The Silver Tide (Copper Cat)

by Jen Williams

  ‘Torrent’s tits,’ muttered Kellan, his eyes wide, before turning to the two pirates, who were grinning inanely. ‘Fill the sacks you have, and then go back to the ships for more men. I don’t want to linger anywhere too long in this place, but we won’t be leaving any of this behind, either.’

  Devinia stood to one side as they pushed past her, eager to get their hands on the gold. She scraped her boot through the coins on the floor, noticing as she did so that they seemed to be covered in some sort of red dust. Peering closer, she could see that there were fibrous pieces of something plant-like amongst it too. A weed, perhaps, that had grown around the treasure and then rotted away to nothing.

  ‘It must kill you, to see all this and know none of it will be yours,’ said Kellan.

  ‘You think you will getting a fair share from that lunatic?’ she asked, but her eyes were on the two pirate thugs. They were cramming fistfuls of coins into the sack, their fingers rapidly covered in the red dust. Very soon it would be too heavy to carry between them, and they would have to go back for assistance. ‘You’ve done what she needed you to do. You’re living on borrowed time, and I think you know it.’

  Kellan ignored her, stepping away to explore the rest of the chamber. ‘What’s this?’

  At the back of the room beyond the heaps of coins was a statue of a man. It looked as though it was carved from the same red wood as the door, and it was completely unadorned save for a crown of gold that sat on its head. There were no features to the statue, and the crown itself was simple and plain, particularly in comparison to the elaborate pieces on display. There was more of the fibrous red material on the statue and covering the crown, and as Kellan reached for it, Devinia was briefly filled with the urge to shout at him to leave it alone. It was an instinctive reaction, like watching someone reaching for the handle of a pot left to grow red with heat over a fire. The urge passed, and she watched with a trepidation she didn’t understand as he plucked the crown from the statue and turned it over in his hands. Nothing happened.

  ‘This is a fine piece. There’s some sort of engraving here.’ Kellan absently wiped his hand down the front of his shirt. He no longer bothered with the vanbraces that hid the burns on his arms. ‘I may keep this for myself.’

  Reaching up, he slid the gold band over the top of his head to rest against his ears. Immediately, the ground under their feet lurched and trembled, sending a cascade of coins across the floor. Kellan opened his mouth to speak, and instead they heard a chorus of panicked voices from outside.

  ‘Quickly, move,’ he snapped. ‘Get back outside, now.’

  Devinia jogged back down the short passageway to daylight, and faltered on the golden crystals there. The Banshee’s ships waited in the blue water below, and she could see the crew standing, all looking in the same direction. A giant golden man was stepping out of the cliff opposite.

  ‘What by all the gods?’

  It was a figure made from the gold crystals, a rough human shape with giant craggy shoulders and thick, jagged arms. The head, such as it was, gave the impression of a fierce, bearded face, with two deep recesses glowing with red fire serving as eyes. The thing stood over fifty feet tall, looming over the ships, and Devinia thought she could make out a pattern across the gold crystals – odd geometric shapes repeated in lines of red fire. The figure pulled away from the cliff entirely, sending a shower of dust and dead leaves down onto the ships below, and then stepped heavily into the water. There it stopped, staring straight ahead at where they stood on the opposite cliff. When it stood, it was utterly still, as if it were completely inert again.

  ‘It’s a monster!’ The pirate with the ginger beard had dragged the sack of coins out into the daylight, but now it slipped through his fingers as he gawped at the giant. ‘Or a god, or a demon, or some other bloody thing that’s going to eat us and—’

  Kellan pushed past the man, almost throwing him down the steps. He had both hands to his head and was pressing his fingers to the band of gold there. Devinia watched him, feeling a coil of fear move through her gut.

  ‘No,’ said Kellan. ‘It’s none of those things.’ His eyes were wild, and the colour had drained from his face save for two bright spots on the tops of his cheeks. ‘It’s something else, and I can feel it in my head.’

  29

  They got Kellan back to the Dragon’s Maw, the ginger pirate gripping the top of Devinia’s arm tight enough to bruise it. Ahead of them, the giant golden figure stood unmoving, looming over the narrow ships.

