Our destination was a waterfront sunk into the armpit of Port Louis. As everyone formed up on the sidewalk, I examined my surroundings. It was a modern city, with a smattering of shining skyscrapers but, at its core, was a thrumming city of colonial era buildings of both French and British design, as well as many businesses and residences bearing architecture no doubt inspired by India and China. This was a cosmopolitan city. I felt a sudden disappointment that I had to leave it so soon. Perhaps, I would visit Candace here on a different occasion. Under better circumstances.
This waterfront was starkly different from the marina last night. While the marina had a luxury feeling, with offices looking like they belonged in hotels, and filled with yachts and speedboats, this dock was grittier, more industrial. Cargo ships were loading and unloading metal containers, throwing up debris and smelling like rust. Fishing vessels emitted the stench of dead or dying sea life. And, as we walked past a fishing ship dropping off its catch, I saw that the dead were not only fish. Stone-faced men with shotguns overlooked the catch, while the corpses of drowned dead were picked up with cranes and thrown into giant shredders. I hoped that they had purifiers on board to disinfect the fish.
Most of the party were examining the waterfront as I was, trying to catch a glimpse of our ship. I surely hoped it wasn’t any that I had seen so far. As to be expected, the werewolves took the lead, striding effortlessly down the quay, leaving Pranish almost tailing behind us as his nose remained buried in his spell-tome.
I barely registered as Candace fell back behind me, standing on the tips of her toes so she could peer over Pranish’s shoulder to see what he was reading. Pranish didn’t seem to notice. And if he did, he didn’t mind. By the look of barely restrained thunder on his face, I suspected he didn’t notice.
“Fireball incantation?” Candace asked.
Pranish looked up, slightly surprised that he had company.
“Ah, yes. Most things burn, so I kinda default to it.”
Candace nodded, understanding. “It’s a good spell. Elegantly brutal. Probably the best offensive spell outside of dark magic. I see you’re using the Sintari script.”
Something sparkled in Pranish’s eye. “Yes! I tried the Primordial runes for a bit but found them clunky. The Sintari script is just a lot more…”
“Elegant,” Candace anticipated his answer. “Complex to master, but intuitive.”
Pranish grinned, nodding. “It’s like a good piece of software. Sure, not easy to learn, but once you get the basics down, it has endless possibilities.”
Candace’s grin matched Pranish’s as they delved into discussing the intricacies of wizardry.
“Can I take a look at the spell?” Candace asked.
I saw some hesitation from Pranish. A wizard’s spell book was his life. Because the majority of spells couldn’t be digitised or even printed, wizardry was a hard-won profession, pursued by careful study of rare, hand-written texts. But Pranish handed his book to Candace who creased her brow in concentration. I’d seen glimpses of Pranish’s spell books before. Their wavy lines and runic symbols looked like the gibberish of a madman. But, as Candace nodded, I realised that it was a gibberish they both shared.
“Good spell. I never thought to use this incantation to boost the heat levels upon impact and not on initial casting. I have blisters to prove it. But, is this part really necessary?”
Pranish leaned in close, rubbing his chin.
“That’s to guide the expansion protocol.”
Candace nodded. “That would be necessary if using Primordial, but the Sintari view of elemental fire includes it by default. Try the spell without it. If it works, you can save yourself some time, concentration and a headache.”
Pranish considered her advice, which was mostly jargon to me, before making a note in his spell book. The pair continued to discuss some other spells and the nature of magic in general. Soon, they were laughing about some wizarding in-jokes and commiserating over the last times they overdid it and ended up passed out in their own vomit. Just wizard things.
I couldn’t understand most of what they were saying and, in that I realised something. Candace and Pranish were both lonely, in their own ways. Wizards of great skill and intellect surrounded by a society that worshipped raw magical power and sorcery over hard work. Perhaps, I’d done them both a disservice in taking very little interest in their crafts. But, also, perhaps that was no longer needed, as they had found kindred spirits in one another.
Happy at this development, I looked ahead, and caught Trudie glancing back, glaring with her golden, glowing eyes.
