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Synopsis
It takes guts to rise to the top of Meritocracy. It’ll take sheer ruthlessness to stay there. As militants and monsters lay waste to the Skylands, Uncle’s lawless tyranny threatens to unravel fragile Trade alliances. Conrad, no longer a mere Captain, now commands a squadron of ships at the order of the King. But Conrad’s High status can’t protect him from his own turmoil, and the price of power is steeped in blood.
Tormented by tragedies of war and by betrayal from his own family, Conrad must prove his worth to all of the Skylands. Led by an unhinged Explorer, Conrad embarks on a secret expedition to turn the tides of battle—before another island falls at the jaws of the gigataun. It’s a journey fraught with peril: Deadly monstrosities. Sabotage. Stowaways. And with friendships pushed to the brink and gentle romance stirring, Conrad will have to muster more than courage to weather the raging storms ahead.
Order your copy of Book Two of the Above the Black trilogy and continue the adventure! Marc J Gregson expands his fast-paced fantasy universe with shocking twists, treacherous battles, and a memorable cast of characters. Fans of Frank Herbert and Jules Verne will appreciate touches of classic science fiction, including speculative frontiers and turbulent political intrigue.
Release date: January 7, 2025
Publisher: Peachtree Teen
Print pages: 496
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Among Serpents
Marc J. Gregson
CHAPTER 01
MY SISTER STANDS OVER AN UNCONSCIOUS MEMBER OF MY crew.
Ella’s white hair flies in the wicked evening wind, and blood dribbles from the end of her dueling cane. I leap from the hatch and step onto the deck of my skyship. She rotates on her heels, and her fierce eyes find mine.
“He was being insubordinate,” she hisses.
“What have you done, Ella?”
She glances at Declan. And spits.
My stomach twists at the sight of the man beneath her boots. The green pin of Swabbie shines on his jacket. Declan of McDougal. He’s an aged veteran, honorable. Keeps the deck clean, the laundry scrubbed, and the corridors clear.
Blood stripes his forehead.
A jagged streak of lightning cracks behind Ella, illuminating the other ships in my squadron. Ella’s lips curl as she stares at me.
My late father’s voice creeps into my mind.
Take her cane before she hurts you, too.
“Ella.” I breathe to slow my raging heart. “On my ship, Declan doesn’t have to follow your commands.”
“I am the Princess of the Skylands.”
“So?”
Her mouth shuts, and her eyes narrow. “You are the Prince.”
I meet her gaze dead-on. Being delicate doesn’t work with her.
“Uncle gave me that title, but my crew follows me because they respect me.” I take a step toward her. “Princess or not, this is my ship. You are not a Hunter. You have no right to attack my crew. Step away from him.”
She squeezes her cane dangerously and remains in place. I almost scowl. It’s always a challenge with her. We finally reunited after Uncle tore us apart for six years, and I thought we’d go back to the way we were when we were rich Highs in Urwin Manor. When we’d steal cookies from the kitchen and break windows and leave mud pies under the blankets of our guests’ beds.
But we’ve outgrown such things. Uncle poisoned Ella’s heart, turning her into the angry thing that stands before me.
“Ella.” My voice rises. “Step back.”
“He is untrustworthy, Conrad.”
“Declan’s an old man.”
“He was talking to someone.” She jabs at the empty night sky around us. The three other skyships in my squadron float nearby—but not close enough to hear anyone aboard my ship. “There’s no one on deck, Conrad. Who was he talking to?”
“He talks to himself,” I growl. “Whispering. Laughing. Singing. He’s weird, but he’s a great Swabbie. And my crew loves him.” My voice tightens with frustration. “Now, get back.”
When I approach her, she readies her cane. So I snatch it, quick as a snake strike. She nearly topples. I tap the button on the side of her cane, halving its length to three feet. The cane was our mother’s. It was supposed to be Ella’s path to learn a better way. Instead, it has emboldened her warped sense of power.
“Give it back.” Ella crouches, hands outstretched like some wild thing about to jump me. “Now.”
Brutally cold wind blows between us. I stoop over Declan and press my fingers against his neck until I find a steady pulse. He still needs medical help.
“This is not the way, Ella,” I whisper.
“This is Meritocracy, Brother. The Highs rise, and the Lows fall.”
