“I was not part of that battle with the Adren Navy,” Agnos seethed. “I was a spectator—nothing else. I watched as Gray’s whales destroyed those ships. Tashami was the one in the heat of battle, annihilating enemies and making sure there were as few casualties on our side as possible. Not only that, but he was the sole reason why the ship didn’t topple over during the storm.”
“Both are valid arguments,” Barloe noted, his face softening before he groaned and sat on a stool. “But we wouldn’t have even found the Brench Hilt if it weren’t for you catching the Devish and Cynnish rats on the ship. Toth’s merchant vessel would have eluded us and made it to the Archaic Kingdom with all of its gold.”
“Sheer dumb luck,” Agnos said. “That’s where I went to read and sleep to get away from the swabs. It just so happened that Farlyn and his partner talked down there.”
Barloe placed a foot on the bottom rung of the stool and rested his hand on his knee. He tilted his head as he gazed curiously at the Jestivan. “I’m surprised that it hasn’t added up in your head yet. This is the first time I’ve witnessed your mind falter.”
Agnos gazed at the man with bloodshot eyes.
Barloe sighed. “Agnos, why do you think Farlyn went decades without being caught by anyone on the crew?”
“Because he selected his moments carefully, during heavy storms.”
Barloe shook his head. “That’s partly correct. Even considering that, however, it’s not like a storm stops pirates from entering the hold. Often times they’ll go down there to make sure there isn’t any damage to the ship.”
“Well, Farlyn conducted his business in an obscure location,” Agnos explained.
“Stop.” Barloe held up his hand, requesting silence. “Crew members had heard Farlyn before, but they didn’t know what they were hearing was someone’s voice. They thought the storm or the ship’s foundation was responsible, which was because they had never heard Cynnish before. The language is a chorus of soft whispers and subtle howls ... it almost sounds like wind, making the storms a perfect backdrop.”
Agnos relaxed, understanding what the quartermaster was trying to explain. “You’re saying that they were discovered because of my ancient.” He looked down at his knees. “Which I guess is right. The first time I heard them down there, it was because I had fallen asleep earlier in the day while reading a book in a different language. I had forgotten to take off my glasses, so when I awoke, my relic was already translating what I was hearing, likely because I had instinctively began weaving upon hearing the foreign tongue.”
Barloe smiled. “Back when I met you in the Chasm—when I thought you and Tashami were nothing but a couple urchins who had swindled your way into the gambling hall’s top floor—I told you that your relic had no use to a crew of pirates.”
“I remember that.”
“Ironic that said relic is the reason why this pirate crew achieved its biggest mission in the history of ever.”
Agnos managed to smile. “Sephrina just rolled over in her grave,” he teased.
“Ah, the Second of Five is an obvious exception,” Barloe said as he returned to his feet. “But even Sephrina’s accomplishments pale in comparison to what you’ve been speaking of doing for the past year. Eet and Osh tell me about your stories of the seafloor cavern.” He paused and studied Agnos before asking, “Are you all good now?”
“I’m fine, thanks.”
“Good, because I believe there’s one more thing Crole wants to show you.”
* * *
Agnos walked outside, joining Tashami and Crole behind the registration tables. It was clear that the two squallblasters were purposefully avoiding his eye.
“I’m okay, guys.”
Slowly, they gazed over at him. “That was unlike you,” Crole said.
“I know. It won’t happen again. Barloe said you have something else to show me.”
The squallblaster’s face lit up with joy, his eyes smiling from his cheeks. “Follow me!”
It was another long trek through DaiSo filled with invasive gazes from fellow pirates. At least now Agnos understood the reasoning for it. Perhaps some of them were pirates who disdained the name he had created for himself.
This thought was confirmed shortly after by Crole. “Not everyone is pleased with your fast track to the top. Most of the people in DaiSo have spent decades on a crew, yet would never even sniff at the opportunity of becoming utility personnel like Tashami or myself—forget the idea of captaincy. But you ... you’re now a captain held synonymous with Captain Gray Whale ...” He trailed off and laughed. “And after one voyage no less.”
