The Raven (A Jane Harper Horror Novel) Read online

“Had you not understood, I would have already heard about it. Yes?”

  I don’t reply. We both know he’s right. As much as I loathe the idea, I should be here, not because this is my fight, not because I survived the Draugar once before, but because it’s the right thing to do.

  “But there is another reason I couldn’t leave you behind,” he says, leaning forward, elbows on knees. “More than anyone—more than my son—you have proven yourself to me. Despite your size, you possess the heart and spirit of a Viking. Not only would my ancestors respect your courage, but they would also honor you for your role in defeating the Draugar. Torstein, Áshildr, and the others have found peace thanks to you. This is why I call you Raven. You have earned your place in my family.”

  I’m stunned. I don’t know what to say. This isn’t the chewing out I was expecting. After a moment, I manage, “Thank you.” Embarrassment creeps up on me. I try to change the subject. “I know there isn’t a place for me on the bridge, but I can make myself useful somewhere else. Swab the decks. Something.”

  Jakob chuckles.

  “What?” I say, getting a little defensive. “I’ve served on my fair share of ships, you know. I’m good for something.”

  “You misunderstand my intentions,” he says. “The bridge is occupied at the moment, but I’m human. And an old man. I can’t always be present.”

  I’m not sure what he’s trying to tell me.

  He laughs at my confusion. “Raven, I would like you to fill my position when I’m not on the bridge.”

  “Wait, what?” My confusion mushroom-clouds up my neck and fills my skull. “What are you saying?”

  Jakob leans back with a satisfied grin. He plants his hands on his belly and says, “What I’m saying, Raven, is that you are my first mate.”

  I lean against the map table. Holy shit. “Do the others know? Does Willem?”

  “He does, and they do,” he says. “Not everyone was pleased, but no one will question my decision or your orders, unless they are contrary to mine. And right now, your orders are to get some rest. The storm will not be kind to you.”

  He’s right about that. The first few days at sea can make some people queasy, even if they’re accustomed to life at sea. But a storm on the first day is basically a guaranteed puke-fest.

  I step toward the door and pause with my hand on the knob. “Thank you, Jakob—er, Captain.”

  He tilts his head forward, and I feel a new kinship with the man. More than ever before, I feel respected. That’s one trick the Colonel never pulled off.

  “Have Talbot or Klein ridden out a storm before?”

  He just smiles.

  “Right,” I say and open the door. I step back onto the bridge and decide to test my newfound position. “Klein, Talbot, come with me.” After just a moment’s pause, both men gather their things and stand. I share a glance with Willem and find his expression impossible to read. I’d like to talk to him. About everything. And the blond she-Hulk. But now’s not the time.

  “Where are we going?” Klein asks.

  “The head,” I say. “It’s going to be a long night.”

  9

  I wake to a knock on my door. For a moment I forget where I am, but then I recognize the braided rug beneath my toes. “Coming,” I say, but I don’t need to get dressed. I never undressed. I just want a moment to wake up.

  The storm was merciful. I had spent just ten minutes in the head, and that was a false alarm, more nerves than seasickness. It had only been three months since I’d been at sea for more than a month and weathered a fair share of storms, and my body had little trouble readjusting. Talbot never even showed a moment of discomfort. Said the storm was “akin to breaking in a rowdy stallion.” Klein, on the other hand, spent the first half hour heaving up his supper and the following three hours dry-heaving. He eventually fell asleep clutching the toilet bowl with his head leaned on the seat.

  My hands feel cool on my eyes as I rub them, so I linger a moment longer.

  “Jane?” Willem says from the other side of the door.

  I cringe, feeling unprepared for this conversation. Do I apologize? Do I go on the attack? Do I bring up the Viking princess? I quickly grow annoyed with myself and sigh. I’ll apologize, I decide. My feet pad across the cold floor beyond the rug. I’m moving fast by the time I pull open the door. “Good morning, my Norse—”

  She’s standing with him.

  Right behind him.

  Smiling at me.

  “What do you want?” I say, all of the peace, love, and harmony gone from my voice. I’d have made a shitty hippie. Too much of the Colonel in my blood and not enough LSD.

