by Jen Williams
Devinia, who was sitting at the desk covered in more recent, legible maps, saw her looking. ‘What do you think of the new ship?’
‘Well, it’s not the Crimson Sea Witch.’
Devinia grunted. ‘You always were too sentimental to be a pirate.’
‘You really took it from old Tom Dogget?’
‘That particular storm had been brewing for years.’ Devinia leaned back in her chair, looking out of the small port window. ‘We’d been crossing each other’s paths more and more often, and there were rumours that he saw the Sea Witch as encroaching on his territory. More interesting were the rumours that his crew were sick to the back teeth with his ravings. I decided, in the end, to give him the fight he kept dreaming of.’ Devinia looked up, her mouth briefly curving into a smile. ‘I don’t think he enjoyed it half as much as he thought he would.’
‘And now you have the biggest, baddest ship on the Torrent.’ Wydrin watched her mother raise her eyebrows at her use of that term – the Torrent was what pirates called the stretch of five seas that formed an irregular belt around the belly of Ede: the Sea of Bones, the Yellow Sea, the Stony Sea, the Demon’s Strait, and the wide hot expanse of Y’Gria’s Loss. ‘And you want to use it to explore Euriale, of all places?’
Without answering directly, Devinia shuffled through the maps on her desk before sliding one on top of the others. On a map, Euriale resembled a pie that had been dropped from a great height and shattered into a rough spiral pattern. It was mostly round, with the port town of Two-Birds clinging to its outer rim, and then you could follow the wide waterways directly into the heart of the island, circling ever inwards with jagged cliffs of stone and jungle towering to either side. Except no one in their right minds did that, because Euriale was cursed. Not even the people of Two-Birds would map it – in fact, the people of Two-Birds would be the last to attempt such a thing; they lived with the ghosts and monsters of the island every day.
Wydrin picked the map up, peering at it critically. It certainly seemed more complete than any map she’d seen of the island before.
‘Where did you get this, then?’
‘I have my sources,’ said Devinia. ‘You’ll see that it is possible to get a ship almost all the way to the centre of the island, despite what we’ve thought for all these years.’
Wydrin put the map back on the table. ‘When I was little, Augusta used to tell me stories about Euriale. That if you wandered into the trees, you never came back, that the spirits that lived in there would eat your soul and walk around in your empty skin.’ She waved her hands about for emphasis. ‘That the island hated people, that it would eat anyone foolish enough to wander away from Two-Birds.’
‘Do you believe in those old folk tales now, Wydrin?’
‘Mum,’ Wydrin sat down in the chair on the opposite side of the desk, ‘these days I have very good reason to believe in all sorts of shit. Or haven’t you heard my stories? A dragon under the Citadel, the resurgence of mage magic, an army of terrible dragon-women, a living mountain, demons and blood and gods only know what.’
‘Your stories now, are they?’ This time Devinia’s smile was cold. ‘You truly are weaving the legend of Wydrin Threefellows, the Copper Cat and slayer of dragons.’
‘Mum.’ Wydrin took a slow breath, closing her eyes briefly. Here it was, then – that quick flash of anger, always close to the surface. ‘You’re missing the point. Those things all sound like stories told by vindictive old women who like to keep their charges awake all night with bad dreams, but I know them to be real. I have the scars.’ She held up her hand where the skin in the centre of her palm was dented and pink – a remnant of her time joined to the mountain spirit, when a piece of Heart-Stone had nestled there.
Her mother didn’t look at it. Instead, she stood up and walked over to the great ornamental sword hanging on the wall. ‘There are other stories about Euriale. Do you remember those?’
Wydrin sighed heavily and fiddled with the maps on the desk. ‘There were lots of stories, but Augusta preferred the bloodthirsty ones.’