“It is not the right way.”
She pauses. Considering me with her icy green eyes. Some claim Ella’s the worst of my family. Worse than Uncle, even. The Father part of me, the part that wanted me to learn the world’s hard, brutal lessons, demands that I teach Ella the hard lessons, too. Beat her with the cane she used on Declan and humble her.
But the Mother part
of me believes in another way. One of compassion and growth through experience.
“Attacking my crew is unacceptable,” I say. “Physical conflict is not the Hunter way.”
She scoffs. “You can’t tell me to act like a Hunter, then forbid me from hunting with the rest of the crew. I killed three prowlons. By myself.”
“Prowlons are not five-hundred-foot gorgantauns, Ella. You’re not ready for sky serpents.”
“I’m ready for more than you know.”
My head shakes. What the hell am I supposed to do with her? It’s been three months since our reunion, and I’m exhausted from the battles. She fights with my whole crew. She sneaks around the ship and eavesdrops on everyone. And despite being the Princess, she has a penchant for stealing.
Roderick’s still missing weapon plans.
Beat her down, Father’s voice whispers again. Humiliate her. Ensure she’ll never challenge you. Because deep down, you know she wants what you have. She wants to be the heir.
I study her. She has too much of Father in her. What she needs is more of Mother. But I can’t be her mother. All I can do is teach her in the ways Mother taught me.
“Conrad,” Ella growls. “Give me the cane.”
The stag of Hale shines at the end of Mother’s cane. Beating Ella won’t fix her. No, she needs something Uncle never gave.
So I toss her the cane.
Ella snatches it and blinks, confused. But, after a breath, she starts toward the hatch.
I cut her off and point at Declan. “He needs to go to the medical room. You owe that to him. And when he wakes, you’ll apologize.”
“Urwins don’t apologize. I’m not your servant, and I’ll not drag him anywhere.”
She tries to side-step me, but I block her path again.
“Move,” she says.
“Hit me.”
“What?”
“Hit me, and you’ll be excused. You can do whatever you want for the rest of the night.”
She hesitates. If she were all rotten, she’d have already done it.
“Hit me once, Ella, and you’re free to go.”
She eyes me, licks her teeth, then crouches into her dueling stance. “Have it your way.”
I frown. “Your posture’s too low.”
“Birdshit.”
I sigh. Ella hasn’t faced true challenge yet. Sure, Uncle forced her to hunt prowlons, and she fared in that trial better than I did. But when Uncle threw Mother and me out, I survived by dueling in the Low pit and enduring nights with hunger gnawing away at me while listening to Mother’s hacking coughs. For six years, that was my life. Then, on this very ship, I rose from the boot-waxing Swabbie to Captain.
Uncle’s teachings cannot replicate real experience.
“Stand straighter,” I say, circling around her. “Raise your cane.”
“That’s not how Father taught me.”
“Father? Uncle is not your father.”
“Might as well be. Uncle didn’t abandon us. He didn’t leave us.”
“Leave?” I take a breath to swallow my anger. “Ella, Father was murdered.”
“He was weak—not the true leader of Urwin.”
My voice grows bitter. “You sound like Uncle.”
“That’s because I am like Uncle.”
I stop. I’m on this cold deck, the gales chilling my skin, standing in front of the person I dreamed of rescuing for years. But all I feel now is an empty heart.
“Ella,” I say softly. “I was on your path once, too. I was a paranoid, irrationally angry person who ate alone in the cafeteria and refused to engage in meaningful conversation with anyone. It got me nowhere. But being better than what the world intends . . . that got me where I am now.”
“It made you Prince?”
“No, it made me Captain of this ship, and that’s what I care about more than being the heir.”
She eyes me skeptically. “Being better . . . who said that?”
“Mother.”
Ella considers this, then shrugs. “Hardly knew her.”
I glower. “Fine. Use what your ‘father’ taught you. Strike me with the cane once and you’re free to go.”
“Your cane’s in your cabin. I’d rather duel. It’s not a fair fight right now.”
I laugh. “Fair? This world is never fair. But I’m sure you’ve learned that lesson. What you need,” I pause, “is the lessons Mother taught.”
She studies me. “What lessons?”
“Compassion. Mercy. Proving that true strength comes not from weakening others but building them up. True leaders lead powerful people.”
