A Dying Land (Magicfall Book 2)

by K. Ferrin

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  She had awoken before the sun had stained the eastern sky pink, and she had vanished back into the opaque pink depths of the bay as soon as she’d finished reading through the grimoire. Even now, a part of her refused to accept what she had read. But she knew it was true. It was the only explanation for why she had slept huddled in a boat so rotted it barely remained afloat. She didn’t waste time debating it. The book had made it clear she was in extreme danger. She’d hide now, find her way across the seawall, and worry about the rest of it later.

  According to the grimoire, the only way to the other side of the seawall was through Malach. Grimly, she headed for the port city, swimming along the bottom of the great bay. As she drew closer she heard the sounds of engines beating mercilessly against the water as boats flew across the surface above her. There was a lot of action up there, a stark contrast to the emptiness she’d experienced on her way to the Colli Terra. But down deep at the bottom it was quiet and peaceful. Down here she could almost forget the trouble she was in, the fate of her friends, and even her mother telling Hanner to torture and kill her.

  It didn’t take her long before she reached Malach. The water became increasingly shallow and suddenly narrowed into channels lined with beautiful green stone. She floated upward, allowing her head to break the surface just enough to see where she was.

  Warlocks huddled in tight clusters along the walkways, talking and gesturing animatedly. Others moved purposefully, singly or in groups, clearly with someplace they needed to be. Walking around up there would be completely impossible. She would have to find her way back to the lift using the canals. They knew she could stay submerged and out of their sight. What she didn’t know is whether they would anticipate her run for the Mare Tenebrarum. They could have an entire army of ships already out there waiting for her.

  Hours passed as she swam up and down the channels, slowly working her way toward the elevator that would get her back to the Darkling Sea. Several times she stopped, frozen, as she listened to the pounding of feet or raised voices shouting above her. The city was clearly on high alert. She desperately wanted to know if they all sought her or if factions of warlocks were fighting amongst themselves. More precisely, she wanted to know if everyone up there was her enemy or if she had some friends amongst them. People she had never met, but who believed in what she and the Mari were fighting for.

  At some points the water became so shallow she wondered if she could pass without stirring the surface and giving herself away. If the water had been any less opaque, she would never have made it, but the pink liquid kept her hidden from view.

  It was late afternoon when she finally realized she had found her way to the lift, and a light haze was lifting from the surface of the water as the air above cooled. The walkways were still crowded with warlocks, and the lifts were in constant use. She lurked near them, studying how they worked, searching for some way she could ride up that vast wall without being seen. But try as she might, she could only see one way up that wouldn’t involve immediate detection and capture. She would have to climb.

  The lift was powered by magic, but the mechanism itself was quite mundane. A wooden frame hugged the wall and housed the lift from the base all the way to the top of the wall, with the ropes and pulleys clustered to one side between the lift and the wooden structure that supported it. She would climb the wooden frame, keeping the ropes and the giant gears between herself and the lifts. This meant anyone in the lift was less likely to spot her, but it also meant she was tightly wedged between ropes, gears, and, behind all of them, the immovable seawall itself. One wrong move and she would be strung up like a gutted pig just before feast day. It wouldn’t kill her, but she would be discovered for sure. She tucked her trousers into her boots, her shirt into the waist of the trousers and snugged the grimoire as tightly against her body as she could. She didn’t want anything loose on her body that could get caught up in the gears.

  She moved slowly, testing every handhold before committing, watching the movements of the lifts themselves to ensure she didn’t get caught in the moving gears or rope. It was slow going.

  Evening was approaching by the time she finally made it to the top. She hid behind two large ropes on the Malach side of the platform. Freedom was three hundred feet straight across from her, but it was three hundred feet of wide open area filled with people, some number of whom wanted to capture her. Maybe all of them, for all she knew. She cursed herself for not thinking this part through better. She could have stolen some warlock robes, perhaps fooling them just long enough for her to launch herself from the far end of the palm shape that served as the dock and into the Darkling Sea. A woman sprinting across the open space would not go unnoticed.

