I turned to Father to reach for his hand. A tendril of smoke shot toward us and wrapped around his throat.
“No!” I launched a strand of wind at the smoke.
The wind did its job—the smoke puffed away. But it also knocked us to the deck and rocked the ship.
By the wheel, Zel rescued another crewman from a night strand, and near us, Mor attacked another wisp of smoke that slithered toward my father. It darted out of the path of Mor’s wind stream. I directed more wind toward the smoke, and the ship listed again.
I had no idea how to fight like this—strand for strand, battling evil of unknown intentions. A ship in unfamiliar waters didn’t seem the best place to learn.
“Hurry!” I called up to the Minasimetese guards. “Please hurry!”
Dylun tried to remove a strand of night from the ship’s railing with a stream of colormastery. The color splattered helplessly along the wood and didn’t seem to touch the darkness. “My strands don’t work!” he called. “What is this sorcery?”
Zel, Mor, and I seemed the only ones able to counteract the enemy strands. Were they coming from a fellow storyteller?
But thankfully, we didn’t have to keep it up much longer. My fingers shot a band of ice toward a stream of searing liquid metal as it hit our ship. As soon as the strands met, the metal cooled—though not before burning a hole in the deck.
But a moment later, the Cethorelle was all the way through the gate, and the guards were reversing their machinery to get it closed.
Zel created a wall of wind and sent a half dozen strands tumbling backward, which gave us just enough distance. The gates settled back into their usual position. The wave did not attempt to clear it or follow us inside.
I collapsed to the deck and sat there, shaking.
Father knelt beside me. “Are you hurt?”
I had to think about it. “No. I don’t think so. Is anyone else?”
Bruises. A few scratches. A lot of shock.
“I’ll go check on Karlith and Gryfelle belowdecks,” Mor said, hurrying past us.
“Father, what was that?”
“Whoever has been hunting us.”
“They came after you.”
“Aye.”
I thought of the strand wrapped around his throat. “To kill you.”
“Aye.”
“Why? Who would do that?”
“I have no idea.”
Comforting.
Father helped me back to my feet, and I took stock of our surroundings for the first time. The ship had been pulled into a small bay behind the seawall. Nearby was a dock. That’s where the ropes that had hauled us to safety were attached to a wheel with large cranks. Two men worked each wheel, and at least six of those claws had been anchored to the ship. Beyond the dock, I could see that the water continued on—a river from the sea, cutting straight into the mountainous island.
“Well, well,” a voice said from the dock as we approached. Very slightly accented, perfect Tirian, belonging to a man wearing the most beautiful studded leather coat I’d ever seen. It was dyed grass-green, somehow, unless they had green-skinned grazers here. Black and silver studs traced an intricate pattern along the front and down the arms of the coat.
If I had thought Dylun or Cameria’s hair to be black, I was wrong. This man’s hair was like purest ink, so black it almost shone blue.
“Welcome to Minasimet,” he said. “I am Kanja, governor of Kyko. And perhaps now you will explain why you have brought evil to our shores.”
“Sir.” Father bowed formally. “Your servant, General Yestin Bo-Arthio. We thank you for your hospitality.”
“It is not our custom.” Kanja studied Father. “You know this.”
“I do. We apologize. I bring good news and a request for aid.”
“Perhaps the good news would ease your request for aid.”
Father reached into his tunic and pulled out another of Braith’s letters. “Alas, my Minasimetese is not good. I tried to speak to the guard, but I failed, I’m afraid.”
“Indeed.” The smile never appeared on his lips, but I could see it dancing in his eyes.
Father handed the sealed letter to one of Kanja’s attendants. The governor took it and looked at the seal. “I do not recognize this. It is not the seal of Gareth Bo-Kelwyd.”
“No. It is the seal of Braith En-Gareth.”
“The princess?”
“The queen.”
“Interesting. You do bring news. Is Gareth Bo-Kelwyd dead?”
“Yes.”
“I cannot say we will mourn him in Minasimet.”
“Nor we in Tir.”
Kanja regarded Father another moment before sliding his finger under the wax seal to break it. He read the letter and looked up. “This is highly unusual.”
“Indeed.”
“I have never known a ruler to give back land without a fight.”
“Our queen is an unusual ruler.”
“What does she want?” Kanja inquired.
“Peace.”
“Hmm.” He folded the letter and tucked it into his coat. “I will pass the message to the other governors and the kinshu.”
“King,” Father translated for the rest of us, and added, “Minasimet kept a ceremonial monarchy even after Gareth conquered them.”
“The Minasimetese contest that we were ever conquered,” Kanja said. “Gareth sank most of our fleet and killed off almost an entire generation of Minasimetese men. That is why the kinshu surrendered without a Tirian ever setting foot on Minasimetese soil.”
Father bowed again. “We share a common enemy in Gareth Bo-Kelwyd.”
“Or shared, as you say.” Kanja looked skeptical. “This offer of sovereignty is genuine? Queen Braith truly means to emancipate the territories?”
“Yes. I swear it.”
Kanja waved a hand. “Then I shall cancel my order to sink your vessel and take you hostage. As a sign of goodwill.”
My breath froze in my throat.
