by Shae Ford
“Excellent.” Lysander clapped his hands together. “Anchorgloam isn’t a ferry, dogs — every man is expected to pull his weight. You’ll rise at six bells, you’ll have training, chores, and I’ll be a merman’s beard if I don’t make decent sailors out of every one of you. Understood?”
They muttered a collective “Yes.”
He raised his eyebrows. “When I ask you a question, you say aye, Captain! Understood?”
“Aye, Captain!” Jonathan’s ear-bursting yell more than made up for Kael’s half-hearted mumble.
Lysander cut his fist across his chest. “Well done. Now help the men finish loading up that treasure, seadogs!”
Aerilyn looked rather offended about being called a seadog, but she followed Jonathan out the door anyways. Kael made to leave when Kyleigh grabbed him by the arm. “You and I have things to discuss,” she said quietly.
He didn’t want to stay in Lysander’s cabin a moment longer. He was hungry, exhausted, and had the beginning of what promised to be a nasty headache building at the base of his skull. “Can’t it wait till morning?” he pleaded.
She shook her head. “The sooner we get this out, the better.” Then she turned to Lysander — who was leaning over the desk, his nose inches from a map. “Might we have a word, Captain?”
“Yes, of course,” he said, waving her to his side. “I was just thinking about our best route of attack. If we hit the south end — just there — do you think the cliffs might give us an advantage? Or would it be better to move west to east, through the woods?”
“I don’t think we should be talking about this without Morris,” Kyleigh said.
Thelred inhaled sharply, but Lysander didn’t seem to hear him. “Yes, I suppose you’re right. The helmsman ought to know, after all …” He stood up straight and thrust an accusing finger at her. “You tricked me! I can’t believe it, after all these years — and I thought we were friends.”
“Oh please,” she said with a roll of her eyes. “You already know my secret, it’s only fair that I know yours.”
Lysander pulled a dagger out of his boot and waved the blade in Kyleigh’s face. “All I know is that this isn’t an impetus, and that,” he jerked his head at Kael, “isn’t a mage.”
That’s when Kael realized that his hunting dagger wasn’t in his belt — it was in Lysander’s hand. “Hey —!”
“Oh, don’t look so surprised,” Lysander said over the top of him. “When you keep a dagger in your belt, you have to expect it to get nicked.”
And Kyleigh inclined her head in agreement.
Kael caught the blade by its hilt. “I don’t understand when you could have possibly had time to steal it.”
“A thief doesn’t need time — only opportunity,” Lysander retorted. “And mine came while you were trying to crush my hand.”
So he had noticed. Good. “Keep your hands away from my weapons, thief, and they won’t get crushed,” he said, with what he hoped was a convincing growl.
“A snappy little mountain mutt, aren’t you?” Thelred sneered.
“You know, you might look good with an arrow between your eyes. And I’d be glad to make that happen —”
“Anyways,” Kyleigh stepped between them, “I’m afraid we do need to see Morris. That’s why we’ve come.”
Lysander snorted. “Why do you need Morris? You’re the Dragongirl! Lead us into battle, and I know we’ll emerge victorious —”
“We need Morris because I’m not your answer, not this time.”
He made a frustrated noise and sat heavily on top of the desk. “If you’re not our answer then pray, who is?”
She nodded in Kael’s direction and said, with all the confidence in the Kingdom: “Him.”
Chapter 21
The Wright Arises
Kyleigh should have known how the pirates would react. She should have known that when she leaned back and said that the skinny, redheaded boy before them was the answer to all of their problems, that they would laugh. That Lysander would double over and Thelred would guffaw loudly from his corner.
She should have known better than to embarrass him like that.
“Oh Kyleigh, you’ve always been a merciless prankster,” Lysander said as he wiped the tears from his eyes, still chuckling.
She didn’t say anything: she just stared him down, a small smile on her face. Under the weight of her look, his grin faded away, slowly, until it was replaced by a frown.
“You’re serious?” He glanced at Kael. “And why do you think he’s the answer?”
“Because he’s a whisperer.”
And that dried up every stray giggle in the room. Lysander’s mouth fell open and Thelred muttered: “Impossible.”
