by Will Wight
Under-lieutenant Belyard saluted one more time and left the ship, taking her men with her.
When she left, Calder let out a deep breath. “All hands on deck,” he said quietly, and Andel opened the hatch to shout down for Petal. Technically, he should have brought Petal up on deck for the officer’s inspection, but that would have shaken Petal’s nerves for days. As she was an alchemist, he’d planned on saying she was in the middle of a delicate project that could not be abandoned without risk to the safety of all onboard. In the end, it hadn’t mattered.
Petal emerged a few seconds after her hair, quivering and looking around for soldiers. When she saw none, she scurried up to the stern deck to join the rest of the crew.
Andel stood as dispassionately as ever, hands behind his back, the silver crest of the sun gleaming on his chest. Foster grumbled into his beard and fiddled with a musket. Petal glanced up at him through the veil of her hair. Jerri stood in the center, in a simple green dress totally unsuited for the deck of a ship. Her emerald earrings flickered in the sun, her braid hung down behind her, and she gave him a brilliant smile.
He winked at Jerri but watched the whole crew, minus Urzaia, fixing them into his mind. For once, the Aion Sea was the direction away from the Elders, which showed that everything in the world had gone wrong. And here they were in Silverreach, where they more than expected a Great Elder was buried. If he’d heard the reports of Elder activity before, he would never have stopped here.
But here they were, and Urzaia was ashore alone. Granted, he was the one most likely to survive an Elderspawn assault by himself, but he still wasn’t safe.
In case the worst happened—and in this case, he couldn’t even imagine how bad the worst possibility was—he wanted to remember the crew like this. As they were now.
From beneath his feet, a male voice boomed out in rumbling laughter. Shuffles was joining in.
So they were headed into lethal danger. Strangely, that made Calder feel better. At least he knew.
“We’re going to get Urzaia,” Calder said. “Jerri and Foster, stay with the ship. Andel and Petal, with me.”
There was a moment of communal confusion as everyone worked out what he’d said. Jerri’s eyes flashed. “Petal can stay, I’ll go.” Petal shivered like a leaf in the wind, and even Andel looked confused.
Calder met Jerri’s eyes. “If we don’t make it back, we need people aboard who can actually sail out of here. That means someone who can navigate and a Reader who might be able to persuade the Lyathatan to move. That’s you and Foster. I need someone with me who can fight, and that’s Andel. He can also potentially help me carry Urzaia out of there, if Urzaia is...immobilized. For the same reason, Petal is coming along for potential first aid.”
Andel moved to the second longboat, which was actually salvage from another Navigator’s wreckage. It was three feet shorter and a little wider than the first longboat, so they had taken to calling it the ‘shortboat.’
“That makes just enough sense that I won’t reject it out of hand,” Andel said. “Personally, I would rather take a few potions than Petal herself. I’m afraid she’ll freeze up if we’re in danger.”
Petal raised a hand. “Me too,” she said softly.
Calder placed a hand on her head, feeling as though he was comforting a child. “I have every faith in you, Petal.” The thought came to him that she was still almost five years older than he was, but it was too late to change his attitude now. “You’ve never run before.”
“I usually hide,” she whispered, but he ignored that too.
“All ashore that’s going ashore,” Calder called, dropping the shortboat and spinning out the ladder. Jerri was still glaring at him, but she did wave to him as he left. Foster was loading one of the port guns, leveling it at Silverreach. Calder appreciated the caution.
In the shortboat, Calder and Andel took one oar each—the first longboat wasn’t wide enough for two, but this one was. They began pulling for shore, and Calder couldn’t help but notice how much longer it took them together than it had Urzaia alone.
As they drew closer, Calder extended his Intent. If he remembered correctly, he should be able to get a sense of the same strange, Elder Intent he had detected last time. It had hung in the air, thick as spring fog.
This time he sensed...nothing. Just as he might have expected in a normal town.
They tied up to the dock and walked ashore; other than the boards creaking under their weight, the town was absolutely silent. When they got closer, Calder leaned a hand against the closest building.
