Page 90 of Death’s Kiss (The Order of the Tide Raiders #1)

I lie flat on my back on what feels to be the ocean floor.

My breathing comes in and out in extremely shallow waves, while my hands grasp continually at the miniscule granular rocks beneath my fingers. I mentally try to come to terms with what exactly has just occurred. The wall of ice that resides within me is now completely fractured.

A large and ancient rhythmic pounding beat sounds from the other side. I’m afraid it’s now just a matter of time until whatever terrible thing resides behind that wall comes barreling through.

After several frozen moments, I struggle to my feet from the oceanic flooring to gather my surroundings. I then actually physically stumble backwards and almost fall on my ass at the sight that unravels itself before me in the room I’ve suddenly materialized in.

That ancient pounding beat intensifies.

I suppose ‘room’ isn’t really the proper term for wherever it is that I am.

A pocket realm, like the Veil Keeper, feels more accurate.

Someplace in time and space that lies between the borders of our three realms. If that is truly the case, then I’d wager to bet that Captain Agni is currently in his own separate ‘pocket’ of whatever this place is.

I laugh breathlessly in shock as I remember him falling for my ploy. Just the barest hint of despair watering my eyes, and he’d relented entirely before handing me over The Vault.

A very terrible part of me wonders what a full-blown tear could do.

I’m equally impressed by his own cunning.

I didn’t see that little loophole maneuver coming in a million years.

As far as I know, there isn't actually a law stating only one raider can enter The Vault. If that is in fact where I am. From what little The Order does know, due to how very few times it’s ever resurfaced, The Vault doors will open once in response to one worthy captain’s beringed hand before descending back down to the netherdepths.

We are trained as children to be ruthless and cutthroat. We are raised to expect only the very worst from each other, except for those very few that are our chosen crew. There’s no way any captain has ever even considered the possibility of going through those doors with another.

I force myself to set aside the never-ending questions running up a tally in my mind.

Rows upon rows of monstrously large sea-stone shelves rise up and line out as far as the eye can see. Said shelves appear so colossal that I think they could actually reach all the way up to the celestial realm itself. The staggering height of them is eclipsed only by the amount of them.

No matter how hard I try, I can’t find an end in sight. They go on seemingly for all eternity.

“ Agni? ” I find myself whispering moronically out into the mythical abyss. As I already suspected, there is neither sign nor sound of the vexing southern captain anywhere to be found.

Each way I turn, I find only shelves. There’s no door or any sort of semblance of an exit. Just as with the Veil Keeper, it seems to me that there isn’t really a way back. The issuing of my release will not be up to my own discretion, assuming I am in fact to be released at all.

After several thunderous, stupefied heartbeats, curiosity takes control. I drift over to the nearest monumental structure in order to inspect the objects laden within them. My eyes widen incredulously upon my findings.

These aren’t bookshelves at all.

Not a single tome nor scroll to be found in fact.

Instead, glass bottles of every shape and size occupy the seastone ledges, each about three meters apart from the next.

They’re quite similar to epistles in appearance, with two major differences.

One being that they’re about four to five times the size, and two being that these bottles are already quite full.

Each bottle contains within it a ship.

A ship that resides on real churning tides.

I blink several times over in disbelieving incredulity. My hands then come to rub up and down my face in an effort to know whether or not this is really, truly happening.

This settles it then. I'm actually inside The Vault .

My breathing turns a tad bit shallow as I begin wandering slowly down the nearest line of shelves. My eyes take their sweet time in devouring each incredible treasure unique to its individual bottle. I just need to decide which one to take as my boon.

Some of the vessels I inspect appear to be trapped inside a storm. Real lightning flashes against gathering thunderclouds within the container’s horizon. Tiny invisible winds rage against their different colored sails, making the ship sway this way and that on its dark treacherous waters.

More of those that I study drift on calm and steady seas.

Real sunshine refracts through the tempered glass, throwing watery designs onto the ocean floor beneath my feet.

These ships rest pleasantly atop their jewel-colored tides.

Their variously hued flags billow softly upon what appears to be a faint summer breeze .

I stop my continual perusal entirely in order to closely inspect one bottle that catches my eye in particular. The ship within it bobs menacingly close to the horizon of a dying sunset.

Sails of almost pure obsidian, marked only by branches of real golden lightning, wave insolently against the beckoning night. They blend in seamlessly with the ship's matching, cutthroat hull.

The wondrous vessel looks as though it might have been crafted from the darkness between the stars.

Something about it tells me that it moves like a daunting omen out on the tides.

I continue observing it intently and notice, with no small amount of interest, as a single star falls faintly from the heavens towards the twilight horizon.

