Death Whispers 14: Catching Breaths and Inspiration

July 26, 1722. Walking along the Port Royal docks in the late afternoon to catch our breath and maybe inspiration.

Author’s Note: Death Whispers of the Etherwave is a serialized fiction story that is a part of Legends of the Privateers. Each chapter will appear weekly.

Missed a chapter? (or ‘Episode’ if you like!) Well, never you worry, as we’re only just getting started! The full list of chapters will appears here!

Transformed by the cataclysm of 1712, Doctor Pedro Sangre and his four courageous privateer companions confront mysterious and evil forces that plague innocent people. Together, they grapple with uncanny forces and myths come to life, risking everything to preserve peace and set right what has gone wrong.

Previously: Dr. Pedro Sangre and Captain Elara Blackwater continue their conversation with Morowen Waxbend, the sea hag of Port Royal. Questions and answers lead to a long awaited explanation about the Codex Luminari. The book that seems to be the beating black heart of the problem, in more ways than one…

July 26, 1722. Walking along the Port Royal docks in the late afternoon to catch our breath and maybe inspiration.

Morowen had a lot to say about the ghostfire, my curse, and how one of them was killing me. Probably the curse, but she wasn’t sure. Honestly, she sounded almost irritated that she hadn’t been the one to curse me. I wasn’t sure how I felt about that.

The conversation had been like the one with Lyra Valtor, but with a couple of new twists. First, I still needed to drink that damn purification potion, but there was a risk it would change the curse. How? No idea. The second was more unsettling.

Ghostfire, from what Morowen remembered, wasn’t a typical spell channeled from the Etherwave Arcana. It was a rare consequence, or side effect, of shaping magic. She said it was called ‘spark touched’ on Otherworld.

The way she explained it, this happened when victims reached out to channel the Etherwave for a spell. In return, something else, or even the Etherwave itself, reached back and refused to let go. A permanent, open channel formed, which flooded the spark touched with magical power. At least, until the spark touched burned up in a burst of magical flames.

I absolutely didn’t like the sound of that.

But I wasn’t dead yet, so I felt things were looking up.

“Hm, ‘spark touched’?” I muttered to myself while I walked. “Just ‘hit on the head once too often’ would’ve covered it well enough.”

Elara didn’t reply, but gave me a rueful look.

The afternoon sun had reclined across the sky by the time Elara, Sebastian, and I left behind the path to Morowen’s home. Bands of amber and gold were painted across clouds as we reached the rebuilt docks of Port Royal.

Music danced through the air somewhere to our left, deeper into Port Royal itself. It was most likely from a tavern. The town had several, despite its small size.

Most of Port Royal had been rebuilt after the hurricane in 1712 nearly wiped it out. Once it was a lawless pirate town, now it had become a tiny haven for clockwork engineers and similar inventors. Ships often stopped to resupply here before they headed on to Kingston harbor.

Not that there weren’t plenty of pirates and privateers around Port Royal’s taverns. It’s just they’d learned to keep their antics under control. No one wanted to startle the gearwrights around town. That often made things explode with an ominous ‘sproing’ sound.

I stopped at the end of a pier, turning right to look out over the water. The Silk Duchess was at anchor in the harbor, along with a half-dozen ships of her class. Farther down the docks, a work crew unloaded a barge stacked with crates from France and other parts of Europe.

Elara stepped onto the pier next to me, clasping her hands behind her. A gust of wind blew in off the water with the scent of rotten seaweed, brine, and old dreams. Sebastian sniffed at the air, but didn’t seem impressed. Elara’s wings fluttered for a second, her mouth pulled into a tight line.

“I don’t get along with Morowen, but I’m still sorry she went through that. No one should,” Elara said with a frustrated sigh. “She didn’t give us much to work with, though, did she? Other than just how bad Death Whispers are?”

I ran a hand through my unruly dark hair and sighed. Had she? It was hard to tell. Morowen told us a lot more than I felt she’d tell anyone else.

“Honestly? I think we did, querida. Especially with what she didn’t say,” I suggested while I tapped the brim of my tricorn hat against my fingers.

Elara narrowed her eyes at me.

“What do you mean?” she asked.

Sebastian pounced on a piece of driftwood that had a fascinating smell. I glanced down at him, then out at the water. Just what did I mean? There was an idea in my mind. It just wasn’t easy to put into words.

In the distance, past the harbor, the Southern Arcane Gate for Jamaica appeared in a brilliant flash of magical power. Lightning and fog curled around it in a brief thunderstorm that soon vanished.

Massive, shimmering stones of the archway glowed in the sunlight, while ancient runes pulsed along its sides. Two ships, a pair of frigates flying the League of Nations flag, sailed through the gate a moment later. They disappeared from view through the enchanted archway on their way to somewhere else in the world.

I tugged on my hat, then gave a small shrug.

“For instance, the Death Whispers. Morowen said each one has a ghost or a specter in it. That’s channeling a lot of magical power in a short time to make a golem, then trap a specter in it so the whole thing works.” I glanced over at Elara and raised an eyebrow at her. “So far, that’s been what? Four? Three at once in one day?”

“I see what you mean,” she said with a small nod. “This isn’t just anyone who has the Codex, but probably a wavebinder.”

I made an idle wave at the comment.

“One that’s well-trained to the point of even being an Archbinder. Then there are the ghosts. This wavebinder has a ready-made supply of trapped ghosts just sitting around.”

Elara gave me a dire, stern look.

“You mean Dryden Storm and his crew.”

My expression went a little sour.

“The same. He made a point in the marketplace, when he haunted or possessed that merchant, to tell me we’re ‘connected’, among other things. If he’s a ghost, that would explain how he did that, and that he’s haunting me.” I shrugged. “It isn’t a far leap from there to guess he’s trapped in or near the Codex with his crew.”

