by Will Wight
This was another characteristic of the absurdly devout: they always pretended to know more than they did. “You haven’t answered my question.”
“To understand the answer, you must first understand the question.”
Fury flowed into her from the Vessel on her ear, and both earrings lit up. One shone with the power of unreleased flame, and the other restricted that power, protecting her from its corrosion. To some degree.
Green fire played around her fingers, and she examined her fingertips as though searching for the proper words. “I owe a debt to the Great One who freed me from captivity, not to you. I owe you nothing. I do not know you, nor do I know what I’m doing here, and until I do I’m afraid I can’t cooperate. If it is your job to guide me, as you claim, then I suggest you start doing so. Otherwise...well, I am a Soulbound. And you’re not.”
That was an assumption on her part, but a good one. She wasn’t a Reader, so she couldn’t sense if one of the man’s rings or necklaces might secretly be his Soulbound Vessel, but she doubted it. The Sleepless had only one true combat-capable Soulbound in their membership, and the cabal valued her highly because of it. He may have been a mercenary Soulbound hired by the cult for this one task, but then he wouldn’t have been so secretive about the nature of that task. Besides, only a true fanatical believer would blind himself.
The man stroked his thin beard like a sage in thought. “By definition, I cannot be a Soulbound. One requires something to bind, after all.”
Before Jerri could think too hard about that statement, the room shook. The flesh of the walls quivered, and the living light flickered. “That one was closer,” she said.
“Closer,” her companion agreed, “but they are not yet striking at the heart. It’s merely a flesh wound, as they say.” He smiled to himself, revealing two teeth capped in gold.
It had been perhaps three days since Jerri had been stuck in this room, though it was hard to tell the exact time without access to natural light. She remained surrounded by skin and muscle as though she’d been swallowed by a great Elder whale, food oozing through disgusting openings at regular intervals. Her transmission through the void had taken her directly here, and she’d waited in the dimness for instructions. In vain, so far.
Yesterday, the blind man had appeared next to her, presumably through a void transmission similar to her own.
It was he who explained exactly where they were: the center of the Imperial Palace, inside the Emperor’s personal rooms.
That knowledge had distracted Jerri for hours, as she explored the suite of flesh-covered rooms in a new light. This was the bed where the Emperor had slept. Those paintings were favored by the Emperor. The decorative swords on the wall, if they had ever been used by the Emperor in self-defense, would count as some of the greatest weapons in history. She wished Calder was here, so that he could appreciate the rich stores of Intent that no doubt lingered in this room.
As always when she thought of Calder, pain and sickness and anger rolled through her. She had handled him badly, she knew. Almost as badly as she ever could have. The assassin Shera had shown up at the worst possible time, before any of her plans had borne fruit. When Jerri finally saw Calder again, she had been forced to act out her duty as a member of the Sleepless. She could hardly have made a worse impression.
But still, he had abandoned her in a cell. Her own husband. It hurt.
Make him listen, her Vessel demanded, indistinguishable from her own thoughts. He cannot stop you.
To distract herself, to keep her from another fight with her own Soulbound Vessel, she turned her attention to the one object in the room she didn’t understand. Behind a shattered section of wall, inside what must once have been a hidden closet, there was a knot of gray-green flesh the size of her entire body. More than anything, it reminded her of the Heart of Nakothi, as though the Heart itself had grown a hundredfold and swallowed something inside.
Between the folds of its flesh, she caught a glimpse of silvery bars and wires. Like an intricate cage of polished steel, packed into Elder flesh.
She’d examined it for two whole days with no result, and had only barely resisted the temptation to burn it away with her Soulbound power. But she’d forgotten to ask her new, unhelpful guide about it. Until now.
Jerri pointed to the mass of metal and meat. “Is this what they’re after?”
Her companion turned to her, studying her through sightless eyes. “So even blind humans can find the truth if they root around long enough.”
