Of Dawn and Darkness (The Elder Empire: Sea Book 2)

by Will Wight

  Bliss looked exactly the same as always: her long hair a shade closer to white than her skin, wearing a black coat that hung down to her ankles. The row of silver buttons down the middle each bore the crest of the Blackwatch: six inhuman eyes on a bed of tentacles.

  She fixed her gaze on a point over and behind Calder. “Oh? Calder Marten said you were tied up.”

  “I was, at the time,” Meia responded. Calder’s spyglass fell as she dropped it, hitting him on the chest. It struck him right in the bandaged shoulder, and a weak groan escaped from his chest.

  Why wasn’t he unconscious yet? His vision wasn’t even fading; nothing new seemed to be happening to him, but he was still locked in paralysis with his burning injuries.

  Bliss slid sideways on the slick deck without taking her eyes from the Consultant. “You look strange. Do you know Nathanael Bareius?”

  “I’ve never met him, but I’m familiar with his handiwork.” Meia’s hand flexed, stretching further. Muscles rippled up her arm, and her nails extended into claws.

  “Hmm. We need Calder Marten, we’ve all agreed, but I don’t know what I should do with you. You’re not supposed to be here, you know. I—”

  Bliss was cut off when Meia launched herself explosively across the deck. Calder could actually feel his Vessel tense beneath him at the force of her leap, and she descended on the Guild Head an instant later with bronze in one hand and claws bared in the other.

  Calder had to strain his eyes to catch what happened next, and it still took several long seconds for his brain to piece it together. Meia’s dagger plunged down before her feet had even met the deck, and Bliss’ hand moved. The knuckles of her fist struck the flat of the blade, then the hand unfolded and pushed against Meia’s wrist. The Guild Head’s other arm came down straight onto Meia’s, pushing the clawed hand down and away.

  As a result, the assassin landed with both arms pushed wide apart, as though she meant to wrap the shorter woman in an embrace. While Calder was still puzzling over their first exchange, Meia pushed her arms together, trying to overpower Bliss with sheer strength.

  But Bliss released her immediately, skating backwards on the wet deck. Meia stopped before she drove a knife into her own palm.

  “I see now,” Bliss said, calm as ever. “They’ve given you some supplementary systems. That’s very sad for you. How do you deal with the voices?”

  Meia had stopped where Calder could see her face, and her Kameira eyes blazed with orange light. “You’re an artificial. I’d heard the rumors, but I never checked your file.” The Consultant’s face reddened and her shoulders trembled with palpable rage, but her expression remained focused and her knife steady. The combination made her seem much less human, giving the impression that her body was shaking without her. Like her flesh bore an anger that her mind could not touch.

  By contrast, Bliss grew cold, her entire demeanor freezing over. “That’s a very rude thing to say. It suggests that I am an object, which I do not appreciate.”

  Meia spent a long moment struggling, clearly trying to find the right words. “This is a waste of time for both of us,” she said at last. “I need transportation back to the Gray Island. Give me control of this ship for two days, and we can go our separate ways.”

  Bliss squinted at Meia. “You’re suggesting that you will kill Calder Marten if I don’t comply. You could, I suppose. It would take me an instant to reach you, and he’s very close. You could step on his neck from there, or drive your dagger into his brain, or tear his head off, or kick him and break his spine, or crush his skull, or poison him, or constrict his windpipe...”

  Calder wasn’t sure what Bliss intended, but he wished he could move enough to ask her to stop.

  “Those are all options,” Meia agreed.

  “That would be inconvenient for me,” Bliss allowed. “And I suspect Calder Marten wouldn’t like it very much either. Where would we find another Emperor at this hour?”

  Meia went very still, and Calder would have groaned if he had any control over his voice. The last thing he needed was for Bliss to give the Consultants another reason to kill him.

  “You want him to sit on the throne?”

  Bliss nodded once, very precisely. “Well put. Yes, that’s exactly what we want him to do.”

