Maeve stopped walking, looking around at all the piles of refuse. “Rodan,” she called to his back. “Come here for a moment.”
He turned around and did as she asked, standing close enough that sandalwood and smoke enveloped her along with the warmth coming off his body. She stared up into his face. “Can you transmute this stuff?” she asked. “Bring them food? Rice, fish, beans, that sort of thing?”
He frowned and glanced around, eyes skimming over the piles. “I can,” he said, hesitation evident in his tone. “I do not know how much I could do. I have not tried to transmute this much raw material before.”
“These people are starving,” Maeve said, her voice hushed. “A little would go a long way. You summon feasts for us practically every night. You can do something about this.”
His eyes searched hers for a moment before he nodded. “I’ll try.”
Rodan walked back the way they came, and at the gate he turned and held his hands out to either side of him. As he walked, the piles of refuse shimmered and melted, leaving behind barrels of preserved fruit, sacks of rice and beans, mounds of dark bread and piles of fish. He kept walking, and the piles kept changing, until he reached her and staggered a little, his arms coming down and his hands reaching out.
Maeve caught him, tucking her shoulder under his arm and putting a hand on his chest to steady him. “Easy,” she murmured. “You did good.”
People started to come out of hiding, and a gutter orphan ran forward, snatching a sack of rice and running off with it. The magistrate came up to them, stammering. “Wh—what was that? How did you?”
“It is not a permanent fix,” Maeve said, “but that should be enough food for everyone for at least a day or two.” She glanced back at the piles; the streets swept clean of anything that was not food. It stretched on for at least two hundred, maybe three hundred feet. “You may want to make an announcement or something.”
The magistrate left their side without another word, and within minutes bells rang out and more people came into the street, flooding through from side alleyways and neighborhoods. As they did, Rodan found his feet and managed to stand on his own, though Maeve kept her arm wrapped around him in case.
“Are you alright?” she asked.
He nodded. “A little lightheaded for a moment. I can keep going.”
“That’s enough for now,” she argued. “No need to show off.”
He stared down at her and smiled. “It was your idea.”
People exclaimed as they took in the piles of food, and soon the magistrate skittered to a stop near them, raising his voice above the gentle murmuring of the crowd. “Friends!” he cried. “Please, take what you need, but leave some for your neighbors. This should be enough to get us through for a few days. Eat your fill tonight, for tomorrow our curse may be lifted.”
Maeve watched as strangers crowded among them. She pressed harder into Rodan, letting the scent of him envelop her as he brushed the back of one hand across her cheek.
Standing in the full colors of his imperial house, he seemed every inch the imposing monarch that he had been for so long. The people coming out of their homes and alleyways gave him a wide berth, some staring up at him with eyes like orbs in their gaunt faces. Rodan’s arm came to rest over her shoulders, fingers splayed down her arm.
She flushed and pulled away, joining up with the magistrate, helping him oversee the dispersal of food and giving orders to a few men in official-looking, though shabby, uniforms to keep everyone orderly. Maeve didn’t think they needed to bother. These people expressed so little energy that they might as well be zombies. Some of them were barely able to carry what the officials placed in their hands, so weak from the intervening months between the abundant harvests and today.
When he had finished, Karl, red-faced and eyes moist with tears, returned to Rodan’s side. “They’re thankful, I assure you,” he said in a rush. “It’s just—”
“They’re starving,” Rodan said in his low, rumbling voice. “Let them eat. I do not need their thanks.”
The man bowed and motioned them back toward the direction they came from. “Come. I want to show you the docks next.”
Maeve noted that same wrongness permeating the city as they neared the bay, and as she focused on it, she saw Rodan stop, his hand on his stomach and his chest heaving. She touched his arm, “Are you alright?”
He gave a quick nod and glanced at her sidelong. “That took much energy. I can still feel the curse. It is like I’m walking on spikes.” He made a face and lifted his foot. “Can you sense it?”
