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  Nestled against the great cat, Kyr took the occasional bite for himself and continued to quiz Omen about his culinary creation.

  Tyrin launched himself from Dev's shoulder and landed on Tormy's head. "Where is being my bacon?" the kitten asked Kyr sweetly and was immediately rewarded with a piece the size of his entire paw. Tyrin set to work with diligence and concentration.

  "How are you cooking right now?" Dev sputtered. "I mean how . . . It's . . ." If anything he should be resting. Fighting the Widow Maker took a lot out of him. He's going to have to be ready in case—

  "It's simple," Omen said as he deftly placed thin slices of prepared white fish into the pan, letting them sizzle. "Just a few spices and some flour. Enough to coat the fish very lightly. Then drop the slices in the oil. The oil has to be good and hot. As soon as it's gold on both sides, let it rest." He demonstrated by taking a perfectly golden slice from another pan and placing it on stretched-out butcher paper on the counter.

  Dev noted how calm Omen sounded. As if he didn't just face a horde of ghosts and we weren't chasing after a leviathan. I don't understand these people.

  "That should do it," Omen directed at the cabin boys. "Bring the rest of it to the mess and then come back to clean up." He plated the sizzling fish on large platters alongside mounds of scrambled eggs.

  One by one, the three boys hurriedly balanced their trays down the corridor, presumably to serve any of the crew who hadn't yet partaken of breakfast.

  As Omen rinsed his hands, Dev noted a slight wobble to the young man's movements. He's still having trouble.

  "I can smell them in the water — foul creature, stealing my souls," Kyr suddenly proclaimed, his voice distant and hollow. The pile of bacon had disappeared, Tormy and Tyrin looking contented and unconcerned.

  "So soon? Best get to it," Omen said, determination in his face. "If Kyr's connected to the Widow Maker's mind again, we must be getting close."

  "I'll crush them this time," Kyr continued, "and take them down to the bottom. I'll take all their souls."

  A loud clatter sounded through the galley. The dishwasher, Kharakhian Dev guessed, had dropped a stack of tin plates. Her face was ashen.

  "It's him!" the girl whispered in Kharakhian. "He is the Widow Maker. It's in his head."

  Now it begins, the blame, Dev thought dispassionately.

  "Don't worry." Omen moved closer, holding out a hand to calm her. "He's not the Widow Maker. He's just—"

  "That boy will get us all killed!" The girl snatched a large knife from the counter and held it out toward Omen. "He's cursed. That's how Urgolath is finding us!"

  "He's not," Omen said gently. "He's just—"

  "Cursed!" the girl shrieked. "He must be given to the Lord of the Sea—"

  One smooth gesture brought Dev's blowgun from his sleeve to his lips. The dart stuck in the girl's neck, and she crumpled before she could finish her sentence.

  Omen looked outraged as he quickly put together what the last seconds had garnered. "You can't just—"

  "She's fine." Dev returned the reed to a small hidden pocket. "She'll barf for the next three days, but no permanent damage."

  "She is one of—"

  "She would have riled up the crew," Dev said, matter-of-fact. "They would have thrown Kyr overboard. I've seen it before. People in a mass are more horrible than people alone. Kadana's crew is scared kakless."

  "Want the hearts and want the souls," Kyr muttered. "It's so lonely at the bottom of the cold, cold waters."

  Determination swept over Omen's face. "Time to go."

  Chapter 16: Tentacles

  OMEN

  He arrived on the main deck to changing weather, dark clouds rolling in, and plummeting temperature. Early light painted the world grey and blue, casting even the people around him in a steely, colorless palette.

  "Above," Kyr blurted out. "It's above. All I have to do is reach out."

  Omen's gaze flew up. But he saw nothing but sails and sky.

  "Why aren't you armed?" Templar called out. The prince had slid into place next to Omen, bone blades drawn.

  "I was cook—" Omen broke off hearing the ridiculousness of his own statement. He thought he caught a smug look on Dev's face.

  Why aren't I armed? As if clamps had been taken off his thought processes, Omen reeled with the realization that the ghostly choir had reached into his mind and manipulated his thoughts. They were trying to get me to jump. I wanted to go swimming, he remembered. He glanced at Tormy who still searched the blackening sky. Tormy told me to go below deck and cook breakfast. He saved me.

