Wisdom Lost

by Michael Sliter

  “And, Lady Breen, you have my leave to take up residence in the hold. In the next week, I will clear a portion of the Landon, the western district of the city proper, to contain your men. Now, I believe we have had enough excitement for one day, and we’ve much to discuss. But, one more thing.” Unael’s jaw clenched, his voice becoming quieter so that the gathered courtiers leaned in to hear. “How did Escamilla pass? Was it with great pain?”

  “My lord, Escamilla still lives, though she has been unconscious for near two weeks.” Even through her stony facade, Emma had to restrain tears. “It shouldn’t be long. Our physicians do not expect her to finish out the week.”

  Unael bowed his head.

  “We will find her the most comfortable apartments in the hold. The great lady should be allowed to pass in comfort, at least. It is all I can offer.”

  Chapter 11

  So much had happened in Merigold’s life over the past six months. She had been abducted and abused. Her friends and family had been slaughtered, and her home destroyed. Her father had been taken, likely killed. She had also murdered men, and she had lost a child.

  But, on the bright side, she could not think about any of those terrible things while on this Yetra-damned ship. She was too busy vomiting.

  Even weeks later, she had not adapted. Her head weighed a thousand pounds and her eyes twisted her sight as if the world was made of traveling circus dancers. She was constantly perspiring and sickly dehydrated, though she forced down her ration of water every day. But the smell of food made her nauseous. Watching the sailors made her nauseous. Thinking about how nauseous she had been made her nauseous!

  Dear Yetra, what kind of demon had invented ships?

  “I’ve been knocking and you haven’t answered,” Cryden said, pushing his way into her tiny sleeping room. He was pale, himself, and not precisely nimble on his feet. He sat heavily on the foot of her thin, lumpy mattress. She lacked the energy to pull away.

  “Maybe because I didn’t want to be bothered,” Meri said, slurring her words like a drunkard. There’d been a storm last night, and she felt worse than ever.

  “At some point, you need to be bothered. Remember our little chat about tests? Well, you have failed the test of seamanship.”

  “I don’t care.”

  “If you seek to be pasnes alna, you must become accustomed to travel, and that travel will involve ships. Though I was once like you, I’ve learned to control…”

  “I don’t care.”

  “Merigold, sickness is no excuse for crassness,” Cryden said, his tone as patronizing as a parent condescending to children.

  Now, Meri found the energy to sit up. She glared the best glare she could muster.

  “Cryden, if Ultner exists, and if he brings me to Pandemonium for my crimes… and if Pandemonium reflects, as written in The Book of Amorum, our worst fears and greatest discomforts, I would be thankful I was there instead of this Yetra… ass… fucking… ship.”

  Cryden chuckled quietly. “Being around sailors has worked wonders on your vocabulary. Come now, we shouldn’t be more than a day or two from land, and you should come above to get your bearing. You will also need to start eating—I will not broker with the delay that shall occur if you pass out on your pony and break your own skull.”

  “Your compassion, as always, is overwhelming,” Merigold hissed, feeling ill at the thought of food. Cryden was right, though. Maddeningly, he often was.

  “Besides, you should speak with our protectors. We will be spending plenty of time with them on the road, and they may be more apt to jump in front of an arrow if they think you more than some weak-bellied youngling, brought low by a couple of waves.” He grinned at that.

  Meri pushed herself to her wobbling legs, baring her teeth at him. “Lead the way.”

  ***

  “So, she lives!” shouted one of the Sestrian brothers, reaching his arms above his head as if to give thanks to some listening deity.

  “Of course, she lives. We would have dumped the body in the sea, had she passed,” remarked the other, staring at his brother with furrowed brows.

  “You are, and always will be, a dolt.” The first brother took a long pull from a wooden bottle and bit off a hunk of bread to wash it down. He leaned easily against the ship’s rail.

  “Will you all just shut up?” This from the muscular woman, Lisan the Arrow, with a longsuffering look on her unattractive face.