  The Banshee met them as they came aboard. Her pale-blue eyes were bright, caught between fear and anger.

  ‘What is this?’ she barked at Devinia. She pointed savagely at the golden figure. ‘Do you know what it is?’

  Despite her own curiosity and alarm, Devinia took the time to arrange her face into a sneer. ‘You truly are an idiot. How would I know what this bloody great monstrosity is?’ She tipped her head slightly to one side. ‘You might do well to ask your partner in idiocy here, though.’

  The Banshee turned her icy gaze to Kellan and seemed to look at him properly for the first time. Devinia saw her eyes widen slightly. ‘What is this thing on your head?’

  ‘I can feel it,’ said Kellan. His fingers ran over the crown again, touching it lightly with his fingertips. ‘It’s in my head. It’s been still for so long, but now the sun warms it again.’ Devinia noticed that he had some flecks of the red material on the tops of his cheeks and across the bridge of his nose. They must have fallen from the crown.

  ‘What are you talking about?’ snapped the Banshee.

  ‘That thing seems to have stepped out of the cliff at the exact moment this fool put the crown on his head,’ said Devinia. ‘I’d say the two are connected, wouldn’t you?’

  Kellan shook his head and lifted his eyes to the golden figure. ‘It’s like … the word for Growing, Becoming –’ he frowned slightly – ‘but also the Sun. Daylight is a part of it.’ He stopped, and then smiled with genuine pleasure. ‘The Dawning Man, that’s what they used to call it.’

  ‘Who called it that?’ asked Devinia, but at that moment Kellan reached out a hand, and the Dawning Man did the same – one great golden fist lifted into the sunshine. Golden reflections peeled across the water, and there were shouts from the Banshee’s crew, a mixture of fear and wonder.

  ‘It obeys me!’ Kellan grinned. He lifted his other arm and touched his hands to his head, and the Dawning Man copied him. For one absurd moment Devinia was reminded of a game Pete had played with Wydrin when she was very small. He would clap his hands in a certain sequence, and she would copy, with the sequence becoming more complicated each time. She blinked that memory away.

  ‘You are controlling that thing?’ asked the Banshee.

  ‘I just think, and it does what I ask. I don’t even have to move. Look.’ The Dawning Man took two sudden steps forward, sloshing through the water and sending a wave towards the nearest ship so that it rocked violently.

  ‘Be careful,’ said the Banshee, but she was smiling now. ‘Such a thing, under our control. I think that might be quite useful, yes.’

  ‘It’s old magic,’ said Devinia. ‘You don’t know what you’ve awakened here. You’d do best to leave it be. Take the crown off and leave it behind. There was enough gold in that chamber to make your trip up here worth it on its own. Take the gold and go, but don’t dabble in this.’ She was remembering the moment of alarm she’d felt when Kellan had picked up the crown, but the Banshee laughed at her.

  ‘Gold, and the power to move it, that is what I have now, Devinia the Grey.’ She turned back to the two pirates standing next to Kellan. ‘Take a team of men and start moving everything out of that chamber and onto the steps. And then our Dawning Man here is going to help us load up the ships.’

  Kellan nodded absently. There was a red band of inflamed skin on his forehead where the crown rested, and lines of sweat streaked his cheeks. Devinia was shoved back to where Augusta waited. For a few moments
they watched in silence as the Dawning Man strode slowly across the waterway to the cave, where the Banshee’s men and women were hurriedly emptying the chamber of its treasure. The giant golden figure bent, and scooped up the sacks as if they were filled with feathers rather than gold, before depositing them on the ships. The figure, despite its size and apparent weight, moved with grace and accuracy. It was, Devinia had to admit, a wonder to behold.

  ‘If she fills her hold up with all that, she’ll be hanging low in the water,’ pointed out Augusta. ‘Won’t be so bloody fast then, and it strikes me that this is the sort of place where speed might be useful.’

  Devinia looked at her, an eyebrow raised. ‘That’s all you have to say about this?’

  Augusta shrugged. ‘Bloody great golden monster. What is there to say?’ She lowered her voice. ‘Wydrin told us about stuff like this. Creatures made of stone that could walk around, powered by some sort of spirit magic. That didn’t end well, and I don’t imagine this will either.’

