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Kai

I push my spectacles up my nose, pulling my hood down further to shadow my face as I open the door to the pub.

It has been a month since my elder brother, Dru, went missing—lost at sea.

What was supposed to be a basic shipping expedition, taking no more than a week, has turned into a catastrophe.

Dru is the heir to our father's empire. The entire province is in mourning, assuming Dru and the crew are dead, swallowed by the waves, forever lost. I, on the other hand, don’t believe it. It just can’t be true.

My father was teetering on the edge of life long before Dru went missing all those weeks ago, but now the end is truly near. I can feel it. My father’s days are numbered, and I have absolutely no interest in taking on the title of province leader or being head of his shipping enterprise.

My father created the Ivarrson Shipping Company from nothing.

Starting out with a single battered ship, transporting goods for small businesses that couldn’t afford large trade services, my father worked hard acquiring new ships and clientele with every trip.

Over the past two decades, the company has become known far and wide, making us a major player in the shipping and trading industry in Halvendor.

My father is the only reason our small settlement of Renyir is now a legitimate province within the Kingdom.

Becoming the province leader of Renyir and the face of Ivarsson Shipping is a huge responsibility, one I’m not ready for. I am no leader. I haven’t spent my entire life training for it. Not like Dru has. In my hands, the province will fail, I know that for a fact.

I’m much more accustomed to a quieter existence, preferring my botany, science experiments, and other hobbies to a life behind a desk commanding an entire company.

The life of the second son suits me. The lack of stress and pressure has kept me youthful and sane.

I’m not ready to let that go, not now and probably not ever.

Plus, I have no interest in ships. I don’t even know how to swim. How could someone with no knowledge of the maritime industry or the ocean run a shipping enterprise?

No, life is better spent tucked away in my greenhouse on the manor grounds, where I can work on my plants and hone my herbalist skills.

My father always calls my interests ‘dalliances’, but my little slice of peace and privacy in the garden greenhouse is my greatest passion.

It is my entire life’s work, and it is the only reason I am currently outside a rather shady establishment located on the east side of town.

This is a place my brother always told me to steer clear of, but desperate times call for desperate measures.

I am willing to do quite literally anything not to be the heir to my father’s legacy, and if that means coming alone to the East End Dockside Pub, known for its riff-raff and crime, I will do it.

A little over a week ago, a member of Dru’s crew was miraculously found, and I tracked him down, setting up this meeting with him in an attempt to find out what happened and if Dru could be out there somewhere, still alive.

The dim lighting of the pub is an adjustment from the bright sunlight of the warm day outside, and it takes my eyes a moment to adjust.

No longer seeing spots, the inside of the pub comes fully into view, and every single person in the establishment turns to look at me.

Dread pools in my stomach as I suddenly realize how terrible an idea this is. It probably would have been smarter for me to insist that the man come to me somewhere closer to home.

“Too late for that now,” I mumble to myself.

Pushing my spectacles up again, I pull my heavy wool black cloak tighter around me, feeling too exposed under the onslaught of stares.

“Aye, boy!” A man calls from a table in the corner.

He’s alone, two glasses of ale on the table in front of him. I hope to the gods this is the man I’m here to meet. He does look a little rough around the edges, malnourished, with a wildness in his eyes that openly shares the shock of what he's just gone through.

The skin around his eyes crinkles as he greets me with a seemingly crazed smirk.

His cheeks are laden with red, either from the drink he’s currently guzzling or from days spent exposed to the sun on that island.

His blue-grey eyes are distant and strained, but there is a look of recognition that flashes through them as he motions for me to join him.

Though my brother and I are several years apart, we share several of the same features. We both have the Ivarrson family’s sharp nose, high cheekbones, and emerald eyes, but whereas Dru has the dark brown hair of our father, I have a head full of golden curls to match our mother’s.

Still, I see a moment of remembrance pass over his features.

He has a story to tell, and I’m not sure I’m ready to hear it.

His clothes hang loosely off his malnourished frame, and I make a note to order him a bowl of stew before I shuffle over to him, trying my best not to make eye contact with anyone in the place.

I nod my head at him before taking a seat. “Are you Merrit?”

