The Pirates of Moonlit Bay

by Samaire Provost

  I turned back forward and continue stepping to the window, looking down to see my feet clad in my emerald green slippers, my father had just brought them home to me the month we’d left Swerighe for the northern Alkebulan coast. Was I losing my mind? I had no idea.

  I reached the window and put my hands on the stone, peering out. My eyes were met with the sight of our extensive gardens, reaching out for hundreds of yards, they were a favorite place I took refuge in when I wanted to collect my thoughts.

  I walked to the window, lifted the iron latch and pushed it open, the glass winking as it hit the sunlight. Leaning out of the window, I saw my groom to the left, leading my favorite mare, Matilda, who was in foal to a prize Helladan stallion my mother had recently acquired in a joint trade.

  There to the right stood one of the gardeners, trimming the hedge, the green tips of branches falling at his feet to be kicked aside as he moved forward. He would collect them later.

  “Charlotte!” I glanced down. It was Greta, Caroline’s little girl. She was five years old, if I recalled correctly. She waved at me from directly under the window.

  “Charlotte, come down! We’ve got breakfast. Today it’s fish and bread, and Felicia brought chocolate again!” Greta waved in excitement.

  “Charlotte?” my mother’s voice rang out from the hallway again.

  I smiled out the window at Greta, “I’ll be right down, you scamp, I just have to get dressed,” then turned from the window to the door again and ran to open it. “Mother?”

  There was no one there. I stepped out into the hallway. The torches had not been lit, and the corridor was dark and gloomy. I turned as I stepped and looked back into my bedroom, but it had gone dark there, too.

  What is going on? I thought. Was I back home? Had I ever left?

  Walking down the hallway, I felt a creeping chill, and it made me step even faster. I knew these halls, I had grown up in this castle, such familiar surroundings should not scare me. But they did.

  I swallowed down my foreboding and continued, passing a window and seeing it was now nightfall outside. How could it be nighttime? I just had my face in the sun out the window. Looking closer, I saw, not nightfall out the window, but a flat, black expanse, as if there was nothing beyond the window but a void. I shivered and continued.

  My steps took me down a short hall, around a corner, then down a larger hallway. The quiet was deafening. Creaks and shudders followed me as I proceeded.

  I made it to the end of the hall, although by this time, I was walking rapidly, eager to be out in the open. When I got to the staircase, I gulped several breaths of air, gathering my wits. Finally, I felt calm.

  Determined, I descended into the main hall. I swung doors open as I passed them, but found no one. The castle seemed empty, even though I’d spoken with Greta out the window in a sunny back garden, and my mother’s voice had called from the hallway just minutes before.

  I pulled my dressing gown tighter against the chill, and ventured into the vast kitchen, the heart of the castle’s life. I breathed a sigh of relief upon seeing the cook hard at work at the hearth, and I greeted her as I entered her domain.

  “Well, good morning, Princess! She laughed as she turned from the fire, her cheeks red from the heat. When she saw my face, her smile faltered. “What’s gotten you in a tizzy, Miss? Is everything all right?”

  “Oh, of course, Cook, and I’m fine. Maybe just feeling the cold a bit much,” I said, pulling my robe tighter despite the warmth of the kitchen fire in its huge stone hearth.

  “Well, I’ll have your breakfast out in a jiffy. Don’t you worry one bit, Miss.” She jerked her head to the side. “Now, go on through. Your mother’s already seated.” She beamed a cheerful smile, and I could not help feeling a bit better.

  I walked through the long room and through to the informal dining room. My mother and father were there, already seated at the long oak table, a massive spray of blue flowers spilling out of a large crystal bowl in the center.

  “Darling! You’re late,” Mother said, smiling, holding her hand out.

  “Mother,” I walked quickly over to her and knelt, taking her hand and pressing it to my forehead, then my lips. Rising, I bowed toward father, seated to her right.

  “Sit, sit, child,” Mother said. “We have much to discuss.”

