Through Stone and Sea ndst-2

by Barb Hendee

  The shreds turned into smoke.

  The thinning ring of smoke spread out around the crystal, dissipating as it splashed against the tunnel's walls.

  Everything went silent.

  "Enough," Cinder-Shard growled.

  He'd retreated to one side, shielding his eyes, as had Chuillyon out ahead. Wynn quickly wiped the pattern from her mind, and the sun crystal went out. The glasses were too dark for only the cold lamp crystal at her feet. She pulled them off, and it took a moment before her eyes adjusted.

  Chuillyon lowered his hand from his eyes. Likewise, Cinder-Shard stared up into the air where he'd held the wraith but a moment ago. Both had managed to hold it in place so it couldn't escape.

  Wynn gazed up wildly, her heart beating fast.

  There was nothing to see in the air above the master Stonewalker. Had she finally done it? She'd burned the wraith from within, but had she finished it this time? Was it gone for good? She looked to Cinder-Shard.

  He scowled, eyeing the staff's crystal, and stepped to the spot where the wraith had appeared.

  "Well?" Chuillyon asked, closing on him.

  Wynn waited anxiously as Cinder-Shard turned about. He ran his hands down both walls, across the floor, and even looked to the ceiling.

  "Nothing," he whispered absently. "I … feel … nothing but our own honored dead."

  Chuillyon heaved deeply, letting out an overly dramatic sigh. "Well, that's that … finally."

  It seemed so—Wynn hoped so—though she saw no pride or victory in Cinder-Shard's face.

  "Where is the prince?" he asked flatly.

  Wynn faltered in guilt. "Gone," she answered weakly. "Gone … with the sea people."

  Chuillyon's old eyes widened as he sucked in air and then choked it out. He cringed, closing his eyes, and shook his head so slightly that his cowl didn't shift.

  Cinder-Shard's cracked face, full of suppressed rage, seemed to break. He sagged in weariness, or loss, his gaze wandering. But then his eyes raised, glaring at Wynn as he pointed straight at her.

  "Get out!" His loud voice echoed in the tunnel. "Leave … leave the seatt … and do not return!"

  His manner struck Wynn harder than his words. She'd helped them destroy the wraith, and this was his response? But what should she expect, for all the damage she'd done? It was unlikely she would ever see the texts again.

  Wynn went numb.

  Dawn would come soon. Chane and Shade were waiting. And there were more preparations to make. Even more secrets than before waited to be unearthed.

  Cinder-Shard turned away up the tunnel.

  "See to the honored dead," he told the others. "Return peace to their rest."

  He didn't look back at her as he stepped through the tunnel's stone wall. All of the other Stonewalkers followed likewise—all but one.

  Ore-Locks stood just beyond Chuillyon, watching Wynn intently. Then he too vanished into stone.

  Wynn was left alone with the tall, duplicitous elf, who stepped quietly toward her.

  She stood her ground, waiting for whatever half-truth he might try this time. She was too weary and hollow to put up with anything from him. Everything had ended in loss. Even this final moment had come and gone so quickly.

  Chuillyon merely passed her by, heading down the tunnel's faint slope.

  "Are you coming?" he asked.

  Wynn picked up her cold lamp crystal and followed him toward the ocean shore.

  Chapter 24

  A whole day passed, and the sun had set.

  Wynn climbed the boarding ramp of a two-masted Numan ship in Sea-Side's lower port. The ship would leave at dawn and round the point below Dhredze Seatt into Beranlômr Bay, for the short journey back to Calm Seatt. She dropped all three packs near the rail.

  So much had happened since Wynn had left the guild. Only bits and pieces lingered in her exhausted mind. She tried to push even these aside, to gain a moment's respite from worries, mysteries, and guilt. But her thoughts slid back to the previous morning.

  They had all stumbled from the tunnel's mouth, wet and exhausted, with dawn approaching. Chuillyon offered passage to Calm Seatt. He seemed the only one to openly acknowledge that the duchess's life had been saved by Chane's decision to flee and Wynn's hand in finishing the wraith.