“That’s ridiculous.”
“Do you think I’m weak?”
She doesn’t answer.
Bitter wind blows between us again, and a gentle rain peppers the deck.
“Use all that Uncle taught you.” I wave her toward me. “C’mon.”
She spits, then crouches in her too-low stance again. The next instant, she’s swinging her cane at me. Fast, her eyes wild, movements agile.
But I’m nimbler. Her attacks hiss past my head, my shoulder. Strike air instead of my gut. She swears with frustration. Ella has Uncle’s sensibilities in dueling
Uncle never likes a duel to last more than a minute. To become King, he challenged King Ferdinand to a duel and killed him in under ten seconds.
Her cane grazes my skin, but I slide away before she can get me. Ella continues jabbing. I step back, giving her an open path to the hatch. She studies me, then marches for it, her eyes gleaming with victory.
But I cut her off.
She scowls and furiously charges me again. I duck away and pivot around her. She keeps on the offensive. Swinging wild, frenzied attacks. Finally, her cane nearly strikes my cheek, but her momentum sends her sprawling and she hits the deck, chin-first.
If I’d listened to Mother’s lessons only, I’d rush to her. Maybe let my guard down. But Father taught me to never trust a downed foe, especially one who needs a whole damn gallon of humility.
Ella’s rolling in pain. I watch her and wait for the act to end. Eventually she snaps upright, brushes herself off, and seems ready to shout at me. Her body’s shuddering with frustration.
My fingers twitch, preparing for another attack. Instead, she leans on Mother’s cane and takes a long, calming breath. She looks me up and down.
The rain’s falling thick now. Making her white hair stick to the side of her reddened face.
“What does it mean?” she asks softly. “What does it mean to be better than what the world intends?”
A sudden hope blooms inside me. This isn’t a breakthrough, not much more than a flicker of a candle, but it’s something. For months, I’ve been looking for an opening just like this.
“Help me take Declan belowdecks,” I say, “and I’ll tell you.”
She considers me, stands straighter, then retracts her cane and clips it to her belt.
“Fine.”
My chest swells a little. Maybe I’ve just discovered the secret to getting Ella to listen to me. She respects strength. And perhaps through that vessel, I’ll teach her and finally become the big brother Mother would want me to be.
We walk to a small control panel, recently installed by Roderick, and tap a button. The deck cracks open in the center and the munitions platform rises. Harpoons, mobile launchers, flak cannons, and shoulder cannons rest in the crates atop the platform.
We catch Declan’s collar and gently drag him onto the platform. After another touch of the button, the platform descends us into the bowels of the ship. While the attached chains rattle, I feel Mother with me as I begin explaining to her daughter the lessons she never had a chance to pass on herself.
CHAPTER 02
I INJECT DECLAN WITH MEDS. WITHIN A FEW MINUTES, HIS groggy eyes open. Ella leans against the white walls of the medical room, watching the man wake from his stupor. He slowly sits upright, and I cram another pillow behind his back.
Declan’s still touching his forehead and taking in his surroundings when Ella breaks the silence.
“I am sorry.” Her words are rigid and unfeeling.
Declan coughs. He reaches into his mouth, touches his bloody gums, and winces. “You attacked me, Princess.”
“Yes, and I just apologized.”
He looks at her. “An apology is simply noises if there’s no remorse behind it.”
She glances at me, irritated. Then repeats her apology with false sweetness.
“Ella,” I growl.
“Pardon me, Captain,” Declan says. “But an apology means even less if it’s forced.”
“She doesn’t know how to apologize,” I say.
He raises an eyebrow, perplexed.
“It won’t happen again, Declan,” Ella says.
He stops, perhaps realizing this is the best he’ll get from her, then nods. She’s been taught, like all Urwins, that people apologize to us, not the other way around.
“Ella, you’re dismissed.”
She looks between us and leaves without another word.
Declan massages his gray jaw. He appears exhausted, with bloodshot eyes. I pat his shoulder. He’s a sixty-year-old man among my crew that ranges between sixteen and eighteen. Was a Captain of his own ship, earned a lot of money. Amazingly, after forty years of being a Hunter, he’s still in one piece. Many Hunters have lost limbs, or worse, while taking out gorgantauns.
