The silent tribute

Previously: Esmiralda and her companions have discovered that the shattered ship—found upside-down and in the middle of a forest—was once captained by Harfirgorn the Merciless, a pirate of some repute that had vanished long ago. Following clues in a log book they find in the pirate’s quarters, they hope to discover clues to his final resting place. On the way, they meet up with a lady of the wood whose husband has succumbed to the vile magic of the pirate's witch.


Baram watched the fire smolder in silence. She may have wished for immediate revenge, but none came to investigate the source of the black smoke that curled up into the bright blue sky. None that we saw, at any rate. The forest was never quiet; creatures stalked at the edge of our clearing making small but innocent sounds. Now and again a bird soared overhear, some of them quite large and black, but whether they were spies of the Mountain Witch or not, we had no way to determine.


None of my companions wanted to disturb the Daughter of the Wolf as she watched her husband burn. I took note of the single trail of tears that flowed unabated and undisturbed. I was reminded of a day, long ago, when I saw similar smoke, smelled the same stench of scorched flesh and mourned one who had meant the world to me. I was just a young girl, then, clinging terrified to my wailing father's shirt. My mother had been all I had known. I saw no way forward without her kindness to ease the sting of my father's hand or harsh words. I understood Baram's grief--I suppose, in a way, we all did--but did not think that gave me the right to intrude on it.


Instead I flipped through the pages of Harfigorn's log, seeking clues to our destination or, at the very least, our foes. the idea that the pirate himself was the lesser evil was still growing in my mind. I thought it possible now, that he was merely a puppet for a stronger, blacker power. Perhaps even the witch Athelane did not know what she trifled with.


I found troubling accounts of battles against gigantic creatures, ambushes on hapless merchant vessels and the blood-soaked rituals that followed. It was a circle of horror; the fluids and pieces of those doomed traders called the dark things that lay wait below the surface of the Big Seas to the surface. Some fought and died, others were allowed to return to their gloomy domain. I could see no pattern in it.


Merrick appeared beside me, tugging his sparse beard. "Anything?"


I shook my head. "The tales are wild, but not too informative. They detail the witch's power and depravity, but not her purpose."


A grunt. "I suspected. Those who crave this dark knowledge rarely let us know why. For us, it is enough to know they exist and must be stopped."


"Do you think we'll be able to? If she has found a way to harness Ewl's power, or gain his favor, all the weapons we have might not be enough." I stared at Seymuhr as I spoke. He sat warming his feet by the pyre and munching on a dried spider leg as long as his arm.


"My--our--companions are stout fighters, and I've a few tricks up my sleeve," he said. "But there is no way to guarantee success in any battle. We can only prepare ourselves, bolster our own spirits, and do our best."


I nodded. Sound philosophy, of course. I had always followed it--and that was how I found myself bereft of coin and home and at the mercy Merrick and his agents of the Ministry of Human Preservation.


"That, and hope my luck changes," I said.


Baram bowed her head. I heard a few murmured words and then a deep sigh. She stood, brushing the grass from her backside and the tear trail from her cheeks.


"Enough," she said. "Let's be on our way. My sword is still dry and my soul hungers for vengeance."