“Is it?” She sauntered over to him. Her head barely came to Thelred’s shoulder, yet he stepped to the side rather than allow her to pin him in the corner. “How else do you think he undid your little magic trick, hmm? If he isn’t a mage, then he’s got to be —”
“A whisperer,” Lysander breathed. There was calm understanding on his face. “Red? Get Morris.”
Thelred hurried out the door, no doubt eager to put as much distance between himself and Kyleigh as possible.
“What magic trick? And how did I undo it, exactly?” Kael asked as soon as he was gone.
“Whisperers are the natural enemies of the mages,” Lysander explained. “Magic has no effect on a whisperer: he can tear spells apart with his bare hands. And it wasn’t so much a trick as it was an … unfortunate side effect.” He smiled grimly. “I’m afraid that I’m a cursed man.”
Annoying as Lysander was, Kael didn’t doubt that someone had cursed him.
“Yes, I’ve heard about that,” Kyleigh said. She’d kicked off her boots and was now sitting behind the desk, her bare feet propped on a thick tome entitled Nautical Abnormalities. “And what sort of mischief did you get yourself into, exactly?”
“Wendelgrimm,” he sighed.
She grinned widely. “Oh you silly, silly pirate. You ought to have known better.”
“What’s in Wendelgrimm?” Kael said, intrigued.
Lysander groaned. “The Witch of Wendelgrimm. The old hag’s been alive for at least a thousand years. She has her fortress perched on top of a cliff, overlooking the village of Copperdock.” He tugged a wrinkled map of the Kingdom out from under Kyleigh’s heel and pointed to a small peninsula. Tiny docks fanned out around it, and in the forest above lurked a dark, spindly castle. He tapped the castle and said: “That’s Wendelgrimm. There used to be a family of whisperers who lived in Copperdock, and they kept her at bay for generations. But after the War …”
They’d been sent to Midlan, Kael thought, where they were never heard from again. “So with the family gone, the Witch attacked the village?” he guessed.
Lysander nodded. “She cursed the villagers and keeps them still as her prisoners. I grew up hearing the tale of the Witch of Wendelgrimm, burning over it. So the day I was old enough to be Captain, I picked my crew and set out to free the good people of Copperdock.”
“And I’m sure you gave no thought at all to the treasure,” Kyleigh said sarcastically.
He shrugged, and a mischievous smile parted his lips. “Well … I admit I was a little intrigued by the treasure. Legend has it that the dungeons of Wendelgrimm are bursting with history, plundered from all the ships that the Witch has ever sunk,” he explained to Kael. “They say there’s the crown of the first King, a ruby the size of a goat’s head and an aquamarine chalice of immortality — all resting upon a mountain of gold.”
“But none of those things actually interest you, do they?” Kyleigh said as she picked at her fingernails. “There’s only one thing a fellow like you would risk going into Wendelgrimm for.”
He placed a reverent hand over his heart. “The Lass of Sam Gravy.”
“Wait — there’s a woman locked in the dungeons?” Kael said, slightly alarmed.
Lysander snorted. “The Lass is a sword, whisperer — a blade said to gi
ve its wielder true and infinite luck. With the Lass in your hand, every lock falls away and every door swings open. You could stand in the presence of your greatest enemy, and he would never recognize you. In battle, you can’t be beaten.
“That’s what I went into Wendelgrimm for,” he admitted with a sigh. “I thought if I had the Lass, that I could make a difference. That I could go to war with the Duke — with the Kingdom, even — and numbers wouldn’t matter. But the Witch is strong …” His eyes watched the distance, and his voice dropped to a growl. “My men and I marched on Wendelgrimm with our swords drawn, prepared to fight, and all it took was a single spell to defeat us. Her horrible voice burned our ears and the next thing we knew, our legs moved of their own accord. They marched us back to Anchorgloam, where our hands raised the sails and steered us away. We were a mile out to sea when her spell finally released us … and then my curse began.”
