Privateer

by Margaret Weis

  To put it in the simplest terms, dear reader, crafters have known since the beginning of time that magical constructs are built using six basic sigils: earth, air, fire, water, life, death.

  Saint Xavier discovered the existence of contramagic, which makes use of the same six constructs, only reversed. The constructs are mirror images, and since every action requires an equal and opposite reaction, they destroy each other. Thus the early Church deemed contramagic evil and forbade its use in the world Above.

  Father Jacob Northrop did not accept the idea that magic is good and contramagic evil. He believed they were two halves of the same whole. He theorized the existence of a seventh sigil, one that represents God. When the seventh sigil is used in a construct containing both magic and contramagic, it blends the two together as God intended, making the combined magicks far more powerful.

  Kate was dubious. She had seen contramagic do a great deal of evil.

  Arriving in Capione, she and Dalgren made camp far from the city to wait for Miri and Gythe at a prearranged location: a lake not far from the coastline. They did not have long to wait. Miri and Gythe appeared only a few days after their own arrival. They took Kate to the secluded cove where they kept their ship.

  “Why do you hide it?” Kate asked.

  “You will see,” said Miri.

  The ship rode at anchor among the trees. Kate took one look at it and she understood why they had to keep it hidden. Also why she needed to know the seventh sigil.

  The name of the ship was Anáil Naofa, which meant Holy Breath in the language of the Trundlers. And as far as Kate was concerned, the name was ill-conceived. For the ship was a black ship, one of those heinous vessels used by the Bottom Dwellers to wage war on those Above.

  The black ships had been infamous for their use of blood magic and their green beam weapons—cannonlike guns that fired a beam of contramagic that had the effect of wiping out magical constructs.

  The contramagic weapon had the potential to destroy every object that relied on magic on the face of Aeronne, and since magic was used in the construction of everything from privies to cathedrals, the green beam was capable of vast devastation. The weapons had sunk the naval warship Royal Lion; shattered the beautiful Crystal Market in Everux, killing hundreds; and blown up the massive gun emplacement that had once guarded the harbor of Westfirth.

  Adding to the horror of the attacks, the Bottom Dwellers made use of human sacrifices to fire the weapon, killing them in blood magic rituals that enhanced the power of the contramagic. They would bind their victims to the guns, then cut their throats and bathe the green beam weapons in blood.

  Designed to make the perilous journey from Below to the world Above, the black ship had a wide beam, short wings, reinforced hull, four airscrews, four lift tanks, and a large cargo hold designed to transport troops and prisoners. The helm was enclosed, providing shelter for the helmsman as the ship traveled through the frigid Deep Breath. The green beam weapons had been mounted on platforms on the bow.

  The black ships took their name from the color of the dried blood of the victims that had been used to reinforce the contramagic on the hull. The hull of this ship was gray, not black, and there was no green beam weapon mounted on the foredeck. But Kate felt the same horror that she had known when she had seen her first black ship in the Aligoes. She turned to regard Miri and Gythe with revulsion.

  “I want no part of this evil thing,” Kate told them. “And neither does Dalgren. We will find our own way Below.”

  She started to walk away.

  “You are very quick to judge us, Kate,” said Miri. “You were a wrecker. You told us how you salvaged a Rosian warship that had once killed Freyans.”

  “That was different,” said Kate, rounding on her. “My ship wasn’t ‘anointed’ in blood!”

  Gythe had been holding the cat, Doctor Ellington, but she dropped the indignant cat to the deck and began to talk. Her eyes flashed and so did her hands. She made rapid gestures, jabbing her finger at the ship, slashing her hand across her throat, shaking her head.

  “Gythe says to tell you that our ship was never used in battle,” said Miri. “We found it on Glasearrach at the end of the war. The ship was built with contramagic, that much is true. But it was never ‘anointed’ as you put it. The war ended before they had a chance to put it into action.

  “We needed a ship that could make the journey Below to help Father Jacob in his work among the people. We sailed this back Above and made it our own.”

