Oberon's Dreams

by Aaron Pogue

At his side, Blake was evaluating the stonework, too. “Huh,” he said. His sharp chin stabbed toward one of the carved figures high above the uncovered gateway. “So this is truly your Oberon after all?”

  For just a moment, Corin clenched his jaw to still a sarcastic response. He took a long, slow breath, then forced a smile. “So it would seem.”

  Blake shook his head. “I thought the slave girl was only humoring you. I’ve certainly never heard of him or seen his likeness.”

  Iryana shook her head. “The Godlanders have truly forgotten Oberon?”

  Blake shrugged. “Little worth remembering. Stooped and old. He looks a fool to me.”

  Friendly, Corin thought. Not foolish. Friendly. There was no room for the distinction in the first mate’s head, but Corin had learned his trade at the feet of Old Grim. There was no sailor on the sea more vicious, more brutal, more feared than dark Old Grim. But to his friends, there was no one more friendly, more measured, more insightful.

  The face that both men considered now was barely more than a shadow on the stone, ten paces wide and fifty paces up a sheer cliff. But they had been here for weeks now, living beneath the unblinking eyes of those faded faces, and now they were all familiar.

  There were others with their own features. Hundreds, probably, stretching far to the left and right. This was near the center of the range, if not the precise center, and there to the left, where the excavation had begun, was another towering figure, his feet carved in and eroded away some short distance above the delicate tracery of the long-buried gate.

  That figure did look familiar. Carved in crude lines far more fitting to their age and worn thin by the sleeting sand that blew on the sun-scorched wind, still, it was recognizable. Familiar. It was the towering, powerful figure of the mighty Ephitel, tyrant god of all Ithale. Corin didn’t like to look at him.

  “It just seemed so unlikely,” Blake said. Corin caught the motion as his first mate glanced sideways at him. “This far from the world. Buried under a century of sand—”

  Corin cut in quietly. “Ten centuries, at least.”

  Blake shrugged in disinterest. “The treasure at the heart of stars, you said.”

  “The power,” Corin corrected again.

  Blake ignored him, eyes aglow as he stared at the image of a god. “The wealth that made the nations of our world.”

  “Understanding,” Corin said. “Or it might have been ‘magic.’ The translation is difficult.”

  “The knowing,” whispered Iryana. “There is magic in knowing.”

  Still the first mate went on, unheeding. “Such a treasure, so long lost. It seemed a child’s story, until you showed us these faces in the middle of nowhere. And then to claim this sad old elder was the guardian of it all.”

  Corin pressed his lips together in frustration for a moment. “You’d be amazed what two hard years of serious study might reveal.”

  Blake looked over at him for the first time. After a moment he laughed and shook his head. “I didn’t really believe a word of it. All this time…I was certain you were mad.”

  The corners of Corin’s mouth quirked up, but there was no softness in his eyes. “But the pay was so good.”

  Blake nodded. “For that much royal silver, the men would have built you a castle from this miserable sand.”

  “And yet, in the end, I was not such a fool after all.” Corin turned on his heel and started across the excavated pit. His men were gathered in a half circle around it, watching with quiet interest as their captain and first mate led the exotic local toward the stone-carved gateway. Corin saw nervous glances skitter toward the door from time to time before snapping back to him. He frowned.

  “There will be fortunes after all,” Blake said, oblivious to the nervousness among the crew.

  Corin noticed a spring in the first mate’s shiny-buckled step. But he wasted no time on Blake’s wretched priorities. He fixed his attention on the doors, the gateway carved in stone. It was certainly a portal. Not just a decorative carving, but a passage into the mountain’s interior. The legends had been clear on that, but it was apparent here, too.

  Corin’s men had worked with shovels and pickaxes, crude tools, but as they’d cleared the dirt away from this wall, they’d revealed perfect, deep-cut lines that defined every edge of the gateway. A great knot of scrollwork at the heart of it contained a perfect keyhole. And between the impression of wrought-iron bars, Corin could see a broad paved path lined on both sides with rich shops and houses.

