The Path of the Storm (The Evermen Saga, Book Three)

by James Maxwell

  Toro Marossa.

  Miro felt a shiver at the age of the message, directed at him, yet written so long ago, and by the world's most famous explorer.

  "Do you think we can sail it?" Amber asked.

  "We can try," Miro said.

  "How will we know where to go?"

  "We have to try for this new land. The sun rises in the east and sets in the west. East takes us back in the direction of Altura. It's a long, long way, and there's a high probability we'll lose our course, die of thirst, or starve. East takes us to Tomas, lying still and pale, the victim of poison."

  Amber nodded.

  "Then there is west. West takes us towards this new land, the great continent we know nothing about. It's much closer than Altura, and I think we can make it. West takes us to the homeland of those who had the skill to build these settlements and construct the biggest ships I've seen. There is no guarantee, but these people may have an antidote for their poison."

  Amber didn't hesitate. "We're going west. We'll find this new world, and seek help from its people."

  Miro nodded. "Come on. Let's fill the water barrels and mount the masts. We'll sleep tonight in the captain's cabin. Tomorrow, we set sail."

  ~

  THE NEXT day saw the Intrepid carve through the waves, Miro at the tiller and Amber keeping the sails trimmed. The caravel moved beautifully through the water, easily navigating the channel and heading out for open sea.

  With the Intrepid pointed west the wind came across their beam. While they became accustomed to the ship they sailed only by the lateen-rigged main sail, which was now opened up wide to catch the breeze. The caravel rose and fell on the crests and troughs, large enough to handle the seas yet narrow enough to slice through the water like a knife.

  The wind was gentle and morning sun was at their backs. Miro's strength was needed at the tiller but with the sail set Amber was free to fish over the side, quickly snaring three silver fish.

  There was no way to cook them, so she used the cutlass to cut fillets and they ate them raw.

  As the days passed the wind stayed constant but someone was needed at the tiller even at night. Amber struggled with its weight so Miro never slept more than a short amount at a time. It was wearying, and with the monotonous diet of fish he felt his strength steadily sapped.

  With a great continent to aim for, they had little chance of becoming lost. Miro hoped they would find land soon.

  They grew more confident and after two days they hoisted the mizzen stay sail. The caravel picked up speed, leaping through the water, flying like a bird.

  Miro and Amber sailed this way for six days. They relied on each other heavily in a way they never had before and their relationship became strengthened by shared hardship and cooperation.

  On the seventh day, the storm struck.

  It came from nowhere. Miro saw dark clouds gathering in the west as the sun dipped below the horizon. Even as the light faded, he saw the sky roiling and then heard the sound of sudden thunder.

  Miro felt a surge of fear. He didn't dare to change course yet the storm lay directly in their path.

  As the sun disappeared below the horizon the light faded to black. But then lightning flashed, sheets of white spreading across the sky, and it started to rain. Water came out of the sky in a torrent, heavy drops that stung the skin.

  "Amber!" Miro called.

  He saw her exit the companionway, silhouetted by the next flash of lightning. "Amber!" he cried again.

  He felt helpless, unable to take his blistered hand from the tiller.

  "What should we do?" she came forward to hear him.

  "We're in the path of the storm," Miro yelled. "I need you to take the sails down. Soon as possible!"

  The lightning was now overhead and it was jagged, forks of white energy striking the sea again and again. The downpour increased intensity until Miro could no longer see, the water hitting his face and eyes with ever greater force.

  A mighty wave lifted the caravel up and then crashed down on the deck. The prow went under the next wave and the Intrepid threatened to tip. Miro thrust hard with the tiller, pointing the caravel into the wave. He realised he couldn't hold his course any longer; he needed to ride the waves and prevent a surge from the side rolling the caravel over.

  Miro peered through the torrent and could see Amber still hadn't managed to take down the sails. With the sails still set, a squall would capsize the ship. He wondered if he should leave the tiller and fetch his cutlass from the captain's cabin. Perhaps he could cut the sails down — they would lose them, but it was better than drowning.

  Miro's decision was made for him when with a mighty crack, the main mast snapped at the deck, coming down with a great crash.

  The ship turned in the sea, and Miro felt the muscles in his arm screaming as he fought to keep the caravel perpendicular to the huge rolling waves.

  "Amber!" Miro cried. Had she been injured when the mast went down?

  He shielded his eyes and then in a flash of lightning he saw her. She had the cutlass in hand as she cleared the fallen sail from the deck. Half of the sail was in the water, making Miro's task at the tiller nearly impossible.

  Miro was completely soaked, the rain splattering against his skin, stinging his face and back. The size of the waves increased until they were as tall as mountains, mighty walls of water with curling caps. If a wave broke on top of the Intrepid, they were doomed.

  Amber managed to free the fallen sail, and Miro turned the caravel against the next monstrous wave. The bucking motion of the ship was so strong he felt his grip on the tiller was the only thing keeping him where he was.

  Then with another terrible crash the mizzen mast went down. Amber ran across the swamped deck to free the smaller sail.

  Miro concentrated on keeping them alive.

