A Plaguing of Souls

Chapter 8 of "A Shattering of Souls", book 4 of The Môrdreigiau Chronicles

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The story began in A Grail for Eidothea and continued with A River Trembles and A Sword for Wellington. It now concludes with A Shattering of Souls. New here? This is a Regency-set fantasy romance adventure with shapeshifting sea dragons, where our cast search for Arthurian treasures to save the world from ecological collapse. Save this post, go subscribe (you’ll get the first two seasons in an e-book) and then have a binge read of the rest. You deserve it.

A little reminder that sources will be listed in bold. There are dates included as well, as I have needed to go back and forth in time to pick up the threads of someone’s part in this story due to the fact that we have multiple journals in play this time around.

Luned, having seen a strange sea creature and having an odd vision, sought answers. The ship’s doctor, Corinne Pelletier, thinks she’s ill. Lieutenant Steward helped her with her research. Captain Ballard, whom Luned has a crush on, well, he crossed a boundary.

From Luned Murray’s Journal

Leaving his cabin, I returned to my own. Along the narrow hallways lined with the lightest balsa wood and painted white, the lamps, each placed at regular intervals, continued to sputter and go out before resuming their normal levels.

I stripped out of my civilian gown, all the while wishing for the captain’s hands to be doing the work. I changed into my uniform. I checked the badge fastened upon my lapel, the only sign of my rank. Only Captain Julian Ballard wore insignia due to his command of the Acheron.

I double checked the buttons on my trousers, shrugged on my thick woollen coat and sallied forth. I had duties in addition to my rescue work, and tonight I had watch duty.

I clambered onto the main deck, skirting the ridged brass carapace covering the deflated balloon and headed for the wheel house.

I stuck my head in the door and whistled at the master standing at the wheel. He gave me an absent nod. A quiet night so far. I left him to begin my measured march around the ship’s perimeter.

The night grew chill. I buttoned up the collar of my coat, the brass buttons already icy to the touch. I jammed my hands deep into my coat pockets.

Behind me, the port of Dover lay in a sprinkle of lights along the coastline. An occasional twinkle marked smaller villages. We sailed west, towards the Atlantic and the dangers that assailed innocent travellers.

A faint wash of foam, pale and luminescent, trailed behind the ship. I headed portside, listening to the creak of timbers and lines. I listened for the unfamiliar, and, I cannot quite explain this, but a difference in the sound the waves made in hitting the ship.

It fell beyond the simple explanation of approaching ships causing a change in the wave frequencies and size. Similarly for reefs and sandbars. The water told me that and more. I fancied I read the future through the water, like my grandmother before me. I do not dare tell anyone of this, considering it my own private and untested fantasy.

The water lapped dark at the ship’s sides, the faint white of cresting foam just visible from my view at the railings.

I walked on, enjoying a quiet watch. No further unusual flickers from the lanterns, which lit only the wheel house and the bow.

A curse called my attention back to the wheel house. I hastened to the master who struggled with the large wooden wheel. I reached his side and saw his contorted face.

“What is the matter?”

“The wheel,” the master grunted, his weathered face strained, “it won’t stop spinning. I don’t know how long I can hold it.”

“Let me help.” A little stronger than most women still meant lesser strength than the master, but I could assist. I grabbed a wheel spoke, the carved wood fitting into my palm, the wood worn smooth. It jerked beneath my touch. I grabbed another spoke and held on with all my might, leaning my weight in the same direction as the master’s.

Ballard appeared in the doorway. “The housing has disconnected from the rudder, right where it leaves the ship. Can you hold on until I fix it?” Of course he had sensed the cause.

He didn’t wait for an answer, vanishing into the murk.

Marsh appeared at my side. “What’s wrong with her?”

“The rudder.” I didn’t relinquish my grip on the wheel.

Marsh joined us in grappling with the wheel, waiting for the captain to work his magic. Long moments passed, long enough for my muscles to scream with agony. I held on, the wheel shifting under my slackening grip.

The wheel stopped fighting us. The master straightened from his low gravity crouch, checking the stars to see how far we had strayed from course.

I released the wheel, but hovered, in case the rudder decided to break again. Without a word, Marsh vacated the wheel house.

Ballard reappeared. “It is almost time for me to take the watch. Why not go and rest?”

I didn’t want to leave him just yet. “What happened to the wheel’s housing?”

Ballard shrugged. “The rudder must have caught on something and started breaking free as we were leaving port.”

