by Jen Williams
‘You shouldn’t have left your world, godless one.’
To his right the darkness between the trees shimmered, as though the air was as thick as water, and a woman appeared. Chen would have sworn that seconds ago that space was empty, but she was utterly solid, no ghost made of blue light. In the gloom he could make out that she was short, with skin as white as paper and untidy black hair that came down to her jaw and curled under there. She was beautiful, with almond-shaped eyes and a full mouth painted red, but a shadow lay against her neck. Chen narrowed his eyes at that, sure it was familiar, but the pain in his chest was starting to push all other thoughts aside.
‘I … why would you? I was just …’
She came closer. The woman moved with grace through the undergrowth, barely making a sound, and she wore a strange combination of fur and leathers, beads and bones and other trinkets at her ears and wrists. In her hands was a pair of long curved swords. She was not carrying a bow.
‘You have entered the world of the Twins now.’ She smiled at him, and Chen felt his bladder release in a sudden hot torrent. It was the smile of a wolf. ‘Such as you must stand in sacrifice.’
She looked over his shoulder and nodded, and a man came out of the shadows, a bow held loosely in one hand. He did not simply appear out of the air as the woman had done, but he moved just as silently, and he wore dark clothes.
‘He will do,’ she told the new man, her tone kind now. ‘A bit scrawny for your first, maybe, but we will find the meat on him.’
Laughter came from beyond the trees. Chen looked around, trying to see who was there, but the woman reached out and pushed him to the ground. He cried out; the stench of the island had increased when she had touched him, and it felt like an invasion. He didn’t want to die here, with that stink in his nose.
‘Please,’ he said, aware from the taste of blood in his mouth that he was as good as dead already. ‘Please, I can give you coin. I spent most of it, but I hid some too. I can tell you where, I can—’
The woman laughed. Now that she was closer Chen could see that the shadow on her neck was a tattoo – it covered her neck, reaching up to the line of her jaw, and apparently continued below the leather vest she wore. It was too dark to see what it depicted.
‘Old pirates,’ she said, almost fondly. ‘Always the same offers, the same threats. This is the disadvantage of meat that can talk.’ She looked up to the man with the bow and held out one of her swords. ‘Make the cuts the way I taught you, and the gods will bless our feast this evening.’
2
Wydrin passed the folded cloth across the table. ‘Go on. Have a look.’
Frith glanced up at her, frowning slightly. The chik-choks house was busy, full of the gentle clatter of men and women moving their pieces across their game boards, the murmur of quiet conversation and the occasional disagreement. Their own board had been colonised by several empty glasses, the game pieces – crystal monkeys, as was Wydrin’s preference – scattered to either side. Frith had picked up the game after only a few demonstrations and was dangerously close to winning his first match. He suspected this was why Wydrin had developed a habit of disrupting the game with elaborate orders of drinks.
‘What is it?’
She nodded at the cloth. ‘Nothing awful, I promise. Well, a bit awful.’
Frith picked up the material and unfolded it. Inside was a small piece of gold, rounded and dented into a familiar shape. ‘Wydrin,’ he said, ‘is this a tooth?’
She nodded. ‘Not bad work, either. Bit flashy for my tastes.’
‘And why am I holding a tooth?’
Wydrin picked up her glass and took a gulp. ‘That was left for me outside our room this morning. Wrapped in parchment, my name scribbled on it. Nothing else. No note, no instructions.’
‘You left the room this morning?’
‘I went out to get some fresh air. You were still asleep. It was as if you were worn out or something.’ She gave him a look over the top of her glass, and Frith smiled. It was strange, even now, to smile like that, but her green eyes demanded it. He put the gold tooth down on the chik-choks board.
‘Do you know why someone would send you a gold tooth? Is someone paying a debt they owe perhaps?’
Wydrin laughed, although he noted the bitter tone of it. ‘You could say that. You remember when you went swanning off to Whittenfarne to learn your mages’ words?’
‘Of course.’ Without thinking about it, Frith’s hand moved to the staff leaning against the chair next to him, fingers briefly brushing against the words carved there. These days Selsye’s staff never left his sight.
‘Seb had buggered off too, so I went back to Crosshaven, and—’ She paused, swirling the last of the mead around the bottom of her glass. ‘Well, I got involved in some stuff I probably shouldn’t have. Pirate business.’ He could see real regret in her eyes, not an expression he often associated with Wydrin. ‘I helped a man called Reilly rob a man called Morgul, but the stupid little bastard pushed it too far, and a lot of people died. It was a bloody mess.’
