Secrets of the Stonechaser (The Law of Eight Book 1)

by Nicholas Andrews

  “You said you sailed the skies?” Len-Ahl said with wonder.

  “Aye!” Jorga turned back to them and beamed at Len-Ahl. “A skyship, wonder of the ancient world, based on a lost art of ship making. The Skylark, Jamellos Laveston dubbed her.”

  “We had somewhere very high we needed to go,” Nerris explained. “Our benefactor at the time, Jamellos Laveston, spent several years researching ancient tomes and texts for clues on how to restore a ship which could fly through the air.” He jerked his head toward Jorga. “He finally succeeded, and then this lump crashed it.”

  “Hey,” Jorga protested. “I was the one you picked to pilot, wasn’t I?”

  “You were the only one fool enough to volunteer,” Dist said as he passed by.

  “Jorga has this thing with his ships,” Nerris told Len-Ahl. “They tend to end up at the bottom of the ocean, sooner or later.”

  “It’s my curse,” Jorga admitted.

  “It’s because you like to drink behind the helm,” Dist said, looking around. “For the love of Clystam, Jorga, didn’t anyone ever tell you when you sink the old boat, you buy a better one? There are patches in the sails!”

  Dist pointed up, and Nerris followed his finger. Sure enough, the main mast looked like it had succumbed to a bout of leprosy. All throughout the deck, as well, were quite a few spots where rotten wood had been replaced with planks and boards nailed over the holes.

  “You were expecting a pleasure barge?” Jorga asked. “Times are lean, and I’ve had to resort to hauling pickles lately. Not much big money in trading produce.”

  “I hope Jhareth didn’t swindle you on our passage,” Nerris said.

  “Think nothing of it,” Jorga said. “I don’t know what kind of adventure you’re on, but the sea is at your disposal as long as I’m with you.”

  “We just want to get to Orrigo,” Jhareth said. “Let’s not get carried away.”

  Jorga grinned. “Jhareth, when have I ever gotten carried away?”

  None of them chose to answer.

  Once they were out of the harbor, they found a strong wind to pull their creaky cog west. As soon as they cleared the Arm, they could turn south for Orrigo. If the wind held up, they would dock in the harbor after a mere three days. Nerris supposed he should be grateful the trip would be short. As good as it was to see Captain Jorga again, he had no desire to stay on any ship of his longer than he had to.

  As the sun set in front of them that evening, Nerris found Len-Ahl at the starboard gunwale. Her eyes were closed, and her golden hair billowed in the sea breeze. Nerris stopped beside her and rested his arms on the rail. He wanted to ask Len-Ahl about what had happened back in the great hall at Faerlin Castle, but she looked to be at such peace it would be a shame to sully her moment with talk of dark events.

  “The air smells different here,” she said after a few moments of silence.

  “It’s the salt in the water,” Nerris said. “I keep forgetting this is your first time at sea.”

  “Does it go on like this forever?” Len-Ahl asked.

  Nerris looked ahead, aware of the sunset to his left. “If you keep going out this way, you’ll run into Hilonia eventually. To the far east, out past Miagama and the Huku Islands, lies the water known as the Endless Ocean. No one who has attempted to cross has ever come back.”

  “Not even in one of those skyships?”

  “The skyships only work over land,” Nerris said. “We found that out when we tried to fly over Lake Lilo. But who knows what the ancients were able to accomplish? Much of their technology was lost with the fall of the Aristian Empire.” He leaned over the side, watching the waves break against the ship’s hull. “There are those who believe all the world’s landmasses are merely large rafts floating slowly over the vast oceans. They say somewhere out there, the ocean drops off into an enormous waterfall known as the Great Cataract. One day Tormalia, Egkari, the Chei sub-continent, all of it, will come upon the Great Cataract and go over the edge. And that will be how the world ends.”

  “That would be a poor end for the lands of the world,” Len-Ahl said. “All that has been accomplished swept away in an instant.”

  “It’s just an old story,” Nerris said.

  “I can see how the vastness of the sea would give rise to such tales. When we first set sail I was overwhelmed with a feeling of smallness. It was an odd sensation.”

