The Mark of Gold

by A. S. Etaski

“More ‘breeds’ of Humans?” I added, my pitch going up without meaning it.

  The half-blood chuckled at me, and I was glad the sailors were busy working and couldn’t hear us talking down in the hold.

  “Yes, another breed, although Kurgan is a loose name for many nomadic tribes. They don’t build cities. Their horses and their dogs are more valuable to them than any gold coin.”

  “Interesting,” Gavin said. “I have never heard of them.”

  Mourn looked at him. “Their stories don’t have far reach off the Eastern Steppes. They do not talk to outsiders beyond brief trade meetings on neutral ground. Ironically, I’ve begun to see evidence that the Kurgan are surprisingly strong deterrents to the Ma’ab spreading down into the Steppes and the Green Sea to the East. This is why Taiding, Augran, and Manalar are the Ma’ab’s preferred targets. I believe the tribes’ sole focus the last two centuries is disrupting Ma’ab communications and raiding any new settlements, so they don’t gain a foothold.”

  Gavin made a face. “I am surprised the Ascended allow that for so long.”

  “Perhaps it is not a long time to the Ascended,” Mourn countered like he enjoyed the discussion. “The evidence suggests the Kurgan may also have death magic of a greater strength and consistency than the Noiri, and this may be why they were not overrun like them. Numerous, fast, with no center to attack, and able to match the Ma’ab with their methods on the battlefield.”

  “Hm. Intriguing.”

  More scritching.

  I sighed, counting on my fingers. “Paxian, Ma’ab, Zauyrian—”

  “Sal-zayr,” Mourn corrected me.

  “Mm-hm. Noiri, Yungian, and now Kurgan?”

  “Yes. There may be another breed around Break Water.”

  I rubbed my face. “When did they get so numerous?”

  And why were the Elves mostly unseen? Rithal shared his oldest tales as claiming the Elves, Dwarves, and Orcs came first, but the young, short-lived race grew so widespread and so fast.

  The two males chose to take my question as rhetorical.

  “So Augran is Alran, Niss, Bor, and Yong-wen,” Gavin prompted, waving his stylus at the half-blood.

  “Yes.”

  “Tell me about Yong-wen.”

  “This is the newest enclave, not yet three hundred years old while the rest of the city is over a thousand. Yungian settlers from Yung-An moved inland to the Southwest. This is why we must sail inland from the lake to get to them.”

  “How far?” I asked.

  “Only takes a morning.”

  Gavin asked, “Any particular prompt why settlers from the North and West came all the way down here?”

  Mourn had an expression that, in his Noiri Human form, I could not easily interpret. Perhaps I wouldn’t with his half-Dragon face, either. “Hmm. Well…”

  The death mage crossed his wrists to rest above his book and waited.

  “The ‘prompt’ was me,” said the exile from the Deepearth. “Nothing dramatic. No singular event or war. Just… encouraging trade.”

  My curiosity tingled all the way up my spine. Yung-An was notable in his history on the Surface. “Did you meet the Yungians first? When you escaped the underground?”

  Mourn dipped his chin but did not elaborate.

  “You seem involved in Human events. Maybe Dwarven ones, too?”

  “I like cities,” he repeated.

  Indeed, he’d gotten us through Port Fortnight and discretely onto a ship with truly little trouble. Nothing like the previous group leading me into a tiny town of loggers.

  Gavin shifted. “And why is disembarking at Yong-wen among Yungians better than getting off around other Paxian and Noiri to match our appearances?”

  Mourn nodded to acknowledge the question. “Fewer eyes overall, others which will avert their gaze if they happen to glimpse a magical aura. Yungians collectively give mages and ‘spirits’ privacy and deference than the other breeds of the city. It is part of their culture. Those who act alone to offend the spirits are shunned. With the right introduction, you and Sirana may be able to show your real form and be treated as extraordinary guests with whom to make a good impression.”

  I narrowed my eyes suspiciously. “What does ‘yong-wen’ mean in Trade?”

  Mourn smirked at me. “City of the Dragon Spirit.”

  “I knew it,” I accused. “You ‘encouraged’ its growth in more ways than trade!”

