by Dana Swift
“I guess we’ll just have to trust one another.”
“I won’t be late,” I say, half in reassurance, half in warning.
“I don’t doubt it.” She pauses as she reaches for the door, turns back. “One more thing. How are you with black magic?”
I smile. That’s one thing I don’t need to lie about. “A natural.”
Kalyan is so punctual even Riya would be impressed. I’m not late—the stars have just started their twinkling—but he’s beaten me here. He leans against an alley wall, eyes trained on the square. Funny enough, it’s a lamp carrying firelight that illuminates his features, especially his jawline. He’s watching for me, I realize with a start. Only I’ve come from the other direction, avoiding the openness of the square like the professional that I am. But I hang back in a curtain of darkness. He’s different from what I thought Jatin’s head guard would be like. I figured Jatin would pick someone, I don’t know, someone mean, someone exactly like himself and not just in looks. It shouldn’t fascinate me so, that Kalyan is kind. He was probably ordered to help, but the way he surveys the sky for me…
“Looks different without a parade and some girl hurling herself in front of a carriage, huh?” I say as I come up beside him and mirror his cross-armed stance.
He twitches; one could even describe it as flinching.
I can’t help but chuckle. “Did I scare you?”
Kalyan collects himself nicely. “For a moment there, I thought you had stood me up.”
He had a right to be worried. I almost flew past. Probably shouldn’t tell him that, though. “I thought about it.”
What is wrong with me?
He smiles regardless. He wears it so well too, that smile. “I guess I should thank you, then, for keeping your word.”
And yet I’m lying through my teeth. For the first time, guilt climbs through me regarding that particular detail. “We’re going to the docks. Pier Sixteen,” I answer, bringing Hubris to life in a rush of red smoke. I can’t risk the mission, no matter how kind he is.
The moon is wide tonight, but that’s okay. Light creates more shadows, and that’s black magic’s specialty. Kalyan and I fly low under a film of concealment. For safety reasons it’s illegal to even hover below rooftop level, but it’s too hard flying and using black magic to cover the glow of a skyglider. Kalyan seems to know how a strong wind can easily break an illusion, because he doesn’t contradict our unlawful maneuver. He even accepts my hand signals for turns and speed changes. Only Riya could be this coordinated with me. Must be a guard thing.
Houses spawn and collide with each other for space until the docks. Only the smells of fish and salt water signal the approaching ocean and the piers that branch into it. Kalyan and I zoom within the protective shadows of an alleyway until the wide shoreline welcomes us. We’re here and we’re vulnerable. From now on it’s best to be on foot. I swivel to tell Kalyan, but he’s gone. I look down, where he’s already landed, attaching his skyglider to his belt.
“We should walk from here,” he calls up in a whisper.
I drop within the next second. How is he so good at this so fast? It took me a month to properly trail and surprise attack drug deals in the streets, and that was with suitable escape routes and shadows.
“What?” Kalyan asks, noticing my stare.
I buckle Hubris to my belt. “Nothing. Let’s go.”
* * *
We run into a wall, the rocky end of Belwar Bay, where the cliffs raise up to form the southernmost coast of continental Wickery. We’ve passed fifteen perfectly fine docks, all posed and ready with hundreds of ships latched to their sides or floating just off. Now it’s emptiness, a wall, and the slosh of semicalm sea.
“Sixteen, you said?” Kalyan asks.
“Blood.” I knew the number sixteen sounded wrong on Sims’s lips; I thought Belwar had only fifteen working piers. I’m an idiot. Months of work and blood in the ring, and Sims lied to my face. And I had thought I had put on my Bloodlurst addict act so well too. Idiot.
Kalyan suddenly points. “The waves are off.”
I whirl around. “What?” But I’m already looking, analyzing where he gestures. And I see it. A current is bringing in the waves and they furl nicely into surf. But they aren’t catching the rocks. In fact, if anything is off it’s that the waves are altogether too peaceful.
Kalyan and I both step back and I reexamine what’s in front of us.