Eventually, Agnos realized what Crole’s destination was. “Are we heading for the shipyard?”
He didn’t respond, but the glint in his eyes said enough.
They arrived at a towering wall constructed of stacked logs before being allowed through by a few women who stood guard. A single ship was raised above the water’s surface by a lattice of wooden beams that stretched between the shipyard’s walls. Not even Agnos could make sense of the contraption. The ribs and bulkheads were fully in place, but the ship was nowhere near completion. The skeleton seemed ready, but it was missing everything else.
“It’s as big as the Whale Lord,” Agnos said.
Crole smacked his back. “And it’s yours.”
* * *
Later that night, Agnos and Tashami rowed out into the harbor, following the streak of moonlight against the gulf’s surface. They discussed the day’s events and what sat on the horizon for them now that they were going to have their own ship. Once they reached the Whale Lord—the ship farthest from the coast—they tied their longboat to the netting against the ship’s hull before climbing to the deck.
It was a surreal experience, being on a ship as grand as the Whale Lord without the crew. Somehow, it looked even bigger than it had before.
They entered the specialty quarters and walked down the hall. A doorway to the quartermaster’s cabin sat at the end, but they turned down a separate hallway, where another door sat—this one much more elaborate. Agnos knocked on the captain’s door, receiving no answer in return. With a glance back at Tashami, he knocked twice more. Eventually, he tried twisting the handle to discover it wasn’t locked. He peered inside; the room was empty.
“Where is she?” Agnos asked.
“I don’t know,” Tashami said.
They checked every room in the halls before trying the lower decks. That’s where they found her lying in a hammock where the crew usually slept. “Hello, boys.”
“What are you doing down here?” Agnos asked, falling awkwardly into a hammock of his own.
“Reminiscing.”
Once he was situated, Agnos rolled over and said, “It’s hard to believe you were once anything but a captain.”
She brushed a few silver strands of hair from her face and turned to look at him. “Captain of a ship isn’t a title you simply stumble upon, Agnos. We can’t all be you,” she said through a wry smirk.
Agnos was too delighted by the fact that she no longer called him “Anus” to be bothered by her snide remark. She leaned back into the cloth. “How have the two of you been? I suppose returning to Phesaw wasn’t easy considering the circumstances.”
The two Jestivan exchanged glances, both of their minds picturing Jilly’s face underneath a sunhat entirely too large for her head. “I’ll be honest,” Agnos said. “It hasn’t hit me as hard as I thought it would have.”
She gave an understanding nod. “That’s because the lot of you have been separated for so long now. Had you spent the past year with the Jestivan like you did the years before it, the impact would have been greater. Your bonds are weakening. Let’s hope they don’t sever—for the world’s sake.”
Agnos looked to shift topics. “How’d the whole idea of me becoming a captain and having my own ship come about?”
“I came up with it, but the Spirit Queen is who went above and beyond my wish.”
; “Damn, Agnos,” Tashami said, giving his friend a sly smirk. “Garnering the attention of royal heads.”
“Queen Apsa summoned me to her palace. When I arrived, she had a feast in my honor—just me and her. Shea-Ley—or I think you know her by Director Neaneuma—wasn’t able to show—something about her own matters to attend to.” She folded her hands against her chest. “Anyway, our discussion veered toward who should actually receive the credit for the voyage’s success, and that’s when I told her about yours and Tashami’s role. When I informed her of your discovery of rats aboard the ship, she applauded ... literally. She clapped and grinned in that obnoxious way Spiritians tend to do.”
Tashami grinned. He and Agnos were likely thinking the same thing: Just like Jilly.
“And then I told her about your silly story of the cave on the seafloor—how it’s your life’s purpose or some nonsense.” Gray laughed. “And she ate it up. I was simply going to give you a crew and grant you captaincy, but she offered to one-up me and pay for a ship to be built for you ... a ship as big as mine.”
Agnos raised an eyebrow. “I know that what we accomplished helped True Light out greatly, but that’s foolishly generous.”
