Witches of the Deep (The Memento Mori Witch Trilogy Book 3) (13 page)

F
iona sat on her bed
, and the lantern light danced over the walls. Rohan rested by her side, still rubbing the back of his head where Ostap had kicked him. On the deck above, the others continued singing and dancing, their footsteps clomping on the boards. Tonight it had been Rohan’s turn to knock back the drinks, and he hummed tunelessly, reclining against the wooden walls.

Fiona was sticking to water tonight. For one thing, she’d learned her lesson about overindulging the first night. For another, she had enough to worry about with the news of her father and the trial in Dagon’s lair. How the hell was she supposed to get through that one?

“Rohan?” She tried to make her tone casual.

“Yeah?” He examined his freshly painted black nails.

She inhaled, then whispered, “I don’t know how to swim.”

Rohan turned to her. His dark eyes were large and unblinking, like a night monkey’s. “You’re joking.”

She shook her head. She knew how stupid it sounded.

Rohan’s face creased into a smile, and he burst into a deep laugh. “You don’t know how to swim?”

She hit his arm. “Keep your voice down.”

He covered his mouth with his hand. “I really want to see Lir’s face when you tell him.”

Her stomach turned in knots. Lir already thought she was useless. “Maybe there’s another option that doesn’t require swimming.”

“What, like a pie-eating contest?” He ran a finger over the rim of his cup. “You’re going to have to ask Lir for swimming lessons.”

How was she supposed to manage swimming lessons if she was terrified of the water?

Rohan’s face suddenly grew serious. “Do you think he’ll strip down for them? Might be worth his obnoxious attitude.”

Fiona hugged her knees. “This is all just hilarious to you, isn’t it.”

“I thought you volunteered to come here. What sort of madwoman volunteers to be a sea demon and live among pirates when she can’t swim?”

“But historical pirates—”

Rohan waved a hand. “They’re not historical pirates. They worship a bloody sea god. They’re quite keen on water.”

“Do you think they’ll kick me off the ship?”

“From what I’ve seen of Lir, he takes everything seriously. Since he’s agreed to train you, he’ll do his best. He’ll probably kick up a big fuss and then force you to spend the rest of your free time swimming and waving that sword around.”

Fiona scowled. “I don’t think my muscles can take any more torture.”

Rohan rose, stretching his arms over his head, and a few amber drops of beer sloshed from his cup. “I’m turning in. Please let me know how it goes.” With one last amused grin, he slipped out the door.

Fiona stood, pulling her hair into a bun and gritting her teeth. Might as well get it over with. Stepping out her door, she tiptoed the few feet to Lir’s and pressed her ear to the door, listening for sounds of alertness. She wasn’t about to rouse him from sleep.

There was a muffled sound, and the door jerked open. Fiona stumbled, nearly falling into his room. For the first time, she saw him without his shirt. Her eyes lingered on the octopus splayed across his muscular torso.

“What?”

“Do you have superhuman hearing? I didn’t even knock.”

“No, but I could see your feet under the door.”

Around the octopus’s tentacles, swirls of stars and a few lines of a cursive poem snaked over his chest.

A
bout
, about, in reel and rout

The death-fires danced at night;

The water, like a witch’s oils,

Burnt green, and blue and white.

S
he recognized
Coleridge’s verse right away. It wasn’t a happy poem—something about a sailor who killed an albatross, and found himself plagued by death spirits. As penance, the sailor had to spend the rest of his life with an albatross hanging around his neck.

Lir leaned against the doorframe, folding his arms. “Presumably you wanted something?”

She was still staring. “
The Rime of the Ancient Mariner.
Your tattoo.”

“You came here to talk about my tattoo?”

“No, of course not.” His room had the clean smell of a rainstorm. He wasn’t inviting her in, and she still hovered in the hallway. Might as well get on with it. “Marlowe was telling us about the trials, and I might need some extra help with—” She swallowed, searching for a way to stall. She eyed his room over his shoulder. A collection of knives rested on a rack on the wall. “Nice arsenal. A little creepy, but…”

Lir glanced back, spying his open journal on his bed. Fiona caught a brief glimpse of a tentacled drawing before he snapped it shut, tucking it under his arm.

