Death Whispers 36: A Debt Paid, A Debt Owed

Aug 8, 1722. Somehow aboard the Silk Duchess. A handful of minutes later after Death stopped by for a chat…

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: At the dying Arcane Gate, Pedro summons a Death Whisper. In doing so, he learns more about the golems than he ever suspected. That they are indeed made from the books and intent of the writer, but perhaps even more. Pedro suspects the Death Whispers becoming the living embodiment of an idea, or ideas, drawn from a book. Then tempered by the creator. Together, Pedro and the Death Whisper work to unwind the horror of the Arcane Engine, all before the dead are allowed to walk the earth once more. In the end, Pedro and the Death Whisper solve the problem, but maybe face one last challenge…

Aug 8, 1722. Somehow aboard the Silk Duchess. A handful of minutes later after Death stopped by for a chat…

I jerked to life at the smell of rot whiskey and the feel of rough wool against my face.

It shouldn’t have been a surprise to wake up feeling half-dead. But there it was. It was even more alarming to realize I was in the crook of Dryden Storm’s massive arm.

I struggled, but he kept a tight grip while the Duchess rolled hard to starboard as if she’d been thrown.

“Easy now, Doctor.”

A cough sputtered out of me, and I glanced over. Storm was nothing more than a smear of limping, mild evil wearing a captain’s coat. His red-streaked black beard split into a grin when he saw my bitter scowl.

“You know, Doctor, I’ve long carried men in worse shape than you from far worse places.”

His voice rumbled like the guts of a volcano, raw with cannon smoke.

“But! I’ll be having you know that it takes a special kind of talent for a man to hand himself his own ass.” He barked out a rough laugh. “What you and your crew did to save Port Royal’s Arcane Gate? Killing that lich and all? Impressive. Just don’t die on me yet.”

A headache hammered at my skull like a crazed, drunken blacksmith. I pried my sore eyes from glaring at him to the chaos of the deck.

The Silk Duchess had taken a sound beating, but came through with her pride and spine intact. My vision was blurred, but I still managed to see the crew running past us, keen to repair what they could. Captain Storm’s presence drew more than one look, mostly glares, but to my hazy surprise, no one stopped him.

“Not dying, Señor,” I grunted. The words came out in broken, raw bits. “I refuse. Made a promise to live. I’m growing attached to the habit.”

Storm belted out a murderous laugh, probably the only kind he had.

We half-limped across the deck towards the ladder to the helm. Dimly, I wondered where Lysander, Ari, and Skaldi had gone? There was a memory of it that just wouldn’t come clear for me.

“Good!” Storm roared. “You’ve my gratitude for freeing me from that hells-damned book, the wraith, and all of it. That was no small deed. But you and I? We’ve a reckoning waiting. The spirit you’ve bound isn’t yours to keep. That debt will come due.”

We stopped next to the ladder for the Duchess’ helm. Storm propped me upright, and somehow my spine held, though it didn’t like it. The man hammered my shoulder once with a scar-mottled hand.

“Now, stay put. I’ve other things that need looking after.”

The ship lurched wildly over the sea. Gray-black clouds boiled overhead while wind clawed at the sails, threatening to tear them loose.

Memories then returned in a drunken haze. There was the whine of splitting glass and the hammer of rain. A golem of ink and despair sang a funeral dirge while it stood between myself and an explosion. Then I remembered being thrown into the sea.

There was also a lot of screaming, that I realized that might have been me.

Storm’s words to stay put rattled in my head and roused my anger.

“Bastard,” I swore under my breath. “I need medicine. It’s in my cabin. Need that.”

Firmly, I pushed away from the ladder holding me up, and took a step. That nearly sent me to the deck.

“Doctor!” Ari’s voice pierced the chaos like the brass echo of a ship’s bell.

She shoved two of the crew aside and darted across the deck to me, copper-gold wings fluttering.

“Don’t stand! You’re…”

She caught my right arm before I fell on my face and made everything worse. A burst of white ghostfire traced the tattoos along my hand and wrist. Then it sank back into my skin.

I noticed Ari’s lips went tight, eyes framed by a frown while she quickly averted her gaze. The woman ducked under my arm, holding me steady.

“Durner!” she shrieked, sending a broadside of sound across my ear.

“Coming, damn it!” was the craggy, perturbed reply. “Only one of me to go around!”

