‘I’ll do the talking,’ Morton told Damien. Like there’s much choice.
He approached a crew member on the ground, a woman with autumn-brown hair threatening to burst from its ponytail. ‘Evening!’
‘Papers?’ the woman droned.
‘Surely!’ Morton produced the writ signed by Garald.
‘We’re here for a civilian craft named Liberty Wind,’ said Damien. ‘Can you tell us where it is?’
The woman shook her head. ‘Don’t have any craft with that name. Anything else?’
‘Giselda tal Finn—where can I find her?’
Sweat and liquor reeked in Damien’s nose as soon as he opened the door to the Aurora Club.
‘Weapon, please,’ said a young blonde-haired girl behind a desk. Damien handed his knife over to her and analysed the club. A crescent window on the floor above had been boarded up, but Damien sensed the presence of someone sitting behind it.
‘Get in or get out,’ the girl said. ‘You’re letting a draft in.’
‘I’m looking for Giselda tal Finn.’
‘And you are?’
‘A friend of Tyson Gallows.’
‘Tyson Gallows?’ A gaunt Aludanian man peeled away from a wall, fixing Damien with a wolf’s grin. He pulled his coat back to reveal a revolver in its holster. ‘And here was me thinking I was in for an uneventful night.’
Men and women fell silent—Damien sensed their heart rates rise, sensed their heavy breathing. Chairs scraped on the floor, and the pianist in the corner abandoned his tune.
Eight more men stood with the Aludanian, every one of them armed.
‘Ah,’ said Damien. ‘You must be Asshole.’
The collapsible blade strapped to Damien’s left arm unfolded.
Damien marched out of the Aurora Club, blood splattered on his clothes and face.
Morton tried, and failed, to pull his gaze from the gore. ‘Gods, friend. You hurt?’
‘No.’
‘That your blood?’
‘No.’
‘Did you kill ’em?’
‘No.’
Somehow, that worried Morton more. ‘Do you know where the Liberty Wind is?’
‘Yes.’
Damien strode past Morton and delved deeper into the Diamond District.
‘Right, then.’
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Gods, I thought working aboard the Wind was hard.
Trudging through snow was like wading through quicksand; Serena’s calves burned, and her progress was slow. Snow fell in trickles from unbreaking clouds—Serena prayed it wouldn’t get heavier. Keep the Zemsuhdenya to your left, and you won’t get lost.
‘What do you reckon, Flicker?’ Serena couldn’t hear her own voice over the howl of the wind. ‘We nearly there?’
She couldn’t hear his response, but the siren-song told her that Flicker sang.
Her thick scarf scored against her neck and a hat clung tight to her scalp, and yet the cold still seeped through.
But she wouldn’t give up. This was something she had to do on her own.
For hours, she ploughed through untouched snow, stopping only to nibble at the salted meat she’d stolen.
When the sun peaked, Serena sat on a rock and sipped at lukewarm water from her flask. Can’t rest too long.
She stood on weakened legs, mopped sweat from her brow, and pushed on.
Then the first heavy snowdrift came.
She couldn’t see more than five feet in front of her. Wind and ice lashed at Serena’s face, so cold it burned. Even the volcano was little more than a vague silhouette behind the onslaught.
Snow crunched beneath her steps, and each breath stabbed her lungs. Exhaustion set into her bones like rust through an airship’s engine block.
Just a little more… Just a little more, then I’ll rest. Just a little—
The ground disappeared.
Serena rolled down a jagged slope, ploughing through rock and ice. She bounced and twisted in the air, her head smacking off something hard.
Aching all over, she slid to a halt.
She lay still, pain coming in waves, breath pulverised from her lungs.
She hauled herself to her feet, skidded, fell, then stood again.
Then the ground shuddered.
Ice.
She’d collapsed onto ice.
Serena ran as fast as her aching legs could carry her. She ignored the pain reverberating through her, running, sliding, slipping. She fell, landing on her arm, crying out as pain shot through the bone.
