by Jen Williams
Wydrin sat back, keeping her face carefully neutral. These people were not with the Banshee, but Ristanov had certainly been there. And Kellan, the worthless backstabbing scum. What was happening back on the Poison Chalice? It seemed likely that the crew had been overwhelmed, and would now be at the mercy of the mayor of Two-Birds.
‘I will ask you again,’ she said. ‘Why have you taken me? And where are we going?’
‘I am taking you to a godly place,’ said the woman. ‘And I feel we have spoken enough for now.’
They rowed on for another hour, until the inky night sky had turned a bruised indigo, still heavy with cloud. At some signal Wydrin didn’t spot, the boat coasted over to the right-hand side, coming up close to a long length of black sand at the edge of the cliff. She was shoved from the boat with little ceremony, and as they stood together in the dark a long rope ladder rolled down from the very top of the cliff.
‘I am cutting your bonds now,’ said Estenn. ‘You will notice that you are unarmed, while we are carrying a variety of sharp objects. You will climb the rope ladder and meet my soldiers at the top, and you will not try to escape. I’d rather not spill your blood after all this effort, but I am not averse to the idea.’
Wydrin glowered at her, rubbing some feeling back into her numb arms. Everything was aching – her head, her arm, her stomach – and the last thing she wanted to do was climb a rope ladder up a towering cliff in the dark, but as she stood there one of the hooded figures pulled a dagger from within her jacket, letting the scant light run along the blade. She sighed.
‘Whatever you say. But I’ve heard that this island is very unlucky. Cursed, even.’
‘Not for the children of Euriale, it isn’t.’ Estenn gestured with her sword. ‘Go. There will be people waiting for you at the top.’
Wydrin turned and pulled herself up onto the ladder. Immediately, her bruised arm shouted with pain and her head swam, but she gritted her teeth and forced herself to move. Hand over hand, as quick as anyone raised on ships, she made her way up the ladder. As she did, she looked back the way they’d come, half hoping to see the Poison Chalice come lurching round the corner, but there was nothing. At the top she reached up and strong hands took hold of her forearm and tugged her up and over. There were more hooded figures; two with bows, and three with swords. The one who had lifted her up was a woman with braided auburn hair; she had painted one side of her face black, the other white. They all had.
Wydrin opened her mouth to comment on this, when Estenn climbed up behind her. The eyes of the hooded people all moved to her, and Wydrin caught their joint expressions of affection and awe. There was no doubt that she was their leader, and a beloved one at that. The other three followed up, the last one with Frith’s staff tied carefully to his back. Once they were all safely up, Estenn gestured to him and he took the staff from his back and handed it to her. She took it greedily, and turned it over in her hands, running her fingers over the carvings there.
‘Light,’ she snapped. ‘Bring me more light.’
Two more oil lamps were summoned, and they stood by the side of the cliff in a soft pool of warm yellow light. Wydrin looked beyond them, into the blackness of the trees. Here she was, then, in the wilds of Euriale, and she wasn’t dead yet, although she found she wasn’t sure how long that state of affairs would last. It smelled wild here, it smelled dangerous. This was not a place that wanted human company.
When she turned back, the woman who had named herself Estenn the Emissary was holding the staff in both hands, judging its weight.
‘It is beautiful,’ she murmured. ‘A true relic of the golden age. When this artefact was crafted, all the gods were alive and Ede was as it should be. This item has seen the glory of the world. I swear I can feel it.’
Wydrin snorted. ‘It is a particularly lovely stick, I’ll give you that.’
‘And I will use it to restore the glory of the gods,’ continued Estenn, ignoring her. ‘This will be my key, the path to the old magic.’
‘That is what this was all about?’ Wydrin felt her mouth split into a grin. She shook her head, and then laughed with delight. ‘You wanted the staff all along?’ She paused as another delicious thought struck her. ‘And you took me to what? Give you information on it?’ Wydrin threw back her head and laughed some more. ‘I don’t know anything about magic. You gods-addled idiots!’
