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Rough Seas Ahead.
Shepherd has two problems:
A ship that never sails …
… and a crew that never works.
While his rebellious shipmates prefer to sit anchored in the Shallows forever, Shepherd has other ideas. He intends to obey the Master’s orders: sail across the Forbidden Sea to shore.
No matter the cost.
After the crew rejects a foreign woman seeking refuge from the dark waters, Shepherd’s patience runs out. He secretly weighs anchor in the dead of night, forcing all onboard to begin their journey across the sea.
Ready or not.
But the voyage to the Master’s shore is more dangerous than anyone expects. The crew must learn to work together and navigate the terrors that await them or sink to the bottom of the sea, never to be heard from again.
Keep scrolling to read the first chapter of this book.
ONE
SHEPHERD PEEKED through the spindles of the helm’s rail and shadowed his eyes against the sun with a salute of his hand. The blazing orb hung low in the sky, ready to dip beneath the waves. It was time to light the lanterns along the perimeter of the main deck. He checked his compass and pored over the maps and journal sprawled out on the floorboards before him one last time. His pen scratched a note, marked a crude line, and continued examining the course they would navigate as soon as he coaxed the rest of the crew into weighing anchor and unfurling the sails.
Nothing good could come from staying put in the Shallows. The large wooden vessel creaked beneath his feet as it bobbed gently in the murky water. He stood and trailed a finger along the worn wood of the steering wheel at the helm. It had been far too long since this ship had submitted to the mercy of the wind and the waves.
Now the massive vessel sat idle, waiting—rotting—never moving a fraction of an inch toward its intended destination. Shepherd pressed a fist into his knotted gut as he imagined the Master’s sad disappointment directed toward him. He swallowed with a hard gulp and rubbed his hands together to warm the chill that prickled his fingertips.
As dusk settled, Shepherd neatly packed the charts, maps, and compass into his satchel and lit a candle to take on his trek around the main deck. The water rippled and lapped gently at the hull as a warm, salty breeze combed its fingers through Shepherd’s already-disheveled hair. He guarded the flickering flame of the candle with a cupped palm and lit the first swaying lantern fastened on a splintered post near the stairway to the crew’s quarters. Everyone should have finished their supper by now, and they’d likely spend the rest of the evening shut up in their small cabins instead of visiting one another or mingling on the main deck. They had never made use of the spacious mess hall as far as Shepherd knew, each crew member preferring his or her meals delivered to their own private quarters.
He allowed a heavy sigh to ease the tension in his chest. Someday, this crew would work together. Someday, they’d function as the Master desired and sail the open sea as one.
After Shepherd made his evening rounds, he trudged downstairs to the galley, where Ember would be waiting for him. He trailed his palm against the sagging galley door in desperate need of a fresh coat of paint. He took a fortifying breath before pushing it open. The rusty hinges protested with a thin squeak. Hopefully his heart-to-heart with Ember last night had helped his wife put things into perspective. Perhaps he’d discover her in a much-improved mood this evening. His spirits lifted with hope.
But as he entered the room, he found Ember slamming pots and pans with gusto—soap suds and water droplets splashing to the floor.
“Leave food crusted on your month-old dishes for me, will you?” She grumbled as she attacked a bowl with a wet rag. “And more belly-aching about the dirty windows. Heaven forbid another soul offers a helping hand. How does he expect me to—” She whirled around to face Shepherd with a scowl. “And I suppose you want your supper now.”
Shepherd lifted his hands in surrender. “I’ll get it. I can see you’ve had a rough day.” He took a bowl from the teetering stack in the cupboard.
“A rough day?” She snorted. “No. One rough day, I could handle. Maybe even twenty or thirty strung together. But this?” Ember went back to her violent scrubbing. “If I hear one more objection to what I do or how I do it, when I’m the only one lifting a finger in this cursed place, I’m going to jump ship.”
