by AB Bradley
The others traded glances. Ayska caressed his elbow. “No, you’ve been gone three days, Iron.”
“I—it must have been the shrine. I found a shrine to the Six.” He paused a moment. “I think it might have been from the First Sun.”
Nephele’s jaw went slack while Sander sucked in a breath. Ayska’s lips pressed into an angry point. She furrowed her brow and crossed her arms. “And what was at the dead gods’ shrine?”
Iron caught Nephele’s eye roll. He ignored it and focused on Ayska. “We need to make for the Simmering Sands. I’m, ah, not entirely sure what we’ll do when we get there, but that’s where we need to go.” He looked to Nephele. “All of us.”
The woman arched a brow and laughed, tapping her fingers against her chest. “I think someone’s been eating the wrong kind of berries. You must think me entirely insane if you think I’m going to follow you to that desert. There’s only one way there and it’s not exactly what I’d call a pleasurable route.”
He turned to Sander who wore an expression that was half concern, half terror. His master crossed his arms and pressed his lips into a line. “Iron, you should remember where the Simmering Sands are located. Think back to your geography.”
Flummoxed, Iron looked to his feet and searched his memory for the place. The name rang a bell, but where he would find it on Urum eluded him. It was such a vast world full of so many lands, and he’d experienced so little of it.
Ayska slipped her hand into his and squeezed. “The Simmering Sands are to the south, just beyond the coast of a kingdom called, ahem, Eloia.”
That was a name he knew. “High King Sol’s country. Shit.”
“The first of many countries he claims. His little empire grows each day. Eloia blankets the northern tip of the continent, and to its south, the Simmering Sands that separate the traveled kingdoms from lonely Ker. We could reach the desert and avoid sailing into Sol’s hands, but it’s months added to our journey and the seas are treacherous.”
“We’ll have to go to Athe,” Sander said.
Nephele shuddered. “I despise that viper pit.”
“Sol’s military capital,” Ayska added. “There he trains his army. There he builds his navy. There he constructs his siege machines. There is no other place, not even Sollan, with a greater concentration of his power. It would be foolish to do anything but sail around it.”
“No.” Iron set his jaw, shaking his head. “We don’t have time to sail around. There are three others we need. If I don’t find them in time, Sol and his serpents will. If one of them dies, we all die.” He swallowed, his gaze returning to Ayska’s. “If one of us dies, we all die. We’re the only thing standing between Sol and victory.”
“What did you learn at that shrine, Iron?” Ayska eyed him curiously. “What have those gods brought on us?”
“I learned the truth.” He wanted to tell her so much more. He hated hiding the words like one might hide an embarrassing scar. Instead of speaking what his heart yearned to say, he simply smiled. “We have hope, and it’s us who will save the world and no one else. We do this and both Caspran and Sol will die. That’s what I learned.”
“Then I will follow you wherever you go.”
He kissed her warm cheek and looked to Sander. “And you?”
“I guess I can’t keep you from the world any longer. I suppose if you think about it, I’ve done a pretty piss-poor job since we left home. You know I’m with you. Who else will keep you from tripping on your shoes and falling on your sword?”
Iron smirked and turned to Nephele. “We haven’t known each other for long—”
“Oh, shut up.” She groaned and turned her back, staring into nothing. “Our lives intersecting is much more than chance, of this I know beyond a doubt. You have this Lover’s hand, odd boy.” She spun around and pointed a finger at him. “But only on one condition.”
“What’s that?”
“You’ve learned the Shade Stride. You’ve mastered the Loyal Stance. Now I must teach you the Gentle Dance. We’ve got a long journey to Athe across a dreadfully boring expanse of sea. You shall spend it learning how to fight like the Lover.”
Iron looked to Ayska and shrugged. She reflected it with a shrug of her own. He turned to Nephele and bowed. “Of course. I look forward to learning the Lover’s ways.”
Kalila clapped. Sometimes, Iron forgot she was even there.