Outside, the sky had grown dark. Thunder rumbled and rain whipped the windows. The ship began to rock beneath them. Lysander grabbed two fistfuls of his hair and fell to his knees. He took several labored breaths, and as his breathing steadied, so did the ship. Slowly, the dark in the clouds faded away and the rain stopped falling. When the sky was a solid sheet of gray once again, he pulled himself to his feet.
His legs shook as he gripped the corner of the desk to steady himself. “I’m a cursed man. Everything I feel, every beat of my heart is reflected out there,” he pointed to the windows, “in the weather around me. The first time it happened, I nearly wrecked us. We lost three — three good pirates — before I realized that the storm was all my doing.”
Kyleigh got up and slung one of his arms across her shoulders. He leaned heavily on her as she helped him around the desk. He collapsed into the chair and pulled a green bottle out from one of the drawers.
With a quick, practiced motion, he popped the cork out between his teeth. “Somewhere between my anger and my sorrow, I found a grim resolve — a steely gray sky and a swift wind to sail by. But even at that, I have my moments of weakness. Sometimes a little fog is safer than what I truly feel,” he muttered. Then he took a long swig and sat the bottle down. “I tried to get them to leave me, you know. I ordered them to maroon me on an island — someplace where I could never harm another soul again. But those stubborn dogs wouldn’t do it.”
“’Course we wouldn’t — you’re our captain!”
The outburst came from the man who’d just waddled into the room. He was short, stocky, and had a voice that sounded a bit like a frog’s croak. Lysander raised his bottle in greeting. “Hello, Morris.”
“Hello nothing,” the man called Morris said. He walked past Kael without even glancing at him and pounded his arm on the desk top, knocking several precariously stacked books onto the floor. “Now put that bottle down, Captain. A young lad shouldn’t drown himself in ale.”
“And why not?” Lysander said, looking slightly amused.
“’Cause it’ll make your liver swell up fatter than Duke Reggie’s head, that’s why,” Morris grouched. He finally seemed to notice Kyleigh standing off to one side. “Dragongirl,” he said with a nod. “I heard you were aboard. It’s good to see you again — luck always seems to follow you. And what can I help you with, eh?”
“I need you to train someone,” she said.
Morris was quiet for a moment. He squinted up his eyes and his mouth twitched beneath his bushy beard. “Train? But I don’t … there aren’t none left, Dragongirl. Haven’t you heard?”
“Yes, I wondered about that myself,” Lysander said, leaning back in his chair. “But the boy’s right here. And he’s already proven himself against the fog.”
Morris turned when he pointed and his eyes, sat back in their pouches, roved the length of Kael. Then they went to the top of his head, and his mouth broke into a wide grin. He was missing several teeth.
“Well my beard — you found one in the Unforgivable Mountains!” he said gleefully. “And what’s your name, lad?”
“Kael.”
“Pleasure to meet you.”
Kael reached out to shake his hand and his fingers grasped at nothing. He looked down and realized that Morris’s arm ended at the wrist. The nub of his severed hand was capped in a leather gauntlet.
“I got myself a matching set, I’m afraid,” Morris said, holding up the missing end of his other arm. “Not everyone died in the Whispering War — some of us got souvenirs. Usually try to warn a man first, I do.”
“Oh, um, it’s not a problem.” And he shook Morris’s forearm instead.
“So what’s your power, lad? Wait — don’t tell me.” Morris looked him over again. “You’re real evenly balanced, got a long reach and big hands for a lad your size. I’ll bet you’ve got a gift for war, don’t you?”
He wondered if Morris might be losing his sight. “No, I’m a healer,” he said. And he ignored Kyleigh’s snort.
“A healer?” Morris burst out in a round of wheezing laughter. “You can’t reel me in with that one. I’ve seen my share of whisperers, and I’ve got a real eye for talent.”
“Well, maybe you need spectacles — because I’ve always been a healer.”
Morris smirked. “I won’t waste my time squabbling with you about it, why don’t we settle this? Would you light a lantern for us, Captain?” Lysander took a lantern off the wall, struck a match and lit the candle. He slid it over the top of Morris’s right arm and wedged it against his gauntlet. “Thankee, Captain. And would you happen to have a mirror?”