Estenn moved so quickly that for a moment Wydrin could have sworn that she vanished from view. There was a deafening crack and Wydrin fell to her knees, a slow white star exploding in front of her eyes. She forced herself to look up, to get her bearings. Estenn the Emissary stood over her, with the staff in her hands. There was a smudge of blood on the end of it.
‘When I have restored them I will feed you to the Twins,’ she said. Her face was eerily calm again. ‘Slowly. But first, we will talk.’
20
The pirates were still arguing.
Frith watched them from his place on the deck. His hands were bound behind his back with rope, and the clouds above were keeping the night dark even as they crawled towards dawn. The surviving crew had been locked up below decks save for Devinia, Augusta and himself – as they were their most important prisoners, the Banshee and Kellan apparently wanted them kept close.
He lifted his eyes to the pirates. Kellan was pacing by the mainsail, his hands curled into fists at his sides, while the Banshee stood with her arms crossed over her chest, an expression of bemusement on her face.
‘The ship is intact, yes?’ she said. In the fighting, the red paint across her mouth had been smudged into a pink smear. ‘I do not know what your problem is.’
‘Intact! She’s intact, all right, and stranded. We were using the staff to propel the ship. What do you propose we do now?’
The Banshee shrugged a shoulder. ‘We leave the Chalice here, under guard. We travel the rest of the way in our own ships. We are faster than this bloated hulk.’
Kellan was shaking his head again. He had done a lot of that over the last hour. ‘Travel into the centre of Euriale on ships that sit that close to the water? You are insane.’
‘You are a coward,’ the Banshee snorted. ‘I have come this far in them. It is quite simple. We take our ships into the centre of this island, take what is hidden there, and come back. Once we have stripped this hulk and removed the ballast we can bring other ships, and tow her back. We have the map now, yes.’ She patted the leather of her long coat. ‘The dangers of this place are mostly stories told by easily scared pirates. Like you.’
To Frith’s left he felt Devinia shift. She was weak, and had lost a lot of blood, but it seemed she still had the energy to be angry.
‘You won’t last until midday!’ she called. ‘It’s one thing to hide in the wake of a larger ship, letting us catch the eye of anything that might be waiting. Quite another to take your bilge-heaps into the island alone. I ask only that you take me with you, so I can watch as you get torn to pieces by the monsters that wait for you.’
The Banshee looked over, a grin splitting her red mouth. ‘Oh yes, you must come with us, Devinia the old. I will need something to feed the monsters.’
Kellan glanced over at them. ‘You forget,’ he said to the Banshee, ‘that gold was only part of my payment.’
The Banshee frowned again. ‘There is little I can do about that. What is no longer here, I cannot give you.’
Frith felt a bony elbow poke him in the ribs. He turned to see Augusta peering up at him, her lips folded into a thin line.
‘That pair of idiots will argue until the island opens up and eats them both,’ she said. ‘Here, can you reach my belt?’
He looked down. The old woman’s medical kit with its collection of knives had been removed from her, but she still wore the sturdy leather belt. It was, he noticed, branded with images of leaping hares, of all things.
‘Yes? What of it?’
‘On your side, there is an item wrapped in black felt, tucked into the band. They missed
it, the useless bastards. Can you see it?’
He could. Frith glanced back over to Kellan and the Mayor of Two-Birds to make sure that they still had their attention elsewhere, and then shifted around so his back was pressed to Augusta’s side. With his fingers he felt along the belt until he found the item and pulled it free.
‘Good lad,’ said Augusta, her voice still low. ‘Unwrap it, but carefully. You don’t want to cut your bloody fingers off.’
Slowly, Frith peeled away the wrapping. He felt what must have been a bone handle and a short length of sharpened steel. Holding it gingerly, wary of injuring himself, Frith turned it over in his fingers, until the sharp edge of the blade was pressing against the rope that bound his hands. He pushed back and forth, and felt fibres give away under the pressure.
‘That’s it, you’ve got it,’ murmured Augusta. ‘Cut yourself free lad, and we can get us all out. Devinia will rush that bastard, and we’ll take the ship back.’
