The Jinxed Pirate (Graylands Book 2)

by M. Walsh

  The cellar was a wide open space with no walls or separate rooms. Thus far, they hadn’t been using it for anything more than storage space. It was a simple, harmless room that had taken an intangible eeriness that made Lock’s skin crawl. He kept imagining he might walk into a spider web or feel cockroaches crawling up his leg. The cellar had become an ugly, unpleasant place for no visible reason.

  He wasn’t sure if it was his mind playing tricks on him or not, but he noticed it even smelled bad. There seemed to be a hint of something rancid and decayed—as though rotting meat had been here for a long time and only recently removed.

  The silence was pronounced. Without realizing it, he crept along as if afraid he might wake something if it heard him. He was holding his breath, and his neck felt stiff. He looked at Seria, and she looked just as tense and uncomfortable.

  “I swear,” he blurted out. “I am going to kill Deck when he gets back.”

  There was a moment’s pause, and Seria laughed. Hearing her laughter—light and almost musical—cut the tension. The cellar seemed a little less foreboding and grim. It was just a room again—one with something that didn’t belong in it.

  It didn’t take long to find the gauntlet. They were drawn to it as Deck was in the cave. Deck had covered it with a cloth and stashed it between some travel chests. Lock flinched upon picking it up, feeling his entire arm turn cold.

  The gauntlet was a thick metallic thing of black steel. The fingers were sharpened into claws, and the knuckles were spiked. Razor sharp blades ran up the forearm. It looked like it would fit with imposing body armor.

  In his hands, Lock felt dark power stored within. He could almost hear what sounded like voices in his ear—seductive voices urging him to put it on and unleash the power contained in it.

  Snapping out of it, he showed it to Seria. “I guess this is it.”

  She looked at it and paled. Her hand clutched at her stomach as though she was sick. “I know what this is,” she whispered. “I recognize the insignia …”

  Lock looked at the gauntlet again and saw, just below the wrist joint, a small inscription written in a language he didn’t understand. “What is that?”

  “It’s the language of the Dark Lands,” she said. “It means ‘Power & Eternity.’ It was the crest of Roderick Bane.” Her hand moved from her stomach to over her heart, as though the pain had drifted there. “This is Bane’s Gauntlet.”

  * * *

  Digging his sword out of the dead troll was every bit as horrible as Deck anticipated. The rancid odor that emerged from the body when he cut open its back hit like a punch to the face. The blade was sharp enough to cut through the rotted meat easily enough, but the hilt kept progress slow.

  Deck threw up twice and suffered numerous bites from flies before freeing his sword, and Troa—perhaps seeing this as adequate punishment—offered no help.

  Once the sword was free, they mounted their horses and started back to Aster. Deck found the nearest creek and washed himself, though he feared the stench would haunt him no matter how much he scrubbed.

  “I taught you to be smarter than this, Deckard,” Troa said, drinking from his canteen. “You were not only reckless, you acted stupidly.”

  “Will you relax?” he snapped. Having gotten as much of the troll’s blood off as he could, he climbed onto Dian. “Don’t you think you’re overreacting?”

  “Overreacting..?” Troa repeated. “You could’ve gotten yourself killed, you brought an object of dark power into our home, and you never considered what kind of trouble might follow you.” He paused to let out an irritated sigh. “You’re just lucky we got your sword back before …”

  Troa trailed off, and his eyes drifted around the surrounding woods. All was silent and still. The hot summer day left not even a breeze. Deck was about to speak, when the Eldér cursed in his native language and pulled out his bow and arrow.

  “What is it?” Deck asked.

  “We’ve been followed.”

  He froze and looked around the forest. Deck knew his senses couldn’t compare to the Eldér’s, but he was enough of a hunter to know what to look and listen for. The terrain was flat, and with no breeze, any movement amidst the trees could be seen.

  He thought he spotted something in the far distance, when an arrow cut through the air—missing his face by less than a foot.

  Troa answered in kind with an arrow of his own while shouting, “Move!”

