Stormtide

by Den Patrick

  ‘We must shelter in the town,’ said Sundra as she hid behind the remnant of the sculpture. ‘We cannot win this battle on open ground, Kjellrunn!’

  The leviathan’s wave broke upon the shore, bringing a tangle of bedraggled pirates with it. Novices were knocked off their feet, and Mistress Kamalov was lost from view as the surge swallowed her completely. Rylska the pirate all but collided with Maxim as the water dragged her inland. There was a startled moment of recognition before Maxim clung to the tall woman’s back. She headed up the beach with loping strides, breathing hard, her red hair shining wetly. The Imperial ship had come about, beaching itself so the starboard side looked over the beach.

  ‘Birds!’ bellowed Kjellrunn. The Vozdukha novices responded, reaching out with arcane senses to summon gulls, crows, and hawks. Mistress Kamalov emerged from the swirling water and gasped for air, then pulled off her headscarf.

  ‘Gods damn you,’ she muttered, before rejoining the Vozdukha novices. A handful of Zemlya novices had remained further up the beach, searching for larger rocks. They lifted the stones with their powers and pelted the deck of the ship. Kjellrunn watched with grim satisfaction as the Vigilants and sailors on board stumbled and ducked to avoid the rain of stones.

  ‘We can do this,’ said Kjellrunn. She floated down to stand beside Sundra. ‘We have to do this.’

  The soldiers had disembarked in two boats and headed towards the shore, working their oars hard. The first of them jumped over the side of the boat and the water reached his waist. Moments later there were thirty black-armoured men in the water, clutching shields and maces, roaring battle cries.

  ‘To me!’ shouted Kjellrunn. She had scaled the broken sculpture and stood on its summit. Pirates and novices alike formed around the shattered hand and drew blades and marshalled their powers. Of Romola there was no sign and Kjellrunn’s heart sank for a fleeting moment before her attention turned to more arcane fire arcing through the sky towards them.

  ‘Break left!’ yelled Kjellrunn as she leapt from the stone. As one the rabble of pirates and novices sprinted away from the sculpture and moments later lances of fire smashed down, sending clouds of sand billowing across the beach and blackening the shattered hand.

  The soldiers were free of the Shimmer Sea now, storming up the beach towards them. Kjellrunn hesitated and looked for Mistress Kamalov. The press of bodies parted a moment to reveal the charred and burned corpses of those who had not evaded the Vigilant’s fire just moments before. Mistress Kamalov knelt on the blackened sand, her face a mask of misery. Her eyes rolled back in her head and she slumped forward. She was the deep black of charcoal from her neck to the backs of her legs.

  ‘No!’ Kjellrunn forced her way through the crowd as the soldiers clashed with the outnumbered pirates. ‘No.’ Kjellrunn knelt beside Mistress Kamalov, almost too afraid to touch the old woman. Her eyes opened and a single tear dripped to the scorched sand.

  ‘Gods, I hate the Empire,’ said the old Vigilant.

  Kjellrunn stared at the old woman’s back, the crisp flesh and singed hair. ‘Are you just going to kneel there and let them kill your teacher without consequence?’ Mistress Kamalov closed her eyes and sighed for the last time. Kjellrunn rose to her feet, lifting a handful of stones with the arcane as she did so. A moment later an Imperial soldier was pelted in the side of the head, knocking him off guard. The pirate fighting him forced the tip of his blade inside the soldier’s shield and rammed the sword through a gap at the shoulder. The soldier screamed and went down.

  Sundra stalked the sands like an avenging shade. Clad all in black, the Priestess turned one soldier after another to stone with her dread gaze, but she had become separated from the novices and pirates. Kjellrunn ran to protect the priestess and tripped. The air was knocked from her lungs and she stared at her feet. A dead novice lay in the sand, face bloodied and skull broken. The handiwork of a soldier’s mace. Her name was Surya. Kjellrunn was floating in the air again, so angry she could barely speak or think. The Vigilants on the ship were preparing to come ashore in one of the small boats.

