by A. J. Smith
“It’s been asleep for over a hundred years,” said Daniel. “Since Michael of the Mountain last blew the horn. Not that it would notice. Time means little to most spirits, and to the Great Phoenix it is a mountain-top perch, from which everything can be seen. It can be enough to crush the strongest of minds.”
I stood my ground in front of the enormous bird, and gave a shallow nod, keeping my eyes on the spirit. There was no obvious way for us to understand each other, but the look we shared was a profound one. The eyes of the phoenix plunged further than the deepest ocean, and burned with an intense, all-knowing wisdom. At the back of my mind, I felt the gentle growl of a wolf. The Old Bitch of the Sea was wary, and she made me share her feelings, though again, there was no overt dislike towards the phoenix, just a sense that they occupied very different spiritual strata.
“How long is our voyage?” I asked Daniel, keeping my eyes on the spirit.
“We’ll reach the Starry Sky in two or three days,” he replied, as if it were the most ordinary thing in the world. “Assuming the captain is brave enough to unfurl his mainsail. On conventional tides, and with conventional winds, it would take months.”
I turned to look back along the length of the Revenge. The warship was rolling side to side, but only gently, as if sailing on a moderate tide. The masts creaked and swayed in the spiritual wind, though on deck everything was calm.
“Adeline,” shouted Kieran Greenfire, from the quarterdeck. “Watch this.” He held an empty bottle of ship grog and flung it above his head. It reached the mid-point of the mainmast, and flew forwards, as if caught by a ferocious wind.
I took a final look at the phoenix, just as it turned its head back towards the front, then walked to meet Kieran and Driftwood at the base of the mainmast. They were gathered with others, all standing in wonderment. There were too many things to look at, and Siggy and the blonde bosun were struggling to get the crew back to work.
“Everything holding, captain?” I asked.
Driftwood stamped his feet on the wooden deck, as if checking the stability of his footing. “So far, as long as the masts hold. The spirit’s protecting us from the wind, but it’s fucking strong up there.” He pointed to the furled topsails, where the dark blue canvas was rippling violently. From the angle I stood the vibration I’d seen in the mainsail was far more pronounced, with the wind clearly beginning halfway up the reinforced wood.
“Has that one said anything else?” asked Kieran, pointing towards the Sundered Wolf, still standing at the bow.
I nodded, looking at Driftwood. “Two or three days, he says… if we make sail. Which I would like us to do immediately.”
The captain and his quartermaster looked at me as if I’d kicked them in the balls. Almost in unison, the two of them turned from me, and cast their eyes upwards, to the swaying mainmast.
“That will be a challenge,” said Kieran, scratching his shaved head.
Driftwood placed a hand against the black wood of the mast, as if feeling for vibrations. Experienced Sea Wolf captains would often claim a symbiotic kinship with their vessel, as if a collection of wood, metal and canvas could transcend itself, and become somehow alive. The way Driftwood stroked a hand across the mainmast, reminded me of the way someone would calm a domestic animal.
“If any ship can hold under this wind,” said the captain, “it’s the Revenge.” He stepped back from the mast. “Kieran, Siggy, we need volunteers to go aloft. We’ll rope them to the deck.” He then turned to me. “If you want the mainsail, you have it. If you want any more… I’ll say no, we’ll fight, you’ll kill me… and this ship will be torn apart by the void-winds.”
We locked eyes and I considered killing him. I wouldn’t have done if he’d not suggested it, and I wouldn’t take his life for the sake of a little more canvas, but it was the first time he’d openly suggesting challenging me and I couldn’t help but bristle. “Mainsail only,” I agreed.
“Right,” said Driftwood, with a nod of his head. “Let’s get this done.”
Kieran Greenfire and Siggy Blackeye were already moving towards the quarterdeck, bellowing the captain’s intentions to unfurl the mainsail. Their shouted words were met with surprise and fear, but I sensed no small amount of excitement. These were hardened Sea Wolves, men and women who’d been a lifetime at sea. The prospect of sailing their home through the void, under its dark blue mainsail, was intoxicating to many of them, and dozens volunteered to go aloft, ignoring the danger. Six were selected and each was more elated than afraid, as heavy ropes were tied around their waists.
