Secret Magic (Chronicles of the Marked Book 2)

by S Lawrence

  “Holden.” I nod once and leave them, following Wilder to Hagen’s ship which is next to us. “We will discuss this,” I warn Wilder.

  “Like I said, it is Lash’s story. I won’t tell it.”

  I blink at the hardness of not only his face but also his voice. Wilder is our gentle soul, or voice of reason.

  “I’m just concerned,” I murmur and feel horrible at the instant remorse that shows on his face.

  “I know but I can’t tell you his secrets.”

  Secrets. They wrap around us and bind us as tightly as any chains. We all have them, but I’ve often worried about Lash. Fuck, I’ve worried about them all.

  I was there first.

  I was there when they were all dragged in, crying and frightened, and thrown into that dark hole. It was me that held my hand over their mouths to silence their cries, to try and save them from that first beating. Hagen was first, no hand needed for the angry golden-haired boy with fire in his eyes. The same fire that is blazing in them now as he looks across the water at us.

  His hand is wrapped around a swing rope which he whips over to us, and my own hand flicks out to grab it without me even thinking to do it. Stepping up to the railing, I throw myself across, harder than I need to, but my anger and frustration get the better of me.

  Hagen raises a brow as I land hard on his dark deck. I just shake my head as I toss the rope back to Wilder. Hagen just stares at me.

  “It’s just been a shit day, Hagen,” I mumble, rubbing my hand over my face.

  “Oh I know that for sure. I had two on my ship,” he growls.

  “Two isn’t bad. I had more.” I frown.

  “Luckily, they had just joined the crew the last time we picked up fuel.” He hits the rail, and I notice the blood on his knuckles.

  “Do we know how they were communicating?” Wilder asks as his boots hit the rail. He stands there balancing, his eyes focused somewhere on the horizon.

  Hagen shakes his head. “No, but they must have been. How else would they have found us in the channel? As far as I can tell from talking to people, no one even knew it was there.”

  “Are you sure they didn’t just follow us in?”

  “Fallon, you know better than that,” Hagen admonishes.

  “I know but I just… I want this over. I want all of this fucking shit over.” Even I can hear the tiredness and defeat in my voice and I hate it.

  “Brother.” Hagen steps near and his fingers close over my forearm, tightening for a moment before releasing me.

  It’s as close to a hug as I will get from him. I’ve wondered about his life before the ship, but he’s never spoken of it. Wilder exchanges a look with me, and I know he thinks like I do. Hagen’s life was shit before he was locked in the belly of the King’s ship. Hagen didn’t cry, ever. He has more scars than the rest of us because he wouldn’t give them the satisfaction of crying out.

  He was forged in fire.

  “I will kill them all for what they are trying to take from me. From us.” Where my voice sounded tired, his sounds elated at the thought. “My sails will be painted red from their blood.”

  I look up as the wind shifts and blows through the wolf head standard that Hagen has mounted on a long pole by his helm. The long tail attached whips from side to side, and the eerie shrill whine from the wolf’s head cuts through the silence of the night.

  Hagen is like the Dacian warriors he had fashioned the standard after. It’s funny how we all found a small part of ourselves in the legends of ancient warrior tribes. Although I don’t know that I am like any of them, Hagen is most definitely like the stories of the Dacian warriors, the legends of vampires and werewolves born of the bloody destruction left in their wake.

  “I know you will.” And I do, for I have no doubt he will kill as many of the pirates chasing us as he can. “We will get Cyder back.”

  “And Lash and Reyna.” His tone and his face brook no argument.

  “Of course, but they, as far as we know, are not being held by a mad man.”

  “The key words are ‘as far as we know,’” Hagen argues.

  I know him well enough to know there will be no arguing with him so I don’t respond again.

  Finally, he looks over at me. “Sorry. I hate that they were here, on my home.”

  “We all do, brother,” Wilder whispers as he reaches out to pat Hagen on the shoulder, but the gesture isn't well received, and Hagen jerks out from under the comfort that is being offered.

