“How long were you attached to that?”
Kasamir sniffed. Narrowed his eyes. “Longer than you have been alive, half-breed.”
“And when you broke free … what did you do?”
Kasamir coughed up some blood.
“Osyrus never understood the mushrooms. Same as he never understood the dragons. By the time I escaped from Osyrus Ward’s torment, he’d left. His failed experiments were roaming this island like demons. I was the one who got them under control. Used them to build the bone barrier. Stop the spread of Osyrus Ward’s corruption. Then I put them to sleep, except for one of his final creations.”
“The giant.”
“Yes. Osyrus called him Specimen 9009. He also thought him a failure. Left him in the deep pit. I saw 9009’s potential for construction. And protection.”
“Which you needed, because you made a pact with the pirates,” Ashlyn said.
“There was no other way to get it back.”
“Get what back?”
“Don’t you understand? I found what the alchemists have been searching for all these long years. I found everlasting life. But it came with a sacrifice—to bind with the Cordata mushrooms for eternity. I lived here in perfect balance for two hundred years before Osyrus Ward arrived. He surveyed my achievement, then corrupted it beyond measure. Said I had no sense of scope. He stayed for decades. He poisoned the soil. Killed the dragons. Pulled his precious lodestones from the ground and planted them beneath my flesh. When Okinu’s dogs came after him, he imprisoned them, too. The things that he did to them were far worse. Everything I did was to fix what he broke. To get it back. I had to get it back.”
Ashlyn glanced behind her. Goll had gotten all of Silas’s armor off, and was helping him limp in her direction. His gait got stronger with every step. She turned back. For everything Kasamir had done wrong, there was value in keeping him alive. She still had a thousand unanswered questions. Why had the Ghost Moths come to the island? How had he manipulated the mushrooms?
“You don’t have to die here,” Ashlyn said. “I can help you.”
“He’s been cut in half,” Felgor muttered.
“You’re a Seed,” Ashlyn pressed. “We have Gods Moss.”
“That won’t save me. They’re going to wake up now. And there will be nothing to govern their behavior besides the fungus. Its orders are simple.” He smiled. “Bring me bone. Bring me flesh.”
Kasamir started seizing. His eyes rolled back into his head. Hands jolting. Intestines wriggling. After a few seconds, he went still.
“Dead?” Bershad said, coming up alongside her.
“Yes,” Ashlyn said.
A massive clod of dirt blasted into the air to her left. Another to her right. Then all around the garden. Scores of them.
“Uh, what is happening?” Felgor asked.
Nobody answered. But Bershad was staring up through the tunnel of vines and plants, where the Nomad had returned, and was spinning in low, tight circles.
“We need to leave,” he said.
“No, I need to study Kasamir and the apparatus he was attached to. There’s more to learn about what Osyrus did here.”
“Ashe, trust me. This is not the time to set up a research station.”
He turned to Vash, who was inspecting his son’s bruised and bloody ankles. “Can he run?”
“Not fast.”
“Then I’m gonna carry him.” Bershad scooped the boy up. “We need to get as far away from here as possible, as fast as possible.”
“No, I need more information,” Ashlyn said, bending down and spreading Kasamir’s entrails apart with her gloved fingers. “Give me ten minutes.”
“We don’t have ten minutes,” Bershad said, moving past her and yanking his sword from the ground. “We don’t have one minute.”
Ashlyn kept digging around. There were dozens of lodestones implanted inside Kasamir’s body. Some were the size of peas, tucked between skin and muscle. Others were as big as apples and wedged between major organs. They were all connected by a tangled system of chemical-burned dragon threads that were fused with tendrils of pulsing blue fungus. Unlike the giant’s flesh, which had gone to rot around the fungus, Kasamir’s body was healthy and perfectly preserved.
“Gods,” she whispered. “What did you do to yourself?”
Bershad grabbed her wrist. Hauled her up.
“Wait, I’m not finished!”
“Yes, you are.”
He spun Ashlyn around so she was forced to look back at the garden.
