Plague Arcanist (Frith Chronicles Book 4)

by Shami Stovall

  I was in the middle of a battle—or should I say, Zelfree was in the middle of a battle. Pirates littered the deck, their cutlasses at the ready. In the distance, out across a few hundred feet of waves, was another ship. It flew black flags that marked it as a vessel for pirates, and it seemed smaller than the Red Falcon, but lighter and quicker.

  While Captain Eventide and her first mate, Gregory Ruma, fought off a handful of scallywags near the quarterdeck, I leapt from the ship’s rigging and confronted a young scoundrel attempting to get below deck. I landed in front of him, blocking his way to the door leading to the confines of the ship.

  When I pulled my sword, the man held up his cutlass—a curved blade with a sharp point. I held my weapon with confidence, but my opponent held his with a shaky grip, his lanky body devoid of hard muscle. This pirate wasn’t an arcanist, and every time he glanced to my forehead and saw my mark, his trembling worsened.

  I lifted the tip of my blade. “Ready?”

  We clashed with blades, and the pirate staggered backward. I pressed the attack, but instead of attacking his undefended side, I just struck his blade. It would’ve been easy to strike at the pirate’s ribs or legs—he was only wearing a thin tunic and soft leather pants, no armor—but Zelfree seemed content to keep his attention on the enemy’s sword.

  “You need to tighten your grip,” I said, smiling. “A weak hold like that won’t win you any fights.”

  The advice appeared to anger the younger pirate. He hardened his expression and lashed out with a powerful overhead swing. I stepped to the side, evading it with little difficulty. The cutlass slammed into the wood of the deck and got caught.

  “Where’s your strategy?” I asked as I stepped away, allowing the pirate time to pull his sword free of the wood. “Back me into a corner next time. Don’t give me room to dodge a heavy swing.”

  With a frustrated grunt, the man swung wide. I moved away and then leapt in close, obviously startling him. He tried to defend himself, but he fumbled with his own cutlass and somehow dropped it in his attempt to put distance between us. The sword twirled across the deck and then slid away as we were rocked by the waves.

  The pirate dove across the deck and scrambled for his weapon, but he was clumsy and uncoordinated. The splash of waves made the deck slick, and coupled with the pirate’s panic, resulted in a scene that bordered on slapstick.

  I exhaled and leaned against the mizzenmast, my sword held low, but still in my hand.

  “Hey,” I said, lax and unconcerned with the combat all around us. “While we have a break, I just want to say—I don’t think you appreciate the fact that I’m fighting and giving you advice at the same time here.”

  Once the pirate retrieved his cutlass, he leapt to his feet and whirled around, his weapon at the ready.

  Shaking my head, I pushed away from the mizzenmast. The pirate thrust his cutlass forward, no doubt hoping to skewer me, but I dodged in the opposite direction I had last time, clearly confusing my opponent. While the pirate tried to regain his composure, I slashed hard and struck his sword. The man stumbled backward. I did it again and again, forcing the man all the way to the railing of the ship.

  Then, instead of running him through, I feigned another heavy strike. The pirate brought his weapon up to defend himself, and while he had his arm up, I stepped close and tripped him. The man went over the railing, shouted some sort of surprised curse, and then hit the water with a belly flop sploosh.

  If I’d had control over my actions, I would’ve laughed. This was the very definition of swashbuckling! It was just like the old tales and legends—everything I had ever hoped. Fighting pirates, sword duels, witty remarks—I loved every second. I wished I could have lived in this moment and reveled in the enjoyment. Why couldn’t all adventures be this effortless?

  Captain Eventide and Ruma also threw their opponents overboard, but before anyone could celebrate, the pirate ship sailed in close, lining up so that both ships ran parallel.

  I knew the maneuver well. It was the first step to using a ship’s artillery. Cannons were lined on the sides of ships, and once in position, the enemy would unload all their shots at once, hoping to devastate the opponent and sink them in one fell swoop. This broadside attack had been especially common decades ago, before longer-range artillery had become the standard.

