“You mean lessened with a spell?”
“I mean eradicated. Imagine permanently shedding what terrifies you. If you could silence the dread and grief; calm the anxiety it gives birth to; purge the obstacles and the obligations, the conflict it creates. What might you become without its weight? What great works of magic might Ian Troy achieve without fear holding him back?”
I crept to the edge of the bluff. The lip crumbled beneath the tips of my boots. I watched the dirt clods rain down and disappear, lost in the sun-glare and the angry waves. The swells imitated my racing thoughts, breaking harder and faster on the rocks. All I could hear was the pounding of my pulse, as I finally understood. “That’s the drink you make here. That’s what the trade is. We ‘give’ you our fears in exchange for some magical elixir to wipe them away.”
“You speak with scorn when it should be awe. We peel the anguish from every terrible event you have endured. The memory will simply be a moment in time, without the devastating emotion it once engendered. Decisions can be made without the impediment of fear. It is a type of healing no other can provide.”
“That’s why no two bottles are alike. They’re custom made based on whatever horrible things you pull out of our heads. But first you try them on for size. You swim around in our minds, tasting each experience. Because you’re fucking bored,” I said with force. “You torment everyone who comes here and think you can balance it out by offering to fix all their problems—all the problems you dragged out and made real again.”
“Not all. We are magic users, not gods.”
“Are you sure you know the difference?”
“Many have accepted our terms, Troy. Why deny yourself what they achieved? We give you the power to end the war raging inside you. Drink,” she tempted me, “abandon your fear, and you shall know peace in a way you never thought possible.”
I stopped caring where it was or where it came from. I stirred the magic in me and called to what remained in the buried stones. Auras filtered in and coursed through me. Vibrations caressed and calmed my nerves. In its sheath, the sword buzzed with energy. I frowned, realizing its beat matched my pulse.
It was a worry for later. I had another to deal with now.
Could I truly rationalize destroying them: a fading race living the only way they knew how? Was that a burden I was willing to carry? The islanders didn’t kill or maim. They didn’t conquer. Imprisoned in their empty, bodiless existence, they had no interest in invasion or subjugation, no way to leave their home. Theirs was a slow decline into nothing, punctuated by the sporadic moments they felt alive—when they systematically inflicted pain onto others.
I couldn’t justify my choice. But I could live with it.
I drew my weapon. As if sensing my commitment, magic hummed harder beneath my grip. There was no hesitation, and even less effort, as I shaped the spell in my mind.
My intention and my focus were absolute.
Pushing more energy into the sword, color sparked and swirled along the edge of the blade. For a moment, I watched the auras dance. “I didn’t come here for this.”
“What you go looking for, Shinree, is not always what you find. That, I believe, will define the long voyage ahead of you.”
“Ahead? After what I saw, I have to go back.”
“And if going back precipitates the future you fear?”
“Will it? Is that what you’re telling me?”
“The choice, as always, is yours. The outcome: modified by each step you take along the way, each detour off the path. I promise you, Shinree, the journey before you may not end as you expect, but it will end as it must.”
Fixing my grip, I raised the pulsing, magic-wrapped sword. “Your drink won’t work on me. You know that. You know what I truly fear. And there’s no escaping it.”
“If you are so certain of the result, what does it hurt to try?”
I said nothing.
Her gaze centered on the sword, and she gave her permission with a nod.
“Goodbye, Isuara.” I released the spell—and there it was again: the sharp snap of something breaking inside me. I pushed the discomfort aside, as magic raced down my arms and hands, to bolster what was already in the weapon. Without hesitation, I swung. Contact came with a violent vibration that turned my arms to water. I could scarcely hold on, as Isuara’s cage of vines splintered to a fine powder. Black streaked the white, as the blade cut through, dispersing her cloud-like form. Completing the swing, a fluctuating sequence of auras pulsed off the weapon’s edge. Ripples of color swept the landscape.
Beneath me, the ground rumbled.
