by Aaron Crash
Ziziva spoke in a flurry of words. “We Fayee are all female, and all female will we remain, and we must take the seed of a man, a human man, for dwarf, elf, or orc will not do, will not do, the seed of the others will not do. And with the man’s seed, we swell, and they forget, we swell, and they forget, and then the Divine Verum Spark is within us, and the air is filled with the wogglesparks, usually along waterways but not always, on the sea but not always, and from the wogglesparks comes a baby for the Fayee to raise. No one knows their true mother, and to know your father is to go mad, for we are raised by the women of the world, and we find our place among the Fayee. The queen and her magistrates serve the Divine Verum Spark, and so we are given our orders, and so we have conquered this continent without a single sword thrust. Without a single arrow. Without a single spell cast. To go against the orders of your magistrate is to destroy the Fayee’s future. To tell outsiders our secrets is to destroy the Fayee’s future.” She flew up into his face. “If you share my secret, I will die. Queen Deedee will know. And I will die.”
Ziziva then flew off in front of the boat, letting her sparks dim, until he could hardly make out her small body against the darkness. Then she was lost as a wave rose to block his sight of her.
Ribby swam back, leapt onto the bow of his boat, and used her saved air to ask, “Why did Ziziva leave the boat?”
“She told me the secrets of her people. She is afraid I will tell. I suppose she’s not afraid you will tell.” Ribby frowned at him, and her strange black eyes told him everything at that moment.
Ribby could keep the secret because she’d kept the secrets of her own people, and while the Aquaterreb were feared and hated more than the Fayee, they were also misunderstood.
Ymir would keep his vow to the fairy. At the same time, he wasn’t going to trust her just because she told him a few secrets. Not yet. They had a long road to travel until that happened.
But why was she breaking her oaths to tell him about the Fayee?
What did Ziziva want in the end?
Ymir wouldn’t touch that girl again until he had the answer.
Chapter Twenty-Three
YMIR STOPPED ROWING when Slag’s Reef came into sight. This city in the middle of the sea was impressive, without a doubt.
The sunset was but a streak of orange. The two moons were both in the process of waning—the Axman was a crescent, but the Shieldmaiden was only a scant line in the sky.
The third moon, the Wolf, wouldn’t show until the fall of the next year. It only showed every three years. For the Therans, the moons were named differently, though Ymir was struck by their similarities. For the Therans, the Axman Moon was the Warrior, which made sense, as did the fact that the Shieldmaiden Moon was sometimes known as the Artist and sometimes known as the Forger Moon. The Wolf was the Reveler, and yes, having a drunk god made sense, because so much of the world didn’t.
The names of the moons came from the old gods, from before most Therans started worshipping the Tree of Life. In Ymir’s religion class, they were discussing such things, but he wasn’t in school.
He’d rowed three hours for xoca beans, and he’d brought a good number of shecks with him. Ziziva had the real buying power. In a waterproof scroll case, she had paper from their Undergem Guild account, which would pay any amount of money, no questions asked. Only someone who had access to the guild’s mistress had such a document. It used magic, not unlike the sand letter technology, to transfer shecks into the pocket of the buyer.
Slag’s Reef was far more city than reef. Waves crashed against the stonework covering what had been a mere spit of land. That stonework was obviously Form magic, as were any number of houses, shanties, bars, castles, and whatnot that littered a town only a tad smaller than StormCry.
Tall ships were in a harbor crafted from what seemed to be white wood—only according to Ribby, it wasn’t white wood; it was the bones of an ancient sea dragon. Such massive creatures were long extinct, as dead as the sky dragons of Reytah. However, Ribby insisted that their offspring, still hundreds if not thousands of feet long, continued to swim in the Blue Dark.
Ymir had no reason not to believe her, though in their small boat, he didn’t like lingering on the thought.
Ribby rose from the depths to cling to the side of the boat. She gasped out words. “I cannot go in there with you. But I would suggest a disguise.”
Ziziva was in her Verum Self, without wings, and she approached Ymir, deftly balancing herself as she walked across their watercraft. “I agree with the mermaid girl, and I have magic that I would cast, Ymir, magic for your form. Ribby does too, since she can change her body, but we fear she might not have the breath.”