She nodded. “I think so. Maybe not as much as you, but I can feel something.”
“Whoever did this, they are a mighty power.”
“Do you think it was one person, or could it be a group of them?”
He shook his head, “It is impossible to tell yet, but yes, that might be the case. It is certainly easier to work the great magics if you’re in a group then alone. More safety measures in place, more people to help catch you if you overexert yourself.” He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “Let’s keep going.”
They moved on, the magistrate slowing his pace to keep up with theirs and, though he looked back at them with a furrowed brow, he made no comment. As they walked the bells kept ringing, but between their peals rang a deafening silence.
The street plunged downward, and they walked the ramp down to the harbor, where hundreds of ships laid out in anchor, waiting, all the sails folded down. Maeve frowned as she noted the lack of sailors running about on the ships or the boardwalks. The last time she had been here, when a kraken attacked the ships, the sailors had still braved the water and attempted their journeys. The harbor had been a bustle of activity, with merchants unloading goods, fisherman their wares, and stalls lining the wall near the piers where people hawked their merchandise to passersby. Now, though, it rang as still and silent as a graveyard, the only sound the groan of wood against buoys and the cries of the gulls above.
They made their way down to the wooden-planked piers which swayed a little as they walked. The magistrate glanced over his shoulder at them, the silver in his beard catching the light of the risen suns. “I’m sure you both remember this place as quite different.”
Maeve nodded, eyes wide as she took in the silent ships. Waves gently lapped at the booms helping keep the pier aloft, and tightened rope sang and strained as the boats bobbed in the water.
Rodan gazed out over the water, his eyes a little unfocused. “It started out there,” he said, his voice quiet.
“What do you mean?” Karl asked.
Rodan shook his head as though clearing away cobwebs. “The spell originated from out there,” he pointed toward the horizon, “at the edge of our line of sight. We need to go.”
Maeve followed the line to where he pointed, and something in her clicked at his words. Something lurked out there. Pulling at this land like a fisherman at their line.
The magistrate puffed up, straightening to his full height. “I’ll find a captain to take you out,” he said.
“That’d be...good,” Rodan said, his words slow to form. Maeve touched his arm, concerned. He smiled a little. “I’m fine, Maeve. We need to get moving.”
She and Rodan stayed at the pier while the magistrate went back into the city. Maeve wandered the rows, touching the prows of some ships and tracing the carved names when she could reach them. Carved figureheads in the shapes of women and mythical beasts shone with fresh paint. All the ships were fresh, as though they never left the docks. There was a hollow thrum in her chest, and she swallowed hard. For all the beauty she beheld in the vessels, they seemed to cry for the sea. It felt as though they understood their deprivation.
Karl returned some time later with about a half dozen men, and Maeve gave them an appraising once-over. Lean, they nonetheless possessed corded muscles and strong, calloused hands. One of the men, a thickly bearded redhead, stepped in front of the others and held his hand out to Maeve, looking a lit
tle unsure of the gesture. She smiled and took it, giving it a brief shake. “Hello,” she said. “I’m Maeve.”
“Maeve,” the man replied, “my names is Captain Conroy Fisher. I heard we have you and Rodan to thank for the food in our people’s bellies tonight.”
She glanced over her shoulder at where Rodan sat on a crate, his legs stretched before him and his eyes set on the horizon where he said the spell originated. “Yes,” Maeve said, turning back to the captain. “It was Rodan who summoned up the food.”
“You suggested it,” the magistrate put in. “Don’t downplay your part, my good lady.” He gave a small bow.
The captain’s eyes roved up and down her body, a smile coming to his features at last. “Mistress Maeve,” he said, “it would be an honor and a privilege to take you wherever you and your companion need to go. Our ship is yours.”
“Thank you,” Maeve said, taken aback by the title and the way he looked at her. “I—we need to go out to the horizon line.” She pointed, her gesture a tad vague. “Out of sight of the city, I believe.”
