Behind Keegan was the sprawling, seaside town of Blinding Beacon Falls. As he turned his gaze to the jumbled rocks at the base of the cliff, a beacon of light stung his eyes. The beacon was meant to be friendly, but Keegan had taken up residence and would use it for his own evil end.
On moonless nights he would use the beacon to lure unsuspecting ships toward the rocky shoals. The captains of those ships believed themselves in safe harbor until the mirrors within the lighthouse were flipped around. The light intensified, blinding the crew, and causing the ship to run aground. It had been easy to raid the ship, steal the cargo, and engage the crew in a murderous brawl. The good people there were fleeing as far inland as they could go.
Coarse laughter sounded in the tavern behind him. The tavern door opened and the proprietor stepped out, overseeing four men who carried a small oak table and a pair of chairs. Once the proprietor showed his men where to place the table, he withdrew a dishcloth, brushed off the table’s surface, and swept the chairs clean.
With a nervous flourish of his hands, he gestured for Keegan to sit. “This is an unexpected honor, sire,” he said. “Can I offer you something to drink? Something to eat? A bottle of my finest wine?”
Keegan remained standing. He arched a single dark brow and frowned at the man. “Are you suggesting the wine served in your hovel would be fit for me?”
Beads of sweat sprouted along the man’s forehead. “No, no, of course not,” he stammered. “Forgive me, sire. Perhaps, then, a jug of cool water—”
“A jug of water? For whom? Me, or my horse?”
“I … that is …” The proprietor gazed about in desperation, as though looking for a hole he could sink into.
“Leave me.”
“Yes, sire.” He walked, almost ran, back inside the tavern.
When Keegan turned again, he found he was no longer alone. A dark-haired woman appeared an arms length away, quietly watching him. Shimmering and ghostlike, she hung just out of reach, nearly swallowed by the shadows. It was as though she wasn’t really there at all, and might disappear as quickly as she had appeared.
Accompanying her, perched on the back of one of the chairs the proprietor’s men had brought out, was a large, stately bird with brilliant red plumage.
“Vivienne,” Keegan said by way of a greeting. He gave a low, courtly bow, then pressed a kiss against the back of her hand. Her skin felt like ice to the touch.
“You’re late.”
Ignoring him, Vivienne moved toward the cliff edge. The fabric of her gown, rich blues and greens, swirled around her ankles like a living stream. She studied the sea for a long moment, then lifted her gaze to Keegan’s. Her eyes were as hard and cool as emeralds.
“You gave them my map?”
“Yes.”
“Excellent.” She turned back to the sea. “They’re out there now, aren’t they? They’ve gone after the black book. I can feel it.” A small, cruel smile curved her lips. “Is it true that scavengers overrun the city?”
“Yes.”
“Ah.” It was not so much an acknowledgement, as a purr of satisfaction. “So I was right. The magic of Pernicus remains strong.”
Keegan eyed her curiously. “If you wanted the black book, you could have given the dark map directly to the mapmaker’s sons. Yet you brought both the map and the key to me.”
She gave a cool nod. “Yes. I did.”
“Why?”
“Does it matter?”
“It shouldn’t. But I find I have a curious nature.”
“Very well.” Vivienne trailed her hands along the length of her skirts. As she moved, Keegan heard a subtle sound, a vibration that fell somewhere between the tinkling of ice and the chiming of high-pitched bells.
“Black Book of Pernicus,” she said. “They will bring it to you. But Umbrey, the one-legged one, he knows too much. He studied too long at the elbow of the Hero Twin’s father. He would never willingly allow the book to fall into my hands. Neither would Marrick’s chosen, that boy king.” She turned, facing him directly. “You, however, you are reasonable. We understand one another.”
“Yes. We do.” Keegan’s gaze narrowed. “As long as I get what I want from the bargain.”
“Of course. Control of your little kingdoms. You shall have it.”
“And you? What will you get?”
Icy brilliance shimmered in her eyes. “Everything else.”
The statement hung in the air between them for a long moment, then she moved toward the chair. “Now that all is in place, I will ensure that nothing goes wrong.” She stroked the crimson bird, then lifted her arm and pointed toward the sky, giving an order in a language Keegan had never before heard.