  And yet…he blinked, and it was gone. There was no street. There was no city. There were not even any bars, but the impression of iron bars given by the marks on the stone. Still, it felt so real. The gates were nothing more than a carving in sandstone, but it seemed he might just reach out to the clasp and pull them wide open.

  He closed his eyes for a moment, caught a deep breath, then shrugged and stepped forward. His right hand stretched toward the impression of a huge iron ring on the southern gate. But just before he might’ve bruised his knuckles on sandstone, Blake darted forward fast as a viper and dropped a hand on Corin’s outstretched arm.

  The first mate was surprisingly strong for a nobleman’s son. Corin didn’t fight the grip. He turned an ice-hard gaze on Blake and raised one eyebrow in question. “Is there a problem?”

  Blake licked his lips. “We need to talk.”

  Corin spotted the feverish fire in his first mate’s eyes and dropped his arm. Now Blake made his move? It would have been better done on the water. A mutiny this far from sea made no sense at all. But then, if Blake was to have any hope at all, it had to happen before Corin delivered the reward for all this effort. Corin sighed. “Now is not the time for this, Blake.”

  “That is no longer yours to decide.” The first mate shifted his position, squaring up before Corin, and the captain saw the flash of spirit in his first mate’s eyes.

  Corin shook his head. “No, no, no. This is too soon. You’re like a spoiled little child.”

  Blake’s brows crashed together and the fires roared hotter. “Be careful how you speak to me. We’re a long way from the waves that know your name.”

  Corin cast a sarcastic glance over the first mate’s shoulder at his loyal crew, but he saw only frightened interest. They were not at all surprised. “All of you?” he asked, disappointment dragging at his tone. “Not one of you insisted on seeing the treasure before you betrayed me?” He met Blake’s eyes and shook his head slowly.

  “Three years you’ve searched,” Blake sneered. “Three years you’ve studied ancient tomes. You would not have led us here for nothing. But it will cost you everything. Pirates were never meant to be scholars.” He stared at the carved stone gates, then around at the walls of sand. “We weren’t meant to be explorers and nomads.”

  Corin sighed and shook his head. “It is no job for clever little lords. You are wrong on every other point. I’ve been studying more than old books. I study men, Blake, and this attempt is no surprise at all.”

  Blake’s grin was a twist of contempt. “So smooth of tongue, but you will not bluff your way through this. And this is not just an attempt. The men are all with me.”

  The loose circle around Corin shuffled uncertainly, but they did not withdraw. They avoided Corin’s gaze, but they did not back down. He sighed. “All of you? All of you will follow this foppish—”

  “Enough,” Blake said softly. Corin felt the cool edge of Blake’s cutlass burn against his collarbone. He never caught the motion, never heard a sound, but it was there. Fool or not, the man was deadly with that blade.

  Iryana cried out, but Corin silenced her with a gesture. Blake’s eyes began to drift in that direction, and Corin had no desire to let him drag her into this drama. Corin wanted Blake to forget the girl, so he rounded on his first mate, regardless of the nasty gash it left along his collar. With all the haughty disdain he could muster, he asked, “What can you offer them that I cannot?”

  “I am a pirate, where you are not. I w
ill let them be pirates, where you have not.” He looked hungrily at the exposed wall. “We will enjoy this wealth you have led us to, but we will enjoy it on our terms. Your mad obsession has worn out every hand.”

  “And all that effort has—”

  “No!” The slightest pressure from Blake dug the sword’s tip against bone, and Corin had to suppress a groan.

  “Enough!” Blake snapped again. “Drop your sword.”

  Corin forced a cold smile. “I have not drawn my sword.”

  “Drop it now! Someone come and tie his hands.”

  Corin raised his eyebrows in a mask of bored surprise. “Yes? They are all with you, aren’t they?” Corin sniffed. “So who will come and take my sword?”

  No one moved. They had seen him kill from worse positions than this.

  Blake spat at them, “Will you really play the cowards now? Your cards are shown. The treasure is right here!”

  “Ah, but there is more to life than treasure,” Corin said. Blood ran hot and sticky down Corin’s breastbone, and every tiny twitch of Blake’s hand grated sharp steel against Corin’s nerves. He fought to keep his voice calm and level. “You never knew Old Grim, did you, Blake?”