“A near-perfect illusion,” Kalyan voices. My sentiment exactly. I’m almost in awe of this thing’s complexity and strength. Nightfall helps, but still. Mere wind isn’t breaking it.
“Except at the seams.” I glance over at him. He really is a natural at black magic. He’ll have no problem casting on his own mask, a spell I created to conceal myself.
“Except at the seams,” he agrees.
We creep up the beach, guiding ourselves along the illusion, not daring to break through yet. Best to find the edging so that the two of us aren’t walking in the middle of who knows what. Right past the seawall we find the fissure of a corner. Now the hard part, because the easiest thing about an illusion is breaking it. That’s the opposite of what we want, however. The Vencrin are astute enough to notice two people-sized holes.
I ready myself to step forward and cast my own little illusion like a poor patch job, but Kalyan stops me. With one spell, white smoke engulfs his arms, and he reaches forward and pulls the corner apart. His nod indicates I should go ahead, like he’s holding a door open for me. One might even consider this gesture chivalrous, if the other side didn’t possibly lead to the criminal underbelly of Belwar. But his magic is still impressive.
The scene that appears after I duck under Kalyan’s arm? Not so much. Pier Sixteen resides on the grimy side of forgotten and abandoned, just past disgusting and living alongside jagged rocks, and waves endlessly try to soften them. An average captain would perish if he set off from this location. Now the location makes sense. The Vencrin have tapered off the last section of beach, a place no one would think to reclaim due to the risk and needless danger.
Voices rise from down the pier, and Kalyan and I crouch behind the nearest jumble of wicker crates and fishing nets. A quite flavorful seaside stench confronts us, but I don’t think we’ve been spotted. From our perch we can see a ship that doesn’t appear to be in much better condition than its dock. Sludge and barnacles have climbed from the water and cling to the boat’s siding. Sails with small tears in their orange fabric fan out like the scales of a fish.
Three wizards are loading a crate, one positioned on the dock, one on the ramp, and one on deck. They use a yellow levitation spell, passing the wicker crate among the three of them in a rainbow sheet of orange, black, and purple. It must be heavy and fragile to need the power and concentration of all three wizards.
There’s something weird about the orange forte user. I don’t recognize him from the Underground and yet his features ring inside my memory. Where have I seen him before? Was it the Underground?
I’m wasting time searching my nagging memory. “I need to see what’s in those crates,” I whisper.
Kalyan pushes at my shoulder as I begin to stand. “You’re going to barge in there with no plan?”
“No, I was about to tell you the plan.”
“I think we should call the Dome Guard. Get them involved. Will only take one bout of magic.”
“No,” I say reflexively at the thought of a jet of white magic zooming into the sky and alerting everyone to our position. But then I pause. Guard? The guard! Basu. The man with the nose, who loaded Basu’s unconscious body and kept staring at me. I spin back to the man with a crate above his head. It’s him.
“It would be better if—”
I cut Kalyan off. “Blood no. See the wizard closest to us. He works for the Guard.”
“How do you know that?”
“Long story. Doesn’t matter now, but I’m sure of it.”
It does matter, though. Was that why Basu was released so quickly? The betrayal when I fought Basu gathers its twin and stuffs the emotion into my heart. Why! Why is everything corrupt in Belwar? Then an awful thought permeates my misery. Is this why the best swordsman and purple magic user I know is in a coma? Maybe it wasn’t just a Vencrin attack that cast Riya’s father into his deathlike state. Maybe it was an ambush, the Guard itself backstabbing him. I stifle the rage that wants to spout out of my mouth.
Kalyan’s stunned expression reverts to one of neutral concentration. “You’re right. If he’s a Belwar guard we can’t call them.”
Good, he’s with me, because I can’t stop now. Forget my promise to Maharaja Naupure about retreat if necessary. I’m going to make these men bleed.
“You take the guard on the dock. I’ll take the one on the ship. Whoever the black ramp wizard goes for, we take him out.”
The wizards are already on their second crate. “Ready?”
Kalyan nods.
