THE BONE SHIPS : THE DROWNING
Chapter 3: The First Hunt
The Sunken Queen sailed for three days before they found their quarry.
Valeris stood at the bow, her small hands gripping the railing, her eyes scanning the black sea. The water was calm—too calm. No waves. No wind. No birds. The silence was heavy, oppressive, like a blanket smothering the world.
Isolde stood beside her, her dark eyes fixed on the horizon.
“There,” the navigator said, pointing.
Valeris looked.
At first, she saw nothing. Then—movement. A dark shape beneath the surface, large and slow, gliding through the depths like a shadow.
“A leviathan,” Isolde said.
“Is it the Drowned King?”
Isolde shook her head.
“The Drowned King is larger. Older. More dangerous. This is a scout. A servant.”
“Servant of who?”
Isolde looked at her.
“The dead.”
Thorne gave the order.
The crew moved with practiced efficiency—unfurling sails, loading harpoons, preparing the bone spears. Bram stood at the bow, his massive hands wrapped around the harpoon launcher, his eyes fixed on the dark shape below.
Valeris watched from the railing.
The dead were singing.
Come, they whispered. Come and join us. Come and be free. Come and drown.
She tried to ignore them.
She could not.
The leviathan surfaced.
It was massive—larger than the Sunken Queen, its body covered in black scales, its eyes glowing with pale light. It rose from the water like a mountain, water streaming from its back, its mouth opening to reveal rows of jagged teeth.
Bram fired the harpoon.
The chain shot across the water, burying itself in the leviathan’s flank.
The creature screamed.
Not a sound—a feeling. A wave of pain and rage and hunger that washed over the ship, through the crew, into Valeris’s bones.
She fell to her knees.
The dead were screaming.
Kill it, they shrieked. Kill it. Kill it. Kill it.
Thorne grabbed her arm.
“What’s happening?” he demanded.
“The dead,” she gasped. “They’re angry.”
“At us?”
“At the leviathan. They want it dead.”
Thorne’s eyes widened.
He turned to the crew.
“Pull the chain! Bring it in!”
The crew heaved.
The leviathan thrashed.
The ship groaned.
The battle lasted for hours.
The leviathan dove and surfaced, dove and surfaced, dragging the Sunken Queen across the black sea. Bram fired harpoon after harpoon, each one sinking deeper into the creature’s flesh. The crew pulled the chains, inch by inch, foot by foot.
Valeris watched from the railing.
The dead were singing.
Not the angry screams of before. A different song. Softer. Sweeter.
Come, they whispered. Come and join us. Come and be free. Come and drown.
She felt herself leaning forward.
Toward the water.
Toward the darkness.
Toward the hunger.
A hand grabbed her shoulder.
Sylvie.
The first mate’s scarred face was hard.
“Don’t,” she said.
“The dead are calling me.”
“I know. Don’t listen.”
“I can’t help it.”
“Yes, you can. Focus on my voice. Focus on the ship. Focus on the living.”
Valeris closed her eyes.
She focused.
The song faded.
Not gone. But quieter.
The leviathan died at sunset.
Its body floated on the surface, black and still, its pale eyes dim. The crew cheered. Bram raised his harpoon in triumph. Thorne stood at the bow, his gray eyes fixed on the horizon.
Valeris looked at the creature.
The dead were silent.
For the first time in years, she heard nothing.
“What happens now?” she asked.
Sylvie stood beside her.
“Now we carve it. Take the bone. Sell it. Live another day.”
“Is that all?”
Sylvie looked at the leviathan.
At the black scales.
At the pale eyes.
“For now.”
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 woman from before.
Something larger.
Something older.
Something hungrier.
The Drowned King.
Hello, Valeris, he said. I’ve been waiting for you.