The Iron Crown (Dragon Spirits Book 1)

by L. L. MacRae

  Although people had faith in the Iron Crown, the deaths couldn’t be ignored. Especially now it didn’t seem like Porsenthia was immune from the attacks that had begun in Bragalia.

  Fenn had been relieved once the boat had lifted anchor and they’d pushed out and away from shore. One step further from Inquisitors. One step closer to answers.

  It didn’t take long for Calidra to look like she was suffering with tanglethorn poisoning—her skin quickly lost its lustre and although she spent most of her time in the middle of the ship’s uppermost deck, she was close to vomiting within an hour of setting sail. Jisyel kept her company, sitting with her the whole time, offering soothing words and rubbing her back, and they talked in low voices. Selys loitered by the ship’s prow, staring out over the water ahead, her glaive clutched in one hand as if she expected to be accosted by a sea monster.

  Varlot, more sour than usual, had gone below decks before they’d even left Tonmouth and had refused to come out, bellowing at anyone who came near that he wanted to be left alone. He’d also sworn to take his axe to the next person who told him he needed fresh air, and the crew gave him a wide berth after that.

  Fenn wondered if Varlot was seasick, too, and trying to hide it. The man hadn’t been himself since leaving Spindleford.

  The cool air was helping his own headache, but he had far less energy than the previous few days—fatigued so greatly that nothing alleviated it—made worse by the trembling fits that were only a cough or sneeze away. More voices echoed in his head whenever his attention wandered, usually a mixture of words he recognised and sounds in a language he didn’t know. They kept him from restful sleep, and were with him every time he closed his eyes for more than a few seconds.

  And ever-present was the intense burning in his chest. It had been growing hotter over the past few days, and he wondered if it was his body’s way of warning him that death was near.

  ‘Are you sure I’ll find answers in the Nethal Mountains?’ Fenn asked Selys, joining her near the ship’s prow. He moved unsteadily along the deck, the swell of the ocean waves threatening to send him flying every few steps. He grasped the handrail and caught his breath, annoyed at how off-balance he was becoming.

  Ahead, the waters of the Salt Sea were cold and black.

  ‘No. But it is my best guess,’ she replied, turning away from the sea to look at him. She studied him with a frown. ‘Your face.’ She reached out to brush a finger against his cheek.

  Fenn hadn’t looked in any of the mirrors on the ship, but he knew his skin was ashen from what he’d been able to catch of his own reflection in the water. He didn’t look healthy. ‘This thing…this construct? If it can remove the Myr’s touch…will I survive?’

  ‘I don’t know, Fenn. But you have a Myrish curse upon you. If the construct is powerful enough to remove it, perhaps all you’ll need is rest. With the curse lifted, your memories should return. And hopefully your strength, too.’

  He nodded, more to himself than to her. If the construct couldn’t help—or wouldn’t—he was certain he’d only be days away from dying, and he’d be back on the edge of the spirit world…

  His fingers twitched, then started to tremble.

  Fenn clutched his hand and squeezed, trying to force the tremors away, but they were already working their way up his arm. His shoulder weakened, numbing, and he sank to the floor with a gasp. He leaned his forehead on the railing and peered out at the water through the gaps, focussing on his breathing.

  ‘You must keep going, Fenn! While there's still breath in you.’ Selys rested her glaive against the railing and crouched down beside him, one hand on his shoulder. Softly, she said, ‘Hold on. It won’t be long until we’re there. This is a good ship.’

  ‘I know. It’s…’ Fenn bit back a whimper of pain. He tried to cover it up with a joke. ‘It’s just the movement on the water. Think I’ve caught Calidra’s seasickness!’

  The priestess didn’t find his words amusing, her expression as serious as ever, and Fenn looked away, unable to hold her gaze. In truth, he was terrified he was going to join the other echoes sooner rather than later. It had been only eight nights since the bog on the Isle of Salt. He wasn’t sure he’d last another week. The fear was utterly crippling when he thought about it. Determined, he pushed it away, forcing himself to think about the journey, the sea, his companions, the burning in his chest—anything to keep his mind distracted.

