A Painted Goddess

by Victor Gischler

  They entered some kind of library. Bookshelves and well-appointed furnishings. The fireplace stood open. Well, that didn’t look right. They led him down a passage behind it.

  Knarr entered a large chamber. Smooth walls curved up to the ceiling. A group of people waited for him, more armed women, a greasy-looking man who looked like he might try to pick your pocket as soon as you turned around, and a shorter, haughty woman in a fine dress and a demeanor that tilted between regal and an irritated nursemaid.

  The crowd split apart, revealing something on the far wall.

  An intricately carved archway. Ten feet tall and half again as wide. It was the exact sort of thing to mark a pass-through from one castle hall to another. But instead of an opening, there was only solid stone. An archway to nowhere. Detailed markings had been carved at various points around the archway, and a glittering gemstone nestled in the center of each group of markings. The only place absent a gemstone was the cluster of markings at the very top of the—

  Knarr blinked. Comprehension hit him like a sling stone to the forehead.

  A portal. I never thought I’d see one. I’m looking at an actual portal.

  Knarr realized everyone was looking at him as he stood with his mouth hanging open.

  The haughty woman took three steps forward, hands clasped in front of her.

  “Master Knarr?”

  He nodded. “Yes.”

  “I’m Stasha Benadicta, steward of Klaar. I understand you might know something about this portal. It is in your best interest to tell us everything you know.”

  Knarr cleared his throat. “Where would you like me to start?”

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  They’d given Bishop Hark and Rina each their own rooms. Rina was glad for a chance to bathe and get out of the black armor. It fit her well but was still armor. A silk lounging dress and light slippers were a welcome change.

  The duke had insisted his personal physicians inspect every inch of her after her tumble on the veranda, but she wasn’t injured. Just fatigued from her long trek out to sea in Zin’s mind.

  She sat in her room and heaved a great sigh. They don’t believe me. They think it’s impossible there could be so many ships in one fleet.

  Maybe she wouldn’t have believed it either.

  There was a tattoo that let her possess a falcon and fly across the sea, but there was none to make anyone believe what she’d seen there. No matter what the duke of Sherrik had planned with his little toy soldiers, there was no way he could stand against what was coming.

  I have to talk to someone, convince them. Somebody has to believe me.

  Rina left her room, walked to the end of the hall, where a guard stood at a crossroads of corridors. He snapped to attention at her approach. She told him who she was looking for, and he obliged her with directions. Unfortunately, it was near the top of the pyramid. The guard told her the nearest and most direct passage to the top was a steep spiral staircase, not a pleasant climb, he conceded.

  She tapped into the spirit and sprinted up the stairs. It was a frivolous use of the magic, but Rina was in no mood for some endless trudge. She followed the guard’s direction, found the correct door, and knocked.

  A moment later, the door swung open and Maxus Fench stood there.

  “Your grace.” He didn’t seem surprised to see her.

  “Apologies for calling unannounced,” Rina said.

  “Please think nothing of it,” Maxus said. “Would you like to come in?” He stepped aside and gestured a welcome.

  Rina entered, eyes raking the room, taking in everything. In a way, the place reminded her of Weylan’s cave. Old books, numerous oddly shaped bottles, various dried herbs hanging from a length of twine over a table where a spotty adolescent—an apprentice, probably—ground something with mortar and pestle. The place smelled old and musty but simultaneously sweet and fresh.

  Maxus’s room had a better view than Weylan’s cave. A big window allowed a pleasant breeze and afforded a view of the ocean. The vantage was high enough now to see down into the harbor. Maxus Fench would have a fine view of the war.

  “I was hoping to speak with you about something.” Rina’s eyes shifted momentarily to the apprentice.

  “Rikken, why don’t you go get yourself a meal,” Maxus suggested. “You can finish that later.”

  Rikken bowed curtly and left the room.

  “I can assure you we have privacy here,” Maxus told her.

