Page 4 of Daughter of the Dark Sea

They destroyed the first ship. An all-black small vessel, with a similar serpent figurehead as Hell’s Serpent. A pitiful attempt at replication. It bewildered her as to why the pirates had brought along an imposter; the vessel clearly made of shoddy woodwork. They didn’t even fire a cannon or launch any arrows. It was horrifically laughable—and satisfying—when the ship had exploded into pieces, shattering into the high coastal cliffs of Peril Cove. But it was an easy win, and Kora desired a challenge.

The archers of Hell’s Serpent were swift and lethal, their arrows raining down in quick, waved succession onto Fallen Angel, causing it to fall back for protection behind its remaining flotilla. The ship was a staple in the empire’s armada, and how it was here was a mystery.

A new ship commanded the front, with golden-yellow patchwork sails, and a harpy creature figurehead featuring an eagle-bodied female. Malachite stones embedded her wings, but her eyes had been removed, altering her usual serene face into one of sorrow.

Golden Harpy.

Kora winced, she’d once stood on that ship, prowled its chambers when she’d achieved her captain rank, searching for her dream vessel. She’d nearly chosen that ship, but the bare bosom on the figurehead didn’t scream terrifying female captain, and elicited the wrong kind of attention.

To the right, a ship with torn grey sails defied the odds of sailing on the winds. Cannon blasts scattered across the weathered, peeling wood, which was constricted by shredded, ashen-green ropes, as if they’d never bothered repairing it from battles.

A misted grey aura, that even sunlight couldn’t pierce, shrouded its deck. Kora strained, rubbing her eyes. It must be dehydration . . . right? A laughing-skeleton figurehead, clutching an unlit iron lantern with a malachite stone in its iron candle wick, stormed the front.

Bone Rattler.

A reject in the empire’s armada, used only once in battle before it was deemed a failure. It’d been abandoned in a shipyard years ago, its purpose reduced to spare parts for other vessels.

Lastly, to the left, sailed a magnificent ship with royal blue sails. It was the second largest of them all, and in the most pristine condition. It gained on Golden Harpy, the crew in uniformed formation, never missing a beat as they armed their lances and cannons.

Kora swerved her ship as a cannon blast flew past them starboard side, the sound ringing in her ears. She panted, glancing to the blue-sailed ship, eyeing its mermaid figurehead. Her face was stretched into a tortured scream, exposing fanged teeth made of the malachite stone the Talmon Empire favoured.

Demon Sea Siren.

The fiercest ship the empire had ever built—and it was now commanded by filthy pirates, threatening the world and murdering innocents . . . like her forgotten family.

Kora’s blood boiled, and her anger rose with the ocean waves as she swerved around the small, sharp archipelagos, navigating the trickiest way through possible. Her smaller ship was deft, and easier to manoeuvre.

“Fire!”

Blake’s voice thundered, and a rain of arrows, tips alight with fire, soared above them. He briefly appeared at the top of the steps to the quarterdeck and signalled Kora, his fingers brushing over the side of his face in the pattern of her scar. It was simplistic, and something they’d perfected together. To anyone else, they’d think he was mocking her marred face, but truly, it was an unspoken language between them.

“I need you to tell me what’s happening back there,”

Kora commanded the sailor hovering close to her. His dark eyes widened, full of fear. Not an ounce of curiosity remained on his paled, stricken face.

“Update me on their formation. If they make any moves.”

“Our archers missed most of the pirates. They avoided the fire,”

he replied, his broadsword hanging limp at his side. Kora smiled devilishly. Her archers were not trained to miss. But they had, as they planned.

She peered ahead, spotting a break in the archipelago that was only big enough for Hell’s Serpent to pass through. Well . . . most of it.

“It’s Demon Sea Siren,”

his face grew shocked, his tremor increasing.

“Oh no! It . . . it’s really here.”

He blinked.

“She’s gaining on us!”

his voice reached a fervent pitch as he backed up, bumping Kora’s shoulder.

His stale, bitter stench stuffed her senses and she wrinkled her nose. Like old burnt wood, ash, and dried, fermented wheat. Long, dirty-brown hair, damp with sweat, was tied at the nape of his neck with a leather strap, strands plastered to his forehead and face.

“The other two are hiding behind it. I’m not sure why.”

He must be a newbie, still gaining his sea legs. He irritatingly drifted closer, their shoulders continuously brushing, the flat edge of his sword catching her legs.

“You better hold that sword properly before I use it on you, sailor,”

Kora snapped, and he stiffened, shifting his blade to his other side. A cross-work pattern covered the pommel, and a symbol beneath the hilt had been scratched, marring the metal.

The fire arrows disbanded the flotilla as planned, forcing them to break their formation to avoid catching on fire, allowing Kora to lead them deeper into the archipelago—and pick them off one by one.

She gritted her teeth and sent a prayer up to whomever was listening as she motioned with her right hand, signalling back to Blake, who was running around the main deck with an intense purpose, hollering orders at the crew. The leader of the archer squadron commanded the archers to descend from the masts, whilst lancers headed to the starboard side.