  “Are you feeling sick at all? A first time at sea can do that to some people.”

  “Oh, no,” Len-Ahl said. “I like it. The sounds of the waves hitting the ship, the salty breeze... such a perfect union of wind and water. Undines and sylphs, in perfect harmony.”

  “Undines?”

  “Water faeries,” she said, opening her eyes. “I have been watching them at play for hours now. They are so innocent out here. They know nothing of the land and all its problems.”

  Nerris vaguely remembered Len-Ahl telling him sylphs were the faeries of the air. He squinted, casting a long look into the Aristian Sea. “I can’t see anything.”

  “It is harder for someone of this world to sense the faery realm,” Len-Ahl said, “but it can be done. Close your eyes.” Nerris did so, and Len-Ahl put a hand on his arm. “Imagine yourself sitting on a distant shore. Hear the waves breaking against the sand and rocks, and feel the spray of the mist against your skin. Look at the mist drawing closer to you, enveloping you, and feel it caress you with its gentle touch.”

  Nerris could visualize and feel everything Len-Ahl said. Soon, he could feel the wet mist encircling him, drawing him away from his shore. He felt a sense of life he hadn’t felt in years. A safe, exhilarated feeling. He opened his eyes in time to catch sight of something on the waves. Before his mind could register what he saw, it had vanished, a splash in the water the only evidence to mark its passage.

  “Did you see it?” Len-Ahl asked.

  Nerris felt a bit disappointed. “Only some fish.”

  “Perhaps,” Len-Ahl said. “I know why you came over here, Nerris. You have questions.”

  “Many questions,” he said. “Where to start?”

  “With whatever is on your mind right now.”

  “Who are you?” Nerris asked. “I know now you are no mere Oak Forest curiosity. The beings you converse with, what you did back in the great hall... you have some connection to all this cult business.”

  “As do you,” Len-Ahl said, gazing at him with her deep green eyes. “Am I right?”

  “Yes,” Nerris said. “I encountered them when I was in Yagolhan, six months ago.”

  “I had never met one before Congir,” Len-Ahl said, “yet I suspected what he was. The reason I came with you, my purpose for being, is to fight those who would undo Angelica’s great works.”

  “Angelica, Queen of the Faeries,” Nerris said. “It always seems to come back to her. You’re one of them, aren’t you? A faery.”

  “Yes and no,” Len-Ahl said. “You heard Congir call me a child of the Xenea, no doubt. Xenea is the proper name for the faeries and it is true my mother was one. However, my father was human.”

  “A half-faery?”

  “It is not a common union,” Len-Ahl said, “though it can happen. In the days of antiquity, humans and faeries used to live in harmony. But the humans began to move away from nature, and construct walls of wood and stone. They drew into themselves and lost abilities they once had, such as communion with all living things. As the eons drifted by, they found they could no longer sense the faery realm, and the Xenea became as myth and story to them. Even with my help, Nerris, you still deny what you saw. I struggle with my human side as well, at certain times.”

  “And your music?” Nerris asked. “How did it stop those cultists?”

  Len-Ahl sighed. “If only I were stronger. I thought I would be able to stop Congir, but the cult is stronger in Faerlin than even I suspected. I fear all I was able to do was delay them. No doubt those poor priests will still be sacrificed in the name of the Destroyer, if they haven’t
already. Music comes from a place of purity in the soul, Nerris. To give oneself over to Eversor is to lose that purity. If you know how to play the right notes, music can be anathema to them.”

  Nerris remembered the glade in Yahd’s Walk, how he had heard the music on the air, helping to drive the cultists away. “Faery music?”

  Len-Ahl chuckled. “Where do you think music came from? It is the original spoken language of the faeries.”

  “And the Exemplus? What do you know about it?”

  “My mother once told me a little knowledge is a dangerous thing,” Len-Ahl said, “and a lot of knowledge can mean disaster. I was never informed of the Exemplus’s nature; only that it is the most powerful stone in creation, and I must find it before it can be rejoined with the corruption. When we understand the scrolls of Angelica, I feel we may begin to understand why we were brought together to do this.”