She gripped fistfuls of her red pants to keep her irritation in check. No one had ever nettled her quite so thoroughly as her blindfolded guide; even with a Vessel that provoked her to rage, she had maintained an agreeable disposition for years. She thought of herself as quite a gentle person, though she longed to blast this man to smoking pieces. “You would be the expert on blindness, I suppose.”
“Indeed, thank you for noticing,” he said gravely. “I can tell Readers apart from the blind, though most cannot. It’s a skill I spent much of my life perfecting.”
As with most everything he’d said, that statement tied her brain in knots. He could tell the difference between Readers and ordinary people? How? Calder was one of the more skilled Readers she’d ever known, and even he couldn’t do that. Perhaps only the Emperor could.
She examined him more closely. His skin was dark enough, he was the right build, and he spoke in oblique riddles. Perhaps he was a royal; one of the direct descendants of the Emperor. That would certainly explain his attitude.
The room shook again, and this time the air between Jerri and the hidden silver cage rippled. It was almost invisible, as though someone had thrown a rock and managed to disturb space, and for a moment an image of another place flickered in front of her eyes. It was so vivid that it swallowed all of her senses—she smelled burnt wood, tasted the salt of the ocean, saw sunlight on waves—and so quick that she couldn’t make out details.
It was the vision of a Reader, shared with her for a split second. She’d seen such things before.
“Did you see that?” she demanded.
“I’m not permitted to, I’m afraid. Safeguards.”
She pointed to the flesh-covered steel again. The gesture didn’t help anything, since he couldn’t see it, but she felt like pointing. “What is that? Why do they want it?”
“It’s the key that controls the world,” he said softly. “Almost obsolete now, but it has its uses.”
Jerri was going to wring answers out of this man if she had to sift them from his ashes. “What uses?”
“At this moment? In this place?” He smiled again, his gold teeth gleaming. “It’s bait.”
The room continued to shake as the enemies outside—the Imperial Guard, she supposed—kept launching their attacks. No matter how she pleaded, or demanded, or threatened, her guide gave her no more answers.
Which was fine, she eventually decided. If no one would tell her what she was supposed to do in this overgrown room, she would decide for herself. And she’d already decided where she would start: by burning her way out.
CHAPTER FIVE
Eleven years ago
Two Imperial Guards dragged Calder Marten out of the Emperor’s palace. He had been kept in a room, not a prison cell, but he was still a prisoner. His eyes burned from a night spent weeping over his father instead of sleeping.
His father, who had been killed on the Emperor’s orders. Right in front of his eyes.
One of the Guards was a slender woman with vertically slitted eyes, whose head jerked at the slightest sign of movement. A pair of feline tails twitched behind her, and the hand that wasn’t holding onto Calder’s shoulder sprouted short claws. Her partner loomed over her, a muscular giant with bony spikes growing out of his skin like ominous armor. He supported most of Calder’s weight, propping Calder up with a forearm when the young man looked likely to fall. His spines jabbed into Calder’s chest every time.
They both wore the red-and-black
uniforms of the Imperial Guard, marked with the Aurelian Shield crest: a shield emblazoned with the moon-in-sun emblem of the Aurelian Empire. Like everyone else in their Guild, they had been alchemically imbued with the power of Kameira, forever changing their appearance and giving them a host of strange powers. None of them more frightening than their Guild Head, who could kill with little more than a touch.
Calder tried to drum up some anger at the Head of the Imperial Guard, but the image of the woman killing his father brought him nothing but grief. Jarelys Teach wasn’t responsible for Rojric Marten’s death.
The Emperor was.
And so was Calder.
May his soul fly free, Calder thought, and almost wept.
The pair of Guards dumped him out on the street as soon as they passed through the gate of the Imperial Palace, and he didn’t bother to stand up.
