by Anton Strout
Everyone on the deck set themselves in motion. Marshall helped Rory strap one of the large canisters to her back before pulling on one of his own.
I consulted my notebook once again as I went over my spell modifications for the evening, laughing when I saw Caleb standing across from me in a mirror image, holding his own notebook. His eyes met mine, and the two of us both embraced the lightness of the moment and held on to it in silence as the last tranquil seconds of our night ticked away.
“Promise me no blood magic tonight, okay?” I asked, only half joking. “I don’t need you bleeding out in the middle of all this.”
“Don’t worry,” he said. “Blood magic’s really not my thing. When I bound these two ships together, trying to get blood out of these veins was near impossible. Had a little trouble even breaking my skin, and that was with a witch-sanctioned sacrificial dagger. Apparently, there are some good side effects to all this self-alchemy.”
I laughed. “All kidding aside,” I said, composing myself. “I can’t do this alone.”
“You’re not alone,” Caleb reminded me, stepping closer. “You’ve got your big, bad, bat man there, Marshall, Rory . . .”
“And you,” I said, finding it hard not to smile, unable to stop myself from stepping closer to him. This was more than just the comfort of having a fellow alchemist to talk to.
The deck shook as Stanis came down hard next to us, and I stumbled forward . . . into Caleb’s arms, naturally. I went to push myself back to standing, but Caleb’s arms held me in place for a few seconds longer before releasing me.
Stanis couldn’t have landed more than a few inches from us, and given his posture—wings spread out behind him—it had been no accident. Was the gargoyle actually peacocking?
I wasn’t entirely sure, but now was not the time to call him out on it. Of course, it also wasn’t the time for me to be locking eyes with my fellow alchemist, either, but I decided to let that one slide.
I looked up into Stanis’s stoic face.
“Those were the last of the supplies,” he said, his voice plain, betraying no hint of any emotions he might be feeling.
I looked back at the mostly empty deck of our small craft.
“Good,” I said, turning away with only the slightest twinge of guilt. I instead looked up the long expanse of the side of the ship. “Now for us.”
“As you wish,” Stanis said.
One by one, Stanis flew each of us up to the edge of the deck, dropping us behind the empty shipping containers where our piled-up supplies lay before finally landing there himself.
Something didn’t feel quite right. I looked around and did a quick head count, coming up one short.
“Where’s Caleb?” I asked.
Stanis stood still and silent. I walked up to him. He didn’t answer, so I brushed past him to look back over the railing. Caleb stood on the tiny deck of the transport boat staring up at me, confused but waving.
“Stanis!” I whispered. “Get . . . him.”
“We do not need him,” he said, stoic as ever. “He has done his part in bringing us here.”
“And he has more to do for us,” I said. “Just get him.”
Stanis said nothing more but simply turned and leapt over the railing, swirling down to the small craft below in ever-growing circles. The gargoyle was not gentle scooping up Caleb, and an audible oof escaped Caleb’s lips as Stanis grabbed ahold of him. Their return flight was a fast, straight shot inches away from the side of the ship. Stanis shot past, dropping Caleb in front of me from high enough that the alchemist’s legs buckled under him as he absorbed the shock of the landing. He stumbled, then righted himself as he smoothed his coat down.
“What’s up with the attitude?” Caleb asked me, as Stanis came down on the deck next to him.
I had an idea, but I wasn’t sure that it was the time to get into it. Still, I needed both of them at my side in this. “What’s the deal, Stan?” I asked.
The gargoyle cocked his head at me. “Deal?”
Although Stanis was ignoring him, Caleb got up in front of him. “What’s up with all the flight turbulence?”
Stanis didn’t engage him, stepping to me instead. “He says he is a new man, Alexandra, but he has worked for my father. How do we not know this is not some part of Kejetan’s mad plan? How do we not know that Caleb here will not just hand us over to him?”
