Chapter Forty

Krist stood with Sven in their quarters, staring down at a bucket of water. So far it had done nothing except slosh back and forth in tempo with the rocking ship. What they had hoped to achieve with it, was yet to be decided.

“Stir it,” Sven suggested.

“I’m trying.”

“Try harder.”

“You do it if it’s so easy!” Krist snapped.

“Give it up,” Franque muttered from his bunk. “If you had powers you’d have figured them out by now.”

“Maybe you have to be under duress to use them,” Sven offered.

“What does that mean?” Krist asked wide-eyed.

“I don’t know, maybe sick or injured,” the Northman suggested.

Franque swiftly kicked his foot, connecting hard with Krist’s ear.

“Ow! What in Cinder’s Crack was that for?”

Franque shrugged and asked Sven. “Did the water stir?”

“Nope, not a bit.”

“Well, that’s as duress as I dare put him under.”

Krist turned and punched his brother in the gut, causing Franque to double over in a mixture of laughter and pain.

Sven picked up the bucket. “Let’s try something else. Maybe his power isn’t over the water itself, but the sea life. Let’s go topside.”

“Just steer clear of Boats,” Franque suggested. “He’s been in a fouler mood than normal, and might not care you two are off duty right now. If he sees you with a bucket, he may have you swab or dump the piss pots.” He closed his eyes and tried once more to nap—the activity the others had interrupted with their experiment.

After the pair had gone, he drew in a deep breath and held it, letting it out slowly. His mind quickly caught pace with the ship’s rocking and started to drift. This, he had discovered, was the best part of being at sea—the deepest, most restful, sleep he had ever experienced. He dreamily thought of home, their farm, and how many secrets their mother had managed to keep from them all. Had he not loved her so deeply, he may have resented her lies.

Soon he dozed restfully, dreaming no longer of home but again at sea. He stood on the forecastle of a copper sided frigate, much larger than She Wolf and faster by several knots. The winds behind him howled with fury and fed a steady stream into the sails. Atop the mast flew a banner of a wolf. He looked up and found his mother standing beside him, dressed in black leather, and wearing a hooded cloak. The hood, he realized, was the head of a wolf.

“They’re near Ataraxia,” the drunk from Loganshire said, stepping up to look out over the sea. “We’re close now, and she said she can see the ship but only one of the boys is topside. She has no idea which of the twins it is.”

“Can she push us faster?” Eusari asked.

“No, mum, not without risking structural damage, she said. “But don’t worry, it’ll all be over soon.”

A stern looking woman approached with hands on hips, demanding both time and attention from Eusari. Annoyed, she turned her eyes from the sea and met hers.

“Have you given thought to how you’ll force his surrender?” the woman asked. “It won’t do to kill him like the other. I may not be able to charge her, but I can surely make a case for premeditated murder for you.”

“I promise to take him alive,” Eusari insisted, but Franque doubted her sincerity. He could smell the anger rising up from her pores. It seethed and boiled, and tasted like murder. He licked his long tongue over his sharp teeth and savored the flavor of blood.

“They’re just over the horizon!” a third woman’s voice shouted over the howling wind.

“Soon, then,” Eusari said, taking a deep breath to steady her nerves. Now she gave off a new scent, a mixture of fear, excitement, and revenge.

Franque felt her tug at their connection, but he resisted, growling slightly at the intrusion. His mother’s eyes met his at once, deeply disturbed by the sudden insubordination. They reflected back a black wolf, not her son. The next feeling was more than a tug; it was a forceful shove.

His eyes snapped open immediately, once again laying in his bunk and feeling the rocking of She Wolf upon the waves. The dream—it had to be a dream—had felt wrong. He swung his feet over the side and slipped on his boots to head topside.

Krist and Sven leaned over the rail, watching the water splash against the hull. A pod of dolphins swam merrily in the ship’s wake, jumping and sunning before splashing deep to repeat their fun. So far, every attempt to connect with the creatures failed, and Krist felt ready to give up.

“It’s useless,” he said.

“Keep trying,” suggested Sven.

Footsteps approached and the boys turned to find Zane Rogers and Devil Jacque nearby.

