Tears of the Sea Read online

  Contents

  Title Page

  Front Matter

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Epilogue

  BioWithoutLinks

  Tears of the Sea

  by MaryLu Tyndall

  Tears of the Sea

  © 2014 by MaryLu Tyndall

  Published by Ransom Press

  San Jose, CA 95123

  ISBN: 978-0-9908723-1-3

  E-Version ISBN: 978-0-9908723-0-6

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means without the written permission of the author, MaryLu Tyndall.

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is on file at the Library of Congress, Washington, DC.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, incidents, and dialogues are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any similarity to actual people, organizations, and/or events is purely coincidental

  Cover Design by Ravven

  Editor: Lora at EditsByLora.com

  Chapter 1

  Immortality ends tonight.

  Standing on the ledge of a mountainous cliff, Perdita gazed over the majestic storm raging beneath her. Mountainous swells thrust foamy claws into the sky. Black, slick as ink, spewed from angry heavens. Lightning hurled white-hot forks toward Erden, while thunder announced the doom of all in the tempest’s path.

  Perdita had been waiting endlessly for such a violent squall. Mayhap this would be the night. Mayhap this would be the moment the unbearable pain in her heart would end. Oh, let it be so! What would it be like to die, to finally close her eyes forever? To know naught but darkness and emptiness. Nothingness. Part of her feared it. Most of her yearned for it. At least her agony would be no more. The pain, the loneliness gripping her heart would finally cease.

  Tears spilled from her eyes but the wind stole them away. Even her tears were not her own. After tonight, she would cry no more. Finally, her three hundred-year nightmare would come to an end.

  Wind whipped her naked body, forcing her against the cliff wall. Jagged rock slashed her skin as the tempest roared madly all around her—berating voices from a thousand rejections. She jammed her hands over her ears, but the voices taunted her mercilessly…reminding her that no matter how hard she tried, she failed to obtain the one thing she desperately craved, the one thing that continually eluded her, the one thing—the only thing—that could liberate her from infinite torment.

  She trembled. Rain pelted her like rocks from a cruel god. Welts rose on her skin. Ignoring the pain, she drew a deep breath and fought through the wind to the edge of the cliff. It wrenched around her, punching her, pulling her hair, beating her for being so worthless, so useless. Then lifting her arms, she closed her eyes, and leaned over the precipice. At first, like a benevolent friend unwilling to let her go, the wind held her back, buffeting her in place. But soon even the gale couldn’t hold her up, and she felt herself tumbling down … down … down …

  She shattered the surface. Seawater engulfed her, ramming into her from all sides. Deeper and deeper she descended. The jolts mutated to gentle caresses and the sounds of the storm muffled to mere whispers. Her legs melded together. Awkward kicks transformed into one efficient, powerful stroke. Tingling skittered over her body, molding skin into scale.

  Perdita released her breath. Bubbles rose. She gulped. Water flooded her lungs—always uncomfortable at first, but then as her skin breathed in the sea, more natural than she cared to admit. More normal to her than breathing air. As normal as the grief that ripped through her every time she dove in the water and became a creature she loathed.

  Slipping with ease through the dark sea toward her destination, she soared upward and punched through the surface into the storm once again. Wind spit salty foam in her face. A massive wave carried her high into the night sky like a princess on her chariot. Scanning the turbulent scene, she spotted the monstrous rock—the one they called Hades’ Gate—just half a mile away, aptly named for the number of sailors who had died upon its barbed spikes. Sharp, craggy spears stuck out in every direction as if Natas himself crouched in the sea with a thousand claws extended.

  Natas or not, Perdita hoped she would be the next victim.

  If only she could position herself just right so the next colossal wave would smash her against the rock with such force, such ferocity, that her body would be completely shredded.

  If only …

  It had to work. ’Twas her last idea. She’d tried everything else: poison, pistol shot, starvation, stabbing, even leaping into a fire. Each time she’d suffered terribly, but she had always healed. The last time, when she’d jumped off a cliff into a deep ravine, it had taken much longer to recover, and she realized that there was a point past which her body, immortal or not, would not be able to mend itself and would hopefully drift into that peaceful state that was the reward of all mankind. Death.

  Ah, sweet, sweet death! To at last find the rest her soul craved. To be free of the tormenting bitterness and despair that plagued her by day and the perpetual hopelessness that assaulted her dreams by night. She must be free—now!

  Leaping off the crest of a wave, she dove into the trough and swam to just the right position. Then, arms by her side and tail strong and taut, she swooped up inside the next undulating surge, allowing the force of sea and wind to lift her to the top. Water caressed her body and gurgled and sloshed past her ears in a magnificent orchestra that would put great composers to shame.

  Bursting through the foamy cap, she glanced at Hades’ Gate. In perfect position. Daggers of lightning scored the sky. Thunder bellowed its displeasure. No matter. She only needed to ride this swell until it hurled her onto the barbed rock that would set her free.

  Some people said if you spoke King Abbas’s name, he would hear your plea and answer. Perdita had always thought them fools. How could he hear anything from here in Erden when he lived far across the chasm? She wasn’t even sure he existed, for no one had ever seen him. Still, mayhap ’twas worth a try. “King Abbas, help me this night, I beg you. Help me find peace.”