His silver uniform hugs his thick, muscular forearms. Like all Hunters, he has a black jacket draped over him, gloves, and heavy magboots. A pair of wind goggles rests over his neck, just above the harpoon insignia on the chest of his uniform.
I drafted Declan to the Gladian’s crew because he wanted this to be his final hunting tour. He wanted to pass on his knowledge to the next generation of Hunters. After his six months end and the next Hunter draft arrives, he plans on retiring and working on the docks at Venator or, if he’s lucky, teaching at the Hunter Academy.
“Why did she attack you, Declan?”
He exhales. “She wanted to duel. I told her physical conflict is not Hunter’s way. She kept insisting, so I told her I wouldn’t duel a little girl. Next thing I know, I’m here.”
“Were you talking to someone else on the deck?”
He blinks. “I was the only one up there until the Princess arrived.”
I exhale and touch his shoulder again. “I’m sorry.”
“Least you understand how to apologize.” He slides his legs off the bed and grunts. Fortunately, the meds work quickly. Developed by Scholar Doctors. Still, he needs to take it easy.
“Get some rest,” I say, “and take tomorrow off to recuperate.”
He nods and ambles toward the door but pauses. “Captain . . . I’ve met a lot of people, but rarely have I met ones that feel broken.” He looks back at me. “Like something inside them is wrong.”
I stare at him, my mouth hesitating. But I keep my face passive, even though my skin goes cold.
“Good night, Declan.”
“Captain.”
The door shuts. And after a few seconds, I lower onto the edge of the bed, feeling the weight of my responsibilities. Uncle’s poison has gone beyond Ella’s heart; it’s in every part of her. And the worst thing is, Ella’s only one of my concerns. Only one of the things that has torn sleep from me and filled my skull with pressure headaches.
The war.
I exit the medical room and walk the quiet, dark corridors. The Gladian’s engine gives off a persistent, living sound. I walk beyond some of the rooms of the crew. Past my friends, Pound and Roderick and Keeton.
And then I pause at one door.
Bryce’s the one we need in this war more than anyone, but I’m worried about her. She’s not sleeping. Turning paranoid. She’s been waking the crew in the middle of the night to face phantoms on the deck.
Pound claims she’s losing her mind.
I sigh and head to the Captain’s cabin. Once inside, I see Ella’s already lying on the bed down the hall. When she came aboard my ship, I gave her the bed while I got the couch. This works better for me anyway because I’m often up late.
A stack of papers rises over the desk—plans from Pound, our Strategist, for the next hunt. We face so many dangerous beasts in these open skies. Things like acid-spitting acidons and skull-ramming orcons. But they’re not nearly as dangerous as the class-eight gorgantauns we’ve been seeing more often.
Killing those creatures helps the Skylands. And returning their carcasses to Hunter outposts earns me money—money that I’ve been using to pay off this ship so that it’s mine and can never be taken away from me.
I glance at the board where I’ve been tracking how much I’ve earned: three hundred thousand coins so far, seven hundred thousand to go.
My eyes itch with exhaustion. I’ll worry about hunting tomorrow. I’ll read Pound’s plans then.
I lower onto the couch and kick off my boots. Gentle rain patters against the window. The calmness of it eases my tension. Then I clutch the soft blanket, lower onto my side, and shut my eyes.
A sudden crack of lightning erupts outside. I turn away, trying to ignore it, trying to get comfortable. But another clap shoots my eyes open. I roll back and stare at the three Hunter skyships hovering near mine. They’re obscured by the wet window—nothing more than dark shapes.
Those ships are under my command. Uncle wanted to give me more responsibility. So now I’m out here, in the middle of the open skies, helping protect the fragile supply lines from sky serpents. Each of those ships is built of pure gorgantaun steel. Sleek and silver—they’re mirror images of the Gladian. Harpoon turrets line their decks, and their pointed bows, like the edges of a sword, skim through the clouds. Several of their windows glow red from the warmth of their heatglobes.
After another streak of lightning, I growl and kick off the blanket. Can’t sleep when it sounds like a battle out there. Can’t sleep when I’m thinking about the war.
I sit up.