“Good,” Nephele said. “Now, let’s get off this hideous island. I’ve decided the humidity is just destroying my hair. Now that we’re all gathered, we can make for the Goshgonoi catamarans and borrow one for our flight from Rosvoi. Luckily for us, we have two very capable Sinner’s men to help us commandeer such a vessel.”
Her brow arched as her eye fixed on Sander. He bowed and winked. “I look forward to a long journey with a Gentle Lover.”
Iron snorted and made his way to the cave. “Give me a few hours of sleep. We’ll head there just before sunrise.”
A long day approached, but first, he would rest. Three days, trapped in that shrine, trapped in that broken circle with a god’s face that was his own. Iron tried not to think about it. He laid on a bed of fronds and let sweet sleep take him.
Stealing one of the Goshgonoi’s ships was neither long nor dangerous despite the guards. While a Sinner’s man was a priest, he was still a sinner, and when needed, a deadly assassin. Iron stepped over the first corpse. After his third killing, thrusting the sword came with less trepidation. The tribesmen lost their humanity and became something a little more ethereal, like a nightmare or, worse, an animal.
He twisted behind a palm. Sander darted from between two trees, grabbing one guard by the throat and twisting the man’s neck until it cracked and the tribesman crumpled. The cannibal’s companion fumbled with a feathered spear, but Sander’s sword had already sunk eight inches into his belly.
The man clutched at the gushing wound as Iron’s master kicked him off his blade. Within a few moments, the guard lay dead next to his companion.
Sander grimaced at his steel and wiped the blood along a tree trunk. “Death is such a filthy endeavor. I might even feel guilty if I didn’t know what these animals had done to those who washed up on their shores.”
“I think that’s them.” Iron pointed at a beach lined with catamarans.
Two slender, pointed canoes formed the base of each catamaran. A raised platform connected the two hulls, on which a reed hut sat. The sail was a triangle pointed between the prows. Two large paddles angled inward comprised the steering rudder.
The ships looked sturdy enough, but who knew if the Goshgonoi really could construct a vessel worthy of a long journey? Iron supposed if Thrallox had done it, then these ships might very well survive something more than a flat sea.
Nephele, Ayska, and Kalila crunched through the underbrush and followed Iron to the beach. Each of the women carried leathers worn by the Goshgonoi. Much of the strips were covered in blood. They’d need a good cleaning before any of them would wear the outfits Nephele planned on fashioning.
“What a pitiful fleet,” the woman said, heading for one of the nicer ships. “I almost hope they follow us so Sol can crush them. It would serve them right.”
“I just hope your outfits work well enough to disguise us.”
“Boy.” She whipped around and plopped the load of leathers in his arms. “I survived in Sollan itself after the Godfall in no small part to my excellency in the art of disguise. Why, even Sinner’s men have been known to be jealous of my chameleon ways. Don’t you worry, we’ll have you so dressed up and dirtied, not even Caspran himself would let you in his bedroom to change his chamber pot.”
“If only I should be so lucky to be invited.”
She laughed and motioned for the catamaran. “I wouldn’t call it luck in the least. I’ve seen firsthand the alp’s power. I know what kind of magic the Serpent Sun bestows on its priests. There is no fighting that. There is only acceptance of their power and hope of a quick death.”
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br /> “For now,” he said, tossing the leathers onto the platform.
Sander trotted to the catamaran and sheathed his sword. “I’ll kiss the ground when we reach Eloia, High King’s land or not. I’m damned tired of islands and water and ruins and the like.” He lifted his chin and smiled. “Home. I miss home.”
Funny, he still regarded Eloia as such after nearly two decades of raising Iron in the mountains. The words were another jagged splinter of a reminder digging into Iron’s heart.
Ayska and Kalila joined them. Ayska helped her sister onto the ship and turned to the others. “Eloia’s not like you left it, Sander. Anyone suspected of worshipping the Six are slaughtered, often after they’ve watched their loved ones burnt at the stake or flayed for some alp’s amusement. You can’t flit around with your Sinner’s magic and stay hidden from their amber eyes like you once did. Keep your head bowed and say whatever honeyed words to the serpents you need in order to survive. The Six are dead and gone and better left forgotten, but there has to be a way to for a human to kill those damned demons. We just need to figure it out.”
