Chapter 27

 

“Have they forgotten about us?” Petrok asked, brandishing his sword as if he could slice the incoming cannon balls in half.

“Unlikely.” Savion stared in confusion. The men who were preparing to fire upon them from the White Crypt had suddenly stopped and rushed over to the opposite side of the ship, while Damien marched across the deck, huffing and puffing like a smokestack.

“Verrad’s dead.” Haddeus’s tortured voice turned Savion about to see that the doctor’s hands, face, and clothes were stained with blood, his eyes numb with horror.

Savion gasped. “How?”

“He was on the gun deck when that last broadside hit. Shot got him right in the gut. Ripped him in two.”

Petrok sank back to lean on the railing, his breath coming hard. Hona groaned and spun to face the sea.

Sorrow clamped Savion’s heart. “Anyone else injured?”

“Just him, Captain.”

Visions of Verrad flooded Savion’s mind: sharing meals amid laughter and singing, fighting Malum hoards side by side, late-night chats when neither could sleep. Emotion burned in Savion’s throat both at his death and his betrayal. “Wrap what’s left of him in sail cloth. We’ll bury him later.”

“Isn’t that Perdita?” Hona’s shocked voice instantly brought Savion around.

Savion grabbed the scope and lifted it to his eye. There, beyond Damien’s ship, a woman clung to a boulder before an outcropping of jagged cliffs, waving. Waving? Black hair spiraled over her chest in streams of ink. Perdita! What was she doing? She must have escaped from Damien’s ship. But why in the name of Erden wasn’t she hiding?

“By all the powers that be, it’s her!” Petrok exclaimed.

“What is she doing?” Hona squinted to see her.

Movement caught Savion’s eye, and he shifted the scope to see two boats leave the White Crypt—one headed for shore, the other toward Perdita. He focused on the second boat, and Damien’s stern, angry face came into view.

“Vak! He’s going after her!” Savion slammed the scope shut and punched the railing.

Petrok grabbed his shoulder. “She lured them toward her to save us, Captain.”

Shock and realization filtered over Savion, stunned at the woman’s selfless act to save them.

“She disappeared into the rock cliff!” Hona exclaimed.

Savion whipped around to see the sharpshooters idle in the White Crypt’s tops and the remaining men leaning haphazardly against railings, chatting excitedly amongst themselves.

“Seems we have a moment’s reprieve!” He turned to Petrok. “Check on the progress below and assign more men to pump out the water, then”—Savion glanced across the pile of broken yards, tackles, and rope—“clean up this mess, fix the foresail, and make sure the rest of the lines are taut and secure. I want every able man set to task. Let’s take advantage of this gift from King Abbas.”

Savion found Nuto at the stern managing the repair of one of their swivel guns.

“Nuto,” Savion shouted, bringing the man’s gaze to his. “How many of those charges do you have left?”

“Ten, Captain.”

“Get them.”

With a nod, Nuto darted across the deck and dropped below.

“Hona, ready your musket and climb to the tops.”

Petrok rubbed his chin. “What are you thinking, Captain?”

Savion smiled and glanced at the White Crypt. “I’m going to destroy our enemy and rescue Perdita, what else?”

Petrok shook his head, though a smile appeared on his lips.

Moments later, Nuto reluctantly handed Savion the oilskin sack containing the ten charges. “It’s a fool’s errand—you’ll be killed for sure.”

Tying the sack around his neck, Savion flipped it onto his back, then grabbed Nuto’s shoulder. “Ever the optimist, Nuto.” He swung a leg over the railing and grinned at his men who were hovering around him, keeping him out of sight. Not just his men—his friends.

“For once I agree with Nuto, Captain,” Petrok said. “The woman has been nothing but trouble. Let’s patch the ship as best we can and slip away before Damien returns to finish us off.”

Hona approached, musket loaded and ready, and a pouch of gunpowder hanging from his belt. Suddenly he looked so young, so innocent. But the man was the best sharpshooter Savion had. “What say you, Hona? Do you think me a fool as well?”

“I know you must do this, Captain. But I fear for you like the others.”

“I will return. I promise.” Savion nodded and slipped over the side, the warm water lulling him to believe his own words—even though the mission ahead was the most risky he’d ever attempted. For one thing, the unstable charges on his back could blow at any minute. Even now as he swam deeply to avoid detection, he felt them shift across his back. Or they could explode when he positioned them on the White Crypt’s hull before Hona had a chance to set them off with his musket shot.

