He locked eyes with Daran—who held the rope, his eyes flat and cold. Where was Shakes? “THROW IT BACK!” Wes yelled. Daran remained impassive, and Wes knew what he was thinking. Without Wes, Daran would only have Shakes to deal with, and that wouldn’t be too hard; he would be able to take care of Shakes and Nat, throw them overboard with the stupid starving family as soon as Wes drowned, then take control of the ship and head back home.
“THROW IT BACK, I SAID!”
But Daran merely shrugged. He watched without remorse as the water rose.
Wes screamed as he plunged below the surface. He tried to close his eyes and mouth, but it all happened too fast. The black fluid burnt like alcohol in his mouth. He pressed his eyelids closed in an attempt to push back the black water. His arms flailed in the smooth alien liquid. But his legs kicked hard, and he was able to pull himself up, and break through, gasping for air. He squinted, looking around, but his blurred vision saw only gray sky and water. The rope was gone.
Nat . . . , he cried in his mind, can you hear me?
Cold waves crashed over his head. He closed his eyes as he sank below again. Something crashed into his spine. Maybe it was a rail from the ship or just some random piece of junk; either way, it stung, and he opened his mouth involuntarily. Black water filled his lungs. He was drowning. He would die.
But just as he took his last breath, he felt a warm, powerful force lift him up from the water and toward the rope, and he lunged out and grabbed it, as Shakes and Nat pulled him to safety. He fell onto the deck on all fours, and they helped him up, Nat putting her arms around him.
“All right, boss?” Shakes said, patting his back. “I’ll get you a Nutri, be right back.”
“Thank you,” he said, taking Nat’s hand. He felt the lovely warmth of her skin, so like the warmth that had saved him from sure death. He should have kissed her the other day. He wanted to kiss her now.
“Nat . . . look at me,” he said. “What’s wrong?”
She bowed her head.
“Don’t cry.”
“It’s nothing,” she said, pulling out of his grasp.
Wes let her go, feeling his emotions roil within him. She’d heard him call for her. There was something between them they couldn’t deny anymore. It scared her—and it scared him, too. But another part of him was happy, happier than he’d ever felt in his life. He wished she hadn’t run away like that. He felt a sudden emptiness, as if she had answered his question without him asking it, and the answer, alas, was no. This was not meant to be.
“What was that all about?” Farouk asked.
“She pulled him from the ocean,” Daran spat.
“How’d she do that?”
“She can do that sort of thing because she’s marked, dumb-ass. Or are you as blind as Shakes?”
“She’s marked . . . right . . . I forgot . . .”
“And she’s not the only one.” Zedric nodded, pointing to the girl draped in black.
30
NAT STUMBLED AS SHE WALKED AWAY from the group gathered around the rail. She had heard Wes call for her—had seen his distress so clearly—the black water around his face, his open mouth in a silent scream. Before she knew what she was doing, she had been able to focus her power like never before, to send her strength to save him. He unlocked something in her that she’d never been able to do before, and it frightened her. She could sense the voice in her head was silent, disapproving. Wes was falling for her, too, and it was wrong of her to encourage it. It had been a flirtation, nothing more, but now . . . now it was different. The way he looked at her! He couldn’t feel that way about her. He would only get hurt. She could only hurt him. That’s what she did. She hurt people.
Fire and pain.
Rage and ruin.
Daran with his bloody, burnt hand.
She would push him away, she decided. She would make him forget her. It was wrong of her to have led him on . . . to have made him think that he could ever be anything to her but a runner she had hired.
When she’d recovered, she looked back to see what the crew was staring at—the girl wearing long black robes, a cowl over her head, a scarf around her neck and mouth, long black gloves on her hands. Her bright violet eyes and golden hair glittered from the darkness of her hood.
“I know what you are,” Daran sneered, pointing his gun at her menacingly.
“Leave her alone,” Shakes warned, coming up next to him and unlocking his gun.
But Daran wouldn’t stop or he couldn’t help himself. He’d gone unhinged, Nat realized. He was on the edge before, but now he was well and truly lost. Nat feared for the girl. Daran had shown his hand—had revealed his tell—he’d already tried to hurt Nat and, just moments before, he’d even tried to get rid of Wes. He was dangerous, a powder keg ready to explode.
