Shrouded Sky (The Veils of Lore Book 1)
Glossary of Terms & Pronunciations
B
OOK
O
NE
OF
T
HE
V
EILS
OF
L
ORE
TRACY A. AKERS
Copyright © 2016 Tracy A. Akers
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the author, except for brief quotes used in reviews.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organization, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Ruadora Publishing
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Chandra held tight to the rail, staring out at the sea as another gust of wind whipped her hair. The sailboat beneath her rose and fell then rose again, its rusty prow challenging an otherwise calm blue sky. Chandra closed her eyes, tensing for the inevitable drop. She’d always hated rides that left her insides up there, somewhere, while the rest of her plunged in the opposite direction. She preferred those that drifted along, like It’s a Small World or Pirates of the Caribbean. But after what she’d recently experienced, she never wanted to see a pirate again. Even one that looked like Johnny Depp.
They’d set sail from Tampa on
The Seeker
, setting a course her father hoped would tame her teenage rebelliousness—and add some coin to his nearly empty pockets. Ike was a treasure hunter by trade, though some might call him a pirate, but his plunder was never from the living, only from the dead. Shipwrecks were his passion, they had been since he was a boy, but after discovering a mysterious artifact several months back, he’d begun to turn his explorations less beneath the seas and more atop them.
He’d found the relic on an uncharted island, one of only a thousand or so in the balmy waters of the Devil’s Triangle. Unfortunately, he hadn’t bothered to mark its location. No, Ikenbach Mellencamp was not one to write things down. He preferred to keep the coordinates of his discoveries tucked within the confines of his own thick skull. “Too many damned thieves out there,” he’d grumble. How right he was.
Pirates were no myth. Nor were they figments of Hollywood’s imagination. They were an unwelcome reality for trade vessels and unsuspecting vacationers, and now for a treasure hunter and his seventeen-year-old daughter. Fortunately for Chandra and Ike, the pirates had come for only one thing, Ike’s latest find, and had departed the boat almost as quickly as they had boarded it.
At first glance
The Seeker
would seem an unlikely target for pirates. Its crud-covered hull hadn’t been painted in years, and its sails were tired and dull compared to the brightly painted canvases found on some of the newer rigs. But scoundrels in the business of pirating knew looks could be deceiving. Not all treasure hunters had fancy vessels and high tech equipment. Some were just crusty men in worn out boats, dependent on their seagoing experiences and the unquenchable thirst for the artifact that would one day lead them to their fortunes.
Chandra’s father was the crusty sort and he’d made many interesting discoveries over the years, but his latest find had been somehow different from the rest. It was a sword, eroded by centuries of grime yet still beautiful in its design. The blade was very nearly gone, its once polished metal eaten away, but the hilt, covered in gold and molded into the shape of a lion, was fully intact. It would have fetched a pretty penny, at least enough to get the boat fixed, but Ike, as Chandra called him when she was especially mad at him, had expressed no interest in selling the thing. He was convinced it would lead him to one of the greatest discoveries known to man, though he knew better than to utter its name in her presence.
It had been that name—that place—that had caused the split between Chandra’s parents fourteen years prior. Chandra had little memory of it. Her mother, Helen, rarely spoke of it, and Ike was never around to dispute it anyway. But still her mother would grab the TV remote and switch the channel whenever anything hinting of
that place
came on. “Fool man and more fools like him,” she would mutter. “The only ones making money off that lie are the sci-fi channels.”
Well, and now the pirates.
But while Chandra’s parents had failed in their marriage, her father steadfastly refused to fail in his quest: the one that would lead him to that place. Even with the one physical link to it now in the hands of pirates, Ike still had grandiose ideas.
The only grandiose idea Chandra had was how to jump ship at the nearest port.
“Seen any sign of land yet?” Ike asked. He stepped to the rail and scanned the horizon.
“No,” Chandra said in a none-too-friendly tone. She knew her father was trying to make small talk, but she wasn’t in the mood.
A gust of wind snapped the sails, sending a drum roll of canvas. Ike squinted toward the mast. “Looks like the wind’s picking up,” he said.
Chandra didn’t reply.
“Well, at least they didn’t hurt you,” he said. He placed an awkward arm around her shoulder.
Chandra shrugged him away. “But they could have! Then my smoking a little pot wouldn’t have seemed so bad, now would it?”
Ike sighed.
“So why didn’t they hurt us?” Chandra said. “It doesn’t make sense. They had plenty of opportunity, and no one would’ve ever known. They could have slit our throats and used us for shark bait and taken the boat and—”
“They didn’t hurt us because they were Laird’s men,” Ike said, his tone indicating disgust that went well beyond armed robbery.
Chandra mentally replayed the event, recalling how the pirates were not the sort one would expect to see. These had arrived by high dollar speedboat, and they’d been armed with assault rifles that looked more Starfleet than civilian. But that wasn’t the only thing that set them apart from the usual pirates of the Caribbean. They’d been dressed in crisp khakis rather than sweat stained attire, and their accents identified them as more Highlander than islander.
