Rek thought for a minute. "A man with a lot of friends?"
"That doesn't sound right," I said.
"So he's gonna knock off the richest man in the world in order to what, teach him a lesson?"
The sound of retching interrupted us. I looked over to see Cord on his hands and knees, hacking his guts out. His throat distended, and a long worm, purple, with a shock of black hair spilled out. He punched it once, spattering its guts across the deck. He flopped back again, gasping.
"Yeah, we're gonna teach him a lesson," Cord said. His voice was a raw rasp. "To the tune of his money and his dignity. Fuck Anaxos Mane. He's an oleaginous sore on the face of the world, a pustule brimming with narcissism and contempt for simple human decency."
I looked at Rek. The big man shrugged. My stomach knotted, and I did my best to ignore the impending feeling of doom that threatened to creep up and beat me about the skull with a club.
***
Evening drifted in, the clouds sliding from shades of pink to orange, then purple and black. We hung lanterns on the rails of the ship, and Rek retired to his cabin, with Lux not far behind. I'd had the opportunity to sleep a little during the day, and stayed up beside Cord as he took the wheel. His hands, though not particularly large, gripped the spokes with confidence.
Evening passed for an hour, maybe two, with each of us silent, enjoying the other's company. We might bicker, but Cord and I had ever been friends. Even then, I couldn't help shooting worried glances his way while he stared into the night, steering us away from sandbar and shoal.
Finally, he sighed. "You're too quiet."
I shrugged, though I knew he couldn't see it.
"You think I've cracked," he said.
It took me another minute to answer. "Wouldn't you worry?"
"About a friend that kept dying and resurrecting in increasingly horrible ways? Sure," he laughed. "But I'm not cracked."
He switched tracks, breaking the thread of the conversation.
"Have I ever told you the story of how Camor stole the sun?"
"You have not," I said.
"How do you know so little of the world, Nenn?"
"I'm like a babe in swaddling."
"A scary, stabby baby."
I chose to ignore that. "I'd never much taken to religion at the orphanage. I did the required, and little else. And Camor? Taboo among the nuns of Our Lady of Perpetual Weeping and Moaning."
He looked to the stars, peeking between cloud and strips of black above.
"You'll like this," he said.
He cleared his throat and began.
***
A long time ago - that's how these things always start, anyways - there was the dark, and man, and man was afraid of the dark.
So many stories start in the dark. That's because for a long time, man didn't have light. They huddled together, in their caves and their secret places, away from the beasts. They held sharpened sticks and fended off the night when it came for them. They weren't always successful. Men died. Women died. Children died. Or worse.
Worse?
Sometimes the dark didn't kill them, but got inside. Some, it made sick. Others, it took. It brought them into the fold and changed them, made them crave the flesh of families, made them hunt their own children. Others, it made generals, great leaders of beasts that had never seen the light. They fought for so long, but the thing about fighting for so long in the dark, with no light at the end, is that you get tired. You just want to sleep. Some gave up. They walked into the long night and never looked back.
So it went, generation after generation, until one day, all the people that ever were at that point huddled together in one cave. They were sore and weary, and began to argue.
"We should fight until the end," some said.
"We should walk out," others said, "let the dark take us."
"We should lie down and sleep until the end," said the third group.
It was then that a voice, younger than the others, but still strong, spoke up. "We should fight with something they've never seen before."
"And what is that?
"Light."
They shook their heads in bewilderment and scratched their pates and wondered if the young man had gone mad. He held up his hands for quiet, and then told them of a dream he'd had, of a glittering thing that shone in a way that the dark couldn't stop. Of the way the things in the night were afraid of it. The way beasts feared it. When they asked where it came from, he told them it was a thing of the gods.
So, the young man told them his story. And they laughed at him. Until he went to the mouth of the cave and stared into the dark. Then, they no longer laughed. They begged and pleaded, and wheedled and cried and finally cursed, saying that if he was going to throw away the future of the clan, then he could rot in the dark with the rest of them.
Their warnings and curses went unheeded though, and he walked out.
What happened next?
He found the light.
How?
Tests, trials, labors. There are always three.
Three is sacred to one deity or another - the Goddess, God, Camor - it's all very mathematical and proper, as things are with their sort.
So, what happened?
Well, he walked. For a long time. And it was dull. There was very little to see at that time, due to the darkness. Not many things could live in it, though somehow man did. I suspect resourcefulness was a gift from the gods, because man could find food in the dark - mushrooms and lichen from the caves, water from the grottos, meat from the occasional lizard that wandered through - though, let me tell you, raw lizard tastes awful. Sure, it's a delicacy some places, but not for me. They also found wood from trees that grew in the caves where a lizard carried a seed, though it grew hard and leafless and completely inflammable. A joke of the dark, I think.
He walked for three days, somehow avoiding the eyes of the dark, and on the third day, came to a stream. A bird--ravens were common even then--had landed on a rock in the stream after some beast or other wounded its wing, and stood trapped atop the small piece of shale. While the water wasn't deep for a man, it was deadly to a bird not made for swimming, so the boy decided he would wade in and rescue the raven. When he reached the edge of the stream, the bird spoke.