  Facing forward, she started to close her eyes, wanting to enjoy her last moments as the wave carried her along, but a flicker in the distance snagged her attention. A flash of light, then darkness. Wiping water from her face, she focused on the spot. There it was again. A burst of light. Then black.

  She adjusted her body and flapped her tail to keep up with the wave. Foam spun around her. The sea roared its fury. Whatever the flickering light was, what did it matter to her? She would be gone soon enough.

  A shout battled for preeminence over thunder. A scream echoed over waves. Against her will, she stared into the darkness for its source. A ship appeared, tottering on the churning swells like a child’s toy in a rushing creek. One of its two masts lay on its side, half in the water, half on deck. Sails and rigging tangled on the ship like a fisherman’s net. The vessel do
ve into a trough and disappeared from sight. Wails ricocheted around her—wails of impending death. She knew them well.

  Had envied them for so long.

  The ship appeared again, spinning on a coiling whitecap. Men clung to yards and railings while others scrambled across the deck in a frenzy. Three men raised axes to chop lines in an effort to free the broken mast that threatened to drag them to the deep. One of them crawled precariously out upon the wood, hacking at the rigging with a desperation inherent only to mortals who dreaded their lives cut short.

  He fell. One minute he was there, chopping the ropes, the next gone, swallowed up by a raging sea that showed no mercy—except to Perdita.

  “Zost!” She swore, glancing back at Hades’ Gate. So close … just moments away. She faced the ship again, drifting farther and farther from the man, who was now but a knot of flailing arms atop liquid coal. What did one more life matter? This was her moment, her time to find freedom. Many sailors fell into the sea with no one to save them. Who was she to disturb the natural course of life and death?

  A giant swell grabbed the man and tossed him in the air, then smothered him with raging foam. He disappeared below. One glance behind her told her she had but one more minute and she’d slam into Hades’ Gate. One more minute and the man would drown. Life was precious. All life but hers. She could not leave him.

  “Zost!” She groaned and dove into the agitated foam.

  ♥♥♥

  Savion pounded his fist on the binnacle, ignoring the pain, then raked sodden hair from his face.

  “What should we do, Captain?” His first mate, Petrok, stared at the dark clouds that had appeared out of nowhere and now cloaked sky and sea in an ominous black shroud.

  The ship canted to larboard. Both men gripped the binnacle, rapidly adjusting boots on the slippery deck as a bold wave washed over the ship, upending sailors before sloshing back to sea through the scuppers. Lightning severed the charcoal sky, flickering a ghostly gray over the scene and drawing the gazes of the most hardened sailors toward the storm, the whites of their eyes wide with terror.

  After spotting a shadow on the horizon early that morning, Savion had set a course twenty degrees north by northwest toward the coast of a nearby island where they could seek shelter. They should have made it. Even with a hold full of goods Savion promised to deliver for Governor Grigson. Then why was the tempest now upon them, growling and spitting like a ravenous dragon from some mythical tale? Or worse, perhaps it was Natas’s doing, though Savion didn’t believe the evil warlord had power over wind and wave.

  “Orders, Captain?” Petrok shouted over the increasing wind that whipped his dark hair wildly about his head like a sea urchin.

  “We have no choice. We run before the wind as best we can.” Savion was always amazed at the confidence he found in Petrok’s dark squinty eyes. “All hands about ship. Lower mizzen, tops, and stays. Raise the main.”

  Petrok gave him a nod and started to turn away. Savion gripped his arm. “Have Nuto secure the guns, and tell Bart and Tund to man the pumps.”

  “Aye, aye, Captain,” Petrok shouted as a wave crashed over them. The crusty sailor shook the water from his leathery face, then turned to yell orders to the crew.

  Sailors scrambled across the deck, some grabbing lines, others dropping below, while others flung themselves into the ratlines and raced above. Savion had chosen his crew well. Seasoned sailors, devoid of fear in both battle and storm. Hona, his quartermaster and the youngest of the crew, looked up at Savion. Admiration beamed from the lad’s eyes as his blond hair thrashed about him. Savion gave him a reassuring nod. Honorable men, loyal men, all. Men who laughed in the face of death and risked everything to defend the Kingdom of Erden. Men who had been by his side for over two years as he scoured the Ancient Seas defending the weak, helping the poor, and crushing the rebellion started by Natas.

  Thunder bellowed. The ship pitched. Savion gripped the railing, allowing the wind to slap his face. He deserved it, he supposed, for his failure as a son. All he’d ever wanted was to be like his father. But how does one rise to the standards of a man who is pure goodness, wisdom, love, honesty, grace, mercy, justice …? Savion could go on endlessly.

  The truth was, he’d failed miserably.

  His punishment—though his father had not called it such—was to be sent across the gulf to the Ancient Seas on a mission to save someone or something. Savion was not told. Only that he would “know” when the time was right. In the meantime, he must help the people of the realm and attack the enemy’s strongholds wherever he found them.