They were in position. She angled her ship towards the small pass in the east. The cracking boom of another cannon swept across the deck. It was a whip of a sound, smacking Kora’s senses across the face.

The pirates were so close—too close.

Ocean waves devoured the sides of Hell’s Serpent. A large boulder shattered to Kora’s left, chunks of rock flying across the watery deck. Shields instantly rushed up, protecting her from the explosion as debris showered from above after a third cannon fire, narrowly missing the main mast.

“They’re getting closer!”

the sailor shouted, peering around his shield. Blood oozed from a small cut on his head, mixing with his sweat.

“Good, let them come.”

She didn’t stop to think as she yelled to her crew to drop to the deck. Sailors fell to the floor like a black wave, covering their heads with hands and shields as they approached the pass at rapid pace.

Two large jagged rocks formed the small pass, arching up to meet at a pointed curve. Barely tall or wide enough to fit her masts through. Kora winced. Her ship would suffer significant damage, but it was the only way through. She had to get to the other side.

Boom. Another cannon fired, breaking the peaked pass apart as chunks of moss-covered rock plummeted into the ocean.

“How’d they miss us?”

The sailor frowned, his shield vibrating with nerves.

Hell’s Serpent sailed through, the jagged, crusted mass scraping against the sides of Kora’s precious ship. She shuddered as it creaked, panels cracking and breaking off. The rigging caught and tugged against the rocks, and Blake ordered the lancers to cut it free.

Their speed slowed and her heart thumped wildly. Boom. A cannon scraped the stern. These pirates certainly had lousy aim.

The top of the main mast snapped against the cresting peak and wood shattered, raining down and mixing with rock infested puddles. Another cannon blasted from Demon Sea Siren and rocky nature exploded, allowing more space in the pass for Hell’s Serpent to sail through.

Another cannon fired on the left. Right. Left.

“No,”

Kora replied, realisation dawning.

“They’re trying to fit through the pass.”

Almighty Thanos.

Kora released a sigh of relief once they cleared the edge of the archipelago, and she spun the wheel with her captain flair.

“Anchor!”

she cried.

With quick precision, the crew descended the anchor as they passed over a reef patch, anchoring Hell’s Serpent port side. The ship whipped around, wind blowing in their favour.

The crew grabbed on to the right-side railing as it creaked and rocked heavily towards the anchored side, nearly sending them all overboard. She hooked her arm through the spokes of the wheel, crying out as ocean water sprayed onto the deck, soaking her legs as they slipped beneath her.

Jet-black sails fluttered in the wind as her ship aligned sideways with the narrow pass. Lancers were armed at the starboard side, black spears glistening in the sun, along with archers, their bowstrings taut and arrows nocked. The thunder of cannons loaded by the gunners reverberated throughout the ship.

Demon Sea Siren struggled to sail through, its masts splintering and shattering completely all the way down. The main sail tore in half and listlessly hung, no longer able to catch a breeze. Cracks splintered the wood, the side sails catching on the rocks and tearing holes in the fabric. Satisfaction filled Kora as the pirates broke their uniformity, yelling at Hell’s Serpent, who aimed at them with the full might of their artillery.

“Fire!”

Kora bellowed, her voice straining as it ripped from her throat with vengeance. The ocean’s surface crested, like a tunnel spearing for their foe, and her core lurched with the movement, as if an extension of herself shot from her flesh before vanishing.

Blake echoed her command to the brig and the archers fired first, their movements powerful yet fluid, effortlessly volleying arrows. The pirates scattered like cockroaches as they sprinted away from the forecastle deck, cries ringing out.

The lancers swiftly followed, their lethal, sharp spears tearing the wood and foremast sails. Guts of pirates spilled as they were pierced by dark spears, their ribboned entrails pinned to their doomed ship. Blood exploded, splattering across the deck, stark against the royal-blue clothing and rich mahogany wood. Finally, the cannons blasted. Rocks broke apart, and the pass crumbled, collapsing onto Demon Sea Siren.

Her crew were relentless, firing one after the other in trained, tactical succession, all perfectly timed, giving the other a chance to reload.

Yet . . . something stirred deep inside her as the massacre of Demon Sea Siren unfurled. A tingle snaked across her skin, filling her with apprehension. This was what she’d been trained for. Why did she feel like something was wrong?

“Look,”

the voice stroked Kora’s mind, and she released a shuddering breath as Demon Sea Siren was demolished, pirates’ screams submerged beneath the sea. She shoved her doubt to the back of her mind as something pulled her gaze to the west. The three remaining ships were sailing directly towards . . . Galen. Why were they sailing there? She hurried to the edge, placing her hands on the wide railing and squinting against the harsh light of the sun.

No.

Surely they wouldn’t sail into the Mist? They’d be caught in its tendrils, unable to proceed or return, suspended in a cloak of nothing. Kora leaned forward, straining to see across the vast blue miles. Heat shimmered off the ocean surface, and sweat, dust, and dirt coated her body, hair, and clothes.

Gods, she was so hot. She was so thirsty. She’d drink the ocean water at this point.

