by D M Wozniak
The top-most array of windows—the level directly underneath the deck of the ship—glow with soft yellow light.
Below all this, and just above the former waterline—where, in its prime, the hull must have met the surface of the water—immense letters, beautifully etched and painted into the wood are still quite legible.
They read, “Temberlain’s Ashes.”
I float downward, past the deck and toward the top railing of the stern. I reach one of the golden windows and know from prior experience that the fine glass was shattered ages ago.
Only a membrane of Marine’s voidance exists there now.
Touching my stone briefly, I delicately penetrate it. My sphere merges into the vertical plane, which deforms before suddenly dissolving like a massive soap bubble. By then, I have stepped through the window, from blue into gold. The tiny hairs on my skin flutter with the motion.
In the captain’s chambers, the water has been pushed out completely, but it still drips periodically from the decor, sounding like a light spring rain.
Slowly, I walk into the middle of the room, around a large, wooden table bolted to the plank floor. It’s the same table we made love on years ago on our honeymoon.
It’s tilted and distorted like everything else.
An oversized gray tapestry map of Xiland, mostly decomposed, hangs on the dark-plank walls. Over this is a faded, oval-shaped oil painting of a bearded Xian man in uniform—undoubtedly, a portrait of the captain himself. Mounted to the wall on each side of it and between each arched window, iron and glass lanterns house a dozen thick white candles. But since they’re attached via chains, they don’t follow the tilting lines of the room. Instead, they hang straight down. More than half are lit.
When I turn around, Marine is already standing there, waiting for me.
Even with the table between us, I can see she’s wearing a strapless white cotton dress that ends above her knees. Her blonde hair has been pulled into a ponytail, revealing diamond earrings that fall into black teardrops. Her feet are barefoot. Her lips are painted coral pink.
With her pale skin glowing in the candlelight, she’s as stunning and flawless as ever. I notice her, but no fire is sparked inside of me. Only ashes are left now. She’s a map which takes me nowhere. She’s a painting in an abandoned room.
A large voidstone necklace hangs about her neck, surrounded by diamonds.
It’s revolting. There must be fifty diamonds in the setting, each one worth more than what a villager of Winter’s Baiou earns in a lifetime. This display of wealth and power straddles both this world and the next. Over bodies and souls, she has climbed a horrendous ladder.
I shake my head to clear both my vision and thoughts. Then I get straight to the broken heart of the matter.
“Who is he?”
Her initial, anxious expression turns into one of confusion. “Don’t you know?”
“Of course not. How could I?”
“Then how...What brought you to Winter’s Baiou?”
“I tracked you.”
She stares at me with an incredulous expression.
“Who is he?” I repeat, louder this time. “An effulgent from the citadel? Or from Winter’s Baiou? I know it must be—”
“It’s Mander.”
When she says the name, it is almost a whisper, but it’s loud enough that I know I didn’t mishear it.
Mander.
Suddenly fearing that I will fall to my knees, I press my hands on the table, but it’s awkwardly tilted with the ship. So I turn away and stumble across the room, at a slight decline, until I can face port side. I brace my hands on both sides of an open window, the transparent buzzing of Marine’s membrane and the vastness of Xi Bay less than a foot from my face.
I stare into murky grayness.
I’ve known Mander for years. Longer than I’ve known Marine.
He came to the university as a young man. Around ten years ago. I was only a submaster, then. He was a shy orphan, full of peculiarities.
He is no effulgent.
Marine comes near. She leans her body against the slanted, damp wall, and faces me.
“It can’t be him,” I say, shaking my head slowly. “The man I’m looking for is an effulgent.”
“Dem, he is an effulgent.”
I turn to her, but it’s the black stage that I see in my mind. The glass vial that rolled toward me and came to rest against my thigh.
“The clipping glue,” I say.
Marine nods. “The Mander you knew was nothing more than a disguise,” she says. “The hair and glasses, the way he speaks. Everything. It’s all a ruse. He’s been planning his entire life for this moment.”
I run a hand through my short hair as a harrowing thought comes to me.
“Good Unnamed. What have I done?”
“What?”
I straighten up.
“I need to go. My friends are in danger.”
“What friends?”
I grit my teeth and look to the murky waters as I realize my mistake. I’ve broken the promise I made to Chimeline. I told her that I would protect her from the man behind the veil.
Instead, I handed her over to him.
“Dem?”
I face her. “Three people I met during my travels. I placed them in Mander’s care.”
“Voiders?”
I shake my head.
She hunches her shoulders. “I’m sure they’re fine. Whatever you think of him, he’s not evil.”
My breath catches in my throat—I cannot believe what I am hearing, and one look in her eyes tells me she’s not lying.
“That’s exactly what he is...” I run my hand over my hair and point upwards. “He just murdered dozens in the park, Marine! When the tower collapsed. You must have seen it.” I fumble in my pocket and retrieve her note. “You were there.”
She nods, but her jaw is set, full of conviction. “What I saw was two headstrong men fighting with innocents caught in the wake.”
