Siren song

Below Deck

The night was heavy with the smell of smoke and salt. The Maiden’s Fortune was gone, and the black sailed Widow’s Wail creaked as it cut through the dark water. Around Kyria, the pirates moved like shadows, their boots thudding against the wet deck as they hauled ropes and shouted to one another. The sea was beginning to change, its surface no longer smooth but restless, rippling under a wind that hadn’t been there an hour ago.

Kyria stood near the rail, her wrists bound once more, her throat raw from smoke. The flames of the burning wreck had faded into nothing behind them, but the glow still clung to her vision. The stars were gone, hidden by a thin veil of cloud crawling in from the west.

She could feel it, the storm gathering somewhere out beyond the horizon. She bowed her head, her lips moving before she even realized what she was doing. “Please,” she whispered, so softly the words were almost part of the wind. “Keep them safe. The woman, the children… Tate. Have mercy on us. On them. Don’t let the sea take them.”

The water below answered with a low, steady rhythm, wave against hull, like a heartbeat. The pirate holding her gave a short laugh. “Prayin’ to the sea, are you? Won’t do you no good, girl. She’s got no mercy to give.”

“Maybe not for you,” Kyria said quietly.

His smirk faltered.

“Below with the others,” the captain ordered from the helm. His tone was calm, but his eyes flicked toward the horizon where lightning flashed faintly inside the clouds, far off yet, but coming closer. “I’ll not have her distracting the men.” Two pirates grabbed her by the arms and shoved her toward the stairwell. As they descended, she caught snatches of the crew’s murmurs above.

“See that? Storm’s brewin’ already.”

“Told you she’s bad luck. Should’ve let her drown with the rest.”

“Shut your mouth,” another hissed. “Cap’n’ll hear you.”

“Ain’t the Cap’n I’m worried about. It’s her.”

The words followed her down the stairs like a curse. The air below deck was thicker, the walls sweating with moisture, the lantern light weak and trembling. They shoved her into the brig with the other captives. The door slammed shut behind her with a hollow clang.

The merchant’s wife huddled in one corner with her children, whispering softly to keep them calm. Tate sat against the far wall, his shirt bloodied and torn, his expression weary but sharp when he saw her.

“You shouldn’t have spoken to them,” he said quietly. “They already think you’re cursed.”

“If the sea has mercy left, she’ll use it on them first,” Kyria murmured, sinking to the floor beside him.

“Mercy?” Tate gave a humorless smile. “There’s none of that out here.”

But even as he spoke, thunder rolled somewhere far away, a deep, slow rumble that seemed to come from beneath the water instead of the sky. The hull shuddered faintly with it. The pirates above grew quieter. Their laughter dulled, their boots slowed. The ship itself groaned as if uneasy.

Kyria tilted her head, listening. The rhythm of the sea pressed close, a whisper against the planks, the pulse of something vast moving under the surface. She touched the rough wood beside her, the way one might reach for a hand in the dark. “Please,” she whispered again. “Just… let them live.”

The thunder answered, louder this time, closer. And somewhere high above, one of the men shouted, fear lacing his voice.

“Storm’s turning! From nothing, I swear it — look at the clouds!”

Another voice, the captain’s, hard and sharp, barked orders to keep course, but his words were lost to the wind. Tate looked toward the low ceiling, his jaw tight. “What did you do, Kyria?”

She shook her head, tears stinging her eyes. “I only prayed.”

“To what?”

Kyria didn’t answer. The ship rocked again, harder this time, lanterns swaying. Outside, the first drops of rain began to fall, tapping against the boards like fingers. Above, someone whispered the words the whole crew had been avoiding:

“Bad luck. She’s brought the sea’s wrath with her.”