But Tisker approached the goddess from behind, seizing her arms. Talis expected her to shrug him off as easily as a silk wrap, but she wrestled as Talis had, unable to free herself.
In the tense silence that followed, laughter bounced across the deck.
Hankirk emerged from behind the engine house and crossed to stand beside Meran. He had torn strips from the hem of his jacket and bandaged his left arm, which was cradled against his chest, wrist held gingerly in his right hand. The dressing was unskilled, the fabric soaked through with blood. There was other blood on him, too. Dark blue, in a spray across one pant leg.
“We came to an understanding,” he said. “I will lead her to the four remaining rings.”
A rasping caw rang loudly across the deck as Onaya Bone scoffed. She spat a ragged word at Meran: “Fool!”
Without seeming to move, Meran had her lips on Onaya Bone’s mouth. The goddess’s shoulders came up in surprise, but Tisker held her in place. Electricity crackled along his hands and up his forearms as Onaya Bone struggled under his grip. His skin smoked and blistered.
Onaya Bone’s limbs began to tremble. Starting at her face, where Meran’s lips touched hers, Onaya Bone’s brown skin began to turn black. The darkness traveled in curling tendrils across her cheekbones and forehead. As it passed through her eyes, the whites around the dark purple irises went dark. The color traveled down her throat. The golden collars and heavy jeweled necklaces fell away, dissolving into purple dust before they reached Wind Sabre’s deck. The shining gown, in a burst that outpaced the change to her skin, flared into darkness and took on a texture of feathers that rippled in a wave from shoulder to hem.
Her elbows folded painfully, the wrong way, and curled against her body. Tisker let go, stepping back as she began to writhe. Her bones shortened here, extended there. Her legs twisted. Her torso bent, and Meran broke contact, standing tall again, as the Bone goddess collapsed to the deck. The transformation changed Onaya Bone’s very contours, reduced her in size. With a great, painful arching of her back, she erupted in a flurry of dark shimmering feathers.
What remained on the deck, struggling to its taloned feet, was an enormous six-eyed raven. Weak, she visibly gasped for air through a serrated black beak. Blinked the pair of eyes in her head, which were dark brown and unreadable. Blinked the four livid purple eyes forming a diamond in the center of her chest.
Above her, Meran lifted off the deck as if caught up in a cyclone. The blue points of light along her skin and her backlit eyes intensified until Talis had to look away. Her head tilted back, arms outstretched to either side, feet flexed and crossed at the ankle. Her chest expanded upward, her spine arched and stiff, as though she’d been speared from below.
Hankirk adjusted the ring on his hand and ran its surface against his cheek. “I will have command of the greatest force on Peridot.”
Without warning, the wind that held Meran aloft vanished, and she collapsed to her hands and knees on the deck, screaming in agony.
Chapter 39
Clutching the sides of her head between her hands, Meran howled from deep within, a scream that seemed to stretch and elongate in pitch and tone. Her muscles and tendons tightened and stood out against her skin with the strength of the pangs that wracked her body.
The cry stretched quieter and weaker, then choked off. Meran collapsed again, panting.
Without Meran to maintain it, the blue force field vanished from around Wind Sabre, sputtering out like a dying flame. Talis felt the deck lurch sideways as gusts pushed across the ship again.
As the wind reached them, Sophie and Tisker woke from their trances. Sophie looked at her hand, the knuckles white around the grip of Dug’s blade still held at her captain’s throat. She made a small sound of surprise and released the blade. Her eyes were wide as it rattled on the deck. Hankirk’s blood had begun to dry along its edge and where it pooled against the guard.
“Captain, I’m so sorry.” Her voice was small. She stepped closer again and helped Talis to her feet.
Dug took an unsteady step forward. One foot made a misstep as the hull bounced in the wind. His legs buckled and he fell. Though he had already moved beyond her reach, Talis reached out a hand, her chest tight with empathy.
But Onaya Bone was not completely lost. Not destroyed as Silus Cutter had been. Only diminished. The body of the six-eyed raven hinted at the power she once possessed, but her caw held none of the divine volume as she faltered and struggled on the deck, trying to put distance between herself and the restless form of Meran.
Tisker wobbled and held his head. Registered the damage to his hands, and the pain, and tucked them protectively against his chest. He stared down at the giant raven, his face in turmoil. His eyes went to Dug, who crawled forward, tentatively, and gathered the half-limp avian form of Onaya Bone into his lap. Though their minds had been influenced by the powerful women, they clearly remembered the actions they’d taken as their own. Tisker backed away from where Dug sat curled around the raven, knowing well that this was no time to remind Dug he was there.
The raven tucked her head under Dug’s arm. Her wings pulled up against herself, and she shook with silent sobs. Or rage.
Hankirk’s attention was fixed on Meran, his expression tightened into an exaggerated look of intense focus. But Meran, crumpled on hands and knees, responded to no command he willed at her. She looked up at him, eyes burning beneath the hair that hung in her face, and Hankirk took an instinctive step back from the tangible malice.
“Why won’t you… ?” His question trailed off as Meran fought to get back to