  Well, I supposed this memory was from the past. Even the cannons were straight from the pages of history. Both the Red Falcon and the pirate ship used bronze culverins—prototype cannons used to bombard targets from a relatively short distance. They were inferior to the iron and steel cannons I had seen on modern ships.

  “Don’t be a fool, Jennings,” Eventide shouted across the waters. I didn’t know if those on the enemy ship could hear her, but she stood on the edge of her ship’s railing, holding on by just the rigging. “You’ll kill your whole damn crew!”

  I knew of the Dread Pirate Jennings. I had read about his attacks on merchant vessels several times, especially late at night, after Gravekeeper William had gone to bed. He hadn’t liked it when I’d read reports of successful pirate raids, but I had wanted every ounce of detail on the matters.

  Captain Jennings wasn’t someone to take lightly. He had killed hundreds. Why was Eventide warning him? And why hadn’t she moved the Red Falcon? The pirate ship sailed closer and closer, matching our speed and positioning themselves to unload all their cannons.

  Ruma and I just stood by and watched. Was no one concerned?

  The pirates readied their artillery and then opened fire. The boom of the cannons rang out across the ocean waters like thunder in the middle of a raging storm. My ears rang, and my bones felt the vibration in the air.

  Had the Red Falcon been damaged?

  No.

  Captain Eventide had her hand up, her fingers spread. She had evoked a powerful barrier that shimmered in front of the boat, completely blocking the attack. Her atlas turtle magic couldn’t be beaten by the likes of simple cannon fire.

  “What a damn idiot,” Eventide said as she shook her head.

  “If he made wise decisions, I doubt he would’ve become a pirate,” Ruma replied with a chuckle.

  “Now we have to destroy his ship. I wanted to avoid that.”

  “Should I command Decimus to rip a hole in the hull?”

  Eventide sighed. “No. He’d likely kick up the wind and try to leave us behind. I’ll handle it. Have Decimus ready to search the remains of the ship.”

  “Aye, aye, Captain.”

  To my fascination, Eventide leapt down from the railing and jogged over to the helm. She gripped the wooden wheel and turned it toward the pirate ship.

  “All hands, brace for impact,” Ruma shouted.

  I returned to the mizzenmast and held on tightly, but I didn’t take my gaze off of what was happening. Were we really planning on ramming the Red Falcon into the pirate vessel?

  Sure enough, Captain Eventide swung the helm around in a tight turn. The pirates had been close for their cannon fire, and they didn’t have the room to maneuver away in time. The bow of the Red Falcon collided with their ship right in the middle of their starboard side.

  At first, I thought both ships would take major damage from such a tactic, but Eventide had evoked yet another powerful barrier. It protected the Red Falcon, even when we slammed into the target, like the barrier was a bubble that couldn’t be pierced, no matter what. I had never considered Eventide’s magic to be an offensive weapon, but clearly, I had been mistaken.

  We tore through the enemy ship with little difficulty. Their hull broke apart, the deck caved in, and the crew leapt over the sides to avoid being crushed. The splintering and cracking of wood echoed out over the ocean just as loud as the cannon fire had, and although we had a barrier, the Red Falcon still shook after impact, as though our bubble of protection had been knocked back into us slightly.

  Once we sailed over the wreckage of the pirate ship, Ruma’s leviathan, Decimus, emerged from the ocean. His giant serpent
ine body was too massive for the waterlogged pirates to deal with. Decimus had to be over a hundred feet long and as a thick as a small boat himself. Using his massive tail and many fins, he scooped people from the water and brought them back to the Red Falcon.

  “Search for any signs of a kirin,” Captain Eventide commanded. “And make sure you capture Jennings. He can’t be allowed to escape.”

  A kirin?

  I released the mizzenmast and approached Eventide. “Captain,” I said. “Their ship wasn’t carrying a kirin.”

  “You’re sure?” she asked.

  I nodded. “I’m a mimic arcanist, remember? I told you I can sense nearby mystical creatures. When we sailed over their boat—which was both glorious and hilarious, by the way—I didn’t feel any new presence. They weren’t carrying a kirin or even any kirin parts.”