“Hard to gauge our speed,” said Driftwood, glancing over the railing to the flaming phoenix beneath us. “But if we can get to the Starry Sky in three days… we’ll have sailed faster and further than any Sea Wolf ship in history.”
“Let’s just hope there are allies at the end of the voyage.” I gave him a half-smile. “Or we may indeed be destined for an honourable last stand against the Sunken God.”
It is said that for the greatest spirits time works differently.
For creatures of form, it begins in the morning and ends in the night.
But the void can twist all things.
The mighty turtle spirits of the Father experience time in reverse, remembering everything that is yet to happen, but giving their wisdom only sparingly.
The Sinister Black Cats of the Dark Harbour are born knowing everything they will ever do and everything they will ever see.
But above it all, seeing time as the craggy slopes of an impossible mountain, perches the Great Phoenix.
From “The Blade of Time” by Michael of the Mountain, of the Sundered Wolves.
PART SEVEN
Oliver Dawn Claw at Snake Guard
19
Snake Guard was a defensive castle, with tiny elements of a town intruding upon the inner walls, with livestock and narrow, well-tended farms. But everything else was designed to make an attacker bleed. Its many walls were graduated inwards, rising from the outer defences, to a single, castellated fort in the centre. I counted five defensible walls, with multiple killing zones, and numerous gates, each with a portcullis. There would have been a time when the fort of the Outrider Knights dominated the landscape, as the only way across the Great Serpent and through the Wood of Webs, but the southern forest had long since been cut down, relegating Snake Guard to an interesting part of the horizon for lost travellers.
The Outriders all wore black-and-red armour, of steel plates and boiled leather. For the most part, they were a morose bunch, communicating through glares, glances and as few words as possible. These Dark Brethren were different to those chasing us, and the schism in their people became even more distinct. As Marius and his brothers were enemies, so were their followers, with both groups apparently ready to die for their master.
“Settled in?” asked the Stranger, appearing from along the western battlements.
I had washed, changed clothes, and been given an austere chamber, somewhere in the maze of stone passageways that made up the fort. Jack was asleep, and Leofryc was interrogating Gentle, the commander of the Outriders, as to how safe the new king would be within his walls. I was alone for the first time in weeks, until Marius Cyclone ghosted next to me.
“I’m used to slightly more refined quarters,” I replied, “but it’s preferable to sleeping in a forest.” I attempted a smile, but thought better of it and turned away. “Thank you. For what you did for us and what you’re doing for the Eastron. If a sleeping god is indeed waking, and our days are indeed ending, I think I would like to be on your side. You’re an honourable man, Lord Marius. Though we disagree on the subject of royalty.”
He chuckled, leaning forwards over the battlements and gazing into the fast-flowing river beneath. His tattoo was fully visible, and the rampant blue horse emerged above the collar of his leather coat. “I don’t get called honourable very often,” he replied. “And, given where we are, I’m not sure it applies.”
“What do you mean?”
I asked, glancing behind us at the Outrider Knights populating the fort. “Your people must believe you honourable, no?”
He gave a shallow nod. “Perhaps, but honour is not as revered a virtue amongst the Dark Brethren. And I’ve effectively ordered all those you see here to their deaths.”
“What? What have you ordered them to do?”
“Stay behind,” he replied. “Evacuating the Dark Harbour is a monumental endeavour, so the Outriders will cover our retreat to Nowhere.” His face twisted into a frown. “Most will not be coming with us to the void, though they will help rescue thousands of the vulnerable citizens of my hold. That’s where you and I are bound when we leave here.”
“The Dark Harbour?”
“Then on to Nowhere,” he replied. “To join my legions. From there we can message the Winterlords.”
It was bold and said plainly, and certainly no more dangerous than our flight from the Silver Parliament, but still it was a change in my life that I’d not expected. As I listened to his plan to save the Eastron, I mused on how valuable a strong king would be to his efforts… if only he’d accept the need for one.