But the cracks kept spreading around her—if she stopped, an ice-cold grave would claim her.
She ran, not knowing in which direction or if another fall was in front of her.
The ground crumbled away—she slipped and fell forward, and only through sheer chance did she avoid flying over the edge and into the freezing depths of a lake.
She scrambled onto rock, grateful for the feel of solid ground beneath her.
‘Flicker… You okay?’
The bird sang in affirmation.
Relief made her dizzy and stole what energy was left in Serena’s legs.
But there was still a long way to go.
Even this far from Frosthaven, Serena sensed Myriel and Gallows. It comforted her.
I reckon they won’t miss that after I’m cured.
The snowstorm had calmed, and constellations winked through fading daylight. Serena remembered the patterns from having nothing to do on sea ships except stare at the sky. There’s the Songstress, and Deolira’s lion face… And Feria’s crooked walking staff.
‘All right, pal. Reckon we camp for the night.’
The first attempt to get the tent up ended in failure. The second attempt ended in absolute failure. But the third time, the tent stood.
Serena climbed inside and activated the ignium lamp; it was more than half-filled with gas, and—along with soft amber light—it gave off some heat. She unpacked salted mackerel and dried apricots for Flicker.
‘Hey, don’t complain. At least it ain’t roast pigeon.’
After she’d eaten, Serena unfurled the sleeping bag and crawled inside. She extinguished the ignium lamp, closed her eyes, and fell asleep straight away.
‘Shit.’
A snowdrift had swept through while Serena slept. She clawed her way through the tent door and climbed through; the tent sagged from the weight of snowfall. It had torn a gash in its outer skin.
Serena ate the last of her salted mackerel and fed seeds to Flicker, then got to work unpacking the tent. It went down much easier than it went up, but two of the poles had bent and one had snapped in half.
Placing the Zemsuhdenya to her left shoulder, Serena set off. ‘All right, Flicker… We’re on the right track… I think…’
Two days. Myriel told me it’d take two days, and the first is over.
‘Who knows, Flicker? We might find a slope and just slide the rest of the way there.’
She pictured Myriel in the infirmary, pale, peaceful. Serena’s chest tightened like a straitjacket.
‘When I get rid of the curse, you’ll still be my friend, right, Flicker? Yeah. Of course you will.’ The chill gnawed at Serena’s bones. ‘Of course you will.’
Serena squeezed through narrow cliff-sides, their icy walls as sharp and jagged as thorns. She had to throw her rucksack through slender gaps to make space before climbing through herself. The serrated surface of the rock snagged her clothes—she yanked free, trying to ignore the cruel laughter of the wind howling throughout the frozen canyons.
The Zemsuhdenya had disappeared hours ago, but Serena pressed forward. Running low on supplies and exhausted, if she turned back now, she’d die before making it back to Frosthaven. She pictured her frozen body within the ice—hidden for years, face frozen in stretched agony, undiscovered until Nyr’s Day.
‘Won’t happen…’ she muttered. Gods, but she wanted to lie down and sleep. Needed to lie down and sleep.
When night se
t in, the jagged canyons glowed with the subtle ebb of soft fire—almost impossible to see, but there, deep beneath the ice.
The rock… Ignicite…
Unmined ignicite, left to spread and grow like a weed, corrupting the landscape around it.
Serena fell to her knees. ‘Sleep… rest… just for a while…’
A snowdrift twisted through the canyon, flaying Serena in a twirling, barbed-wire dance.
Ankles aching, Serena pushed herself to her feet.
The bag straps burned her shoulders, even through the layers she’d put on. Her muscles begged at her to stop.
One night… Still a little food… We can rest, and find the temple tomorrow…
‘Right, Flicker?’
The bird’s song sounded as weak as Serena felt.
Serena found a clearing and hammered the tent pegs into the icy ground, splitting it. The tent sat like a deflated airship envelope, but it’d do.