  But morning was not far off, and they headed quickly down the rocky shore toward the port.

  Wynn had been forced to tell another lie, while asking Tristan to hold the ship another day. She had to get Chane inside as soon as possible and see to his hunger. Even a voyage belowdecks during the day wasn't possible yet. She'd used the same excuse of a skin reaction to harsh sunlight as they had with the wagon driver on the way to Dhredze Seatt.

  No one questioned her weak explanation. The captain recognized Chane's efforts and did not press the matter. The duchess merely walked away toward the ship.

  They hurried to the same inn Chane used during Shade's extended search for the sea tunnel. Falling through the door, he'd collapsed into dormancy just barely before the sun rose. Wynn set aside trying to find him blood and fell into a deep sleep herself.

  This evening, she'd awoken to see Chane crack open the little room's door. He wore his cloak, with the hood pulled up. She'd sat up quickly.

  "Where are you going?"

  "I need … to purchase a new shirt … and some things for myself."

  Wynn knew better, and that he didn't like to discuss it, but she wouldn't let it pass.

  "I can get you some blood," she said, as if it were nothing extraordinary. "There might be a cold room or slaughterhouse here … before the meat is taken up to market."

  "No," he answered. "I will see to it myself. Meet me on the ship."

  "Give me moment to dress, and I'll come with you."

  He slipped out and shut the door.

  "Chane, wait!"

  By the time she'd reached the common room and stepped outside with Shade, he was gone.

  Chane was in a bad state. She'd seen hunger in his face after they'd breached the sea tunnel's many gates. It had only worsened from there. He'd faced down the wraith more than once, exchanging injuries with it that no one else could see—that no one else would've survived. He'd done it all on one urn of goat's blood she'd bought in Bay-Side.

  That act had caused him embarrassment, resentment, or maybe both.

  Now he wanted to find a butcher and see to his need on his own. She understood and simply returned to the room and gathered their things. He would find her later. He always found her.

  Now, aboard the ship, Shade padded out across the deck. As Wynn followed, she spotted Captain Tristan by the forward dockside rail. She thought he was looking at her but noticed his gaze was too high. Wynn followed it.

  The duchess stood near the stern. By the slight turn of her shoulders, she was looking past the southern tip of the Isle of Wrêdelîd, and out to the open ocean.

  Wynn leaned over the rail and scanned the shore for Chane, but the water-front was empty of any tall humans. Left with Shade for company, she couldn't help glancing toward the duchess. It wasn't a good idea, but she went aft, slowing cautiously in approach.

  "May I join you?" she asked.

  The duchess didn't answer or even turn. Wynn settled on a storage trunk to the port side. Reine wasn't wearing a cloak. Tendrils of chestnut hair quivered in the evening breeze, lashing across her profile and vacant expression.

  "What happened to the prince?" Wynn asked suddenly.

  Impertinent, especially for her hand in his loss, but she couldn't help it. She already knew too much, as far as the duchess and her people were concerned. Yet her reasoning, her guesses about the youngest reskynna, needed confirmation in some small way.

  "He went home," Reine whispered.

  It wasn't an answer, but Wynn waited.

  "Have you ever wondered how I know your premin?" Reine asked.

  The sudden change of topic confused Wynn at first. "The royals have always had close ties to the guild."

/>   "Closer than you think," Reine said, spite creeping into her voice. "I asked her to look into a certain matter … what might be known rather than rumored … concerning my new family. The reskynna told me what they knew, but it wasn't enough … not nearly enough for me. I sought help from the guild."

  Wynn shifted to the trunk's edge, her fingers clutching the edge of its lid.

  "I learned nothing more than what the royal family told me," the duchess continued quietly. "Lady Tärtgyth, your premin, found only hints that a marriage was arranged between a ‘lord of the waves' and a forgotten female ancestor of King Hräthgar."

  Wynn's mind was already filled with previous assumptions.

  "You know that name?" the duchess asked.

