One of the tentacles retracted to fetch it. The sea stopped boiling.
For a moment, Tor thought the capsizal might just leave.
But then, the rest of the capsizal’s tentacles tightened. It seemed the creature wasn’t done with them yet.
The ship cracked again under its grip, and Tor winced, feeling the ship at the brink of breaking.
Vesper ran to the edge of the deck, and Tor imagined she was about to abandon them, before she yelled, “Jump!”
Melda looked like the last thing she wanted to do was follow Vesper, but they had no choice. They leapt into the sea.
By the time Tor landed in the water, the ship was no bigger than his thumb.
Its tentacles now gripping air, the capsizal fell behind them, roughly into the ocean. For a moment, there was just a faint buzzing in Tor’s ear, a bee that had made its way into the sea. He tasted salt in his mouth, having swallowed water that once would have burned his lungs.
The capsizal was right in front of him, and every one of Tor’s bones itched to swim far away… But he remembered Engle’s warning, and forced himself still. Even as his arm throbbed in blinding pain, made worse by the impact from jumping. The creature’s tentacles blindly reached through the water, desperate to grip one of them. Engle. Melda. Tor searched for his friends, wincing in pain, hoping they were able to not only stay still, but also survive the near thirty seconds underwater.
Time continued to click by, and Tor nearly shuddered in pain, a motion that might give him away, when the capsizal finally gave up.
With a final push of its massive tentacles, it disappeared into the deep, taking the fortuneteller’s skull with it.
The Cursed Sea and Its Forgotten Cities
The sea has its secrets. Tucked deep below, creatures roam; beasts that have never before surfaced. Entire cities go unnoticed.
Unless one is invited.
It is said that those worthy of a visit might come across towering gates in the middle of the ocean. An invitation.
And that those with the power to venture underwater might discover great riches and even greater secrets. But each has a price. For the sea takes twice as much as it gives.
Sailors are willing to bargain with the ocean, just for a taste of it.
The only way to overcome fear is to face it.
And the only way to live is to sail to different places.
A pirate’s heart is restless.
They would rather die than look in death’s eye and think their life was wasted.
11
Stormscale
Tor was back in his room on the ship without any recollection of how he had gotten there. It was warm as summer inside, though their journey had gotten colder as they had traveled up the coast. Had they changed direction for some reason? Melda hovered above him, about to place a thin piece of linen against his forehead. He was burning from the inside out, like the damage to his arm was an ember that had spread into a fire. Sweat trickled down his forehead.
The linen was cold as ice against his face and brought a whisper of relief.
“He’s awake,” Engle said, walking into the room and rushing to his side.
Tor looked down at his arm, which was pulsing with pain. None of them were curadors; they would need to find someone with a healing emblem to right the bone. It would be difficult, but every major city had one, and there were plenty of thriving coastal towns nearby. But, as his blurred vision cleared, he saw that his arm didn’t look like an arm at all.
“We saw it when we ripped your sleeve off, to survey the damage,” Melda said quickly. “You passed out.”
His skin was covered in dark scales, from his shoulder down to his fingers, where tiny shells had replaced his knuckles.
“It’s spread like wildfire. We’ve watched it grow. A few hours ago, it was just your elbow—”
“The pirate who held the blade to my throat, he had this,” Tor said quickly. “Do you know what it is? Is there anything about it in the book?” He vaguely remembered a chapter about sicknesses at sea.
Melda nodded. “We think it’s… We think…” She broke off in a sob and quickly turned away.
Engle looked equally gutted. He sat on the edge of Tor’s bed and said, “We think it’s stormscale, mate.”
Tor squinted. Stormscale. He remembered the passage now. No known cure, or at least one almost impossible to find…proven deadly in less than a day. “But that doesn’t make sense, that pirate had definitely had it longer than a day.”
Melda had wiped away her tears. Her eyes were bloodshot. “They were cursed, Tor, their lifelines frozen. His must have been frozen right in the middle of his illness, keeping him alive.”
Less than a day. He dared a glance at the window, its panes dark with night. He had encountered the pirate that morning, which meant he only had a few more hours.
Tor remembered the prophecy. One of them would die. It had been fated.
Somewhere deep inside, he was happy it was him and not one of his friends.
He tried to smile. “It’s all right,” he said. “Don’t stop sailing, okay? Try to find the pearl. Save Estrelle. And tell my mother—” His voice cut off, a lump in his throat. He swallowed. “Tell her I—”
But his vision blurred again. He tried to speak, but—
Tor tumbled into darkness.
* * *
Something waited in the abyss. The darkness moved and scattered, revealing a woman in a dress that was now tattered at its ends.
The Night Witch.
“Just a whisper from death,” she said slowly, taking him in. “Only my power keeps you alive. But it, too, will soon extinguish.” She shook her head.
Tor looked down and found himself whole. His arm did not pulse with pain; he did not feel hot all over.
In fact, he felt cold. Dangerously so.
“I want to show you something.”
She walked