“The one and only. Here, drink,” Merrit moves the second pint of ale across the table to me. It sloshes, spilling pale brown liquid across the sticky wooden surface.

“Thank you,” I say nervously, sipping lightly on the hard brew. I’ve never been one for alcohol, and I try not to cough as the bitter, bubbling drink burns down my throat.

“No, thank you, boy. These are going on ‘ur coin,” He laughs, a gurgling sound that makes me cringe at the roughness of it.

“Right,” I say. “I did set up this meeting after all.”

I wave down the bartender and order two bowls of whatever stew is on the menu, hoping the warm liquid will help satisfy the gnawing feeling churning in my gut.

A heavy silence stretches between us, and his yellowing eyes bore into me, making gooseflesh crawl along my arms. I bypass any small talk and get to the root of our meeting. The sooner I can get out of this place, the better.

“What happened to the Golden Serpent ?”

Merrit’s eyes darken, “She’s gone, ‘fraid. Swallowed by the spirits in the sea.”

I frown, “But how? Did something attack you? Was it a storm? Did anyone else survive?” My final question sounds more like a whisper. It is the most important question and the only answer I really want to know.

“There was a storm. Came from nowhere. One second the seas were calm, sky clear. Next, it were crashing waves, winds so strong they ripped through the sails. It weren’t natural, boy.

I dived into the sea, swam my way as far as I could to where the seas were calm again,” Merrit pauses, a shutter from the memories racking through him.

“If anyone survived, the sirens have ‘em now.

Their terrible wailing song would have lured ‘em further to their doom. The storm was full of their song. Ain’t no one left if they haven't come back by now.”

“Sirens?” I scoff. They’re a myth, nothing more than a children’s tale.

Merrit was probably talking about the sounds of the wind in the storm.

The province encountered its fair share of intense storms, and I know that the whistle of those ferocious winds can play tricks on your mind, sounding like something else entirely.

“Aye, boy. Sirens.”

This man’s mind clearly isn’t fully there. He was lost for weeks at sea after all, found half dead on a small island off the shore just over a week ago. There is no way his mind was fully recovered in such a short time.

I think back to the stories my mother read to Dru and I as children. She read us the tale of the sirens and their call. They are dangerous monsters that lure sailors to their lair, never to be seen again, but those are nothing more than stories spun of mythical creatures that didn’t exist.

There were other bloodthirsty creatures in those fables. There were tales of orcs, trolls, dwarves, and more, but no one had ever seen these creatures, so who was to say they existed at all?

I don’t believe in fairy tales. I believe in science and tangible proof.

“You survived, though,” I continue, prodding. “So there could be others out there. Is there anything you remember seeing? Did anyone else make it out of the storms?”

The bartender interrupts me, placing two steaming bowls between us. I inhale the rich, spiced aroma and am immediately comforted by the familiar scent of a traditional meat stew. It reminds me of the one my mother used to make when we were children. It was always Dru’s favorite.

I let the silence stretch between us as Merrit dives into the hearty meal, devouring it in front of me, slurping every last bit. I can’t imagine what he’s been through, and a sudden sense of looming dread drops in my gut, souring the stew I’ve eaten as I wait to hear what he says next.

Merrit’s eyes glaze over as he leans back in his chair, an empty bowl before him, and stares at a spot behind me.

I look over my shoulder, but then he says, “There were land somewhere in those storms. I saw trees and rock, but it was gone as soon as I seen it. Even so, weeks have gone by. No one could survive out there for weeks. Not with the sirens in those waters.”

My brows shoot up. An island? If there truly is an island in those waters, then there is a chance that Dru is there—still alive. Hope blooms inside me.

I look down at my watch, noting the time. The sun should be setting soon, and I don't want to be here when night falls. With a sigh, I think about what Merrit has said. He does have a good point. It was now over a month since the ship went missing.

If they weren't back by now, they were probably gone, but I can't give up hope yet, not if there is even a chance Dru is out there.

I need to find him.

My brother is strong and smart. If anyone could survive an extreme storm, it was Dru. He's alive out there. I just know it.

“How much would it take for you to lead me there?”

Merrit snorts, “Ain’t no way I’m goin’ back to that part of the sea, boy. It’s cursed.”