Shepherd restrained himself from chuckling at his wife’s overly-dramatic threat as he scooped a ladle of stew into his bowl and settled into a rickety chair. At least she was using some exaggerated humor tonight as she vented. That had to be a good sign.
“And then what will you do, my love? Swim across the Forbidden Sea to the Master’s shore all by yourself?”
Ember stopped scrubbing and tossed a glare over her shoulder, eyes narrow, lips pouting. “You don’t think I could do it?”
Shepherd raised an eyebrow, fighting off a grin. “Without running into a sea dragon?”
Ember turned back to her dishes, her movements still forceful. “Well, when you put it that way …” She tossed a bowl on a mound of drying platters and utensils as her posture grew rigid. “I haven’t had a chance to get the meeting place ready. When I delivered supper, Prudence and Ward were happy to remind me to attend to it.” She sighed, puffing a red curl of hair out of her face. “And then Briar left me this bowl that’s been sitting in his room for who knows how long, and I—”
Shepherd rose and gathered his wife in his arms, dishrag and all. “I know. You sacrifice too much of yourself every day, and it largely goes unnoticed. If you won’t leave some things undone like I’ve asked, at least know that I appreciate your servant’s spirit. But you can’t continue like this. You can’t do everything, Ember. You know this has to stop, don’t you?” He tipped his head to lock gazes with her.
He’d been forced to learn the same lesson two years ago, and his heart constricted, longing for her to let go of her pride. He tucked the wayward strand of hair behind her ear.
Ember sniffed and broke free of his embrace, refusing to answer his question. It was no surprise, but her cold demeanor slashed through him. Shepherd let his arms drop to his sides. His words lacked weight with everyone on board this ship, why should he expect it to be any different with his wife?
He took the dishrag out of her trembling hand. “Why don’t you go to bed?”
“But the dishes—”
“I’ll do them. I’ve finished my studies for tonight.”
Shame and relief swam through her green eyes, clouding their usual ferocity. “And the meeting place—”
Shepherd gently squeezed her shoulder. “I’ll prepare it for tomorrow. Go get some sleep.”
Ember looked like she was going to fight his suggestion, and normally she would have, but her tired eyes and drooping shoulders told of her resignation before she nodded in agreement.
Shepherd kissed her forehead, watched her stumble out of the galley to their cabin next door, and stepped up to the large barrel of soapy water. After he placed the last dry dish in the cupboard and latched the doors tight, he checked on Ember, who rolled over in her swinging hammock and mumbled something indecipherable in her sleep. He eased their door closed and shuffled up the stairs to the meeting place to start sweeping. Once he cleared the debris, he skipped the swabbing and furniture polishing to save time and organized the wooden chairs in rows. He’d ask Trip and Clay to set up a few benches in the back of the room before the morning’s meeting in case more than the regulars showed up. Most of the crew avoided the weekly gatherings, but it wouldn’t hurt to put out extra seating just in case.
Maybe he should ring the emergency bell again. Shepherd chuckled at the memory of the first meeting he led almost two years ago. He had announced the gathering with a tremendous clang early in the morning, and most of the crew had flown up the stairs panicked and frazzled. They’d grumbled and gone back to bed when they realized a sea dragon attack hadn’t been imminent and all Shepherd wanted was a meeting to discuss getting the vessel back on course. He hadn’t touched the bell since, but it had been a temptation every so often, especially with the lackadaisical attitude onboard spreading like gangrene.
When Shepherd finished readying the meeting place, he crossed the main deck to his office and slid a blank piece of paper from his desk’s top drawer. He penned a short message to the Master, requesting assistance and wisdom as he led this temperamental crew. He rolled the parchment into a thin rod and stuffed it inside a small glass bottle. Tapping a cork into the bottle’s mouth with a pop, he strode out to the rail and heaved the message deep into the sea’s frothy waves. With that, he extinguished the lanterns around the deck and joined Ember in their quarters to get half a night of rest before tomorrow’s meeting.