Dean gave me an encouraging smile. “Let it all out, Jill. It’s time.”
Sweet Dean. I was glad I was still in touch with him.
With shaking hands, I removed the small piece of notebook paper I’d agonized over for weeks. I’d sat at the kitchen table night after night, sobbing until I had a migraine, the tip of my pen on the paper, but unable to write the words I knew I had to. How could I write those three words?
As the weeks had worn on, I’d come to the dismal conclusion that I’d never be able to do this. I was only human.
And then I’d taken a pregnancy test last night.
Seeing the little plus sign had been the final push I’d needed to move the pen across the paper, forming the hardest words I’d ever say. But my child needed me to say them.
I opened the paper and took a deep breath.
“I forgive you.”
The crumpled paper fell into the hole.
I fell to my knees and began to sob anew. Forgiveness…the ultimate act of compassion, both for the people who’d hurt me, and for myself. Benjamin and I had created a child in love, and in love that child would be raised. Not anger. Not hate. Not looking backwards and cursing fate. Our child would be free from the shackles of vengeance and bitterness. Our child would look forward, eyes to the future, with us at their side.
I would be free from those same shackles. I deserved it far more than the elders deserved my forgiveness. In fact, they didn’t deserve it at all. But that wasn’t what forgiveness was about. We didn’t always get what we deserved.
I’d thought that Benjamin might scoff at my desire to forgive the elders, but he hadn’t. Instead, he’d told me about Buck and Emily, and Reuben’s impossible command. We’d held each other in bed that night, after the long conversation about the nature of forgiveness and the impossible depths of the human heart. It was possible that our child had been conceived that night, too. I wasn’t sure, since we’d given up trying to conceive a few years ago, figuring that the JM-104 had permanently harmed my body in a way that it hadn’t Reuben’s or Reid’s.
Benjamin helped me to my feet, and I accepted a tissue from Berenice. I already felt lighter. So much lighter. Worlds lighter. Erica had said that forgiveness was a process, a decision I’d make every day for the rest of my life. But I already felt better. I was ready for the next part of my life.
I was ready to turn a new page. To be at peace. To lift my glass of juice that night and announce to my beloved friends and family that I was finally pregnant, and that our child would never know the pain I had known for so long.
Ember inclined her head towards me. Look at you, all sappy now that you’re a parent. Funny how that happens. Or is this just the first trimester hormones?
I gave her a watery smile.
I wiped at my eyes as Dean and Lark read their statements, each completely different, but equally tragic.
Dean spoke of how he missed his mother every day, and sometimes woke up in the night to the phantom sound of her calling for help. As he read, I remembered him as I’d first known him, and suddenly the brash confidence of Dean Monroe appeared to me as the thin coat of paint it actually was.
Lark had been Topher’s best friend, and I’d had no idea. She confessed to the absent elders that she’d hated the cult the minute she’d first seen women her age having fun on JHU’s campus, and she’d hated how she’d been made to feel guilty for it. She’d found a true friend in Topher, and only he had ever really understood her. She’d given him his first compass, a gag gift after he’d gotten lost on patrol one night.
She wiped her eyes and looked at us. “And I don’t want any of you to think we were in love, because it wasn’t like that. He was my friend, and my brother, and that’s enough. That’s beautiful all by itself.” She removed a thin chain from around her neck, on which hung a tiny nugget of metal. “This is titanium. He gave this to me once, in case he ever lost his own. I’m not going to put it in the ground, because it’s my piece of him.”
Berenice wrapped her in a hug, and Lark began to sob.
When Lark was finished, they dropped their papers into the hole, and the others followed suit, though without reading theirs aloud. Each one of us took a turn shoveling dirt into the hole, passing the shovel around the circle until it was finished.
And that was that. We’d said what we’d had to say.
I watched Reid as he tamped down the dirt with the shovel, and I wondered if he missed his powers for such tasks.
Not really, Ember answered. Not anymore.
As the children ran around and we all settled down for picnic lunches in the summer sun, I laid back on a blanket and stared up at the cerulean sky. My tunic had once been that color. Would Jesse take up my old style, or design his own?
I sat up and looked around for him to ask, but he was absorbed in conversation with Ryan several yards away.
I laid back down and closed my eyes. My codename was in good hands. Perhaps Jesse would grow old and pass it on to my child. Or not. I was fine with either possibility.
I was fine with whomever wanted to bear my codename, as long as they were ready to take on the responsibilities associated with it. It was a big name, hinting at epic wars waged against the insatiable lions of injustice.
Battlecry. It promised bombs and knives. Blood and grit. Staring down the barrel of the gun and never flinching.
I opened my eyes, the warm sunshine streaming down on my face. I was comfortable with someone else having the name, because I was finally happy to just be Jillian.
My battle was won.
THE END
Thank you so much for reading Mercury, the final installment of the Battlecry series! If you enjoyed the adventure, please consider leaving me a review on Mercury’s Amazon page. Reviews are how I determine what my readers want more of, so they’re very valuable to me.
I’ve included a sneak preview of Sea of Lost Souls, the first installment in my next series! Keep reading to check it out.