  Willem seems bewildered by my rapid-fire manic depression. He glances back at Helena, seems to think nothing of her presence, and then turns back to me. “We’re almost there.”

  I close the door in their faces, eager to get dressed and head to the bridge. Then I remember I’m already dressed.

  Damnit.

  I open the door again, just seconds after I closed it. “Ready,” I say.

  “Are you…feeling okay?” Willem asks.

  “Fine.” I push past him and head for the stairs.

  I step onto the bridge feeling refreshed and find Jakob, Talbot, and Malik already present. Willem and Helena enter behind me, followed by a deflated-looking Klein.

  “You’re going to hate me for saying this,” I say to Klein, “but you need to go eat something. And drink. You’re not going to be any good to anyone if you don’t.”

  He nods and continues toward his workstation. I take hold of his shoulder. “Now, Klein.”

  He looks back at me, lacking the energy to argue, even if he wants to. “Fine.”

  As Klein shuffles back out of the bridge, Jakob gives me a wink.

  “Where are we?” I ask.

  “We’re at the last known coordinates of the Arctic Rainbow,” Willem says.

  “Last known coordinates?” I ask.

  “The GPS coordinates stopped updating last night,” Jakob says.

  I scan the horizon, which is about three miles out. I see nothing.

  “We’ve been looking for a while,” Talbot says. “She ain’t out there.”

  I put my hands on the sides of the window and stare at the endless ocean. “Radar?”

  “Nothing,” Helena answers. “There isn’t another ship within eleven miles.”

  The news is disconcerting, but there are a number of possible explanations, the first being that Klein’s breach of the Greenpeace network was discovered or severed somehow. Could be as simple as the storm knocking out the satellite connection. Of course, it’s also possible that we’re floating over a ship full of whale-loving corpses.

  But none of that interests me as much as the object I see about a mile out.

  I reach my hand out to no one in particular. “Binoculars.”

  I close my hand when I feel the cool metal of the binoculars on my finger.

  “I’m telling you,” Talbot says, right next to me. “She ain’t out there.”

  The binoculars magnify everything so much that I’m immediately lost. Can’t do anything about the bend of the earth, so three miles is still the limit. But it feels like I can reach out and touch the distant waves. I scan back and forth, looking for the aberration.

  “What do you want to do?” Willem asks.

  I nearly shush him, but then Jakob replies, “Course-correct twenty degrees to port. Let’s find those—”

  “Actually,” I say, “take us ten degrees starboard.” I lower the binoculars and look back. Helena looks ready to tear my head off. Jakob doesn’t look too pleased, either. “Oh, right,” I add, then point in the direction I’d like us to go. “Thar she blows. Or doesn’t blow, in this case.”

  Talbot takes the binoculars. “Give me those.” He looks through the lenses, adjusting the focus. “Well, there’s something out there.”

  “It’s a whale,” I assure him.

  “How can you tell from here?” he asks.<
br />
  “I’ve seen a lot of whales,” I say. “Dead and alive.” I motion to Willem, who’s looking through his own pair of binoculars. “Just ask him.”

  Willem lowers the binoculars. “It’s a whale.”

  The ship tilts as Jakob quickly changes course and throttles forward. It’s been two months since anyone has seen a whale off Greenland, and Jakob pursues the prize as though he means to harpoon the beast and bring its corpse to the fish market. Of course, he’s after so much more. If there is any evidence to be found on this specimen, our journey might end here today. And if that’s the case, there might yet be hope.

  We close the distance quickly. Five hundred feet from the flat gray bulge in the water, Jakob throttles back. “Willem, Helena, man the forward and starboard harpoons. Talbot, help them load. Be ready to reload if necessary.”

  The trio exits quickly, heading for the forward deck.

  Klein reenters the bridge at that moment, a mostly eaten granola bar clutched in his hand. “Why are we slowing?”

  “Get both cameras,” Jakob says to the man. “Get on deck with yours. Give the submersible to Raven.”

  Klein grips the granola bar between his teeth and rushes into the chart room.

  The captain—unusually for him—is speaking so fast and animated that I nearly miss a key word.