The bird lifted its enormous wings, pumped them once against the air, and soared off into the sky. Keegan followed its path over the Cursed Souls Sea.
When he turned back, Vivienne was gone. The only sign she’d been there at all was a single crimson feather, which drifted from the sky and landed on the ground beside his boot.
CHAPTER TEN
FLAG SACRIFICE
The Purgatory continued its steady passage, the helmsman steering cautiously through the Straits of Dire. Within the galley cabin, Tom took up a position at one end of the rough pine table, while Porter stationed himself at the opposite end. The island of Arx had shown itself earlier, giving them a general idea of the direction in which they needed to travel, but now they needed specifics. Exactly how were they supposed to get there?
At Porter’s nod, they brought their fingertips to rest on the edges of the map. The instant Tom touched the parchment, a sharp tingle rushed up his forearms, shooting past his elbows and zinging across his shoulder blades.
He’d once seen a cat nibble on a live extension cord. Although he could never know exactly how the cat had felt as the electric current had zipped through its nerves—he had only seen the startled feline arch its back, hiss, and run away—Tom had a strong suspicion that the unpleasant sensation he’d just experienced was exactly the same.
At least this time he didn’t feel seasick. The pitch and gentle rolling of the Purgatory helped counter that effect. He watched as the sea depicted on the map sprang to life, waves crashing against each other in a whirling, writhing mass of cross currents, riptides, water spouts, and treacherous ocean swells. Just below the turbulent surface of the water Tom caught glimpses of slithering nests of follies, their serpentine bodies twisted together like snakes, schools of thrashing sharks, stinging jellyfish, enormous octopi, and two-headed eels with glistening fangs.
All interesting, but not what he was looking for. He could sense Porter’s frustration as well. He turned his attention to the map’s geologic features. Bloody Blister Bay, Relic Run, Tsunami Shores, Hurricane Hell, Skeleton Harbor, Poison Gull Beach.
Not exactly exciting places to vacation. Nor was there anything there that might show them the way to Arx. Blocked again. His father’s maps had been so easy to read. But this one, this was like prying open something that had been sealed shut for centuries. His right wrist—the one that had been grabbed by the scavenger’s claw—began to burn and sting.
Refusing to give up, Tom closed his eyes and focused his thoughts on the book. After a moment he felt odd. A current swept through him and the southwestern corner of the map began to glow. Subtle at first, it grew stronger and stronger, turning that portion of the map from a murky blue to a bright pinkish-orange, a color remarkably similar to the folly’s rattle in his pocket.
The sea parted slightly, giving them a glimpse of jagged canyon walls just beneath the surface. As he watched, two spiked peaks rose up out of the sea like glistening coral pillars. Fierce, whistling wind whipped between them. The narrow passage shimmered and shook, clearly indicating their way forward.
Victory surged through Tom. He withdrew his fingers from the map at the same instant Porter did.
“There,” Porter said, not bothering to mask his triumph. “We’ll enter the Cursed Souls Sea there, through that
passage.”
Willa leapt from her chair and traced a path on a nautical map mounted to the wall. “We’re almost there,” she announced breathlessly. “Look! We’re in the southern straits now. If we veer west—”
“Wait just a blasted minute,” Umbrey interrupted. “We’re not veering anywhere.”
“What do you mean?” Willa asked. “You saw the map, it said to go that way.”
“I don’t care what the map said. I’m captain of this vessel, and I’m saying we can’t. Not in this ship. Ask it to show you another way.”
“But—”
“Do it.”
Tom and Porter exchanged a look, then did as Umbrey instructed. The result was exactly the same. As the rest of the map went still, a pair of glistening coral pillars rose in the southwestern corner of the map.
Umbrey sighed and drew a hand across the thick stubble covering his chin. “I was afraid of that.”
“Afraid of what?” Tom asked.
“That channel there. The Coral Canyon. It’s a bottleneck.”
Willa looked at Umbrey, her brows drawn together in confusion. “A bottleneck? What does that mean?”