Soil heaved into the air, as a series of explosions tore across the field.
Strength disappearing, I dropped flat. I was too weak to enjoy the reward of my spell. I rolled onto my side and watched through fading vision as inch by inch, foot by foot, destruction moved like a catastrophic quake over the land.
When my spell completed its sweep of this isle, it would move onto the next; obliterating the islanders’ means of taking form, scattering their existence beyond repair—and leaving another dark stain on my soul.
Chapter Fifteen
I slapped a wet hand on the rail. Overworked muscles burning, I tightened my grip and hauled my water-logged, weary body up and over. Landing on the planks of the deck with a hard splat and a breathless, “Oomph,” I didn’t move. Four days of swimming between islands, with little sleep and even less food, dogged with the notion that the ship was gone—and I was stuck on the lifeless isles forever—I could have slept where I fell.
Word from Jarryd would have made my escape less harried, but the link had been closed on his end since I woke from the spell. I took it as a good sign, at first. He must have regained his faculties, somewhat, to pull off the mental maneuver. When he hadn’t opened it by sunrise the next day, my opinion changed. Worry set in, deeper with each passing hour; deeper when the cravings started, and I had scraps to cast with.
The latter was my own doing. In destroying the islanders, I depleted every stone in reach, including my own. Each time an aura showed signs of replenishing, I took what it had, converting magic to the energy I needed to keep going.
It wasn’t near enough.
When I finally spotted the ship, on the backside of the last island, I was too exhausted to make the swim. Scraping together what magic there was, I did it anyway. There was no time to rest or wait for more. Without any sense of Jarryd, I had no idea what might be happening on the ship. At any moment, he might heed my request and leave.
Thankfully, the vessel stayed put long enough for me to reach it.
I took my boots off and dumped out the water. Wringing the same from my hair, I stripped off my soggy shirt and dropped it in the growing puddle beside me. With a groan, and help from a sturdy barrel, I stood. The wheel was in view. Jarryd wasn’t there; anchored, he didn’t have to be. It was early. He could still be below deck. Unless Isuara lied.
If Jarryd was never brought back to the ship, if he was still in their mist when I destroyed it… I took a breath, shoved my paranoia away, and went in search of him.
I got two steps, and the door to my cabin opened. Jarryd exited, squinting into the morning sun. His expression, as he saw me, was surprisingly light. I resisted the urge to go over and put an arm around him. I was dripping wet and smelling of seawater. He was clean and fresh, yawning, like he just woke. Absently, he closed the flapping door behind him.
“Promoted yourself to captain already?” I said. “That didn’t take long.”
“You did,” he said, with meaning. “A few more days, and I was going to come looking for you.”
“A few more? You weren’t concerned yet?”
He lifted one shoulder in a shrug. “It went by fast. I was busy fishing and cleaning. There’s a lot to do around here.”
His attitude was strange. Something was off. “Kya?”
“Healthy. But that’s nothing new. The barrel of grain she knocked over kept her going. Your ca
bin reeks, though. Well, it did. Your welcome,” he threw in. “I don’t know why you insist on keeping her in there.”
“Malaq built it with space for her. He knows I like having her close.”
“You don’t think he was joking? That he was messing with you?”
“Of course he was messing with me,” I grinned. “It’s Malaq. Any idea how long she was alone?”
“By the piles I cleaned up, I’m guessing close to a week.”
“Really?” I didn’t know whether to be surprised or relieved at the length of our captivity. It seemed far longer, and yet…not. “Did they feed us? I don’t remember eating. I don’t remember sleeping.”
“Sorry. I’m the wrong one to fill in the gaps.”
“You’ve still got nothing? No idea what they did to you?”
“Oh, I have an idea.”
Wincing at my thoughtless question, I dropped and sat on the rail behind me, taking the weight off my legs. “You seem better. Are you?”