‘Easy,’ she told Flicker. ‘We’ll be okay… We’ll be okay.’
Rest came in fits, Flicker curled in with her.
‘If we don’t find the temple of Musa by noon tomorrow, buddy, then we’ll turn back. You still remember the way, right?’
Serena’s stomach growled as she crawled into her sleeping bag and switched the lamp off, breathing darkness into the tent.
‘This is it,’ Serena announced after breaking her fast on seeds. ‘Today’s the day. I can feel it.’
Serena patted her coat—Flicker was still asleep. Lazy.
For what she prayed was the last time, she packed the tent. Her stiff shoulders ached as soon as she hauled the rucksack onto her back.
I can do it. I can do it.
And she set off, the wind biting her skin, the sinking sun casting stretching shadows overhead.
The third snowdrift of the day was the fiercest. Serena twisted, turned and fell over a dozen times. Her lip burst but she didn’t have the energy to wipe the blood from her mouth.
But she refused to give in.
‘How about… you, Flicker? Huh?’
She patted her pocket, unable to feel anything beyond the numbness in her fingers.
‘Flicker?’
Serena stopped and slipped the backpack from her shoulders. She unpinned her coat button, cupping Flicker close to shield him from the cold. ‘C’mon, lazy bones.’
But the bird didn’t move.
The wind whispered taunts in her ear. All feeling left Serena’s fingers as snow seeped through her gloves, but she kept digging.
Flicker deserved a better resting place.
I’m sorry.
Ice and snow crunched beneath her feet. Had noon come and gone?
It didn’t matter. She’d find the temple or she wouldn’t. She’d find shelter or she’d perish. She didn’t care which.
Everything that’s happened…
Maybe…
Maybe I should never have been born at all…
In Dulwin, in the alley where she’d lured Finn’s man, she’d seen a young, weeping mum cradling an unmoving bundle of rags. Was she cradling a child… like Mateus?
A mother’s love could ward off many things, but not everything. It was impossible to save everyone. No matter how hard Serena had tried, tragedy struck like a bolt of lightning. Like… the wrath of storms that blind preacher back home goes on about… Uncaring… Random…
Had Serena’s parents known of the terror she’d bring? Is that why they’d sent her away?
Screw ’em...
I ain’t gonna feel guilty…
Not for people who didn’t want me…
If I’m…
If I’m gonna die out here…
Then I’ll die without them… just like I lived without them.
There are people… who’ve earned my respect, and my guilt…
Real crew… Real family…
They’re the ones…
They’re the ones who—
Serena’s legs buckled and she fell to the ground.
Sorry…
I’m sorry…
She lay there, the fog in her head drawing deeper, her thoughts submerging and unable to protest against the final sleep setting in.
‘Maybe they were men and women, too, once.’ Aldus’ voice carries above the thundering hooves of his horse.
Musa doesn’t respond. The scribe, Sul, rides close to her, and though he does not look her way, she knows he’ll note everything she says.
‘Sister, listen,’ Aldus continues. ‘Think how far you’re willing to take this crusade of yours. Your own strength is untamed—make sure you control it, and it does not control you. If you don’t, the coming storm may strike the world over.’
Would that be Aldus’ last counsel? Is he right to fear her?
The death priestess rides up beside her, silent as a spectre. ‘The runes spell doom.’ The language of the eastern continent vibrates through her words.
Aldus’ laughter bellows. ‘Nura’s ways are strange—but that does not mean they are wrong.’
Musa says nothing. She feels Sul’s eyes bore deeper into her back; he does not like the increasing attention Aldus pays her. He wears envy and malice the same way men wear a sword—sheathed but unconcealed. She sees it more each day—sees his eyes, his scheming. He is the real threat; a weak man cowers before that which he fears, or he runs; a warrior engages it head-on to mask the terror coursing through him like gut-rot.
But a man who is warrior and coward both strikes in the dark, swift as a bolt of lightning.
