by Jen Williams
The sand rushed up to meet her, and she heard the faint laughter of her gods as the darkness closed in.
45
Wydrin padded around the apartment, assessing the objects and paintings and tapestries for their potential worth, and their potential suitability for being secreted away in her pack and permanently lost. Not, she admitted ruefully to herself, that she would actually do it. The Copper Cat was practically a respectable adventurer these days, and besides, Xinian had given them these rooms, and she owed Xinian a great deal – in more ways than one. The Xinian that she would one day be, at least. After her death. Wydrin picked up a small golden trinket from a dusty shelf and turned it over in her fingers. It looked like a tiny globe, with land masses picked out in smooth jade. She put it back on the shelf with a sigh and turned to Frith.
‘We’ve stayed in worse places.’
‘That’s for certain.’
They had taken a long, hot bath – hot water was of no consequence to the mages, as they could heat it with a single word – and dressed their various wounds. Xinian had had new clothes brought to them; Frith now wore black and grey wool, with a half-cloak lined with rabbit fur and fastened with a silver pin thrown over one shoulder. They had even given him new boots of tough black leather. Wydrin had been glad to accept a new leather bodice and vanbraces, both of fine quality – deep red-brown leather pierced with silver studs that shone – and a new shirt and trousers. It wasn’t until they had taken their old clothes off that Wydrin realised quite what a state they had been in. Washed and dressed, with food in his belly, Frith looked almost his usual self, save for a haunted look in his eyes. She caught him, once too often, staring thoughtfully at his hands or looking off at nothing, and she feared a resurgence of the melancholy that had seized him in the aftermath of Skaldshollow.
‘Are you all right?’
He looked up from where he was fiddling with the pin on his cloak. ‘I am fine. The journey has left me somewhat fatigued, that’s all.’ He gestured at the room, taking in the thickly woven carpets and cabinets of dark wood. ‘The glory of the mages in their prime. It is something, is it not?’
‘It is.’ She came over to him and fixed the pin in place, before smoothing her hand across his chest. ‘How did we lose all this? The power and the wealth? Those beacons on the tops of the walls that warn of danger – I’m sure there must be more examples of magic used as commonly as buckets and brooms, and we’ve nothing like this.’
‘We lost a lot when the age of the mages ended,’ said Frith. ‘But if that vision we saw in the sky is the price to pay for such progress, then I’m not sure we’re not better off.’
Wydrin snorted. ‘Good point, as ever, princeling.’ There was a plate of food on the table. Wydrin picked up a pastry and popped the whole thing in her mouth. It was full of cream. ‘Bloody hell, thish is good.’
‘I just wish I still had the Edenier,’ said Frith. He was looking away from her now, his expression distant. ‘To be here, in this time, having so recently lost –’ He stopped and shook his head. ‘Without the Edenier trap I would have lost you. We all would have died in that miserable, frozen place, and Joah Demonsworn would still be harvesting souls with his Rivener. But even so.’
‘You miss it,’ she said, rubbing flakes of pastry down the front of her bodice. ‘You miss having that power.’
He looked up. His eyes were full of anger now, but she knew it was not for her. ‘Don’t you see, Wydrin? If I miss the power, I am a monster. I saw what it did to Joah, how it twisted him and made him less than human. I did things I can never forgive myself for, and yet part of me wants it all back. Part of me is still the person who killed a defenceless man at the Storm Gates. I’m still the person who left Sebastian to die by the shore of the mages’ lake.’
Wydrin blinked in surprise and put the plate of pastries back on the table. ‘You still think about that?’
‘Of course I do!’ He picked up a goblet of wine and drank it down in one gulp. ‘How the two of you have forgiven me for it, I do not know.’
‘Well, if I recall correctly, I punched you in the face for it at the time, so I think we can move past it. As for Sebastian, the two of you have saved each other’s skins so often I think that particular slight is long since buried. You are not a monster, Frith. Don’t you see?’ She touched his face lightly, tracing the line of his jaw. ‘The fact that you even ask yourself these questions proves that you’re not.’
He smiled and, snatching up her hand, kissed the palm of it gently. Wydrin felt her heart beat a little faster. Ridiculous, but this was what he was able to do to her.
‘I would take it back, if it were offered,’ he said softly. ‘That is what frightens me, Wydrin. And now there is what happened outside the wall.’
‘What do you think it is?’
‘I do not know. It felt different to the Edenier, as though my entire being were suffused with a great energy. And for a few moments it felt like I stood outside time.’ He shook his head. ‘It doesn’t make sense. The Edenier trap should have wiped all of that from me, and I thought it had. Yet when I was lost in Euriale looking for you, I was able to use the Edeian to summon a spirit. Perhaps there is something left behind, after all.’
‘You know, of all the places to find out what’s going on,’ Wydrin gestured around at the room, ‘a big palace full of mages is a good start.’
