by Chad Queen
The captain’s eyes remained closed. The hull let out a long creak, protesting the abuse. Ashlyn jumped at the noise, grabbing Cade’s arm. He looked at her and nodded. “It’s going to be fine,” he said, though he wasn’t sure if he believed it himself. The crew sat quietly.
The captain’s eyes snapped open. “Ascend.”
The bridge sprang to life as the crew members followed the order and the vessel began to rocket to the surface. Cade clung tight to the seat of his chair under the intense momentum.
They breached the surface at speed, just as the two corvettes sped above them. The force of the rising ship had sheared one of the corvettes in half and sent the other one hurtling through the sky. The airborne corvette soon hit the surface and capsized. The crew let out a cheer, but the captain remained still. “Get me eyes on that brig.”
As if on cue, a sailor ran into the bridge, breathless. “’Vettes confirmed disabled. Brig made up ground during our descent and is bringing itself about. Distance five hundred yards.”
An officer laughed. “There’s no way they can hit us from that far away.”
The captain knew better, and so did Cade. Skex in numbers were dangerous. The more Skex in a group, the smarter they became. “With forty bugs on board, they could pick a rat off our bow if they cared to. How long until the drive is warmed up?”
“About three minutes, sir!” a voice yelled from just outside the bridge.
“Hells! Prepare for evasive maneuvers.”
They were sitting ducks until the drive was online. Cade stood up.
The captain swung around to look at him. “Where do you think you’re going?”
“The deck.” Cade ran off the bridge and into the corridor.
“Like the hells you are. Stop him!” the captain commanded.
Cade climbed the ladder, and a sailor tried to pull him down as he flung open the hatch. Cade encoded to diamond and freed himself from the man’s grasp. He threw down the hatch and made his way to the rear of the ship. No one followed him.
He saw the brig, which had pulled around to fire its cannons. Cade steadied himself. He heard the blast of the cannon from the Skex ship. He could just make out the large ball of iron as it hurtled toward the Manta at fantastic speed. Concentrating, Cade encoded to the surface of the ship, hardening his body and locking his feet firmly into position at the same time. Following the cannonball with his eyes, he encoded to the iron projectile. He felt a pull toward the remote encoding, but his stronger encoding to the deck kept him rooted to the ship.
The pull became stronger as the ball sped toward him. Within seconds, he could feel his feet trying to wrench themselves free from the hull of the silver ship. It was close.
Now, a voice told him. Tal was with him again.
Instead of dropping the encoding, Cade reversed it, using his phantom’s energy to push out the encoding and send the cannonball in the opposite direction. The projectile careened backward and splashed down short of the brig. Reversing an encoding was clumsy; there was no telling where it could have landed.
He checked his phantoms. Present but tired. The Skex, undeterred, readied another shot. Cade heard the thunder of the cannon.
Cade encoded to the projectile. He could not feel the pull of the encoding. He tried again…nothing. Hells. They must have alloyed ammunition. Any battle-ready brig would be prepared for Bearers. It flew fast and true, aimed right at him. He felt panic rise within him.
No choice, and no time for mistakes. Cade released his encoding to the deck of the ship. He encoded tungsten, and the dark silver descended across his entire body, enveloping him as he danced on the brink of overencoding. He also flared diamond, and he felt the strength course through his metal-hardened body. The phantoms would not last long, but he only needed another second. He wound his arm back.
Now, Tal told him again.
What followed was a deafening loud crack as Cade’s fist, a fusion of tungsten, diamond, and bone, met with solid metal. Cade felt the cold stinging rush of saltwater surge around him as the ship submerged from the force of the impact and the ocean pulled him under.
19
Forgotten, But Not Gone
The Xansian is one of the great beasts of the deep. While no definitive proof has been provided regarding their existence, a great number of Chalician sailors have reported sightings of the creatures. Commonly described as a “sea dragon,” these serpentine denizens of the sea have been rumored to haunt only the depths of waters near the major Ancient cities of Chalice.
—From Bestiary of the Ancients
Cold salt water enveloped him as he submerged. His encoding broken, he was no longer attached to the hull of the ship. The water continued to rush all around him. Cade could not tell which way was up or down. His left arm, the one he had used to hit the cannonball, was numb and unresponsive. He tried to swim with his other arm, but the surface never came. His lungs were burning now. He despaired, and the waters grew ever colder. A dark shape seemed to move just beyond his vision. As it moved closer, he could make out the undulating outline of a great snake. Xansian.
Its faceted eye, like dark mother-of-pearl, studied him as he floated helpless in the suffocating abyss. It swooped underneath him, and he grabbed its scaled back. The scales were the shifting colors of a dying sunset and smooth like polished steel. Steel, he thought. The scales were steel—he was sure of it. He encoded to it with his near-exhausted phantom, and his hand stuck to the back. As if waiting for that, the beast took off through the dark abyss. The Xansian seemed to hum with energy, like some impossible device of the Ancients. He held on until thin black tendrils encroached upon his vision and he could see no more.
Cade opened his eyes. Everything was blurry, out of focus. He was submerged in some type of liquid but could still breathe. A dream?
