Plague Arcanist (Frith Chronicles Book 4)

by Shami Stovall

  “Well, I’m fortunate that I have good friends,” I said.

  Tammi nodded. “I’m sorry you never got to know the rest of the crew, but we all got to know you, and you’ll be missed.” Then she opened her eyes in surprise. “Oh, I almost forgot. Biyu wants you to have this.” She withdrew a folded piece of paper from one of her many jacket pockets and handed it over.

  “Where is Biyu? She’s not going to give me this herself?”

  “Biyu said she didn’t want to say goodbye.” Tammi frowned. “She told me she didn’t want you to think she was throwing you away.”

  “I would never think that,” I said.

  “I know. But perhaps, once you’re cured, you can come back and tell her yourself.”

  I liked the optimism in her statement. It was once I was cured, not if I was cured. I intended to take that kind of attitude with me. I would make it out of this gloom no matter what.

  Curious about Biyu’s paper, I unfolded it and stared. It wasn’t a letter or message—just a drawing. Although she was young, her steady hand and skill were apparent. The drawing depicted Fain, Adelgis, and me on the deck of the Sun Chaser. I had shadows all around me, Fain had ice, and Adelgis was sitting on the railing, his ethereal whelk floating above his head. Most parts were childish, but it was a better drawing than anything I could do.

  “Thank you, Tammi,” I said as I pocketed the picture. “For everything.”

  Before we were to leave, my father summoned me to his quarters. Luthair and I headed straight there, and while I knew Jozé couldn’t make the trek because of his bum leg, I also didn’t want to say goodbye.

  A part of me hated the fact that I was separated from the Frith Guild, even if I had done it to protect them, and now another part of me hated leaving the Sun Chaser. Finding a cure would mean I could go home, so I held on to my feelings of hope. I’d see them all again.

  I knocked on Jozé’s door.

  “Come in,” he said from within. “We don’t have much time.”

  I stepped into his quarters. His bright blue phoenix was the first thing I saw, but the black leather boots on the center table were the second. They were the type of high sailing boots that most ship captains and officers wore—high quality material meant to keep one’s feet dry, even in difficult weather.

  “Do you think you could imbue your knightmare magic into these boots?” Jozé asked. He limped around the table, a pouch of star shards in one hand. “You’d really help me out if you did.”

  I stepped close and nodded. “Of course.”

  “You’re too good to me, boy.”

  I rubbed at the back of my neck, a little confused. “You know I’m leaving, right? Tomorrow morning the Third Abyss departs from port.”

  Jozé stopped once he was on the opposite side of the table. He met my gaze with a sarcastically raised eyebrow. “Oh, is that right? I had no idea. Next you’ll be telling me you’re plague-ridden.”

  “I’m serious.”

  He pushed the boots toward me. “I know the situation. That’s why you need to imbue these boots before you leave.” Then he rolled over six star shards.

  Six? Seemed high for a simple trinket, but it also meant these weren’t going to be an artifact. If the Second Ascension used their terrible item-destroying dust, these boots would never make it.

  Regardless, I did as my father wanted. I took the shards, then the boots, and allowed my magic to pour into the items. At that moment, it made sense why we needed six—three for each boot. They were individual items that needed individual attention. It took me a moment to grasp that fact as I shunted knightmare magic into one and then the next.

  “I fashioned these boots from the leather wings of the byakhee,” my father said as he pointed to the phoenix imprint he had left on the side—his signature mark. “The byakhee are interesting creatures, to say the least. They travel supernaturally fast, have the ability to teleport, and don’t need to breathe. Some say they come from the stars. Fortunately for us, the merchant selling the wings didn’t know what they were.”

  Once the star shards had been used up, and my hands had stopped shaking from the transfer, I said, “So these boots will enable fast travel?”

  “They’ll allow their wearer to shadow-step like a knightmare arcanist—probably even a little faster, thanks to the magics of the byakhee.”

  “Interesting.”

  There was still a lot for me to learn about item crafting, but it was clear my father had a solid grasp. The combinations were infinite, and it impressed me that he could see opportunity in every little piece of magic. Even if he sometimes went too far—like with the khepera.