Just then I heard Skaldi’s voice behind us, maybe to starboard. He stomped across the deck, pure fury on short, stout legs. The brass metal veins in his skin glowed molten yellow. I saw the dark cloud of a bruise around one eye.

The instant we locked eyes, his face went slack with relief. It was short-lived when he caught sight of Captain Storm a few feet away, deep in a conversation with Elara near the helm. Skaldi’s face pinched into a raging scowl, like a bulldog savoring fresh meat.

“Storm! You’ll pay for that punch!”

Dryden Storm’s eyes cut away from Elara to the ship’s blacksmith. A mild sneer drew across his face.

“I’ll be expecting your bill, Mr. Terrason,” Storm snarled. “But first, we’ve bigger problems, and your Doctor needs to be seen about.”

I screwed my face up at that. Bigger problems?

“Ari? Skaldi?” I wheezed, trying to keep the horizon in sight. “Last of my potions are…”

“I’ll fetch ‘em, Pedro,” Skaldi said with a poisoned glare at Storm.

“Already done,” said a craggy voice from a certain Master Gunner with a rust-red beard.

Like magic, Skaldi’s brother Durner raced out of the haze of my vision. He shoved my battered satchel into Skaldi’s hands, who rummaged in it for the potions at the bottom.

Fatigued or not, I instantly recalled the inventory in the bag. There was a pitifully small amount of elixirs. Silently, I swore that I’d be smarter about having more on hand in the future.

In my defense, I never thought an evil sea chest would try to kill me.

Skaldi shoved the first of two medicinal potions into my hand.

“Pedro. Drink.”

I did, choking down one after the other, barely tasting them. I went lightheaded. How I was still on my feet, I had no idea. Spite, probably.

My vision cleared in time to see Elara lean onto the rail overhead with a look that would’ve cowed a seraphim. She’d turned from Dryden toward me, wings fanning a bit behind her to keep her stable on deck.

She looked like hell. Hair unbound, her jade-gold eyes were steel-hard, shadowed with worried concern. Blood stained her captain’s coat, but I couldn’t tell if it was hers, borrowed, or both.

“Captain,” I said with a respectful, tired nod. “The wraith…”

She cut me off.

“Pedro.” The brittle tone in her voice sounded like a dire warning.

“Don’t you ever…” Then her lips pressed tight. “Never mind. We’ll discuss it later.”

She scoured the busy deck and crew with a hard gaze, while the latter scrambled like ants madly repairing an anthill.

“Lysander! Where’s Lysander?” she bellowed, voice cutting over the wind.

“Here!” he called back in a thin voice, frayed with fatigue.

The navigator ducked under a tangled mess of loose rigging, reaching the stained ladder to the helm. Lips blue, purple bruises framed the eyes on his dark face.

“Sorry. A bit-winded captain. Arcane Gate’s mostly together. It’ll repair on its own. That’s something the natural ones do.”

I felt Ari press something thick into my hands. It was the Codex Luminari. She gave me a look, then wiped her hands on her trousers uneasily before she raced off, leaving me with Skaldi.

“Of course, it survived,” I lamented to a peal of thunder. “Renwick, and so many more, are dead and gone because of you. I should’ve tossed you into the Arcane Engine or the sea.”

I almost threw the book away right then, but changed my mind. Tristam Greenholm was still trapped inside along with his vile formulas. Against my better judgment, I pushed the Codex into my satchel to deal with later.

The conversation between Dryden and Elara snagged my limp attention. I nodded to Skaldi while I stood shakily on my own.

“It’s the only way I see it. By your leave, Captain Blackwater, I’ll return to the Rising Eel, my crew’ll be taking lead from yours, if the plan be the same.”

“It is,” she snapped with a short, sharp glare.

Captain Storm gave her a curt nod, a sneer to me, then stomped off. I watched him head for the lines connecting the Rising Eel to the Silk Duchess.

I gave Skaldi a worried, dark frown.

“Plan?”

Skaldi ducked under my arm to steady me, jerking a thumb skyward. The Duchess lurched sideways like a death-loving drunkard.

Hurricane.

We were in a hurricane.

“Dios mío,” I murmured, clenching my jaw.

Elara’s commands shot out quick and fierce.

“Someone cut those lines to the Eel once the pirate leaves!” she ordered. “If that Captain Storm causes trouble, cut the lines out from under him. Lysander!”

