by Ted Neill
“Aye,” her father said. “I found her outside waiting by the gate, long after everyone else had left. She’s been here nearly every day asking if you have come back. She did not get to see you while you were awake, and it was too late for her to walk home alone, so I let her sleep here.”
Emotions tumbled about within Gabriella: love, surprise, gratitude, and guilt. She had not even thought of asking Eloise to come with her on the journey. Now Gabriella wished she had at least considered it. She never realized how much she had meant to the girl with the withered arm.
I have more friends than I ever realized.
But she had little time to waste. In her room, Gabriella rifled through her drawers to find the darkest clothes she could. She tore off her outer garments. She slipped into black trousers and a blue tunic her mother had bought her for the winter festivals. She returned to the room, pulling one of her mother’s black cloaks about her. Like the tunic, it was expensive, but she knew that tonight she could make exception. The cloak was short and would not slow her as she ran.
“I will come along. I don’t want you in harm’s way.” Her father stood and grabbed his coat from the back of his chair.
“No, I must do this alone.” Before he could protest, Gabriella said, “It is not that I do not want your help. It is just that I plan to sneak aboard on the mooring lines, through the gunwale.” She looked at his wide shoulders and broad chest. “You are a bit large for that.”
“Aye.” He was frustrated, but Gabriella saw no other way. She had everything she needed. She opened the door, then stopped. She was home now. She had just refused her father’s help, yet it was still his house. She turned back to him.
“What are you looking at me for?” he said. “You are no girl any longer. You don’t need your father’s permission.”
She ran back to his arms. “Papa Bear, I’ve been trying to be a big lass like you’ve told me all this time.”
She felt her father’s chest heave as he laughed or sobbed or both. “Lass, my foot. You are a young woman now. It has just taken your parents some time to realize it. Hopefully you will be wiser than we. Now go . . . dawn is not far.”
Gabriella burst out of the door and fled down the road. The stars were still bright, but a feeling in the air told her morning was not long in coming. Animals were beginning to stir in their pens. A rooster called out at the false dawn. A donkey brayed.
It was too cold for the thin shirt she wore and such a thin cloak, but it was not long before she was panting hot. Her strides were long and purposeful. She imagined she should be tired, but she was not. She passed houses, each still dark, even as she neared the town. Normally fishermen might be stirring, but after the previous night, no one must have gone to bed early.
She passed Chief Salinger’s house, and resentment swelled within her. His house was the last before she reached town. Her footsteps rang out in the narrow cobblestone streets. She paused at the square. The torches had been removed. It was empty and dark as it ought to have been just before dawn. The shadowy hulk of the Elawn was collapsed in the opposite corner. She could tell the trunks of treasure had been removed. She wondered where, but she did not care. Even the whereabouts of Garmr’s eyes was unknown to her—she had changed clothes without checking her pockets. This troubled her little. Adamantus was worth more to her than mountains of gems, not only because what Omanuju had said about him but because he was her friend. All that mattered was setting him free.
She glimpsed a movement in the shadows near the wreck. Salinger’s men guarded the Elawn, but from the way they were seated on the cobblestones, their backs to the ruined hull of the airship, it appeared they were trying to catch a few winks.
It was the same time of night, near morning that she, too, had been caught unawares when the mother wyvern had struck the Elawn. Now it was her turn. She decided not to cross the square, especially since more attentive guards might be about. She took side streets to bring her to the harbor’s edge. The shadows of waterfront buildings provided cover for her all the way to the wharfs. Two of Salinger’s men stood at attention barring entrance to the dock where larger ships were moored. Were they there to keep people off the dock or to keep the Servior from coming ashore again?
The Servior’s three-sail carrack sat in the water beyond the ships of Harkness. The other docks were unguarded. Gabriella crept from the shadow of one building to the next, then darted onto the nearest dock.