Perhaps, I should have come by myself. Treth and I were a resourceful pair. We’d survived Avathor alone, after all.
Pranish and Candace ceased their enthusiastic discussion as we arrived at the end of the pier. Moored at the end of this industrial concrete waterfront, hidden between cargo ships, was a vessel which was a cross between a cruise liner and a fishing trawler. Its mighty metal hull was almost spotless, bearing a white paint job and navy blue stripe. Dwarven runes, blocky and thick, were written in white across the blue stripe. Standing before this vessel was a man of diminutive height but bearing a well-muscled chest that could lug cast-iron cannons if he had the mind to. He had his hands on his hips, where he looked close to bellowing out a reprimand or a guffaw at any moment. And, cascading from his cheeks and chin like a waterfall of fire, was a shockingly orange beard.
“Aye, Mistress Evergreen. Ye didn’ tell me ye’re friend was a fire elemental,” he bellowed, showing white teeth as he broke into a smile.
Initially surprised that Candace had given her real name to the dwarven captain, it took me a while to realise he was talking about me. My coat, renewed by its breakfast, shot out some sparks as if noting the recognition.
Candace stepped forward, offering her hand.
“Captain Ironfoot? It’s good to meet you in the flesh. My friend, Kat Drummond, is a human. Her coat is enchanted and will not damage your ship.”
Ironfoot squinted at me and the rest of the party, as if examining our very souls and what we’d eaten for breakfast.
“I trust it won’t. Ye’re paying me an’ me crew a hefty sum, but there are rules to follow on all dwarven vessels. Before ye board, ye must take heed.”
Candace nodded, swiftly, and then turned to us beckoning for us to do the same.
“One,” Ironfoot announced, raising a stubby finger bearing a golden ring. “I, as captain, am the absolute authority onboard after the Codes. I treat all me crew and passengers fairly, but to keep to keep things shipshape, I must be obeyed. Clear?
No one answered.
“Second, when ye’re asked to acknowledge me, ye will reply with ‘Aye, Cap’n. Clear?”
“Aye, Cap’n,” we replied, not in unison and rather clumsily. I glanced at the werewolves. Senegal was already showing signs of confusion. As a werewolf and Crusader, he already owed absolute loyalty to both Trudie and me. But now Ironfoot held another of his leashes. Poor guy.
“Three,” Ironfoot continued. “Me crew will handle most of the ship’s affairs well enough, but ye will be expected to do chores like cleaning, cooking and helping when needed.”
“Aye, Cap’n,” we all answered, instinctively this time.
Ironfoot nodded, satisfied.
“Sailing for a sea-dwarf of the Greyak’ta is not just a means to an end. It’s a way of life. This will not be an easy journey. But I hope to show ye some of me people’s way of life. Now, welcome aboard the Kareena Tal-eanar. In ye tongue: The Honour of the Unforgotten. By the end of this journey, I hope to make some honest dwarves out of ye all!”
***
After Ironfoot’s impassioned, borderline drill sergeant speech, he led us aboard. Surprisingly, almost all of his crew were human. All except for his wife, Silvertide, another dwarf, and a gnome named Gidget, who wore leather boots and gloves so he wouldn’t come into contact with the iron of the ship. Gnomes had the natural tinkering tendencies of th
e pixies, I had read, but many still had allergies to iron and iron alloys. It spoke to the gnome’s passion that he pursued this line of work despite being surrounded by the very substance that could kill him.
Well, the same could be said of being a sailor at all. Even sea-dwarves couldn’t breathe underwater. Yet, they were drawn to it like Anni Fleur had said she was drawn to the mountain. Perhaps, we all were attracted to that which could kill us? Made us feel alive.
With instruction, we helped the Honour of the Unforgotten cast off. I anticipated being worked to the bone after Ironfoot’s insistence that he was absolute ruler but, after some rope tugging and merely watching the actual crew do their work, we were given leave to settle in for the journey. Ironfoot said he’d be assigning us a roster tomorrow, but tonight he wanted to show us some dwarven hospitality.
