Pack of Secrets, page 24
“I’m not saying no,” I hurried to add. “I just need a little time.” I wasn’t even sure I could say no if the alpha supported our mating.
He forced a smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “I understand.”
I threw my arms around him and gave him a hug. “Thanks, Mack.”
And then, because I suddenly felt awkward as hell and had no idea what else to do, I stood and climbed back into my hammock.
Grace
Despite my racing mind, I must have passed out because I awoke surrounded by a chorus of snoring. The cabin was dark, and all three of my packmates were out cold, catching up on sleep and getting rid of the last of their portal lag. Surprised the alpha didn’t have anyone awake keeping watch, I sat up and glanced at the door. Someone had used Mackiel’s spear to wedge the door shut.
Smart.
I relaxed back in my hammock as remnants of my dream tugged at my subconscious. Silvery eyes, walnut skin, and an undeniable sense of rightness invaded my senses. It had been three days since my encounter with the guardian, and the asshole was still mucking up my dreams.
Annoyed, I stared at the ceiling and tried to think about something else—anything else—but the man was relentless. Every time I closed my eyes, he was there, infuriatingly handsome, his spirit all dark and twisted. I wondered what he was up to and immediately wanted to slap myself across the face.
What was wrong with me?
Despite my cleaning efforts and the fact both portholes were wide open, the room still stank. Someone farted in their sleep, and I groaned. Sharing a cramped sick bay with three grown male shifters was the definition of funky.
Feeling well-rested and desperate for clean air, I climbed out of my hammock and crept to the porthole. The waning moon was high in the sky above us. I’d slept all afternoon and halfway through the night. No wonder I was so wide awake. Stepping onto the wooden storage box, I leaned out of the window and took a deep breath of sea air. The night was silent, aside from the snoring behind me and the low conversation of two fishmen on deck above. For the moment, at least.
Then, there was music. It wasn’t like before with the pounding feet, plucking lute, and baritone voices. This was light, high-pitched, tinkly, and barely audible over the waves crashing against the ship. Someone was singing. I couldn’t understand the lyrics, but the voice was beautiful and sweet. Feminine and sad. As I listened, entranced, the music wrapped me in sorrow. Longing for the green fields of a home I’d never seen and the loving arms of a family I’d never known made my heart ache for the singer. She’d lost so much. Everything. All she had left was this life—this duty—she did not want. A sense of hopelessness tugged at me, making me wish I could throw myself into the ocean and end my torture.
Only I wasn’t the one enduring this pain; she was.
Diving deeper with my spiritual sight, I focused on the front of the ship. The tiny tapestry that had raged with fire yesterday was now calm and forlorn, rife with the type of overwhelming sorrow and pain I usually only saw in Mackiel. But unlike my friend, this little being wasn’t hiding her emotions away. Her darkness was there for the world to see, like a festering mass that threatened to overwhelm her tapestry.
Kind of like the chalice’s guardian.
I’d used his unrelenting torment against him to save myself, but now I couldn’t help but wonder what would have happened had I handled the situation differently. Maybe if I’d thought to soothe him from the beginning, he wouldn’t have tried to kill me.
I pushed the pointless thought aside. It was too late to help him, but I could still do something for this suffering soul. I’d never tried to soothe someone through a wall before, but instinct and necessity sent my spirit into action. Her spirit shuddered beneath my ethereal fingertips, and her song halted.
“Who touches me?” Her tinkling, high-pitched voice sounded in my mind rather than in my ears.
It was too much like the pack bond for comfort, and memories of that experience sent my spirit hurling back into my own body. Before I had time to slam a mental block between us, she spoke again.
“Wait. Please do not go.”
She sounded so lonely and desperate that I hesitated.
“Are you a prisoner, too?” she asked.
How do I communicate with her? I thought to myself.
Laughter tinkled in my mind. “You just did, silly.”
“You can hear me?” I asked. It was a stupid question since the answer was obvious, but my pack hadn’t been able to hear me, so communicating with a complete stranger seemed surreal.