‘Dusk’s Salvation’ the ship's name plate reads.

My hand reactively reaches out towards it.

“ Not that one! ” A voice warns me, echoing from somewhere deeper inside The Vault.

I jump nearly a solid meter backwards in surprise at the unexpected outburst. But then my hair comes to stand on end. Not only do I recognize that rich male timbre, but I’ve heard it quite recently.

The Heimartai.

Hope nearly explodes inside my chest.

If my Heimartai is here, then perhaps that means I’m ready. Perhaps it’s finally come to tell me of my fate, or at least gift me back my past. One hand grips my single remaining knife as I leave behind the daunting ship and turn to face the direction from which the familiar voice came.

The skin along my arms prickles in the resounding silence, and I walk in a trance-like state further into The Vault. The Heimartai reaches out to me again only a few moments later.

“I ought to have probably had this discussion with you sooner.” The familiar timbre reverberates through the hallowed grounds .

Rounding the next hulking line of colossal cases, I catch sight of the creature's faint silvery glow. The thrashing feeling of hope is now almost unbearable to contain. The luminous light proves to be emanating from somewhere much farther into the realm of never-ending shelves.

My pulse and pace both quicken.

I begin sprinting down the monstrous racks of sea-stone ledges. Countless bottles containing countless magnificent ships of every make and color race past in my peripheral. Each one is more tempting than the last, but I’m determined on my course.

This time, I won't let my Heimartai get away. This time I’ll make it tell me of my past. I’ll force my fate from the strange creature with my bare hands and one remaining knife if I have to. I’m close now. The halfway hidden luminance becomes brighter with every single step I take.

“ Did your mother mention what I wanted to talk to you about? ” that rich voice questions. My steps abruptly falter and slow.

Mother?

Is the fate-deliverer playing some sort of game with me now?

The next words it spews are so uncharacteristically warped that I only make out a small portion of the last half. “ —for the good of Pontus. You know we all must make sacrifices. ” Is all I'm able to catch.

Creeping down the last few remaining cases between myself and the warped words, I begin realizing, to no small amount of disappointment, that the silver light doesn’t actually belong to my Heimartai at all.

It doesn’t belong to any Heimartai. That terribly familiar voice instead is revealed to be echoing from the corner of a large fossilized ledge.

Hope dies a very painful death within me.

The silvery light shines even brighter as the voice, the one currently pounding against that icy wall inside of me, begging to be remembered, speaks once more.

“ You are like my own heart, you know that Cherrystone ? Don’t worry, I’ll be with you.

” The deep timbre is incredibly soft, as if speaking to a child .

Something cold grips onto my soul, and I suddenly have the oddest urge to cry. Repressing that frightening reaction takes much more effort than I want to admit.

The mystical radiance begins to fade down into a mere glimmer of starlight, revealing a medium-sized glass bottle as the source responsible.

I cautiously drift closer while also trying to remember how to breathe.

Re-sheathing my knife, I lean forward and peer curiously inside the strange talking bottle.

A gasp escapes me in response to the sight I'm met with. A ship of complete and utter heart-stopping perfection is trapped inside a sea of ice beneath a wintry midnight sky.

The vessel’s sleek hull, deck, and masts are all so black that they actually come off with a shimmering opalescent hue. Sharp destructive angles make up the stern and bow, both of which tell me that this ship is without a doubt faster than all fucking hell.

I don't think twice before grabbing the bottle. I’m immediately desperate to see each individual inch from every single angle possible. The starlight glittering within it is quite faint. I have to study it quite closely in order to truly get a good look.

My eyes rest almost directly against the glass itself as I watch in open-mouthed wonder while the fantastical ship’s previously tied-up sails begin unfurling themselves.

My gaping becomes entirely moronic when those sails shake off the ice clinging to them before taking on a unique arch-shape against the arctic chill.

I think my heart has stopped beating.

As if the ship couldn’t have been any more suited to me, the colors of those newly revealed sails reflect a gorgeously haunting, luminous shade of iridescent white . They glimmer as if shards of the moon itself and dance like ghosts along an ancient midnight gale.

The ship perfectly matches me, my crew, and our unbreakable tythe .

Rubbing the fabric of my uniform over the small golden plate embedded in the glass, I discover two words etched upon it. The two words that declare the name belonging to this absurdly perfect craft.

My thumb no more than begins to brush over the engraved nameplate when an undeniably final, world-shattering ‘crack’ comes from within that wall of ice inside.

This time, it is one I cannot ignore.

An ocean I never knew I was carrying inside of me swells back up from deep down within. Its volatile tide crashes through that unyielding defense before taking hold and dragging me down to its deep, dark depths.

Time vanishes entirely.