Sorry for the delay on this most recent chapter. I have been battling with writer’s block and motivation to get it done. But here it is and I hope you all enjoy.
Walker: Chapter Eight
Location: Atlantic Ocean
As the Balagore leaves the harbor of Plymouth, Allen and Father Henry go to the lower decks of the ship. Locating the passenger quarters, both of them find and claim their respective bunks.
“How is that possible,” Father Henry asks as he places his belongings on the bedding.
“I’m not sure. I’m pretty sure the last time we saw that woman she was a pile of ash,” Allen responds.
“I know for a fact that she was,” Henry starts, “we need a plan in case she’s up to something.”
“I agree. Let’s start with taking watch at night.”
Through the next few days, the witch does nothing. She only resides in the cabins, that are reserved for women passengers, with her “friends.” This lack of action has both Allen and the priest on edge. It is on the seventeenth day that their quiet journey changes. Allen and Jinx stand at the bow of the ship watching the waves grow in strength in the distance and slam against the hull of the ship. Storm clouds gather on the horizon and travel toward them.
“Quite the storm isn’t it,” Thorn asks as he walks up behind Allen.
“Indeed, it is,” Allen replies, “Bigger than any storm I’ve seen on land.”
“That’s ‘cause the waves move wit’ the wind, unlike dirt.”
“Do you think that it will hit us?”
“Most likely. I suggest you get below deck an’ wait till me and my crew get us through it.”
“Alright, Sir, I’ll head your advice.”
“Good. Now get moving it won’t be long before she hits us.”
Moving from the bow of the ship to the lower bunks, Allen watches the rest of the crew as they fasten themselves to the primary mast of the vessel. Reaching his bunk, he notices that the three women aren’t there, and neither is Henry. His belongings are scattered across the space. Jinx at his side, she is extremely tense and snarling in the direction of the stairs that lead deeper into the bowels of the ship.
There seems to be an iridescent glow coming from the staircase. The ship itself begins to keel left and right as the storm finally reaches them from above. Allen can feel the waves tossing the ship around like a ragdoll. As steadily as he can, Allen draws his blade from his belt and cautiously walks to the stairs. Coming closer to the cusp of the stair case, he descends.
The Orlop deck is filled to the brim with rope cables for future use. To Allen’s surprise, none of the cargo moves while the ship is being battered by the waves. He, himself, is having trouble staying up right, trying with great difficulty to keep from falling into the crates and piles of rope.
There is a slight hissing of words that comes from behind a door just before him. The luminescence of an oil lamp breaching from the bottom of the door, Allen leans in close to eavesdrop on what or whomever is behind it. Now, with one ear against the door, Allen hears a woman chatting with someone. A male.
“What are you doing,” asks the woman’s voice, “you’ve had ample time to strike.”
“We’ve both seen what he can do to a lone witch,” replies a familiar male voice, “I’ve been waiting until we outnumber him.”
The voice is extremely familiar to Allen. One he had heard many times over that last few days. It was Henry’s. Filled with more anger than sorrow, Allen unsheathes Kopfjäger. Before turning the nob, he looks to Jinx. Her hair stands on end and every muscle in her body is as tense as a crossbow.
Turning back to the door, no longer trying to listen to the words beyond it, Allen turns the handle. As he opens the door a menacing sound of thunder permeates the air. Bursting through the doorway, surprising those on the other side. Allen sees the three women who had boarded earlier sitting in a circle with Father Henry among them.
“Sick ‘em,” Allen says, and his vision goes blank, like that of a flash, yet instead of white all there is, is red.