by Jen Williams
6
Nestled in the blue heart of Y’Gria’s Loss, Euriale grew on the horizon like an ink spot in water; dark, chaotic, wild. As the Poison Chalice drew closer, Sebastian could see tall black cliffs fringed with explosions of green foliage, trees festooned with vines and bursts of exotic blooms of all colours. Almost hidden underneath this broad stroke of riotous nature was a smaller example of the human sort: the pirate town of Two-Birds was a crowded collection of ships and buildings, cosily squeezed into the island’s natural bay. There were multitudes of flags, most of them black, and as they neared the port he could hear them snapping in the wind; a natural counterpoint to the cries of the gulls that wheeled overhead.
He was so absorbed in this spectacle of colour and activity that he didn’t notice Kellan standing next to him until the other man spoke.
‘Quite a sight, isn’t it?’
Sebastian turned to him. He didn’t like to be taken unawares, but his mind always seemed to be elsewhere lately. The captain’s first mate was standing with his arms crossed over his chest, an expression of benign amusement on his face. Despite the growing heat of the day, he still wore the elaborate vanbraces and gloves that Wydrin said were his particular affectation. Sebastian forced down the initial surge of irritation.
‘There are so many ships already at port,’ he said, gesturing to the confusion of wood and masts and flags that threatened to blot out the town entirely. ‘I’m not sure they have the room for us.’
Kellan nodded, still smiling. ‘Not to worry, they always find room for us somehow. The captain is not the sort of person you turn away from Two-Birds, not if you want to keep your lungs breathing easily in your chest.’
‘This isn’t the first time you’ve been here?’
‘Oh, not at all.’ Kellan grinned, a brief flash of white splitting his black beard. ‘We’re old hands here. And I don’t expect you’ll be a stranger here for long – your companion Wydrin is already planning on giving you a guided tour of all the taverns, one after the other, I believe. The captain wants to take on more supplies before we head on into the island, so you’ve plenty of time to nurse your head tomorrow.’
Sebastian winced despite himself. ‘Oh, good. Will you be joining us for the tour?’
Kellan smiled, and slapped Sebastian on the shoulder as if they were old friends. ‘Alas, I have other business on Two-Birds this evening. You will have to face that fate alone.’
Long after sunset, Sebastian found himself following Wydrin through the door of what she promised would be the last tavern of the evening, a place right up at the edge of the town, pressed against the looming curtain of the jungle. He had to hope she was telling the truth. His stomach felt as though it were building up for its own tropical storm.
Frith was leaning on the door frame with an expression that suggested he was concentrating very hard on something; possibly staying upright or not throwing up. He clasped his staff to his chest, fingers white at the knuckles. ‘How many taverns is this now?’ he said to Sebastian, his voice low and urgent. ‘What number are we on?’
‘Something in the upper-tens.’ Sebastian grimaced. It was hot in the tavern, and noisy, as they had all been so far. He could smell ale and cooking meat. His stomach cramped. ‘I lost count somewhere after The Blistered Coin.’
Frith nodded seriously, as if this were what he expected. ‘I hate pirates,’ he said, with feeling.
Ahead of them, Wydrin was already ordering at the bar, her voice cutting over the general hubbub. A harassed-looking woman with a kerchief holding her hair back was taking her order, already slamming tankards down onto the bar top. When they caught up, Sebastian held up one weary hand.
‘Do you have any food left? Anything at all would do, at this point.’
The woman raised an eyebrow at him. ‘We’ve still got some stew. Not as good as it used to be, not since I lost my last cook, but it’ll settle your stomach some.’ She disappeared through a door behind her, where Sebastian could just make out a stove and a cloud of steam.
‘Good call, Seb.’ Wydrin took a swig from her ale, before dragging over a couple of stools. ‘And for the Graces’ sake, Frith, sit down before you fall down.’
The young lord gave her a cool look before sliding onto the stool and propping his staff against the bar. ‘I don’t suppose this place serves wine?’
Wydrin ignored him. The serving woman came back, three bowls of hot stew balanced carefully on her arms. Sebastian took them gratefully, before passing her a handful of coins.
