Dark Waters Rising

Rain

Three loud knocks thundered through the small town house's door with the same fervor as the sky above. Thick sheets of unforgiving rain formed rivulets through the cobblestone streets. Wesley's eyes were shielded from the downpour by the brim of a black leather tricorn, but the rest of him had been thoroughly soaked through within moments of venturing out of his hole.

A few heavy footsteps from within warned the merchant moments before latches were flipped and the door was swung inward with an ungodly screech.

"Can I help you?" A familiar voice asked.

The merchant slowly lifted his head, revealing more of his face from beneath the tricorn. His eyes were dull, his features thin, and his heart numb, as they had been for over a month, but in that moment, Wesley felt a stir of relief in his chest at the sight of Castor Williams.

"By the gods," his former first mate breathed with wide brown eyes. "Captain?"

He didn't respond verbally. In truth, he hadn't spoken much since leaving the island. It didn't matter though, as Castor was already ushering him inside and out of the rain.

"Gods, we thought you were dead."

Wesley wasn't so sure that he wasn't anymore.

The merchant soon found a blanket over his shoulders and a warm mug of bitter, but welcomed coffee in his hands as he and his oldest friend sat near the hearth. Wesley stared into the flames numbly, and Castor seemed to accept that his former captain would not speak until he was ready to.

Castor couldn't imagine the horrors his friend had endured aboard the Blight of the Sea, but judging by the way he was acting and by the gauntness of his once healthy face, it had to have been hell.

After a long, thick period of silence, Wesley finally found the will to break it.

"The artifact."

"It's safe," Castor responded after a moment. A nervous half chuckle slipped past his lips as he continued with, "Thank the gods they didn't find it during the raid."

"Where is it now?"

"We tried to deliver it to the buyer once we finally limped into port, but she wouldn't take it. Said she would accept it from no hand but your own."

The edges of Wesley's lips tugged downward ever so slightly.

"We told her you were dead, but she wasn't convinced. She said you'd be back and that she'd come for it when the time was right. I thought she was crazy, but. . . here you are."

"Give it to me."

Castor sighed briefly before getting up and walking out of the room. Moments later, he returned with the piece in question dangling at the end of a long leather chord. Wesley eyed the key as Castor laid it in his palm. It was made entirely of bone. Ornately crafted details spun the ivory into a literal skeleton key. Ancient runes from a language long dead were carved into its surface. It was beautiful, but haunting.

Wesley had had his suspicions about it before setting sail from Estoria, but after spending so much time with Valentine, he was sure now that it held magic. He could feel it in his bones, and in the stale air that pulsed almost imperceptive around the object.

The merchant donned the key as a necklace, tucking it into his shirt to conceal it.

"What will you do now?" Castor asked curiously as Wesley stood and shrugged on his long leather coat again.

"Wait," he said with finality, throwing one last glance at his friend before slipping back into the sobbing night.

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