“I can bring the Winterlords,” I said. “I believe what you say is true – we should not be left behind.”
He smiled. “Precisely the reason you’re here. I doubt they’d listen if I just sailed to First Port. You’ll be my most significant ally… able to bring an entire Eastron camp to our side. Though there are things to do at Snake Guard first. Quinn is chewing his fingernails to pieces, waiting to talk to you. But before that you must see something… a vision.”
“Ten Cuts and his spirit-whistle,” I stated, confidently. “A vision of this Sunken God. Fear not, I am a man of the Dawn Claw. My mind is strong and my resolve is that of a king.”
His eyes narrowed and I saw his jaw tighten. “I am not a cruel man,” he said. “But you should prepare yourself for more than the vision. You are strong and the Winterlords need you, but royalty...”
*
I heard a whistle and closed my eyes. I was twelve years old and I was a prince. I was the only child of the Always King, Christophe Dawn Claw, called the Shining Sword. My life was a happy one, though everything I did was observed, debated, planned, and ultimately sheltered. I trained with sword and wyrd every morning, and took classes in history and statecraft every afternoon. One day I would be the king, and every moment of every day was designed to prepare me for this. It was the first truth I understood and the most certain thing in my existence. I’d been told it from the first day I was told anything… I would be King Oliver Dawn Claw.
But a twelve-year-old boy still enjoyed daydreaming. My bedroom was at the north-east corner of the Eagle House, and my view was of Duellist’s Yard, the glittering sea of Bright Water, and the seductive island of Raptor’s Nest. That view was my meditation. The shining white stone of First Point, with its sharp, precise angles, made with matchless skill. The slowly rolling waters and ironclad ships, the primal backdrop of the island. It defined beauty and peace to my young eyes.
On this particular morning, an insistent breeze came from the open window, rolling across the huge bay of Blue Haven, with nothing between my bed chamber and the Outer Sea. I didn’t mind the cold. I could always wrap a cloak around me, and the view was worth it. I took a deep lungful of fresh, cold air and scanned the horizon. Everything was peaceful and calm, as if First Port, the great hold of the Winterlords, didn’t have a care in the world.
There was a wide sea channel between the hold and the island of Raptor’s Nest. Four or five Winterlord ironclads could sail abreast along the channel, to and from the enormous harbour at Blue Haven, though today the channel was mostly empty. There were low, silvery grey walls all along the coast, forming a serpentine promenade, from which noble lords and ladies could gaze at the view. Lately, the lords had all been wearing blue, and the ladies were clad in white, with lots of lace. But the nobles of First Port were just a minor foreground to the gently rolling field of blue.
I narrowed my eyes, grasped the wooden window frame, and peered outwards. The waves were almost sensual, rumbling along the coastal wall like a slowly moving snake. Each wave ended in a sudden spray of white and blue, never rising high enough to crash over the wall. The water appeared alive, as if it was dancing around Raptor’s Nest for my enjoyment. I couldn’t help but smile at the wondrously chaotic flow of the tides. Then the sea began to rise. From the deep water, where the Outer Sea met Blue Haven, a single enormous wave broke from the clear surface. It rose above the numerous ironclads at anchor, towered over the coastal wall, and crashed towards Raptor’s Nest. Its primal power was almost enough to push me from the window, but I held firm, and marvelled at the spectacle. My eyes widened, but I kept looking, even as a colossal form appeared within the wave.
For an instant, everything converged. Duellist’s Yard, Bright Water, Raptor’s Nest, the white stone buildings of First Port. It all twisted together as a single distorted point, viewable only from my window. At the centre of the distortion, eclipsing the sun, and wearing the rising sea like a cloak, was a towering aberration. I tried to focus on the indistinct form, and ignore the screams of anguish and death that flooded across a hundred ships and a thousand onlookers. What I saw, with wide, excitable eyes, was beyond my imagination.
It was a creature. A thing of vaguely humanoid form, with arms and legs, and a head of sorts. It was taller than the mountains of Raptor’s Nest, with a stride that could encompass half of First Port. Its skin was grey-green, with slime flowing from every joint. The water it displaced splashed over the entire hold, casually covering every building within sight, and killing hundreds of helpless Winterlords. It was true strength, barely registering those it killed, as if the Eastron were insignificant ants.