This had to be a mirage. The remaining pirates had to be in the archipelago preparing for another attack. Her heart pounded with adrenaline, her uncertain fear wallowing in the depths of her stomach, not daring to reveal itself to her crew. This couldn’t be over already. They were pirates, driven by murderous bloodlust.

“They’re going into the Mist,”

Blake appeared beside her, his walk near silent.

“It’s suicide.”

Shock slackened his face, as the elegantly built rear of Fallen Angel disappeared into the vapid Mist. They would be lost forever, wandering the endless grey void. His hands, a hair’s breadth away from Kora’s, were coated in dust from the rock explosions, and slick with oil from helping archers light their arrows.

“I don’t understand,”

Kora spoke in hushed tones, the steady course of adrenaline draining away, as exhaustion crept in.

“If they sail into the Mist, they’ll die. No vessel can pass the barrier.”

The Mist was a blessing, but also a curse. It kept the enemy in, but it kept the empire out, too. Her head pounded and she licked her dry lips, tasting blood. She gently brushed her fingers over her mouth, where a small, stinging cut was already clotting.

“We don’t really know that for sure. We’ll need to report this,”

Blake said roughly.

“If the pirates are allying with Galen. There must be a reason for sailing into that.”

At least it confirmed she wasn’t hallucinating. But pirates forging an alliance with Galen? This meant trouble, and not the fun kind.

Erick’s tales about the Galenite War swirled around in her mind. The Galenites had captured countless Azarian innocents, dragging them to their lifeless island to torture. To turn them against their own families, who remained devoted to the Talmon Empire. To turn them into weapons of destruction.

When the Mist came, trapping them in their soulless wasteland of an island, the conflicts instantly ceased, and the Galenite War ended. Peace returned after two long wars. All that remained were rebels in favour of Galen—and pirates. And soon, Kora would eradicate them all.

She had a personal stake in this. Her new life depended on it. She wanted peace and comfort, and to know she did all she could to avenge her previous life in order to move on with her new one. To ensure what happened to her, would never happen to anyone else.

It’d been ten years. Her memory was never coming back, of that she was sure. What mattered now was the present. Why else would Erick spend countless hours training her? Honing her into the ultimate weapon on the sea. The drive to follow in his footsteps, as a formidable force against the rebels, was all-consuming. A raging red haze sometimes blanketed her mind, and she would lose herself in grief for people, and a life, she couldn’t remember.

A totally, super normal response to her ‘trauma,’ as Erick liked to call it.

Erick had taken her in, and shaped her anger into something tangible. Ten years of gruelling training, and endless readings about the history of the wars and islands until her eyeballs spun in their sockets. Each day, she was one step closer to her goal, but now it had sailed away.

“Maybe they didn’t want to face the wrath of the armada’s most fearsome ship.”

A grin lit up her face.

Blake rolled his eyes, but a smile tugged the corner of his mouth. Kora drank him in, noticing the smile didn’t reach his eyes. Wet hair framed his gaunt face from rationing, and dust covered his ripped shirt, along with a thin, bloody gash on his forearm.

“Blake! Why didn’t you say anything? You, there!”

She snapped her fingers at the sailor with the bleeding forehead and he stepped forward, a slight tremor still shaking him.

“Fetch some healing supplies quickly, and something for yourself.”

She pointedly glanced at his head. His gaze flickered at Blake before nodding as he hurried to locate the healer.

“I’ll be fine,”

Blake sighed.

“It’s just a scratch.”

“A scratch, my arse. Sit down. Now.”

Blake thudded down at the top of the steps as the sailor returned with supplies, a bandage haphazardly placed on his head, presumably by the healer. Muscled flesh peeked through Blake’s torn jerkin, and she admired his strong frame as he unbelted his cutlass sword and carefully placed it beside him.

The sailor hovered behind Kora, watching her curiously, his dark eyes lingering on her scar. It wasn’t uncommon for Kora to be stared at, but it felt as though he was boring a hole into the side of her head.

“You can go now. Check on the others,”

she ordered, her attention trained on her first mate.

The sailor hesitantly scarpered off as Kora tended to Blake, who didn’t wince or moan once as she cleansed his wound and dressed it.

“You should be nicer to them more often,”

he gestured to the nervous sailor.

“This job is dangerous. They never know which voyage will be their last.”

“Being captain means playing a certain role. Besides, he was staring too much.”

Her mask snapped firmly back into place, smoothing her features out.

Kora nibbled her bottom lip as she focused, ignoring the sudden guilt at how little she knew about her crew, including most of their names. But she’d been captain of Hell’s Serpent for a year, and couldn’t afford to lose the authority she’d worked so hard to gain. The slightest slip up and the viceroys would dismiss her, revoking her status as captain. Even after all this time, she still walked on eggshells.

“Come,”

Blake’s familiar drawl soothed her inner rage from the battle. His hand lightly brushed hers and her body fluttered at the spark as she finished tying off the bandage.

“Let’s get our reward.”

Oh, he was divine to stare at.

His eyes darkened mischievously as Kora followed him towards the bow, where uninjured crew members prepared small boats. She cast a curious glance back towards the bereft Mist.

“Look,”

the voice repeated once again, clanging through her already-pounding head.

Look at what exactly, she wondered.