by E. S. Bell
“Reverent Taliah,” Celestine said, motioning the Juskaran inside.
Taliah bowed reverentially to Celestine, and the numerous beaded necklaces she wore over her blue and silver tunic clacked, as did the copper rings at the end of her many black braids. Her crimson skin showed the beginnings of crow’s feet around her gold eyes, with which she took in the office and those in it with a sharp, owl-like stare. She gave the admiral a crisp, respectful nod. “Admiral Crane. It is good to see you again.”
“And you as well, Reverent,” he replied. “I trust your visit home was satisfying?”
Taliah snorted. “Visit? It was a mission of conscription and highly unsatisfying. Too many of my people are deaf to the god, either by fate or by choice. The Juskari are overly proud of the size of their islands. As if the great swaths of sand allow them to forget the greater swaths of ocean they float upon. By and by they’ll learn that reducing their fealty to the Shining face to prayers for calm seas during trading voyages aren’t enough.” She waved a crimson-skinned hand. “It pains my heart to speak of it. How may I assist you, High Reverent?”
“We need your expertise and acumen on a private matter. What do you know of the Devala Isles? Specifically with regards to their deity. Or deities, as it were.”
“They are nature-loving people,” Taliah said. “They worship our beloved Two-Faced God but like many heathen isles, only after their own god has been honored. In this case, the god is named Wor’ri.” Here, the Juskaran woman narrowed her gold eyes at Celestine and Archer and she spoke slowly, watching how her words landed on them. “The adherents on these islands call themselves druids and the reward for prayer to Wor’ri comes to them in the form of wind, rain, and lightning. Wor’ri is a storm god. Primarily. It has other aspects but that is its principal domain.”
Celestine sat down in her chair. Archer had turned his head to the window, his expression unreadable.
Taliah’s eyes flared. “This has to do with young Connor, does it not? I heard what happened last week and now we have yet another giant dragonman stomping around our temple.” She sniffed. “I am grateful you are just now welcoming me into the matter.”
“Taliah, we know very little about what happened to Connor or why there is a Vai’Ensai with him. You were away when Connor had his episode—”
“Yes, and since my return I’ve been treated to scraps of information, fed to me as if I were some stray mutt begging under the table.”
“You’re here now,” Archer snapped.
Celestine raised a hand. “Reverent Taliah, Connor’s mother was a native of those islands.”
The Juskaran looked between them. “She was an adherent—a druid—for Wori’ri?”
Celestine glanced at Archer who was sunk into a morose, thoughtful silence. “No. At least, we don’t believe so. She never mentioned to the Admiral that she had been. But given the events of the last week, and what you’ve told us of Isle Devala’s magic, I believe it’s safe to conclude she was endowed by her god in some way and has passed that magic on to her son.”
Taliah snorted indelicately. “Fealty to the gods is not hereditary. Either one is pious or one is not.”
“Perhaps that is not so for this Wor’ri,” Celestine said, wishing Archer would rejoin the conversation about his own child. “Perhaps, with the druids, the god bestows its magic through the bloodline. And in any event, Connor is extremely loyal and reverential to the god and yet it does not Hear him. If piety alone were enough, he’d be a Paladin by now.” Celestine shook her head. “This god, Wor’ri, must have already claimed him for its own.”
Archer turned and the despair in his eyes pained Celestine’s heart. “He is going to leave us, like you said. To Isle Devala. Where his true heritage lies.”
Taliah shook her head; the delicate chains connecting her earrings to her nose rings clacked with her ire. “No. We cannot lose him too! The Aluren need him. The Shining face of the god needs a warrior such as him.”
“The god doesn’t Hear him,” Celestine said wearily. “He can’t—”
“Then turn his training over to me! Who instructs him now? Brogan?” Taliah waved her hands as if the elderly Paladin were in the room and she were dismissing him. “I will do what Brogan could not and help Connor’s voice reach the god.”
“And what of the storm?” Celestine said. “What of the Vai’Ensai who walks with him? What of the lightning? There is nothing I want more than for Connor to join our thinning ranks, but it might not be up to us.”