“Tell me about it,” Gray said. “But oh well. There was no persuading her otherwise. She was determined to be the woman responsible for catapulting the legend of the ...” She trailed off and laughed. “I can’t even say it.”
Agnos sat up in his hammock, almost toppling out. “Legend of the what?”
Gray shook her head. “The Sixth of Six.”
12
A Memory Forgotten
After returning to the Intel Kingdom, it took Bryson no longer than a couple hours to reach the circular corridor beneath Princess Shelly’s room. Standing at the center, he pressed his foot onto a switch and was lifted on a platform as the ceiling opened above him. This feeling of missing someone as much as he did the past two days was exhausting. It caused his stomach to tighten up like a Powish fist.
The platform connected with the floor above, and he spotted Shelly on the balcony. He found the glass door disguised in the wall and stepped outside. That act had once been an impossible feat, but now Shelly’s room was also his own; he had become familiar with its secrets.
Bryson stepped next to her and gazed at the rolling clouds below. He was convinced there was nowhere in the world more appropriate for someone like him than here—secluded and cold. They sounded like disparaging attributes, but not to Bryson. He had accepted his body’s constant chill long ago, and now that he knew the source of it—his Stillian mother—he embraced it.
Shelly turned and hugged him, topped with a kiss. “Welcome back.”
He grinned. “Thank you,” he said, leaning against the rail and placing his hand on her stomach.
The moment he did, Shelly flinched. He looked up at her as she squinted. “A kick,” she said. “It has been motionless all day ... it must have felt your touch.”
Bryson’s eyes widened. “You think it’s that smart?”
Eyes flat, she said, “It better be if I’m the mother. Besides, we’re two Intelians.”
“But let’s be honest ... neither of us are prototypical Intelians; we’re not geniuses. If you think about it, I’m not even fully Intelian.”
She shrugged and turned back toward the sky. “True, but we are dominant weavers and cloutitionists. I bet the sky ignites with lightning the day I spit this thing out of me.”
“Thing?” Bryson repeated. “I can’t wait to find out its sex, so we can stop referring to it as ‘it.’”
“And if it’s a he, what would you want to name it?” she asked.
“I don’t know,” he mumbled, caught off-guard by the question. They hadn’t discussed baby names. He supposed he had an idea, but Shelly would refuse.
“I bet the name ‘Debo’ comes to mind,” she stated. Clearly, she was a mind reader.
Bryson placed his chin atop the rail, brooding on the man whose name that belonged to. “Something like it,” he said.
She smiled. “I don’t have many male figures to name it after—besides my father, of course—but I think Vistas is an exemplary role model. What do you think?” she asked, turning toward him.
Bryson’s eyes widened, remembering something that had slipped his mind. It took the names of Debo and Vistas to jog his memory. He pressed his lips against Shelly’s temple and rushed back inside.
“I have to ask Vistas something!” he shouted.
* * *
Bryson was leaning against the wall outside of Vistas’s room, waiting for the Dev servant to return from whatever business he was attending to. Ever since the declaration of war, he’d been a man in great demand. King Vitio had daily conferences with Queen Apsa, King Supido, and Director Venustas through Vistas’s broadcasting ability.
Vistas had tried to tell Bryson of a secret given to him by Debo before his death—a memory of sorts. Each time he had tried to reveal the memory to Bryson, Bryson declined. The young Jestivan didn’t want more reason to hate Debo during those times; his uncertainty of the man was already high enough. But now that he knew Debo was the good guy, he was angry at himself for forgetting about whatever it was Vistas wanted to show him.
Vistas rounded a corner at the far end of the corridor, fidgeting with his cloak’s pocket while holding a stack of parchment in his other hand. “Good afternoon, Bryson,” he said, pulling out a set of keys as he neared his room.
“Hey, Vistas. You have time to talk?”
The servant twisted the key in the lock until it clicked. As he pushed open the door, he smiled and said, “Of course.”
