The Language of Ghosts

by Heather Fawcett

  But Mite, possibly too emboldened after her earlier success with Eron, yelled “Yah!” and flung the water from the remaining saucepan in his face.

  The soldier stopped in his tracks, sputtering. He drew a hand across his face. “Black seas! What in—”

  “Run!” Noa shouted. She dropped the stewpot, which sent up a geyser that drenched her legs, and hooked the wheel with her arm. It was mounted on a post driven into the earth, which came free with a spray of dirt when she yanked on it. She pulled up the mast and tossed it to Mite.

  Mite threw her empty saucepan at the man, which went wide. Frightened by her own courage, she let out a squeak and dashed after Noa, the ratty sailcloth flapping behind her.

  The soldiers’ voices drifted down the hillside as they ran. “Come on,” the wet man said, sheathing his sword.

  “Ah, let them go,” the woman said.

  “They know about the antidote,” he hissed. “They must. Why else—”

  “Those two? They’re just kids, Ryland,” the other man said. “You could use a bath, anyway.”

  “What was that stuff they ran off with?” the woman said.

  “Dunno. Looked like what you’d find in a scrap heap.” There was a clang as the man kicked the abandoned stewpot. “No surprise the poor brats trapped on the Dark Lord’s nightmare island don’t have much to occupy them. . . .”

  They reached a grove of trees, and the voices faded. Noa had no idea where they were going. The pathless bracken was rough against her bare legs, and also, inconveniently, it seemed to be a favored gathering place for iguanas. Noa began to feel like she was doing more hopping than running.

  Finally, once her panic wore off, she made a beeline for the nearest hill. They were almost at the coast again, and to the south stood a row of basalt sea cliffs.

  “Here,” Noa gasped when finally they reached a patch of elevated ground that was relatively clear of lizards. Below them, a tangle of mangroves spilled into the sea.

  Ignoring the stitch in her side and the black dots swimming across her eyes, Noa grabbed a rock and drove the wheel into the earth. She took the mast from Mite, who had been ineffectively banging it against the ground, and twisted it around until it stuck.

  “All right,” Noa said to the island grimly, taking the wheel. “Let’s see if you have any life in you. Raise the sail, Mite.”

  Mite’s hands moved to the rigging. Then she froze, her gaze fixed on something beyond Noa’s shoulder.

  Noa turned. Atop the nearest sea cliff, perhaps fifty yards away, stood Gabriela, Xavier’s First Mage. Her long blue-black hair billowed in the breeze, as did the red cloak pinned with a golden star like a crossed X—the king’s symbol. It winked in the light.

  She was looking right at them.

  Noa’s heart thudded. She hadn’t seen Gabriela in a year, since the day Julian had discovered that the talented apprentice who had snuck onto his island—and into his trust—claiming to be a supporter was in fact one of King Xavier’s mages, and a spy. She’d been a spy from the very beginning, and if she’d ever returned Julian’s feelings for her, she hadn’t let it get in the way of her mission. Gabriela had spent five months on Astrae, all the while sending regular reports to Xavier about the island’s defenses, Julian’s followers, and everything he was planning. Everyone had expected Julian to kill her when he found out, but for some reason, he hadn’t. Instead, he’d stranded her on Cortes Island, part of a remote chain barren of everything but black rocks and penguins. Somehow, she had survived, and King Xavier had rewarded her betrayal by promoting her to First Mage.

  Gabriela’s arms were folded, one hand resting lightly against her chin. In her red cloak, she was like a wound in the blue-gray sky. Her beautiful face was thoughtful, which Noa took as a bad sign. Though only seventeen, Gabriela looked years older, her face aged and scarred by a childhood lived on a fishing boat in often harsh conditions. She had been truthful to them about that part of her past, at least, but almost everything else she’d told them had been a lie.

  Noa’s face grew hot. Like most people on the island, she had liked Gabriela. But Gabriela had betrayed Julian to Xavier. Now she had attacked Astrae. Noa wished Julian had killed her.