  Jozé gathered up the boots and placed them on the ground. “That was it. All I needed.” He limped around to the side of the table and then rapped his knuckles across the top. “We’ll reunite soon enough. No need for long goodbyes. Just take care of yourself, you hear me?”

  His phoenix lifted her head. “We’ll both miss you.”

  I gave them each a nod, thankful neither wanted this to be an ordeal. “Well, then, I’ll see you once I return.”

  The Third Abyss was just as I remembered—a nightmare vessel.

  It was a man-o-war, a type of ship meant to carry heavy weapons. Swing guns lined the deck, the type of artillery meant to destroy smaller vessels. And if that weren’t enough, the 100 cannons on the other decks would do the trick. The three masts were lined with sails, and I suspected the Third Abyss had run down many a ship that couldn’t compare.

  The worst part—the defining feature of the terrible ship—was its ghostwood. The entire thing was grayish and dead, built from the magical trees that surrounded Port Crown. Fog poured from the wood, even in its current state, surrounding the Third Abyss in a mist that stretched on for thousands of feet in all directions. It kept the ship hidden, even on the open ocean. That was how Calisto had avoided capture in the past. Once lost in the fog, it was difficult to deal with him or his cannons.

  The Third Abyss, while stationed in the delta of the Lion’s Tail River, blanketed most ships in its terrible fog. Most people would’ve considered this an irritation, but the mist damped the harsh rays of the sun. Most dockhands seemed pleased with the change, even if it limited their visibility.

  I stood on the dock, gazing up at the many decks of the Third Abyss. It was a giant of a vessel, weighing over 1,000 tons. The thing could easily carry a crew of 700 to 800 sailors. Were there that many pirates aboard? It wouldn’t surprise me.

  Adelgis and Fain stood by me, both examining the ship as I did. Pirates loaded the ship with supplies, walking up and down the lengthy gangplank. Unlike Fain and me, who only had a satchel each, Adelgis carried two bags—one for books and one for clothing. His book bag strained his shoulder, and when I went to hold it for him, he clung tightly to the straps.

  “It’s okay,” he said. “I have it.”

  Fain sighed. “I’m going to stay invisible.”

  Adelgis replied with a nod. “Probably for the best.”

  “And I think we should stay as far from the rest of the crew as possible. If we upset them, they’ll get Calisto involved, and he hates looking weak in front of anyone. If it looks like there’s a fight, just apologize and hope he doesn’t follow through.”

  I placed my hand on the hilt of Retribution, mulling over my options. Part of me knew I wouldn’t back down. I couldn’t seem to keep control of that anymore.

  “The arcane plague erodes a person’s rationality and restraint,” Adelgis said aloud, no doubt a response to my thoughts. “It just means we’ll need to be careful for the entirety of the trip. No unnecessary provocation.”

  Once the dockhands and merchants were done sorting through crates and barrels, they whistled to the crew of the Third Abyss. Everything was loaded. Even Karna had boarded hours prior. There were no other reasons to delay.

  “We should board,” Adelgis said.

  Fain shrouded himself with invisibility as we headed for the gangplank. Luthair
shifted around my feet, no doubt to remind me he was present.

  The last time I had been on the Third Abyss, Calisto had almost killed me. I had to block those thoughts from my head, at least until we made it through the Lightning Straits.

  I stepped onto the deck of the ship, disturbed by the grayish wood and lingering fog. The presence of mist made everything cold—a pleasant change from the Amber Dunes—but terrible nonetheless. The chill reminded me of a graveyard.

  Standing on the deck, ready to greet us, were two arcanists, one of which I recognized.

  Spider. Calisto’s first mate. I had seen her in the Waterside Notable when Biyu had been taken. She wore fitted trousers, high boots, and a shirt that had one too many buttons undone. Her black hair had been secured back, showcasing her arcanist mark. A disgusting fish-man was wrapped around the star. A kappa.

