Around him, his brothers and sisters lay dead. There had been twenty-five Chi’santae that morning, fifty individuals devoted to the preservation of the Confluence. Now there were none. Nor was there anything left to protect.
It did not take long for him to find her.
She lay not far from the Confluence, her head turned so that her dark eyes, open and unseeing, faced the smoldering tree. White ash coated her form, freckled her dark hair like unclean snow. Her skin was cold to the touch.
Long gone. She was long gone.
“Jae-In.” Charlie sobbed, shaking her corpse as if to rouse her from sleep. “My bevolder.” He collapsed, pressing his face to her bloody tabard, and wept against her silent breast. He choked on his grief, on his self-loathing, and could not have said how long he remained. Without the rise and fall of the sun for a guide, it may well have been days. And days in the Confluence would be many weeks in the real world.
“Charlem.”
He heard his name and closed his eyes tighter. It had sounded like his wife, which could only mean he’d gone insane.
“Charlem,” the voice repeated.
Reluctantly, he looked up. “Jae-In?”
She was standing beside him, and for a blissful instant he thought there had been some mistake, that she had not died. Until he noticed that she lacked solidity, that she cast no shadow, that her corpse still sprawled at his side. It was her spirit, which could only remain for a time.
She brought a hand to his cheek, and it was as if a breeze caressed him.
He closed his eyes, his throat contracting painfully. “I’m so sorry.”
“It was meant to be this way, I think,” she said.
His eyelids flew open and he gestured to the charred husk of the Confluence, to their brethren dead at his feet. “Like this?”
She glanced down at her own body and seemed to take a deep breath. “All endings are also beginnings. Herenne was a fool—he thought he could destroy the Confluence, he thought he could end the Chi’santae.”
“But…he did.”
“No, my love. It is not possible to truly destroy the Confluence. It has moved.” Her hand that was not a flesh-and-blood hand gestured to his chest. “It is here now.”
He peeked down at his own chest and saw nothing remarkable. “I don’t—”
“The Confluence is in you now, Charlie. You will need to learn how to access it, but it is there.”
“And when I die, what then?”
Jae-In seemed to fade a bit and his heartbeat quickened—he feared the end of this conversation, feared it would mark the last time he would hear her voice, see her face. “To honor the sacrifice made here, the Company of Spirits have promised to commemorate this day each year. They will choose fifty mortals, the fifty young people who have the greatest potential to make a difference in the world. They will be marked as Confluences, so that they might carry the communion between our worlds with them as a sign to mankind that the Spirits cannot be silenced. You will need to find them, Charlie, you will need to teach them our culture. Without you, so much will be lost.”
Charlem shook his head, his shoulders sagging. “I can’t…I can’t do anything without you.”
She reached up her hand as if to cup his face and he closed his eyes, tried to feel her touch. “You and I are forever connected. Where you go, so goes my spirit. What you do is my doing as well. Do it for me, Charlie, and I will wait for you.”
He sobbed helplessly, but nodded. He could deny this woman nothing, he never could. “How will I know them—these Confluences?”
“They will be marked.”
Chapter Sixteen
Bray squinted into the mist and leaned against the wooden railing, letting the sea-spray pepper her cheeks. Her chin-length hair whipped about her face, apparently determined to obstruct her view. She swatted at the ill-behaved mop, and, for good measure, puffed out her cheeks and blew at the strands as if extinguishing a candle.
A sedge of white cranes erupted from the curling fog, near at hand, long necks and legs extended in graceful linearity. Bray tracked them with her eyes. Oddly, she thought of Yarrow—of how he would appreciate such a sight. She looked at them as if through his eyes, and felt a momentary swell in her chest; a wonder of nature she would normally overlook.
She heard Su-Hwan speaking in rapid Chaskuan and turned to the sound. The petite girl stood beside the captain of the ship, an old man with a wispy beard that could easily have tucked into a belt, had he worn a belt—or trousers for that matter. Instead, he sported a traditional Chaskuan garment reminiscent of Cosanta robes.
