by Levi Jacobs
That put a damper on her spirits. “What about the second one?” Marea asked, turning to the bound figures. “She must have it?” she asked, nodding to the woman whose revenant they hadn’t yet touched. She reached for it with her shamanic arm.
Uhallen pushed three revenants at her, fast enough that she barely repurposed her first arm and summoned the third before she was pushing against him on all three fronts.
“Get the revenant,” Uhallen said around his cigar, arms hanging casually at his sides. “Or is three all you can do?”
“OK, I get it,” Marea grunted, sweat beading on her face from holding off so many promises of searing pain at once. “Uai and belief. I just need to imagine another arm.”
“Yes,” Uhallen said, a fourth appearing from his torso and reaching casually for the sleeping woman’s revenant. “So do it.”
Growling, anger rising despite herself, Marea summoned a fourth and fifth arm, one snatching for the revenant as the other scooped a free ghost from somewhere off the side of the tower and shoved it at Uhallen.
He caught it easily, then took the cigar from his mouth, blowing smoke. “Is that the best you can do?”
Suddenly arms were sprouting from his body like weeds, like cutfish on a bloody carcass, like seed fronds on a ripe dandelion. He looked like a shamanic version of Aklia, Thousand-Armed One—and all the arms were reaching for her.
Marea screamed, losing focus, and screamed again as the nearest revenant slammed into her. She pulled it off only to be hit by another, and another, and another.
Some impossible agony-filled amount of time later Uhallen relented, leaving her a weeping mess on the floor. “I hate you,” Marea muttered to the gritty floor.
“I’m not doing this to make friends,” Uhallen said, lighting a fresh cigar from his last. “I’m doing it to make you better. Now. What was your mistake there?”
“Not being an all-powerful shaman?” Marea asked, unable to keep the bitterness from her voice.
“No,” Uhallen said. “Everything I did, you could do. All the arms I summoned, were they threatening you?”
Marea brushed off her shirt, feeling like a sullen pre-teen. But she saw what he was after. “No,” she said reluctantly. “There was nothing in them.”
“And if you had looked closer,” Uhallen said, again sprouting twenty or more arms in a radial pattern from his back, “you would have seen they lacked the clarity and definition of the ones I actually use in battles.”
He was right—they were smooth-skinned and jointless, like the inflated dolls in a mummer’s show.
“And the sustained attack,” he said, “that is something you could and should do. Most shamans will be able to tear off a successful attack after a few moments. But if you are waiting with more revenants, you can keep them incapacitated while you go about your business.”
Marea shook her head. “But you can only stick a revenant on once. Where do you get so many?”
Uhallen pulled at his cigar. “From people or loose in the air, same as you.”
“But there are no people up here. And not that many in the air.”
“Up here, yes, that’s true. But distance holds little meaning for shamanic power. If you can see them, you can grasp them. And shamanic sight, if you’ve noticed, does not care much for physical obstructions.”
Marea had noticed, sometimes watching a revenant drift through a wall only to realize it was already through.
“That,” Uhallen said, “and even better are souls—living revenants. You’ve no doubt noticed each person has a slight glow?”
She nodded. “That’s their… soul?”
“Yes. You can rarely see them directly, but a living person emits a glow that a dead one will not. And if you catch sight of that glow through a wall or floor, well, you can be fairly certain it has a revenant attached to it.”
Marea unfocused her eyes, looking through the floor toward the buildings and streets below. And sure enough, there were the faint glowing outlines of people, small as ants from this height. Tentatively, she reached out for the nearest. Her arm came back with a revenant in hand.
“Very good.”
“Do you ever grip their souls by accident?” Marea asked, examining the revenant she’d pulled.
He smiled. “Excellent question. But no. Removing a soul is a very difficult process, only to be done with specific aims in mind. The point here is that in a city like Worldsmouth, you will never run out of revenants. Revenants safe to thrall, on the other hand, are somewhat more precious. Care to try again?”