  Gabriela seemed to notice Noa’s expression. Slowly, she raised a hand, but whether in warning or greeting, Noa didn’t know. Gabriela knew how the prow worked, but Noa doubted she knew that the king’s cannons had nudged the island into motion. Otherwise, she would surely have stopped them already. Gabriela wasn’t a dark magician, but she was so good at Salt spells that she was widely considered the most dangerous mage alive, after Julian.

  “Mite,” Noa growled.

  Mite raised the sail with shaking hands. In the same moment, a group of black-clad mages charged over the hill—Julian’s mages, led by Renne. He must have rallied everyone uncorrupted to his side—now they were trying to retake the island.

  Gabriela noticed their approach. She made a lazy gesture that reminded Noa of Julian, her lips moving in an incantation Noa couldn’t hear, and a wave leaped up and flooded the ground between her and the mages. One of the mages was washed away. A salt mage shouted an incantation, and a wave surged up the side of the cliff. Gabriela whipped around, holding up both hands, and barely managed to force the wave back before it closed over her head.

  “Noa, look!” Mite cried. The sail was stirring in the wind—faintly at first, but then it opened fully, and the island gave a lurch.

  Several of the mages stumbled and fell. Gabriela swayed, but caught her balance. Noa whooped, throwing her weight against the wheel. The island gave another lurch, and then it began to turn.

  The mages were closing on Gabriela now. Her gaze flicked from them to Noa and Mite, her expression unreadable. Then, dashing her hair gracefully from her eyes, she turned and dove off the cliff.

  Noa and Mite ran to the edge of the hill. But Gabriela had already vanished beneath the waves, with only a slight ripple in the water to mark her passage.

  6

  Julian Discovers the Lost Words

  King Xavier tried to follow them, of course.

  At first, it seemed like he might catch up. His cannons continued to bombard the island, though most of the missiles fell upon the beach. The captains of the ships put in a heroic effort, the ships’ vast crimson sails puffing out like frigate birds, but nothing could catch Astrae when it got going. The island had the added advantage of being invisible if viewed from behind (meaning whatever direction it was moving away from), so the captains were basically chasing a ghost. They didn’t have a chance.

  Because it didn’t matter which way they went, as long as it was away from the king, Noa let out the sail and kept Astrae running downwind. She had watched Kell sail the island so many times that she didn’t even need to refer to her notes in the Chronicle. If the sail was properly trimmed, Astrae could outrun any ship in the royal fleet. It took only a few minutes for the warships to fade into the ocean mist. Islets whipped past alarmingly fast, and the wind was fierce enough to make Noa’s eyes water. Astrae vibrated a little but otherwise settled into the galloping pace like a well-trained racehorse.

  Noa found out later that only one of the boats had made it ashore. Still, the twenty or so soldiers on board, including several mages, managed to come close to seizing control of the island. They had easily subdued the frenzied, corrupted mages on the beach, then broke into search parties to track down Julian and his council. Noa and Mite had met one of those parties. Another had entered the castle unopposed and made immediately for Julian’s tower. Poor Tomas had been so unnerved by their pounding on the door that he had hidden in the bathroom. Fortunately, though, an old spell Julian had placed on the tower door, barring uninvited entry to anyone not of Marchena blood, had kept them out until he woke up. Once that happened, of course, the invasion was over. Julian had ordered Beauty to capsize all the rowboats still in the water, and Noa doubted that many of those soldiers had managed to swim to safety.

  Noa spent much of
the next day writing in the Chronicle. She sat on the beach in the shade of a barnacly boulder, trying to ignore the racket the earth mages made as they shifted soil and stone to repair the castle staircase, which had fared the worst in the attack. Miraculously, Julian’s tower had taken only a few glancing blows. Mite had done more damage to it than the king’s warships had.

  Noa turned to a fresh page, adjusting the tortoise shell she was using for a desk, which worked surprisingly well. In addition to recording yesterday’s events in meticulous detail, she had also made note of everything they knew about what she had decided to call the White Fever—symptoms, incubation time, and so on—and the poison that had caused it, in case Xavier ever tried something like that again. She had also drafted a list of safety precautions, including hiring official food tasters. She knew from experience that Julian would roll his eyes at something as sensible as precautions, but she intended to bug him until he listened.