“I can.”
It was also terrifying.
What if I accidentally shared thoughts I didn’t want to share?
More tinkling laughter answered my unvoiced question. “You must learn to guard your thoughts, sharing only those you wish to share.”
“How?” I asked.
“As with all things, intention is key.”
I had no idea what that meant, so I circled back to the previous subject. “You’re a prisoner?”
“I am,” she confirmed, sadness creeping back into her voice. “The Sons of Oannes stole me from my field when I was but a child.”
“You mean Captain Oannes?”
“All of the sailors were born of Ea’s emissary.”
“I’m sorry, but I don’t know who Ea is.”
“No. You would not,” she replied. “You are not of the old land. Your language is foreign. Ea is the Mesopotamian god of water and wisdom. His emissary, Oannes, would often come ashore and teach the Babylonians science, arts, and writing. Unfortunately, he was an amorous being who spread his seed amongst many Babylonian women.”
“Creating his own crew of pervy fishmen,” I said, understanding where she was going with this little story.
“They are not his crew,” she corrected. “This is not even their ship. They stole it from their father. Despite his indiscretions, Oannes did much good in the world.” Her tone took on an edge. “His sons, however, are vengeful rogues that hired a witch to help them trap his spirit inside Falak.”
Unfamiliar with the term, I asked, Falak?
“The snake god.”
“That was a god?” My blood chilled as more pieces of the puzzle began to fit into place. Something tugged at the back of my mind, and as much as I wanted to disregard it, I couldn’t. Captain Oannes had made a deal with a witch, and my father had cashed in on a deal made with a witch. The captain had also mentioned that the ship’s passage couldn’t be purchased, only earned. Had Sereana acquired passage by trapping Oannes for his sons?
“What did the witch look like?” I asked, hoping beyond hope that my theory was wrong. My aunt was no saint, but I didn’t want her to be the type of witch who trapped gods for their terrible children. Of course, if the god was a better father, maybe his children wouldn’t have turned out to be vengeful rogues, but I was trying not to judge.
“I never saw the witch. That was long before my time. At least a century ago.”
I had no idea how old Aunt Sereana was. It was almost impossible to tell with Tricari, who could magic themselves to never age. The question was, could I see my aunt trapping the spirit of a sea god’s emissary in the body of a snake god?
Yes. Yes, I could.
“Will you kill me?” the female asked.
“W-what?” I stammered, stunned by her question. “No. Why would you even think that? I’m not here to kill you. We are passengers. The ship is taking us to the island of Socotra. I am not a murderer.”
“It would not be murder, but a kindness.” Sadness streamed through our connection, tugging at my heartstrings. “An end to my torture.”
“You’re being tortured?” I asked, feeling strangely protective of the girl. She was so small and disheartened, and sadness had all but threaded itself over her tapestry. Suffocating sorrow overwhelmed her tiny spirit. She was a person, a sentient consciousness, and it enraged me that someone had done this to her.
“My cage is made of iron,” she replied. “Every time the waves toss me, I smash against the bars, and they burn my flesh. The iron will not kill me, but it melts my skin until I fight off Oannes.”
The fiery rage I’d felt from her last night now made sense. Her captors were forcing her to defend them from their father. “How long have you been their prisoner?”
“I do not know.” More sorrow pinged between us. “I lost count of the seasons long ago. Are you sure you will not kill me? I would take my life myself, but the iron bars cannot pierce, only burn.”
Judging by her tone, she’d tried. Many times. There had to be a better way to help her. “Is it possible to free you?”
She hesitated. “But the iron….”
“Iron doesn’t hurt me.” Silver was the only metal I couldn’t touch. I wondered what would hurt the fishmen since they clearly had no fear of iron.
“There is a lock, but the captain carries the key on his hat. You cannot get to it. I do not wish to put your life in peril.”
I almost laughed out loud but managed to smack my jaw closed in time to cut off the sound. The last thing I needed was my packmates to wake up in the middle of my scheming.