Three months ago the people of the Below exploded into our lives, surprising us with
their existence when their greatest weapon left hundreds of thousands dead. The Below created the terrible beasts of the sky. They infiltrated our Meritocracy, our Trades, our islands. And, if there’s something Bryce has taught me about her people, it’s that they prefer to strike at night. When it’s dark and cold.
My body sinks into the cushions again. Just a few seconds of rest, that’s all. I’ll let myself get a little weightless, let that tempting embrace of dreams drag me away. Oh, the blanket feels nice. Soft. Wrapped so gently around my torso, warming my legs.
My breathing gains a gentle rhythm.
My communication gem explodes with light, and a voice shouts, “Alert! All hands on deck!”
I leap to my feet in a daze.
Ella shouts from down the hall. “What is it?”
My heart races as I quickly regain my senses. “Stay, Ella.”
“Like hell!”
“Stay!”
My gem lights up again with Bryce’s voice. “Battle stations!”
Fear clutches my heart. We’re under attack. I shove on my boots, slip on my jacket, and race into the hall. My dazed crew’s shouting in the corridors. I climb the ladder and push through the heavy hatch onto the deck. Readying myself for war.
The Below has come for us.
CHAPTER 03
ANGRY CLOUDS SWELL AROUND US, AND WIND LASHES MY body while Bryce stands at the bow, pointing frantically at the sky.
“Alert!” she cries into her comm gem. “All hands on deck!”
I snap on my goggles and hurry to her side.
“Bryce? What’s happening?”
She’s got a mobile harpoon launcher mounted on her shoulder, and her frame becomes a silhouette against jagged lightning. “They’re coming.”
Rain blurs my goggles. I snatch the spyglass from my belt and scan the sky: my ships and the living sky swirling around us. But no enemy ships. No beasts. Nothing.
“Where, Bryce?”
Suddenly, my comm gem lights up with the voices of the other ship’s Captains. They’re reporting empty skies, too. Still, their crews mount mobile harpoon launchers on their shoulders.
Bryce clutches the back of her neck, winces, then screams, “Battle stations!”
“But there’s nothing out there!” Captain Joo Won of the Securis says over the comm. “What are we looking at?”
My crew comes above. The Master Gunner, Roderick, has bed-face, his muttonchops sticking up on the right side. He stares at Bryce, an irritated eye twitching. This is the third night in a row she’s called an alert. Keeton follows him and catches his thick arm before he charges Bryce and explodes.
Behind them, Drake, the Navigator, rises from the hatch. His eyes are puffy with exhaustion. We’ve been pushing him too hard lately. He nearly fainted during our last hunt. Arika trails him. The teal badge of Cook shines on her jacket.
Then comes the biggest birdshit out of them all: Pound. He’s a scowling bald giant at seven feet tall. The frightening thing is, he’s only seventeen and just a little older than me.
He might grow more.
“Where the hell are they this time, Bryce?” Pound demands. “You woke everyone again for nothing, didn’t you? Didn’t you?”
“Just look, Captain,” Bryce says desperately, lifting a finger toward churning clouds of gray. “Look.”
I sigh and turn back to the clouds.
Several of my crew stop beside us. We peer through our spyglasses. The storm rages almost like it’s a living organism. Bryce stabs impatiently toward the clouds, and a pair of shadows dance inside. My eyes narrow on the shadows, until I realize they’re only a small island floating in the storm.
I exhale, lower the spyglass, and gently clasp her shoulder. “Bryce, you need sleep.”
“No, Conrad.”
“You’re exhausted and not yourself.”
“No!”
I tap my comm gem, sending a message to every ship. “False alarm. Go back to bed.”
A series of curses follows. The squadron’s already upset because we lost a ship a few days ago. A whole crew. I pause, recalling their shouts as a gorgantaun coiled around their ship and crushed it. Some of them leaped overboard. We flew after them, but they dropped into acid clouds because we couldn’t—I couldn’t—get my ship to them in time. The toxic clouds ate them.
I shut my eyes and push the Hastus from my mind. Must focus on the people I can help now. My squadron needs sleep, but they’re not getting any because Bryce is losing her mind. As Quartermaster of my ship, she’s supposed to be the stable one. The organized one. If Keeton weren’t such a phenomenal Mechanic, I’d wonder if maybe Keeton should be the Quartermaster again.
The worst thing is, I fear the other Captains are suspicious of Bryce. If they discover her true origins . . .
