The Mark of Gold

by A. S. Etaski

  At least there wasn’t a whisper of a taunt from Soul Drinker.

  Don’t do anything ill-thought. Let the others handle themselves. Let it pass…

  Despite this mental chant, there came a point mid-storm when the lurching was particularly violent. My saphgar began to glow a deep blue at my chest, and Gavin’s body moved, his arm long lifting up. It was deliberate. He reached out in my direction, a black-nailed, large-knuckled hand grasping for something. A bit of black blood seeped from the corner of his mouth.

  Uh-oh.

  What should I do? He had told me many times, in many ways, he did not like to be touched. He doesn’t want to share dreams, either. He’d been dealing with this his entire mortal life, I reminded myself; he often looked possessed or had seizures, experiencing troubled nightmares.

  This is nothing new for him.

  My mind was clear. Anchored. My tangible reality wasn’t sliding into dissolving sand at the moment. Could I “wake” him, as I once had Reishel? Could I shield him, listen to him as I had D’Shea when she confessed about Shyntre, when Gaelan told me of being in the shed as I lay dying, of Natia, and each despite their compulsions?

  I’m not that strong anymore. Not after Kerse. I don’t want to see whatever it is that’s threatening him.

  Gavin’s eyes remained opened, staring into the Void. He made no sound, but I realized he’d bitten his tongue; that’s why the blood was dripping. He tried twice more to reach out to whatever he saw.

  Or to me?

  No, he’s not aware of where I am.

  Yet, he didn’t stop. Three times, his arm never wavered in its direction, focused on me. My newly returned pendant continued to glow, casting shadows upon his pale face. If I reached out, too, I could take his hand.

  And?

  Well, if I always avoided it, never learned control, madness was sure to follow, Gavin said. I doubted he would argue that, as mastery of his heritage practically consumed him. And if he did, I was sure of my stance.

  Must relearn control.

  At least Gavin didn’t use the blame to violate me in revenge.

  With a quiet sigh, I removed my gloves, anxious and nauseated. I took hold of the warm blue stone with one hand and snatched hold of Gavin’s hand the next time he reached across to me.

  Gripping it tight, I kept only one thought. ~I am staying out but… come back, mystic. Return to us. I’m here.~

  The Deathwalker blinked. Gradually, his ice blue pupils returned, and his tongue pushed the dark fluid which had collected beneath it out, until it spilled down his chin. I grimaced but held on until I was sure he knew that we were holding hands.

  He tugged free, always his first impulse, but then black clouds passed across the icy blue color and he immediately reached out to touch the back of my hand. The color anchored again. He tried again to withdraw but instantly pressed the pale pads of his fingers to my dark hand. I held still, kept my arm out, waiting awkwardly.

  “Fascinating,” he said.

  “You are back?” I asked.

  “Yes. Yes…” He was looking around, tracing the ceiling. “I believe I am.”

  The rocking of the ship, the rising and sudden drops kept me from asking anything for another half-hour; it took all my focus to keep my hand out where Gavin could reach it. He mostly held on to my middle finger, pressing it between three long fingers as if checking my pulse, and dealing with whatever pricked at his peripheral senses. My pendant continued to glow as it had in the presence of focused magic, and Gavin’s pupils kept flickering, threatening to vanish yet never going dark while he held on to me.

  Eventually, shortly before the ship would begin to calm at last, the death mage released me and leaned back, dropping his arm. Mine collapsed in burning exhaustion; I groaned, massaging to soothe.

  “Is it over?” I hoped.

  Gavin nodded, saying nothing.

  We had done well securing what might come loose, and the hold appeared to suffer no significant damage; Nightmare and the cargo remained mostly in place. Now things were calmer, and I could detect the heavy dripping of water coming from above, presumably whatever had splashed onto the deck. The dank smell had increased.

  Tugging hard to release the rope harness which had probably saved me many bruises, I got up and stretched, calling my spiders to me. Gavin quirked a brow.