He caught Bray’s eye and bowed his head in her direction. In his hand, an old-fashioned pipe the length of a short sword emitted smoke in a meandering column. His vessel, too, was in the old style of the north, with a flat, pinewood keel, its sails tightly woven squares of cattail ribbed by bamboo braces. He and his crew seemed men out of time to Bray, like figures in old stories of far-off places.
They passed through yet another cluster of minute, forested islands in the Chaskuan archipelagos. Bray studied them through the haze, wondering if they were inhabited, wondering what life would be like in such a secluded place. This area was home to many strange things—unrecognizable vegetation, strange beasts she’d only ever seen in zoos.
“Cap’n says we’re nearly there.” Bray jumped at the sound of Peer’s voice so unexpectedly close to her ear. He’d made himself scarce long enough that she’d begun to wonder—the ship wasn’t that big.
He chuckled and bumped his shoulder against hers. “’S only me.”
Bray squinted up at him, at his face which seemed to be growing steadily more haggard beneath its tawny tangle of beard. “Have you been drinking with the crew?”
His gaze flicked away from hers and he squared his shoulders, tugging on the cuff of his sleeve. “No.”
“Then why is your speech slurred?” she challenged.
“’S not.”
She eyed him with concern, her mouth turned down. “There is something you aren’t telling me, Peer. Why don’t you just spit it out?” She paused to take a breath and alter her tone. “You’ve been acting so strange lately. You’re really making me worry.”
She braced herself for the sharp side of his tongue. Peer was never fond of being offered unsolicited advice. Instead, when he turned to her his eyes had a glassy, unfocused look, his mouth hooked into a lazy smile. “No need to be worrying. I’m jus’ fine.”
Bray opened her mouth to point out that, the night before last, she had discovered him in earnest conversation with an overturned crate, but was cut off by a single-syllable command from the captain—a sound which seemed to serve many purposes in Chaskuan, but apparently in this scenario meant ‘ahoy.’
The mist thinned enough for Bray to make out the shape of an island, far larger than any they had passed in the preceding days—Jedoh, an island port town and their destination.
The booted feet of crewmen pounded on the deck, commands called in words unintelligible to Bray. She studied the approaching harbor, the docks packed tightly with merchant stalls and foot traffic. The crowds themselves were a patchwork of culture and class. She had never been to Jedoh, but could see instantly that its reputation as the melting pot of Trinitas was apt. She sought the crisp blue uniforms of constables and Elevated, but could make out little in such a milling hive of colorful garb.
Su-Hwan stepped up to Bray’s side, her dark fathomless eyes scanning the harbor. “He will have sent some here.”
Bray frowned, puzzled by her certainty. While she thought an Elevated presence in Jedoh not unlikely, it hardly seemed a given. “We’ll just have to be careful, then. But why here?”
“He is seeking the remaining Chisanta. Presuming them on the move and not knowing their terminus, he will have focused on junctions rather than destinations.”
“You seem to really know his mind.”
Su-Hwan swiveled a bland face in her direction. “His methods, yes. They are h
ighly logical. His underlying motivation I cannot speak to.”
As the crew cast anchor and prepared to dock, Bray popped below deck to retrieve their luggage. She unfurled their map and angled it into the column of sunlight pouring through the porthole. The eastern half of the island was a densely packed network of streets, bursting with hotels ranging from high-class to seedy, restaurants and shops, brothels and fish markets—all of the usual offerings of a port town. The west, however, was mountainous and sparsely populated. It was there, she’d learned, that a Dalish couple lived in seclusion, but were known to take in art students.
Bray traced the route with her eyes. Almost there. They’d need to hire a ferry, of course, but she suspected she’d meet Quade’s sister by tea time. Just what kind of reception she would receive remained to be seen.
She opened Peer’s pack to tuck the map away—he usually liked to have such things on his person. More to the point, he didn’t trust her to read them properly. You hold a map upside down one time—
“What’re you doin’?” Peer’s voice cut off her reverie.
“Hm?” She stood up straight. “Oh, just putting the map in your bag.”