“What do you look like under that curtain you wear? Like a candy-colored corpse? Or a painted skeleton?”
Zedric backed away nervously.
“She’s a guest,” Wes warned, his tone commanding. “And this is still my boat. Put the gun down, Daran. I won’t ask you again.”
There was an ugly silence, and no one moved; Nat felt as if she had forgotten to breathe. Daran shifted, and Wes preempted his strike, but Daran had already cocked his gun. He was raving. “I don’t want no dirty sylph around—”
“PUT IT DOWN!” Wes yelled, holding up his own weapon. He fired, the bullet clipping Daran’s elbow, but it was too late.
Daran had fired, shooting the dark-robed girl point-blank.
“NO!” Nat screamed as Shakes dove in front of the hooded pilgrim. But there was no need. The bullet had disappeared. In an instant, the sky darkened and thunder rumbled. Then the clouds parted and the strange light that had appeared the night before returned.
From out of the darkness came the screech of the wailer. One moment Daran was standing on the deck, and in the next, he was torn from the ship by an unseen hand.
“WHAT HAPPENED? WHERE IS HE?” Zedric yelled, spinning around, pointing his gun every which way.
A cry echoed across the water, angry and victorious. It wanted blood and had gotten it. Nat felt its exultation as if it were part of her. It was furious and excited, just like in her dreams. Fire and pain, rage and ruin, a dark uncontrollable force, waiting to lash out—murderous with revenge and hatred, it had taken Daran in an instant, had swept him off the deck as if he were a toy. Nat stepped back, unsure of what had happened—had she done that? Had she made that thing—that wailer—do what she wanted to do? No. It couldn’t be. The wailer wasn’t real, was it? What happened to the voice—to the monster in her head? She couldn’t reach it. She couldn’t hear it. She began to panic. What was happening?
“There he is!” Farouk said excitedly. “In the water—over there!”
Wes came up to the rails with binoculars in hand. He saw the small figure of Daran bobbing above the waves, waving his arms. Whatever had taken Daran had thrown him half a mile away in a few seconds.
“Bring him back!” Zedric screamed, cocking a gun and aiming it at the girl. But he wouldn’t get a chance.
There was a blow, and Zedric fell to the ground unconscious. Shakes stood behind him, holding his rifle aloft, trembling a little, but with a smile on his face.
“Sorry about that. I need to teach the boys some manners,” he said.
The girl smiled. “I am Liannan of the White Mountain,” she said.
“Vincent Valez,” Shakes said, smiling bashfully.
“Can you bring him back?” Wes asked impatiently, motioning to where Daran was flailing. They could hear his screams of fury echoing across the water.
Liannan shook her head. “No. The drakon took him and only the drakon can decide his fate now.”
“Well—we’ll have to get him out—he’s a jackass, but he’s still part of my crew.” With Shakes’s and Farouk’s help, Wes moved to push a lifeboat into the water, but a powerful gust of wind knocked them back on the deck. The sickly wailing sound returned, a
nd Wes felt something hot and sharp rake across his back, tearing through the layers he wore and ripping into his skin.
He turned around, but there was nothing. Shakes returned his confusion with a dazed look on his face.
“What was that?” Farouk asked anxiously, holding his head.
“The drakon does not suffer him to live,” Liannan said placidly. “Do not cross it or fear its wrath.”
“We’re risking our own lives to help that jerk,” Farouk argued. “C’mon, boss, let him drown.”
Wes shook his head. “No—help me get this boat in. I’m not leaving anyone behind.”
“He killed the messenger, he assaulted its familiar, and so the drakon demands a life for a life,” Liannan murmured. “I must advise you not to go against his wishes.”
They tried again, and this time the wind stopped them, so that the ship teetered wildly and tipped to the starboard edge.
“Hold on!” Wes screamed, as Nat tumbled forward, Wes catching her just in time. As everyone scrambled for purchase, Zedric slipped, rolling toward the edge, but Farouk caught him and he was able to hold on to the mast.
