Plague Arcanist (Frith Chronicles Book 4)

by Shami Stovall

  Spider pointed to the room at the end of the narrow corridor. By giving us that room, we would have to pass every other room when we exited. Although I understood why they wouldn’t trust us—and why they had made that their choice—I hated giving them any advantage.

  Adelgis and I entered without further instruction.

  To my surprise, it was a spacious room, obviously meant for four officers. The beds were built into each corner, and a large table had been secured in the center of the room, preventing it from moving should there be turbulence on the waves. Pillows and blankets were tied down inside the cabinet on the back wall, and a barrel of rum sat next to it.

  The Third Abyss was three times the size of the Sun Chaser.

  Adelgis shut the door. “Volke, Fain—I need to speak to both of you.”

  Fain allowed his invisibility to drop. Wraith also appeared by his side, his emaciated wolf figure a scary sight, though nothing in comparison to Hellion.

  “What is it?” I asked as I threw my bag down on the nearest bed.

  “I think now is a good time to share everything I know about my father.”

  Fain took a seat on the mattress in the far corner. He leaned against the bulkhead, his whole body tense.

  “Go on,” I said.

  Without a moment to waste, Adelgis placed his book bag on the center table. He withdrew several items, including the book with the broken chain—something he had definitely taken from the Norra Library, even if he hadn’t admitted it yet.

  “I read all my father’s notes,” Adelgis said, his attention on the books, but his voice clear and unambiguous. “He planned this trip to the Excavation Site years ago. However, he refused to go until he had one of two things: an abyssal leech or a mimic arcanist.”

  Content to listen, I also sat on my bed. Restless energy caused me to stand a moment later. I couldn’t relax, so I walked around the edge of the room, examining all the tiny details as Adelgis continued.

  “I was the one who gave him both things.” Adelgis opened two of the books, his gaze hard-set. “But his last letters in New Norra said he was no longer interested in the mimic. He wanted the Mother of Shapeshifters—he said it was unlike other creatures. He postulated it was the child of gods. And I think he’s right.”

  “Gods?” Fain asked.

  Adelgis pointed to a book. “Yes. I told you before, the Second Ascension is responsible for creating the new world serpent. Well, thousands of years ago, when the first round of god-creatures roamed this world, some of those arcanists tried to breed their eldrin together. I had never read anything about that until I found this tome in the Norra Library—the same one my father referenced in his letters.”

  I walked over to the table and stared down at the ancient book, taking note of the worn pages and faded ink. The letters were legible, and I read through the opening pages.

  Thirteen god-creatures are born every turning of an age, during a time of great magical disturbance. They are meant to usher humanity through turbulent times. These creatures first appeared when the sky tore open and star shards rained to the ground.

  “And you said the world serpent is the first god-creature to appear?” Fain asked. He seemed focused on the conversation, and I wondered if it was to distract him from our environment. He hadn’t looked up since he’d taken a seat on the edge of his bed.

  “The world serpent is the first of thirteen,” Adelgis said. “And one of the strongest. The other twelve gods came later—one at a time. Like a clock counting down.”

  “Why do you say it like that?”

  “Because the last god to spawn was the apoch dragon. Once it was born, it killed the other twelve. Its purpose was to wipe away godly beings, and once it did, it died.”

  Fain chortled. “Oh. Fun. Sounds like it would be the rage at all the parties. I bet everyone wanted to bond with it.”

  “Actually,” Adelgis said, “according to all texts on the time period, the apoch dragon bonded to no one. It was a destroyer of magic—incapable of having an arcanist.” He ran his hand over the tome. “But we should focus. The thing my father cared about most was the story of breeding. You see, the god-arcanists who bonded to the other twelve were very interesting. Especially the woman bonded to the soul forge. She was obsessed with learning how these god-creatures operated and tried to produce offspring at several occasions.”

  I pulled the tome toward me. “Do you mind if I read a bit more?” I asked.

  Adelgis shook his head in response.

