by Will Wight
A voice rumbed up from the cage in the center of the deck. “That was well done.”
Calder looked to the sixth passenger, whom he’d all but forgotten in the excitement. Urzaia still lay on his back, hands folded under his head like a pillow, eyes closed. He looked like a man enjoying a relaxing nap.
“Did we wake you?” Calder asked, voice dry.
Without opening his eyes, the prisoner grinned, flashing his perfect teeth. “The sparks are not Kameira or Elder, but something born of the Aion. They have order. Patterns. They like to...straighten things that are crooked. It is said they are drawn to lost ships, and they will guide you toward right paths.”
Uneasy, Calder glanced at the seamless deck of his ship, where orange embers were still dying. “They were here to help us?”
The big man shrugged, shoulders brushing against the bottom of his cage. “Have seen ships they helped before. Burned, black skeletons of ships that drift on the water. If they could not protect themselves from the fire, they died. But hey! They are not lost anymore!”
He laughed, and Calder chuckled along with him. He couldn’t help it; the bound man seemed to invite cheer.
As Sister Ulinda had once said, “A smiling man is a friend to all.”
“But enough about the fires,” Urzaia said, suddenly sitting up. He looked Calder in the eye, smile never fading. “I said you did well. You saved that man, the one who pretends his name is Nine. He may have survived the burns, but he would have spent a long time healing. It will not take so long, now. He owes you.”
Even though it was coming from a man in a cage, at least someone noticed what Calder had done. “It’s my ship, isn’t it? I’m responsible for what happens here.”
Urzaia tapped his knuckles against the inside of his cage bars. “You react quickly. That is good, on the Aion Sea. Make decisions quickly, act quickly, and you will be a good Captain. If you listen to your crew, and not to the Emperor.” Urzaia made a disgusted face, as though he’d bitten into something sour. “He makes so many decisions for the Guilds, but he does not care about us.”
Hurriedly, Calder glanced behind him, making sure that the other Champions weren’t close enough to overhear. He wouldn’t be surprised if they punished him for simply listening to treason like this.
And some part of him sensed an opportunity here. He never would have thought he’d find someone else who saw through the Emperor’s façade. Certainly not so soon.
Calder leaned closer to the bars, lowering his voice. “How did you end up in a cage, Urzaia?”
The big man’s eyes moved behind Calder to the open cabin door, then back. His smile widened a notch. “Come back tonight, second watch. There are no longer two of them, so they cannot keep eyes on me all night. You promise to watch me, and we will speak then.”
He lay back again, resting his head on his hands. “For now, I will catch a little sleep. If we are attacked again, I don’t want to miss it, yes?”
CHAPTER EIGHT
Each of the Great Elders has their own goals, and they are often in conflict. But why have they not destroyed each other? Why have they not destroyed us? On some level, toward some mutual objective, they must be working together.
—Head of the Blackwatch, four hundred years ago
~~~
Calder stood in the courtyard outside the Emperor’s quarters, watching the Guards hack away at gray-green flesh. Bliss ran her hands along the skin like a child trying to find her way out of a cave.
The stars were still out, and Calder didn’t remember getting out of bed.
“The bearer of Tyrfang has already given you her tour. I thought I’d give you mine.” Kelarac turned to him, the steel over his eyes glinting silver in the moonlight, and smiled.
The Great Elder looked exactly the same as Calder had last seen him: metal blindfold, decked in jewelry, thin goatee, two gold-capped teeth. Maybe the Soul Collector appeared this way to everyone, as a sort of signature.
“If we keep meeting like this, people are going to talk,” Calder said. He had already written this off as a dream when Kelarac appeared and Bliss didn’t immediately notice and attack.
Although...the Guild Head had stopped running her hands along the bulbous skin surrounding the Emperor’s quarters. She’d tilted her head as though listening for something.
Kelarac chuckled. “I have spoken with you more than anyone else this century. Some would say I favor you too heavily.”