  “I will check for leaks,” I said, “and stay down here. I know our illusions are gone.”

  He still did not speak. I wanted to know what happened, what he experienced, anything, but knew better than to push the stubborn scholar.

  Hopefully once he has time to think it over.

  Tracing the perimeter of the hold, which was not the entire length of the ship, I did not find anything too concerning, though not all was perfectly dry. My ears detected several unseen rats, and they were not heading upward although were nervous enough to be startled when my stomach growled.

  I smirked, commanding Nightmare onto her feet on my way to Gavin and my thankfully dry food. I pulled up my hood and ate slow as I could manage, listening for anyone coming down and hoping Mourn would be first. That would avoid some unnecessary concerns all around.

  Apparently, he agreed. He was coming down, telling someone, “I will check on them.”

  I greeted him with a wave and a wide smile.

  He paused, looking at my face then Gavin’s. “Hm. Allow me.”

  We waited while our disguises were replaced, and Gavin checked his hands and arms, nodding in thanks as his black fingernails faded to a living shade.

  “I didn’t ask before,” I said. “How long does this spell last? Did you reset it at any point, and I did not notice?”

  Mourn smiled. “No. It can last several days unless we encounter a surge from a strong mage or like the one in that storm.”

  I squinted. “How long is ‘several’?”

  He thought about it. “I can confirm three days, at least.”

  “Not four hours.”

  He watched me, and I was impressed when he followed my train of thought. “No. Brom wanted to be certain you couldn’t get far on a disguise. We both knew that.”

  “But you aren’t worried.”

  He smiled without showing his teeth. “You’re on a ship.”

  “Yes, I noticed.” I frowned. “What in the Void was that? Could it have been a Ma’ab attack?”

  Mourn shook his head with certainty. “No. The Archipelago has magical squalls as well as storms. The isles have some unique plants and animals as a result.”

  “It just…burbles up from nothing?” Gavin asked skeptically.

  “It almost always comes from the North,” the Dragonchild explained. “Many travelers have linked it to a land bridge with an impassable forest, called Blackbark. They don’t know what’s inside. No one seems to return from that place.”

  I waited two heartbeats, and Gavin was reaching for his grimoire again.

  “And you’ve never been there?” I asked.

  Mourn smiled and waited for the scholar before speaking again. “No, I’ve not yet. Worth noting that many an ambitious mage has attempted to harness these isle-jumping surges for their own ends but usually end up dead or gone mad.”

  Gavin grunted, shaking his head as he began to write. “Indeed, I can see how that might occur. How far is this Blackbark ‘land bridge’ from Port Fortnight?”

  “Ohh, let’s see.” Mourn exhaled in thought. “At least as far as from the Ley Tower to Troshin Bend, but all water and broken isles.”

  The Deathwalker nodded, turning to a fresh page. He was far past the halfway mark; I wondered what happened when he filled up his book.

  “There must be another body of water on the other side of the bridge.”

  “Correct. The Sea of Fish. Largely traveled East and West by the Yungian and the Noiri, between Yung-An and the Dragon Coast.”

  I was far too entertained watching Gavin feverishly scritch his notes.


  Eventually, Mourn asked, “How did you two fare the storm?”

  The Deathwalker looked at me, thinking to wipe his chin to see the dried, black blood. He pulled out a rag to scrub it off before we had to ask. He might have remembered biting his tongue.

  “I would say I fared poorly,” he answered, “but Sirana provided a raft for me to cling to until it passed.”

  “What?” The Dragonchild pinned me with his gaze. “How did you do that?”

  “Uh.” I lifted the leather thong of Shyntre’s pendant, letting it swing until he recognized it. “This helps me focus.”

  Mourn was skeptical, briefly glancing at Gavin. “But you aren’t a mage, you say.”

  I shrugged. “It’s… mental training in defense of some magic. Like breaking wards, it blunts the spell trying to bend the will.”

