Page 4 of Scourge of the Shores
“Aye, Ma?” Danna rasped. She closed the door quietly with a controlled grip and walked inside, taking off her drenched captain’s coat. She draped it on one of the chairs around the small table.
“Did you get our victory?” Ma’s whisper barely made it to Danna’s ears.
Danna removed her hat and placed it on the table, saying nothing.
“Are we free of Cain?” Ma reached her nub out to Danna.
The nub shimmered in the firelight. The shadows falling on the burned scars on what remained of her arm reminded Danna why she hated that foul beast. The villagers saved her mother’s life by searing the wounds, but on the island, maybe they should have just let her die. Her mother was not a pirate and never wanted to be one. Her injury had stripped her of any life worth boasting in her eyes. Her mother had slipped away, living in a shell of who she once was. If Cain died, then maybe, maybe Ma would return to her.
Danna palmed her face, not wanting to tell her mother the truth. She licked her busted lip as the pain returned and throbbed. She turned her head to the left to release the tension in her neck.
“For now, Ma,” Danna said, with an expected break in her rough voice. She sniffed back the clotting blood in her nose. She removed her belt and set it beside her hat.
Ma lowered what was left of her arm and turned her face to the fire. “Well then, you’ve bought us some peace. You should be proud.”
“Lost three ships, though,” Danna said as the burn of unshed tears ran down the back of her throat. Her voice strained, begging for no more spoken words. “Done more damage than the sea demon,” Danna muttered.
Her fingers curled into fists as she stomped over to the fire and sat before it to remove her drenched socks and water-clogged boots. She glanced at her mother, who stared at her with a gleam in her eyes.
“Ma, don’t.” Danna slammed her boot down and leaned back on straight arms. Her head dropped. “They all saw Tophet ‘cause of me.”
“And yet this island lives because of you,” Ma whispered. “You’re a fearless leader. You make the hard choices. You do what’s best for all, even at your age. Why do you think these old retired pirate captains submit to your will?”
Because of Father’s lineage, Danna said with her eyes. It had nothing to do with her skill as a captain, a leader. He died before he could have a son, the first of their line not to have one, so the great mantle of the first Pirate King’s legacy fell to Danna—a five-year-old girl at the time.
Her chin touched her chest as she stared into the dancing flames. Its warmth touched her nose and cheeks. She turned her face away, not wanting the luxury of warmth.
“The dead’ll wash ashore by mornin’,” Danna rasped. “Be glad ye won’t see it, Ma. Ye’d think different of yer girl if ye did.”
Danna turned away, her body aching with exhaustion. The firelight flickered across the floorboards. Her mother’s breathing was soft behind her, but Danna didn’t look. She couldn’t. Not after tonight. She curled into herself, gripping the edge of her blanket like a lifeline.
She had vowed at eight years old, when Cain first came and took her mother’s legs and arm, that she would finish him. Her thoughts raced back to a fortnight before the recent scrimmage with Cain. She had decided to take the battle to sea before Cain could strike their home on land, despite the concerns of the other captains. In truth, she wanted to be on the sea. The sea—the DeepMother—called her. She thought the calling had been a premonition of victory.
Her lip curled at her stupid decision. The sting of her gash ran into her cheek and chin. As the night had told her, she couldn’t do it. She had lost three ships. She had lost their crews. Their blood was on her hands. Perhaps it would have been worth the lives lost had they killed the menace, gained a relic, and ensured a prophecy would come to pass.
Danna’s eyes closed as she tried to justify the loss. Had Cain come to shore, he might have taken babes and children. He might have destroyed their homes again. He might have killed the crews anyway. Her shaky breath came out over trembling lips.
She’d make it right. She had to make it right.
Next time, she would kill Cain and take pleasure in doing so. If a relic came with his death, so be it. Let the prophecy bind her name or not. All she cared about was ending the torment and repaying blood for blood—the very acts of man that once broke the DeepMother’s heart.
The vengeful thought didn’t comfort her, but it cooled her burning throat.
Ma’s voice drifted through the dim room, quiet as the tide. “My girl gives her best.” A sigh, barely there. “Danna . . . I only wish I could give you some peace.”
CHAPTER 2
The Ruthless Pirate
Robert Jaymes kneeled beside his father’s bed. With a solemn gesture, the middle-aged, dying man lifted his captain’s hat and placed it on Robert’s head, symbolizing the weight of leadership and the burden of legacy that was now Robert’s to bear.
No words were spoken, but a look of pride passed from father to son before the man made his way to Tophet, the dark place that held the souls of the dead.
Robert stood up, his belly twisting with knots. At twenty-six, he was a Pirate King of the North Sea and the sole Captain of his father’s grand ship of the line, Storm Rider. He now commanded the largest fleet of the Pirate Kings. His comrades had experienced fates similar to those of early-passing fathers. He was the youngest of the new generation of Pirate Kings, but he had the most to lose. The others came from long lines of royalty, but his father was the first Robert “The Ruthless” Jaymes, and he would be the second. The crews of the Pirate Kings doubled their ages with years of tenacity and experience. It would be difficult not to raise mutiny in the years to come. The crews would grant him some grace due to his youth, but it would not extend far or last long. A slow breath escaped Robert’s lips. His shoulders bore the weight of his father’s reputation.
Robert scanned the sea-worn features of the dead man’s face. Blinking back the sting of finality, his father’s words echoed in his mind: Sorrow is for the weak.
The ship swayed at the port, the wood groaning, but he walked with steady ease to the polished copper mirror bolted to the wall, with boots hitting the floor with purpose.
