CAFFARI INSTRUCTED A thief to drag over a few casks and crates so that we could sit comfortably. I refused. I would not get comfortable while Trader Ulstat was aboard the Midnight. Arms crossed over my chest, I pressed my lips firmly together while his gaze traveled the group. The man seemed to enjoy having an audience.
“I’m sure Raav—pardon me, Trader Ovintak—knows this,” he said. “But to inform the rest of you, I am not an Ulstat by birth. I married into the family when I was eighteen. Mieshk’s mother was the prime heir at the time. Her father, the prime trader, paid my House well for the match. And my family was quite glad to be rid of me—none of them had my level of ambition, and so none of them were comfortable in my presence.
“In any case, though the Ulstats bought me, I would have agreed to the union regardless. Because, you see, my House was in quick decline. We’d recently lost trading rights to our ports on Reknarish, but the real problem was our debt. It matters little now—my birth House is no more. The Council revoked their House status nearly twenty years ago. My family left the Kiriilt Islands shortly after. Not that I was in touch with them at that point...”
The man really liked to hear his own voice. I sighed loudly, prompting a smirk from Trader Ulstat.
“It’s relevant. I assure you. I’m telling you this because it’s critical you understand that I am untouched by Ulstat madness.”
“Unlike your daughter,” I said. The sea air was cool against my skin, and after my fitful sleep the previous night and the strain of recent events, I was having a hard time staying warm. To cover my shiver and to illustrate my impatience with the Ulstat prime, I started pacing.
“Yes, unlike Mieshk,” he said. “Her mother, my wife, was afflicted as well. She was an only child, her parents’ sole heir. More distant branches of the Ulstat clan were frothing with excitement at the notion that she might succumb to madness before producing a child to continue the lineage. They were all too eager to take control of the House. Fortunately, we had little trouble conceiving. Mieshk was born within a year of our marriage. Tragically, my wife’s parents were killed just months after the birth. My wife ascended to prime.” At these last words, Trader Ulstat grinned. No doubt he had a hand in hastening the parents’ demise.
“This is a heartwarming story,” Caffari said. “But I’m with Lilik. Get to the point.”
Trader Ulstat stretched his legs out in front of him, crossing them at the ankles. He sat on a shipping crate stamped with the crest of House Thuvet, a trader family from Orteshk Island. No doubt Caffari and her confederates had liberated the contents of that crate at some point in the past. Over the last weeks, I’d learned not to look too closely at the fittings and cargo containers aboard the Midnight. Not if I wanted to keep my conscience clean.
“On the night of my wedding, my father-in-law invited me into the study. He had concerns for his heir, particularly regarding her early signs of madness. For most who are afflicted, the onset is after their thirtieth year. Not so with Mieshk’s mother. And most certainly not so with Mieshk.
“Think what you will about House Ulstat, but we have little desire to cause chaos. In fact, we Ulstats seek to further the fortunes of all Araokan citizens, not just our kin. Where we differ from other Houses is in our philosophy of managing the gutterborn who depend on us. We—”
I couldn’t handle the condescending look on his face. “Don’t pretend you have anyone’s interests at heart other than your own,” I snapped.
“You see,” he said, his eyes running over the gathered group, “commoners can’t be trusted to make reasoned decisions. Look how quickly she angers. They must be guided firmly, lest their ignorance and emotions drive them to ill-considered actions.”
My blood surged hot through my veins. Gritting my teeth, I stalked closer to the man. When I drew near enough to strike, my hand found Tyrak’s hilt.
As I slid the dagger up and out of the sheath, Raav stepped in front of me. “Lilik. He’s trying to rile you.”
“Actually,” Trader Ulstat said, “I’m just being honest. I have no reason to antagonize anyone here. Especially not given the alliance I seek. But if you’d prefer I leave my philosophies out of the discussion…”
Raav laid hands on my shoulders. “Remember. You can kill him yourself if we don’t like what we hear.”
My rage was simmering high in my chest. Try as I might, I couldn’t force it down.
