by A. S. Etaski
What?
I glanced at Mourn. Whether he meant to show it or not, he was quite interested.
I hissed at my scholar, “What are you doing?”
“No harm to you,” Gavin said, lifting the Ma’ab’s sword where it could be better seen. He also carried the satchel which would contain his grimoire and Soul Drinker.
“May I inspect it?” Mourn asked, holding out his hand. “I will not keep it unless we are agreed to trade.”
“For what?” I demanded between them.
“I don’t know, Baenar, he hasn’t said.”
Gavin offered the sword two-handed to the Dragon’s son, who took it and pulled the blade free, handling the weapon with ease. I spotted his Human tongue flicking out to taste the air around it.
The death mage spoke plainly. “I would like to trade it for the sapphire in your possession.”
What?! That’s mine!
I refrained from blurting my fury but stood bristling with my mouth open, one hand anchoring me to the railing with a vengeance.
Mourn glanced from the sword to me then to Gavin, tested the heft again, nodding with appreciation. “Any aspect of the bargain not yet spoken, Deathwalker?”
“No. One for the other, and the deal is finished. Nothing unspoken.”
The Dragon son grunted. “I should clarify it is not true sapphire but a denser, non-crystallized stone which appears like it. It could fool most Humans, but a Dwarven trader would be able to tell the difference rather quickly. The two stones are not valued the same.”
“Hm, interesting. Thank you for clarifying.”
I outright scowled listening to the two of them barter over my stone. It took effort not to insert myself in the dealing, because I didn’t know what Gavin intended yet. I bit my cheek and waited.
Mourn seemed to notice, sly eyes flicking to me again before one final inspection of Kurn’s blade. He withdrew my pendant from a different pouch than where I thought it had been. “Done.”
He made the motion to toss it, offering Gavin the moment to prepare before gently lobbing the stone past me to the Deathwalker, who caught it.
“Thank you.” Gavin turned it over, using all ten long fingers to trace its shape in the dark shadow of the rear deck. “Ah. A crescent moon. Skilled work.”
Now he’s taunting me.
I waited for the death mage to ask me next to trade him the ruby for the saphgar, which he would then give to Mourn and be done with our argument. I discarded several things I would say in reply, distracted when the ship started to lean again.
If I wouldn’t trade the ruby to Mourn for the blue stone, what makes you think I’ll do the same with you only to see my wishes circumvented? I’m not that stupid.
Gavin placed the blue pendant in his pocket, nodding in satisfaction.
I blinked, palming my face. Arrrgh…
“Are there legends of an amethyst Dragon in the Archipelago?” Gavin asked, looking out at the water with less apparent trepidation than I felt.
Mourn had attached the sword to a belt I knew he didn’t wear with his harness, but it was his turn to blink in surprise. “Um. Yes, quite a few.”
“Perhaps that explains my dream.”
“For certain,” I offered. “Mourn told me your dreams may be stranger the next three days, as mystics like you are sensitive to its flux.”
Gavin pondered. “Indeed? Good to know.”
“Mystics?” Mourn asked me.
“Yes,” I said, glad to feel a solid grip somewhere. “The mages who see glimpses of chaos, yes? Not every mage does.”
I’d made an impression on him.
“Where did you learn that word for such an affinity, Sirana?”
He sounded curious.
“Osgrid,” I said. “A Dwarven eve witch outside Troshin Bend. She was mystic and said Gavin was, too, from looking at his book. If she took my advice, she has left her cottage in the woods rather than stay to take the blame for what happened.”
The mercenary nodded in agreement. “I hope so.”
“I do not know where she would have gone,” I continued, “but Rithal mentioned meeting her in Augran when he fled?”
“Yes, I recall.”
“And you weren’t surprised when I mentioned her in connection with genethsa. I wanted to ask if you have spoken with her as well in your travels?”
Mourn considered that. “She would recognize one of my faces, yes.”