“I am,” he said, a crooked grin lifting his features. “I feel good. Real good. Better than I have in a long time. In fact…” a sudden, keen sense of eagerness brought him closer. It jumped into his voice. “I’ve been studying our course. There’s a string of small, uninhabited islands coming up—really uninhabited,” he added, as I frowned. “We can stop and do some hunting or,” Jarryd’s eyes lit up, “we can make do and sail straight to our next destination.”
It was easy to tell his preference.
“It’s a large port city,” he went on, his words tumbling out faster, “situated on the southern tip of a good-sized continent. Krillos mentioned the place to me before we left. Apparently, it was a popular haven for pirates back when he was one. He claimed he didn’t spend much time there, and from the information we have, it doesn’t look like your ancestors stayed long, either. But the stories Krillos told me about the place were wild. He said—”
“Nef’taali, stop.” I held a hand up. “What the hell is this? We just got out of trouble, and you want to drop us right back in the middle of more?”
“It’s not trouble. It’s…adventure. You might get to use your new blade.” He pointed at the weapon sitting in the sodden sheathe at my hip. “And since when do you have a thing against pirates? I thought you and Krillos were good.”
“I don’t. And we are. But if this place is full of men like Krillos, it’s trouble.”
“Then I’ll go ashore alone. You can stay with the ship.”
Before I could form a response to his odd behavior, Jarryd walked away. His boot kicked something, sending it rolling across the boards to bump into a coil of rope. As the ship swayed, the object rolled back the other way, slower, giving me a better look.
I’d never seen a bottle like it before. It wasn’t one from our stores. Neither did it match the jug I drank from the night I first learned of a group of islands known for their production of excellent spirits. Yet, its origins were unmistakable. The glass was thick and tinted. The bottom was cradled in dark metal. Skeins of the same material wound up and around to choke the neck, like a spread of vines.
Eyes on the still-rolling bottle, I caught the end of Jarryd’s gesture as he pointed. “Yours is over there in a crate. They left it when they brought me back.”
I didn’t look at the crate or him. I stood and snatched up the bottle—his bottle. It was light. Empty. I removed the cork and upended the thing to be sure. Not a single drop slid out. “You drank it.” Now, I looked at him. My worry coming out as anger, I shoved the cork in. “Do you know what this stuff is? What it’s done to you?”
Jarryd walked up and grabbed the bottle from my hand. “It eliminates fear. And no, they didn’t force me. The islanders floated off,” Jarryd said with a careless wave, “and left me to decide on my own. They said it would take a while, maybe even months before what I traded is gone. But I know it’s working. I felt something right away.”
“What did you feel?”
He shrugged again. “Like you said. Better.”
I did my best not to shout. “Darkhorne? Is that the fear you gave them?”
“Of course, I traded Darkhorne,” he chuckled, indignation lacing the sound. “Why would I hold onto what that pit of hell did to me?”
“Because…” I licked my lips, hesitating, knowing I was treading in dangerous waters. “It’s a part of your past, Jarryd. It’s a part of who you are.”
“It wasn’t supposed to be.”
“Maybe not, but—”
“I wasn’t supposed to lose two years of my life to that fucking cage, Ian. To that…that goddamn hammer. Time. Blood. Sanity. I lost it all. I lost myself!” Drawing back, with an impetuous growl, Jarryd spun and heaved the bottle. It struck the edge of the wheel. One handle hit an unprotected part of the glass, and the whole thing shattered. Jarryd stared at the pieces littering the boards of the deck. He scratched, unconsciously, at his arm. Harder. Faster.
It was a telling gesture, a reflexive means of coping, I hadn’t seen him surrender to in some time. I wasn’t sure how to address it. “Maybe we should sit and talk about—”
“You have no right to judge me,” he blurted.
I blinked at him, too stunned to be angry. “I’m not judging you, Nef’taali. I’m worried about you. You’re irrational and defensive. You can’t even see how rash your decision was. The islanders made you afraid and then dangled a cure in your face. You weren’t in your right mind when you drank. You still aren’t.”
