by Giles Carwyn
“Please,” she whispered. “Don’t leave us, not now. Dad won’t talk. Shara’s gone. We need you.”
She held out her arms. The gesture was pitiful, her scrawny arms stretching up to him. Astor sighed and knelt in front of her. He reached out to her, and she wrapped herself around him.
“I’m sorry,” he said. He held her for just a few seconds before stepping to the rail and tossing her overboard.
“Asssssstorrrrrr!” Her scream was cut short as she splashed into the bay. None of the soldiers on deck said a word. Astor watched his little sister as she spluttered to the surface. “Astor!”
“Go home!” he shouted.
“Astor, no! Wait!” She tried to grab the side of the boat, but it slid past her.
“Go home!”
He walked to the stern as she desperately tried to catch up with the ship and grab hold of the rudder. Baedellin was a fantastic swimmer, but she wasn’t that fast.
Astor watched from the rail, the wind ruffling his hair, until his sister was just a dark blot of red hair swimming furiously through the choppy bay. He could still hear her screaming at him.
Swim to shore, you idiot, he thought. Swim to shore.
But she just kept paddling after him as the ship pulled farther and farther away.
CHAPTER 7
Shouts overhead woke her, and Ossamyr opened gummy eyes. Another sailor called out, the words muted by layers of wood. Something was happening.
Putting her hands to her face, she tried to clear her jumbled thoughts. She was curled up in the pitch-black and numbing cold. She still wore her clothes, but they were stiff and scratchy, coated with filth. The reek of her own vomit and feces stung her nose. She could taste it when she breathed. Why am I still here? How long has it been?
Her head pounded as though someone was lightly kicking her skull over and over. She shifted and cried out in pain. Her joints were stiff, locked in place. She was hemmed in on all sides, trapped in a tiny space. There was no way to sit up, no way to stretch.
I’ve thought this before, she realized suddenly. All of this, all over again. Her thoughts were clearer than they had been in a long time, but she still felt as if she was waking up after a week of drinking.
They drugged me, she thought sluggishly. It chilled her to think of it.
She had vague memories of a terrible thirst and a foul-smelling soup. She could have been down here for weeks.
The ship lurched sideways, and her stomach flip-flopped. She leaned over and vomited into the darkness. The foul liquid ran down the slope of the hull and pooled warm against her leg. She shifted to avoid it and bit back another cry, as pain lanced through her crippled joints.
Her misery was cut short by a grating scrape that rumbled along the length of the hull. Hope surged in her chest. We’ve docked, she thought. A dock meant land, and land could mean escape, if only she could get off the ship. She had to be ready, had to prepare before they came for her. Begin with the breath, she thought. Just breathe.
She controlled her inhalation, evened out her exhalation, but all it did was reawaken her nose, and the stench made her gag.
Take yourself away, she thought, away from this place.
Ossamyr closed her eyes and breathed, falling into the spell in moments. Slowly, a wisp of power scampered through her body, then another. The power began to swell. She imagined she was back in Physendria with Brophy.
She woke up in his arms and immediately felt a stab of panic. Ossamyr had never fallen asleep with a man before. She’d crept away from all the other boys long before dawn. The queen always slept alone, with guards at every door. But somehow she had let herself slip with this one.
“I think I’m falling in love with you,” he said, when she stirred. He pulled her back tighter against his chest.
They were words she’d heard many times before. Words she’d never once believed.
“It was different tonight,” he whispered. “You didn’t seem so far away.”
She pretended to be asleep.
“I liked that. I liked seeing you when I looked in your eyes.” He paused, searching for words. “But it made me sad too. I hated seeing how lonely you are…Behind your eyes…” he murmured, drifting back into sleep. “So sad, locked in there all by yourself.”
The queen had nearly leapt from the bed, nearly called for the guards and ordered them to chain him to a chariot and drag him down the King’s Highway until the flesh peeled from his bones.
But instead she just closed her eyes, bit her lip, and prayed that the dawn would never come.
A fist pounding on wood crashed through her dream.