I stood there, silent. I didn’t have a good answer for him. Truth was, I wasn’t entirely sure. I wanted Caleb to be on Team Belarus now, but as I knew, wanting something didn’t necessarily make it so.
“Way to have my back,” Caleb said, shaking his head at me, then turned to Stanis. “I can answer for myself. Frankly, it looks like I’ll have to. First of all, I need you to think—if you’re capable of it in that big chunk of rock of yours. Do you know your father to be a forgiving man, Stanis? You really think he’d even let me on his team now after I freed you and took away his chances of learning the Spellmason secrets?”
Stanis stared as him for a moment in thought, but Caleb didn’t look away.
“You perhaps have a point,” Stanis said, his voice softer now.
“Great,” Caleb said, testy. “I’ve been paid well by the Servants, and a good part of it in advance before they froze the rest. Kejetan is a determined pile of rocks, and he doesn’t take kindly to being slighted. But . . . he’s also mad with pride. He’ll never expect us to bring the fight right to him, which, of course, is why we have. So you wonder where my loyalties lie? Yes, I’m selfish. And yes, I hope this puts an end to a series of fanatical flying madmen coming after me. I’d like a little less of that in my life. I’ve already got enough regular enemies out there, thanks.”
Marshall ahemed loudly and we all turned to look at him. “Are we done determining who’s going to be on our side tonight?” He threw one of his hands up over his shoulder to slap the tank strapped to his back. “This thing isn’t getting any lighter.”
Rory sighed. “You want me to carry you?” she asked, patting her own tank. “On top of my rig?”
“Let’s get focused,” I said, going over my spell notes. “Everyone clear on what they’re doing?”
Rory, Caleb, and Marshall nodded, but Stanis did not. I met his eyes.
“You’re with me and Caleb,” I said to him. “We’re going to go in all stealthy-like.”
Caleb leaned over to him and put a hand on his shoulder. “Think small and quiet thoughts.”
“Will that help?” Stanis asked with sincerity, missing the point.
“Just try to keep quiet,” I said, then turned to Marshall and Rory. “Head for Kejetan’s throne room when you’re done. And try not to get seen.”
Marshall smiled. “Don’t worry,” he said. “I’ve got a little something for that.”
I paused. “Like what?”
“You’ll see,” he said, pressing a single finger to his lips. “Shh! It’s a surprise.”
“You know,” Caleb said, “historically speaking, the words surprise and plan aren’t considered great bedfellows.”
“Trust me,” Marshall said. “You’ll like this. I promise.”
“All right,” I said, smiling. “Let’s do it.”
I did trust Marshall, and if he had a surprise in store, not knowing what it was might be helpful, especially given the distinct possibility that we might be failing miserably at any second.
Marshall and Rory disappeared around the side of the shipping container, each carrying two sealed buckets in addition to the tanks on their backs. We waited several minutes, then made sure the deck was clear before setting off in a run across it, headed for the interior depths of the freighter itself.
Stanis and Caleb took the lead since they knew the way. I was happy to follow along, readying the spells in my head as my own memories of the path to the throne room below had faded somewhat
. Stanis’s preternatural hearing always caught the approach of any of the gargoyles or human Servants of Ruthenia in time for us to hide ourselves as we went.
The way to Kejetan’s throne room was far more crowded than last I had seen it, what with all the additional gargoyles on board. It was easy to differentiate which were true Servants of Ruthenia by how they carried themselves, while the outsiders moved with more modern mannerisms or exhibited signs of meek confusion.
Surrounded and crowded by other gargoyles, Stanis abandoned any pretense of hiding and instead powered his way through the confusion until he burst into the throne room, wings fully spread, with Caleb and me at his side.
Kejetan sat upon his throne, and upon seeing us flew to his feet, his own set of batlike wings extending wide.