  Eventide pulled back her long, brown hair. Then she turned her gaze to the fat clouds dotting the blue skies overhead. “Damn. Where are they? I can’t believe we haven’t found the ringleader of this smuggling operation.”

  “We just have to keep searching,” Ruma said. “Or maybe we can persuade Jennings to tell us something. These pirates are obviously all in cahoots.”

  Interesting.

  Kirin were rare mystical creatures. They appeared like horses with majestic horns made of metal or gemstones—they were considered the dragons of unicorns, and capable of predicting the future to limited degrees. Unlike all other mystical creatures, who had a trial of worth to see who they would bond with, kirin knew who they would bond to the moment they were born.

  And they would bond with no one else, even if their original arcanist died.

  They called it their sight of destiny. Kirin bonded to people they believed would change the world—whether for better or worse.

  Pirates were smuggling kirin away from their homelands? Why? If the kirin only bonded with specific, preordained people, it meant just one thing. The pirates were using the kirin for parts—perhaps for trinket and artifact creation.

  Again, I grew excited. Master Zelfree had once taken part in an epic quest to stop mystical creature smugglers? If only I weren’t infected with the arcane plague. I wanted nothing more than to return to the Frith Guild and ask him all about it—or perhaps make my own such memories.

  “We need to get to the heart of this,” Eventide said. “If a gang of pirates can conceal their operations from us for this long, can you imagine what will happen when they turn their sights on other mystical creatures?”

  Ruma nodded along with her words. “We’ve already gotten word from some of the other guilds that it’s happening.”

  Decimus continued to collect pirates out in the water. Eventide turned her attention to the half-drowned men.

  “Perhaps we need to try a different approach…”

  The dream shimmered and faded. The colors melted away and then swirled together, becoming something black and unrecognizable. Then they untwisted and became colors again, but this time rearranged.

  I had left the last dream-memory and entered another.

  The images rearranged themselves into a tavern. Moonlight flowed through the dirty window, and the sounds of rowdy conversation filled the smoky room. I sat at a table in the far corner under a doused lamp, half-hidden in the shadows. Slow piano music played from the opposite side of the room, adding to the noise.

  A man walked in, and a couple of patrons stood from their seat in order to clear the way.

  I could tell—from the man’s considerable height and impressive build—that it was none other than Lynus. He strode through the tavern without looking at anyone else and headed straight for my shadowy corner. When he took a seat, the rickety chair squeaked in protest.

  How often had Zelfree and Lynus met in the past? It still bothered me that I didn’t understand how they had become enemies.

  Lynus’s copper hair hung over most of his face, but this time he wasn’t injured. He offered me a lopsided smile as he leaned forward on the table.

  “Everett,” he said, mirth in his voice. “Long time no see.”

  I also leaned forward. “I’m glad you could make it.”

  The other patrons returned to their chairs and continued their conversations, obviously satisfied that Lynus wasn’t here to start a rumble.

  “I have good news,” Lynus said. He scooted his chair around the table until we were less than a foot apart. “I think you’ll appreciate it most of all.”

  I scratched at the stubble on my chin, mulling over the comment. A small meow drifted up from one of my coat pockets. I dug Traces out of the depths of cloth and set her on the table. Her cute little kitten body was larger than before—time had passed, but not much.

  Traces stretched and purred. “Thank you, my arcanist.”

  Then I turned my gaze to Lynus. “You’ve become an arcanist,” I said. “I can… sense the magic around you.”

  Lynus smiled wider as he brushed back his hair. The mark on his forehead was just what I had expected—a manticore. Lynus was, without a doubt, Calisto. But what had happened?

  “You said you liked cats, right?” Lynus asked with a chuckle. He ran a couple of fingers over the etching in his flesh, tracing the marks of the lion body all manticores had. “Manticores are probably the most deadly cats of all.”

  I laughed. “You somehow bonded with a manticore just to show me up, is that it? You want your cat to fight my cat? See which one has the bigger… claws?”