Acknowledgments
I never would’ve gotten this far without a village of people to carry me. Thanks are in order.
First and foremost, I am grateful to our Lord Jesus Christ for blessing me and guiding me throughout this entire process. When I was stuck, I prayed. When I was discourage, I prayed. This is His series more than anyone’s.
Similarly, I must thank all the people who prayed for me, with special shout-outs to the women of the Young & Wild Catholic Mamas Facebook group. You’re all amazing, smart, and funny, and I’m honored to be among your number.
I must thank Alexander Dodge, husband extraordinaire, for standing by my side every step of the way. There really aren’t words to do you justice, sweetie. I hope I’ve made you proud.
The women of Enclave need a tip of the hat, too! Where would I be without Monika Holabird, Katie Beuche, Ryann Muree, Emily Gorman, and Nicole Andrews? Up a creek without a paddle, that’s where.
To Sarah Gonzales, what can I say? You’ve been the biggest non-Alex supporter of them all. I hope you liked your book. :)
Special thanks goes out to Ken Welch, my father, who gave me his expert advice on the gun terminology and federal organization knowledge. Thanks, Dad!
And finally, a million thanks go out to my readers and fans.
About the Author
Emerald Dodge lives with her husband Alex and their two sons. Emerald and Alex enjoy playing with their children, date nights, hosting dinner parties for their friends, and watching movies. They are a Navy family and look forward to traveling around the nation and meeting new people. When she’s not writing, Emerald likes to cook, bake, go to Mass, pray the rosary, and FaceTime with her relatives.
Her favorite social media platform for interacting with fans is Tumblr. Message her on her Tumblr page!
About Sea of Lost Souls
Freedom lies on the open sea. Danger lies within it.
Rachel Goldstein dreams of the vast oceans, and her job in the Navy seems to offer her everything she
’d ever hoped for. Her heart seeks adventure, but her mind is still ashore, where the last time she saw her parents, they had a fight that left everyone in tears. She wants reconciliation… which becomes impossible when she dies in a tragic aviation accident aboard her aircraft carrier.
When she wakes up aboard a ghost ship, her new shipmates offer Rachel her only chance to seize adventure again, and she knows what she must do. Aboard this impressive and fearsome vessel is her opportunity to find new freedom — if she can survive it. The ghostly high seas are fraught with danger, from devious officers to murderous pirates. And lurking underneath it all is Scylla, the mythological monster set to destroy anyone who encroaches on her aquatic territory.
Normally ready for anything, Rachel will have to find out if she’s stronger than her enemies and the beasts that lie below the waves. And at the end of it all, can she pierce the veil of death and reach through to the world of the living, and to her parents?
Fans of K.F. Breene’s paranormal fantasy, Greek mythology, and Jessica Jones will love the action-packed nautical fantasy of Emerald Dodge’s Sea of Lost Souls! Pick up your copy and join the crew today!
Sea of Lost Souls - Preview
“Man overboard! Man overboard! Starboard side!”
The alert came over the ship’s intercom system, echoing down the USS Taft’s passageways and making my ears ring as the sound bounced around the steel.
I tore my eyes away from the white-red fire of the F-18 that had just landed on the flight deck, and began to sprint into the hanger bay, leaving behind the exciting maelstrom to muster for the third man-overboard alert in six hours. The roar of the jet, the howling of the storm, the crashing waves, and angry shouts from other sailors all mixed with a new sound: the alert klaxon.
I thudded down the stairs and dashed into the reactor office, where I was supposed to be manning the phone during my time on watch. I’d only taken a few seconds during an errand to admire the jets, but there was every chance I’d be written up for not being at my station at the beginning of the man-overboard.
I grabbed the juicy superhero novel I’d been reading and tried to look engrossed. It had already been ten seconds, and I couldn’t hear my favorite person cracking skulls.
“Up! Move! Move! Make a hole! Hurry up!”
There he was.
The tired yells came from beyond the open door, mixing with the klaxon. The yeller, Chief Swanson, sounded like he’d just woken up. Considering that it was half past midnight, he probably had.
His concern was all for show. After the first two false alarms, I was positive that nobody cared about the man-overboard. Now, if they found the chucklehead who kept throwing emergency chem lights in the water… yeah, there was going to be an actual man-overboard situation, and every sailor on the carrier was going to cheer.
Chief Swanson stumbled into the reactor office, bleary and half-dressed. I tossed him the clipboard. “Petty Officer Second Class Goldstein comma Rachel present, in body if not in spirit. My spirit is back in my rack getting some sleep.”
“Shut up, Goldstein,” he said without looking up from the clipboard. “Where’s Bickley?”
A booming voice over the intercom interrupted us. “Time plus one!”
It had been a minute since the man-overboard. If all five thousand hands on the ship hadn’t mustered by time plus twelve, they’d launch the helicopters and search teams. Considering that I’d seen thirty-foot waves just a few minutes ago, I did not envy anybody who had to search for a single person in that ocean.
I flipped my book open to where I’d stopped. “I took over for him. He’s probably on his way here from his rack.”
The ship rolled slightly, and a pen fell off the desk with a clatter. Huh. Maybe someone had fallen off the ship. The storm was getting worse.
