Witches of the Deep (The Memento Mori Witch Trilogy Book 3) (12 page)

I
t was still
dark when someone pushed her door open, and Fiona sprang upright in her bed. She’d been dreaming of Tobias—dancing with him in a rainy forest, water dripping down their skin. Irritated at the interruption, she scowled at Lir’s enormous form hovering in the doorframe. “What are you doing here?”

“Getting you out of bed.” His voice was still husky with sleep.

Lir was the last person she wanted to see right now. “Why? It’s still dark.”

“It’s four a.m., and this is your new wakeup time. You need extra training. We’ll be running on the shore, and then we’ll work on your weak arms. Get dressed.” He shut the door.

He certainly has a way with words.
Throwing off her sheets, Fiona stepped out of bed. At least running was one of her strengths. During track season, she often put in extra miles, spending her weekends training along South Boston’s shoreline. It had been a few months since she’d run, but she knew how to pace herself and how to ignore the part of her brain telling her to stop.

After pulling off her nightdress, she searched through her clothes for something she could run in, but there wasn’t much—just dresses, leggings, and Lir’s giant shirt. Every night, she dropped the shirt into one of Valac’s charmed buckets and it came out fully cleaned, smelling faintly of vanilla.

But what the hell am I supposed to run in?
Leggings would be too hot for a long run when the sun rose, and it wasn’t as though she had a sports bra with her. She slipped into her regular bra before wrapping the scarf around herself for extra support, and then grabbed Lir’s shirt from the floor. It would have to do. It came down to her knees anyway—a sort of jogging tunic.
That’s a thing, right?

She pulled on the canvas shoes Tobias had bought her in Dogtown. Her feet were still battered from the barefoot journey through Virginia, and these weren’t made for long distance, but they’d have to do.

After scraping her hair into a ponytail, she pulled open the door.

Lir looked her over from head to toe. “That’s what you’re wearing?”

“Are you here to give me fashion advice, or to train me as a seafaring warrior?”

Wordlessly he turned, leading her up the stairs and across the deck. Following him down a rope ladder to the rowboat, she suddenly regretted her decision to leave the leggings on board. Not only did the coastal air chill her legs, but Lir could see right up her jogging tunic. Then again, he gave no impression of caring.

She followed him into the rowboat, sitting in the bow. Chilled by the wind, she rubbed her arms. “Are we going to that island?”

“It’s called Fiddler’s Green.” He picked up the oars and began rowing.

“Is this some kind of punishment because I lost the duel yesterday?”

“You faltered when you saw blood. You’ll be dead soon if we don’t sort you out.”

It wasn’t blood she feared. She was scared she liked it a little too much. “If I’m such a hopeless case, why are you getting up at four in the morning to train me? Why not just give up?”

“Because training you is my job, and I don’t shirk responsibilities. Believe me, I’d rather be sitting around reading a newspaper with a cup of coffee.”

“You spend your free time reading newspapers?” Her first thought was something along the lines of
Here sits the least fun pirate the world’s ever known,
but her second was
Crap, please don’t let him see my photo
. She really didn’t want him learning all the details—running from witch hunters, daughter of a serial killer. None of it was pretty.

“I read them when I can get them, which isn’t often. I like to stay in touch with the real world if I can.”

The rest of the boat ride passed in silence, and she stared at the island’s dark outline as they approached. Small cliffs ringed the perimeter, around thirty feet high. Within them, an archway opened into a deep grotto, barely visible through the dark.

When they landed on the shore, Fiona stepped from the boat onto a jagged outcrop.

Lir whispered a spell above the boat before turning to Fiona. “You’ll need to climb.”

She clutched at slippery handholds on the steep incline, hoisting herself up. Breaking waves had wetted the rocks, and given their slickness, she was happy Lir climbed below her in case she needed someone to break her fall.

Pulling herself to the island’s plateau, she surveyed her surroundings. In the moonlight, she could make out a rocky terrain around the perimeter. In the center, scattered trees grew among low-growing wildflowers and grasses. She inhaled deeply.
Cherry trees.

Lir ran a hand through his dark hair. “We’ll go through the center. The edges are too dangerous.” He took off at a jog, and she followed. “Can you see well enough?”

“Bats see better than you might think.” She shot a quick glance at the tentacled tattoo visible above his shirt collar. “What’s your familiar, anyway?”

“Octopus. Batharos. He swims with the ship.”

She crinkled her nose. She didn’t want to think of him with slick appendages. “I don’t think I’d like to see you transform.”

He quickened his pace. “We’re not going fast enough if you’ve got so much energy to talk.”

