“Great place to dump a body,” Brux whispered to Van as if reading her mind.
They arrived at the less swampy, more built up downtown area. Even in the morning light, the town looked shadowy. Van felt like she had stumbled into a dark and twisted carnival.
At first glance, Van thought the townspeople were dressed in costumes, possibly for some kind of Mardi Gras-style festival. She soon realized the island’s inhabitants always dressed this way. She saw skin colors that ranged from white to green to yellow to black, and all the colors in between. The outcasts and misfits of society, along with the criminals, came there to be free from the restrictive Balish law and from societal confines.
Thyra fit right in with the crowd but Daisy’s waist-length, shining white-blond hair stood out like a full moon on a clear dark night. Van figured Daisy’s hair alone would fetch a good price in Cortica, given all the elaborate wigs worn by the inhabitants, both male and female, human and non-human.
Brux stayed glued to Daisy’s side, as did Kopius.
It didn’t bother Van that Brux focused more on his sister than her. It meant he believed Daisy needed to be protected and that Van could take care of herself. She glanced at Ferox, who walked close to her, and felt reassured.
Van noticed a variety of noises—music, chatting, yelling, clinking of glasses, blasts that sounded like gunshots. Lots of items on display seemed to be twirling or spinning, like toys that could be used for fun, or to hurt someone. It appeared the folks here lived in a state of constant bacchanalian celebration.
Paley leaned into Van and whispered, “This place makes my skin crawl.”
“Crawl?” Van said in a low voice. “It makes my skin want to run.”
They passed an eatery displaying a dirty fish tank swimming with black eels.
“Fine dining on display,” Kopius said.
Paley clutched Van’s arm and pulled them closer together. “Ask Ferox if we can use the Coin to find the best path,” she said, shaking. “So we can get out of this place.”
“Shush!” Thyra scolded. “Some things best not spoken here.”
A disheveled, rotund man with flushed cheeks stood in front of five large wooden casks and at least twenty smaller barrels. Van peeked down the alley behind him and saw a bunch of card tables and chairs set up. His patrons were relaxing at the tables and drinking out of tin cups, though some were standing.
“Bootlegger Bill’s Barrel Rum,” he said, as the group passed. “Rum from the west, it’s the best!” He waved them over. “Come get it! Five b-stips. All you can drink!”
Ferox tugged at Van’s arm to keep her moving.
“I dunno,” Van said, pretending to be interested in taking up Bootlegger Bill’s all-you-can-drink offer. “I’m pretty thirsty this fine morning.”
Ferox grinned. “So am I. But not for that.”
His eyes were filled with mischief, like the kind Van wanted to dive into with him.
Some of the pedestrian traffic looked like ruffians or ne’er-do-wells. Those not dressed to impress, dressed dingily. It was a mix. Half of the people dressed like they were at a twisted carnival, the other half wore drab, stretchy hats and overcoats or jackets, and cast furtive glances as they scuttled along minding their own business.
“Good thing my men and I dressed down,” Ferox said.
“I would’ve preferred you in that.” Van nodded toward a flamboyantly dressed man wearing a piled-high white wig, a ruffled shirt, a long, narrow coat trimmed with gold braids, and striped knickers.
Ferox chuckled and gave her a hug around the waist.
Van’s entire body hummed with excitement from his touch.
On Van’s other side, Paley clung to her arm as they passed painted women wearing bustiers. The women lingered on the sidewalk and smiled at passerby’s, attempting to lure them into nearby shanties.
“Gross,” Paley mumbled.
A handful of the painted ladies swamped Ferox, Brux, and Kopius.
Brux and Ferox hastily turned down their provocative offers, but Kopius rattled off questions as if fascinated with them.
Pernilla pulled him away.
“Hey,” one of the women called to Daisy. “You lookin’ for work?”
A grungy man who appeared to be loitering outside a nearby tobacco shop hollered to Brux, “How much for the blond?”
Brux clutched Daisy even closer as Kopius moved beside her, blocking her from the man’s view.
