by Jen Williams
‘What did you see?’ she asked, her voice hushed.
Terin’s face became serious. ‘Much that convinces me that we were right to leave to find your father when we did. I saw a wild place, full of boiling heat and life, full of so much that is alien to me. There is a place, in the centre, like a web.’ Terin pursed his lips. ‘I cannot quite find the right words. But I felt … creation, Ephemeral. New life, boiling into existence. It was beautiful, and dangerous. I saw your father, and he was alone. He was without his sword. He was heading towards this place, heading towards the heart of both destruction and creation. A shadow came with him, a blue shadow.’ Terin shook his head. ‘Again, I am not sure of the right words, but I knew in the vision that he would be lost to us, if he kept going in that direction.’
Ephemeral took a slow, deep breath. ‘Did you see anything else?’
‘Wolves,’ said Terin immediately. ‘Wolves in the forest, wolves shaped like people, with blood on their lips. There is a she-wolf, the leader of their pack, and she is the hungriest. I could taste salt, in the vision, and there was a strange noise, like a keening child.’ He shrugged. ‘That is where it ended.’
They sat together in silence for a while. Ephemeral could hear the sea, and the call of birds. The smell of the dried orchids was overwhelming, and she was too aware of how warm it was, down here in the dark. What would her sisters be doing now? she wondered. Did they sense the trouble their father was in as keenly as she did? She thought of Crocus, the sister she felt the most kinship with; when she had left the Frozen Steps, Crocus had been learning to fly the wyverns, eager to take them to the furthest reaches of the Narhl territory for hunting expeditions. Ephemeral had suggested they visit Skaldshollow, where the people of that city were still struggling to rebuild their lives – it was important, she felt, to maintain the small bonds they had built after the defeat of Joah Demonsworn. King Aristees had been sceptical, and she did not know if her advice had been acted on. Perhaps she would never know.
‘You are sure, then?’ she asked him, knowing that she’d already asked this question a hundred times, and still needing to ask it. Humans changed their minds all the time, after all. ‘You are sure we must keep going?’
‘We must, Ephemeral.’ Terin looked solemn now, his long hair framing his bony face. ‘And not just for Sebastian, either. I fear that all who walk the surface of Ede may be in danger.’
17
‘One of the patrols didn’t make it back last night.’
Estenn lowered the eyeglass. They had been inching along the top of the cliffs, following the progress of the big ship far below. Some hours ago one of Euriale’s unpredictable fogs had blown up, and she had been lost to view for some minutes. It had been impossible for Estenn to see what had happened to the ship during that time, but she was willing to bet it wasn’t pleasant. The fogs of Euriale never were. Touching her fingers to the wolves at her throat, she turned to face the messenger.
‘Who led them?’
‘Barrett.’ The young man licked his lips. It happened, every now and then, that her people would vanish. One or two, taken by the island. She considered it the price they paid to survive in such a place, but to have an entire patrol go missing was rare. ‘Five people. Didn’t come back.’
‘Perhaps they are lost.’ This also happened occasionally. The island was disorientating; it got under your skin and twisted your internal compass. One of her men had once complained that if you were out under the trees for long enough by yourself, it was like being very drunk. She stood up, stretching the muscles in her back. She’d been sitting in one place for too long, just like the big ship. ‘Or perhaps they did not let Euriale into their hearts and minds. You know that I have told you that the only way to survive this place is to embrace it.’ Estenn looked to Gen. ‘Any word from Two-Birds on what this ship is and who she carries?’
Gen nodded eagerly. ‘The place is rife with gossip of it, Emissary. The ship is the Poison Chalice, captained by Devinia the Red.’ Estenn would often send one or two of her men and women to wander the town, especially when it was busy. Information was always useful. ‘They say that she has her daughter Wydrin with her, and the rest of the Black Feather Three.’
It was like suddenly being doused in cold water. Estenn caught her breath, and forced herself to keep her expression neutral, while her heart thundered in her chest. The magic they had seen suddenly made sense.
