Treasure of the Abyss
The Kraken Book One
Tiffany Roberts
Copyright © 2017 by Tiffany Freund and Robert Freund Jr.
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All Rights Reserved. No part of this publication may be used or reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form by any means, including scanning, photocopying, uploading, and distribution of this book via any other electronic means without the permission of the author and is illegal, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, contact the publishers at the address below.
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Tiffany Roberts
[email protected]
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This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or people, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
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Cover Illustration © 2017 by Cameron Kamenicky
Edited by Amy Cissell
Created with Vellum
Dedicated to my true love. Without you, this book wouldn’t be.
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Thanks to Cameron Kamenicky for creating our beautiful cover and for his infinite patience in regard to tentacle placement, to Naomi Lucas for helping coordinate the creation of said cover, and to our editor, Amy Cissell, for bearing with us despite our comma-vomit.
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Special thanks to everyone who read advanced copies of this book and helped point out errors and provide feedback — your help was invaluable, and so much more than we expected.
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And thank you, our readers. We appreciate you more than you know.
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Epilogue
Also by Tiffany Roberts
About the Authors
Chapter 1
361 Years After Landing
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Macy wiped the sweat from her forehead with the back of her hand and angled the brim of her hat to block the glare of the bright afternoon sun. Every day was warm on Halora, but today was unusually hot, and there wasn’t a spot on her that didn’t feel damp with perspiration.
Her knees sank into the soft dirt as she crawled forward. Tall stalks of corn towered over her to either side, planted in neat rows, and the scent of earth and growing plants permeated the air. She stopped when she reached a mass of red vines.
She dug her fingers into the ground to grasp as much of the crimson creeper’s root as possible. When she pulled up, the plant resisted briefly before coming loose with a spray of dirt. The thin, red vines were harmless for a few days, but they quickly killed most Earth-crops when left untended. Macy shoved it into the bulging sack of weeds hanging over her shoulder.
“Ugh!” exclaimed Aymee from the next row of corn. “I should’ve stayed at the Doc’s today. If I keep volunteering to help you here on the slow days, I’ll be walking like an old crone before the year’s out.”
Macy chuckled and shook her head as she pulled up another root. “Guess we’ll be old crones together.”
“You better believe it.”
There was a rustle of leaves; Macy glanced up as the stalks parted and Aymee poked her grinning face through. Her dark, curly hair was pulled back and stuffed beneath a wide-brimmed straw hat, just like Macy’s, and her brown eyes danced with humor. “Wasn’t that the plan? To cause mischief together until we’re so old that nobody will believe we’d cause trouble anymore?”
“You are the mischief maker, Aymee.” Macy tore up another cluster of roots and stuffed it into the sack.
“Yeah, and you’re always the voice of reason.” Aymee rolled her eyes. “Admit it, Mace. Without me, your life would be dull.”
Macy sat on her heels, stretched her sore back, and rested her hands on her thighs.
Life in The Watch was monotonous. Each day bled into the next with little deviation; everyone had a job to perform, and the entire community’s prosperity was dependent on those duties being performed. Sure, people usually gathered for food, drink, and song after dark, but even that had become predictable and routine.
Aymee brought a hint of unpredictability. She added color to life, and that made it all a little more bearable.
Guilt filled Macy.
She should feel the same about Camrin. Where Aymee exuded vitality, Camrin was a steady presence she could always count on.
Camrin’s father, like Macy’s, was a fisherman. It had always been expected that Macy and Camrin would form a relationship and eventually join — they’d been friends since they were toddlers, and their parents had always been close. Much to the delight of their families, Camrin had begun courting Macy when she’d come of age at eighteen.
Macy was approaching twenty-five; most people had already joined their partner and started a family by her age. Camrin had always been sweet, had never pushed her, but she sensed he wasn’t going to wait much longer.
Her guilt morphed into anxiousness. It curled in her gut, tying her stomach into knots. As much as she cared for Camrin, she couldn’t see life with him as anything beyond the same routines. The same thing she’d been doing all along.
“Macy? You okay?”
“What?” Macy asked, blinking. She met her friend’s gaze.
Aymee carefully squeezed between the stalks, crawling into Macy’s row. “You had this look on your face. Like you were going to be ill.”
Macy lifted her hands to rub her eyes, stopping abruptly when she noticed the dirt clinging to her gloves. She dropped her hands back to her lap. “Camrin wants to take me on his boat tonight.”
“What? You hate the water! Camrin knows that!”