  “You might be glad for that, Red Sister.”

  I narrowed my eyes. “Do you claim ownership of Yong-wen?”

  He pointed a claw at me. “That, I do not. The Humans run themselves, better not to be involved in their daily doings.”

  “Just profit from it.”

  Mourn chuckled and opened his hand to wave it over Gavin’s rough, new map. “In contrast, the older parts of the city have long, deeply woven bonds formed centuries before I arrived. They are based solely on the merchant class and their history. There has never been a ‘king’ of Augran; though many have tried, none have kept it. Men can build and destroy networks in one lifetime, and gain or lose fortunes on fortune’s whim.

  “It can be exceedingly difficult to wander around long before being noticed if something seems strange about you. Any of them might act on individual suspicion or report information for a larger and coordinated confrontation. In fact, this is encouraged and gathers a mob quickly. You saw this in Troshin Bend, yes?”

  Nodding sullenly, I asked, “Is there a ‘king’ of Yong-wen?”

  “Yes, but he is far away, on the other side of the Great Lake at Yong-ch’hai. The tradition of the king currying favor with ‘spirits’ remains, but the people here can live on networks and fortune like the rest of Augran. You will find this blended order easier to exist in safety than most places of the city.”

  This was a lot of information to take in. I was hungry but growing tired as well from consciously controlling the troublesome anxiety born from the constant shift of the boat. Gavin asked no further questions for now; I watched him put away his glowing knucklebone and writing supplies then settle down with one of those spare blankets.

  Was he going to sleep?

  “I should meditate on this,” was all he said before closing his eyes.

  Within moments, I was convinced he wasn’t aware of us anymore.

  *Eat and rest, if you wish,* Mourn signed to me, getting down onto the floor and leaning against a rough woven sack stuffed with what sounded like hard pebbles. *There is naught to do for now.*

  I was surprised that I understood him; I took that extra tick to be sure. My hands replied, *You know the silent tongue?*

  He signed an affirmative.

  *As with your speech there are differences, but the overall language was kept intact.*

  *Yes.*

  I pursed my mouth. *Sivaraus came first.*

  He didn’t blink those blue eyes. *Correct.*

  *When did we split?*

  Mourn paused and shook his head. *No one in Vuthra’tern remembers. If none in Sivaraus know then only my sire does, now.*

  I added wryly, *But like refusing to remove those bracers, I wager he refused to tell you when it was, and that you do not know why.*

  His expression shifted closer to stone. *Correct.*

  I weighed my next sign. *Do you interact with him often? The Black Dragon?*

  Blue eyes slid away to study one of many rope knots and straps keeping things in place. *Not often.*

  But this Dragon’s son had met his sire in the flesh, though his mother had died in birth, leaving him to the non-existent mercy of a Priestess of Braqth who’d broken from our Valsharess some unknown time ago.

  At least five centuries, probably more unless Mourn was conceived in celebration of that severance. Then they promptly forgot what just occurred…? No, it must be longer than five.

  This assumed Mourn was truthful about everything he’d told me from before his escape, which was little,
all things considered. Basic truths of how he came into being and how he was here. He’d had a chance to mislead me about Tamuril’s sister but did not deny her existence; he’d simply told me to mind my business.

  Even offering small tidbits about his living on the Surface, Mourn had kept his word and had not asked about my mission after I’d run from the camp. He had not asked about a bargain between us, either. Gavin’s value alone was good enough to make this journey.

  What do I want?

  Help in finding news about Jael at Manalar. Help locating her, for certain, but what of asking for aid to help finish her mission, so she could be free to come with me? That depended largely on what it was. If it was possible, or not too late.

  For any of that to do any good to her—to us both—I needed not only a teacher about Humans but a defender against their fear and greed as well. Mourn had shown with clear extravagance that he could provide the service.

  And what will I give him to receive it?

  I still didn’t know.

  Mourn did not pick up our silent conversation when it stopped, and I dug into my stores to eat, slow and careful, as I grew accustomed to the movement of the ship. Gavin did not toss or turn in sleep as he used to; he was as unmoving as Nightmare when we didn’t think about moving her.