They passed another shop that displayed human skulls for sale, along with a variety of dried body organs, powders, candles, and other bones that Van hoped weren’t human.
“Those things are used for black magic,” Ferox said to Van in a low voice.
“Do we need to buy some of this stuff?” Kopius asked.
“Let me look, maybe some of it can be used for healing.” Daisy went into the shop.
Van didn’t want any connection to dark magic of any kind and quickened her pace as if walking faster would get her away from the horror of the skull store. Or, perhaps, the temptation? Van had no intention of sticking around to find out why the shop evoked a jumble of emotions.
The others stopped to peruse the merchandise and to keep an eye on Daisy. As Ferox went into the store, two of his soldiers remained standing guard outside. They held a sharp eye on Van and got edgy went she went more than two shops away. So, Van didn’t wander any farther.
“Beautiful girl.” A middle-aged, dark-skinned man sat at a table for two on the wood-plank sidewalk and called to Van.
The man’s brilliant purple turban pinned with an amber jewel caught Van’s curiosity. He dressed much classier than anyone she had seen and was by far the most well-groomed. He had a stunningly elaborate goatee and wore a clean white pressed jersey under flowing purple robes that matched his turban.
Van thought she glimpsed a bunfy sitting on his table. She did a double-take and could’ve sworn the critter dashed under the table before she could get a good look at it.
The man noticed he’d caught Van’s attention. “Beautiful girl,” he said, again. “Come.” He passed his upturned palm over his table that was draped in a silver and purple tablecloth, indicating he wanted Van to sit with him.
Van stayed on the road, not getting close to the man, and bent down, trying to see under the table.
“Was that a… do you have a bunf—” Van stopped mid-word, realizing the absurdity of a bunfy being in this despicable place. Even if Van were in dire trouble, Wiglaf wouldn’t set paw here.
“The spirits…I feel them calling to you,” he said. “Please, sit.”
Van resisted her impulse to stay and talk to the captivating man and headed back to the dark magic shop and the others.
“Young girl!” he cried. “Your ancestors want me to give you a message.”
Van hesitated.
“Don’t you want to know? Come,” the man persisted and again indicated for her to sit with him. “How often do marketeer’s scouts come across an advanced seer?”
His words reminded Van of Ildiss, the gnome’s seer she had met on her prior trip to the Living World. Ildiss had given Van invaluable information. She reconsidered his offer.
The handwritten paper sign above his table, taped to the shingles on the outside wall of the building, read: psychic readings one b-stip.
Van had learned that stips were illegal because they came from “chipping.” When crooks chip away at the edges of good coins to get extra metal and then melt it together to get a new coin. A b-stip was a bronze coin made from chipping pecs. If you’re caught chipping, the punishment is dungeon time. If the Balish catch you with stips, all the money in your pocket is confiscated.
“What are you doing?” Ferox clamped her arm and glared at the man. “Stick with the group. No wandering off.”
She turned to Ferox, making her eyes big and round. “Please?”
He seemed to visibly soften and reached into his pocket.
Brux darted over. “What’s going on?”
&
nbsp; The others gathered behind, including Ferox’s soldiers.
“Be careful,” Thyra said. “Fakes and scammers here.”
“I got this,” Ferox said to her. He addressed the group, “Stick around the shops. We’ll catch up.”
Brux glanced at Van, who gave him a reassuring nod. He looked irritated, but he and the others meandered back down the street, accompanied by several of Ferox’s soldiers. Two of his men stayed to guard the prince and Van.
Ferox handed the goateed man a legit pec.
Van sat at the table.
Chapter 28
The seer held the bronze coin in his palm and hesitated.
Van tensed. A pec was a legitimate coin, not a stip. It had the Balish stamp and was worth two b-stips—a telltale sign that they weren’t riffraff, and didn’t belong on the island.