Ossamyr jolted awake. The darkness of a cell. The reeking filth.
She kept her breathing steady, and the magic hovered around her in a thick fog. She held the power close, readying herself. She might only get one chance.
“Wake up, witch,” a husky voice called from outside her prison.
Heavy tumblers clicked, and a rusty squeak grated in the door’s lock. She could throw a glamour over herself, make herself irresistible—
No, let them see a half-starved, shivering woman. Let them underestimate her.
The thick slab of wood swung outward. Harsh light stabbed her eyes.
“What a stench!” the deep, rough voice exclaimed.
Ossamyr pushed her magic into the man, sinking her tendrils into—
Nothing. He wasn’t there.
“Get the hell out of there so I can shut this door,” he growled.
She hesitated. That wasn’t possible. Again, she tried to touch the man with her magic.
“I said get out of there.”
A meaty hand grabbed her arm and dragged her through the doorway, tossing her across the ship. Ossamyr’s head smacked against hard wood, and she crumpled to the floor. Her breathing faltered as she cried out. She couldn’t make her legs work. Her arms were limp sticks, unable to push herself upright.
Calm, she thought. Cycle the breath. In and out. In and out…
She was still blinded by the sudden light, but she reached for the man again with her magic. He simply wasn’t there. She reached beyond him, searching the crew above. Yes, they were there, men and women on the dock outside, on the deck overhead. But not this man.
“Don’t test my patience, witch!” He was enormous, with a voice that rumbled like the beating of distant drums. “You’ll probably die for what you’ve done,” he said. “No need to reach that shore any quicker.”
Ignoring the giant, Ossamyr turned her energy inward, letting her ani flow into her arms and legs. She clenched her teeth and managed to force herself to a sitting position, trying to maintain a scrap of dignity. Her eyes slowly adjusted to the lanternlight.
Her captor had a square jaw, shadowed by at least a week’s worth of beard. His nose was bent, and a deep scar twisted from the bridge of it to his ear. Like all Silver Islanders, his arms were scrawled with tattoos. The size of the man was unreal. He had legs like tree trunks and arms as thick as a ship’s mast. If Ossamyr could have reached into his chest and crushed his heart with her magic, she wouldn’t have hesitated.
A rough, mirthless chuckle erupted from the man as he studied her expression. “Save the poison stare. If your smell didn’t kill me, those devil eyes won’t either.” He paused, about to rub his chin, but stopped, looked at his hand with a sour expression, and dropped it to his side. “My name is Reef, and I’ll decide in the next few hours whether you live or die.”
Ossamyr bit back a venomous reply. She had to get off this ship and back to Efften. All that mattered was the containment stones. Getting to them. Getting them back to Brophy. She had sailed through that killing storm. She could sail through this.
She tamed her gaze. Clearing her throat, she rasped, “I would prefer to live.”
“No doubt. What mage ever cared about something more than her own skin?”
He was baiting her, testing her temper, but she didn’t care. She kept her tone civil. “Why am I here? Wh
y did you capture me? Drug me?”
He shrugged. “Crew had to keep you that way. No doubt you’d have killed them if they let you form a steady thought.”
With each passing moment, her head cleared a little more. Keeping part of her attention focused on Reef, she sent her magic into her arms and legs, easing the tortured, tightened muscles. Her body responded, but she did not untangle herself. She felt she could rise if she had to, but this barbarian didn’t need to know that.
The hulk crouched, resting his massive forearms on his knees. “I’m going to ask you a few questions. If I don’t like your answers, you’ll be swinging from my foremast before dawn.”
Reaching behind his back, he fumbled with something, jerked his arm, and brought out a small lump of leaves wrapped in a leather thong. He tossed it on the deck at her feet.
“Eat it. Eat all of it.”
Ossamyr looked him in the eye.
“You don’t need that,” she said. “I have nothing to hide from you. I’ll tell you the truth.”
He snorted, and his mouth curved up on one side in a half smile. “Whatever you say, witch. I’ll listen to your truth. Then you’ll eat it anyway, and I’ll find my truth.”