“You think this is about you? How typical.” I drop the note and begin walking away from her and the wall, toward where I entered. “You know what? Believe what you want. I don’t have time for this. I need to go.”
When I reach the slanted table again, I pause. The sparse dripping of water is the only sound.
“I just need to know one more thing,” I say and turn back toward her. “Why did you leave me?”
Marine looks down and nervously draws lines in the wet floor with her bare foot.
“I’m sorry, but when Mander told me about the lost voidstone, I had no choice. It’s going to change everything. It was either go with him or be left behind.”
“So you threw away an entire life with me for some sunken treasure and an elusive promise.”
She looks back up at me, angrily. “Who gave who the elusive promise? Our marriage was already over. You just refused to see it.”
I don’t answer.
Her face softens. “He found it, Dem. The voidstone. He’s going to be the new master voider. With that stone, he will be more powerful than all the voiders in the world combined. And the king is behind him.”
I shrug. “Master Voider is a dead title. It means nothing. All the kings in the world can be behind him, and it won’t change a thing.”
She leans her neck back and forces out a breath. “You’ve changed.”
“And you haven’t.”
“What is that supposed to mean?”
Again, I don’t answer, and this seems to goad her.
“Things are going to change, Dem. Voiders will no longer be servants to the poor. We’re going to put ourselves first, where we belong. We’re going to create wonders with voidance that you can’t imagine. And soon, we will rule this land.”
I shake my head slowly. “How do you sleep? How do you justify such evil for the sake of your so-called wonders?”
“It’s not evil, Dem. It’s just the way the world works. A kingdom has rulers and those who are ruled. The roles haven�
��t changed. Just the people who inhabit those roles.”
I narrow my eyes in suspicion. “You’re talking about the people of this world. You only know about the abuse of the seen. What about the abuse of the unseen?”
Her brow furrows. “The unseen?”
“The dark underbelly of voidance. Those in soteria. The enervated.”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
I utter a grunt of understanding. Mander kept her in the dark, and it’s no wonder why. If he had revealed the truth, he would have risked losing her. The truth destroys all of it.
I head toward the same window I came in from and grab the setting of my voidstone. But I remind myself that once I create the membrane, she won’t be able to hear me.
“The effulgents were right, Marine. All along, they were right.”
She stands half-leaning against the slanted wall, hands splayed out, almost as if she’s falling into Blackscar.
“About what?”
“About everything,” I say, not having the time to explain it all to her. “Just stay away from him. You don’t want to be caught in the middle of what’s about to happen.”
“Dem, no. Whatever you are about to do, don’t do it. You don’t know how powerful he is. Just please, just go away. Disappear somewhere. You should never have come here.”
I shake my head. “I’m going to kill him, Marine. If it’s the last thing I do.”
Reaching out, I gingerly touch the membrane in the open window with my free hand. It ripples in rainbows.
“That’s impossible,” she insists. “He’s raised the voidstone, Dem. That’s why he came for me, days ago, and why we fled the citadel. The time has come for something wonderful to happen.”
“Something wonderful? What are you talking about?”
“A new kingdom.”
I nod, not doubting it for a second.
“Well, I’m going to tear his new kingdom down.”
Before she has a chance to reply, I grab my voidstone. A moment later, the curvature of my creation surrounds me.
I break through Marine’s rainbow and head out into the storm.
On the Way
When I break through the surface, the daylight is far stronger than before. Through the curvature of the membrane, I see the fisherman almost fall off his seat in surprise, floppy hat in hand, as he scrambles to the rear and grabs the anchor’s rope.
I float over the boat and set myself down. Then I dissolve the voidance, as beads of saltwater fall like rain from a wind-shaken tree after a storm has passed.
I take a seat in the elevated front.
“Unnamed, landy! Nearly gave me a grabber!”
“You can start rowing back to shore,” I tell him. “The faster you go, the more gold you’ll get.”
He positions his hat down over his forehead and pulls up the anchor. When he’s done, he grabs the oars and turns us around. Because I’m sitting in the front, I face backwards, out to sea.
Directly at the ring of ships.
They are still very far away, but the rising sun has burned the mist away, and now details emerge.
The anchor chains of the impressive galleons all descend at an angle into the middle of their circular formation. Almost like a massive spider web with something dark at its center.
The Axiondrive.
Marine wasn’t lying. Mander’s actually done it. But how does he plan on using the massive voidstone? What is the next step on his dark path toward this new kingdom?
Touching the setting around my voidstone, I contemplate using voidance to channel water around our hull to speed our return. But despite my friends’ peril—in truth, the entire world’s peril—I can’t do it. It would make me a hypocrite. It would make me just like him.
I turn around to watch the approaching shoreline.
Above the beach and slightly to the west, the land rises via sandy cliffs. The largest mansions perch there, above the city, adorned with clay roofs and sun-warmed, painted stucco. Outdoor terraces are lined with statuary and lemon trees.
There. The white one, the furthest on the plateau.
Mander’s estate.
For a long time, I study it, listening as the oars hit the water, the fisherman grunts with exertion, and the cries of approaching seagulls reach me from the beach.