‘Treasure at the heart of Euriale. So much of it, you would need the biggest, baddest ship on the Torrent to carry it all back.’ Devinia touched her fingers to the emeralds glittering in the sword’s hilt. ‘And more than that. Magical items, secrets that have been kept for centuries. The island was once known as the island of the gods, did you know that? Every god, every demon, every limping spirit creature had a temple there, or a shrine, or a pile of blessed rocks. It was the very heart of Ede.’ Devinia turned back, and her eyes were shining. ‘Imagine what we’ll learn there, Wyd.’
And that was the truth of it. Wydrin leaned back in the chair, looking at the expression on her mother’s face with a weary sense of defeat. It was knowledge that Devinia craved, it always had been; to know more than everyone else, to hold the secrets, to get to the impossible places before everyone else. It was the great secret of her legend – Devinia the Red, Terror of the Torrent and ruthless pirate, feared and adored in equal measure, would step around a pile of gold coins if it meant she could discover something completely new. The giant sea chest that took up a good portion of her cabin was full of books rather than booty – notes collected by Devinia over the years, even sketches and maps she’d drawn herself. It was locked at all times, and as far as Wydrin was aware, only she and Augusta knew its true contents.
‘Is it worth the risk though, Mum?’ asked Wydrin, although she knew she’d already lost this argument. ‘How do you even know this map is accurate? New ship, all done up and shiny. Don’t you want to keep it that way? You’ve no real idea what we’ll find in that place.’
‘Ah, but now I have you, don’t I?’ Devinia came back over to the desk and briefly rested her fingers in Wydrin’s hair. ‘You and your new, dangerous friends. Magic, and the Black Feather Three. I have certainly heard those stories.’
‘Oh yes,’ said Wydrin, folding her arms over her chest. ‘And we have such a great track record with this sort of thing.’
5
The island was alive around her; the soaring hunger of the hunters, the murmuring heartbeats of the hunted. The slow, green tide of the trees, reaching up and up. Estenn crouched on a thick branch some twenty feet above the ground, hidden in a crowd of fleshy green leaves. In the distance she could see the dancing white light of the bay, curls of smoke smeared by the wind. She sensed a flurry of activity in the port; a new ship had recently docked, which meant the chance for everyone to make some coin. The weight of her curved swords at her waist was comforting, and she knew her place on the island as clearly as she had ever done. The Eye called to her, even now.
She looked down to see a pale-blue figure moving slowly through the trees, just as on the night they had taken the wizened old pirate. They were coming more frequently now; the same figure, lost and wandering about the trees, glowing with its own inner light. You did not live in the wilds of Euriale without coming to expect the unusual – Estenn smiled slightly at the very idea – but she knew that this was something different. It was a sign. A sign that her time would be soon. The Eye of Euriale was opening.
In one smooth movement, Estenn stepped over to the trunk of the tree and slid back down to the ground, barely making any noise. When her feet were back in the mulch of the island, black soil and rotten leaves pushing up through her toes, she allowed herself to become less. She barely had to think about it now, after all these decades. One moment she was there, a solid presence under the trees, and the next she was a shadow, a cold space in the air. The ghostly blue figure to her right paid her no attention, although so far the ghosts seemed uninterested in anyone at all, even if you went right up to them and waved in their faces. Just one more mystery of Euriale.
Moving silently through the trees, she approached the figure and circled it slowly. Its own inner light blurred the details of its face, but she could see that it was a man, tall and broad across the shoulders, hair curling close to the scalp. He wore strange clothes, a mi
xture of robes, tunic and chainmail, and on his feet were leather sandals that laced up to the tops of his calves. Estenn thought back to the distant days before the island, when she had been so impossibly young. Had the men of her home dressed like that? She thought not. Certainly the slavers who owned the ship that had snatched her did not. There was something regal about the figure, in his bearing as well as his clothes.
‘What are you?’ she murmured, watching as the figure walked on. He appeared to be looking for something, or else he was lost. ‘Are you a sign for me, strange one? A message from the Twins?’