Frith said nothing, concentrating on cutting the rope. Wydrin had been taken by persons unknown, snatched and carried off over the side in the middle of the chaos, along with his staff. No one knew who these kidnappers were, and, thinking about it, he felt a rising tide of cold panic in his gut. Wydrin, taken from him, when he was more powerless than he had been in years – no Edenier, no staff, no griffin to take them to safety. All at once it was too easy to remember the desperation that had led him beneath the Citadel. It was unacceptable, to be powerless like this, when the life of the woman he loved was in danger.
The ropes were loose. He flexed his wrists, pulling his arms gradually free. They were stiff from being in one position for so long, but that didn’t matter. They’d get plenty of exercise soon enough.
‘Are you done?’ asked Augusta. She sniffed. ‘We’ll take the ship back, lad. Pass the blade to Devinia, and we’ll take the Chalice back – alone, if we have to.’
‘A pirate with half her blood missing and an old woman, against all these pirates? While Wydrin is in danger?’ Frith sat up, giving his legs a few brief seconds to get their blood flow back. ‘I have one chance, and I must take it. My apologies, but I care nothing for your ship.’
He stood up and turned towards the guardrail. There was a squawk of outrage from Augusta and a shout from Kellan, but he was already running. One of Banshee’s men appeared from the left, arms outstretched to grab him. Frith ripped the knife across his stomach, feeling it catch and tear there before his momentum carried him past. The blade caught in the other man’s flesh and he left it, and then he was vaulting over the rail. His stomach turned over as he fell down into the dark, and then he hit the water. It was like a solid wall of ice, knocking the air from his lungs and crushing his limbs. He forced himself to open his eyes into a world of shifting darkness. He could see nothing, and then a trail of bubbles zipped past him: an arrow. They were firing arrows at him.
Gritting his teeth against the urge to drag air into his already burning lungs, Frith kicked out frantically and began to swim. It was difficult, in the dark and freezing wet, to tell if he was even going in the right direction, but he kept under the water for as long as he could, until the burning in his lungs became too much. He surfaced briefly, snorting water out of his nose, to find that he was some feet away from the Poison Chalice – he had managed to jump further than he’d realised, but not quite far enough. He could see figures on the ship, outlined against the light from the lamps, and they were notching arrows. Quickly he turned away, kicking frantically with limbs that already felt too heavy to move.
‘Stop firing!’ That was Kellan’s voice, clear and echoing against the cliff face. ‘He’s the one that knows how to use the staff.’
The Banshee shouted in response, apparently unconcerned about the potential importance of the missing staff and after a few seconds a fresh barrage of arrows pattered the water around him. Frith took a deep breath and forced himself to submerge again, trying not to think about what it would feel like to take an arrow in the back.
When he came back up for air, the ship was further away, and ahead of him the waterway took one of its sudden turns. Beyond that he would be out of sight of the Poison Chalice, which was a bit of luck, but he could also see a skiff, probably the same one he and Wydrin had used earlier, peeling away from the side of larger ship. They were coming for him after all, then. It was time for him to get out of the water, if he could.
Putting the last of his strength into it, Frith swam for the turn, hoping that he would make it before the ship caught up with him. Eventually, the cliffs cut off his view, and once out of sight he could see that to one side there was a ragged section of rocks at the bottom of the cliff. With no other option, he swam for it, dragging himself out of the water with some difficulty. There were small stunted trees on the rocky outcrop, and so he made for these, hiding himself behind them as best he could.
After a few moments the skiff came into view. Frith pressed himself to the ground, ignoring the rocks digging into his ribs and barely daring to breathe. The boat slowed, obviously looking for him, but beyond the lamps of the Poison Chalice it was still dark, and the light they carried would only make it more difficult to see him. After a few moments a terrible screeching call echoed between the cliffs, coming from further down the waterway – one of the strange creatures that called Euriale home was making itself known in the night. Frith watched as the men in the boat exchanged hurried words – he could almost see the exact moment they decided to give up – and then they turned around, heading back around the bluff of the cliff. They were lost to sight quickly.
