by Giles Carwyn
“But he is a good man.”
“Maybe he was. Maybe part of him still wants to be. But he’s been married to the black emmeria for eighteen years. It’s as much a part of him as every other part of his body. You think he can just release it like that?” Reef snapped his fingers. “No. The ani is all around us. It’s everywhere. Every living thing is interconnected by it. Most of it is pure and clear, but the darkness is out there like black smoke that has dissipated into the sky. Everywhere he goes, he is connected to it.”
“But he wants to fight it.”
“It doesn’t matter anymore what he wants! The black emmeria is drawn to itself. And once it has infected you, it will always come back for more. He is already locked in this symbiotic relationship. When he needs power, it is there for him. The darkness feeds him and he feeds the darkness. His body becomes ever more powerful as the mind and soul are slowly given over to hate, malice, and fear. That is what happened to the mages of Efften. That is what happened to Morgeon’s daughter in her three hundred years of exile. He and the black emmeria are one now. It has made him powerful. In return, he does its bidding, probably without even realizing it. He will never be free of it.”
Ossamyr watched Brophy’s smooth, young face as he slept. “I can’t believe that.”
“I noticed,” Reef growled, glaring at her.
“There must be some way to help him. How do we purge the infection?”
“With a knife. Swift and sure across his throat.”
“No!” she said, louder than she meant.
He shook his head sadly and shrugged. “If there is another way, I don’t know it. We can’t help him any more than we can pull the wine out of a drunkard’s blood.”
“Anything that can be done can be undone.”
“Really?” Reef scoffed. “Who told you that foolishness?”
“Shara did.”
“Then ask her to fix the boy. I’ll bet she’ll tell you the same thing I did.”
“Even if she did, I still wouldn’t give up on him,” she cried. “I will not take the easier path a second time.”
“And I will not risk my ship, my men, my people, or this world to soothe your precious guilt!”
Ossamyr’s breath caught in her throat. She looked at the man whose fingertips she had once kissed while he slept. Had he become an enemy to her? Would he disappear forever behind his golden eyes and tattoos? She couldn’t imagine how much it hurt Reef to see her at Brophy’s side.
“I never should have brought him here,” she said. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be a fool. You’d be dead if you weren’t here. And he would be back in the hands of the sorceress.”
Ossamyr nodded. “Still, he is not your burden to bear.”
Reef waved his hand as if shoving the argument away. “Don’t worry. I’m not going to hurt the boy. Yet. We’ll keep him quiet until after the battle. You can talk to him once the witch is dead. Then you can see if there is anything left of the boy you once loved.” He clenched his jaw. “Then you’ll see. Whatever is left of him must be destroyed. Just as this must be destroyed.” He hefted the sack of packed salt and crystals.
She nodded. He had put the ultimate decision in her hands. She couldn’t ask for anything more.
Reef left the room and climbed the ladder onto the deck. Ossamyr followed, closing her eyes at the pain in her belly. Her magic was the only thing keeping her standing.
The crew stopped working when the two of them emerged. Within moments, all attention was focused on the bag. The only sound was the occasional ripple of a sail.
“It’s time,” Reef said.
The grim, tattooed sailors came forward to gather around their captain. The helmsman even tied off the wheel and joined them. Ossamyr looked around at their familiar faces. They knew their duty. They had been waiting their entire lives to perform it. Their long-awaited battle had arrived, and they were anxious to greet it.
Reef held up the bag.
“Anyone want to make a speech?”
Not a single murmur ran through the crowd. Many shook their heads no.
“Throw it,” the helmsman, a stocky man with deep-set blue eyes, said.
“Throw it far,” another sailor said.
Reef nodded and walked to the back of the ship. The island of Efften lay a few miles off their portside rail. They couldn’t see the silver towers yet, but they were close.
“Won’t it be dangerous to just throw it away?” Ossamyr asked.
“I’m not throwing it away. I’m throwing it away from us,” Reef snarled.
Holding the bag carefully at arm’s length, he spun around and around. On the third spin, he roared and flung the sack into the ocean. It sailed high, arcing far above the deep, blue water.
