The Shadow Of Light & The Seer And The Prince (Shadeborn Book 4) by K.C. Finn

Author:K.C. Finn [Finn, K.C.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Starstorm / K.C. Finn
Published: 2016-03-18T04:00:00+00:00

TORTUGA, HAITI, 1644

Brethren Of The Coast

Storms battered the raging coast until the tall palms bent double, succumbing to the awesome force of the dark hurricane. Rain slid in a wild spew from the long leaves, carrying like an airborne stream until the wind changed, and the water came crashing onto the roof of the cabin. Inside the small wooden hut, the only one of its kind on this stretch of coastline, there was screaming. They were not the kind of screams that one imagines in stories, those piercing yelps of fright that once sounded, vanish into oblivion. These screams had longevity. Their pain was so intense than even when the screaming lulled, the men outside the hut could still hear it ringing in their ears.

“She’s louder than the storm!” said an Englishman gruffly.

He bared his silver cutlass to the storm clouds overhead, as if he might be able to fence them off, should they descend any closer to his party’s position. The Englishman was the senior officer of the gathering, or at least, he had been before he’d deserted His Majesty’s fleet. England was a mess, with civil war and political radicalism tearing the country apart, and it was not a place the Englishman ever intended to return to. He’d thought the life of a buccaneer would be heady and carefree. It had been, until he and his crew had landed their little boat at Tortuga.

This dark part of the world was largely ungoverned by law, and full of local people with strange, tribal traditions. The cabin where the Englishman stood watch contained four of these dark-skinned savages, three men and one woman. It was the woman who was screaming, and she’d been screaming from the very moment the storm began to gather overhead. It seemed to the Englishman that every time her yelps of pain grew in volume, the thunder gave a louder rumble in the heavens. That was a ridiculous notion to hold in one’s mind, yet the idea stuck with him as he gripped his weapon all the tighter.

The door to the cabin gave a creak and a bang, and lightning filled the sky with a white sheet of power that blinded all concerned for a long moment. When the Englishman could see again, his eyes fell upon a figure who had exited the cabin. Walter Meedwell, his second in command, held his wide buccaneer’s hat in his hands, with rain streaking his face to make it look tearstained.

“I was right, Sir,” Walter called over the weather, “the native woman’s in childbirth. The head of the baby is crowning as we speak.”

Though Walter had been trained as a navy doctor, the art of birthing children was something he had never needed an education in. This was evident in the way his fingers shook where they crushed his hat into a whole new shape. The whites of his eyes were eerily prominent as he cast a look back towards the little wooden structure.

“That’s one less slave to sell in Italy if she dies in labour,” the Englishman groused.

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