Her men and women had reported the same ghostly figure all over the island, even small groups of them stumbling through the forest together. A few had made it down to the town itself, floating through the streets of Two-Birds. Estenn had to wonder what the townsfolk thought of the ghosts. It would be one more thing for them to be afraid of.
Not so Estenn. Turning her back on the figure, she ran deeper into the forest, letting her feet carry her back to their small settlement. As she ran, she could feel the island growing around her, edging towards something unknown. She always felt it in this way – the heartbeat of the island moved her own blood – but just lately there was something new. The world had changed in some significant way, and the island was reacting, coming to life, or bringing life … Estenn smiled as she ran, feeling a tightness in her chest as she contemplated what that could mean. It wouldn’t be long now, and Res’ni and Res’na would call her to their service. She was sure of it.
She saw the first of their perimeter scouts at the top of a steep slope. He was deep in the foliage, well hidden and certainly invisible to any fool that might wander along, but not invisible to Estenn – the art of not being seen was her own, after all. Coming closer, she watched him looking all around, his face grown suddenly tense. He wore black paint on one side of his face, white on the other, a mark of respect to the Twins – and yes, he couldn’t see her, but he knew something was near. That was good.
Stepping forward, Estenn let herself become visible again, standing in clear view so as not to startle him too badly. Immediately he stood up.
‘Emissary.’ He nodded, almost bowing. He was young, this one, only stolen from the town in the last few years, and he was still half terrified of her. She could see him glancing nervously at the twin wolf tattoos that encircled her neck and shoulders. ‘You have been far?’
‘Down to look at the bay, Cully, to watch their comings and goings.’ She placed a hand on his arm and rewarded him with a smile. He was frightened now, but eventually he would come to love her, as they all did. Estenn the Undying, Estenn the Unseen, Emissary of the gods, Chosen of the Twins. ‘Anything to report?’
He swallowed hard. His eyes were still drawn to the snarling wolves at her throat – Res’ni and Res’na, gods of chaos and order.
‘Only the ghosts, Emissary. They are everywhere now. We’ve seen seven just today, all within walking distance of the base.’
‘Signs from the gods, Cully,’ said Estenn, looking beyond him. ‘They are an echo of something, I am sure of it. I will speak to the Spinner today. You never know when he might have something useful to say.’
‘Yes, Emissary.’
She left him to his watch and headed up the slope. There were signs now that she was nearing home – skulls propped on sticks and wedged into tree hollows, their smooth foreheads painted black and white, banners of bird feathers and bear skins hanging from the trees. There were more scouts hidden here. It was possible to feel them all around, warm human presences against the alien fog of Euriale.
Further up and she was through the thick circle of trees that sheltered the settlement, walking amongst the lean-tos and the huts, the smell of cooking fires and sweet, burning flesh. Her people nodded to her, lifting their painted faces and smiling. She smiled back, tasting their love on the back of her tongue. It was good.
At the far side she came to a hut that was bigger than the rest, and with four guards at the entrance. They stood aside as she approached, revealing the dark entrance to a sloping underground tunnel.
‘How is he today?’
The tall woman with auburn hair in plaits answered. She was holding a long spear in one hand.
‘Same as he ever is, Emissary. He moans, he stinks the place up, he doesn’t like the food.’
‘Thank you, Gen. But remember, he is a creature of the island. We owe him our respect, whatever his mood.’
The woman called Gen blanched slightly, and nodded. ‘Of course, Emissary. Forgive me.’
Estenn ducked past the guards and walked down the low earth tunnel. There were oil lamps wedged into the soft dirt every ten feet or so, and she could smell their thick scent, along with the wild odour of Euriale’s dirt. And another, stranger smell. That was the Spinner.
At the bottom of the tunnel was a wide chamber, the ceiling festooned with tree roots pushing through from above. There was another guard down here, a girl of around fourteen, one of the children to be born within the group – a true child of Euriale. Estenn smiled to see her.
‘Not on patrol, Ivy?’
