The ship resembled a kicked ant-hill. A flurry of activity surrounded Elisabeth as the crew worked to make the Silence ready to pursue and capture the other vessel. Sailors scurried over rigging, and raced down into the hold to gather supplies. The wind witches came back on deck after getting a few hours of rest, assessed the distance, and got to work. A low humming chant purred into the air. In response, a cool breeze picked up, snapping the sails. Slowly, the ship’s pace increased and they began to gain on their prize. The women rolled the cannons into position, and placed powder charges and balls next to each. Sailors were fully armed, bristling with swords, sabers, cutlasses, axes, daggers, and pistols. Some of them were adding paint to their faces—a trick to look even more fearsome. With the assistance from the spellcasters, they closed the distance quickly with the other ship.

  “Hoist the colours!” Captain Wolf bellowed. The command was met with a cheer. Their flag was simple—a skull and crossed swords, white on black. A rarely used red version sat at the bottom of a chest. The crew of the Silence was ferocious, but like most pirates, they preferred the black—allowing their opponents to surrender meant less risk. With their reputation, they often didn’t need to fire a single shot to take a bounty. Elisabeth put the glass back to her eye and watched. It was a critical moment in a hunt. Would their prize try to run? Or turn to fight? Or strike their own colours and surrender to the pirates? Waiting was a long indrawn breath, her eye straining to make sense of what she saw. Activity in the rigging, and movement on the deck. They weren’t picking up speed. They weren’t lowering their flag.

  “They mean to give us a fight!” She announced.

  “Huzzah! Huzzah! Huzzah!” Excitement swept through the sailors. They were itching for a fight after the weeks of tension. Elisabeth dropped the glass from her eye, shut it, and handed it back to Lyra. A sheen of sweat covered her face and she was breathing hard.

  “Your first time, you’ll stay on the ship and guard it in case things don’t go in our favour,” the captain reassured the new recruit. “And we always win a fight.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Go get yourself a weapon, lass,” Elisabeth advised and left her behind at the rail to gather her own gear. The prospect of a fight filled her with a gleeful anticipation. Bravado and violence were the best cure for the negative energy that had plagued them since their visit to Skull Island. The looming battle would dispel the last dregs of its effect on her and the crew, she was sure of it. Her confidence grew with every inch gained on their prey. Swagger returned to her walk. By the time she reached the stash of weapons she’d abandoned near the hammock, she was ready to leap across the gap and board the ship. A feral energy ran through her veins. Cressia appeared at her side.

  “You’ll be staying here,” the bodyguard announced.

  “You know that won’t happen,” Elisabeth shoved a pistol into its holster across her chest. “The crew needs their captain in the fray.”

  “Moira doesn’t agree.”

  “We have this argument every time, and the result is always the same—I go and you both fume.” She slid the last knife into its sheath and turned to face Cressia. “For years, the same routine. You know I won’t die. Take a breath, get ready, and let’s take this prize.” The She-Wolf walked away from her bodyguard, aware that she was going to follow. At the rail, she leaned out to see how far they were from the other ship. A grin split her face—they were close. A shot whistled through the air, but dropped into the water long before reaching the Silence. Their prey was nervous. Good, Elisabeth thought and settled on their plan of attack.

  “Quartermaster!”

  “Aye, Captain?” Moira walked towards her through the still-scurrying crew.

  “Get the Seekers up here. Let’s save the cannons.” Elisabeth watched her second pale beneath the flush of preparation.

  “Are you certain we need them?”

  “Need, no, but I want to use them. Consider it a reminder to all of us of who we are and what it means to be a part of the Silence.”

  “Aye, captain.” The quartermaster walked away without another word. The captain’s word was final in times of battle. The noise on the ship quieted as the command filtered its way through to the crew. Elisabeth ignored the hush that fell and made her way back to the bow, eager to observe their progress in catching the prize. She saw that they were still too far for the guns, but the Seekers weren’t so limited in their reach. The She-Wolf grinned when the three women joined her and stepped out of their way. They wore black rags, and their dark hair was carefully braided with a variety of magical charms. Their arms were covered in scars and bracelets.

  “Let’s show them why we’re feared all over the high seas!” Elisabeth commanded. A solemn cheer went up behind her—the crew was getting into the mood of the fight, replacing glee with ferocity. The Seekers getting into position brought the reality of the looming fight into clarity for all of them, and they waited for the magic to start doing its work.

