The Shipbreakers.
The boat thrashed, taking on a lot of water. He steadied himself and adjusted the sails so he was heading directly for them. He wished he knew more magic, enough to steer the craft with his mind, like Willow had done.
But Argus still had the current.
It did all the work now. It tugged at the tiny sailboat, circling, drawing everything into a deadly vortex. He heard something like an endless thunderclap. Water erupting against rock.
There were gaps between those rocks. Only a few were wide enough for boats to pass. Threading the Shipbreakers was a pastime among the world's greatest sea captains, a test of their skills for glory and their mates' accolades.
But Argus was no sailor.
One rock loomed before all the others, reaching. Argus waited until it blotted out the sky.
Then he jumped amid the sound of a thousand splinters.
The rock rushed up at him, and disappeared in an explosion of sea foam.
Argus crashed against it, clinging desperately to its mossy surface. He opened his eyes. He slid ever closer to the bottom, where the remains of his ship roiled.
He pressed against the cool rock and jabbed fingers and toes into whatever crevices he could find. At last he stopped sliding, and set his intention on working his way around. A good jump would carry him to the next rock, which was a little lower.
When he landed he banged his shins, covered himself in fresh cuts. But he was still alive. He edged above the vicious current, and jumped for the third rock.
Time melted away up there. Argus was too busy climbing and clinging and praying to notice the sun go down until he reached the last rock between him and his destination.
His hands ached. His forearms were useless quivering things. Black bruises covered the few fingernails he had left.
But there weren't any more Shipbreakers to carry him the rest of the way.
Before he could think about it too long, Argus jumped.
The frigid water took his breath away. He started paddling while the current sucked him backward. The only thing to do was fight it, to escape and get ashore before his limbs went numb.
He kicked stronger than he ever had. He beat the sea with his palms like a drunken Nalavacian in a fist fight. All the while, that current wrapped its tendrils around him. It was a slow pull, but inexorable. It reminded him of the look Janna had given him the night before, when she was ready to leave the Turning and their coupling was all but a certainty.
Argus thrashed, yelled, struggled.
At last he slipped out of the current's grasp, coughing up water.
He swam as long as he could. When his limbs went numb he rolled onto his back and willed his way to land, floating and trying not to panic. Just when he was sure he would die, the current changed.
Argus lifted his head and spotted the edge of the Cradle.
He waited for the sea to carry him to his new home. The stars were out; he was looking up at them when his head brushed solid ground. Argus flopped onto the edge. He reached inside, used touch magic to feel his blood and make it warm.
The shivering and teeth chattering went on for a while. But slowly, surely his limbs thawed. He peeled off his clothes and lay there naked, warm as a sunbather at a beach in Garvahn.
I should keep moving, he thought. Find some food and water.
All he wanted to do was lie there and smile. For now, surviving was reason enough for celebration. What use were the world's riches, when he still had full lungs and a beating heart?
Argus looked back at the Shipbreakers. All but the nearest rocks had disappeared into the shadows. He wondered which one had claimed his mother's life, after Belen set her adrift.
Punishment for my crime. That fat bastard.
He resolved to figure out which Shipbreaker had done it. Somehow. Find the right spell to see what they'd seen and read their thoughts, if they had them. He'd tear them out of the sea one by one if he had to.
But not now.
Now he needed food and shelter. Some dry clothes.
Argus pursed his lips and whistled. He could hardly hear himself over the pounding waves. He tried for a few minutes, trying to find the pitch Willow had used to summon the horses to her.
Come on. I know you're out there. I know you can hear me.
Nothing worked.
At last Argus gave up and flopped onto his back. He dreaded trudging up that long hill, but for now it seemed like the only option. He decided to take a nap first, and plunged into sleep until a prodding foot woke him.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Argus woke up flailing.
He'd been dreaming of the Whispers, and when he felt something poking his ribs he assumed one of their daggers had followed him all the way out here.
Someone shushed him, urging him to be still.
Instead, he reached up and yanked them down right on top of him.
“Stop it! I'm a friend.”
Enormous amber eyes flashed inches from his own. Argus tried to poke them out, but long fingernails dug into his wrist and stopped him.
“It's Nasira, you dolt! Now will you please let me up? Before this gets any more unbearably awkward.”
“What?”
Argus looked the woman up and down. Her black hair was cut short, but her skin and eyes were the same. So was that look—the face she made whenever she struggled to stay polite, but couldn't fathom someone's stupidity.
He let her up. She scurried away in her nightgown until she was out of reach.
“What in the blazes are you doing here?” he said.
She shrugged. “I was just about to ask you the same question… after I ask you to get dressed.” She tossed his soggy trousers onto his lap.
“Shit.” Argus grabbed them and covered himself. “Sorry about jumping you. I thought you were someone else.”
“Someone set on killing you, apparently,” she said, looking out to sea. “Are you clothed yet?”
Argus pulled on the trousers and grunted. They clung to his body, covering it in seaweed stench.
“Can I come hug you now?” Nasira said.
Argus pulled her into his arms, twirling until they were both dizzy. He put her down and collapsed near the water's edge. The Comet Tailer lay down next to him.