The girl stood up from where she was crouching, the huge shape of the Spinner rising behind her. ‘It is my honour to keep the Spinner company today, Emissary.’
‘I’ll take over from you for a short while. Get some air.’
Ivy nodded once and left without looking back. Estenn stood for a moment, looking at the shape crouched in the corner. It was big, the rounded top almost brushing the ceiling, and it was covered with blankets and bearskins. Only near the ground was there a gap, and through this stuck a long, spindly limb, ending in a curved hook. There were bristles lining the inner curve of the claw, and the skin that covered the limb was a glistening black. She could just make out the lower shard of a piece of the Spinner’s pearlescent armour, shimmering where it covered what she chose to call his leg, for want of a better word. As she watched the claw flexed in and out, almost beckoning, and the covering of blankets and furs shivered.
‘To what do I owe the pleasure, Estenn of Euriale?’
The voice was old, deep, and shivered inside her head like a tuning fork. Most of her people could not stand to hear it, and many of them hadn’t even seen the face it issued from. It didn’t make it any easier to take.
‘Can I not just pass the time with you, Spinner? You are happy enough to talk to Ivy.’
‘Time? How much time though? You have slipped free of time, Estenn, as you have slipped the bonds of sight.’ And then before she could respond, ‘Ivy is still young. If she left now, she might not become as warped by the island as you have.’
‘So you were telling her to leave? Dripping your poison into her ears?’
‘With what is coming, she will be safer if she left now. You all would.’ The Spinner made a brief, high-pitched humming noise. Estenn resisted the urge to cover her ears. ‘Euriale was not meant for human souls. The cradle of Ede is no place for mortals.’
‘So you keep saying.’ She took a few steps forward, watching as the limb drew closer to the main body of the Spinner. ‘I’ve come to talk to you about that, actually. There are ghosts walking the island, images of the same man, painted in blue light. They are everywhere, even walking the streets of Two-Birds. Do you know what they are?’
The great bulk of the Spinner shivered all over.
‘Signs and portents, ripples from the opening of the Eye.’ And then, more urgently, ‘You must let me go, do you not see? The cycle is starting again, and I must be there to birth it. I am the Spinner, it is my job, my purpose. New life will be beginning, in the heart of all-gods isle, and I must spin for it, I must ease its passage, it is dangerous for all, it is …’
Estenn sighed. The Spinner would do this often; become over excited, lose focus. She went over to the side of the chamber and picked up one of the lamps. Holding it out towards the blankets, she watched the claw flex convulsively.
‘You are burbling again. You know I do not appreciate
that.’ She crouched, holding out the lamp so that the bright circle of heat and light fell directly on the exposed limb. ‘It has been a while since I burned you.’
The Spinner still made the high-pitched humming noise, but when he spoke again his voice was slower.
‘You play with things you cannot possibly understand, Emissary.’ He used her title without anger or irony. ‘The Eye of Euriale is opening, and those forces cannot be bent to a human will.’
Estenn grinned. ‘Are you so sure I am human?’
The Spinner was quiet for a moment. ‘The island has changed you,’ he said eventually, his voice oddly sad. ‘Given you life beyond your years, a strength that you should not have. You walk in its shadows and its secrets, but it comes with a price. You cannot see that any more, because it has broken your mind.’
She ignored that. The thing was always telling her she was mad. ‘The Twins have chosen me to be their weapon.’ She pressed her free hand to the tattoo at her neck. ‘And they have given me the gifts I need. I will do what is necessary.’
‘The last secrets are still hidden from you,’ said the Spinner, sounding defiant again. ‘There is that at least. I will not tell you, no matter what you do to me.’
‘Don’t be so sure about that.’ She rested the hot rim of the lamp against the bare skin of the Spinner’s leg, and the creature shrieked. There was a hiss and an alien stink. ‘There is a lot of you to hurt, and many more limbs we can cut off.’
The Spinner shivered and moaned, but said no more. After a moment, Estenn made her way back out of the tunnel.
