by Alec Hutson
“I have prayed many times to Ama about these matters, I assure you. My way is clear—I must accompany this boy on his quest. If he succeeds, he might turn aside a doom that is coming to claim these lands.”
“But you cannot refuse the High Mendicant!” the older cleric said shrilly, looking around to his followers for support.
“I can, and I will. Believe me, I have very good reasons, ones I cannot share with you at this time. You must trust me.”
The mendicant made a cutting motion with his hand. “No! The Tractate is clear on these matters. The Pure are the sword arm of the faith, but they are subordinate to the emperor and the High Mendicant. You will be cast out of your brotherhood if you disobey!”
Senacus’s expression remained impassive, but Keilan had traveled long enough with the paladin that he could see the conflict roiling beneath the surface. “Tell the High Mendicant that what I do is for the good of all.”
“I… I must command you to be seized, then.” He turned to his lightbearers, swallowing hard. “Warriors of Ama, bind the wrists of this renegade paladin and the boy. The High Mendicant insists that they return at once to Menekar.”
A few of the lightbearers shifted their feet, but none moved to apprehend the Pure. “Warriors of Ama!” the mendicant tried again, more impassioned. “The Pure has been misled, perhaps by a demon –” he shot a hard look at Nel, and she snorted and rolled her eyes. “– perhaps by the boy sorcerer’s honeyed tongue!”
“He gave the boy up to a sorcerer from Dymoria!” cried the younger mendicant, trying to rally the lightbearers. “You remember, yes? His corruption must have happened long ago! We are honor-bound to execute the will of our High Mendicant and bring the Pure before him!” The mendicant took a few confident steps towards where Senacus waited, but then faltered as he noticed that none of the warriors were following. Realizing he was all alone, he quickly scurried back.
“Seric, is it?” Nel said, turning away from the followers of Ama.
“Aye, goodwoman.”
“Ready your boat to sail.”
“Aye.”
Pelos joined his nephew in preparing the boat, bending to loosen the rope wrapped around the iron spike driven into the docks while Seric leapt aboard and started hauling on the lines that would raise the patched sail.
“Come on, lad,” Pelos said, motioning for Keilan to come aboard. “Best you were away.”
The older mendicant’s face had flushed crimson and his jaw was opening and closing, but he seemed unable to say anything more. With a last, long look Senacus turned from the outraged cleric and stepped over onto the boat.
“Goodbye!” Nel cried cheerily to the mendicants as the wind filled the unfurled sails and began to push them farther down the river. Pelos, still crouched on the docks, waved a more somber farewell.
The Sea Beggar drifted south, borne along by a favorable wind and the strong currents of the river Lenian. Along the banks, salt marshes speckled with great mounds of cut hay gave way to a thick tangle of bloodbarks, roots reaching like splayed fingers down into the water, branches laden with crimson leaves casting the river’s edges into shadow. They passed a boat much like the Beggar heading upstream, a dozen rowers straining hard against the current. A man in a bright green coat who looked to be the captain gave a familiar wave.
“Rhabin,” Seric muttered, then paused to spit into the river. “Must think I’m mad.”
“Why’s that?” Nel asked, her hands on the low railing and the strong breeze tangling in her hair as she watched the other boat recede.
Pelos’s nephew gestured at the empty benches and the long oars piled in the middle of the boat. “Usually I’d take five or six strong boys with me for when the wind or current is contrary. But one of those light-blinded fools was going to do something stupid if we didn’t push off back there.”
“What will we do then when we reach the sea?” Keilan asked, fearing he already knew the answer.
Seric offered another red-stained grin. “This ain’t a leisure cruise. If the wind ain’t friendly when we get to the deep water your arms are going to be mighty sore by the time we reach Ven Ibras.”
Nel glanced disdainfully at the oars. “And if we part ways there? How will you get back?”
“Hire a crew. There’s good money bringing folks… and other things… from the islands to Theris.”
“So this isn’t your first time sailing to Ven Ibras?”
