A Blight of Blackwings

by Kevin Hearne

  Yours in kindness,

  Kira

  “They’re going to kill him,” I said.

  “What’s that, love? You could kill for some grub?” the bartender called.

  I had no appetite at all, but until I ordered food she’d keep asking every time I talked to myself. “A mug of chowder, please.”

  “Coming right up.”

  When the steaming mug arrived, I crunched a handful of squid crackers over it in the time-honored ritual and then ignored it.

  Could I suggest edits to the letter? Make some edits in translation, perhaps? I wasn’t sure the other nations actually desired peace with Ecula. And I also didn’t think all the Eculan armies had been wiped out; that hadn’t been the case when I left Brynlön, but perhaps it was true now. Regardless, the tone of the letter was martial and threatening. Almost as if it had been written to reignite a war rather than end it. I had little hope that a patient leader would respond well to it, and the Eculans had thus far not proven themselves patient in diplomacy.

  And while I had returned home happy in the prospect that the Eculans wouldn’t need to come to Kauria to find their precious religious artifact, I hadn’t given much thought to how they would be informed of it. If there was a safe way it could be done, I was pretty sure this wasn’t it.

  Dread congealed in my gut like the chowder in the mug as my mind cycled through ways to avoid what I was sure would be a disaster. I was interrupted by the bartender after an indeterminate time.

  “Something wrong with the food, sweetie?”

  I blinked. “Hmm? No, it’s beautiful.” I checked on the mug—it had developed a thin skin of gelatin, and the crumbs of squid crackers lolled in it like jetsam.

  She cocked her head at me. “I meant, how does it taste?”

  “No idea. But thank you. It’s wonderful. I’m a very satisfied customer.”

  “Are you sure?” Apparently, I was no more trustworthy in her eyes than Elten Maff was in the mistral’s.

  “Oh, yes, I’m just waiting for a friend—in fact, there he is!”

  Ponder waved from near the door, took the seat next to mine, and ordered mugs of beer and chowder.

  “Hope you’re hungrier than your friend,” the bartender said, before pulling his draught. Ponder’s eyes slid over to my mug and he winced.

  “Ugh. Gondel, why would you waste that?”

  “You want it?”

  “No, I think you should keep it.”

  “Okay.” I waggled the mistral’s letter at him. “Have you read this?”

  “I have.”

  “And you’re going to deliver it?”

  “I am going to try.”

  “The Eculans are going to kill you.”

  “That is a distinct possibility.”

  “So why would you do this?”

  “Because it’s a chance for peace. It’s not just the mistral that orders me to do this. It’s Reinei. Riding the wind on a mission of peace is what being a tempest is all about.”

  The bartender delivered Ponder’s beer and promised that the chowder would be right out. He lifted his full mug, clinked it against my nearly empty one, and we drank. I wiped my lips clean and sighed.

  “Okay, okay, let’s just, you know, step back a second, all right? A mission of peace sounds fantastic. You speak that phrase into the wind and who can say no, right?”

  “I can’t.”

  “Precisely. But there should be a way to seek that peace without a high risk of your death. If the journey of an unknown distance doesn’t get you, someone in Ecula will. And if there’s little to no chance of you coming home, it’s not a peace mission. It’s a suicide mission.”

  “You’re going to help me figure out the journeying part.”

  “I’m not sure I can, though. Saviič is not trustworthy. I know he comes from the east, but that’s about all I can reliably say about him, since the Eculan armies also came from that direction. We can’t know if a single thing he’s said about his native land is true. Are there really five islands, or are there islands at all? Are the other nations he claims are over there fictional? We have no way of knowing.”

  “We do have a way. I can go out there and look.”

  “But, Ponder,” I protested, “you’ll be giving up your life for this.”

  “I know. Most of it, anyway. I’m not thinking of my life. I’m thinking of all the ones I can save.”

  “Have you discussed this with your family and friends?”

  “I have. They understand and honor my sacrifice.”

  “What if you don’t need to sacrifice, though? Your kenning is powerful, but the price you have to pay isn’t worth it. Let’s find a way to accomplish this without you having to pay it.”

  “Okay. I’m listening.”

  “If I can get Saviič to tell the truth—he does that when it serves his religious interests—and get you a reliable heading, how far can you fly without undue aging?”

  “I can cover about fifteen leagues an hour until I fall out of the sky from exhaustion or boredom, whichever comes first.”

  “So you could conceivably reach three hundred leagues in twenty hours.”

  “If I just pee into the wind, eat and drink whatever I bring with me on the fly, sure.”

  “That hardship would be worth it, don’t you think, in exchange for decades of life?”

  “Sure. I’d pee on myself anytime for that. But how do you know these islands are three hundred leagues away?”

  “I don’t. I was speaking hypothetically, trying to establish what’s in the realm of possibility. I’m going to find out so that you don’t have to spend yourself unnecessarily.”

  “I appreciate it. You are a good friend, Gondel.”

  Unaccountably, I began to weep. “Stop it, Ponder. You’re doing what my brother did. You’re saying goodbye. Telling people the things we should say all the time but never do, because this is your last chance to do it.”

