Veritas

by St Clare, Kelly

  “They’re on the boat,” Jagger said flatly.

  Locks snorted, throwing the pirate a wide smile.

  “You’re one,” the kraken said, jabbing the tip of a tentacle at the prince. “For sure. You just have a real regal look about you.”

  “Aye, he’s always sat too straight-like,” Ebba teased. Caspian arched a brow at her, and she arched one right back.

  “And then. . . .” The kraken scanned the others, shaking his massive head as he passed over Stubby, Peg-leg, Grubby, Barrels, and Locks. His glowing gaze rested on Ebba and Plank. “You,” he said to Plank. “Broody. You’re the third.”

  “I’m the third,” Ebba said in a clipped voice. She’d only worried about fulfilling her duty before, but now she didn’t even look the part?

  Jagger and Caspian laughed, and Ebba silently dared her fathers to join in.

  “That’s what I said,” the kraken insisted. “The current just moved my body and made it appear like I was looking at your dad.”

  Ebba folded her arms, and Matey trailed off.

  “I can’t believe it,” the sea monster whispered. “My grandfather would have been so honored to meet you all.”

  Caspian half-stood. “Then you know something about the three mortals who defeated the six pillars hundreds of years ago?”

  “Do I know about the three mortals,” the kraken said derisively. “Only everything. The three heroes rose, bathed in their white glow to defeat the pillars of six. I’ve said it once, and I’ll say it again; the three watchers did more for us in that battle than any immortal.”

  Ebba thought Matey might be quoting his grandfather word for word. She also agreed wholeheartedly on the ‘more than any immortal’ part. So far, the all-powerful magical beings who supposedly ruled immortalkind hadn’t lifted a finger to help them fight the pillars. The Earth Mother had seemed torn between killing them and not. The thunderbird had tried to kill them. Ebba didn’t know if there were any other powers of oblivion, but if they were anything like the first two, she didn’t want to meet them.

  She said, “We know the watchers saved the realm.”

  “Do ye know what the other two are called? Or what they do?” Stubby asked.

  Matey faltered. “Other two?”

  “The other two watchers,” Peg-leg said. “We know Jagger be the immune. What do Caspian and Ebba do? Do they have a title?”

  The kraken blinked several times, bobbing in the drift. Ebba frowned, glancing about. Was he paying any attention to their direction? She pushed the thought aside to watch Matey mutter to himself. It was no secret she’d burned to know this answer for a long time. Really, since all the way back on Pleo though she hadn’t known she was a real part of defeating the pillars back then. Ever since they’d discovered she was one of the watchers, Ebba had burned to understand just what she was meant to do. Not just to answer the question but to decide whether or not she was up to the task. She didn’t have any special skills. She couldn’t fight the taint, and without the tubes in her hands, Ebba didn’t have any magical punch.

  What if she failed her crew?

  The kraken’s muttering went on.

  “I thought ye knew everythin’,” Locks said, emerald eyes blazing.

  “I do,” Matey snapped. “It’s in my head somewhere. But we always call them the three watchers in the main stories, and I told you the immune was my favorite. I know the watchers were super-exclusive and elite. Kept all the inner workings to themselves. And I do know their individual titles. I just need a second.”

  “Are those details that would be in your grandfather’s journals?” the prince asked.

  “He never skipped a detail. But I know it, I’m sure. You just put me on the spot.”

  Caspian wet his lips. “Of course. I don’t suppose the journals are close by?”

  The kraken glanced around. “Uh. . . .” He twisted the other way. “Uhm. . . .”

  “Ye’re lost,” Jagger accused.

  “No,” Matey said hastily. Peering at the black sky and rolling sea that was the same in all directions, the kraken stabbed one of his tentacles. “Northeast is this way,” he declared.

  Ebba narrowed her eyes. “And how can ye tell that? Ye said ye’re always below the surface.”

  The kraken didn’t answer.

  “We need to get to the nearest island as soon as po’sible,” she pressed. “You know why we’re here, Matey. This is an urgent quest.”

  He glanced back. “I know. Serious. This is the way.”