“Lilik,” Paono said quietly. “I know you. Patience is not your strength. But consider what happens if we kill him. It’s another nightstrand for Mieshk to capture. One who knows where we’re anchored.”
Rot. He was right. As Raav squeezed my shoulders, I blinked and swallowed. “Fine.” I stalked to the edge of the circle and dropped to a seat on a water cask.
Raav whirled on Trader Ulstat. “If you insult her again, I’ll make sure that you hurt. A lot.”
Rolling his eyes, Trader Ulstat nodded. “I’m accustomed to dealing with those who can’t grasp the brilliance of my views. In any case, I’ll forgo my justifications. Now, as I was saying, the Ulstat aim is to increase standing and fortune. My wife was no different. But she had something that many Ulstats lack. She understood the damage her coming madness would do. Rather than arrogantly descending into insanity and dragging the House down with her, she tried to understand her curse. Her search led her to journals penned by her ancestors, and from there to the doomsayers.”
“The cult?” Captain Altak asked. “Bunch of wretches no less insane than your family.”
I nodded, thinking of the wild-eyed cultists who waved burning batons and ranted about the end of the world.
Trader Ulstat’s brows twitched upward. “So you think. But consider this. Until we discovered the truth of the nightstrands, I’d wager that most commoners believed the trader custom of deifying our ancestors to be rooted in arrogance. But then we—Lilik, actually—discovered that the souls of the dead are all around us. We traders believe the presences of our ancestors still bless our lives. The custom probably originated with teachings passed down from the Vanished. But without proper guidance, knowledge often decays into superstition. So, back to the doomsayers. What do they believe?”
“That sea monsters with masses of tentacles will rise from the deep and swallow us,” Daonok muttered.
Trader Ulstat shrugged. “The fringe members, perhaps. Those who aren’t trusted with the real secrets and make up for it by shouting for attention from street corners. But those warnings are very different from what’s spoken about behind closed doors.”
“So you’re a doomsayer?” Caffari said, snorting. “Come to tell us about the end of the world, and in the meantime, your daughter is bringing it about.”
“My wife was inducted into the doomsayer hierarchy,” Trader Ulstat said. “But that was only the beginning of her search for truth. Even as her mind cracked, she had the strength to perceive what was happening and record the whispers and desires that rose in her thoughts. So much of the changes to her mind were in accordance with the doomsayers’ canon. That’s how we began to understand the Hunger.”
I froze. At my side, a dart of shock stabbed out from Tyrak. It couldn’t be a coincidence that he and Trader Ulstat had used the same word to describe what they feared had happened to Ashkalan.
Trader Ulstat caught my eye and nodded. “You want to know what’s happened to Ashkalan. I’ll tell you plainly: it’s the beginning of the end. Many civilizations have come to this point. And few were able to turn back. The rest are gone. Erased. Not even their homelands remain. They were eaten by the Hunger.”
Silence fell, broken only by the distant hiss of lava and the roar of Ioene.
“All right, I’ll just ask it,” Caffari said. “What of all the tide-dragged things is the Hunger?”
“I’m getting there. For around five years, my wife and I followed leads from the doomsayers’ scrolls, sent clerks to libraries within the Kiriilt Islands and beyond. I hired foreign scholars to decipher ancient alphabets and l
anguages, piecing the information together over the course of a decade. Until finally, we understood the story.
“The Hunger underpins all existence. It lurks at the edges, a great and fathomless void that wants nothing more than to steal all life from our world. Given the opportunity, it will remove every drop of vitality from both the aether and the physicality, leaving behind a cold, sterile place. And after that, it will steal even the substance from our plane of existence, suck it closer and tighter and heavier until everything we once were collapses in on itself. Becomes part of the Hunger. Only then, once we are less than a memory, will the void close.”
No one spoke following the trader’s words. Finally, Paono stood. The glimmering cloud of aurora swirled, performing a sort of twisting whirlwind that reached high into the sky.
“You mentioned this was related to your wife’s madness,” Paono said. “Which means Mieshk would have the same… What, calling? Does this Hunger whisper to her?”