“You need to rest after—“ I knew he had used his gift to fix the rudder. It showed in the strain about his eyes, the wrinkles deeper there than usual.

“I will be fine,” he promised, a cool expression enfolding his features. “Murray, you have a watch to finish.”

I obeyed, returning to my watch on deck, hands buried deep in my coat pockets. Captain Ballard had to take care of the Aetheric Dirigible Crew before any individual desires. Perhaps I ought to number remaining days aboard the Acheron and treasure the time I had left.

27^th January 1819

We traveled south. Small things kept going wrong with the rigging, steering and other controls. The lamps continued to stutter, plunging us into darkness. These occurrences put us all on edge.

Captain Ballard called a meeting in the ward room for the crew.

He strolled in, timing his arrival after the last of us, as the captain’s prerogative. “Crew,” he murmured, gesturing we be seated.

He took the central seat at the long mess table. He avoided meeting my gaze, much to my dismay, and focused on Marsh. “You wanted this meeting, Mr. Marsh. What is your concern?”

“The normals are talking.” He spoke without inflection. “They say the Acheron is haunted.”

I frowned. Why would the normals—the engineers, the other shift—be so superstitious on a boat filled with the most unusual inhabitants on all the oceans?

Steward pursed his thin lips. “I suppose what we have experienced is equivalent to the hauntings as described in ghost stories. But that’s just what they are, stories.”

“Are they?” Marsh fixed me with his gaze, all steel and ice. “You and Steward were talking about monsters just two weeks ago.”

I bit my lip. That sea creature had been real. Marsh had sunk my argument, my reason for staying, by equating my theory with superstitious sailors.

“We do not know what exactly Murray saw,” Ballard remarked, the lines on his brow and at his mouth wrinkling. “These incidents—“

“My point is, captain, is not the source or the truth of what the sailors say, but what it means for us now. A few came to me and claimed that it was because, forgive me—“ he sounded completely insincere, “—Murray is with us. They heard what happened to her—”

“From who?” I demanded, ire rising. I glared at Marsh. “You perhaps?”

He raised his hands in an insincere disclaimer. “This is a small ship. There are no secrets here.” He slid a meaningful glance between Ballard and I.

Ballard ignored it. “We shall work on morale. Once Murray’s reliability has been proved, their suspicions shall be gone. In the meantime, Miss Murray, perhaps it would be best if you were seen less often.”

“You want to confine me to quarters?” I seethed.

“No, but you should avoid going on deck.” Ballard gestured to Marsh. “Maybe you can take her watch?”

Marsh grimaced, but nodded, obeying his captain.

Dr. Pelletier spoke for the first time, her worried gaze moving between myself, Ballard and Marsh. “What if I tried to heal you?”

“We do not know she needs healing,” Steward interrupted. “What she experienced is perfectly—“

“—natural?” Marsh jeered. “If it were, would we even be discussing it right now?”

I scowled.

“Miss Murray?” Ballard prompted, a sympathetic light in his eye. His gentle voice softened the formality of his request. “If it provides a faster resolution to all this....”

I sighed. How to explain the unreasoning fear that if Pelletier laid hands on me then my gifts would vanish? Never mind that Pelletier had healed a nasty gash on my arm over a year ago. Somehow, this felt different.

Steward shot me a worried look, his dark eyes bright under black brows. “Luned?” he murmured, breaking protocol.

I huffed an ungracious sigh. “Very well. But I do not think it will make the slightest difference.” In some perverse way I hoped it wouldn’t. It would relegate my experience to an illness or an unwell mind, creating a concrete reason to ground me.

Pelletier rose, crossing to stand behind me. “Just relax, Luned,” she whispered. It was just like Pelletier to try and put me at ease. Her world wasn’t the one turning upside down.

Pelletier’s hands rested on the crown of my head. She avoided disrupting my simple hair bun.

I stared down at my hands clenched upon the table. With effort, I straightened my fingers and let them rest, palms up, upon the pale wood. I focused upon my fingertips, anything to avoid looking at my team mates.

Pelletier pressed harder against my scalp. I imagined her magic flowing but I could not sense it like I had before.

I tried not to think of what it wreaked upon my flesh, upon my magic.

Did a spot on my wrist glow? I rotated my hands, concealing the glow from my sight. A surreptitious glance revealed nobody appeared to have noticed it.

At length, Pelletier released her grip, stepping back. “I find nothing wrong with her.”

“Nothing?” Marsh pressed.

Pelletier resumed her seat and shrugged. “A paper cut, halfway healed. Nothing more.”

