MORTAL TRINITY
MORTAL TRINITY
Kelly St. Clare
Contents
Exosian Realm
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Epilogue
Thank You For Reading!
Acknowledgments
About Kelly St. Clare
Also by Kelly St. Clare
Fantasy of Frost
Mortal Trinity
by Kelly St. Clare
Copyright © 2019 Kelly St. Clare
All rights reserved
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, media, and incidents are either products of the authors’ imagination, or are used fictitiously.
No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the author.
Edited by Melissa Scott and Robin Schroffel
Cover illustration and design by Amalia Chitulescu Digital Art
Map Art © 2018 by Laura Diehl, www.LDiehl.com
All rights reserved.
The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of a copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by fines and federal imprisonment
Exosian Realm
“Everybody is a genius. But if you judge a fish by its ability to climb a tree, it will live its whole life believing that it is stupid.”
- Albert Einstein
One
Ebba knew the black-and-crimson stone of Davy Jones’ Locker better than she knew herself.
The fiery stone island that formed the outer cliffs of hell was plain at first glance, aside from the crimson hue contained deep within. But after a few days of staring at the same rock, the slight fissures and pockmarked erosion from the sea salt became apparent.
Tiny crabs and leaping sea lice had stayed away when she was deposited here, but now they moved across the rocks without fear. Or maybe she’d become the stone. Except her fissures were soul-deep, gaping wide open.
Her erosion was bared to all.
Most of the time, Ebba wasn’t sure she existed anymore. Her thoughts belonged to some distant space, and she was grateful for that one mercy; remembering his name and face would surely be the end of her. Admitting what had happened would cease her existence.
Ebba had to get the missing part of herself back. Without him, she was void.
She just wasn’t.
An empty shell.
An eerie whisper on the salty breeze.
There were other times, too few to count, when something disturbed her mindless pain. An annoying reminder that wouldn’t let her be. That pestering thought hovered at the jagged edges of her mind. It couldn’t get in. She didn’t want it to get in. But the thought continued to pester and hover, regardless.
“Ebba-Viva, lass. Ye need to eat and drink. Please, lass, just a couple o’ mouthfuls.”
Peg-leg was upset. She didn’t want him to be upset, but she wasn’t in control of her body and mind any longer—not without the missing part. Ebba would stay here and become part of this stone island. Her shell would die and shrivel and rot like her being. That was how it should be now.
“Soon, ye won’t give us any choice but to force it down yer gullet,” he said roughly.
He left.
The words felt familiar. As though he or her other fathers had done the same a few times already.
Other fathers.
Ebba sucked in a sharp breath, feeling a crack on her lip split open. Hot blood dribbled down her chin. She was relieved to see her body—her shell—wasn’t faring too well. They were outside of hell now, situated atop the twenty-foot cliffs that bordered the entrance to Davy Jones’ Locker. Her fathers had placed her between two boulders about knee height right by the edge of the towering cliffs. Ebba rested against the one at her back, but she could see over the one in front of her—if she chose. Here, on this small, barren island, they were exposed to the elements. The strong wind of the Dynami Sea and the chilly temperature had taken their toll.
Angry voices floated up to her.
“—It ain’t natural-like, her reaction. It’s like she ain’t even there—”
“—We need to get water into her. She hasn’t slept. I don’t know how she’s still upright—”
“—Maybe you need to talk to her about Plank’s death—”
No.
Ebba hunched as molten-red agony ripped through her aching soul, tearing the weary pieces left of her to shreds, and leaving her in a cowering, ruined mess.
The last comment belonged to Caspian. He’d been her friend back when she’d felt like a human. That was a different life.
“—We don’t know what that’ll do to her—”
“—First things first, she has to survive.” Locks’ voice held grim determination. “We need to get water in her.”
Water wasn’t what she wanted. Water would sustain her shell.
Ebba dragged open her gritty, stinging eyes as footsteps approached. Swallowing and licking her lips, she worked her throat, forcing words out. “Don’t touch me.”
That stopped them.
Would that it was so easy to leave this realm forever. She swayed on the spot. So close to death. Only a couple more days, if that.
Her fathers and Caspian threatened that future.
For the first time since waking up here, Ebba looked up from the boulder in front of her. She blinked down at the churning waves of the Dynami Sea where they struck the base of the twenty-foot cliffs below. The tide was currently low and, far beneath her, the rocky pathway to Satyr Island was exposed and narrow, extending in a straight line into the distance.
She traced the jetty back toward the entrance to hell—but the sea-level gateway to the Locker was out of view around the cliffs to her left. The island housing the entrance to hell just seemed like a choppy gathering of cliffs. As though the land beneath had clashed and sent spears of the fiery stone stabbing up through the sea in a cluster. Inhospitable. Barren.