  "Has the Widow Maker been spotted?" Omen finished instead.

  "No!" Templar stared out at the churning ocean. "But you can feel it, can't you?"

  "Not far now!" Kyr screeched, the cat on his shoulder one large ball of puffed up orange fur.

  A turbulent buzz of energy shot through Omen and pinged back and forth from his feet to his scalp. His skin felt as if it were crawling with thousands of fire ants. "Not above!" he burst out, savagery sparked by the pain building in him. "It's below us!" He realized that Kyr was seeing through the Widow Maker's eyes. We're above it.

  That very moment, the great ship jerked to one side, then to the other, making all but the cats lose their balance. Omen saw Shalonie and Kyr scramble back to their feet instantly, but something kept him pinned as he struggled to rise.

  The silver embedded in the ship's hull sparked as the Ven'tarian vessel defended itself against the harassment.

  "Something is trying to grab us from underneath!" Omen heard Kadana shout with a ragged voice.

  "Drag them down into the waters deep," Kyr confirmed the creature's intention.

  "There's nothing to hit!" Kadana thundered. "If we can't see it, we can't harpoon it. To the boats!"

  In a mad scramble the crew raced to loosen the skiffs. Templar and Shalonie ran to join Kadana on the quarter deck.

  Omen curved his back like a cat as he tried to push himself up. It wasn't until Dev wrenched his shoulder back violently that Omen realized he hadn't moved at all, his hands and feet still planted on deck where he had fallen. Can't leave. He shook Dev's hand away and pressed his face to the wooden planks. At first he saw nothing, only the dark of the wood, but in a blink the molecules of brown scattered and his sight pierced the layers of the ship like arrows flying through fog.

  He heard a deep growl coming from Tormy and felt the cat place himself next to his side, shielding his body from Dev.

  "Back the &%$# off!" Tyrin screamed at the Machelli through the howl of a sudden gust and the nonsensical gibbering emanating from Kyr.

  "I'm trying to get him up — to safety. He's sick!" Dev protested.

  At the same time, Omen felt Templar's magic flow past him like a light breeze. He's trying to fill the sails so we can get away, Omen acknowledged distantly.

  "Too late," Kyr cackled loudly, a mixture of glee and horror breaking his voice.

  Just as Omen's vision escaped through the bottom of the cargo hold and shot through the seething waters, the ship dropped as if a hole had been cut into the ocean. I'm having a psionic episode, he realized dispassionately. It was something that commonly happened with children coming into their powers, but it hadn't happened to Omen in years.

  Don't attack! His father's dire exhortation returned to him as if 7 were screaming his warning across the miles. "The Widow Maker isn't human — it's ancient, and powerful, beyond anything you can imagine . . . You're no match for it."

  Desperate cries seared Omen's hearing. Through the jumble, he heard a heart-breaking yowl,"I is not swimming!" The ship lurched to the side, as something inexorably pulled it downward, trying to sink them.

  You're not drowning my cat!

  He cast his gaze about, frantic. His sight fell on one of the harpoons — a great spear of Ven'tarian design — abandoned by a sailor now clinging to a cargo net. The Widow Maker is beneath us. They can't see anything to shoot at.

  Fly, he commanded t
he harpoon with his mind. The weapon flung free of its casing. Dive, he guided the blade through the air and into the water, at no point certain what he was trying to accomplish.

  With a sudden jolt, the Golden Voyage dropped below the surface of the water, rushing toward the bottom of the ocean as the long dark tentacles of the amorphous creature hauled them downward.

  Somehow Omen remained in place, fixed to the deck despite the violent shudders shaking the ship. He glanced over his shoulder, sucking in a breath.

  A tremendous white and silver bubble slid into place over the top of the highest masts, closing them in and protecting them from the dark waters.

  More Ven'tarian magic! He had no time to marvel, but flipped his focus back down, looking through the ship as if it were made of glass. He gasped audibly at the size of the creature dragging them down.

  Omen could almost make out the individual parts of the Widow Maker, a large dark body and hundreds of long whipping, suction-cupped limbs. Like the sandlures — but bigger.