  “You serve the duke? You’re loyal to him?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then help him,” Rina said. “Help him understand what’s coming.”

  “Ah.” Maxus paced a moment, then said, “The duke is young.”

  “I’m young,” Rina said. “Young doesn’t mean stupid.”

  “But it does sometimes mean inexperienced. His grace relies on his military advisors. For the most part, they are good men. He has no reason to doubt them.”

  “I’ve given him a reason.”

  “You’ve given him too much reason, Duchess Veraiin. You’ve presented him with a situation so dire that no matter how he deploys his figurine army, it simply won’t matter. As you might imagine, it’s not a scenario the duke would be eager to believe. Hopeless scenarios aren’t popular.”

  “At least you seem to believe me,” Rina said.

  “I don’t believe you’d lie,” Maxus said. “But whether or not you saw ten thousand ships, I couldn’t say.”

  “It was your idea to send the falcon,” Rina reminded him. “What’s the point if you’re not going to accept the results?”

  “I didn’t say I didn’t accept them. I simply have no way to verify them. If there’s even an outside chance your estimation is accurate, then it’s worth taking seriously.”

  “That’s something at least.”

  “I’ll ponder how best to swing the duke’s opinion,” Maxus promised. “In the meantime, we can discuss the other matter that’s brought you to see me.”

  “What other matter?” And the question sounded like such a lie coming out of her mouth that she realized with a start it was.

  “Come, Duchess, let us speak plainly, shall we? When I asked you to demonstrate your ability with the familiar tattoo, it was for my own curiosity. Yes, getting a good look at the enemy fleet was a good opportunity, but my motivation was more personal. I wanted to see you tap into the spirit. To see one of the tattoos being used.”

  “It wasn’t much of a show,” Rina said. “Me sitting there with my eyes closed.”

  “It was more interesting than you might think.”

  “You’re right,” Rina admitted. “I did want to talk to you about something else. As soon as you mentioned your interest in ink magic, I knew I had to ask you.”

  “Then please. Ask.”

  “Do you have one?”

  Rina held her breath as she waited for the answer. Anticipation was like something that had a tight hold on her, something that squeezed harder each second that passed. It shamed her slightly how eager she was. She didn’t think of herself as the kind of person who sought power, but she knew the answer she wanted. Her eyes never left the wizard’s as she waited.

  An eternal few seconds passed as he considered. Then he turned away from her and opened a small chest on a table behind him. His back blocked her view. She grew impatient and chastised herself. She was acting like some sort of addict, and that thought disturbed her.

  Later. Think about that later.

  Maxus turned back to her, an object in each hand.

  Rina took a step forward to look, her heart picking up its pace with excitement.

  A small inkwell rested in his left palm. Through the clear glass she saw the ink inside, a dark green—no, more of a blue really. It . . . Wait, actually a kind of deep burgundy with—

  It’s changing! Going from one color to another.

  The ink swirled within, never settling on one color for too long.

  In his other hand, Maxus held a square of shiny br
ass, some pattern cut out in the middle of it.

  “A stencil,” he explained.

  Rina squinted at it, realized it was the figure of a small bird, its wings spread, about the size of a coin.

  “How did you come by it?” Rina’s voice was barely above a whisper.

  “That would be a long story and would betray too many confidences,” Maxus said. “It goes in the little hollow of your throat. And I can put it there, if you’ll let me.”

  “I suppose it will hurt.”

  “Oh, yes. Just like the others.”

  “And I suppose you want something for it?”

  “Must we be so cynical?”

  “Do you want something or not?”

  “Yes.”

  “Out with it.”

  “It wouldn’t be terrible if you helped us. Sherrik is about to come under attack, and if there really are ten thousand ships, then our situation is even worse than we thought,” Maxus said. “You are powerful, Duchess Veraiin. If this tattoo adds to your power, then maybe you’ll remember who your friends are when the time comes.”