“Name your price, any number.”

The man narrows his eyes, tilting his head slightly before he says, “Ten thousand silver pieces.”

“Done.”

Merrit’s eyes go wide.

“We leave tonight. You’ll get half now and half once we've made it to the destination you last saw the ship. After that, you can choose to leave. We’ll have a small boat just for you to travel back here with your silver.”

“Seas, I should have asked for more,” he laughs heartily, bringing his tankard up for me to cheer with him. I oblige, ale sloshing from both our glasses before Merrit downs the rest of his pint in one big gulp. “Let’s sail, Cap’n.”

T he sea has never been my friend. In all the years I have spent sailing with my father as a young boy, learning the ropes of his business beside my brother, I never got used to the rolling waves and unpredictable nature of the ocean.

My stomach roils as I empty its contents over the starboard railing, clinging onto the damp wood for dear life.

Why did I want to do this again? Oh yeah, so that I can live a quiet, comfortable, stress-free life.

Merrit laughs heartily, smacking me on the back, “Aye, boy. Sea life ain’t for everyone. I hope we do find Master Dru for yer sake.”

He continues to laugh as he walks away, and I vomit again into the sparkling blue waves below. We have to find Dru. There is no other option for me.

With a sigh, I push away from the ship’s railing and stumble my way to where the Captain of the vessel is up at the helm. Merrit stands next to him, working as the navigator, taking us directly to the spot where he had last seen my brother’s ship.

“How much farther out is it?” I ask. It’s day three at sea, and I’m not sure my stomach can handle much more of this. Not a single thing I’ve eaten during this time has stayed down, and I am starting to see double from the lack of sustenance.

“There!” Merrit calls, pointing over the portside railing to a part of the ocean that is much darker than its surroundings, almost black. “We sailed ‘cross those inky waters, that’s when the storms hit us.”

A shiver travels through my body. This is where Dru’s ship, the Golden Serpent, was lost, and we are about to sail right into it.

“This is as far as I’ll go, boy,” Merrit says, handing me the map and compass he used to navigate. “I hope you make it back.”

A solemness in his eyes causes me to squirm under his stare. He knows this is a suicide mission, and he’s just taking my money and running. Wonderful.

I watch as two crew members begin to lower the small boat I made sure was ready for Merrit, filled with his earnings, down into the calm waters. He turns to me and frowns before climbing down the rope ladder and rowing away, back toward home.

Clearing my throat, I turn to the gray-haired man who is Captain of the ship and say, “Head for those black waters, please, Captain.”

The man raises a busy brow at me, but does as he’s told. He’s being paid handsomely to listen to me after all.

The tension on the deck heightens as we sail closer to the strange waters, but everything stays perfectly calm.

No sign of a storm, no change in the sea’s currents.

Everything is perfectly normal.

I half run, half stumble to the bow of the ship, leaning over the front far enough to look straight down where the sea's darkness meets the cerulean blue.

It's as if the ocean has swallowed all the color. The stark contrast from crystal clear blue to pitch black is startling. It’s like a disease bleeding into its filth into the sea.

Merrit was right. This place is cursed.

I hold my breath as the ship cuts through the water into the black, and chaos erupts.

Lighting strikes behind me, and I spin just in time to see the main mast of the ship splinter before it falls into the sea.

The Captain is yelling commands at the helm, turning the wheel in a desperate attempt to escape the storm.

Waves crash from all sides, spraying salty water onto my face.

I wipe at my spectacles, unable to see clearly, squinting into the stormy haze before the ship.

Something is out there, large and imposing in the distance, but I can’t quite make it out.

I lean slightly further over the bow, straining my eyes to see, when a large gust of wind comes from nowhere, and suddenly the peaked waves are coming closer.

With a final shout, I plunge into the inky waters. I flail my arms and feet, anything to try and get above the water's surface, but I don't know how to swim, and even if I did, my body is being pulled down by the forceful current of the sea.

This is it, my end.

I choke, my air supply fully depleting as the outline of the ship overhead fades from view, and my final thought before I succumb to the closing tunnel of darkness clouding my vision is that I’ll never know if my brother truly survived or not.