  The Consultant’s eyes flickered from Bliss to Calder, and Calder strained to move. He could practically hear Meia trying to decide if it would be worthwhile to assassinate him, even with the Guild Head there. Bliss’ litany rolled through his head, taunting him with all the ways he could die: crushed skull, collapsed throat, severed head, pierced brain...

  With all his willpower focused on his body, Calder managed to lurch a few degrees to the side. He heaved himself over until most of his weight rested on his injured shoulder, sending lightning lancing through his arm and his entire chest. Perfect. Now I’ll be in even more pain before she kills me.

  From his new perspective, he couldn’t see Bliss at all. Meia’s black shoe rested close to his head, and Andel stood at the other end of the ship, cradling the food and wine in his arms. He had stayed completely silent during the entire exchange, Calder noted, but at least he had the decency to look concerned. Foster was nowhere to be seen, but he hadn’t challenged Meia either. Surely he should have been able to line up a shot by now.

  The rest of Calder’s view was taken up by the green-black of the deck and a stretch of bright, rolling ocean. The red outline of The Eternal bobbed like a toy in a bathtub as it headed toward him, which was almost a relief; Cheska Bennett would arrive just in time to leave him a stirring eulogy.

  He left those thoughts behind, searching for some way out before the Consultant’s blade descended on his neck. He wasn’t dead yet, so there had to be some options.

  Focusing his awareness, he prepared to Read the ship. Any unnatural movement would surely alert Meia, so he had to be careful...

  At that moment, his new point of view proved to be an advantage. Just as he started to send his Intent down into The Testament, he caught a glimpse of motion around The Eternal. He moved his eyes up, concentrating on the crimson ship.

  The Guild Head’s flagship was a deep blood-red, and made of seamless wood just as Calder’s own Vessel. Its sails were a bright red as well, and alchemical flames trailed along the bottom of the hull as the ship set the ocean alight wherever it sailed.

  But as Calder stared, that spot of scarlet began to twist, warped as though by heat. The air shifted in a visible spiral, forming into a bubble of distorted space that engulfed half the ship.

  This was the Aion Sea, where the bizarre was more commonplace than the natural, but still...Calder had never seen anything like this. Was this an attack, or some strange attempt on Cheska’s part to rescue him?

  He got his answer an instant later, when the bubble popped, tearing The Eternal in half.

  The bow stayed entirely intact, but the stern vanished in a spray of debris. Not an explosion but a dismantling, like the twisting bubble had taken the vessel apart piece by piece.

  The sound reached Calder’s ears a second later, like a cannon-shot. Deceptively slowly, The Eternal filled with water, its mast tilting backwards like a felled tree. Its nose twisted up, angling toward the sky.

  Then he heard the screams.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Eleven years ago

  Jyrine Tessella whispered her secrets into the fire, and madness answered.

  “Where are his bonds?” a voice croaked from the flickering shadows. The steady chirp of the insects outside went utterly silent in the presence of that voice, and the cave dropped a few degrees.

  “We have taken The Testament,” Jerri responded. “Calder has been released unharmed, and soon we will return to the ship.”

  She wanted to say that the Emperor had spared him from execution, but mentioning the Emperor was tricky business when you used Elderspawn as your messengers. They knew the Emperor well enough to fear even his name.

  Emerald flames blazed, illu
minating the smooth dome of stone wrinkled with crystal. It looked as though some ancient traveler had polished the inside of a natural rock formation, painting lines of quartz on the ceiling like a road map.

  In the influence of the voice and the flames, those crystals seemed to slither.

  “Can you capture the Lyathatan?” the voice asked, creaking like the mast of a ship in high wind.

  “No need. Calder works for us. He works with us, though he doesn’t know it.”

  The fire bunched in on itself, like a man folding his arms to think. “Explain.”

  She was delighted to. “He carries with him a Bellowing Horror, a spawn of Othaghor that often declares death. But he doesn’t fear it. He treats it as a beloved pet.”

  A short, stubby little creature, like a foot-tall fat man with a pair of undersized bat’s wings. Its eyes were orbs of pure black hate, its mouth masked behind writhing tentacles, and it spoke with the voice of doom itself. They called it Shuffles.