  Rina’s eyes narrowed with suspicion. “I was always going to help. I think you know that. There’s something else.”

  “Yes.”

  “Then tell me.”

  “Knowledge.”

  “You’re going to have to use more words,” Rina said.

  “Ink magic has been a passion of mine for many years,” Maxus said. “When I said before that I’d crossed paths with Weylan many years ago, it was because I’d sought him out. I was hungry to learn. I burned with curiosity. He told me some things. Other things he kept secret. Obviously, he wasn’t about to share the secret of inking the Prime. The tidbits of information he doled out only whet my appetite for more. This stencil and the tattoo I can ink with it”—he nodded at the little brass square—“means nothing unless someone has the Prime first. I know there are ink mages in the world, but they are few and far between. You are the first I’ve met in person.”

  Rina shook her head, confused. “Wait. I don’t understand. Do you think I have some information to trade you? How does giving me this tattoo add to your knowledge?”

  “The stencil and ink came to me under unusual circumstances. I have the ink and the stencil, and I know how to apply it. What I don’t know is what it does. I want you to help me find out. I can ink it on your throat. I’ll be careful, I assure you. I hope that once it’s on you, it will be something beneficial.”

  Maxus shrugged. “Although at that point, of course, it will be too late.”

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Floating in complete darkness.

  The cold seeped into her bones. She was too afraid to expend the spirit it would take to fend off the chill. Instead, Maurizan focused on keeping the fear at bay.

  You’re dead already. What does it matter?

  No. Panic wouldn’t help. Nor would despair.

  She began to shiver but ignored it. Maurizan opened all of her senses. The great beast’s thrashing had subsided, which was some consolation. She’d been afraid it would burst through the wall and continue its pursuit of her. But the complete silence that accompanied the total darkness was unsettling in quite a different way.

  Stay calm. You just need to decide a direction. Then you start swimming.

  Going back the way she’d come was obviously not a choice. Okay, stop fretting. Forget about monsters. Pay attention to what you’re trying to do.

  She cleared her mind. What did she hear, smell, feel, see . . . Well, she couldn’t see anything.

  She floated, waited. Then on one side of her face, she felt it. A current pushing against her, a fraction warmer. The water had to come in from someplace. Maybe it was a way out.

  Maurizan swam in the direction of the current. Slowly. She wasn’t eager to smash her face against a stone wall. When she did finally come to a wall, she felt the current on her feet. She groped her way down to an opening with rough edges, just big enough to squeeze through, scraping her hips only a little.

  She kept swimming, the current getting slightly stronger and warmer as she went. She chose to take it as a hopeful sign. Warmer water had to mean it came from somewhere up and out, didn’t it?

  It seemed she’d been swimming for ages, and she reminded herself she was going slowly and carefully. If she rushed, she could make a mistake and hurt herself.

  On the other hand, she couldn’t hold on to the spirit forever. It had already been too long.

  A sudden feeling of space.

  Maurizan stretched her arms out to both sides, turned a complete circle. She explored, feeling her way around. She’d swum into some kind of large chamber. She circled it again, confirming the way she’d come in was the only way back out.

  Damn it. Please no. I don’t want to swim back and start over.

  She opened her senses again, really more as an excuse to pause and think. She’d wanted the Prime from the time she could understand what it meant, just like her mother and grandmother. She’d been bitterly angry when she’d learned the wizard Weylan’s dying act had been to give the Prime to Rina Veraiin. It was the selfish feeling of a child, but she couldn’t help it. The Prime was meant to be hers, and the duchess had slipped in ahead of her and taken it.

  Just like Rina had taken Alem.

  And just when Maurizan was winning him back, she had to go drown herself in some long-lost fortress. Foolish girl. How many centuries until some explorer found her bones? If ever. Yeah, morbid thoughts like this really aren’t going to help—

  She heard something.

