Freedom's Horizon (WLW)

Part One: Chapter Fourteen

December 1674, The Caribbean Sea, Onboard the Midnight Scarlet, Captain's Quarters

Margaret took hold of Aimee's wrist and led her to the captain's cabin. Once there, she pushed her back toward the bunk and made her sit. Margaret raked her fingers through her hair and pulled it up with some twine, then placed her hands on her hips. She reached into her pocket and pulled out the chain that held the key and charm Esme had given Aimee, then glanced back toward her.

Margaret searched Aimee's eyes for a moment longer, then took a step closer. "You were right to be wary of the ointment. It was a healing ointment. We are in the business of vengeance and that calls for death. Not only for those we target, but for us as well. But when we die, only a small amount of us have ever stayed dead, one of those deaths being particularly relevant to our current situation."

Margaret sat down beside her and looked straight ahead as she spoke. "She was our mujer sabia, or as she called herself, our sapiens mulier. Our wise woman. She cured our ailments and brought us back from the dead with herbs and words in a language only a handful of people speak anymore. In fact, none of us here aside from Felipe can understand it now that the captain is gone. We must read from the books and out of us all, I think only I can read a bit of the text. Enough for a revival, but nothing more and we need the captain back. This will be the only time I can perform the revival myself. Only Esme can carry it out multiple times, from what Taria told her, but I have no knowledge of why." Margaret rubbed her chin and thought for a moment, tapping her foot on the wooden floorboards. "That is why we are a ghost ship. We are all dead. Or at least, we have all died at least once. I was twenty-two at the time of my death. A bit older than Esme herself. It's the only reason we can perform the ritual in the first place. Those who have perished can at least once, aside from Esme, and Taria before her. And those who have yet to meet their end cannot."

Aimee chuckled and scoffed at her. "You cannot be--"

Margaret finally looked her in the eyes as she brushed her fingers along her back. "How is your body? Anymore pain?"

Rather absentmindedly as she was momentarily distracted by the annoyance she felt in the rubbish she heard, Aimee reflexively began to reply, "It's fine. I--"

"Have you already healed?"

Aimee furrowed her brow and stood. She shed her shirt along the way and began to remove the bandages feeling absolutely no pain. Her neck was still healing, but even it held only a faint scratch mark. She'd been so wrapped up in everything else that her mind hadn't ventured toward it once the salve was out of her sight. Aimee had been so interested in learning to mend the boat once she started and in why the crew was so mysterious and secretive that she hadn't paid it any mind past the morning. She'd been so swept away in fascination watching Esme that she hadn't noticed it quite literally healed overnight.

When Aimee turned toward the looking glass, she saw only scars along her back. Not even scratches as she previously concurred. Her eyes widened and she turned back toward Margaret who had taken up her perch on the edge of Esme's desk and sheepishly held her shirt out toward her.

Frozen in terror, Aimee asked, "What have you done to me?"

"Saved your life. In fact, you would be dead right now if we had not. That was quite a deep gash to your throat, lovely. A bit too deep, in fact, and you have Essie to thank for that. She decided to save you...not me." Margaret cast her gaze away, nibbling on the corner of her mouth.

Aimee's feet fell out from underneath her as her legs turned to jam and she hit the floor. She grabbed at her throat and looked back up at Margaret in disbelief. "How...?"