“When we offload the crates in Ataraxia, insist we get a signed bill of lading. Our benefactor said we only get paid the second half after delivery,” Devil Jacque explained.

“Aye, Captain,” Zane said with a swift salute and then hurried off.

“What are you slackers doing?” Devil Jacque demanded of Krist and Sven. “Boats!” he shouted, “Haven’t you any work for these slugs!”

Krist froze, of all people to catch him skylarking, it had to be the captain. He was about to open his mouth to protest, when Franque approached, saving them both with his timely arrival.

“They’re watching for sails, Captain,” he said. “This close to Fjorik they wanted to win Boat’s bounty. He said he’d give five days light duty to the person who spots the next one.”

“Is that true, Boats?” Jacque asked the man as he approached to chastise his slackers. “Did you offer a bounty on the next sail spotted?”

“Aye, I thought it’d be a good way to sharpen eyes this far north, but I never dreamed they’d use it as an excuse to skip their bunks when off duty.”

“Seems like they need extra duty, then.”

Boats saluted as the captain strolled away. Turning to the trio he growled over his shoulder, “You heard the man, grab your marlinspikes and go splice more line.”

Krist and Sven both groaned, but Franque waited calmly till the boatswain mate left them alone. “Mother’s coming,” he said.

“What? How do you know?”

“I can’t describe it, but it’s more than a feeling,” Franque explained. “I think she’s close. I had a dream.”

Krist and Sven said nothing, only stared back, perturbed.

“What?” he asked, meeting their faces.

“Is this a joke?” Krist demanded, suddenly angry with his brother.

“No, why?”

“I’ve been trying for weeks to find my powers if I have any. But here you are, pretending to have a prophetic dream.” With two hands he shoved Franque backward, causing him to stagger. “Don’t even joke about it being you because guess what? It’s not you! If it’s either of us with powers, it’s me!”

“I’m not joking, and I’m not trying to take anything from you,” Franque replied, returning the shove hard enough Krist slammed into the rail, nearly falling overboard.

Krist recovered, his right hook catching Franque across the chin.

The blows flooded in thereafter, with each boy forgetting the other was his brother. Sven yelled for them to stop, but the punches showed no sign of stopping. Boats tried to intervene, and a huge left uppercut from Krist sent him sprawling to the deck. Ben Thompson stepped in where the boatswain had failed, and a headbutt from Franque hurled the quartermaster to the deck. The entire crew gathered around, too speechless by the display to cheer or jeer or try to stop it.

Devil Jacque finally stepped in, hell-bent on bringing order to his vessel, but Krist missed a wild right cross that connected with the captain’s nose, crushing the tiny bones that held it upright. The blood that flowed spilled unstoppable on the deck, even after Franque missed his brother with a headbutt that crushed the captain’s upper lip as well. No one else dared to intervene, except for Sven who kept screaming for the brothers to stop.

Why should we? thought Franque. With all the brothers had put up with, they deserved this chance to box things out, and who cared if their mother came soon or not. But Krist took advantage of Franque’s slow left parry and met his temple with another solid right cross. Franque roared, but Krist met his brother’s challenge with an elbow to the eye and a knee to the groin. All was fair in war and family, and Franque would forgive him later… but not in this moment.

Cookie stepped in, hoping to stop the fray, but Franque gripped his neck with fingers ten. Krist, realizing the crew had set upon his brother, pulled out his marlinspike and turned to meet Boats now steady on his feet. The man roared and charged, but Krist was faster, sinking it deep into the man’s temple. It was a mistake, a reaction almost, but the deed was done and the boatswain fell to the deck with upstaring eyes.

“Sails!” screamed the lookout, breaking Franque from his bloodlust. Sven stood beside the brothers, staring down at the brained boatswain and strangled cook. Two men had fallen to their rage, but neither terrified the Northman as much as the weather.

“Look!” he cried, pointing at the sky once blue and serene.

Franque followed his finger and his eyes grew wide with wonder at the storm now raging above. Even the sea had turned angry, tossing and swirling the ship in circles. Then he noticed his brother, angry and panting several paces away with intent to charge. He’ll kill me, Franque realized, brother or not.

