. . . Rain driving down in torrents. A kaleidoscope scene painting flashes o’ smoke, scream, and shadow. Ship after ship surging in. All o’ them crumbling into darkness. Explosions shuddering across the Phoenix. The thousand year-old vessel splintering. Timber from forests long extinct breaking free o’ final form.
The entire crew being memory by morning.
Drassiter holding fast to the Phoenix’s helm, steering the broken beauty as only a captain could. Bright sparks blasting into the night, flares into the maw o’ an endless beast. Smiling wide. Long black hair plastering her face. Blood pouring down her coattails.
Hardly standing yet standing forever. Feeling the call o’ darkness, but shining on through the night.
A captain in her place.
Seeing the shell and throwing the helm wide. Right side o’ the ship lurching up. Cold steel cannonball glancing wood inches above one o’ her crew—a Brightwin.
The Brightwin smiling up a’ her captain, now aiming her own volley skyward.
Fighting for three days. Once proud pirate armada smoldering in Darksky. Twelve vessels, captains, and crew lost . . . only the Phoenix remaining.
Flashes blooming through the night. Cannons firing in from every direction. Drassiter cutting the Phoenix hard across the clouds. Thunder and lightning shattering the sky open wide. Two ships closing in. Another flash. Seeing their names:
From the distant bow, o’er the wind and rain and cries o’ death, a mad laugh peeling out. Fareday.
In every Drassiter story, Fareday having his say.
The fan to her flame. The windy chaos in her silent shadow.
The Fleetfoot’s crimson hair dancing through the gloom. Crowing into the night as he loads cannons. Grinning the fool in his heart. Drassiter feeling the press o’ his luck. The warmth filling her veins as he is burning it bright.
That luck buying them seconds a’ best.
The familiar twinge o’ fortune guiding her hand. Following it true. Ducking the instant she felt the urge. A twelve-foot ballista bolt tugging her hair, burying into the deck a yard away.
Drassiter throwing her shoulders back, mismatched eyes glaring a’ the ships pouring in. Fury in her purple eye matching glee in the gold. Fear leaving every limb. Truth rattling in her bones. Knowing she would destroy them all. The captain changing course, now aiming straight a’ Forgotten Melody. The broad galleon turning about. Cannons threading out to tear them to shards.
Someone calling to Drassiter from far off. Shaking away the warning even as her own thoughts are screaming. Words beyond hearing. Lungs lacing with honey warmth. Invincible.
The feeling when a Fleetfoot’s shine is on you.
Even Fareday’s smile breaking. Fear cracking his wild nature.
In that final moment, Drassiter finding herself. Knowing her folly.
It being too late.
A shockwave erupting deep within the Phoenix’s bowels. The moon shaking loose. Ship exploding. The great mast launching into the sky. Rigging and sails ripping away like vines from a window pane. Wood hailing down heavier than the rain. Every scream stifling in an instant.
Whole moments passing like stone teardrops. Rewriting second after second, trying to make sense o’ calamity. The Phoenix nearly splitting in two but somehow floating still. Drassiter staggering to her feet. Gash after gash crisscrossing her body. Her entire crew lying dead on the deck.
Scattered leaves on a forgotten page.
Wood ‘neath her feet beginning to vibrate. Movement among the ruins. Fareday rising. Drassiter leaping the rail down to the main deck. Sprinting toward her last and dearest friend. Cannonfire echoing all around. Vibration in her feet growing hotter. The ship beginning to glow. Fareday’s eyes finding hers. His feet matching stride for stride. The gap between them evaporating. Cracks tearing open even wider. Flight core flickering. The whole mass plummeting down. Fareday staggering as he leaps the widening chasm, bare inches on his heels. Being there in her arms. A huge sphere o’ light bursting up from the depths o’ the hull.
The orb rising, embers trailing like fireflies, growing brighter than the sun . . . somehow brighter still. Only the blue. A tremendous whirring filling the air. Light reaching its pinnacle high in the sky. Erupting. Shards o’ blue swallowing everything in their might. Friends holding each other close. Drowned screams in a world tearing asunder.
Everything going dark. The end coming.
—The final moments o’ Herwick Drassiter and her crew
Threepwin’s Treasure and Tales pg. 16