“Go back below,” he presses again, his figure flickering, almost blending into the dark if not for his unearthly light.
“I’m not going anywhere until you tell me what’s happening. I know something’s wrong.”
His fingers tighten around mine briefly, as though he is debating whether to pull me back into the orlop by force.
“This is not for you to see,” he insists, glancing toward the dark water behind him. “Some things are easier to accept when you don’t witness them firsthand.”
Another splash cuts through the night, and my muscles lock.
“Tell me, what is going on?” I press again, louder this time.
“They‘re jumping,” he murmurs at last, sorrow filling his voice.
I furrow my brows in confusion.
“Jumping?” I repeat. “From where?”
He closes his eyes for a moment, hesitating, but then nods toward the sea.
“Come,” he takes my hand in his and gives it a tug. His shadows dance over my skin, the prickling sensation causing goosebumps to spread all over me. I trust him, I decide, and follow after him, towards the railing and the other ghosts.
We’re sailing past another ship, or at least the remains of a ship. The hull is almost completely swallowed by water, the mast looks broken and black sails hang uselessly and torn. No lantern burns aboard her. No one shouts for help. A sailor climbs the railing of the sinking ship, pauses, and lets himself fall into the water.
For a moment, I stand there, frozen, until my brain catches up to make sense of the sight.
“Man overboard!” I scream and rush towards the next rope. The ghosts gathered along the railing turn their heads towards me as I run past them, but do not interfere or make a move to help the drowning man. I try to pick up the heavy rope that is coiled on the floor and fail.
“Someone help!” I scream again, the muscles in my arm tensing as I try again, the fibers biting into my skin. I heave up the rope and throw it overboard with all I have. It splashes into the water and goes under. In horror, I watch the next man climb the railing and jump. He just sinks. He doesn’t even try to reach the rope. His body disappears in the water, until only bubbles at the surface remain. I stand there, utterly useless, as the Noctis silently passes the other ship.
“Their time has run out,” he says from behind me, his voice quieter now.
I keep my eyes on the dark water. “Run out of time for what?”
“For the bargain,” he says. “To rid themselves of the curse they were given.”
The ghost steps beside me and wraps one arm around my shoulder, then pulls me against his chest. I let him, because it tears my gaze away from the crew jumping into the water, one by one. He feels so steady, so grounded, and I become acutely aware of the way my body fits against his. Without meaning to, I lean into that stability. He holds me until the sound of splashing becomes fainter, and I am sure we have completely passed the ship. I look up to find black eyes staring into mine. He blinks, slowly, and I try to remember how to breathe.
“Every pirate is cursed by nature, love,” he continues. “The sea does not let men take from her without demanding something in return. She gives them a trial. Sometimes a quest, sometimes a burden, sometimes a promise they must fulfill. It differs for each crew. But it is always binding.”
I swallow. “And if they fail?”
“They are called.” His fingers grip the rail beside me as he turns his head to look past the Noctis, where the shape of the other ship becomes smaller in the distance. “And the sea collects its debt. It pulls at them from the inside, until drowning feels like a mercy.”
When another swell lifts the ship, his hand slides from my shoulder to the curve of my upper arm. His thumb brushes there once, and warmth blooms beneath my skin, pushing back the fear.
“How cruel,” I whisper. “But I know that’s what the sea has always been.”
He lets out a low breath against my temple. “It is the only justice the sea believes in.”
I turn slightly in his hold so I can see his face properly, but it is nothing more than a blur of shadows. No matter how real his body feels against mine, he is not a man. I must remind myself of that.
“How often does it happen?” I ask.
“Often enough,” he replies with a sigh, his mouth tightening faintly. “Crews vanish between one full moon and the next. We often find ships drifting around with no hands aboard. Some try to outrun it. But none of that makes a difference once the sea decides it is time. They sail home to follow its call. That’s why—“
“—It’s called the Sea of Bones.”
He nods softly, a sad smile tugging at his lips.