By the time the fog-shrouded outline of the Wailing Isle appeared on the horizon, Kael felt no more prepared than when he’d first set foot on the ship. The haunting wails that gave the island its name echoed across the water, sending chills down his spine.

  Veyla stood at the prow, her eyes fixed on the island. She glanced over her shoulder at Kael, who clutched his lute like a lifeline.

  “Time to earn your keep, birdie,” she said, her grin full of wicked anticipation. “Let’s go have a chat with the dead.”

  “Captain, Marine’s ahead,” Hargan said, half a loaf of bread leftover from lunch in his hand. “Two ships. Whatcha wanna do?”

  “We need to make landfall to get to the wreck,” Veyla mused, tapping her chin with a finger. “Hargan, hoist the trade flag and keep the cannons tucked away for now. We’re humble merchants today.”

  “Aye, Cap’n,” Hargan rumbled, stuffing the rest of the bread into his mouth and barking orders to the crew, ignorant of the chunks of bread flying onto deck.

  Kael’s stomach churned, though he couldn’t tell if it was from the rolling waves and the song of the island humming in his ears or the prospect of facing the marines. He had no pleasant experiences with marines to speak of and that was when he was still a simple bard, not working with pirates.

  There was so much death here, he didn’t even need to play his lute to feel the spirits in this place. “Do you think they’ll buy it?” he asked, his voice quieter than he intended.

  He cleared his throat, but before he could speak up again, Veyla turned to him with a brow arched. “Depends on how convincing we look. You ever play a humble merchant before, birdie?”

  “Uh, no. There aren’t a lot of tales about humble merchants… but I can play the lute,” Kael offered weakly. He might be able to convince the marines that he was a bard travelling with them.

  It wouldn’t be too conspicuous if a bunch of merchants arranged for a bard to accompany them for entertainment.

  Veyla’s laughter was loud enough to make a few crew members glance their way. “Good. If they board us, you’re the entertainment. Keep their attention on you, not on what we’re hiding below deck. Our hiding spots aren’t perfect but might just pass with a bit of distraction.”

  Kael didn’t have time to ask what exactly they were hiding below deck before the whirlwind of activity that the crew had turned into swept him up, forcing him to lend hands wherever needed. Lira grabbed him by the shoulder and dragged him along to help her with the sails.

  The ship slowed as the marine vessels closed in, their sleek, well-maintained hulls cutting through the water like knives. They matched speed with the Widow’s Promise, one ship on either side as one pulled up close enough for the crews on deck to speak.

  The captain, a tall man with a face weathered by years at sea, his pristine uniform a glaring contrast to the worn clothes of Veyla’s crew, stepped forward.

  “Ahoy there!” the Marine captain called out. “Identify yourselves and state your purpose!”

  Veyla stepped forward, radiating confidence despite the tension crackling in the air. “Captain Marina Vey, at your service!” she called back, her tone cheerful and disarming as she stepped up to the side with the captain. “We’re humble traders on our way to deliver goods to the outer isles.”

  Kael nearly choked. Marina Vey? That was the best alias she could come up with?

  If she used to be a marine captain, wouldn’t he recognise her?

  The Marine captain didn’t seem convinced. His sharp eyes swept over the ship, lingering on the mismatched crew and weathered hull. “You don’t look like traders,” he said, his tone skeptical. “What’s your cargo?”

  Veyla didn’t miss a beat. “Spices and textiles,” she said smoothly. “Rare imports for discerning buyers. Nothing illegal, I assure you.”

  The Marine captain frowned, then gestured to his men, who quickly brought out a long plank with hooks attached at either end. “We’ll need to board and inspect your cargo.”

  Kael felt his heart drop. He shot a panicked look at Veyla, who didn’t even flinch. “Of course,” she said, stepping aside to let the marines aboard. “We have nothing to hide.”

  As the marines climbed aboard, Veyla walked past Kael and kicked his leg. “I hope you don’t mind our bard playing something. He’s been itching to use that lute since we departed, but playing for the same crowd every day gets depressing- or so he says.”

  Kael swallowed heavily, but unslung his lute and put on the best charming smile he could. He had done this dozens of times, played when he didn’t want to. He could do this.

  “No, don’t mind at all,” the captain said, stepping aboard as the last man of his crew.

  Kael’s hands felt clammy against the neck of his lute, but he forced his fingers to steady as he struck the first chord.

  The sound rang out across the deck, soft at first as he found his rhythm, then swelling into a lilting tune. It was a sea shanty, one he’d learned from an old sailor in a tavern years ago, its rhythm mimicking the heartbeat of labor on a ship. He started singing along as he got through the first chorus, leaving ample time for others to join in for the response.

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  The marines paused in their inspection for but a moment, their heads turning toward him as the melody grew richer, weaving through the salty air like a spell. Some of them hummed along.

  Veyla leaned casually against the railing, talking with the captain, her expression relaxed but her sharp eyes tracking every move the marines made.

  Kael’s fingers danced over the strings, the music coming easier now as he found the flow and got the rest of the crews to join in. The song shifted, morphing into something more haunting, a melody that carried the weight of the seas’ secrets. It was unintentional, but the song slowly morphed from a sea shanty to keep the rhythm of their work to something more akin to his usual works- a hauntingly beautiful melody.

  He barely noticed it before it happened.