“You and Ach’magut both. If I didn’t know better, I’d suspect I was being manipulated.”
Kelarac wove his fingers together until his rings shone.
“You’re a piece on a board, Reader of Memory. A card in the hand. You know it, too. But it’s fortunate for you that you are a well-positioned piece, so that you may be lured into place rather than prodded. Your kind prefers sugar cubes to switches, don’t they?”
Calder crushed any irritation before it could pollute his voice. Before one of the Great Elders, he had to keep his Intent on a tight leash. “I believe you’re thinking of horses.”
“No...no, I don’t think so.”
Kelarac waved a jeweled hand at the flesh-covered building. “I like to show my workers the result of their labor, it helps to support a grander vision. And this...without Nakothi’s Heart, I could never have built this.”
A chill ran down Calder’s skin, as though he was wearing his real body and not just inhabiting a dream. “What have you built?”
“However imperfectly, however temporarily, I have created an organism that can control the Emperor’s Optasia.” He put his hands on his hips, smiling like a proud mother. “Without the attack on the other Navigator’s ship, you wouldn’t have ended up here. Not for a long time, at least, and by then certain windows would have passed.”
It was growing harder and harder to control his Intent. “You have the power to destroy the world, and you used it to change my travel plans?”
“I told you before, Captain, I don’t want to destroy the world. Only Urg’naut wants that, though Tharlos might accomplish it as an incidental byproduct. I like the world the way it is now, only perhaps a tad more so. You’ll understand. Bringing you here was one domino in a very long line, one note in a symphony that lasts millennia.”
Whatever else the Great Elder was, he sounded very proud of himself.
“And you’re telling me now out of a newfound spirit of fair play?” The Collector of Souls didn’t give anything away for free.
Gold glinted in Kelarac’s smile. “You can’t steer the ship unless you turn the wheel. I need you where you are, doing exactly what you’re going to—”
The Great Elder was interrupted by a girl’s pale face, popping up and staring at him from an inch away. Bliss frowned into what, to her, should look like empty space.
“Dreams are like cobwebs,” she said. “I don’t like them in my hair.”
When the Guild Head waved her hand, the courtyard vanished, and Calder woke upright in bed. Sunlight leaked in from the edges of his window, and Kelarac’s dream was nothing but a memory.
Calder shivered as he dressed himself in the early morning light. These palace rooms were comfortable but drafty, and the autumn chill was starting to make itself known. But he shivered for more than just the cold.
Kelarac had come to him last night, either invading his dreams or dragging his mind away while he slept. He wasn’t sure which possibility unnerved him more. He was sure their conversation had been real, and equally sure that Bliss had noticed them. Or at least noticed something wrong.
How much did she know? If she had seen him standing next to a figure she recognized as a Great Elder, he would be in the dangerous position of trying to explain to the Head of the Blackwatch why he was on first-name basis with Kelarac. If that didn’t end with his body in the Aion Sea, it ended with seven spikes through him.
On top of the looming threat of death, an even greater fear loomed. Kelarac had spoken clearly last night. Too clearly. Before, the Soul Co
llector had doled out hints like a hunter baiting traps, careful not to give Calder too much information. Why had he changed?
Above all, why let Calder know he was being manipulated? It was one thing to know he was dancing to an Elder tune, and quite another to have Kelarac tell him to his face that he was nothing more than a piece on a gameboard.
Did Kelarac tell him because it wouldn’t matter? Because Calder would play his role regardless, and he couldn’t stop it? Or maybe Kelarac knew that Calder would resist, that he would do the exact opposite of whatever he thought the Elders wanted, which would itself play right into Kelarac’s hands...
“If you find yourself thinking in circles, stop thinking.” Not one of the great philosophers of history, obviously. Calder’s father, Rojric. Calder had always found the words surprisingly wise: when thinking wasn’t productive, he had to start acting.