“I drank because I don’t have a right mind. I thought it was behind me. I didn’t realize how easily I could become him again. Once I did, it was either take the trade or leave. And I have nowhere else to go.”
“Leave? You mean the ship? Why would you do that?”
“You saw how I was back there,” Jarryd flung a hand at the ring of islands. “If I became him in the middle of a fight, if I lost it out on the water during a storm, I could get us both killed. At the least, you’d feel obligated to take care of me. I won’t lay that burden on you.”
“I’d rather that than this bullshit,” I shot back. “Being here was rough, but you would have gotten it under control again. We would have. You aren’t alone in this, Jarryd. You never were.”
“I was. I was alone for years.”
“And you survived. You got out. You left Darkhorne.”
“Did I? Or did I just bring it with me?”
I ran an anxious hand through my hair. I was afraid to ask, but I needed to know. “What else did you trade?”
“Other things.” He swallowed. “Liel.”
“Your son?” I shot to my feet. “He’s an innocent child, Jarryd. What fears could he possibly spark? Is it because of Elayna, because of his conception in prison?”
“It’s not about that.” Jarryd glanced away. “I shouldn’t worry about him anymore. I lost that right when I walked away. But I can’t stop. I think about him all the time. It eats at me.”
“This is insane…”
“Liel isn’t my son anymore. I’m done torturing myself with thinking otherwise. I knew, when we left, we’d never make it back. I knew I’d never see him again. It’s time to accept that.”
“Goddammit. I told you to stay.”
“I couldn’t. Liel deserves so much more than I could ever give him. I know that. I believe it. But I’m still afraid I made the wrong choice. I’m still agonizing over what might happen to him or what he might become—while we sail farther away with every sunrise. You had to know. You had to sense it.”
“I sensed you missing him. I miss Lirih too. I miss them all. It’s natural. Don’t let what those bastards did to you on the island make you think otherwise. You have every right to worry about Liel. You’re his father. It’s what we do. Letting him go like this, it’s…”
“Selfish? I know. But why do you always get to be the selfish one? When is it my turn? How much do I have to lose before I earn the right to put myself first?” Jarryd wiped the emotion from his voice. “Let it go. I’
m at peace with my choice. Once it fully kicks in, I’ll be happier than I have been in a long time.”
I said nothing. Jarryd’s jab at my addiction was obvious, as was the set of his mind, and the futility of my words. He might be hearing me, but he wasn’t listening. I’m not going to win this, I thought. It was too late anyway.
Weary, I returned to my spot on the rail and sat. Soaking up the comforting rhythm of the swaying ship, I watched the wind pick up and beat against the sails. Waves tossed, slamming against the hull, telling us it was time to leave. Jarryd glanced at the horizon, like he sensed it, too. He still came and sat beside me.
“I wasn’t honest with you,” I said, “or myself. I played off this voyage as some kind of pilgrimage to honor my ancestors, as a means to a fresh start. But it’s not. Not entirely. Mostly, I was running away.”
“And you just now figured that out?” he chuckled.
“I’m a little comfortable with denial.”
“I’ve noticed. Look, Ian,” he sighed, “I don’t blame you for wanting to leave. You weren’t the only one who felt the need. But leaving wasn’t enough for me. I’m not as strong as you. And with these phantoms haunting me, I never will be.”
“I don’t believe that.”
“I know you don’t. But I feel it. Whatever terrible things the islanders did, they helped me see the truth. The fears inside me are powerful, and they’re close to the surface. They could rise up so easily. And I don’t want that. I don’t want to be that weak pathetic, useless excuse for a man ever again. The only way to be sure, the only way to grow stronger, to be free of him, is to excise him, to relinquish my fears—completely.”
I nodded. “I hope it helps, Jarryd. I really do.” I didn’t know what else to say.
“It can help you, too. If this was truly about running away,” his gaze drifted to where it had a moment ago, “the means is right over there.”
The Wandering Isles Page 18