The bag finally hit, splashing down so far away that the ruffle blended in with the swells of the sea.
“That’s it?” she asked.
“Not quite. Once the salt dissolves, you’ll see what happens when darkness meets light.”
She watched, trying to keep in view the place where the bag hit. But with the ship moving and the swells rolling by, she wasn’t sure.
A huge explosion burst from the ocean, sending a cascade of seawater hundreds of feet into the air. The tremendous boom hit Ossamyr like a blow to the chest, and she stumbled back. Reef’s crew whooped for joy, stomping their feet and clapping their hands. Many of them whistled and spun around in circles. The spray poured down on the ship like a summer rain.
“By the Nine…” she murmured.
A swell the height of a man rushed toward them from the spot of the explosion. It slammed into the stern, and the ship rocked alarmingly. Ossamyr stumbled, but Reef was there, supporting her with a strong arm while the helmsman whooped again, crashing into the wheel and taking hold of it.
She glanced up for a moment and saw a maniacal glee in Reef’s eyes. This was what he lived for. There were many things that were important to Reef, but this was the closest to his heart. He was a whole person in that moment, perfectly aligned with his destiny.
The same thrill lit the grinning faces of his crew. They danced in the brief rain until there was no more.
“Sir!” the helmsmen suddenly yelled, pointing.
Ossamyr spun around, and Reef stepped in front of her. She could feel his surprise as it mingled with her own.
Brophy stood halfway out of the hatch that led belowdecks. He leaned against the handrail with one hand, as if he had drunk too much wine. She flicked a glance at his wrists. Angry red marks and blood showed his successful struggle against the ropes that had bound him.
“We should have killed him,” Reef hissed.
Steel rang on steel as his crew drew their weapons and closed in behind their leader.
Chapter 15
Someone called Brophy’s name, a woman.
He tried to pick her out of the crowd before him, but everything was blurry. If he wasn’t clinging to the rail, he would have fallen on his face.
The sailors spread out, surrounding him. There must have been twenty of them, highly trained. He could barely see them.
“Wait!” the woman cried again. “Let me talk to him! Brophy, let me explain.”
His eyes narrowed. The voice was familiar. He couldn’t place it, but it made him suddenly sick to his stomach. He concentrated on the sound of her voice, willing his eyes to focus. She was the only one in white, the only one without tattoos. Silver Islanders. Gritting his teeth, he stared at her until her features became clear.
“You?” Brophy growled, squeezing the railing until it snapped. “What are you doing here?”
He rose to his full height, his anger burning away the fog. The tattooed sailors drew closer, curved swords lowering as they neared. Brophy retreated to the edge of the ship, stumbling once as he fought the fleeting numbness in his limbs. He kept his back to the rail, making certain that he couldn’t be surrounded.
Brophy’s whole body was shaking, and he had to latch onto the ship�
�s railing to keep from throwing himself at the pirates. He hadn’t been this angry since he left Ohndarien, and he ached for the killing to start. “Stay back,” he warned. “I don’t want to hurt you.”
Several of the sailors laughed.
“Back off, you fools!” the largest of the sailors shouted. He was a monster of a man, not very tall, but thick as an ox. He had to be the most powerfully built human Brophy had ever seen, but he had fought far worse than mere humans.
Some of the crew hesitated at the big man’s orders, but others kept moving forward. “Back off, I said!” the tattooed ox roared. “The first fool who attacks him will get his own sword in the eye. And then he’ll have a weapon. Now back off.”
A rumbling whisper went through the crew, but they did as they were told, backing off and holding their ground, weapons ready.
“What am I doing here?” Brophy rasped through clenched teeth.
“Father Dewland asked me to look after you,” the woman said.
Brophy looked at her again. The Physendrian queen looked exactly the same. Bronze skin. Short black hair and those dark eyes.
“Shouldn’t you be backstabbing little boys somewhere in Physendria?”
