Eyes of Fire by Heather Graham6/8/2023 Though time and pressure had blown out the master’s cabin window of the Beldona, the ship was down deep enough that the sun’s rays offered little light inside. This skeleton lay by the side of the desk, shadowed in darkness. Anemones rose against the rotted core of an inkwell.Īnother skeleton startled him into a weightless jump. The diver moved closer, then pulled back, the sound of his own breathing loud in his ears as a moray eel suddenly shot its head out from one of the cubicles in the growth-encrusted shelving. To be picked up and wielded in some form of ghostly revenge.īut this one shouted silently of his own murder.Ī tiny yellow fish, a tang, darted in and out of the cavernous eye sockets of the long-dead man. Now the sword lay on the handsomely carved desk where the pieces of the dead man remained, side by side with the small bones of what had been a human hand, almost as if it was waiting to be used again. Perhaps it had once pierced through him, through flesh and sinew and organs perhaps it had once been bathed in blood. The sword that had probably brought about his death lay at his side. Their skeletal remains lay about eerily, some held together by remnants of rusted armor, one with its head uncannily perched on a bookcase while the disjointed body sat on the desk beneath it. Yet these dead men seemed somehow to cry out in silence, noiselessly shrieking out a story that had been kept secret for nearly four hundred years.
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