Ebba couldn’t see the entrance, but directly below where she sat between the two low boulders, a kraken bobbed in the water. Its great octopus head stuck out above the dark, choppy swell, the immortal’s beak just visible.
As she stared, the kraken lifted a tentacle and waved.
“Hey,” the immortal called up, its beak chopping up the word.
Ebba turned away from the sea and the kraken, swallowing again. Instead, she looked at the men who’d gathered to force water down her throat.
Grubby, Peg-leg, Locks, Stubby, and Barrels.
Her fathers looked almost as bad as she felt. Rips decorated their clothing, which now was dirty and stained. Dark patches marred the area beneath their eyes. Their lips were cracked, eyes red-rimmed, and blood caked over various wounds on their faces, arms, and legs.
Escaping Davy Jones’ had truly been a battle for their lives. And all for what? Mutinous had gotten away with the parts of the root of magic. And really, they were just sitting right by the entrance to hell a
nyway.
Yet, that problem was so tiny and insignificant it almost amused her. The end of the realm, the taint of all, and the ruination of mortal and immortal alike was so . . . unimportant. Because Mutinous took something else from her. Not the person who’d disappeared with the missing piece of her.
Another person.
She blinked, realizing the pestering thought she wasn’t allowing herself to recognize kept her from fading from this realm peacefully. It wasn’t a thought at all. It was a pestering person.
That person wouldn’t let her be, but Ebba couldn’t let herself remember. It was too painful. She had to leave this place.
“Ebba,” Barrels spoke.
“Don’t touch me,” she croaked. The words ripped through her parched throat.
Grubby was crying. Peg-leg didn’t appear far behind. Ebba noted their emotions dispassionately.
“I’m afraid ye’ve given us no choice,” Locks said. He stepped forward, an unstoppered flagon in hand.
Anger swirled through her arms and legs, and the inkling to defend her right to die stirred within.
Ebba wavered where she stood. If they attempted to force her to drink, she’d resist with all her strength—which probably wasn’t much right now. But they were ten feet away, and she did have enough time to. . . .
“I’ll throw myself off the cliff,” she told them, eyes vacant, hair limp.
Their shocked gasps didn’t touch her. She might have cared that her actions would hurt them once. But she didn’t anymore. Nothing mattered.
“Ebba, please don’t speak that way,” Stubby whispered. “We’ll figure it out; ye know we will. Plank—”
“Don’t speak that name,” she said harshly. Ebba held up a hand, her limb heavy and sluggish to her command. “Never again.”
They fell into a silence only broken by the howling wind.
Barrels spoke again, softer this time. “Our job is still the same, Ebba-Viva. We need to get the parts off Mutinous and assemble the root of magic to defeat the pillars.”
Insignificant. Did he think that would stir her?
“If ye don’t live, ye’re doin’ a disservice to his memory,” Peg-leg said.
She recognized the heated bitterness in him, except hers wasn’t hot but deathly, deathly cold. So what if dying was a disservice to him? He’d done a disservice to her. He’d chosen his fate. He’d knowingly put himself in a position to . . . leave her.
“I mean it,” Ebba said, turning back to the sea.
Why hadn’t she thought of jumping earlier? The rocks below were perfect.
She knew why.
That damned pestering person she didn’t wish to think about. That annoying reminder that there was something unfinished. Some other reason to live lingered on the tip of her tongue like a fact she couldn’t recall.
Someone did approach her then. Not her fathers, though she could see them edging around behind her. Their ploy didn’t matter. She wouldn’t even need to stand to heave herself over the small boulder between her and thin air. She’d fall onto the jagged outcrop below.
She didn’t, yet, because Caspian approached. Not a threat.
He crouched close by, and Ebba kept track of his movement from the corner of her eye. Weary muscles coiled to embrace her chosen fate just as her father had. Why should he be the only person allowed to choose an easier existence?
Caspian studied her, weighing his thoughts before speaking as he tended to do.
“We need to save our friends on Zol,” he said quietly. “Remember? Verity, Marigold, and my sisters. All the children there. And Sally, remember her, Mistress Fairisles?”
Sally. Ebba let out a breath. She did recall the sprite.
For a moment.
Then the thought flittered away.
Caspian spoke again. “The taint is spreading. Grubby’s octopi reported that sea creatures are fleeing here. The waters back home are oily with the pillars’ power. Their taint has crept over all the land closest to Exosia for certain. The octopi say the taint wasn’t quite at Zol when they left, but our friends don’t have long. We—”
“I don’t care,” Ebba said, a hollow echo to her voice.
She didn’t care. Or perhaps just couldn’t access the emotion. Something wouldn’t let her care. Something intrinsic and beyond her control or understanding. Something had broken. Whatever had made her Ebba was no longer there. Feeling stood on one side of the river and she stood on the other.
“Thousands will die.”
He was getting angry.