“Cris-ri-phon accused her of reporting his doings to the ‘Guild’ of Augran. Is that true?”
“Probably,” Mourn granted. “We were both outcasts with links to the Guild, so we traded information on occasion. She knew I wasn’t Human but did not insist on seeing my true form.”
Once I’d paused in my questions, momentarily satisfied, the mercenary asked an odd one of his own. “Are there mystics in Sivaraus?”
I blinked. “What?”
Mourn pointed at Gavin. “Someone who feels like him. The Deathwalker’s stranger manner or aura does not unsettle you, as he does many.”
I froze, body and mind; I could not think. I did not understand why.
“There are no death mages below,” I evaded.
“Nor should there be among Baenar. But there may be mystics, though I understood them to be mages who could sense simultaneous possibilities or influences. It would look like chaos or hallucinations to anyone mundane.”
Hallucinations, or Visions.
I rubbed my temple rather than cover my womb, which had been my first impulse. “I am not well enough for this conversation.”
“Hm. I will take it as likely but let you be.”
For now.
I was too aware of the movement of the water and becoming hungry at the same time. There would be no peace between the two.
Damnit. Not again.
“I am going below,” I said. “I must eat. And not look at ceaseless motion for a time.”
Mourn nodded, and Gavin said nothing as I left. I loathed what I might miss leaving them to talk alone, but my irritability and illness were rising quickly. I reached for one of Shyntre’s pellets.
I still didn’t know if they were neutral or worse than they had been before the warp rot, but I just wanted to be well. I recalled how the Druid had not spoken of magic at all when she described using the mushroom as a base. Neither had Osgrid. They were each mages of a sort, and capable with mundane medicine, but neither were magical healers.
It was different when the medicine brewer was a mage like Gaelan. Often, there was a gesture or a word that had to go along with it to gain the full potency. There had never been anything like that for these pellets. Even Elder Rausery had complimented my wizard on his skill making ‘fresh’ pellets for her exploration up top.
“This is more potent than the mushroom alone,” Tamuril said. “If only you knew how they are made, Sirana, you could save many lives up here from too-early deaths.”
I placed one under my tongue to dissolve on this reasoning. I must know soon or else I would not keep carrying them around. If I became ill, I would alert the males. I was willing to bet Mourn kept healing potion or two.
When I returned to the hold, I was further irritated to find my packs of food had been stolen. Damnit, Gavin!
My cursing did not last as I located them stored in the stall behind Nightmare, who showed me her teeth briefly, as if she would bite whoever entered. I retrieved my knucklebone talisman, and her rejuvenated lips covered those sharp teeth again. Stepping past her, I found everything as I’d left it.
Very well, good move.
While eating slowly, my nausea retreated. I wasn’t sure if it was Shyntre’s pellets or the food or that the tilting horizon was hidden from view, but I was glad regardless. It wasn’t becoming worse.
Sooner than I expected, Gavin joined me again in the hold. Mourn had not followed him. He sat down near enough that we could talk privately. I arched my brow, waiting.
>
He let me have it.
“This was the second time you fled into my dreams while we are both unconscious. I recall enough of the visions and your frustrations, as well as the concerning details around me after I awoke, that I understand why. But… this cannot continue. You must gain control of this.”
It felt like a stone had landed in my middle.
“I had better control, once,” I muttered, breaking off a piece of pressed nuts and berries and placing it on my tongue.
Gavin considered. “You said you were injured, and the talent had vanished for a time.”
I nodded, chewing.
“This talent is becoming stronger as you have healed from whatever happened,” he said. “You have agitated Human men without intent, and they have posed a greater threat to you than they might have been without your sharing their dreams.”
I was about to snarl at him for that but refrained. I could not deny it.
“I do not want to share dreams with you unbidden,” he added plainly. “Mourn has been wise and has left your vicinity when you begin dreaming. He senses something but has practiced defenses which give him warning. He has agreed to teach me a few of these methods, if possible.”