“Whatever you’re here for, can you get to the point? And please don’t let it be something ridiculous, like you’re terrified of masts or you don’t like the water.”

Fiona’s lips tightened. “Well, the good news is, I’m not terrified of masts.”

“And?”

“The second one. The one about the water.” She mouthed, “I can’t swim.”

Lir’s forehead crinkled in confusion. “What?”

“I can’t swim!” she yelled.

Lir’s eyes bulged. “You have got to be kidding me.” He stared at her, and she waited for him to say something more. At last, he tilted his head at the bed. “Come in for a minute.”

She shot a nervous look to his knife collection before entering, and he shut the door behind her. Tentatively, she perched on the edge of his bed.

He folded his arms again, eyeing her. “Is there anything else you need to tell me? Maybe you’re allergic to the wind?”

“Is there any way around having to swim to Dagon? Maybe I could meet him at a shoreline…” She trailed off.

“How is it that you never learned? I thought ordinary Americans knew how to swim.”

Because I’ve always known the water is full of death.
“Just never got around to it.”

“Tomorrow morning, we swim. Whether you want to or not.”

W
ith Lir by her side
, she stood on the rocky shore, dipping her toes in the icy water. Moonlight rippled over the black waves. Her first swimming lesson would take place in the dark morning hours, with a man covered in a giant octopus tattoo, and she didn’t even have a bathing suit. “What am I supposed to swim in?”

Lir yanked off his shirt. “Not a woolen dress. Apart from that, I honestly don’t care.”

She’d strategically wrapped the scarf around her bra, as she had when running. It was just like a bathing suit, right? Still, knowing that it was cotton instead of a bikini made her pause before pulling off her orange dress and crumpling it into a ball.

The cold ocean air blew against her skin, and she crossed her arms in front of her chest. Lir threw his trousers on a rock, now wearing only a tight pair of black shorts. She tried not to stare, glancing instead at the cresting waves that rushed over the rocks.
Rohan would be jealous as hell.

Lir strode into the sea while Fiona lingered on the craggy shoreline.

He waved her in. “Come on, then. You won’t learn to swim on the shore.”

She stepped over the pebbles, closing her eyes as cold sea foam rushed over her feet. Her teeth chattered, and when she closed her eyes, she saw a flash of the faceless man on the beach in South Boston. The phrase “dead man’s fingers” popped into her head, and she shivered.
Is that a type of seaweed, or did I just make that up?

Lir stood in water up to his waist. “Are you coming in, or are you too scared? Even you couldn’t drown in a few feet of water.”

Fighting the urge to gag when her feet touched the slimy stones, she pressed forward. “I know. Rationally, it’s just water, and I’m rational, so I can just rationally walk into…” Frigid waves washed over her hips, and she tried not to imagine bloated hands reaching from the depths to grip her ankles. She shut her eyes again, jumping slightly when Lir touched her wrist.

He grasped her hand, pulling her further into the murky water. “You need to do this. Or you will have to return to Dogtown.” She gasped when the water passed her bellybutton.

He was right. She could return and live among the wolves, hiding in a kennel. But then she’d never destroy the Purgators and stop them from slaughtering everyone. What purpose would her life have, then? None whatsoever.

Her fingernails dug into her palms as she followed Lir over the slippery rocks deeper into the sea. They must be coated in some kind of algae. The air smelled of seaweed, but at least underneath that was Lir’s herbal smell.

His hand felt warm in hers, and in the chilly waters she felt drawn to him. When you were seasick you were supposed to stare at one point.
Maybe that would work for an oppressive sense of dread too.
She fixed her eyes on a star tattoo on his back.

When she was in the water up to her chest, he paused, glancing back at her. “You’re not speaking. We’re past the breakers now.”

She swallowed as a wave rushed toward them, chilling her shoulders.
Why is everything so slimy?
She knew that all around her, dead man’s flesh sprouted like sea cabbages, corrupted limbs threatening to pull her to the ocean floor and smash her face into the rocks, leaving only a gaping cavity.