The Intent was calm, almost welcoming. As though a happy family had lived within for years, investing the house around them with their peace.
For once, there’s less danger than I expected, Calder thought, pleased with himself. He’d over-prepared this time, and that was a good state to be in.
Then his memory died.
It was impossible to put into words, that sensation. It was as though someone had reached up and pulled a chain, switching his awareness off like a quicklamp. The world didn’t go black, it just...vanished, as though he’d forgotten to pay attention to anything.
When he came back to himself, blinking and looking around, the crew was gathered together in the pool of light cast by a single candle. The whole crew.
Urzaia, looking around grimly with a hatchet in each hand. Jerri, her mouth half open in awe. Andel, clutching his White Sun medallion with his eyes closed. Foster, sputtering and jumping to his feet. Petal, quivering and holding a tiny quicklamp out for light. And him. He realized he had his sword in hand, but didn’t remember drawing it.
As he adjusted to the gloom surrounding the dim light, he realized they were standing on smooth tile, not the rough cobblestones of Silverreach’s streets. Dark shapes loomed over them, the silhouettes of a hundred towers.
No. He squinted closer. Not towers. Bookshelves.
Books lined the towers in shelf after shelf, stretching up to the distant ceiling. They were shadowed and difficult to make out, but he caught a glimpse of a dozen different colors and styles of cover. More books than he had ever imagined.
They were in an enormous library.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
When we speak of ‘the void,’ we mean that vast and empty realm we occasionally observe as powerful Elders travel or communicate. Some ancient scholars believed that this void connects us to other worlds, but none could ever prove it.
Who would lightly step into the realm where Elders tread?
—Notes from the Blackwatch archives
~~~
The battle between Jarelys Teach and Jorin Maze-walker had been terrifying enough through a spyglass from a safe distance away. As Calder stood on the Gray Island docks, amidst the scattered bodies of those who hadn’t run fast enough, he found that the experience close-up was far worse.
Teach, clad in red-and-black armor, carried a matching sword. Tyrfang’s Intent was the macabre madness of a slaughterhouse, the sharp edge of an executioner’s axe, the fear of the condemned facing obliteration. It pressed against Calder’s mind with visions of blood and inescapable death, even as its aura actually darkened the ground around her. As Teach fought, desperate and defensive, the earth died with each of her retreating steps.
And Jorin advanced, following her, his own sword a twisted mirror of hers. Up close, Calder saw its defects: patches like rust or bloodstains that mired the surface of the blade. They seemed to crawl, like patches of worms, and its Intent was a knot he couldn’t begin to untangle. Like every spiteful, hateful, murderous Intent he’d ever felt, all trapped inside one weapon. Its power wasn’t as focused as Tyrfang, but it was heavier, the weight of two thousand years crashing down around Teach’s defenses. Jorin moved forward almost casually, hacking his way closer to a lethal stroke, his dark-tinted glasses flashing in the sunlight.
Mist played around their legs as they fought, and with every clash of Awakened blades, darkness and crazed Intent swallowed them. Rings of d
irt blasted out whenever their swords met, as though even the dirt couldn’t bear to be so close.
And Calder was planning on walking into that.
Surely I’d be better off shooting him. He’d considered it before, but back on the ship, he hadn’t wanted to draw Jorin’s attention to The Testament for nothing more than a distant chance. Now, though...
Calder pulled the pistol from his belt and fired.
It wasn’t likely to be a lethal shot. At thirty yards, even someone much more skilled would need their share of luck to kill someone with a single bullet. Foster was always mocking his abilities, trying to goad him into practice, but today it seemed his luck was good. Jorin staggered back, struck in one arm, and for an instant Teach was able to push him back.
A pink light shone within the wound, as though Jorin hid a quicklamp in his coat, and an instant later he was as strong as ever. The light continued to shine, giving Calder hope that he’d at least inflicted some injury.
Then the Regent flicked his gaze over to Calder, just for an instant, and a river of dark Intent whipped out. That was all the attention Calder warranted, and it would be more than enough to kill him and dissolve his body. But Calder had prepared a defense.
He hoped.
