The Mark of Gold

by A. S. Etaski

  Hm. “Elana.”

  Her turn to wrinkle her nose. “Hmph. Spoiled rich girl name. Never worked a day in your life.”

  It was easy to keep my smile. Humans could be rushed and all wrong about their assumptions, but it didn’t slow their words. Worse than Davrin.

  The wind muffled many noises and maintained the risk of blowing my small guardians over the side of the railing. They were alert inside their pouch, chiming, waiting on me, but I wasn’t convinced we needed to take the risk with this lone Human. If more show up to support her.

  “And your name, sailor?” I prompted.

  “Pete,” she replied with clear defiance.

  At first, I was reminded of the Pyte slaves down below but pushed that aside. She was waiting, hairless jaw jutting forward, fists clenched, ready to fight for some reason. It sank in that now I was missing something.

  “What do you want?” I asked.

  She spat on the deck. “You off this ship soon as possible. Don’t like your cult here.”

  I rolled my eyes. Some of the sailors had been watching for me, apparently, though had avoided going down into the hold per the Captain’s orders. And why? To issue a challenge to a proxy for the City of the Sun, while we still had four or five days left of me being on this ship. If all went well.

  Meet this challenge now, or they will sneak down to disturb Gavin and me at some point.

  “Do you want to fight, Pete?” I asked. “To test this night who is better?”

  The blonde guffawed, slapping her thigh. “Not smart, God’s dog. I’ll kick your cunt drier than it is.”

  I grinned, swiftly closing the space between us, my hands empty. The smelly woman’s eyes widened, and she brought up her fists. She wasn’t inexperienced in a brawl; she didn’t fumble her first strike. In fact, she landed it, clipping my shoulder.

  Lucky. But you didn’t have Jaunda as an opponent in the Cloister.

  I moved without thinking. Block, deflect, strike, follow through. One last move, I swept her footing out from under her, then toppled after her thanks to the tilt of the ship. My knee landed on her gut.

  “Oof!” she grunted, eyes bulging, unable to inhale or speak as I regained my feet.

  Then Mourn was there, holding his large, Human hand between me and Pete. “No more, Elana,” he said. “You won.”

  I raised my voice above the wind. “If she picks another fight with me while I am on board, she shall regret it again.”

  “I do not doubt.” He glanced behind him, motioning to a couple men, sailors huddled on the other side of the cabins. He said to them, “Can you take your shipmate somewhere else, please?”

  Two came forward, one kneeling to pull the woman’s arm across his shoulders. “Right, right. C’mon, Pete. On yer feet.”

  “Sorry ‘bout that, m… milady,” the second said to me, looking as apologetic as some buas down below. “I tried tah talk her down. She had a hard life at Manalar. Was lucky tah escape. She don’t like reminders.”

  I quirked one eyebrow at him but said nothing as they helped the groaning woman stumble away. I glimpsed her jaw swelling. Good.

  When they were gone, I flexed my hand and checked for a split knuckle or sprain. It had been a while since I’d thrown a straight and simple punch but had reacted properly. I was fine.

  The mercenary sighed, arms crossed, and I lifted my chin and narrowed my eyes at him, daring him to criticize. “Challenges for simple tests of strength are best dealt with early and firm. And you know it.”

  Mourn did not counter that. “They will also remember us.”

  “Only by the face you gave me, and by the words Gavin taught me. I was not about to spend five days in potential storms evading a sneering woman’s misplaced aggression and blame. Better she faces consequences for it like any barking dog that gets kicked.”

  “Hm. Well. There are other ways—”

  “Oh?”

  “—but they require time and patience. Perhaps next time.”

  “Ah. So confident there will be one?”

  He was for certain suppressing a smile. “Now that I’ve watched you engage another aggressive female, inevitable. I ask you be wary of interpreting a woman who evades a physical confrontation with you as either weak or deserving.”

  Now it was my turn to suppress a smirk. “I know better than to assume either, bua. Believe me.”

  Mourn may have been suspicious or curious about that remark, but not enough to hold his attention as he looked out to the Archipelago. The wind once keeping my spiders tucked away had dropped off suddenly, and I realized all sources of night-light beyond the glow of a lantern were gone. The moons and stars were covered by clouds. The isles were fuzzy, amorphous blotches amid the black, trembling water.