“Fiona?”

“I’m here. I’m here.” Her arms hovered over the water’s surface in the stilted posture of the undead.

“In the next few steps, you’ll have to move your arms and legs.”

Something soft and wet wrapped around her leg, and her heart leapt. Tearing her hand out of Lir’s grip, she turned, fighting her way through the waves. On the jagged rocks, she ground to a halt. She hunched over, her hands on her knees, and vomited up last night’s cornbread.

Gasping for breath, she held up a hand. “I’m fine! I’m fine. Just something I ate.”

“There’s fresh water in the boat.”

She picked her way over the rocks to the rowboat and grabbed Lir’s canteen, pouring some water into a small metal cup. After washing her mouth out with the fresh water, she returned the cup and squared her shoulders.
Rational. I said I was going to be rational.
As she shuffled back over the rocks, she scratched her forehead. “You know the things on the bottom of the ocean that feel like boneless fingers?”

He smirked. “You’re scared of seaweed?”

“I mean, it’s just a plant, so, no.” She shot him a look intended to convey that he was the crazy one.

He studied her. “You’re genuinely afraid of the sea.”

There was no hiding it from him. She shrugged.

“So why are you here? Was your life in Dogtown that terrible? Was it too boring and you needed a bit more adventure?”

Anger flared in her chest. “I’m getting a little sick of your condescending attitude.”

“Don’t you understand? Most of you will die here.” He spoke slowly, punctuating each word like she was an idiot. “Do you know the kind of men we recruit? They’re desperate to win a spot on the ship. Half the time they murder each other. Don’t come crying to me when the first dead recruit shows up. Unless, of course, the first dead recruit is you, seeing as you can neither swim nor fight, which are pretty much the only two things required of you. Don’t you care that you’re going to die young, or are you moping over a breakup and looking for a little attention?”

She rushed at him, stepping into the cold waters. “No. I’m not moping over a breakup. But I can see Dagon bestowed you with the amazing gift of thinking you know everything when really you’re just full of shit.” The waves surged over her legs as she pressed forward.

“Do you have a death wish?”

“I have a death
sentence
, just like you do. It doesn’t mean I’m going to waste my life hiding in a goddamn dog kennel while the Purgators light people on fire at fucking dinner parties. ‘Let’s all just sit back and watch people burn while we nibble our canapés!’ ” she shouted at the sky, plunging further into the ocean. “Our world is about to go to war, and I’m not going to cower on the sidelines while people with the power of gods make all the decisions.” She stood inches from his face now, close enough to read the surprise in his eyes, but she wasn’t finished. “You might be content to lie around on a ship of drunks covering yourself in pictures of octopi, but I’m not.”

Lir fell silent, apparently too stunned to reply, and she listened to the sounds of the waves breaking on the rocks. Somewhere on the island, an owl hooted.

Staring at her, Lir scratched his head. “It’s octopuses, actually. The plural.”

“What?”

“It’s not a Latin root. It’s Greek, so if anything, it would be octopodes, but that sounds—”

“That’s all you have to say?”

He smiled. She’d never seen him smile before.

“What are you smiling at?” she asked.

“You’re up to your chest in the drink, and you didn’t even kick up a fuss about seaweed or algae.”

She took a deep breath, staring at the dark waters around her. She hadn’t even felt the dead man’s fingers this time.

A splash caught Lir’s attention, and he turned to the deeper waters. Something moved—a pale-blue flash of hair in the silvery light. “The nippexies,” he said in a hushed tone. “It’s a good omen.” He turned to her, and the silvery moonlight glinted in his eyes. “Maybe you’ll make it through this.”

S
he stood on the deck
, wearing her usual white shirt and leggings, belted with the scarf. That morning she’d worked up the courage to dunk her head in the ocean, through several hours of sword fighting had dried it into an uncontrollable frizz.

Even if she looked like a mess, she was happy with what she’d learned. Granted, she hadn’t properly swum, but the head-dunking was a step in the right direction.