  Wilder just lets his hand drop as he jerks his head at me, and I nod. We will leave him to his anger.

  “We are going to go check with Travis. I will let you know what I find out there and then I will go ask Jaime how he let them know where we were.” He jerks his head once but doesn't take his eyes off the horizon. “We will leave in the morning. It might give Lash and Reyna time to catch up to us.”

  A grunted noncommittal response is all I get but it is enough.

  Following Wilder’s lead, I leave him to his anger. We all cope—or don’t, depending on how you look at it—in different ways. Travis is waiting for us by the rail when we swing to the middle of our ships. We still have the Rising Dragon trapped between us. His face is solemn but his eyes hold fire and determination.

  “How many more, Travis?” Wilder is looking at the other members of the crew that are gathered on the deck.

  “Two. They have been here a few months less than Jamie. They have been dealt with.”

  “Hooah,” the men on deck yell as they hit their chest with their fist. The thumps are loud in the quiet of the night.

  Travis lets them continue for a few moments, their voices growing louder, and then I turn as I hear other crews joining in.

  A battle cry.

  “Good,” I call as their voices begin to die down. “We will question Jamie and then decide how to proceed. Did any of the others have similar stories of loved ones being held?”

  “No, Captain. They were just bastards looking to get the King what he wanted. Just fuckers who wanted to hurt us,” Travis growls, and I watch as his fists clench and unclench repeatedly.

  Blood stains his skin, and I know those he ferreted out had died hard. Good.

  “We leave at dawn. Get your ship in order.” I turn to leave, but voices stop me.

  “Our captain.”

  “We won’t leave without our captain.”

  Many other outcries are uttered, all with the same meaning. They are willing to die to get Cyder back.

  “We will but we have to figure out how. Lash knows to rendezvous at Green Cove and he has Reyna with him. Her newfound talents might help us find your captain,” I remind them of the woman who is supposed to help save us all.

  I hear more grumbles, but Travis turns and glares at all of them. “You think they don’t want to save Cyder, then you need to leave this ship. These men are brothers, a bond forged in hell. They would not leave him behind. Our captain would not let you question them, and nor will I. Get back to your stations. Now!” He barks the last when no one moves.

  They all start to shuffle away, still not happy with the idea of leaving their captain behind.

  I nod at Travis and then swing back to my own ship. I assume Wilder will do the same.

  Exhaustion hits me like a wave washing through me. It’s that type of tired that goes bone deep. Pushing open my door, I look down at the floor. It is spotless, as if it had never been coated in blood. It smells like orange blossoms and some other scent that I don’t know the name of but reminds me of dark, humid nights. A candle flickers on the table, and I know it's probably from Kellihan. He cooks up more than food in the kitchen.

  As I draw near, the secondary scent becomes stronger and I know the boy had cleaned the floor with a cleaner containing orange oil. It too was probably sent by Kellihan.

  I skip the couch and throw myself across the bed.

  The monsters come as soon as darkness drags me under.

  Chapter Fifteen

  CYDER<
br />
  I am lost.

  Dead. The pain is gone, all except the echoes of it that my mind won’t let go of. It’s dark, not like night but like the depths of the sea. My body is floating. I can’t tell if I’m up or down. Wilder has told us of heaven and hell, but I’m not sure I’m in either.

  I’ve read all the books on myths and magic. Those books often talked of other realms, other worlds where creatures dwell. I wonder if I am there. I wonder if I am just delirious with fever, lying on the ground.

  Although, if that were the case, I should hear birds or wind in the trees, something, but there is nothing. It is silent.

  Completely.

  Just like the darkness, it is not just silent but the absence of sound.