Macy turned her palms up and stared at them as she brushed away the clumps of dirt. “He said he wants to show me something. A place he found while he was sailing. And I…I need to do better, Aymee. Be better. For him. He deserves it.”
“Oh, Mace!” Aymee knelt before Macy and took her hands. “You don’t need to be better for anyone! Why are you settling?”
“Settling?” Macy flicked her eyes up to meet Aymee’s. “I’m not settling.”
“You are. Camrin’s a wonderful guy. Hardworking, patient, kind. He’ll make a great life partner—”
“I know—”
“—but not for you. I know you, Macy. I know what they expect of you. But this is your life. Just because your parents want it doesn’t mean you have to.”
Macy pulled her hands away. “I can’t disappoint them. Not again.” She’d already caused her parents enough heartache and grief.
“Do you love him?” There was no judgment in Aymee’s question; she was as close to being a sister to Macy as anyone could be and knew the guilt Macy carried in her heart every day.
“Of course,” Macy said, more defensively than she meant to. Loving him wasn’t the same as being in love with him, but it had to be enough. “I think…he’
s going to ask me tonight.”
“Tonight?” Aymee’s eyes were wide, her jaw agape. “He’s going to ask you tonight?”
Macy nodded.
“Mace…you know I have your back, right? No matter what you choose, I’ll always support you. I just want you to be happy. You sure about this?”
Swallowing, Macy nodded again. “You said it yourself, Aymee. He’ll make a wonderful partner. It’s about time I make some effort to be the woman he deserves.”
He deserves so much better.
Despite her guilt, despite her misgivings, she would try. She’d spend the rest of her life trying to make him happy. Her doubts would fade after they were joined, and she would view him differently. She’d see the man, rather than the boy she’d grown up with. Her love for him would change and grow.
Wouldn’t it?
“I better go,” Macy said, brushing dirt from her knees as she stood. “I need to wash up and pack before I go meet him.”
“Pack?” Aymee rose with a frown. “You’re going to be out there all night?”
Macy took in a deep breath. “I trust Camrin. Wherever he’s taking me, it’ll be safe.”
The fear slinking through her chest didn’t diminish.
“You’re right. I just…” Aymee sighed and smiled. “Be careful, okay? I expect to see you when you get back, so we can keep working toward being old crones together.”
Tears blurred Macy’s eyes, but she laughed, and stepped forward to embrace her friend. Aymee squeezed her tight.
“I love you,” Macy said.
“Love you too, Mace. Even if you stink.”
Macy drew back. “What? Do I?”
“Can’t meet Camrin reeking of sweat and dirt, can you? Go on.” Aymee waved her hands, shooing Macy away. “I’ll see you when you get back, and I expect to hear everything.”
Laughing, Macy said goodbye and maneuvered through the rows of corn. When she finally emerged, she stretched her aching legs and back and walked to the burner. She upended the sack, dumping the weeds into the flames, and turned to stow the pouch and gloves in the battered metal locker nearby.
“Leaving early? That isn’t like you, Miss Macy.”
She turned and smiled. “Hello, Uncle Malcolm.”
He limped toward her, his gait slow but steady, his expression full of its usual warmth. Malcolm wasn’t related to her — he only had his wife, Tammy, as far as Macy knew — but his amiability and kindness toward everyone had earned him the title of Uncle to most of the town.
Uncle Malcolm worked in the greenhouses and fields, just like Macy, but he’d been a mechanic when he was younger. He’d worked on the complex machines that had been brought to Halora during the colonization, had kept them running for the good of The Watch. But time hadn’t been kind to the old equipment; every year, more of it broke down, never to run again. After Malcolm was injured by one, he taught another man his trade and went on to different duties.
“Where you off to, girl?” he asked.
“Home. I need to get cleaned up before I meet Camrin.”
“Truly?” He grinned, the lines around his eyes crinkling. “Don’t let me hold you up, then. Tell that boy to make his move already, or a more experienced suitor might move in.”
Macy chuckled and gently patted his whiskered cheek. “Aunt Tammy would have something to say about that.”
Malcolm snorted. “You’re right. Wouldn’t want a limp in the other leg, too, would I? Already takes me half the day to walk across town.”
“Do you want me to walk with you?” She asked before thinking.
“And keep your man waiting? Get on with you, girl.”
Though it felt dishonest, she smiled at him before continuing toward town; the sinking feeling in her gut had returned. She knew she’d only offered to walk with Malcolm to delay the looming excursion. Glancing at the sun, she increased her pace. If she wanted to wash and change without being late, she’d have to hurry.
This was important to Camrin. Macy didn’t want to disappoint him.