‘I’ve heard you do the best stew,’ said Wydrin, poking the surface with her spoon. ‘Best stew on Two-Birds up at The Blinkered Inn, is what I’ve heard.’
The woman frowned and fiddled with her kerchief. ‘Used to be. Chen was a pain in the arse, but he knew how to throw a bowl of grub together.’
‘What happened to him?’ asked Sebastian. Asking questions kept his mind off how the room was gently tilting back and forth like they were still at sea.
‘He went out back one night,’ the woman jerked a thumb over her shoulder, ‘and I think he went into the trees.’ She looked for a moment like she might say something more, but then she shrugged, having apparently reached the end of the story.
‘Into the trees?’ Sebastian took a slurp of the stew. It was hot and a touch too salty, but it wasn’t ale, and for that his stomach was grateful. ‘What happened to him then?’
To his surprise, the woman glared at him. ‘He went into the trees. Around here, that’s enough.’
With that she turned and bustled off up the other end of the bar. A man who was drinking next to them leaned over. A deep scar twisted its way down his face, turning his left eye white. He grinned at Sebastian, revealing a mouthful of brown teeth.
‘Not been to Two-Birds before, squire?’ The man looked them over, nodding to himself. ‘Nope, fresh meat, the lot of you.’ He peered at Wydrin a little closer, screwing up his good eye until it was nearly lost in a net of wrinkles. ‘’cept this one, maybe. Well, if you’d been here before, you’d know not to go into the trees. Euriale eats those that venture too far from the lights. Screaming Mad Chen, he went out for a walk, didn’t come back. Happens all the time.’
‘You mean people get lost?’
‘Oh no, squire. People gets taken. It’s a hungry island, this one. We live under the sufferance of a ravenous beast.’ He shifted in his seat, frowning at Wydrin now. ‘Don’t I know you, girl? You look awful familiar.’
‘You’ve probably met my mother,’ said Wydrin, looking tired for the first time that evening. ‘Devinia the Red, Terror of the Torrent, blah blah blah, pain in my arse.’
‘No, it’s you I’ve heard tell of.’ He jabbed at her exposed arm, where the inked sharks curled around her elbow. ‘Wydrin of Crosshaven, the Copper Cat.’ He looked up at all three of them. ‘The Black Feather Three. My brother sails up north – can’t be doing with it myself, too bloody cold – but at the end of this last crab season he came back with all sorts of tales. A mountain that got up and walked, an entire city of the dead.’ The man sniffed, his tobacco-coloured whiskers bristling. ‘And I’ve heard other stories too. That you were part of that mess at Sandshield. Dressed up like one of those Graceful Ladies, and sneaked a band of rival pirates right into Morgul the Biter’s treasure room. A bloody business. A lot of men and women died that night. Good and bad.’
Sebastian looked at Wydrin, watching carefully for her reaction. Her disastrous caper at Sandshield had happened while they were apart, and she very rarely spoke of it. Sebastian suspected she carried a significant weight of guilt over the lives needlessly lost there, and guilt was unusual for Wydrin. Eventually she sighed and leaned an elbow on the bar, one hand drifting closer to her dagger Frostling at her hip. ‘And do you have something you want to say to me about that, old man?’
With a prickle of unease, Sebastian realised that the rest of the tavern had gone eerily quiet. There was still a murmur of conversation, the occasional knock of glass aga
inst wood as people moved their drinks, but he could sense an alarming amount of focus on their small group. Wydrin had warned him about the tooth she had received, and had mentioned that possible danger was coming their way. At the time, he had barely taken notice. When wasn’t danger coming their way?
Before the old pirate could answer, Frith lurched forward, brandishing his staff. Tendrils of white light flickered up and down it like a miniature lightning storm.
‘If you do have something to say, you’d best say it to all of us,’ he said, scowling in a manner Sebastian found very familiar. ‘But beware of the consequences.’
He struck the staff on the ground and a small fireball, roughly the size of an orange, popped into existence in front of them. Frith gestured with the staff, and it floated towards the scarred man, bathing his face in light so intense that the old man cried out and turned away.