  “But the journals,” Caspian called as the kraken made to turn around again. “Are they close?”

  “Tell you what,” the kraken chirped. “As soon as I get you all to the nearest island, I’ll grab my grandfather’s records for you, but I’ll have to read them. They’re written in krackalaken.”

  Ebba exchanged a long look with the prince.

  Finally, they might get some answers.

  “You have no idea how ecstatic my grandfather would be to meet you,” the kraken jabbered as he began tugging again. “No idea.”

  Fourteen

  Cracking open her salt-encrusted eyelids, she stared at the shining blade before her. The instant she recognized the veritas, her breath lodged in her throat.

  Ebba glared down the length of her body at the slumbering pirate who’d top-and-tailed with her overnight. He was placing the truth sword near her on purpose, all right. What if she’d accidentally touched it as she slept? She would’ve had dreams of all kinds of truths.

  Maybe.

  And only maybes kept her from touching the sword.

  Still, Ebba didn’t shift, staring at the hilt before her. No one else in the rowboat moved. Her other fathers, if awake, weren’t by any means alert. Even the kraken was silent. She lifted her head and caught sight of Matey spread out atop the surface like seaweed, huge eyes closed.

  They were drifting. Again. At this rate, they’d never get anywhere.

  A wave slapped against the side of the boat, water spilling inside. The seawater ran in rivulets down her legs, soaking the sawn-off bottoms of her slop shorts. It reminded her of the last time she’d worn less clothes—during the heated frenzy with Calypso.

  She stared at the truth sword. The flaming thing had played on her mind since Jagger mentioned it might help her with the Calypso thing. And before then a little. Her fathers felt better for spilling their guts, she could tell. Peg-leg had told her his story, climbed the rigging, and then served three-course dinners until Felicity sank. Stubby bore the loss of Felicity incredibly well though he was deeply saddened like the rest of them. Locks was a far cry from the man he’d been months before—though some of that was thanks to Verity.

  Ebba glanced once more down her body to the other occupants, just shadows in the weak dawn. Something moved against her back, and she glanced behind her at Grubby’s foot.

  . . . He’d moved.

  She’d chalked the last time up to wishful thinking, but he’d definitely kicked her just now. She watched him, breath held, but her unconscious father didn’t shift again. Another wave hit, and Ebba shielded her face from the spray.

  Grubby twitched again.

  And then stilled.

  Her eyes shifted from her father to the sea and back again.

  Careful not to rock the boat overmuch, Ebba propped herself up and stared at Grubby. Her part-selkie father.

  Squinting in the space around her, Ebba couldn’t find a goblet to test her theory. She grabbed the ends of the bandage around one of her smaller puncture wounds and tugged them. Her blood had congealed, making the rag stick to the wound. She gently worked it off, wincing as the material tore free from the apex of the forming scar.

  She leaned to dunk the rag overboard, rubbing the material against itself for a while to clean it in some measure. And then Ebba let the bandage soak with water, bringing it back to Grubby.

  “What’re ye doin’?” Plank croaked.

  Ebba squeezed the rag, pouring water over Grubby’s legs.r />
  “Tippin’ water inside the boat,” Locks murmured, shifting. “Makes sense.”

  Grubby kicked.

  “. . . Did he just move?” Plank asked after a beat.

  Ebba repeated the experiment, and this time Grubby’s knee bent.

  “The water is doin’ sumpin’ to him,” she whispered in the dark.

  Jagger roused.

  She went back for more water, but Locks hands on hers stopped her. “Okay, lass, but don’t be fillin’ us with water. We’ll dip him over the side to see if the sea does him any good.”

  “I’m thinkin’ the sea heals him because he be part selkie,” she said, pulling herself up to sit on the bench.

  “What’re ye doin’?” Jagger glared at her, his blinks more like mini-sleeps.

  “Shh,” she answered then said to the others, “Let’s toss Grubby over.”

  Grubby was stored under the four benches, the only completely flat position onboard. Awkwardly, they push and pulled him out, waking the rest of the crew in the doing.

  His dead weight was too much for Barrels and Peg-leg to maneuver in the rowboat.