I ground my teeth. Great. Both males allying against me for something none of us understand.
“Meanwhile,” Gavin continued, reaching into his pocket, and withdrawing Shyntre’s pendant, “I think you need to pick up an old tool again. Rediscover how to use it.”
I stared at the stone, blinked at him a few times. “What, you are giving it to me?”
“You need it, even if you will not ask me for it.”
I looked away. “I expected you would want to trade something else for it.”
Gavin considered that. “I suppose I do.”
Here it comes.
I sighed, “What do you want?”
“For my returning this illusory sapphire to you, I request that you return to the Ley Tower with me to confront Sarilis, as we first bargained.”
That was a long time away.
Gavin held out the pendant, but I hadn’t taken it yet as I stared at him. He tilted his head. “Have you changed your mind on that?”
I was sure my lower lip quivered beyond my control, as the surge of aging, tattered dreams and their heavy chains in the geas came to the foreground.
Argh!
My spiders skittered beneath my hood as I pulled off my glove, reaching with my bare hand for not only the blue pendant but the Deathwalker’s pale skin. I gripped them both, tugging his hand, and insisted he look at my eyes. He did so reluctantly.
~My Queen says I must destroy the tainted death mage at the Ley Tower before I can return home. That target is not you.~
Gavin’s eyebrows lifted in surprise, and he leaned away.
Did you hear me? Please, let it be so.
I could not tell. The Deathwalker said nothing before he turned my grip so that the blue stone rested in my palm then withdrew his hand, breaking contact as soon as he could.
“The gem is yours,” he said. “The deal is finished, Sirana. There is nothing unspoken on my end.”
My throat closed, ached, but I nodded. There remained plenty unspoken on my end, whether I liked it or not. I smoothed my “old tool” between my thumbs, inspecting it for damage but found none. It felt good. Now maybe I could begin rebuilding that defense against Soul Drinker.
And somehow come to agreeable terms with Mourn.
“Thank you,” I whispered.
CHAPTER 13
By midmorning the next day, I confirmed Shyntre’s pellets were unspoiled and potent. Three times they soothed my churning stomach from the unseen waves and allowed me to keep my meals while I remained down in the hold. I told Mourn and Gavin this when they watched me put the third one in my mouth.
“Interesting,” the Dragonchild said, bringing us our share of the morning meal, which wasn’t bad and helped stretch my snack supply. “I do not recall smelling anything much like it on the Surface. Would you be willing to trade one to an apothecary I know in Augran?”
“Why?”
“She would study it. Possibly recreate it.”
I squinted. “Would you care either way if I did?”
His mouth stretched; I wasn’t sure if it was a smile. “Yes. A healthier childhood is better than an ill one, and stronger, skilled adults means shared labor and difficult targets for would-be tyrants to suppress a populace the size of Augran. This leads to quality wealth for me through less brutal means. I can help you barter fair payment.”
Gavin spoke before I could. “Do you often plan in Human lifetimes?”
Mourn’s eyes lifted to the ceiling. “One of several measures, yes. It has been useful.”
The former monk added, “And you unashamedly plan to collect gold from a healthier and wealthier city over centuries?”
Fully metallic eyes appeared, shining in the half-blood’s Human face; reptilian pupils expanded to show his interest. “Yes. Rare metals, precious stones, or well-made crafts of many shapes and purpose.”
“Goddess,” I made an exaggerated display of looking around, “where do you put it all?”
The mercenary glanced at me, seemed able to tell I was jesting, and chuckled. “I am my Sire’s son, Baenar.”
The gold color faded from his eyes as he stood up and did not stay to let us ask more about that.
The next evening arrived after having passed around and between island obstacles, no storms or strange whirlpools accosting us. Constant bootsteps sounded above my head, the men shouting at each other all day in what sounded like instructions, but Braqth bind me if I could translate it.