  “Aye, captain,” the three witches chorused. They arranged themselves close enough that they were able to touch, a true triumvirate. The most powerful stood a step ahead, her arms stretched behind her to grasp hands with the other two. The sun dimmed as they began to chant. Magic crackled in the air around them. The spell rose, brushing against Elisabeth’s awareness, thrumming against her skin in a comfortable purr.

  Shadows spread around the ship. They sliced through the water like living things, speeding towards the prize. A screech cut through the hush that lay over the ship. It was ear-splitting. A couple of yelps followed, new recruits startled by the shades the Seekers summoned. They were indistinct clouds of grey and black mist swirling around the ship, twining around the masts, snapping the sails. The Silence was shrouded in a writhing mass of shadow-things. Elisabeth looked back at her crew and saw a couple of women cowering, but she caught that Lyra stood tall, eyes wide as she followed the undulating wraiths. At least one of them was unafraid, the captain noted with satisfaction, and turned her attention back to the business of securing their prize.

  “Proceed,” she instructed the Seekers. Another screech sounded from the mist. And then it began to move towards the other ship. The Silence was close enough that Elisabeth saw its sailors scrambling. There was another shriek from the mass of shadows and they sped toward their target, arrow-quick. Elisabeth and the crew watched cannons firing at the twisting mist, followed by musket shots. The dark cloud enveloped the other ship.

  Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

  The fog was unnatural, yes, but Elisabeth knew from experience that it contained more than just the eerie darkness. The spell pulled at the memories of its targets, morphing into malformed versions of loved ones, or enemies—anything that seethed under the surface was brought into being to terrify. Screams and gunshots continued to carry across the water as the pirates closed the distance. The crew gathered at the rail, readying the boarding planks and ropes. Women were checking weapons and paint. Anticipation hung in the air like the buzz of an angry hornets’ nest.

  They slid into position. A few musket shots flew in their direction—not all of the sailors on the other vessel were engrossed in the spellwork. Elisabeth noted the unexpected resistance. Either they were magically inclined, or were superstitious enough to carry active charms. She heard their attempts to rally their terrified compatriots and smiled—luck was not on their side this evening. Planks were pushed across, grappling hooks tossed, and pirates boarded the other vessel with quiet efficiency. Captain Wolf allowed the vanguard to cross, and then followed, cutlass in hand. With the crew of the Silence onboard the prize, the Seekers stopped their chanting, allowing the fog to dissipate. Their work was done. The clang of clashing swords rose into the air.

  Elisabeth felt the first death as a wash of energy against her skin. The fetish that lodged in her flesh to keep her alive drank it in like a drowning woman gulps water. It was a bottomless well, always eager to absorb more life into itself. Death was her fuel, always had been, always would be. At the same time as she was recharging her secret talisman, her innate necromantic power found the body of the recently deceased man and brought it back up on its feet. More screams sounded in the air. The reanimated sailor struck a new chord of terror in his living companions. Two more fell as the vanguard cut its way through the defenders with the same result—immediate reanimation.

  A ball of fire hit one of the walking corpses. Elisabeth grinned. They were putting up a better fight than anticipated, and she was in the mood to spill a bit of blood. The She-Wolf waded into the center of the deck, pushing to the front of the fight. She crossed blades with a sailor, the clang of metal on metal a sweet song to her ears. A quick step to the front, and a magical nudge pulled from a battle charm, allowed her to get inside his guard and slide her dagger between his ribs, right into his fluttering heart. The gush of hot blood across her hand brought a gasp to her lips. It felt good to kill. She pulled the knife out, and pushed her magic into the corpse. He didn’t even have time to drop, before necromancy caught him and reanimated him. He shuffled away from her and into the fight, clumsily swinging his sword.

  Elisabeth pushed forward as well, hacking and slicing as she went, drunk on the fight, her love of violence bubbling to the surface. Blood splashed across her face, followed by a scream as another sailor fell. She licked her lips, tasting copper and salt.

  “Surrender—we surrender!”

  Cressia gripped her shoulder hard to draw her attention away from the fray.

  “Captain, they wish to surrender,” the bodyguard spoke slowly, forcing her charge to focus on her words. Elisabeth shook her head once, clearing the desire to keep fighting with a wrench of willpower.