Seric chuckled at Keilan’s question. “No, it ain’t. My uncle may have told you I stay on the river, but that’s only what he knows. Truth is, I go to Ven Ibras every few months. There’s a few goods that sell for cheap in the islands and most dearly in the Kingdoms.”
Nel snorted, tapping her boot on the wooden hatch at the bottom of the boat. “Sounds like your hold has seen a lot more dreamsmoke than it has fish.”
Seric shot her a look of surprise. “Might be it has. The Iron Duke don’t allow dreamsmoke through the city’s gates no more—says it rots the soul—but the river trade is harder to stop.”
With that Seric leaned back, his hand on the tiller. Nel turned away with a sigh, returning her attention to the swiftly-moving riverbank. Keilan found a comfortable spot near the prow, enjoying the feel of being on a boat again after so many months on land.
Eventually the river widened, the water becoming choppier as they neared the mouth, and soon the Beggar passed into the sea. They stayed close to the coastline, and Keilan recognized familiar landmarks: a ragged line of dun hills, a sweeping expanse of blood-red forest, black rocks like jagged teeth marking the entrance to the bay where his village had fished. He thought he could see tiny black specks beyond the rocks—perhaps his Uncle Davin, returning in relief to a life devoid of sorcery and strangers. But the doom that was coming would not spare his village, no matter how much they wished to ignore the outside world.
Keilan was lost in thought, the lands that had once encompassed his entire world dwindling into obscurity far behind them, when a warm prickling told him that Senacus had come to stand near him. He looked away from the horizon and found the paladin leaning with his elbows on the railing, watching the shore slide past.
“Senacus,” Keilan said, and the Pure turned to face him, the light from his eyes muted in the strong midday sun, “was it hard to refuse the mendicant on the docks?”
The paladin brushed aside a stray lock of his silver hair that the wind had displaced. He’d also allowed it to grow long on their journey east. “In a way,” Senacus said slowly, as if choosing his words with care. “But I’ve been disobeying the leaders of my faith ever since I agreed to help you on your quest. I was tasked by the High Seneschal himself with bringing you to Menekar.”
“What I don’t understand is how they knew we were traveling together. Do you think the Lady Numil or one of her servants informed the High Mendicant?”
Senacus shifted uncomfortably, glancing at Keilan quickly and then looking away. “I told them.”
“What?” Keilan said in surprise.
“I wrote to them, when you were visiting your seeker friend in the Reliquary.”
Keilan’s hands tightened on the railing. Senacus had betrayed them? Had Nel been right not to trust him? “Why would you do that? You knew what they wanted.”
Senacus sighed deeply, and Keilan saw in his face how much this admission pained him. “It was Menekar we saw destroyed in the Oracle’s vision. I had to tell them that something terrible was coming, so that they could prepare. I sent a letter describing what we saw in the coral cave… and why it had been shown to you. I told them I had prayed to Ama and this was the path I strongly felt I should take.”
Keilan’s mouth twisted. “It seems they didn’t agree.”
Senacus hesitated a moment, as if unsure whether he should say something. “There’s more. As I told you, I cannot trust those chosen to lead the faith. I believe
there is corruption in the temple—after all, I was dispatched to capture you with a sorcerer at my side. Whoever sent Demian with me must have known what he was. That thought terrifies me. But the High Seneschal—I saw him, dead in the Oracle’s vision. I thought he could be trusted. Now, though –” Senacus squinted into the sun, his jaw clenched “– the only one who can command me is Ama, and when I need his guidance I will turn within myself to ask him.”
Keilan put his hand on Senacus’s arm, and the paladin flinched, then smiled sadly. “Look at us,” the Pure said. “Sorcerer and paladin, ancient enemies brought together.”
“Perhaps that is what the world needs,” Keilan mused. “For everyone to set aside their hate.”
Senacus grunted his agreement, his gaze returning to the distance.
Keilan watched him. The realization that the paladin’s world had changed just as much as his own jarred him. Perhaps the changes were even greater for Senacus; the rock upon which he had built his life—that his faith would always oppose sorcery and its dangers—had been split asunder.