  “The corruption?”

  “You know of what I speak.”

  Of course. The Doom Rock. Qabala must have known about the Exemplus this entire time, and she wanted to come east to look for it. The two stones must be counterparts, and Qabala wanted to wield them both, dual godstones with untold power. Nerris had seen a glimpse of the power one gave to Qabala. He shuddered to think what it would mean for her to wield two.

  “Do you have anything you would like to say?” Len-Ahl asked.

  “No. Nothing.” Nerris slumped against the gunwale. Even after all that had happened, he could not flippantly betray Qabala’s secrets. She had made him feel again, and given him something to live for. He owed her better than that.

  Len-Ahl intertwined her arm with his. “You put up such walls, much higher than those of any castle. One day I will stand atop them, however.”

  Nerris laughed. “You’re saying you want to straddle my parapet?”

  Len-Ahl gave his arm a light slap. “I did not mean it like that!” She laughed. “Whenever you speak to me, it is like smoke rising from a chimney. I know one day I will get inside those walls and experience the warmth of the fire within. And that will be a joyous day indeed.”

  Nerris remained silent for a time. “You may be in for a long wait,” he finally said.

  “I do not mind,” Len-Ahl whispered. “It is our fate.”

  “Can’t say I believe in fate,” Nerris said. “Not for a long time.”

  “Why?”

  “I loved someone once,” he said. “She wasn’t much taller than you, and she had the same... vibrancy, I suppose you would call it. A spirit which shone brighter than a hundred suns. And she brought out that spirit in me as well. When we were together, it was clear to me we would spend the rest of our lives with each other.”

  “Yet here you stand.”

  “Here I stand,” Nerris agreed, a lump forming in his throat. Just thinking about Ketsuya did that to him. “Len-Ahl, I swear that whatever task you have, I will protect you from those who would do you harm. Until the end. But don’t ask for my love. That road leads to ruin.”

  Len-Ahl considered him. “You know what I think? I think you are the one in need of protection.”

  Nerris laughed. “Me?”

  “You are formidable, no doubt,” she said. “Thrillseeker and all that. But maybe you should think of me as that extra bit of protection, something on top of your sword, armor, and those inner walls of yours. Think of me as someone to guide you when you are lost, or cannot think. Look to me at those times, Nerris, and I will see you through all the ruin.” She gave his arm one last squeeze and released him. “I think it is time I turned in for the night. Where does one sleep on a vessel such as this?”

  “Jorga set up private quarters for you, being the only female on board,” Nerris said. “Go below deck, hang a right at the corridor, and don’t look in on Dist or Jhareth. They’re drinking with Jorga’s men. Unless you’d like a few drunken pinches. Keep in mind we’re on this scow with sailors, not saints.”

  Len-Ahl giggled. “Thank you for the advice.”

  As she disappeared below deck, Nerris turned back to the sea. In the distance there were many splashes upon the surface of the water, but Nerris could not make out their source. Was it some kind of fish, as he suspected, or something else? All he could do was watch.

  Nerris didn’t see much of Len-Ahl, or anyone, over the next two days. While rounding the tip of the Arm, Jorga’s helmsman scraped against some shallows, sending a shudder throughout the whole ship. Nerris spent the rest of his time on the Sea Tart puking his guts over the gunwale, and no one wanted to come near him.

  Hours before they were scheduled to make port in Orrigo, Dist and Jorga approached him. Jorga thrust a tankard of ale at him. “Peace offering?”

  Nerris took the tankard and quaffed it straight. “You had to put a drunk man on the helm, didn’t you?”

  “It was his turn,” Jorga said. “I may have underestimated how drunk he was, but we made it out all right. If it makes you feel better, I’ll have that helmsman scrub the barnacles from the hull when we reach port. He’ll think twice about drinking next time his turn comes up.”

  “Don’t worry,” Dist said to Nerris’s dubious glare. “Just a couple of hours until Orrigo.”

  At that point, Jhareth barged his way up onto the deck and stomped toward them, his damp boots squishing on the wood. “You have a problem,” he said to Jorga.

  “What is it?”