“And so we give him to a lesser deity? One who pales in comparison to the Shining face of our god?”
“He is not ours to give or keep,” Celestine said, aiming her words at Archer who had retreated into silence. “We must learn as much as we can to help Connor in whatever paths the gods have chosen for him. Now then. You said that Wor’ri was primarily a storm god. What other magic does it grant to its devout?”
A shadow passed across her desk; a peliteryx or large gull had flown by outside.
Taliah fumed but started to answer the High Reverent when another shadow crossed the desk. Then another. Outside, there was a cawing of a raven, and then a scream of a gull.
“What is this?” Archer murmured.
The three of them went to the window. The sky was filled with birds. Cormorants, gannets, gulls, little sparrows and large pelicans; peliteryxes, their brass armor glinting in the afternoon light. The birds swarmed down from every part of the sky, toward a single focal point. Celestine sucked in a breath and Archer’s hand gripped her arm, hard. Taliah swore in the Juskaran tongue.
Connor was in the archery yard, a small figure standing next to the larger Kyre. Connor’s arms were outstretched and the birds converged, circling him, landing on his shoulders, or waddling at his feet.
“They’ll tear him apart!” Archer said in a strangled voice.
Panic had frozen Celestine but then she watched as the birds, perhaps a hundred of them settled around Connor. Kyre didn’t move; his weapon remained sheathed. He sees no danger because Connor called them. I know he did… She was too far away but in her mind’s eye, Connor was smiling.
“The other domain of the Wor’ri god,” Taliah whispered, “is the ability to command animals.”
Celestine nodded slowly. She flinched as the birds took off in the same instant, all spooked by the same sudden movement. Connor collapsed to the ground, writhing and convulsing, in the grips of another episode.
Above, storm clouds began to gather.
Sebastian Vaas checked his wrist compass for the hundredth time. North by northeast, steady and with a full wind. The sails above strained at their rigging; a sight that the captain ordinarily would have been mighty satisfied with, especially when being dogged by such relentless pursuers. They had a following sea as well; Sebastian had no doubt that his ship would outrun the merkind—if those creatures could still be called that—and be spared the same fate as the crew of the Seven Swords. But the sea was driving north, as was the wind that bit at his face in cold drafts; he’d had to don a leather vest under his long coat for this early morning watch at the wheel.
It’s only going to get colder if we stay this course.
Selena had thought they were safe from the merkind who had likely killed the crew of the Seven Swords. Sebastian had suspected the danger wasn’t over and hours after leaving that deserted schooner behind, his suspicions were proven correct. More than two-dozen merkind churned in the waters behind the Black Storm. Six merkind had scaled the aft hull and had nearly hauled themselves over the gunwales before Selena, recalled from her sleep, had repelled them with shards of light. Sebastian ordered the crew to run with the wind, as it was the only way to keep ahead of the cursed creatures. A northern course into cold, northern waters was their only option. Sebastian had thought it wouldn’t take more than a half a day’s sail to evade the merkind.
That was three days ago.
The captain glanced behind him. Niven was watching for merkind. The adherent w
as a Healer only and couldn’t weave light, and so to Sebastian’s thinking was about as useful as a boil on his arse. But since coming aboard, the young man had been intent on proving his worth to the captain. His only redeeming qualities, as far as Sebastian was concerned, was that he jumped at orders like a green hand, and could vomit his sea sickness over the side without splattering the gallery windows of Sebastian’s cabin. Watching for merkind made Niven feel better. Having Whistle watch for merkind made Sebastian feel better.
The boy was perched high on the mainmast, his sharp young eyes watching for any sign of their pursuers. This very morning, one had gotten close enough to the Black Storm’s hull, Selena had sent a blinding burst of light into the water. The scream of the cursed mermaid still scratched at Julian’s eardrums to remember it. That was before dawn. It had been quiet ever since and Selena had gone below to warm herself over Cook’s oven.
The northern course is on our side, Sebastian told himself. Only the madness that infected the merkind who attacked them compelled them even this far north. The merkind can’t take the cold, but neither can Ilior and neither can Selena.