  Her eldrin sat at her feet. The kappa looked like a twelve-year-old child with pond-scum-green fish scales for skin. Its giant eyes, glowing yellow, stared at me with a malevolent glare. When I didn’t glance away, it flashed its needle-thin teeth and hissed. It was a man-eater, immune to the arcane plague.

  The other man… I didn’t recognize him. It wasn’t an arcanist who had served with Calisto over a year ago. This was someone new. His arcanist mark intrigued me. He was bonded to a carcolh, a half-snake, half-mollusk creature that grew to the size of a house and had a shell that couldn’t be penetrated. According to legend, the carcolh swallowed people whole—another man-eating creature immune to the plague—and the tentacles around its face were covered in a slime that paralyzed its enemies.

  I didn’t see the carcolh around, but it could easily be in the water.

  The carcolh arcanist himself was lanky and leathery, similar to a piece of meat that had been left out in the sun for far too long. His dark hair clung to his face at odd places, like he had stolen it from another man’s razor and glued it to his cheeks. And his ratty coat, belt, and tall boots didn’t help his appearance much, either.

  How did Calisto always find the creepiest arcanists to serve under him?

  “You must be our esteemed guests,” Spider said, her voice rich and confident. She crossed her arms as she gave me the once-over. “You’re that same knightmare arcanist who snuck aboard our ship. And you—” she turned her gaze to Adelgis for a brief moment, “—are Artificer Theasin’s son. Of course you’d have some bizarre mystical creature as your eldrin.”

  Adelgis and I said nothing. I wasn’t even sure where to begin.

  “Where’s Fain?” she asked. “Or is the coward hiding from us?”

  “That’s none of your business,” I growled, already losing the grip on my self-control.

  Adelgis placed a hand on my shoulder. “All is well,” he said telepathically. “Inquire about our quarters. That’s what they expect.”

  I exhaled as I asked, “Where will we be staying?”

  “You’ll be confined to the officer’s cabins near the bow.” Spider pointed with a long finger, opposite the quarterdeck, where the captain’s quarters were. “Malaki and I will be right next door.” She tapped the chest of the carcolh arcanist—Malaki, apparently. “So we can keep a close eye on the lot of you.”

  Her kappa hissed again, its mouth open wide enough to fit a cantaloupe inside.

  “Fain should know the way,” Spider added.

  I glanced around the deck, taking note of the heavy guns and the crew members tending to them. Karna had said Calisto wouldn’t attack anyone on this voyage, yet the crew was preparing for combat. Perhaps it was something I needed to discuss with her.

  “Where’s Karna?” I asked.

  Spider’s face pinched in a tight frown. “The doppelgänger whore? She’s with Calisto, working on her payment for the ride.”

  My blood ran cold.

  Although I knew Karna had no compunction with using her body like a currency, I hadn’t expected her to offer such a deal to Calisto. The man wasn’t worthy of her time or attention, and even the slightest thought that he was hurting her drove me to the edge of rage.

  I must’ve shown it on my face, because Spider lifted both eyebrows.

  “Oh, ya don’t like that?” she asked. “You should go tell Calisto. This might be a short trip after all.”

  Malaki snorted, a slight smile at the corner of his sun-dried lips.

  While I was tempted to put this to rest right here, right now, one of Calisto’s pirates approached us with a stiff posture and bemused expression. Spider snapped her attention to the man and sneered.

  “What is it?” she barked.

  The crewman motioned to the gangplank. It hadn’t yet been pulled up.

  “What’re you waiting for?” Spider asked.

  “There’s an arcanist here,” the man said, his voice thick with saliva. “From the Huntsman Guild. He said he’s after plague-ridden arcanists, and he wants to search the ship before we take off.”

  35

  The Last Gods

  Spider adjusted her bosom as though unconcerned with the new information. “It’ll be handled,” she said as she smoothed her half-buttoned shirt.

  The pirate stammered as he pointed toward the gangplank. People strode up to the ship, including my new constant companion, Jevel, the reaper arcanist plague hunter. His trinket—some sort of blood bracelet—would detect my presence, even if I hid. Would Jevel force a fight on the Third Abyss? Probably. Especially if he thought I was about to escape his clutches.

