for an instant before Peg-leg had a hold of one arm and Locks the other.

  “Ye touch him and I’ll rip yer soddin’ head off,” she screamed at Cannon. “I’ll hunt ye to the end o’ yer damned days. When I’m done with ye, even the Locker will spit ye out!”

  Cannon’s laughter swelled, and true amusement glistened in his eyes as he surveyed her. “Now there’s a pirate I could have used. Think o’ what ye could’ve been.” He circled behind their ground, but she paid him no mind.

  “Ebba,” Stubby said, glancing over to where she struggled.

  She paused, her aching heart reaching for him.

  “Ye can’t reason with madness, lass,” Stubby said, a wry smile on his face.

  Panic obliterated everything. Her reason, her love for the others around her, her very life. “Nay,” she shrieked, ripping her arms from her fathers with a strength she hadn’t known she possessed. “Nay!”

  “I love ye, lass. Never forget it.”

  Ebba lunged for her father as he touched the purgium.

  White light exploded in a roaring wall of heat.

  Swindles was flung past her by the force of the eruption. She heard her fathers’ faint yells over the roar as they, too, were shoved away by the invisible power of the purgium. But Ebba wasn’t flung back. No. She was jerked forward.

  Against her control, as though a hand reached under her ribs, Ebba was yanked toward Stubby so hard she bodily left the ground, hurtling toward her father.

  High above her crumpling father. . . .

  . . . Where she was flung, thrown down onto the ground, against the black stone.

  Twenty-One

  “Who let Grubby make the grog?” Ebba whispered, trying to move her mouth as little as possible as she formed the words. Any jolting of her body was bound to hurt her skull.

  “She’s awake,” someone called.

  “Flamin’ hell, shut yer gob.” Ebba groaned, clutching her face.

  She pressed on her forehead and yelped, her eyes flying open from the pain.

  Bad idea, bad idea. Ebba closed her eyes again, rolling onto her side.

  “Little nymph, how are ye farin’?”

  Plank.

  “What happened to my face?” she rasped. If her fingertips were correct, she had a bruise the size of Locks’ hidden birthmark on her face.

  “Ah, well. . . . Ye were thrown into the ground.”

  What? Ebba lifted a hand and pried open one eye to look at him. “Ye’re kiddin’?” She trailed off, looking past her father at fiery stone.

  Her heart began to thunder as the last moments of her flight flooded back to her. Ebba bolted upright, sore head forgotten. Black blanketed her very soul before she frowned, feeling her torso.

  She glanced up and jerked to see six faces staring back at her, not including Plank. Six was too few. And yet. . . .

  “Stubby be all right,” she said, sighing in relief.

  Peg-leg and Locks exchanged a look.

  Then Barrels cleared his throat. “Yes, my dear. But, if I might ask, how do you know?”

  “Where is he?” she asked.

  “Inside,” Grubby said. “He’s been sleepin’ three days, like ye.”

  Three days? “He’s okay, though? What did the purgium take from him?”

  Silence reigned.

  “He’s unconscious, lass,” Peg-leg said before the quiet became too awkward. “But from what we can tell, he hasn’t lost a thing. From his body, anyhow.”

  Ebba held a hand to her head again and looked over everyone. Caspian and Jagger were accounted for, too, though Jagger stood half in shadow. She couldn’t see his face. Was he hiding something?

  “So what happened then?” she asked. “The purgium healed Stubby. There was the explosion, and Mutinous just decided that was enough for the day?”

  Caspian approached and crouched by her side.

  She looked into his amber gaze.

  “Sorry, Ebba. You can consider u
s a little confused by your calm. And I’m with Barrels . . . how did you know Stubby was okay?”

  I felt it. “I’d know if he were gone,” she answered, unsure how to describe the happy stability in her heart. Actually, all things considered, aside from her head, she felt great—lighter than ever, though she wouldn’t have said she felt bogged-down beforehand.

  Silence reigned again.

  Caspian’s eyes were slightly too wide. “When you . . . flew into the stone, you weren’t in great shape. We managed to convince Cannon that it was in his interest to let us tend to you. I guess that, considering Stubby was alive and now ‘pure,’ he relented.”

  Cannon hadn’t healed any more of her fathers. Ebba sagged in relief, then stilled. “Stubby was healed o’ the taint,” she said excitedly.

  Grubby passed her a waterskin, and she threw him a grateful look, uncorking it and taking a small sip.

  The others weren’t as excited as her.

  “We don’t know how he is,” Barrels gently reminded her.

  She frowned at him. “He’s fine.”

  “Who let Grubby make the grog?” came a pained groan from inside the cave.

  Ebba folded her arms, raising her brows at the others.

  Stubby stumbled out of the cave and staggered toward her. She handed him the waterskin without a word.

  He took a sip, blanched, and spat the water out, spraying liquid over Barrels and Locks. “I’m alive.” His gray-blue eyes were wide as he patted himself down and held out both arms. “I’m alive.”

  Stubby glanced up. “How am I alive?”

  “And well,” Barrels muttered.

  “What do ye mean ‘and well’?” her father asked.

  Peg-leg stood. “Ye were healed by the purgium, ye dolt. It should’ve taken sumpin’ from ye in return. Sumpin’ big-like.”

  Stubby paled and resumed his body search. Once he’d looked down his slops, he sat down heavily. “I don’t understand.”