aka The Frazzled Mom
Spawned from an ancient promise, treachery and intrigue follow the protagonists through our world and one lost to the waves. Bound by an invisible bond, they are thrust into a fantastical world of pirates and demons.
James Benedict is a just man haunted by evil. Pushed to the edge, everything stripped from him, a new man arises . . . a man whose name strikes fear into the hearts of all who hear it: “Captain Hook”.
Eileen Davis was a timid woman. Through a fateful cruise she finds herself in the company of the Captain of the Mistral Thief. With his guidance, and the meddling of the local barista, she eventually finds her inner strength.
Will the two of them unite through time to fulfill the promise of their ancestors or will tempers ignite leading all to failure?
August 22, 1615
Storm clouds gathered overhead. The wind shipped past the sails, driving freezing needles of rain into the crew’s flesh. Lightning flashed and struck the top of the mast with a loud crack. Embers and splinters of wood fell to the deck below. Icy waves crashed over the railings of the Swallow.
Sailors scurried about the ship; their shouts were scarcely audible over the howl of the wind. Men scurried about the ship, busy performing their well-rehearsed tasks. Everyone aboard knew the current dangers. All crew acted as one, struggling to control the ship in the raging storm. Captain Niles Davis stood at the helm. He held the wheel tightly leeward. His weathered and worn face scowled at the events unfolding on the top deck.
A long knife clashed and clanged as it met with the equally strong metal of the opposing weapon. With each strike, a faint glow emanated from both. Two extraordinary beings fought in the center of the Swallow’s deck. One wielded the power of the sea, the other the wind.
Though crewmen ran past, none ventured near this private fight. The cabin boy, Robert James Benedict, hid underneath the stairs leading to the helm. Blue eyes shone brightly in contrast to his grimy, matted auburn hair and deeply tanned skin. Too naive to comprehend the urgency of his shipmates, he leaned forward to gain a better view of the two skilled fighters that danced before him. The ship lurched from a violent gust of wind and the boy’s hand slipped against broken wood. He winced in pain, but gave only a cursory glance at the bleeding wound. With a quick and satisfactory swipe, he smeared the blood on his breeks, returning his attention to the couple’s war.
The god of wind, known as Panerthos, pushed off the deck and flew high into the air. Despite the strong gales, he alighted on a mast with grace. He bellowed a triumphant crow. A cloak flapped and flailed about his slender frame, the fabric outlined with only a ribbing of blue trim. His jet-black hair, once tied back neatly, was now unraveling. Wisps of hair, like tendrils, blew across his face. His silver eyes glared down at the witch below.
The woman growled in annoyance. She closed her eyes and muttered unintelligible words. Daria, often simply called the Sea Witch, wore naught but a sandy brown dress, her dirty blonde hair braided and adorned with oceanic plants and debris. Her skin, scaly in appearance, glittered with a blue-green hue. Though her blessing was desired, most knew her curse was more readily given.
With a subtle movement of her fingers, a huge wave crashed down over the ship, knocking her opponent to the deck. Crew men nearby screamed as the rushing water pulled them out to sea. Panerthos, now forced to his knees, coughed and sputtered for a moment. He raised his head, his eyes gleaming with a hint of red.
The woman smirked while in ready stance. “There now, you see? A much more fitting place for the great air god,” she called out to him. “On. His. Knees.”
Blinded by rage, he slashed at her, but missed.
“Had enough?” she asked.
“Never!” he growled as he stood and charged towards her.
Daria stepped to the side a moment before he reached her. He could not slow his momentum. As he passed, she spun her knife around and pushed the blade through his back. With little effort the weapon slipped into his body. Releasing the hilt, she stepped away.
Startled, Panerthos stared down at the tip protruding from his chest. A great howl echoed through the air and the winds whipped about violently as he struggled to remove the blade. Try as he might to push the weapon out with bloodied hands, he could not. He fell to his knees, weakening in his fight. With one final growl, he fell to the deck.
For a long moment, all was still and silent. The crew gawked in disbelief. The air elemental lay unmoving. No one dared to make a sound. Slowly, inch by inch, his body began to melt into a pool of black sludge. The knife that had been in his body trembled, pulling the liquid inside. Within seconds, all that remained were black clothes and a long knife. The blue orb in its hilt glowed.
Elizabeth uses writing as therapy, her release from everyday stress. At night, after work and once the children are finally tucked in bed, for the fifth time, she sits at her laptop and lets her imagination flow.
Elizabeth has produced short stories, one of which will be published in an anthology. She’s had fun writing a Sherlock Holmes fan fiction story, A Case of Need, based on the BBC’s Sherlock. By July 2011, her first novel, Second on the Right, had been completed. She spent several years polishing the story in order to provide a high quality product to the public. Second on the Right is her first professional novel.
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