Winds of Fate [Books I-III]

Chapter 102: Plunder (Part One)

Sparta glides smoothly out of Canal de la Tortue. Fair winds turn and blow against their sails from the northeast, but her friends aren't seadogs for nothing. An order comes from Anton, relayed by James and passed on by Ben to the riggers and deckhands below. Once the portside sails are reefed, the fair golden Queen on the bowsprit gazes at Saint Domingue as she turns to port, heading to the edges of the wide Caribbean Sea. 

Grunts from the lads rotating the many spokes of Sparta's capstan to haul the anchor back and the constant whoosh of the thick rigging ropes slithering on the floorboards and tugging atop the yards, join comforting splashes of the ship as she gains speed and slaps herself on the waves every now and then. Eleanore takes a deep breath as she passes quietly between busy sailors on the deck. This is exactly why the men hated stopping their journey - the anchor could be a pain in the arse.  Before it took eight hours for Victor, Dante, Obadiah, Ben, Anton, and Maurice to turn the capstan. Hopefully, now with ten more men besides Vic and Dante, they could do it faster. Faster, in the sense that they would not be caught defenseless during boarding while hauling the anchor up.

Defenseless. She holds her breath, refusing to dwell in that fearsome thought, and weaves her way through the busy sailors who nod respectfully as they pass. Eleanore returns their greeting with a smile, despite her mind flying everywhere and woefully --- far away from Sparta herself. Levallois' paper burns inside her coat pocket, but his revelations sear all her thoughts.

Black spot, black spot. She shuts her eyes. Should have asked Thibaud about it when he mentioned it back in Nassau! Stupid, stupid---

Of course, traditions must come from the gods and spirits! Eleanore climbs back up the quarterdeck; eyes on the floorboards as she contemplates. But the Brethren---

She pauses by the rails. A new pirate tips his hat to her, Eleanore smiles and nods. The Brethren. The Conquistadores... 

Even my father. 

She stills. "This world belongs to him already..." Eleanore whispers, eyes wide. "And we gave the sea to him." She presses a hand over her chest, shaking her head. No. Not only that. A thread runs among these men; a thread fitting to the name of the Devil. "Sailors..." She grips the rail tight and stares at the sea down below, crystal water lapping against Sparta's reinforced haul. "All of them are sailors."

God of the Sea.

Her heart sinks. Eleanore closes her eyes again and grits her teeth. Fuck this. Luca, Atabeira, Yoka Hu, and even Ixchel had not hidden the truth from her - this war against the Sea-Devil, is no play. Anton makes sense. If her power comes from the gods, why don't the gods enter the fray?

Why send her?

Blinking fast, she drums her fingers on the rail. A part of her tugs her back to concentrate on the raid, and briefly she scans the horizon. Thank God, there are no ships about just yet in this passage. Only Saint Domingue's lush verdant and mountainous island greets her. Eleanore presses her lips to a line. Why? She looks up, as a cool breeze blows. And as if the winds heard her, an answer stirs within her soul.

The way to end the curse, Ixhel's grave voice whispers once more, Is the reversal of its cause.

Her brows knot. A mortal needs to end it---

But it means...

A mortal was involved with the Sea-Devil. Eleanore taps her chin with her finger. "When he was cursed..."

Wait.

Was the Sea-Devil cursed?

"Captain."