“Pound,” I say. “Take the Quartermaster belowdecks.”
“No!” Bryce yells.
“I’m injecting sleep meds in her,” Pound says, towering over her.
She backpedals. “No one’s listening to me.”
“Bryce,” Keeton says gently, “we are listening. But you keep waking everyone for nothing. This is for your own good.”
“No,” Bryce says. She raises her fists. “Stay back, Pound.”
He stops and stares at her. She’s vicious as hell. Won’t go down without someone getting a broken nose. Pound looks at me.
I massage my brow. What am I supposed to do? Trap her in her room, maybe? Until she rests?
Finally, I nod at him.
Pound reaches for her, but she swipes away his hands. Pound shakes his head. When he lunges for her again, a sudden explosion cracks the sky. The world lights up. A burst of heat slams into us, and I’m rocketed across the ship. I shout and tumble into the railing net that surrounds the deck’s edges. My head’s spinning. Voices buzz in my ears.
I roll out of the net and struggle to my feet, my vision bouncing. Blood dribbles down my cheek.
Then I see fire in the sky.
Holy hell! HOLY HELL!
The nearest skyship, the Mortum, is blazing with golden flames. A great fissure splits the slender ship in two. The bow topples forward and after a groan, the metal rips, and the front half of the ship sinks.
People fall.
No. Not again. NO!
The crew of the Mortum shouts in panic over the comm. We’ve got to help them. Can’t lose them, too. Won’t lose them!
I crank the magnetics in my boots to high. “BATTLE STATIONS!”
My heels snap onto the deck.
Pound and Roderick race to the turrets. They leap atop the seats and strap themselves in. Bryce fires a harpoon at nothing but sky. Arika runs for the munitions platform to collect weapons. Keeton hurries to the hatch, going belowdecks to manage the engine. And Drake dashes for the helm tile to fly us for the Mortum.
“Save the crew,” I shout over the comm. “Save—”
I stop. Something appears in the clouds, close to where Bryce’s harpoon flew. It’s the head of a giant beast. Brown metallic scales on a silverish shell, and a round beak. Almost like . . . a turtle?
“What the hell?” Pound says.
“Just kill it!” Roderick shouts.
They rotate their turrets and launch thick, black harpoons at the beast. Meanwhile, Drake leaps onto the helm tile. A glass bubble slides out from the platform and whooshes over him, encasing him inside.
Suddenly, a fissure of light grows in the giant turtle’s mouth.
“Fly, Drake!” Bryce
shouts.
The monster sprays a beam of electricity at us. Drake throws the helm strings forward. We launch and wind slams into my chest. I bend my knees to keep from toppling over. And the jagged streak of light skitters past us.
“The monster’s gone!” Pound roars, swiveling his turret, scanning the sky. “Where’d it go?”
I lick the rain from my lips. The back half of the Mortum is still afloat.
“Securis,” I say to another ship over the comm. “Rescue the Mortum crew.”
“On it.”
The Securis zooms for the remains of the Mortum while my crew and the Titus watch the sky.
“What the cuss is this creature?” Roderick asks.
“It’s a torton,” Bryce says breathlessly over the comm.
“Torton?” Arika says. “Hunter never trained us on these.”
“That’s because they weren’t here,” Bryce says. “Until now.”
“How do we kill it?” the Titus Captain asks.
“When it reappears,” Bryce says, stuffing a harpoon into her mobile launcher, “aim for the skull.”
We soar in circles, protecting the Securis as it drops ropes to the panicked Mortum survivors. Their lifeboats were destroyed, and their ship’s still sinking. Worse, the Securis reports some of the Mortum crew are stuck belowdecks.
“IT’S BACK!” Bryce launches a harpoon. It slides just over the torton’s shell and shoots into open sky.
The giant turtle sends another jolt of lightning at us.
My eyes widen. “Drake, mo—”
The blast strikes the helm bubble, making the whole ship buzz. My ears hum.
Roderick and Pound roar and fire at the beast.
Drake convulses as electricity shoots through him, his eyes wide. His whole body shudders and smokes. Then he tumbles. The helm rings slide from his fingers. He topples off the platform and hits the deck.
I run for Drake. My legs ache from the magnetics in my heels. I slide and crouch beside him. Arika joins me in a panic.
