A Pirate's Tale [COMPLETED]

Chapter 19 - "I don't trust him."

The day had fallen into the next by the time the carriage came to a halt outside a two-story gray stone house. The city had turned to sleep and dreams, leaving the streets bare. The fog had thickened softening the edges of the world. Isla climbed out of the carriage, weary, her side throbbing.

All that could be done to clear the damage of the attack had been done. What was left was the rest for those who had endured it. Though she had said she would stay with the ship and take the first watch, Hawk, Brockton, and Orin had flatly refused to accept this. In the end, Brockton and Orin remained with the ship and Isla traveled with the remainder of the men to the one place that offered comfort in Isha.

Isla led the way down the stone path to the black front door. The crew followed, bodies battered and in need of sleep. The injuries they bore were ones any younger man could come back from with a single night's rest. But these men though strong no longer held youth.

Isla stopped before the door, her eyes settling on the bronze knocker. It was a depiction of a ship riding the sea. The sails were filled with an unfelt wind, the figurehead so detailed you could see the fingers of the siren, and the flag on the mast a thin enough sheet of metal a breath could make it flutter.

It was the type of craftsmanship only found in Seau. And only in the hands of the woman of the house. But to Isla, it was an anchor to a single memory.

The lantern by the door reflected off the knocker, setting it alight. Isla laid her head on Zev's shoulder, unsure of this unfamiliar world. In her father's powerful arms she looked no bigger than a doll, her four-year-old frame dwarfed by his.

As Hawk opened the door, they were led into a wide foyer that was cut in two by a gleaming staircase. The house smelled strange, a mix of baking bread and iron. Isla curled deeper into her father's hold, needing the solidity of him.

From the second floor, a woman with a willowy figure appeared. With the lantern light behind her, her silhouette glowed as she descended the stairs. She had flawless ebony skin, luminous black eyes, and short curly hair. Isla watched entranced as she moved towards them with the grace of a song. In a breath, she absorbed everything.

"What happened?" she asked her husband.

Hawk looked to Zev, who was a hollowed-out shell, clutching Isla as if afraid she might slip away.

"The fever," Hawk said. "It took Ara."

At the sound of her mother's name, Isla hid her face in her father's shirt. The burst of sunshine that had been her mother had burnt out. The cheery cheeks, wild blonde curls, a generous laugh were all stolen from her.

"You poor girl," Kiera said, stroking Isla's hair.

At the tender touch, she lifted her face. Sympathy, concern, and compassion stared back at her. When Kiera reached out for Isla, Zev released her and Isla clung to the woman that was fragranced in cinnamon and bronze. Strong arms that manipulated metal hugged Isla close.

"Come, you need something to eat," Kiera said.

As she was carried away, Isla glanced back at her father. Grief spilled over Zev's eyes and he buried his face in his hand. Hawk gripped his shoulder, bearing the pain with his friend and captain.

Isla tore her gaze away from the knocker and pushed open the door. The foyer was dark, the lateness of the hour seeing the house's occupants in bed. Hawk struck a match and lit a lantern that sat beside the doorway. The flame cut shadows on the floor and along the walls.

By the time, the crew had shuffled into the foyer, Kiera was awake and coming towards them, a candle in her hand. Seeing Hawk, she hurried forward and embraced him. It was a show of affection that betrayed her happiness over having him home.