Fury of a Demon

by Brian Naslund

  “What are you talking about?” Bershad asked, frowning. Confused. But Ashlyn saw it almost immediately.

  “Hertzog isn’t her father,” Vera said.

  “What?” he asked. “Then who is?”

  “Leon Bershad,” Ashlyn said, almost to herself. “Her father is Leon Bershad.”

  Vera nodded.

  “She’s my…” Bershad trailed off. “Sister?”

  “And she’s like you. That’s how she survived. But she needs to be freed from Ward’s machines.”

  Bershad swallowed. Seemed to recover from his shock. Then he started digging into the pouch on his hip.

  “If she’s like me, then that’s gonna be a real straightforward thing to do.”

  He pulled out a handful of moss with bright blue flowers growing from it.

  “No, I’ve tried giving her moss already.”

  “Not this kind,” said Bershad. “It’s called—”

  “Gods Moss,” Vera finished. “I know what it is, Silas. And I made Kira eat a nugget the size of a sparrow’s egg. It was only a temporary solution. Osyrus says that he was forced to suppress her healing because of some transformation that could occur. I thought he was lying, but didn’t want to risk it.”

  “He’s not lying,” Ashlyn said, with a pained look in her eyes.

  “But that means…” She turned to Silas. “You, too?”

  Bershad nodded.

  “I’m sorry, Silas. Truly.”

  Bershad shrugged. “I’m used to death sentences. But I appreciate the sympathy.”

  Vera swallowed. “Osyrus is trying other methods to heal her. He says that Kira will recover in time.”

  “Maybe she will, but he’ll never allow that to happen,” said Ashlyn. “People like Silas and Kira are too valuable to him, and she’s far easier to manipulate if she cannot move or breathe on her own.”

  “Yeah, I’ve figured that much out on my own.” Vera swallowed. “I didn’t really come here for the food. I needed a way to get that skyship under my complete control. Seeing as you killed the two Ghalamarian officers, I have it.”

  “Why do you want a skyship?”

  “I believe that the alchemists have more information about Seeds than Osyrus Ward lets on. And I believe that information can help me heal Kira. I explored the archives in Pargos once, last spring, but didn’t find anything. There must be another location.”

  “There is,” said Ashlyn.

  That pricked up Vera’s attention. “You’re sure?”

  Ashlyn nodded. “Okinu once stole records from the alchemists. It was many years ago, but they contained information about Seeds, along with many other secrets that the alchemists are hiding from the world.”

  “Where was this archive?” Vera asked.

  “I’m not sure. Somewhere in Pargos.”

  “That’s not any better than what I already know,” said Vera. Although she supposed there was some value in knowing that she was on the right path. “Even with a skyship, if I need to go searching city by city, this will take a long time. And every day that I am away from Kira, her life is in more danger.”

  “Kira’s my sister,” Ashlyn said. “I would help you if I could, but I don’t know where the archives are. Okinu never told me.” Ashlyn went quiet. Seemed to be searching her mind for something. “But I do remember the name of an alchemist who specialized in spinal injuries. She came up in a number of records that I acquired while I was researching the spines of Ghost Moth dragons. Her studies were focused on humans—how our nervous systems bind to bone and tissue—so it didn’t help me. But she was clearly a pioneer.”

  “What’s her name?”

  Ashlyn paused again, thinking. “Caellan.”

  “Any idea where she might be?”

  Ashlyn shook her head. “I’m sorry, I wish I could help you more.”

  “A name helps. Thank you.” She paused. Looked at the food. “Is this enough for you to keep fighting?”

  “Yes,” said Bershad.

  “Good.” Vera looked to the east. “We nearly died coming in here. I have no idea how we’re going to get out.”

  Bershad smiled. “I can help you with that, actually. Us being old friends and all.”

  * * *

  They followed the Gray-Winged Nomad’s path through the horde of Blackjacks. Nobody spoke, as if a single word could break the spell and send all the dragons upon them.

  When they were through, the Nomad tilted her wings and rose high into the sky, disappearing.