The crew had drifted out onto the Atlantic in anticipation of tonight’s task, and the Guardians hoisted the sails. Fiona wasn’t quite sure why they needed to sail away from the island. All she knew was that they were supposed to race to the crow’s-nest along the rope shrouds.

At least she wasn’t scared of heights, but she wasn’t convinced she could keep up in a climbing race against Ostap.

On deck, Ives stood talking to the hulking Russian. Catching her eye, Ives smiled, his elfin blue eyes twinkling. He excused himself and crossed to her, a gentle smile on his lips. “Fiona.” He gave a little bow. “You’re looking well. It’s so nice to have a lady among us to add a feminine touch to the ship.”

Fiona bristled. “Feminine touch?”
What’s that supposed to mean?

“Oh, believe me, I would not underestimate you, Fiona,” he grinned.

Ah. So that’s why they don’t pick on Ives.
He gets people on his side through flattery.
If Fiona had had more sense, she would have started off with a little more charm and a little less calling people dicks.

“Recruits!” Nod bellowed before jumping onto the main deck.

Ostap, Ives, and Fiona lined up, awaiting instruction, while Rohan and Berold sauntered up from the lower decks. Fiona glanced up at the mainmast, which had to be a hundred feet tall. In a storm, with the ship violently lurching, a sailor would be at risk of plunging into the waters. Lucky for them, the skies were clear and blue.

Nod paced before them in a gold doublet while Marlowe stood behind him, shading his eyes with a hand. Captain Nod pointed up to the crow’s-nest. “Your job today is to impress us by racing to the top.” He pointed to one of the shrouds—thick rope ladders attached to the ship’s sides, meeting near the top of the mast. “Ostap and Ives, you’ll climb portside. Fiona, Berold, and Rohan: starboard.” He raised his hands to the sky. “Dagon gives us life! We will not disappoint him.”

The other Guardians chanted after him in unison.

Fiona shot a nervous look to Rohan before approaching the shroud. But as she crossed the deck, someone gripped her arm. Lir leaned in, whispering in her ear. “Watch out for Berold and Rohan. They could throw you off. Nod is going to call up a storm. Last time we did this, two recruits were thrown into the sea. Even a strong swimmer might not make it.”

She swallowed hard and thanked him before trudging to the ship’s edge. Her knees suddenly felt weak, and she nervously eyed Rohan, who climbed over the edge of the ship, clinging to the shroud. He gave Fiona an encouraging smile.

At a few feet across, the shroud was just large enough for three people, but it narrowed toward the top. As they got closer to the crow’s-nest, they’d have to fight for a position. And with three people on one shroud, Fiona faced tougher competition on the starboard.

She hoped the shaking in her limbs wasn’t visible to the others as she climbed over the ship’s edge, taking her spot next to Rohan. Any of them could be thrown into the waters, but she was the only one who didn’t know how to swim. And did she really need to worry about Rohan? Sure, Berold was a creep, but Rohan she trusted.

Long-limbed like a spider, Berold climbed beside her on the shroud. An obscene tongue flicked out of his mouth as he looked Fiona up and down. “If I win this I’m going to take Fiona for a celebratory ride!”

Nod strode across the deck, blowing a ring of pipe smoke into the air. “You shut your mouth. I told you our rules.”

Marlowe pointed a long finger at Berold. “No meddling. Not without consent.”

Nod’s eyes scanned the skies. “Wait until I give the signal. A tempest approaches.”

The skies were still a clear and cloudless blue, and the hot sun beat down on Fiona’s skin. Sweat dampened her upper lip.

Nod closed his eyes, as though basking in the sun, and then he started muttering under his breath. She could feel the magical aura thickening the air, crackling over her skin, raising goose bumps. A cold, metallic smell blew in on a strong gust.

Fiona glanced to the east, where the sky had begun to darken. As Nod spoke, his hands raised, a thick wall of roiling, black clouds crept closer. Her stomach dropped as they surged toward the ship.