  “Rope,” Caspian said, awake too. “We’ll lower him in.”

  Coiled ropes covered the bottom of the rowboat, along with a few tools. She grabbed a coil and lobbed it to Caspian.

  The prince formed a large noose, using his arm and feet, and threw the noose over Grubby’s head, shifting it to rest beneath her father’s arms. Caspian drew the free end around his back, holding it taut against his right hip. “Place him over the side; I’ll lower him into the sea. He can breathe underwater, but we don’t want to lose hold of him.”

  “All right, lad.” Peg-leg squeezed the prince’s forearm, and Ebba’s heart filled with warmth at the pleased smile that spread across Caspian’s face.

  They lowered Grubby into the water.

  Curse the tight confines; she couldn’t see a thing. “What’s happenin’?” she urged, fidgeting on her bench. “Make sure to secure him tight.”

  “What?” snorted the kraken, surging upright from a dead sleep. He regarded them through dazed eyes. “Too right.”

  Ebba sighed. They needed to figure something out to replace the kraken. His heart was in the right place, but they had places to be. In fact, instead of going to an island that might not have any food or water, they should probably just continue on toward the sixth part of the root.

  At least she might be on to something with Grubby. And if the water accelerated his healing, her crew would be whole and well again. Plus, Grubby could scout ahead and perhaps find an inhabitable island anyway.

  She turned to Peg-leg and Barrels to relate her plan, but a glow in the distance caught her eye.

  . . . What was that?

  “Oi,” she said to Jagger. “Can ye see that?”

  He rested a hand on her shoulder to peer in the same direction. “Nay. What do ye see?”

  Ebba didn’t respond, squinting into the darkness. The glow tugged at a memory. As though she’d had the memory when very young or that time she decided to try Stubby’s brandy. The glow called to her like a long-lost friend. Like a lover.

  Her mind screamed out a warning, but she couldn’t stop looking. There was something else there.

  “Ye can’t see someone on those rocks over there?” she said dreamily.

  Jagger swore suddenly. “Matey, get us out o’ here.”

  “What?” Matey slurred.

  “Ye’ve let us drift back to Calypso, ye fool.”

  Calypso? Ebba’s heart began to race.

  The kraken came awake. “Back to Calypso? I wasn’t there the first time, but he isn’t so bad for a chat.”

  Jagger cut him off. “Just get us away.”

  The pirate surged forward to clamp both hands on Ebba’s wrists as panic filled her foggy mind.

  “I don’t understand,” the kraken said.

  Locks snapped, “Ye don’t have to. Just take us in the o’posite direction. Ye said ye knew where land was.”

  “I did,” Matey said, though his voice sounded farther away than before. “But I only really swim between my three spots. When we drifted, I got lost, and I didn’t want to tell the three watchers I messed up. I—”

  Jagger exploded. “Just. Swim.”

  Ebba’s throat worked as peace filled her body. Yet her chest tightened, disturbing the heavy warmth. She frowned. She’d leaned forward over the lip of the boat. When did that happen?

  Jagger shook her. “Viva, nay. Ye need to focus on me.”

  She tore her gaze from the person on the rocks to whom she so desperately wanted to go. She needed to save the person. Ebba looked into Jagger’s eyes for a moment, but then, as though physically pulled, her gaze returned to the glowing rocks.

  Locks upturned a goblet of seawater on her head, and Ebba spluttered, the cold cutting through the warmth encompassing her shivering frame.

  “What did ye do that for?” she demanded.

  Jagger shook her hands. “We’re comin’ up to Calypso. Ye need to focus until we’re away again.”

  Dread flooded down through her, pinning her stiffened frame to the bench. Her gaze flew to Jagger’s.

  “Nay,” she whispered. “I can’t go back there.”

  “Aye,” he said, squeezing her hands tight. “Ye ain’t goin’ back.”

  Ebba shook him free only to grab back at him. “Ye need to stop me goin’ there. Tie me up or all o’ ye sit on top o’ me. I ain’t goin’ to those rocks!”