“Might make things easy,” Sebastian muttered to no one, his words torn away by the biting wind. He checked his compass again. Helm climbed up the ladder to the quarterdeck.
“Wind pushing north,” he signed. “Keep to?”
Sebastian rubbed his chin. Keep to and let the cold kill his mark? Or tack east and return to warmer climes…and merkind?
“I think we’ve outrun the bastards,” he said finally. “Let’s head—”
Whistle let loose a piercing blast. Sebastian looked up to see the boy pointing frantically to the waters just aft of the ship. A moment later, Niven let out a cry of alarm.
“Niven!” Sebastian bellowed. “Get Selena!”
The adherent raced below, staggering slightly over the deck that canted under his feet.
Sebastian turned the wheel over to Helm and hurried to the rail. He peered into the white-capped waters of his ship’s wake. Three twisted merkind, their jaws impossibly unhinged and gaping, jumped and dove and jumped again, only spans away.
The colder waters had taken their toll; the merkind’s scales were gray and sloughing off in wide patches, and their skin had a blueish tinge to it. Of course, Sebastian had no way of knowing if that was actually due to the cold water. The merkind looked just as sick as those from the warmer waters, and if the cold hurt them, it sure as shit wasn’t slowing them down.
Of the three, one youthful mermaid was the fleetest. Her tail was smooth and shaped like a dolphin, though it looked bruised in places. She jumped and dove gracefully, an eerie contrast to her decimated appearance.
Selena climbed up to the quarterdeck, Niven at her side. She was bundled in a thick seal fur coat, and walked hunched over, like an old woman. Niven supported her while she held out her trembling hands. The merkind were drawing nearer, not three spans from touching the Black Storm.
Sebastian bit his tongue until it bled as Selena sent shards of light into the wake. The obscene screams that peeled up from the water were at once horrible and gratifying to hear. Sebastian watched in relieved satisfaction as all three—including that dolphin-tailed mermaid—recoiled and ceased their pursuit. They became lost in the white-capped wake and then Sebastian couldn’t see them at all. Selena slumped backwards against Niven, partly in relief, mostly in exhaustion. Sebastian nodded at her, and she nodded back, and then Niven helped her get belowdecks, to the galley and the oven where Ilior was crouched.
“Maintain northerly route,” Sebastian told Helm. “For now.”
“She’s cold,” Helm signed.
“Aye.”
“Maybe too much cold.”
Sebastian sighed. It had taken until the end of the first day of sailing from Uago for his crew to become smitten with the Aluren. She healed their rope burns and blisters with a gentle touch, and a smile that softened every one of the old salts, including Cur. Whistle was especially bad, mooning after her like a puppy, but Sebastian had thought Helm alone of all of them was immune to her charms.
I thought wrong.
“We have no choice,” Sebastian said. “We sail north.” He strode to the aft rail, his back to the wheel and his crewman.
Niven reemerged to retake his place at the watch.
“She can’t stand the cold.” His light hair hung in his eyes and he brushed it away with a distinctly boyish gesture. “To say nothing of Ilior.”
“Now here’s a familiar tune,” Sebastian muttered. “Right now we need a strong wind and we have one. Bloody bad luck that it’s blowing north, but at least we have it. If we veer too far south or east, we could lose the speed we need to outrun the merkind. Do you know how many of them are out there? Neither do I,” he answered before Niven could speak. “If the wind slackens or if we hit the doldrums, we could be overrun.”
Niven bit his lip, his face a mask of worry.
“If the possibility of a threat isn’t enough to sway you,” Sebastian snapped, “then perhaps the reality of our provisions will. Did you not tell me yesterday we are running low?”
Niven nodded. “But if we turn east now—”
“Our freshwater barrels are half empty too,” Sebastian said. “I give it a week before what’s left starts to go bad. We’re too far north to turn around now.”
“Where we will restock?”
“Isle Nanokar.”