She realized that it would be too difficult to move quietly on the wooden piers with her boots on. She yanked them off and ran barefoot down the dock’s length. This pier and the other older ones had been built close together—too close to accommodate the larger ships the fishermen now used. The charm of the old docks was that at one point two were close enough together to jump from one to the other if ships were moored between them.
Two ships were. Gabriella leapt the gunwales of the first ship, then the second. She had learned the trick from playing hide-and-seek with other children, when the other children had still played with her, before Dameon made her a pariah. The next dock over was for the largest ships. She could just make out the sinister shape of the Servior vessel, the carrack’s three masts looming against the sky. She would have to swim the rest of the way.
She slipped off the dock into the dark water, careful not to splash. The water was frigid, but the urgency of her task kept her fatigue and discomfort at bay. She studied the pilings that supported the piers. Shiny dampness was above the highest waves, which told her the tide was moving out. There was little time. She swam across the channel stroking under the water. It would take her a bit longer but was quieter, with less splashing,
Any Servior who were on deck would expect an intruder to come from the direction of land, so she headed for the sea-end of the dock. She swam beneath the dock, trying not to think about the filth that normally floated about in the harbor during the day. The water lapping against ships and pilings made noise enough to cover the sound of her strokes. She passed the long hull of the Servior’s ship. Had she been better prepared, she thought, she could have sabotaged the sailing vessel and rendered it unseaworthy.
But she was left with only her present plan. She climbed up the anchor chain of a nearby fishing boat, and crouching, ran across its deck to the dock.
Despite her attempts to be quiet, Gabriella made more noise than she liked. Hauling herself up onto the fishing boat left her panting, her arms quivering from her efforts. Entering the Servior’s ship would require more subtlety, more stealth. Her body shivered with cold, or nerves, as she hid behind a few barrels stacked on the dock. The guards still paced at the entrance of the pier. They were too far away now to hear her.
The deck of the Servior’s ship looked empty, but Gabriella knew there would at least be a watchman sleeping before the gangway. She ran, keeping out of sight as she dodged behind barrels and the pier’s mooring posts. The carrack was tied to the next post. She slipped behind it. Now so close, the reality of what she was about to do made her head spin. She massaged her arms and took the thick rope in her hands. She would not give herself time to contemplate things. She threw herself over.
Hand over hand, foot over foot, just as she had learned from sailors. She was not as smooth as she hoped, but she reached the railing of the carrack and stopped, swaying on the rope. Footsteps passed above her head on the deck: a Servior guard. She held her breath and hoped she was close enough that the ship blocked her from view. She was aware of the water dripping off her and plunking down into the harbor below. The sound was enough to make the guard stop.
Gabriella remained still, but her arms were beginning to burn from the strain of holding her weight. Her chest vibrated with the effort. Her face was hidden by the folds of her black clothes, but depending upon how close this guard was to the railing, he would see her bare, white feet on the rope.
The guard moved closer to the railing. Gabriella weighed her options. Should she drop into the water and swim under the ship? She took a de
ep breath, but she was rescued by someone yelling down the dock. The feet above her head shifted; the guard was distracted by a commotion at the dock entrance. He walked quickly to the gangway and disembarked. If he turned around, he would see Gabriella, but his attention was on the ruckus on shore. She took advantage of her opportunity and slipped up through the gunwale.
Onboard, she hid herself between two crates in the center of the deck. Voices from the pier drifted back to her, the sound carrying in the still night air. It was her father. She was sure of it, but his voice was slurred, as if he were drunk. Gabriella had never seen her father take a sip of ale in her life though. Now he was using words that would have earned her a slap. His exclamations and insults were aimed at Salinger’s men.
He was creating a diversion for her, she realized, sending him a silent thank you. She should have known he would not have simply stood by and waited passively for her return. She was glad he had not heeded her. The Servior guard did not return to his post, instead he walked down the dock for a better look at the commotion.
Gabriella could hear Salinger’s men trying to calm her father, asking him to sleep it off in the chief’s office—there was a small cell there for drunks. If they talked him into it—he was too big for them to force him—it would give her a few minutes more to ride through the square with Adamantus.
