Siren's Silence

Chapter 18: The Devil's Bride

*Warning: some blood and gore*

Jasper

There was a tension in the air that was almost indescribable. Siren hadn't gotten the answers she needed out of Faru, which she had clearly anticipated, but no one was sure what her plan was. She had made Faru's crew prisoners aboard the Griffin and had moved the ship to a different part of the bay, near the outlet of a river.

Judging by her current aggressive stance and dark expression, it was no peaceful solution.

Faru stubbornly glared at the woman, but her attention was no longer on him. A prisoner had been brought to the top deck, one that had allegedly attempted to attack her in her extremely brief incarceration. Seeing the greasy slimeball in person, I wouldn't put it past him. His body was thin, his nails dirty and broken, his long, black hair hung in chunks around his sun-scarred face, one wild brown eye was surrounded by what was clearly a blossoming bruise. Siren's work, no doubt. He bared his ugly teeth at the woman, letting out a stream of obscenities that would make even the devil cringe, but she seemed unaffected. She tossed an unadorned cutlass at the man's feet. He watched her suspiciously.

"You wanted to avenge your brother, am I right? Or at least that is the excuse you used. Now is your chance. Pick up your weapon," she signed. The words were translated by another of her crew.

The man snarled and snatched up the blade, glaring vehemently at the captain.

"I'll bleed you like a stuck pig, then have my fun with the body," he snarled.

Siren merely shook her head in disappointment, then swung. His blade lifted and caught hers, sending off a loud clang and a reverberation up his arm. He winced at the woman's surprising strength, then attacked in answer. Again and again he struck, but she only parried. He roared angrily and charged, cursing her very existence, but she merely sent him tumbling with a well-timed blow to his spine. He regained his feet, his back facing the railing, braced to strike again. Siren's eyes narrowed, she raised her blade, and finally dropped into a ready stance. Within seconds, he was disarmed, his sword clattering to the wood amidst a whirl of silver. A final swipe opened a half-inch deep wound in his chest from hip to shoulder. He folded over with a bellow, blood dripping from the newfound injury. He stumbled back, then straightened, raising a dagger above his head, he roared again.

"You bi- ah!" Siren's boot striking the middle of his chest sent him careening into the water below, ending with a loud splash. Many men scampered over to the railing to observe, but the slew of profanity and agonized screams informed me that he had survived the ordeal. I joined the others in looking down at the pitiful figure, after a brief frown in Siren's direction. I was confused, but barely had time to form a question before a pale shadow on the shoreline caught my eye.

A white horse was moving strangely down the sandy beach, staring intently at the foul-mouthed sailor. Its head was low, neck extended, tail out and rigid, eyes focused, each leg stretching slowly to touch the ground with no more pressure than that of a feather.

It's prowling, I realized. Why is a horse prowling?

Only a moment later, I knew. As soon as it slunk into the water, its skin became oily and black, its hindquarters forming a long fish tail and its mouth opening to reveal long, sharp teeth.

"Kelpie," I breathed.

And it wasn't alone.

The water shifted and rippled as more of the carnivorous aquatic horses were drawn to the smell of blood. The many sailors stared in utter, pale-faced shock as the event below unfolded, revealing the true nature of it: an execution. The sudden, terrified and painful screams that rang through the air made it clear that it was not a kind nor quick one.