  Noa took another bite of lemon-lime cake. It was possibly the most delicious thing she had ever eaten, crisp on the outside and bursting with sour custard that tasted like sunbeams. Tomas’s father had been sending an endless stream of cakes to the castle as a thank-you for looking after his son. Julian had already sent a messenger to plead with him to stop, as the kitchen cupboards would soon be overflowing, but the man seemed impossible to put off. Noa and Mite didn’t mind.

  Noa took a break from writing to flex her stiff fingers. The tide was returning, waves lapping against left-behind shells and little pools of crabs and anemones. Gulls squabbled over a dead fish, and the wind brought the taste of rain to Noa’s lips. A volcano huffed and puffed in the distance, shrouded in a cloud of steam.

  Noa went back to the Chronicle, but her skin was crawling. Something had changed. She looked again, casually, and she figured it out. The water close to shore had darkened, as if a thick shadow had fallen across it. Every few seconds, the shadow would undulate back and forth.

  “Hello, Beauty,” she called, trying to keep the nervousness from her voice.

  The serpent lifted her head above the water. She was so close to shore that the waves broke against the back of her head. “Hello, dear. I hope I didn’t startle you.”

  “Not at all,” Noa said. “But I believe Julian warned you against creeping up on people. It’s not exactly polite, is it?”

  “You’re mistaken, little Marchena,” Beauty purred. “I was merely taking a nap. I didn’t even see you there.”

  “Of course.” Noa nodded, as if she didn’t know that Beauty’s favorite game was getting as close to someone as she could—especially nervous young sailors newly recruited to Julian’s service—and then lunging out of the water with her huge jaws snapping inches from their head. “I’m sorry to wake you.”

  “Oh my, that’s all right,” Beauty said. “Do you know, I was having a dream about you. Dear Julian was there, too.” She licked her lips with her black tongue. “It was a very good dream.”

  “It’s not good to go to bed hungry,” Noa said coolly. “Though I would have thought you were full after feasting on all those soldiers yesterday.”

  “It takes a lot to satisfy me, child.” She sniffed the air. Her huge body made the beach look small. “Dear me, what is that delicious smell?”

  Noa unwrapped the half-eaten cake. “This?”

  Beauty’s black gaze sharpened. “My, yes . . . Would you be so kind as to allow me a bite?”

  “Be my guest.” Noa didn’t think she’d be able to eat with Beauty staring at her, anyway. She tossed the cake in the air, and the serpent caught it neatly on her tongue.

  “Mmm,” Beauty groaned. “Delicious!”

  “I thought you only ate people.”

  Beauty gave a polite little laugh. “Oh, no. Actually, I don’t really care for the taste.”

  “I’m not sure what’s worse,” Noa said. “Eating people because you like it, or eating them even though you don’t.”

  “Your brother doesn’t seem to object either way.”

  Noa looked away, and Beauty let out a low hiss of amusement. The truth was, while Noa and Julian’s mission to retake Florean hadn’t been much harmed by the mango attack, Noa’s secret mission had experienced a setback. She’d been able to convince Julian to set the soldiers they’d captured free, but it hadn’t been easy. He’d been all for tossing them to Beauty, or leaving them to starve on some barren rock. Seeing Noa and Mite in danger seemed to have hardened something inside him, and Noa could tell that he’d only given in because he was tired of arguing with her, not because he saw the point in being merciful to soldiers who, after all, were only following their king’s orders.

  Noa tapped the Chronicle. She had to stop Julian from doing wicked things; it didn’t count if he simply refrained from wickedness when she was around.

  “What’s all this?” Captain Kell stomped into view, Renne at her side. Kell’s silver hair caught the sunlight like a beacon as her gaze moved from the massive serpent to Noa, insect-sized in comparison, sitting only feet from Beauty’s jaws. “Is this old snake bothering you, girl? If so, I’ll give her reason to regret it.” Her hand went to her sword.

  Beauty paid Kell no attention. But then, she usually ignored everyone except the Marchena siblings.

  “Let me know if you’d like to chat again, dear.” Beauty licked her lips, spattering the Chronicle with spit. “Particularly if you have cake.” Then, in an uncannily quick motion, she shot back out into the deep.