  “Well, that little trick works a whole lot better than Ward’s piece-of-shit machine,” Entras said.

  “How long to Burz-al-dun?” Vera asked him.

  “Hard to say, but it’s not gonna be quick,” Entras warned. “Calling this ship overloaded is a massive understatement. Right now I’m more worried about having enough fuel to cross the Soul Sea at all than I am about arriving in a timely fashion.”

  “Just give me a range, Entras. I’ve been awake for three days. I want to know how long I can sleep for.”

  “Ah, got it.” He frowned. “We’re riding a decent wind up the coast right now. That’ll get us to Glenlock, then we peel off and cross the Soul Sea…” He stopped to chew on his lip. “Twenty-three hours, at least.”

  “Thank you,” Vera said.

  That was enough time for decent drink and a good night’s sleep.

  Vera went down to the galley—which was now packed with rice and meat—and found a jug of chilled juniper liquor. Poured herself a glass, twisted a lime into it, and took one big gulp followed by small sips. The warmth on her throat and the buzz in her head felt good.

  She lit her pipe. Sat for a while, smoking and drinking and trying to relax.

  Garret showed up about ten minutes later.

  “I came for a drink,” he said.

  Vera used her pipe to point at the jug of juniper liquor. “Help yourself.”

  Garret nodded. Came into the galley and poured himself a glass. She noticed that he squeezed a far larger portion of lime juice than she had.

  “Don’t like juniper liquor?” she asked.

  “I prefer rain ale.”

  “Rain ale?”

  “They only make it in Deepdale. Brewed from jungle rain and forest hops, or so I was told. There’s a tavern called the Jaguar’s Mask that served a good brew.”

  “How is it that you’ve been drinking in Deepdale with a war on?”

  “This was earlier. For a different job.”

  “Have anything to do with why that young warden was so intent on running his sword through your back?”

  “No.” He gave her a look. “That was because of something your empress hired me to do.”

  “You worked for Okinu?”

  “Yes.”

  Vera was surprised, but realized she shouldn’t have been. Okinu had always been a pragmatic person when it came to removing troublesome obstacles. There were plenty of places where a widow would stand out, but Garret wouldn’t.

  “You work for Osyrus Ward. You’ve worked for the empress of Papyria. And it sounds like there’s a long list of lords who’ve used you to do their dirty work. Were you royalty or something?”

  “Why do you ask that?”

  “I’m wondering how you wound up under the employ of such noteworthy people. The youngest son of a baron with a penchant for danger might have managed to carve this kind of life out for himself.”

  “My father wasn’t a baron.”

  “How did you wind up in this life, then?”

  “How’d you wind up in yours?”

  Vera took a long drag from her pipe. Blew it out.

  “Before a widow can retire, she must select a replacement. I was chosen by a widow named Sunsu-Ka.”

  “Don’t tell me they give you some test of bravery or something.”

  Vera shook her head.

  “Sunsu came to my village one morning. Didn’t say a thing, just visited each household with a young girl. Stared at them. Us. Before she left, she
killed my family’s goat with a shot from her sling.”

  Vera paused, remembering.

  “I’d raised that goat from birth. She was my responsibility. So, I followed Sunsu through the village with a sharpened rock and threw it at her temple when I thought she was distracted. But widows are never distracted. She caught it. Threw it back at me and knocked me unconscious. When I woke up, I was on a ship heading for Roriku Island, where Papyrian girls are turned into widows.”

  “How old were you?”

  “Ten.”

  Garret took a drink. Didn’t say anything.

  “You aren’t going to tell me about yourself, are you?” Vera pressed.

  “What does it matter?” Garret asked. “I might have been a butcher’s son or an orphaned street urchin. A conscripted soldier or the disgraced member of some traveling theatre troupe. Whatever I was before, this is what I’ve become.”

  He drained his glass.

  “I believe my actions are all connected, though, even if their origin is inconsequential. The first man I killed is tied to that warden who tried to kill me in the jungle. And I am tied to them. Always.”