Low to the ground, red blossoms lay closed. In the crisp air, their floral scent mingled with the smell of seaweed. Fiona inhaled deeply. “How far are we running?”

“Four miles.”

Easy. At least, it would have been during track season.
“What do the Guardians guard, anyway?”

“You won’t need to know that unless you survive the trials.”

“And what exactly are the odds of that? Have any recruits made it?”

“Just Jacques. The rest of us were born into the life.”

A gull cried overhead. “Where are your parents?”

“So many questions.” He pumped his arms harder, picking up speed. “Our mothers live on Atlantis, hidden from the outside world by an enchanted mist. They’re priestesses of Dagon, and they look after us until we reach the age of five, when we’re old enough to join our fathers at sea.”

Atlantis. Of course it’s a real place. Why wouldn’t it be?
“So the Guardian men never marry? You just father children with the priestesses, and then go back out to sea?”

“Precisely.”

As her breath came heavier, Fiona felt a pang of sadness for five-year-old Lir, forced to leave his mother behind. At that age especially, it must have been devastating. “Do you remember much about Atlantis?”

“It’s none of your business,” he snapped. “I’m here to train you. Not to cure your loneliness.”

The rebuke hit Fiona like a punch to the gut. She was getting sick of his attitude.

After a few minutes, Lir cleared his throat. “The buildings were a gleaming white, like the insides of seashells. Around the island, I remember the little red flowers—the scarlet pimpernel that grew by the cliffs’ edges, among winterberry and juneberry trees. There were so many birds. Egrets, herons, gulls. I can remember my mother lifting me up to pick apples. She wore her hair in a long, black braid threaded with cockleshells, and her eyes were green like mine.”

It sounded beautiful. “Where’s your father now?”

“None of us see our fathers. Valac’s father lives on a ship moored near Mount Acidale. Marlowe’s father is dead. So is mine and Nod’s. Are you done with all the questions?”

She swallowed hard. “Sorry to hear about your father.” That was enough interrogation for now. Apparently, Lir didn’t understand the concept of small talk, and she might as well have been jamming knives between his ribs. But at least he hadn’t asked about her own parents.

All the way to the far end of the island and back, they ran in silence, Fiona easily keeping pace. When they returned to where the skiff lay on the rocks, she still had energy. She glanced at Lir, who shook out his legs. The sun had begun to rise, casting a rosy light on the sheen of sweat on his forehead.

She paced slowly, folding her fingers behind her head. “Do you still think I’m soft?”

“It’s too early to revise my opinion.”

She felt great. A runner’s high must have kicked in, because she felt like she could go for several more miles. “That was just a warm-up for me, actually. What do you say we keep going?”

He narrowed his green eyes. “You want to run through the center again?”

“We’ve already done that. How about we run the perimeter? If I’d paid any attention in geometry I could tell you how long that would be, but I have no idea.”

“About six miles. You want to run another six miles? Over the rocks?”

“I do, yes. You know why? Because I’m not soft. Are you?” She could probably just about make another six miles now that she’d rested for a few minutes. At least during track season, a ten-mile run wasn’t out of the question.

He shook his head. “It’s too rocky. You’d risk falling off the side.”

“Mmm. You’re scared.” She had no idea why she was so tempted to poke this beast.

He wiped the back of his hand across his mouth. “Don’t be ridiculous. And don’t expect me to comfort you if you break your spine.” He took off over the jagged rocks, and she soon caught up with him.

The morning sun rose higher in the sky, and by the time they’d run around half the island, she was glad she’d left the leggings behind. Sweat drenched her white shirt.

Lir pulled off his own shirt and slung it over one shoulder. Fiona tried not to stare at his tattooed chest.

As they pressed on, she thought about Atlantis. “Why don’t you just get more recruits from your own land? Why raid Dogtown?”

“Dagon has started to claim more souls. On top of that, the recruits keep killing each other. We’ve run out of Atlantean boys.”

“It must be a sad life, watching all those people die.” She hadn’t meant to say it out loud.

Lir shot her a startled look, and as he did, his foot caught in a crevice. He landed with a grunt, nearly tumbling off the cliffside. Fiona hoisted him up. When he pulled his ankle from the crack, it was already puffy and pink.

She crouched beside him. “Do you think it’s twisted?”

He grimaced. “I have an old fracture. I think it’s broken.”

“I can fix it.” She traced her fingers along his ankle, whispering the mending spell. When she finished, she met his green eyes and he gave a curt nod.
That’ll do for thanks, I guess.
She rose, holding out her hand to him, and he grabbed it to stand. “Maybe we should walk back,” she suggested, still catching her breath.

“Not a bad idea.”