She winced at his words. “I’m a Zelani now. I’ve spent the last eighteen years in Ohndarien. Shara took me in so I could help you.”
“Did she,” he said, his tone flat. “I remember the last time you helped me.”
He scanned the men facing him. One of the sailors was old and hesitant. His hands were gnarled with age, and he kept adjusting his grip on his sword. He would be the first to go down.
Brophy flicked a glance back at Ossamyr. She held herself stiffly, one hand on her belly as if in pain. There was a fresh bloodstain on her simple white dress. The hairy ox stood slightly in front of her, protecting her with his massive body.
“I see you have a new husband. What happened to the last one?”
Ossamyr swallowed. “I killed him.”
“Congratulations,” he said. “I’m sure he didn’t see it coming.”
A small sob escaped her. “Please, Brophy, by the Nine…” She paused. “The Islanders can destroy the black emmeria. We can help you.” She reached a hand out to him, though they were separated by twenty feet of deck.
Brophy sneered, not believing her act for a second. He turned from her to the ox. “You are captain here?”
“I am,” he rumbled.
“Good. Turn this boat around and take me back to Ohohhom, or I’ll take it from you and do it myself.”
“That is simply not going to happen,” the Islander said. “You can’t sail this ship alone. You know that and I know that.”
“Please, Brophy,” Ossamyr said, wiping the false tears from her face. “Let me explain. There is so much I have to—”
“There is nothing to explain.”
He looked at the captain, vibrating with rage. “Turn. The ship. Around.”
“No,” the huge man said.
Brophy gripped the rail, and the wood creaked as his fist tightened. He had to get back to Arefaine before it was too late. She needed him now more than ever.
“I don’t know how I got here, or where I am,” Brophy said, fighting to remain stationary. “But your people are about to be crushed between the two largest fleets in the world.”
A few of the soldiers flicked worried glances at their captain.
“The Summer Fleet will be joining the Ohohhim shortly,” he said, hoping it was a lie, hoping Astor had stopped them at the Sunrise Gate. “You people have no hope of standing against their combined might.”
Again the sailors looked to their captain. “Hold steady,” he growled.
“The only person who can stop them is me,” Brophy said. “And I need to get back to the Opal Palace to do it.”
The captain leaned over and whispered to the man next to him. The sailor sprinted to the hatch and disappeared belowdecks. Brophy stepped forward, ready to cut through the line of soldiers and stab the running man in the back, but he held himself in check. Once the killing started, it would never stop.
The massive Islander turned back to Brophy. “Our ships have blockaded Efften for fifteen generations, and we’ll cage her for fifteen more if that’s what it takes. We will hold true until every last drop of shadow is burned clean by the light.”
“Reef, please—” Ossamyr started.
The massive captain waved his hand for silence. “You,” he said, pointing at Brophy, “are part of that shadow. And you will not take this ship as long as we draw breath.”
Brophy looked into the Islander’s golden eyes and knew he wasn’t lying. Nodding, he threw himself to the side. The sailor with the gnarled hands barely had time to bring his sword up. Brophy slipped inside the man’s guard, twisted his wrist, and wrenched the sword from his hand. In the same motion, he hooked the Islander’s elbow and spun. The stunned sailor shouted as he flew overboard.
His deck mates surged forward, but Reef shouted at them to stop. Sword in hand, Brophy faced them all, and they backed off with obvious reluctance.
Brophy turned to the captain, Reef. “Turn this boat around and pick up your man.”
“My man can swim. This boat holds steady.”
“Don’t test me,” Brophy growled. “I spent two decades fighting corrupted. Every day. Every night. Without cease. I can kill every last one of you if I have to. That’s not a boast. It’s a fact.”
The sailors held their ground, but he could see their confidence beginning to crumble.
“This is your last chance,” Brophy snarled, pointing the sword at the runabout tied to the deck. “Lower your boat and jump overboard.”
Reef shook his head.
“Turn the ship around!” Brophy screamed, hacking through the railing with his sword.
“We’ll die first,” Reef said.