  A few feet away, a cloaked figure shifted as he turned toward her, his burning eyes cutting through the dim light. He was filthy, his face reddened and blistered, purple-black lumps bulging in several places, eyelashes burned away in some terrible accident, and there was no doubt he saw her. She stared at him, terror slowly shifting into shock, and Mercer stared back. He was angry, but with her or someone else?

  He spun away from her, raised one cloaked hand, and shouted, “I see her! Over there!”

  His words cut through the general din and sent a thrill of fear up her spine. Instantly, every head turned in his direction and then followed his pointed finger toward his right, away from where she needed to go. Many of the people milling about sprinted in that direction, clearing a channel between her and the end of the palm facing the Darkling Sea.

  She stood dumbly for several seconds, shocked to see Mercer and by the shape he was in.

  “Run! Now!” he hissed at her.

  The command broke through her surprise, and she bolted from the cover of the ropes and gears, sprinting for the far side of the platform. The pounding of a hundred footsteps shook the ground beneath her feet as everyone leapt into action.

  “Catch that bitch!”

  “Keep ’em off her!”

  She could hear bodies colliding all around her, and a tingling electric feeling filled the air. She dodged and leapt wildly, eyes pinned to the far side of the platform and to freedom. Warlock fought warlock. More than once she skidded to a halt, spinning to avoid grasping hands only for some other robed figure to knock her pursuer to the ground. Bodies fought and flailed, everyone heaving and slamming against their opponents. The ozone smell of magic was everywhere. She had no idea who was friend or foe. She avoided them all and ran.

  An arm wrapped itself around her neck from behind, and she felt her legs fly out from underneath her.

  “Fucking changelin’, think you can escape us?” The voice was feminine, the arm around her neck solid as stone.

  Ling threw her weight from side to side, but she could not dislodge the woman’s grasp on her neck. The far side of the platform was less than a hundred feet away. She could smell the salty tang of the sea, taste it on her lips.

  She dropped her weight to the ground, upsetting her captor’s balance, then shot to her feet. The woman slipped, barely, but it was enough for Ling to spin in her grasp and shoot an open palm into the woman’s face. The heel of her hand connected with the woman’s nose, and she felt a sickening crunch as warm blood sloshed down her arm. The woman screamed, and for an instant silence fell around her as everyone looked toward the sound.

  Ling shot from the harsh circle of the woman’s arms like an arrow from a bow. The path in front of her was clear, but it wouldn’t be for long. Even as that thought entered her mind, she watched as robed figures boiled into the gap, choking off her path of escape. An open glass globe containing some potion spun through the air toward her, spitting a clear, harsh-smelling liquid from its top as it went.

  She ignored it and ran. Hands closed on thin air as she slid past their owners. Behind her, the glass container slammed into the ground, and she felt a wash of heat as it exploded into flames. Screams of outrage turned to screams of agony, but the edge of the platform wa
s now only twenty feet away.

  She didn’t slow down as she approached, but threw herself off the ledge at a full run, knocking three people off as she shoved her way through them. She hit the water and kicked her feet, pushing herself out into the open sea and away from the palm as quickly as she could. Far off in the distance was the paper-thin line separating the world of light from that of darkness. The only place she would be safe.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  She swam hard, not even bothering to hide. Her only hope was to get to the Darkling Sea by any means necessary. From the corner of her eye, she made out a single, four-masted ship moving to head her off. It had been clustered with a dozen or so other ships, but was pulling ahead while the others wallowed. She could see figures swarming the decks of all of them, and she thought they must have been lurking there in case she fled this way. The four-masted ship might be in the lead, but it was only a matter of time before they all joined the chase. She cursed as she swam. Fariss had anticipated her every move.

  The lead ship seemed to fly across the water, barely making a splash as it skimmed along the surface. It swept toward her at an unnatural speed, and she realized she would never beat it. She stopped and was preparing to dive when it dawned on her that there was something familiar about the figure standing at the wheel, legs spread defiantly, hair whipping in the wind. It was Drake! The ship was the Courser.