“Are we going to do this every morning at four? Shouldn’t you be up drinking rum with the other pirates?”

He wiped a hand across his brow. “I don’t drink.”

“Why not?”

He squinted into the rising sun. “That’s how my father and his mates died. Murdered by ordinary humans when they were too drunk to defend themselves.”

A sense of dread washed over her like an oncoming storm. It couldn’t have been a certain ordinary human looking for pirate gold—could it?

M
oonlight glinted on the waves
, and every so often, green phosphorescence sparkled under the surface. She couldn’t stop thinking about the dream she’d had about Tobias before Lir had woken her. She couldn’t stop imagining his warm body brushing against hers as they danced. But he wasn’t here now.

She sat on the rocky shore, hugging her knees to her chest and eating a piece of hot, buttered cornbread. Rohan sat quietly by her side, sipping some kind of herbal beer brewed in a cauldron.

After the morning’s run, she and Lir had spent the day practicing sword fighting. Her body throbbed with aches.
I’d sell my soul for a hot shower.

Along with the sound of the waves rushing over the rocks, crickets buzzed and hummed. Lir had secluded himself a few hundred feet away, scribbling in a journal under the light of a foxfire sphere. The others sat around a campfire, eating stew and drinking beer from pewter mugs.

It was beautiful here. Fiona could understand why Nod was so in love with this life; why he thought it was worth the risk of death.

She wanted it badly now. Wanted to be one of the Picaroons, sailing the oceans with Nod. She’d have a home, at least. But Nod had said they were only looking for one new recruit out of each crop. No room for failures, he’d said. And what were the chances they’d choose her?

Rohan glanced up at the stars. “Has Lir relaxed any, or is he determined to drive you to an early grave?”

“We’ll be getting up in the dark for our morning runs. Aren’t I lucky for all this extra attention?” Truthfully, she didn’t mind so much. At least running was something she knew how to do.

Rohan picked a blade of grass from the rock and began peeling it down the middle. “What did you see when you walked the plank?”

The question shattered her sense of peace, and she inhaled deeply. “Violent things.” It was as much as she wanted to divulge. “What about you? You were the only one who didn’t seem rattled.”

“I saw myself, aging before my eyes. And then the life left my eyes, and I saw myself dead, decomposing in the earth.”

She blinked. “And that didn’t bother you?”

“I think about it all the time. I’m always rattled by it. But it’s not unfamiliar to me.”

She swallowed the last bite of cornbread. “Do you think it was showing us some kind of truth about ourselves? About our true natures?”

“I’m certainly preoccupied with death. It’s what got me kicked out of Beaucroft.”

“Do you miss it?”

“I miss my boyfriend, Tristan, but I don’t miss all the pointless spell-casting lessons. ‘Let’s make a table float through the room for no reason at all,’ ” he mimicked in a falsetto before turning to look at her. “What about you—do you miss anyone?”

“A few people.”
Tobias. Mariana. Celia. Mom
—but she couldn’t think about them. If she started crying, the tears wouldn’t stop, and everyone would know she was a mess. Mercifully, the sound of Valac’s fiddle interrupted their conversation, and she turned to look at the other recruits.

By the fire, Nod launched into a song about a woman named Eliza Lee, his voice sweet and strong. Berold and Ostap gripped each other’s arms and began swinging around in a wild reel, joining in for the chorus. Mid-reel, Berold paused to chuck his pewter cup at Rohan’s head, and it clunked off the back of his skull.

Jerks.
Fiona wondered again why Ostap and Berold didn’t bully Ives, who wasn’t a big, brutish lout like them. Even she could break his nose.

Rohan’s face clouded, and he turned, snatching up the cup and chucking it back at Berold. But instead of the gaunt pervert, it cracked Ostap in the chin.

Ostap paused in his dancing, striding over to them. “What do you think you’re doing?” he snarled. “Oh look, a little lady sits on the rocks. Oh, and Fiona is there, too!”

Berold broke into a high-pitched giggle; his Russian friend leapt through the air, twirling once before kicking Rohan in the forehead.

Rohan gripped his head, scowling. “Watch it!” He turned to Fiona, muttering, “Twat.”

Marlowe sauntered over the rocks, a jug of rum in his hand. “Play nicely, children, and stop tormenting my recruit.”

Jacques stumbled alongside him. “They’re for
us
to torment.”

Marlowe pulled off his leather satchel and plopped down next to Rohan, steadying himself with a hand planted on the jagged rocks.

Jacques sat beside him, pointing an unsteady finger. “I take it you two haven’t made friends with those guys.”

“That would be accurate,” said Rohan.

“Think nothing of it.” Marlowe’s thin frame was hunched over his drink. “Some of Dagon’s men used to beat me. I even got pissed on once.”

