Dark Waters Rising

Black

The frigid water that engulfed Valentine's body shocked his system upon impact, but he pushed through the pain in favor of propelling himself deeper. His leg throbbed horrendously, but every passing second in the icy water helped to numb it. He searched for the merchant captain feverishly with his eyes, but the night above did little but turn the water into an inky black abyss. 

He swore in his mind, knowing that his only option for finding Wesley was the one he had been forbidden from using. In that moment though, Valentine couldn't give a damn about the repercussions for his actions. He needed to find Wesley before it was too late.

The breath in his lungs started to burn in his chest, and just before he would be forced to inhale, he let himself change. Gills sprouted on either side of his neck, giving him the oxygen he so desperately needed. His fingers and toes itched as they started to web as well, and his eyes adjusted so he could see better in the darkness. He didn't allow himself to shift fully, hoping that judgement may spare him for a partial transformation, but it was enough for him to make out the limp form of Wesley drifting deeper into the watery depths below him. Valentine quickly swam to him, knowing time was limited to get him breathing again.

Wrapping his arms around the man's torso, Valentine quickly propelled himself and his merchant back up to the surface. Once he had broken it, he exchanged his gills for lungs once again. There was no time to get Wesley back on deck first, so as Valentine treaded water, he tried to remove the liquid from the merchant's lungs. He put his palm over the man's chest and visualized the seawater climbing up and out of his throat. It was a gift he had not used in a very long time, but thankfully he seemed to remember enough to save the merchant. As soon as the water started to climb, Wesley spurred forward and expelled the water through his lips in one large heave.

Valentine felt relieved as the man clutched him tightly and coughed violently over his shoulder. He was still alive.

"Don't ever do that again," he grumbled bitterly in the man's ear.

"Are you mad at me?" Wesley asked in a very concerned voice once he had finished coughing. He had pulled away to look at Valentine with a devastated facial expression.

Valentine groaned when he realized that his siren song was still having an effect on the man. He would be impossibly clingy for the next few hours, which Valentine wouldn't have minded if it had been of his own volition.

"Yes. Now swim to the ship," he muttered, the ache in his leg now impossible to ignore.

"I'm sorry," Wesley pouted, but detached from the captain to do as he was told. Valentine followed behind him, his leg screaming in protest. He realized that he was losing a lot of blood, and that it'd be best to get out of the water before the sharks caught scent of it.

Wesley hauled himself up onto the rope ladder first, heavy amounts of water cascading from his clothes as he started to climb. Valentine was right behind him, favoring his good leg as he pulled himself higher. It was as he was reaching for another rung that he noticed something on the palm of his hand. He turned it toward his face and paled when he saw that a black spot had bloomed in the center.

Judgment was coming.

"Quickly, Wesley," he called up, spurring the man to ascend faster. There was no time to waste now.

Despite his leg, the moment Valentine hit the deck, he was racing for the navigation room.

He quickly grabbed his compass and started analyzing the large map spread across the table.

"What are you looking for?" Wesley asked curiously, tilting his head to the side and circling the table.

"Land," Valentine answered. "Whichever is closest."

As he said it, he spotted a small cluster of islands not far from where they were currently located. Jotting down the new heading, Valentine rushed out of the room and down to where his crew slept.

"On your feet!" He bellowed. "I need this ship turned around!"

All at once, the men started to scramble, pulling on their boots and shirts before running up to the main deck.

"If this ship doesn't make land before daybreak, someone is going to lose a head!"

Valentine neglected to mention that that person might be him and instead shoved the piece of parchment he'd written the heading on into the hands of his passing first mate.

"Come, Wesley," he said in a softer tone. "Help me back to my quarters."

Wesley moved closer to the pirate captain and helped support his weight so he wouldn't be putting as much pressure on his injury. Together, they limped back to the main deck, past the frantic crew, and back into the captain's private quarters.

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A/N

I couldn't write a pirate book without having at least one similarity with Pirates of the Caribbean. The black spot on the hand just happens to be the element I chose. Did you know that the black spot was just a literary device invented by the author of Treasure Island? It has no historical context whatsoever, but interestingly enough, it is now a common trope among fictional pirates.

Anywho, what's your favorite color?

See you on Saturday!
-Mora Montgomery