Across the Darkling Sea

by K. Ferrin

  Ling shivered as he passed. She’d heard about stained chins only once before—when Witch had told her about Grag—and the deference of the crew seemed to confirm that it was a warlock trait. Grag’s had been purple, though, not yellow. Ling had no idea what the different colors meant, but she filed the detail away to be examined later. Good humor and warmth spilled out of Treantos’s wide smile as he walked by. He was nothing like the terrifying stories her parents had told her of warlocks. She wanted to fear him, but she could not help but smile shyly back at him as he passed.

  Less than fifteen minutes later, a woman with dark hair that stretched all the way down her back approached. She wore a robe similar to the one the seed seller had worn in the Shadow Market so long ago; schor cloth covered with beautiful, intricate designs, this time featuring flowers of every type Ling could imagine.

  The woman looked neither left nor right as she walked, her eyes locked tightly on the Courser. Bags of every shape and size hung from her narrow frame, the green tips of plants poking out of their tops haphazardly. The woman smiled in a distracted sort of way as she boarded, nodding to the boatsmyn who stood watch at the dock. She spoke with no one as she moved quickly toward the hold.

  “Welcome, welcome. Petra, isn’t it?” Captain Drake shouted from her lookout. “You know your way to the hold, yes?”

  The woman nodded, still saying nothing. As she passed below, Ling studied her blackened mouth, the black mark as wide as her lips and covering her entire chin. In either ear, dark stones glinted black. The grimoire was very clear in its description of how she’d escaped Witch’s cabin. Witch had used a stone just like those that glittered in the woman’s ears, though Witch’s had been much larger.

  The realization shook her to the core, and she wondered if Witch herself was a warlock. The thought that she was a warlock hiding among the ungifted masses of Brielle was impossible to grasp, but the link could not be denied.

  Neither Treantos nor Petra had shown any particular interest in her as they’d walked by, much to Ling’s relief. Her confidence grew marginally at the thought. It seemed their magic didn’t allow them to automatically sense what she was. Perhaps her secret could remain her own after all.

  Another passenger, a man of average build with curling brown hair and a simply cut suit of the brightest purple, followed immediately after Petra. Ling thought he might be the strangest one yet; he seemed to flicker in and out as if he were there but somehow not there, too. She initially thought it was a trick of the light or a problem with her eyes, but as he approached, she became certain that the man was absolutely fading in and out ever so slightly. Only his brilliantly green eyes seemed to be consistently solid.

  Unsurprisingly, a purple stain marked his lips and chin, and he, too, had jewels in his ears and chin, but his were the deep purple of amethyst.

  Amethyst. Ling froze as she watched him board. Rather than head for the hold as the others had done, he took a place on deck, resting his forearms against the railing. Was this Grag? Witch had provided no detail about what the man had looked like, but it had been an amethyst he had tried to give away. It couldn’t just be a coincidence, could it?

  One by one, the passengers who had vanished into the hold came back out on deck and scattered along the rail near the dock. The crew, too, gathered along that side of the ship, chattering in low voices as they invented work that had to be done there. Ling could hear the low murmur of voices from where she sat, but she couldn’t make out what they were saying.

  She looked up to where Captain Drake stood on the roof of the wheelhouse, also watching. The captain lifted one well-muscled arm to push her hat back as she peered across the docklands. The air itself felt electric, and Ling couldn’t tell if it was the result of fear or excitement. The captain leaned forward to rest both forearms against the railing, lifting one bared foot to the bottom rung.

  Ling finally began to relax slightly. None of those who’d boarded seemed to have the slightest suspicion of her. There had been no sign of her pursuers. The work of loading the Courser had come to a close, and they would no doubt push back from the docks any minute. But the tension building onboard was like a physical force, and it made her nerves hard to quell. They watched the docks, but she watched the passengers, searching for any indication of what might be coming next.

  What have I gotten myself into?

  Ling expected them to cast off, hoped they would cast off, but they didn’t. As the minutes lengthened, she became increasingly uncomfortable. Regardless of what the other passengers were waiting for, Hanner and Laera were out there somewhere, looking for her. The longer she was in Middelhaern, the greater the risk she’d be discovered.

  Finally, a tall, willowy form approached the ship. People seemed to scatter away from the figure as it moved, creating rings in the crowd much like those a stone makes when dropped into water. People didn’t exactly stop and stare, but it was obvious they studied the figure as it passed. Their hands grew sluggish, and their brooms took longer to sweep across the ground. She couldn’t tell if it was fear that kept their glances so surreptitious, or respect. Or something else altogether.

  The tension on board peaked to an unbearable level. A murmur swept the boat as the figure came into clearer view. Ling studied the people around her. Some were clearly curious and excited. Other faces were tight with fear and unease. Ling looked up at the captain to find her staring hard at the flickering man who’d boarded most recently. He stood alone, hands clutching the rail in front of him as if his very life depended on it. She couldn’t see his face and couldn’t tell if it was fear causing his tightly gripped hands and the tensely slanted shoulders, or rage.