  “He is hunted by the Blackwatch, just as we are. He was exiled from their number for consorting with Elders.” He was removed from the Guild as part of an Imperial decree, owing to his attempt to rescue his father. The attempt that had resulted in almost two dozen deaths, and his expulsion had nothing to do with ‘consorting with Elders.’ Phrasing it this way would be more persuasive.

  The men and women on the other end of the flame murmured thoughtfully among themselves, and the Elderspawn translated it as the babble of madmen, trickling from the fire like drool from the lips of an imbecile.

  Impatience took root inside her, and her Soulbound Vessel started up again.

  They don’t believe you, it said, hot with rage. They will never believe you. But you’re stronger than they are. You don’t need them. You can burn them. Burn it, melt it, turn it all to slag!

  Her mind filled with visions of acid-green flame, consuming the stone walls of the cave, leaving nothing more than a pool of molten rock behind her. It would help nothing, wouldn’t even touch the cabal, but her body ached for the destruction. Her Awakened earring, bearing the mated power of a Kameira and a notorious Elder, crooned in her ear. Its match, hanging from her other ear, was silent. It was invested only as protection, a false duplicate meant to counter and contain the power in her real Vessel.

  The copy did very little to quiet the whispers, the constant urge to push a tiny fraction of the world toward ruin. But Jerri was sixteen; more than old enough to handle a little insanity.

  She fed a little more of her power into the fire, to keep her Vessel content, as she waited for the Sleepless cabal to stop deliberating.

  “He could be an asset,” the flame finally said. “But it is not our decision. We must consult the Great Ones.”

  At even an indirect mention of a Great Elder, the voice of the transmission quivered.

  “Oh, did I not mention?” Jerri had been saving her best card for last. “He has the approval of Kelarac.”

  The fire dimmed to a green spark, the crystal in the walls flared with light reflected from some other place, and a thousand unseen messengers whispered at once.

  “Kell’arrack.”

  “The Collector of Souls.”

  “Great One.”

  “Blinded and bound.”

  “Great One...”

  Jerri waited, projecting a nonchalance she didn’t feel, keeping a tight grip on her Soulbound power. She fiddled with her braid as the cabal struggled to regain control of the void transmission.

  “He made a bargain to escape Candle Bay,” she went on, when the voices went silent. “Kelarac provided the Lyathatan as our guide. If he trusts Calder, why should we not?”

  “The situation is changed,” croaked the bullfrog-voice from the fire. “The will of Kelarac is paramount. If the former Blackwatch has a connection to the Great Ones, he could be our greatest step forward in an instant—” The voice layered over itself, as though correcting itself while speaking. “—a moment—” It stuttered again.

  “—a year—”

  “—an age—”

  “—a day—”

  “—a century.”

  Elderspawn messengers often had trouble translating time.

  “May I introduce him to the Sleepless?” Jerri asked, fluttering with fear. More than anything, she wanted to tell Calder everything and have him approve. Approve, and join her in unlocking the secret wisdom of the Elders. But when she imagined his reaction, she could only picture his horror and disgust.

  So she would make sure he understood, and then she would tell him the truth.

  “We must proceed carefully,” the voice said. “Our old enemy is still in control of himself, and we cannot afford his interference” Jerri was sure they meant the Emperor. “We must seek guidance.”

  “From whom?” Jerri asked, though she assumed they would seek communion with Kelarac. Hopefully, the Great Elder would support her endorsement of Calder.

  “Our other patron,” said the fire, and again a thousand whispers joined in. They were joyful, this time, instead of hostile and competing.

  “The Overseer.”

  “He who knows all.”

  “Sees all.”

  “The Father of Knowledge.”

  “Ach’magut.”

  The Sleepless respected the supernatural wisdom of all the Elders, but two Great Elders were revered above the rest. Kelarac, for his willingness to help and support humanity, was considered by many in the Sleepless to be their best hope for human and non-human interaction.

  But a close second was Ach’magut, the Overseer.