As he’d done once before, Calder drew his own Awakened sword and braced his Intent through Kelarac’s mark. His Intent seemed to solidify, as though propped up by a bigger, more permanent force. He felt himself steady, and as Jorin’s power struck him, it was first lessened by the aura of Calder’s orange-spotted blade. The strange energy invested in this weapon seemed to be toxic to Elderspawn, and it did an admirable job of reducing Jorin’s attack.
So when the wave of shadow struck him, slamming up against his Intent fortified by Kelarac’s mark, Calder expected to survive. He didn’t expect to push through it so easily. It felt like pushing against a freezing wind blowing off of a graveyard, stinking and repulsive; it wasn’t pleasant, but it certainly wasn’t difficult. Resisting Tyrfang’s aura had been much harder back in the Imperial Palace, and judging by the way Teach had been repeatedly pushed back, Jorin’s weapon couldn’t be weaker.
Calder opened himself up to Read the atmosphere around him, and instantly understood. The Emperor’s white armor. He was wrapped in protective Intent so ancient and solid that it defended even his essence, letting him march forward even under Jorin’s attack.
That worked, he realized, with no small measure of disbelief. Now, can I take a direct hit? He decided not to test that.
Jorin still wasn’t watching him as he jogged closer, evidently having dismissed him with the single attack. Calder’s heart pounded. He only had to distract the Regent, to occupy him long enough to give Teach a chance to kill him.
Calder was close enough to begin his strike, stepping forward to drive his Awakened cutlass into Jorin’s side, before the Regent saw him. Jorin’s head jerked back in disbelief, and he barely managed to avoid a cut from Teach as he back-stepped away from Calder.
Together, Calder and the Guild Head forced Jorin onto the defensive. It wasn’t pleasant, fighting within both corrosive auras—it was like forcing his way through a lake of raw sewage—but it was bearable. Between his own sword, Kelarac’s mark, and the Emperor’s armor, he could stand among two of the greatest fighters in Imperial history.
For about five seconds, Calder had never felt more powerful.
Then Jorin blasted him with Intent, another gust of freezing wind, staggering him in his tracks. The Regent followed up with a slash to Calder’s face, making him jerk his cutlass up, but it was a feint. Jorin reversed the strike to land on Teach.
And it did land. Teach had thrown herself out of position to protect Calder, only to take the cut on her armored left arm.
The sound of the strike was a satisfying clang of metal-on-metal, and for a second Calder believed that her armor had saved her. Then he saw the dark scratch on its surface and heard her agonized scream.
He had to shoulder-tackle her out of the way to protect her from Jorin’s follow-up. She never lost her grip on Tyrfang, even as she tumbled to the ground and rolled away.
“You’re the seedling Emperor, then,” Jorin said, panting. “Let’s have you go a round or two.”
Calder attacked first. As Loreli, another Regent, had once put it: “In a duel, the defender is losing.” Jorin swept his black blade in a lazy arc, as though he meant to slice the orange-spotted cutlass in half.
When Calder turned the hit, Jorin’s eyebrows climbed up into his hat. “Here now, where’d you get that sword?”
Instead of responding, Calder attacked the man from the left, opening up some space, trying to force him away from Teach’s body. If he gave her some time, she might recover, though her low, pained moans didn’t give him much hope.
The Regent tolerated that for a few exchanges, then he lost patience. He reversed the sword in both hands, driving his blade into the ground.
All around Calder, the earth blasted away into loose black grit. He lost his footing, tumbling to the ground, shielding his mouth and eyes with his arm. Even when the air cleared he couldn’t find purchase, coughing in the rising dust-cloud, trying to clear the dirt from his eyes.
Jorin walked up, a hazy figure, calm and unhurried. “If you survive, we’ll have a chat about your sword. But I don’t mean to pressure you. Life is such a brief candle.” He raised his blade.
And, as Calder had experienced several times before, he was suddenly somewhere else. The world shifted around him, as quick as a vanishing stage curtain.