‘That is interesting indeed. Tell me, Gen, what is it we know of the Black Feather Three?’
The young woman with auburn hair stood up a little straighter, proud to be called upon in this way by the Emissary. ‘They are the mercenaries who banished the mighty Y’Ruen, taking her glory from this world. One of them is capable of the long-lost art of mage magic.’
Estenn nodded, her face breaking into a grin. She looked round at her followers, who looked back at her uncertainly. ‘It explains what we have seen. The staff that produces flames and ice. It’s an artefact from long ago, surely stolen from under the Citadel.’ She straightened up and looked back down to where the ship sat, sails currently empty. ‘It is the key the Spinner spoke of, and I will take it. And I will want to talk to this Wydrin of Crosshaven too, she who took our last god from us. I would like to talk to her very much.’ She raised the eyeglass again and traced the waterway back. Some distance behind the great fat ship, and hidden from her by the twisting black cliffs, were three smaller ships – sleek raiders with sails and oars. They had been hunting the bigger ship for days, but now they were closing in. ‘Their pursuers are so cautious, hiding in the wake of the larger ship, letting her attract the attentions of the island, but they won’t dawdle for ever. Soon.’ She smiled to herself. ‘Soon we will have a distraction sent from the very gods themselves.’
‘They definitely came this way.’
Sebastian paused to touch the thick fleshy leaves of the bush that hung over them like a bower. At head height a few of them were smeared with greasy white paint – like that worn by their attackers. Ahead of him, Oster nodded.
‘I can smell them all over this part of the forest.’
They moved on, Sebastian jogging to catch up. They had been walking since dawn, and Oster showed no signs of tiredness. In daylight, Sebastian had been able to see that the cloak he wore was a deep, dark red, and the oddly military leather skirt that came down to his knees was studded with brightly shining steel. The coat of mail he wore over his brown woollen tunic was made of bright silver and looked brand new. His eyes were a pale tawny colour, striking against the deeper brown of his face. Sebastian found it difficult to look at the tattoo. The coils of the dragon shimmered against the man’s muscled arm as though they might move at any moment.
‘Have you seen men and women with painted faces in this place before?’ he asked.
Oster turned to him, opened his mouth, and then shook his head. ‘I have not, no. Although that isn’t to say that they haven’t been here for a very long time.’
‘I thought you said you were born in this place?’
‘Born …’ Oster seemed dissatisfied by the word. ‘I am from here, yes. And I know a great deal about it. I know the names of every god, demon, sprite and spirit honoured here. I know to whom every brick or stone was consecrated. I know that this is oldest place on Ede, and I know that the Spinner is not where he should be. But there are gaps. My own history … These newcomers are too recent.’
Sebastian tugged at his beard. He was rapidly coming to realise that asking Oster questions only seemed to result in more questions. He tried again with one he’d asked earlier.
‘Why are you here alone? Surely you must know other people here? Or are you a recluse of some kind?’
Just ahead of him Oster reached up and pushed back a low-hanging tree branch and waited for Sebastian to pass under. ‘I know I should not be here alone. There should have been others. And the Spinner is not here. This is all wrong.’ He scowled. ‘I must find out what has happened.’
They pass
ed out of the trees into a small glade. Powerful sunshine lit the small space with emerald light. There was grass here, coming up to the top of Sebastian’s boot, and in the centre it was possible to see where it had been stamped down.
‘Here, look.’ He pushed past Oster and walked up the small incline. In the middle of the grass were the remains of a large fire – dark ash, pieces of charred wood. He poked at it with his boot. ‘They made camp here.’
Oster appeared at his side. ‘We grow closer, then. They must have come from somewhere.’
Sebastian bent down and plucked something from the ashes. It was a long bone, half as long as his own forearm. It had been severed at both ends, and there were gnaw marks along its length. Something about it felt wrong. He poked around in the rest of the ashes and drew forth a section of ribcage. He looked at it for a moment, before dropping it abruptly.