Frith raised his eyebrows. ‘You made some enemies then, I assume.’
She shrugged. ‘It’s not the first time it’s happened. I had to leave Crosshaven for a while, which was fine because we ended up, you know, having to deal with the god of destruction in the form of a dragon.’ She waved a hand airily.
‘I do seem to remember something like that.’
‘But when I came back I was careful. I asked around. Checked all the usual sources, and everything suggested that the Morgul situation had blown over. Those seeking revenge were apparently sated, and no one was muttering my name in dark alleys any more. Or no more than usual. And then this.’ She tapped the tooth with the end of her finger. ‘Reilly had a gold tooth. He thought it made him look dashing.’
‘So it’s a warning.’ Frith leaned back in his chair. ‘A threat.’
‘It seems so.’ Wydrin put her glass down, knocking over one of the crystal monkeys. ‘Nothing I can’t handle, but it might be worth—’
There was a crash from the front of the chik-choks room. A woman had just walked in and thrown the door back with more violence than was strictly necessary, catching the edge of a nearby chair and scattering game pieces. The man at the table stood up angrily – his drink appeared to have landed in his lap. He began shouting at the woman, who stood looking at him with a faint expression of curiosity on her face.
‘Oh shit,’ said Wydrin.
The woman looked as though she was in her fifties, with deep red hair tumbling in an untidy cloud to the middle of her back. It was braided here and there, Frith noticed, and tied with black ribbons. Her skin was tanned, and she wore salt-blasted leather trousers and vest, with a black silk shirt underneath. There was a pair of well-used cutlasses at her belt, along with a range of smaller daggers.
‘Who is it?’ There was a look of sheer alarm on Wydrin’s face now. Frith rested his hand on the staff. The solidity of it was comforting. ‘Is this one of the pirates you’ve angered?’
‘You could say that.’
The man was still shouting, his face growing redder and redder. The woman with the cutlasses seemed to grow abruptly tired of it, and in the middle of his rant she reached out with both hands, grabbed hold of his shirt, and brought her forehead up smartly to meet his nose. Even across the other side of the room, Frith quite clearly heard the crunch as small bones shattered. The man howled, pressing his fingers to his face as blood flowed from his broken nose.
The woman turned away from him, her eyes scanning the room for her next victim.
‘By all the Graces …’ Wydrin stood up and waved frantically. ‘Hello, Mum!’
Wydrin called for another round of drinks and fetched an extra chair from a nearby table. Out of the corner of her eye she could see the proprietor watching her with sudden attentiveness – even in Crosshaven, they didn’t get too many brawls in gaming houses, and she could tell that she had rapidly become his least favourite
patron. She ignored him.
‘Frith,’ she said, as her mother took the offered seat. ‘This is Devinia the Red, notorious captain of the Crimson Sea Witch, scourge of the Bararian flotilla, first pirate to sail the Shadow-Bone Pass without smashing her ship to pieces, popularly referred to as the “Succubus of the Silent Sea”—’
‘No one has ever called me that,’ put in her mother, evenly.
‘… The Eighth Wonder of Crosshaven, or the Terror of the Torrent,’ continued Wydrin. ‘She is wanted in several countries with rewards healthy enough to set you up for life, if you live to claim it. She is also my mother.’
‘Thank you, Wydrin, that’s enough.’ Devinia looked her over, her dark blue eyes narrowing. ‘You do not look to have changed much since I saw you last.’
‘And when was that?’ asked Wydrin. She felt the brittleness in her tone and was powerless to change it. ‘Three years ago? Four?’
‘Possibly.’ A waiter arrived with their drinks, and Devinia peered with interest at the flagon of ale set before her, but did not move to drink it. ‘It’s the Poison Chalice now, not the Crimson Sea Witch. I have a new ship.’ She transferred her icy gaze to Frith. ‘Who is this, then? Where’s the other one? The big one?’
Wydrin grimaced. Frith was looking at the pair of them with a faintly stunned expression, but he recovered well.
‘Madam, I am Lord Aaron Frith of the Blackwood. It is an honour to meet such a distinguished lady, especially one with such a remarkable reputation.’
Devinia raised her eyebrows. There were a few beats of silence.
