Muerig appeared to be unable to grasp the concept of it. “How is that possible? Surely you can see that it defies all logic!”
No more so than his brother being returned to this realm when he’d died so long ago.
Or, for that matter, Kalder being brought back from the dead, not once, but twice. Face it, there was much in their world that made no sense whatsoever. Who was he to argue the logic of Valynda’s current form? Never mind, for Muerig to play the skeptic.
At this point, Kalder was willing to believe just about anything.
Even in Santa and flying reindeer.
Valynda laughed at Muerig’s brother’s befuddled expression. “’Tis a long story, good Muerig. And we don’t ask those questions on this ship. Just accept that things are unusual here and you’ll get along quite well.” Chucking him playfully on the arm, she skipped out of the room so that she could join Belle and Janice for their regular game of chance that usually involved fire, a lot of cursing, and enough bloodshed that it made the captain rather grateful the Deadmen couldn’t perish from actual blood loss.
And this was from the women of their crew.
The men who made up their family were far more tame by comparison.
Dumbfounded, Muerig gaped at Kalder, who shrugged nonchalantly. “Don’t stress yourself over the matter, little brother. It’s all good.”
“I’m so confused by all this. Just when I think no one onboard can be any stranger, they surprise me with another tale of oddity.”
“Says the boy who breathes water and farts bubbles. And just wait until you meet Sallie. He keeps his soul in a rum bottle.”
Muerig gaped. “You’re serious?”
“Quite.” He flashed his brother a roguish grin. “And whatever you do, don’t be opening that bottle. You’ll unleash said soul, which is the last thing you want. That will wreak unholy mayhem on us all, as it tends to go a bit berserk.” Kalder winked at him. “You’ll find our Deadmen unlike any other crew you’ve ever met. A motley band, for sure, but it works for us. Most days.”
“Am thinking you’re all insane.”
“There’s no denying that.” Kalder watched Muerig stretch out on the bunk and sigh as if he were in heaven. “Are you all right?”
“Just grateful to be away from those she-bitches. And, in particular, their claws.”
He certainly understood that. “You know I didn’t want to leave you there. I did me best to stay.”
“I know.”
Kalder swallowed hard as a most bitter wave of guilt tore through him. “You hate me for it, don’t you?”
Muerig scowled. “Pardon?”
“You’ve every right to. I got you killed. And tortured. It’s all me fault what happened to you. Then and now.” He had to steel himself not to flinch as an involuntary image of his brother’s body went through his mind, the way it had looked when he’d found him on that ledge. He still couldn’t imagine the pain they’d put Muerig through because of him. “How did you end up in their hands, anyway?”
“In all truth, I know not. I was in paradise and the next thing I knew, they had me pinned and rooted there. It was horrible.”
“Well, you’re safe now.” Kalder wasn’t sure whose benefit he said that for—his or Muerig’s. “I won’t let them take you again. I swear it.”
“Good thing, that. I for one would definitely appreciate it, brother.”
Ignoring his sarcasm, Kalder hesitated as a million different emotions went through him. While he’d never really gotten along with his older siblings, Muerig had been different. Since the moment he’d first laid eyes on the newborn infant, he’d been protective of the boy. For no other reason than Muerig had been the first person to ever really smile at him. To look at him as something more than an inconvenient nuisance.
And he’d been the only one Kalder had never lost patience with. Not even when he’d broken Kalder’s toys or tattled on him to their parents. Not that Muerig had done it often. Only when their father had cornered him, and Kalder couldn’t really blame him for that. Daven Dupree had been a Myrcian renowned for his fierce temper and immense size.
Even seasoned warriors had wet themselves in their father’s terrifying presence. Only Kalder had ever stood toe to toe with him, and that had amused his father to no end.
“At least I have one courageous son cut from me fin and bones.” He’d often raked a sneer over Kalder’s older brothers that would cause hell to rain down on him later for such praise, after his father left them alone. But while they were together, his father’s golden eyes would shine bright with pride for him. A rarity he cherished, in spite of the consequences. “You’re the one I know will lead our people toglory, and not cower before our enemies. I can depend on you, Kal. You won’t flinch or falter. May the gods help us with those milksop brothers of yours at your back.”
“Daven!” his mother would chide every time he’d start in on them. “No need to berate your boys so. They’re fine warriors—one and all—and will do you proud. You’ll see.”
But his father had been right. His brothers would scurry from their father’s approach, while Kalder would meet him without flinching. Even when he beat him, he’d beg him for more and to hit harder. It’d ever been his contrary nature.
