Stormtide

by Den Patrick

  ‘Where are you?’ she whispered and the sea whispered back in a hundred hushed voices, but not one answered her query. She remained on the beach with her eyes closed for a good time longer until a chill wind sent a shiver up her spine. A feeling of dread followed but this sensation was different, not something she carried inside, but something else; something vast and old and unknowable was out there – and the awareness of it filled her with fear.

  Kjellrunn lurched to her feet and looked around but the blind man had abandoned her. The sun had dipped low behind the town and the enchanting azure of the sea had darkened. The feeling of dread remained, and though Kjellrunn couldn’t say how, she knew it was imperative to get off the beach that very moment. Her feet kicked up clouds of sand as she fled, not pausing even when she had reached the houses at the edge of town, only slowing to a walk once the sea was hidden from view. Her heart raced and her ragged breathing sounded all too loud in the abandoned streets.

  The blind beggar was sitting in his customary space on the temple steps when Kjellrunn returned. Maxim was next to him, chatting cheerfully.

  ‘You’re back then. I wondered where you’d fetched up to.’ Maxim’s expression fell. ‘What’s wrong? Why are you so pale?’

  ‘I followed him to the beach.’ Kjellrunn gestured to the beggar. ‘Just like I always do, but it was different tonight. There was something out there. Something in the sea.’

  The old man gestured to his chest. ‘Haerthi.’

  ‘What does he mean?’ said Kjellrunn.

  ‘I think’ – Maxim frowned – ‘you need to close your heart.’

  ‘That doesn’t make any sense,’ replied Kjellrunn. ‘He’s not made much sense all night. Said his name was Hand.’

  ‘He’s making plenty of sense now,’ said Maxim. ‘He’s said more to me tonight than since we first arrived.’

  ‘Such as what?’ said Kjellrunn, still deeply unsettled.

  ‘He just told me he used to be a sculptor,’ said Maxim. ‘The best in the whole town apparently.’ The boy stood up on the temple steps, almost eye to eye with Kjellrunn despite his stature. ‘What was in the sea, Kjellrunn?’

  ‘Nothing.’ She shook her head. ‘I just lost track of time is all, and frightened myself.’ Maxim frowned and the look he gave her made it clear he hadn’t believed her.

  ‘We’d best get him inside,’ the boy said. ‘It’s nearly curfew and Mistress Kamalov is in a foul mood.’

  Kjellrunn nodded and helped the old man to an alcove in the temple where he slept on a bundle of old blankets. She hurried to her room as soon as she could, glad to put the day behind her. Her thoughts lingered at the Shimmer Sea’s edge until she finally surrendered to sleep in the small hours of the morning.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  Silverdust

  ‘What’s that?’ said Streig, squinting into the distance. They had taken up their usual place some half a mile behind the cart that carried Envoy de Vries and Father Orlov. The soldiers ambled along, thoroughly sick of the long journey and spiteful temperatures. ‘There’s something on the horizon,’ added Streig, shielding his eyes with the flat of his hand, and continued looking to the south. The winter sun was low in the cloudless sky and a keen wind blew at their backs.

  That is the most northern of the Urzahn Mountains. They stretch from Novaya Zemlya and divide Virolanti Province from the Slavon Province, then continue through the Province of Karelina and into Shanisrond. If the world has a spine then it is the Urzahn Mountains.

  ‘Virolanti,’ said Streig, almost whispering the word with reverence.

  Your home, I presume.

  The soldier nodded. ‘Though I’ve not seen it for over a year now.’

  Nor will you see it any time soon. We are crossing over the border into the Vend Province. And then I expect we will take a ship to Khlystburg so the Emperor can hear my account. Who knows where you will be sent after that.

  ‘This is a border?’ said Streig, looking around. The ground underfoot was greener, the grasses thicker, shrubs more common, but no great barrier divided Novaya Zemlya from Vend. No watchtowers haunted the barren expanse. No river or mountain separated one province from the other.

  Borders are imaginary lines drawn by men who would rather divide than unite.