She clenched her teeth. Her arms vibrated, and it was all she could do to keep her anger in check. Picking a fight with this arrogant savage would avail her nothing. Not now. Once she figured out how to use magic on him, then the story would be different.
“What do you want to know?” she said evenly.
“You’re one of the Sleeper’s witches, aren’t you?”
“His name is Brophy—”
“I don’t care about his name. You’re from the Blue City, yes?”
“If you mean Ohndarien, then yes I am.”
He shook his head, frowning. “What were you doing on Efften?”
“I went there looking for containment stones. There are rumors that Efften has stones that—”
“I know what the stones do. I’ve seen them.”
Ossamyr paused, holding her breath. It was infuriating. This man had had the stones in his grasp the entire time and refused to use them.
“What did you want them for?” he asked.
“To wake Brophy.”
He shook his head, growled. “You arrogant fools have no idea what you are doing, what kind of power you are tampering with. Wasn’t the Nightmare Battle enough of a warning?”
Ossamyr’s lips set in a straight line. She didn’t answer.
“It’s arrogance like yours that destroyed Efften in the first place.”
“That’s funny,” Ossamyr hissed. “I thought it was your people that destroyed Efften.” She inwardly cursed herself the moment she spoke. She could not afford to lose her temper with this man.
But he didn’t seem angry. Instead, his half smile returned. “They signed their own death orders. We just swung the axe.” He paused, and his smile disappeared. “They got what they deserved.”
He made a brief gesture as though tossing something over his shoulder. “Doesn’t matter. Your trip there was for nothing.”
“What do you mean?” she asked.
“They woke him seven days ago. Your witch mistress and the Awakened Child.”
Time slowed for Ossamyr.
“They released Brophy?” Could it be true? Was this barbarian lying to her?
He nodded. “The Child of Efften brought your precious containment stones from Ohohhom. Between her and your mistress, they’ve damned us all.”
Ossamyr closed her eyes. Shara found a way. Thank the Nine. Thank the Seasons.
“I warned her,” Reef said. “Wrote it down plain as the day, but she ignored me.”
Her heart soared, and despite herself, a little sob escaped her. She couldn’t help it.
“Don’t start crying just yet. The boy is mad, as we knew he would be. He is as much a tool of the black emmeria as any corrupted, and twice as dangerous. Just like that baby who should never have been awakened.”
“Mad?”
“No one can survive being immersed in black emmeria for five minutes without being corrupted. You think that boy could be immersed in it for two decades and come out unchanged? The first thing he did when he woke up was kill his mother.”
“His mother died a long time ago.”
Reef shook his head. “The other one. The old Sister of Autumn.”
“Baelandra…” Ossamyr said slowly. No. He was lying. He had to be lying. “That one.”
Ossamyr shook her head. Her thoughts were reeling, refusing to take form. Brophy free? Baelandra dead? An image came to her mind of Baelandra standing in the rain as they fought on the docks.
“What happened?” she murmured through numb lips. “Where is he now?”
Reef spat on the door of the tiny room they had trapped her in. “What do you think? You mages can’t even conceive of the notion that you are the villains of the world. They didn’t kill him, like they should have. They had a party for him, sent him off to Ohohhom with the ice-eyed witch, just like she wanted. They even sent the Heartstone with him. That’s like handing a child a red-hot coal on an oil-soaked boat.”
“What? Why would she want Brophy?”
“It’s not Arefaine. It’s the black emmeria that wants him. The Awakened Child is just a fool dancing to the emmeria’s song, led by the nose just like the wizards of Old Efften.”
Reef snorted. “The black emmeria drove your precious Brophy to madness, and it twisted that poor sleeping girl into what she is today.”
He leaned closer. She could see his teeth; smell his breath as he spoke in a deadly voice. “The black emmeria thinks, witch. It is alive. And it will consume everything. You, me, everything. And arrogant idiots like your boyfriend and his new lover are taking it right where it wants to go.”