  He jabbed his heel into Dian’s side, and the horse took off at top speed. Behind him, Troa got off one more bolt and followed. They rode their horses as hard as they could manage. Arrows shot by around them, many plunging into trees.

  Deck looked behind and saw at least four following on horseback. He shouted to Troa, “What’s our plan?”

  “I don’t know!” Troa replied. “But we can’t lead them to Aster!”

  Another arrow whizzed by—so close, he felt the wind by his ear—and he said, “Then we make a stand!”

  He jerked Dian’s reins and drove the horse northward in a wide arc. He wasn’t familiar enough with the land to know where he was going to lead them, but he wanted to find a spot that would make their pursuers let down their guard.

  The chase continued for several minutes until Deck found the terrain he was looking for. It was even ground, surrounded by rocky hills. If their enemies were random bandits, there was cover from the arrows. But if they were after the gauntlet, they would attempt to negotiate first.

  Deck drew his sword, and Troa had his bow and arrow at the ready when their pursuers arrived. In the center was the apparent leader—a thin man with dark hair and long overcoat. At either side of him were two archers, a man and woman. Lingering in the back was one last man armed with an ax.

  “Who are you?” Troa demanded. “What do you want?”

  “We just want the Gauntlet,” the leader replied. “We got the gold, but where’s the Gauntlet?”

  “What gauntlet?” Deck yelled.

  “Don’t play dumb, boy,” he said. “Make it easy for everyone and hand it over.”

  Deck glanced at Troa. They were outnumbered, but he felt confident they could get out of this—they just needed an opening. “What do you want it for?”

  “Okay, one, I’m just following my boss’s orders. Two, even if I knew, it’s none of your business.” There was a pause. “Look, we can make a deal. You guys can have some of the gold.”

  “Don’t listen,” Troa said. “They’ll kill us both when they know where to go.”

  “I know.” He looked at Troa and whispered, “When I make the move, be ready to fire.” Before Troa could answer, he held up his sword and said, “Okay! We can work something out.”

  He dropped his sword, dismounted Dian, and walked forward. Across from him, the leader did the same and approached with a smile on his unshaved face. He held up his hands to show he was unarmed, however the two archers kept their arrows aimed at Deck and ready to fire.

  “How much gold are you willing to part with?” he asked.

  “I’ll be generous and let you keep half. But first, you need to show me the Gauntlet.”

  “I don’t have it with me.”

  “That’s all right,” the man said, nodding. “We can arrange somethi—”

  Before he could finish, Deck drew the dirk his kept strapped to the back of his belt and shoved it into the leader’s gut. The man groaned, and the veins in his neck bulged as Deck held him up like a shield.

  The woman archer barked in anger, cursing in a language Deck didn’t understand. She shot an arrow that struck him in the shoulder, but he held onto the dying man and pushed forward.

  A second and third arrow struck the leader. When he was close enough, he dropped the body, pulled the second archer down from his horse, and plunged the dirk into his neck. Without looking, he heard the woman grunt in pain as an arrow shot from Troa landed in her chest.

  The last man with the ax screamed in rage. Deck saw him raise his weapon, ready to hammer it into
his skull. Before he could strike, a bolt fired from Troa hit him in the cheek with a gush of blood. He wavered for a moment and fell from his horse, twitching.

  Deck rolled onto his back, clutching his wounded shoulder. His still-healing ribs burned, and his body ached. He tried to slow his breathing, but his adrenaline was pumping.

  He sat up and saw Troa approach with the familiar stern look on his face and knew he was in for another lecture about being too reckless.

  21

  Lily awoke the following morning, feeling surprisingly rejuvenated. She scratched her hair and felt as though she’d woken from a sedative. The caravan was empty, but she saw men and women walking about outside—presumably the other carnival members.

  She remained where she was for some time, reluctant to go outside. She supposed she should be grateful to Dust and his comrades for finding her and granting her a warm place to sleep. But that reminded her of the Hammonds and other times people showed her kindness. She would need to be on her way sooner rather than later.