  It is like the trunk he would lock me in, but worse. He being my father. Our life with the King was horrible, but my life was terrible before. At first, when the pirates came and killed my family, I sighed with relief, even through my tears. The tears were for my mother and my sister. The sigh was because the monster was dead and could no longer hurt us. At the time, I didn’t know there were other monsters in the world. I was just happy I’d never be back in the trunk, locked away for hours or sometimes a few days. Not long enough to kill me, just long enough for my pleas to stop. I hadn’t learned that pleading with a monster does nothing but give them pleasure.

  He hadn’t started hurting Maggie. She looked just like him, whereas I looked like my mom. I spent hours wondering if he had ever loved her. I know now he didn’t; he just wished to possess her. Break her. He used me and then my sister to bind her to him.

  Colleen MacAskill was a proud wild woman with hair like a sunset and eyes the color of clover. Her skin was like mine, pale even when we had been in the sun, except for the freckles that formed constellations on her cheeks. Often those freckles were hidden by bruises. I remember the softness of her lips as they would brush against my temple; I remember them often rough with dried blood. But she never broke. She fought him and the pirates until she drew her last breath.

  My brothers have often talked about how the memories, the faces of their parents, are fading, how they remember less and less of their life, but I still remember. I remember both my monster and the angel that tried to save me.

  My father is the reason the King could never break me.

  Memories of torture filter through my mind, and I wonder if this is purgatory. I had read about it in one of Wilder’s books. A place to repent for sins. I have many. I always thought that if heaven and hell were real, I would go straight to hell. I’ve done horrible things in order to survive, to protect those I consider family.

  Maybe this is hell, my own personal trunk, and I’m locked in with all my memories.

  I feel flames licking at me. Hell it is, then. I smile but it’s more like a grimace. I’m burning. Either I’m dead and in the flames of hell or I’m dying and the heat is from a raging fever.

  I think it’s the flames. I’ve had a fever, had one that almost killed me after I refused to give the King what he wanted and he whipped me until my bones were bare. He then threw me in a dark room, thinking the isolation would break me when the lashes didn’t. He didn’t know I had been shaped in the darkness. The fever had all but killed me, but Kellihan saved me, convincing the King I was worth more alive. I hated him for that for a very long time.

  This feels different.

  At least my death kept me from telling the King anything about Reyna or her possible powers. I kept my honor. I just wish I could have warned them about the ‘Goddess.’ The monstrous dog was a surprise. A blessing.

  I saw intelligence. Knowledge.

  My muscles jump and my heart pounds as a scream shatters the silence.

  I am not alone.

  Turning my eyes, I search the darkness, straining my ears for any sound. Nothing. Seconds tick by, turning into minutes and then longer. How long, I don’t know exactly, but I am once again wrapped in silence.

  I remain alert and flinch when I hear nails on stone or glass. The beast or another creature all together. My ego says fight, but my body knows I cannot. The clicking draws near, then I feel the subtle graze of fur.

  “Where am I?” I ask, and my words are swallowed, falling silent before they are even free of my mouth.

  Not dead. Not on earth. Where?

  I’m still trying to figure it out when I feel myself falling.

  Falling back to earth? Falling up? Falling down?

  I don’t know but in moments, I feel grass beneath my burning flesh. Blinking, I try to focus on my surroundings. The beast is all I can see and I fight a scream as it once agains licks at my wounds.

  I fail. Birds take flight and the insects fall quiet at the sound that is ripped from my throat. A howl drowns out my voice. Closing my mouth, I listen to the mournfulness of the sound. It is both terrifying and sad.

  My eyes have fallen closed, for the pain is too great, and I fear I will be jerked back into the darkness.

  The beast howls again and this time, I hear something far away respond to its call. The licking stops, and I crack my eyes as the breath that had been caught in my lungs explodes from my throat. The great dog or wolf or hellhound, whatever it is, has lifted its massive head and is looking south of us.

  I don’t think it was expecting something to answer it.

  Its head turns back to me, and bright red eyes lock onto my own.