She did, and he did, and it was another protracted battle that pushed her to the edges of her abilities. Which was good, she admitted as the second revenant joined her uai stream in a heady rush. She needed to get pushed. Even if it left her feeling broken as a run-over stick doll.
“Good,” Uhallen said when it was done. “Well fought. Josell wouldn’t stand a chance against such tricks.”
“Thanks.” Marea stretched, luxuriating in the power running through her. This was what she’d wanted. The chance to prove herself. Something like a level playing field so she could fix her mistakes and get a little control over where she was going.
It felt amazing.
Uhallen paused, eyes unfocusing. “Someone’s here,” he said. “Someone who knows you.”
Marea frowned. There’s no way anyone would know she was here—which meant it was another trick.
Another test.
She whirled, summoning her shamanic arms, trying to keep Uhallen and the stairway visible at the same time. A lighthaired woman emerged carrying a cloth-wound box. She looked like—Ella?
Yeah right. She’d fallen for that one before. Marea grabbed revenants and attacked.
19
Finding Uhallen had been easy, once she had the name. He was indeed a registered employee of Alsthen, as the secretary had thought, and Ella had been able to find him in the local post directory for Ylensmarsh. It helped that his name was uncommon in Worldsmouth. She’d been surprised to find an At’li-sounding surname attached to it—Clearbank. She’d expected him to be Seinjialese, since he was high up in Alsthen, but an ice tribesman? She hadn’t even met any of the reclusive nomads in Ayugen, which was itself nearly on the ice sheet.
It only confirmed her hopes that he was the archrevenant she was searching for. There was something unusual about this man.
Not that she would find much out today. Today was her first attempt to make contact, to start insinuating herself in his life so she could gather evidence.
She’d start with a gift.
Ella climbed the stairs up the hoary tower, colonnades weathered with years of wind and salt, steeling herself mentally and physically for what would follow. She had to assume he could read minds as easily as Falena or Nauro, and that meant she had to rely on Falena’s mindsight filter here.
Currents send the thing actually worked. She didn’t think Falena would go to such lengths to expose her—the woman had the power to kill anyone she wanted outright—but in her Brokewater closet last night, clutching the spear and letting it undo the damage her resonance had inflicted, she had questioned her entire mission. It was stupid to trust any archrevenant, and though Falena had seemed forthright, she too was bound by the laws of the archrevenant’s compact. Meaning she couldn’t kill another archrevenant outright—and so long as Ella held the spear, or shared its possession with Tai, maybe that meant Falena couldn’t attack her directly.
In which case this whole thing could be a power play by Falena, an attempt to get a different archrevenant to kill her, so Falena could then swoop in and be justified in killing him and taking both their powers.
In the light of morning, she’d dismissed it as paranoia. Not only that, but she’d recognized it made no difference. They’d been lucky to survive the Yershman’s attack back in the cottage, and if she did nothing more would come. Eventually one would succeed. If it came down to risking her life doing nothing or risking it taking action on the chance
Falena wasn’t lying, Ella would chose action. Every time.
Even if that meant walking into the lair of a wildly powerful millennia-old shaman and trying to dupe him.
Ella took a deep breath and took the final flight up to the top floor, focusing on the story she needed her mindfilter to tell: this was a delivery from Eddard’s Pipe and Sage, a gift from her Illen Merewil, who sought to strengthen ties between their houses. She was a simple House daughter.
Ella crested the stairs to find a dark-haired man, three people bound in chairs, and Marea.
The world exploded in pain.
20
Marea slammed the revenant home, second and third arm grabbing for more. Most shamans will be able to tear off a successful attack, Uhallen had said. But if you are waiting with more revenants, you can keep them incapacitated while you go about your business.
The one with Ellumia’s face fell to the quartzite floor, writhing and screaming. Marea waited expectantly, two more revenants poised to slam home as soon as this attacker pulled the first one off.