‘An honour, is it?’ Devinia turned back to Wydrin. ‘Where did you find this one?’
‘Frith and I have been travelling together for a while now. Saving the world from dragons, mad mages. That sort of thing.’
‘So I have heard,’ said Devinia, leaning back in her chair. Her face remained cool, disinterested, and Wydrin felt a flicker of irritation. It was as if fighting dragons and foiling evil magic was a regular occurrence, something Devinia did on a slow day perhaps, when she was bored. ‘Stories of the Black Feather Three abound in every port. I thought it was your usual ploy of spreading elaborate rumours, but the same tales were being told everywhere and, of course, your brother can attest to the reality of your dragon.’
Quickly, the irritation turned to anger. She didn’t say it outright, of course she didn’t say anything, but the accusation was there in the slight downward turn of her mouth.
‘Jarath is fine,’ said Wydrin, with more heat than she intended. ‘I saved him. We saved him.’ She glanced up at Frith, who said nothing. ‘He’s a pirate, Mum, like you. He’s hardly a bloody stranger to risk.’
‘A stranger to dragon fire though,’ replied Devinia, before shaking her head as if knowing Wydrin wanted to argue the point further. ‘That’s not why I’m here, anyway.’
‘Then why are you here? Not that it isn’t a pleasure to see you of course, out of the blue and with no prior warning.’ And in truth, it was good to see her. Devinia had a few more lines at the corners of her eyes, and the first few grey hairs were beginning to show at her temples, but otherwise Devinia looked as she ever had; strong, immovable and defiant. And like a spectacular pain in the arse. ‘Why exactly have we been blessed with your presence?’
Devinia cocked her head slightly.
‘This is your new young man, isn’t it? That’s why you’re showing off?’ Before Wydrin could answer, she carried on. ‘I’m here, Wydrin, because you have shown yourself to be an extremely capable sell-sword with a remarkable reputation won in a short space of time. You also have some interesting friends, with some interesting abilities.’ She glanced at the staff leaning against Frith’s chair. ‘And so I have come to ask you if you would like to join me on a small adventure.’ For the first time, Devinia smiled, just a little. ‘I think it might be your sort of thing.’
Wydrin sat back in her chair, suddenly wary. She could count the occasions that Devinia had asked for her assistance on the fingers of one hand, and still leave enough to hold a tankard of mead. She looked at Frith, who shrugged his shoulders minutely.
‘Oh? Exactly what sort of adventure are we talking about, Mum?’
Devinia leaned forward over the table, lowering her voice. ‘You remember the island of Euriale?’
Wydrin frowned. ‘Of course. It’s where the port town of Two-Birds is. You took me there often enough as a kid.’ Catching Frith’s questioning look, she turned to him slightly. ‘Two-Birds is a pirate town, full of – well, people like my mum here. Beyond Two-Birds, though, there’s nothing but wild jungle. It’s generally believed to be cursed.’ She smiled. ‘I was a terror for stories about Euriale when I was a kid.’
‘Some of those stories involved gold,’ cut in Devinia. She took a sip of the ale. ‘Gold and treasure, and wonders unlike any other place on Ede, all hidden at the very centre of the island.’
Frith shifted in his chair. ‘And you expect me to believe no one has yet claimed this treasure? When the closest town is full of pirates?’
Devinia gave him a cool look. ‘Whether the island is cursed or not, it certainly is dangerous. No one has been known to survive more than a handful of days when venturing into the island.’
Wydrin shook her head. ‘It hardly matters anyway, Mum. Unless you have some magical way to get to the centre of the island without getting killed?’
‘Actually, you’re the ones that have that.’ Devinia leaned back and crossed her arms over her chest. ‘I just have the map.’
Wydrin snorted. ‘A map of the interior of the island? No such thing exists. Nothing reputable, anyway.’
‘I have one and I assure you, it certainly is real.’ And then to Wydrin’s surprise, her mother turned away from her and addressed Frith directly. ‘The problem, Lord Frith, is one of transportation. The island of Euriale is split by a great spiral of waterways that lead to the very centre, banked all along the way by high cliffs of black rock. With the right vessel it would be possible to sail almost all the way—’
She paused as Wydrin scoffed into her drink.
‘But Euriale is dangerous. Small boats and ships are surely doomed, overwhelmed within days.’
‘Overwhelmed?’ asked Frith. ‘Overwhelmed by what?’