‘I didn’t mean anything by it!’ He stumbled back, half falling off his stool. ‘You’re all mad, the lot of you!’
‘Hoy!’ It was the woman behind the bar, her kerchief askew. ‘You can’t bring bloody fireworks in here, what are you playing at?’
Sebastian stood up, and touched Frith’s elbow. For a moment the young lord swayed on his feet, and then the fireball winked out of existence. ‘Wydrin, perhaps we should take our friend outside for a spell?’
They left via a side door, Wydrin’s arm around Frith’s waist. Outside there was barely any breeze at all, but it was still cooler than the tavern had been, and Sebastian took a long, slow breath. The jungle loomed off to their right, a curtain of darkness that felt too solid. Sebastian looked at it out of the corner of his eye, suddenly feeling an odd sense of superstitious dread. He was reminded of when he walked the Demon’s Throat as a young novice. There had been that same feeling of a greater presence, something bigger than you could imagine, watching you in the dark.
He looked away, and tugged at his beard. How much ale had he had? With what they’d all seen, it wasn’t that surprising that he was jumping at shadows.
‘Here, sit down for a bit.’ Wydrin led Frith over to the low stone wall that marked the perimeter of the tavern. ‘Really, I thought you lordly types would be able to handle more ale. I mean, don’t you spend half your time drinking wine out of silver goblets? Watered wine with breakfast, mead with dinner, iced wine with supper—’
‘Wydrin, if you say wine one more time,’ Frith held up one hand, his fingers trembling slightly, ‘I am going to make a mess on your boots.’
‘Perhaps I should go back in and bring out the stew.’
‘Why are we here, Wydrin?’ Sebastian turned back to them. He could still feel the trees at his back. ‘What has brought us here, of all places?’
Wydrin looked up at him, pausing in the act of rubbing Frith’s back. Despite how much she’d had to drink, how much they’d all had to drink, Sebastian could see caution in her eyes. It was one of the tricks of the Copper Cat – she was never quite as drunk as you thought she was.
‘You know why we’re here, Seb. We’re the Black Feather Three, seeking out adventure, coin, stories to tell around the tavern table.’ She waved a hand, half smiling. ‘This is exactly the sort of place we’d end up.’
Sebastian shook his head. ‘And it doesn’t have anything to do with proving something to your mother?’
Wydrin’s eyebrows shot up at that, and even Frith shifted in his seat on the wall. ‘Look, we’ve all had a few pints, so maybe we should just—’
‘We keep throwing ourselves at ludicrous situations, again and again. Haven’t we done enough damage? Haven’t we caused enough trouble?’ The world was spinning again – Sebastian squeezed his eyes shut, urging everything to keep still. ‘The people we’ve hurt, the lives lost because of us. And here we are again, on a cursed island. We should go home, or at least start trying to find one. You two should be enjoying the time you have together, not looking for more inventive ways to get yourselves killed.’
Wydrin stood up, her fists clenched at her sides. ‘So we should go back to Crosshaven, where you can spend your days fiddling the scale fights and drinking yourself into a stupor? That’s a much better plan.’
Sebastian frowned. ‘How do you know I’m scamming the scale fights?’
‘Oh please, your name is mud all over the Marrow Market!’ Wydrin threw her hands up into the air. ‘We had to get you away from there, if nothing else. I’m not blind, Seb, I know something is wrong. This is like the demon all over again – too proud to admit your mistakes!’
‘This coming from you!’ Sebastian could feel his voice rising, but could do nothing to stop it. ‘The queen of reckless decisions, the mistress of questionable behaviour!’
Frith laughed, and they both looked at him in surprise. He covered his mouth, shaking his head, before something behind them both caught his eye. The young lord sat up, his features suddenly much more sober. ‘What is that?’
Sebastian turned to see a shimmering figure of blue light emerging from the trees at the edge of the woods. It was tall and broad shouldered, dressed in robes and chainmail, although the light was too bright to make out the features of its face. The figure passed them slowly, making not a sound at all.
‘Augusta said this place was riddled with ghosts,’ whispered Wydrin. ‘I can’t believe the old baggage was right for once.’