  The Marines hesitated on the deck, their skeptical gazes softening as the eerie music filled the space between them. Veyla, ever sharp, caught the subtle shift in their demeanor and leaned back against the railing, her grin sharpening. “Our bard’s a rare talent,” she said smoothly. “Plays like he’s drawing magic from the waves themselves.”

  Kael didn’t pay attention to her words, his focus instead entirely on the music, which seemed to take a life of its own.

  As the notes rang out, the wailing from the isles seemed to resonate, matching his eerie tune in a cacophony of wails to harmonise in a way that made the hairs on his neck stand on end. The fog around the ship played along, thickening noticeably and swirling like flames lapping at the hulls of the ships, seeking to burn them down and add them to the countless wreckages hidden below.

  This melody needed no voices. Kael simply played the lute as the crew members fell silent, unsure how to respond to the change in tone.

  “Uh… Captain?” one marine whispered, his hand gripping the hilt of his sword tightly.

  Veyla’s grin didn’t falter, though her eyes narrowed slightly. “Relax,” she said, “It’s just the Wailing Isles acting up. Lots of fog around here, nothing to worry about.”

  Kael wasn’t so sure. The air felt heavier, pressing down on him with an almost tangible weight he was all too familiar with. It was the same pressure he had felt whenever he went to the Blackspire.

  Figures materialized in the fog, pale and translucent, their features blurred and shifting like reflections in the water. They were the victims of old trade routes that lost their way in the fog and crashed into the rocks.

  They drifted closer, their forms becoming clearer as they emerged fully from the mist.

  Kael’s breath caught in his throat as he realized they were watching him alone. The others aboard couldn’t see them, but he knew them to be real, to be able to inflict genuine pain if he were to falter in his song and disappoint.

  The scar across his shoulder throbbed in pain like a reminder of the dead. He might see the restless dead and talk with them, but that also meant they could hurt him if he didn’t treat them with the proper respect.

  “Kael,” a voice whispered, soft and mournful. It still ripped him away from his thoughts, forcing him to acknowledge them.

  His fingers faltered on the strings, the melody breaking for a moment before he forced himself to continue. He glanced around, but no one else seemed to have noticed.

  The marines were already going below deck to continue their search hastily, wishing to exit the mist as soon as possible, their courage failing as the fog thickened.

  The ghosts, however, remained.

  One of them floated closer, its face taking on the appearance of a man with hollow, sunken eyes and a skeletal grin. “You play for the dead, bard,” he said, his voice echoing in his mind like a needle piercing his skull, “What will you offer us in return?”

  Kael swallowed hard, his voice shaking as he stammered quietly. He tried to keep his voice quiet enough for no one to hear. “I- I didn’t mean to summon you, please. I was just-”

  “Playing,” another ghost interrupted with a giggle, its figure that of a gaunt woman in tattered sailor’s garb. “Your song reached us, called us forth. Now, what will you do?”

  The world around him seemed to fade as a particularly thick cloud of fog rolled over the ships, the crew and remaining marines vanishing into shadows as the ghosts encircled him, their spectral bodies as clear as ever. Their forms loomed closer, eyes filled with both curiosity and malice.

  “Your crew sought the Wailing Isle,” the woman said. “Do you know its cost?”

  Kael’s heart pounded, but he straightened his shoulders, gripping his lute tighter. “I know it’s cursed,” he said, his voice steadier than he felt. “But we’re here for answers, for something one of you guards.”

  The ghosts exchanged glances, their movements slow and jerky, like they were puppets controlled by some invisible string. Their skeletal smiles widened in unison as they echoed in unison, “The map…”

  “Only the brave may claim it,” the man said, his hollow eyes boring into Kael’s, “those willing to embrace the truth of death.”

  Kael’s fingers moved instinctively, striking up a new tune to change this encounter. He found that the restless dead always reacted to the song he was playing more than to his words. He played a song of remembrance, one he had written after his best friend had died out at sea to celebrate the lives of those who dared and had their lives cut short.

  The ghosts grew still, their forms swaying gently as the melody washed over them.

  “You play with courage,” the woman said, her tone almost approving, “but courage alone is not enough. Will you face the island, bard? Even when your crew stands in your way? Will you face us?”

  The music faltered as Kael hesitated. Their gaze was like a weight on his back, pressing down on him like the depth of the sea. He was the only one who could do this, the only one who could talk with them.

  Finally, he nodded. “I will.”

  The woman smiled, her skeletal grin both chilling and strangely approving. “Then we will see if your song can reach the heart of the Isle,” she said.

  As quickly as they had appeared, the ghosts faded, their forms dissolving into the fog. The wailing from the island quieted, leaving an eerie stillness in its wake.

  Kael blinked, the world snapping back into focus. The Marines were gone, their ship retreating into the distance. Veyla was still leaning against the railing, watching him with a sharp, curious expression.

  “Not bad, birdie,” she said, her voice cutting through the silence. “Didn’t think you had it in you. Talked to the dead?”

  Kael turned to her, his grip on the lute tightening as he nodded. “I think I know where we need to go,” he said, his voice trembling. “The heart of the Isle, the captain is there.”

  “Well done,” Veyla said, clapping him on the shoulder as the ship started moving again, right towards the Wailing Isle. “I hope you’re ready for an encore.”