  What were the thirteen creatures? I didn’t know, but now seemed a prudent time to learn. I flipped the pages until I came to a diagram of the thirteen gods. Twelve were drawn in a circle with the world serpent at the top. The apoch dragon was in the center. Each creature was listed with a number to represent their order of appearance.

  They were:

  1—The World Serpent

  2—The Soul Forge

  3—The Fenris Wolf

  4—The Sky Titan

  5—The Garuda Bird

  6—The Abyssal Kraken

  7—The Typhon Beast

  8—The Scylla Waters

  9—The Tempest Coatl

  10—The Progenitor Behemoth

  11—The Corona Phoenix

  12—The Endless Undead

  13—The Apoch Dragon

  “The woman who had bonded with the soul forge—they refer to her as the scholar—bred her eldrin with the progenitor behemoth arcanist’s eldrin. Or at least… she tried. Apparently, most things born of that union became twisted monsters they had to destroy.”

  Fain rubbed at his eyes. “Moonbeam, do you ever read anything normal? Something not so depressing or foreboding? A fluffy romance, perhaps? An instruction manual?”

  Adelgis dwelled on the question. Then he continued, as though it were unimportant. “But some of this text implies one child wasn’t a hideous monster.”

  “Plot twist of the year.”

  “Given the power of the Mother of Shapeshifters, and the fact that the soul forge could change its own shape, the possibility denotes a substantial connection. My father became fixated. He wrote to his associates at the Excavation Site to say he would need it captured. They wrote back, saying they would.”

  “I wish I had butlers capable of capturing god-babies at the drop of a hat.”

  “Fain,” I said, shooting him a glare. “Please. Focus.”

  Scolding him wasn’t necessary, but his running commentary had already gotten on my nerves.

  He scoffed and then shrugged. “Look, I’m just trying to keep up. The Frith Guild is in a race against the Second Ascension to see who will bond with these god-creatures first. Moonbeam is concerned about his father’s motives and moral compass. And you need to a find a cure for the arcane plague before you go insane. Everything is a problem, and if we don’t solve some of it soon, we might as well put pistols to our temples and get this over with.”

  Wraith whined like only a dog could. He placed his skull-covered face on Fain’s lap.

  Fain sighed. “I was exaggerating. We just have a lot of problems. Why do we need to bring in things like the Mother of Shapeshifters? She can handle her own damn troubles.”

  The rock of the ship, coupled with the shouting from beyond the door, told me the Third Abyss had left dock. Our trek to the Lightning Straits would take less than a week, and once we were through, it would take another week to reach the Excavation Site. Although these were short timeframes, every second counted.

  “I wanted to tell you this because I’m certain we’ll find my father at the Excavation Site,” Adelgis said. “I doubt he’s left yet. And… I think it’s important you know everything I do. He’s planning on creating powerful artifacts. He needs magic from the abyssal leech and the Mother of Shapeshifters to complete his goals. Most interestingly, he’s amassed five hundred star shards.”

  I snapped my attention to Adelgis, taken aback. “That many? For what?”

  “You can’t use that many on a sing
le item. It seems my father wants to mass produce several things, and he’s gathering all the ingredients. Given what we saw in the Grotto Labyrinth, I suspect whatever he’s doing will be questionable. I didn’t want anyone else to deal with it… since I feel partially responsible after growing an abyssal leech for him… but there’s no helping that now.”

  “And you’re worried we might stumble into something we’re not prepared for,” I said.

  Adelgis nodded. “To be honest, Fain’s assessment of the situation is just the beginning. You see, there’s something else I wanted to tell you. I couldn’t hear my father’s thoughts. They were blocked by some sort of magic—either a trinket or an artifact or some power, because relickeeper arcanists aren’t capable of shielding their minds. And when we boarded the Third Abyss, I tried to hear Calisto’s thoughts, to see if he was planning to betray us.”

  “And?” I asked, my heart locking up for a moment.

  “And I can’t hear his thoughts, either. I don’t know if those facts are connected, but if they are, there could be several terrible explanations, and I don’t want to think about those right now.”

