by JM Guillen
“The bounds are weary, girl. As weary as my blood and bones.” She gazed at me for a moment and then went back to her bottles. “The font-spring is strong enough, but on a day like today…” Her voice trailed off as she thumbed through her stock.
“Wait.” I stared at the captain, incredulous and suspicious. “So my mother told you to take me to an actual bound in order to awaken her present?” I waved my hand, showing the ring.
“A bound would work. Probably very well.” He made a vacillating gesture. “Not required, however. Iryniå—yer mum—made it clear that I simply needed any of the wyrd-wrought constructs.”
“The Font is not a bound.” Dhakirah didn’t look up from her work, sorting through those small bottles and beakers until she found what she sought. She mixed a few careful drops together in a small stone bowl but then frowned.
“No,” she said to absolutely no one.
The short woman reached for a small, blue bottle. She added two drops from that and then carefully dribbled them into the ornate bottle she had withdrawn from her table earlier. She capped it with a silver stopper, then held out the small flask to the captain.
“Take it but be careful.” She gave him a wan, weary smile. “I secured loyal men at the Font. We needed that certainty.”
“Bless you.” Captain Argent seemed genuinely relieved. “My man Barnabas may be just behind us. If you see him, please direct him to the Font.”
“I shall.” She paused. “I need to pack my things, An’Tafaar, assuming we will be leaving?”
“We will.” Captain Argent assured her as he took the ornate phial and wafted it under his nose. A smile broke out on his handsome face. “Corsun is there now. Dock one-eighty. You can go whenever you like.”
“I shall.” She gave me a canny look. “If this young lady is there as well, perhaps I can be of help to her.”
“I think she will be.” Then Captain Argent handed the old woman a small pouch that clinked softly and put the ornate phial in his breast pocket.
“Don’t I get to smell my own perfume?” I felt a mix of amused and annoyed.
“Not yet, sweetling. Not now.” He took my hand. “This is more than your scent. It is as much a tool as it is an adornment. It is precious. You will experience it precisely when you need it and not before.” He grinned. “For now, ’Bel, consider it a surprise.”
I wanted him to let me smell it now. He had stood in the middle of the market and discussed me with a stranger, as if I were a painting that required a frame. They had subtly judged me, tested me, and determined that I was a certain kind of woman.
I wanted to know what kind of woman they’d decided I was.
The grin didn’t fade from his face as he watched my thoughts slide across my features.
“This is pride, young lady.” Dhakirah’s voice was subtly haughty, as if she were a governess. “Vanity wants to be classified, to be found worthy, to be known. When we are done, you will understand that the only judgment that matters is your own.”
I had nothing to say to that.
Captain Argent peered covertly at the street from the sheltering flaps of the tent.
“We must be onward now, but I hope to see you at the Storm Dancer, Dhakirah.” He nodded to her.
“I hope to see you there.” She chuckled. “I imagine if her captain isn’t present, I might be stranded when the bloodstorm comes.”
Captain Argent stepped close and held out his arm for me.
I took it but then stopped as we stepped out. I turned back to the wizened woman.
“Is it certain?” I paused. “The bounds, I mean. Is it certain they will fall?”
“Oh yes.” Sadness etched across the canvas of her face. “Things have been adrift for some time now. The outers will certainly fall…”
“But the inners as well?” I paused, trying not to sound desperate. “Is it certain all of Calyptin Station will fall?”
“Apparently, your mother thought not.” She grew quiet for a long moment, searching my face with her attentive, dark eyes. “I suppose that all depends upon you.”
I could feel the weight of her gaze as Captain Argent walked into the street, pulling me along with him.
My mind heaved and raved with as much of a storm as what hung in the lurid sky.
10
When we stepped back into the streets, the city had begun to panic a touch further. Most of the shops had closed up entirely, and people moved at a brisk, not quite confident pace.
I glanced at the captain, trying to read his face. No worry lines marred his forehead, and his eyes remained bright, canny.
Perhaps it wasn’t time to worry yet.
“Let me make certain I understand,” I murmured to him as we passed a brave but possibly foolish wainwright. “We’re going to the Font of Opulence because my mother’s gift will awaken there.”
“Yes.” He nodded. “That’s the idea, anyway.”
“So why the perfume?” I glanced at his pocket.
“Some of the constructs harmonize differently and require odd conditions or reagents.” He shrugged. “I’m certain it would function without it. It did in the auction room, after all.”
“So, after the Font…?”
“I don’t rightly know.” He chuckled. “I’m in the bilge as much as you in some ways. Perhaps the ring will tell you how to fix the bounds. Maybe it will direct us to promptly leave.” He clasped my hand. “Either way, we’ll whipping sail soon.”
He led me down the rapidly emptying street toward the center of Calyptin at a more rapid pace than before. No longer strolling the view with his lady, he became a man with a purpose and a timeline.
Then a rumbling, warbling roar cried from the four corners of the city. The sound trembled, as much physical as audible, as it washed over and through us.
The eddár-horns sounded.
“Oh!” I’d hoped Captain Argent would know what to do, but the man’s face turned white.
As night had fallen, the outers had fallen as well.