She feared the seer may screech at her and Ferox, point them out as invaders. Strangers who had come to ruin the freewheeling lifestyle of the island’s inhabitants. An angry mob of desperados would come and rip her and Ferox to shreds and then toss their pieces into the swamp.
Instead, he squinted at Ferox for a moment. Then, tucked the coin into his pocket.
“Some privacy,” the seer said to Ferox. “Please.”
Ferox stood firm and crossed his arms.
“I cannot concentrate with you lurking over the table,” the seer said. “Privacy. Please.”
Van looked up at Ferox. “I’m not going anywhere.”
Ferox considered the request. He nodded and meandered a couple of stores down, to where Daisy and Paley were looking at seashells displayed for sale.
The seer closed his eyes and took a deep breath, apparently satisfied with the newly acquired amount of privacy.
His eyes popped open, and he exclaimed, “I am the Great Brizo.”
He had tarot cards on his table, and yet he clasped each of his hands around each of hers.
His sweaty grip, along with his intensity, made Van squirm.
She tugged her hands, trying to pull away from his grip.
Brizo grasped harder and held her there.
He mumbled something unintelligible, and then said, “The spirits of water, they are flowing through me.”
Brizo stared directly at Van, yet had a distant, vacant look.
He turned her hands to face palm up.
To Van’s relief, his haunted eyes shifted to her palms.
“The cycle of tide and time are washing to shore,” he stated in a dramatic tone. “The spirits, they chatter about astrological signs.” His brown eyes rolled upward into his skull, showing only the whites. “Signs are not exact. They vary by a lifetime. Your spirit ancestors tell me the seven year Escalation to Dishora had not yet begun.”
Van’s interest peaked. It was similar to the message Ildiss have given her. Van had no idea what it meant, or what she was supposed to do with the information.
“You are one who struggles against the pull darkness—it writhes inside your soul,” his voice changed to sound like the throaty voice of a woman. “Your struggle blocks the aid of the Creator.”
The hair on the back of Van’s neck stood up. Not only from the creepy change in the seer’s voice but because what the seer claimed was true. Van always remained aware of her damaged soul. She constantly struggled against the lure of giving into the darkness that battled for dominance inside her Self.
“Cling to the light, to your inner good.” His eyes, still white, continued to stare at Van. “Remain innocent and pure. Selfless and sincere. Only then will you receive the assistance of the Creator.”
“Got it.” Van relaxed, expecting the reading to be over.
“A troubling time draws near,” Brizo said, back to his own voice, yet he spoke in an urgent tone. “An abyss cannot be filled to overflowing.” He gripped her hands tighter. “Save yourself and return to the light. There is corruption. Darkness. Every step leads to danger.”
He restlessly shifted in his chair. “Darkness is rising. There is much danger! Do not retrieve the Cup of Life!”
With a perceptible shift in energy, his brown eyes returned into place, and his eyelids opened wide as if what he had seen of the spirit world terrified him. The seer released Van’s hands, pushing them away as if they burned. He leaped from his seat so fast, he rocked the table.
Van knew in the pit of her stomach that this seer had confirmed her worst fear.
He had looked into her soul and saw a dark thread.
“Go!” he cried, waving his hands in a shooing motion. “Get out of here! Go!”
He disappeared down the dark alley adjacent to the table as if that was safer than staying with Van.
She vaulted from her chair, intending to follow him to get confirmation about her soul, but a painful grip around her elbow held her back.
“Not the best idea,” Ferox said.
Van collapsed into his chest and wrapped her arms around him, shaking.
“What did he say that made you so upset?” He hugged her tightly.
“Nothing.” She pulled away. “I just need some food.”
She didn’t want to think about how she killed his sister knowing it would damage her own soul.
She didn’t want to think about her father who had died trying to save her from the Anchoress curse. Or, his ill-fated effort to prevent Van from retrieving the Items of Creation so she wouldn’t fulfill her doomed destiny to fight against darkness in the coming war.
She didn’t want to think about her dark thread. Or examine how she felt about Ferox or Brux.
