Venture to Uncertainty (#1)

Epilogue

There has been one, little mistake made today.

It's a simple one, just a mere fact forgotten in the haze of a vicious night. But often, simple mistakes are the ones that cause the most damage.

Alexander Rusher doesn't know about this mistake. Not yet, at least. Right now, he's recovering from the effects of the massive explosion, which includes a persistent high-pitched ringing in his ears and white spots every time he closes his eyes. Watching the Kingsland go up in flames should be satisfying, but the lack of returned crew has him panicked. He is too far away to see that figure slip under the gates, to realize that navy ship out there is no longer captained by navy. To Alexander, every single person that left the Avourienne last night has not yet returned.

If he squints, if he uses the spyglass, he might recognize the person at the helm of the navy ship across the way from them, but he doesn't squint, so he doesn't see. He is far too focused on the roasting log that has become the Kingsland.

"We have to move the ship," Courtley demands to the remaining crew. The sweat from his hairline is freezing in the cold air, clouds expanding from his words. The Avourienne isn't visible yet, but as the sun crests over the horizon, the ship becomes a sitting duck for the navy ships whirling about.

"We wait for the Captain," Bates says defiantly for the thousandth time. It's his loyalty that got him this far, Alexander knows. Nothing but.

"I don't think you understand," Starle speaks up. "We don't have a Captain. If he's not back yet, he's not coming back. Use your eyes! The Kingsland is up in flames."

"We wait for the Captain," Bates says firmly.

Alexander's head is full. He is the navigator, so he needs to move the ship somewhere, but Bates and Courtley are seconds from punches and Britter is rocking back and forth on his feet, eyes vigorously searching the water below as if he's in some sort of trance. Alexander is next up to make a decision, and he isn't sure he can do the logical thing. Bardarian is his captain. Silta is...Silta. They can't just be gone, can they? He can't just leave them in there.

There's a resounding crush from inside what used to be the Kingsland as the castle comes down on itself. Propelled by the certainty that no one in there is still alive, Jackson voices his opinion now, too, "He's gone, Bates. We have to save ourselves." He nods to the hoards of navy ships spreading out in the water. "They'll corner us soon."

"We wait for the Captain!" Bates shouts over them, but he isn't the first mate anymore.

"I'm the last of the bridge crew," Courtley growls back. "And I say we get the hell out."

Alexander knows the Avourienne will fall apart without Bardarian or Silta. Courtley as their captain would be a nightmare. They need Bardarian back, right now. They're dysfunctional to start with, how are they supposed to operate without him

"We can't wait much longer," Starle says nervously, glancing out at the navy ships.

Alexander is no longer looking at the Kingsland. He is not listening to Starle. He is not thinking straight, clearly. He's seeing things, of course. He blinks once, but it doesn't disappear.

There's a hand reaching for the rail of the ship.

Alexander does not move, does not breathe. He is frozen to the deck like the coward he was in another life. He watches as the hand finds grip on the rail, as it becomes an arm, gives way to a shoulder.

It's pale white, as if it's not living at all. It's the hand of a ghost, and as it pulls itself over the rail and onto the deck, he is so sure his heart stops right there in his chest at the sight of it.

The funny thing is that he knows that body. He'd know it anywhere, even drenched in blood like it is now, all the colour faded from its skin. He knows that body, knows that face , but no longer does it feel familiar.

Feet anchored to the ground, Alexander reaches out for Britter, still searching the water for what won't come. "Liam," he whispers. "Liam!"

Liam turns quickly as Courtly continues to protest Bates' position, backs to the ghostly figure coming up behind them. "He's dead," the quartermaster insists. "There is no captain to wait for."

"You have a new captain."

Everyone turns but Alexander and Britter, both having gone motionless at the sight of her. She's beyond simply bloody; it pours from her stomach, drips from her soaked hands. Her hair drips red, streaming over her ghastly skin.

Nobody argues, nobody moves. They don't know what happened in that castle, don't know who's done this to her or who else could be alive. They know only that something happened in that place, something dark.

Alexander steps forward, a raging calm settling over his mind. He has leadership once again, someone to follow once more. He bows his head a little, acknowledging whatever hell has occurred in their absence.

"Where to, Captain?" is all he asks.

She snaps her gaze to him, and it makes him flinch.

Something bad happened in there. Some tragic mistake has occurred. So small, so simple. Just one little forgotten fact.

She had this way of getting in and out. Takes some practice, some breath control, but it works if you know to do it.

It's so, so simple, but it's so, so catastrophic.

"Our course?" Alexander asks, voice breaking with fear.

She might look like a ghost, but she's not one in the least. She's as alive as ever, and it truly does seem to look like she'll stay that way. After, all she just needed to get to Miller, right? She just needed a way out, something her mother taught her, something she's done before.

She holds Alexander's gaze, curling her fingers around the wheel of the Devil's ship. She's handed a hat—the one Bardarian left on his desk last night, the one with the curves in all the right places, all smooth leather and clear implications.

She sets her amber eyes on the horizon and says, "Find me Kingsley."