“Do they speak in Trade?” I asked.
Gavin did not glance up from his book. “As relevant for sailors, yes.”
I squinted. “Then what is a jib? And why must they trim their heels?”
The death mage shrugged, continuing his writing. “I have never sailed before. I follow them no better than you. Perhaps ask Mourn.”
I might have, but he remained up top, or “above board,” most of the day. I was not sure how he entertained himself; I never heard his voice. I also neither felt the pull of Reverie nor could bring myself to leave the hold in broad daylight without need. It made for an exceptionally long day.
Eventually night fell, and I crept out again when there were fewer passengers and workers tromping about. The moonlit waters were no longer unbroken vastness; plant-covered islands dotted all around us as black shapes, their presence altering the unseen currents below and the drift of the waves up top. I could not pretend I was as sensitive to these subtleties as the working people who lived on the boat and had traveled here before, but I was no less alert for the path looking so broken and unpredictable.
By now I’d sorted out a few voices of women on the ship over those of the men by timbre alone, but I had not yet counted the five traders and three sailors Mourn claimed were here. At last, as I made my way in shadow, I noted two of the female sailors doing things with the ropes and sails, cleaning up tools and putting things in their place. This was no different from what the numerous men were always doing.
The women were “tolerated,” as Mourn said, and I could tell they were stronger in body than the kitchen mother, Elana, and could match some tasks with smaller men their own size. Like me and Mourn, though, there remained tasks consistently given to the bigger bulls who were less likely to fail or injure themselves in the attempt.
I had gone to the front of the ship, looking into the eve without lanterns interfering in my periphery. My stomach was full, any motion sickness quelled with warm thoughts of my wizard and his little dirt balls. I wanted to study the stars and smell the clean air, try to guess our route and select which isles we’d be “tricking,” by which the ship might glide past remarkably close. It was windier than yesterday, my hood would not stay up no matter what, so I kept my spiders safe in their pouch.
I had
not a sixth of an hour at the ship’s front before someone approached from behind. When I turned, she was peeking around crates of cargo. Another moment, she realized she was detected, ducked back—which made me smirk—then decided to step out plainly, confirming she was one of the sailors.
The woman had tousled, dark blonde hair, cut short but long enough to tangle and fall in her eyes. Her skin was ruddy brown and speckled with dark brown dots across her nose and cheeks and down her arms. Her drab clothes were loose for ship work, both the sleeves and pant legs rolled up to reveal forearms and calves to the air. She wasn’t clean; I could smell her every time the blustering wind changed.
Paxian, I decided.
The Human shrugged her shoulders with exaggeration, showed her empty hands, and strutted forward to approach me without invitation.
What does she want? I glanced up and around in case Mourn was nearby; if he watched, he did so hidden again.
“So,” she said with an odd, hoarse voice, “where’s yer head veil?”
I stared. Head veil?
She scowled when I didn’t answer. “I said, where’s yer veil, Manalari cooze? No showin’ yer hair, I know, an’ yer a bit far from yer brother tonight.”
Ah-ha.
“What is your authority to ask, sailor?” I replied, emphasizing the Davrin lilt that Mourn would consider Noble.
As expected, she second-guessed herself. It was a Manalari accent she had never heard before; I imagined she wondered what my connections were. I smiled, and her eyes narrowed. The half breed was right; blue was a common eye color up here.
“Sound rich. Bishop’s spy?” she guessed. “Or one o’ their sluts? Running back to tell ‘em how they’re fucked? North is comin’ fer them but will leave Augran alone.”
I hoped her intent was to insult and show contempt for Manalar, and not to glean information for the coming siege. If so, she was poor at it. What Mourn had said returned, that it may be safer disembarking in Yong-wen than let Paxians drift and whisper at our backs, speculating, suspicious. Hostile.
I asked, “What is your name?”
She stretched her lips, showing teeth like a dog. “What’s yers?”