On These Black Sands (Aisling Sea Book 1) Read online

  An Aisling Sea Novel

  Vanessa Rasanen

  Crab Apple Books

  Copyright © 2021 by Vanessa Rasanen. All rights reserved.

  Printed in the United States of America.

  Crab Apple Books

  P.O. Box 21034

  Cheyenne, WY 82003

  www.crabapplebooks.com

  Visit the author’s website at www.vanessarasanen.com

  Cover design by Maria Spada

  Map and illustrations by Dimension Door

  Also available in paperback and audiobook

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and events are either the products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is coincidental.

  For my husband, who ensures the rum is never gone.

  (And by rum, I mean gin.)

  PRONUNCIATION GUIDE

  CHARACTERS

  Declan: DEK-len

  McCallagh: muh-KAH-luh

  Mikkel: mih-KELL

  Aoife: EE-fuh

  Lani: LA-nee

  Melina: muh-LEE-nuh

  Cait: KATE

  Maura: MOR-a

  Bron: BRAHN

  Callum: CA-luhm

  Halloran: HA-lor-en

  Csintala: sin-TAH-luh

  PLACES

  Cregah: CRAY-guh

  Morshan: MOR-shahn

  Larcsporough: LARK-spur-uh

  Turvala: tur-VAH-luh

  Daorna: day-OR-nuh

  Haviern: hav-ee-AIRN

  Caprothe: cuh-PROHTH

  Tyshaly: tih-SHAH-lee

  Aisling: ASH-ling

  Helles: HELL-es

  OTHER

  Muirnaughton: MEER-not-en

  1

  Declan

  The screams of his wounded men had finally begun to subside, but not enough to afford Declan McCallagh any rest. Not that he could have slept now, regardless. It had been the third attack in as many weeks, and his already battered crew had barely managed to hang on long enough to outrun their attackers.

  It could have been worse. They’d avoided being boarded, raided, and forced into service in another crew—not that he, as captain, would have been granted such an offer.

  Yet they’d far from succeeded in this latest battle. Nine had been lost at the onset. Another twenty-four wounded, half of those severely enough he doubted they’d live to see the next port.

  They’d been caught off guard, the sails of the other ship having been spotted in the dawn’s light mere seconds before the first cannon shot had been heard and felt. It had narrowly missed their bow, hitting the teal waters of the Aisling Sea instead. A warning shot perhaps, but the Winged Serpent and its captain, Tiernen, were not known for being merciful. Not even to fellow pirates.

  While other captains had formed alliances—albeit fickle and shaky ones at best—within the pirate guild, no such accords could ever be made with the pirate lords who posed a constant threat to the smaller ships, like Declan’s.

  And Captain Tiernen’s barbarism was that of nightmares. Crews cut down. Captains and officers brutally tortured and strung up on the rocky coastlines as a warning for all passing ships. Tiernen’s signature, as it were.

  Still, the Serpent’s gunners had missed. Whether on purpose or by accident, Declan was unsure. But it had granted his men enough time to rally and get the guns into position to fight back.

  It had been for naught though.

  The next attack from the Serpent had brought bundle shot ripping across the deck and tearing into his crew as they scrambled to get the ship into a better position to return fire. But they were dangerously low on munitions after such hard weeks at sea.

  Though they’d managed to overtake a handful of merchant ships making their way south to Larcsporough, those ships had not surrendered outright, requiring the use of more powder and rounds than Declan had hoped or planned for. And none of those raids had yielded much of value. The attacks from fellow pirates had taken even more of their resources, and by the time the Winged Serpent had hit them upon rounding the north side of Helles Island, they’d had no chance of making much of a stand.

  Declan had been forced to make the call to run instead of fight.

  Now, standing in his quarters, with the strong afternoon sunlight streaming in through the windows at his back, he pushed against the worn desk and stepped back from the map, rubbing a hand across his stubbled chin.

  The last three weeks seemed to have aged him more than the entire twelve years he’d spent sailing these waters. He might have been the youngest captain on this sea, but the recent attacks from the lords had him feeling twice his age.

  He eyed the trio of men standing opposite him. The same weariness he bore was mirrored in their stances, as if the fatigue hung like a dead weight upon their bones. It had been growing heavier during these long weeks at sea—weeks that had felt more like months.

  All three studied the map in silence as they considered every possible destination, but Declan already knew where he needed to take the Siren’s Song. And it was the last place he wanted to go.

  “We could attempt to make it to Haviern, perhaps,” his quartermaster, Tommy Murphy, said, breaking the tense silence. Friends since their first stints as cabin boys at the age of ten, he and Declan had grown up on the seas together, learned each other’s secrets. And tells. Seeing Tommy now gnawing on the inside of his lip, Declan knew he hadn’t offered the suggestion lightly and had wanted to recommend a different destination.

  Tommy pulled his cap off and scratched the back of his head as he continued to stare at the map.

  The ship’s helmsman, Gavin Flynn, spoke up without raising his gaze. “Even with favorable winds—and no more attacks—we’d lose half the injured by the time we arrived. We can’t risk it.”