When the pier is close, the fisherman stops rowing. He throws the oars in with a clang, and then we glide silently into the side of the pier, kissing it with a brushed sound. Once he has tied us up, I take out my bag of remaining gold and hand it to him. It’s more than ten, but I don’t count it, and neither does he. Covering his face with his hat, he collapses in the boat, clearly exhausted from the rowing.
Meanwhile, the rest of Winter’s Baiou is finally waking up.
I leave the beachfront behind and walk up winding streets.
More people are about, most of them house servants, though a few soldiers patrol the area. After seeing my necklace and cloak, they offer respectful nods.
A few blocks in, I come to a market, half the size of the park that contained the destroyed effulgency temple. Dozens of green-and-white striped tents cast shade over the merchants and their wares. Smoke-trails from charcoal pits rise into the sunlit square.
Whether it’s the gradual incline, the strengthening sun, or the fact that I didn’t sleep last night, I break into a sweat and suddenly feel weak. I’m ravenous. It’s been far too long since I’ve had anything decent to eat, and with the smells of the market, my stomach grumbles with dissent.
Despite the urge to get back to my friends, I will be useless to them if I can barely stand.
A man with elephantine skin cooks fish and eggs over a charcoal pit. I am out of gold, so I offer him my cloak as payment. It is worth at least one hundred such breakfasts, and he knows it. There is nothing as black as this in the land—no squid ink or iron filings could match it. With raised eyebrows, he grabs it from me the moment I take it off and hands me a generous helping.
Standing under the green-and-white tent, I have my fill of fish and eggs. I eat with my fingers. With the morning breeze coming through my white undershirt, everything feels extraordinary. My strength returns, and not just from the food.
The giving of my cloak, while spontaneous, could not have been better planned. Without it, I can be anyone. I could be no one.
In some respects, nothing is new. Before we entered the city, I hid my cloak in the saddlebag. But its absence had been a disguise. Now it is my new skin. What was once temporary is now permanent.
I smile to myself. If Blythe were here, he would say that I am on the way of unwanting.
And in my own way, maybe I am.
Only the heavy necklace, and two others in my pocket, identify me in the way I never want to be identified again. But I need these voidstones to deal with Mander. Then, eleutheria.
There is no denying it. The end of voidance is near. The souls will soon have rest. His kingdom will never come.
As soon as I’m done eating, I take a narrow eastern road on the opposite side of the market. It follows a steep incline, but I keep my pace brisk.
The stone and stucco buildings on each side of the street rise two or three stories. Most of them press right up against each other. Every so often, a narrow alleyway provides separation, populated with stray cats and dipping clotheslines. Windows are open everywhere, and I hear calm conversation as I pass.
This is a rich part of town and getting more so with every step I take. Nearly everyone on the street is a servant. I recognize their simple dress, putty-colored tunics and unadorned sandals, as they carry wicker baskets or clay pots, undoubtedly headed toward the market to bring back fresh food and wine—today’s supply for their masters.
Once the ground levels off, the buildings and people begin to clear. There is no other way down into the city.
On the great plateau, without any buildings to cast shadows, the waxing sun hits me. Tall palms and low lemon trees dot the landscape. Only a handful of private es
tates remain nestled within this dead end.
It’s oddly calm. There’s no one about. It is almost a kind of wilderness, but what has grown wild here is wealth. The soft silence of luxury.
I stop as my memory returns.
Through the trees, a low stone wall sits to my left, and past that, the sandy cliffs drop down to the beach hundreds of feet below. Xi Bay glistens in splendor.
During our honeymoon, Marine and I sat on this wall. She would throw lemons off the cliff, each one a wish, and I would use voidance, throwing them back to her in jest.
I shake my head at the thought. Even before I knew the dark truth of voidance, I espoused its limited use. The idea of heinously wasting it by tossing fruit through the air is preposterous to me now. But that’s what love does. It turns even the wisest man into a fool.
It wasn’t love. It was tephra. Black sand.
I push the image of Marine away. She is lost to me. But these bitter memories do serve a purpose: they remind me that I continue to be a fool. My three friends are in danger because of me, and I can only hope that I can somehow pluck them away from this place before Mander realizes that I am onto him.
A deep, repeating sound breaks the wispy silence, epitomizing my sense of dread.
A galloping horse.
Turning away from the wall, I look back down the road.
Patches of Mander’s white-stucco estate gleam in the sun a half-mile away. It lies shrouded behind lines of trees and within the vanishing point of the immaculate, gold-tinged road.
A single soldier on horseback heads in my direction, leaving behind a cloud of dust.
Before long, I see that it’s Reddles, riding alone. His star medal glints with the sun.
I remain motionless in the middle of the road, my hand ready to grasp the voidstone about my neck.
Commander Reddles. Where do your loyalties lie?
Has Mander been weaving webs of deceit since the sunrise? Does Reddles know the truth about him? Have they been working together all this time?
As he pulls the reigns and dismounts, his angular features twist in concern. I’m glad to see that his hand is not on the hilt of his sword. As the dust cloud passes over me, he approaches and extends his hand in greeting, but it’s shaking. This in itself answers most of my questions.