  She looked up, but of course saw nothing but darkness. The sound was distant and muffled in that way sounds are underwater. She swam toward it. A few seconds later her hands touched hard stone above her. She felt along until the stone gave way to an opening, and she swam up through it.

  The sound grew louder the farther up she went, a constant churning, chugging sound. It sounded familiar.

  Water. It was fast-flowing water splashing above her.

  She swam faster, kicking hard. No more moving slowly. No more caution. Enough.

  It was time to get out of here. She could feel her hold on the spirit slipping.

  She streaked upward through the water, the sound growing louder and louder and closer until—

  Maurizan broke the surface.

  She gasped and sucked in a lungful of air. It was pure reflex. The gill tattoo had let her breathe underwater without trouble. But there was something about a lungful of air. Something simple and basic.

  She was alive. And would stay that way a little longer. She let herself feel relief.

  She treaded water in the small pool, deciding what to do next. It was still pitch-black, but she heard a huge downpour of water falling into the pool a few feet from her, a constant mist spraying over her face and shoulders.

  She felt around the wall until her hand fell into an opening. Some kind of ledge. She crawled onto it. She felt around some more and thought the opening kept going, maybe a room or a hallway.

  Maurizan released her hold on the spirit.

  And passed out.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Alem staggered naked, knee deep in the surf, the sun beating down on him.

  He hadn’t wanted the bother of drying his clothes again, so he’d lashed a few pieces of driftwood together with vines, and pushed the makeshift raft ahead of him, floating his sword and clothes as he’d paddled the short distance to the island with the tower.

  Once out of the water, it didn’t take him long to dry under the relentless sun. He dressed and belted on his sword. He looked up the hill, wondering the best way to go about it. From the other island, the slope had looked steeper. Still, it would be a long, hot climb. He wished he could have figured some way to bring fresh water with him from the other island. Maybe he’d get lucky and stumble across a stream. The fruit he’d eaten had been sweet but hadn’t really filled him up. I’m missing all the food I ate in Klaar. He wished he had something more subs
tantial. A mutton shank or a pork chop. Potatoes.

  What was that saying his old stable master, Nard, had been so fond of? Wish in one hand and shit in the other. See which one fills up first.

  He was a long way from the castle stables in Klaar. A long way from home.

  I thought I’d live and die within sight of that castle. Never thought I’d see the world. Not like this.

  He left the beach, trudging into the tree line, and three minutes later he was already tromping up the hill. It really wasn’t much of an island, a little hiccup in the ocean. It rapidly grew steeper as he climbed, thick tufts of coarse grass springing up sporadically between the rocks. Crooked trees grew at odd angles from the hillside.

  He leaned forward as he climbed, trying to compensate for the slope. He tripped over a fallen tree trunk and hit the hill face-first. He lay there for a few minutes, thinking that this was not what he’d planned for his life.

  Alem heaved himself up. He looked back. The beach lay below him. He was surprised how far he’d come. If he slipped, really seriously lost his footing, he’d tumble a long way. Probably break something.

  Why was he here again? Oh yeah. The tower. If that’s what he saw. It seemed stupid now to swim to another island and climb a hill just because he thought he saw stonework through a bunch of weeds and vines.

  Like you’ve got anything else to do.

  The slope abruptly went from steep to straight up. The hill had stopped being a hill and had become a wall. Alem pulled apart the creeper vines clinging to the surface. Slick green moss underneath. He rubbed it away.

  And there it was. Large gray interlocking stones. The top of the hill wasn’t some quirk of nature. It was definitely man-made. It took him almost an hour to circle the tower, precarious footing promising to send him ass over elbows back down the hill. He’d hoped vaguely for a door or window or some useful marking that might identify the structure. He got none of that.

  He looked up, estimated the top was maybe thirty more feet. Alem closed his eyes and pictured what he’d seen from the other island. The tower had a flat top. Maybe a landing. No way to tell from where he was.