  "Yes … Hräthgar is attributed with uniting territorial factions in what later became the Numan Lands. Supposedly, he became the founder and first king of Malourné. It's said that event marked the beginning of the Common Era, as measured on our calendar from the Lhoin'na. But how far back was this ancestor who married a—"

  "A lord of the waves?" Reine cut in. "What a veiled reference to a Dunidæ, even from history."

  That quizzical reply, sharply edged, didn't need a response. Even Wynn had never understood where the name reskynna—the Kin of the Ocean Waves—had come from. Not until she'd seen Freädherich.

  "No one knows when she, this ancestor, lived," Reine went on. "Perhaps even in the time of the sages' Forgotten History … during or before the war. I pity her, whoever she was, being used for such an alliance … and I hate her for the legacy she left to Frey."

  Wynn understood the pity, but the hate would gain nothing.

  "For all your learning, you couldn't understand such things," Reine added.

  Oh, yes, Wynn could, though she wouldn't say so to this woman. She had lost three friends, each oppressed by a heritage they hadn't asked for. But she also wondered …

  Why did the unique in this world always seem to suffer the most?

  "But …" she began, struggling in hesitation. "But why Frey? Or do others of the royal family face this same affliction?"

  Reine gripped the aft rail with both hands, taking long, hard breaths.

  "They all suffer, but each generation, one is worse. That one feels it most … and can never be allowed to take the throne. Do you know of Hrädwyn, King Leofwin's sister?"

  Wynn nodded. "Yes, she succumbed to illness when she was young."

  "No!" Reine snapped. "She drowned herself … in that pool … after nine years of imprisonment."

  Wynn looked to the open ocean, suddenly as chilled as she'd been upon emerging from the tunnel. All she could think of was a prince's desperate, pale features.

  "Caught betwixt and between," Reine went on, "unsettled on land and longing for the sea, that sickness drives … that one … to greater desperation than the others. The tides began to change … him. I thought he had drowned that night, when he vanished from our boat. Something made him return to shore, where Hammer-Stag found him."

  Wynn knew why in watching Reine—watching Frey's one reason to fight his heritage, his affliction … his taint, so much worse than Wynn's own.

  "Cinder-Shard came to me soon after," Reine continued. "Even Frey's deceased aunt wasn't the first reskynna whom the Stonewalkers had taken in … though none before Frey had ever lived long enough to leave. But while alive, they were still necessary … to maintain a hold on some ancient blood-bound alliance! I stayed with Frey during the tides, especially the highest. I would've stayed always if my prolonged absence under the people's suspicions would not have cast further doubts upon the family. And each year, Frey's changes grew worse before they passed."

  She finally turned, and Wynn fell victim to Reine's gaze.

  "The terror of your wraith … and the Dunidæ's persistence … forced his change too far!"

  Reine's voice broke. Though tears ran down her face, they didn't match the cold anger in her features.

  Wynn sat silenced, her thoughts filled with memories of half-breeds. So rare, even unique, yet they'd all come into her life. All had appeared within this generation, after a millennium, and in these new days of history.

  Magiere … half mortal, half vampire, some would say, though it wasn't accurate.

  Leesil … half human, half elf, a wanderer outside of all peoples.

  Chap … part Fay, though physically pure majay-hì, equally an outcast of eternity.

  Then there was Shade, descended of a Fay-born father and majay-hì mother.

  And now a prince of Wynn's own land whom all had thought dead.

  Why now? What did it mean? And how much ruin had she brought down upon the last?

  "I'm sorry," she whispered.

  Reine merely returned to staring across the water, until the wind dried all of her tears.

  "What now, sage?" she asked. "For such a price … what have you gained?"

  How could Wynn answer? Swirling questions wrapped in secrets hidden beneath myths already overwhelmed her. One place in the world had lain hidden for centuries in plain sight. Another had been lost beyond remembering. And a traitor, remembered by only a few who wished to forget him, had gained a worshipper in the dark among the honored dead.

  First Glade … Bäalâle Seatt … Thallûhearag … Ore-Locks …

  "It's too much to consider," Wynn finally said. "More answers must be found."

  And she had to face it all without the texts.