Ymir realized that the two had talked about this. It was good he trusted Ribby—how could he not? She’d given him her very breath.
“Do it quickly, Ziziva,” Ymir growled.
Ziziva came close and touched his face. “Lutum fascinara.”
He felt the itch in his skin, on his scalp, across his face, and that itch turned into pain. He gritted his teeth. “Don’t bother trying to make me look any more handsome. That would be impossible.”
Ziziva giggled. “No, I’m going to make you very ugly.”
Ribby slipped down into the water to breathe, and then she was back up on the side, making their little boat rock slightly.
Ymir let out a grunt. “I’m assuming the pain is normal. I preferred the itch.”
“Almost done.” Ziziva sat back.
The itch returned, but Ymir fought the urge to scratch. He felt around his scalp, and his blond hair was gone. He touched his face and felt a scar, which cut down his face from his forehead to his chin, putting pink flesh on his brown and splitting his left eyebrow in half.
“Yes!” Ribby whispered. “Yes, such magic is very powerful.”
“The Fayee are very powerful,” Ziziva agreed. “In lots of different ways. But so are the Aquaterreb. I am curious to know more about this sexy power you have, sexy powers that make Gatha come so quick. She mentioned something about that the other day, right before she hit me too hard!”
Ribby didn’t have the air to laugh, so she slipped back into the water. They saw the bubbles of her laughter.
“You two have grown closer.” Ymir’s voice was the same. He did have to wonder at the way she’d altered his flesh. “Could you do something similar to Ribby? Could you rework her body to let her breathe?”
Ziziva tried to giggle, but the laughter turned sad. “Such a wonderfully silly idea. No, I can change your face, but not permanently, and it’s only a little skin. I’ve heard stories of dragons casting such magic, to shape the flesh, but those are just stories. All the dragons are dead, or never existed at all anywhere.”
“Except for the one coming to destroy Old Ironbound.” Ymir took to the oars again, thinking he had more studying to do on the matter.
First, the xoca. He’d show up in Slag’s Reef with his rings and his wits and the money of a rich fairy. He doubted he’d need more weapons than that.
Ribby called from the water. “I will be watching. And I’ll be waiting for you, to guide you home. I love you.”
Ymir liked that she was with them, and if things turned nasty, he’d retreat to the bone harbor where Ribby would be there to offer her assistance in battle. The mermaid had grown up fighting in merfolk feuds. He’d seen her viciousness firsthand.
Ymir oared their boat through the gargantuan ships, and he could hear the sound of laughter, and Ohlyrran songs. He caught some of the words, and they were beyond bawdy. “I doubt even with a stepping stool that the dwarf king would fuck the orc queen silly. Dwarves mostly stick to themselves and try to avoid such Inconveniences.”
Ziziva cocked her head. “The Myrra. They are sea elves who took off their cuffs so they could fuck. As much as they wanted, wherever they wanted, across the world. There are stories of pirate elves who stole the wealth of empires. There was one, Jalakalor Red. The Crimson Jalak, and his ship the Black
Storm. They were caught and killed by the Praachi Mariners, but one of Jalakor Red’s wives escaped and became the Dawn Coast Hellion. Never caught, never satisfied, she killed thousands and fucked millions.” The fairy laughed. “But who knows if any of that is true!”
Ymir liked the idea of lusty elven pirates.
He found a little space in the harbor and paid a fat man in a big coat a few shecks to be able to dock there, since it was close to the raucous taverns and whorehouses on the main market street.
Above a ramshackle row of houses rose the central tower, which looked very much like a breast surrounded by a wall.
Ziziva watched where Ymir’s eyes went. “Yes, we call that the Titty Tower. It’s the home of Slag’s Reef’s mayor, Barton Rie Kendall, who is a powerful man. Supposedly. It’s a good job for Barton. Too bad he’s not in charge. The Western Weeping Sea Magistrate is Silly Hickey Silkmuddle, and she’s a fairy who is more muddy than silky. We’ll try to sneak in without her or her spies knowing. I’ll just be a girl named Letty. And you’ll be just some scarred warrior merchant named Cormac Kane. Like that name? I’ll say it again. Cormac Kane. What do you think?”