But they didn’t. Instead the woman kept writhing and screaming, enough to wake one of the people sedated in the chairs. Their mask didn’t fall away either, which Marea would have expected from someone completely lost in pain. Was this a trick, then? Were they faking pain while they prepared a different attack? Currents but she needed to learn mindsight, to get some kind of advantage.
Uhallen cleared his throat. “I think we’re safe from this one.”
Marea turned to him, still wary. “It’s not another test?”
“Not exactly,” he said. “If it was, you passed.”
Marea turned in horror. “Then that’s—”
“Ellumia Merewil, so far as I can tell,” the shaman said. “A friend of yours?”
Marea ripped the revenant off and ran to the woman. To Ella. “Oh gods Ella, I’m so sorry! Are you okay?”
Ella blinked, pushing up from the floor. “Marea? What—” Her eyes flicked to Uhallen, to the people bound in chairs. “What are you doing here?”
Marea thought fast. Trying to clean up my messes by becoming a shaman? But she couldn’t reveal that Uhallen was a shaman. Unless Ella knew that and had come here seeking his help too?
Uhallen cleared his throat. “Marea is here helping me with some things,” he said. “What can I do for you?”
Ella seemed to collect herself. “I—I’m just here on an errand, from House Merewil. A gift. My father sent a gift, as a gesture of goodwill between our Houses.”
Uhallen gave a knowing smile, as if expecting this. “Ah. And he’s heard of my taste for cigars?”
Ella smiled in response. “He shares it. This is a ten-year-old blend of white and yellow leaf from Feulet Estates.” She hurriedly picked her bundle up from the floor, glancing at Marea. “I hope I didn’t damage them, in the fall.”
“Cigars are study things,” Uhallen said, accepting the package from her. “You two know each other?”
Marea opened her mouth and shut it again. Ella was here working for her House? It didn’t make any sense—but if this was some kind of ploy on Ella’s part, the worst thing she could do was call it out.
“Yes,” Ella said, offering a smile. “We have regular dealings with Fetterwel—paper sourcing for our publications, you understand.”
What was Ella after? Whatever it was, Marea needed to think about something else, fast. “I’m, ah, sorry I attacked you,” she said.
Scats. Bringing up the shamanic attack was probably not the way to do it. Too late now.
“I’ve gotten a little—jumpy,” Marea pressed on, face heating. “Since I came home. I’d been away, you know, in Ayugen.”
“Yes,” Ella said, a little stiffly. “I’d heard that.”
“You are looking for someone,” Uhallen said, calm as ever.
21
Ella’s eyes widened. He knew.
“Yes,” the man continued, “I am a shaman, which you might have guessed from Marea’s attacks. But not of the kind you and Marea encountered on your trip.”
“I see,” Ella said, mind whirling with the implications. Was he an archrevenant and lying? But an archrevenant would have killed her or Marea instantly if he realized their connection to Tai. So maybe he was telling the truth about being a shaman—but that meant little for his intentions. Marea seemed to trust him, but then she’d trusted Avery too.
At least Ella could drop her story about the cigar delivery, which running into Marea had ruined anyway. “And you… know of this man I seek?”
Uhallen exhaled smoke. “It’s something of my specialty, as a shaman. We do need to keep track of the gods.”
Ella cleared her throat. “That makes sense. Well. I’m… sorry to have bothered you. Is there anything you can share about where to find him?”
Uhallen regarded her a moment. The man’s eyes were uneven, as if someone had bent his skull as a child. It made for a disconcerting gaze. “The Divine Army,” he said at last. “One of the older cells in Worldsmouth. He’s been masquerading as their seeker.”
Ella sucked in a breath, pieces coming together. It hadn’t made sense that an archrevenant would send a shaman to attack them—the two were sworn enemies. But if Teynsley was posing as head of a ninespears cell, he could send his lessers to make the attacks, thereby masking that an archrevenant was behind them.
Ella’s mind was racing, but she kept her voice calm. “That makes sense. Do you know how to find him?”