She felt the air leave her lungs.
Nod can do this?
Suddenly dizzy, she tightened her grip on the ropes.

As the inky clouds rolled closer, the sea began to heave and froth. Fiona shot Rohan a panicked look as a monstrous wave sucked the boat into its trough. The storm hit them like an oncoming train.

Winds slammed the ship, and Fiona fought to hold on.
We haven’t even started yet.
Caught in the wave’s grasp, the ship rose steeply, and the horrified look on Rohan’s face only fed her own terror. The
Proserpine
paused for a moment at the wave’s peak, and when it crashed down again, Fiona’s stomach lurched. Seawater soaked her clothes, and she gripped the rope so hard it bit into her hands.

Cold rain lashed her skin, and she waited for Nod’s signal, shuddering while another enormous wave reared up behind her. Lir stood mid-deck, his arms folded and feet planted steadily on the boards.

“Recruits!” Nod bellowed over the howling wind. The ship plunged down again, and icy seawater rushed over her skin. “On the count of three. One… two…” He paused, and as the
Proserpine
crested another wave, he shouted, “Three!”

To her left, Berold was off immediately, ascending on spindly limbs. All of Fiona’s survival instincts told her to hold fast to the ropes, to stay in one place and hope for the best. But she couldn’t afford to lose again. She glanced at Lir, who strolled across the pitching ship with inhuman grace. Her stomach swooped as she forced herself upward, even as the ship plummeted down again.

Up.
She would look up, and not at the monstrous, oncoming waves.

In order to compete, she’d have to rely on the strength in her legs. Pushing herself up from one rung to the next, she was able to keep pace with Rohan, but lagged behind Berold.

A wave struck the ship with a force that rattled the wood, knocking them upward. While she grasped at the rungs, trying to chase Berold, the ship rolled portside. It creaked so far over, Fiona found herself looking down at the churning sea below, her body nearly parallel to the black waves.

Even Berold emitted a yelp, freezing in place. Fiona fought the urge to vomit and climbed another rung, and then another, holding her breath when the ship righted itself. Nearly level with Berold on the narrowing shroud, she caught a glimpse of his face, now a terrified green. His eyes bulged at her approach.

But she didn’t have long to revel in his discomfort, because the ship had begun rolling to the starboard side—her side. She clung tighter to the ropes, her heart hammering. The ship bowed down, plunging her toward the churning waves. Ocean spray whipped her face, and for a moment, she felt as though Dagon would unfurl a sucker-covered tentacle and drag her into the cold depths.

Just as the ship began to right itself once more, Berold turned to her, eyebrows knit with cold determination. Something glinted in his hand—a knife. He jabbed wildly at her right arm and hand, slicing three fingers. She shrieked, instinctively jerking away.

It only took a moment for her to lose her grip, and she felt the cold rush of wind as she slipped down the shroud. Her heart stopped. She would meet her death in the ocean, in the frigid abyss. She’d always known it would be this way.

Except—something had stopped her. The ship was rolling upward again, and she was moving with it. Someone had her arm in a viselike grip.

Rohan. Thank God.

Using her free arm, she latched onto the shroud again. Blood streamed from her sliced fingers. When she glanced up at the top of the mast, she saw Berold had scuttled up near the crow’s-nest.

“Let’s go!” Rohan shouted through the squall.

She still had a chance to come out ahead of Ostap or Ives. Side by side, she and Rohan scaled the ropes. She gasped for breath, forcing herself to tune out the ship’s violent rolling. Sodden and whipped by heavy winds, her muscles shuddered.
Come on, Fiona. You have nowhere else to go.

She glanced up just as Berold clambered inside the crow’s-nest. Face beaming, he raised his hands to the skies.

Fiona worked her legs harder. The shroud narrowed further, and she and Rohan crowded closer together. They’d run out of room for both of them. But Rohan had saved her life, and she couldn’t just elbow him out of the way. “Go on, Rohan!” she shouted over the wind.

He glanced at her before hoisting himself into the crow’s-nest. The ship surged over a wave, and he reached over the side to grab Fiona’s arm, yanking her in along with him.