Page 7 of The Sea of Zemira (The Zemiran Chronicles 1)

The Portland Sea

Twenty years later

Hill “Tipsy” Penny tilted back on his heel, pressing the toe of his shoe against the ship’s towering mast. He rocked back to secure the mainsail with his fist locked tightly around the gritty rope. Each heave burned his dry skin against the rough line, which resisted each pull between his long, bony fingers. His other hand gripped firmly to a bottle of rum, which he tossed back and chugged while he watched the waves rise high.

There was a particular thing about the Sybil Curse’s crew. Once their gaze locked in on the Portland Sea during a storm, it was difficult, nearly impossible, for them to avert their eyes from her captivating beauty. The wind pulled in fierce waves against the ship—each as strong and dauntless as the next.

Tipsy tried to taste the last drops of rum dripping on his tongue. Yet, he had to settle for the salty, savory taste of the ocean breeze pulling in from the eastern slope. He wiped his one good eye with the back of his hand as a stream of mist made it difficult to see. He cleared his hair from his face exposing the scars on his forehead left by every brawl he had gotten himself into.

Hill was an odd-looking, lanky buccaneer and somewhat of a lubber, who had been with the crew for two years. The captain rescued him before thrown into jail for trying to steal his neighbor’s horse. They were hard to come by those days, horses, and he was desperate. The exchange was better than he had expected. Why worry about needing a horse to travel out of the town he loathed when he could board a ship out into the sea and become a stone-hearted pirate. At least as a pirate, he could drink as much rum as he pleased.

Hill watched the rest of the crew bustling about the ship, getting rocked and tossed from bow to stern. The storm was fierce, but it was not the first time their ship had taken a beating, and they all knew it would not be her last.

It was an old vessel, medium in size, flushed deck to make it easier to work. The ship was strong, made with fine wood paneling the crew fixed up when the captain had purchased her—well, stole her.

Tipsy blundered across the deck, waving down the rest of the crew, as he saw movement in the waters ahead. Yet, before he could get their attention, he heard Mazie “Raven” Knight shout from across the deck.

“Captain!” Her hands flailed frantically in the air. “There’s at least five of those creatures on the ocean’s surface, starin’ at us with those creepy-lookin’ eyes.” A frown creased on Raven’s forehead as she placed a hand loosely on her hip. “They won’t trust us, you know?”

Kitten “Golden-Eye” Fox looked back towards the sea, shouting over the storm’s boisterous squalls. “Right, but if we don’t ’elp ’em, the one who’s injured is goin’ to die. They lookin’ desperate, Captain,” she said, “Should we lower the net?”

Kitten scanned Mazie, who had her arms crossed stubbornly over her chest, biting her lower lip. A flicker of irritation shone in Mazie’s eyes, but she nodded agreeably. “Kitten’s right. We can’t be responsible for a dead fish on our boat.” She rolled her eyes at her own comment. “Half-fish.”

Captain Lincoln, the “Dragon,” narrowed his eyes out into the plunging waves and said reluctantly, “Pull her up.”

There was an ample amount of mayhem on the ship, and he barely held on to his sanity. He was not about to let die a creature he could have saved.

Kitten replied with a swift nod as thunder cracked through the air. “Aye, aye, Captain,” she bellowed, carrying her voice across the ship.

Lincoln looked past Mazie’s shoulder at Dyson “No Leg” Boots, who was already lowering the net overboard into the sea.

“Dammit,” Lincoln cursed to himself and hustled towards the stern of the ship. “Keep lowerin’ that net, Boots.”

The Captain and Mazie tied off the rope to rig up the net. They planted their feet at the edge of the ship to keep themselves from being flung overboard. Lincoln wrapped the rope around his hand twice and waited for the tug. After a second, a sharp yank followed, and the captain yelled, “Steady, mates! Heave ho!”

The crew leaned back, gripping the net steady to pull a white-haired mermaid gently over the railing.

Lincoln looked over his shoulder at Mazie. “Get below deck and grab the medical kit,” he ordered.

“Aye, aye, Captain,” she said eagerly, then turned on her heel and hurried below deck.

Ardley “Big Red” Fredrick, well-known for his scarlet red hair and wooly beard to match, held the net still until the gorgeous bronze-skinned woman went under the ship’s main deck. His mustache twisted up like a crescent moon, and his eyes shined blue as sapphire. He stood in a cloud of smoke curling around his lips and puffed heavily through his pipe to settle his nerves—the breeze blew the smoke back into his face.

He inched forward, clearing his throat. “Looks like her tail has been ripped deep, Captain.” He brushed the tips of his fingers against the scales near the bloodied wound. The oozing drips of sparkling rich red reflected off the lightning crashing down over the water. “She’ll be needin’ stitches, or she’ll lose it.” Big Red showed the Captain. “And if she loses it—”

“Pirate,” the mermaid breathed, her voice sounding weak and shallow. He brought his palm to her cheek, cupping her face with one of his hands.

Lincoln shifted from her gaze as Ardley cleared his throat. Still, he pulled the mermaid’s trembling body up against his chest, securing her in his arms. The captain knew they had three, maybe four hours to tend to the wound before she would need to get back into the sea.

“Easy. Try not to move, love,” he said, brushing her long strands of hair between his fingers. “Tell me what happened?” He asked calmly to try and ease her pain. Pirates were not the most trusted folk in the sea, and the last thing he wanted was to terrify the girl.

“Harpoon,” she answered sluggishly. Her feeble, tortured voice tore at his chest. “They attacked three hours before the storm hit.”

He gingerly touched her delicate fingers and rubbed his thumb against her wrist in a circular manner, which he had hoped would help calm her. Her shoulders throbbed against his chest and tears trickled down her rosy cheek.

“Was it pirates who did this?” he asked, a sudden note of fury in his voice.

She shook her head but stopped short to bite her bottom lip, seemingly holding back from screaming from the pain.

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