‘These are human bones,’ he said. He was remembering the battlefield at Relios, and the smoking remains of the Ynnsmouth knights. Ip, the seed of a demon waiting inside the child, had skipped from body to body, looking for any flesh that might still be edible. ‘The people we hunt are cannibals?’
Oster picked the bones up himself, turning them over in long-fingered hands. After a moment, he sniffed at them.
‘Yes, human flesh.’ There was something in the way he said it that made Sebastian pause, but then Oster turned, looking back the way they’d come. ‘Can you feel that?’
Sebastian opened his mouth to ask him what he was talking about, but then he did feel it. A powerful thrumming in his blood; the silver thread that connected him and the brood army and the other dragon-kin was suddenly singing. There was something in the trees. Something big.
‘Who are you? What is this place?’ He pressed a hand to his forehead, dizzy. He wondered, distantly, if Ephemeral could also feel this, up in the Frozen Steps. It felt that powerful. ‘Please, Oster, you must tell me—’
The trees below them shook, and an enormous monster emerged. It was twice as big as a horse, its horned back brushing the lower branches. It was covered in thick leathery skin that was a deep olive-green, and sections of it – the broad curve of its back, the tops of its stubby legs – were covered in tough-looking yellow plates. The monster’s head was like some sort of marriage between a lizard and a bird, its long snout ending in a lethal-looking hooked beak. When it opened its mouth to make a short, huffing snort, Sebastian could see rows of peg-like teeth.
‘What is that?’ he breathed. He could feel it in his blood, the cold intelligence of it. The monster had turned towards them, and snorted again, louder this time. There was no mistaking the challenge in the noise. It stomped its forelegs, and Sebastian felt the ground tremble under his feet.
‘A child of Euriale,’ breathed Oster. ‘The cycle has begun again, and new life is being created.’ He shook his head. ‘This is all wrong. I should know this.’
The animal lifted its head and gave a short, trumpeting roar.
‘We should move,’ said Sebastian, not taking his eyes from the monster’s giant form. ‘Whatever it is, we’ve annoyed it.’
‘Wait,’ said Oster, and he stepped away. The tattoo on his right arm seemed to catch the sun, and then it was shining with its own internal light.
‘Oster?’
The light bloomed, a golden flash that seared itself on the inside of Sebastian’s eyelids. The shape inside the light that was Oster began to twist and change. Sebastian stumbled backwards, trying to make sense of what he was seeing. Where Oster had been was a long serpentine shape of gold and white. At first, he took it to be a wyvern – like the mounts of the Narhl, it was long and sinuous, but it had no wings and the legs were longer. The creature’s head was more akin to that of Y’Ruen, festooned with twisting horns, long jaws lined with sharp teeth. Its eyes were amber, its scales cream, lined with gold. As he watched, it opened its long jaws and hissed at the monster at the bottom of the clearing. Its tongue was black.
‘Oster? Is that you?’
To his alarm the dragon creature responded to his voice, whipping its long head around to glare at him with narrow eyes, before it crept across the clearing. Its ridged tail swept from one side to the other, and Sebastian could hear it brushing through the grass.
‘That’s why I can feel it in him,’ he murmured. The pounding in his dragon blood was now impossible to ignore. ‘The dragon blood is in him, too.’
On some level he knew that it would be wisest to melt back into the trees, but instead he stood and watched, transfixed, as the golden dragon reached its reptilian cousin and appeared to greet it, pressing its narrow snout to the neck of the other creature. The monster lifted its own head and snorted.
We mean no harm here, brother.
Men were here. They darken the trees.
We are not men such as them.
Sebastian gave a low cry. He could not hear them, but he knew what they were saying, all the same. It was similar to when he had fought with the brood sisters and had known their feelings, shared their pain. Their thoughts had been so close to him then, and now it was as though a barrier had been stripped away.
The big monster with its leathery skin huffed once more – Sebastian felt its awareness passing over him briefly – and then it turned back and disappeared into the trees. The bright dragon with cream and gold scales curled round on itself, the coil of its tail shifting like a snake, and then it was consumed with light again. When it died, Oster was standing there once more. He ran a hand distractedly through his hair, and caught Sebastian’s eyes.