  “May we join you?” Cryden asked, guiding Meri by her arm. She’d fought it, at first, but had acquiesced to his help eventually, lest she further embarrass herself by tumbling to the deck in front of these rough people.

  Ill’nath grunted toward a couple of low barrels that would serve as chairs. Cryden lowered Merigold to her seat, her feeling like a frail old lady, before seating himself.

  It was near sunset, which surprised Meri since she’d thought it to be the middle of the night. There was beauty in the color burning across the water, painting the waves in oranges and reds, and even her sickness couldn’t detract much from that. For a brief moment, she could understand why sailors could live this life. Nothing in all directions except open water and freedom, as well as unknown adventures. So much, she would have wanted this life, even a year ago. But now she understood how the world really worked.

  “So, Merigold, how do you feel?” Lisan asked, voice laced with genuine empathy.

  “How does she look?” asked one of the Sestrians, the more rambunctious one.

  “Remy, for the love of the Day Mother, I will nail your tongue to the deck if you keep waggling it.”

  “Don’t do that to my brother or you’ll answer to me,” growled the other Sestrian, presumably Marius.

  “By the gods, brother. You are just… thick. My apologies, lady,” Remy said with a mocking bow to Lisan.

  She rolled her eyes and then smiled at Meri. “Marius barely speaks Ardian, and even if he did, he’s not strictly… well, he’s not the brightest of men. So, how do you feel?”

  “I am feeling better, thank you. I’m getting my sea legs.” Ill’nath snorted at that, and Remy barked a laugh. Meri couldn’t help but smile, too.

  “Okay, well… I feel worse than I look, which must be like a used-up whore.” Cryden raised an eyebrow, but all but Marius laughed. The sailors really had impacted her language. She would have to re-train her tongue once they finally find land.

  “You do resemble Remy and Marius’ mother,” Lisan said. Remy chuckled while Marius reached for the blade at his waist. Remy placed a restraining hand on his brother’s arm. The group drifted into an uncomfortable silence. Meri glanced at Cryden, and saw that his brow was furrowed in concentration. Was there magic to be felt even out here? The poor cautaton must never get any rest.

  “So… Lisan. Why do they call you ‘the Arrow’? Are you good with a bow?” Meri asked in an effort to fill the silence. Lisan smiled in response, as if knowing that Meri was uncomfortable.

  “Aye, I’m good with a bow. Some would argue I’m the best with a bow. But, that’s not where the name came from,” Lisan said, her voice far away.

  “Where did it come from, then, if not that?”

  Lisan did not immediately respond, so Remy chimed in. “Arrows fly straight and true, at least when shot by a bowmaster. And, Lisan does the same. If she says she is going to do something, she does it. No wavering. No second thought. No accounting for obstacles or the number of armored men in the way. If all arrows flew as true as Lisan, we would all have shafts of wood in our throats.”

  She gave the Sestrian a sidelong glance. Remy smirked and shrugged. “Said better,” she corrected him, “I am a woman of my word.”

  “And, you will take us to Agricorinor?” Meri asked. Cryden still made no move to engage in conversation, so Merigold thought that she might as well gain some semblance of commitment from these warriors.

  Lisan smiled. “You have my word.”

  “And mine,” chimed in Remy, as if it were a joke. He nudged his brother
.

  “And mine,” Marius echoed his brother, right down to the intonation. Ill’nath merely grunted—whether in assent, denial, or hunger, Meri had no idea. The Pinton islander may not have even spoken Ardian. Or, maybe all of the metal in his face prevented speech. He had nearly all available areas dotted with metal, but all was dwarfed by the literal hole in his cheek, held open by a metal loop. She could see his gums and teeth through the hole, giving him the appearance of some nightmare monster.

  Remy noticed her starting. “No worries about Ill’nath here. He’s a decent fucker, if you get to know him. And, he doesn’t bite.” As if to illustrate, Remy tossed a bit of bread at his cheek-hole. The wind took the bread and carried it overboard. Ill’nath was unmoved.

  “Dammit!” Remy tore off a bigger piece of bread and lined up his next throw.