Now, he stood on a floor of polished white marble, and he was feeling remarkably better: he was warm, and clean, and not at all covered in blackened grit. He stood in a shrine of some kind, though where there would usually be a statue of the Emperor was instead a towering marble figure of some kind of warped fish-creature. There were no walls, only rows of columns looking out onto the sea.
The sea stretched all around him. This shrine must have been on some tiny island on the Aion, because he didn’t see any other land, only black storm-tossed waves. The wind outside was wicked, stirring up wild surf, as black clouds danced and lightning lit the night.
Other than the lightning, the scene was illuminated only by a smoky torch dimly flickering over the statue’s head. Calder felt that he should have been freezing, but somehow the wind stayed a perfectly comfortable temperature.
“I once intended to have this built,” Kelarac said. “It’s in the center of what you now call the Aion Sea.” He stood looking up at the statue, just as Calder remembered him: a fashionable Heartlander, his thin beard neatly trimmed, clothes just as the Emperor would have worn them, rings on every finger and waves of jewels on his neck. A few of his teeth gleamed gold as he smiled, and his most prominent feature—the polished band of steel over his eyes—reflected the strikes of lightning.
“Why didn’t you?” Calder asked politely. He was still trying to be considerate, out of respect for a massively powerful being, but in truth his frustration had grown. Kelarac was behind Jerri’s actions somehow, but he still pretended to be Calder’s friend.
“Timing. It’s all about the proper place, isn’t it? The right time, the precise location. Temporal or spatial, if the place is off even slightly, then it might as well have never existed at all...”
Calder let the Great Elder muse privately. In their previous meetings, he had never waxed philosophical, instead sticking close to business. It could mean he was ready to give Calder a gift, or to eat him alive.
“You didn’t destroy the Optasia,” Kelarac noted.
“Yet.”
“You believe it would destroy you.”
“Would it?” Not that Calder would take the word of the Soul Collector, but a straight answer would be nice.
Kelarac’s golden teeth flashed. “That depends on a number of shifting factors. Place, as I said. However, I can assure you that even though the throne might be unsuitable, the rest of the network is very much intact. I can find a
use for it.”
“Of that, sir, I have no doubt.” Calder made the words sound respectful instead of wry.
“In exchange for your word that you will deliver the Optasia to me, I can deliver some immediate help. Allies that can save you from your current situation.”
Calder’s mind flashed to the strange Navigator ship, the one decorated in gold. “Those were your people waiting outside the Gray Island?”
Kelarac folded ringed fingers together. “They’re nearby.”
“And they can actually save me from the Regent?”
“Oh yes.”
Calder had been trying to stretch the time as much as possible, but he only had one answer. “I’m sorry. I can’t.” The price was too high.
Delivering the Heart of Nakothi was one thing; he’d given a piece of one Elder to another. If Kelarac had been willing to dig a little, he could have excavated a heart on his own. But as far as Calder was concerned, that had been an equitable trade...and even now, it didn’t weigh easily on him. He often wondered what horrors Kelarac could perpetrate with a piece of the Dead Mother’s power.
But instead of flying into a rage, as Calder had half expected, Kelarac nodded. “Too high a price. I think you estimate the value of the Emperor’s device too favorably. Soon, it may not be worth the metal from which it was cast. But I wouldn’t be much of a collector if I didn’t know how to haggle, would I?”
Kelarac’s smile was friendly, but Calder reminded himself that it came from a Great Elder. “Did you have another price in mind?”
“Always, Reader of Memory. Always. You recall, I’m sure, the Consultant called Shera.”
There were a few scenes in his life that Calder would never forget. They were burned into his brain as if by acid. One of them, to his eternal regret, was the image of Shera pushing Jerri over The Testament’s railing and into the ocean. He could still see Jerri’s eyes as she fell; they were locked on his, still carrying shame and terror.
“I do,” he said.
“Then perhaps you’ll find this price more palatable. I will send you my allies. In exchange, you and they will cut your way through the Consultant’s Guild and execute Shera without mercy or compunction.” His calm had slipped briefly, his voice vicious. “Afterwards, if her body were to find its way down to me, I would be...even more generous.”