Iron’s master sighed and rolled his shoulders, then helped Nephele into the catamaran. “Ayska, Ayska, take care not to mock the gods. They’re fallen.” He winked at Iron. “They may yet rise again.”
“They’ll do it without my help,” she said, pointing her chin at the boat. “Are we ready? We’ve got supplies for weeks. Weather and the Southern Sapphire current willing, we won’t have to eat each other’s arms off to survive the journey.”
“Weather willing,” Iron repeated. “At least this ship’s got a lot more room than the skiff that got us here.”
He paused just where the waves slapped the dark sands and pinched his chin. “But I’m still not entirely convinced the ship can make a journey that long. Its craftsmanship doesn’t look, ah, expert. Shoddy knots, rough-hewn timbers, and a sail with some of the saddest stitching I’ve ever seen.”
“I’ll keep us floating,” Ayska said as she inspected the ship. “It’s what I do. You worry about how we get to Caspran and Sol once we make land.”
Kalila’s feet thudded on the platform as she headed for the hut. Her ham-sized hand gripped the shelter’s opening, and she grunted, disappearing within.
Iron shook his head. “I guess Kalila doesn’t mind it.”
Ayska bounded onto the boat. “That’s as good a sign as any.”
He could tell she missed being on a seaworthy vessel. The skiff they used from Spineshell had been a floating cage she could not control, and once the storm tossed her from it, the Goshgonoi found another prison for her. Sander might miss the land, but Ayska truly loved the sea, and with a ship beneath her feet, she’d at least reclaimed a little something of what she lost to Caspran.
Sander joined the others on the ship and asked Nephele if she needed anything. The woman smiled at him in a way that subtly reminded Iron how Ayska smiled at him. Sander and Nephele were both around the same age. Being adherents of the Six, they had much in common. Maybe his master would finally find the type of companionship Iron couldn’t give him.
He’d have to be careful they didn’t pester Ayska about her rejection of the gods. Priests preach, after all, and she had no ear for it. Neither did Iron after he discovered their shame.
Iron patted the smooth hull. A round eye carved into the prow stared unblinking at him. “I guess it’s off to Eloia,” he told the ship. “Try not to get us killed on the way, okay?”
He pushed on the platform until the sea held the catamaran. Once he leapt aboard, Sander used a pole to push them into deeper waters until the wind grabbed the sail, and they sailed toward Eloia, the Rosvoi Islands slowly shrinking behind them.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Gentle Dance
Stiff winds and calm waters carried Iron and his companions swiftly over the Sapphire Sea. They’d made good time in those first few days of sailing. No Goshgonoi pursued them. Nephele surmised the tribe may be experiencing something of a struggle between the more powerful families now that Thrallox no longer controlled them.
Perhaps by killing the madman, Iron sparked a civil war. They were just more deaths to hang around his neck. Iron didn’t like their weight, but then again, he had very few things to like about his life lately. At least Nephele’s brutal training kept his mind on other things as the days slowly drifted by.
Calling Nephele’s priestly form of combat the Gentle Dance was a cruel irony. It demanded Iron’s body twist and turn and bend in ways that defied his joints and tested his will. Even on calm waters, every wave was an imp jostling the ship so he’d lose his balance.
He spent his days under her watchful eye, listening to her prattle on about how he looked like a pig trying to pirouette on ice. Every morning, she smacked him awake before sunrise or, if she slept poorly, dumped seawater on his face and laughed at his shrill cry. For the next nearly unbroken twelve or so hours, she would force his body into odd bends and twists until it learned the contortions taught by the Lover to the faithful.
The sun had just fallen asleep beneath the sea’s sparkling blanket. The moon, a plate of tarnished silver, peeked through a thin curtain of clouds like a sly mistress. Iron untwisted his ankle from behind his neck and fell flat on his back. He bounced on the planks spanning the catamaran’s hulls and starred at the cloudy gash of stars just now waking.
Nephele’s face slipped into view. “You’re a quick learner, but you’ve got joints of clay and muscles soaked in glue. You know why? You don’t trust your body. Do you really think I’d ever put you in a position that breaks your back?”