  His face fell and he nodded. “I know. What I’m doing is painfully obvious. But it doesn’t remove my need to say it. When you’re looking ahead to eternity, you can’t let the precious present slip by unremarked.”

  “I understand. I’m closer to mortality than you are, and it’s often on my mind.”

  We bade each other farewell and I staggered home and hugged Maron, who understood as if by magic that the embrace was all I needed and I would speak of what troubled me when I felt like it. He handed me a message from the mistral that had arrived while I was out. It said to report to her first thing in the morning, and I only nodded in response. We crawled into bed, and my perfect husband just let me hold him all night.

  In the morning I departed without breakfast or tea. The mistral was practically bouncing with the news she wished to share.

  “We’ve had some messages from the pelenaut,” she said. “A ship came in almost immediately after you left the Calm yesterday. The first bit of news is at least mildly annoying: They’ve moved the Seven-Year Ship from the Mistmaiden Isles, so now we have to tell them to move it back so that we’re not lying to the Eculans and they can find it where we said it would be. The second bit of news is astounding: They found out how the Eculans crossed the ocean—their hulls are treated with a stain made from kraken blood.”

  “Blood? But their fleet had hundreds of ships,” I protested.

  “So?”

  “So that’s a lot of dead krakens, isn’t it? How did they manage it?”

  “I think they managed it over many, many years. But perhaps you’ll discover a better answer before the rest of us. Do you remember that stolen intelligence you translated in Pelemyn, which indicated that there was another invading fleet somewhere to the north?”

  “Yes.”

  “The
Brynts have found that fleet and the army it carries.”

  “They have? Where?”

  “Camped on the coast of the Northern Yawn.”

  “Did they find the Krakens’ Nest?”

  “No idea. The pelenaut said a company of rangers found the fleet anchored due north of a spot midway between Fornyd and Sturföd. And they retrieved this batch of files from a strangely bearded fellow. The papers you saw before were taken from just such a one in the south.” She produced a leather satchel with numerous dark stains on it that might be blood. “They’d like you to translate again, and they further request that you return to Pelemyn in case any more intelligence comes in.”

  I frowned at the possibly bloody satchel as I took it. “I have to go back to Brynlön?”

  “You don’t have to. I’m not ordering it. But they’ve requested it. You may go or not, as your conscience dictates. But I would appreciate it if you’d translate this, at least, as a favor to the pelenaut. It may save lives.”

  “Of course.”

  “And if you won’t go, I’ll send Scholar Maff.”

  “What? He’s not—”

  “Very qualified? I know. But I rather like having the most qualified people here, so if you want to stay, I’m not going to fight it. Have you made any progress with Saviič yet on the precise location of Ecula?”

  “No, I haven’t even begun. I’ve been thinking of how to broach the subject in such a way as to get the truth from him. He’s lied in the past about numerous things. But if we appeal to his fanaticism, then we get the truth. So I was wondering if we could get a drawing of the Seven-Year Ship?”

  “Absolutely. The pelenaut sent us one.”

  “He did?”

  Getting what I asked for immediately was terrible news. I’d been asking as a way to stall the entire project.

  “Yes. It’s a remarkable craft. Kind of a blend of styles.” She handed me a fine rendering of a ship that looked, to me, like it would float. That is pretty much all I could tell about it, since whether a ship floats or not is, in the end, the only relevant detail.

  “Excellent,” I said, though it wasn’t excellent at all. “I shall confer with him and see if this is indeed the ship they’re looking for, and if it is, then he’ll want us to inform his leadership immediately, no doubt.”

  The mistral frowned. “What if it isn’t the right ship, though?”

  “Then that would be good to know too, wouldn’t it?”

  “Yes. Yes, of course. Proceed.”

  Scholar Maff was not in the dungeon when I arrived. Saviič was asleep and I had to wake him and wait for him to eat and refresh before we spoke of serious things.

  “Saviič,” I said, and offered him the drawing with my fingertips. “Do you recognize this ship at all?”

  He took the drawing, drew it through the bars, and I watched his face as he absorbed it. His eyes blinked rapidly at first, then widened. He looked up at me, incredulous.

  “This is the Seven-Year Ship! I remember it from when I was a boy.”

  “Good! We know where it is.”

  “You do? Where?”

  “Far to the north of here, on the largest of four islands in a cluster.”

  “Was there anyone on the ship?”

  “No. From what I understand, it was sitting at a dock with no one around. No crew, no cargo.”

  “It was at a city, then?”

  “No.”

  “You said there was a dock.”

  “Yes, a single dock in a sheltered bay. But no city. We should inform your people back in Ecula.”

  “Yes! They need to know! But…my boat is destroyed.”

  “We can get someone there without a boat. We are of the Second Kenning. We can send someone through the air, if we knew where to send him. We could send a message from you, in fact. Would you like that?”

  “Yes! That would be good! I will need quill and paper.”

  “Of course. We will need to know where to go to deliver your letter and how to find the person you want.”