  Kate looked back at the ship glowing with the green light of the contramagic; the sight made her skin crawl. She tried to tell herself that magic was not good or evil, but she had heard all her life that contramagic was the tool of the Evil One and she found it hard to divest herself of the notion, no matter what the book claimed.

  She could see places, particularly on the deck and the masts, the sails and balloons, where the green magic and the blue blended together. Gythe had been using the seventh sigil to combine the two magicks, make them stronger, as well as making it easier for her to manage the ship. And she’d said she had been hoping Kate would be able to assist her.

  “It brings back memories…” said Kate.

  “For us, as well,” said Miri. “The Bottom Dwellers attacked our old boat, the Cloud Hopper. That’s when we were with the Cadre of the Lost. Stephano was sailing with us then. They boarded the ship to try to steal Gythe. We fought them off, but Gythe was so terrified she retreated into her mind, went to some dark place. We almost lost her.”

  Miri smiled fondly at Gythe. “Not long after that, she and I were prisoners in one of these ships. The Bottom Dwellers locked us in the hold. I was worried when Father Jacob gave us this ship that it would stir up those same dark memories in Gythe. She is fine. She says the souls of men are dark, not wood and sailcloth.”

  “And now you carry food and supplies to those who mistreated you,” Kate said, shaking her hand. “How can you help them?”

  Gythe pointed to herself and Miri and Kate, then flung her arms wide as though she would embrace the world.

  “What is she saying?” Kate asked.

  “They are not them,” Miri explained. “They are us. True, the Bottom Dwellers committed terrible atrocities, but we did the same to them. We sank their island and left them to perish in the darkness at the bottom of the world.”

  “No ghosts on our boat,” said Gythe, bending down to pet the Doctor. “Only a cat.”

  Miri sniffed. “Give me a nice, quiet ghost over that dratted beast any day. Come on board, Kate. We will show you around.”

  Kate boarded the Naofa, feeling somewhat reassured. She was impressed with the idea of the “wheelhouse”—a term Miri borrowed from ships that sailed on water—that protected the helmsman from the elements. Kate had been forced on more than one occasion to stand at the helm while being pelted by hail or soaked in the driving rain. She considered the shelter an excellent idea.

  “We had to replace the helm,” said Miri. “The original was etched with contramagic. Gythe managed to use it on our first journey here, but she was almost dead from exhaustion by the time we arrived.”

  Officer and crew quarters were on the berth deck, along with the galley, the head, and a large storage closet. The cat, Doctor Ellington, took a special interest in the galley, but turned tail and fled when Miri opened the storage closet.

  “We lock him up in here when we go Below,” Miri explained, laughing. “He’s afraid that every time we open the door we’re going to chuck him inside.”

  Miri and Gythe slept in the captain’s cabin, which was the largest. They gave Kate a smaller cabin directly across the corridor.

  “How do the two of you sail a ship this big?” Kate asked.

  “We couldn’t if we were traveling any great distance,” said Miri.

  “We don’t sail,” said Gythe. “We just go down and up.”

  “The city of Dunlow, the capital of Glasearrach, lies almost directly below us,” Miri expl
ained. “We sail a short distance from land, then reduce the lift in the tanks and sink.”

  “I’ve done that myself,” said Kate thinking back to when she had gone down to save her crew. “I never traveled very far. It was too dangerous.”

  “The journey will not be a pleasant one,” said Miri. “But as bad as it is for us, it will be worse for Dalgren.”

  * * *

  Two days later, the Naofa made its descent to the bottom of the world. Kate stood shivering in front of the small porthole on the middle deck of the black ship. She was wearing a heavy sweater Miri had given her, her slops with thick woolen stockings beneath, her peacoat, mittens, and her woolen hat—and she was still half frozen.

  At least she was safely inside a ship. Dalgren was out there, exposed to the cold. He would have to endure worse, for he would have to fly through the Aurora—a phenomenon created when the severe cold of the Deep Breath caused the Breath to liquefy and form a layer of congealed mist that hung suspended between Above and Below.

  Lord Haelgrund had made the historic journey Below in company with Stephano and the Dragon Brigade. He had warned Dalgren that the journey would be difficult and dangerous.