Ebba listened to the tap-tap-tap of her father’s peg as the crew surrounded her. She still had time to throw herself over. If only she could remember who that pestering person was, she’d happily surrender to the rocks.
Frustration briefly reared its head through the dark, cloying pain—the first emotion she could recall feeling since exiting hell.
Caspian inched closer. Just shy of too close. “Mutinous has him.”
Ebba blinked and turned to him.
The exiled king shuffled closer still. So did her fathers. “We need to get him back,” Caspian said.
Aye, they did. She knew that. And yet, who was the person he referred to? The pestering thought just beyond her reach grew stronger in her mind.
“We need your help to do it. Without you, he’ll die.”
Death.
Finality.
That couldn’t happen to the person Mutinous had taken. The notion pierced through the cloud and hovered just within her awareness.
Shakes wracked her body, energized fearful shivers that jolted her weary frame.
Ebba fixed her eyes on Caspian, noting the dark flicker in his amber eyes.
“Mutinous has Jagger, Mistress Fairisles,” he said, holding out a trembling hand to her. “Will you help me get him back?”
Jagger.
A choking sound forced its way from her lips. Ebba jerked her prickling fingertips to her bloodied lips. The pestering person.
“J-Jagger?” she repeated.
“Jagger,” Caspian repeated in a stronger voice. “Jagger needs you.”
Jagger needed her.
The reminder finally crept inside her. Feeling stood on one bank and Ebba on the other, but Jagger was the river raging between them. The haze around her mind dissipated, in part, and Ebba felt something deep within, a tiny ember in the deathly cold void.
The ember didn’t grow, but neither did it flicker and die.
“We need your help,” Caspian repeated.
She took a breath and nodded, still shaking from head to toe like a trapped leaf in the wind.
Ebba would help Jagger.
Two
Since yesterday, Ebba had eaten and gulped back a few sips of water. She’d also moved to a different rock, lower on the cliffs, only twelve feet above the water. The ember within her hadn’t grown to a flame, but it still smoldered. So instead of staring at the black stone, she now stared at Satyr Island—the island housing Cannon’s tainted damned and the Satyr themselves—half-goat, half-human immortals who worked for the pillars and had imprisoned the female Capricorn for nearly fifty years.
Cannon had the pieces of the root . . . and Jagger.
Her crew needed the root parts back. She needed Jagger.
“I guess we’ll be bringin’ ye up to speed then,” Stubby said. “We’ve kept ye in the loop, but I ain’t sure ye heard much.”
They’d told her stuff?
“Tell me again.” Her voice was still raspy from disuse.
Stubby sighed, his blue eyes dull. “Ye were nearly lifeless yerself when Plank—”
Ebba inhaled sharply, and he cut off before hurrying on.
“Tainted damned were explodin’ out o’ Davy Jones’,” he blurted. “We would’ve all been goners, but for Matey, who was still waitin’ for us outside the entrance.”
A tentacle inched above the cliff edge and patted Ebba’s ankle, leaving a slimy streak in its wake. She leaned over the edge to peer twelve feet down, tr
acing the sucker-dotted length of the huge tentacle to its owner.
Matey was sprawled out across the surface of the water like a jellyfish, the expansive reach of his tentacles and his sheer size never clearer than from her bird’s eye angle.
“Are we deciding stuff?” he called eagerly. “Hey, Ebba.”
She shifted her gaze to the kraken’s eyes, not answering. He slowly lowered his tentacle back down to the water below, drooping.
“Aye, I was just tellin’ her that ye saved us,” Stubby said.
Matey drew himself up tall. “It wasn’t easy. The entrance of Davy Jones’ split in two, and the damned poured out. I thought they’d never stop coming—all of them running across the path to reach Satyr Island. Then I saw your fathers dragging you out, so I collected you all up and placed you up here on the cliffs. There was a fierce storm that day, so trying to save you while fighting the current was really hard. I had all those barrels of your crew’s stuff too. A lucky thing I have eight arms, let me tell you that.”
Barrels? Ebba glanced at Stubby.
“The stuff we saved from the ship,” he said. “Yer scrapbook and the bangle from Marigold, savvy?”
She closed her eyes. The scrapbook filled with her fathers’ memories of her childhood. “Where are they?”
Hopefully the book was at the bottom of the Dynami.
“Matey put the barrels up here with us. They’re just down the cliff a way,” Stubby said. “Safe.”
Great.
Locks hunkered down beside her. “When enough evil left the Locker, the balance o’ light and dark was restored. Soon after we got out, the entrance sealed again. Not all o’ the damned got out afore the door shut on them. And we’re guessin’ that some were killed in the stampede to get out. Not all o’ the tainted pirates who got on the path made it across afore the sea came in and swept them away. They’ll have regenerated back inside Davy’s with the ones who were killed in the stampede. So that be sumpin’.”