Then I laughed, as it rose to its full height and I saw its head. It was shaped like a huge octopus, with a sloping forehead and an overlapping miasma of tentacles, wriggling across the bottom half of its head. Its eyes were angular, with a glinting malevolence in its red pupils. It was the most wonderful thing I’d ever seen, beyond the trivialities of mortal life, and more akin to a revelation, opening my eyes to true power. As it pulled its titanic legs from the sea, dozens of ships were thrown from the bay, acting as artillery as they flew into the hold and smashed buildings to rubble. Its arms, ending in webbed hands, swept aside old buildings and crushed entire neighbourhoods.
My laughter rose, as did my euphoria. All around me was primal destruction, as if the roots of the earth had been given form to teach us how insignificant we were. The creature stretched out an arm and roughly grasped the highest peak on Raptor’s Nest, using the mountain to pull itself from the sea. The violently rushing waves now covered all but the tallest buildings, with thousands upon thousands of Winterlords swept away to their deaths, but I still stood at my window, watching pure destruction from a place of safety.
I felt as if the world was teaching me a lesson. I was to be the king of this land and I needed to know who I’d be serving, for the Eastron were far from the mighty lords they believed themselves to be. Perhaps this was a truth given only to those who would be king, and I understood it all in one instant. The immense form before me was not my enemy… it was the face of the world itself. Every grain of sand, every drop of water, every natural thing, born of this realm of form, it was all personified within the creature. To defy it was to defy the very earth beneath our feet. I would forever worship it, as loyal servant and king of the Eastron from across the sea.
*
I was screaming. One moment I’d been comatose, the next my ears were assaulted by the high-pitched whine of a spirit-whistle. I could hear voices, angry and insistent, but everything was vague and faraway, as if waking from this vision was not as simple as waking from a dream. I couldn’t remember what I’d seen, but my every nerve was crackling and my every muscle tight.
“Steady, Prince Oliver,” said the familiar voice of Marius Cyclone. “Such a thing is not easily seen, nor easi
ly forgotten. Don’t try to sit up. You have time.”
I was at Snake Guard, reclined on a leather armchair, within a stone chamber. I had a leather strap between my teeth, and saliva across my face, like I’d had a fit. My fists were clenched, and blood seeped from nail wounds in my palms. My shirt was saturated in sweat and it had taken two Winterlords and a Dark Brethren to hold me down. All three were using wyrd to counter my strength, and they strained against my tensed body. There was an impossibly old Pure One standing over me, and for a moment I didn’t know who I was.
“Stop fucking struggling,” spluttered Silver Jack.
“My king, you are safe and whole,” announced Leofryc Bright Hand.
From beyond their alarmed speech, and Marius’s attempt to calm my mind, I heard the knowing and gentle words of a woman. Elizabeth Defiant was also in the chamber. She didn’t shout or condescend, she just said my name.
“Oliver Dawn Claw,” said the envoy. “You will remember who you are.”
I let forth a final roar and slumped, knowing who I was, but doubting everything else. I pushed away the restraining hands and vomited on the floor. My head, stomach and heart all seemed to be operating at different speeds, fighting each other for my attention. I doubled over, falling from the leather armchair and feeling warm carpet against my face. Those around me stood back, with even Silver Jack giving me space. He’d never seen me in such a state – curled up and retching uncontrollably, grabbing the sides of my head.
“It will take time,” said Marius, talking softly to the other Winterlords. “Everyone who sees the vision sees something different, and the effects are unpredictable. When Ten Cuts blew his whistle for me, I needed a week to fully recover.”
“He is far stronger than you,” said Leofryc. “He is stronger than any man here. He is your king!”
“Strength means precious little,” rumbled Ten Cuts. “And royalty means even less.” I could feel the ancient Rykalite as much as see him, as if his spirit-whistle would forever echo in my ears. “We should leave the Eagle Prince to his thoughts.”