"Look out!" It called. "The water is thick with the teeth of the dead!"
The boy looked down and saw it to be true. Beneath the surface of the water, bone-white teeth glinted in the moonlight.
I thought you said there wasn't any light.
Moonlight is not the same as light. You know that. Could you grow a tree by moonlight? Frighten a predator?
Sorry.
The boy paused at the edge of the water and looked. He had his spear with him, and thought "maybe...," so he laid it across the stream, and it reached the rock. The raven hopped across, holding its broken wing out. Just before the end, it dipped its beak into the water and grabbed a tooth, holding it up as it hopped onto the shore. The boy held his hand out and the raven spat the smooth white canine into his hand. It was long and sharp, and he felt it ready to bite.
"Thank you," said the raven. "Fasten this to your spear, and you will be able to pierce even the sky."
"Will you be okay?" The boy asked.
The raven bobbed its head. "I will be fine. Now go."
The boy strapped the tooth to the point of his spear and went on his way, leaving the raven behind. He walked another three days, until he came to a great forest, one older than even the darkness, and worked his way through.
Wait. I thought you just said trees couldn't grow in moonlight.
You're right - they can't. I did say this place was older than the dark. Such things did - still do - exist.
The boy came to the center of the forest, and there he saw a bear, leg stuck fast in one of the night's traps. He went to the bear and knelt beside him, inspecting his leg.
"I think I can get it off," the boy said.
The bear shook his head. "Do not. It i
s a strong tar. Even touching it would stick you hopelessly."
The boy thought for a moment, then used his spear to pry the jaws of the trap apart. The mechanism snapped open, and the bear pulled his leg free. The tar clung to the tip of the spear.
"Thank you, boy," the bear said. "With that tar, you can catch the most cunning of prey."
He wandered into the woods, leaving the boy alone. After a time, the boy continued. He walked for three more days, leaving the forest behind. By now, his stomach was growling, and his step was unsure. He had come so far, and been lucky in that the dark seemed not to see him. Finally, he came to an arch set in a plain countryside. It had no house, nor any frame, but you could not see the other side through it. He stepped though, and screamed in horror.
The light was more than he'd expected, more than he'd dreamt. It seared his skin, made his eyes burn. He cowered before it, and flung his hands over his face. He lay that way for some time, his hands over his eyes. He cursed the gods and their tricks, and cursed the dark and its cruelty. He trembled, part in fear, part in rage. He could not die here! He could not let the gods have their joke!
Slowly, he stood, and through squinting eyes, he picked up his spear. He aimed with a trembling hand. Sweat covered his skin, and his grip was unsure. Still, he pulled back, and let fly. The spear flew like an arrow, like a hawk at its prey. It struck the sun, and with a thunk, sliced off a piece that stuck to the tar. The spear fell away and landed to earth, the tip still burning.
The boy picked up the torch, and marveling at its light weight and heat, returned the way he'd come. He decided if he couldn't destroy the thing in the sky, he would steal a piece for his people. Let the gods have their joke - he would use it to his advantage. He walked, back through the arch and through the forest, beside the stream, and finally, back to his cave. Where he went, the light spread, driving back the dark things, making greenery bloom around him. He called out to his people.
"Come and see what I have brought!"
They came, tempted by the light, and though they shielded their eyes, they rejoiced at the new sights, at the fleeing darkness.
"What do we do with it?" They asked the boy.
In answer, he flung the spear into the sky, and there it stuck.
And that's how we got the sun.
***
Cord's voice drifted off over the water.
"I thought you said Camor had no gender?" I asked, genuinely curious.
"Ah, but that is a story for another time. Did you learn anything from this one?"
I thought. "Aye. Sometimes you have to steal, even from the gods. For the good of all."
Cord nodded. "That's Camor's first rule. Do for others as you'd do for yourself. Everything else is fair game."
Dolphin Orgy
Dawn split the night, spilling the light's guts across the land. It bled pinks and golds that leached from the clouds as the sun rose higher, lighting the end of the Veldt and the start of the sea. I blinked the sleep from my eyes and dipped my head into a bucket at the rail, blowing water from my nose, and then visited the privy. When I re-emerged, Rek was back at the wheel, and Cord laid out a small feast—little silver fish and dried seaweed. We ate in silence and watched as the ship passed the outskirts of Midian.
Traffic had picked up again, and we joined a steady stream of ships and smaller scullers and boats approaching the city. A sound off the port side drew me, and I peered into the water. Orcas by groups of two thrashed together, churning it to froth. I called to Cord.
"What are they doing?" I asked.
He sauntered over and leaned across the rail, watching. A crooked grin crept onto his face.
"Fucking. Geez Nenn, you’ve never seen fucking?”
He went back to his meal, leaving me to stare down at the orgy going on below.
“I’ve seen fucking,” I muttered. “Not fish, but…”
I wandered away from the rail, my interest lost in the mating habits of fish. If I was honest, too much time had passed since I’d had anything between my legs that didn’t belong to me. I squashed the thought and wandered back to the meal.