  “What?” Cryden leapt to his feet and staggered to the rail of the ship. He gripped the rail, hands white from the effort, his pale face damp with sweat. With gritted teeth, he stared west toward the setting sun, still glowing orange as it passed from view.

  “Cryden, what is the matter?” Merigold demanded, pushing herself to her own wobbly feet.

  He ignored her for a moment, and she placed a hand on his shoulder. He started, jumping as if he had forgotten she was there.

  “What is it?” she asked. The warriors—aside from Marius—seemed fiercely uncomfortable now. Remy’s hand was on his dagger as he eyed Cryden warily; so much for his word to protect them.

  “Power, Merigold. Impossible power. Because there is nothing.” Distraction was written across his face. Meri furrowed her own brow, wanting to understand.

  “Nothing?”

  “Yes… the sea…” He pointed to the west, and Merigold could make out a growing, flickering red glow in the distance. But it wasn’t the sun. The sun had gone, had now completely set, and this was further to the north. It was flames in the distance. Something was burning.

  “The sea?” Merigold asked quietly, prompting the cautaton to share more. He continued to gaze toward the west.

  “The sea is dead.”

  Interlogue: Greed

  “Sweetling! Oh, my dear sweetling! I understand that there has been a violation. I can see that you are still reeling from the event, that you are not wholly recovered, at least to the point that you can still recover. We will not end our session today with a harvest. No, rather I simply wish to speak with you and apologize on behalf of the offending party.

  “One of my Erudites did not live up to his honorific. Why he thought he could come here and sample my delicacy, so to speak, I will never know. But, I can see from your maenen that he was not gentle, and I can see that your nerring has been damaged. You need time to heal, and I shall provide that. Your sacrifice, sweetling, is honorable, and I shall not give up on you simply because you need extra time. I can sate myself elsewhere, this one time.

  “That Erudite, by the way, will never again walk these halls. One needs legs to walk.

  “Constantly surrounded by treachery, I am. Since the very beginning, truth be told. I had told you of Aquine, how the town was heaped with the dead when I fled after Amorum. I did not tell you how the well-defended town had been taken. I was not to find out until long afterward, but I can fill in the gaps in the story now.

  “Though Aquine was a peaceful town, it was at the crux of military technology. The military had weapons that could spray a variety of chemicals at enemy forces, ravaging skin and lungs. Researchers had created great projectile engines that could be reloaded in a matter of seconds, firing nets full of fist-sized balls that would burst into flame on contact. Other countries—as they existed then—had desired the technologies that were specific to Aquine. However, the town’s leaders and great scientists decided to isolate themselves to promote peace. The philosophy was that, as long as Aquine could tear through any attackers with ease, no attackers would appear.

  “That was an effective strategy for a long while. However, like any town, Aquine had the prosperous and the poor. The prosperous were happy with what they had, living life in peace with every comfort. The poor were too downtrodden to really act. I have witnessed, on many occasions, poor men so broken that they wouldn’t shift even a few feet to avoid sitting in fecal matter and other various slimes of the gutter. No, neither the destitute nor the wealthy betrayed the town.

  “Most often, people forget about the middle class. People who work hard for everything they have, and have tasted just a sliver of luxury. So many in the middle class will strive to avoid joining the poor, and do whatever it takes to join the elite. It was the middle class that betrayed the city.

  “Men and women met in secret to develop a plan to sell the military technology to outsiders, and they managed to get word to one of the closest cities. To these people, Aquine was still safe, but this would give them the boost they needed to join the ranks of the rich. Oagon was willing to pay any price, of course, to gain these secrets, and a couple dozen Oagonan warriors—over the course of a week—were smuggled into the city as part of this plan. Though they were only to steal a few weapons for study, they instead seized the gatehouse and the western defenses, allowing an army into the city.

  “Most of the betrayers were swept up along with the city, murdered and left for dead. But some were taken with the army as slaves, thought to have some value to the war effort.