  “Mm,” he said.

  “What?”

  “I am climbing to the crow’s nest.”

  I blinked. “The what?”

  “I’ll return soon. Try not to gleefully accept another fight while I’m gone.”

  “Very amusing.”

  I watched as the mercenary moved quickly to the main mast, passing for a capable man instead of the decidedly inhuman half-blood I’d watched hunting pigs on a riverbank. Mourn began scaling the rungs which led him up to disappear among the sails and rigging. It was only as I kept my eyes upon the sky and tracked his progress that I spotted the obvious lookout basket built at the top. It was easily the highest vantage point on the entire ship and large enough to hold two men snugly.

  Crow’s nest. Heh.

  The subtle fragrance of the surrounding isles came to me then with the wind calmer and the sails deflating. I knew I would find quite different flowers and trees in the middle of the water than I would in the mountains. The animals would vary based on what was available, or how easy it was to get from one isle to another.

  I tapped my chin, imagining a moment where I might walk one of those isles to see something my Elder had not. Unlikely we would be stopping for a pleasure stroll, or that a craft this big could sidle up to a rocky coast to let me off for a while. If I wanted to see something Rausery hadn’t, I’d have to see it from the crow’s nest.

  Which would not happen in the day.

  “Hm,” I smiled. Why not try?

  Loping over to the mast, I began climbing the rungs, keeping my eyes on my hands. Like on the cliffs underground, don’t look down.

  “Hey, hey! Lady, no! Get down ‘ere, no passengers on the rigging!”

  What the piss was Mourn, then?

  I climbed faster as two men ran toward the mast, measuring my breath, challenged by the numerous ropes crossing every which way yet comforted by the billowing spreads of massive cloth blocking my view of the horizon for now.

  One sailor was climbing behind me while the other cupped his mouth with both hands. “Roewn! Roewn! Dodgasted fremin, can you get yer charge off the mast before she breaks her head?!”

  Laughter burbled out of me to hear that, and it felt good. I climbed faster, ducking a look under my arm to confirm my pursuer wasn’t closing distance.

  “Roewn!” I called. “It’s Elana! I want to see the crow’s nest.”

  The half-blood poked his head over the side and audibly groaned, rubbing his temple. He didn’t try to shout an order at me to climb back down.

  “I will bring her down, Jahn,” called Mourn. “Let her be.”

  “Captain takin’ no responsibility fer this!” bellowed the one beneath me. “An’ I’m not takin’ lashes fer a chudderfwet! Where’s her brother, anyway?!”

  “I will take all responsibility for bringing the woman down safely, Chep.”

  “You better, Guildsman!”

  “I will. Down to the deck before her boot kicks your face.”

  “Yeah.” He spat. “I heard she’s an ornery mare.”

  How Surface men loved to talk as if I didn’t have ears. I made a face, wishing I had my sneeze powder to drop on Chep’s face, instead. I ref
rained from taking a lethal alternative or even cursing because the man was already climbing down. Soon after, I knocked on the underside of the trap door I spotted easily in the crow’s nest.

  “Let me in, Guildsman.”

  “You must be bored tonight, lady.”

  The trap door opened, and his hand appeared for me to grab. The moment I did, my boots left the rungs, causing a stark moment of panic as my body was lifted up and through by one arm.

  “Yai!” I cried, stumbling atop a spare coil of rope weighing down a few rough blankets.

  The trap door thumped closed behind me, and I rolled over only to be shoulder-to-shoulder with the mercenary. I hadn’t looked down on my way here and had been fine but, suddenly, this basket so high in the massive, open sky was even tinier than it had appeared from the deck.

  I’ve made a mistake.

  And I still had to get back down.

  Mourn was trying not to laugh. “Good evening, Sirana.”

  I stayed seated on my rear, for I couldn’t see over the edge this way. “Why did you climb up here?”

  “I was about to ask you the same thing.”

  “To ask you this question.”

  He sighed. “You will not like the answer.”

  I said nothing and waited expectantly.