The city loomed in the distance, a smudge on the near horizon. At this distance clouds of smoke rose from the districts as if the city burned. Closer, massive farms dominated wide expanses of the alluvial plain, dim shapes walking among the rows or guiding mounts with plows. They picked and weeded, guided irrigation ditches, or slopped pails of night soil exported from the city onto the crops. As we passed, snatches of song and shouts came to us, and once, a small group of children ran along the bank, their clothing dull but well kept. They waved at the ship as it passed and shouted in half-heard nonsense. We waved back and threw them small candies Cord had produced from somewhere, and then we moved on.
"All of this," Cord said, after the children passed. "All of this could have belonged to these people. They should be rich. They should be fat and happy. But you see their spun clothing, the bird bones of their shoulders."
He fell silent and spat into the water, then sat looking across the fields.
***
I should have seen it then. At the time, I'd thought it was the job. There's a lot of stress in getting a heist together. Assembling your team, planning, avoiding notice, pulling it off, and not getting killed by the guards. And the bigger the heist, the bigger all of these risks. And this was the mother of all heists.
Yeah, I should have known. But part of me, the part that was Cord's friend and not his partner, the part that wanted to ease his hurt and soothe his trouble, only saw the surface. I missed the rot beneath. The black canker that ached and throbbed even from the heart of Midian. That was the true weight on Cord's mind. That was the truth of his sudden furtiveness, his mood swings. Maybe it was fallout from his deaths, the corrupt magic that burned through his veins. Regardless, the darkness there called to him. Not in any way that spoke of kinship, but as anathema to his own, and he felt the urge to take a chiurgeon's tools and cut it free.
But you can never really diagnose the fatal stuff until its got its hooks good and deep in your guts.
***
The appearance of sheds along the river heralded our approach to Midian. Small ramshackle things built from cast-off wood and cloth, they clustered together as if huddling against a cold that didn't come to this part of the world. They leaned on one another for support, drunken companions in the shadow of walls that dwarfed them in every aspect. The main tributary of the Lethe ran through the city, a water gate allowing ships passage through and to the sea. The walls themselves were thirty feet tall, sold gray brick cut from the clay of the delta.
Shapes stood watch between crenellations, figures wielding spear and crossbow. They clustered thicker toward the shantytown side of the wall, though they guarded lazily, chatting among one another, spears leaning against the stonework. Someone feared this side of the city, even from inside the walls, though it appeared the common soldiers did not.
Cord took the wheel from Rek and guided us deeper into the shantytown, Up a side path on the delta. We moved away from the docks proper.
"Uh, docks are that way," Rek said.
"Yep," Cord replied.
"Okay, so why are we going this way?" Rek asked.
"Because they don't care who docks here. They care who docks in the city. What do you think they'll think of this shitheap?"
Lux nodded. "They also won't stab us. That's pretty good."
"I didn't say that," Cord said.
"What?" Lux replied.
"Well, I mean. Shantytown. You think they won't stab us for this boat?"
"I uh," Lux stammered. Panic lit her eyes for a brief moment, and then she reasserted control.
"We're going to trade it," Cord said.
"For what?" I asked.
"Safe passage. And information."
"But how do we leave?" Rek asked.
Cord shrugged. "Ownership is such a temporary thing. Better not to get bound up in impermanence."
"We're goin
g to steal it back," I said.
"Potato, larceny," he said.
He steered us between two leaning shanties larger than the others. The builders here in the shadow of the wall had grown brave, and some of the buildings reached two, three stories, leaning and wobbling in the wind. These were slightly different. Sturdy and square, they formed a gate of their own, and as we passed under, I glanced up. Eyes and the glinting points of crossbow bolts stared back. They watched our passage for a tense moment. I felt my shoulders try to climb, and forced them down.
Then we were through, and I let out a breath as we came to a wide area of the river where ramshackle docks stood in crooked blocks against one another. Cord steered us into a berth and Rek spun the windlass, dropping the anchor. It hit the bottom with a clang and clank of chain, and I helped Lux shove a board over to the docks as men in rough clothing tied the boat off.
We disembarked, Cord hopping lightly from the board. A man, fat as any I'd ever seen and wearing clothes much finer than his own retinue, grabbed Cord in a bear hug. The lifted him from his feet with a deep roar, laughing as he did so. Lux and Rek looked at me. I shrugged. I saw their point. This one hadn't tried to stab him. He was either worse than Cord, or actually liked him, a deeply weird concept.
The big man set Cord on his feet and looked at the rest of us. He nodded to himself, and then turned, motioning we were to follow. We shared another look, and walked after.
I caught up to Cord as we walked and leaned in.
"Who is this?"
"Torlc. Merchant, fence, and information broker."
"He's taking the boat?"
Cord nodded.
"Do you trust him?"
"Fuck no."
"Then what are we doing here?"
"Misdirection," he said, and waggled his eyebrows.
I opened my mouth to ask another question, but it seemed we'd arrived at our destination. We stood before another solid building, this one with a door and two guards posted. They wore simple mail and wielded short blades. The one to my left, with a florid face, nodded in greeting. Torlc turned and bowed, hand sweeping out.
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