“It means this.” Umbrey reached for the desk and grabbed a sheet of paper and a quill. He dipped the quill’s tip in ink, then slashed out a rough figure resembling an hourglass. “From the outside, the canyon looks broad enough. But here …” He pointed to the middle of the hourglass. “That’s where it’ll get you. The worst of the coral lurks underwater, sharp as a razor’s edge, right where the current’s the strongest and the wind does nothing but push you forward. It’s a trap, pure and simple. It’ll chew us up and spit us out.”
Tom remembered the way Umbrey’s ship had bumped the gates of Divino as it had sailed past. The Purgatory’s hull was thick and wide. Sturdy. A vessel built to carry cargo over long ocean voyages, not dart through narrow channels. “So there’s no way through?”
Umbrey shook his head. “I’ve heard too many stories of what happened to those who dared try it. There’s no way in. Not in this vessel.”
“Wait a minute,” Mudge interrupted. “Others have tried to find the Book of Pernicus?”
“No, not the book. Salamaine’s treasure. The gold he originally set out to find.”
“So that wasn’t just a rumor devised to rid his kingdom of dark-haired boys? The gold does exist?” Mudge pressed.
“I assume so.” Umbrey pursed his lips in thought. “But—”
“But it doesn’t matter,” Porter broke in. “We’re after the book, not gold.” He looked at Umbrey. “What about your rowboats? Those would fit through the channel, right?”
“A rowboat?” Umbrey let out a grim bark of laughter. “You wouldn’t last ten minutes. The sea’s too rough. It’d swallow you whole.”
“You’re saying there’s no way through?” Porter pressed.
“I’m saying, show me another way and I’ll get you there. Just not that way.”
Heavy silence fell over the room as they stared at the map, as though expecting it to yield an answer to their dilemma.
Tom shifted slightly, and as he did his hand brushed his jeans pocket. The warmth of the folly’s rattle heated his fingertips. Anything. He could wish for anything … but only once. He froze, wracked by indecision. They needed it, but so did he. His stomach churned as he tried to rationalize away all the reasons he should just keep quiet and hang onto the rattle. After all, they’d never know he even had the thing if he didn’t tell them.
But he would know.
And if they failed, Keegan would remain on the loose and scavengers would take over the Five Kingdoms. It would haunt him for the rest of his life. He heaved a sigh (goodbye NBA team, lifetime snowboarding passes, and million dollar lotto ticket), and said, “I think I might have a way for us to get through that canyon.”
He set the folly’s rattle on top of the map.
Willa drew in a sharp breath and staggered backward. Porter jerked back as well, then swung around to glare at Tom. Only Mudge moved toward the folly’s rattle. He leaned forward, examining it closely. “Is that real?”
“Yeah. It is.”
Tom heard the note of pride in his voice, but figured he could be forgiven a little swagger. After all, he had single-handedly fought the vicious folly to which the rattle once belonged. He earned it. He had every right to keep it for himself. Instead, in a gesture of selfless generosity—extreme selfless generosity— he was willing to give up his own dreams and use it to get the Purgatory through the Coral Crater.
He fixed a small smile on his face and looked around the room, waiting to receive their effusive showers of admiration and gratitude.
“Are you crazy? What’s wrong with you? What are you thinking, hanging on to something like that?” This, from Porter.
“Don’t touch it, Mudge!” shouted Willa as she yanked back the boy’s hand.
“I thought I told you to get rid of that blasted thing!” roared Umbrey.
Tom blinked. “Get rid of it? Are you kidding me?” He stared at them. He gestured to the folly’s rattle. “That’s it, that’s our answer! All I have to do is wish—”“NO!” they shouted in unison, lunging toward him as though they were going to slam their hands over his mouth. “Don’t say it!”
Tom looked around the room, then narrowed his gaze at Umbrey. “What is this? You told me I could wish for anything and it would be granted.”
“Aye, but at a cost,” Umbrey reminded him. “Always at a cost. Wishes are dangerous things. I told you that, too.”
“You wish us through that channel,” Porter said, “and there’s a good chance we’ll end up sinking to the bottom of it.”