  The night grew darker, and the thunder grew louder. Lightning flashes seemed to come with every breath Miro took, as the storm became ever more vicious, the howling wind stronger, the waves taller still.

  Miro pushed at the tiller, feeling the caravel come round to meet the next terrifying wave.

  The wind whipped against the fallen stay sail, and a stout length of wood, still attached to a line, flew up into the air.

  It snapped against Miro's head with a crack.

  He fell down, and everything went black.

  20

  ELLA had now left the Akari, fortuitously travelling with Hermen Tosch as far south as Mara Maya, the Louan capital. She studied both the damaged book of the Evermen and the new skills she'd learned from the Akari on the journey south. After Mara Maya, Ella bid farewell to the trader. From here on she would make her own way to Stonewater.

  Barnabas, the cantankerous old necromancer, had taught Ella the things she needed to know. Her plan had advanced one step further.

  She now knew a being of incredible evil was in Merralya. The Empire needed Killian.

  Ella finally allowed herself to believe that her plan could work. She thought it through again.

  Only one of the Evermen could take Ella through the portal.

  Killian, as Evrin's descendant, had their powers.

  Logically, one of Killian's parents was also descended from Evrin, and also had their powers.

  Killian had told Ella that when he was young, at the orphanage in Salvation, he'd been told his parents were dead.

  If Ella could find Killian's parents, she now had the power to bring them back from the grave. The portal would recognise one of the Evermen, and Ella would be able to cross.

  It sounded mad, even in her own mind. But Ella had made a promise, back at the Sentinel. She had said the words to Evrin.

  "I promise," she had said. "I will find a way."

  Ella had meant every word.

  ~

  ELLA felt nervous about entering Aynar, the land of the templars, a place she'd never been to before. She passed through the forests of Tingara's south before crossing the border, almost surprised to see little chan
ge in the landscape.

  Then she saw peaks in the distance, the great mountains that stood higher than any other range. The sight of the mighty Emdas told Ella she was now in Aynar.

  The road was heavily travelled and initially Ella wondered where all the people were going, but her initial trepidation turned to pity as she saw the starved masses, some heading in hope for Seranthia, others returning from Seranthia with eyes downcast.

  The Assembly of Templars had been a force for good in the world, Ella reminded herself, before the Primate's madness took hold. These poor people had no place to go — no home, no work, and no food to eat — and only the templars took them in.

  Ella followed the people heading south, deeper into Aynar. Almost certainly those she saw on the road would be travelling to Salvation.

  ~

  AHEAD Ella saw a strange cloud, low and grey, pointed at the top. The cloud solidified as she walked, becoming firm and brown and Ella's mouth dropped open as she realised she was seeing the famous mountain. It was solitary and massive, jutting up from the plain, able to be seen from a great distance away. Ella was looking at Stonewater.

  Ella knew she would find the large town of Salvation at the foot of the mountain. She'd heard it was filled with temples, but poor. Evidently little of the wealth produced by the houses flowed to those who managed the essence.

  Killian had grown up in Salvation, first in an orphanage, then, after reaching adolescence, on the street.

  In Salvation, Killian had learned to hate the self-righteous templars, but then later in Seranthia he'd learned to hate the Emperor more.

  He'd been taken to see the Primate in Stonewater, and given his allegiance to the man who promised to end the Emperor's reign and redistribute the riches of the houses amongst the poor.

  After meeting Ella he'd finally realised he had more power to affect the world than he'd thought. Killian didn't have to follow the Emperor, or the Primate, he could be his own man.

  He had come back to Stonewater with eyes opened. With Evrin's help, he had destroyed the Primate's means of producing essence.

  Killian's difficult youth had given him a burning desire to know who he was. How had his parents died? Who had they been?

  As the mountain grew to dominate her vision and she began to see buildings ahead, Ella wondered if she would be able to succeed where he had failed.

  ~

  "YES? How can I help?" the long-nosed, officious clerk asked.

  He wore the white of the Assembly, but it was neither the cassock of a priest or the uniform of a templar. Ella guessed he was simply an official; Stonewater was huge, and Ella supposed priests and templars had other duties of their own.

  "My name is Ella Torresante. My brother is Lord Marshal Miro Torresante. I'm here on an information gathering mission for Lord Regent Rogan Jarvish," Ella said, which wasn't exactly true, "and I'd like access to the archives."

  Ella wore her green silk enchantress's dress, and had combed her golden hair until it shone. It felt unbelievably strange, to be boldly displaying the Alturan raj hada in what had not long ago been the heartland of the enemy. Yet Altura had grown in stature after the war, and Ella felt her garments would impress, as would her brother's name.

  The Assembly had a reputation for keeping meticulous records, and Ella was sure that with his unique fiery hair and blue eyes Killian would have been remembered, even at a young age.

  Killian had been desperate to know the things she intended to find out, but with the war and his own history with the templars he'd never have been able to do what she was doing now — simply walk up and ask.

  The clerk blanched when he peered down from his desk and saw Ella's dress. "Ella, an Alturan enchantress… I've heard of you. Why didn't you send word ahead?"

  Ella did her best to look impatient. "Because I am the word," she said flatly. "I travel light, particularly when the need is great."

