Celeste's Arc

Chapter 19 of 23

The screaming rolled across the shore. Celeste crouched in the mangrove den, the purple horn cold against her chest. She had the tide song at last. But the wraith prowled the sand between her and the lagoon, and she had no way past it. Slate pressed close, his fur bristling, his green eyes fixed on the pale light flaring through the tavern windows. "You cannot stay here," Slate said. "He will comb every root by morning." His voice stayed flat, but his ears lay back. "The hull is closer than the lagoon. You shelter there tonight." Celeste shook her head. "I can't cross the beach. He'll see me." "He will see me first." Slate's tail flicked. "I will keep the old ghost busy. It will be fun, I think." He did not sound like it would be fun. He pushed his head against her cheek, quick and warm, and held her gaze one breath longer than usual. Then he darted out of the den and streaked down the sand. Celeste watched through the roots. A small black shadow raced across the beach, low and fast. Behind it, the tall pale shape of the pirate wraith swung its glowing blade and gave chase. Its ragged coat trailed mist. Its white eyes never blinked. "The horn," it rasped, voice like grinding stone. "Bring back my horn." It did not shout. It only got harder, more final, as it hunted. "Nothing leaves my shore." Slate led it toward the trees, weaving between them, always just out of reach. Celeste's chest ached. She wanted to call him back. She did not. She was too scared to move. Then something tickled her hand. A hermit crab crept over her fingers, its shell shining pearly pink and blue in the dark. It stopped. It lifted one red claw and pointed down the shore, away from the wraith, toward a hollow shape half-buried in sand. The wrecked hull. Her shelter. Celeste stared at the little crab. It waved its claw again, firm, like it knew. She thought of the scallop trail at the lagoon, of gifts left where she would find them. Nyrimia. The mermaid was helping her still, even here. She wrapped the horn in her arms and crawled from the den. She kept low, following the crab as it scuttled ahead. The screaming stayed behind her, circling the tree line where Slate ran. She reached the hull and slipped through a jagged gap in its side. Inside, the salt-scarred timbers closed around her. She pressed her back to the wall and breathed. She had the horn. She had a place to hide. Slate had the wraith. The hermit crab settled beside her foot, claw folded now. Outside, the pirate's cry rose and faded, rose and faded, chasing a small blue shadow through the dark. Celeste held the tide song tight. Come sunrise, she would carry it to the lagoon, and Nyrimia would tell her the secret at last. If Slate lasted the night.