“You mean you know them?” Chandra asked.
Ike nodded. “Seen them around. Those men had their orders. That’s why they only took the hilt.”
“Well who’s this Laird person?” she asked. “And why did he only want that?”
“He calls himself an archeologist. Truth is, he’s more mercenary than preservationist. He hunts down only the rarest of treasures and sells them to the highest bidder. Doesn’t much care what they do with them either. He’s been looking for that hilt for as long as I can remember. It was just a matter of time before he realized I’d found it.”
“And you’re telling me this
now
?”
The boat took another plunge, nearly knocking Chandra off her feet. Ike grabbed her by an elbow. “You’d best get below,” he said. “Looks like a storm’s brewing and—”
“Don’t hand me that!” Chandra said, wresting her arm away. “There’s not a cloud in the sky.” She regained her hold on the rail. “Why is it every time I try to discuss something important, you wiggle out of it? You don’t talk to me!”
“I don’t know how to talk to you,” Ike said, exasperated. “I missed most of your childhood . . . now you’re a young woman and—”
“That’s right, I am a young woman. So why do you and Mom treat me like a child?”
“Because you’re
our
child. Do you think we like seeing what you’ve become?”
“What I’ve become?” Chandra felt as if she’d been slapped.
“That’s not what I meant,” he said.
“So what did you mean? And while we’re on the subject, why did you stay away all those years? And now Mom’s abandoned me, too!”
“Your mother hasn’t—”
Ike’s gaze shot past her, and Chandra turned her head in the same direction. A thick bank of mist had formed in the distance, nothing unusual. Certainly nothing to be concerned about.
“Get below,” Ike said.
“No,” Chandra said, standing her ground. “Not until you talk to me.”
Ike’s eyes snapped to hers. “I said get below.”
“Fine! Have it your way—as usual.” She spun toward the cabin and clomped down the steps, slamming the
hatch behind her. “I can’t wait to get off this stupid boat!”
Chandra marched toward her berth, kicking aside the mounting laundry that was piled alongside it. How long had it been since they’d visited a decent port? She couldn’t even remember. She scowled at the musty clothes, plotting to toss them onto Ike’s bed, but then she wondered if there was something on the floor fresher than what she had on. She pulled a black T-shirt from the pile and held it up for inspection. It was a gift from her boyfriend Marc, purchased at the first metal concert he’d taken her to. She sighed. Out of all she’d been forced to leave behind, it was Marc she missed the most.
Marc was the kind of guy that could turn any girl’s head. But it wasn’t just his beautiful face, cool body piercings, or perfectly shaped backside that had eyes swiveling in his direction. It was the way he carried himself, the way his smile said “take me,” and of course the sexy tattoos that covered his arms from biceps to wrists. It was the inspiration of the much older Marc, and the longing for those arms and more, that had prompted Chandra’s junior year switch from making the honor roll to making out with Marc. Four months and several hair dye experiments later, she finally had the guy of her dreams. Until now, that is.
Before landing in prison boat-camp, Chandra had crossed the line one too many times with her mother. Helen, who’d inherited her own mother’s Cherokee temper, had finally decided a stint in hell would do her daughter good. As if the smelly, cramped sleeping arrangements, bad food, and constantly rocking boat weren’t enough to keep Chandra in that hell, she hadn’t been allowed to bring her iPod, cell phone, or any other recreational device either. “Penance,” Helen had said as she deposited her daughter onto
The Seeker
and into Ike’s care.
“Penance my ass,”
Chandra muttered. “You’d think I murdered someone.”
True, she’d been caught smoking pot with Marc. Yes, she had gotten a tattoo without her mother’s consent. But it wasn’t like she’d skipped school or lost her virginity, though that had definitely crossed her mind with Marc. Now here she was, banished to her father’s boat, forced to hop from boring island to boring island, and wondering if she’d ever see him again.
She hugged the T-shirt to her chest, dreaming of Marc’s wonderful scent, but as she did, her nose was hit with the foul smell of mildew instead. Chandra scowled and tossed the shirt aside, then leaned over to dig through the pile. Surely there was something to wear other than the dorky tank top and shorts she’d had on for the past three days. She straightened her back, realizing it was no use. Even her jeans, recently turned into ridiculous cut offs, were caked with fish scales and worse. She plopped onto her bed and fell back against the pillow, staring at the warped paneling above her head. “If we don’t get to a port soon, I’m going to wash something out by hand whether he likes it or not,” she muttered. But she knew it was an idle threat.
Living green on a boat had been a rude awakening. Back home she would leave the water running while brushing her teeth. She’d even linger in the shower until all the hot water ran out. Here, however, things were different. She was allowed to brush her teeth with the water from only a single Dixie cup, and baths consisted of little more than a damp sponge. But she had to admit, prison life wasn’t all bad. She had managed to lose a few pounds and had even developed a tan, something she had not previously considered desirable.