  His arms and chest still felt like they were on fire, but the rest of his body grew cold and numb. He became aware of being in two places at the same time, on the deck — stuck — and coursing through the sea, ramming toward the creature as if he were himself the harpoon.

  Water trickled on the back of his neck.

  "The Ven'tarian shield isn't holding," he heard Shalonie call out. "I can't—"

  There it is. He saw what he hadn't known he was looking for. Rippling through the darkest part of the creature, presumably the head, Omen caught flashes of bright blue and red sparks firing back and forth. The complex activity flashed in unidentifiable patterns as one burst connected to thousands of others, creating a code of trillions of combinations.

  And he also saw the mighty harpoon, launched by his mind, pushed along by his psionics, rushing toward its inevitable target.

  He was rushing toward the target.

  There's your brain. Omen released a sharp blaze of psionic power into the end blade of the harpoon, sending it into the largest cluster of sparkling lights.

  Agony lashed back at him as the tip of the spear tore through the core of Urgolath's brain. Omen snapped back to consciousness, fully aware that he was only a frail thing balancing on a wooden board in the middle of an ocean he did not understand. The realization drove the breath from his body, as if his lungs were squeezed by a giant's hand.

  The tentacles shuddered and retracted, releasing the ship. The creature convulsed and spasmed, its countless amorphous limbs folding into its form like the legs of a dying bug. Blood gushed into the water, turning it red as the explosion of liquid rushed from the Widow Maker's brain. The last Omen saw of it through a shroud of his own tears was the immobile mass of the Widow Maker sinking down toward the ocean floor, dark and dead.

  But wait, did one of the tentacles move? Can't be.

  The Golden Voyage bobbed up to the surface like a cork that had been held under water momentarily. There was a crackling as the shield crumbled away in a sparkle of silver dust that covered the ship and crew like a dusting of snow. There was complete silence.

  Omen breathed deep. No longer glued to the deck he staggered to his feet. His vision had returned to normal, though he noted that everything looked more colorful, as if the saturation had been increased, making the blue of the sky bluer than he'd ever seen it before.

  Tormy's orange fur shone like a flame. "Is you hungry, Omy?" the cat asked with an innocent smile.

  "I could eat," Omen replied, locating his companions on the deck.

  Liethan and Kadana stood together, shock plain on their faces, but shock mixed with inquisitive enthusiasm.

  Dev was close too, standing protectively over Kyr who whispered and cooed as he petted Tyrin. Whiskers splayed, fur on end, the kitten seemed flustered but happy.

  Templar and Shalonie were the first to move, as both of them made their way back to where Omen was standing.

  "What did you—" Templar started as a cheer rose from the crew. They could see the mass of blood in the water and guessed at what happened. Somehow, someway, the creature had been harpooned.

  "Back to work!" Omen heard Kadana shout.

  "I harpooned it." Omen stumbled slightly as he took a step toward Templar. "I think . . ."

  "Let's get you below," he heard Shalonie say. "Time to talk later."

  "Is it gone, Kyr?" Another shiver flew through him as they headed for the main hatchway.

  The boy gave him a wry smile but did not answer.

  Chapter 17: Storm

  SHALONIE

  Shalonie had wanted desperately to hear Omen's explanation for the near sinking and impossible reemergence of the ship. But she could see the confusion in his eyes and thought it better he should rest before thinking on what he had done with the harpoon.

  She was worried that things hadn't gone as well as they believed, but she had no intention of nagging Kadana. The crew was celebrating their narrow escape, and Kadana seemed content to set the course back to the port of Khreté, as was their original plan. The Ven'tarian ship had somehow protected them long enough for Omen to . . . do whatever it was he had done.

  Exhausted, Shalonie briefly wished she were back at home in Melia, reading about instead of participating in adventures.

  Don't be a hatchling, she scolded herself. She closed her eyes and repeated the Song of Melia in her mind until she fell asleep.

  Hours later, the sound of a heavy thud woke Shalonie with a start, violent motion disorienting her as she realized with alarm that her bed was swinging so much that the outer frame had struck the wall of her cabin. Grabbing the sides of the frame, Shalonie braced herself, startled to realize that the entire room was swaying intensely as the ship rode up and down on the immense waves of the turbulent sea. Outside she could hear the roar of the wind and the crashing of water. Muffled caterwauling resounded beyond her door.