“My people,” he called out, and the assembled crowd turned to take notice of us. “A plague has come upon my great hall.” He pointed to the three of us, going down the line, starting with Caleb. “First it weaved its way into those in my service, then my son, and now a woman brings her family name here, one that has been cursed these centuries by all who serve me.”
“Belarus,” I said, unable to contain the swell of pride and power I felt behind the simple word. I turned to the crowd. “Curse it if you will, but no one is to blame for your long suffering except the man you call your lord.”
I sensed division among the ranks there, open hostility on the face of some, while others looked on in confusion.
“Followers of Kejetan, hear me,” I continued. “There are those of you who have long been with him. I doubt my words will appeal to any sense of reason in you. But for those of you who find yourself new and afraid in your service to this mad lord, know this: This is not your fight. Your lives may be spared if you turn from the false promises of this man. Mark me, I will only offer you this option once.”
The room erupted in conversation and shouting, some of the crowd attempting to disengage from it. Caleb grabbed my arm and dragged me behind Stanis’s wings.
“Laying it on a bit thick, don’t you think?”
I shook my head. “Remember, we don’t have to beat them; we don’t even have to fight them. We just have to keep them engaged.”
“Right,” Caleb said.
Before either of us could move, Stanis stepped away from us toward his father.
“What is the matter, son?” Kejetan said to him. “No longer feeling special in a roomful of your fellow creatures?”
“Do not call me your son,” Stanis said. “You lost that right centuries ago.”
“And you lost any chance you had to rule by my side when you choose to stand with their kind,” Kejetan shouted, pointing at Caleb and me.
The alchemist moved closer to me, whispering.
“What part of not engaging them did that hunk of stone not understand?” he asked.
I ignored him, trying to draw the focus of Kejetan back to me.
“Really hating on humanity,” I shouted, before Stanis could escalate this any further. “Do you forget where you come from, Kejetan? Do you forget how you were created?”
“I have no need for humanity,” he said. “Except as servants to my higher form. When I was stuck in that jagged stone body for centuries, all I could do was sit and watch your kind squander their lives, toiling in this world with the mundane. There is no nobility in you.”
“If you’re the paragon of nobility,” I said, “I think I’ll pass.”
Kejetan waved his hand, and the circle of gargoyles closest to his throne broke away and ran toward us, but Stanis dashed in front of them, blocking their way. Their claws and fists rained down on him as the shouts of the scared and confused filled the room.
I had hoped to avoid this, but all I could do was watch in horror as the fight in Stanis slowly went out of him because of the superior numbers of his attackers. Many of the newborn gargoyles ran off in horror, leaving only the most dedicated human and gargoyle Servants of Ruthenia remaining. The ones surrounding Stanis grabbed at him with their clawed hands, restraining him.
“If humanity has nothing, what do you have?” I asked Kejetan. “Followers, dedicated only because of the promise of eternal life. A promise that you have failed on yet again, and without that, what do you really have? Empty dreams filled with empty promises.”
Kejetan stepped down from his throne, eyeing me as he crossed the floor to his son. He grabbed Stanis’s face in his clawed hand. “And what do you offer us, Miss Belarus?”
I didn’t truthfully know what to say that wouldn’t get Stanis’s head crushed in, but luckily I didn’t have to speak.
“What does she offer you?” Rory’s voice spoke up out of nowhere. “How about us?”
The entire room turned to the empty space off to my right. Ten feet away, the air shimmered like I was looking underwater. Rory’s shape appeared, slowly coming into focus like a film projection.
I looked off to the door behind her, wondering if Marshall was coming through it. Or maybe he was inside already.
“We good?” I shouted out to her.
“We’re good,” Marshall’s voice called out from the far end of the throne room. I focused on the sounds coming from the only exit other than the ones behind Rory and me. Marshall came into focus by the door, a vial raised to his lips with one hand, the other one holding the spray nozzle attached to the container on his back.
“Nice touch with the invisibility,” I said, looking over to Caleb.
He nodded. “It was. But it wasn’t mine.”