  The other ships were on the move now, and dozens of them were arrayed behind the Courser in a long jagged line. They were quite a distance back, but they were closing fast. She wrestled with the question of whether she could trust Drake, whether she should trust Drake. Even if the woman was an ally, doing so would put the entire crew at risk.

  Her mind flashed back to the scene she’d witnessed while on board. Drake and Alyssum were lovers, but they were more than that. Alyssum had openly discussed things that Ling felt would only be shared with trusted allies. Drake was already involved, that seemed clear.

  But Fariss had been on the Courser too, and Drake hadn’t warned Ling away from him. She had even let Ling leave with him. Whose side was she on really? Ling had so many questions and not enough answers. If she dove now, she could hide. The Courser and the others would simply sail on by. They’d search to be sure. More and more ships would clutter up the sea here, but she’d be able to swim past them undetected deep underwater.

  A loud buzzing vibrated in her ears, and suddenly she felt herself being snatched up out of the water. She looked up in shock to see that she was clasped in the talons of a massive dragonfly, its sapphire blue scaling flashing in the bright sun. The wings moved so fast they were a blur, creating the impression the creature simply floated above the rolling surface of the sea.

  Fern half carried and half dragged her toward the Courser, Ling’s feet skimming the water and throwing rainbows in every direction. She was too heavy. Fern struggled to carry her, and she could feel herself slipping from Fern’s grasp as they sped toward the ship. They were going so fast, Ling thought for sure they’d slam into its side, but at the last possible instant, Fern threw herself upward, flinging Ling onto the deck before she, too, slammed against the boards, tumbling in a blur of blue scale and iridescent wing. The ship seemed to gather itself, like a horse onto its haunches, before it burst into a full sprint across the open sea, racing toward the safety of the Mare Tenebrarum.

  “Fern!” Ling shouted, getting to her feet and running toward the prone form of the dragonfly. As she approached the figure shimmered, leaving Fern limp on the deck of the ship. “Fern, are you okay?” Ling knelt beside her in a panic.

  Fern’s face was drawn, and there were deep hollows under her eyes. She was battered. Scratches covered her skin and scales, blood flowed freely from several open wounds, and plum-colored bruises bloomed all over her body.

  “Back up, back up! Magic be damned, I told her not to fly!” A man shoved Ling aside and knelt beside Fern, pushing her hair back from her eyes and pressing bandages against her bleeding wounds.

  “I’m fine, Dreskin,” Fern said as she slowly pushed herself to her feet. “I’m fine!” She pushed him, leaning heavily against the rail as she climbed to her feet. “Are we going to make it?” she asked. “I can take her myself—it would be faster.”

  “We’ll make it.” Dreskin answered. “You couldn’t carry her another ten feet, let alone make it to the Mare.” He handed a blanket to Ling and then moved toward Fern once again. “At least let me bandage the bits that are bleeding.”

  “You…you made it!” Ling was shaking with relief. She wanted to throw her arms around the Mari, but she felt oddly shy with so many others present. “Where’s Alyssum? Is she in the cabin?”

  Fern’s face spasmed. “Come,” she said, and grasping Ling’s hand she pulled her to the tail end of the boat, Dreskin cursing her as he followed in their wake.

  From their vantage point, Ling could see that the scatter of ships chasing the Courser were catching up. No doubt their speed was generated by more than just a steady wind. Ling wasn’t at all sure they would make it to the Darkling Sea before those ships caught up. Worse, she wasn’t sure they’d need to. Those boats were overflowing with powerful magic.

  “Fern, Alyssum? Is she okay?”

  “We both made it,” Fern said. “But she was hurt, Ling. Badly.” Fern choked, tears spilling down her cheeks.

  “Where is she?”

  “She’s in the caverns below our home, where our ancestors lie.”

  “The tombs?” Ling felt a rush of dread. “Is she dying?”