To Goll’s left, a mushroom-laced arm burst from the ground, followed by a swollen head with fungus pouring out of one ruined eye socket. The intact eye was swampy green and angry. Goll clubbed the head with his axe. A chunk of skullcap chipped off, revealing gray matter beneath. But the creature kept crawling out of the earth.
“Fucking mushroom demons!” Goll shouted, hacking at the head and arm until they were reduced to pieces. Even then, the torso kept on thrashing around like an angry, injured snake.
Behind him, there were scores of figures sprouting from the earth. Their torsos and limbs radiated with fungal growth. Once they emerged, they began sniffing and scanning the area.
Looking for bone. Looking for flesh.
“They’re blocking our way back,” Vash said.
“Then we go deeper in,” Bershad said.
* * *
They cut their way out of the garden and ran north, twisting between the hulking dragon corpses Osyrus Ward had left behind. After half an hour of running, they’d put a decent stretch of distance between themselves and Kasamir’s buried creatures, which thankfully didn’t move very fast.
The situation seemed under control until they reached the river.
The water had the same rusty red color as the first river they’d seen. But instead of ankle-deep water and a gentle current, this river was deep and rushing fast. The current was filled with horrific debris—colorful shreds of fungus and mushrooms, bloated rats covered in green blisters. The whole thing reeked of sulfur and decay.
Ashlyn had to hold back the urge to vomit. Felgor didn’t even bother. He took one whiff and doubled over, puking.
“Again?” Bershad asked.
“I have a sensitive stomach.”
“What now?” Vash huffed. His face was flushed. Hair soaked with sweat. Everyone was heaving air and sweating hard except for Silas, despite the fact that he’d carried Wendell this whole way.
That meant the Gods Moss was still coursing through his body. Giving him strength.
“We need to cross,” he said.
“No way,” Felgor said, still doubled over. He spat a little. “I am not getting in that water.”
“It’s that, or stick around to fight a hundred of those things.”
“We need a boat,” Goll said.
“Little short on time to build a boat,” Vash said.
“But I don’t swim.”
Everybody looked at him.
“You’re a pirate,” Bershad said. “What do you mean you don’t swim?”
“I’m a corsair,” Goll corrected, then shrugged. “And it was never a problem before.”
“Well, it’s a big problem now.” Bershad looked around. “Lysterian pirate who can’t swim. Gods.”
“Corsair,” Goll said again.
“Whatever.”
“I have an idea,” Ashlyn said, pointing to an enormous mushroom with a stalk as thick as a cedar tree and a cap the size of a cabin’s roof.
“Will that even float?” Vash asked.
“Only one way to find out.” Bershad walked over to the mushroom and hacked through it with a brutal slice. “Goll, help me turn it over.”
The two of them struggled to get the mushroom upside down, but managed it with a few minutes of grunting effort. Underneath, the gills of the mushroom were thick and colorful, comprising a thousand different hues of blue and purple.
“They’re kind of pretty when they’re not all rotten and jammed
into body cavities,” Felgor said, looking at it.
“Yeah,” said Silas. “Help me scrape it out.”
They all got to work hollowing out the mushroom. Even Wendell helped. Ten minutes later, the meat of the mushroom had been cored out and piled next to the river, and there was enough space for ten men to stand comfortably in the space they’d created.
“Get it in that eddy,” Ashlyn said, pointing.
The giant fungus bobbed easily in the crimson current once they got it in. Goll stepped onto it experimentally, hopping up and down a few times.
“It seems to be a seaworthy vessel.”
“Good,” Ashlyn said. “Everybody on.”
Vash didn’t hesitate to corral his son onto the mushroom. “Crouch down here, near the middle,” he said. “You can hold on to the stem to brace yourself.”
“Look at that!” Felgor said, pointing at a dead possum floating down the current. “That’s disgusting.”
Silas poked him in the ribs. “Just get on the mushroom, Felgor.”
“Yeah, yeah.”
Ashlyn and Silas followed him. Vash had lashed their scabbards to Goll’s axe to create a makeshift paddle. As soon as everyone was aboard, he used it to push the boat away from shore. He straightened their path down the river with a few controlled strokes.