Trader Ulstat pressed his lips together. The arrogance had drained from his face. “The Hunger affects everyone in subtle ways. It underlies evil actions because they bring the world closer to the chaos which may open the path. But more often, the Hunger finds its way into worlds via those afflicted with madness. A cracked mind is susceptible to its urgings. Combining the human ability to reason with this susceptibility, the Hunger seeks to open rifts.
“My wife and I discovered records of a desert people living deep inside Reknarish. In their society, those with unstable minds are often honored as healers and prophets. But their histories also tell of a madman who opened a gateway for the Hunger. He used runes—the desert-dwellers still keep them recorded on copper tablets. Until I arrived at Ioene, I’d seen them only upon the parchment where our clerk had recorded them after visiting the tribe.”
“But now you’ve seen them in Ashkalan,” Jet said.
Trader Ulstat swallowed and nodded. “Not long after her mother died, I caught Mieshk reading the scholars’ records. No doubt the symbols spoke to her. As I mentioned, my wife’s madness infected her mind at a young age. But Mieshk was altogether worse. I knew I’d lost her by the time she was five.”
“Okay, so the rift,” I said. “What is it? How do we close it?”
On anyone else, the expression that fell over Trader Ulstat’s face would have looked like regret. I wasn’t ready to give him that much credit. But at the very least he seemed genuinely concerned.
“The Hunger is close. Anyone who goes near Ashkalan can’t help but feel it pressing in. But the gate isn’t yet open. Mieshk painted those runes. I’m sure of it. But something stopped her from completing her work.”
My eyes shot to Paono, who said nothing. “And if she does finish opening it?” I asked.
“At first, the Hunger sends shards of itself through the rift. Most legends call them the Hollow Ones. They are creatures of emptiness. Some say they are gray or black or nothing at all. The absence of substance. People talk of teeth and eyes and tentacles—you see where the doomsayer legends originate.
“It starts slow. One or two Hollow Ones. But the more they eat, the wider the rift. Our world begins to flow through the rent in reality. Meanwhile, more Hollow Ones escape the void. Legions of them. They swarm over the landscape and devour souls, light, emotion.”
“How do we stop it?” Jet asked.
Trader Ulstat shrugged. “My wife and I never found that answer.”
“But these desert people closed the rift,” Jet said.
“They must have, or we would not be here. Believe what you wish about me, but I have no more desire to see our world taken by the Hunger than you do. I plan to live a long life and enter the aether. But I would give up that life now if the alternative was joining with the Hunger. Because there is nothing in that void but torment and emptiness and longing. A Hunger that can never be satiated.”
I stared at the horizon, thinking. Mieshk had been nightforging the runes to complete them, which meant she couldn't finish without more souls to feed into the process. Paono had locked most of the nightstrands away from her, and according to the prisoners, she didn’t have many “pets” left. But any new deaths might give her the final strands necessary to finish the rift. She hadn’t sacrificed her followers to create them—yet. Maybe she needed her slaves for another purpose. In any case, we needed to eliminate her before she took that step and finished what she started.
“How many runes remain?” I asked. “Do you know?”
He shrugged. “I didn't remain in the harbor any longer than you did, I'd gather.”
I pressed my lips together. “We need to discuss this in private,” I said. “Jet, escort Trader Ulstat to the brig.”
Trader Ulstat nodded his acceptance. “I expected no better when I came aboard alone. But I suspect you understand the stakes now. Despite your low birth, you’re not so inept as to ignore what I say. Or if you are, I hope your friends can compensate. I am your best hope for getting Mieshk to a vulnerable position. And I don’t think I can defeat her without your strength. We must help each other. I think you understand that.”
Clenching my jaw, I looked away.
Roughly, Jet lifted the man from his seat. With his sword drawn, my general escorted Trader Ulstat to the ladder leading below.
“Well then,” Caffari said. “Seems we have a lot to discuss.”
Chapter Thirteen
AS WE FILED along the deck toward Caffari’s cabin to continue the discussion, Tkira lingered at the rear of the group. Outside the cabin door, she stopped and glanced over her shoulder.