But the sails on the horizon had closed in quickly, and Franque pointed them out to his brother. “She’s here,” he pleaded, “to deal with the captain.”

“Battle stations!” someone roared from topside. “They sail a flag of no quarter!”

“I know that banner,” Devil Jacque shouted with disbelief. “All hands topside! Load cannons and prepare to fight!”

He pointed at Franque and Krist. “Bind these two! I need them as barter against the she-wolf!”

“What in Cinder’s Crack is happening over there?” Eusari demanded of Marita.

“Your boys,” the woman, always confident and laughing off danger, replied with a tremor in her voice and horror reflected in her eyes, “are fighting and the sea is angry.”

“No!” Eusari picked up a spy glass and watched as She Wolf swirled around in circles, caught in a maelstrom and pounded from above by a powerful tempest. The rest of the sea around her remained calm, a serenity surrounding her son’s rage. But which controls the water? she wondered. “Get us there now! We don’t have time to waste!”

Marita pushed the ship to near breaking point while Longshanks and Krill readied the guns and crew.

“This isn’t how I wanted it!” Eusari said to Marita. “I wanted more time to prepare. He’ll kill them before we get there!”

The constable interrupted. “Just a reminder that you have to capture Devil Jacque alive,” she said.

“Shut up,” Eusari screamed, the anger inside growing with her panic.

“We had a deal!” Anne shouted, stepping up to face her aunt. “We do this honorably!”

“The deal hasn’t changed, but you will shut up while I do it!” Turning to address the crew, the captain added, “Only fire at those who shoot at us first! I won’t risk either of my boys getting killed by mistake. Parumba! You’re with Marita and me on the landing party. The rest of you stay aboard until I know the boys are secured. Longshanks, you have command.”

“Aye, mum!” the first mate replied. The others readied themselves with rifles while Krill sighted only the smaller cannons. Parumba stepped forward.

“Take three of the wolves,” she told him, handing those three over. “Marita and I will deal with the crew while you separate the captain. Whatever happens, don’t let the coward take the easy way out, and no matter what don’t let him take my boys!”

Parumba nodded, turning to Charleigh and taking a handful of her tiny contraptions.

“What are those?” Eusari demanded as the woman shoved several in her hands as well.

“Sippen thought of them. They’re untested, but he thinks they’ll work. Throw them on the ground hard enough to break open, then tap into the seedlings inside.”

“Seedlings? I don’t understand.”

“Make them grow,” Parumba told Eusari with a smile. “Use them to fight!”

A wide grin filled the captain’s face and she winked at Sippen standing beside Krill. He nodded and went back to work helping his friend.

“We’re almost there, Captain!” Marita warned.

A volley rang out from She Wolf. At close range there was no way to counter maneuver. Thankfully their gunners sighted in haste and only half their cannons struck Reprisal. The entire ship trembled with impact, but the waterline held and no one appeared injured.

“She wasted her shot!” Eusari exclaimed. Turning to Longshanks, she added, “Get the grappling hooks ready!”

Marita abruptly cut off the wind to the sails, sending them limp and dangling from their masts. Reprisal turned and came alongside the smaller vessel. Momentarily catching wind, the sails fluttered and threatened to send the ship into a wild spin. It lurched and the grappling crew tumbled to the deck.

“Cut the lines!” Longshanks shouted, “Let the sails fly!”

Krill was the closest and scrambled up the mast with a knife in his teeth, his arms pulling his body weight as his pegged-leg dangled uselessly. Eusari marveled for a moment at the speed at which the man moved when most needed. He sliced the tether to the mains, sending the canvas ripping off into the storm.

The grapple team stood to cast their lines, but riflemen on the other ship were ready and fired immediately. Four men fell to the deck and the rest of the team scrambled for cover. Krill gave a command, screaming from atop the barren mast, and a volley from his sharpshooters sent the enemy ducking.

Eusari stole a look over the side, watching as Jacque’s crew handed out weapons.

“They weren’t ready for us at all,” Eusari observed. “The boy’s fight made a good distraction.”

The grappling team finally tossed their lines. Nearly all the hooks caught and the crew began heaving the vessels together. Eusari nodded to Parumba and Marita. It was time to save her boys.