  “You recall that I searched Aquine for signs of those I loved, ignoring Amorum as he attempted to calm me. I never did find my parents. Not immediately, anyway.

  “For it was my parents who led the effort to betray Aquine. My parents were traitors. My parents caused all of that pain and suffering and death because of their greed. Because of their inability to be satisfied with their lives. All of those years, I had railed against the thought of being stuck in a lamp shop, bending and polishing metal, packaging and delivering the finished products. I had thought my parents simple, unambitious people who were happy with that life. However, I had been wrong. They had been disgusted with their lot. They had tasted the luxuries available from riches, and wanted more. They were the embodiment of greed, and it cost so many lives.

  “I know that you are a man without greed. You need not speak—I know it is an effort right now, after the violation. However, I have seen how you treated those around you. How you bought products that you had no need of in order to distribute your own wealth to struggling individuals. I know that you donated money—to the Yetranian chapel, no less!—to have a great bell commissioned. I know that you gave so much of yourself so others could live in comfort.

  “That is a rare quality, to be without avarice. If my parents and others in Aquine had not embraced greed as a virtue, perhaps I would not be where I am. Perhaps you would not be where you are. But greed projected my live forward, changing my world, and the entire world—forever. I suppose there is a lesson to be learned, there. But I know not what it is, not now. Perhaps some philosopher or Taneo could read into that event, had they the true story. But, alas, they do not.

  “Sweetling, I can tell that you are distracted today. I will not bore you with more of my life right now. But, I will ensure that you are safe moving forward. No one will touch you, aside from me. You are mine, sweetling, now and forever.”

  Chapter 12

  “Absolutely not!” Captain Jakys answered, his voice as stormy as the sea had been over the last week. “I’m nearly rid of you people; Yetra knows how much this trip has cost me, both in lost profits and tarnished reputation. I am not delaying by approaching a burning fucking ship, which means there could be burning fucking pirates, all because you want to see something.” He was practically in a slavering rage at the request; he’d been on edge, of late.

  Merigold had been able to hear him raging at his first mate from her cabin.

  “You must, Jackys. I will make up a portion of your profits if you do this thing for me,” Cryden promised, and Merigold heard a hint of frustration in his voice. He must be desperate to see what was go
ing on if he was actually willing to pay out of his own pocket.

  “The Graceful Whale is mine. I mustn’t do anything with her,” Jackys said, turning away and beginning to walk toward the prow. Cryden grabbed his arm, and the man leapt back into a fighting stance, procuring a dagger from somewhere on his body. “You will not lay a hand on me, filthy pasnes alna!” he shouted. The crew began to stop their tasks, grabbing whatever weapons lay nearby. Belaying pins, hooks, and the odd dagger. Meri glanced around, finding that their protectors were conveniently nowhere to be found.

  Cryden’s face darkened. “I need not lay a finger on you, Alganian. And threatening a known pasnes alna is just… a terrible idea.” The way he’d said ‘terrible’ sent shivers through Meri.

  Jakys stepped back, but in front of his crew, he could not back down.

  “Threatening a scion of the Menan family, and an ally of The House, is just as terrible of an idea.” He twirled his knife. “Now, stand down; I will be rid of you in two days.” Several other sailors closed in, weapons leveled against Meri and Cryden. She quested nervously, sensing the maenen within each man, but all were out of reach. What use was this power if she couldn’t touch it until a man plunged a dagger into her throat? She gripped her little knife, pulling it from where it hung around her neck.

  “Enough!” boomed Cryden, no longer the mild-mannered, sarcastic know-it-all, but a pasnes alna to the core. His robes whipped in the rough wind, and the light of the moons and nearby lanterns flashed off his eyes. He stretched out a hand, and Jakys’ dagger disintegrated.

  But ‘disintegrated’ was not the right word, not quite. It shattered, but into a thousand tiny, miniscule shards. Jakys looked at his hand in shock as a dust drifted away in the breeze. Then, crimson sprung from every surface of his appendage. With a cry, he cradled his hand against his gut and bent over double, wrapped around the injury as a human bandage.