Tom shook his head. “That doesn’t make any sense. Either my wish is granted, or it’s not.”
“It’s not that simple,” Willa said. Willa studied the rattle with a look of stark revulsion. “You see, follies are tricky creatures. They have an uncanny sense of knowing what their opponent is going to do next. That’s why their rattles are so rare.”
Tom thought about that. In his brief battle with the creature, the folly had guessed his every move well before he’d made it. Looking back on it, he wondered if the only reason he’d managed to slice off its rattle was because he had thought he was aiming for its throat.
“Go on,” he said to Willa.
“The same is true of granting wishes. That folly is still your opponent. Don’t fool yourself into believing he’s not. He’ll know what you’re thinking deep inside and find some way to use your wish against you.”
Porter crossed his arms over his chest and studied Tom. “If you don’t believe us, just look what happened to Midas.”
“Midas? You mean, like King Midas? The guy with the Midas touch?”
“Aye, the very one. A brash man,” Umbrey said, shaking his head in disgust. “A greedy one, too. Hadn’t held the folly’s rattle in his hand for more than thirty seconds when he wished that everything he touched would turn to gold. He got his wish. He couldn’t eat—his favorite foods turned to chunks of gold. He couldn’t sleep—his warm, soft bed turned to a hardened slab of gold. In the end, he died a broken-hearted man when his beloved daughter turned to a golden statue in his embrace.”
Tom slowly digested that. “All right,” he said. “So this wishing stuff is tricky. Got it. But maybe if I’m very careful—”
“Forget it,” Porter interrupted. “Like I told you before, we don’t need you to save us. Quit playing hero. You’ll only make things worse.”
“Are you serious?” Tom’s annoyance with his brother took on a deeper, sharper edge. “Look, I don’t know what your problem—”
The rest of his words were lost when a thunderous boom rocked the cabin. Chairs toppled over. Lanterns, ink wells, and sheaves of paper slid from the desk and crashed to the floor. Tom grabbed the edge of the table to steady himself. Willa stumbled into Porter, Mudge hit the floor.
Only Umbrey, with his one good leg, managed to remain fully upright. Cursing
soundly, he roared out of the cabin and shot up the ladder to the main deck. Tom stuffed the folly’s rattle back in his pocket. Porter grabbed the map of the Cursed Souls Sea, rolled it up, and tucked it inside his shirt. Together they raced after Umbrey, with Willa and Mudge sprinting right behind them.
The shrill clatter of bells greeted them on deck. Crewmen dashed back and forth through a thick haze of acrid smoke. The ear-splitting boom of cannon fire rang out all around them. Until that moment, Tom had no idea how deafening the roar of cannons could be. How the bitter clouds of gunpowder could sting his eyes and clog his throat, totally disorienting him.
In the middle of the chaos, Tom heard a high-pitched whistle bearing straight toward him. He hit the deck, knocking Willa and Mudge down with him. Porter dropped to his belly a second later. A cannonball tore through the heavy canvas sail directly over their heads. It landed in the water on the opposite side of the hull, sending a heavy spray of saltwater pouring down on them.
Then, without warning, a cease-fire. Whoever had been firing on them abruptly stopped.
“Stand down!” Umbrey roared to his crew. “Hold your fire!” He stormed across the deck and snatched a spyglass from a crewman’s hand. “Give me that. Let’s see what we’re up against.”
The smoke and haze slowly cleared. The Purgatory pitched and rolled as the helmsman tried to maneuver the bulky vessel into a battle-ready position.
Tom rose to his feet and gazed out across the starboard side. As he watched, a three-masted ship drifted out from behind a floating mass of trees. The vessel was entirely red. Billowing red sails, sleek red hull, and polished red decks.
The ship didn’t move like Umbrey’s vessel, or like any other ship Tom had ever seen. It was smaller, quicker, almost cat-like in its maneuverability. It strutted across the water, taunting the Purgatory with its lithe grace. Then it swung around, its cannon bearing directly down on Umbrey and his crew, taking up a position of unmistakable hostility.
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