“A lock is not a problem,” I assured her. Scanning the area, I formulated a plan to get to the figurehead before lowering myself back into the room and climbing down from the wooden storage box. I started opening the chest but froze when the old wood creaked.
Someone’s snore cut off. I waited, listening. When Rust’s heavy breathing started up again, I slipped my backpack out—careful to steady Mackiel’s bag before it could topple over—and closed the box. This time, the lid was silent.
“What can you tell me about their patrols?” I asked.
“What do you mean?”
“How often do they come to the front of the ship and check on you?”
“Never.” She sounded almost amused by the notion. “They know I cannot escape, and they are arrogant. They only come to the front of the ship to use the head.”
“Don’t they feed you?”
“No. I do not need to eat.” She giggled, sounding so young it hurt my heart.
That made me pause. “What… what are you? I’m sorry if that’s a rude question, but I’ve never met someone who doesn’t need to eat before.”
“I am a fire sprite,” she replied with the brightest tinkle of pride.
A fire sprite? That was something new and not listed in the pack database. It also sounded dangerous. Especially considering what she’d done to the giant snake. “If I come out to free you, will you hurt me?” I asked, watching her tapestry for any sign of trickery.
“You… you intend to free me?” she asked, her voice quivering with disbelief. “Truly?”
I glanced back at my companions. They were all still sound asleep. If I wanted to free her, it was now or never. “As long as you don’t intend to hurt me.”
“I will not hurt you,” she assured me. “I swear it on the flames of my people.”
The vows of the Tricari were binding, and that particular vow sounded sincere. Besides, I really wanted to see what a fire sprite looked like. I took a steadying breath and climbed out of the porthole, gripping the iron ribcage. We were only two nights past the full moon, and the sky was clear, so there was plenty of light to see by. It took a bit of finagling, but I squeezed my hips through the bars. Body plastered against the iron, I listened and sniffed the air, ensuring nobody was nearby. I had no desire whatsoever to catch one of the fishmen using the head. Confirming that the coast was clear, I crept toward the ship’s bow.
The night was warm, but the bars were wet from the waves. As the ship rocked, water splashed my bare feet, dampening my pant legs, and it hit me that skulking over slippery bars above the ocean, alone, in the middle of the night, wasn’t my best decision. Throw in a vengeful snake god and no telling what else—a bloodthirsty shark, a giant octopus, or even a freaking sea monster—and I was questioning my life choices. If I lost my grip and landed in the water, my packmates would never even know what happened to me. What was I thinking? I couldn’t even swim!
I probably should have woken Mackiel, but my friend’s loyalties were clear. If he didn’t immediately wake the alpha and nark on me, I could see him doing something stupid like tying me to my hammock to keep me safe until morning. But I didn’t want to be safe and secure in my bed. I finally had a chance to be useful and help someone, and I needed to take it.
“Hey, what’s your name?” I asked the sprite.
There was a beat of silence, then she said, “Are you really coming to free me?”
“Yes.” Hand over hand, foot over foot, I crept closer. The area around the figurehead’s mouth brightened with a fiery glow, leading me to it. “Nobody should have to spend their life in a cage.”
“Please be careful,” she said, her voice trembling. “The Sons of Oannes will be angry if they discover what you are attempting.”
“I’m not afraid of creepy fishmen,” I replied with way more bravado than I felt. “Besides, you said they never check on you, so how will they know?”
“They will not until they dock. Then they will surely notice. Or if the ship is attacked and I do not defend it. When you free me, I will seek out Oannes and tell him not to make a move until you reach your destination. He will listen to me, and I will help him take his revenge when the time comes.”
Now that sounded like a plan I could endorse. I reached the mouth of the figurehead and swung my leg over to climb inside, careful not to scrape my back on the sharp iron upper beak. Turning, I came face to face with the fire sprite and froze. She couldn’t have been any larger than my hand, and everything from her toes to her head glowed with flames. Elongated ears, pointed at the tips, wiggled in greeting. When I looked into her eyes, I saw the heart of an inferno. She wasn’t made of flames; she was fire. Odd markings covered her exposed skin, and it took me a moment to realize they weren’t tattoos but scars from the iron bars encasing her.