  Fain scooted to the edge of his mattress, his expression a sardonic neutral. “Joining the Frith Guild was a calculated risk, but this just proves I’m bad at math.”

  I rubbed at the back of my neck, disliking my train of thought.

  Could Theasin and Calisto have ties to one another? What would that mean? Theasin seemed adamant on finding a cure for the arcane plague—and Calisto was working for the Second Ascension, the people who had created it. It appeared as though their goals were the complete opposite.

  What if…

  I shook the notion away, hoping I was wrong. I still needed to remain optimistic. We weren’t out of the worst of it yet.

  But we were getting close.

  36

  Old Friends

  I didn’t leave my room the entire day. Once night fell, Adelgis had to use his magic to help me sleep, otherwise I would’ve continued pacing the length of our cabin.

  Then I dreamt.

  Again, I was Zelfree, watching his memories through his eyes, but unable to hear his thoughts. This time, however, the memory played out in an abstract manner. Events happened, one after another, too fast to experience the individual moments. It was like observing a deck of cards as they fluttered through a shuffle.

  Lynus and I fought against Captain Redbeard—the sadist pirate that Lynus had served under. It was fierce and heated, but it flew by too quickly to grasp all the details.

  Unfortunately, Redbeard escaped with his loyal sailors. Lynus didn’t handle that well. In some memories he locked himself in his room. He didn’t emerge for several days.

  Regardless, Lynus was in charge of the ship. His first act as captain involved fighting in a pirate war over territory and waters. Port Crown served as the center stage. Bloody waters haunted most of those memories.

  We made alliances. Lynus helped turn the tide of battle, gaining his ship recognition and allies. The entire time, I took on different personas. With my mimic—or should I say, since Zelfree had a mimic?—I pretended to be a great many pirates, sometimes even the captains of the fake merchant vessels, so I could “lose” in dramatic fashion to Lynus’s attacks.

  When everything ended, we took new names. Lynus had become Calisto, and I was referred to as the Faceless.

  Soon after those wars on the waters, I returned to Frith Guild. Calisto continued making a name for himself and sending me information. Eventide and Ruma—and occasionally others—took advantage of my duplicity.

  Each memory, including the ongoing fights with pirates, was tinted with a feeling of mischief and amusement. Zelfree had enjoyed his time amongst the scallywags of the high seas, not because he was one of them, but because he was one-upping them.

  But Calisto…

  Each time I returned to him, everything was colder and harsher than the time before. Seeing Zelfree’s life in quick succession made the change noticeable, but nothing in the memories indicated anyone took note of it. The crew of Calisto’s ship grew harsher and the tales of his exploits darker. I didn’t stay with him for long, though. I always left, and when I returned, it was worse.

  It made me wonder—if Zelfree had stayed, would things have gone differently?

  Then my thoughts turned inward.

  What if I had stayed with the Frith Guild? Would things be different for me now? Perhaps I should’ve kept Illia, Zaxis, Atty, Hexa, and Master Zelfree close by. Perhaps I shouldn’t have allowed the darkness of my condition to seep in like it had.

  Perhaps if I had seen these memories sooner, I would’ve changed my mind, but it was too late for that now. I didn’t even know where they were.

  The dream-memories took hold. I paid more attention to schemes and pirate attacks. No one seemed to know I was a mimic arcanist—er, Zelfree was a mimic arcanist. He changed his eldrin around so often, and hid Traces so thoroughly that the only hard detail anyone knew was that Calisto could always summon up a capable friend if ever in danger.

  Until…

  The dream-memories slowed, the details becoming more vivid.

  I fell into a memory that took place in the empty back room of a tavern. It was a room with three empty card tables, each smoother and nicer than the walls around us. I sat on one side of the table, and Calisto sat opposite. He didn’t yet wear his intimidating manticore mane coat, but he did have a menacing aura—the type of expression and tension that betrayed his willingness for violence.