  ‘I won’t tell you it’ll be okay, because I don’t know. And I don’t want to lie to you.’ Selys steadied him as the ship rocked. She was perfectly comfortable on the water, and he remembered Jisyel saying she’d grown up somewhere famous for pirates. ‘But you have to be strong, Fenn.’

  ‘I know. I’m trying.’

  ‘Neros is troubled. I feel her discontent. Her fury.’ Selys looked out over the water. ‘I sent word to the shrine, although I’m sure the other priests there will have felt it, too. We must ready ourselves.’

  ‘What for?’ It was a silly question. He knew the Myr were coming. After what he’d seen and felt, it was irrefutable.

  ‘Stock up on supplies and provisions for the sick and injured. There’ll be many in the coming weeks if the Myr are not stopped. They may bring more curses with them, too. Perhaps different to what they did to you and the others.’

  ‘If they’re coming back, why bother cursing me? And all those other lost souls?’ The question had been circling his mind for days. ‘If they’re strong enough to come back now, to send death spirits here and attack people? What’s the point of cursing a handful of us to lose our memories and die?’

  Selys leaned back with a sigh. ‘Who’s to say why the Myr do anything? It must be connected, but I couldn’t say how or why. Perhaps it was their first strike against us, testing our defences, our reactions. Perhaps they have a base somewhere hidden in Bragalia or Porsenthia, and you were cursed to forget it so you couldn’t reveal their location to the Iron Crown. Perhaps they tried to kill you, but were too weak, and left you and the others cursed instead.’

  He winced again and dropped his gaze.

  Softly, the priestess added, ‘Perhaps you were just unlucky.’

  Fenn was desperate for answers, but above all else, he wanted to know why this was happening to him. Why he’d been picked and left to suffer. Once his curse had been lifted, once he was no longer in danger of dying, he would have time to learn more—including finding his family. He wondered whether he had a partner. Friends. People who cared for him. Worried about him. Who were searching for him, even now.

  As he struggled back to his feet, Fenn also wondered if the opposite could be true—whether there was no-one out there. Perhaps that was why the Myr had cursed him? Because there would be no-one to search, and no-one to mourn his passing.

  Vermecio. That’s what the Myr in his dream had named the creature that could help.

  Why would the Myr suggest he go to it if it couldn’t do anything? The Myr in his dream—vision, whatever it was—had been frustrated at the deaths.

  It had wanted him alive. Fenn was certain of that.

  Whatever the Myr had tried to do, why they’d touched all those people, it had to be for a purpose. But the people they’d cursed had been too weak to survive, and when they’d crossed over to the spirit world, they’d done so as echoes.

  He remembered when Selys and the other priests and priestesses of her shrine had been performing burial rites. She’d told him they’d given each person a gift, a trinket of sorts, so when they crossed over, they’d know who they were. She’d said entering the spirit world lost and confused was a terrible fate.

  Fenn swallowed, holding himself steady as the last few tremors passed. He rested his elbows on the wide handrail. Some of the spray hit his chin, the taste of salt strong. Selys, too, stood up. She stared ahead, but her gaze drifted to him every so often.

  He looked away. He didn’t want pity.

  Or was she frustrated he might die before she got her answers? It was a dark tho
ught.

  Another ocean swell threw the ship up and he slid on the wet deck, only managing not to tumble over by gripping onto the rail. He could see why Calidra hated the water.

  Fenn rubbed his eyes and tried to rid himself of his growing frustration. He only had to wait one day until they stopped on the coast near Nethal. One day before he’d say goodbye to Calidra and Jisyel, maybe for the last time.

  One more day until he got his answers—whether he liked them or not.

  Fenn saw the shadow before Selys did. It reminded him of his journey to Ballowtown, and his stomach lurched at the sight.

  This time, Calidra didn’t ignore him or accuse him of making it up.

  Selys confirmed the sighting, although he was sure Calidra believed him even without the priestess’s second opinion.

  The shadow hovered over the mountain like a thundercloud, swirling around the top of one peak in particular. Just seeing it made Fenn’s mouth run dry, but none of the crew noticed. No matter how busy they were hauling in ropes and manoeuvring the ship, he was certain they’d spot an enormous shadow looming overhead.