‘What are you looking at?’ he demanded.
18
It was late, and a light rain was falling. Frith, released from his duties for the night by Devinia, made his way below deck to the med bay. For the last two days Wydrin had stayed by the woman Grint’s side, helping where she could and tending to the sick. They had passed through an unnaturally thick fog, and some of the crew had come out of it covered in huge, pus-filled boils. That in itself was unpleasant enough, but a number of those had subsequently come down with a fever, and so far, five had died from it. The old medic Augusta Grint had been wild with frustration, barking orders and demanding clean water. None of it had helped – Frith had watched as the bodies were sewn into spare pieces of canvas and tipped over the side, while Devinia spoke quiet words to a stunned crew. Now there was only a single patient left, and as he entered the narrow room he found Wydrin crouched by the bed. The air was thick, full of the mingled scents of dried blood and sharp vinegar.
‘How is he?’
Wydrin looked up at his voice. Her eyes were bloodshot, and her hair lay lank across her forehead.
‘He sickens, like they all did.’ The still figure on the bunk was a boy of no more than sixteen, his skin looking yellow under the lamps. ‘Augusta has no idea why this one has lingered so long while all the others were carried off so quickly. This little shrimp should have been the first to go.’ She leaned over and placed a wet cloth against the boy’s forehead, squeezing a little so rivulets of water ran down his forehead and cheeks. The boy didn’t react. ‘Ship’s boy, only been with them for a year. His name is Antrew.’
Frith came closer, the staff still gripped in his hand. He wanted to go and get some hot food; the rain, though light, had soaked him to his skin. More than that he wanted to spend a few hours alone with Wydrin in their cabin; so much time alone on deck with his own thoughts was unsettling. His thoughts would turn to the Edenier trap and how it had opened like a black flower when it had received its blood sacrifice; to the many rooms inside Joah Demonsworn’s Rivener – the great machine had contained a new nightmare in every cell. Time with Wydrin was all that seemed to ease his mind these days.
‘Where is Augusta?’
‘I sent her off for a nap,’ said Wydrin. She put the cloth back into a basin by the bed. ‘She was nodding off in her chair.’ She paused to stifle a yawn.
‘You look as though you could use a rest yourself.’
She lo
oked down at the boy and rubbed her fingers across her eyes. ‘I don’t want to leave him, in case he wakes up. Or in case he …’ Her words trailed off, and she scowled. ‘Trust Devinia to bring him to this place. Antrew and all the others who’ve died today. None of them should be here. Pirates are used to dangers – rival ships, bad weather, lack of decent food and water – those are the risks of a life at sea. Not this. This place is unnatural. We shouldn’t be here, but my mother won’t see that. To her it’s just another place for her to stomp into with her big boots on.’
‘I believe Sebastian felt the same,’ said Frith. He saw Wydrin wince. ‘But it was always his choice to come.’
‘Sebastian –’ she looked up at him then, and he saw the stark worry in her eyes. ‘What is he bloody playing at, Frith? He could be anywhere by now, he could be dead, and there’s nothing we can do about it.’
Frith opened his mouth to reply when from above came the thunder of boots on deck, and a chorus of shouts.
Frith turned to the stair. ‘What now?’
‘Oh something else going horribly wrong, I expect,’ said Wydrin, and she stood up, pulling Glassheart from its scabbard.
Devinia the Red had been standing at the helm, resting her hands on the wheel. They weren’t moving, but it gave her comfort to feel the smooth wood under her fingers. To either side the black cliffs of Euriale towered over them, and the night sky was thick with cloud, obscuring the moon and stars and giving them a night as dark as any she’d seen. Lamps had been lit all over – more, even, than Devinia thought was necessary, but the crew were uncomfortable here and she supposed she could understand that. Even so, it made her uneasy. The island slept around them like a giant, restless beast, and here they sat in the centre of it, lit up like a whore’s bedroom. To be so visible went against every instinct she had.