  She stepped outside, and although overcast and cloudy, the morning felt comfortable. Dampness lingered in the air from the previous night’s rain, but with the summer weather, it came as soothing and welcome.

  The carnival moved in a convoy, each trailer colorfully labeled with Dust & Shade’s Traveling Carnival written on the side. They numbered about nine, and were parked in a circle within an open field in the woods—though she saw no horses, oddly. In the distance, Lily could see the mountains lowering to hills as they moved southward.

  She walked around, hoping to find Dust. Although she was eager to leave, she thought she should at least thank him and ask for directions to the nearest town. Carnival workers were everywhere, but she couldn’t tell how many there were. Most were camped in front of their own trailers, but a group was gathered by a small bonfire in the center of the camp. Lily noticed some sneaking glances at her if not outright staring.

  It gave her a chill to be the center of such attention, but there was something else troubling her. She was a stranger in their midst, so some were understandably curious or even suspicious, but she couldn’t help but feel something off about the carnival—yet also familiar.

  “Good morning,” said Flint, appearing behind her. “Better..?”

  “Oh,” she said, taking a moment to remember he was the one who found her. “Yes, I think so. Thank you.”

  Around Flint were three more men dressed in similar clothes. They all appeared the same age, and each had the appearance of a laborer. They looked at her with blank, expressionless faces.

  Feeling awkward, she said, “So … what do you guys do for the—uh—the carnival?”

  “We set up and operate the rides,” Flint said. Pointing out the other three, he added, “This is Coal, Ashe, and Tinder.”

  “Hello,” she said, but they didn’t return her greeting. They didn’t do or say anything—only staring at her.

  “Where do you come from?” Flint asked.

  “Um,” she said. “South. I move around a lot.”

  They continued staring, and it made her nervous. She was about to ask where Dust was, but thought to look into their hearts and try getting a sense of their nature. Upon doing so, she felt as though someone dumped ice water down her back. They were empty. Nothing was there, and when she tried to sense their souls, she again felt something stir in the Black.

  “Good morning, Lilith,” said Dust. “Sleep well?”

  She turned and sensed the same thing coming from him. “You,” she said, backing away. “You … you’re …”

  “I told you,” he said, smiling. “You are among friends.” He stepped forward and gave a slight bow. “We are demons. Like you.”

  Lily was at a loss. Now that she knew, she couldn’t believe she hadn’t sensed it sooner. The entire carnival was made up of demons. She stood with her mouth hanging open, unable to speak. Flint and the others were motionless. Dust only watched her, looking benign and curious.

  “I see you have questions,” he said. “Come. Let us talk.”

  He took her hand and led her into the woods. She felt eyes on her, and when she glanced over her shoulder, everyone in the camp was watching her. It sent a terrible chill through her blood, making her feel like a small animal surrounded by predators.

  Dust didn’t speak at first, only eating from a bag of cashew nuts he was carrying. Birds chirped and leaves swayed in the gentle breeze. It was surreal, she thought, to be among her kind like this. She hadn’t personally encountered fellow demons since she fled the Dark Lands. She always expected, if she did cross paths with another, it would be as enemies.

  “Cashew?” he asked, offering her the bag.

  “Um, no,” she said. “Thank you.”

  “Obviously our kind doesn’t need to actually eat to survive, but I do enjoy them.” He popped another into his mouth as they continued strolling through the woods. “Tell me, what kind of demon are you?” he asked. “I assume succubus—given your human form—but, pardon me for saying, you seem … different.”

  “I’m a crossbreed,” she said. “A succubus and an orc.”

  “Interesting,” he said, nodding. “Very interesting. Your creator must have had some particular purpose for you, I imagine.”

  “I think I was supposed to be some sort of assassin,” she said. “I don’t really remember. I left the Dark Lands a long time ago. I … I try not to think about those times.”

  “Understood.”