As dinner was being cooked and I smelled the rich heady scent of spices and seafood, I leant up against the back of the ship. Called a stern. Look at me, learning stuff. The sun sinking past the horizon, washing the sea in gold and red. The island was a distant, dark shape now. It was so far away already. Which made Hope City even farther away.
What was happening back home? And what would I find when I got back? If I got back? And what type of person would I be then?
The salty sea air and chill stung my face, but I’d felt worse before. I heard gagging somewhere else on deck. Senegal was standing guard over his alpha as she vomited up her meat buffet from this morning. Seems werewolves weren’t immune to seasickness.
“We’ll be okay, Kat,” Treth said, manifesting on the railing, letting his feet hang off the stern. “We always are.”
“Really?” I whispered, almost muttering. Was I really okay?
Footsteps heralded warmth as Brett arrived by my side, putting his arm around my shoulders. Wordlessly, I watched the setting sun, flanked by a ghost and a soldier, both whom I loved in my own way.
I didn’t know what I would face ahead, but if I had them by my side, then I could face it. Again, and again. Until the sun set forever.
Chapter 15.
Voyage
I had expected to be run ragged as a temporary crew member of the Honour of the Unforgotten. But, life on a modern merchant ship wasn’t that bad. Compared with my usual 18-hour days of hunting monsters, it was practically a holiday. Over the days and weeks that we sailed, our tasks were quite simple. We all pulled kitchen duty (except for Kyong, who burnt everything and was banned). Silvertide taught me some dwarven recipes, expanding my repertoire from just stir fries and ramen to pan-fried fish, freshly caught by some of the crew members. Cleaning was another common chore. The sea was a harsh mistress, and erosion needed to be taken care of constantly. Which meant cleaning and maintenance. All the time. Brett complained a few times that mopping the deck was a waste of his fine vampire slaying talents, but I assured him that when the final vampiric god needed to be mopped to death, he’d be ready.
Of all the tasks we received, the only truly hard one was emergency maintenance and coping with a rift surge. While Ironfoot insisted that his people had a natural affinity for nautical pursuits, his ship was still outfitted with modern navigation equipment, engines and the whole shebang. The problem with modern conveniences was that they needed electricity, which didn’t do well when a rift opened up and knocked out the power. I figured out soon enough that the peculiarity of this vessel was its blend of the modern and archaic. It was a modern ship, most of the time but, when the need arose, Gidget’s inventions allowed it to sail as if it was a carrack crossing the Atlantic.
When a storm hit, we had two choices. Drop anchor and wait for the surge to end or hoist a sail and keep going. And, if the surge was really bad, apply emergency maintenance on the fly. Those were the bad times. Pranish and Candace’s shielding spells came in handy, as surge-exacerbated storms threatened to break the hull and flood the deck.
Last night had held one such storm. Not that you could tell from the ocean.
I stood at the base of the ship’s iron-clad mast, uselessly holding a rope to trick myself into thinking I was helping, while I gazed out over the calm, dark blue. Kyong was doing a sort of Tai Chi routine, negating the need for ropes as he used telekinesis to stow the sails. Most physical tasks onboard had been taken over by the Tiger Fist. He was practically a one-man crew with his dominance over invisible force. He was enjoying the challenge.
“Usually, I just have to hit something really hard or very soft,” he had said when I asked if he was really okay taking over most of the duties. “But these chores require a true finesse. The right level of force and done precisely in the right way. There’s nothing else like it!”
I was happy for him. And also happy for myself. While I felt guilty that I wasn’t pulling my weight, only a masochist truly regrets less work.
With a fluttering, the sails receded into the mast and the shutters closed, as if by magic. Well, because it was by magic. Kyong stopped his wordless incantation and grinned, satisfied.
“I wouldn’t be surprised if Ironfoot tries to hire you full time,” I commented.
“I’d be honoured, but would decline, commander. I enjoy the required finesse of this task, but it lacks the lethal challenge of the hunt.”
That was a feeling I understood.
“How goes your magical training?” Kyong asked, looping the rope I had been holding around a hook.
