Page 46 of The Sea Witch (Salt & Sorcery #1)
Alys climbed down the side of the Sea Witch and slipped into the water.
With its glamour, the Sea Witch now appeared to be a damaged merchant ship, limping as it approached the Ajax of His Majesty’s Royal Navy.
The naval ship seemed to believe that a listing merchantman couldn’t harm them, so the Ajax allowed the Sea Witch to come closer.
No one aboard the naval vessel would anticipate or notice a lone figure swimming toward them. All the attention was fixed
on the ship in distress, so Alys made her way without anyone raising an alarm or, worse, trying to pull her onto the ship.
She hadn’t the ability to swim and maintain a glamour.
None of her crew could cast a spell over her appearance, busy as they were maintaining the Sea Witch ’s disguise.
So, it was without concealment that she made her way toward the Ajax .
Meanwhile, the Sea Witch maintained its own glamour, resembling an impaired ship requiring help, and sailing slowly toward the Ajax .
No hostile actions could be used by the witches aboard.
All their focus had to be on keeping the glamour going. Only when
the illusion was dropped could they begin to fight. It was a precarious balance to get close enough to the Ajax for the right position, while being unable to use their best method of attack and defense.
Alys finally reached the naval ship. The frigate towered above her, creaking and groaning as it rode the waves.
With the British crew distracted by the approach of the disguised Sea Witch , she began to clamber up the side. Knives were tucked into her belt, and her sword hung from a baldric as she pulled herself
up, hand over hand. A year ago, she’d done almost the same thing in the frigid waters of Cape Ann. But now she climbed the
Ajax with far more strength and confidence than she’d had back then.
She edged past cannons bristling from their gunports and heard the voices of the men on the gun deck.
At last, she reached a porthole wide enough to wriggle through. She tumbled into a storage hold, stacked with barrels and
crates. Climbing to her feet, she peered out the door. A few seamen made their way along the passageway, and she ducked back
into the hold, waiting for them to pass.
“Don’t know why we’re bothering with that merchantman,” one of the sailors grumbled as he passed. “They can sail. No need
for us.”
“Captain Isley never turns down a chance to make himself look like a hero,” another answered.
“Why drag us into it?”
The voices faded as they walked away. When they were gone, Alys checked to ensure no one else was in the passageway. It was
clear, so she darted out.
From a pouch hanging on her belt, she pulled a sealed vial containing a sprig of herbs. Olachi had given them to her that
morning, a collection of ordinary things taken directly from cook Josephine’s pantry as well as from the Fatima’s supply of
herbs used for healing. Thyme, lemon balm, feverfew, barberry. Typical as these plants were, Olachi had insisted that it was
this specific combination that created a desired effect. Yet they needed a catalyst.
Alys uncorked the vial. She snapped her fingers. A tiny flame appeared on the tip of her index finger, and she touched the fire to the herbs within the vial. They immediately started smoldering. A thin wisp of sharp vegetal smoke curled up from the glass.
Concentrating on the smoke, Alys whispered, “Take me to where magic is strongest.”
The smoke drifted up in a narrow column. For a moment, it seemed the spell hadn’t worked. But then the smoke snaked down the
passageway. She followed where it led her, along the corridor, up a companionway, then along another passageway, before it
stopped in front of one closed door.
Alys corked the vial, extinguishing the miniscule blaze. After drawing her cutlass, she pulled open the door and rushed in.
She quickly shut the door behind her.
It was dim within, a heavy curtain over the porthole, and it took a moment for her eyes to adjust to shadows. There was a
narrow berth, a small desk holding numerous scrolls and books, and a cabinet whose drawers were overflowing with countless
objects. Feathers, animal bones, polished stones, seashells, metal amulets, even an assortment of human teeth. The room smelled
of ash and loamy soil.
This cabin belonged to the ship’s mage. But the mage himself wasn’t within it. She’d have to wait.
She took a step deeper into the cabin, toward a long narrow wooden box. Thorny vines had been carved into the lid and sides.
Inside were two rows of small bottles sealed with a plug of pale wax. She held one up. A reddish glow emanated from it, the
glimmering contents swirling hypnotically.
Cautiously, she returned the bottle back to its case. The constellations only knew what it contained. Fumbling about with
strange magic never ended well.
The cabin door swung in abruptly. Brandishing her cutlass, she spun to face a man with close-cropped blond hair, gray eyes,
a black sash, and a malevolent smirk.