Ymir laughed. “I’ll be this Cormac Kane. You’ll be Letty. But before we do anything else, we need to check out a certain whorehouse, the Horny Pig, for tits, drinks, and some old friends. It’s both a bar and a brothel. We’ll see if the scenery is worth anything.”
Ziziva sighed. “The Horny Pig doesn’t leave much to the imagination. I would imagine the men will be rough, the women rougher. Though such places do have a certain feel to them, sometimes good, sometimes bad, but always interesting.”
Ymir strode across the bone dock, polished by time and weather. The size of the thing strained his mind, and he saw that stone pavement had been added between the bones, though the lines of white disappeared into the tangle of houses in the city.
On the wide main market street, vendors in stalls sold any number of things, from weapons to sweetmeats to candies that wouldn’t have been out of place in The Paradise Tree. Torches, real torches, flickered with light, but they gave out a thick smoke as well, which helped keep the stink down. Open sewers ran on either side of the street, though you could walk over bridges to avoid the filth.
The wind off the ocean, perfumed with the sea, also cleared the air of what might have been a stench that would’ve made the place intolerable. It didn’t feel like Ymir was on a reef in the middle of the sea—he felt like he was in a town.
Ziziva was a simple woman, in layers of a dress, and in a cloak. Ymir would probably never understand how clothes and fairies worked—add it to the mystery of why Ziziva rarely seemed to get cold.
Though the fairy girl kept the hood over her short blond hair, you could tell that she was someone of great beauty. Ymir liked the feeling of anonymity with his scarred appearance. He felt free to peruse the shops, and he found a place selling northern beer, which he’d drunk in Winterhome. That had been before a fight and some time with the innkeeper’s daughter. He still remembered how her big ass shook when he’d fucked her from behind.
There were all manner of people on the street—savage Gruul warrior women, big orc men in piecemeal armor, dwarves of both sexes, both with beards. Regular Homme men and women were there as well, some wealthy, surrounded by armored guards, others poor, begging and starving. There were some of the Myrran elves, who were so different from the Greenhome Ohlyrra he’d known. These pirate elves had their ears pierced and skin colorful with ink, with hair either shaved, braided, or wild. The Myrran elves wore a variety of clothing—some fine linens, velvets, and silks, but they had rough-spun clothes as well, or weathered boots, or clothes with rusted buckles. The Myrra certainly had Ymir’s interest piqued.
And he was surprised to see some merfolk walking the streets. Big monstrous men, with ridged scalps, slits for noses, and anemone ears. These Aquaterreb warriors sported big green beards. They were monstrous. The mermaids were slender and didn’t have many clothes on. That caught Ymir’s attention.
Now he understood why Ribby stayed behind. And he was grateful for his disguise. He’d earned himself a reputation among the merfolk.
Slag’s Reef’s market street was a big, loud collection of people, selling things, looking for love or murder, and Ymir thought there might be many rulers on Thera, but money would always be the real vempor, and the empire of money would never fade.
Ymir sipped his beer and admired the parade of people as they moved through the crowd. He’d brought his satchel but kept it under his cloak, pressed to his leg, a hand on it at all times.
Ziziva drew in close and pulled him down so she could whisper in his ear. “Can you feel the sex here? Can you feel the life and death? I’ve been too far from places like this, too far from the busy world of the lustful and living. You Old Ironbound scholars are boring compared to the savagery of this place.”
Ymir turned and kissed her. He smelled her honey, he felt her warmth, and before he knew it, he was thrusting his tongue into her mouth. She sucked on it, rubbing her crotch on his leg and making little whimpering sounds.
She broke the kiss. Her face was wet. “None of that, Cormac. We can find a slut or two for you to screw, in the Horny Pig, in the Horny Pig, and you can dance a jig.”
The fairy girl’s eyes were shining bright, and he knew that she was wet between her legs.
That was all right. He was hard.
A few people had seen them kissing, but no one looked for long.