“You're the last person I expected to find here,” he said.
Nasira smiled. “You shouldn't be so surprised. I'm always where the books are.”
“Aye.”
“What are you doing here, washed up and whistling like a madman? That's the question.” She burst out laughing. “And naked.”
“My clothes were freezing. Yours would be too if you had a dip in that water.” His sea green eyes glinted. “Since I'm not what you hoped to find, what do you want to do: toss me back?”
“No!” Nasira shook her head. “Like it or not, we're stuck with each other. But I do want answers.”
“Likewise. Ladies first. What in the blazes are you doing out here when you should be ruling the Comet Tail Isles?”
A storm gathered on Nasira's face. It started in the brow, fine lines rippling like thunder before the lightning crackled in her eyes. She looked out to sea, stood tall and said nothing.
“Nasira?”
“It's a long story—and one I'd rather not delve into at this hour.”
Argus nodded. “The only thing I want to delve into is some food and fresh water.” Saying the words was all it took to make his stomach quiver. “And some dry clothes.”
“Let's go, then. I have a horse just up the hill. The only one on the Cradle who lets me ride her.”
“I could kiss you right now.”
She laughed. “Please don't.”
Argus tried to get up, wobbled, and collapsed. He tried again. This time Nasira lent a hand and they staggered up the hill together. As he leaned on her shoulder, it struck him just how much he'd missed her. She was like the little sister he never had. And far too smart for her own good.
“Come on, old man,” s
he said.
He raised an eyebrow. “Some robbers called me that back on Davos. Right before I killed them.”
“It's true, though. The beard has aged you ten years.”
“You look nice, yourself.”
Nasira stopped walking and looked at him closer. “No. It isn't the beard. It's your eyes. They're different.”
Rage welled up inside him. He yearned to tell Nasira they were good changes. He was smarter now. More like her. Except he was too tired to argue. That—and he wasn't sure he was right. “I know,” he said.
“I've changed too.” She tossed her hair back, putting an abrupt end to the conversation. “There's my mare. She'll take us up the hill, to the city.”
* * *
Something was burning.
Something pungent and inviting and somehow familiar.
Argus stumbled into the daylight. Squinting, he looked down and waited for his eyes to adjust. Cuts and bruises covered his body. He looked about as healthy as an alley dog who fought for every scrap.
They'll heal. I'll heal them.
He felt better. And he was still very much alive. That was all that mattered.
Argus spotted Nasira across the street, huddled near a fire circle she'd dug and lined with stones. “I was wondering when you'd wake up,” she said, tossing a handful of powder into the flames.
“What are you doing?” He rushed over, and when he stopped behind her, saw her shoulders stiffen. “Why are you burning those powders?”
“Because it's the right thing to do.” Her eyes never strayed from the fire. “I'm saving the ones that will treat your wounds. But I won't take chances with any others.”
“Nasira.”
She whirled. “Don't try to stop me, Argus of Leith. You know I'm right.”
“Powders aren't why I'm here. I don't have anywhere else to go—and if I'm going to be a magic fiend the rest of my life I'd rather get the real thing.”
Nasira nodded. “Even so…” She tossed in another handful. “I can tell by your reaction. The desperation in your voice. The tension.” Another big scoop went into the flames, burning bright green, and disappeared. “That should do it.” She got up, dusted herself off, and reached for the dagger beside her.
“Don't look at me like that,” she said. “When we first met I didn't care if you lived or died. But I've grown attached. If I have to make hard decisions—decisions for your own good—I'll make them.”
“I know…” Argus sat cross-legged in the warm grass. His thoughts wandered to the night Janna had found him, while he withered away in that alley.
She's probably worried sick. Worrying is better than dying, though. At least she's safe.
Nasira slid closer. “You look awful. Stay still. These will help.” She sprinkled powder all over his body and started to rub it in. It foamed on his wounds, burning, cleansing, making him bite his lip to keep from crying out. At last she was finished, and Argus felt a semblance of health.
“Thanks.” Recovering fully would take weeks, but this was a start.
They ate in the shadows of the bronze statues. Nasira apologized for only having fruits and vegetables, but Argus didn't mind. He gorged himself on carrots and golden apples and lay down under the baking sun.
Nasira finished her apple, threw away the core and said, “It's better that I got rid of the powders, anyhow.”
“What's that?”
“Because I'm not supposed to make them anymore.” She patted the hammer strapped to her waist—the one she used to make counterfeit dragons and scientific marvels Argus didn't understand. “I'm not supposed to have this either.”
“Nasira, what are you—”
“I won't give it up! Not for anything. Something's wrong with the Ashrun. Last election…” Words failed her. Her face twisted, and tears started to flow.
Argus tried to put a hand on her shoulder but the Comet Tailer wrenched away. He stared at her a long time, powerless to stop her tears. “So you didn't make it,” he said. “You didn't get chosen among the ruling twelve.”
She shoved him away. “I didn't make it at all. I'm not even an artificer anymore. I'm just a lowly maskal.”
“What?”