  “My body temperature dropped,” Haelgrund told him. “My reaction time slowed. I grew sluggish and found it hard to think clearly. Ice rimed my scales and coated my wings, slowing my flight. At one point I was so exhausted I remember thinking it would be easier if I just quit struggling and gave up, let myself plummet into oblivion.”

  Kate craned her neck to try to see her friend through the porthole. Dragons could use their fiery breath to burn through the Aurora, but Miri had suggested that the Naofa enter the Aurora first and punch a hole in the liquid. Dalgren could fly through the opening; far safer than having to fly through the congealed mists, which Miri likened to sailing through jelly.

  Kate could not see the dragon for the thick fog and eventually she gave up trying to find him. She tried jumping up and down to warm herself, then felt a tap on her shoulder.

  She turned to see Gythe offering her a steaming mug of hot cider. Kate could tell by the smell it was laced with Calvados; she drank it gratefully.

  “You should be back in the galley where it’s warm,” Kate said. Her facial muscles were so stiff the words came out a mumble.

  At the sound of her voice, the Doctor gave an indignant yowl, reminding them that he was still locked inside the storage closet, just in case they had forgotten him.

  Gythe went over to give the door a reassuring tap and the howling subsided. Coming back to the porthole, she pointed to the deck above and placed her hand over her heart.

  “You’re worried about Miri,” said Kate.

  Gythe nodded and sighed. “I always worry.”

  Her sister was at the helm, inside the shelter of the wheelhouse. Gythe had placed magically heated stones around her feet to keep her warm. The wheelhouse was little more than a shanty, however, with windows on all four sides so that the helmsman could see to navigate. No amount of heat from magical stones could hold the warmth for long.

  Gythe latched onto Kate and drew her closer to the porthole. She pointed out the glass. The fog was starting to dissipate. Pale light from a sickly looking sun filtered through the porthole.

  “The Aurora,” said Gythe.

  Kate looked down on what appeared to be a river of gray ice flowing beneath the ship.

  “How did it come by its name?” Kate wondered.

  “Watch,” said Gythe.

  The pale sunlight hit the Aurora and suddenly myriad rainbows flowed across the shimmering, icy surface in an ever-changing dance of incredible beauty.

  Kate gazed in awe mingled with growing uneasiness. The Aurora appeared to be rushing up to meet them at a high rate of speed. As she continued to watch, the rainbows faded, and the liquid Breath changed to a viscous, undulating mass of gray.

  The boat plunged down toward the gray mass. Kate braced herself, although Miri had assured her that they would feel no impact.

  “The ship will slide through the Aurora like a spoon through jelly,” Miri had said.

  The ship struck the gray mass, shuddered slightly, and slipped through with ease. The sunlight disappeared as they descended further. Thick, gray-white slime slid down the glass of the porthole and then the Naofa was through.

  Kate peered up through the slime and saw Dalgren. He was flying slowly, his movements labored. Icy fog coated his scales and rimed his wings. A white beard of frozen saliva hung from his jaws.

  He sucked in a breath and then let it out in a blast of fire that struck the congealed liquid, melting it and widening the hole through which he would have to fly.

  The gray slime sliding down the window started to diminish. Sunlight returned, dim at first, then growing brighter as the ship emerged from the Aurora.

  Kate looked out on a rugged, barren landscape. The jagged peaks of Mount Glabhar Cloch rose in the distance, shrouded by gray clouds. Smaller peaks trailed along behind it—the mountain ridge known as the Spine. The capital city of Dunlow lay directly below, a hodgepodge of buildings sprawling across the foothills, dimly visible through the clouds.

  The bright sunlight vanished as the ship passed through the clouds. The sky grew dreary, dismal. A light rain began to fall.

  “Welcome to the doomed isle of Glasearrach,”* said Gythe.

  She tapped Kate on the shoulder and indicated with signs of her hands that it was now safe for them to go up on deck. Kate had been cooped up long enough, and she eagerly opened the hatch and climbed the stairs that led to the main deck.