  Whichever the cause, her own anxiousness peaked, and her stomach clenched painfully as she watched the figure’s slow approach to the Courser.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  As the figure drew nearer, it became clear to Ling that it was a woman. She was tall and lean and moved with an inhuman grace. Pale skinned, thick rolls of raven-black hair swept back from her chiseled face to spill down the length of her back, brushing her heels in heavy ropes. Ling’s breath caught in her throat as the woman stopped to chat with the guard at the plank. Iridescent yellow scales covered her elegant cheekbones and the space beneath her luminescent yellow eyes. She raised a hand and ran a long, sharp talon, the same luminous yellow as her scaling, gently down the side of the guard’s cheek as she smiled at the man. White teeth flashed in the morning sun, and Ling could see their knife-sharp points clearly.

  The woman was terrifyingly alien, and the mundanity of her laughter and casual chitchat with the guard served only to enhance that alienness. Ling wondered if it was intentional—an affectation to enhance the effect her appearance had on everyone around her.

  Ling’s heart felt like it raced in her chest, and her mouth was dry. From the reactions of everyone on board, Ling suspected this woman was not a warlock. None of the other passengers had caused such a strong reaction. Captain Drake’s expression was clearly concerned, and the crew was tense. The man with the amethysts’ hands whitened where they gripped the rail.

  Ling had snuck downstairs often as a child, spying on her parents and listening in on their conversations. They spoke of terrifying things—monsters, the adults had called them. Beings of magic that lived only on Dreggs. She’d believed the stories as a child, and they had caused plenty of nightmares over the years. But somewhere along the line, she’d given them up as fables. Untruths made up to explain things the people of Brielle couldn’t understand. But now, she wondered. Was this woman one of those creatures? And if she were, was this what would happen should the crew of the Courser realize what Ling herself was?

  She cursed her parents and the people of Brielle for their habit of ignoring the outside world. She knew precious little of warlocks and magic. She felt like she was walking into a dragon’s lair with nothing to protect or defend herself. Something was clearly happening here, but she had no idea what, and that terrified her.

/>   The scaled woman paused in her talk with the guard and tilted her head as if listening for some distant sound. She twisted her upper body, swung her head around, and settled those shining yellow eyes unerringly on Ling. For the space of a single breath, the woman studied her, then slowly turned back, seemingly picking up the conversation where she’d left it.

  Ling felt as if something large had lodged in her throat. There was no doubt that the woman had looked at her and not at Captain Drake. Ling was certain that woman knew that she was no normal human girl. She turned and looked up at the captain to find the red-haired woman looking down at her, a curious expression on her face.

  Suddenly, Ling felt the brightness of the day dim as if a heavy cloud had moved in front of the sun. The captain has seen the woman’s glance, but had anyone else? And most importantly, what would they do if they knew?

  The passengers themselves dealt in magic, studied it, used it. The crew was clearly comfortable with those who used magic—had been downright friendly with the warlocks who had boarded.

  But the memory of the beating at the hands of the captain and crew of the Scarlet Float was fresh in her mind. Ling lurched backward, pressing herself against the wall behind her, ducking out of sight of Captain Drake, the strange woman below, and anyone else who might have prying eyes. She didn’t know how the passengers and crew would react, couldn’t know for sure, so she huddled there, held fast by a cold fist of fear.

  Dreskin had sent her to the Courser, she told herself. He had known exactly what she was and had helped her anyway. Even more, he had seemed completely unfazed by it. The boatsmyn of this ship, running this route as they did, were accustomed to the arcane. An untold number of potions, magical objects, and spell tomes had no doubt traveled aboard this ship, along with who knows what other strange passengers. The scaled woman boarded openly, with no attempt at hiding what she was. There had been tension on board, but no one had outwardly threatened the woman. She had been welcomed by the crew as much as the others had been. But maybe she had some great power that kept her safe. Ling had nothing.

  “It’s okay. You are okay,” she whispered to herself, resisting the urge to flee back into Middelhaern.

  “Throw the lines!”

  Ling jumped as the captain’s voice rang out suddenly, breaking the enchantment that had held them all in thrall. The plank ratcheted against the wooden hull as it was pulled in, lines were tossed and coiled neatly, and the anchor was pulled up and coiled on deck with a loud clanking. The ship lurched as the crew shoved back from the dock, and with a soft whoopf, the sails dropped and swelled gently as they caught the wind.

  Ling moved back to the rail, looking up cautiously to find that Captain Drake had abandoned her lookout above. She could still hear the captain up there somewhere, bellowing orders and watching as the crew went about all the duties required to sail a ship such as this. Ling spun, looking about her. The other passengers had moved off to do whatever people like them did while aboard a ship, and the scaled woman had vanished from view.

  Ling could almost believe the last five minutes had never happened, that she had never caught the attention of the scaled woman. No one else paused to glance at her, no one stared, no one displayed even the smallest hint of curiosity about her. But the tension permeating the ship remained.

  On the surface, it appeared that all was well and normal, but closer inspection revealed furtive looks exchanged between boatsmyn, muscles clenched beyond what was required for the task at hand. The normal camaraderie of a ship leaving port had been replaced by tightly controlled caution. But no one paid any attention to her, so she forced herself to let it go for now.