  ‘Best not to worry them.’ Selys shouldered her bag, ready to disembark. ‘We’re hoping to learn what we can to avoid conflict. Sailors will panic, and gossip spreads across the sea faster than anything else.’

  ‘So you’re saying we shouldn’t warn these people that you can see an enormous shadow above the mountain?’ Calidra scowled. ‘If I was on the cusp of being attacked by the Myr, I’d like to know!’

  ‘But they might not be.’

  Calidra folded her arms. ‘You’re putting a lot of faith in this thing you’re going to see. What if nothing’s there? Place is more myth than reality.’

  ‘I can see the shadow. So can Fenn. There’s something Myrish there, that’s beyond doubt. Whether or not it’ll give us answers is another question entirely.’ Selys wasn’t backing down.

  ‘You’re risking the lives of thousands, millions, on this!’

  ‘The construct has been there for decades. Its presence is nothing new. In fact, I imagine any priest or priestess worth their salt has already seen the shadow. But it’s dormant. Not an active Myrish threat, otherwise everyone would know about it by now.’

  Fenn’s head pounded with their raised voices. He’d wanted a peaceful goodbye, not another argument. ‘Please, stop. I’ve had just about enough of this fighting!’ Another flare of pain spiked through his chest and he clutched the front of his tunic, nearly dropping to one knee.

  Selys and Calidra turned away from each other, both looking sheepish.

  The ship carefully approached a snowy beach, difficult to make out in the low dusk light. Fenn couldn’t wait to get off the ship—travelling this way for more than a few hours certainly disagreed with him. He blinked, realising he’d been staring at his destination for some time. ‘S—sorry! Got a lot on my mind.’

  ‘Of course you do.’ Calidra nodded.

  Before anyone could say anything else, Varlot barged his way past the working crew from below deck. His eyes were red and he reeked of stale wine.

  Fenn couldn’t believe it. They were on the final leg of their journey, and he’d picked now to drink so heavily his steps were erratic, as though he might fall over at any moment. The ship had docked. Wasn’t even moving anymore. There was no excuse for his unstable steps. ‘Varlot? How…how much have you had to drink?’

  Varlot ignored him.

  Fenn glanced at Calidra, who shook her head angrily. He hurried after Varlot and reached for his arm, slipped and missed, grabbing the edge of his bearskin cloak instead. ‘Varlot! How are you going to fight in that state? You’re going to—’

  Varlot shoved Fenn backwards. With seawater covering much of the deck, Fenn slipped and went flying. He cracked his elbow on the large wooden planks, the sensation so excruciating that it brought tears to his eyes.

  ‘Varlot, what are you doing?’ Jisyel leapt to Fenn’s defence. She helped him back to his feet, glaring at Varlot all the while. ‘Calidra hates being on water too, but she doesn’t behave like that!’

  Fenn grimaced as he accepted Jisyel’s help. This was not how he’d envisioned his goodbyes to be.

  ‘You’re falling over like a newborn foal. Protecting you will be impossible if you can’t even stand on your own two legs.’ Varlot’s voice was rough. ‘I ain’t holding your hand.’

  ‘I wasn’t asking you to hold my hand,’ Fenn muttered.

  ‘Never mind. I’m sure the mountain snow will sober him up quickly. Come, we have to keep moving,’ Selys said.

  ‘Step aside, step aside!’ Captain Kifil strolled past, a barrel held on one shoulder.

  Calidra stepped back, out of his way. ‘You’re getting off the ship?’

  ‘Dropping off supplies, Calidra. Be on our way in a few minutes, so don’t get too comfortable.’

  Her face split into a grin. ‘Right. I’m getting off this boat, too.’

  ‘You are?’ Fenn asked, daring to hope she was coming with him.

  ‘I’m not staying on board a second longer than I have to. Besides, having solid ground underfoot will help this nausea.’

  ‘A few minutes ain’t gonna help your sickness,’ Varlot muttered, but Calidra didn’t listen—she’d already followed the captain and a handful of his crew off the gangplank. Fenn heard her sigh in audible relief, and hurried after her, Jisyel, Selys, and Varlot following.