I frowned. “Pranish and Candace both insist that wizardry is just a matter of practice. That there’s no natural talent involved. But I just can’t see it. Whenever I learn a new spell, it just shoves the one I’d already memorised out the other ear.”
Kyong snorted in amusement. “I can’t help you. Sorcery is what they decry. A natural talent. Its refinement, yes, is practice. But I feel no strain from memorising spells. My body channels my magic like a river flows with water.”
“Has Candace given up trying to understand your magic?”
“Not yet.” He grinned. “But she will have to. There is little in common with wizardry and what we Fists do. Her domain is the utterance of primordial words. Ours is the language of movement, body and soul.”
“I doubt she’ll give up that easily…and here she is. Is she here for me or you?”
Candace appeared, smiling. She wore her blonde hair loose, and the sea breeze tossed it to-and-fro. She wasn’t wearing her almost uniform black hoodie and had settled in with a white and pink branded t-shirt. Unlike Trudie, Candace wasn’t a goth. She had just never shaken the habit of wearing black on the job.
“Kat, you still up for training?” she asked, nodding in greeting to Kyong. I saw the hint of analysis in her eyes as she examined the thin layer of sweat on Kyong’s bare arms. I had first thought she was checking him out for more primal reasons, but I knew Candace well enough to know that wasn’t the case. She studied the Fist the same way a botanist studies flowers.
I shrugged. “For all the good it will do. You okay here, Kyong?”
Kyong nodded. “Go ahead, commander. We’re basically done.”
“’We’ is quite generous,” Treth remarked.
“Thank you,” I said, and bid Kyong farewell.
I climbed down from the mast’s platform, following Candace into the interior of the ship.
“You’re anxious,” Candace said, when we were alone.
Darn this girl. She was worse than Treth. Well, no use hiding it.
I shrugged. “You are too.”
“I’m always anxious.”
“Same.”
“More than usual. What’s on your mind?”
I hid a small smile. Ironically, Candace mentioning my anxiety helped to calm me down. It was good spending time with her these last few weeks. Even if there was still a lot of drama onboard.
“I’m worried about the people back home,” I said. And what we were going to find when this journey ended.
“What did Cindy say when you phoned her at Point Marianne?”
“During or after she yelled at me
for not phoning her sooner?”
“After. She told you that everything was fine. That nobody had died. That Conrad had ceded all control to Jane and that the Crusaders were making record profits.”
“I know, I know. But…it’s just…”
Candace grabbed my hand and squeezed, reassuringly.
“It isn’t your job to protect the entire city, Kat. And nobody worth acknowledging blames you for wanting to save your aunt. I’d do the same.”
In fact, Candace had become a necromancer and been responsible for the deaths of dozens if not hundreds of people in an effort to resurrect her parents. So, she may not be the best role model.
Still, her words comforted me.
“Thanks, Candy,” I said, smiling faintly, just as we entered an almost empty storage room that Ironfoot let us use for magic training.
“As long as ye don’ blow a hole in me hull!” he’d said.
Pranish was sitting cross-legged on the metal floor, writing down some runes and Sintari scribbles. He nodded by way of greeting.
“So, what’s the curriculum for today?” I asked, repressing a sigh.
“Well, I was thinking of trying some more purification and healing incantations,” Candace started, reaching for a pink notepad bearing her lesson plan. She chewed on the end of a black pen as she went over it.
I rolled my eyes. “Again? I think I could vaguely incant a vitality incantation but, if I learn anything more, I’m going to forget that.”
Candace frowned. “You need to concentrate, Kats. Wizardry is about discipline.”
“Thus, why Kat is struggling with it,” Pranish mumbled aloud. I didn’t rebuke him. He was right. And, with all my anxiety, I’d been struggling to concentrate.
Candace sat down and started paging through her notepad.
“But Kat has done spell-work before. She seems to have an affinity for healing magic…”
“An affinity, yes,” Pranish interjected. “Which has nothing to do with wizardry. Only sorcerers have pet magic types. Wizards are the generalists.”
The Silver Star (Kat Drummond Book 11) Page 12
