Stories from Memento Mori by C.N. Crawford

Author:C.N. Crawford [Crawford, C.N.]
Language: eng
Format: epub

To learn more about Kester and Zee, please follow the rest of their story in Infernal Magic.

The Abysmal Sea

Introduction

The Abysmal Sea is a standalone short story with characters from The Memento Mori Trilogy.

Enjoy!

* * *

—C.N. Crawford

Chapter 1

Isolde gazed out the window at the Innsworth mascot statue, its bronze surface gleaming in the sunlight. Their high school mascot was a fisherman, with hunched shoulders and a rain hat pulled low over his eyes.

A storm-battered fisherman seemed an odd mascot, compared to a wildcat or an eagle. But it made sense, in a way. The only thing that set Innsworth apart from its North Shore neighbors was its excess of drowned sailors.

Isolde glanced back at her teacher, Mr. Richard, who read a poem to the class. Couldn’t they at least talk about something relevant? Terrorists had attacked Boston a few days ago. They’d even chopped off a policeman’s head. Isolde had puked in the trashcan after watching the video.

Mom wasn’t the only one who sounded crazy these days, with all the conspiracy theories about the terrorists. This morning, a freshman in her art class had been babbling on about witchcraft—just like Mom always did. Isolde didn’t believe in insane crap like that anymore, but when they showed heads rolling across a TV screen, a few people were bound to lose their minds.

She closed her eyes, trying not to think about what Mom had done last Sunday. She’s getting worse. These past few days, she’d been jabbering excitedly about the twin gods of seas and storms. Apparently, they stole the souls of the unworthy from Innsworth’s coasts. Of course, those conversations were par for the course when your mom was psychotic.

A shudder rippled up her spine. And then there was the gasoline, the flames. She lit the match. Maybe someday, I’ll be the one to—

“Isolde?” Mr. Richard interrupted her thoughts.

She straightened. “Yes, Mr. Richard?”

He raised a hoary eyebrow. “You seem lost in thought. What is your interpretation of Shelley’s sonnet, Ozymandias? What does the message on the statue signify?”

Isolde swallowed. She hadn’t been paying any attention. While the class waited, someone snickered. Think, Isolde. She really didn’t need to give her classmates another reason to pick on her, as if the stories about her mom weren’t bad enough. And Theo, the captain of the swim team, sat only a few desks away. Theo—with his golden hair and swimmer’s body.

Scanning the poem, she twisted an auburn braid around her finger.

My name is Ozymandias, King of Kings,

Look on my works, ye might, and despair!

Nothing beside remains…

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