CHAPTER 8
Issefyn’s hand twitched on the door handle. It felt as if there were a dozen roaches scuttling across her arms, her back. They would start, then stop, then start again. She had to get home, but she kept a smile plastered on her face. Her eyes sparkled with interest.
“…just dreadful, really,” Quinn was saying as they hovered outside her front door, locked in a conversation that refused to die. Ever since Lord Vinghelt passed through the locks yesterday, Quinn had brought the subject up a dozen times.
Quinn was a tall woman with pronounced curves. The voluptuous Sister of Summer towered over the rest of the birdlike council.
“This rebellion in Physendria must be stopped,” she prattled on. “Those radicals are tearing the country apart. I can’t stand the thought of all those suffering children. If the Summer Cities can keep the peace by sending their fleet into the Great Ocean, we really ought to help.”
Talking to Quinn was like having honey poured down your nose. The woman was so sweet, so caring it made Issefyn want to gag.
“I agree, we cannot abandon the children to war and deprivation,” Issefyn said, her headache growing steadily worse. “But I am certain that the Sister of Winter has her reasons for denying the Waveborn passage.”
“Vallia is a brilliant woman with a heart of gold,” Quinn said of the crusty old bitch. “But Physendria is in need. Shouldn’t we help everyone we can? Perhaps we could send some of our own men as well.”
“I had not thought of that,” Issefyn lied. They were her own words, whispered in Quinn’s ear by Ceysin as he pushed up her skirts.
Ceysin was Issefyn’s latest plaything. He’d taken over the duties abandoned by that idiot Suvian after he blundered his way onto that redheaded peasant’s knife. Ceysin had been hastily schooled to accomplish the tasks meant for Suvian. Since Shara had run away to blubber over her broken heart, it would be much easier to recruit the helpers she needed.
Issefyn could picture Ceysin’s head lying on Quinn’s plump thigh, feeding those thoughts into her mind after stuffing the woman like a honey-roasted piglet. The boy had done remarkably well for only having a week to work. It had taken him the first four days to get into he
r bed. Since then he had laid the Sister twice, and was taking her well in hand if she was parroting his words back so accurately. Issefyn wondered what Quinn’s husband, the Master of the Citadel, would think of her afternoon indiscretions.
“I only want to do what is right,” Quinn continued. “We must make Vallia see that people are more important than traditions. Doing what is right is more important than doing what is safe.”
Ever since Arefaine had flooded the Heartstone with black emmeria, it no longer protected the Sisters of the Council, something that delighted Issefyn to no end. The sheep could no longer hear their shepherd’s call, which made Ceysin and Issefyn’s tasks sinfully easy.
“Vallia will see in her own time,” Issefyn assured her.
Unfortunately, Vallia remained as intransigent as ever. Issefyn could only guess at what was balking her magic. Was the old woman really so strong?
“It might be too late by then,” Quinn urged. “Really, Issefyn, you must take a stronger hand in these meetings. Shara-lani was never shy to offer strong counsel.”
Issefyn shook her head and paid the price immediately. The headache seemed ready to split her skull in half. She forced her lips into a smile. “It is not my place, dear. I am merely an advisor. I do not want to push the council in one direction or another.”
Quinn’s forehead creased in frustration, and she banged her fat fist on the doorjamb. “It’s just so frustrating when the obvious solution is right in front of everybody’s face, and they refuse to see it.”
“Consensus is often difficult to achieve, but it is the heart and soul of Ohndarien.”
“Tell that to those foolish boys who went running after the Emperor.” She bit her lip. “I know I keep repeating myself, but poor Astor’s grief has put us in a very difficult position. A war with Ohohhom would be—”
“Captain Shindin and his crew will return with the boy and his rogue Lightning Swords.”
“Yes, but before they do irreparable harm?”
“The Emperor is well protected, Quinn,” Issefyn said, wishing she could twist the insipid Sister’s head off and end the painful conversation. “Captain Shindin was less than a day behind. He will overtake those boys before they reach Ohohhom and bring back the errant Heir of Autumn.”