He was upright, suspended somehow. As his eyes began to focus, he could see he was in a glass tank of some sort. Beyond was a large room. The room reminded him of a structure of the Ancients. It seemed familiar, but he didn’t remember seeing it before. There were tables of brushed metal lining the empty room. He tried to make a sound, but nothing escaped his lips. He lifted his arms, which felt like they were moving through wet sand. He startled when he noticed his arms were those of a small boy. Panicking, he tried in vain to pound his small fists on the glass, but to no avail.
A woman with long dark hair wearing a long white robe entered the room. She regarded him for a moment and began pressing on a tablet she was holding in front of her. She placed her hand on a small black panel inset into the tank, and he felt sleep take him.
Cade awoke on his back. He could breathe freely, no longer in the tank. Bright lights passed by overhead as the world around him came into focus. He sat up and could see a group of people in white robes escorting him on a metal cart down a large hallway lined with impressive double doors. He felt cold, exposed, and scared. The hallway was unnaturally silent, save the sound of the wheels of the cart upon the floor, creaking towards an unknown destination. Each of the doors made him uneasy. He thought he knew what was behind those doors, but he could not remember what. He counted the doors. Nine doors. Just like in the Forgotten Hells.
But the Forgotten Hells were not real, just a place from scary stories told around campfires. There were nine doors in the Forgotten Hells, each one a portal into a different kind of hell. The Hell of the Broken Mind. The Hell of the Poisoned Brood. Each door opened was more terrible than the last. He tried to dismiss the association, but it stuck with him.
Cade heard a scream come from one of the doors as they passed. His entire body seized and trembled as they passed, and he shut his eyes tight as the scream degenerated into a low, unnatural wail.
When he opened his eyes again, Cade found himself in a large room filled with strange consoles and panels. Before him was the beam of the Thread. It was so close, he couldn’t even see the sides of the beam. He turned around and noticed the people who had transported him there were behind him, cordo
ned off by a transparent wall and transfixed on him.
Cade faced the beam once more, breathing quickly. The beam, as in his Nocturne dream before, seemed to call out to him. He was scared but was not sure why. He approached the beam, as he once had in a dream, and touched the light. Panic set in. It wanted to pull him deeper inside. Cade fought its pull, trying to wrest his small arm free. The light once again stuck to his hand, unyielding. It pulled him closer until he was absorbed by the light.
Inside, the light coursed around him. Cade remembered visiting the giant waterfall behind Toltaire castle, the water rushing down so hard it was deafening yet beautiful. The light of the Thread was the same way. The light flowed, like water. He thought he could hear music playing at the edge of his perception, something far greater than any piece he had heard before. It was at that moment he realized the fear and trepidation he felt was not coming from him. It was coming from the light. He could sense emotions, swirling around like a maelstrom imprisoned within the beam. His heartbeat quickened as those feelings took on a shape, a shadowed form, knocking at the door of his mind.
A voice bled into the prison of light. “…made it, thanks to you…”
The voice sounded distant. He turned, looking for its source, but finding no one. “…know why I’m telling you…” The voice became clearer. Ashlyn.
“…won’t listen to me. I know exactly what he’ll say, ‘Ashlyn, I am much too busy to hear of your flights of fancy.’ He won’t even look at me anymore. I know why. I look too much like my mother.” A sigh.
“But they sent an army after us. An act of war. My father must listen now. Right?”
“I don’t even know my own father. I’ve spent more of my life afraid of him than anything else. But I can’t help but feel he can help us.” Silence. “Goodbye, Cade.”
As Ashlyn’s voice faded, so did the light, until all that was left was perfect darkness.
20
Gray Lies
Commencing on the date of signing, the Kingdom of Chalice, by decree of King Liam Winshire, hereby annexes the Ancient facility north of Wythlain to the Wraiths. In exchange, the Wraiths agree to provide electrical energy to the populace of Chalice.
—From The Accord of the Wraith War
Ashlyn exited her chambers, shutting the door behind her and taking a deep breath. It felt good to change into clean clothes. It was a necessity, since her father was very particular and would refuse to see her if she wasn’t at least somewhat presentable.
She felt bad leaving Cade and Jace behind, but Ashlyn knew they would not want her to seek her father’s aid, especially after Carlon told them her father might be helping the Wraiths. But she couldn’t believe that. If she could help unite the Chalician military and Carlon’s forces, they would not only have a greater chance at making their plan work, but they could stop the Wraiths from taking more cities within the Pathways. She remembered the story Jace had told her about Cade’s family. If she had a chance to save lives, she had to take it. Her father was headstrong, but she could count on the only thing the man truly loved: his kingdom.
Ashlyn slowed her pace as she neared his office chambers. He did not spend time in court unless his presence was required. He spent most of his time doing his business in a private office. The office was not as impressive as the court, but her father always said he worked better in silence; she knew that first-hand. When Ashlyn was young, her father always made sure Ashlyn was far away, saying “her antics are a detriment to the rule of this kingdom.” If it hadn’t been for Rolan, her childhood would have been a stark affair. She sighed, remembering playing hide-and-seek with him in the castle.