  Lynus clicked his tongue. “Tsk. I don’t wanna fight your kitten.” He waved away the comment. “I thought you’d be impressed. I passed the trial of worth, and I’ve been an arcanist for months. I’m a lot stronger now. A lot more capable.”

  “Oh, yeah?” I furrowed my brow. “I’m happy for you—I really am—but I’m a little concerned about how you got your manticore. Don’t those beasts require the eyes of children or something? It’s a disturbing legend about how they’re attracted out of their dens.”

  “Somethin’ like that. Power requires a price. At least, that’s what Captain Redbeard said.”

  The music played louder, and someone in the tavern suggested a round in celebration. I didn’t know what they cheered for, and it didn’t matter. I placed a hand on Lynus’s arm, and he tensed.

  “I’m glad you mentioned your disgusting captain,” I said with a sneer. “I asked you here because I need to talk to you about him.”

  “What of ’im?”

  “Didn’t Captain Redbeard turn pirate after the revolution? He didn’t get paid, right? Lots of mystic seekers turned to piracy then, and I’ve heard the reports of your ship. Captain Redbeard is one of the worst of all.”

  “That’s right.”

  Lynus said each word as though they tasted bad. He had been in such a good mood talking about his manticore—now it seemed like he couldn’t wait to leave. He leaned away, his jaw tight.

  But then Lynus smiled, though it was forced and cold. “Is this the part where you whisk me away from my life of misery? Now that I’m an arcanist, maybe the Frith Guild will take a sad sack like me?” Sarcasm filled his voice, and something else, too. I couldn’t identify it. Anger?

  “Actually,” I whispered. “I had… a different idea.”

  Lynus lifted an eyebrow. “Oh? You only say shit like that when you have somethin’ interesting up your sleeve, Everett.”

  “Tell me—do you respect your captain? Or even like the man?”

  “No.” Lynus didn’t hesitate. He rubbed at his face, his hand unsteady for a fraction of a second. “The captain’s a sadist. If I hadn’t become an arcanist, I don’t know if I’d even be here. Crewmates go missing in the night, and the dastard has the stones to say they fell overboard.”

  Although I hated Calisto, the moment he spoke those words, I felt some sympathy for Lynus. He wasn’t like himself—not like in the other dream-memories. He seemed uncertain and fearful. Perhaps Zelfree sensed it, too, because he placed a hand on Lynus’s knee and leaned in closer.
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br />   “What if I said I wanted to help you commit mutiny?” I asked.

  Lynus stared at my hand and chortled. “Really? You’d help me kill Captain Redbeard? Why’s that? The Frith Guild wants him dead?”

  “No. I want you as the new captain.”

  “Me? Why? To turn it back into a mystic seeker vessel?”

  I shook my head. “I need help dealing with the pirates. You’re already a part of that world—more than me. If I help you become the captain of your own ship, I was hoping you’d help me uncover a mystic creature smuggling operation.”

  Lynus didn’t reply, and the rowdiness of the tavern filled the emptiness between us. A lot of things made sense in that moment. I understood why Zelfree thought this was a cunning plan, and yet… A part of me wanted to intervene, but I knew that was impossible. These events had taken place decades ago. Everything had long been set in stone.

  “I do want him dead,” Lynus muttered. “I’ve had plenty of daydreams about it.”

  “If he’s been hurting you or the crew, it’s even more reason he should be ousted.”

  “And you’ll… be there with me when this happens?”

  I nodded. “Of course. I’ll have Traces make me look like some other arcanist. I’ll take a different name—no one will know I’m Everett of the Frith Guild. I’ll stay with you after the bloodshed, all throughout my investigation. It’ll be like old times. Just me and you.”

  Those last few words changed Lynus’s demeanor. He relaxed—I hadn’t realized how tense he had been until he had unwound—and let out a short exhale. “I’d like that. I never thought I’d miss life on the streets, like when we were younger. I didn’t have so many damn problems then.”

  “There’s nothing we can’t handle when we’re together,” I said. “Trust me. It’ll be fine, and you’ll even help me save a lot of mystical creatures in the process.”