Rory came over to us, holding up an empty vial of her own.
“Courtesy of Mr. Blackmoore,” she said.
I smiled as Marshall ran over to join us, spraying the ground behind him as he came. “Surprise!”
“Somebody’s been doing his homework,” I said.
He blushed.
“I’d have to turn in my Dungeon Master’s Screen if I didn’t figure out how to at least mix an invisibility spell,” he said.
I started to laugh, but a much darker laughter filled the room, booming over mine.
“So this is what you have to offer as opposition?” Kejetan asked, letting go of Stanis’s head. The rest of the mad lord’s pack still held their grip on him, but Stanis kept his head up with a grim determination on his face. “You mean to stand against me with whom?” He looked to Caleb. “First, a traitor to me, his greatest benefactor. Who will line your pockets now?” Kejetan turned to the rest of us. “And three other humans . . . ? A shopkeep, a dancer, and a stoneworker. Did you really expect to come here and challenge us with only one gargoyle against my multitudes? Did you hope to beat us down one by one?”
“Oh please,” I said. “Give me some credit. I am of the Belarus blood, after all.”
“And don’t worry about my pockets,” Caleb said. “‘You never know when one well will run dry’ . . . especially one so foul. It’s practically a freelancer’s motto. I’ll be fine. Which is more than I can say for you.”
“You dare—”
“Oh, we dare,” I said, the anger rising hot within me. “You’ve prolonged your life, but every last piece of your existence is driven by fear. The fear you strike in others. The fear you strike in yourself. It’s so all-consuming that you’ve spent centuries hiding away, chasing after revenge and power, but never living, never learning.”
“And why should I not have vengeance?” Kejetan asked, wrapping his hand around Stanis’s throat this time. The secrets your family stole were still mine, and they have been denied to me far too long.”
“No,” I corrected. If we were going to pull off getting out of here alive, I needed to turn Kejetan’s anger against him. “The arcane and the alchemical are not something you made. They’re things you accumulated, gained through intimidation and murder. Alexander’s child, your own son. And you wonder why my father took them from you? You wonder how you
r son chose to love Alexander more than you?”
My words had the effect I desired. Kejetan’s face became monstrous with rage, and he lunged for me across the throne room.
The sudden opening of his wings struck terror in me, but this was what I had wanted—him away from Stanis.
Caleb’s hand went into his coat and from within he pulled a clear vial filled with purple liquid. He unstoppered it and let a single drop fall to the ground on the spot Marshall had sprayed on his way over to us. I only hoped he and Rory had covered as much of the ship as they could have with the amount of Kimiya we had made. The rest relied on Caleb’s transformative mixture.
My mind and arcane will were already reaching out, searching for the one thing I needed to isolate in this freighter and finding it—my arcane connection to stone . . . and it grew every passing second as the steel of the ship began to transform all along the path of Marshall and Rory’s trails. I breathed out my words of power, the rest of my will and energy bridging the newfound connection.
Kejetan was in a full-on run toward me by then, and the deep part of my primal brain wanted to flee, but I stood my ground, focusing on the gargoyle’s feet as they hit the floor of the ship. As his right claw came down, I rushed my will into the spot below it, what had become a stone floor itself rising up around his foot, twisting over it, encasing it.
Kejetan stumbled, and when his other foot came down, I caught that one in another swirl of malleable floor, hardening them both in place.
The momentum of his charge sent him tumbling forward, but Kejetan caught himself with his wings to remain standing. Immediately, he used their clawed tips to free himself from where his feet were trapped, but it did him no good.
Caleb laughed. “Now, you see, maybe if you worked smarter and not just meaner, you might have stood a chance.”
Kejetan looked down at his feet, then caught my eye, confusion in his voice now.
“How?” he asked. “How are you using the steel of my ship to do this? Your bloodline’s arcane skill is only with stone!”
“Technically,” I said, “I am working with stone here.”