  After I’d finished and secured my food, I closed my eyes, my chin dropped down. My belly cooperated, and I breathed deeply to relax.

  At some point, when I wasn’t searching for it, I slipped into Reverie while sitting upright.

  CHAPTER 12

  There was too much water to walk the dry sand, too much cold rain to build a warm fire, too strong a whipping spray to prevent the wind from stabbing like needles. How ironic that we needed water every day, and yet I was trapped when there was too much of it and only wanted it to go away.

  I was trapped on an island of sensations too strong to escape, my hair plastered to my skull. The chain of storms along the horizon held no end. Far out among spear-tipped waves, a giant, purple pincerworm breached the surface and dove down again, and I froze in place. There was nowhere to run on the island; I could only panic in circles.

  If I hold still, maybe it won’t see me.

  To my left, a wave tumbled forward, throwing itself upon a small, red gem glittering like a beacon. The water pushed the necklace higher up onto the island before dragging it partway to the deep. I looked out at sea, saw no creature. Darting forward, I snatched up the half-buried necklace in a clump of saturated sand which fell from my fingers to land in heavy splats. My breasts ached as my nipples pulled tight and hard.

  *Sssirrranna…*

  Soul Drinker?

  My heart drowned out all but the lowest of distant thunder. I wiped greyish mud off the glossy red surface, subtle vibrations caressing my fingers as the demon called to me.

  *Where are you? I sense you close… Reach out to me. I have something to tell you about the Dragonchild. Something you must know.*

  Rain streamed down my skin, through my hair, and I shivered with cold. Fear. I was not strong enough yet.

  *Come, come. Are you hiding? I am sorry the warp rot was so difficult, but you did well. You were tough to the end! Brave Red Sister!*

  In my periphery, I saw the pincerworm again; far out in the water but closer to where I stood. Behind me were no trees in which I could hide off the beach; this was not a forested isle. There were grasses covering the hills, long and waving in gold and green, and many rocks with dark, straggly shrubs reaching up stubbornly between them.

  Nowhere to hide. Breathe slow. Don’t move.

  On the Surface, I shared color with shadow. With all these dulled noses and sight inured to the light, my silent stillness so often worked. With my limbs together, ruby clutched to my bare chest, I hoped to resemble the deep crease of a boulder with a streak of quartz.

  *Sirrannaaa! I know you hear me! If you fear for your unborn, your time is thin! The longer you stay near the Dragonchild, the harder it will be to hide from the To’vah.*

  Why would I want to do that?

  As if hearing my question, Soul Drinker continued. *The mercenary may not intend it, but he would show them what you do not want them to see. I tried to protect you when he first appeared, but that infernal geas interfered.*

  My heart refused to slow, and again the sea monster showed itself to my right, this time leaping impossibly high above the turbulent surface of the lake, continuing to rise up to the storm clouds. Massive wings opened up, the underside paler than the rest of the body, the tail long and curving like wind trails.

  Not a pincerworm.

  A Dragon.

  *Ssirrana! Listen! I can help you to stay unseen from their prying gaze.*

  I wanted to sprint the opposite way from that flying beast. I wanted it more than my thirstiest drink of water.

  Don’t move!!

  My eyes fixed to the armor of scales which appeared hard as amethyst. Wings beat the air, long body flowing past me. It did not bank toward me. Soul Drinker could scream into the Void as it liked; I would stay in place until nightfall, if need be.

  Then, as the Dragon circled the island from the sky far to my right, the rain eased, and a bank of grey mist rolled down the hills from behind me. I welcomed it, that rising haze obscuring me, flowing first around my legs like a cool, gentle breeze. The patter of innumerable droplets was suspended in silence, submerging me in fog. The ruby stopped quivering in my palm; Soul Drinker had quieted.

  Should the amethyst beast dive now, at least I would not see it coming.

  The mist swirled as I turned carefully in place, my ears straining for any breath or shift besides my own. I was naked, a dark silhouette within a light backdrop. When I stumbled upon another figure sitting cross-legged on the sand in front of me, I started in fright and bit off my gasp.