That didn’t mean that the people there were dead or claimed by the Shroud—not yet at any rate. But the Highwall was closed to outsiders now. Citizens might leave, but no one would be allowed into the city, not for a time, anyway.
“We should step quick.” He squeezed my hand as he doubled his pace. “Things are going to get nasty sooner than we’d like.”
I was certain he was right.
The Font lay only a few blocks away thankfully. I’d never actually stepped foot in the city plaza, though I’d nearly grazed it a time or three. It was always heavily warded by hired bashers to keep the less savory citizens where they belonged.
Dhakirah said she’d placed loyal men at the Font.
Interesting. For the first time in my life, I wondered who actually guarded places like the Font. Not the Vigilant, that was certain. Perhaps Men of the Accords? It made sense that soldiers would guard the places that held the Shroud at bay.
I only knew I’d never dared it a’fore. Not when the ruins of Eld Calyptia held so many other relics and curiosities.
When we arrived, Captain Argent had no such compunctions. He strode up to one of the largest, hairiest men I’d ever seen and stood next to him, a wide smile on his face.
“Good omen, cully.”
The man said nothing but continued to stand, facing forward, his placid features blank.
Captain Argent cleared his throat. “It looks as if the sun is kind to you, my friend.”
“It is,” the man grumbled, barely moving his lips. “It always is to those who keep the desert’s secrets.”
I hadn’t pegged the man as Q’sarri.
“So it does, friend, so it does.” Captain Argent didn’t move.
“Do we have a friend in kind?” When the basher finally did turn his head, I almost expected to hear the grinding of rocks sliding against each other.
“I’d say we do. We’re here on her business.” I had been so busy looking at the large man that I hadn’t noticed
that Captain Argent had pulled out that flip wallet again. The Riogiin fiat, that symbol of the royal line, shone in the city lights.
“I see.” The man nodded. “Good omen, then.” He let us in without blinking.
That’s the second time that worked. It set my thoughts awhirl. Either the scoundrel sky captain had stolen documentation that he was a noble, or the scoundrel sky captain was of Riogiin lineage.
I didn’t know which one sounded more fantastic.
We took a few steps into the courtyard before I spoke. “That was simpler than I expected.”
Captain Argent chuckled. “Dhakirah isn’t our only ally in Calyptin Station. It’s an important location tactically.” His smile faded. “Apparently, our people weren’t enough.”
I stepped into a large, open area, surrounded by open, pointed archways that gracefully defined all five sides of the font-spring’s terraced grounds. Elegant flowering vines and exotic potted plants bloomed everywhere, teasing with color and delighting with fragrance.
I wanted to ogle the statuary. Elegant and primal, they were tremendous in scope and size, still impressive despite the occasional graffiti.
“Beautiful.” I ran my finger down one fractured, shining archway before Captain Argent tugged me away.
“No time, ’Bel.” He actually seemed sorry. “We need to be along.”
“Fine,” I grumbled, even though I knew he was right.
I yearned to seek out the intricate, graven sigils that were said to be hidden in nooks and crannies all around the Font. I wanted to linger over them, tracing their contours with my fingers. I longed to touch the eternally glowing globes found nowhere else in the city as I was guided over the mossy earth. If only I could poke and prod them, maybe they’d give their secrets over to me.
I hated to deny my potent curiosity.
However, Captain Argent had a different agenda. He all but dragged me to the center of the courtyard by the Font itself.
“It’s amazing.” I grinned like a child.
Disc after crystalline disc hung in the air, glinting softly with internal light. Sourceless and unsullied water poured out of its summit to fall, sparkling in the moonlight, to a spot just above the ground. There it gathered in a pool unbounded by any walls or drains. The water simply clung to itself, content to hang in the air a hand-span above the earth.
Fresh water, pure and uncorrupted this near the wastes, was practically a figment story. The impossibility of the construct made things doubly wonderful.
The captain’s eyes twinkled, and he jerked his chin toward the Font.
“Time to get in,” he directed.
I stared at the delicate crystal disks and artistic sprays floating on nothing.
“You’ve tongue tripped,” I told him. “You couldn’t mean ‘get in,’ you must have meant ‘gather some,’ or some such.” I had a doubtful tone. To be honest, now that I was here, I found it hard not to be afraid.
“You know better.” Captain Argent turned to stare into my eyes. He didn’t say another word.
He didn’t have to. His eyes said plenty.
I raised my hands, palms out.
“Aye, Captain! I’m complying already!” I removed my boots slowly, in case he changed his mind about this insanity.
He did not.
Under his watchful gaze, I stepped directly into the water, half expecting the pool to collapse and spill at my intrusion.
The water, warm around my calves, continued to hover, still not touching the ground or even my feet. The largest disk held steady far above my head.
I turned to face Captain Argent.
“I’m in.” I gazed up at the disk’s glassy surface and half raised one arm, wanting to touch it. It was quite out of reach though.
Captain Argent reached into his breast pocket and pulled out the phial of oil. He unstopped it and gave me a small smile.
“Take a step back this way, ’Bel.” His voice was soft. “But stay in the water.”
When I did, Captain Argent touched one too-warm finger to my throat, and I raised my eyes to gaze at his face.