  ‘Consequence,’ whispered Kjellrunn through gritted teeth. No one saw the leviathan emerge from the Shimmer Sea; it rose over the beached ship like a terrible cloud, blocking out all light. The sailors cried out in horror as the colossal creature slammed down, snapping masts, shattering the hull, crushing all in its shadow. The ship split in two and all fighting on the beach ceased as people turned to stare at the shocking spectacle. The Vigilants tumbled into the water, followed by spears of the broken mast and torn canvas. The leviathan released a forlorn wail and Kjellrunn shuddered with agony, as if she had suffered a thousand splinters.

  A great roar went up from the pirates and the novices joined in, a wordless shout of joy and triumph. The soldiers hesitated but there was nowhere to go and no one to support them.

  ‘Consequences,’ whispered Kjellrunn before her vision dimmed and the ground rose up to meet her.

  CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

  Silverdust

  They stood at the back of the Imperial galleon on the port side. Father Orlov had taken up a similar position on the starboard side and together the two Vigilants summoned arcane winds to fill the sails of the ship, sending it speeding across the choppy waters of the Ashen Gulf. The sky was banded with the colours of evening. Vivid orange simmered into pale grey, the grey fading into blue and becoming ever darker. The sun busied itself, appearing to sink into the waves.

  ‘I wasn’t sure if you’d come with us,’ said Streig.

  Vigilants pretend to be priests but we take orders just as readily as soldiers. It is ingrained in us.

  ‘You didn’t come with us just because you’re an obedient little soldier,’ said Streig, catching sight of himself in the mirrored surface of Silverdust’s mask. The reflection was decidedly warped, stretched thin and unclear, much like his obedience.

  What choice did I have? I could not leave Khlystburg without drawing attention. Such a move would provoke questions. The Emperor would not grant me a further audience after our performance at court.

  ‘It was a performance all right,’ said Streig, sounding more like a Virolanti farmer than he intended.

  I asked you to absent yourself. I asked you to get clear, to get to safety.

  ‘And I would have, but I wanted to see if you succeeded. I wanted to see if you received the audience you wanted so badly.’

  Things did proceed as I had hoped.

  ‘But he knew you,’ said Streig, stepping closer and dropping his voice, even as the arcane gale shrieked over their heads. ‘He knew your name. Serebryanyy Pyli. I saw it in his eyes. He knew you and he was afraid.’

  We are all afraid of the past in some way. Silverdust had no wish to divulge to his friend why the Emperor had reacted so.

  ‘I think I deserve some answers. I’ve stuck by you this far.’

  That is true, and do not think your loyalty has gone unnoticed, but there are some secrets that are too dark, too old, too much a part of me, so that I can hardly bare to think let alone speak of them.

  Streig looked over his shoulder. Envoy de Vries slunk past, glowering at the pair of them as she went. Silverdust could tell she was mulling over any number of possibilities, and that she had been rebuked by the Emperor for the deaths of his Okhrana. The Envoy disappeared through a door and Father Orlov continued with the task at hand. Silverdust reached out to Streig with his arcane senses. The soldier knew full well his questions regarding the Emperor would remain unanswered and tried another angle.

  ‘Are you not worried that Orlov and de Vries will try and kill you once we reach Arkiv? She’s already moved against you once.’

  It has been difficult for me to know who to trust for a long time now, even on Vladibogdan. This is not so different. All I ask is that if you can save yourself you do so. You should not even be on this ship. Better you desert and head back to Virolanti as I suggested. I do not want your death on my conscience, Streig.

  ‘I
have no intention of dying,’ said the young soldier, and for a moment Silverdust wished that bravado alone might sustain Streig in the time ahead.

  Dimitri Sokolov had no intention of dying either.

  Streig turned to watch Khlystburg retreat into the distance behind them. ‘We hunt traitors and Vigilants even as we speak of treason ourselves. For the first time I can admit to myself that I’m not sure what side I’m on any more.’

  There are no sides any more. Only survival.

  ‘There are still sides,’ said Streig. ‘There are those against the Empire and those that stand for it.’

  True enough, but what does the Empire stand for, and is it worth saving?

  ‘There’ll be chaos without the Empire,’ said Streig.