  ‘You need borders,’ said Streig with a frown. ‘It would be chaos without them. No one would know who they had to pay their taxes to, or if they were being invaded or not.’

  All of that may be true, but they only exist on paper, no different to fiction.

  ‘And what fiction will you tell when we reach Khlystburg?’ There was a dangerous edge to the young soldier’s words that Silverdust didn’t care for, but he was in a dangerous mood himself. The mood had lingered since his confrontation with Father Orlov at the camp fire.

  I doubt the story really matters. The Envoy will say that I was the highest-ranking Vigilant on the island, and that I should have been in control. The Envoy will then follow up by asking where I was during the fighting, and how an Exarch of my experience could let a lowly peasant kill all the soldiers and half of the Holy Synod on the island.

  ‘She has you cornered there.’ Streig paused. Silverdust could sense the young soldier’s reluctance to ask the next question, knowing the answer may not be to his taste. ‘Why didn’t you fight?’

  I missed the fighting because I was quietly murdering Vigilants in their rooms.

  Streig looked stricken, his pace slowed and for a time he said nothing. ‘Why?’

  Because I hate them. Because it is barbaric to take children from their families, no matter if they have witchsign. It is barbaric to let those families think those children are dead. It is barbaric to persecute the Spriggani because of a decades-old enmity. Just as the war with Shanisrond will be barbaric when the Emperor leads his soldiers south. Soldiers like you.

  ‘Why are you telling me this?’ said Streig. ‘If I am asked to speak before the Emperor I will be honour-bound to tell the truth.’

  Because you are no different to the children on Vladibogdan, Streig. You have been taken from your family and you have not seen them this last year. I wager you will not see them again.

  ‘I wasn’t taken,’ said Streig with gritted teeth. ‘I took the Emperor’s crown and signed up of my own free will.’

  And if you had not? What other future awaited you in Virolanti Province?

  Streig shook his head and swore in a dialect that Silverdust was unfamiliar with.

  ‘There are no jobs in Virolanti Province. No jobs besides farming.’

  So your choices were few. The children with witchsign had fewer choices than you and ultimately their fate is the same. Lifelong service to an uncaring Emperor.

  Streig avoided the Exarch for the following week. Silverdust was escorted by a soldier who refused to give his name. Not once in seven days did the man remove his helm in Silverdust’s presence. He had not spoken a word for the first two days. Silverdust was acutely aware the soldier always had his mace to hand and wondered just how much Streig had told his comrades.

  The barren steppe of Novaya Zemlya had given way to lush plains, which transitioned to the myriad streams and swamps of Vend Province. Finally they reached a town where the swamp organised itself into a winding river. The town itself perched above the water on a series of wooden posts, connected by walkways. Smoke dribbled from the chimneys of the town, reaching into the sky with feeble grey tendrils. Reeds and long grasses grew in abundance and the threat of water was everywhere: to a mortal man, a soaking might bring a chill, but immersion in water was always fatal to a cinderwraith. Silverdust balled his fists in frustration and kept a wary eye on everyone who came close.

  What is this place? Silverdust asked the nameless soldier as they drew closer to the town.

  ‘The area is Kulyagesh. The town is also called Kulyagesh. And the river, well, it seems the locals do not have so many names to give.’

  The area outside of the town was dotted with spruce, maple and sil
very birch trees, though no birds sat in their branches. Wagons crawled in the distance, navigating the narrow strips of land that counted for roads in these parts. Silverdust watched as their own cart passed by a handful of scrawny children who waited at the roadside. The children reached out with dirty hands, gaunt stares on their narrow faces. Father Orlov slapped a hand that strayed too close while the Envoy looked away, pretending not to have seen them. Now that Silverdust was closer to the town he could see people crouching by the trees. They clutched fishing rods by the nearest stretch of water.

  So many fishermen.

  ‘Hard to grow crops in a place like this,’ said the soldier. ‘Harder still to tax a man on the fish he catches if he eats them the same day.’