  I went to unsheathe Retribution, but someone placed a hand on my arm. I couldn’t see them, but I felt the icy touch, even through the sleeve of my coat. Fain. He didn’t want me to act. Instead, he touched the side of my neck and pointed me toward the quarterdeck.

  Then I saw Calisto’s manticore eldrin—Hellion.

  The beast flew off the quarterdeck with leathery wings. He landed on the deck with a hard slam that betrayed his considerable weight. If I had to guess, Hellion was four or five tons of pure muscle. He had the body of a white lion, but instead of a brown or gold mane, he had a crimson mane that resembled curdled blood.

  The worst aspect of Hellion’s appearance—the one I’d remember until I was buried—was the mask covering the manticore’s face, like it was a body part that had replaced the long muzzle. A plain, expressionless mask, oval in shape and designed for a human. The eyes were slits, and so was the straight line representing the mouth.

  The mask matched Hellion’s human-like hands, complete with thumbs. Claws jutted out of the “fingers,” each clicking on the wood of the deck as Hellion made his way to the gangplank. He blocked the plague hunters from boarding, his massive body an impassable obstacle.

  Jevel, the only arcanist in the group of ten, was pushed to the front. His reaper floated alongside him, unconcerned with gravity. It twirled its long scythe and said nothing. The other hunters stepped back, their frightened muttering audible, even from my distance some thirty feet away.

  “I’m a p-plague hunter,” Jevel forced himself to say.

  Hellion swished his scorpion tail back and forth. It was seven feet long—black as the darkest shadows—and when it curled up and around, ready to attack, the non-arcanists rushed down the gangplank in such a hurry, I thought some would fall into the delta.

  “I have the authority of the governor to hunt anyone carrying the arcane plague,” Jevel continued, more confident than before. He held out a piece of paper. “An informant told me that a plague-ridden arcanist boarded your ship.”

  Hellion reached out his disgusting, human-like hand. It was massive—Hellion could fit all of Jevel’s head in his palm—and retained the features of a cat, including the fur and padding. Careful not to scratch Jevel, Hellion took the piece of paper and brought it close to his emotionless mask.

  He crumpled the paper and said, “The governor’s jurisdiction doesn’t extend to the Third Abyss.” He spoke every word calm and cold, his voice emanating from behind the mask.

  “If the ship is still tied to the dock, then
that means I’m allowed to—”

  Hellion lowered his hand, and Jevel flinched away, his arm up as if to defend his eyes. With a chuckle, Hellion offered the crinkled paperwork. “If you wish to force your way aboard, by all means. Try.”

  Jevel glanced to his reaper. Although his eldrin had no face, the two seemed to share a silent moment.

  “Or you can run to the Watch Battalion,” Hellion said. “But by the time you bring them here, we won’t be tied to the dock. Seems to me there isn’t much of a choice if you want to find this plague-ridden arcanist.”

  The mouth of Hellion’s mask twisted into a small smile. The eyes curved upward, mimicking a happy expression. Every slight movement of the “mask” knotted my guts and made me want to vomit. It wasn’t natural. Every part of the freakish manticore seemed designed to instill terror.

  Jevel’s oily face paled, and I didn’t blame him. He distanced himself from the manticore one step at a time. “My informant… must’ve been mistaken.”

  A low rumbling growl issued from Hellion. It was the only warning Jevel needed. He hurried down the gangplank without a second glance back, his steps so hasty, he almost tripped.

  The crewmen watching the exchange quickly resumed their work the moment Hellion turned around. Even Malaki and Spider seemed disturbed when the manticore gave them a prolonged stare. The manticore’s face returned to its true neutral—no expression. Spider motioned to the officer’s quarters and led us away from the beast.

  I took note of the deck. Some pieces of ghostwood had been replaced—their gray different than the gray of the old wood. Were these the battle scars from when Illia and Calisto had fought? It amused me to think they were.

  Hellion paced the ship, the harsh click of his claws lingering in my mind as we entered the drab corridor of the Third Abyss. The fog haunted the hallway, light and misty. It didn’t obscure my vision, but it felt as though I had entered a dream.