  “The wind dropping like it did could suggest a storm nearby,” he explained. “The Humans can’t see far at night. I can.”

  Uh-oh.

  I wetted my mouth before speaking. “Is ‘Roewn’ a regular who could also aid the crew if needed?”

  “He is. He might know a few spells for seeing in the dark.”

  “He’s a Guild mage.”

  “Close enough.”

  More activity sounded far below us than there had been a short bit ago. Sails and ropes started shifting around.

  “What are they doing?” I asked, gathering the nerve to peek over the edge.

  “What they always do.”

  “Do you see a storm coming?”

  “Do you want to look?”

  I couldn’t read his tone. Breathing in slow and out again, I grabbed the damp wood tightly in both hands and leaned close and up to gaze out from the crow’s nest. I stared for some time, as far as I could see, tracing the curve of the world as it tilted in a way I had never imagined in my life.

  Ohhh, yep. Mistake.

  “I see cloud cover and black isles in one direction,” I spoke with care, as a starting point.

  “North,” Mourn agreed, then pointed to a specific glob of darkness to the North and West, behind us. “And there is our storm catching up. Hard to tell if it is short or long endurance, but the wind will start again soon.”

  My eyes followed his arm out that way. I could easily see the shape of the clouds, and yes, those would warn me to take cover.

  “I must get down below,” I said.

  “I am glad we agree. Do you need help?”

  I paused, realizing he hadn’t asked that since the first time I’d gone to the river to wash away the warp rot and Troshin Bend. “I do not think so. Climb back down the rungs, right?”

  “Unless you’d like to rappel by rope.”

  I smirked, trying to imagine how doing that from here would be different from doing it against a rockface in the Deepearth.

  Easy. The wind.

  On cue, it picked up, and my cloak flapped against my shoulder. As I turned my head toward the sails refilling with air, strands of my hair escaped from my braid and went into my face.

  Oh, Goddess.

  “I will climb down first,” Mourn suggested. “If you slip, I can catch you. I must report what I can see to Captain Tremain, anyway.”

  The Dragon’s son had proven he was strong enough to catch me by one limb if needed. “Sounds good.”

  Mourn opened the trap door, and I squeezed the wall to let him go first before turning away and shimmying into the square hole, seeking the first rung with my boot. He grabbed my heel and put my foot in place.

  “Try not to kick my face, please.”

  I smiled though he couldn’t see it. “Not intentional.”

  The ship tilted, slow and inevitable to one side, and I froze to feel the heavy lean of my body, clinging to the spindly tree trunk missing its limbs. My heart slammed the inside of my ribs, my eyes staring at a white spray splashing up over the side of the ship.

  “Easy,” Mourn’s voice drifted up. “Keep moving. This will not get calmer for a while, Sirana. You cannot remain up here for the duration of a squall.”

  Right. Keep moving.

  I closed my eyes, feeling the wet wind coating my cheeks, and made myself move. Down. Another rung, and another. It was easier if I couldn’t see. If it was like the chasms of the Deepearth where one knew there was a floor, somewhere, but one had to descend into utter blackness to find it.

  “Almost there. Good.”

  “Roewn! What in’ blazin’ skies ya doin’ up there cuddlin’ with yer silver?!”

  Mourn squeezed my waist pulling me off the mast and dropping me lightly onto me feet. He didn’t answer the question. “Where is the Captain?”

  “His cabin.”

  After a nod, he asked me, “Will you go down below and stay?”

  The storm coming wasn’t as obvious down here. Not yet. Still, I nodded. “I shall prepare with my brother to ride it out. I assume you are staying up here?”

  “Aye,” he answered oddly. “I can do more up here to make sure we make it to shore.”

  A glorious thought. With quite a few sailors glaring at me and making crude motions I may or may not have read correctly, I left to warn Gavin about the rough waters about to hit.

  Nightmare was laying down in her stall similarly to how I’d first seen her the night she died. Given that she would fall down at some point regardless, I didn’t question it.

  By the soft glow of his knucklebone, Gavin was checking and securing the crates and bundles which could topple or slide if the ship tossed about too much, and I joined him. The sailors were busy, the noise and activity growing by the moment, and we were the ones who could get crushed by a hurled object down here. It felt good to focus on something we could do to prepare.