  Silverdust and his nameless escort closed the distance to where the ragged children lingered. The Exarch paused, noting feet wrapped in rags, slender frames, and cheekbones that were too sharp for such young faces. He reached into a pouch and brought forth a selection of coins. The Exarch hadn’t needed money in years, insulated from poverty by his position. One by one he pressed a coin into the palm of each child then set off without a word.

  ‘You should have said if you have coin to spare,’ said the nameless soldier. He tried to sound as if he were merely gaming, but Silverdust could feel the man’s frustration, his jealousy.

  You want my coin?

  ‘All soldiers want coin. Everyone knows that.’

  Those children will not try to kill me the moment the Envoy orders them to do so. You on the other hand are quite a different matter.

  Another miserable town, another equally miserable inn. Silverdust almost wished he’d tried his luck at sea. A knock sounded at the door and Silverdust sensed a familiar presence on the other side.

  Come in.

  ‘You should lock your door,’ said Streig as he entered with breakfast.

  I am under Envoy de Vries’ protection. Without me there is no one to punish for the fate of Vladibogdan. I am quite safe.

  ‘And if the Envoy revokes her protection?’

  I am well versed in the arcane. Very well versed.

  Streig set the bowl down on the simple table and sat down on the bed. The room had little to recommend it. The rug was threadbare and the bedsheets were unclean. Silverdust remained standing as he often did. Sitting lost its meaning when the body no longer tired.

  ‘Why did you tell me those things?’ The young soldier sounded weary more than angry. ‘It’s because I’m young, isn’t it? Do you think me foolish? Impressionable?’

  Neither. But you have Spriggani blood in you, do you not?

  Streig snorted a bitter laugh and shook his head. ‘Is there anything you don’t know? Anything you can’t see from behind that mirror mask of yours?’

  So I am correct?

  ‘On my mother’s side, my grandmother. How did you know?’

  I am a Vigilant. We see what others would keep hidden.

  ‘And what if someone else discovers this? Another Vigilant, perhaps? The other soldiers are already asking questions about you. About me.’ He shook his head then pressed a hand to his brow. ‘About us.’

  Most Vigilants are not as perceptive as I am. I have been doing this a long time. Your secret is safe.

  ‘And if you’re wrong? What if I’m found out?’

  Then we will face them together. I realise how conflicted you feel, but you have looked out for me on this journey south. You have often taken up the task no one else wanted. You have listened to me when you would rather not have. Now eat. Keep your strength up for the times ahead.

  Silverdust gestured to the meagre offering of thin porridge. Streig looked at the bowl and shook his head.

  ‘I’ve no appetite. Maybe I’m becoming like you.’

  I very much doubt that. I am the last of my kind.

  Envoy de Vries appeared in the doorway and glanced from soldier to Exarch and back again, then sighed irritably. ‘Form up outside as soon as you’re ready. And don’t dawdle. There is a barge waiting to take us down stream but the owner won’t wait.’

  Streig and Silverdust followed her out of the inn without a word. The Exarch felt a wave of relief as they took their places on a wide, sturdy barge. He stood at the blunt prow like a figurehead while the soldiers spread out across the rear half of the barge and muttered how grateful they were not to be walking. The Envoy and Father Orlov paced the deck and conferred with each other in whispers.

  ‘I don’t like this,’ said Streig, looking over his shoulder to de Vries and Orlov. ‘I feel like you’re walking into a trap.’

  Of course I am. But half the danger of a trap is not knowing it is there.

  ‘So the Imperial Court is only half-dangerous?’ Streig laughed bitterly.

  The Imperial Court is always dangerous, but then, we live in dangerous times.

  The days idled by without much to differentiate them and Streig kept his distance from the Exarch except to bring him food, which invariably found itself cast into the river when no one was looking. Silverdust was long-acquainted with his own company, but the barge began to feel like a prison and the close proximity of so much water left him uneasy. They had almost reached the coast when Envoy de Vries approached.

  ‘Father Orlov told me that Steiner came back to Vladibogdan on a ship, a red frigate belonging to a Captain Romola.’