The captain nodded his understanding and turned to his five crewman, barking orders. They scurried off to one of the smaller but prettier vessels, scrambling up on the deck and preparing her for voyage. The captain bowed to Maeve and held his arm out in a sweeping gesture. “After you, my lady.”
Maeve went to the ship, calling to Rodan as she did, “Come on, we’ve found someone to take us.”
Rodan shook himself out of another sort of spell, blinking rapidly as he rose from the crate and walked toward them, his movements deliberate, as though having trouble standing. She waited at the bottom of the gangplank for him, taking his arm when he came to her side. He didn’t object, and he leaned a little on her, telling her all that she needed to know about his state of health.
The sooner they were done with this voyage and this quest, the better. She wanted to see Rodan sharp-eyed and smiling again. Her chest ached while she witnessed his fatigue.
As soon as they stepped on board the captain began walking among his crew, telling them what to do and chastising those who did not work fast enough. Maeve wanted to assure him that they did not need to hurry, but one look at Rodan’s pale face told her the opposite. “Are you okay?” She asked, squeezing his arm a little as they came to rest on a bench outside the captain’s quarters, well out of the way of the bustling seamen.
“It hurts,” he murmured back. “It is like the curse knows I’m tracking it and is fighting back.”
“Maybe let it go for a little while.”
“I can’t,” he said, his voice breathy. “We’ve got a hold on each other now. The sooner we get out there, the better.”
Maeve watched as the sails unfurled and snapped in the light breeze. The ship began to move as the canvas sheets tied down, puffed out like marshmallows, taking them out to sea. The magistrate stood on the pier, watching them go with his hand raised in good-bye. She lifted hers as well, and he nodded before turning and heading back into the city.
The captain came over to them, his eyes flicking down to where Maeve grasped Rodan by the arm. He addressed her alone. “The wind is good. We should be where you need to be within the hour.”
“Thank you,” she said. “Should we remain here, or…?”
“You can make use of my quarters,” he nodded toward the door they sat beside. “Or be on deck. It’s no matter to me so long as you stay out of the way, and the lads will let you know if they need to get by you.”
Maeve thanked him again and helped Rodan stand, bringing him with her into the captain’s quarters. She sat him on the cushioned inset couch and smoothed a hand over his forehead, noting that it was cool to the touch. “I’m going to go out and watch our progress. Rest and stay calm, alright? We’ll be there soon.”
Rodan clasped her hand, his fingers twining around hers, and his gaze caught her and held. The color in his green eye begin to change, begin to swirl, and she backed up a step, afraid for what that meant.
He let her hand go, his dropping like a stone into his lap. “I’ll be here, Maeve.”
She nodded and turned, trying not to bolt as she left the cabin and went back out to where the crisp sea air buffeted the deck and swelled the sails. She went to the rail and gazed out over the expanse of the shimmering sea, captivated once more by the way it went on forever, disappearing in the faint rounded curve of the horizon.
Rizor and Tegal, high in the sky, made Maeve sweat despite the breeze. She turned her head up to them, shielding her eyes with her hand. Tegal, the smaller of the two, burned more blue than gold. Maeve pulled her gaze away, suddenly wishing for her own single star and its comforting clear light. So many things were the same here, but the difference struck her with overwhelming homesickness at times.
Maeve leaned over the railing, trying to find the glimmering clouds of fish she spotted last time she sailed these waters, but no matter how long she stared, nothing showed itself. No kelp floating along the surface, no dart of silver movement. No nose of a dolphin breaking the skin of the sea to dance about in the ship’s wake. Nothing.
Even the sea birds fell quiet this far from shore, the few lone figures high in the sky. None dived for prey as she craned her neck up to watch, and she wondered how many of the feathered creatures perished alongside their humans, affected by the same curse.
“It’s not right, is it?” a voice called, shaking her out of her reverie. Maeve turned to Captain Fisher, who moved toward her. “The silence of the sea,” he went on. “It’s downright unnerving.”