“But, Nanokar is in the heart of the Ice Isles! She can’t withstand such cold! She already suffers…”
“I know that.” Sebastian gripped the rail so tightly his knuckles were white. “But it can’t be helped. It won’t do any of us any good to stay cozy and warm if it means being killed by merkind. You didn’t see what happened to Svoz. They killed him, boy. Him. A sirrak. Sucked him down and chewed him up. You saw the Seven Swords. That ship was like a shadow of itself. I’ll be bloody pissed before I let that happen to the Storm.”
“Very well,” Niven said, throwing his shoulders back. “I’ll tell her the situation. I’ve no doubt she’ll agree without complaint.”
“That’s because she knows we have no choice.” Sebastian retorted. He watched the churning white wake as the adherent left the quarterdeck. “None of us do.”
Selena searched for signs they were near the Ice Isles through her spyglass. As yet, there was no sign of the jagged white teeth of Nanokar’s icebergs. The sooner they arrived at Isle Nanokar, the sooner they could depart. The thought did little to assuage the fear that gnawed her gut. She stood on the main deck, bundled into her fur seal coat, shivering as if she were wearing nothing at all.
And when we’re encircled by Nanokar’s ice, what will become of me then?
She should have been down below, at Cook’s oven, but hours spent belowdecks crawled. Selena wanted to see the passage of the sea beneath the Black Storm. At least then she felt as though she was moving toward something instead of sitting hunched and suffering.
Foolish. I suffer more here, she thought and the fear twisted her insides harder. I am running out of tricks to fool myself that I can live with the wound much longer.
She watched the water slip under the Storm for a few moments more, and then started below. A plume of acrid smoke boiled up behind her. The crew went into a silent frenzy but for Julian who cried, “Fire!” and called for buckets of water.
Ilior and Niven scrambled from belowdecks just as the smoke cleared. Svoz was crouched on the deck, sodden and steaming. His blood-red skin was scarred in numerous places, scored by scratches and bite marks that looked only recently healed.
Julian heaved an audible sigh and ordered his silent crew back to their posts. They backed away from Svoz as if from a striking snake.
“You are well, Svoz?” Selena asked. “We had thought you had… passed on.”
“Am I well?” Twin plumes of smoke billowed out of the sirrak’s snout. “No, Master, I am distinctly unwell.”
“What happened?”
“
The bite of those accursed fish people was severely injurious to my person, despite my superior stamina, strength, and changeable composition. They dragged me under where I could not alter myself and gnawed on my glorious form as if I were some sort of buffet. My doom was certain; especially since you abandoned me so terribly.”
“We thought you were dead,” Selena said.
“And yet I see none wearing the black of mourning, nor sobbing tears of anguish,” the sirrak said snidely. “I was only able to escape by hauling myself aboard that old bucket of timber where we found you,” he said to Niven. “Three nights passed and then the ship was swarmed again. I was forced to burn it to ashes.” Svoz grinned. “I took a good twenty merkind down in the blaze. If I close my eyes, I can still smell the burnt flesh…”
“Svoz, do you know what happened to them?” Selena asked. “The merkind?”
The sirrak looked down his nose at her. “No. I admit they remain somewhat mysterious. However,” he added haughtily, “I must bestow grudging admiration to that which has wrought such changes to the merkind. These beasts were pure, unmitigated vileness with no thought to anything but the death of their victim. Had I not been one such victim, I would be moved to shake the hand of their creator. But in light of the week I spent in excruciating pain, only to have to return to servitude here, to find myself amidst a ring of slack-jawed lack-wits—”
“That will suffice,” Selena said. “If you are hungry, you may go feed. If not, please make yourself useful to the captain.”
The sirrak made to reply—undoubtedly something rude or insulting—but stopped. Selena hunched deeper into her coat under his black-eyed gaze.
“Enjoying the weather are we?” Svoz asked.
Ilior growled low in his throat but Selena laid a hand on his arm. “We’re trying to outrun the merkind,” Selena said. “They can’t abide the cold.”
Svoz seemed satisfied with this. “A surprisingly intelligent decision, despite your obvious distress.”