She felt a thick rope coiled beneath her. She wiped her feet on it so that the shimmer of her wet footprints would not be visible in the darkness. Crates of provisions crowding the deck provided her with cover. Cargo was kept towards the stern. She stole across the deck, counting more on speed than hiding. The stern was crowded with barrels and crates, but it was not hard to find the elk’s cage among them.
“Adamantus.”
The elk stirred in his cage. “Gabriella, why have you come? It’s dangerous.”
“I can’t let them take you. I’m getting you out. Where are the keys?”
“Sade has them, but the cage is not strong. I could break it, but the sound will draw the guard’s attention.”
“He is on the dock,” she whispered. “My father is pretending to be drunk. You have a sliver of time.”
“Then back away. I will break the bars.”
There was the sound of a sword being drawn out of its sheath.
“Do it and I will run through your little mistress here, Adamantus.”
Gabriella felt a sharp point in her back. Sade’s voice froze her. He said the elk’s name slowly, savoring each syllable. Gabriella knew she had just unwittingly made her betrayal of Adamantus complete.
“Move away from the cage,” Sade said.
She did so slowly. Sade’s white teeth flashed in the darkness as he grinned. He kept the point of his sword just at her abdomen, forcing Gabriella backwards until she was pressed against the railing of the ship.
“Up on top,” Sade said.
Gabriella climbed and balanced on the gunwale: a prisoner forced to walk the plank.
“If you harm her, Servior—” Adamantus hissed.
“How could I? She has served me well. She brought you right into my hands. Now she has confirmed for me just what you are.”
“Let him go,” Gabriella begged.
Sade shook his head. “You are just a little island barbarian, you know. You have such limited understanding of the world, its powers, its rivalries. No, the elk must die, but not until after we tease all his secrets out of him. Vondales.”
Vondales, the man with the scars and the tattooed scalp, the man she took for Sade’s brother, dropped down from the rigging above and landed silently on the deck. He had been there the whole time listening to her and Adamantus.
How could I have been such a fool? Gabriella tried to think fast.
Vondales’ hands were luminous. He was wearing sterling gauntlets with long blades fastened to the top. They flashed in the lamplight as he unraveled a whip from his belt. Its slack dropped down onto the planking with a heavy thud, the metal studs braided into it scraping the wood like cat claws.
“And the first secret we might start with,” Sade continued, “would be where you obtained that airship. We are not pleased when our masters’ work is turned against our purposes.”
Adamantus smashed against the bars. He had been right. The cage was poorly made. Gabriella could see gaps opening in the frame. Sade raised his voice.
“Still yourself, elk, or I will not spare the girl.” Sade turned back to her. “I’m letting you go, but your fate is worse than death, Gabriella. You know you betrayed your friend and be assured of this: he will die. He must die. It will not be quick. It will not be gentle.”
Adamantus smashed against the bars again, but they did not give. Vondales raised his arm backward, and the whip hissed through the air. Sade called for other guards as he thrust his sword forward between Gabriella’s breasts. Gabriella felt as if her breath was sucked out of her and she fell backwards. She slapped against the harbor’s surface, and the water closed over her.
Chapter 26
Auren Hintland
A wet darkness buried Gabriella. The cold smack of the water on her back made her forget the jabbing pain in her chest. For a moment, she contemplated inhaling and not breaching the water’s surface ever again. Sade’s words had wounded her more deeply than his sword ever could have. He had known that. He had done it with intent. The thought sparked a new fury of anger in her.
She surfaced, spitting.
She could move her arms without pain in her chest. Sade’s sword had bruised her, but no more.
From above, on the deck of the Servior ship, a whip crack sounded and echoed again off the houses along the water’s edge. Adamantus moaned in pain. It was too terrible to hear. Gabriella dove under the water and swam for shore. Beneath the docks, she felt weeds and muck pass along her. She struck pilings in the darkness, her wrist flaring with pain when she bent it against one. Finally the ground swept up, and she was on the shore, lying in the refuse and scum that had floated there. She deserved nothing better. She wept and coughed, inhaling the odor of dead fish.