The woman pointed with one claw. “An Imperial officer has been assigned to supervise you for the foreseeable future. He awaits aboard your ship, in the harbor. Do not attempt to leave the city by land, or you will be hunted down. At dawn tomorrow, if you have not departed on your ship, you will be hunted down. If for any reason your officer fails to make his regular report, you will be hunted down.” She spoke as though she read from an especially boring shopping list.
Calder just nodded, still collapsed on the paving stones. He hadn’t expected to be assigned an officer, but it made sense. He owed the crown for a ten-thousand-goldmark ship. They weren’t simply going to turn him over to the Navigators without any supervision.
“Report to your ship by sundown at the latest,” she continued. “If you do not, you will be hunted down. Do you know your way to Candle Bay?”
“I wish I didn’t,” he said.
Calder waited until the Guards were gone before pushing himself to his feet. There was no point in going anywhere except straight to the ship. His mother lived in the city, but she couldn’t help him, and he dreaded telling her what he had done. His best chance at freedom lay in The Testament, his new ship, and in his job for the Navigator’s Guild.
Maybe, once he cleared his debt, he could make the Emperor regret ever letting him live.
Jerri appeared at his shoulder, placing a feather-light hand on his arm. “Calder?” Her eyes were dark, warm, concerned. “Can you walk on your own?”
He demonstrated by marching a few steps down the road, scarcely paying attention to where he was going. “We have to get to the harbor.”
“I heard,” she said, hovering like she expected him to collapse.
He remembered the Emperor’s face, cold and focused, with the crown gleaming gold on his dark, hairless head. It focused his willpower and his anger, propelling him through the crowd and down the crowded streets. “No one ever stops him,” Calder said. “No one can.” Jerri nodded as thought she understood perfectly.
“Someone should,” she responded.
He had expected more of an argument. She drifted along beside him, apparently unconcerned, her eyes forward and her braid hanging down her back. Her eyes were red and half-lidded, as though she too had gone without sleep.
The sight sent a note of guilt thrumming through his gut. He had been focused on his own pain, his own tragedy. He’d forgotten about Jerri. She had been taken along on his plan, caught up in the summoning of an Elder and the destruction of Imperial property. While he was being tried by the Emperor, she must have been sick with worry, left with no idea what would happen to him.
“I’m sorry,” he said at last. “This is my problem, not yours. You should go back to your family.”
Jerri looked at him, eyes wide in evident surprise. “And miss the Aion Sea?”
That reminded him: she had been eager to attempt a jailbreak, delighted at the appearance of the Lyathatan, and just as angry at the Emperor as he was.
She, at least, didn’t blame him for the disaster that had ruined their lives.
He couldn’t have faked the smile that split his face in that moment. “I should have known better.”
~~~
Waiting for them on the deck of The Testament was a dark-skinned Heartlander man in a pristine white suit. His white pants were freshly pressed, his white shoes polished, and his white hat round and wide-brimmed. A silver pendant gleamed around his neck: the White Sun, symbol of the Luminian Order.
Calder paused halfway up the ramp to his ship, staring. A Luminian? The Empire had sent a Luminian Pilgrim as his babysitter? He had already assumed that the Imperial officer would make all his decisions for him, but he had never imagined that they would come with a sermon on the side.
“Andel Petronus, pleased to meet you,” the man said, unfolding a sheet of paper. “And you would be Calder Marten.”
“What gave it away?” Calder asked, running his hand over his head. “Was it the hair?”
Andel ignored him, reading off the top of the page. “Calder Marten, in the name of the Aurelian Empire and with all the authority of the Emperor himself, you are hereby placed under my custody until your obligation to the crown is paid. Until such time, you are required to...”
The man in white stopped reading, folding the paper back up and slipping it into his pocket. “Essentially, I get to do whatever I like.”
Jerri gave Andel a flattering smile. “And how much is that debt, exactly?”
“Five thousand goldmarks,” Andel said, with no expression one way or another.
Jerri made a choking sound. “Five thousand? That’s absurd!”