Behind them, the shoreline filled with mushroom-infected bodies—green eyes glowing. Staring. Thankfully, none of them seemed eager to enter the water. Ashlyn watched them until their mushroom boat disappeared around a bend in the river, leaving the monsters behind.
The river was moving fast, but there were no rocks or rapids ahead. Ashlyn sat down on the mushroom, leaning against its stem. She picked at the charred cord on her wrist and chewed her lip.
“What’s on your mind?” Bershad asked her.
“More than one thing.”
“Look, Ashe. We had to get out of there.”
“I know. That isn’t it.”
“What, then?”
“That was where Osyrus started his work. I need to see where he finished it. And after all that we’ve been through on this island, we’re no closer to finding what we came for.”
“I wouldn’t say that. Your trick with the lodestones is something.”
“But that’s all it is. A trick. There’s a big difference between overloading one side of a simple system and bringing down an armada of skyships. The range. The thresholds of force. What I can do with this thread right now … it’s not enough. It’s not even close.”
Silas didn’t say anything. Just went back to scanning the shoreline.
“You saved my son,” Vash said quietly. “That’s something.”
“Like you said, we’re the ones who got him in trouble to begin with,” Ashlyn said.
“All the same. I’m in your debt.” He looked between Bershad and Ashlyn. “Both of you.”
“What about me?” Felgor asked.
Vash nodded. “You, too, Balarian.”
Felgor smiled. Leaned back and put his hands behind his head. “Don’t mention it. I’m here to help.”
* * *
They floated down the river in silence for a while. Each person collecting their composure in their own way. Felgor cleaned each of his fingernails with a focused concentration. Vash poked and prodded every inch of his son’s body, looking for injuries but not finding anything beyond bruises and scrapes. Goll and Bershad watched opposite sides of the shoreline.
Ashlyn picked at the fringes of her dragon thread, which sent a dull pain through every tendril of the fiber, letting her map its reach. She could feel it stretching past her elbow, woven deep into the nerves and muscles. The scars on her arm from the battle at Floodhaven—which had once been a cold pale blue—were black all the way to her shoulder.
The thread was a part of her now. And it was spreading. She had no idea whether it would stop, or what it would do to her as it expanded.
They rounded a bend. Ahead, the river forked. One branch narrowed and turned into a torrent of rapids and cataracts. The other widened, becoming easy and calm.
“Which way?” Vash asked, picking up his makeshift oar again.
Bershad sniffed the air in each direction. Glanced up at the sky.
He pointed to the branch of rough water. “That way leads to the sea. I can smell the salt. Just barely, but it’s there.”
“And the other?” Ashlyn asked.
He motioned to the woods, which were sickly and overgrown with fungus. “More of this crap.”
“If we make it to the sea, we can get back to Naga Rock,” Vash said. “To safety.”
Ashlyn and Bershad exchanged a look. “Your call, Ashe.”
She and Silas had to keep going. That was obvious. But Ashlyn wasn’t in a rush to force the rest of the journey on the others, even though she knew that they’d be willing. In fact, she would probably need to convince Felgor and Goll to split ways. But that was doable.
“We’ll stop at the fork,” Ashlyn said. “Decide there.”
Vash guided them toward the split, where there was a good eddy and a rocky bank. Scrub brush and wild grass led into the murky foliage of the forest. They were about five strides from the bank when the Gray-Winged Nomad swooped low over their heads—disrupting the fungal gloom with her powerful wings, and giving them a moment of sunlight on their faces.
Bershad’s posture stiffened.
“Push back!” Bershad barked. “Get away from the shoreline.”
Vash put two strong paddle strokes into the water, stopping their forward motion. But a crossbow bolt plunked into the meat of the mushroom stem before he could return them to the current. The back of the bolt had a long metal wire attached to it that streamed into the dark woods.
A metal crank started spinning, and they were reeled to the shore with surprising alacrity. The mushroom was dragged up the bank, then lurched to a sudden stop.