Wordless, Musa rides harder.
And the earth shudders.
First there was a light. Weak, dim—but there.
Then came the electricity, and the music—a lilting, discordant sound that coalesced and reconciled into a melody.
Serena recognised it.
‘You awake?’
‘G… Gallows. How…?’
He resolved from the blur, bringing an ignium lamp closer to Serena. More than one. She welcomed their warmth.
‘Save your energy,’ he said.
‘I’m… I’m sorry.’
She was inside a small, wooden shed, but the wind still bit at her skin. Pain throbbed in her legs as she pushed herself against a wooden wall. This isn’t Frosthaven.
‘You’re… alone?’ The wind almost strangled her question into silence.
Gallows couldn’t meet her eyes. ‘Didn’t wanna be slowed down.’
Guilt swelled in Serena’s stomach like a snowball rolling into an avalanche. ‘No-one else would follow you, huh?’
Gallows scratched the back of his head. ‘Enoch tried. Told him to keep vigil over Myriel. Didn’t want her to be alone in case…’
‘How did you find me?’
‘Hunter, remember?’ His lips curved, but it didn’t soften the steel in his eyes.
‘Thought… that was just a name. Gods above.’ Serena splayed her fingers over the closest lamp. ‘Thought I was gonna die.’
‘You would’ve.’
‘Where are we?’
Gallows shook his head. ‘Some abandoned outpost, far as I can tell. It was near where you fell. Easy to miss, in the snow.’
‘How’d you find it?’
‘From the sky. I was tracking you from the Childhood’s End.’
‘Heinrich gave you the airship?’
Gallows spread his fingers over a lamp. ‘Eventually.’
Serena got to her feet and approached the small window of the hut. The snowstorm had calmed, and night settled in. ‘Gods, how long was I asleep?’
‘Hours—which is why we gotta get back. Frosthaven needs its airship back.’
Hours? Feels like minutes.
‘How you feeling?’ Gallows asked.
‘Yeah… Fine, all things considered.’
‘You were screaming all kinds of weird shit while you slept.’
‘Huh? I’ve barely got the energy to talk, let alone scream.’
‘Something about horses and a creepy scribe watc
hing you.’
If it was possible, Serena’s blood turned colder. Had to tell him sooner or later. ‘Gallows… I’ve been having these… I don’t know what to call ’em. Visions? Hallucinations?’
Gallows leaned back. ‘Nothing to worry about. Out here, in the cold and isolation—it does weird things.’
Serena shook her head. ‘I’ve been having them since Dulwin.’
Gallows’ brow screwed up. ‘And what happens in these “visions”?’
Serena sat by the ignium lamps again. As she talked, Serena stared at the pools of swirling amber mist in the lamps. It was easier to do that than look at Gallows.
The visions were fragmented and blurred, but she told him everything she remembered: How she looked out from eyes that weren’t hers. How the hot wind seared her lungs. How her arm ached from carrying a sword and how she marched against enemies too numerous to count.
She told him of the blood-red sky, the fires dancing in the distance, the great sandstorms and the hammer of horses’ hooves. She told him about the quieter moments where she was riding with strangers.
‘I wasn’t in my own head.’ Serena struggled to put it into words. ‘But I… felt everything Musa was feeling.’
Serena didn’t know how Gallows would react. Would he think she was insane? Dangerous?
The wind cackled through the wooden hut’s beams.
‘Really appreciate it if you said something.’
Gallows straightened his back. ‘I don’t know how to explain it, Serena. It could just be dreams. When the Idari held me captive, I had vivid nightmares, too.’
Serena shook her head. ‘No, it’s… more than that. Sorry, I don’t know how else to describe it. I got the feeling… It felt like I was looking at the past. The swords and the clothes, they were all old—really old.’
‘Can you describe ’em? More detail might help.’
Serena felt the skin on her face tighten. The images were there, just out of focus, hovering at the corner of her eye, but…
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