  It was not just thin or emaciated, but a skeleton picked clean of flesh. The bones were visibly longer and thicker than a Davrin, the dark cranium like a tall, blunt club. The skull twisted on its exposed spine and leveled empty sockets at me as if it could still see.

  Then it climbed to its feet, smooth, slow, and deliberate.

  The urge to pee or weep rose strong, but I pushed past it. I’d first seen grey clouds from afar in Reverie, but now I was in them. I knew who my ally was, and he would always be tied to images of death. It was not the existence of which mortals feared; we saw it every day to eat. We feared the pain before our own death. Alone.

  I understood this.

  A skeleton was not in pain. It was far beyond it.

  I reached out first, as I had refused the black dagger. ~Gavin? Is it you?~

  The black skull tilted to one side; there were no lips or tongue to form words, so it replied in kind. *We journey faster than expected to where we await ourselves.*

  There arose the tiniest trickle of doubt. It sounded like him, somewhat, but I could not make sense of the riddle. I wanted a plainer response. ~Did you see the purple Dragon? Did you or your mistress send the clouds to help us hide?~

  The articulated bones stood without reaction or response at first. In the quiet, I noted the odd, sharp points or edges in the form, some glossy facets, like it was not pure bone but laced with that odd flint. Like Jacob’s soul shard.

  Its next thought came as if our minds shared space. *You are simply here, Sirana.*

  My heartbeat was muffled inside this mist. ~You know me. And you are Gavin? Tell me. I cannot see your face.~

  *No, I suppose you cannot yet.*

  We heard distant snarls then, somewhere beyond the mist. It put to my mind two wary predators facing off, but my ears could not pinpoint their location. Worrying. More so when remembered that the skeleton had not answered my question.

  ~What do you see in my unborn?~ I asked.

  The skeleton lowered its eye sockets at my middle in contemplation, and I smiled. It was him, although what he thought next added little comfort.

  *Learning
.*

  My smile became a grimace, the black bones continued to speak with teeth flush and jaw immobile.

  *You entered the grey unseen, though someone tried to follow you. The harm is unknown but unavoidable if they succeed.*

  ~And if I didn’t know how I got here?~ I responded. ~What should I do now?~

  Somehow, the sightless skull communicated baffled surprise. *If you must ask what you already know, then choose your guardian and make it known. Soon.*

  I frowned. ~One other than you?~

  *I am not your guardian. And we are in a turbulent place for you to remain uncertain.*

  ~I do not know enough truth to be certain!~ I blurted. ~Everything changes, every time I wake up, and I do not know where I stand. It seems I only grasp my lack in all I do not know, from sand to water to horses and boats. I dream of lies and truths both kept from me, and it is from these I must choose!~

  Gavin’s skeleton paused again. *I remember. Yes.* The skull twisted to one side. *Often that was when I picked up the older tools. The first ones I found for better or worse, to mark the ground where I could rest.*

  I huffed sardonically, listening to the waves beyond my sight as the sand seemed to tilt like a ship. ~I am not on the ground to mark it.~

  *Indeed, not.*

  Gavin’s attention turned to one side. As I followed his empty gaze, I spotted a shrouded woman in the mist, gauzy veils obscuring her face. Tattered, undyed cloth wrapped simply about her small body, practical as a monk. I knew her. She was there the last time I’d invaded Gavin’s memory, when I’d been found out. Her voice whispered distantly, When shall we become?

  Shit. Had I done it again? Now I wanted to leave. This standing in the mist was getting me nowhere.

  ~How do I escape this isle without harm to Gavin, me, or my baby?~ I asked her.

  Wordlessly, the woman pointed in a direction, and an instant later, the massive flyer’s snarl aligned with her arm.

  Uh-oh. I checked that my hand clutched the ruby. ~And if they see me?~

  She held her pale hand out toward the black skeleton man, who thought nothing I could hear. They waited.

  Sigh.

  I turned in the mist and hurried toward my guiding sound, quickly discovering the faster I sprinted, the sharper my ears became amid the growls and rumbles filling the grey. Within the blurry haze, I could judge the shape and height of the isle’s treeless hills without my eyes, as I could underground or like in the canyon after Kurn’s thunderstone struck.