  “Slave-son trash,” Blake spat. “The seas are better off without him. Even pirates need some honor.”

  Despite the pain, Corin had to suppress a grin at that. He saw the looks of surprise and doubt pass among the men. Most of them knew Old Grim, and those who didn’t still knew his name.

  Corin nodded to Charlie Claire. “There are rules, aren’t there, Charlie?” He met the nervous eyes of Sleepy Jim. Corin extended his empty arms. “You want to clap me in chains, Jimmy?”

  David Taker started forward, and even that was a surprise. But he was one of those vicious men who spoke Blake’s cruel language. Corin pretended he hadn’t noticed. He turned lazily to Blake. “You should have waited until the gold was in their hands. A little solid sparkle can overcome reason, but lacking that, these boys know right from wrong.”

  Blake slashed his cutlass wildly at nothing, venting his fury as he rounded on the watching men. “What is wrong with you all? Every man among you said we should—”

  “Oh, well, said.” Corin waved dismissively. “It’s easy enough to say, Blake, but acting on it is something else.”

  He took a step after the first mate, showing his back to some of the men, and they crowded closer—not to grab him from behind, but to see the show. Corin couldn’t quite suppress the smile this time. “As I said, you should have been studying, too. Human nature need not be a mystery.”

  “You’re cowards, all!” Blake frothed.

  Corin shook his head. “But you are the mutinous dog.”

  The sword flashed back to Corin. It hung a hair’s breadth from the skin of his throat, and it wavered erratically now. “Don’t you dare insult me, sir!”

  “I am no sir,” Corin said. “And you are now a dog. You might have been a captain, but your gambit has failed. Now drop your sword, and go with whatever honor you have left.”

  “Oh, no!” Blake’s voice was manic. “No. Let them quail at their chance. But I can cut you down right here! You’re unarmed. Call me a dog one more time—”

  “We are all dogs,” Corin said, deliberately, infuriatingly calm. It drew just the response he wanted.

  Blake’s sword flashed back, readied for one brutal slash, and in that moment the air hissed with the sound of all the other blades being drawn. The first mate’s eyes went wide as nearly every pirate in the crew drew arms against him.

  But Corin still stood unarmed. He smiled pityingly and shook his head. “It was a bold bid, and it could have worked if you had just waited half an hour. But now, you are a dog. Jim…put him on a leash.”

  Sleepy Jim took up a loop of rope he hadn’t even touched at Blake’s earlier order. Now the deckhand stomped toward the first mate, and Charlie Claire came forward with sword drawn to back him up. Corin didn’t look right at David Taker, but from the corner of his eye he saw the brutal deckhand slinking back toward the circle’s edge. That man might find himself forgotten when next the Diavahl set sail.

  No one else spoke up for Ethan Blake. Corin waited just long enough to see the disbelieving defeat take hold in Blake’s eyes, then he turned his back. He looked to the carved stone wall, not to the slave girl still waiting nearby, but he spoke to her. “Iryana, it is time to open the way.”

  She came to his side, gripping his arm with surprising intensity. “Have you not seen proof of my wisdom? I warned you against Blake, and I warn you now against desecrating this sacred place. Take your men and go.”

  Corin gave her a smile. “Aye, you warned me of Blake, and you see how he has been muzzled?”

  “I see you soaked with blood.”

  The gash at his collarbone still ached, but it was just a flesh wound. Drying blood lay sticky on his shirt, but his spirit soared. The winds were with him now. “You see me victorious. But it is a fragile thing unless I give the men their gold. Open up the way.”

  She shook her head. “You would lose more than your life. I will not give it to you.”

  “There are still the cannons.”

  “Use them if you must,” she said, tears in her eyes. “Then let the retribution fall on you. But I will not be the one who gave you entry to that place. I will not have your blood upon my hands.”

  Corin held her gaze, unblinking, hoping she would yet relent. But there was iron in her core. At last he shook his head and said, “I should have known. Clever as you are, you must bow to your superstition. It’s in your blood.”