  Chaos is ever present, and never more so than now. Steiner wishes to create an uprising because it appeals to his heroism and sense of justice. I rebel as an act of atonement. De Vries too acts against the Empire in her own way, hoping one day she will sit on the throne.

  The arcane winds continued to howl and Silverdust and Father Orlov reached into the sky to draw on more power. The ship’s captain clung to the wheel with a grizzled determination, no stranger to the Holy Synod and its eldritch ways.

  ‘Act of atonement?’ Streig frowned in confusion. ‘Atonement for what?’

  Silverdust cursed himself for the slip, but he’d revealed something of himself and Streig was too clever to fall for misdirection and deserved better than lies. Do you remember I told you it was the Spriggani who originally offered to teach the Emperor about the arcane?

  ‘But then they declined.’

  Some of them declined, certainly. But not all of them.

  ‘Serebryanyy Pyli,’ said Streig. ‘You taught him how to use the arcane back in the Age of Fire.’ He shook his head with the impossibility of it. ‘But that would make you nearly a hundred years old.’

  Silverdust gestured to the blank mirror of his face. This has not always been my mask. Such longevity provokes questions.

  ‘Unless you’re the Emperor.’

  So it would seem.

  Streig stood quietly for a time, watching the arcane winds fill the sails above him. ‘Over a hundred years?’

  I have been a cinderwraith for forty years. It was not my intention to die on Vladibogdan but …

  A look of anger clouded Streig’s face. ‘Was it the Okhrana? Did the Emperor send them?’

  Silverdust wanted to laugh, touched by the righteous anger of his companion. I had long since covered my tracks, but using the arcane does spiteful things to the human body and old age found me wanting. I died in my sleep one night and woke in the forges beneath Vladibogdan. Suddenly I knew first-hand what the Emperor was doing to the failed novices and realised that everything I had done to empower him had been the gravest of mistakes.

  ‘Atonement. I can see why you’d feel responsible. But what of the Matriarch-Commissar? Surely you’re not going to kill her. You and she want the same thing.’

  In truth, I do not know what the Matriarch-Commissar wants outside of protection for her family. Her motives are known only to her. Arkiv may well be a place of many misunderstandings and mistakes, but mostly it will be a place of death.

  ‘You mean to hunt her?’

  Such success would almost certainly grant me an audience with the Emperor, and I could finally undo the mistake that has lingered across these long decades.

  ‘I never thought you’d go against Felgenhauer,’ said Streig. ‘She’s famous. She’s infamous. Her powers are—’

  Considerable. Yes. Silverdust turned to Streig and grasped him lightly by the shoulder. Do not put yourself at risk unnecessarily, Streig. I would be greatly aggrieved if anything happened to you.

  ‘Whatever happens, you and I are getting through this.’ The young soldier had the audacity to grin as spoke. ‘Mark my words.’

  Silverdust wanted to believe him, but common sense and foresight told him otherwise. There would be much death on Arkiv island.

  CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

  Steiner

  ‘Do we really have to wear these?’ said Steiner as they stepped into the courtyard. The purple robes nearly reached the ground and the cowl wouldn’t sit straight on his shoulders, though he was glad for the warmth it provided.

  ‘Be sure to pull the hood up,’ said Felgenhauer, who wore the open book mask once more. ‘There are eyes everywhere.’ She handed Steiner a hemp sack and he knew the contents immediately, a reassuring weight. ‘Just in case,’ she added quietly. Her presence calmed him despite the strangeness of their situation.

  ‘Where are we going?’ asked Kristofine. She tied the belt around her own robes and pulled up her hood. Somehow she made it look effortless, whereas Steiner felt he was drowning in fabric.

  ‘The Central Library,’ replied Felgenhauer. ‘It’s the oldest part, containing tomes forbidden to the Empire’s citizens.’

  ‘But not to its Vigilants,’ said Steiner.

  ‘Even the academics and Imperial historians aren’t allowed to set foot where we’re going,’ said Felgenhauer. ‘We’ll need to stay alert when we reach the top floor.’

  They headed across the courtyard without the soldiers and entered the Great Library through wooden double doors stained blue and finished with varnish.