I studied my left index finger. I vaguely recalled receiving the cut in historical society’s archives. “Thank you,” I mumbled.

“So it is not illness or madness then.” Steward shot me a triumphant smile. I smiled back, glad of his support.

“We do not know if Pelletier’s skills extend to curing insanity,” Marsh remarked, leaning against a post.

Pelletier winced. She opened her mouth and then closed it again, ducking her head.

“Dr. Pelletier has gained us some useful information,” Ballard answered for her. “It will be up to the Company to decide how useful.”

The captain’s words did not fill me with comfort or hope. I rose. “If you will excuse me, I think I shall retire to my quarters as ordered.”

At that moment, the lights went out.

Everyone cursed, shuffling.

If I willed the lights to come on would they—

The lanterns flickered.

Coincidence? Did I really jinx the lights? Was this a new gift I needed to learn how to control? Lights. On.

The lamps flared into life.

“Good night.” I sketched a bow, dashing from the room before I heard Marsh’s certain insult or saw sympathy in the others’ eyes.

In my cabin, I flung open our window and stared down at the water boiling beneath, dark and murky, tossing forth foam as the Acheron plowed through the ocean. Would I be like that foam? Tossed from this ship without a second thought?

I leaned out, taking in huge lungfuls of sea air. I stared up at the sky, then cast my gaze to the water below, watching the gaslight’s golden ripples upon the dark waves. A movement caught my eye.

A flicker of red and gold scales, iridescent and rippling along and ending in a feathered tail.

I squeezed shut my eyes and looked again, both hoping and dreading I had been mistaken. A swirl of water and bubbles pushed against the ship’s wake. A narrow whiskered snout covered in gold-tipped red scales hove into view.

The creature had a head larger than a horse’s and its large and disturbingly human golden eye swiveled to look at me. We stared at each other for a long time.

I heard the cabin door snick open and closed behind me. “Corinne,” I murmured, trying not to move my lips. “Quietly. Come here.”

She leaned in and looked over my shoulder.

The creature splashed and sank out of sight.

“What is it?” Corinne asked, scanning the night sea.

I pushed back from the window. “Nothing. I must have imagined it.” I know I did not.

From “Upon Our Seas, In Our Skies” story entitled “A Plaguing of Souls”:

The sailor rapped on the captain’s cabin door. “Ship off the starboard bow, captain! Her sails are furled.”

“In this weather?” The captain uncurled from his hammock and opened the door. “Is it a broken mast?”

The man, weathered and fraying, frowned up at him. “Cracked perhaps? Too far away to tell yet.”

Captain Ballard stepped out onto the main deck. He raised a telescope to his eye. A light breeze blew from the south east. Perfect sailing weather. He surveyed the distant ship and compacted the telescope. “Miss Murray, fetch Dr. Pelletier.”

“Sir.” She hastened to obey, returning with Dr. Corinne Pelletier.

The captain handed her the telescope. The doctor viewed the ship. “Yellow flag,” he said. “Not a single crew member on deck, not even at the wheel. Can we assume all are lost?”

She handed him the telescope. “You know better than that. Lieutenant, what does your gift say?”

The woman, taller than the doctor, leant over the railing. “Six or seven souls. One is quite faint.”

“Less than a tenth of the crew they should have. We sail on.” Captain Ballard stared at the ship, chewing on his lower lip. “We need to protect our crew.”

Mr. Steward joined the viewing party. “It’s one of the new ships. The Navy will not be pleased to lose her.”

“We keep windward and board her after her two weeks of quarantine.”

Dr. Pelletier frowned, staring across at the bobbing ship. “I could heal them.”

Captain Ballard sputtered. “But the risk to you—”

“—and any volunteer who rows me over? We will wear masks, take precautions. I can heal disease as well as injuries.”

The captain rubbed at his beard. “If I lose a crew of Gifted…”

“Sir,” Mr. Steward cut in, voice sharp. “She’s taking on water. She rides a board lower than when first we saw her.”

“My Gift might be to repair and connect with the Acheron, Mr. Steward, but I do not prize her over the lives of my men—and women,” the captain amended.

The Acheron’s decks made a yawing sound.

Ballard laid his hand on the railing, going within to connect with his ship. At length, he sighed. “Very well, we go. The five of us. We risk nobody else. Faces covered. We will have to ride out the quarantine but—” He turned. “Jenkins! You have the deck.”

“Aye, sir!” The man chirruped from the wheel.