  ‘I suspect you’re right.’ Devinia looked up as a huge shadow passed over them, the Dawning Man’s arms full of sacks. In the bright sunshine, a golden halo shone around its head, and the red light within its eye sockets was a dull embers glow. ‘The question is, will we still be here when it goes wrong?’

  ‘I know this woman’s blood.’

  Ephemeral shifted on the tree branch as Terin leaned over her to get a better look. They had climbed up here to watch the ships after having followed them for around a day, and now the ships had been still for some time, anchored next to a portion of the cliff covered in a glittering, gold substance. Some time ago, a giant figure had broken away from one side of the cliff, and was now obediently moving backwards and forwards across the waterway, although it was difficult to see quite what it was doing. It was extraordinary, but it was the figure with long red hair that interested Ephemeral.

  ‘Your eyes are better than mine,’ said Terin, a touch dryly. In the shade of the tree he had perked up. ‘They all look much the same to me from up here.’

  ‘It is more than sight,’ said Ephemeral. ‘It is the way she moves, and the smell of her.’

  ‘You can scent her too?’

  Ephemeral nodded, not looking at him. ‘It’s faint, but it’s there, and it’s all the stronger because I recognise it.’ She narrowed her eyes at the distant figure. ‘She is not Wydrin Threefellows of Crosshaven, but she is blood to her.’

  ‘A relative?’ Terin pushed his hair back from his face, damp with sweat. ‘But the woman Wydrin is not here, and neither is Sebastian.’

  Ephemeral shook her head. ‘It is difficult to sense Sebastian now, because of all the –’ she waved a hand, encompassing the whole island – ‘all the dragon-kin here, but I know he’s not on those ships. I do not think that it is a coincidence that blood of Wydrin is here. This woman may know where they are.’

  ‘You are right, my love, but the red-haired woman is obviously a prisoner. I doubt we could just walk down into their midst and question her.’ He lowered his voice. ‘And then there is the golden werken.’

  Ephemeral looked back at him, noting the disgust in his voice. In the northern lands, a people called the Skald had made beings out of rock, and perverted the spirit of the mountain to make them move around, forcing them into slavery. The Narhl had gone to war over it. ‘You believe this is the same magic?’

  Terin touched the stone pendant that hung at his chest – a piece of home. ‘I sense no mountain spirit here, but this island is far from empty. My love, this place is crowded with spirits. It presses in on me at all sides. I don’t know what the golden werken is, exactly, but I do not think it is good.’

  ‘Then we must help blood-of-Wydrin,’ said Ephemeral firmly. ‘We will watch them for a time, and when the opportunity comes, we will strike.’

  30

  Frith leaned heavily on the tree trunk, looking down into the clearing.

  His hand was a hot, itching mess. He was trying not to look at it. The flesh was red and swollen, pulling the skin tight like a full wineskin. It was throbbing, too, a regular thump-thump that seemed to coincide with the bursts of black stars that were growing at the edge of his vision.

  Still. The clearing. That was what he had to focus on. Because this was where Wydrin was.

  The path in the clouds had led him here, after another day’s walk through the steaming jungle. Below him was what appeared to be a busy settlement, dotted with mud huts and cooking fires. He could see men and women swarming around it like ants around an ant hill. He took a ragged breath – these had to be the people who had taken Wydrin. There was a tree stump in the centre of the clearing that had been painted white on one side, black on the other, and as he watched, men and women came and left offerings at the foot of it. It was too much to hope that Wydrin would be in plain sight somewhere.

  ‘Now what?’ he said aloud. His situation was, if anything, worse than when he’d dived from the Poison Chalice. He still had no weapons, no magic, and now he had a poisoned hand and, if he wasn’t mistaken, a fever too. He supposed he might be able to navigate his way successfully down this steep hill and into the clearing, but he doubted he had the strength to do anything other than pass out when he got there, or perhaps, if he were lucky, aggressively vomit over their boots.

  Frith swallowed, clinging a little tighter to the tree.