Elara wrapped her arms around herself while she shuddered a little, wings fluttering.

“So this wavebinder who has the Codex, forces one of Storm’s crew into a Death Whisper. A Whisper that’s then sent after us. We destroy its body, then what?” She asked quietly and gestured to my right hand. “You’re using the ghostfire to send them back, and it starts all over?”

I glanced down at Sebastian, who had found a very interesting and forgotten sprig of dried out seaweed.

“Honestly? I don’t know,” I replied, words tense, pushing my hands into my coat pockets. “Archbinder Valtor said I was tethered to something through this… affliction. Morowen says I’m ‘spark touched’.”

I drew in a deep breath and watched the Arcane Gate out in the ocean sparkle under the afternoon sun.

“Maybe I’m sending specters to that place in the Etherwave? Maybe I’m just sending them on to the next life?” I shook my head as I felt a little helpless.

“I don’t know,” I said sharply. “The last thing I want is for them to wind up back at the Codex, even if they’re wanting to kill us.”

Elara pulled her lips into a tight line before she took a breath.

“I hope that’s not where they’re going,” she replied bitterly. “Sending them back to the Codex sounds like the worst kind of trapped hell.”

Bored with our conversation and the seaweed, Sebastian slowly crept away. Carefully, he stalked a quartet of seagulls arguing over a dead fish farther down the row of piers. I followed not far behind him. Elara kept pace while we talked.

“It’s a good bet Captain Storm isn’t in league with the spellcaster who has the Codex,” Elara said with a thoughtful expression.

“How do you mean?” I asked curiously.

“He’s protecting it like Lyra suggested,” she bit a little on her lower lip, “along with demanding you put the Codex back to stop all of this.”

“But would it, querida?,” I replied with a pensive expression. “If I return the Codex, then I have to put this ‘soul anchor’ page back with it. Then the whole Codex Luminari is in one place, free for the taking.”

She shrugged a little.

“It still might,” she replied. “Asa mvur, think about it. If Storm and his crew are caught in a Bindweaver’s Curse, they have to protect the Codex.”

Elara gestured toward me, tapping out her logic on her fingers.

“First you grabbed the Codex, so they harass you. Then our mysterious spellcaster steals the Codex. But Storm has to still harass, or even kill, you because the curse has him aimed at you. If you put the book back, wherever that is, the spellcaster can’t touch it unless he wants to be the next target.”

I knitted my eyebrows over a frown, then clenched my jaw while chewing on that idea.

“That’s a lot of ‘maybe’,” I replied, then idly massaged the scar-like tattoos on my right hand. “I’ve a feeling Storm will come after us soon, whatever we do.”

Elara let out a humorless laugh. “It’s all moot if we can’t find this wavebinder who has the Codex. We don’t even know just how they’ll fuel that arcane engine Morowen described.”

In front of us, Sebastian leaped into the midst of the four seagulls. The birds scattered in all directions, squawking complaints at the gargoyle’s sudden appearance. Sebastian trotted back over to us, tail high and wings flat against his sides, pleased with himself.

“Almost got the group,” I said with a thin smirk. Then ideas slid together in my mind. “Group. A crew,” I said slowly, glancing over at Elara, who watched me curiously. “A typhoon. Storm. Elara, I think I know what’s going to be fed into Tristam’s arcane engine.”

Elara squinted at me before her eyes went wide.

“Surely not,” she said in a somber tone.

I rubbed my right hand, which had ached even harder. It felt warm on the inside.

“Elara. Just how large is a pirate crew?” I waved a dismissive gesture. “The average crew?”

“About fifty to one hundred…” Her words trailed off as she closed her eyes and set her jaw.

“Exactly,” I replied, feeling my expression harden. “Captain Storm and his crew are bound to the Codex. Even if that’s only fifty crew along with Captain Storm, it could be enough for this arcane engine to work.”

I could see the green of her jade-gold eyes turned glittery hard like stone. Her shoulders tensed, like they did before drawing her sword for a fight, or boarding another ship during a battle.

“We still have no way to find out who has the Codex. What lunatic is going to try this,” she ranted, voice brittle, “bilge of an idea.”

A thought occurred to me, and I could’ve kicked myself that it was so obvious.

“Not quite,” I replied thoughtfully, then pushed my hands back into my coat pockets. “We should’ve thought of this before. It was right in front of us. Joshua Argall.”

“What?” she asked, shaking her head a little, confused. “Pedro, he’s in the hospital. Lysander said the man wasn’t in his right mind.”

I arched an eyebrow at her.

“No. I don’t mean Señor Argall himself,” I replied in a matter-of-fact tone. “At least, not directly. I mean his office. The man’s a bookseller, Elara. He has to keep accurate records of his business affairs, such as hiring us. If he’s had dealings with this wavebinder who has the Codex, he might have a record of that, too. At least a name. It’s worth a try.”

Elara looked pensive over that. “The city watch would’ve locked his office up tight.”

“True,” I replied with a thin smile. “But didn’t you once tell me that some locks beg to be opened? Especially if lives are on the line?”

She grinned with a twinkle in her eye.

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Hoist the Colors is a work of pure, unabashed fiction. Actually, when it's not swinging off the rigging, or shivering some timbers, it's rather shy and retiring. Did I mention it enjoys baking? Names of characters, places, events, organizations and locations are all creations of the author’s imagination for this fictitious setting. So he really is all to blame here.

Any resemblance to persons living, dead, shoved overboard, or reanimated is coincidental. The opinions expressed are those of the characters and should not be confused with the author's, since the characters and the author tend to disagree a lot.