The sailor returned from belowdecks clutching a small chest with golden banding. Reef signaled his helmsman. Brophy looked at the stern in time to see two sailors heave a wooden keg over the rail. It crashed onto the main deck, and oil splattered across the wood.
“What are you—” Brophy began to shout, but Reef grabbed an oil lantern hanging against the cabin wall and hurled it at the oil. Brophy threw himself to the side.
The lantern smashed apart. Flames raced across the deck. Air whooshed over him, blisteringly hot. A wall of flame soared upward, reaching for the sails.
Snarling, Brophy leapt upon the nearest man. The sailor cried out, swinging his sword at Brophy’s head, but the strike went wide. Brophy shoved him, and the sailor toppled over the rail.
More of them rushed the little runabout, but a few swings of Brophy’s sword sent them scurrying backward. Flames engulfed the rigging, sending a plume of smoke soaring into the sky. Two quick slashes cut the ropes holding the rowboat, and it dropped into the water. Brophy jumped next, escaping the searing heat.
When he surfaced, the water was full of sailors who had done the same. None seemed interested in contesting him for the rowboat. Clenching his teeth, Brophy threw his stolen sword into the boat and flung himself aboard. He unshipped the oars and pushed them into the locks. With a few mighty pulls, he drew away from the inferno of the Islanders’ ship.
Brophy watched Reef’s crew quickly gather around some floating wreckage that had been tossed overboard. He spotted the captain, his arm around a wet and bedraggled Ossamyr.
His mind filled with visions of rowing over and cutting down every last one of them, but he knew where his thirst for blood came from. He breathed through his teeth until the voices receded into the back of his mind. He would not become a slave to that rage. Not again. Not if he could help it.
Breathing deeply, he mastered his emotions and looked back at Ossamyr. Reef lifted her out of the water, placing her on a floating hatch cover. She cried out, clutching her abdomen. She had to be wounded, badly wounded. She clung to the little raft, obviously fighting the pain, but her gaze was on him.
He looked away
, his own hatred mixing with the worst of the emmeria. He took hold of the oars and began pulling.
Hours later, he was still rowing. His rage fueled every stroke, and he never grew tired, never felt hot or thirsty as the sun beat down on him. He thrived on the hard work, and the voices in his head became as docile as a perfect beast of burden.
Night had fallen, and he started marking his course by the stars rather than the setting sun. He knew the Three-Fingered Hand was to the south and kept his stern pointed directly at the familiar constellation. If the large island he had seen to the east earlier in the day was Efften, then he had a long row in front of him.
He must have slept on the Islander ship for days. The last thing he remembered clearly was running down the hill toward the corrupted who were attacking Arefaine. He had vague memories of a fight, a fall, swimming, chasing someone…They all mixed with his memories of fighting the corrupted in Ohndarien, chasing the Fiend once again.
He felt like he’d lost all the progress he’d made in getting away from the voices. He was right back where he’d been in the rocks above Ohndarien, teetering on the brink of madness.
Arefaine had done this to him, he was sure of it. But at this point, his return might make the situation even worse. She’d lost herself, succumbing to the allure of the emmeria, but was that Brophy’s fault? Had his rejection been enough to push her over the edge? And who were the corrupted that were attacking her? Had she lashed out in anger and corrupted her own men?
He couldn’t help wondering if he’d made the worst mistake in his life by pushing Arefaine away. But he couldn’t just rip open old wounds and let her climb inside because she wanted to keep warm. If something was to happen between then, he wanted it to be honest. He wanted it to be true.
He tried to quiet his mind and listen for the Voice of Oh. He hoped the ancient spirit could tell him what had become of Arefaine, but the Ohohhim god seemed impossibly far away.
When Brophy wasn’t running circles in his mind with Arefaine, he was thinking of Ossamyr and the way she stared at him as he rowed away. Once the rage of the emmeria had left him, he was amazed how little feeling he still had for the woman. That day in the Nine Squares arena was so long ago it hardly seemed real anymore. It was like she had betrayed a stranger, a little boy that Brophy barely knew.