  “Hold!” She bellowed, halting the advance of her crew. Weapons clattered to the deck. Men knelt with their hands behind their heads.

  “We accept your surrender.” She stepped to the front of the group. Her feral grin and cat-sheen eyes were terrible to behold. The blood on her face added to her fearsome appearance. The battle only took a handful of minutes. A quick glance over her crew told her that there were minor injuries, but no grievous wounds, and no deaths.

  “Secure the ship!” The command sent her crew scrambling into action again, some splitting off to climb into the rigging to trim the sails. Others heading into the hold to survey the ship’s cargo. A few stood guard over the captives. Elisabeth surveyed the group of men huddled on the deck. None of them looked up at the women. The quartermaster walked up to stand next to the captain, joining them now that the battle was over and the danger passed.

  “I’ll see to the numbers. Do you know what you need for the Sisters?” Moira asked, face grim.

  “Pull six of the younger ones. They like ‘em big and strong. Take all but two of the cannons, and most of the shot.” Elisabeth paused to think. “We’ll leave ‘em to continue on once we have what we need.”

  “Aye, captain,” the quartermaster began to walk away.

  “And Moira, I trust you to check for recruits.” Sometimes, women hid among the male crews, unaware that a life of piracy existed, and that female crews ran their own ships, created their own destinies.

  “Aye,” the quartermaster nodded, solemn as she observed the captives. She waved two more pirates to join her as she walked over to the group of men. Elisabeth hung back, allowing the other woman to do her work. She leaned against the rail, rested her elbows on it, and glowered—with blood drying on her face, and the reanimated sailors shuffling a few feet away.

  “Those three,” Moira pointed with her hook. “That one, that one, and the one in the back there.” Pirates moved through the kneeling captives and pulled the six chosen to their feet.

  “Wait! We surrendered!” One of them protested.

  “Yes, we surrendered.” The ship’s captain added his voice.

  “So you did, and now your lives belong to us,” the quartermaster’s tone was flat, her gaze on the captain unflinching. A ripple of unease went through the captives. Elisabeth nudged the walking corpses to shuffle closer, ready to quell a rebellion if needed.

  “Prisoners on a ship full of women—some fellows would be keen on that,” Lyra, at the quartermaster’s side, quipped. A couple of soft snickers sounded among the men. Elisabeth smiled, blood flaking from her face. The new girl might just fit in with the crew after all. There were more grumbles from the captives, as Moira pointed at the best candidates for their tribute to the sisters. No one fought the process, though. Not with the corpses swaying next to them, their blank eyes staring, drool dripping from their mouths. Chests and barrels were coming to the deck, carried from the hold.

  A steady flow of goods began to move from ship to ship.

  “Sugar, tobacco, rum. We left the linens below.” A large woman carrying a barrel on each shoulder announced to the quartermaster as she walked towards the Silence. “Gunpowder and balls coming up next, and then we’re done,” she called over her shoulder. Sera capered past, carrying a barrel of gunpowder.

  “Aye, we’ve got it all,” she confirmed.

  Elisabeth stepped away from where she waited at the rail and stood in front of the group of captives. She searched out their captain.

  “We leave you your lives and provisions to get to the nearest port.”

  “If you expect thanks for robbing us, you won’t get it from me.” The grey-bearded man spat, refusing to meet her eyes. The She-Wolf barked a laugh.

  “Calm seas and following winds to you,” she concluded their business with the old sea-faring saying. He glared at her in response, and she shrugged. She had acted true to her nature as a pirate and necromancer. She wasn’t about to grovel to her prey. As Captain Wolf sauntered away, her gaze fell on the reanimated sailor that had taken the hit from the fireball. Its limbs twitched, but it wasn’t able to stand or walk anymore. Fire still licked at its flesh. The air filled with the stench of burning cloth and meat. She stopped, the movement so abrupt Cressia pulled her knives in response, always on the look-out for a threat. Elisabeth squatted next to the dead man, studying the flames. Remnants of magic flickered through them.

  “Find the one who conjured this, and put him in my hold.” She issued the command over her shoulder as she rose back up and continued on her way. When she stepped across the plank and onto the Silence, she released her hold on the corpses. Behind her, the no-longer reanimated bodies fell to the deck with a clatter.