  “Yes.”

  I handed him several sheets of paper and the inkpot and quill from my table. He thanked me, sat on the floor, and used his bunk as a makeshift desk.

  “I will need some time,” he said. “There is so much to say.”

  “I’ll be back later, then.”

  The mistral would never approve delivering what he wrote. Too much risk of there being a code embedded in it. All we needed were the directions, and we’d deliver whatever I wrote instead. And I needed to think of something to say that would keep Kauria safe and wouldn’t get Ponder killed.

  I returned to Mugg’s and ordered oyster shooters: a raw oyster, an ounce of vodka, and two dashes of hot sauce in a shot glass, easily consumed in a single, slimy, spicy gulp. The barkeeper—a different one from the previous day—blinked at me.

  “It’s ten in the morning, sir.”

  “I assure you that if you were in my current position you would not care for the time of day either. You would require fortification immediately. So I beg you on humanitarian grounds to bring me four, please.”

  The barkeeper raised his hands in surrender. “Coming right up.”

  They took a while to arrive—probably because no one in the kitchen had shucked any oysters yet—but when they did I slammed them down in sequence, gasped and coughed, then set to work with some paper and ink.

  I composed a letter that I hoped Mistral Kira would approve:

  To the Leader of Ecula:

  We have heard you are looking most urgently for the Seven-Year Ship, a vessel of some significance to your people, which is long overdue. We have found it and left it alone, as it is clearly important to you and we have no wish to disturb.

  The several search parties that you sent to our lands to look for it, each composed of ten thousand armed men, were unfortunately misinterpreted as invasion forces and had to be destroyed. Please forgive our mistake. Misunderstandings happen when people do not communicate, and we hope to communicate better with you in the future to our mutual benefit.

  You may find the Seven-Year Ship docked by itself in a bay of the island marked on the enclosed chart, and you are free to visit it or not, as you wish.

  Should you wish to trade with us, please send merchant vessels that cannot possibly be mistaken as armed forces or colony ships and we will all happily profit.

  Our messenger does not speak your language but will gladly bear any written message you wish back to us.

  Wishing you peace,

  The Allied Leaders of the West

  There. That would let them know that their invasion had been dealt with but wouldn’t level a threat that they would feel bound to answer. It should give Ponder a better-than-even chance of getting out of there with a reply. As long as the mistral didn’t slay me for daring to revise her work, this might work out just fine. I paid the barkeeper and returned to Windsong Palace, perhaps taking the steps to the dungeon a bit unsteadily by the time I got there.

  “Ready, Saviič?” I asked.

  “Yes!” he replied. “I have a letter. And directions.”

  Ecula’s capital was located counterintuitively on the smallest of their five islands, he explained. The kraljic—their word for king—was always available to receive the words of the faithful such as Saviič. Our courier should land on the northeastern edge of the island near an unmistakable fortress and hail any of the many guards there, shouting, “I bring word from the faithful!” in the Eculan tongue to prevent immediate execution.

  “Would you mind writing and signing a short note to the effect that the bearer of our tidings should not be harmed in any way and should be brought to the kraljic immediately for news of the Seven-Year Ship?” I asked.

  “O
f course. That is a good idea,” he said, and set about it. When that was done, he brought over a map that was his best attempt to represent Ecula’s location in relation to Kauria.

  “When he sees land, it is all one long range of islands from north to south,” he explained. “They are different countries grouped in clusters. Ecula is five islands. Five! No other country is five islands. And there is much space between clusters, between countries. If your man sees three islands, that is Bačiiš; go north to find Ecula. If he sees four, that is Omesh; go south.”

  “Okay. I will tell him. But, Saviič, this is crucial for him to know: How many leagues must he fly across the Peles Ocean before he can expect to see these islands?”

  Saviič looked pained. “Twelve hundred? Thirteen? I am not sure.”

  My mouth went dry. “Are you sure?”

  “It was many days for me in the ship, and I took readings by the stars every night. Yes, I am sure.”

  That would take Ponder four twenty-hour days of flight to make the journey, at a minimum. There was no way he’d be able to sustain that. Not without places to rest.

  “Are there places for my courier to rest along the way? Small islands or reefs to sleep and recharge?”

  Saviič frowned. “I saw none. We know of none. It is all water between here and there. Why would he need to rest? He will fly with the wind.”

  “But he will age many years.”

  “Yes. But this is important.”

  I nodded, not voicing my belief that it wasn’t important enough to sacrifice a man’s life. I hoped my despair didn’t show on my face. Ponder would have to become the wind to travel such a distance without rest. He would be middle-aged when he got there, and perhaps even older than me when he returned home. I thanked Saviič and then changed the subject.

  “Saviič, I have the opportunity to travel north toward the Seven-Year Ship. There’s a chance that you might be able to go see it. Would you like that, if I can secure permission for you to go?”

  “Yes!” he cried, his eyes wide. “Seven thousand times I say yes!”

  “Very well. I will inquire. But you understand that you will still be a prisoner during this journey? I trust you, but my government does not, because of the invasion of the north.”