“Shakes!” Nat yelled, as they watched Shakes tumble into the dark water.
“Get him!” Wes yelled to Farouk, but it was no use.
“Pull me out!” Shakes sputtered, his head appearing above the waves, his arms waving wildly. “Help me!”
But the wind kept everyone back, kept them clinging to the rails, unable to help. Shakes would drown. They were going to lose him, Nat knew. Spare him. Please, she prayed, not knowing whom she was entreating with her cry. Not him. Not Shakes. He is my friend.
Nat looked up to find the dark-robed girl staring at her. Liannan’s eyes glowed in a rainbow of shockingly brilliant colors. She was staring at Nat, holding her gaze, studying her.
“SHAKES!” Wes tossed a rope to the castoff, but it snapped in the air, torn by an invisible force.
Please, let us save him. He’s just a boy, Nat begged. Somehow, she understood that thing out there was punishing them because Daran had killed the little white bird. That thing out there was angry, and its fury would not be abated.
Please.
“HELP ME!” Shakes screamed.
Liannan shed her robe. “Drakon! The boy saved me! Let him live!” She pulled her hood and mask from her face. Underneath the dark drapery she wore a long, slim white tunic. Her long hair was the color of sunlight from long ago, dazzling and golden. The cold night air began to soften, the temperature growing warm as a light pierced the night. The light was strong and powerful, and the darkness faded and the wailing subsided.
Nat clutched her forehead, trembling as a wave of frustration and anger washed over her. It felt as if someone—or something—was pushing her to do something, but what? What could she do? She was angry, so angry at Daran and confused that Shakes had fallen into the middle of the entire thing. She took calm, steady breaths. She could hear the sylph. The boy saved me. Let him live. The danger had passed. That’s what the sylph was trying to say, trying to make her understand.
The darkness dissipated as quickly as it came.
Wes grabbed the torn rope and lowered it to Shakes. With the crew’s help, everyone pulling together, they heaved the soldier back on deck.
Shakes appeared, frantically rubbing his eyes and spitting. His skin and face were red, raw, his eyes wild and confused. Farouk ran up and dumped a liter of Nutri on his head.
Shakes yelped.
Wes knelt down and grabbed his friend by the shoulders. “Shakes!”
The shivering boy paused. “What?”
“You’re fine! You’re not poisoned, you’re fine!”
Shakes looked down at himself, not quite sure what to look for. Then he smiled. “Right.” He turned to the ocean. “But what about Daran?”
Wes threw a life preserver overboard, knowing it was a waste. “There’s no wind, no way for us to reach him. At least this gives him a chance—it’s all we can do,” he said, not liking it, but not having a choice either.
Daran’s screams began to fade; soon they mixed with the familiar sound of the wailer’s mourning, and it became harder and harder to differentiate the two.
31
WHEN ZEDRIC AWOKE TO FIND HIS BROTHER still missing, he became violent. If they didn’t subdue him, he would hurt himself or the crew. They put him in the brig; it was cruel, but they had no other option. “Go on—I’ll take it from here,” Shakes told Nat, as he handcuffed the boy to the nearest pipe.
She walked out of the room and saw the sylph approaching. The girl had put her dark cloak back on, but her hood was down. Her eyes were pure violet, the color of asters and twilight. Her pale blond hair was fragile and delicate like cobwebs, like fairies’ wings. The mark on her cheek was a six-pointed star. She was lovely, far lovelier than Nat had expected, like an exotic, rare creature, like the extinct and legendary butterflies from the world that no longer was.
Liannan smiled at her. “You’ve seen my kind before, haven’t you?”
“Yes.”
“A prisoner, no doubt, or a token, a performing monkey.”
Nat thought of the golden-eyed girl with the orange hair, the Slob’s favorite pet, and understood now. “You spoke about something called the drakon—what is it?” Nat asked.
Liannan studied her before answering. “The drakons are protectors of Vallonis. They have been lost since the breaking, but now one has returned.” Her voice was like the sound of falling water, it had a lovely lilt, like a melody.