  The ship left the mouth of the Middelhaern harbor and nosed into the open sea. The wind raced along the coast, pushing the Courser before it. A light spray of salty water splashed her as a group of flying fish skimmed across the top of the water in front of them. The sun was high in the sky, and Ling watched as Middelhaern shrank into the distance.

  She had never been further away from Meuse than Middelhaern. Had never set foot outside of Brielle. Now she was leaving them both behind, every second taking her one second further away from her home. And hopefully one second closer to her end. If things went as she planned, she would never see those floating docks again. Evelyn would, perhaps.

  There was no way to know, of course. She was by no means certain she would find Grag or that he could or would unmake her. But if he couldn’t, perhaps others could. The man with the amethyst stones carved into his chin and plugged into his ears, perhaps. Stones very much like the one owned by the man who had made her.

  If they couldn’t unmake her, perhaps they could still leverage enough power to destroy her. She’d do anything that would release Evelyn from the curse. But even if the unthinkable happened, if she failed in all of her efforts, she doubted she’d ever return here. There was nothing for her here, in this place that so loathed magic.

  She turned away from the fading city and faced the wide-open horizon of the sea. Questions raced through her mind. What would she find out there? What fate awaited her? Would she find Grag and break the curse, or wander for an eternity while all the world changed around her? It was a pivotal moment, but she couldn’t tell if it was the end of something or the beginning. Perhaps it was a bit of both.

  Movement caught her eye, and she lowered her gaze to the deck below. The man with the amethyst stones, who seemed to both exist and not exist at the same time, stood there with his back to the sea and his eyes focused on her. Had he been there this entire time, watching her?

  His arms were crossed on his chest, one hand at his chin, fingers stroking the amethyst embedded there. His look made her squirm; it was like he was studying some new animal he’d just discovered rather than another person. She moved back from the railing again, out of his line of sight, and sat with her back against the wheelhouse. He had been staring hard at the scaled woman as she’d come aboard. Of course he had seen her pause and glance at Ling. He knew there was something different about Ling. He might not know what, but he knew there was something.

  Dreskin had said she’d find help on the Courser. That she’d be safe here. But as she thought about a pale finger stroking a dark purple mark, she felt anything but safe.

  Ling stayed up on the deck, afraid to move lest she run into one of the warlocks or the scaled woman. Even facing one of the boatsmyn terrified her. If they’d seen the exchange, they might ask questions she had no idea how to answer.

  So she stayed as she was, wishing she had paint and paper to capture the stunning vista before her. Wishing she could change everything about her life and what it had become. By the time sunset approached, she had regained some semblance of control over her fear. She was on the Courser now, and if she wanted to get to Dreggs—or Marique—she needed to stay here. But she couldn’t stay up on deck for the entire trip. Such a thing would seem even more suspicious, lending weight to the casual glance of the scaled woman. She would face whatever was to come, not cower. She was done with cowering. They knew what they knew, and she couldn’t do anything about it. All she could do was go through the motions, keep her head as low as possible, and keep as many people ignorant as she could.

  She forced herself to her feet, rising slowly and leaning forward. She scanned the deck, looking for any sign of the flickering man or the other warlocks. The deck was empty save for the boatsmyn going about their tasks. She left her perch and headed to the kitchens. She didn’t need to eat, but she had to give every indication she was human, so she would eat. Besides, there was more going on here than she understood, and the only way to figure out what that was was to ask, talk, and mingle.

  The kitchen was empty except for a portly man with rosy red cheeks and a mustache with long bars that curled to either side of his smiling mouth. She almost laughed aloud when she saw him—why was every cook on every ship a portly man with rosy red cheeks and a long mustache? He smiled back at her, handing her a large bread bowl filled near to overflowin
g with something creamy. She sat in a corner close to the door and slowly spooned up the warm bowl of stew.

  The ship slowed dramatically, and she felt it make a sharp turn, as if it meant to head back to Middelhaern. She looked to the cook in confusion, but the man had vanished from view. She finished her meal quickly and headed back out on deck in search of the captain, whom she found relaxing with another steaming mug of something that smelled delightful on top of the wheelhouse where she’d stood earlier.

  The woman smiled warmly as Ling approached. “Ling!” she said. “How was your first day of sailing? No trouble, I expect?” There was no suspicion in her gaze and no indication that anything odd had happened earlier.

  Ling smiled and shrugged as she leaned back against the railing. “No trouble.” She hesitated. She had so many questions—about the warlocks and the stones they wore in their ears and chins, about the colors, about magic, about everything—but she was afraid of what the other woman might say.

  “Few will run this route,” Captain Drake said when it was clear Ling wouldn’t say anything else. “They’re too afraid of this lot. Truth is, on this trip, they’re the least of it!” She chuckled, and Ling liked the sound of it. It was warm and open and relaxed, just as she remembered her parents’ laughs being.

  “Afraid of the warlocks, you mean?” She was afraid the question would make her look like a fool, but she wouldn’t learn anything if she acted like she already knew everything.