“I believe you’re looking for me,” the mage said.
Alys summoned a shield on her arm just as the mage flung a cutting spell at her. Most of the sharp energy bounced off her
shield, but what got past sent a rain of hot stings across her face. Ignoring the pain, she shot a bolt of power into her
cutlass and attacked.
Her blade clashed against a lance of cold fire, thrown by the mage. Alys leapt onto the berth, gaining a height advantage,
but he flung more spikes of icy flame at her. She ducked and shielded herself. The spikes slammed into the bulkhead, leaving
burnt scars.
She feinted as if she intended to strike high, and when the mage tried to block the blow, she dove low, slashing at his legs.
He snarled in pain as she cut across his thigh and he shot another slicing spell at her. While she ducked away, he darted
across the cabin to the narrow wooden box. He flung open the lid and pulled out a bottle. With his dagger, he cut off the
wax seal, then put the bottle to his lips. He downed its glowing contents in one swallow.
Alys threw herself at him. Too late. Whatever the liquid inside the bottle was, it filled the mage with a surge of energy.
His eyes glowed red. Fiery power seethed around him, and the force of the energy enveloping his body flung her backward.
The deep cut across his leg instantly healed. The sight of his own flesh mending made him grin.
“Fuck,” she muttered.
“Exactly,” the mage replied.
He stabbed his fiery fingers at her, but she had already leapt away. She yanked the box of potions off the table and threw
it to the floor. Bottles smashed on the wood, spilling their glittering contents. The air filled with the smell of iron and
fire.
The mage’s face contorted in anger. Trying to fight him now in his cramped quarters was a surefire way to get herself killed.
Shoving to her feet, she wrenched open the door to his cabin and darted into the passageway.
He followed her, throwing spells that made the walls instantly crumble.
She moved backward, blocking with her shield and slashing with her cutlass.
Frightened seamen scurried out of their path and huddled in doorways as the fight continued.
The mage’s attacks forced her up the companionway until they emerged on the top deck. More stunned sailors darted out of their
way. A man with a long dark blue coat and powdered wig—clearly the captain—gaped at her.
Alys glanced to see the still-glamoured Sea Witch coming closer to the portside of the Ajax . Close enough to board.
It was impossible to wait any longer.
She stomped her boot onto the deck. It boomed like a thunderclap, causing the seamen to cover their ears.
At that same moment, the Sea Witch dropped its glamour. No longer a damaged merchant ship, it sailed in all its piratical brilliance. Its decks were laden of
women of every color, armed with firearms and cutlasses, magic encircling hands as witches prepared themselves for battle.
Stasia and Olachi both held pistols and cutlasses as they stood at the head of the crew.
Their flag, a black banner depicting a woman wielding a sword beneath a crescent moon as she danced upon the waves, flapped
defiantly in the wind.
“To the guns,” the captain of the Ajax shouted. “Fire at will!”
Gunners manned the cannons, loading and aiming them.
The witches flung up a shielding spell. It encircled the ship just as the Ajax ’s cannons fired.
All the cannonballs slammed against the shield, then tumbled harmlessly down into the water.
Grappling hooks were immediately flung from the pirate ship to the naval vessel. Led by Olachi and Stasia, the crew swung
onto the Ajax ’s deck, their weapons forming bright arcs of magic between the ships.
A series of thumps followed as, one by one, the crew landed on the Ajax’s deck.
Marines gaped at the women as if they were gorgons who had turned them to stone. Women in trousers, laden with weapons and
magic, glared back at them.
“Attack,” the captain shouted.
Seamen grabbed whatever weapons they could. Some had short daggers, others seized cudgels. Marines hefted rifles.
The mage threw glimmering spells toward their weapons, charging them.
Pops sounded as the marines’ guns fired. Stasia and Olachi threw up another shield, protecting the pirates from gunfire.
The marines and armed seamen charged through the smoke of the discharged firearms at the pirates, dodging and evading. Each
witch darted toward their attackers. Once they were close enough, the witches placed their hands on the backs of the sailors’
necks.
Marking each witch’s hand was a crescent moon. The symbol had been painted on their palms with a mixture of honey and burnt
valerian.
The marked men collapsed to the deck, dazed and motionless from the skin-to-skin contact. Women without magical power dashed
forward, binding the men’s hands.
The mage spun around, anger bright in his cold eyes. He reached for a pouch hanging from his belt.