The Blunt Reaper

Rook pulled open the coffin. "Powder."

Mara knew which compartment he meant. She reached past the thunder charges and dragged out one of their remaining pouches of Abomination-repelling powder. Rook took it from her, tore it open with his teeth, and poured the grey substance across the blood staining the boards. He scattered what remained along both sides of the vessel.

The powder struck the damp wood and released a bitter smell strong enough to burn Mara’s nose. Small patches fell into the water, spreading around them in pale clouds that caused the approaching creatures to turn away.

One worm-shark twisted so violently in its attempt to escape that its long body struck another predator beside it. Both disappeared beneath the boat, biting and clawing at one another as they sank.

"It worked," Mara said, watching the shapes scatter.

"For now," the ferryman replied.

The current was already stripping the powder from the hull. Grey streams trailed behind them and thinned almost immediately, while the blood remained beneath it, soaked between the boards and smeared across the outer planks.

More shapes entered their wake.

A fish rose near the stern, its mouth opening vertically through the entire length of its head. Rook drove his one-handed scythe between its jaws and forced it away before it could bite into the boat. At the same moment, a pale hand caught the opposite side. Mara lunged forward and stabbed through it repeatedly until the creature released them and slipped back beneath the water.

The ferryman continued steering as though nothing had happened. He never stopped and never looked back. Every movement of the pole kept them close enough to the current to be carried forward without drawing them into the main battle. Their boat turned between drifting wreckage, wounded creatures, and smaller vessels attempting to flee the armored ship.

Something struck the underside.

The impact lifted Mara from the boards and dropped her onto one knee. The ferryman staggered but kept hold of his pole, while Rook’s coffin slammed against the side of the boat hard enough for one of the hooks securing it to tear through the wood.

A second impact came from the left, causing the vessel to tilt sharply.

Rook lost his footing. He struck the outer rail and began falling over it, but Mara caught the back of his coat with both hands.

His weight dragged her forward. She planted one boot against the boards and pulled as hard as she could while Rook caught the rail with one hand. For a moment, most of his body hung above the water, suspended between his grip and Mara’s desperate hold upon his coat.

Then two pale arms rose beside him.

The mermaid’s damaged face broke through the surface. Rook’s scythe remained buried in her skull, one turquoise eye collapsed around the blade while the others lining her neck stared up at him. She showed no sign of pain as she wrapped both arms around Rook’s throat.

He seized the scythe’s handle and drove the blade deeper into her skull.

The mermaid barely flinched.

Mara saw Rook turn toward her, and for the first time since she had met him, his expression held something dangerously close to alarm.

"Fuck!"

The mermaid pulled.

Rook’s hand slipped from the rail. Mara maintained her grip upon his coat for one more second, but the wet fabric tore through her fingers.

He struck the water beside the mermaid, and both disappeared beneath the surface.

"Rook!"

The ferryman forced his pole against the side of the boat, correcting its tilt before the next wave could overturn them. Mara crawled to the edge and searched the water, but the surface had already closed. She saw no sign of Rook or the mermaid. Only the pale chain of their contract remained, extending from her chest and passing through the dark water.

"Turn back," she demanded.

"There is no back in this current."

"Then slow down!"

"Anyone who falls into this sea is gone."

Mara looked at the chain. Its light remained steady. It stretched farther behind them with every passing moment, but it had not broken. "He isn’t dead."

"Yet."

"The contract is still there."

"Then it will tell you exactly when he dies."

Mara stared at the old man, anger rising inside her, but he did not appear pleased by his own answer. Both hands strained around the pole, and his eyes repeatedly shifted toward the water behind them. If he stopped steering, the current would catch the boat and carry it sideways. If he tried to turn, they would be driven back toward the feeding frenzy.

He was not abandoning Rook because he wanted to.

He was abandoning him because continuing forward was the sensible choice.

Mara had grown tired of sensible choices made by people who were not the ones being left behind.

She turned toward the coffin. Its lid hung partially open, exposing the weapons and supplies packed inside. Mara reached beneath the cold weapons, thunder charges, and bundles of cloth until her fingers found the grave-rope.

The braided cord felt cold beneath her hands, and a heavy hook remained fastened to one end. She looped the rope through an iron ring fixed inside the boat, wrapped it around twice, and pulled until the grave-thread tightened.

The ferryman finally noticed what she was doing. "No."

Mara ignored him and grabbed the blue lantern from its hook. "You said the light is invisible to them."

"The light is," he said, turning toward her. "You aren’t."

She secured the lantern to her wrist with its leather strap and looked at the pale chain extending from her chest. It had begun angling deeper into the water.

The ferryman released one hand from his pole and reached for her. "That rope won’t protect you from what’s below."

"It isn’t supposed to."

"Mara."

She stepped onto the side of the boat, holding the grave-rope in one hand as the lantern’s blue light spilled across her arm.

"If the rope goes tight, pull."

Then she jumped.

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