Which was why he’d take the initiative. He’d go confront Bliss, find out what she knew, and try to enlist her help. If she killed him...well, there wasn’t much he could do to stop her, and maybe his death would thwart Kelarac’s plans.
Why do I even want to stop Kelarac? Calder had only interacted with two Great Elders in his life, and both of them had worked for Calder’s benefit. Sure, maybe Calder was being used as part of an eons-long plot to devour the world, but it was working out for him. It wasn’t his responsibility to protect the world from Elders.
The burning handprint on his forearm itched, and he absently scratched it. No one had carried his chest of clothes over from The Testament, so he was left with only a spare outfit that the palace servants had brought him: a set of shirt, pants, and jacket in red and gold. It looked suspiciously like a cross between the Imperial Guard uniform and a servant’s livery, but at least he wouldn’t be wandering the Emperor’s palace in his skin.
He had just started pulling on the pants when his door swung open and Andel walked in, his white suit as pristine as ever. “Good morning, August and Illustrious Emperor. I’m here to dress you.”
Calder looked from his servant clothes to the robes draped over Andel’s arm. Fabric spilled over his arm in a waterfall of sunlight colors: yellow, white, and a bright, shimmering gold. Clothes like the Emperor would have worn.
“You’re not really going to dress me, are you?”
Andel threw the bundle of cloth at him. “The palace staff seem to think I’m your manservant. They tried to get me to bring your tea.”
“I could use some tea right now, actually.”
“I’m sure Petal would brew it for you immediately.”
Calder held up a smooth white garment, like a loose sleeved robe, and an identical yellow one next to it. “Which of these am I supposed to put on first?”
Andel folded his arms and leaned with his back to the door. “Whichever you decide, do it quickly. The Guild Heads want to meet with you.”
Anxiety sparked in Calder’s stomach as he pulled the white robe over his head. Was this Bliss confronting him about last night? “What for, did they say?”
“What did you do wrong?”
Calder froze with the yellow robe halfway over the white one. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Andel raised one eyebrow a fraction. “It’s obvious why they want to talk to you. Same reason they sent you those clothes. You should start acting like the Emperor now, and they’re going to guide you through it. You wouldn’t have asked unless you were afraid it was something else, which means you did something wrong.”
Calder relaxed, considering the gold robe that was probably his outer layer. Each layer was cut slightly differently, so that some of the previous colors would show through no matter how he wore them. “You have quite the imagination, Andel.”
“If you get us executed after only one night in the Imperial Palace, I swear I’ll make a deal with a Great Elder just to haunt you for eternity.”
“Where’s that tea?”
After looking over Calder’s Imperial clothing and carefully not laughing, Andel led him through the palace hallways, over rare imported carpets and decorations that would cost more than a Navigator’s entire journey. When they finally arrived at their destination, Calder was thoroughly lost.
Not only had they taken more turns that he felt were strictly necessary, this room looked exactly the same as fifty others they’d passed. It held a long, rectangular table in the center, chairs all around, and paintings on the wall. The only difference between this room and all the others in the palace was its inhabitants.
Servants stood around the perimeter, prepared to attend to any sudden requests. Jarelys Teach sat at one end of the table, holding her forehead in one gauntleted hand. Cheska Bennett had traded her hat for a bandana tying her hair back, and she was in the middle of an angry gesture with a rolled-up news-sheet. Mekendi Maxeus was the only one of them who looked somewhat calm, though that could have been the black mask that shrouded his features. His hands were laced together, his ash-gray staff leaning behind him.
A sudden disquiet rolled through Calder’s gut. This was all too familiar. Andel leading him through the door, into a meeting of Guild Heads...just like aboard The Eternal, not long ago. How much had changed since then?
He supposed he’d find out.
“...have to move now,” Cheska insisted, not bothering to acknowledge Calder. “The longer we wait, the better it is for them.”
Teach spoke without opening her eyes. “It sounds to me like we’ve already made our opening move.”