  But if Savion was honest, he was frustrated. He’d been following his father’s orders for two years, yet he still had no idea what his precise assignment was. He longed to go home to Nevaeh and be with his family and friends again, but he was stranded on Erden until his mission was complete.

  A blast of wind mauled the scarf from his head and nearly tore off his shirt. His hair lashed his cheek as the ship lunged over a wave. Savion gripped the quarterdeck railing, groaning. He could fight an enemy in battle, but how could he fight a tempest? Especially one that only grew more violent. Raindrops stung his face like grape shot. The mainsail billowed and snapped in a frantic effort to capture the wind. With just the one sail raised, he hoped to scud before the gale and miss the worst of the storm.

  Sailors dropped to the deck from the shrouds and attempted to grab lines to secure the yards, but the ropes flailed in the wind like evil whips, striking one of the men. He cried out and dropped to the deck.

  Rushing to assist him, Savion leapt down the quarterdeck ladder. The ship bucked, and he toppled to the heaving deck. The sky above, dark and thick, hung low enough to touch, twisting and turning as if it was alive. As if it were Natas himself trying to swipe Savion from the seas. But Savion refused to give up.

  Gripping the capstan, he pulled himself up. White light flashed across his vision. Heat surrounded him. A loud snap, a crack, and the sound of wood splintering sizzled over his ears. The smell of electricity and charred wood stung his nose. A wall of water rose and seized him, hurling him to the deck. He grabbed, clutched, gasped for air as he tumbled across the sodden planks. Finally, he hooked onto a hatch grating. The deck leveled. He opened his eyes. The mainmast dangled in the wind like a noodle hanging from a fork.

  “Look out below!” a sailor shouted, scattering men like rats right before the eighty-foot mast toppled to the deck.

  Thwunk! A staggering tremble jolted the ship, jarring all of Savion’s bones. Wood groaned. Like a teeter-totter, the deck tilted to starboard. Sailors rolled over the wooden planks, reaching for anything to keep them from plunging into the sea.

  Fighting wind and rain, Savion shoved his way to the capstan and grabbed an ax, one thought in his mind: free the mast, lest it haul the ship to a watery grave. If he could not, this would be the last fateful voyage of the Scepter.

  And he would have failed his father once again.

  Nuto and Petrok joined him, furiously sawing and chopping away at shifting lines the size of sailor’s arms, yet thick and hard and coated in tar.

  Savion’s boots slipped on the slick wood. He lost control. He would have fallen if not for Petrok’s firm grasp on his arm. Nodding his thanks, Savion spit water from his mouth as unfamiliar terror clenched his gut. Was this to be his end? Though he’d rather die in battle, he supposed dying at sea wasn’t so bad. Better than facing his father and admitting he’d failed his mission.

  “No!” The wind stole his growl. He wasn’t done with life yet. He would discover who or what his father wished him to save. He would continue to help others and battle Natas’s rebellion. He would make his father proud and return to Nevaeh a victor. Raising his ax, he slashed at the lines again and again, anger fueling his dwindling strength.

  The ship jerked and mounted another swell. Sailors flopped over the deck. Savion clung to a line and closed his eyes. A torrent of seawater pounded him like a thousand fists. His feet floundered benea
th him. Water filled his mouth. His hand slipped from the rope. No! He heard Petrok call his name in a muffled desperate cry before the wave launched him into the sea.

  The roar of the storm faded under the heavy water. He searched for air, thrusting arms and legs through what felt like molasses. Deeper and deeper he sank. Down to the depths where there was no pain. The sea embraced him like a long-lost friend, refusing to let go, refusing to let him fight to the surface. It rocked him back and forth as if trying to lull him to sleep.

  His final sleep.

  He kicked with all his might, unsure whether he headed toward air or farther into the deep. The current grew stronger, hauling him in its mighty grip. He broke the surface and gulped for air. A wave closed a fist around him and carried him forward as if he were a puppet. A heavy, dark object loomed up ahead. A giant rock—perhaps the throne of Natas himself. Fear strangled him. Sharp spires pointed toward him. He frantically tried to swim away, but the wave cruelly thrust him toward them.

  Pain. Excruciating pain as if he’d been stabbed a hundred times.

  Something touched him. Someone grabbed his arms and pulled him through the sea. Fast! So fast the water sped by him in an ethereal swoosh. His pain faded, and the world became no more.

  Chapter 2

  With her arms straining and tail churning up foam, Perdita lifted the human male out of the water and heaved him onto the rocky ledge. Backing away, she spit out the sea as air convulsed in her lungs. The man coughed. Water spewed from his mouth before he collapsed back into unconsciousness. Blood trickled down the rock and dripped into the water filling the cave that had been Perdita’s home for centuries.

  Drip, drip, drip. Life spilled from the man, echoing an eerie cadence off the rock walls. She must do something or he would die. Swimming to the edge of the pool, she lifted herself upon the rocky sand that formed a ridge around the water and swung her tail up, waiting for its transformation. She ran her fingers over the smooth circular scales of turquoise edged in silvery glitter that spanned from her waist down to her tail in a lustrous mirage of turquoise, maroon, and green, shimmering like an abalone shell.