“Vallonis . . . do you mean the Blue . . . is that what you call it?”
“Yes.” Liannan nodded. “That is what I call my home.”
Farouk came stomping down the stairs into the hallway, and when he saw the two of them, his face blanched and he crossed himself as if to ward them away. It pained Nat to see him—she’d thought Farouk was a friend, like Shakes—but now the young boy was gaping at them, pressing himself against the wall so that no part of his body would come into contact with either of them.
Liannan laid a hand on his shoulder and he visibly flinched.
“You have nothing to fear from me. I am not infectious. I can no more turn you into one of us than I can turn into one of you,” she said.
Farouk did not look convinced and shook her hand off him. “Don’t touch me.”
There was the sound of footsteps on the stairs. “What’s going on here?” Wes asked, looking at the troubled faces in front of him.
“She touched my shoulder,” Farouk accused. “And she killed Daran.”
“I did no such thing,” Liannan said. “It was the drakon who decided his fate,” she said, turning to Nat.
“Leave her alone,” Shakes said, as he walked out of the room where they had imprisoned Zedric. “She didn’t do anything to him. He asked for it, he was looking for trouble. Things happen out here in the water—you haven’t been, you don’t know.”
“Or it could be nothing. Coincidence,” Wes said, his gaze falling on Nat as well.
“What brings you to this part of the world, Ryan Wesson?” Liannan asked.
“You know my name,” he said, and Nat felt a stab of jealousy to see him give Liannan the same smirk he’d given her the first time they’d met. She knew she had no claim to him, and that she had already decided to all but cut him loose, but somehow she couldn’t help but feel as if he were hers and hers alone.
Liannan cast her cool gaze upon him. “I know everyone on board this ship. Ryan Wesson, the mercenary. Vincent Valez, second in command, more commonly addressed as ‘Shakes.’ Farouk Jones, navigator. Daran Slaine, currently in the water. Zedric Slaine, his brother. And . . . Natasha Kestal.” Liannan turned to her and stared. “Who asked about the drakon . . .”
Wes raised an eyebrow and regarded Nat with a questioning gaze.
“You are marked,” Liannan said.
Nat nodded.
“So you are one of us.” The sylph nodded. “Do not worry,” she told the others. “Our
powers are not malicious in nature, no matter what you have been led to believe. Do you know why they cast us out? Why we are hunted and killed, or confined to prisons? Why they spread lies about our people? Because their world is broken, their world is ending, and so they fear us, they fear what is coming. The world that is returning, that is growing in the ruins of this one. A drakon flies again, and we are renewed in its presence.” Liannan’s voice had grown lower, and her eyes were kaleidoscopes.
Farouk was shaking. “She’s . . . cursing us, I swear . . . stop her . . .”
Nat sucked in her breath, and Wes was frowning now. He turned to the golden-haired girl. “Okay, enough. You’re scaring my crew, and you’ve cost me a soldier,” he growled.
“And you have gained a guide. I believe our journeys are the same. You are ostensibly on your way to New Crete, yet in truth you seek the Blue. You are headed to the doorway at Arem. Natasha wears the Anaximander stone.”
“The stone!” Shakes said. “I knew it!”
Nat’s hand flew to her neck as she stared at the sylph. “How did you . . . ?”
For his part, Wes did not answer, but remained wary.
“I can help you reach your destination,” she said.
Wes sighed. “Listen, I hate to break it to you, but you’re no better off on my ship than you were on your own. We lost our engines to the same thing that took Daran. There’s been no wind for days, and we’re down to eating twigs. You want to join us? Be my guest.”
32
THE SYLPH HAD NO ANSWER TO THAT OTHER than a cold gratitude, and Wes went with Shakes to check on the sail—they could hear it flapping, which meant a wind had finally kicked up.
They circled back again to look for Daran, but there was no sign of him; either the water or that thing in the water had claimed him. With Zedric in the hold, Wes ordered the family placed in his cabin, which was more comfortable. He went to check on their progress and found the parents lying on the bed, covered with a thin woolen blanket. Nat was sitting by their bedside, next to the two little ones.
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