Page 2 of Scourge of the Shores
His direction indicated retreat. Danna grabbed a rope and swung onto the gunwale. The steep rock of the boat let her finger touch the waves as she held on to the rope. The ship rocked back the other way in a violent jerk as she watched the glisten on Cain’s scales disappear in the direction he had come.
Danna rode the rock until it was a gentle sway. Cain was gone. She bit back a curse before spitting blood into the sea below. The sea, born of the DeepMother’s soul, had taken enough from her.
“No more,” Danna muttered in an irreverent prayer to the deceased goddess, though she knew the sea always took what it was owed or simply what it wanted.
The wind carried the cheers of the other ships, but Danna spun around, running to the overlook. This was not a victory. Three ships. Three ships lost.
“Throw the lines,” she ordered, and the crew stopped to hear the command.
“Throw the lines,” she yelled again, and the crews jumped at the order. Ropes snaked into the sea for anyone still living to grab. “Circle for survivors.”
The surviving ships circled six times. Lanterns skimmed the dark waves, revealing nothing but debris. One by one, the signals came back.
Empty.
Danna’s gut twisted. Her pulse pounded in her ears. Good men and women—gone, claimed by Tophet, where the sea kept its trophies and whispered their names into the black.
Her jaw set in determination. “Once more.”
The crew hesitated, a beat of silence passing. Jim, one of her longest-serving men, stepped forward.
“Captain Chadwick.” Jim’s voice, wary. “We’ve given the lost their due, but Cain dragged his pound of flesh to the black depths. Circle again, and all we’re fishing is what’s left of ‘em.”
Danna’s gaze snapped to him. Her throat was raw from salt and battle, but her voice held. “Seven’s a good number for the dead, matey.”
Jim’s gaze flicked to Scotty, who shifted his weight but gave a slow nod.
“Aye, Captain.” The response came in unison. Scotty motioned to the crewman, Ethan, at the helm to go once more.
Danna ran her sleeve over her mouth to wipe the watery blood from her nose and lip, fixing a stare on Jim that left no room for doubt: challenge her again, and he’d answer for it.
She spun on her heels, grabbed the rigging, and stepped onto the gunwale. She scanned the waves. There had to be at least one survivor.
Someone.
Anyone.
The ships docked at port, and the crews returned to their homes, the captains to the village’s main hall to debrief at Danna’s command. She stood on the shore, though, unable to move as she wondered how she would face the remaining thirty-six captains.
Her hands ran over her head and through her tousled locks until the knots prevented them from going further. She wrapped her scarf around the matted mess into a loose bun before slapping her hat on her head. She wiped the relentless blood from her nose and lip and groaned. The salt burned, but she didn’t care. She deserved the little pain she had. She deserved more. The lump in her throat thickened until the shores were empty.
Finally, Danna forced her feet to make the quiet walk to the main hall, but the smell of rum and the suppressed mumble of joyful song preceded her entrance.
Red simmered on her cheeks. Tremors raced down her arms. The pain in her face dissipated with a snarl on her lip.
“They be merry?” Her hot breath pushed through clenched teeth.
She threw the double doors open, grabbed a second flintlock pistol from her belt, and shot at the wooden ceiling, silencing the ruckus in an instant. Amid the splintering wood pieces falling nearby, all eyes slid to her.
“What ye celebratin’?” Her question rushed out from a raw throat, adding a harsh note.
With one heavy, thudding footstep at a time, she entered the main hall. The echo of the water’s squish and the hard heel clacking on the floor reverberated in a solemn cadence.
The captains stood stiff, some gripping their rum bottles, others shifting weight between uneasy feet. Scotty exhaled slowly, rubbing his jaw. A few exchanged glances, waiting for someone to speak.
No one did.
“Tell me—we got a sea demon’s relic to gain a prophecy for our isle sanctuary?” Danna asked, waving her gun in the air. Her ears pounded from the silence. Spittle formed in the corners of her mouth. “Servin’ sea dragon steaks, perhaps?”