But Father seemed unruffled. “Thank you.”
“And the favor you must ask?”
He was told of the curse, after which Dylun detailed our specific request and his map.
“I believe what we need is hidden in the black-glass palaces—the Kurgarasi,” he finished.
“I cannot recall if a Tirian has ever looked upon the Kurgarasi. Or a Meridioni, for that matter.”
“Please, Governor Kanja.” Father’s tone carried urgency. “We are not here for idle sightseeing. This is life-or-death for two young women.”
Kanja paused for an excruciating moment. “Very well. You cannot leave by the port you entered. That which is chasing you will await you there, and it is likely to get inside if we open the gate again. I cannot allow that. You will travel upriver. It is a three-day journey. The waterway is deep enough for your ship. Pray for wind, or else it will take thrice as many days, and you will have to use ropes and poles. The Kurgarasi is inland a short distance. When you finish, it will take you another day to reach the source of the river, the port at Azu. You may leave from there.”
“The river cuts all the way through the island?” Father seemed surprised. I wondered how complete the Tirian map of Minasimet might be.
“Of course. Many of our rivers do. If one does not wish to have ports accessible from the ocean, one must be creative with rivers. The ancients made our rivers functional waterways—coast to coast, cutting straight through the land.”
“Impressive.”
“If Minasimet is anything, it is impressive. If you agree to this route, General Bo-Arthio, and if you agree to allow a party of my choosing to travel with you, I will allow you access to the river. Do you agree to my terms?”
“Yes, we agree. And we thank you.”
“Indeed,” Kanja said. “Ceremonial or not, the kinshu may have my head for this.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
NAITH
“Master, slow down, please,” Naith pleaded. “I cannot understand you.
”
The Master’s voice wavered, even more distorted than usual. “The distance is far. Sound must not be carrying well.”
“That is a little better.” Naith was relieved. “Perhaps if you speak slowly, I will hear you.”
“The rebels made it into Minasimet.”
Naith’s mind reeled. “No! Even under the best of circumstances, the Minasimetese don’t let anyone in.”
“Indeed. The bay should have been the perfect place to trap them, and yet here I sit—on a ship with nowhere to dock.”
“Were you able to—” Before Naith could finish the question, he was interrupted curtly.
“No. The general slipped away.”
Naith swore. “And the others?”
“Can you not tell by my tone, Naith, that I failed both to capture our quarries or kill our targets?”
“I apologize, Master.”
“The general lives, and perhaps he is most dangerous of all.”
“He?” Naith said, surprised. “But he is not a weaver.”
“No, but he suspects me.” The Master’s voice was clearer. “Even before I made my move, he had noticed my strands. They are nearly invisible, but he sensed them. Sensed my presence. He needs to be removed before he figures out anything else and communicates it to his daughter.”
“And the others?”
“We will never turn the old-timers. Any we gain access to must be destroyed. I will have to carve out another opportunity, for this one is now lost to me.”
Naith was quiet for a moment. “Kill some, capture others, steal the strands. Your task is arduous, Master.”
“Truly. Tell me, how goes it with the boy?”
“Bo-Bradwir’s feelings for the girl are strong, but he is progressing.” Naith was glad he had encouraging news. “He is growing more confident in his supposed abilities. I think he is beginning to believe he is the leader his people need.”
“Good.” The Master sounded pleased. “Will you have a session with him today? I shall need time to rest before directing any energy toward that channel.”
“Yes, I planned to see him this evening. I thought—”
But just as Naith began to fill the Master in on the evening’s plans, he heard the creak of his door’s hinges. He whirled. Bo-Bradwir stood in the doorway with a puzzled look on his face.
“Your Holiness? Who are you talking to?”
“Brac, my son.” Naith willed his heart to slow its frenzied rhythm. “You startled me.”
“You were talking to someone.” Bo-Bradwir looked around the room, as if expecting to find someone crouched behind the bedside table or hiding beneath the desk.
“Yes, of course. I was praying.”
Although the conversational tone he used with the Master was nothing at all like the loud, formal prayers priests displayed in temple services.
Bo-Bradwir shrugged. “If you say so. Can’t imagine ever talking to a goddess like that. Or at all, really.”
Naith released an audible sigh of relief. “Well, son, that will be what we work on next.” He crossed the room and put his arm around Bo-Bradwir. “I will help you discover the beauty of a prayer life.”
The Master would not be pleased at having to expend more energy. Especially while redoubling efforts to apprehend the weavers. But it couldn’t be helped. The boy would need some kind of answer when he prayed in order to be convinced.
Bo-Bradwir allowed himself to be steered from the room. “What were we to practice today, Your Holiness?”
“Well, your strands have been improving.”
“Aye, it seems easier, somehow.”
Naith almost laughed. Perception was such a powerful thing. The boy had not actually exerted any effort at any point.
“Yes, my son. Very good,” Naith said. “I thought we would work on turning those strands into something real.”
“I’ve seen Tannie do it.” The lad paused and looked down at his feet. “I mean, the storyteller.”
Naith flashed a carefully crafted smile—sympathetic at how painful it must be not to use her name, but approving of the effort. “Very good.”