“I do,” Uhallen said, “but I would caution you against fighting him directly. He is powerful beyond anything you’ve ever seen and keeps a close watch at all times. It’s why I’ve never made an attempt myself.”
“I’m—not seeking to kill him,” Ella said. “Just to establish contact.”
The man smiled, his offset eyes ruining the expression. “Your intentions are your own, and we all must run risks. But I would prefer my name not come up in any… contacts you have with him. For my own safety, you understand.”
He thought she was going to try to kill Teynsley and take the archrevenant’s power. Maybe that she headed a cell of her own, and was using her own shamanic power to block people from finding that in her thoughts. A reasonable assumption, if totally wrong. On the bright side, it meant Falena’s filter was working, so she’d be safe going forward.
“I assure you,” Ella said, “I’m capable enough of keeping your name from any dealings I have with him. Is there any other information you can offer?”
Uhallen sighed. If he was afraid to attack the archrevenant, he likely thought she was going to her death too. But then, such attacks had to be common among shamans.
“There is a Council soiree this Ascension Day,” he said. “Teynsley rarely leaves his home, but I imagine you’ll find him there. Look for a short man in the silver and black of House Sablos. Praet is the name he uses.”
Sablos! Did he have some connection to Arten, the shaman she’d run into back in Ayugen? No time to think through it now. Ella made a curtsy. “I thank you, sir.” She glanced at Marea, wanting to know more, but this was not the place. “I won’t take any more of your time.”
22
Marea left the tower a half hour later, her elation at having thralled two revenants overshadowed by Ella’s sudden appearance. What was the woman doing in Worldsmouth?
She took the narrow winding street back toward the docks, shadows long in the late afternoon sun. Ylensmarsh’s stone buildings had reached that point in the day where they’d absorbed enough heat to start radiating it and sweat stood out on her scalp. She already missed the cool breeze of Uhallen’s tower.
The shaman had seemed unperturbed by Ella’s appearance. They’d run through a few more practice sessions before calling it a day, Uhallen ending with another word of caution to pass on to Ella about trying to take down the archrevenant, whoever he was.
Was Ella really trying to kill another god?
Marea hoped the woman would be waiting for her somewhere. Her emot
ions had been a jumble while Ella had been there—well, the whole day, really—but as she walked the quiet streets back towards the heart of the old city, she realized she’d been happy to see Ella. That despite being back in her home with her family, or what was left of it, Marea missed her. She’d started to think of the woman as an older sister, and truth be told felt a lot closer to her than any of her family, even Cauleb.
But Ella wasn’t waiting in one of the quiet teahouses along Uhallen’s narrow street, or sitting under Puahi’s statue in the square, or leaning against one of the piers along the docks. Marea sighed and booked passage on a rivertaxi back to Widow’s Hill. Apparently Ella didn’t want to see her. Maybe she still blamed Marea for getting Tai’s hand cut off.
The boatmen made to shove off, then a familiar voice said, “One more for Widow’s Hill, please.”
Marea spun, rocking the narrow-bottomed taxi and causing one of the oarmen to curse. “Ella!”
Ella beamed at her, stepping in just as the boat shoved off. “Thought it might be nice to talk where there are fewer ears.”
“Mecking right,” Marea said, southern slang popping into her speech. “Though it’s weird to see you here, somehow.”
“Isn’t it? It’s weird for me to be here at all.” Ella gazed at the pale walls of Ylensmarsh as they shoved off. “Couple of southern girls out of place, right?”
“Speak for yourself,” Marea said. “I’m still a northern girl.” Though that didn’t feel quite right, now that she’d said it.
Ella sighed. “Not me. I hated this place before I ever left. Doesn’t it just—smell, after all the wild places we were?”
It did, of course. They were passing through the Churn, the dirty bay where the Ein split into its main channels, and where all the sewage from Ylensmarsh and Widow’s Hill seemed to circulate in the current rather than running out to sea.
Marea breathed deep. “Smell of money, my dad used to say.”