  Tommy looked around the room, as if checking to see if any of the crew could hear him. “We’ll have to replace the injured regardless.”

  Declan’s stomach knotted. Another captain, one like Tiernen perhaps, might have been willing to let the injured crew die at sea to appeal to his own whims. But Declan couldn’t.

  Gavin’s chin snapped up, shock pooling in his eyes, but it was their bo’sun, Mikkel Harlan, who spoke for him, his Turvalan accent strong with his fatigue. “As true as that may be, Tommy, you know the captain wouldn’t hear of it. And even without the injured, the crew is far too exhausted. I doubt they’d vote in favor of that destination.”

  “You know where they want to go,” Gavin said, shooting a glance at Mikkel and Tommy before all three lifted their eyes to Declan, their bodies still as if he were a stalking predator instead of their captain.

  There was no fear in their eyes though. While the rest of the crew might not know the reasoning behind Declan’s orders, these men—the men he’d assembled for their grit and their drive and their loyalty—understood. Despite their youth, each of them had known heartache and loss, and they’d spent the last hour trying to find a way to spare him from facing his own.

  Only out of sheer desperation would they suggest this destination.

  Their unspoken words hung in the cabin’s stale air, and Declan’s gut twisted as he repeated the port’s name in his mind. It would be best for his men, and after all the years of asking them to sacrifice—to risk life and limb for glory and riches—how could he refuse to do the same for them?

  Yet his body protested physically at the
thought of returning, of walking those cobbled streets once again, of having the scent of ancient wood and brine hit his nose. His jaw tightened as that familiar weight pressed against his chest, his throat tightening until he could barely breathe or swallow. He forced his face to remain calm, however, not wanting his men—even the three closest to him—to know just how greatly he struggled.

  He felt their stares as he looked back down at the map for the millionth time, as if some ancient magic might have altered the position of the lands scattered throughout the Aisling Sea. These men would follow him wherever he dictated. He could insist they seek solace elsewhere, let his injured die on the crossing to Haviern or Foxhaven, all so he could avoid returning to those rocky black shores.

  A distant scream pierced the air, pulling his gaze back up to his men, who winced at the sound. Another crew member was likely losing a limb to their overworked and exhausted carpenter-turned-surgeon. It pushed him to make a decision.

  He pulled the salt-coated air deep into his chest and uttered the last words he’d ever planned to say.

  “We make for Port Morshan.”

  2

  Declan

  Declan and Tommy stood at the railing of the quarterdeck as Gavin guided them into Cregah’s main port, Morshan, the air somehow stifling and heavy despite the sea breeze greeting them. Though Tommy seemed as tense as Declan, the captain knew it was more from empathy than any trepidation of his own.

  Declan had vowed never to return, and Tommy had never questioned it. This wasn’t his home any longer. Hadn’t been since he was a boy.

  He couldn’t watch as they approached the dock. The sight of this land pulled his gut into a painful knot.

  He turned to Tommy. “I’ll be in my quarters if you need anything.”

  “Aye, sir,” Tommy said with a slight dip of his chin before looking back over the uninjured crew bustling to prepare to go ashore.

  Declan managed to avoid the view of his past home as he made his way down the stairs and turned toward his cabin door. Once inside his room, he gritted his teeth, fisting his hands until his nails dug into his palms. The pain a welcome distraction from the one still crushing his chest. There was no time to let the past haunt him. He loosened his grip and stretched his fingers wide as he forced a breath deep into his lungs before moving toward his desk.

  He’d barely moved two feet when a knock came at the door, startling him.

  “What is it?” His words came out less harshly than he’d intended. This port always seemed to make him soft, and that was less than desirable for his line of work.

  The door creaked open, and the bright red hair of his master gunner, Wes Keiley, appeared, followed by the old sailor’s long frame.

  “Apologies, Captain. We’ve arrived. The crew is preparing to go ashore.”

  Declan straightened, raising his chin. He nearly asked why his gunner was delivering this information instead of one of the cabin boys but remembered at the last moment that the lads were among those below decks clinging to life. He moved to wave the man out and acknowledge the information he’d delivered, but Mr. Keiley spoke again, raising a piece of paper in his hand. “This message arrived for you.”

  Declan ushered him forward and reached for the neatly folded note. It carried a scent not found aboard any ship. He started to open it but noticed his gunner still stood before him. Glancing up, his eyes met the pair already staring at him, and he gave Keiley a look that demanded the man speak.

  “I…I’m sorry, Captain. Only wondered if you planned to go ashore, or if we would be shipping out soon.” Hope clung to the man’s words.

  “We ship out at dawn.” Enough time to get the wounded unloaded and taken to the small hospital in port and get the looted goods traded for the supplies they desperately needed. And maybe let the crew have a hot meal and a warm bed. Thankfully, he’d already convinced his first mate they could risk moving on despite the shortage of men if they made straight for Foxhaven, where additional crew could be recruited, so there was no need to stay any longer than necessary.