  “Call it ancient wisdom. You pirates own the claim to superstition. I have seen how they jump at shadows.” Instead of answering, Corin drew a small wrapped bundle of silk from a pouch on his belt. He spilled out of it a tarnished tin ring and a thin copper hoop. Iryana hissed in shock, and Corin smiled at that. He held the jewelry out toward her. “How is this for ancient wisdom?”

  “I cannot be bought with such cheap baubles,” she said, but her voice trembled.

  He laughed at that. He hung the hoop from his earlobe and slipped the ring on his right hand. “Am I doing it right?” he asked. The astonishment in her wide eyes was answer enough.

  Corin didn’t know if this would work, but he knew the motions anyway and time was short. He turned, raising both arms to the walls, and cried out to the stone, “Iftah! Ya! Simsim!”

  Iryana grunted as though someone had punched her in the stomach, but otherwise silence poured across the excavated pit, smothering as a Feland fog. No one moved. And then, with the grinding whisper of heavy iron hinges, the carved stone sank back into the cliff face. It revealed a deep shadow, a yawning cavern just behind the cliff’s facade.

  “Behold,” Iryana whispered. “The gateway to Jezeeli.”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  A whisper passed among the men and then a wild cheer. Corin did not move. He only stared into the darkness, disbelief battling with the wild exhilaration clawing at the back of his breastbone.

  “We’ve done it,” he breathed at last, inaudible beneath the noise. And now the thrill of victory won through. Now he grinned and turned to Blake again.

  “You silly little pup, with your fancy waistcoats. You might have gained more wealth than all your family’s houses could contain, but this little spot of toil was too much to ask of you.”

  Corin turned and met the eyes of all his men. “I have asked much of all among you. I have dragged you from the sea and spent you on this wild hunt. Perhaps…perhaps your first mate heard you grumbling. I will not fault a man among you for complaining. But only one of you raised arms against me.”

  He touched a hand to the drying blood at his collarbone, then pressed his palm against his black shirt, still wet to the navel. He showed the bright-red palm to the men, then crossed the little distance to the place where Blake stood, now disarmed, his hands roughly bound.

  Corin pressed his palm flat against the man’s bare chest, leaving the
crimson stain of his accusation.

  “Blake will have nothing more from us. He risked everything on this gamble, so we will give him nothing.” Corin stared down at him for a moment, then nodded. “Nothing. No punishment for what he’s done, but no share of this great treasure. No horse from our pickets. No water from our stores. No place among our tents. Let him find his own way from this place.”

  Corin ran a look around the circle and saw admiring approval. It was a good pirate punishment. Even in this bleak desert, a man might be marooned.

  He hid his smile and turned his attention to the passageway. “Torches!” he cried. “Bring me torches. Let us see what we have won.” He headed for the archway.

  “Stop!” cried Iryana. She sounded frantic. “By Oberon’s name, Corin, do not trespass here!”

  Corin spared a sad smile for the miserable native. “You do not have to come.” He raised his voice. “You have served us well, Iryana. Take a camel and anything you can carry, and return to your people’s tents.”

  “There is no treasure for you here,” she screamed. “I swear it. Not for Godlanders. There is only the record of your sins.”

  Corin hesitated a moment, then went to her. He stood over her for a moment, holding her eyes, then bent his head to speak softly near her ear. “You must get out of here. If Blake had accomplished what he intended…I could not have saved you. For all their useful traits, these are not good men.”

  “And you ask me to leave you to their mercy?”

  Corin shrugged. “I am not a good man, either. But I would not like to see you come to harm. Take the offer I have given you, and get far from this place.” He stepped back, still holding her eyes. She didn’t move. She didn’t blink.

  “Please,” Corin whispered. “Take a camel and go.”

  Behind him, Dave Taker raised his voice. “Captain? Is there a problem with the girl?”

  Corin ground his teeth and turned away. “Not at all. She has served us well. Now…let us see this treasure. Who has my torches?”

  “There is some light already,” called Charlie Claire, staring past the doorway. He sounded nervous, and Corin nearly chastised him for the very superstition Iryana had accused them of, but then Corin saw it, too. The glow was thin and gray, an eerie twilight, but it was enough to see by. Corin forced himself not to look back at Iryana. He rested one hand on the hilt at his belt and strode into the mountain.