He crossed the room and yanked his sack from her grasp. “Don’t go rootin’ through m’ things.” He slung the bag over his shoulder and stomped from the room, leaving her to stare after him in bewilderment.
After a quick last look around their cabin to ensure all of their limited possessions were packed, she trudged back up the stair, muttering to herself about tetchy traveling companions. Her annoyance gave way to wariness as she mounted the stair and heard the distinct sound of Dalish voices on the deck of the ship, voices that certainly did not belong to Peer or Su-Hwan.
Cautiously, she crept up the remaining steps and peeked around the corner. She stifled a groan when she spied the backs of four young men wearing matching blue coats. She scanned their belts for holsters, but they appeared to be unarmed.
“—Apologize for the inconvenience, but all incoming ships are to be searched and all occupants to undergo neck inspections, by order of the pro tem ruler of Trinitas.”
Bray closed her eyes and swallowed. She’d been prepared for Quade to have a presence on the island, but hadn’t anticipated it would be so organized.
The captain turned to Su-Hwan for translation. She repeated the Elevated’s words, and he huffed and muttered a string of what sounded like expletives.
“Those who resist will be assumed conspirators and detained for questioning,” a second youth said in a nasal, haughty tone that brought Arlow Bowlerham to mind.
Su-Hwan translated this as well, and Spirits bless the girl, she appeared bored by the exchange rather than nervous. The Captain bowed in assent, though he continued to glare at the Elevated with blatant contempt.
A tall young man, perhaps three or four years Bray’s junior, produced a handkerchief and bottle of rubbing alcohol. He approached Peer first. “Lower your collar.”
Peer, who looked none too steady on his feet, wagged his head from side to side in an infantile refusal.
Great Spirits, Peer, how much did you drink?
Accepting that this was going to come to blows, Bray marched up onto the deck. One of the four observed her, and must have recognized her as one of those ‘rebels’ plastered all over Trinitas, as his pock-marked face lit with excitement. “It’s her. The ghost!”
Bray tossed her bag aside and walked up to the lad, her demeanor relaxed. “The ghost, huh?” She pursed her lips contemplatively. “I think I like that.”
He took a swing—a blow that would have sent her reeling if it weren’t so obvious and slow. She ducked, and when his arm was extended and his balance off-center, delivered several swift blows to his solar plexus. He let out a wheeze and thumped down on his butt.
Bray grinned, her heart ticking merrily in her chest. After being cooped up on a ship for so many days, a winnable fight seemed just the tonic for her temper.
A second Elevated—a person whom she had taken for a man from behind, but who turned out to be a rather broad-shouldered woman—darted forward to aid her companion. Bray batted at her unruly hair and squared her shoulders, aligning herself as Yarrow had taught her. Nonsense though it sounded, the Cosanta tenet on ‘rooting’ made a tangible difference in combat.
The woman bared her teeth. Her pale eyes and hair, taken with her moon-white face, gave her visage a curious, blanched aspect, like a vase of fabric flowers left too long in the sun. She did not strike, but rather extended her empty hands before her, as if she cradled a ball. In the space between her palms, a flame sprung from nothingness—grew to a flickering orb of fire that cast warm light across the deck of the ship and illuminated the woman’s ghostly face.
Bray sucked in her bottom lip. She, of course, had nothing to fear from a fire gift, but she would feel rather badly if this confrontation lost the captain his vessel. His wooden vessel.
She was still contemplating how to minimize this risk, when the fire in the girl’s hands suddenly extinguished with an impotent fizzle. The Elevated’s eyes widened in shock, and she gaped down at her empty hands.
Bray’s eyes flicked to Su-Hwan, her mouth quirked with smug satisfaction. Well done, girl. Taking advantage of her foe’s growing sense of horror—a feeling Bray well remembered—she shot forward, struck two quick, efficient blows, and watched the girl collapse to the deck of the ship.
With her own adversaries, for the time, dispatched, Bray turned to assess the situation at large. Su-Hwan fought with a certain analytic precision. A Cosanta, clearly, but with a vigor that seemed somehow Chiona in nature. Bray was so captured by this strange blend that, for a moment, she failed to notice Peer’s predicament.