“Senacus, I have another question for you. In my village… in Chale, you were so reserved. So quiet.”
The paladin nodded slightly. “Yes. It was not my place to interfere.”
“What do you mean?”
“It was your time. Also… I wanted to see what you would do. Would you lash out in anger for what they had done to you and your mother? Would you hurt your uncle for the pain he had caused you? I was worried on the road when I saw you use sorcery to frighten them.”
“And now?”
Senacus picked at a loose splinter in the deck railing. “Every follower of Ama chooses an Aspect of the Radiant Father to guide their actions. Some choose anger or hate. I do not—the Aspect I try to hold in my heart is compassion. And I think you are the same.”
“Land!”
Keilan squinted in the direction Seric was pointing, shielding his eyes from the sun. For a moment he saw nothing, and then he became aware of the thin dark smudge clinging to the far horizon.
“Is it Ven Ibras?” he asked, and Seric nodded.
“Aye. We’ve made excellent time—thank the Shael for this wind. It always has been at our backs.”
Their journey had seemed to be a blessed one. After staying close to the coast for the first day they had anchored with the western forests of the Kingdom still in sight, and while they had slept on the boat’s deck the seas had been so calm that Keilan dreamt of being rocked to sleep in his mother’s arms. Then the next morning they had turned south, venturing into the open ocean, and luckily the wind had shifted to accommodate their new direction.
It had been comforting to be aboard a boat again, with all the familiar sounds and smells. He’d spent much of the journey leaning out over the side, listening to the hiss of the waves against the hull and watching the sun glitter on the water. Nel seemed less enamored with sailing, as any food she attempted to put down ended up soon over the side. When Keilan had approached her with a bladder of water drawn from one of the barrels on board and asked her to drink, she’d turned to him with a face so pale and haggard that he’d then suggested she should rest in the ship’s hold and lie down for a while out of the sun. That had actually summoned a sickly smile and something between a laugh and a sob. Apparently, she did not find appealing the thought of trying to rest in a dark, cramped space that reeked of fish, dreamsmoke, and whatever else Seric had smuggled.
Soon they would be back on land, though, as the smudge in the distance was rapidly growing larger, and Nel could eat a meal without the deck rolling beneath her feet. When they had approached close enough that Keilan could see the outline of a sizeable town nestled at the base of a forest-cloaked hill, Seric gestured at him to catch his attention.
“Hey, boy. There’s some sandbars out here, so I need to keep my hand on the tiller. Open up the hatch and pull out the orange and green cloth bundled inside. We need to fly those colors when we get into the harbor so everyone knows whose protection we’re under.”
Keilan nodded. “And whose protection is that?” he asked as he made his way across the deck.
“Man’s name is Pak Tan. He’s a trader, of sorts. Well, more like a middleman. Matches goods to captains or stores them in his warehouse.”
Keilan gripped the tarnished handle and pulled, but the hatch barely budged. “What happens if we don’t show his colors?”
Seric chuckled grimly. “Well, the people of Ven Ibras left piracy behind many years ago, but they’re still a bunch of thieves.”
Keilan continued straining until with a rusty squeal the hatch finally swung open. Foul-smelling air washed over him, and he wrinkled his nose, nearly gagging from the stench.
“You should…” he began, but then something white and round swam up from out of the darkness of the hold. He scrambled back, crying out as it emerged from the hatch—thin arms clawing for purchase on the deck, snarled yellow hair, and a dirty face with one green and one blue eye…
“Sella!” Keilan cried out as the girl hoisted herself from the depths.
“What in Garazon’s black balls is that?” Seric yelled. “And what is it doing on my boat?”
Sella took a few big gulping breaths of the fresh sea air as everyone stared at her in open-mouthed astonishment, then she rushed over to Keilan, who was still on the deck, and threw herself at him.
Her first punch hit him in the side, the second boxed his ear and made his head spin. He raised his hands against her flailing arms, but then she was hugging him, her face on his shoulder.