“She made my hat from strands once. After the battle in the throne room.”
“So you understand how it’s done.”
Brac hesitated. “Not really.”
“No matter,” Naith assured him. “You just create the strands as you have been, then will them into something real.” The Master would be listening, ready to perform the trick at the right time.
At least Naith hoped so. He had just been getting to those arrangements when Bo-Bradwir had interrupted them.
“Now, Brac, today we will turn your strands into bread.” That would be enough for the Master to go on.
“Bread?”
“Ah, Brac.” Naith flashed a fatherly smile. “Bread is a more powerful weapon than you realize.”
“A weapon?”
“Yes. If you control the bread, you control the peasants.”
“I don’t want to control them.” Brac sounded alarmed. “I want to help them.” The lad was so earnest. So sincere.
He was perfect.
Naith touched Bo-Bradwir’s shoulder. “Same thing, my son. Same thing.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
TANWEN
I had never really considered wind before. Who does? Unless there’s a mighty gale trying to pull the thatch from the roof or rip the grain from the field or topple all the fruit trees, there’s little reason for a Pembroni to think about the wind much.
But the Cethorelle had taught me that, sometimes, wind is everything. And at the moment, our sails hung limp as a muddled marsh-grazer.
Dylun stared up at them and grunted. “We don’t have time for this.”
“We don’t have a choice,” Warmil countered. “Unless there’s something in your studies that tells you how to control the weather.”
Dylun shot him a look. “Really, you have been much more tolerable since Aeron affixed herself to your side. Don’t ruin it.”
Aeron, right next to Warmil, looked a touch embarrassed.
A thought struck me. “I can control the weather.”
Dylun frowned at me. “Tanwen, you’re very talented, but even you have limits. I’m quite certain something—or Someone—much more powerful than you controls the weather.”
I rolled my eyes. “I know that. What I mean is that I can make strands of wind. I did before to fight the smoke strands. Couldn’t I do it here?”
“Will it be enough?” Warmil asked, glancing up at the sails. “A strand is one thing. Those are large sails to fill.”
“Maybe Mor and I could link. Or we could take turns—me, him, and Zel. I don’t suppose colormastery would be much help with this. All your strands are so solid.”
“Aye.” Warmil turned to Dylun. “What do you think?”
He shrugged. “No harm in trying, I suppose. Between that and the poles, perhaps it would be enough.”
“Aye,” I said. “Nothing to lose.”
And that might have been the dumbest thing I’d ever said. Perhaps it wasn’t harmful to power a ship by windy story strands, but it sure was exhausting. Linking wasn’t much help with this particular task. Links seemed to respond to emotion and instinct. Mor and I couldn’t control it the way we could our individual strands. We created a lovely cage of golden light, a rainbow that bounced around the deck of the ship, and when we became frustrated, a rabble of painted-wings made of fire.
But no wind.
So he, Zel, and I took turns filling the sails with strands of wind. I was so exhausted after my turn, I was barely able to enjoy the Minasimetese scenery—crags, peaks, and mountains everywhere, some mossy and green, others jagged and rocky, capped in crystalline snow. The people had not cleared land to live on, as we might in Tir, but instead had carved towns and villages into the rocky face of the island. Villages spread up, not out, and I was desperate to step off the ship to explore or to meet some of the black-haired children with wide, curious e
yes who waved shyly as we passed.
But we didn’t stop along the way, and even if we had, I wouldn’t have had it in me to do much exploring. After three days of filling those sails, I was ready to collapse on the deck and never get up.
“Tannie”—Wylie handed me a steaming cup of tea—“you could sell your services and make a killing. Sailors would pay your weight in gold.”
“Aye, and I’d not live to see my eighteenth birthday.”
“Isn’t that in a few days?”
“Exactly.”
He grinned. “Kanja says we’re to begin the hike soon. They say it’s not far.”
The Minasimetese had been a strange and silent addition to the crew. It was clear they were along to make sure we didn’t do anything nefarious, like desecrate their Kurgarasi or something. They were an armed guard more than a friendly accompaniment. They ate and slept and spoke in small, tight knots with each other. Only Kanja shared words with us, and even then, only with Father.
I couldn’t blame them. They were breaking with their custom to even allow us inside their borders, and it’s not like we had made the best first impression. I wouldn’t take too kindly to someone banging on my cottage door, asking for favors, and bringing with them a cloud of danger.
I sipped the tea and hoped it would revive me. “I don’t feel quite ready for a hike.”
“Are you needed for this strand?” Wylie asked.
“Dylun says no. We need a colormaster and a songspinner this time. But I want to watch it, just the same.”
“Don’t blame you. Seems a once-in-a-lifetime chance.”
“Does that mean you’re coming?” It would be fun having him there.
“Aye, you bet your fish soup I am.”
“I’ll give you all the fish in the Menfor Sea for free. No betting needed.”
“So generous.”
I doffed my tricorn hat to him. “I’m going to go see if they need help getting Gryfelle up. She hasn’t been above deck in at least a week.”
Wylie nodded. “See you ashore.”
I went down the stairs, gripping the cup of tea, and crept along the hallway toward Gryfelle’s door.
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