“The remaining Regents will respond,” Maxeus said confidently. “They will have to act, or else go back into hiding.”
Rather than go stand against the wall with the servants and attendants, as he’d done last time, Andel simply walked out of the room. Calder understood. If he kept acting like a servant, people would keep treating him like one. Best to abandon ship while there was still a chance of keeping his dignity.
But Calder didn’t like how alone he felt as Andel left.
Maxeus was the first to recognize his presence, giving Calder a shallow, seated bow. “The change of wardrobe suits you. Welcome. There’s been some recent excitement here at home, as you may have heard.”
“Did Bliss figure out how to get to the throne?” Surely there could be no more urgent cause than that.
“She’s still working on it,” Teach said. “Apparently the Elders sent something to spy on her last night, so she summoned a team of Watchmen to secure the courtyard. When she knows something, I’m sure she’ll...” The Guild Head hesitated.
“Delay until she feels like it, tell us eventually, and leave out crucial details,” Calder finished.
“I sometimes forget you used to work for her.”
Cheska slapped the news-sheet down on the table. “Enough about the Elders! Light and life, we have enough human problems to last us until Urg’naut devours the planet.”
At Calder’s curious look, she slid the sheet over to him.
IZYRIA IN CHAOS, IMPERIALISTS TO BLAME, the headline declared. The article went on to describe the riots in the east, food shortages, and Guild-on-Guild violence. All precipitated by the ‘Imperialists:’ those Guilds who wanted to raise up a second Emperor after the first, may his soul fly free, was lost to an Elder attack. The writer even managed to insinuate that it may have been the Imperialists who engineered the Emperor’s death in the first place.
The first thing Calder said when he’d finished was, “Imperialists?”
Maxeus inclined his masked head. “That’s the charming moniker the news-sheets have given to our alliance, represented here. The Magisters, the Blackwatch, the Imperial Guard, and the Navigators are Imperialists, while the Consultants, Alchemists, Greenwardens, and Luminians are the Independents.”
“The name isn’t the problem,” Cheska said. “The name is fine. If anything, calling us Imperialists reinforces that we’re on the side of the Empire. The problem is that the news-sheets are all over us. Which means the people don’t trust us. And if the peop
le don’t trust us, they won’t trust whatever slack-jawed idiot we stick on the throne.”
If Calder were a less generous man, that might have offended him. “Thank you, Cheska. If you wouldn’t mind explaining something else to me, though, they claim that this was happening yesterday. Even the fastest Navigator couldn’t travel here from Izyria in less than two weeks.” Calder ought to know, as his ship was the fastest.
Cheska snorted. “Two weeks? With fantastic weather, clear sailing, an empty hold, and the Emperor’s own luck. Maybe.”
“That’s what hurts the worst,” Teach said, frustration bleeding into her voice. “There’s no way they could have known. It’s entirely fabricated.”
There had to be something here he was missing. They were too upset for what amounted to little more than a slanderous lie. “Then what’s the matter? We’ll get the Witnesses to investigate, and they’ll have to print a retraction. Instead of the villains, people will see us as the victims.”
Maxeus steepled his hands again. “Unfortunately, despite their obvious deception, they’re actually correct. Izyria is in chaos, their Regent is missing, and we are to blame. I received the news yesterday, through a method much faster than your ships.”
“So how did they know?” Calder asked.
“They didn’t,” Cheska said, slapping her palm down on the table. “They just guessed, but they’re right, and now we’re sunk if we don’t bail water.”
There was still something Calder didn’t know, some fact they were dancing around rather than addressing it directly. “It can’t be that much of a disaster. What did we do?”
It was Maxeus who answered with a distinct note of pride. “We successfully assassinated Alagaeus, Regent of the East.”
Calder stared at him, speechless.
“Possibly Jorin as well, though he was staying with the Consultants. As you know, the Gray Island is in somewhat of a mess right now, so news is scarce.”