  Reine shook her head. "In the few years since Frey's ‘death,' we learned nothing more concerning the family's heritage, though Lady Tärtgyth Sykion has kept watch for anything to help me … to help Frey."

  Reine turned, and in two quick steps, she hung over Wynn, her voice a harsh threatening whisper.

  "And you will do the same!"

  A snarl rose in the dark. Shade closed, head low and jowls quivering in warning.

  Reine's gaze never left Wynn, and Wynn quickly waved Shade off.

  "You will keep watch for anything to help," Reine went on. "Whatever you do, wherever you seek, this as well as your silence is what your life depends on. You owe your people … you owe my husband … you owe me!"

  Reine walked away, never looking down as she passed Shade.

  Wynn sat in the dark, listening for the sound of Chane's footsteps.

  The following night, Wynn walked through the gates of the Guild of Sagecraft with Chane and Shade.

  She'd sat up late the night before upon the ship, waiting for Chane, but then she grew tired and went to a cabin that Captain Tristan had assigned. It wasn't until the next day that she learned Chane had finally arrived at the ship just before dawn. Perhaps it had taken longer for him to find blood than she'd imagined.

  At least he'd arrived and taken cover on board before the ship sailed.

  Now … they were back in Calm Seatt, back at the guild.

  The guild courtyard was empty, but by now her superiors might have heard she was returning. If they hadn't, at the moment she had little desire to tell them herself. High-Tower would want a word with her—and she with him concerning the second codex. He would be more than relieved that she was leaving again soon, and less than pleased that she would expect more funding.

  Shade trotted straight to the door of the southeast dormitory. By the time Wynn shut the door of her old room, Shade had bounded onto the bed and dropped in a huff.

  "Don't get too comfortable," she said. "We're not staying long."

  She'd barely leaned the staff in the corner as Chane set their packs by her desk, when someone knocked at her door.

  Wynn almost groaned. Someone had spotted them and told High-Tower or Sykion. She wasn't ready to face either but opened the door just the same.

  A young man stood in the passage wearing the midnight blue robe of the Order of Metaology. He thrust out something flat, wrapped in plain brown paper.

  "I was ordered to place this directly in your hands," he said, already turning to leave.

  Wynn took the package. There were
no markings upon it, and she leaned out the door.

  "Wait … ordered by whom?"

  The messenger had already rounded the passage's far end and gone down the stairs. Wynn stepped back and shut the door. Considering the messenger's robe color, she wondered if this was something from Premin Hawes, head of Metaologers. But that didn't make any sense.

  "What is it?" Chane asked.

  "I don't know."

  The flat, flexing square hadn't been bound with twine, but every edge of the paper wrap was sealed with glue. Its contents were completely enclosed. With no name or hint of the sender, she carefully tore one corner until she could unwrap it safely.

  Inside, atop a folded parchment sheet, was a note—from Domin il'Sänke.

  Wynn, if you are reading this, it means you are still alive. A relief, I am certain, though a surprise to me, considering your nature. …

  Wynn wrinkled her nose at this poor humor.

  The enclosed may be of interest in your pursuits, though it is incomplete. I can do nothing more, since I have not seen the whole of the original from which it is translated. Make of it what you will, and as always, keep your secrets.

  With hesitation and affection, Domin Ghassan il'Sänke, Order of Metaology Guild of Sagecraft in Samau'a Gaulb, il'Dha'ab Najuum

  In the brief days she'd been gone, he couldn't have returned home, let alone sent this all the way back. He must have left it before he departed, with instructions for its delivery if and when she returned. Wynn unfolded the parchment, and there was il'Sänke's scrawl upon it.

  The Children in twenty and six steps seek to hide in five corners

  The anchors amid Existence, which had once lived amid the Void.

  One to wither the Tree from its roots to its leaves

  Laid down where a cursed sun cracks the soil.

  That which snuffs a Flame into cold and dark

  Sits alone upon the water that never flows.

  The middling one, taking the Wind like a last breath,

  Sank to sulk in the shallows that still can drown.

  And swallowing Wave in perpetual thirst, the fourth

  Took seclusion in exalted and weeping stone.