  The Lord of a Thousand Eyes sought knowledge above everything, at any cost. It was said that the Emperor learned Reading in the halls of Ach’magut, and that the birth of human civilization could be traced back to this one Elder. More importantly, his goals did not involve the malicious destruction of humankind, as Nakothi or Urg’naut would desire. He simply wanted to learn everything, and then to move on. Whether humans survived or not was irrelevant.

  Which made him a great resource, but not an ally.

  There was only one problem. “Kelarac is still free to act,” Jerri said. “Ach’magut is dead.”

  “As you should know,” croaked the green flame, “that is only a minor inconvenience.”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  The Emperor destroyed my home today, and he never left his palace. Am I the only one who wonders how?

  —From the scraps of a rebel prisoner’s personal journal.

  ~~~

  From the wreckage of The Eternal, screams echoed over the water. Piercing, agonized screams, like those of a dying horse. The sea was littered with debris, and dark shapes fell over the side as at least a few of the crew escaped certain death.

  But the screams continued. Too loud for a single human.

  Calder saw the jeweled gleam of a thousand feathers scattered on the waves before he figured it out: General Teach’s personal Kameira, the near-mythical Windwatcher, had been aboard that ship. And now it was dying.

  Behind him, boots slammed against the board and Andel shouted orders, but Calder didn’t listen. He didn’t need to. Whether he controlled his body or not, as long as he was conscious, he could move his ship.

  He left the pain of his wounds behind, shut out the death-screams of the Windwatcher, and ignored the debates of his crew. Once again, he sent his Intent down to the Lyathatan.

  Save them, he ordered, focusing his will into a specific picture: the Elder cradling the remains of Cheska Bennett’s ship in its clawed hands.

  The Lyathatan’s amusement hasn’t faded, and laughter rekindles as the human gives it an order. The human is still immobile, and likely to die. If the human is killed so early, Kelarac will consider the Lyathatan’s service finished, and all plans will advance. The stars wheel, the earth turns, and humans die. It is the way of the universe, and the Lyathatan looks forward to it, as much as it looks forward to anything.

  As the Reading broke, Calder had to throttle his frustration and
impatience. The Elder would sense those, and they would weaken his bargaining position. What could he offer the Lyathatan that would tempt it to help? How could he save those people?

  A figure in black-and-red armor staggered onto the slanted deck, marching up the incline as though pushing against the force of a hurricane. General Teach. She had someone thrown over her shoulder, someone in mismatched clothes whose long, red hair spilled over the General’s back. Cheska Bennett.

  Teach slipped, falling onto her armored chest, one arm thrown out to grip the deck. Somehow she found a handhold, and she was barely able to keep Cheska from falling further, from plunging into the Aion Sea.

  Calder owed Jarelys Teach nothing, but Cheska...Cheska had been his Guild Head for many years, and his friend for more than a few. He couldn’t lose another friend, not so soon, not when he was so close. He wouldn’t.

  The six-fingered handprint on his arm grew warm.

  This time, when Calder returned his Intent to the Lyathatan, he carried with him something older. His voice carried the echo of a Great Elder, and the lesser spawn had to stand aside.

  Save them, he ordered, and the Lyathatan shook with an emotion even stranger than amusement: shock. It was still not a perfect approximation of the emotion, like something mimicking human feelings that didn’t quite understand them, but it was shock nonetheless.

  I obey, the Lyathatan sent back, and the simple Intent was layered with meaning. It submitted with reluctance, resentment, curiosity, calculation, and smoldering rage. Its reasons were tangled in such a knot that Calder knew his mind would tear like delicate lace before he comprehended the smallest part.

  But the Lyathatan obeyed.

  The Testament creaked as the Elder forcibly towed it closer to the other Navigator’s vessel, Foster shouting as he stumbled over the shifting deck. As they drifted closer to the sinking ship, Meia knelt by Calder’s head. She hadn’t been thrown off-balance, of course. She was the same as Urzaia, somehow, and whatever Champion gift allowed the man to stay balanced even during the roughest storm, she had it too. Calder wondered if he’d be able to buy that power, when he was Emperor.