  Submersible.

  “Did you just say ‘submersible’?” I ask. “Why do I need a submersible camera?”

  Jakob turns to Malik. “Get the wet suit, air tanks, and collection kit. We’ll meet you at the stern.”

  Malik looks from Jakob to me, then disappears into the bowels of the ship.

  “Jakob,” I say, putting every ounce of my inherited Harper hellfire into his name. “What the hell do you think I’m going to do?”

  He looks apologetic for just a moment, but then he says, “We need to collect samples. We can’t do that from the ship. Someone has to get in the water.”

  “We’re in a whaling ship,” I point out. “Can’t we just drag the thing back to port?”

  “Not only would we risk infecting the mainland—”

  “The mainland is already at risk,” I say.

  “—but we could also be wrong. If we return to port with a whale in tow, every news reporter in Greenland will be there to greet us. And if this is just a dead whale, how long do you think it will be before all of us are in jail?”

  “Okay. Fine. But why me? And don’t you dare give me any chest-thumping ‘you’re the Raven’ bullcrap.”

  “You’re the only one on board with dive experience,” he says.

  I look to the ceiling. Of course I am. “Was that in my dossier, too?”

  “Sorry,” Klein says from the chart room.

  “You know, if I become a Draugr,” I say to Jakob. “I’m coming for you first.”

  “And I’ll do what needs to be done when you do,” he says.

  A thousand different sarcastic remarks flit through my mind, but his comment sinks in and sobers me. “I know you will.”

  “As would you,” he adds.

  I’m not so sure about that, but I don’t mention it. He’ll just disagree anyway.

  Klein returns from the chart room holding two cameras. The one with the clear plastic casing is obviously mine. I reach out, take it, and head for the door. “Let’s get this over with.”

  10

  Could be a little more subtle there, Malik.” The wet suit fits like a glove, and while I may not be an Amazonian bombshell like Helena, I’ve got a nice figure, which right now is smoothed out and accentuated. Given the way Malik’s eyes linger on my lady curves, you’d think it was a sheer body stocking. Of course, we’re the only two people standing on the dive deck off the back of the ship, so there isn’t really anyone else to look at, and he might just be checking over my gear. But I don’t think so.

  The big man turns away, embarrassed. “Sorry,” he says. “I’ve been at sea too long.”

  I laugh but then realize he might not have been joking.

  Then he adds, “Sometimes even the fish start to look good,” and I laugh harder for just a moment before stopping cold.

  “Wait, are you comparing me to a fish?”

  Malik pulls my face mask down. The gear is fancy, and I’m not sure where it came from. Maybe Jakob bought it with his insurance claim. Maybe they stole it. Whatever the case may be, the ends justify the means. And I’m just glad we have it. The full face mask will let me breathe freely and communicate with the bridge. The rebreather strapped to my back mixes trimix—oxygen, helium, and nitrogen—with my exhaled carbon dioxide. The rebreather is 95 percent more efficient than an air tank and can last for up to eight hours. It’s smaller and lighter than a traditional air tank, too, which means I can move more quickly, especially with the wonky DPV (diver propulsion vehicle) I’ve been given. It weighs nearly a hundred pounds, but will carry me through the water at 4.3 knots—about five miles per hour—which is faster than Michael Phelps, or anyone else, can swim. What makes this DPV different is that instead of held out in front of me with my hands, it will be attached to my feet. Speed is controlled by a pedal, and I steer just like I would if I were swimming. I’ll be an honest-to-goodness human torpedo. But the best thing about it is that my hands will be free to collect samples, which is pretty much a nightmare made real, so I’m focusing on the cool gear and Malik’s wandering eyes.

  Malik, on the other hand, is back to business. “Check your mic.”

  “Raven, this is Raven. Jakob, do you realize how redundant and confusing that is? You need some originality in your names.”

  “We hear you, Jane,” he says. “Iluatitsilluarina.”

  I recognize the Greenlandic phrase for “Good luck.”

  “Qujan,” I reply. Thanks. “Good to go?” I ask Malik.

  He hands me a mesh bag containing a glass jar for samples and a variety of blades for acquiring them. “I’ll toss in the DPV when you’re ready. Iluatitsilluarina.”