“You’ve got plenty of voices and opinions,” she said. “I think I’d be of more use helping Daonok with the prisoners.”
When she spoke, a peculiar light entered her eyes, and her hands fidgeted. Daonok and Tkira? Was something going on there?
I hid my smile as I nodded. “I’ll fill you in later.”
Eyes shifty, she spun on her heels and dashed off for the nearest hatch. A glance at Caffari told me she’d sensed the same eagerness I had—the bandit leader’s mouth was twisted in a wry grin.
As our small group entered Caffari’s cabin, I caught the others staring at the furnishings. Caffari wasn’t a show-off, but she was a smuggler and a thief. The decorations that adorned her walls hinted at her occupation. A star map, carved of teakwood with jewels sparkling in the place of constellations, hung above her bunk. She’d told me it came from Reknarish, traded to her by a pirate working near the Stornisk Maelstrom. On another wall, she’d placed a stringed instrument made from a hide-wrapped frame adorned with silver and gold parrots. Caffari had stolen it herself from a jungle-clad island beyond the Waikert Archipelago. The people there lived inside an ancient volcano, their homes dangling from rope bridges that spanned the ancient crater. Or so she’d told me.
A low bench set with plush cushions lined two walls of the room. In front of it, a table held parchments and letters.
One by one, we slid onto the bench. We sat in grim silence for a while, the light rocking of the ship sending us swaying with each wave. Through the porthole in the rear wall, I watched a school of jellyfish drift on the currents. Beside me, Raav radiated tension. Occasionally, another wave of regret crossed his face, and his hand found the scar where his sword had pierced my back. He ran fingers over the slightly raised ridge.
As I scanned the group, realization penetrated my thoughts. I’d assumed we’d come back here to discuss ways we could use Trader Ulstat’s information without putting trust in it. But by the looks on their faces, the others were genuinely considering his offer. My lip began to curl in disgust. Hadn’t they learned by now?
“I’m not going to join forces with that man,” I blurted. “Absolutely not!”
Stunned silence followed my outburst.
“Lilik,” Paono said. Hands flat on the table, he met my eyes without flinching. “You heard what he said about the rift. And I was there. I saw it.”
The wood of the bench creaked as the others shif
ted to stare at Paono. Not wanting to break his confidence, I’d kept the memories he’d shown me to myself. While they watched, the cloud of glimmers swirled lazily around him.
“This is new,” Captain Altak said. “Go on, Paono.”
Paono’s eyes traveled the group. “She was etching runes in the walls using fire that streamed from her hands, then powering them with nightstrands. You could feel the pressure in the air. Like some awful energy wanted to force its way in. Some of you felt it firsthand when you visited Ashkalan’s harbor. As far as I’m concerned, it doesn’t matter who we must ally with as long as we keep that rift from opening.”
Around the room, my so-called advisors began nodding. I stared at Paono. How could he? I slapped the table, causing everyone to jump.
“Don’t you see? We can’t trust him. Sure, I could swallow my pride long enough to work with him… If he was actually honorable enough that some good might come out of it. But he’ll betray us the first chance he gets.”
Raav’s hands were clasped loosely on his lap. As he inhaled to speak, his fingers curled into fists. “Lilik… Ashhi betrayed you. I know. But Trader Ulstat is right about our chances against Mieshk. We simply can’t get to her. And if she’s nightforging those runes… Even if we did manage to kill her followers, we’d only make it easier for her to open this gate by supplying more souls.”
I pinched the bridge of my nose. Everyone was against me it seemed. I wanted to tell them that Paono was the reason behind my missing magic. He’d locked the strands away, and he was too sensitive to release them. I knew it was petty. But I had to make them understand—Ulstats could not be trusted.
Paono’s brows raised in a plea for compromise. Nostrils flaring, I fixed Captain Altak with my gaze.
“Even you, Vidyul?” I spat. “After the Ulstats killed Nyralit?”
I regretted the words the moment I spoke them, but it was too late. The captain’s face hardened. His slate-gray eyes said everything that I knew the rest were thinking. I’d gone too far. My temper may have just cost me not only my leadership but also my voice in this group.
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