They rowed across, the sailors remaining in the long boat while the Gifted ascended, their faces covered with squares of canvas.

On deck, Captain Ballard surveyed the cluttered deck. The sails had been furled in haste. “I’ll see if this ship will speak to me. Murray, Marsh, Steward, stay on deck and try and tidy up a bit. Dr. Pelletier, shall we?”

The two descended. The other three coiled rope. Mr. Steward sighed. “No sign of vermin at least.”

“Is that better or worse?” Miss Murray’s eyes widened above her mask. “If it has killed the rats as well…”

The captain appeared in the hatch. “All of you, below.”

The lieutenants obeyed. A rank miasma greeted their nostrils, making them glad of their masks.

“Sir?” Marsh prompted, the last to appear.

“The ship tells me its cargo is why it is riding low. Mr. Marsh, come with me. Dr. Pelletier also needs some assistance.”

Three of the six souls appeared to be recovering, weak but coherent. With water and gruel, their strained faces eased.

Dr. Pelletier stood by a hammock stained green and yellow. “Dysentery, I think,” she murmured, seeing them. “Or something similar. Luned, could you loan me a little of the Captain’s gift?”

“What happened to being the greatest healer?” Miss Luned Murray grumbled.

Ballard laid his right palm upon my shoulder. Murray uncurled her toes and focused, channeling his gift into Dr. Corinne Pelletier.

Around them, the ship yawed and complained, no doubt unhappy to be bobbing around the Channel instead of cutting through the waves with pride.

“Captain.” Steward’s cool calm tone cut through the trio’s focus. “We are taking on water.”

The boards beneath them were dry, but Steward’s Gift with maps and distance also applied to depth. The other four gazed out the porthole to judge the horizon.

Bubbles danced across the glass. Somehow, the new ship kept out the water, yet it sank.

Pelletier shrieked, her healing gift dissipating. “I can’t be under water. I can’t! I can’t!”

“We lift her.” The captain’s jaw tightened, his grip pressing into Miss Murray’s shoulder. “Marsh, you know what to do. Everyone connect with Luned.”

Dr. Pelletier backed away, her dark eyes wide. “We’ve never lifted something of this size before.”

“Remember your training.” Ballard’s curt voice held no hint of softness. “Pelletier, we need you.”

Her shaking hands covered her face. “We’ve never done this while aboard the ship that’s sinking. We’ve always acted from the Acheron. It’s been people, a dinghy. A whole ship? We should leave while we still can!”

“We have to try,” Miss Murray murmured, already taking her position behind Mr. Marsh. Past drills and action made her movements second nature. She rested both hands upon his shoulders. He tensed at her touch.

Around her, the rest of the team laid their hands upon her: on her shoulders, back and waist.

“Ready,” Pelletier whispered, her voice trembling.

Luned let her mind go blank. First, she reached out to Steward. His mind felt more familiar to her than any other, thanks to their countless arguments over navigating to a rescue site.

With the mental link secure, she set about knitting the gifts of the others into that mental link: Pelletier’s power of healing to keep the links strong, Ballard’s kinship to ships, Steward’s directional sense.

Only then did she reach out with her thoughts to Marsh who appeared as an angry and red presence in her mind’s eye. She sensed him but couldn’t find the mind link.

She squeezed his shoulders, hoping that would make it easier to reach him. It made no difference.

“Mr. Marsh,” she growled, sinking her fingernails through the broadcloth of his coat. “You need to let me in.”

His shoulders hunched. “And infect me with your craziness?”

Luned sensed the group’s mind-energy unraveling. “Idiot,” she hissed, trying to rebraid the confused strands of Gifted energy. “We are all going to drown unless you let me in. Insanity is not catching.”

“Let her in,” The captain’s quiet voice rang with command.

Mr. Marsh’s mental wall collapsed into mist, clearing the way. With tentative care, she reached out with her Gift, wanting to be sure he wouldn’t shove her away. Such a violent act would not just break the link with him, but with the others as well and they’d have to start over.

They did not have time for that.

Luned found no resistance and sent polite emotions to calm Mr. Marsh. Not that he would notice, but it helped her mindset to soothe the man and by extension, herself.

“Ready,” she said at last, not that she needed to talk. Everyone sensed the links all click into place. For a short while they’d be of one mind.

All her attention went to maintaining the link. She remained oblivious to all that Marsh accomplished with the additional Gifted energy. She had the slight sense of surging upward, much like how it felt when the Acheron leapt into the air, but much more infinitesimal.

The hull cracked a warning.

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