Immortal War

book she had been carrying around with her. Its pages were open and flapped as if there were a breeze, though the air in the cabin was perfectly still.

“What’s going on?” Lorcan asked Oskar.

“I don’t know!” Oskar said, shaking his head. “I found her like this.”

“What does this say?” Lorcan asked, crouching down before Grace’s book. One of Grace’s forefingers lay across the book as if keeping a page open. Lorcan reached out his own hand above hers to still the butterfly motion of the pages. At last, he could read what was written on the page. “It’s time for you to enter the realm of the dead. No!” His frantic eyes met Oskar’s.

“It’s okay,” Oskar said. “I just checked her pulse, and she’s definitely breathing—but slowly, like she’s sedated or in some kind of trance. I can’t seem to wake her.”

Lorcan looked at Grace’s beautiful face. She seemed peaceful at least. He turned back to Oskar. “Look,” he said, “I have to get going. I don’t want to be anywhere but here, but I have no choice. You understand, don’t you?”

Oskar nodded.

“Will you stay and look after her? Do what you can to bring her back around.”

“Of course!” Oskar said. “You know I’d do anything for Grace—for both of you. As long as you’re sure you can spare me from this battle?”

Lorcan did not hesitate. “You’re a great swordsman, Oskar, but I need you right here, taking care of Grace for me. I can’t go into this battle unless I know she’s in safe hands.”

Oskar nodded. “You have my word,” he said. “I won’t leave her side.”

The Alliance ships were moving swiftly into the battle zone, out beyond the harbor, in an arrowlike formation. Connor stood at the stern of The Tiger, looking back at the ships following in its wake. Every one of them was a legend. Moving behind them in a line were The Diablo, captained by Moonshine Wrathe with Cate Morgan as his deputy; The Typhon captained by Moonshine’s father, Barbarro, with Trofie Wrathe as second-in-command; and The Nocturne under the dual command of Obsidian Darke and Lorcan Furey. Beyond those three ships came four more legendary vessels: The Inferno, captained by Francisco Moscardo; The Muscovite, captained by Pavel Platonov; The Seferis, captained by Apostolos Solomos; and The Kronborg Slot, captained by Kirsten Larsen. Behind them, Connor knew, were more legendary ships and equally legendary pirate captains.

There was a tangible sense of history in the air tonight as the last of the fleet made its way through the academy arch. Connor reminded himself that he was going into this battle as a captain himself. He could never have expected this when he had first journeyed to Pirate Academy, first sat at the table with these pirating legends. What an incredible journey he had traveled in the past year. He did not yet have his own ship—Ahab Black, currently directing operations from his bunker, had promised him one would be ready soon. Connor wasn’t so sure. Perhaps, if what Grace had told him was true, this would be his one and only battle as Captain Tempest. Strangely, the thought was not a source of pain or terror. He felt almost preternaturally calm, though his senses were heightened. He realized he was the living embodiment of zanshin—the warrior’s consciousness, which had been drilled into him at Pirate Academy and subsequently perfected through real-life conflict.

Turning his eyes forward, Connor could see the ominous lights of the enemy fleet stealing closer. It was a vast armada—made up in large part of ships stolen from the pirates and crewed by converts, both willing and unwilling. It was time to end the fearful empire Sidorio and Lola were building—with no loftier goal than spreading chaos and dark dominion over the oceans. They had to be stopped—here and now. Connor shivered and knew it was more from anticipation than fear. This was not the first time he had gone into battle against Sidorio or Lola. But he couldn’t shake the feeling that tonight’s battle was different. Somehow he knew that none of them would come out of this night quite the same.

He had another brief flash of his recurrent vision. Jasmine’s cries and the sight of the sword embedded in his chest. The horrified faces of his comrades. He pushed the vision away. Every pirate—every pirate captain—went into battle in the certain knowledge that this could be his or her last. Connor was no exception. He thought fondly of those pirates who had gone before him—Porfirio and Molucco Wrathe, Commodore John Kuo, Bart Pearce. He was proud to be following in the path they had charted. If he died tonight, he doubted very much they’d hang his sword in Pirate Academy, doubted they’d even remember the name of the young pirate captain who fought once and once only. It didn’t matter. When all was said and done, it was more than enough simply to have played his part.

His thoughts turned to Grace, knowing that aboard The Nocturne, she, too, was preparing to play her part. They had each come so far, though their journeys had been markedly different, since they first set out from Crescent Moon Bay almost a year ago. Connor was unaccustomed to praying, but now he closed his eyes to say a silent prayer for Grace’s safety. If he did lose his life tonight, she would have to journey on for both of them. He wanted her to do so in peace, not in pain. He needed her to know that, whatever happened, he accepted his fate.

Grace stood in the lamp room of the lighthouse, looking down at the waters of Crescent Moon Bay, then out across the familiar seascape. Below, the ocean waters were high and rising, but it was still a long way down to their churning surface. She knew what she had to do. Stepping forward, she opened the door and walked out onto the balcony, savoring the familiar silhouette of the coastline one last time. She thought of the many previous times she’d been up here—with Connor and with Dexter. Then, unable to defer the moment any longer, she climbed up onto the balcony railing and dived down into the ocean, giving herself over to her fate.

Her descent was rapid, but this did not diminish the magnitude of fear that rushed through her. It wasn’t only fear for herself. The fate of so many others depended on her mission proving successful.

This was unlike any of her previous astral visits. This time, she could still feel the icy chill as she shot down through the surface of the ice-cold water. It was as if she had somehow split into two. The air was forced from her lungs. Then the swirling waters began to move her about, carrying her back up to the surface. No! She needed to go down, not up! She was completely at the mercy of the ocean and grateful to feel the undercurrent begin to suck her down. Her descent gained such momentum that she instinctively closed her eyes. The motion shifted and she felt her body spinning as if she were being carried through a vortex. Once more she was fearful that somehow she had gotten this wrong, even though she had followed the book’s instructions to the letter. As she felt her body come to rest, she hardly dared to open her eyes.

Before the fear could take any deeper hold on her, she opened them—but onto pitch blackness. What her eyes could only suspect, her feet now confirmed. She had reached the ocean floor.

As her eyes grew accustomed to the darkness, she began to distinguish rough shapes. Then she saw what she had been searching for—a line of incandescent light barely visible in the distance. She knew in her gut it must be the door. She began swimming toward it, gratified to find the light growing stronger as she did.

Fish swam past her as she continued on toward the door, but they were not the kind of fish she was used to seeing—the rainbow-bright creatures who lived closer to the surface waters. These were as dark as their surroundings, their shapes simple, as if rough-hewn by a beginning carver. It felt to Grace as though she had not only descended to the floor of the ocean but back to a more basic world. She swam on.

As she reached the door, the light that ringed it illuminated the surrounding environs, though, actually, there was not much to see. The terrain was barren in the extreme, offering little sustenance for the creatures that had swum alongside her. The door was in the face of a vast rock and to one side was a painted sign, the words of which were now legible.

JACK TAR’S CAVERN. COME INSIDE! WE NEVER CLOSE.

Grace moved toward the door, her wet hair swirling about her face. Even her own flesh appeared ghostly in the ethereal light. Her hand rested on the heavy iron door, which looked as if it might have been salvaged from a shipwreck.