  “Did you hear us talking, or something?” I asked him.

  “I feel imminent warning of disruption coming from the North regardless. That you tell me heavy rain and wind accompany it does not surprise me.”

  “What?” I jerked hard on a tightening knot. “Is it a magical attack? Maybe the Ascended?”

  “I cannot say. This is large and beyond my experience.”

  Abruptly, I imagined Gavin falling comatose again to something I couldn’t see, or both of us collapsing and sharing a dream, again. Could I stay awake and not go a third time where I was unwelcome? I wore Shyntre’s pendant beneath my leather armor as before, and the Ridhian was tightly wrapped and stored in a rear pouch. The red-rune dagger was secured away from me, yet I didn’t feel ready for another mystical test. I couldn’t remember what Elder D’Shea had taught me, where to begin.

  Was it passive resistance? Cris-ri-phon hadn’t been able to break in, not at first; he’d made similar remarks as my Elder D’Shea and Priestess Wilsira when they tried. Yet, the saphgar alone hadn’t been enough to prevent both the Conceiver and Soul Drinker from breaking in eventually, given the time.

  A loud, metallic grind sounded at the rear of the ship, followed by a splash. We paused. It was repeated at the fore as well.

  “The anchors,” he said.

  “We’re stopping?” I asked.

  “Many islands surround us,” he pondered. “Perhaps this will aid in not crashing into one of them?”

  That made sense. The mental image of stopping in place to willingly be battered seemed ludicrous at first, but as Gavin had said on the Midway, we couldn’t outrun a storm.

  I watched as Gavin double-wrapped his grimoire and writing tools in oiled leather, inspected and secured his sur
gical kit, then settled down to tie himself to a post which wouldn’t move without catastrophic force.

  “Wait,” I said. “If you must get free quickly, I know a better knot. Secure, but one hard jerk in the right place, it comes loose.”

  The death mage paused, considered my offer, and nodded, holding out the rope for me to show him. I grinned and made myself useful, creating comfortable harnesses for both of us. Gavin tested how to escape, grunted in satisfaction, and I rebound him, trying not to chuckle. Red Sister games came in handy on a boat.

  The patter of rain arose quietly as we waited without speaking; after a while, Gavin secured his source of light and sat in the dark, his thoughts and focus were elsewhere. While I wanted to ask him what he saw or felt, I had my own concerns. Tugging out my blue pendant, I cradled it between my hands, then thought to release my spiders and guided them up to the ceiling while it was dry. They found a few protective gaps to huddle inside and wait.

  That seemed easier than before.

  The wind got louder outside, muffling the sailors, and rocking the body of the boat. My heartrate picked up in anticipation as the rain pounded down, and I no longer heard the flapping of as many sails. I remained alert, listening to everything, seeking out Mourn among the Humans while never being sure it was him or not.

  It may have been pitch black in the hold, but my Dark Sight made out Gavin’s form. I realized he no longer occupied himself with his own thoughts in quiet, as he so often did. He sat slumped in his harness with his eyes open.

  I watched with a spike of concern as Mourn’s illusion faded, and the long, black hair and corpse-pale skin of the Ma’ab-blooded death mage returned. His eyes had shifted to pure black, as they did whenever he used his magic, but his lips were still, and his hands rested in his lap. He did not appear in distress, but he was alone in whatever he faced. I worried about someone coming down into the hold to check on us and seeing this.

  I pulled off my gloves and checked what I could of my illusion. Gone. Fuck.

  Either the magic had reached its limit and needed to be cast again, or this was a direct result of the “disruption” coming our way.

  For the next few hours, the ship rocked and lunged up and down violently enough that the vanished spell didn’t matter, and not even Shyntre’s pellets could suppress the sickness of my stomach being pitched like a playing ball. I dared not eat, either. Clutching the crate beside me, I resigned to remain in this cursed state of ravenous nausea as strange noises, calls, and wailing sounded outside, above, and underneath the water. For good or ill, Reverie was impossible, and I wagered none of the sailors would be sleeping tonight, either.