“Oh, he’s got one,” Kyleigh said. “A man doesn’t get that sort of wave in his hair without a considerable amount of preening.”
“I do not preen,” Lysander said with a glare. He jerked open a drawer of his desk and handed Kael a silver hand mirror. “The wave is natural — and I only keep a mirror for signaling purposes.”
Kyleigh waited until his back was turned before she rolled her eyes.
“There was an old trick they taught us before whispering became a crime,” Morris said, holding the lantern up to his face.
The light hit his eye at a certain angle and a series of gold rings radiated out from his pupil, like ripples in a pond. They seemed to shimmer, and moved of their own accord in the candlelight.
“Do you see them?” When Kael nodded, he smiled. “Had the gift of craft, I did. I used to make weapons for King Banagher himself. But that was back before …” He cleared his throat loudly and blinked. “All right, it’s your turn. If you’re a craftsman, you’ll see rings like mine. A healer will be a diamond, and a warrior is a jagged cut straight across the middle. Got it?”
He nodded.
“Good. Now let me get this situated. The light’s got to hit at just the exact right angle.”
He looked straight ahead while Morris moved the lantern into position. The light touched his eyes and he could feel the warmth of the candle flame. Then he heard a loud clang as the lantern struck the floor.
“Tide take me!”
Lysander jumped to his feet. “What — what is it?”
Morris took several steps backwards. If his lids hadn’t been so droopy, the white might have shown the whole way around his eyes. He jabbed one of his arms at Kael and sputtered: “See for yourself!”
Amazingly, the lantern managed to land upright. A little wax spilled out in its base, but the wick still burned brightly. “Don’t move,” Lysander said as he held it up.
“If there’s something wrong, shouldn’t I be the first to know?” Kael argued.
Lysander grabbed him under the chin and peered into his eye. After a moment, he grinned. “Hold the mirror up. You’re going to want to see this.”
Kael ignored the sharp lines of his face and his too-pale skin. He brought the glass close, until his illuminated brown eyes filled it. There was gold in the middle of his eyes, too. But it wasn’t a diamond or a jagged cut, and there certainly weren’t any rings.
A series of straight lines crisscrossed through the iris. They cut so c
lose to the center of his eyes that it made his pupil look more triangular than round. “What is it?” he said without looking away. He was afraid that if he blinked, the pattern might disappear.
“It’s this,” Kyleigh said. She pulled a book off the shelf — a small tome entitled Classifications of Whisperers. She opened it and held it up so he could see.
A drawing filled the first page, a drawing of an eye with lines crisscrossing through it. He looked back and forth between the drawing and his eye, but there was no mistaking that what he saw were twin pictures.
Morris touched the end of his arm to the first set of triangles, the ones that fanned out from the point of the pupil. “Born of all,” he moved his arm to the interlocking triangles beneath it, “lord of all,” to black triangle in the middle, “behold — the Wright arises.”
They could’ve heard a mouse chewing cheese in the silence his words left behind. Kael couldn’t think of anything to say. He glanced around the room, but the others’ expressions were far from useful. Kyleigh’s face clearly said: I told you so. She was, no doubt, reveling in her triumph. Morris looked as if he’d just kicked open a chest of never-ending treasure. Lysander gazed out the window, a smile on his face.
Outside, the gray sky was churning.
“I’m not …” Kael began, but couldn’t quite get the words out.
“You are, lad.” Morris’s croak was surprisingly gentle. “Ever find that the things you make do exactly what they’re meant to?”
Kael thought immediately about the traps, about how Kyleigh said it was so odd that he managed to snare something every time. He kept his mouth hard, but Morris read the answer in his eyes.
“I thought so. That’ll be the craftsman in you. And ever taken a fall that would snap an average man’s neck? Or made a shot that seemed impossible?” When Kael’s face reddened, Morris smiled. “And that’s the warrior. The eyes reflect the soul, lad. And the soul don’t lie.” Then he turned to Kyleigh. “So this is what you went looking for, eh?”
“I knew we’d be hopeless without him,” she said. Her green eyes bored into his. Her expression betrayed nothing, yet he thought he could feel her excitement … and her relief.