  “I…I don’t know. I wanted to stay, Ling, but she wouldn’t let me. She said I had to come with you. She said…” Fern paused, her head drooping into her hands. Ling wrapped an arm around Fern’s shoulders and sat down on a coil of rope beside her. Dreskin finished tying off bandages against the worst of the bleeding and knelt on the deck in front of them. He rested one hand lightly on Fern’s knee.

  “She’ll be okay, Fern,” he said gently, and suddenly Ling realized this was the Dreskin from the grimoire. He had told her to seek out the Courser, where she had learned that Alyssum knew him. That must be how Fern knew him, as well. He had survived his injuries after the wreck of the Crimson Float and had somehow made it here, onto this ship, at this exact moment.

  Fern wiped her eyes and nose on the back of her hand and met Ling’s gaze once again.

  “She said it was up to us now. She said nothing on Marique could help us and that closing the rift was our task now. She said you needed help more than she did, and she forced me to swear I would come find you.” She broke down once more, shoulders heaving with the force of her sobs.

  “She is in the best place she could be. She will heal there and then come for us,” Dreskin said. Ling studied him. He was most definitely not just a boatsmyn on a riverboat.

  “You don’t know. You didn’t see her,” Fern said.

  “The magic has healed her before, it will heal her this time too,” he said.

  The air above their head exploded in a shower of fire. Ling dropped to her knees, staring up in fear.

  “Keep sailing!” Drake’s voice bellowed from somewhere above them. “The wards will hold!”

  Three more explosions cracked the sky open, all of them immolating themselves against some invisible barrier above. The flames hit the same barrier and slid down it until they vanished, sizzling, into the water below. Ling watched as glass globes filled with variously colored substances spun through the air, lobbed by the trailing warlocks, only to smash against that barrier. Her nose filled with a sharp herbal smell, and Ling wondered how they managed to fling the globes so far.

  “Fariss, that animal,” Fern said. “Captain!”

  “I smell it,” Drake replied curtly. “Engines!” A burp of thick black smoke boiled into the sky as the ship began vibrating. The water around them began churning.

  “What is it?” Dreskin asked.

  “Blaualgen, they call it. It’s vile Tovenveran potion-making. Trust me, you
don’t want to die this way,” Fern said.

  “Fern?” Ling said, staring at the bubbling water surrounding them.

  “They designed it to dissolve her, Dreskin. Break her back down into…well, whatever it is she’s made from,” Fern said. She went to stand at the stern, staring at the ships arrayed behind them. They were close enough now that Ling could make out the individuals crowding the decks.

  “Fern,” Ling called to her friend more urgently. To either side of the ship, the water was roiling fiercely, far beyond what the churning of paddles would ever create. “Fern!”

  Fern finally looked at her, and Ling gestured at the water. Fern’s eyes widened in confusion before her face went slack. Ling recognized the look, Fern was scanning the earth below them looking for the cause.

  An angry shout pulled Ling’s attention away from the churning water. She looked up to see a dark mass of seething shadow swoop down upon them. Flashes of white, gray, and powdery shades of blue danced in the bright, sunlit sky. By the time Ling realized what was happening, the shadow had passed, and their sails hung in tatters.

  Tovendieren, Ling thought. “Treantos,” she said aloud. The towering man with glowing white teeth and a friendly manner who had walked with a swarm of reptiles at his feet. Who had sent those same reptiles to watch as she and Fern sought a way in to rescue Alyssum. The man who’d betrayed them to Fariss.

  Fern’s eyes focused, and she shouted up at Drake. “Drake, you need to move faster!” Her voice was laced with panic.

  “What is it?” Drake shouted down.

  Fern pushed past Dreskin and stood beside the wheelhouse, shouting up at Drake.

  “They’re aiming to sink the ship, Drake. You need to put on more speed!”

  The ship was slowing, the sails flapping in useless tatters. The oars worked furiously at the water, but without the added speed from the sails, they would never stay ahead of the pursuing ships.