“I’ve considered it once or twice, and honestly, I wouldn’t put it past you. That was a killer’s smile I saw this morning when you dumped saltwater on me instead of saying good morning like a proper lady.”
“Oh, honey, if I wanted to snap you like a twig I would’ve done it when you crawled before my cave looking like one. Trust yourself, Iron. How you mastered Loyal Stance so quickly is beyond me, but it takes more than loyalty and a little gumption to master the Gentle Dance.”
Her face melted from view, leaving Iron with the stars shining with their curiosity. A warm breeze dried the sweat soaking his face, and his heartbeat calmed as the vessel’s gentle flow eased him like a cradled infant. Iron closed his eyes and listened to the sigh and slap of waves against the hulls, the barest salty spray every so often kissing his lips. Sleep sniffed at the edge of his consciousness and tugged his thoughts into a cozy void.
“She’s hard on you, but you really are getting better, my little bay gull,” Ayska said. “But I’m not completely convinced you’ve mastered Loyal Stance. You haven’t truly had to use it in a fight, and that’s the true test. No one who’s done hardly more than practice can call themselves a master at any skill.”
Iron’s eyes snapped open. He sat upright and turned toward her. She sat cross-legged on the prow of a hull. She had a hollow coconut in her lap and plucked fruits and seeds pilled in it. A braid swung loosely over her shoulder and curled in her lap. She smiled, and some of his energy returned.
Being free of the Rosvoi Islands and sailing from Spineshell had done much to raise her spirits. She spent her days barking orders at Sander, retying crude knots and refining poor craftsmanship while Iron practiced. Navigating the catamaran across the sea without an experienced sailor challenged her, and she embraced it with all the energy and emotion raging inside her. The Ayska he remembered, the cocky, outspoken woman always fighting the smirk on her lips had returned, if only a little.
“Where’s Kalila?” he asked.
“She’s in the shelter, sleeping. I made a fishing line for her, and she had a long day having fun with it. We won’t be having fish for dinner, but I hadn’t seen a smile like that on her in…well, in a long while. It was good to see.”
Iron scooted toward Ayska, crossing his legs so they mirrored hers. He plucked a nut from her makeshift bowl and tossed it in his mouth. Ayska leaned back onto her palms and
frowned. “It looks like Sander and Nephele are growing closer every day.”
He twisted around. The two priests danced at the stern, feet hopping and twirling in a feverish circle that kathunk-kathunked on the deck. Sander tripped on his foot and nearly fell. Nephele caught him in a storm of giggles and jerked him to his feet. They continued their rhythmic spin, heedless of Iron and Ayska’s watchful eyes.
Sander got to do everything fun. Iron tightened his jaw and turned away. “What an elk’s ass.”
“They say Sinner’s men could dance on earth, sea, or even sky when the Six’s magic still worked. Did he ever show you?”
Yes. I know it. I could dance on the sea right now with you, if only Sander would let me. He desperately wanted to tell her the truth, but his sacred vow bound him. “No. I’ve never seen it,” he murmured, chin dipping and fists clenching.
“I often wonder why the gods kept magic for their priests and no one else. If the old stories are true, some of the first of the Six’s faithful could reshape whole kingdoms with their power. If normal folk could use even a drop or two of the stuff, crops would flourish instead of fail, disease and plague would become a memory, and the wicked would shy from war. Generals might think twice attacking a farmer’s field if they knew the farmer could toss a fireball at their ranks. But the gods didn’t. They kept their magic to the priests, and now both are gone and we’re defenseless.”
“There’s a way. We’re on the right path. Soon, we’ll have the weapon we need to fight Sol.”
“And will it mean bending to the Six again? Will we put our blood on the line for them so they can soak in all the glory while we tend our scars?”
“I won’t let that happen. The Six, they’re selfish, Ayska. They’re imperfect things. Hells, they’re fallen. We do this, and we do it without them.”
“I will never bend to them,” she said, her tone flat and chill. “I’ve lost everything because of them. They will never be my gods again. Not ever.”