  The man’s face fell. “Yessir.” He turned and took slow steps toward the door, as if begging his captain to reconsider their departure time.

  Declan opened the note and skimmed the hurried but neat writing. He pursed his lips and bit back a curse. How she had known he’d be arriving in port when he himself had only made the decision to come here mere hours ago, he couldn’t know, but he had bigger problems than to wonder about her ways.

  “Change of plans, Mr. Keiley.”

  Declan rose as he spoke. His gunner faced him once again, a mix of dread and hope swirling around in his features, as if the two emotions were fighting to see which would be warranted for the situation. Declan might have laughed at the comical look on the gunner’s face had they been in any other situation.

  “Twenty-four hours. That’s as much time as we can spare. We sail tomorrow night.”

  “Yessir,” Mr. Keiley said around a smile he tried—and failed—to hide. Spinning on his heel once more, he headed toward the door.

  Declan called after him, “Fetch Tommy.” Years ago he would have added a “please” to the end of that as his parents had taught him, but he was no longer that kid. Time on the seas and the waves with unsavory characters and their deplorable manners had wiped clean all but the memories of his former life.

  Mr. Keiley gave a silent nod and ducked through the entry, shutting the door behind him with a resounding click. Declan hadn’t needed to tell Mr. Keiley to spread the word of their extended stay. He could already hear the news spreading, with cheers and whoops and hollers springing up outside his door and boots tromping as the men moved with haste to make the most of their time in port. He could only imagine how much grander their display would have been had they not been transporting their injured shipmates ashore.

  Declan tried to mimic the sense of excitement he heard from his men, but he couldn’t curb the dread that had burrowed into him, sending its venomous tendrils into every muscle and tendon. But he had to hide it, couldn’t show the extent of his torment to anyone. Not even Tommy.

  You’re a pirate, damn it.

  And a pirate could not be vulnerable, could not show any emotion except ruthlessness, and maybe lust, but even that was curbed by the rules of Cregah.

  It might be a place of respite for them, a land where, because of the treaty signed all those years ago at the end of the Aisling War, pirates like him and his crew, could—for a price—go ashore and rest, relax, have a drink, and sleep in an actual bed if they wanted to.

  But in this land run by women, the women made the rules and set the limits. Sure, the pirates got their rest, but did they get what they truly needed and wanted? There were places where they could, of course, fulfill their basest of needs. Though these needs were shared by men and women alike, in Morshan it was always on the latter’s terms. Here the women were the patrons, coming to be served by the visiting pirates, not the other way around, not the way it was in other ports. But in those ports a pirate had to be on constant guard for a dagger in his back or at his throat while he was otherwise indisposed.

  Whores. Pirates turned whores with this blasted treaty.

  That word bounced around his head, leaving a rotten taste on his tongue despite him not having uttered it. He had been raised here, sure, and had always known life under the council and under the treaty. But from his first days as a cabin boy, he had learned things weren’t always what they seemed. The pirates who sought refuge here were far from free; all were tied to the ladies of the council—even the lesser pirates like himself.

  Each captain had to pay to earn admittance to the port. With either goods or services.

  Whores, indeed.

  He scoffed just as another knock sounded.

  “Come in,” Declan said as he dropped the letter onto his desk and settled himself back into the chair at his de
sk. He stretched his back and legs out to alleviate the soreness that had settled in. Yes, it would be good to go ashore. Even if it meant facing her and all the memories that accompanied such a reunion.

  “You wanted to see me, Captain?” Tommy stepped inside and closed the door behind him.

  “Aye, Tommy. I have business taking me ashore.” He paused to see how Tommy would react, but his quartermaster hid any surprise well. “I assume word has spread already, but ensure Mikkel tells the men to be back on board and ready to sail after sundown tomorrow.”

  Tommy eyed him, the unspoken question creasing his brow.

  Declan breathed deep and answered. “I know. Longer than planned. Longer than I’d like, personally. But I don’t know how long this will take.” He picked up the letter once again. “And with morale low, I need to give the men a bit of a breather. Last thing I need is a mutiny.”

  Neither of them laughed at his sore attempt at levity.

  “Do we expect the council—”

  “Aye.” He moved a hand to his temple, hoping to ease away the threatening ache before it became unbearable. “We aren’t able to pay the full tax, and I fully anticipate them calling in that debt before we leave.”

  He could see Tommy mulling over that information. But again, he didn’t push further. Didn’t need to. They both knew what the council demanded of the pirates who couldn’t pay.

  “The men’s rest is worth the risk, I believe.”

  Straightening, Tommy said, “What are my orders?” asking as both his first mate and his best friend.

  “Relax. Get some damn sleep and a bit of decent food. Kiss a woman if you want. Sands knows it’s been too long. We’ll meet at the pub tomorrow at sundown.”

  “Alone?”

  “No. Bring Gavin with you.”

  Tommy’s jaw set, and his brows pulled in as if he were debating whether to ask the question Declan knew was buzzing around in his head. The same question he’d been asking himself since he’d made the decision to sail here.

  Am I ready to go back?