  I look down at the water. Its bright blue surface is speckled white from the clouds above. While I can’t see anything below, I feel like I’m looking into the eyes of a thousand hungry Draugar. As much as I love the ocean, and diving, this is where the enemy now resides. And I’m about to jump in.

  Idiot, I think to myself.

  Without another word, I step back and fall into the water. I feel the frigid water wrap around my body, even through the wet suit, but it will be a while before it becomes unbearable. The DPV’s battery life is just one hour, and I don’t plan on being in the water a second longer. In fact, I’d like to be back on board inside thirty minutes.

  I spin around in a tight circle, looking for an attack I’m sure is coming. But there is nothing around me except for endless blue. Water sheets from my mask as I surface.

  “Move back,” Malik says. When I kick away, he pushes the DPV into the water. The white device, which is shaped like a blender with two large propellers at the end, splashes into the water and bobs to the surface. “I’ve already turned it on. Just put your feet where I showed you and accelerate with the pedal on the right side. To stop, just lift your foot.”

  I straddle the tubular top that contains the DPV’s engine and batteries and carefully slip my feet into the slots on either side. I can feel the pedal beneath my right foot. I give the pedal a tap and am propelled through the water. I turn in an arc, getting used to how the thing moves. As I finish my arc, I give Malik a thumbs-up, angle myself down, and push the pedal hard.

  Before I can blink, I’m fifteen feet beneath the surface. I arch my back and level out, correcting my course so I’m just beneath the Raven’s hull, headed toward the bow, beyond which I’ll find the corpse of a whale and maybe something more. I feel safe and hidden inside the shadow of the Raven’s black hull, but it lasts for just a moment. As I pass out of the ship’s shadow and into the morning light, I get my first glimpse of my target. It’s just a dark blue shape a hundred feet ahead, but as I’m propelled closer, the form resol
ves.

  The wide barnacle-encrusted fluke tells me I’m approaching from behind. So I angle out and away, hoping to identify the species. “Almost there,” I say.

  “What do you see?” Jakob asks.

  “Not much yet. Hold on.”

  The DPV slows as I pull my foot away and turn back toward the whale. Then I see it. All of it. “Holy shit.” It’s just a whisper, but Jakob hears me.

  “What is it?” he asks. “Are you all right?”

  “Fine,” I reply. “But I can’t say the same for the whale.”

  The front half of the whale—a fifty-foot humpback—is intact, but the rest of it is in ruin. The whale has been torn open from just behind the pectoral fins, up and back to the dorsal fin. Nearly all of the meat and muscle between this area and the whale’s fluke is gone, though much of the gap has been filled in by giant tendrils of intestine, organs, and stringy veins. Several feet of spine, which is nearly all that’s holding the fluke to the body, have been exposed.

  “Looks like something, or several somethings, made a snack of the whale.”

  “Orca?” Jakob asks.

  It’s a good guess. Even when not possessed by parasites, killer whales are known to attack and consume their larger cousins. It’s not exactly cannibalism, since orcas are really porpoises—big dolphins—not whales. While orcas don’t normally kill people outside of captivity, there were a few reported attacks around Greenland two months ago, just before all the sea mammals started going AWOL.

  I take a look around and see only the whale and the Raven’s hull. That doesn’t mean there isn’t a pod of Draugar orca circling out of view, but I trust Jakob would let me know if something appeared on the sonar.

  Ignoring the tendrils of gore wriggling in the current, I aim toward the humpback’s head and accelerate.

  Whales have always made me feel small, even though I’ve only seen them from the deck of a ship. Being this close to a fifty-foot giant makes me feel absolutely insignificant. And blue whales can be twice this size!

  Moving slowly, I head toward the creature’s massive mouth. Humpback whales are filter feeders. They suck in vast amounts of seawater and then use their giant tongues to force the water back out through their sieve-like baleen, filtering out the tiny krill. Normally they’re not a threat to people, though I suppose this one could easily suck me in, filter me out, and swallow me whole. I have no intention of being a modern-day Jonah, though, so I keep my distance.