  Vera raised an eyebrow. “That juniper liquor works fast on you, huh?”

  He gave her a confused look, then a small nod when he understood.

  “Another?” he asked.

  “Sure.”

  Garret poured her drink and returned it to her. They both drank a while in silence.

  “Something’s been bothering me,” Vera said eventually.

  “Okay.”

  “Why did you really volunteer to come with us?”

  He sipped his drink.

  “The Jaguars are running out of food. That skyship crashed in their territory with enough rations to prolong this war for months. I figured there was a chance they’d get wind of it. And if they did, they’d send their best warriors to collect.”

  “Bershad and the Skojit?”

  He nodded.

  “Guess you missed out on a lot of gold,” she said. “Sorry.”

  He shrugged. “Those bounties no longer interest me.”

  “Why not?”

  Garret leaned back in his chair. “Last year, there was a job that I left unfinished. I have the opportunity to rectify that.”

  “Can’t abide a loose end?”

  “Exactly.”

  Vera decided not to press him. She took a sip of her drink. Thought of Kira.

  “You’re happy about something,” Garret said. “What is it?”

  “I found something that I needed today. A name.”

  “What name?”

  Vera paused. Maybe it was the juniper liquor. Maybe she was starting to trust Garret a little bit. Or maybe it was because when they got to Burz-al-dun, she knew that she might need to kill him. And she wanted him to know why.

  “Caellan. She’s an alchemist.”

  “To help your empress?”

  “That’s right.”

  Garret nodded. Drained his drink and stood up. “Terra’s a large realm to go hunting for one specific person. A skyship would help. Too bad this one’s bound back for Floodhaven once we’re done in Burz-al-dun.”

  Vera finished her pipe. Tapped the ashes out against her boot.

  “Yeah. Too bad.”

  24

  ASHLYN

  Inside the Eternity

  As the blue skyship disappeared over the horizon, Bershad took Ashlyn’s hand.

  “If Vera had offered, I might have gotten in that skyship with you and sailed away from this whole mess,” he said.

  “Where would we go?” she asked, rubbing his palm with her thumb.

  “Beyond Taggarstan. Far as we could fly. When the skyship ran outta fuel, we’d find a hidden, quiet place for you and me to live. Just us.”

  “What about the Nomad?”

  Bershad smiled. “She could come, too. You’d need something to draw. Wouldn’t want the witch queen getting bored in her retirement.”

  Ashlyn smiled. “It sounds perfect, Silas.”

  They were quiet for a moment. Ashlyn thought of that imaginary, quiet place. Then she thought of the things she’d seen Osyrus do on Ghost Moth Island. The things he was doing still in Floodhaven.

  “But we can’t run away just yet.”

  “No,” Bershad agreed. “Not yet.”

  They turned back to the crashed skyship, where the wardens were already loading sacks of rice and dried meat onto the donkeys. Jolan emerged from the wreckage and came sprinting up to them with a flushed face.

  “Ashe,” he huffed. “I found something you need to see.”

  As they were following Jolan back into the ship, they ran into Felgor and Cabbage, both of whom had their arms full of Balarian machinery. Felgor was carrying some kind of navigational globe that was wreathed in numbers, complex machinery, and moving parts.

  “Where did you get that?” Ashlyn asked.

  “This?” Felgor asked, all innocence. “It was just lying around one of the cabins.”

  “Which cabin?”

  “Uh, one of the big ones near the front.”

  “That would be the main bridge?”

  “Could be.”

  “What are your plans for them, exactly?”

  “Sell ’em. That’s obvious.”

  “How is that obvious?” Bershad asked.

  “Because if idiot collectors will pay five hundred gold for beat-to-shit breastplates from some forgotten war a hundred years past, they are for sure going to want skyship crap when all this is over. And I’ve mentioned my concerns that you don’t intend to pay me the rather large sum of gold I’m already owed due to my heroic efforts and intelligence gathering. So I’ve been forced to scrounge.”