  “You’ve got holes in your boat.”

  “Balderdash.”

  Jhareth pointed down. “I was in the hold. The water was up to my ankles.”

  Jorga’s eyes went wide and he went forth, shouting orders. “All free hands to the hold! You there, put down that hawser and come with me. No, Dakens, stay at the rigging. The rest of you, with me! And someone bring buckets!” Jorga and his men disappeared below deck.

  “What were you stealing?” Dist asked Jhareth.

  “Nothing,” Jhareth replied. “Everything was too wet.”

  Nerris took another swig of ale. “I should have thought of this before. The more I drink, the less I care if we sink or not. What’s the plan when we get ashore?”

  “I figure you and Len-Ahl can track down our scholar,” Jhareth said. “You’re more suited to treat with someone like that than I am. I’ll acquire horses for whatever destination the scrolls lead us to. We’ll need some other things as well; cooking pots, pans, rain shelters, and the like.”

  “What about me?” Dist asked.

  “You hire a messenger to send to King Owen,” Jhareth said.

  “Yes, he’ll need to know what happened in Faerlin,” Nerris said. “Sooner or later, news of Ceder Duchois’s death will reach him, and it’s best if he hears our account. If Qabala does invade, I fear I may have handed her Agos on a silver platter.”

  “You really think Lord Laque will let her march through his lands?” Jhareth asked.

  “He won’t join her as long as Owen holds his younger son,” Nerris said. “But he has no love lost for House Palwell or us.”

  “You still haven’t told us what Len-Ahl said to you,” Dist said. “Some of the seamen said they saw you two having a fairly intimate conversation the first night of the voyage. What’s going on?”

  Nerris told them everything Len-Ahl had said, aside from the part where she offered to be his protector. He would never hear the end of it if he revealed that.

  Jhareth scratched at his goatee. “The Exemplus is a stone, is it? Made of some precious metal, I would wager.”

  “I don’t think this is the kind of stone you can sell,” Nerris said.

  “Who cares?” Jhareth said.

  “Come again?”

  “From now until the end of time, they will say it was the Thrillseekers who found the Exemplus,” he said, almost twitching with excitement. “That is worth more than any amount of money, I would say.”

  “If we don’t drown first,” Dist said, glancing down at the water.

  However, Jorga’s men were able to patch the holes in the bowels of the
ship with wood and resin, and the Sea Tart made it to port after all. Only after the hawsers were tied, the sails furled, and the captain and his men ashore for a night of carousing did their patchwork come undone. When they returned later that night, The Sea Tart had sunk to its mast.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  ORRIGO WAS A cozy port which sprawled across the Agossean north coast. Though the harbor was as raucous as any in Tormalia, the rest of the city was marked by its quiet and tranquility. It boasted no university of its own, but played home to many smaller schools dedicated to crafts such as the healing arts. Many retired professors and scholars from Faerlin’s university resided there, and it boasted Tormalia’s only public library. The emphasis on culture and knowledge had led to Orrigo being dubbed the City of Enlightenment.

  However, the brothel Dist stood in front of was anything but cultured. It was a well-kept, yet unobtrusive building to be sure, and looked a sight better than some of the ramshackle places down in the harbor or in the seedier parts of Faerlin. It was in a good part of town, lingering on the edge of a small square with a sculpted fountain. A few residents sat on their stoops, basking in the warm spring sun, and a group of children ran by, engrossed in a game of Blind Man’s Bluff.

  It was midday when Dist stepped through the door of the Happy End Brothel, which meant business was slow. A young woman covered in freckles stood behind a bar, wearing a skin-tight shift and not much else. Dist gave her a smile as he wandered farther inward. An overweight man sat at the only occupied table, chatting up a homely blonde woman. If it was evening, the bar lady would be busy pouring drinks while serving girls raced back and forth from the kitchens with food for the patrons, and the whores led their clients up the wooden stairs by the hand to a room where they could earn their night’s wages.

  After a few more steps, a middle-aged woman with a wide smile sauntered over to him. “Welcome, good master,” she said. “Will you be wanting a table, or did you have a specific girl in mind?”