  Her entire body wracked with terrible shaking.

  Plank was there. “We won’t.”

  But Ebba could feel the warmth creeping back in like poisonous smoke. Fear choked her. “It’s comin’ again.”

  Matey sped up, but knowing Calypso was there, Ebba was attuned to the fog shifting, spreading and expanding to cloak her reason. It filled her with a burning dread.

  “Jagger,” she cried. He was the only one she’d spoken to about this. He knew how scared she was.

  “Take the sword,” he said, clamping an arm around her waist and pulling her against him.

  The heat sweeping through her took on a new direction. She released Jagger’s arms to run her hands up his muscular chest.

  His words echoed through a long tunnel to reach her. Ebba’s lips were numb. “What?” she said thickly.

  Silver eyes bore into hers. They belonged to a person who wanted her—she could tell.

  “Take hold o’ the sword,” he said. His voice made her shiver.

  The fiercely handsome man didn’t really want her hands to stop roaming his chest. She didn’t want to do that. This felt right. But part of her said otherwise. That part said that the sword was of no consequence; that her life, her everything stood on the rocks awaiting her.

  And yet touching this man felt incredible. Real.

  “Damn ye, Viva! Ye can be angry at me later.”

  Her arms were yanked down. She was far too warm—panting from the heat.

  Her clawed fingers were pried open by hands far stronger than hers. They were hands she’d decided to trust recently. A cool object was placed in her palm. Her hands clawed again as soon as the person released her, but at the same moment, a cool wind swept through her.

  It was as though a blindfold had been removed. One instant, she’d stared through thin material and the next with unobstructed eyes. The man in front of her, Jagger, possessed a shining white quality. And as she looked at him, her mind still lingering on her last thought about trust, surety burst from deep within. She could depend on Jagger. Totally and completely.

  Ebba blinked and tore her eyes from him. The world possessed a vibrant quality now—an inner glow. The rowboat, the water, the giant monster next to her. Everything was so beautiful.

  “Calypso,” Jagger whispered.

  No. . . . The smile faded from her lips.

  Not everything.

  As she scanned the sea, Ebba’s eyes fell upon shadowed rocks in the distance. The outcrop was jagged, the ki
nd of eroded rock found in shallow pools on the shore that would tear her feet after no short time.

  What stood on the outcrop filled her with rage. Now she shook for a different reason.

  A mostly naked man stood there. He wasn’t cast in the brilliant glow like everything else. In fact, a shadow hung over him like a blanket. From what she knew of this immortal’s power, Ebba could guess that the glowing signified truth, and shadow signified a lie.

  “Calypso,” she growled, her grip tightening on the sword.

  His lips curved, and he beckoned her.

  Disgust twisted her face, and Ebba surged to her feet, sword in hand so her mind remained clear.

  She erupted into a string of curse words, hurling them across the water at the immortal.

  Ebba stopped for a quick breath, seeing the gap between their rowboat and the rocks was growing, and launched into a second round of choice cuss words. Throwing her hands in the air, she yelled every bad word she’d ever heard at Calypso, and when that barrel dried up, she settled on some hand gestures.

  Her fathers gasped as she started from the top again—even after Calypso blanched violently and leaped from view. Even when the rocks were tiny pinpricks in the distance.

  Throat raw, Ebba sat with a huff and stared at the bottom of the boat.

  “Ye’re the one she learned all that off,” Stubby bellowed at Peg-leg.

  “How many for the swear jar?” she grunted.

  She rested the sword next to her, equal parts grateful to it and still afraid. She’d always thought the truth would rush through her head like pictures. Upon touching the sword back in the castle, she’d seen a memory of her fathers, which confirmed their love for her. But this time was different; the truth appeared to her with a shiny quality, the lies as shadows.

  Ebba was just happy the sword hadn’t told her anything she hadn’t wanted to know. And that was only because her thoughts were on trusting Jagger when he shoved veritas in her hand. Still, seeing the truth really wasn’t as bad as she’d built it up to be.

  In fact, Ebba was truly glad for the tidbit on Jagger.

  Really glad, actually . . . almost joyful.