The Horny Pig was at the end of the broad market street, and it had been built around the top vertebrae of the leviathan. What kind of head did this beast have? Ymir couldn’t even begin to guess. The Pig was four stories tall. Outside, there were any number of ladders and staircases that led to rooms, which flickered with Sunfire candles. That allowed the customers of the brothel to make their way to the whores with some degree of anonymity.
Across the street was a collection of Aquaterreb men with tridents, guarding buildings fashioned from stone, wood, and iron. These buildings didn’t have any windows, and they had solid metal doors locked up tight. Chains across the doors added another layer of protection.
Those were warehouses, and from the looks of the men, they were Aquaterreb warehouses.
Ymir led the way through the dual front doors of the tavern. Inside were mostly women, in various levels of dress. Some were missing a good number of teeth. Others were beautiful. There were fat women guzzling beer, and thin mermaids tipping fluted wineglasses. They sat around fires burning in the middle of the room. Round chimneys above perfectly captured the smoke thanks to both Form and Sunfire magic. Couches surrounded the firepits. More secluded seats lined the walls.
Serving girls hurried about, taking money, filling drinks, or kissing customers. Others led their clients away to more staircases leading to the upper rooms.
A group of Aquaterreb men sat at two tables, wearing armored skirts, with legs for now. They had the sharp barbs jutting from their heels, and the scales racing up and down their legs. Ymir didn’t know which family they belonged to, and Ribby wasn’t there to tell him.
A giant of a man—as wide as he was tall—sat in the shadows with a woman Ymir recognized. The man was seven feet tall, and while he was thick, most of that was muscle, not fat. He had a collection of bone-hilted daggers sheathed on a belt that circled his expansive middle. He had a shaved head, and gold winked from his ear lobes. He also had his nostrils pierced.
The woman was equally shaved, but with more tattoos, and more gold. She was smaller, but had a dangerous air to her. She didn’t have any visible daggers, yet her eyes were brown and flashing, revealing a wit as sharp as any blade.
Ymir walked up to them with Ziziva trailing.
He raised both hands. They would see he had rings, but they wouldn’t know the nature of those rings. Or who he really was. “Salt Love and Sambal. You deliver the kaif bean to Old Ironbound. And you bring Ymir his xoca bean. He is our mutual friend.”
Ziziva ducked under his arm. “Ymir and Cormac here are very close. I’m Letty Lovebutton. And you know me too, or you should.”
Sambal scowled and drew a dagger that crackled with lightning. “We are just having a drink here. And pondering getting a mermaid for the night. We don’t want to talk business. More importantly, we don’t want to talk to you.”
A slow smile spread across Salt Love’s face. “Cormac and Ymir are very close. I see the resemblance now. And Letty, darling, I think you would look better with wings. And a different last name, for that one is fabricated. Or perhaps being around Ymir so much, you’ve been playing with your love button.”
“Salty!” Sambal hissed. “Do you know these strangers?”
The Scatter Island smuggler rolled her eyes. “Sambal. Yes, we know these two. I’m wondering why they are here, together, unless Ymir is adding to his sharreb.”
“Only two more women,” Ymir said easily. “Seven, I think, is enough wives for any man. It was for the Vempor Aegel Akkridor. However, there was a mathematician and poet who claimed eight wives was the ideal number.”
Sambal finally got it. He sheathed his lightning dagger. “Sit, sit, sit. How could I have guessed this scarred stranger is such the friend!”
A serving girl, some pretty little dark-skinned woman, came forward with her little titties bouncing in her gossamer-thin gown. She brought Ymir and Ziziva chairs, and she got them drinks—a honey mead for the fairy, and Ymir confirmed his identity by buying sugar kelp beer.
Salt Love laughed musically and raised her own mug full of the fishy beer. “And here we are, drinking together, just we like did with Damnation Sue. Now, Cormac, tell us what brought you to Slag’s Reef.”
He leaned in. “Letty and I like sweet things. Something sweet, something dark and rich, and we make a lot of money selling such a thing. However, there are certain people who no longer have the bean we need. They have kaif for Old Ironbound, but they’ve been making themselves scarce.”