  His Human brows lifted high. “And you gave it to me?”

  My eyes slid to one side. “My only option at the time. You couldn’t have the ruby or the dagger for a threat you would have helped with regardless. And I did not realize how much the saphgar had been protecting me from Soul Drinker.”

  He caught that. “You’ve reevaluated giving me the ruby?”

  I put up both hands. “I need time to think. But yes, I want to bargain with the ruby for something else. I will make you an offer by the time we reach Augran.”

  The half-blood showed me that he was pleased. “Very well. Let me know.” He turned his head toward the ladder up and sniffed, flicking out his tongue. “The cook is preparing a midnight meal for everyone before they try to get some sleep. Would you—”

  “Yes, please,” I answered.

  “I’ll be back, then. And if you want to spend any time above board before dawn, I guarantee most of the sailors will be sleeping and won’t bother you.”

  That sounded good. Even Gavin looked interested.

  The rest of the night would be a collective sigh of relief for everyone.

  CHAPTER 14

  We made it through the Archipelago in fairer weather, overcast gradually giving way to clear skies. There were a couple moments of shouting, heavy steering, and scurries through the rigging, but we managed not to hit anything destructive.

  By the sixth day sailing, I’d run out of the fresh water I’d brought despite my self-rationing and my being the only one drinking it. I had only the diluted wine that came with the cheese, salt fish, and hard biscuits, which were the main meals aside from midday with either a hearty stew or mush of beans and grains with oil. I was given an equal amount as the sailors, which was probably Mourn’s doing as he negotiated all the food runs.

  “May I trade my wine and water for just water?” I asked after making a face. “I don’t want the wine.”

  Mourn shook his head. “It’ll draw from others on the crew and mixing it is how they make the water safe. You will be fine for another day drinking it.”

  “It smells like tycka and tastes like vholk.”

  The half-blood blinked. “It does?”

  Mourn held out his hand for my wooden cup, which I gave him. He sniffed, sipped, and smacked his tongue against the roof of his mouth. “Hm. Well, no dangerous amount of it, Sirana. It may be your… well…”

  I glared. “My ‘condition’?”

  The half-blood neither glared nor blinked, handing me the cup. “Yes. Some things taste differently while with child. I heard squadmates say it enough.”

  “Same with Human women,” Gavin remarked, who was neither eating nor drinking. “Or so I’ve heard.”

  Yet I’d not been allies with enough caits in my life, let alone pregnant ones, to have heard the same at home or at Court. These two male outcasts knew more than I did what I might experience. I scowled in pointless accusation at my wine.

  “If I may ask,” began the Deathwalker, “what are tycka and vholk?”

  “Sulphur and iron,” Mourn translated.

  The death mage made a note.

  I sighed. “And once we reach Yong-wen tomorrow, I can get good water easily?”

  The mercenary paused. “No. Good water is at a premium. Weak ale is usually what the pregnant women drink, as it has at least been boiled.”

  Yuck.

  Now I needed coin to drink water in Augran? I was about to make a snide remark about predatory trade before I recalled the guarded well on House Thalluen property, its relative value, and the significant way my Matron negotiated her agreements with her neighboring Houses. I’d been spoiled by the free-flowing snowmelt and open waterfalls and rivers on the Surface.

  I soaked my biscuit in the wine, holding it farther away so as not to catch whiffs of the stomach-lurching scents. Maybe if I’m fast I won’t taste it.

  Mourn chuckled at my expression. “What did you just think about?”

  “Nothin’,” I said, chomping the soggy biscuit.

  “You were about to say something.”

  I shook my head with pudgy cheeks. “Numph.”

  “Hmm.” He glanced into his empty cup. “I will see if I can obtain water for one day and boil it for you.”

  I waved my hand, *Not needed.*

  The wine wasn’t any better with the biscuit. I’m going to be sick.

  “A sailor or two would probably enjoy their wine at full strength for once,” Mourn reflected. “And we are only a day out. I will return.”