“Chagnyawodohs,” I whisper, and wisps of red float off my fingers. The red mask adheres to my face in cold strokes. Then I cast a purple spell, and my magic plunges into the fibers of my black clothes, sewing thick, armorlike red swirls into the fabric. I quickly teach Kalyan the spell, and a white mask fastens to his face, turning him into a ghost come back to life. I can only imagine how freaky I must look, but it’s the best disguise I’ve worn in all my spying and ambushing. A black magic spell I created myself.
“When you see red, you know when to attack,” I say, then run and dive behind more shipping crates. Two more leaps behind cover and a jump off the one-meter-tall seawall and I’m on the beach, the sand sloshing upward with each footstep. Hubris bounces off my thigh.
“Sthairya Saritretaw,” I call to the sea. A dark wave breaks unnaturally farther inland. A thick foam of unrest eddies. I run and, without a second thought, step onto the water. Stairs bubble in small breaking rifts as they jolt upward, and I climb in unbalanced havoc.
Only have a few seconds before the stairs disappear. Gods!
I jump for the anchor’s rope as the water stairs shimmer and fall in one flat crash. The wet braids of fiber burn my palms as I grapple for a grip. Blood! I slide. One meter. Two meters. I tighten my hold and finally stop my descent, an arm’s length from the ocean. My heart pumps in my ears. That was…not graceful.
The Vencrin may have heard the wave or my fumbling, so as soon as I’m level with the deck I reach over with a knockout spell ready on my lips. But there’s nothing. No wizards, no levitation spells carrying crates; nothing but dead silence. “Vrnotwodahs,” I say, to reconnect with the shadows of the ship as I climb over the side and crouch.
Then I hear it, the clatter of a crate cracking, the yell of a spell, and the grunts of fighting. I run to the ramp and take in the scene on the dock with wild searching eyes. Kalyan has a bubble shield wrapped around him like a re-creation of the sphere in the Underground. The purple forte wizard pounds it with orange magic, shearing off sheets of dust and smoke. Inside the bubble Kalyan punches a wizard in the gut. The big-nosed wizard lies to the side, motionless.
What about my plan?
“Nizleah,” I send toward Mr. Hit-It-Until-It-Breaks, then drop behind the ship’s railing. My red magic flames toward his purple forte like an arrow. It misses by centimeters and splatters against Kalyan’s shield. Blood. I low-crawl fast on the deck, awaiting a spell to hit the place I fired from.
Instead, the wizard bellows, “Intruders!”
In a blink, movement rips through my senses. The boat feels alive as noise vibrates within it. Vencrin, some already rumbling up the stairs to get to the main deck, are coming for us.
“Agati Drumahtrae.” Planks peel away from the deck and I throw them toward the door. They slam in a random crisscross fashion, but it does little to slow the wizards. In one loud explosion the pieces burst apart. I drop and cover my head as splinters rain down on me. The only good thing is that all the debris, plus my black magic, conceals me from the seven Vencrin who rush onto the deck. These Vencrin aren’t dressed like cage casters. They’re sailors, with worn brown kurtas, greasy hair, and tall boots made to walk or climb on water like I just did.
“Over there!” one Vencrin on the far side calls, and three others immediately rush onto the ramp to reach Kalyan and their bellowing friend. No! I can’t let Kalyan be overrun. As the Vencrin race down the ramp I chant a green magic spell. In one heave the ramp tears and then slides from the ship’s deck. Shouts of protest erupt as the three men tumble into the water. The wizard in the front hits the pier hard and falls with a splash into the water’s dark depths.
“It’s the Red Woman!” a wizard yells, and the sound is close, too close.
I spin, the red smoke of my magic already condensing into a shield. A black sword lands with brutal force and bites into my magic as I raise my defense. I want to absorb the purple magic, so I let it burrow deeper. The Vencrin jerks the sword back, trying to reclaim his weapon. I take advantage of the distraction and pound my open palm into his chest. “Sphot Pavria.”
He is blown backward and over the deck, leaving the black sword stuck in my red-plated armor. Too late I realize he chanted something before my wind tunnel took him out. The black sword lurches free, condenses back into shapeless magic, and flies around my shield. I raise my arm in protection, but the magic finds its target. I yell as sharp pain pierces my arm, ripping from elbow to mid-forearm.