He was barely putting up a fight. His arms were only half raised, as if he were not aware of the fists connecting with his face. Several wounds bled red streaks down his already swelling face. He staggered, more unbalanced than Bray had ever seen him. She watched with an increasing sense of alarm as he stumbled like a drunk man, as the back of his legs hit the railing and his body lurched rearwards, and, for an instant that seemed to last a long minute, as his feet swung up from the deck and his weight propelled him over the gunwale. She heard the sharp smack of his body hitting the ocean below.
“Peer!” she called, her chest constricting. You can’t swim, idiot!
She pounded across the deck, streaked past the Elevated who had sent Peer over the edge—Su-Hwan could handle him—and jumped up onto the rail. She shielded her eyes with her hand and examined the choppy, green sea below. No Peer.
With a measured inhale of salty air, Bray launched herself from the ship’s rail, diving in an elegant arc. The harbor water engulfed her with a sensation akin to assault—the sea cold to an incomprehensible degree, making each speck of her flesh feel bruised and bludgeoned, driving all thought from her mind save for a dire desire to be elsewhere. Her soaking skirts tangled about her legs, weighing her down, causing her to somersault in the sea. Panic, the sort that drowns out all sense of logic and purpose, blared in her mind.
Something tugged on her skirts, pulling her deeper with rough, hysterical hands. Spinning downward, she saw Peer, his blue eyes wide and frantic. He yanked on her dress again, attempting to pull himself up at her expense. She kicked at him—Just grab onto me so I can phase us—trying to break his grip on her clothing. The need for air began to burn in her lungs. They spun, him rising and her sinking. With the hem of her skirt still in his hand, he pulled the fabric over her face, blinding her. Bray thrashed—desperate, suffocating. When he would not release her, she at last phased.
It was odd, to phase underwater. The pressure of the liquid around her disappeared in an instant, making her ears pop, but the ache in her lungs did not ebb, would not until she breathed again. The sensation of being soaked with frigid water, too, remained. However, with her dress no longer in Peer’s grip and no pull of the current, she was able to rise.
When her head was once again above the wate
r she rematerialized and gasped at the air. However, mid-breath, another sharp tug on her foot shot her beneath the surface, and the breath of air turned into a gulp of water. The brine scorched her throat and the horrifying sensation of icy sea water sloshing within her own chest sent her mind into hysterics.
She kicked and flailed, but the relentless embrace of the bitter sea carried her only deeper. Her movement began to slow. Black spots blossomed in her vision.
So cold. So tired.
Bray was only barely cognizant of the disturbance in the water beside her, of the strong arm that clamped around her waist and pulled her upward.
Next she knew, she was sprawled on the dock, shuddering violently and choking up seawater. She pushed sodden hair from her eyes and gazed up at her savior. The old captain grinned down at her with yellowing teeth, deep creases forming fans on either sides of his merry eyes. His Chaskuan garb and long hair were plastered to him wetly, but he seemed unperturbed by the cold. He said something in his own tongue that Bray could not comprehend, laughed heartily, and patted her shoulder with a kind of fatherly affection.
“Thank you,” Bray breathed through a chafed throat. She turned to the sound of vomiting and found Peer nearby, on hands and knees, wracked with tremors, expelling the contents of his stomach.
Bray slowly became aware that they were far from alone—a crowd of curious bystanders had formed around them.
“Must be in league—”
“Doesn’t she look like—”
“—Quite shocking.”
Bray rolled onto her back and wrenched her dress straight to cover her legs. So much for circumspection.
The shadow of a form blocking the sun announced Su-Hwan’s arrival. The girl was dry and apparently undamaged; she had all three of their packs dangling around her arms. “Good. You are both alive.”
Bray laughed and her chest ached in protest. Su-Hwan handed her a shawl from her bag and Bray, with stiff blue fingers, endeavored to wrap the dry wool around her shoulders.
“We must move,” Su-Hwan said. She held out a hand.
The Complete Marked Series Box Set Page 59