  A servant came forward and pulled out the chair to my mother’s left, and I spread my robe out and slid into the chair. The servant poured some wine in the crystal goblet next to me as I reached for a sweetbread from a carved stone bowl in the center.

  “Now,” Mother began, “how was your night?”

  It was as if I was seeing everything play out in front of my own eyes, as just an observer, even while I spoke and reacted to everything.

  I took a deep breath, troubled at what was happening. Let’s test this. I reaching for a spoon beside my plate. My hand reached out, and I stopped it, and it dutifully stopped. So, I can control my own body, but if I do nothing, it’s as though I were following some script.

  “I slept well, Mother,” I heard myself say. Huh. “But I’ve been feeling chilled this morning, and I’m not sure why.”

  “Well, darling, you always were prone to chills and illnesses.”

  I was? Since when?

  “… but I will have the servants add wood to all the second-floor hearths, to warm your wing of the castle.”

  What is going on?

  Father spoke up then. “Now, sweet Charlotte, we’ve discussed your proposal and thought about everything since the disagreement last night …”

  Disagreement? I’ve never had a disagreement with either one of you. Why…?

  “… and we’ve got to tell you, we just can’t see any way you could accomplish this trip.” He finished and set his wine glass down, punctuating his words.

  Mother spoke then. “Charlotte, you realize there’s no way we’d allow you to venture that far from home. You’re often plagued with illness and vapors, and you take to bed nearly every week.”

  I raised my eyebrows. I’d always been very rugged and vigorous and hadn’t been seriously ill a day in my life.

  “… and darling, such a venture would probably end up killing you. No. We simply can’t allow it, Charlotte.” My mother stared at me.

  I stared back.

  What on earth was this discussion? Why did they think I was sickly and ill much of the time? I could not find the words to respond to them.

  “Now, sweetums, you have your lessons soon, and we’ve got to ready ourselves for the prime minister’s visit, so finish your breakfast quickly so we can all get to our tasks,” Father smile at me indulgently.

  I felt so confused. These words, the sickly-sweet attitude, the way they talked down to me, my parents had never sounded that way in my life. I finally found my voice.

  “Listen, I’m not sure what you’re talking about …” I stopped. My voice sounded weak to my own ears. I cleared my throat. “Listen,” I started again, and found my voice nearly blocked by a clogged throat. I began coughing.

  “Caroline? Caroline! Oh, where is that maid, why does she disappear every time we need her?” Mother rose and began patting my back, to help clear my throat.

  “Charlotte? Charlotte!” My father’s voice sounded panicky.

  I began choking in earnest. I tried to stand and found I was sitting in a wheelchair, the wooden wheels of which were somehow fixed into place.

  “Aaahghh …” I finally succeeded in clearing my throat, and looked down. I was definitely in a wheelchair. I’d never been in a wheelchair in my life, but there was no mistaking that I was in one now. What’s more, my legs looked thin and atrophied.

  “What is going on?!” I finally spat out, my fright growing every second.

  My mother continued to pound on my back. “Dear, you’ve been so ill. We’d better get you back into your room before you injure yourself.”

  “Mother! Stop this!” I cried out.

  I struggled to push myself away from
the table. I had just walked into this room on my own two feet. What the hell was going on?!

  My arms felt weak and useless; I could barely push myself away from the table.

  “Arrggg!” I cried out, giving a final shove and thrusting myself backward. But the damned wheelchair wobbled and promptly fell over, dumping me out on the floor.

  I fell hard on my right hip, and it hurt. I pressed my lips together, determined not to make a sound. I began crawling toward the door with my arms, my legs useless and dragging behind me. I turned and looked at the people I had known my whole life, my parents who appeared to look like themselves, but were not acting like themselves at all.

  They looked back at me with pity in their eyes, something I had never seen in their expressions toward me in my life. It was too much.

  I lay back on the floor, tears streaming from my tightly shut eyes, and screamed, “AHHH!” until I was hoarse.

  And everything went black and silent.

  Chapter Thirty

  Royal Blood

  I was once again standing, and I could smell the moisture of the stone walls. I reached out and felt the rock next to me.