  They walked down a pathway that led to a creak. Squirrels scattered, and a deer that was drinking from it fled. Lily noticed a small rabbit freeze in her presence before darting beneath a brush. Dust paid no mind, strolling along and munching on his cashews, but it made her unhappy.

  “We are related,” he said. “In a manner of speaking. Like you, my kind feeds on the essence of others, and we are able to maintain a human form. I believe humans call us ‘ghouls,’ but we prefer to be called reavers.”

  Still looking at the cowering rabbit, she nodded and sensed the link between her and Dust. She knew of reavers. They were similar to succubi and incubi in many ways—almost like cousins within demon kind—though rarely acknowledged in the Dark Lands.

  As if reading her thoughts, Dust said, “I understand we’re known by a different label within our homeland, yes..?”

  “Parasites,” she said.

  “Yes,” he said. “We’re not held in the highest regard back home. We’re not seen as particularly useful. So few of us ever remain there.”

  “And that’s why you pose as this carnival?”

  “It’s a convenient means of hiding what we are,” he said. “Unlike succubi such as yourself or your incubi brothers, we reavers cannot sustain our human forms by ourselves. We can only maintain the glamour in packs—pooling our energy. And by constantly moving, we are able to avoid suspicion from humans and hunters.”

  “You feed on humans like I … like my kind does?”

  “Not exactly,” he said, chewing on another nut. “We feed gradually. Our prey does not die at once, and we can only take a little energy at a time.”

  Lily shivered, not sure if that made them better or worse than her. The desire to leave returned, as she was reminded she was among predators who fed on the innocent. She pictured their convoy rolling from town to town, creeping into people’s homes in the night and draining away the lives of men, women, and children like some kind of traveling plague.

  “This troubles you?” Dust asked.

  “I …” she said, her voice drifting out like a sigh. “It doesn’t matter. Where’s the nearest town?”

  “Madoc,” he said. “We should arrive there in a few days’ time. You’re welcome to stay with us.”

  “I … no,” she said. “I don’t belong here.”

  “What makes you say that?”

  “I’m …” she said, hesitant to even try explaining herself.

  She recalled the hunter she encountered earlier that year in Canton, Benedict Voge
l. He talked of demons and the possibility of one becoming what he called civilized. If such a demon were to be born, he said—describing her without realizing it. It would most likely be deemed an anomaly by its kind and destroyed.

  “I’m not like you,” she said. Dust was about to speak, but she continued, “I appreciate you letting me stay here, but once we reach Madoc, I’m leaving.” She paused, feeling ashamed for what she was about say. “I won’t say anything about you or your people. You can … you do what you do, and I won’t interfere. Just let me go in peace.”

  “Lilith,” Dust said. “I think—”

  “I prefer to be called Lily.”

  He paused, but didn’t respond to that. “Where will you go once we reach Madoc?”

  “I don’t know,” she said.

  “You have no home, do you?”

  “No.”

  “Have you ever?”

  An image came to her mind—a stained-glass window that looked like flowers, built in a small cottage. She remembered the sun shining through, throwing rainbow beams of light onto her as she sat beneath it. That place had been owned by a family named Hammond. They took her in and cared for her after she fled the Dark Lands—until it ended badly.

  Just like James.

  “Once,” she said, sniffling. “A long time ago.”

  “You could stay with us, if you desire.”

  “No,” she said. “I can’t do that.”

  “Why not?”

  “I told you,” she said. “I’m not like you.”

  She felt his eyes on her, but he wasn’t angry. He only looked more curious. “Pity. As I said, you’re welcome to stay until we reach Madoc. Perhaps you’ll change your mind.” Lily was about to speak, when he added, “We are your kind, Lilith. You don’t have to be alone.”

  She was left by the creak, feeling lost and uncertain. The forest had gone quiet and the clouds darkened. She hesitated, trying to decide what to do. A part of her didn’t even want to return to the camp. She didn’t want to stay among these creatures—

  (even if they’re like me)

  —and suspected if she did, it would only lead to trouble. The idea of them moving from town to town and leaving death in their wake troubled her—