There was the sound of a train passing over head, followed by a vibration that resounded in my chest. It wasn’t a train, of course—it was an F-18 landing on the flight deck. I’d overheard an airman say that four planes had been called back to the ship as the freak storm had overtaken us. I’d watched the first one return. Two down, two to go.
Groans and mumbles carried down the passageway as the rest of my muster group wandered into the office. In my opinion, we were the best possible muster group, comprising three good-looking nuclear electricians. Not that our appearances were remotely important, of course. It was just that our good looks made it funnier when people found out that we were nukes, since most sailors thought that nukes were pasty, squishy sewer monsters. I thought I was rather pretty, with my fair, lightly-freckled skin, and soft brown curls that stuck out every which way.
Bickley, the oldest of us, led the pack. Pillow marks lined the brown skin of his face, and his white tank top allowed us to see his impressive nautical-themed tattoos that he’d gotten during each of his four deployments. “‘Sup,” he said through a yawn. When he’d finished, he gestured toward the clipboard. “Petty Officer First Class Jack Bickley, ready for duty or whatever.”
“Thank you, Petty Officer,” Chief said. “Your eagerness to serve is much appreciated.”
I hid my smile. Bickley’s military bearing always went up in smoke after midnight.
My best friend, Torres, moved like a zombie down the hallway. She still had a crusty spit trail on her cheek and was blinking rapidly as though she were confused by what was going on. Her pixie cut stuck out oddly on one side, and her feet were clad in actual bunny slippers. Her intricate collarbone tattoo—I’d egged her on into getting it in Marseilles—was on clear display underneath her tank top.
Chief ticked off her name. “Petty Officer Second Class Marisol Torres, check, and nice slippers, by the way. Where’s Rollins?”
“He’s definitely on watch,” I said. He’d complained about it for an hour before I’d kicked him out of the reactor office and told him to go whine to the generators instead. It was a forgivable offense, though; he wasn’t normally so prone to complain, but it was the middle of the night in the sixth month of a deployment. We were all getting a little fatigued.
The carrier leaned to the side suddenly, tossing my colleagues to the floor. My rolling office chair merely scooted across the small office like a lame theme park ride. A familiar wave of nausea hit me, and I began to mentally calculate the physics of the motion to take my mind off of it. It was unfortunate that I got motion sickness so easily. I loved the idea of going fast and wild. My stomach did not.
“Time plus two!”
Bickley put the wastepaper basket back in its spot. His movie-star good looks, all symmetry and deep brown eyes, were muddled by his lack of sleep.
“Is this a hurricane?” I asked, casting a glance toward the ceiling. “I would’ve thought we sailed around those. I like some excitement, but this…”
Torres shook her head and patted my shoulder. “Nope, they’ll sail right through. Don’t worry, though. We sailed through Hurricane Ben during my first deployment, and we were just fine. Not much can sink a carrier.”
As if to underline her point, the ship pitched again, and this time they all braced themselves for support. I just rolled back to my desk, little calculations and figures flitting across my mind. Please don’t barf. Please don’t barf.
Another jet landed, the same train-like cacophony rumbling above us. Three were now home safe.
Bickley sat down on the desk, and we bumped fists. I turned to the Chief. “Since you’re here, I’ll say that there’s nothing to report. But I did pass the reactor classroom on the way here, and there was definitely signs of”—I coughed to hide my laugh—“the reactor ghost. Someone had pulled out all the chairs.”
Bickley waggled his fingers. “Oooh, the reactor ghost is back.”
“Goldstein and I were talking earlier about who it might be,” Torres said. “We think it’s the ghost of Admiral Rickover.”
I couldn’t help but crack up to hear my own theory again. The Father of the Nuclear Navy would haunt a reactor classroom. Maybe he’d come back
to wreak his terrible vengeance on the guy who kept throwing chem lights overboard and tricking the lookout teams.
“Time plus three!” The ship leaned hard to the starboard side, and we all fell to the deck.
Or maybe he’d come to shuttle us all into the afterlife when the ship capsized.
Chief got to his feet with a huff and pointed down the passageway. “Goldstein, go find Rollins. Drag him up here by his ear if you have to.”
It was on.
I sprinted down the passageway to the heavy gray door that led to the main part of the reactor department, along the way calculating the most efficient route. I heaved it open, wincing against the blast of air that was hotter than the sun, then all but leapt onto the stairs and slid down the rails. There wasn’t even time to blow on my hands—I simply went down another flight and hoped I didn’t have blisters later.
Small groups of sailors were huddled here and there for their musters, all waiting for the announcement that they’d either rescued the poor guy who’d fallen overboard or keelhauled the idiot who’d called a false alarm. They couldn’t go back to sleep or work until I’d found Rollins.
Where was that big lug? If he’s somewhere with his girlfriend, I’m going to kill him.
“Time plus four!”
I hurried into the reactor control room, a relatively cold room compared to the rest of the reactor spaces. I glanced at the watch bill—yep, Rollins was supposed to be on watch now. I hadn’t seen him on the flight deck, so he wasn’t the man overboard.
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