Fiona cast a quick look at Lir, who still scribbled in his journal. “These guys? They beat you?”

“I never beat anyone,” said Jacques.

Marlowe waved it off. “Not anyone here. Dagon took them in the end, and now they’re sleeping in Davy Jones’ locker. Nod always had my back, even when we were kids. He’s the most loyal man you’ll ever meet.” He poured rum into Rohan’s cup, spilling some over the side.

She eyed Jacques. How did he feel about Nod? The Picaroons had kidnapped him from Dogtown. But she could read nothing in his calm features as he raised his cup. “To loyalty.”

“To loyalty,” she repeated, though she had no idea who any of them were loyal to. “Jacques—you know I spent some time in Dogtown. Do you still have family there?”

He nodded, a wistful smile on his lips. “My father. Cornelius.”

“I knew him!” she said, suddenly thrilled at the connection. “My friends are staying with him.”

“My brother died in the trials,” Jacques added quietly. “Most from Dogtown have died. Wolves don’t do so well in the water.”

“I’m sorry about your brother,” she said.

Marlowe scowled. “Don’t worry about who died. Focus on what you must do to live.”

Okay. So what exactly do I need to do to live?
If she was going to get any information out of them, now was as good a time as any. “What needs to get done before we meet Dagon? What other trials do we have to pass?”

Marlowe glanced at Fiona, one eye scrunched shut. “You’ll be doing more sword fighting. Don’t worry, I’m sure you’ll get better. Then you’ll race each other in little sailboats. Tomorrow you race up to the crow’s-nest. Oh—and in the end, you’ll swim into Dagon’s lair and meet the old god face to face.”

Fiona’s heart skipped a beat.
Swim?

“What happens when we meet him?” asked Rohan.

“He decides if you live or die,” said Jacques. “And if you live, you get his power.”

Marlowe said Dagon had killed the bullies. What if he kills the worst sorts of people—and what if that includes me?
She steadied her breath. “What does Dagon get out of it?”

“Souls,” said Marlowe. “In his fathomless wisdom, he has chosen to claim more and more people every year. And that,” he jabbed his finger at Rohan’s nose, “is why we need you recruits.”

Fiona lay flat on her rock, trying not to think about the swimming. “But why would he claim more?” She felt a little like a toddler—
why, why why?
—but she couldn’t stop herself from asking.

Marlowe scratched his forehead. “I don’t question the god of the depths.”

Rohan tossed a pebble into the water, speaking in a low voice. “You know the earthly gods are trapped in matter, yes? At Beaucroft, one of my professors said that the earthly gods are in competition with each other. They believe that if they can claim the most souls to take their place, they might be freed again. Released into the heavens. So if one god begins to claim more souls than usual, the rest will work to keep up.”

Marlowe pushed his lank hair out of his eyes. “Well, whatever the reason, Dagon chose to spare me.”

“And what about your family?” asked Rohan. “Did they survive the god of the depths?”

Marlowe shrugged. “I have no siblings. I hardly remember my mother. And my dad was a drunk. He couldn’t handle the visions Dagon had showed him. Nod’s father was the same. They were pathetic enough to get murdered by a human. Nod is a much greater man than his father ever was.”

“Murdered by a human?” asked Fiona.
Christ, that wasn’t Danny too, was it?
He’d been searching for pirate treasure. Then again, pirates probably had plenty of enemies.

“Some thug,” said Marlowe. He didn’t seem particularly interested in the topic.

“What do the visions mean?” asked Rohan.

Marlowe’s face twitched. “Dagon shows us the truth. Some people can’t accept it.”

Fiona frowned.

“Is that what you think?” Jacques asked Marlowe, slurring his words. “I think he just shows us our worst nightmares. But he couldn’t get to me. Because my worst nightmare was already real.”

“What was that?” asked Rohan.

“Being taken by the Picaroons. Watching my brother die.”

“It makes me sick when people focus on the negative,” Marlowe snapped. “The Captain made you powerful. But you’ve just drunk an entire barrelful of rum, and now you’re spouting nonsense. Without the Captain, you’d just be an ordinary man living in a shithole town full of old hags. You’d live in obscurity, die in obscurity, and your body would rot in the dirt, your whole life unremembered. Nod changed your life. He made you into a god. He gave you power to control the sea. Have a little gratitude.”

“I never wanted to be a god,” Jacques said quietly. All the fight had drained out of him tonight.

A silence fell over them, and waves rushed over the rocks. Apparently, there was discord on the
Proserpine
.

And there was about to be a bit more when Lir found out she didn’t know how to swim.