“I'm forbidden to carry this hammer.” She shuddered. “But it's mine. I made it myself and it's mine! Giving it up—living the rest of my life as a servant or lady-in-waiting—I'd rather die.”
Argus's eyes widened. He knew little of the Comet Tail Isles, but he knew artificers made up one-tenth of the population. That meant there were thousands. And Nasira had been the thirteenth, just one shy of being among the ruling twelve. For her to have fallen so far…
“Something is wrong with the Ashrun. There has to be. That's why I came here. To find the Library of Man and figure it out myself.”
“Nasira…”
“What?”
“What did the Ashrun say? When you clutched its handles?”
“It said maskal. That's all it says, you dolt! It'd be nice if it gave one an idea what was lacking, but the damn thing isn't exactly a conversationalist.” She slumped forward, holding her head in her hands. “Sorry. I didn't mean that.”
Argus draped an arm over her shoulders and let her cry until her tears ran dry.
“You're the first person who knows where I went,” she said. “I didn't tell anyone. Now they'll imprison me as soon as I step foot on the isles. For leaving when I had a duty to stay. For refusing to destroy my hammer.”
“Not if you figure out what's wrong with the Ashrun.”
Nasira sighed. “Maybe you're right. Shanaz didn't just cheat her election. I think she broke it somehow. Can't ask her now, though. They executed her. She's fish food, just like you said.”
Argus wished he had the right words to comfort her. Any words at all. He knew the sinking feeling that came after getting exactly what you thought you wanted… only for things to go from bad to worse.
“The gods are playing with me,” she said.
“They're playing with us all.”
“I'm trying to be better. Making sacrifices at the foot of these statues every morning.”
“What about the eternal flame?”
Nasira shrugged. “I've spent my life trying to understand the natural world. And the evidence before my eyes tells me, yes, we're on the Cradle of Eld. The old gods are real. I can't deny it. I don't see why the eternal flame can't be true as well.” She threw up her hands. “Maybe it's a manifestation of their will.”
Argus looked at the statues looming over the ancient city. “Shame we can't just wake them up and ask.”
“If you figure out how,” said Nasira, smiling, “ask them the way into that cursed library. Give me a moment.” She disappeared into a stone hut opposite the one he'd slept in, and emerged with a thick steel chain.
“What in the blazes is that?”
“This,” she said, and dropped it by her feet, “is my lifeline. At least it was until this morning, when I decided to end my search.” Nasira told him that she'd used it the entire week she'd been on the Cradle. Whenever she chose a building to enter in search of the Library of Man, she anchored one end of the chain to something heavy outside.
“Then I'd go in with it,” she said. “I let it unravel behind me so I could find my way back if I got lost.”
“Did you?”
“Almost every day. This is a special place, Argus of Leith, but tread lightly. The walls aren't quite solid. Look away for a moment, and one's apt to move.”
He asked her how many buildings she'd checked.
“A few dozen,” she said, and pointed up the street. “The house where you slept was one of them. See the red X above the doorway?”
Argus nodded.
“I marked them with crushed bonberry juice. Something permanent enough to survive a little rain.”
Argus was impressed. But when he scanned the ancient city his mood soured. So many doors. He wouldn't just look like an old man when he finished opening them; he'd be one. “Why are you st
opping?”
“Call it a new life philosophy. I've spent a decade trying to make fate bend to my will.” She snorted. “And I woke up this morning and thought, 'What has it gotten me?' It's time to try something different. To let fate spin her yarn… and try not to complain.”
“But you're an artificer—”
“Was.” Her amber eyes narrowed, reminding Argus of angry bees. “It doesn't matter. Even if I wanted to carry on my search, I'm not sure I could bring myself to do it after what happened yesterday.” Nasira told him she'd been searching, nearly at the end of her chain when a roof caved in on her.
“Are you hurt?”
She shook her head. “I kicked out a window and found myself on the other side of the city. I shouldn't have had the time. That roof caved in slowly, Argus of Leith. Like someone was warning me.”
Gods.
“You should rest today,” said Nasira, “before you begin.”
He arched an eyebrow.
“Come on. I know that despite my warning you'll do it anyway. You won't stop until this city kills you or you find yourself in that library.”
“Would you try to stop me?”
“No.” She lowered her eyes and peered down the hill, toward the sea. “But I'd be sad when fate has her way with you.” He stared at her, the target of his former bounty, and almost asked how she'd read him so well. “At least use the chain,” she said.
“Aye. I will.”
They spent the afternoon chatting and lounging by a small fire. Argus ached to find the library, though his body ached more. He told Nasira about Azmar. He asked what she planned to do next; she said she hadn't the slightest clue.
“I'm tired of pretending I have it all figured out,” she said. “The only thing I know is that my belly is rumbling. Come on, let's eat.”
They ventured into the woods east of the city. The food was plentiful there, branches bending under enormous quantities of fruits and nuts. Everything fresh. Everything delicious and in season. Argus spotted representatives from every corner of the world—and plenty more that were unfamiliar.
Fortune's Toll (The Legion of the Wind, Book Two) Page 6