“Sorry I smell so bad, Kay,” she whispered into his ear. “Down there it ain’t nice.”
“What were you doing in the boat?” he asked numbly, still in shock. Her fingers clutched at his back like she was clinging to a rock in the middle of the ocean. With some effort Keilan managed to push her away, his hands on her knobby shoulders. “How?”
She lowered her mismatched eyes. “Hiding. Cause I knew you wouldn’t let me come.”
“Who are you, child?” Nel asked harshly, crouching beside them. Senacus loomed behind her, frowning, his arms crossed.
Sella glanced at Nel and the towering paladin, and Keilan saw fear in her wide eyes. Then she scowled fiercely. “I’m Sella. Banny’s girl.”
“Banny?” Nel asked, the confusion clear in her face.
“Her father,” Keilan explained quickly. “Sella’s my oldest friend. She’s from my village. Well, near my village.”
“So near,” Sella said with venom, “yet you couldn’t stop by the farms and let me know you’d come back.”
“Well, I… you know, I just…”
Sella snorted and looked away. “Hmph.”
“How did you get in my boat, child?” Seric asked angrily. “Tell me, or by the Ten I’ll toss you over the side and let you swim back.”
Sella glanced back at Keilan, and he saw the fear in her eyes again. “I won’t let him do that,” he said quickly. “But you need to tell us how you got here.”
Sella swallowed hard, casting an uncertain glance at the red-faced Seric. “I came down to Mam Ru’s in the morning an’ she told me you had been there the day before. She said you were looking for news about your mama, and that you’d gone up to Chale with Pelos.” Sella wiped at her eyes, and her hand came away wet. She sniffled. “I couldn’t believe you’d come back and then left without seeing me. So I ran all the way to Chale. Found a little barn outside the walls an’ slept in the hay. Then went inside, and what do I see but him,” Sella said bitterly, pointing a grubby finger at Senacus, “walkin’ through town with half of everyone staring at him like he was Ama himself. I remembered he’s the one that grabbed you an’ took you away,” she shot another foul look at the paladin, who raised his brows in reply, “and then there you were, stumblin’ along beside him. I followed you all and when the priests started making a ruckus on the doc
ks I slipped onto the boat when no one was looking and found a place to hide. Been down here forever and a day, feels like.”
“But why?”
Sella turned her angry eyes to him. “Cause I wasn’t about to let you run off again!”
“What about your da and ma? Your sister?”
“Well, I’ll come back,” Sella said slowly, as if she was talking to a simpleton. “With you, once you find out about your ma.”
“You’re going back as soon as Seric puts us on the docks,” Nel said firmly. “He’s stuffing you once more in that hold and not letting you out until he gets to Chale.”
“No, I’m not!” Sella yelled back, putting her hands on her hips.
“Oh, yes, you are,” Nel replied, shaking her finger at Sella. “Our path is far too dangerous for children.”
“Keilan’s with you,” Sella said, jerking her chin at him. “He’s only three years and two months older than me.”
“Keilan has been trained by a Fist swordsman and fought monsters.”
Sella glanced at Keilan, her eyes round. “Really, Kay? Monsters?”
“Well, I –”
“You’re helpless,” Nel continued. “Just a little girl.”
“I remember her fighting quite fiercely,” Senacus said softly, and they all turned to him. It might have been his imagination, but Keilan thought he saw a ghost of a smile tugging at the corners of the Pure’s lips.
“Be quiet, paladin,” Nel said, rounding on him. “Seric is taking her back to Chale –”
“No, I’m not,” said Pelos’s nephew calmly, and then spat red juice over the side.
“What?” Nel and Keilan said at once.
“Ain’t going back to Chale for a while,” Seric said, digging something out of his ear and flicking it away. “I’m gonna keep on sailing for a while until Ama’s faithful forget all about me. Maybe a month or two. I’ll keep heading west; always wanted to see the Whispering Isles. Don’t want to return and have some big stupid lightbearer try to beat out of me where I sent you all.”