  Silverdust nodded, sensing the first of his lies to the Envoy was about to be undone, but it had been important to give Steiner a head start, some breathing room to escape and begin to fan the flames of rebellion. He sat up at night on the barge listening to the whispers of the wind and heard Steiner’s name. It had only been a matter of time until the Envoy and Father Orlov heard the same arcane messages.

  ‘You also said the ship sank in bad weather, just two miles from Vladibogdan.’ Envoy de Vries should have been gloating to catch him in a lie, but her whimsical smile had abandoned her, and a tightness around the eyes told of her anxiety.

  That is correct. A powerful storm in the Spøkelsea. That’s when I lost sight of them.

  ‘Both myself and Father Orlov have heard whispers on the wind. The ship was seen in Virag where a street battle took place.’

  Is it inconceivable that more than one merchant ship be painted such a colour?

  ‘The local people say a score of young people used the arcane to defeat Imperial soldiers.’ The Envoy stood before the Exarch and Father Orlov was just a dozen feet away. Silverdust noticed she clasped her hands together to stop them shaking. ‘This is a disaster. Even now rumours are spreading. People are speaking openly of Vladibogdan. Ancient secrets! People are talking about the arcane. How can you be so calm, damn you!’ she shouted. The soldiers lurched to their feet on instinct.

  Silverdust gazed at the port they were headed towards and hoped Steiner had survived. He brushed his arcane senses lightly against the Envoy’s mind, but her feelings were luminous, her heart racing.

  You seem very agitated, Envoy. Understandably so. You have nothing to fear. I will not attack you. I will come to Khlystburg as I have always said.

  ‘You’d best get your story straight,’ said the Envoy, stepping closer, her voice hushed yet furious. ‘It won’t matter if you can see the dead or perform miracles. If the Emperor suspects you of treason he’ll kill you himself.’

  I have seen first-hand how the Emperor dispenses his justice. Silverdust stepped closer to the Envoy, towering over her. It is a type of sport for him. A blood sport. You have seen it too? How he takes lives with the Ashen Blade?

  The Envoy shrank back. ‘You’ve lost your mind.’

  I can assure that is not the case, but I do not fear the end.

  ‘You want to die.’ The Envoy’s face paled, and her brow furrowed in confusion. ‘You welcome it.’

  When you are as old as I, death is only natural. Silverdust turned away from her and took his place at the prow of the barge, willing the last of their journey to pass more quickly.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

&nbs
p; Steiner

  The brigands sat up late into the night, each dealing with the aftermath of the fight in his own way. Some roared their defiance at the stars and spoke of vengeance on the Empire, while others retreated to the shadows. Steiner imagined they were trying to justify the slaughter to themselves. Steiner huddled with the rest of the men near the granary. They’d lit a brazier and stolen chairs from the guardrooms. Nils chanced upon a barrel of mead that added fuel to his already ebullient mood.

  ‘Was it like this on Vladibogdan, dragon rider?’ he almost shouted as he sloshed mead into a cup for Steiner and then for Einar. There was a wildness in Nils’ eyes that put Steiner on edge, and his wide grin looked unhinged rather than joyous.

  ‘The uprising began and I had to take the fight to Cinderfell.’ Steiner took a drink of mead and let out a long sigh. ‘I didn’t have time to celebrate.’ Steiner eyed the long hall where so many soldiers had burned to death. The timbers were glowing a dark red now the fire had dwindled. The scent of charred flesh lay heavy on the air and his conscience.

  ‘What troubles you?’ asked Einar. The brigands’ leader had stolen an Imperial cloak and pulled the hood up against the night.

  ‘Childish thoughts is all,’ said Steiner, taking another drink.

  ‘There’s not a single man here who doesn’t carry the child he once was within him.’ Einar looked around at his crew. ‘Though few would admit it. So. What troubles you?’

  ‘I honestly thought we’d fight them, you know, one on one. A fair fight.’ Steiner smiled bitterly. ‘I thought we’d overcome them with bravery and skill and … I don’t know.’