Frozen

monster. She was a traitor to her own kind.

“You will. I know you will,” he said. “You won’t let me down.”

* * *

It was another miserable morning. Around noon, the prisoners were marched out of their cages and brought on the deck for another round of cruel amusements.

“You, boy,” the fat pirate with the worst mean streak said, singling out a small child from his family. “Come here.”

“Please no!” his mother cried. “No—take me instead—please!”

“Take ’em both,” another suggested.

“Why not?” the first one agreed. He looped a rope around each of their necks, making a noose. The other slavers brought out a bucket and a barrel for the mother and son to stand on. Then they tossed the other end of the ropes over one of the sails.

A skinny pirate with a chipped tooth pointed to the father, whose mark was shining on his cheek. “See if ye can save ’em both, eh?”

The fat pirate laughed. “See who ye love better.” Then he kicked both the bucket and the barrel and the wife and the boy were hoisted into the air, their legs kicking and their faces turning bright scarlet as they fought to breathe.

“Save him!” the mother gasped. “Save our son!”

The father of the boy held out his hand, so that his son floated higher than the rope around his neck, but the energy it required was killing him. And as he held his son from death, his wife began to lose consciousness, the noose cutting into her throat.

Nat buried her head in Wes’s shirt, stifling a scream. Wes trembled with fury as he held her close.

“Ear’s here—he’ll want them all alive! They’re no use to him dead!” a voice snarled; it was the first mate, and in quick succession both the boy and the mother were cut down from their gallows.

The boy lived, but the woman did not respond, and both father and son were weeping over her lifeless body.

“Get up, get up,” the fat pirate yelled, kicking at them. “Get ’em all out!” he screamed, ordering the rest of the prisoners lined up to board the Ear’s ship.

The Van Gogh pulled up next to the Titan; the Ear’s crew amassed on its deck, awaiting its newest cargo. They had slaves on hand as well to help with the new prisoners. Wes was glad to see Shakes among the slaves. Alby was floating by the Van Gogh as well. They must have been using it as a scouting vessel, just as he had hoped. Maybe this plan would work after all. He caught Shakes’s eye and gave him a signal, the military code that meant “prepare for escape.”

Shakes flashed two fingers to indicate he’d received it.

Next to him, Nat squeezed his hand. “Remember our deal,” she said. I would rather die at your hands than at theirs.

He shook his head. “It won’t come to that.”

Nat looked over the row of prisoners waiting to board the Van Gogh, and spied Liannan’s sleek blond head among them. Wes had gone over the plan with her the night before as well. Liannan looked as beautiful as ever. Her eyes sparkled. She had seen Shakes on the other ship, alive.

Brendon’s parents, Magda and Cadmael, were among the smallkind waiting to board. Magda had Brendon’s curly red hair and Cadmael shared Brendon’s shy smile. Nat hoped no harm would come to them.

The wind started to howl and the two ships rocked unsteadily as the ocean kicked up black waves. The two slave ships were only twenty feet apart, but the water was too rough to pull the vessels closer. If they were roped together, the two ships would bump each other, and neither seemed sturdy enough for that.

The Ear sent a smaller boat, two men on an outboard motor, from the Van Gogh to ferry the slaves from the Titan to his ship. When it arrived, Slob’s men threw a makeshift rope ladder down to the smaller craft. The slaves would have to climb down to the Ear’s ferry. Nat looked over the edge at the small metal boat as it bucked violently in the rough waters. This was not going to be an easy transfer.

She was right.

Hands bound, the first slave to attempt the ladder stumbled midway and then plunged headfirst into the dark waters. It took the two scavengers to pull him out and one nearly fell in. The Ear’s men called up to the Titan: “Unshackle them for the climb. If we don’t free their hands, we’ll lose half the slaves to the ocean.”

Wes nodded to Nat. This is our chance. He’d counted on a little improvisation to get through this, but now he knew exactly what to do. It was just as he’d hoped.

One of the brutes walked up to Nat, who was next in line, and removed her cuffs. As he turned the key, the slaver looked down at the ferryboat. “I’ll throw these shackles to you. As soon as she gets down there, we don’t want to leave these slaves unshack—”

He never finished the sentence. Hands still cuffed, Wes rammed the guard from behind, and the pirate tumbled off the deck, almost smashing into the motorboat as he plunged into the water.

The remaining slavers focused on Wes, drawing out their knives.

“Nat!” Wes yelled. “Now!”

45

WES SWUNG AGAINST THE PIRATE HOLDING him, and a crowd of slavers fell upon him. Nat screamed, but there was nothing she could do. She couldn’t break the iron bonds holding the rest of the slaves back. Useless. Useless. More slavers joined the fray—Wes was outnumbered—they would beat him until he was dead, make an example of it to the others.

She tried to focus, but she was dizzy with fear and hunger. A pirate fired his gun, and there were more screams, more confusion. Children crying . . .

The slavers were killing Wes . . . they were angry and would not stop until he stopped breathing . . .

If she did nothing, they would kill him . . . She struggled as the pirates held her . . . she was weak . . . she was powerless . . . She heard Wes cry out in pain, and it was his voice that echoed in her head now. I think you have to embrace it. You can’t fight it. Don’t resist it. You have to accept who you are, Nat. Once you do, you can do anything you want. Or maybe, to tap into your power, all you need to do is think of me.

She smiled at that for a moment.

With all her strength she smashed every iron cuff that held every prisoner.

In a moment, everything changed. Freed from their shackles, the slaves outnumbered their guards two to one.

Without planning or coordination, the freed slaves took up a collective war cry as they went to work on their former tormentors. The marked sent steel crates flying through the air. Tools and buckets became weapons they sent directly at their guards. Daggers were used to stab their owners. A slaver’s gun exploded in his face. Another found an iron cage smashing him against the mast. The mighty steel pole in the middle of the ship flexed with an awful groan. A marked family stood below it—eyes closed, the life pouring from their bodies—as they bent the mast at its base. Eighty feet of steel crashed to the deck. Cages were smashed, the deck was torn apart, and Titan listed in the water. The slaves fought hard—they had nothing to lose.

Their victory was short-lived. Bullets peppered the sky and Nat saw freed slaves stumble and cower as the scavengers aboard the Van Gogh began firing on the Titan. Smoke filled the air along with the sound of gunfire. A grenade exploded behind them, and the back half of the Titan roared into a mighty blaze.

“This way!” Wes cried, pulling Nat up from where she had fallen. Liannan was behind him. “Shakes has the boat!” she told them.