The woods were quiet for a few heartbeats. And then a deep voice started singing from the undergrowth.
“Oh, the Skojit went fishing, down by his river. Caught himself some people, stuffed in a mushroom. Sliced ’em to pieces and cooked ’em for dinner.”
“Shit,” Vash muttered. “We’ve just got no fucking luck at all.”
A tall man separated from the shadows. Stepped forward and studied them. He was a Skojit, and stood a head taller than Bershad. His red hair was ragged and long, hanging down over both shoulders. But his armor was what grabbed Ashlyn’s attention. The breastplate was built from a complicated weave of white Ghost Moth scales and chemical-burned dragon threads. It covered his entire body from the neck down. Perfectly molded to his limbs.
This was Simeon. The pirate who made a pact with Kasamir in exchange for Osyrus Ward’s technology.
“Mushroom,” Simeon said. “Hmm … what rhymes with that? Doom. Soon. Eh, who cares? Dumb song, anyway.”
He surveyed them.
“So, how’d you lot wind up in this situation? Seems like a good story here.”
“Simeon.” Vash stood up. “We’re corsairs out of Naga Rock. Under Kerrigan’s command. We don’t want trouble. Just trying to get home.”
“Not wanting trouble and causing it are separate issues. The rules are real clear. Kerrigan’s sheep stay safe, so long as they stay in their Naga Rock pen.” He ran a hand through his dirty red hair. “But you idiots have wandered real deep into the wrong side of the bone wall. Means I’m within my rights to truss you up and turn you over to the demons. That’d save me the trouble of going reaving this month to make my quota, which is an attractive notion given the autumn storms are already sweeping through and we just came by a big vat of Lysterian potato liquor that needs some sustained attention.”
Bershad got out of the mushroom. Rested his sword on one shoulder. “That isn’t happening.”
Simeon shifted his gaze. “Lizard killer. One of Kerrigan’s recent recruits? She does love collecting exiles.”
Bershad didn’t say anything. Simeon eyed his bare arm.
“Lot o’ tattoos. You pretending to be the Flawless Bershad or something?”
“I am the Flawless Bershad. And I’m gonna murder you if you don’t let us pass.”
“Bold talk. But you’re a little light on armor to be making threats with that kind of certainty.” He looked at Goll and Vash. “Might be you think with these two behind you that you’ve got the numbers on me. You don’t.”
“Your thirteen friends who are hiding in the bushes don’t change the situation.”
Simeon cocked his head. Surprised. He whistled, and thirteen men melted out of the underbrush behind him. All of them had blue bars on their cheeks. Most of them were carrying heavy crossbows with far more machinery and gears than a standard model. One of them had a shield made from the disk of a Ghost Moth’s spine. He was carrying an odd-looking spear. It took Ashlyn a moment to realize that it was made from the preserved tip of a Naga Soul Strider’s tail.
More of Osyrus Ward’s work.
“You sure my boys don’t change anything?” Simeon asked. “’Cause if I whistle again, they’ll fill the lot of you with bolts. Corpses don’t shine for the demons as much as healthy prisoners, but they take ’em. The contribution’s usually good for a little tweak to our gear.”
“There’s no such thing as demons,” Wendell said. “Just bad people with—”
Ashlyn stopped him with a hand on his shoulder and a quick squeeze. The less Simeon knew about what they’d done to Kasamir, the better. She stepped off the mushroom and stood next to Bershad. One way or another, she needed to see the place where Simeon had gotten that armor. Because that was where Osyrus Ward had finished his work on the island.
“I’m worth a lot more to you outside the custody of demons.”
Simeon grunted. “Who the fuck are you?”
“Ashlyn Malgrave.”
“The witch queen of Almira? You wanna impersonate royalty, best to pick someone who isn’t dead.”
One of the other pirates—a man with blond hair and no ears—squinted hard at Ashlyn, then sidled up to Simeon. “Boss, I think that’s really her.”
“How the fuck would you know, Cabbage?”
Sorcery of a Queen Page 28
