Tempest Bound: The Fisherman's Lure

Chapter 7:The Storm Within

Darkened twilight sky and a shadow over the Horizon's Call, thick clouds swallowing the last of the sunlight darkened everything. Seraphine's instincts sensed something different from the norm; the air thickened and charged with an energy that made her skin brickle. Her pulse hammering, she turned to see the clouds twist and change as though a giant, invisible hand were twisting the heavens.

Rowan, beside her, stiffly braced himself with a coiled tail. He pointed out to the horizon. The wind gathered, stinging the air with the harsh taste of salt and electricity and dragging at their garments. She had not seen before the odd focus in his eyes.

Nearly to himself, he said, "This storm; it's not natural." Something, someone stirred. This covers more ground than just the temperature.

A strong burst of wind tore over the sails before she could reply; the first raindrops—cold and biting—quickly grew into a torrential downpour covering them in minutes. Beginning to swell, the waves crashed fiercely against the hull, apparently rocking the whole ship. The deck briefly lighted in fast, vivid bursts as lightning split the heavens; then the enormous sound of the storm rang across it.

Her knuckles white as she battled to hold her ground; Seraphine hooked onto the railing. Under her the ship rocked and swayed dangerously as wave after wave slammed over the deck. Her pulse surged higher, a continuous rhythm filling her ears with every thunderclap and slap of water on the hull.

Rowan was moving, his tail gracefully guiding him over the deck as if it defied the chaos of the storm. Rising his hands, Seraphine saw the waves seemed to cease almost perfect. Rowan's voice was practically audible over the storm's roar, but it possessed strength that would excite her with wonder just as much as fear.

He said, "Stay near me!" Then turned to face her once more. "I can direct the waves, but the force of the storm is intensiating."

She felt the brand pulsing under her skin—familiar—walking near him. Her ankle started to turn heated. This time, though, the brightness was more strong—a lighthouse slicing across the night. She stared at it, enthralled, as it pulsed in tune with the rhythm of the storm, its warmth encircling her with odd peace among the wrath.

Rowan turned to see her ankle; his expression darkened as he absorbed the brand's light. "Seraphine; your mark; it's... guiding us, isn't it?" said His voice was cautious, a trace of almost terrible fear. How then are you doing it?

Saying, "I don't know," her voice was barely audible—a whisper. Though she could not grasp it, she felt linked to the storm as though the mark had drawn on the same ancient force guiding the waves and wind. Her veins carried the force of the water, guiding her onward and both thrilling and terrible.

The storm got more bad; the rain hammered on them; the waves rose higher over the ship like huge water walls. The wind shouted. But the tattoo on her ankle shone brightly, a consistent lighthouse in the darkness guiding her toward a destination she could not see but could somehow tell was there.

Rowan stood next her, raising his hands and focusing his own might to precisely guide the waves against any sense of possibility. Differentiating about the ship he controlled the intensity of the storm, the water seemed to bend to his will. She observed him, in wonder at his nearly superhuman ability and sea-mastery.

She observed, meanwhile, the tension on his face and the muscular tightness as the storm continued. Though he possessed enormous control, it was not unbounded; the storm was unrelenting, dragging back against his will with almost living force.

" Rowan, are you... okay?," inquired Her voice was a little tight as she observed him attempting control.

Glancing at her, he wore slink of tiredness in his eyes. I can hold it; but not permanently. Someone feeds this storm; I have no control over this force. Whatever drives this does not want us to get at our target.

Seraphine fired a flash of will. She concentrated on the warmth of the mark and let the railing lead her. Then let me assist; her voice was sharp. The mark pulsed in answer, as if understanding her intention, and she felt its power flow through her, arming her with might beyond her comprehension. She had no notion what she would accomplish.

The storm appeared to answer her; the wind slowed down and the waves split just enough for Rowan to take control. She could feel his eyes fixed on her, a mix of wonder and caution as she guided the ship into the storm, the mark's light cutting across the night.

"Seraphine," he said, his voice a little suspicious. "Whatever this is—it is solid and old. You link to something far beyond what I could have expected.

Her pulse pounding with both terror and exhilaration, she turned to face him. "I'm not really sure but I should be here; like the ocean is guiding me for a reason."

Rowan's mouth tightened and his eyes darkened with subdued anxiety. Just be cautious. Such power has a cost paid for it constantly.

The storm started to settle; the breeze comforted; the waves withdrew as the mark's light darkened, its work completed. Silent as they drifted, long since the storm passed the tension in the air still vibrating in their brains.

As they gasped the heavens open to show a star constellation above. Given the force of the storm, peace looked strange, almost foreign. Her pulse steady, Seraphine gazed out over the sea and inhaled the terrible quiet all about.

Then, though, out of the shadows a form surfaced and slid toward them across the waves. Seraphine looked, her pulse racing as she created the figure—a woman, her dark hair trailing behind her like seaweed, her eyes shining with a strange brightness. She moved with terrible elegance, as though the water itself drove her onward.

Rowan paused next to her, his face dubious. His voice low, he went on, "A sea witch."

Pulling in, the woman approached hardly short of the ship. She set her eyes on Seraphine, sporting an odd smile. She said, "I am Amara," her voice kind yet firm. Arrived bearing, if you will, a deal.

Her heart hammered as Seraphine turned to confront the witch's look, a flutter of interest mingled with pressure closing in her chest. Though something about Amara drew Seraphine in, a feeling she couldn't shake, her presence was disruptive.

Her voice was strong even though anxiety was running through her; "What... what do you want?" she questioned.

Amara broadened her smile, her dark, knowing eyes "Knowing where it lives, I can walk you to the Coral Crown. I just want deliverance from an old curse tying me to these seas in return.

Rowan stiffened his mouth and sharpened, cynical eyes emerged. He said, "A sea witch's bargain is rarely as simple as it seems."

Still, Seraphine couldn't ignore the sensation in her stomach—that she belonged with Amara. She glanced from Rowan to Amara, the weight of the choice pressing down on her.

"Perhaps," she responded, "but without her we might not reach the Crown."