Drake’s still shuddering. Twitching. Half his face is charred. Blood seeps from his mouth where his teeth bit through his tongue, and the rain sizzles against his burning skin.
Finally, his convulsions end, and he goes still. Arika lowers onto a knee, checks his pulse, then frowns at me.
I stand, hardly feeling anything at all.
Arika slides Drake’s body into a railing net so we won’t lose him.
Suddenly, my gem lights up with cries again. The Mortum sinks. A trio of the crew made it to the deck, but the ship’s sinking too quickly toward the acid clouds. The Securis dives for them, dropping ropes again.
I snap out of my daze and rush to the railing. About to shout for us to go after them, but
no one’s flying the Gladian. The Securis desperately tries to get the trio to catch the ropes. But it’s too late. The Mortum crashes into the black clouds, sending plumes of toxicity into the sky. My comm glows with the screams of people melting away.
Then all goes silent.
“It’s back!” Bryce yells. “Starboard!”
She races to leap atop the helm platform. Within seconds, the Gladian revs to life. The torton reappears on our starboard, almost out of thin air. Pound and Roderick launch harpoons. Meanwhile, the Titus and Securis swoop in, shooting their own harpoons at the torton.
Light glows in the beast’s mouth.
My teeth grit. This bastard monster! I lift a mobile launcher from the munitions platform. Rest the giant weight on my shoulder and peer down the reticule. Then, I squeeze the trigger. My shot darts into the stormy air. It flies right into the turtle at the base of the neck. White blood gushes, and the creature screams and vanishes again.
“Nice shot, Conrad!” Pound yells.
Hardly hear him because I’m loading another harpoon, my skin tingling with rage. Then, just as the turtle reappears again, another blast streaks across my deck. Pound ducks before nearly getting decapitated, and Bryce launches us forward again.
We swerve into the sky and zoom between the Securis and the Titus. Toward where the turtle was. Wind lashes against my enraged face.
But the creature’s gone. It keeps vanishing before we can hit it hard. It’s got some type of camouflaging system.
“There are people aboard,” Bryce says. “Inside the torton.”
“Inside?!” Pound says. “Like, swimming around in its gut?”
“No. There’s a chamber in the shell.” We jerk left. Then right. In a wildly sporadic motion. But I get the sense she’s following something. Somehow, she knows where it is. Or has an idea.
“Bryce, you’re flying like a drunken lotcher!” Roderick yells.
The Securis and the Titus follow us. Trying to replicate our erratic motions.
I keep one hand on the railing to steady my balance. Suddenly, Bryce pulls the strings back to her hips, and Pound nearly slams his head against the turret’s controls. He swears at her.
The other ships stop.
Another surge of torton electricity blitzes toward my ships from our left. This time at the Titus, but the ship swerves, and the attack merely grazes the stern.
We make a hard left turn.
“Flak cannons,” Bryce says. “It’ll help us see them.”
Roderick and Pound
Pound kick another lever on their turrets, changing their barrels. A new enhancement Roderick made to our weapons. Soon golden flak glitters in the sky like fireflies. All three ships are firing. Sending off blasts of gold everywhere. But the rain makes the sparks fade quickly. Roderick and Pound keep it going. Firing wave after wave. Suddenly, the golden sparks bounce off a rounded shape: the torton’s shell.
The monster reappears and faces us. Its mouth opens and a light grows inside.
“Bryce, dive!”
She shoves downward and the Gladian plummets. Wind slams into my face. The electricity surges above us and crashes into the Titus. And I stare in horror as the ship erupts in fire.
“The Titus!” Arika cries.
The ship ruptures in two. Holy hell, the Titus! But I can’t help them yet. We have to kill this damned thing or it’ll get us all.
Roderick rains flak on the torton, revealing it again. Pound kicks another lever, and his repeater turret rapid-fires harpoons. They streak into the torton’s shell as if it were made of sand.
“DIE!” Roderick bellows.
Arika and I stuff harpoons into launchers. My shoulder thrums after I fire and my harpoon cuts through the storm. It sinks right into the bastard’s eye.
The groaning beast begins tumbling. This torton can throw a mean punch, but sure can’t take one worth a damn. Now it’s falling while the Titus still burns, and my comm is filled with the shouts of the dying. Can’t save both.