  At least that would be doing something. If he could just get close to her, things would be clearer. It was that, or stand here watching the camp until something else occurred to him, or the fever took him completely. If nothing else, he needed to see her. He would not stand to have Wydrin taken away from him again.

  He stood up as straight as he could, and took a few more deep breaths. With the last of his strength he would move stealthily down this hill, keeping watch at all times, and he would study the edges of the settlement. From there, he would figure out where Wydrin was being held, and under the cover of night—

  A heavy hand landed on his shoulder. He looked around to see a stocky man with his face painted black on one side and white on the other.

  ‘Out for a stroll, are we?’

  Wydrin lay in the dark and listened. Since Estenn’s outburst, there had been a great deal of noise from beyond the tunnel leading to the chamber. It was difficult to make out details – the mud walls muffled everything – but she recognised the rhythms and the tones. They were making ready for something, presumably whatever it was Estenn intended to do with the staff, or the ‘key’, as she called it. The Spinner had continued to be silent, despite all her coaxing attempts to get him to talk. The keening noise would come and go, but that was all.

  ‘Spinner, something is going on up there. It would be a good time for us to rush the guards, wouldn’t you say? Spinner?’

  There was no response, but there was a murmured conversation from the tunnel entrance, and then the soft thud of boots on mud.

  ‘Someone is coming,’ said Wydrin in a low voice. She tensed, straining against the bonds that held her. A trio of dark figures appeared at the entrance to the chamber.

  ‘We’re to just leave him?’

  ‘The Emissary is all fired up, you saw her. She doesn’t have time for this.’ The figure in the middle was thrown roughly onto the ground. ‘And we have what we need, anyway. Come on.’

  The two guards left, while the figure on the ground moaned and rolled over. Wydrin caught her breath and tried to sit up.

  ‘Frith? Frith, what are you doing here? What happened on the ship?’

  He looked up at her and smiled faintly. In the dull light from the single oil lamp she could see that he was pale, his face smeared here and there with mud. She could also see sweat on his forehead.

  ‘This is my daring rescue. Can’t you tell?’ He climbed to his feet, lurching to one side as he did so.

  ‘Are you all right?’

  He shook his head. ‘I was bitten by some lizard creature on the way here. Haven’t been feeling at my best since.’ He sta
ggered over to where she lay, and fell to his knees again. ‘Wydrin. Your mother’s ship, it was overwhelmed. I’m sorry. I got away when I could. When I left, your mother and Augusta Grint were still alive.’

  Wydrin winced. Pushing aside the anger and the fear, she tried to think of what Devinia would do. Concentrate on what they could change, of course. ‘There’s no time to worry about it now. My mum can look after herself.’

  Frith nodded, although he looked less than convinced. He looked at the silvery bonds that wrapped her body. ‘What is this? How do I get you out of it?’

  She tipped her head towards the corner where the Spinner still sheltered under his blankets. ‘Those are his doing. I don’t think he means any harm, but he’s confused.’

  As she spoke, three of the Spinner’s long legs rose out of the pile of blankets and fussily pulled them closer to the bulk of his body. Frith cleared his throat.

  ‘And what is that, exactly?’

  It took some time for Wydrin to fill him in. All the while the creature she named as the Spinner did not speak, but instead quivered slightly beneath his blankets. Periodically, Frith tried to tear the bonds that surrounded her, but it was like trying to tear through wire. It cut at his hands, and his left hand was already so swollen as to be of no use.

  ‘So this creature, the Spinner, has been a prisoner of the woman you speak of for some time?’

  ‘She has been torturing information out of him, I think. I have seen burn marks on his flesh, and he is afraid of her.’ She lowered her voice. ‘Look at the size of him. Do you think they could keep him in this chamber if he weren’t afraid?’

  Frith looked over at the pile of furs and blankets. Sweat was soaking his shirt, and his head was throbbing, but Wydrin was here. He blinked sweat out of his eyes. ‘Torture becomes its own prison. It can bind you, and ruin you.’ He forced himself to his feet, and took a few steps towards the towering mass of blankets. ‘Spinner, I am Lord Aaron Frith of the Blackwood. A friend of yours sent me to help you.’