  ‘Not exactly the old school house in Cinderfell, is it?’ said Steiner. Kristofine smirked. Felgenhauer led them through a series of interconnected rooms all lined with mahogany shelves. The smell of dust and parchment hung heavy on the air and a faint susurrus of whispering could be heard at each junction. Much of the place was lush with shadow, and searchers in the stacks held aloft glass lanterns against the endless dark. The library dwellers nodded reverently to the Vigilant and watched her pass with reverence. Staircases took them higher, until they reached the fourth floor. One room led to another, and every so often the maze of shelves gave way to a clearing. Every space was the same, filled with four desks and four chairs. It was quieter here and Steiner wondered if they were completely alone in the dim shelf-lined avenues.

  ‘How do you know where you’re going?’ he whispered. Felgenhauer pointed to small brass signs attached to the shelves, but Steiner couldn’t read them. ‘Directions?’

  Felgenhauer nodded.

  ‘This is my idea of Hel,’ muttered Steiner. ‘All these books and I can’t even read the signs.’ They emerged in yet another room but this one had a black iron staircase that swept upwards in a graceful curve.

  ‘This is where I leave you,’ said Felgenhauer. She gestured to the staircase. ‘I’ll wait here.’

  ‘What?’ asked Steiner. ‘Who are we meeting?’

  ‘They asked me not to say,’ replied Felgenhauer. She leaned closer. ‘But be deferential, or the meeting could be painfully short.’

  Steiner reached out for Kristofine’s hand and they took the stairs upwards. The top of the building had a cupola with tall windows and yet more bookshelves. Glass cases that stood tall as grandfather clocks contained weapons or armour, to Steiner’s surprise.

  ‘What happens now?’ whispered Kristofine. Steiner shrugged even as he caught sight of an older man in white robes. He was tall, broad-shouldered and youthful-looking despite the dark hair shot through with white. The man held a stack of five books and was slotting them back into place on the shelves with a look of careful consideration.

  ‘Hoy there,’ said Steiner in Nordvlast, and immediately regretted not greeting the man in Solska.

  ‘Hoy there,’ replied the man with a wry smile. His beard was also shot through with white, and his dark eyes were filled with amusement. ‘Not often I hear that tongue between these four walls. Perhaps you’re in the wrong country?’

  ‘I’m Steiner, this is Kristofine. We were sent for, but we don’t know by whom or why.’

  ‘Uncertainty always makes people anxious,’ replied the man, slotting a book back into the gap on the shelf in front of him. ‘But I always rather liked it. Makes things more exciting,
I think.’ The man turned away from them and went about his task.

  ‘Great,’ said Steiner under his breath. ‘I love cryptic arseholes.’

  ‘Do you know who we’re supposed to meet?’ asked Kristofine, following the man across the room.

  ‘Oh yes.’ The man nodded slowly, smiled again, and turned back to his books. ‘Barely anyone ventures up here. I have the place to myself.’

  ‘And will you tell us who we’re supposed to meet?’ said Kristofine, a note of impatience creeping into her words.

  ‘You’re here to see me.’ The man stood a little taller, clearly impressed with himself. Steiner disliked him intensely. ‘I’m Ving.’ He turned to Steiner. ‘I like her. Spirited. If you get bored you can leave her here.’

  Kristofine frowned and opened her mouth to speak but Steiner squeezed her hand. ‘Deferential, remember?’ he whispered.

  Ving chuckled and looked Kristofine over.

  ‘I don’t see myself getting bored anytime soon,’ said Steiner, standing in front of Kristofine. ‘What sort of name is Ving?’

  ‘An abbreviated one. And you’re the latest in the line of Vartiainen men.’ Ving looked him over. ‘Did you forget to eat this week?’

  ‘Times have been hard,’ admitted Steiner.

  ‘They say your grandfather, or is it your great-grandfather?’ Ving shook his head. ‘They say he was seven feet tall with shoulders like an ox, which is fabrication, of course. Still, he was bigger than you, if memory serves.’

  ‘You didn’t know my great-grandfather,’ said Steiner with a scowl.