  With rain pattering on her face, she drew in a deep breath of moist air and waved to Dalgren, who caught sight of her and breathed a triumphant blast of flame in response. The worst, most dangerous part of the journey was over. They had only to endure life at the bottom of the world for a year and then they could return to sunlight and blue sky and Dalgren would have his name back.

  Kate helped Gythe and Miri prepare the ship for landing.

  “Where are the docks?” she asked Miri, who was still in the wheelhouse, her hands on the helm.

  “They were destroyed during the war and have yet to be rebuilt,” Miri said. “They’re not really needed. Few ships brave the journey from Above. We land in a shallow ravine on the outskirts of the city.”

  “A ravine?” Kate repeated, startled.

  “We have to remain afloat to accommodate the airscrews,” said Miri.

  “Of course,” said Kate, feeling silly. “I should have thought of that.”

  The weight of the hull would crush the airscrews if the ship set down on land. In a proper dockyard, the ship’s hull could rest in a large cradle.

  Miri must have guessed her thoughts. “Lumber is scarce. People need homes, not dockyards.”

  She lowered the Naofa into the ravine, which had the extra advantage of providing them with water, for a stream ran at the bottom. When the ship was hovering safely a few feet off the ground, Gythe and Kate jumped off and attached the mooring lines to boulders.

  Dalgren had flown away to hunt and rest in the caves of Mount Glabhar Cloch. The caves had been used by the dragons of the Brigade during the war and Lord Haelgrund had recommended that he make his home there.

  Once the ship was safely tethered, Miri emerged from the wheelhouse. She looked cold and exhausted. Kate asked if she could be of help.

  “I’m half frozen,” said Miri. “I think we could all use some rest and a cup of the brew to warm our bones.”

  The brew consisted of boiling hot water, Calvados, honey, cinnamon, and nutmeg. Gythe filled mugs and handed them around. The three sat down at the small table in the galley to eat a long-delayed supper.

  They were interrupted by angry yowlings and thumpings coming from the storage closet.

  “We forgot the Doctor!” Miri exclaimed.

  Gythe jumped to her feet and hurried to free the cat from the closet. He bolted out, looking irate, and stalked past the table with his tail in the ai
r, refusing to acknowledge them until Gythe offered him a bit of sardine by way of apology. He showed them he forgave them by jumping onto the table and trying to eat the butter.

  Miri hauled him off and dumped him on the deck. Nonplussed, the Doctor curled up in front of the stove to rest after the rigors of his journey. Gythe made signs with her hands, a hugging motion with her arms.

  “You want to go see Father Jacob,” said Miri. “You know there are chores to be done.”

  Gythe spread her arms as though they were wings, then clapped her hands over her mouth and danced about in a mock frenzy of terror that made Kate laugh.

  “She says she’s afraid people will be terrified of Dalgren. Very well,” Miri agreed crossly. “You can go. Kate and I will do the chores. I will write a letter of explanation for Father Jacob, warning him we’ve brought a dragon and that he’s peaceful, so people don’t panic.”

  “This priest won’t panic, will he?” Kate asked. “I know you said this Father Jacob would help Dalgren, but I also know that most priests hate dragons. They claim they are in league with the Evil One.”

  “Father Jacob Northrop is not one of those priests,” Miri said. “He lived among dragons for a long time. He is a close friend of the Duke and Duchess of Talwin. He might have even met Dalgren.”

  Kate remained doubtful, but she kept her doubts to herself. She had never heard of a priest who was friendly to dragons, particularly a priest who was Freyan and a member of the Arcanum.

  Kate had another reason for distrusting Father Jacob. She had learned that he was Captain Alan Northrop’s older brother. Alan had never even told her he had a brother. When Miri found out Kate knew him, she told her the story of the old scandal, how Jacob had disgraced the family by refusing to renounce his faith and fled to Rosia following the Reformation in Freya.

  “Alan was so angry he tried to kill him,” Miri said. “The two are reconciled now, but they were estranged for many years.”

  Miri descended to her cabin to write her letter, Gythe cleared the table, and Kate went to fetch water for washing up. By the time she returned, Miri had finished her task. Gythe tucked the letter into the pocket of her skirt, gave the Doctor a kiss on his head, then departed, running lightly down the gangplank.