  A young Hellion, an adolescent manticore who hadn’t yet developed a mane, stood next to his arcanist. He didn’t wear a face mask. Hellion’s head was that of an average lion. His whole body was that of an average lion except for the fact that his fur was white. That was unusual, and I admired the ivory pelt of the monster for a fleeting moment.

  Traces was also a manticore, but with the standard golden coloration. Why didn’t she copy the white fur of Hellion? I wished I could’ve asked.

  I withdrew a letter from my coat pocket and glanced over the message.

  Everett,

  Thank you for the information. We intercepted the pirate vessel before it reached its destination.

  As soon as you figure out who’s allowing the smuggled kirin and mystical creatures through the Lightning Straits, we’ll get support from several other guilds to shut down the operation. Send us a letter with the grifter crow arcanist at Port Veeyan.

  Stay safe,

  Gregory Ruma

  “Why do you keep lookin’ at that thing?” Calisto asked, his tone softer than I personally knew it to be.

  “It’s been a while since I’ve sailed with Ruma and Eventide,” I said as I tucked the letter away. “It’s just… Never mind.”

  Calisto waved away the comment. “You know you don’t need them, right? After everything we’ve done together, we could put everything behind us and do anything we wanted.”

  “Perhaps.”

  My curt tone didn’t seem to sit well with Calisto.

  He shot me a glower and rubbed at the copper stubble over most of his jaw. When he glanced away, his brow was furrowed, and I thought he might apologize, but the door to the back room swung open without any announcement.

  A woman and three men stepped forward. The harsh clunk after every other step was familiar. Those with peg legs often stepped harder on their artificial appendages. Sure enough, the woman had a stilted gait, and when she got close, I noticed her peg leg was a carved piece of ghostwood. A rose and twisted face had been ornately fashioned into the design.

  She straightened her wide brim cap and buttoned up her long coat. Although she only had one leg left, the rest of her appeared capable. The arcanist mark on her forehead bore the picture of a hippogriff—a half-horse, half-eagle creature.

  The three men flanking her had the air of thugs. Each carried a cutlass, but no pistols, and I wondered when, exactly, this meeting had taken place. It was difficult to keep track when tim
e skipped so much through the dream-memories.

  “Captain Liska, I presume?” I said.

  The woman offered a tight smile. “Here I am.”

  Calisto stood from his chair. “You’re late.” His voice had shifted to something dark and gruff. “I hope you have the information you promised us. For your sake.”

  “Pipe down,” Captain Liska said. She turned away from Calisto and gave me her full attention. “I don’t want to deal with any lackeys.”

  “Lackeys?”

  “You heard me. I’ve done my own share of investigating, and I know which of you gives the orders.” She snapped her fingers and then motioned for her thugs. “I’m not gonna discuss anything until I’m alone with the Faceless. Everyone else, out.”

  My whole body tensed as I chanced a quick glance in Calisto’s direction. He gripped the edge of his chair, his strength enough that he splintered the wood.

  “He stays,” I said, motioning to Calisto. “Consider him more my right-hand man, than a lackey.”

  Captain Liska clenched her jaw as she shifted her weight from one foot to the other. Then she motioned her goons out of the room, never bothering to acknowledge my demand. She continued on as though it had never even been an issue.

  Calisto retook his seat at the table. We exchanged glances, and it seemed to me that Calisto was grateful I hadn’t sent him out like a dog. On the other hand, I knew he was a fighter—perhaps Zelfree kept him close for his own safety.

  Once Liska’s three men had left, she said, “I don’t intend to stay here long.” A no-nonsense attitude laced through her words.

  “I got the information you wanted, but it came at a price. I’ll need to leave the Shard Sea before daybreak.”

  “So you know who’s responsible for helping the pirates get through the Lightning Straits?” I asked. “Is it a merchant or some arcanist with the ability to shroud objects in invisibility?”

  She shook her head. “Worse than that. It’s the Marshall of the Southern Seas. He and his typhoon dragon eldrin have been allowing the smuggling to occur.”