  “Felgor, you don’t even know what those do,” said Ashlyn. “At least let me—”

  “Queen Ashlyn,” pressed Jolan, with an uncommon amount of urgency in his voice. “There’s a living acolyte in the wreckage.”

  Ashlyn’s pulse quickened. She forgot about Felgor immediately.

  “Show me.”

  Jolan led them to the skyship’s engine room. The main power source—which Ward called the Kor in his schematics—was still pulsing with the dim light that Ashlyn’s dragon thread used to carry. There were four acolytes connected to it by wires and tubes. Three were dead. But the fourth was twitching weakly from its crumpled spot in the corner of the room. One eye was open and staring back at them, the other had melted.

  “I’ve seen a bunch of the Madman’s weird shit,” said Simeon, who was in the chamber along with Kerrigan. “But this one’s near the top of the list. The fuck is it?”

  “A ballast acolyte,” Ashlyn said. “They were described in the documents Felgor stole. Ward uses them to prevent the skyship Kors from overheating during long flights.”

  Jolan already had the diagnostic tool connected to the back of the acolyte’s neck. He held up the opposite wire to her. “I figured you’d want a look.”

  Ashlyn plugged the wire into the port on her arm. Nodded at Jolan.

  He cranked the diagnostic coils until the gears were fully tightened, then released.

  The transfer of information came in a series of pricks against the lodestones in Ashlyn’s bands. When they’d first started using the tool back in the Deepdale castle, Jolan needed to run the diagnostic dozens of times before Ashlyn could decipher the orientations they projected, but after so many hours of practice, she had no trouble visualizing the acolyte’s system immediately.

  “I recognize the general arrangement,” she said. “It’s similar to what Ward uses in the spines of the war acolytes.”

  Ashlyn frowned as the diagnostic continued to unwind. There was something else, too. A second loop that was running in tandem with the first, except this one was constantly shifting and morphing. She’d never felt that before in any of the spines she’d tried to breach in Deepdale castle.

  “Run it again, please,” Ashlyn said when the diagnostic finished. “I want to try something.”


  Jolan cranked and released. This time, Ashlyn focused on the secondary loop. It was tightly woven against the first, almost like a braid. As gently as possible, Ashlyn spun up a single magnetic tendril from her bands and used it to give the loop a soft pull, like plucking the string of a harp.

  The diagnostic tool started to omit a series of taps in a different, but clear pattern. “I’m getting a lot of feedback all of a sudden,” Jolan said, listening while the diagnostic completed its cycle. “It’s additional information of some kind, but the diagnostic isn’t designed to parse it.”

  “There’s a second loop,” Ashlyn said. “It’s a lot more dynamic than the first one, which will make it harder to follow, but it leads directly into the acolyte’s brain.”

  “But we’ve run the diagnostic against dozens of spinal loops,” Jolan said. “Why is this the first time we’re seeing this?”

  “We’ve never run it against a loop that was connected to a living acolyte.” Ashlyn paused. “If the second loop shuts off when the acolyte dies, that would block further access and ensure nothing of high value can be salvaged.”

  “Sounds like something Osyrus Ward would do,” said Bershad.

  “So we’ve been wasting our time for months?” Jolan asked.

  “Not at all,” Ashlyn said. “Those failures led to building the diagnostic and the kill switch. Now that we’ve found a path forward, we have the tools to walk down it.”

  “I’m not sure we’re ready to do anything without a way to properly visualize the data that’s coming through.”

  Ashlyn chewed her lip, trying to figure something out. “Run it again.”

  The machine rattled off another long series of clicks that came in four distinct groups.

  “Hear the pattern? They sound like Pargossian coordinates, which start in the north, then move east to south to west. That was four points north, seven points east, nine points south, and eleven points west. Then it repeats.”

  “All I hear are a bunch o’ fucking clicks,” said Simeon.

  “It’s a spiral,” Ashlyn said, ignoring him. “I think I can use that guidance to breach the loop. That’s what I was missing at Fallon’s Roost. If I can’t adjust with the dynamic shift, the whole system backfires.”