A beautiful smile lit up her tiny face. “Why hello there,” she said aloud. “My name is Anunit.”
“You speak English,” I said, surprised. I’d heard the language in my mind, but I still wasn’t sure how that skill worked. Telepathy was magic, so it could have a built-in translator for all I knew.
“Fire knows no boundaries,” she said. “It is not confined to any language.”
With no clue what to say to that, I started to introduce myself, but her bizarre eyes grew comically large as she waved her hands and said, “No. Do not tell me.”
“You don’t want to know my name?” I asked, pulling my backpack off and extracting my lockpicks from their pocket.
“No.” She let out a relieved breath, her shoulders sagging with the effort. “Names have power. You should tell yours only to those you trust not to misuse it.”
I was confused. “You gave me your name.”
She nodded, and the flames that made up her hair flickered with the movement. “I did, but you are here to free me at significant risk to yourself. I offer my name as a favor for your kindness. If you speak into a fire, I will come to your aid. As long as I am free and able to do so.”
I studied the rudimentary iron padlock that had kept Anunit locked up for longer than she could remember. “That’s not necessary. I’m not freeing you to earn a favor. I’m freeing you because enslaving and torturing people is wrong.”
She studied me, her eyes warm with affection. Or maybe that was just the fire. It was difficult to tell. “You have a kind soul.”
It wasn’t kindness; it was common decency. But rather than argue, I went to work on the lock, surprised by how clean it was.
“Shouldn’t this be rusted?” I asked.
“The Sons of Oannes spell the iron to keep it free of corrosion,” Anunit said. “Otherwise, the entire ship casing would be nothing but rust.”
“Why iron?”
“It burns Falak. Oannes and the snake god are old enemies. When the ship was his, Oannes embraced the ship in iron to keep the snake away. Now that they share a body, Oannes protects the snake from the metal, but it still hurts him.”
Within seconds the familiar click of release sounded. Before I swung the door open, I met Anunit’s gaze. “I have packmates on this ship. Do you promise not to hurt them or do anything to damage the ship until we reach land?”
She nodded, her expression solemn. “On the flames of my people, I will protect this ship and its passengers with my life until you are safely on land,” she said, her language more actively binding than mine. “That is an easy promise to make,” she continued, “for I am not the only one the Sons of Oannes have wronged. Vengeance should not be mine alone.”
I didn’t feel bad for the fishmen, but I sure as hell didn’t envy them either. With the giant snake and the fire sprite teamed up, they were in for one massive beatdown.
“Some people call me Chip,” I said, heeding her advice but also giving her a name to call me.
She grinned. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Chip.”
Then I opened the door and watched as the fire sprite shot out of her cage and into the sky like a shooting star. As she winked out of sight, I really hoped my actions wouldn’t come back to burn me in the ass.
Arioch
Lugging Tyrin across the goddamn ocean was a chore. It mattered not how high I flew nor how many times I glided; he was a heavy son-of-a-bitch. I was still battling portal fatigue, and although the hot desert sun had restored a portion of my energy, the influx was far from the massive boost I had anticipated. Halfway through the flight, I was ready to chuck the gargoyle into the ocean as if he were a walking corpse nesna that refused to die. By the time we made land, my entire body was stiff, my right leg was asleep, and the base of my left wing would not stop twitching.
I had expected Socotra to consist of more of the same nature-ravaged desert we had seen in Yemen, but as we approached the island, it was clear my assumptions were wrong. The slug-shaped island looked more like a tropical paradise mentioned in one of the science fiction books in my library than a desert wasteland. Inviting sandy white beaches backed up to narrow coastal plains overgrown with unfamiliar flora. Bizarre umbrella-shaped trees and white shrubs with pink flowers littered cliffs and what must pass for mountains here. Having grown up with a view of Mt. Rainier, it looked more like a collection of hills to me. Turquoise pools dotted a limestone plateau and snaked up a brightly colored canyon.