Sebastian opened his mouth to answer, and found he could not. The sight of the pale-blue figure had stilled him, thrown a hook in his heart and captured it. There was something about it that was deeply familiar and deeply alien at the same time. He remembered seeing the wyverns for the first time, feeling that silver thread thrumming in time with his own soul – but this was no dragon, and as far as he could tell, no dragon-kin. So what was it?
The figure continued on down the cobbled path towards the centre of Two-Birds, and then, before it reached the lamps on the next street, it faded, then vanished. When he closed his eyes, he could still see the faint imprint of it, haunting the inside of his eyelids.
Wydrin put a hand on his shoulder, the tension in her voice now replaced with concern. ‘Seb? Are you all right?’
For a moment it was difficult to think. He swallowed hard, and nodded. ‘I believe so. Although I’ve completely forgotten what we were talking about.’
7
Wydrin rose early the next morning, a fat slice of sunshine cutting through the slats, laying a warm hand across her forehead. She expected to find Frith asleep next to her, in the deep death-like sleep of the horribly drunk and soon to be hungover, but the narrow space next to her was empty, and after a moment she heard a splash from the small room next to the main chamber. Slipping out of bed, she padded across the floor, moving silently out of habit.
Frith was standing next to the big washbasin, pressing a wet piece of cloth to his forehead, rivulets of water running down his face. His white hair was damp, and sticking up in all directions. She paused by the door frame, taking a moment to admire the taut muscles of his stomach, the sharp angle of his shoulders. The light coming through the slats lay across his brown skin like bands of gold, and Wydrin experienced the odd tightening of the chest she often felt when she and Frith were alone together these days. There had been other men, of course, men with whom she had spent pleasant evenings and memorable afternoons, but being with Frith made her fingers itch for her daggers, filled her with an indefinable need to fight, to protect. She remembered how Xinian had mocked her – a fool willing to die for love, but not to live for it. She supposed this was living for love, and in truth it made her uneasy. It was dangerous and exposed, like walking a taut rope over a great drop.
‘If I were an assassin, I could have killed you eight times over by now.’
Frith turned at the sound of her voice. There were dark circles under his eyes but he smiled at her wanly. ‘I seriously doubt that. I have the Copper Cat in the other room, watching my back.’
‘I’m certainly watching something.’
She came into the room
and saw his staff propped against the wall. It was never far from him. Seeing the direction of her glance, Frith’s face grew serious again. He was never far from that, either. ‘I get the impression your mother is more interested in the staff than me.’
She gave him her best filthy look. ‘Like mother, like daughter.’
He shook his head at her, almost laughing but not quite. He threw the piece of cloth back in the basin. ‘It’s dangerous, Wydrin. I feel that now more than ever.’ He crossed the room to the staff and briefly rested his fingers against it. ‘Storing what Edenier I could in the staff seemed like a good idea at the time – the idea of a desperate man – but it haunts me now.’
Wydrin crossed her arms. ‘Selsye made the staff, and I’ve no doubt she was a decent sort. She wasn’t Joah. She wasn’t anything like Joah, and never could be.’
Frith’s lips thinned at the mention of the rogue mage’s name. ‘No, she wasn’t like him, but I was.’
‘Frith—’
‘The Edenier trap. I finished it when Joah Demonsworn couldn’t.’ He turned towards her, but his eyes were glassy now, staring off at something she couldn’t see. ‘I spilled blood for it. I killed a man, for no other reason than the pursuit of power. One in a long line of terrible things I have done.’
‘It’s not the staff that haunts you, it’s that demon-tainted mage bastard.’ Wydrin stepped lightly from one foot to another, feeling herself getting angry and knowing it was foolish. The man was dead. She had cut his head from his shoulders with her own blade. ‘We’ve all done things we regret.’ Unbidden, Sandshield appeared before her, fire pouring out of the doors, men and women with their heads burning like torches. She hadn’t meant it to end like that, but when had good intentions ever stopped terrible things happening? ‘What happened at Skaldshollow, we have to put it behind us – you, me, and Sebastian.’