“Princess.” One of the king’s guards nodded to her as she walked up to them. A severe man with short-cropped black hair, dressed in full armor, barred the door. Another man, more aloof, stood guard with him. They were soldiers of the king’s elite Royal Guard, ready for battle at a moment’s notice, and she saw the grips of what could only be casters holstered within the belts around their specialized armor. At least two members of the Royal Guard were always present at the king’s side, the only exception being when a Wraith paid him a visit. The Wraiths would not allow it.
Ashlyn stood up straighter, pulling her shoulders back and holding her head high. Even though she had only been gone a short time, she was already forgetting herself. “I seek an audience with my father.”
The more severe man, unblinking, responded, “His Majesty has requested that he not be bothered at this time.”
Ashlyn gave the man a pointed look. “Then it is a good thing I am not here to bother him,” she replied, pushing past him and opening the door. The guard grabbed her arm and looked as if he was about to pull her back when a voice barked from inside the room. “Ashlyn? What is the meaning of this?”
She looked at the guard, whose expression hardened. His grip was still tight on her arm, but she held his gaze. He let go and nodded, scowling. Ashlyn turned and walked into the room, the guard following close behind. The king sat behind a large desk of black-speckled marble. It was carved from a single monstrous slab, legs and all. Her father believed impressions were everything and spared no expense in the decoration of his rooms. Every one of them held some unique artifact he deemed worthy of his station.
The king was a large man. Not bear-like, however, like General Carlon. Her father was tall, well above six feet. While older, his body was still lean and strong. He had always taken care of himself since she could remember and recalled him telling her, “You can’t take care of a kingdom if you can’t take care of yourself.” He was much stronger than he was before the Wraith War. The war had triggered something in him, and he started practicing combat drills with his Royal Guard every morning. Looking at him now, she could see small cuts and scrapes on his arms, no doubt from this morning’s practice. His hair and beard had turned a salty gray, and he kept it trimmed short, military style. His eyes, a dark green, burned at her, impatient.
“Father, I have something important to discuss with you.” She shot a look to the guard lurking too close behind her. “In private.”
King Liam gave an annoyed sigh and nodded to the guard, who hesitated, then slipped out the door and closed it behind him.
“Make it quick. I have much to do. These are trying times.”
“Indeed, they are, Father. I’m sure you’ve heard the news of Ceywind by now. Attacked by Skex in broad daylight, no less.”
The king snorted. “I’ve heard about it, but that’s not what happened.”
Ashlyn’s brow furrowed. “What do you mean?”
The king shook his head, threw a newspaper across his desk toward her, and looked back down at his work. Confused, she picked it up. The headline read, “Barnage Razed in Raider Attack.” She continued reading the article. “Raiders? You can’t be serious. I saw Barnage myself. It was not razed. Everyone was taken, Father. What about the Skex? How do they explain that?”
Her father looked up. “We are working closely with the Wraiths. They supplied us with shock troops to track the raiders responsible for the attack. They tracked them to Ceywind, but they escaped.” He grabbed a quill from its well, “Now, if you’ll excuse me.”
Ashlyn was dumbfounded. She stood quiet for a moment, collecting her thoughts. “You know the truth. I know you do,” she said.
He looked at her dead-on, which was rare. She knew he avoided looking at her; she resembled her mother. His eyes were cold. He held up a finger. “Careful,” he said. He paused, looking back down at his work. “It’s time for you to go.”
“No,” she said. “If you’re not going to stop them, I will.”
The king rose, his eyes once again meeting hers. The look this time, however, was not one of warning. “Guards,” he called. The man from inside rushed in. The king gestured to Ashlyn. “Take her to the dungeon.”
21
Protectors
Open discord and disobedience among ex-military personnel continues today in the wake of the Accord signing
. The One-Month War took a heavy psychological toll on those that had to face down the legions of Skex commanded by the Wraiths, leaving many soldiers unable to cope in a postwar world.
—From The Toltaire Times
Cade lifted heavy eyelids to discover a man staring at him. His long gray and wiry hair fell around his face. The captain of the Manta.
“You really opened the ninth door, kid.”
Cade tried to speak, but no sound would come.
“Best not to talk, Elegy.” The man continued to stare at him. “Name’s Hale Clendon, by the way. Don’t think we got around to that.” He stood up. “What you did back on the ship was dumb. Real dumb. Just because they call you a hero doesn’t give you the right to act like one.” The man shook his head. “That Xansian saved you, you know. Picked you up and just set you right back on the deck when we resurfaced. Just like that. I ain’t ever seen the likes of that before.”
The man regarded Cade for a moment before continuing. “You can learn a lot about a man from the way he fights. You fight with passion, I’ll give you that, but you’re reckless. Still, you taught me something today.” Hale stood up and paced the room.
“I was the captain of a ship in the Chalician Navy. Joined up to do my part. Sea and I were friends then. We did well in the war. Brought down more than our share of Skex and transported goods to the front lines.” He stopped at the window, looking out into the rainy streets of Toltaire. “Time came for a short leave. I passed. Our next mission was too important to leave to chance.” His voice became strained. “My family…the town, was burned to the ground. I could have been there. I could have saved them.”