She watched the endless shimmering waves, squinting in the light of the twin suns. “Last time I was here it was much different,” she admitted. “We also had a kraken to contend with. The screams of the sailors it killed—I still hear them today.”
The captain leaned his back against the rail by her side, his elbows propped up behind him. “You were here in the days of the kraken? You can’t have been. That must have been twenty-five, thirty years ago and you don’t look a hair outside thirty yourself.”
She gave a secretive little smile. “Oh, I was here alright. I helped kill it. Me and my friends.”
“Your friends?”
“Yes,” her tone turned wistful. Would she ever find them? She wondered what fate befell them. “We were on a quest to reach the throne.”
The captain frowned. “You don’t mean you’re the same Maeve who helped Sekou gain the throne? If you are, why are you helping him?” He motioned with a nod toward the cabin. “You all were enemies.”
“Yes, I am, and yes, we were, but things have changed. I have seen what Sebastian has done, and I can’t sit idly by while it continues unchecked. I’m helping Rodan regain the throne because it’s the right thing to do.”
The captain huffed a snort of laughter. “He’s not much better than the other,” he argued. “I would know. I’ve seen both.”
She eyed him, “You can’t be much over forty.”
He nodded. “Aye, I’m forty-three. Old enough to remember what it was like under King Rodan, when we were taxed high and left by and large to fend for ourselves. Under Sekou we have even less leadership, but that’s a blessing. The Realms are far too vast to govern as a single body. We’re better looking after ourselves.”
“Rodan would have done something about the curse, unlike Sebastian. Right? Sebastian left you all to deal with it on your own, like he left Ishtem to deal with the chimera, despite their calls for aid.”
“Fair point,” the captain said. “But what can Sebastian do, as one man? His power is greater than most of us, aye, we know his magics, but he still isn’t Fae like Rodan over there.”
“He could at least try,” Maeve said, heat rising in her chest. “Instead he does nothing. He doesn’t even send you supplies or food or anything. He sits there like a useless lump and terrorizes villages and towns. How is that kingly?”
The captain held his hands up, grinning. “Woah now, I didn’t mean to rile you. I only think, like most
folks, that it’s six of one and half dozen of the other. Who sits on the throne has little meaning for us down at the bottom.”
Maeve shook her head. “It should matter.”
Before the captain responded with anything more, a door slammed open, and Rodan staggered out on deck, his face pale and cool shadows under his eyes. Maeve went to him and caught him as he stumbled, letting his weight fall on her shoulders. “Easy,” she said. “What are you doing?”
“We’re here,” he said, his teeth gritted and cold sweat dotting his forehead. “Have them stop.”
“Stop the ship!” Maeve cried, glancing around to find the captain watching them with glittering blue eyes. “Please, we’re here.”
The captain waited only a fraction of a heartbeat before he began bellowing orders, not taking his eyes off Maeve for several long moments. The sails pulled up, and as the ship slowed, the anchor dropped. Soon they came to a halt, still swaying a bit side to side but no longer propelled forward.
“To the railing. I need—need to see the water,” Rodan huffed, his voice only a bit higher than a whisper. Maeve helped him over to the railing, her arm wrapped around his waist and her shoulder supporting him. He stooped as she helped him, and his steps shuffled along the wood planks, almost dragging behind him.
Once at the railing, Rodan released her and leaned out, his hands tightening on the banister. He stared for a long time into the stormy blue depths before he reached a hand out, palm downward, and closed his eyes, murmuring something unintelligible under his breath.
Maeve held her breath, looking between Rodan, pale, and the waters lapping at the hull of the ship. The captain came up to the other side of Rodan, looking down as well, waiting.
The water started to swirl.
The captain scurried back, shouting orders, trying to get his ship away from the whirlpool, but it proved too late. The swirling waters widened to encompass a space greater than the ship, and it began to move in slow circles around the sucking central hole.
Catching Pathways Page 14