Bryson followed him inside, his eyes immediately drawn to the holopic sitting on a mantle above the fireplace. It was his favorite part of the room—a holographic photo that seemed to play on a loop, depicting Vistas, his two identical brothers, and Marcus laughing with their arms thrown around each other’s shoulders. Bryson would have loved to own a similar picture of him and Debo. Alas, he wasn’t a Devish, so he couldn’t create such a device.
Vistas placed his papers on a mahogany desk and gazed back at the Jestivan. “You love that thing.”
Bryson blinked himself back into reality, turning away from the picture. “Do you recall telling me that Debo had given you something to show me?”
The servant’s smile vanished. “I do, though it’s been quite some time.”
“I’d like to see it.”
Vistas leaned back against the desk, placing his hands at its edge. “Why the change of heart? You’ve declined the offer several times.”
“I’m just ready now.”
“Are you sure?” Vistas’s eyes softened as Bryson hesitated. “You don’t have to. I never pushed it for a reason, regardless of Debo’s desire for you to see it.”
“Why did he deem it so important to show me?” Bryson asked.
“Because he wanted to expose your father when the time came,” Vistas said. “But the world now knows who Mendac is. Is further verification necessary?”
Bryson stood behind a sofa, his hand resting against its back. As he released a soothing breath, he rounded the couch and took a seat. “I want to see more of the man that I refuse to become. I won’t follow in his footsteps—and it can’t get any worse than what he did to my mom. As long as you’re not showing me that, then I—”
“I would never do that,” Vistas stated, cutting Bryson off in an instant. “Never.”
“Alright, then let’s see it.”
Vistas crossed into his room’s study, grabbed an oval table, and dragged it across the carpet toward Bryson. He then sat on the table. Their knees nearly touching, Vistas placed both index fingers against the sides of Bryson’s temple and said, “It will feel strange at first, but give your mind time to process what’s happening. Now close your eyes.”
Bryson did as instructed, and his vision momentarily swirled into a cloud of white. It felt like a massive hand was squeezing his head, and he almost opened his eyes to st
op the pain.
But then he was transported from the room.
* * *
He walked down a dark street. Clouds obscured the night sky and hid the tops of skyscrapers, buildings stylized in a way he had never seen. They were tall, abnormally narrow and constructed with beautiful white limestone. What was this place?
He gazed down the road in front of him. Intelamps hung from poles above the sidewalk, casting speckled lights across the pavement. He pulled his hood over his head, enveloping his face in shadows. These actions weren’t his. He couldn’t lift an arm or stop himself from walking. He was in someone else’s body.
A statue stood at an intersection some couple thousand feet away. As he neared it, he noticed the face to be that of his dad, Mendac LeAnce. Lilu had destroyed this same statue earlier this year. He was in Brilliance.
Walking past a building lined with a glass wall, he stole a glance of himself in the reflection. He wore white pants and shoes and a black cloak that was buttoned at his chest before splitting above his abdomen and crashing behind his back ... strange attire, nothing of this world—or the one that Bryson knew at least. A sword was sheathed at his hip. Noticing the emerald-encrusted hilt, he realized that he was experiencing this from Debo’s perspective, or before he was known by that name. Here, he was Debonicus.
The deserted streets implied it was late enough to be early morning. Despite this, there were roughly twenty officers stationed around Mendac’s statue. As Debonicus approached, they turned toward him. Bryson could tell that something about Debonicus had them spooked.
“Let down your hood, stranger,” a woman at the front commanded. “Show yourself.”
She and the other officers dropped to the ground. In that split second, Debonicus had circled the statue, rendering each officer unconscious before returning to his original spot. His eyes dragged up the monument until they stopped at Mendac’s face. Stepping forward, he began to press the stone in random spots, searching for some kind of switch.
The statue’s base was a large block of stone, much taller than Debo. He leapt and grabbed the top before pulling himself up and onto his feet. He narrowed his eyes, walking around the stone legs of Mendac, searching for anything suspicious. A golden nameplate caught his attention, and he knelt down and ran his hand across it. The nameplate gave way under the pressure. Grabbing the handle of his sword with one hand, he pressed the other more firmly against the plate.
The Chronicle Page 13
