The Machine (Blood and Destiny Book 1) by Jarvis E.C

Author:Jarvis, E.C. [Jarvis, E.C.]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Published: 2016-01-26T05:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Larissa stood at the pirate ship bow, staring across the mountain range. Between two large peaks on the horizon the sun was setting in a glowing orb and the sky sang with a deep orange shine, fading to pinks and purples. Small dots of starlight pricked through the farthest reaches of the blackening space above. A thin wisp of freezing air bit at her cheeks and disturbed her curls.

A heavy, waxed coat covered her body from shoulders to feet; the garment had been purloined from a dead pirate by Cid. Behind her the men worked. Three new, rather reluctant recruits including Grubbs were busy with their assigned tasks of maintaining the furnace and removing the dead bodies. Cid manned the wheel, and Larissa had no idea where Holt had disappeared to.

As she watched the sun’s edge dip behind the mountain ahead she sighed. The pain of her injuries had reduced to a dull ache, scabs had already formed over open wounds and the bruises seemed to be fading quicker than usual. Her mind felt numb; the stress and shock of the last few hours had become too much and some part of her conscious brain was acutely aware that other parts of her mind had shut down.

She thought of the men that Holt had killed, the ship wood turned red with spilled blood, the sound of gunshots and swords clashing and splitting flesh ringing in her ears. Before, she would have been disgusted and shocked—perhaps she would have vomited at even the thought of it. Now, there was nothing, no pity, no sadness, no sense of satisfaction that they’d gotten what they rightly deserved. No feeling at all.

She wondered if something inside had broken forever, if some part of herself had snapped—irreplaceable, irreparable. She played the moments in the room below over and over, the men attacking one after the other, the shouts and calls from their comrades, the sense of fear and desperation that smothered her.

Like a thick blanket wrapped too tightly, it stifled her. She recalled how quickly she’d wished for death and wondered now if death might have been the preferable option. What was the point in continuing on after such chaos and such a loss of identity? How could she possibly hope to save the Professor if she had failed so miserably to save herself?

“Training,” Holt’s voice interrupted her vein of despairing thoughts.

“What?” she replied, not turning to look at him. He appeared at her shoulder and matched her gaze toward the horizon.

“You said I was an emotionless automaton and I told you all it takes is training. I believe you’ve had your first lesson.” He lightly gripped her hand and placed the lock-box into it.

“Why did you take it?”

“They would have found it and known it was something of value. I didn’t want to give them another reason to hurt you.”

She blinked at the box, processing his words, and then placed it into a coat pocket.

“Well, you can keep your lessons. I’ve learned quite enough.

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