  “It’s fine,” Noa told Kell, shaking off the Chronicle. “We were just talking. I gave her a piece of cake.”

  “Cake?” Renne repeated, blinking.

  “Yes. Apparently sea serpents can’t get enough of it.”

  Kell shook her head, her sun-darkened face creased with a frown. She looked halfway presentable, her wild silver hair tied back and her clothes relatively free of holes, which meant she must’ve just come from a meeting at the castle. Normally, Kell looked exactly like the ex-pirate she was—which is to say, like she’d just been rescued after a month on a deserted island, possibly with a tsunami thrown in somewhere. “What have I said about talking to that creature? You can’t get pearls from an anemone. D’you know how many ships I’ve seen sunk by serpents, torn right in two with all hands lost? Leave her be, child. She’s the king’s folly and nothing to do with you.”

  Noa didn’t bother to mention that it was Beauty who hadn’t left her be. “I hope you don’t mind that we moved the prow.”

  “Not one bit!” Kell’s warm brown eyes grinned down at her. “Nice to have a change of scenery once in a while. Though I must point out, the spot you chose is lousy with lizards. Not a moment goes by without one running over my toes, which are fearsome ticklish. . . . Speaking of the prow, I’ve got you down for a shift tomorrow night. Up to it?”

  “Oh, yes,” Noa said with a stab of excitement. Taking a shift at the prow mostly just involved sitting around and making sure no storms blew the island off course. Still, Noa loved it. There was nothing like sitting at the wheel as the stars gleamed above you and Astrae glided through the sea like a ghost, knowing you had an entire island at your command.

  “Thought I could teach you some mariner’s knots, too. You proved yesterday you’ve got a knack for sailing. Where would we have been without you?”

  Noa didn’t think mariner’s knots would come in handy on Astrae—after all, the only bits of ship the island had were the mast and the wheel—but she agreed readily. You never knew when something like that would come in handy. Noa was of the opinion that it made good strategic sense to collect as many skills as possible.

  Reckoner limped into view, belly swinging from side to side. The old dragon sat down heavily and sniffed Noa’s pockets. Finding them empty, he heaved an enormous snort, as if resigning himself to the injustice of the world, and slouched off to the grass to take a nap.

  Reckoner’s appearance was a sign that Julian was nearby, and sure enough, there soon came the sound of his light footsteps on the
path. Kell and Renne bowed, murmuring, “Your Highness,” and left them.

  Julian settled himself gracefully on the beach beside Noa, unclasping his black cloak to use as a blanket. He had healed his injuries, but his eyes were shadowed from little sleep. Like most of his magicians, he’d been up all night, searching for mages and villagers who were still corrupted and assessing the damage wrought by the king’s attack.

  “Where’s Mite?” Noa said.

  “We just finished today’s lesson. I made her take a nap, though she insisted she wasn’t tired. She fell asleep halfway through the first sentence.”

  Noa snorted. Mite refused to sleep unless Julian read her a story first. The last time he went away, she had refused to go to bed at all, and had driven her nursemaid to distraction by leading her on a chase through the castle, which had only ended when Mite fell into an exhausted slumber in one of the kitchen cabinets.

  Noa didn’t often get Julian all to herself these days—at least, Julian undistracted by his books and maps and experiments. She wasn’t going to waste the opportunity, so she arranged her arguments in her head like soldiers. “I have some ideas—”

  “Yes, I know you do,” he said, regarding her with amused exasperation.

  Noa hadn’t expected this. “You . . . do?”

  “You’re like the sun, my Noabell. I know that it will rise in the east and set in the west, just as I know that you’ve already hatched a hundred plots and schemes to prevent another near-disaster like yesterday’s. And you will badger me until I agree to all of them. Your arguments are unnecessary. That’s why I came to talk to you.”

  Noa’s surprise was slowly giving way to suspicion. “Is it.”

  “You don’t have to look at me like that. What, do you think I came here to give you a lecture? After what you did yesterday?” Julian rubbed his head. “You saved us all. You saved me from—” A shadow crossed his face. “I won’t ever forgive myself for how close I came to hurting you two.”