  Sighing, I sat alone with Gavin, aware yet again that our guide waited patiently for an offer. Mourn hadn’t brought it up again since the night of the storm. Now we were only a day out.

  “Hey, Gavin.”

  “Hm?”

  “Do you think Mourn plans to go to Manalar for the siege? Has he said?”

  The Deathwalker took his time to recollect before shaking his head. “He has given no slip or suggestion.”

  “But your bargain includes letting him stand in the room with his Guild contacts while you plead your case with the soul shard?”

  “Indeed, it indicates he wants the knowledge. I cannot say what he would use it for.”

  “Would you ask him to help you reach the inner sanctum of the temple? He said he was familiar with Manalar.”

  Gavin shrugged. “I am not sure how I would pay him. It was to be his ‘interested parties’ who had the resources to fund the venture.”

  Good point. How much was the ruby worth to the mercenary, if he would steal it regardless to close his contract? Surely not all I could think of that Gavin and I wanted or needed.

  Help entering the temple.

  Help finding Jael.

  Help finding enough food and water.

  Help standing against would-be slavers and Witch Hunters.

  Help in case the Deathless appeared again…

  That didn’t include my geas to somehow convince him to accompany me to the Ley Tower and help kill Sarilis. So that I can go home.

  One little ruby in exchange for all of that.

  Ha.

  I counted how many of Shyntre’s pellets remained, for I’d been taking quite a few for motion sickness. I frowned into the pouch. Five.

  How to bargain with a Dragonblood taking jobs strictly to earn wealth without being “brutal,” when I had little wealth myself? In fact, where did he learn that lesson, not to simply take what he wanted? Not from the Davrin of Vuthra’tern.

  I scratched my chin but instantly recalled Mourn’s protective reaction when I’d asked about Tamuril’s Naulor sister in Augran. Perhaps if Tamuril had had enough time, if she had been able to escort me to Manalar, she would have wanted to teach me something similar.

  Hm.

  Nothing brilliant came to me by the time Mourn returned with steaming water in a kettle. He tested the heat with his fingers.

  “Hand me a water skin,” he said. “It will cool.”

  I handed an empty one to him but instead of thanking him, I closed my eyes and held my head. He poured, finished, and Gavin offered to take it instead.

  “What’s wr
ong?”

  “Meal’s not sitting well,” I muttered, getting up to pace, rubbing my temple with one hand and holding my middle in the other, trying to breathe steady in the dank, stale air.

  “Alright. Let us go up to the deck. The sun is down, and you need fresh air.”

  My mind was split on that suggestion. A few clean breaths might help my roiling stomach, but the waves and tilting horizon might not.

  “Come,” he suggested again, waving his hand and heading toward the ladder.

  Getting the slight sense that he wanted to talk as well, I followed him up the ladder and out of the hold. I could hear the snores, grunts, and passing gas of sailors sleeping below deck as we moved through without pause, but neither I nor the mercenary made any noise.

  The blast of cool, moist air as I exited was a greater shock than I might have expected, though it felt good, cooling my hot cheeks. The stars peeked out in bright patches between a few overhead clouds, with the larger moon setting to our right. I could hear the spray and the foaming burbles around the boat, saw the expected, black mass with glittering crests before me.

  Unfortunately, the ship only had to roll again for me to groan.

  *Come to the side,* Mourn signed, not taking my arm but lightly touching it. *It will help.*

  I doubted it. The better part was that I had something to lean on, resting my back and working less to keep my balance. I joined him, breathed out, and squeezed my eyes shut against another wave of nausea that sent a high pitch into my ears. Mourn said nothing.

  When I wasn’t expecting it, he swept something beneath my nose, and I caught a whiff of something so strong it made my breath hitch and my throat gag. My stomach absolutely rebelled then. I heaved once, then again, and ended up hurling my entire dinner over the side of the ship in a few hard purges. Mourn held one shoulder and made sure I didn’t go over the side.