  “Good gods,” I heard Tupu mumble.

  “Hold on, I’m lighting my torch.” This from Christianne.

  Fire flared before my eyes from a torch about three feet from my face, and I found myself looking into Khepri’s and Caroline’s faces. The others were there, too.

  I shuddered, my senses alert.

  What the hell just happened?

  “Everyone light your torches, let’s get some light into this place,” Tupu said.

  I realized my hand was still clutching the torch Caroline had handed to me.

  We were all soon holding lit torches and found we were in a large stone tunnel, its walls wet with water and smelling strongly of moisture and stale air.

  I took a deep breath.

  “What just happened? I was back in Swerighe, but I was crippled and my parents were treating me like an invalid,” the words rushed out of me before I could stop them.

  “I was back in Swerighe, too, but I was in the garden, and I found my daughter Greta, she was lying in the dirt covered with blood. She’d fallen down a steep well with jagged sides,” Caroline said, shakily. “Her face had been nearly torn away.” She wiped new tears away.

  “I was back in my village. A jaguar had invaded in the night and killed both my parents and my little brother,” said Christianne.

  “Oh, gods, I think we might have all experienced our worse fears,” said Tupu. “I think it was some sort of test,” she looked around at the stone walls of the hallway.

  “God, that was awful,” said Khepri, wiping tears from her face.

  I gathered my wits. This place was apparently going to be rough with us. “Okay,” I said, trying to sound steady, “is everyone okay? We all right?” I glanced at all my companions, touching each one. I looked at Kym. Her eyes were wide and tear stains ran down her cheeks.

  “Sweetheart, you okay?” I asked. She focused on my eyes and slowly nodded and sniffled. She drew her arm across her nose and sniffed loudly and nodded again.

  “I’ll be okay,” she said. Then, “I’m okay.”

  “Okay. I think Tupu is right, we all saw our worst nightmares. But I am not sure if it was a test or a trap,” I looked around us. “And this place might have more trickery in store for us, so we’ve got to be prepared for anything.”

  “Gods,” Tupu took a deep breath.

  “Okay.” I looked behind us. The door was still open an inch. The keyhole was visible. I put a hand on the door and pushed it shut, then withdrew the key from the box and locked it again. “I don’t want anyone unfriendly following us in,” I said quietly. The others nodded. We did not need any interruptions from the outside world.

  I turned and faced forward and took a deep breath. In one hand I held the lit torch, in the other, my sharpened scimitar. You just never knew. I wanted to be prepared.

  I took a few steps down the stone tunnel, and suddenly the tunnel was flooded with light: There were sconces with torches every ten feet, and they had flared to life.

  “What did that?” whispered Christianne.

  “I think it’s safe to say there is magic at play here in this place,” Khepri whispered back.

  I kept my torch lit and with me, despite having all the light we needed. Who knows when the magic might fail? I thought.

  I walked forward again, and everyone followed close behind. The stone walls of the tunnel were smooth, as if they’d been carved. The ground was rock as well, but flat, unlike the curved walls. The tunnel ceiling was high enough that we did not have to crouch at all, even Tupu, the tallest of us. It was at least four feet wide, and a slight breeze began to flow through it.

  Probably started by the opening of the door, I thought unconvincingly.

  I walked on. By this time, we’d come several dozen yards, and I glanced back the way we’d come.

  It was dark back far enough so that I couldn’t see the door anymore. I turned and continued walking. I could see a rock wall a fair distance away, and I wondered if the tunnel turned a corner. But when we reached the wall, we discovered there were no turns at all. The tunnel simply ended.

  “Now what?” asked Caroline.

  We all stood looking at the wall for some minutes. Hmmm.

  I withdrew the map from my pack and studied it again. Was there any hint or clue as to how we might get past this point? I thought there should be, that is, if we were lucky.

  But I searched the map thoroughly, and though it had been helpful in finding the entrance, it contained zero information on what to do once we were inside the Tomb of Ancients. I wondered if the mapmaker had even ever been inside.