Thankfully, she could no longer hear the whip cracks, but she could not remain there. There was fire within her, an anger building. She did not know where to direct it. The Servior were too powerful, but she had to release it. If not, it would turn to a sorrow so great it would consume her.
Then Gabriella knew. The fire spread throughout her body. No more tears. She stood and ran. She thought she had run quickly earlier that night when desperation and hope had driven her to the dock, but now her rage was the greater spur. She ran with the wind rising in her ears. She screamed her breaths outward and hissed inward through bared teeth.
Gabriella burned a path along the road out of the town, past Chief Salinger’s house, past the baker’s cottage, where the lamplight and the smell of bread reminded her that dawn was not far now. She ran faster.
She knew the path well. She had taken it many times. She raced around the harbor under the gloomy reach of the Caledonian trees. Her fury made her reckless. She stubbed her toes on roots. She fell over ruts. It was worse than that first night when she had followed Omanuju through the forest in the darkness. She knew she was bleeding, but she was beyond pain, even as she tripped and fell into a ditch. She gathered herself up, not pausing to catch her ragged breath, and ran on. As the path widened, she ran on the shore, her feet slapping on the mud and sand.
The village was distant, but Gabriella knew that the ship of the Servior would soon be leaving with the tide. There was one last house to pass, Mab Miller’s. She would have spat in the direction of his homestead if she had not been so out of breath. She dipped down into the creek bed that marked the border of Miller’s land. This was the place that had caused them so much trouble. It was but land, she thought as she ran. It was a passive player. She remembered the voices that had set all these events into motion. She now knew who had started this voyage.
The dead.
The Millers’ house, a mansion compared to others on
Harkness, was a dark tombstone beyond the Caledonian tree trunks. Gnarled branches stretched overhead. Gabriella reached the tower, that looming monolith of mortarless black stone. She stopped, body heaving as she gasped for breath. She raised her head and took three deep breaths. She did not want to address the dead with a broken voice. The prophecy rang in her head: If a worthy Harkenite goes in search of Nicomedes’ treasure and returns, the price will be paid and the Servior will trouble Harkness no more.
Her chest filled again, and she cried out, “You tricked me! You tricked me! You sacrificed them for yourselves!”
By them, she meant Omanuju, Adamantus, even Mortimer. The lantern that symbolized the dead’s presence burned, its red light reflected in the harbor water, but there was not a sound. Gabriella went to the tower wall, kicked dirt and spat upon it. She directed every blasphemous curse she could think of at the dead. Nothing stirred. Perhaps Mortimer was right. Perhaps the dead and the gods that commanded them were just a figment of the collective imaginations of the villagers.
But she did not believe it. She knew they had turned their backs on her. They had used her, used Adamantus. She needed to get their attention.
She reached into her shirt and drew out the whistle. As she squeezed it in her fist, her head still pounded with exertion. She rubbed its surface, feeling with her thumb the parting clouds, the rising city whose walls never crumbled. The whistle had served them so well during her dance on Kejel and against the wyvern. Gabriella knew it was still imbued with magic.
Power in proportion to the wielder’s desperation, Adamantus had said.
She snapped the strap around her neck. The wall of the tower was rough to the touch. With her hand, she found a stone sticking out that made a suitable ledge. Gabriella placed the whistle there. Then she ran to the harbor’s edge, where water lapped at the shore. She waded in, running her hands along the slick, muddy bottom. The lanterns on the Sevior ship across the harbor were now lit. The ship was leaving. Gabriella groped the harbor bottom. She felt a rock beneath her hands and yanked it out of the muck. The water whirled and slurped loudly as she sprinted back to the tower. She stood over the whistle and lifted the stone. Glancing up towards the top of the tower, she thought of Mortimer Creedly—perhaps his irreverence would serve her now. The Servior ship was sliding out of the dock. It was the last impetus she needed.