  ‘We’re on a tight deadline. Be back on board before we set off again. Horn’ll sound twice when we’re about to leave, and we won’t wait for you,’ Kifil said, giving Calidra a stern gaze. When she nodded back, he continued on to speak with the few people that worked at the tiny docks.

  Varlot frowned deeply and folded his arms. ‘Bit silly to risk missing your ship just for a minute or two of solid ground, ain’t it?’

  ‘It’s more than that. We’re also saying…goodbye.’ Calidra offered Fenn a thin smile. Her skin was somewhat sallow, her legs wobbly, even on dry land.

  They were some distance from the nearest town—Nethal, for which the mountains were named—but there was a small outpost that had no doubt grown after ships docked here over the years. It was a collection of ramshackle buildings, built mostly of wood, and covered in snow, a short distance from the water. Mountains surrounded them on all sides, and Fenn shuddered to think how much of a trek it would be to travel into Nethal.

  Several snowy paths led up into the mountains, a few leading to more buildings—possibly homes or inns that he could only see by the lights in their windows—but it was getting too dark to see much beyond that.

  Lanterns had already been lit, marking out each building with a halo of soft, yellow light. It made the shadows darker, somehow more ominous. And of course the Myrish shadow loomed above the mountain like a waiting storm. It reminded him of the shadow-like mist across the deadlands, if slightly less oppressive.

  None of them were in any rush to get to the outpost—even Selys hung back, happy to give Fenn the time for his goodbyes.

  Calidra stood with her arms on her thighs, taking deep breaths. Jisyel rubbed Calidra’s back, then looked up at Fenn. ‘There’s not much time…’

  Her words meant more than one thing. She and Calidra were bound by the ship’s departure. He only had as long as his body held out for. From his raging headache, that time seemed less and less.

  Jisyel clutched her arms. ‘It feels strange after all this time to be going different ways, doesn’t it?’

  ‘Yeah. You’d better keep a close eye on Calidra. I know she’s not a fan of water.’ Fenn tried to keep his tone light-hearted, but he knew he sounded resigned.

  Jisyel giggled. ‘Oh, silly. Cal will be the one looking after me, you should know that!’

  He scratched the back of his head. ‘Just keep each other safe, okay? And…and, well, I guess…This is goodbye.’ He didn’t know what to say without it coming across as awkward.

  ‘Fenn!’ Jisyel wrapped both arms around his shoulders, squeezing
tightly. ‘Thank you. Thank you so much for everything!’

  He was surprised by the gesture, by the warmth in her voice, and squeezed her shoulders. ‘You helped me, too. Far more than you realise.’

  As Fenn hugged her, he saw Kifil and his crew make their way back to the ship, and he was surprised at how fast they’d been.

  Jisyel stepped back and wiped her eyes. ‘I know, but…We’ve been through a lot. You’ve got to come back to the island once you have your answers. I’m sure gran would love to see you again. And your family, you have to bring them, too!’

  He knew she meant well, but the words stung—they pointed to an uncertain future. If he didn’t have anyone, he wasn’t sure he could go back to the island empty-handed. Despite his worry, her seemingly endless optimism was a refreshing change from Selys’s stark realism. ‘Thanks, Jisyel. Look after yourself, won’t you?’

  ‘Fenn.’ Calidra watched him carefully, as if afraid he might collapse at any moment. ‘We will see you again. I’m sure.’ She stepped forward and hugged him with the confident surety that she always held herself with, even though she’d been on the edge of throwing up shortly before.

  Shocked by the hug—he’d not thought he’d be deserving of one from her—Fenn grinned. ‘I really hope so. And good luck finding your sister. Be careful out there. Who knows where the Myr or their spirits are.’

  ‘Don’t worry. Nothing’s getting past me.’

  A horn blew from the ship. A warning they were getting ready.

  ‘Fenn? It’s time to go.’ Selys pulled her thick, fur-lined gloves on, then turned to the others, ‘Calidra, Jisyel? I pray Neros favours you for the rest of your journey through the Polar Sea and into Her domain. May She bring you good fortune upon the water.’