Franque never looked up at the ship pulled alongside. He knew his mother was on it, was glad she came, but his entire focus remained on Krist. His brother was now fully enveloped in his rage, his mood matching the storm raging overhead and churning the seas below. He was incoherent, babbling about the Fjorik All Father with hands wrapped around Zane Roger’s throat. Spit sprayed the man’s face as he muttered something about being a god.

Several crewmen had heeded their captain and circled the boys, fearful like rounding up rabid dogs.

“Krist,” Franque pleaded, “please calm down. Mother’s here.” He looked around to find Sven to help, finding the man cowering behind a barrel with eyes locked on his friend and shocked by his madness. “Help me!” Franque shouted, tackling his brother and wrapping his arms and legs tightly around him to subdue the rage. Sven rushed over and helped pry relentless fingers from the dead man’s throat.

Franque had a good hold on him, finally, and lay there on the deck with his brother while a battle ensued. He watched as Devil Jacque, the man once earning his respect, trembled, broke, and ran to his quarters like a coward. Eusari had arrived.

Franque watched as several figures leaped over the rail. A dark skinned man and a woman appeared first, followed by his mother. She was dressed just as she had in Franque’s dream, in black leathers and wearing a black wolf cloak. They were followed by six beasts, snarling and savagely attacking the crewmen who stood to repel boarders.

The dark skinned man and Eusari took a moment to throw several small objects on the deck. Almost immediately, dozens of growing vines sprang to life all around the ship. These twisted and crawled as they matured to full size right before everyone’s eyes, grabbing for necks, arms, and legs to hold onto. A dozen crewmen rushed the three invaders and Franque wondered why his mother had not brought actual soldiers aboard. Then he found out.

The woman beside her drew dual swords and sat back into a bladesman’s stance, one of the legendary sword fighters and martial artists Franque had only heard stories of. She danced before the attackers and felled each one by one as they charged. To Franque’s surprise, his mother had entered her own form of dance, a blur among the crew, a creature of shadows forced into daylight, but ready to dole out death.

Eusari pulled knives from hidden sheathes and pockets. If she left one inside a man, she would deftly pull a second, then quickly retrieve the first and fling it mercilessly toward another victim. She was a killing machine. Franque continued to watch, wide-eyed and bewildered, marveling at the calmness in the way she killed. When she and the other woman finished, and the counterattack lay defeated, fifteen men had fallen dead while the remainder of the crew lay bound with vines writhing like snakes about their bodies.

The dark skinned man and three of the wolves made their way to the captain’s quarters. He knelt, studying the lock as a vine wriggled its way into the mechanism. He then stepped to the side and turned the knob, pushing it open while the wolves raced inside. Two shots rang out in succession, both high expecting a human to enter, followed by shouts and screams for mercy.

“He’s disarmed,” the man said to Eusari without even looking inside.

“That was fast,” she said with a nod, and the remaining three wolves slowly entered the cabin to join the others. The mother knelt beside her sons. In a gentle voice, she explained to Franque, “Krist entered a berserker rage, and it will take some more time for it to wear off. When it finally does he will be weak and need to eat—sugar would be best for the energy he’ll need.”

“I know,” Franque admitted weakly. “I’ve experienced it too.”

“I always feared one or both of you would,” she admitted, “your father was a berserker.”

“We know our fathers are different,” Franque admitted. “We’ve learned much on this voyage.”

Eusari paused, sorrow filling her face at the thought of losing a son. “I know we’ve much to discuss,” she admitted. “I’m sorry I’ve kept so many secrets from you all.”

Franque nodded. Though this moment was not the time, he asked, “Which one of us is really your son? Do you even know?”

“I know,” she said. “I’ve always known, even if I’ve only recently learned the truth.” Bending down, she gently kissed his forehead and whispered into his ear. “Because you much more resemble your father’s gentler mood.”

“I’ve killed,” Franque blurted out. “Women, even.”

“So have I, but what’s important is that it matters now to you.” She stood, eyes darting to business she must attend in the captain’s quarters. “I promise we’ll discuss everything later—after Krist has recovered.”

Franque watched her go, a woman he had known his entire life, just realizing he knew nothing about her at all.