His brow furrowed with concentration as he traced an oily finger in an intricate pattern on my flesh. A strongly earthy scent, radiantly warm and lemony, bearing touches of sweetgrass and exotic floral notes wafted up.
My eyes slid closed, and the water pattered around me like rain as the captain anointed me with my very own fragrance, encapsulated just for me.
Captain Argent withdrew, and I continued to stand, reveling in the scent created by the pure water combining with my cologne. The water pattered down in heavy drops with a musical pattern I hadn’t noticed before. I took in a deep breath and stood, waiting.
For an eternal nonce, all remained quiet.
I could almost catch the rhythm. It was a complex sequence that beat against the water, showering me in miniscule droplets, teasing at the back of my mind, melding with the faint, unidentifiable song that had stuck in my head since my visions at the auction house.
I knew I knew it. It was so familiar, haunting and mellow, but rich with nuanced meaning, powerful strains underlying its very structure.
“Ysabel Dartange.” The voice was familiar. “Aetne Numoin. Das Troi-il.”
My eyes widened then closed.
I had forgotten how the chamber at the auction house had responded when I first entered it, far before I wore my mother’s ring. But now, thinking about those ghostlights and the odd wisps of dreamy phantasm that I had seen…
Well, it made more sense if I was wyrd-blooded, didn’t it?
Then, the melody began.
It was the same song I’d heard in my mother’s voice, and it made the oil on my skin burn with sweet but lightless fire.
The melody grew stronger, louder, teasing at me, broadening, becoming manifold. It encompassed so much! I could feel how it entangled me, threading through my life, twining around everyone and everything that had ever spoken to me, ever touched me, ever loved me.
Then the ring on my finger shone with darkling radiance, and she spoke:
“Time is short.” My mother’s voice seemed to wash around me, greatly amplified from earlier. Now, everything—every single thing in the world—resounded with her words.
“The outers have fallen.”
I squinted, trying not to wince at the furor of the melody. “Captain Argent says—”
“The captain’s mission has been betrayed.” My mother wasn’t being stern, not quite, but she was terse. “Before he even left the Flaming Bastions, word of his coming reached Calyptia.” Her tone was terrible and threatened to sweep me away into a dark and infinite river of secrets.
My eyes popped open, seeking a touchstone, something familiar that I could use as an anchor.
Captain Argent stood before me, a pillar of strength and confidence, offering assurance and adventurous mystery at once.
Everything within me went sparklingly white as I gasped and reached for him, my fingers just grazing his cheek. I gaped at the sky captain, at the silver tracery that limned him and every living thing within my sight.
My fingers burned where they touched him, and I pressed my palm to his face, determined not to be parted from the cool, verdant of his eyes.
“We don’t know where to step next.” I spoke through my gritted teeth. “The captain doesn’t know anything about the bounds except that they’re beneath the city.”
“The captain’s men are fighting in the streets even now. We didn’t understand the reach of the shrouded cults within the city.” She paused. “Calyptia may be lost.”
“But—!” Tears sprung to my eyes as I thought of my life here, the people I knew. However, only one of those thoughts cascaded into words. “Da.”
“Ysabel, regardless of what happens next, your life will never be the same. I had hoped to protect you from the legacy of our family, hoped to give you choices that I never had.” Sorrow hung heavy as syrup in her words. “But the silver fire burns within you, and it’s time you lear
ned what that means.”
I felt that melody burn its way into me then, seeping into my skin and singing in my veins. My mother was there too, somehow, riding that song as it seared into me.
Then, my mind was inside the Font, cascading like water.
I felt thin threads of trembling perception spreading out from the Font, like a cobweb of—
“’Bel?” Captain Argent seemed concerned. “What about your father?”
I looked at him, trembling. Sweat beaded on my forehead. Had I spoken out loud? I had no—
Quick as thought, my mind skipped down one of the strands arcing out from the Font.
I felt myself slip down a ramshackle street and turn several corners. Everything was misty, and there was no color in the world.
Then, I was at the ship docks.
“As far inland as I can get, I suppose.” My father looked over his shoulder, at where the bloodstorm raged. “Although with that in the sky, I can imagine—”
“There is no time for this, Ysabel.” My mother’s voice was patient and held a deep sorrow. “I must show you what we stand against.”
Faster than quicksilver, I was drawn back, before I could even see the name of the ship my father booked passage upon.
“Safe.” Tears flooded my eyes. “He’s safe.”
Thunderous sound rumbled above me, an ominous promise of death and destruction.
I looked up and cowered beneath the dubious shelter of the transparent Font. Gazing through the sheets of water, I saw the impossible.
It was a citadel. An impossible city of obsidian and glass with twisting, twining towers that stabbed at the sky. It floated in the air, far above the top of the fountain. Wherever it touched the clouds, they blackened, becoming bloated and overfull with heavy drops that slithered along the bottom of the city, only to fall, thick and fetid and red.
The source of the taint that—!
“Ysabel.” His low voice was faint and faraway.
It was well enough that he was far. No one should be near this stronghold of blasphemy. It was a fortress, a temple, and a doorway all at once. It was—