“Securis, go for the Titus.” I shout over the gem. “Bryce, after the torton! The people inside may have information we need!”
Bryce shoves the strings, and we pitch forward, tipping after the torton.
“Roderick,” I say. “The clawgun.”
“Got it.”
The wind slams against my goggles. I hold the railing, focused on the falling beast. We rocket after it. Wind lashes through my hair. The torton’s body spins, flippers flapping in the storm.
Roderick clicks another lever on his turret, and his harpoon barrel switches to a clawgun. The claw at the end of the chain will latch into the torton. But we’ll be tethered to it, and if the torton weighs enough, it could take us down with it. Got to take that chance. This damned thing destroyed two Predator-class vessels in minutes.
Roderick rotates the turret and peers down the barrel. After a steadying breath, he squeezes the trigger. The clawed hook ripples after the falling beast. It catches a flipper, or leg. Or whatever the hell this thing has. But the clawgun rips the limb free, and the torton continues tumbling.
“Bryce!” I yell.
She shouts, arms shaking, as she pushes us after the torton. Rain blurs my vision. Roderick desperately fires the clawgun again, but the torton slips into the acid clouds. A swell of acid rises. And the clouds eat through the
beast, shell and all.
Bryce curses and pulls back on the strings, leveling us just above the reach of the acid barrier.
Pound slams his fists against the turret. “Damn!”
My stomach churns with disappointment, and I shut my eyes. Two ships gone. Drake gone. A casualty list certain to come, and we lost the torton.
I’m quiet, leaning forward, my hands on the railing. My crew’s silent. Roderick pauses, noticing Drake’s body. Pound does, too. Then, in melancholy, Bryce turns the ship and shoves us toward the Titus above. It’s billowing with flames. Some of the crew have evacuated on the bobbing lifeboats nearby.
The Securis collects them.
I don’t even know what to say as we come to a stop beside the ships. The heat blazing in my eyes. This is on me. Bryce was right. Something was out there, maybe following us for days, and I didn’t believe her. People died because I didn’t listen.
The Titus begins a slow descent. No way to stop that now. At least the Securis saved the crew. But now my squadron, originally composed of five of the most advanced ships Hunter has to offer, has only two left.
I watch the Titus sink.
“Bryce,” I say quietly over the comm. “Are there more tortons nearby?”
She slowly shakes her head.
I drop my launcher, and it clangs hard against the metal. The rain chills my skin. Don’t know whether to cry, or scream, or both.
Bryce steps off the tile and leaves the platform. If I weren’t so broken, I’d march over to her right now. Demand to know why she hasn’t told me about the torton. Or why she hasn’t told me anything, really.
Pound unbuckles from his turret, looking ready to confront her himself. But he pauses, perhaps recognizing the look in her eye. Complete and utter exhaustion. She takes one wobbly step, then falls forward and hits the deck.
“What the cuss?” Roderick says, unbuckling from his seat.
I hurry to kneel beside her. Roderick stands over my shoulder, concerned. My fingers touch Bryce’s neck. She’s still breathing. I lift her from the deck and Arika follows me. Arika’s the Cook but has a bit of medical training.
Pound carefully pulls Drake’s body from the railing net. Drake was the youngest among us. Competed in the same Gauntlet where we learned to be Hunters. He’d been the Navigator on another ship. Now, he’s gone.
Bryce is light in my arms.
There’s so much I want her to tell me. How did she know the torton was here? It’s almost like she could sense it. But how? Or maybe it’s not the beasts she senses. She did mention there were people in the torton . . .
While I’m holding her, the Titus falls. It’s a thrashing flame that sinks with the storm. The ship hits the acid clouds with a splash, and for a moment a blaze glows inside the black clouds. Then, nothing. Gone.
Roderick clenches his eyes shut. We all stare at the black clouds—the barrier that separates us from the Below.
Suddenly, Pound breaks the silence. His deep voice sings “The Song of Falling.” It’s a tender ballad for those who have suffered the greatest fall. The notes a reminder that no matter how powerful we think we are, in the end we are all equal in death’s embrace. The song spreads to the rest of my crew. And soon, to the Securis. It latches into my heart and pulls out pieces of me. ...
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