  "The Lord Regent sent you?"

  "Yes."

  "Hmm…" The clerk dithered, and Ella knew what would be coming next. "I need to speak with my superior. Please, wait, just a moment. I won't be long."

  "I'll be here," Ella said.

  Ella looked around while she waited. She had been directed here by some priests on their way from Salvation to Stonewater, following a path that led for a time outside the mountain before an arched entrance took her inside. She guessed she was somewhere half way up.

  This particular level, carved out of the stone just like she'd always been told, smelled of paper and leather. A sign simply named it "Records".

  The clerk returned, looking more nervous than before. Ella resumed her irritated expression.

  "I am to let you in, and also to assist you," the clerk said.

  Ella breathed a sigh of relief.

  "I need to ask, do you carry any liquids on you?"

  Ella shook her head. "No."

  "Any igniters or flint?"

  Ella thought of her dress. With it, she could set the entire floor on fire. The templars weren't known for their experience with lore. "No."

  "Good. Please, come with me."

  ~

  WHATEVER the clerk's fussy manner, he knew how the records were catalogued, and Ella made swift progress without giving too much away about what she was looking for.

  She felt excitement grow in her breast. She wished Killian was with her, but she promised herself he soon would be.

  She was going to discover his past!

  Ella soon found that at the time of Killian's youth there had been four orphanages in Salvation. There was one, larger orphanage in Seranthia, also run by the templars, but Ella knew Killian was from Salvation so she started there.

  The records of the four orphanages were each kept in a different location in the archives.

  It took Ella most of the day to search the records of each orphanage in turn. She was initially pleased to see that next to the names of the children the hair colour and eye colour were recorded, but there was no mention of a child matching Killian's description.

  "Where are the records of the orphanage in Seranthia?" Ella asked.

  The clerk licked his lips. "They're stored in the vault." He gestured to a locked door at the end of the room.

  "Why?"

  "The records are private." The clerk gave Ella a significant look.

  "I don't understand."

  "There are a lot of lords and ladies in Seranthia," the clerk said.

  Ella was growing frustrated. "Just tell me what you're trying to say."

  "Well, sometimes ladies have children before they're married. Sometimes to men who aren't lords. Those babies sometimes end up in orphanages. The families of the ladies are powerful, and they don't want the records available to just anyone."

  "Oh," Ella said. "Open the vault. I don't care about any of that."

  "I can't do that," the clerk said. "I've never been in the vault myself. Not even my superior…"

  "I see," said Ella.

  She walked over to the heavy door. It was made of stout wood, probably oak, and banded with strips of metal. The lock was made of good steel. The door looked thick, and the lock looked strong.

  Ella reached into a pocket inside her dress and took out the wand.

  "Evermen protect us," the hovering clerk drew back, his eyes suddenly wide with fear. "Please, Enchantress, no flames… The records, they must be kept for posterity."

  Ella looked at the wand, a device she'd constructed herself, as long as her forearm. It was made of dark hazel wood, with three facets rising to the tip, crowned with a prism of gold-flecked quartz. The wand was warm to the touch, and tiny runes covered its length, so small Ella had needed a lens to draw the symbols with the finest of scrills.

  Ella spoke the activation sequence, and the symbols lit up, a sparkle of blue travelling up the wand's length until the prism burned with yellow fire. Ignoring the clerk, she turned to the door.

  "Please," the clerk said again, and she had to admire his courage. "The records…"<
br />
  Ella had no intention of destroying the records, but she was going to open this door. "Stand back," she told the clerk, before walking up to the door.

  "Tourahn-ash-tassine," she said softly, words that would moderate the wand's power.

  The prism's radiance dimmed by half. Ella touched the wand to the lock and then called forth a bolt of energy.

  She quickly pulled her hand back as the lock liquefied, molten steel bursting out with a spray of sparks.

  The door fell open.

  Ella deactivated the wand and put it away.

  She turned around. The clerk was nowhere to be seen. Ella entered the vault.

  Ella had learned the templars' system of filing now, and it took her only a short time to find the records of the orphanage in Seranthia.

  She scanned the list of descriptions, ignoring the names; a name could always be changed. Although Killian's name fit him like a glove, she thought.

  The arrival records were organised by day, and Ella scanned them swiftly, perplexed when she still saw no mention of Killian. Then she scanned the dates again.

  There was one day missing.

  Ella calculated how long ago it would have been. Killian looked to be a year or two older than her.

  The date matched.

  "Scratch it!" Ella cursed. The record was missing. How would she ever find Killian's parents now?

  Wait; there was another file, hidden behind this one. It was an extract from the arrivals at one of the Salvation orphanages. Someone must have thought it important enough to take it out of the regular archives and put it here, in the vault.

  Scanning the list, Ella's heart thudded in her chest.

  The date of the Salvation arrival matched the missing card from the Seranthia orphanage.

  "Transfer from Seranthia orphanage. Hair: red. Eyes: blue."

  There was nothing else. Whoever had hidden these records had done their job well. Most shocking of all, Killian evidently wasn't from Salvation, land of the templars; he was from Seranthia, capital of the Tingaran Empire.