"Naji–"
He walked out of the shack, and for a moment I sat there, not knowing if he wanted to be left alone. The wind picked up and knocked tree branches against the side of the shack, and I thought about how if it wasn't for me he'd be off the island right now, back in the dry fragrant heat of Lisirra. And then I wondered what exactly had happened when he got his scars, if he'd had someone to help him when it all went wrong.
I threw my coat around my shoulders and ran down to the beach.
Naji was set up a ways down from the shack. The bit of fire was smoldering on top of the sand, and Naji was tossing driftwood into a big pile. I gathered up some pine needles from the forest's edge and added them to the driftwood.
Naji looked at me but didn't say nothing, and I didn't say nothing to him.
With the two of us working together, it didn't take long for us to get a good-sized pile. I picked the hearthfire up off the sand. Naji jerked his head toward the woodpile, and I dumped the fire onto it. The pine needles curled up and blackened and turned to ash.
"Stand back," Naji said, his voice a surprise after us working in silence for so long.
He pulled out his knife and pushed up the sleeve of his robe. His scars glowed faintly, tracing paths up and down his arm, undercutting the glow of his skin. He closed his eyes and took to chanting and dug the knife into his skin. The fire brightened, turned a gold color I ain't never seen in fire before. I felt something tugging at the edge of my thoughts, trying to drag me closer–
Blood dripped off Naji's arm, splattered across the beach. He caught some of the drops with his free hand. His chanting sounded like it was coming from a thousand voices at once. I wanted to be closer to the fire but I knew I needed to do what he said and stay back.
And then he flung the blood into the flames and there was this noise like a sigh and the fire erupted out so hot and bright that I fell backward onto the beach. It was still bright gold, and figures were entwined in the flames, swirling and dancing, and Kaol help me but I could feel their desperation, like if they stopped dancing my whole world would end.
Naji grabbed me by the arm and yanked me to my feet. He left a smear of blood on the sleeve of my coat.
"Stay away from it," he said. "This is not a cooking fire."
"What'd you do?" I asked.
"Gave myself a headache," he snapped. "From putting you in danger."
I almost said, It's just a fire but the firelight caught on his scars and I thought better of it.
I glanced over at the fire, golden light and dancing bodies, and thought about the assassin stories Papa always told me. How there was no way to defeat them, no way to intimidate them. Funny how wrong stories can be.
Naji led me up the beach, one hand gripping my upper arm. Anytime I tried to look back at the fire he jerked me forward again. When we got far enough away from it he dropped his hand and stopped on the beach. The seawind blew his hair away from his face, revealing the dark lines of scars. The dark sand stirred around our feet. It was almost the same color as the sky.
"Marjani will be back for us," I said. "I know it."
Naji sighed and folded his arms over his chest. "And what does it matter?" he asked.
"It matters a whole hell of a lot–"
"For you," he said. "I'll still have this curse, whether Marjani comes for us or not. Whether anyone comes for us."
"It'll still matter to me! I'm as much cursed as you are! I have to follow you around and I can't do anything that I want to do. Can't set up shop on a pirate's island, can't work the rigging on a Confederation ship."
He didn't answer.
"And it's not really impossible anyway," I said. "Isn't that what the wizard was getting at? You just have to complete those three tasks…"
Naji turned to me, and I was expecting fury but all I got was this look of sadness that made my heart clench up. "The tasks are impossible," he said. "That's where the name comes from. Three impossible tasks, one impossible curse."
At least one of the tasks isn't impossible.
I almost said it out loud. I almost said, I'm in love with you. Even though it didn't make sense, me being in love with him, even though it pissed me off – because he treated me like a kid sometimes and he sulked around when he was in a bad mood and he hated the ocean. But I loved him and if I kissed him then it would complete one of the tasks.
And if one of the tasks was completed, then the other two could be as well.
Naji sat down on the sand, his legs stretched out in front of him. He looked so sad I didn't think I could stand it. After a few moments, I sat down beside him. The sea misted over us, and I could taste the salt in the back of my throat.
"I don't think the tasks are really impossible," I said.
"And what do you know about magic?"
I pushed the sting of that aside. "I saved your life with it."
He didn't answer. I scooted close to him and put one hand on his shoulder. He tilted his head toward me, his hair tickling the tops of my knuckles.
"Marjani will come," I said. "She'll keep her word."
"She didn't actually promise–"
"Shut up. She'll come. And then we'll get a boat, and we'll find the princess' starstones and get into battle after battle until you figure out a way to create life from fighting."
He scowled out at the horizon line. The gray northern light fell around us like rain, and the sea slammed against the underside of the island.
And in the secret spaces of my mind, I imagined true love's kiss.
To be concluded in THE PIRATE'S WISH.
Acknowledgments
I would like to foremost thank my parents, primarily for not balking when I decided to earn a graduate degree in creative writing but also for all their support over the years, and Ross Andrews, who deserves my utmost gratitude for encouraging me even when I wanted to quit and for helping me through the highs and lows of pursuing a writing career.
My beta reader Amanda Cole helped me shape this book from a mess into a story, and our discussions about reading and writing have helped me as much as any class. Bobby Mathews, one of my oldest friends, has watched me develop as a writer and given me encouragement and advice all along the way. Stephanie Denise Brown and Stephanie Scudder propped me up through the six weeks of Clarion West and proved invaluable in their critiques. To all my friends: thank you.
I would also like to thank Dr Janet Lowery, Dr Elizabeth Harris, Peter LaSalle, and my instructors at the
2010 Clarion West Writers Workshop, for sharing their knowledge, wisdom, and advice. Finally, I would like to thank Amanda Rutter, Lee Harris, and all the rest of the team at Angry Robot, for taking a chance with their Open Door Month and giving me this opportunity. And special thanks to my agent Stacia Decker, for all the work – too much to list! – that she has done to help me.
About the Author
Cassandra Rose Clarke is a speculative fiction writer living amongst the beige stucco and overgrown pecan trees of Houston, Texas. She graduated in 2006 from The University of St Thomas with a bachelor's degree in English, and in 2008 she completed her master's degree in creative writing at the University of Texas at Austin. Both of these degrees have served her surprisingly well.
During the summer of 2010, she attended the Clarion West Writers Workshop in Seattle. She was also a recipient of the 2010 Susan C Petrey Clarion Scholarship Fund.
Unlike many authors, Cassandra does not have a resume of peculiar careers. She worked at a Barnes and Noble once – that's about as exciting as it gets. In her spare time she enjoys drawing, painting, crocheting, cooking, and quilting, because she is secretly an old lady. She will see literally any movie as long as it's in a theater. She watches television. She doesn't play many video games, though.
cassandraroseclarke.com
STRANGE CHEMISTRY
An Angry Robot imprint and a member of the Osprey Group
Lace Market House
54-56 High Pavement
Nottingham NG
1 1HW
UK
www.strangechemistrybooks.com
Strange Chemistry #4
A Strange Chemistry paperback original 2012
1
Copyright © Cassandra Rose Clarke 2012
Cassandra Rose Clarke asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.
A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.
ISBN 978-1-908844-00-2
eBook ISBN: 978-1-908844-02-6
Set in Sabon by THL Design.
All rights reserved.
Printed in the UK by CPI Mackays, Chatham, ME5 8TD.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publishers.
This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, re-sold, hired out or otherwise circulated without the publisher's prior consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.
This novel is entirely a work of fction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
Table of Contents
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
The Assassin's Curse Page 24