“Captain?” he said, still out of breath.

“Do you have it in you for another Gate? Maybe two?” She cast a worried look at the sky.

Lysander let go of sigh as heavy as an anchor, closing his eyes. I saw blood splatters across his shirt, leftover from the fight with the wraith. The fatigue bruises under his eyes seemed to darken. At my look, he shook his head at me.

“Aye. I can manage one,” he replied, voice tired. “Maybe two before I drop.”

Elara studied him and then nodded. I saw the deep concern that hovered behind her eyes and in her stance. Worry for Lysander, for all of us.

“Make it happen, Mr Riverwind. The Rising Eel’s navigator assists once you’ve opened the way.”

Lysander pinched his mouth into a thin line, his next words like cracked crystal.

“What course, Captain?”

“Port Royal,” Elara said, then stalked back to the helm and ship’s pilot.

With a quick glance, and clasp on my shoulder, Lysander hauled himself up the ladder for the battered portal platform behind the helm. Over the storm, I heard the myriad of tiny gears churn as the platform started up.

“Off to your cabin, Doctor. The captain’s going to want you rested up and full of medicine.”

I eyed the storm overhead. Skaldi nodded as he helped me across the deck.

“It’ll be tight. Using a Gate to get out of a hurricane?” He shook his head. “Risky as kissing hell.”

I winced at the pain from moving, but also at my thoughts. A hurricane was nothing short of a tavern brawl between land and sea.

“True,” I replied hoarsely. There wasn’t much else to say, other than a silent prayer.

Whitecaps and rain smeared the horizon, turning it ugly and wild. A sheet of gray sliced down from the wall clouds behind us. It looked like gray teeth eager to bite us in half.

Skaldi muscled me over the stained deck between knots of crew, all of us nearly soaked to the flesh. Under the salt air, the faint tang of unwashed bodies and fear slapped my nose.

I felt the pulse of power before we saw anything.

“Here we go,” I warned Skaldi.

We’d barely reached the small stern door to the cabins when the golden orb of navigator enchantment burst to life. Sebastian skidded to a stop by my leg and barked.

The orb burst up and out. A bright, gossamer ball of power like yellow stained glass.

Ahead in the churning, angry sea, an Arcane Gate shimmered to life. Then the Gate went as bright as sunlight, almost as if a second Gate had been set against the first one.

“Two navigators working in tandem, placing one Arcane Gate against the other?” Skaldi murmured as he turned his focus back to stowing me in a cabin. “Privateer’s gambit if I ever saw it. Gates hate that last I ever heard. If even an inch is out of place, we’ll likely die.”

It wasn’t the Gates that had my attention—it was what lay through them.

I slammed a hand against the door frame to stop Skaldi from stuffing me away. A spike of white-hot agony shot through my side.

Past the Gate was Port Royal, but not as I remembered it. Before, it’d been a lively port town coming back to life from the last disaster from years back that had tried to swallow it.

Now? Death had come calling.

“Dead gods and live saints,” Skaldi muttered. “How big is this hurricane?”

The sea had consumed the eastern quarter. Streets literally flowed like hell’s own slurry. Brick, clay and loose sand dissolved, churning under the hurricane’s surf.

To the west, Port Royal’s proudest piers had stabbed shattered corpses of ships. Timber was bent and twisted from the rising maelstrom. People raced over buildings and what land remained, swarming for any higher ground they could find.

On one, a hill beyond the ports, I saw a shimmering dome. It was all sea green, fog and spite. In its center, pushing out that protective cover for the desperate, was a certain sea hag of my acquaintance.

“Too big,” I told him. “Sea hag or not, it’s a coin toss even she can hold back a full hurricane.”

I turned to shout to Elara, but she’d spotted what I had. We locked eyes. Deep concern shone between us, then out at the shimmering dome. Pain, and possible loss she didn’t want to happen.

Her eyes snapped back at me, and I spoke, hoping she heard me over the storm.

“Get us there, querida. We’ll save them.”

I left off the part where we all might die together while trying. It wasn’t worth saying. We knew that part already.

Elara scowled at the Gate.

“All hands! Look alive! Port Royal won’t drown on our watch!”

Beyond the Gate’s glimmering veil, the town itself thrashed like a drowning man.

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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.