Then there was Perdita. Finding her in the middle of what he assumed to be dark caverns and passageways, all while Damien and his men—armed to the teeth—searched for her as well seemed impossible. How would Savion avoid detection? Would he get there in time? And if he did manage to find her, how would he bring her out without getting them both killed? So many questions, so many unknowns. Impossible odds. Yet that peace—that marvelous, abiding peace—still burned within him like a torch on a dark night, guiding him, leading him … assuring him.

He surfaced and gulped in air as quietly as he could. The White Crypt rose before him like a tombstone toward a gray sky. The stench of sodden wood filled his nose as creaks and groans met his ears, accompanied by a sailor’s ditty from above. Good. They hadn’t seen him. Opening his sack, he pulled out the first charge and fixed it to the hull with the fasteners. Then, gliding down the side of the ship, he carefully placed the other charges in points where he knew they’d do the most damage. He thanked his father when all were set and none had blown.

Now to rescue Perdita. Diving back to the bottom of the bay, he swam to the edge of the rocky cliffs and surfaced behind a large boulder. As he caught his breath, he heard the crunch of feet and cursing of Damien and his men as they searched the outlying rocks for any sign of Perdita. Good, they hadn’t entered the maze of cliffs yet.

Taking a deep breath, Savion dove and wove among boulders stuck in the seabed. Crashing waves jostled him to and fro, delaying his progress, but finally, a narrow opening in the cliff wall came into focus. He eased his face above water and tried to peer inside, but a wave shoved him through the opening, bashing him against jagged walls on either side. Blood stained the water as pain spiked through his side and back. The swell carried him into a small cave, where he gripped the edge of a rock as the water sloshed back out.

He glanced around. No sign of Perdita. Men’s voices echoed through the maze. Damien’s crew wasn’t far behind.

Savion dove into an opening at the edge of the cave and waded through waist-high water down a long channel. Water dripped off walls, plop-plop echoing over the rock ceiling. His bare feet landed on something sharp. More pain. More blood pinking the water. The roar of another wave warned him to hang on. A wall of foam slammed into him. He tumbled forward. Sharp rocks scraped his arms, legs, face, and back.

The gush deposited him on a bed of sand in a narrow shaft and rushed out the way it had come. Blood seeped from multiple gashes. His head hurt. He spat salt and blood from his mouth and glanced around, gasping for breath. If he didn’t find Perdita soon, nothing but scraps of flesh would be left to mark his attempt to save her.

He no longer heard voices. No doubt Damien and his men had assessed the danger and retreated to surround the cliffs instead. That’s what Savion would do in their shoes. But he wasn’t in their shoes. He didn’t want to hurt Perdita, to use her, to abuse her. He wanted to save her.

Because he loved her.

Mission or not, Perdita was not a means to an end. She was the end. He realized that now. And the more the revelation sank in, the more peace he felt, the more resolve to keep going.

Struggling to rise, he started down the narrow channel, seeking direction from within. The medallion warmed his shivering body, guiding him, empowering him to go on despite the pain and fears racking through him. Water roared behind him. The tunnel filled with churning foam, dashing toward him, twisting and turning like steam from a dragon’s mouth, ready to swallow him whole. Heart crashing against his chest, he dove into a small opening in the cliff wall just in time before the frothing talons reached him. Scrambling backward in the water, he fell into a wide pool.

He rose to stand in waist-high water and glanced above, where an opening in the cliff allowed streams of sunlight to pour into the small cave. A loud gasp brought him around. Perdita sat on a rock, covering her breasts with her hands, a kelp-forest of black hair falling over them, her green eyes wide with terror, her lips apart.

He started toward her. “Perdita, thank Abbas! Where are your clothes—”

A movement beneath the water caught his eye. The tail of some type of fish—a beautiful, multicolored luminescent tail. Mesmerized, Savion stared at it, following it up … up … up … until it melded into Perdita.

A single tear slipped down her cheek, glistening in a ray of sunlight. Slowly it took shape and form, no longer transparent, but milky white with a hint of pink. It fell from her jaw and plopped into the water.

A pearl.