  “Friend of yours?” Its head turns much like any other dog as it listens to my stupid question. “No, I don’t think so. Are you a friend or foe? Friend, it seems.” I draw a breath but keep it shallow, since I feel like I’ve been gutted, which I have. My mind is racing as a name pops into it. “Do you know Nestor?”

  That got her attention.

  “So you do. Did he send you?” Of course, the beast doesn’t answer. I must be delusional for even asking. “You can’t tell me, can you? I’m losing my mind.”

  She lays down at my side, the heat from her burning fur soaks into my muscles, allowing them to relax a miniscule amount.

  “Thank you. If he sent you to help, please go find Reyna and Lash. I don’t think I’m going to make it, and you’re wasting your time here. Save them and leave me to the darkness.” I reach out slowly, and she allows me to touch the softness of her muzzle.

  Her lip pulls back, and I can see the canine that is curved there is longer than my finger.

  “Where are you from?”

  She only whines until we both hear the howl from before, but it is much closer. I try to sit up and barely contain the scream that boils up from my burning guts. I smell my burnt flesh, and the scream is replaced with vomit. Turning to my side, I throw up, missing the beast, but she leaps to her feet growling.

  Not at me but the forest around us, and I tense. She has been guarding me and now this creature is worried. What could scare something like her?

  “Is your master near? If so, now would be a great time to call him.”

  She growls, but it’s a strange sound, low and filled with power. Power that even I can feel. Power like I felt when Reyna was in the water trying to save Hagen. She is calling someone or something for help.

  What could this creature call for help? My breath is coming in quick gasps. Shifting, I use my hand to push against part of the wound. She had split me wide open, sternum to below my waistline. And now it’s closed but it's nothing but burnt, blistered flesh. Just touching it is enough to make me grind my molars to dust, but I do it to hold it as I try to push myself into a seated position.

  I don’t want to meet my death on my back.

  Something is coming. Someone is coming.

  Sweat is pouring down my face and my shirt is stuck to my body when she rubs against my back, supporting me. Holding me upright.

  “Thank you.” I hadn’t even seen her move. I’m having a hard time seeing anything right now as darkness flickers.

  “She likes you.” A soft voice startles me, and I jerk.

  The action causes me to cry out, and I
hate it because of the weakness it shows.

  “Kyon, how did you get here?” She calls out as she starts across the clearing, moving around us to stand at the cliffs’ edge, her back to us.

  I watch her, trying to memorize the details of her. Her raven hair that is hanging down to her waist. Two braids run down each side of her face, and beads decorate them. Her waist is slim. She is petite, a tiny woman no taller than a young boy. Her hips are curvy, and even in my current condition, I can appreciate her beauty as she glances back at me and the animal at my back.

  “Her name is Kyon?” I say, but my voice is hoarse with pain.

  “Yes. Do you know how she got here?” She narrows her eyes before turning her body around.

  “No. She saved me, I think. A goddess gutted me but she left when Kyon showed up,” I answer her truthfully.

  “A goddess.” I don’t miss the tightening just around her eyes.

  “You don’t seem surprised by that word.”

  “Oh, I am, believe me. There haven’t been any gods or goddesses here in a very long time.” She seems angry, but there are other emotions underneath that anger. “But then, there also haven’t been any hellhounds on this plane in even longer.”

  “Hellhound.” I knew it.

  “Kyon, I must ask again, who brought you here?” She ignores me and focuses on the beast who shifts, and I hold my weight, letting her know she can move away.

  Kyon stands looming over us both and moves in front of the woman, lowering her head. Neither move or make a sound for long minutes, until finally the woman nods and steps away.

  “It seems my Nestor isn’t the only one that wishes to help. Kyon came to help one she loves a great deal but she felt the power of the one who did this to you. I must take her back. She could do more harm than good.” The woman looks at the charred flesh of my chest and stomach. “No matter her intention.”

  I just stare at them both. She has admitted to so much.

  “Why doesn’t your man just help us?” I can’t hide my anger, my outrage.

  “We can’t. We shouldn’t. He has done too much already. The power is not ours.”