THE BONE SHIPS : THE DROWNING
Chapter 2: The Bone Captain
The ship was called the Sunken Queen.
Valeris stood at the bow, her small hands gripping the railing, her eyes fixed on the black sea below. The water churned and foamed, sending spray against her face. The wind howled. The sails snapped. The crew moved around her, silent and efficient, their faces hidden beneath hooded cloaks.
The man who had saved them stood beside her.
His name was Thorne.
He was the captain of the Sunken Queen. He had been sailing the Drowning Sea for thirty years, hunting leviathans, trading bone, running from the dead.
He was not a kind man.
But he was not cruel.
He was something else.
Something Valeris did not yet understand.
“You heard the dead,” Thorne said. It was not a question.
Valeris nodded.
“How long?”
“Since I was seven. I’m ten now.”
“Three years.” Thorne’s gray eyes were unreadable. “That’s a long time to carry a curse.”
“It’s not a curse.”
“What is it?”
Valeris looked at the sea.
At the black water.
At the hunger beneath.
“It’s a gift.”
Thorne was silent for a long moment.
Then he laughed.
It was a harsh sound, like stones grinding together.
“A gift,” he repeated. “That’s what the dead want you to believe. That’s how they draw you in. They whisper sweet words, promise peace, promise freedom. But all they want is to drag you down. To make you one of them.”
“How do you know?”
Thorne looked at her.
His gray eyes were hollow.
“Because they did it to my wife.”
Valeris’s blood went cold.
“Your wife?”
“She was a listener. Like you. She heard the dead. She thought it was a gift. She thought she could help them. She thought she could save them.”
“What happened?”
Thorne looked at the sea.
At the black water.
At the hunger.
“She drowned. On a calm sea. On a cloudless night. The dead called her name, and she walked into the water, and she never came back.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Sorry doesn’t bring her back.”
“Then why did you save me?”
Thorne was silent for a long moment.
“Because I couldn’t save her. Maybe I can save you.”
The crew of the Sunken Queen was small.
There was Isolde, the navigator. She was young—younger than Valeris had expected—with dark hair and dark eyes and a face that was always turned toward the stars. She never slept. She claimed she didn’t need to.
There was Bram, the harpooner. He was massive—taller than any man Valeris had ever seen, his arms thick as tree trunks, his chest broad as a shield. He spoke rarely, and when he did, his words were riddles.
There was Sylvie, the first mate. She was older, with silver hair and a scar across her cheek. She had been a priestess once, before the dead took her faith. Now she served only the ship.
And there was Thorne.
The bone captain.
The man who hunted leviathans.
The man who hated the dead.
“Why do you hunt them?” Valeris asked.
They were in the captain’s quarters, a small room at the stern of the ship. The walls were covered in maps, the shelves lined with bone, the air thick with smoke from a pipe that Thorne held between his teeth.
“The leviathans?”
“The dead.”
Thorne set down his pipe.
“I don’t hunt the dead. I hunt the things that serve them.”
“What things?”
Thorne pointed at the window.
At the black sea.
“The Drowned King.”
Valeris had heard stories of the Drowned King.
Every child in the village had heard stories. He was the first leviathan, the largest leviathan, the oldest leviathan. He had been sleeping beneath the waves for a thousand years, waiting for the right moment to rise.
Some said he was a god.
Some said he was a demon.
Some said he was the darkness itself.
“You believe he’s real?” Valeris asked.
“I know he’s real. I’ve seen him.”
“Where?”
Thorne looked at the sea.
At the black water.
At the hunger.
“In my dreams. Every night. He calls to me. He whispers my name. He promises to bring my wife back.”
“Does he lie?”
Thorne was silent for a long moment.
“I don’t know. But I’m not willing to find out.”
That night, Valeris dreamed.
She was standing on the shore of the Drowning Sea, the black water lapping at her feet. The sky was red, the clouds were low, the air was thick with smoke.
And beneath the water, something was rising.
Not the Drowned King.
Something else.
A figure.
A woman.
She was tall and thin, with pale skin and black hair and eyes the color of the deep. She wore a gown of seaweed and shadow, and her bare feet were pressed against the black sand.
She was beautiful.
She was terrible.
She was the dead.
Hello, Valeris, she said. I’ve been waiting for you.
“Who are you?”
The woman smiled.
It was not a kind smile.
I am the voice you’ve been hearing. The song you’ve been singing. The hunger you’ve been feeling.
“What do you want?”
The woman stepped closer.
I want you to join us. I want you to become one of us. I want you to drown.
Valeris woke with a scream.
Isolde was beside her.
“You were dreaming,” the navigator said.
“The dead. They were in my dream.”
“They’re always in your dreams. That’s what it means to be a listener.”
“How do I make them stop?”
Isolde was silent for a long moment.
“You don’t. You learn to live with them.”