  Duh. Probably not.

  I took a deep breath as I pushed the map back into my pack and looked back at the stone surface barring our way.

  “Charlotte,” Kym said from the side. I looked over at her. She was on the ground, studying the wall to the right of the tunnel, near the floor. “There’s an inscription here,” she said.

  We all got down on our bellies and studied the tiny carved words.

  “Geez, you think they could have made it a bit easier to read?” Tupu snarked. She was right. Words were carved into the stone, but they were right at the ground level, and about a quarter-inch high.

  It’s in Arabic. Naturally.

  My knowledge of written Arabic was rusty, to say the least. I vowed to practice more and master the craft when I got home. Looking at the script, this is what I saw:

  فقط تلك الدماء النبيلة قد تفتح الصخور

  “I got it,” said Kym. Her small face was pressed flush against the ground, and her nose was nearly at the stone. “Give me a torch. It’s hard to read.”

  We lowered our torches and, in the firelight, Kym began to read.

  “Faqat tilk aldima’ alnabilat qad taftah alsukhur”

  ‘Only those of noble blood may open the rock …’

  “Oh, this is ridiculous. Nobility is not in the blood, it’s in your courage,” I said.

  “Did anyone tell the rock that?” asked Tupu.

  “Whatever,” I muttered, rising and withdrawing my boot dagger. I drew a line down my palm, and a crimson stripe of blood appeared. I smeared my bloody palm against the rock face. Well, rock. This should do it.

  Nothing happened.

  “I told you,” I said, sucking on my wound.

  “Here.” Khepri motioned me forward. She took a small jar of pungent ointment out of her satchel and dabbed some on my wound. It sealed almost instantly.

  “That’s good stuff.” I smiled at her gratefully.

  “Well, that’s great,” said Tupu. “But how the heck do we get through the rock?”

  I had an idea. “Kym, come here.”

  Kym approached me, eyes inquisitive.

  “Let’s try your blood, sweetie,” I said.

  “Huh?” Kym’s mouth dropped open in surpri
se.

  “Not your human blood, your chimera blood,” said Khepri, understanding. The chimera is a very noble creature, said to be royal among the magical creatures.

  “Something tells me the Tomb of Ancients was created a very long time ago, and there is magic at work in here. I think the admonition might respond better to ancient royalty.” I looked straight at Kym with a nod, my eyebrows raised.

  “There is no animal nobler than the lion, it is said in my people’s folklore,” said Tupu. “And what is a chimera but a magical lion?”

  “We’re more than a ‘magical lion’, but okay,” grumbled Kym. She dropped to all fours and her body began to shimmer.

  We all backed up.

  In less than a minute, the chimera crouched before us, her head bent low and still scraping the roof of the stone tunnel. I’d never realized a lion’s face could have a look of mild disgust, but there it was. Her half-lidded eyes regarded us.

  “Well?” her voice was deeper, more resonant, and purring, but it was Kym’s voice.

  I came forward and hesitated. “Maybe you should do this, Kymmy,” I said, holding out the dagger and trying to smile, using the nickname to dissipate my nervousness. I felt foolish, holding the dagger. She can’t hold it, she has paws, not hands, I thought.

  “Don’t call me ‘Kymmy’ ” the chimera grumbled, and held out her great lion’s paw. The pad was huge and rough, and I wondered how to …

  “Oh, let me,” she said impatiently. Then, she put her paw in her mouth and brought her tooth against it, biting down. “Ow,” she said, quietly.

  She reached forward and drew the paw pad across the stone wall, leaving a streak of blood next to mine.

  The wall disappeared and revealed stone steps leading downward.

  I let out the breath I hadn’t realized I was holding.

  “Here, sweetie, let me,” I heard Khepri say.

  She put ointment on the chimera’s paw pad, rubbing it into the wound. The chimera pushed her great head against Khepri’s and purred.

  I had no idea a chimera could purr.

  The great beast shimmered, and Kym was with us once again. I smiled at the little six-year-old girl, and shook my head. She grinned back at me.