Another man advances in glee at my scream. His mouth moves, but I can’t hear the spell. In a flick, I send out my go-to rebound spell. Red meets blue in a stream much like Kalyan and Tenson’s fight earlier. But this isn’t for show. I chant again, and the added force knocks the wizard into another body hurling itself at me. Too soon, yet another red-faced wizard whips something at my head. I duck, and clutch my elbow automatically when it screams open at the sharp movement.
The distraction of pain leaves me open for a second too long. A foot kicks me in the stomach and I slam sideways. Before I can take a retching breath, an orange stream slices toward my head. I jerk to the right, but the orange isn’t a stream of magic; it’s the inflamed wizard’s fists. He lands hard and splinters the planks with his strength. If he touches my throat with that power I’m dead. With a howl I pull myself up and kick out with one foot. It meets his ribs with a crunch. But instead of toppling backward, he lunges forward and we roll into the mainmast as we grapple. Every bone in my body converts to a hard angle as I try to buck him off me. He wants my throat.
“Zaktirenni,” I breathe as I lurch and grab his wrists, which are centimeters from my neck. We both grunt as his hands descend closer. Orange saturates my vision. My grip slips.
Then something white spills into my peripherals. A smoky white rope laces around the wizard’s mouth and chest. His eyes bulge and his body writhes in resistance. A moment later, his weight lifts off me and he flies backward, then over the side of the ship. Peering after him as I convulse, I find Kalyan at the other end of the stream.
“Sorry I’m late. Someone destroyed the ramp.”
My mouth gapes as I struggle to breathe. How can he be making jokes right now? He doesn’t even look tired as he reaches to help me stand.
Purple flashes behind Kalyan. A Vencrin leers, sights set, a spell pulsing over his fingertips. No!
“Are you—”
I grab Kalyan’s hand and yank.
He tries not to fall on me, hands shooting out to catch himself. It’s clear I hadn’t exactly thought it all through, especially when his chest slams into mine and we both huff out a breath. For a single moment Kalyan stares at me like I’m mad while collapsed on top of me, his entire body pressing…
The bolt of purple streams above us, right where Kalyan had been standing. Screams erupt as th
e spell hits another Vencrin, who crumples. Torture spell.
Understanding lights up Kalyan’s eyes, his face very close to mine. “Thanks.”
I push at his chest with my uninjured forearm, twisting out from under him. “Thank me later. We need cover.”
“Sphuraw!” he yells as I call to my red magic. A shield encases us like a bubble, and a ring of fire lashes outside of that. The two of us stand to face four remaining Vencrin. Kalyan’s back presses against mine, and its warmth and bulk allow me to breathe evenly for the first time in what feels like hours. I can almost ignore the pounding of purple arrows smashing against the shield, or the rage of voices shouting obscenities at us. They mostly scream permutations of bloody, red, and bitch, switching up the words based on variation and good old-fashioned passion. Overall, it seems that I can be described as a menstrual cycle.
I clutch my throbbing arm.
“Are you about to burnout?” Kalyan whispers.
“No, it’s just my arm.”
Kalyan’s eyes bulge as he assesses the red wetness dripping from my sleeve. “I can’t take them all without you.”
“You won’t have to. Let me pass through the shield on three. I’ll take those two.” I nudge my foot toward the black forte Vencrin whose magic seared my arm, and a blue forte. “You take purple arrow and the wet one.”
“On three, then.”
My arm throbs. “One…” My back aches. “Two…” I’m nauseated. “Three!” I rush at the shield, drowning out the pain. On my side, the fire dies at my command and the shield evaporates. On the other, Kalyan’s white magic explodes. It’s enough. It has to be. I lash the rest of the fire like a whip and slash downward, between my two opponents.
I move in all directions, my left hand casting spells, my right protesting against the pain, but still holding a shield. Colors fly around me like the Festival of Color. Only instead of splattering the sky, the shooting lights spin vertically and with terrifying death words behind them.