“What happened?” Brux rushed over, his hand hovered near his waistband, ready to grab his dagger. His eyes darted to the passersby and loitering rogues, searching for someone causing trouble.
“Relax. Just Van acting like her same old self.” Pernilla pursed her lips.
Van’s eyes darted to Pernilla. “Excuse me?”
“It would really help if you focused on the mission. Rather than begging for attention from every guy you meet.”
“I wasn’t—”
Daisy reached to Van’s flank, interrupting her.
“—ouch. What are you doing?”
Daisy lifted Van’s jacket, shirt, and ribbed t-shirt enough to check Van’s bandage. “It’s bloody enough to show through your shirt. You might need stitches.”
“I’m fine.”
Ferox shifted his weight and frowned.
Brux peered at Van’s bandage. “You’re not fine.”
Van noticed dark circles under his eyes. She worried about the drain he suffered from the Twin Gemstones, the energy Brux needed to keep Paley in the Living World was taking its toll.
“Where’s Paley?” Van asked
Kopius pointed to a food stand called the Savage Polder. Paley stood at the window happily chatting with a roguish boy. Van wondered how long until Paley also felt the adverse effects of the gemstones.
Ferox huddled with Thyra and his men, deep in conversation.
He broke from his huddle and said to Van and the others, “Stay here, in the downtown area.” He instructed three of his men to stay and watch them.
“You’re not leaving without me,” Van said.
Ferox broke into a full smile.
Van blushed. Ferox had taken her utterance as a declaration of her affection for him.
“You have the Co—item.” Van agreed with Thyra, mentioning the Coin in this place wasn’t a great idea. “I don’t want you out of my sight.” Van’s cheeks turned a deeper red as her words continued to betray her emotions. “I don’t want you sneaking away and leaving me—us—here, on the island.” She decided to stop talking until she could form sentences that didn’t have a double meaning. Everything she said made it sound like she would miss Ferox if he left her when her real concern was the Coin.
“Van’s right,” Daisy said. “We need to stick together.”
“Does this have something to do with the fairy’s tear?” Kopius asked.
Ferox opened his mouth, Brux cut in
before the prince could even ask.
“Yes—we were at the fairy ring. We saw you get the tear. But we’re not fairy traders. We needed her tear to trade for information about the seal, and to secure a ship that could take us to it.”
Daisy looked worried that Ferox might believe they were criminals. “We weren’t going to hurt the fairy.”
Ferox held up his palms before anyone else could chime in. “At this point, I know you well enough to believe you.”
“You don’t battle the laocoon without forming some kind of bond, am I right?” Kopius grinned.
Ferox placed his hands over his heart. “Then, you can trust to me take care of this task. It works both ways.” He glanced at Van but spoke to the group. “I have to go. Try to stay out of trouble.”
“Tell that to Paley.” Kopius tilted his head toward the Savage Polder.
Paley stuck to the boy like a barnacle to a hull. Van frowned when she noticed his pants had a wet hem. A telltale sign he had been up to no good, making him Paley’s type. Edgy, cute, dangerous.
Brux also noticed the boy’s hem. “Maybe he got back from dumping a body in the swamp.” He gave her a lopsided grin.
“Probably.”
Van turned her attention back to Ferox, still unsure if she trusted him. If she removed her emotions—her affection for him—from the situation then it made sense for her not to let him leave with the Coin.
“I can go with you,” Van said to Ferox. “Help with your… task.”
“No need you.” Thyra flapped her pouty fish lips. “I help the prince.”
“She knows the area.” Ferox touched Van’s arm, a comforting gesture, as if to say he held romantic affection for her alone, no one else. “You stay here. You’ll be safe with my men and your team.”
The warmth of his hand, his intense stare, caused a surge of thrilling tingles throughout Van’s body.
“I’ll be back.” He smiled. “I promise.” Ferox turned to the soldiers he instructed to stay with Van and the others and whispered, “Protect them with your lives.”
Plague of Death Page 23