It was only fifteen meters from the edge of the cornfield to The Watch’s outermost buildings — several tall, metal silos constructed for storing crops in the early days. Macy walked between two of them and onto the dirt road leading into town. She passed between pastures and smaller fields without noticing; she’d made this walk almost every day for years and knew the sights by heart.
The lighthouse was the first building in the town proper to come into view. It towered over everything else from its perch on the cape. The structures immediately around it were all from the colonization — metal and concrete, built for functionality and durability. They were weatherworn and sun-faded but had withstood the test of time thanks to their tough materials and diligent maintenance. Most of them stood near the edge of the cliffs, overlooking the sea.
In Macy’s eye, it was the newer buildings that gave The Watch its true character. They were all more haphazard affairs, constructed of native wood and repurposed scrap — taken from broken-down machinery and structures that had lost their purpose — and so lacked the precision of the original structures. But they were hand-built, crafted with pride, care, and no small amount of trial-and-error.
That meant something.
The dirt path gave way first to cobblestones and then to the original concrete roads as Macy entered town. She greeted the townsfolk she passed with smiles, waves, and pleasantries, betraying nothing of the turmoil inside. It was no one’s burden but her own.
Her home was an old residence near the ramp to the dock. It was empty when she arrived, and she was relieved. Her mother could be difficult to deal with even on good days; Macy didn’t think she could handle her now.
She slipped into her room and packed a change of clothing and a few necessities, hesitating when she saw what she’d decided to wear for tonight. It was a white, knee-length dress her mother had made in anticipation of this occasion. Of Macy’s joining. The dress was finer than anything else she owned. She held it up by the shoulders, running her fingertips over the soft, silky material, and cringed as it caught on her callouses.
Laying the dress on her bed, she went to the bathroom, undressed, and ran a cold, wet, soapy cloth over her body, scrubbing away dirt and sweat. After rinsing off, she brushed her hair and returned to her room.
Macy allowed herself no hesitation this time; she picked up the dress and pulled it over her head. The fabric flowed over her body as easily as water. She hurriedly buttoned the front and turned to the mirror.
The dress was held up by two thin straps, and the hem hung just above her knees. It was lovely, nothing like the rugged work clothes she normally wore.
She longed to tear it off.
A stranger stared at her from the mirror. There was no sparkle of happiness in the woman’s eyes, no joy in her expression; nothing that said she was going to join with the man she loved. There was only fear. Regret. Shame.
Life with Camrin wouldn’t be bad. He’d work hard to keep Macy content, and they had been close friends since childhood. But it would always be missing something. It would always be somehow empty at heart because she would forever hold back a part of herself.
She’d try; it was all she could do.
Macy stood straighter and forced a smile. It didn’t reach her eyes, but it was enough. Enough to hide the conflict raging within…because, as though her reservations about joining with Camrin weren’t enough to deal with, he was taking her out on the ocean.
She moved to the wooden box atop the nightstand and held her hands over the lid. Swallowing, she opened the box. Inside lay a necklace — strands of thin rope, braided around a light green rock. Such stones could be found anywhere along the beach. They held no value, save to imaginative children who saw nothing but wonder when it came to the sea. And to Macy; it was priceless to her.
The necklace was all she had left of Sarina.
Macy lifted it from the box and gently closed it in her fist, which she pressed to her chest. She sque
ezed her eyes shut at the sting of tears. Her throat tightened with overwhelming guilt. Sarina would never join with anyone, would never make her own home, would never grow up.
Releasing a long, shuddering breath, she replaced the necklace.
“I can do this.”
She closed the lid, fingertips lingering on the smooth wood, and nodded.
“Camrin’s been on boats since before he could walk. He knows what he’s doing.”
After slipping on her shoes, she collected her pack, took another steadying breath, and departed for the dock.
The concrete road descended gradually, angling down from the cliffs to the ocean below. Macy’s heart beat faster with each step. The wide loading platform at the base of the path was a meter above the water — mid tide. There were a few workers there, strapping together barrels of fish to haul up to the warehouse with the crane.
She greeted them as she walked by, and worried they’d see through her forced pleasantries.
The dock stretched before her, floating atop the sea; the first few sections were angled downward to meet the water’s current level. They felt solid enough beneath her feet as she stepped on, but the dock’s swaying was undeniable as she proceeded. The sound of the ocean filled her ears, raising goosebumps on her arms.
It’d been so long since she last stepped foot here.
Camrin was near the end. When he looked up and noticed her approaching, he waved, a huge grin on his face.
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