‘The local wildlife,’ replied Devinia dryly. ‘The only reliable way through would be with a big, tough ship, one where the crew are kept as far away from the water as possible. A ship like the Poison Chalice.’
‘But Mum—’
Devinia silenced her with a look. ‘The difficulty is that the Poison Chalice is a ship with sails. And once we’re deep in those waterways with the cliffs rising on either side of us, we will lose most of the wind we need to move. The waterways are deep, but they are also cramped, and the Poison Chalice has no oars to keep her moving when we are becalmed. This is where you come in, with your staff and your magic.’
Frith toyed with one of the crystal monkeys on the table. ‘I’m not sure I follow.’
‘I’ve heard the stories of the Black Feather Three.’ Devinia tipped her head to one side. ‘You can hardly avoid them, around here. I’ve heard all sorts about what you can do with your magic.’
‘Are you asking him to move your entire bloody ship for you?’ Wydrin shook her head slightly.
‘I am asking him to provide our means of propulsion.’ Devinia looked directly at Frith. ‘What do you think? Is it possible?’
For a long time Frith said nothing. He looked at the staff, leaning next to him. Wydrin knew that he was limited to the words that Selsye, long-dead mage and crafter of the Edeian, had carved into the wood itself, but she also knew that, thanks to the ministrations of the mad mage Joah Demonsworn, he now knew more about the elusive magic than anyone else on Ede. Thinking of what that had cost him caused a bitter taste to flood Wydrin’s mouth. She fidgeted in her chair.
‘I think it is possible,’ he said eventually. And then he nodded, more certain of himself. ‘Yes, I believe
so. I have the word for Force, and the ability to send it in several directions at once. And my mastery of the spell itself has vastly improved. I could sail your ship for you.’
Devinia’s mouth quirked up at the corner. ‘You can leave the sailing to us, I just need you to provide a fair wind. What do you say?’
Frith caught Wydrin’s eye, and she saw that he was open to the idea. There would be treasure, yes, and adventure, but more importantly there would be a way to use his knowledge of the Edenier, something she knew he had been craving. And there was Sebastian to think about. She had been avoiding that problem for too long.
‘It seems you have gained yourself the services of the Black Feather Three, Mum.’ Wydrin took a sip of her mead. ‘Now we just need to discuss the fee. There will be no family discounts, of course.’
3
Sebastian slipped into the crowd, pushing to the front easily enough. From the corner of his eye he saw a few men and women turn to him angrily, but once they caught a glimpse of his broad shoulders and muscled arms, they quickly turned back to the action in the pit. They were here to watch a fight, not to pick one.
It was a busy day at the Marrow Market, and the air was full of the smell of roasted meat and spilt beer as the people of Crosshaven sought out their afternoon’s entertainment. Sebastian leaned on the wall at the edge of the scale pit, peering down like everyone else. At the bottom was around a foot of water, still stained pink from the last fight. Sebastian remembered that one well. He had won so much coin that the gaffer had started to give him a curious look, but that hadn’t stopped him from going back to bet on this fight too. Let him look. Let them all look. He took a skin from his belt and had a gulp of toka, relishing the burn as it worked its way down his throat to his empty stomach.
‘Introducing our next combatants, ladies and gentlemen.’ The gaffer stood at the far side of the pit, with his twin daughters to either side. They were both lean and strong, blond hair pushed back from faces that looked like they’d been born already bored by life in general. In their arms they held a pair of sun-lizards, held securely at the neck. Each lizard was two feet long, with a narrow snout lined with sharp teeth. ‘On the right, we have Icefang, who has won his last two games.’ One daughter brandished the lizard she was holding easily enough, although Sebastian knew them to be heavy creatures. Icefang was pale blue and dotted with yellow markings from the end of his snout to the tip of his tail. Sebastian reached out instinctively and felt the cold thread of the lizard’s mind there waiting for him – the animal was relaxed, inert almost. It was a veteran of the pits. ‘And on my left we have Sourcrest, in his first ever bout.’ The second daughter stepped forward, and this lizard was a pale salmon-pink, with a deep brown belly and rolling yellow eyes. When Sebastian reached out to this one he took an involuntary step back; its mind was jumping all over the place. The lizard could smell the blood in the water, and the hands at his throat were too hot, too alien. He wriggled in the woman’s grasp, opening and closing his long snout. ‘I trust you have all placed your bets, ladies and gentlemen? Then let us begin.’