“You’re right,” Calder said, then he turned back to address Andel. “Why isn’t it ten? The Emperor said this was a ten-thousand-goldmark ship.”
“Apparently the Blackwatch declined to formally register charges against you,” Andel said. “Leaving you burdened only with the cost of an Imperial prison.”
That was more than he’d expected, and he likely had his mother’s influence to thank. “Fair enough,” Calder said, nodding.
Andel nodded back. “Anything the Emperor chooses to do is the definition of fair treatment.” There may have been a taste of irony in those words, but it was hard to tell. Judging by his face, he seemed completely serious.
Jerri looked from one of them to the other. “That’s more than all of us will make in a lifetime.”
“Then I expect we’ll get to know one another quite well,” Andel said, adjusting his sleeves. “Think of me as part of the ship.”
“I choose to think of you as the anchor,” Jerri said lightly.
“I can see that,” Calder agreed. “Over the side with you.”
Unfazed, Andel pulled another paper from his other pocket. “Think of me as the part of the ship that tells you where to go and what to do at all times. Today, we are awaiting,” he looked down at the paper, “a package of considerable size, to be delivered to a gladiatorial arena in Izyria.”
Calder perked up at that. At least he would be performing actual duties as a Navigator, not simply being held prisoner on his own ship. Surely there was something on the Aion that could ensure his eventual freedom.
“How long does this trip take?” Jerri asked.
“Two months total, there and back again,” Andel said. “For an experienced Navigator with a crew. For you, I would say four months. Maybe five.”
For one trip? Calder had never done anything in his life for five straight months. He was afraid he’d go insane in a week. Besides which...
He glanced around him. He could feel the ship like an extension of his skin, feel the seamless dark green deck beneath him, the towering presence of the mast supporting a green-veined sail, the splash of water cradling the hull. He felt it, but he had very little idea how it was supposed to work. He’d be lucky to make it out of the harbor.
Then again, he was a Soulbound now. All Soulbound were supposedly capable of great feats. He would figure it out.
“What about the pay?” Calder asked, striking at the subject most near to his heart.
“Fifty goldmarks, on receipt of the package,”
Andel recited. “They were generous. At this rate, it will only take you thirty years to pay off your debt.”
A crippling weight settled onto Calder’s shoulders.
“Lighten up,” Andel said, with a tone that suggested he was telling them to scrape barnacles. “There are worse fates than thirty years of arduous labor.”
Calder looked around the deck in a daze. He had participated in the construction of The Testament, binding its pieces together into one cohesive whole, but the ship had never seemed so cramped as it did now. For the rest of his life, this would be his world.
From beneath them, a surge of timeless resentment boiled up into his mind. The Lyathatan, bound by invested chains and sworn into service, seemed incapable of contentment. So not only would he be trapped onboard a ship, he would be accompanied by a bound Elder whose loyalty would last only as long as its vaguely defined term of service.
Besides which, he had little idea how to actually work as a Navigator. What supplies would they need for a four-month journey? Would they be able to pick up food in Izyria? He could steer, but how would he find his way to the correct destination?
Calder wished he could keep up his conversation with the Imperial officer, to show this Andel Petronus that it was Calder’s ship and he would give the orders.
Instead, he stood on the edge of the deck, lost.
It wasn’t like him. He had always thought of himself as the one to take action, who was never at a loss for something to say or do. And now the sheer enormity of the future overwhelmed him.
Andel turned toward him, hat gleaming in the sun. He studied Calder’s face with no apparent change in expression.
“While you were still sleeping in the palace, I had the ship loaded. We are now carrying twelve barrels of fresh water, two cauldrons, a set of pots, four canvas flags with the Navigator crest, two rifles with matching ammunition, three quicklamps, and almost a thousand pounds of food. Mostly beans, rice, cheese, and salted meat. There are three Navigator supply stations in the Aion, and we can stop and resupply at each of them, if necessary. I have their locations logged.”