  Heart pounding, Shalonie scrambled from the bed, barely catching herself as the rising swells made the floor unsteady beneath her feet. She stumbled toward the door. Pulling it open, she saw people hustling through the corridor, sailors yelling to each other to batten down the hatches as the unexpected storm rocked the Golden Voyage. The glowing orbs that lit the hallway flickered on and off, even the elementals inside reacting to the ferocious storm. They dimmed, casting the interior into gloom as the wind screamed past the vessel.

  She spied Liethan Corsair and grabbed his arm as he ran past her door. "What's happening now?"

  He grinned at her, his eyes burning with almost ecstatic light. "Storm," he exclaimed. "I love storms! You should see the wind!" He raced off in the direction of the ladder that led to the upper deck.

  Maybe Kyr isn't the only crazy person on board. She stumbled after Liethan, deeply concerned. Based on what Kadana and Haptis had said earlier, she knew there shouldn't be any storm — especially not one this brutal.

  Of course if the Corsair isn't worried, maybe this isn't as bad as it seems, she told herself in vain. She was slammed against the bulkhead as they pitched upward again. Maybe now is a good time to try the stabilizing Cypher Rune. She bit the inside of her lip. If a ship with this much magic is getting tossed about like a toy, the storm has to be bad.

  She found Omen, Kyr and Tormy crowded in the doorway to the outer deck, Tyrin clutched tightly in Kyr's right hand. Shalonie noticed the boy was holding the hilt of a heavy sword in his left hand, the sheathed blade far too large for someone of his small frame to hold properly. It looked like he'd dragged it behind him when he'd followed Omen into the corridor. Omen's sword. She wondered what the boy was doing with it.

  Shoving her way alongside Tormy, Shalonie tried to make out what was happening outside. The deck was fairly well-lit with glowing elemental orbs, though they were swinging wide on their hanging chains. Sailors fought hard to pull ropes and secure the sails that were fraying in the howling wind. The ocean itself was black and only occasionally could she see the silver gleam of water as the glowing ligh
ts caught on the surface just before a humongous wave swamped over the deck, sending anything unsecured sliding. The great bow of the Golden Voyage rose up against the black sky as lightning cracked, momentarily illuminating the monstrous swells all around.

  Dragons of Melia protect us! Shalonie prayed silently. She caught hold of Tormy's fur to steady herself, the ship's erratic rise nearly throwing her down.

  Omen reached out then and braced her, his face pinched with worry.

  "Where did this come from?" Shalonie shouted to him over the wind's blare.

  He shook his head. "No idea!" he shouted back. "Liethan doesn't seem worried. I'm sure it's fine!"

  She wanted to agree — that if the Corsair boy wasn't frightened, everything was probably normal. But through the open doorway she could see the golden-haired boy running nimbly along the heaving deck, laughing while he helped the overwhelmed sailors secure the sails. The crew did not share his enjoyment.

  "I think your friend's a bit loony!" she yelled back to Omen. They watched as Liethan clambered up the ropes around the mainmast to lash down a portion of the sail that had come undone in the wind. The towering mast seemed to oscillate with each heavy swell, but the Corsair cackled and whooped as if he were having the time of his life.

  "I think you're right!" Omen no longer looked reassured.

  "Do you see it, Omen!" Kyr exclaimed, pointing out at the deck. "The fish with swords!"

  "There's no fish out there, Kyr!" Omen tried to shoo his brother back below deck.

  Any fish would have the good sense to swim deep and avoid the waves, Shalonie couldn't help reasoning. Another surge washed over the bow, drenching the deck. A glint of light flashing on the surface of metal caught her eye, and she squinted to see through the darkness. "What's that man doing!" She gestured past Omen toward where a sea-drenched sailor seemed to be climbing over the railing, a long thin sword in his hand. He's climbing onto the deck — not off.

  "It's a fish!" Kyr squawked. "Don't peel the potatoes. Use this." He dragged the huge sword forward and pushed it toward Omen, pressing it into his brother's hand. "It wants to burn your head. And I only had one lesson."