Frith remained where he was for a time, just in case they changed their minds. His clothes were soaking and heavy, and his head was still thumping where Kellan had cold-cocked him. He had escaped the ship, but he had no map of the island, no weapons, and no idea where Wydrin was or who had taken her. At least now he could move, he told himself. At least now he could take action, instead of waiting on the deck of a ship with strangers. He felt a brief pang of guilt at leaving Devinia and Augusta behind, but they had known the risks. If he died on this island, at least he could die knowing that he had been looking for Wydrin. She would have come for him, if he were lost. He knew that with an unshakeable certainty.
Standing up, he squeezed some of the water from his shirt. The clouds of earlier were starting to draw away, letting through some of the watery dawn light, and as his eyes adjusted, he saw that the cliff face was pitted here and there with the stubby trees; they clung on to the rock in clusters. He thought that with a bit of luck he would be able to make his way up.
‘Wherever you are, I am coming for you, Wydrin. I swear it.’
Devinia watched as the men came back on board, conspicuously lacking Lord Frith or his body. Kellan was on them immediately, his brow furrowed in an expression she’d never seen on him before.
‘Where is he?’ snapped Kellan. ‘Don’t tell me he out-swam you?’
One of the men shrugged sullenly. ‘Something got him, didn’t it? This place, it’s full of monsters. Bloody thing came up out of the water, took a big bite, and carried him down. We’ll not be seeing him again.’
Devinia frowned. All that power and knowledge, lost with one man.
‘That’s right,’ said another sailor, nodding rapidly. ‘It was a big thing, whatever it was. We didn’t stick around to be eaten too.’
The Banshee chuckled. ‘I think he has learned his lesson not to go swimming in Euriale.’
Kellan rounded on her, still scowling. ‘This is no joke. That man was our only chance of ever using the staff.’
Ristanov shrugged. ‘The staff is also gone, so what does it matter? We follow the rest of the plan as agreed.’ She cleared her throat and spoke louder, so that her crew could hear her. ‘Red Watch, you will be staying on the Poison Chalice for now. Black and Yellow, you are with me. Store what you need here, and make ready to leave at dawn. Kellan, get Devinia the elderly and her crone there ready to move.’ The Banshee grinned suddenly, splitt
ing her red face. ‘I really do wish to feed them to monsters.’
‘Stupid wee bastard,’ muttered Augusta next to her. ‘If he’d bloody listened instead of running off, we’d be fine. Now he’s fish food, we’re stuck with that Bararian bitch, and you can imagine how much Wydrin will sulk when she finds out about this.’
‘Be quiet,’ snapped Devinia. ‘I’m listening.’
‘Oh that’s right, you don’t take any bleedin’ notice either,’ carried on Augusta in the same tone. ‘Don’t know why I bother speaking at all, the Graces know you’re all so wise, that must be why we’re sitting prisoners on our own bastard ship.’
Kellan came over to them. His face was a series of harsh lines, with not a trace of the easy humour she had come to expect from him. It was the face of a completely different man, and she wondered how she could have failed to spot it.
‘You’re coming with us,’ he said shortly. ‘Be ready to move.’
‘Did she pay you well, you little whore?’ asked Devinia sweetly. ‘You know what happens to pirates like you? Seagulls won’t eat what will be left of you, in the end.’
‘Generally, pirates like me get rich,’ said Kellan, with a touch of his old humour, but then he knelt in front of her and his face was stiff with fury again. ‘I have yet to receive my payment, actually, but I will claim it in full eventually. Your daughter, Wydrin Threefellows of Crosshaven, the so-called Copper Cat, was to have been my payment, to do with as I would.’
Devinia stiffened, and she heard Augusta tut at her.
‘Don’t move so much,’ muttered the old woman. ‘You’re already bleeding like a festival pig.’
‘Oh yes,’ Kellan grinned to see the anger on Devinia’s face, ‘I was going to cut her up nice and slow. Make you watch, maybe. And when I find her again, and I will, I will do it.’