‘Except that I suspect that to tell them too much of what we know could be disastrous. What if something we do here changes our lives in the future? Meeting Xinian, what could that have changed already?’ He pressed his fingers to his forehead, as though he had suddenly come down with a headache. ‘It is too much to think about. We must stop Estenn, and if we find answers along the way, I will have to be satisfied with that. We cannot take too many risks.’
‘You know what else this place is good for?’ She unfastened the pin on his cloak with one easy movement. ‘The bed in the next room is enormous.’
Sebastian stood with the straight razor in his hand, staring at his reflection in the mirror they had given him. He had taken not one, but two baths, and spent some time combing out the knots in his hair, which was as long and as unruly as it had ever been. Now it was clean and secured back in its braid, something he had not done properly for some time, but his beard still looked like something that might grow under a bush somewhere.
‘I could cut it all off,’ he said aloud to the empty room. ‘A clean shave might make me feel more human.’
He reached up and tugged at his beard, turning his face first one way, then the other. What would there be under the beard? He looked older than he remembered, the fine lines at the corners of his eyes deeper than they had been, his cheeks gaunter, and the scar given to him by the demon Bezcavar remained a livid purple slash across his cheekbone. If he shaved off his beard, would he see the face of the young Ynnsmouth knight he had once been, fresh-faced and naïve, as yet unbroken? He doubted it.
Sighing, Sebastian put the straight razor back down by the bowl and picked up a small pair of ornamental scissors instead. A trim would be enough. He worked slowly, snipping away pieces of black hair until the beard took on less monstrous proportions. As he worked, he noticed new scars across his bare chest and arms, some lying across old scars like a patchwork. To his surprise, he realised he couldn’t recall where they were all from any more. Save for the one on his cheek, of course.
Beard tamed, he put the scissors down and splashed water over his face, and as he did so he felt a silvery tremor inside. His first thought was of Ephemeral – in the snowy wastes of the Frozen Steps, a thousand years in the future – but it was Oster who stepped through the door. Grimacing slightly, Sebastian snapped up a robe from a nearby chair and wrapped it around his bare waist, but Oster barely seemed to notice his nudity. Instead, he stalked into the room and sat down heavily in a chair. A second later, he stood up again. He was still wearing the fine armour he’d had on when Sebastian had met him.
‘Oster, what
is it you want?’ Sebastian patted his face with a piece of dry linen, trying not to feel self-conscious. ‘I am busy here.’
Oster blinked at him as though surprised to find someone else in the room. He shook his head. ‘They took me to a room and left me there. I wasn’t sure what I was supposed to do, so I came and found you.’ He sat down, and stood up again. ‘I feel strange about what I said to you earlier. I cannot rest until I understand it.’
Sebastian held in a sigh. ‘Did you not take a bath? They left you new clothes. It would be a good idea to change into them before we are on the move again.’
Oster paced over to the bed, where Sebastian’s clothes had been laid out. He picked up a shirt by its sleeve and peered at it critically. ‘I believe what I am wearing is more appropriate for who I am,’ he said eventually.
‘And who is that?’
Oster put the shirt back down again. ‘I am Oster, born of Euriale. My history is long and glorious, my lineage is full of pride and fury.’ He turned back to Sebastian with a look of genuine confusion on his face. ‘That is not why I am here.’ To Sebastian’s alarm, Oster strode over to him and took his arm firmly. He did not seem to notice that his skin was still faintly damp. ‘The tension between us. It unnerves me. I demand that you help me understand it.’
To his own horror, Sebastian felt a faint heat rushing to his cheeks. Oster’s amber eyes were full of unhappiness. Sebastian suddenly felt the vulnerability of the other man and it moved him, even as part of him was appreciating the fine planes of Oster’s face, the golden tint of his eyes.
‘I’m not sure that I can.’ The silver thread that connected them seemed to thrum, and Sebastian stepped away, feeling faintly dizzy. ‘We have all been through a lot over the last few days, and our tempers are bound to be frayed.’ He walked over to the bed and picked up the shirt they had left him. It was blue silk. He held it up, indicating to Oster that he would like to get dressed now. ‘You should go back to your own room, use the hot water they have given you, get some rest.’
Oster nodded, but rather than leaving, he went back to the chair and sat down. ‘Tempers,’ he said, in a musing tone of voice. ‘Being angry, or furious. My family have been known for their tempers, and what they can do when roused. I sense that much, it’s just the details that are lost to me.’
Sebastian sighed, and while Oster was looking the other way, he attempted to climb into his clothing as quickly as possible. The other man kept talking.
‘I was never meant to be alone in that place. The Spinner should have been there to birth me, to bring me forth and spin my stories so that I might know my own history. Instead, he was kidnapped, and then murdered. I must work everything out alone now. It is unacceptable. This Estenn woman must pay for the damage she has done me.’
‘You are not the only one she has wounded, Oster,’ said Sebastian. Then he added quickly, ‘Will you say what it is you are, then?’
For a long time Oster said nothing. Sebastian concentrated on buttoning his shirt, letting the other man have time to think.
‘The vision in the clouds we saw outside.’ When Oster eventually spoke, his voice was softer than Sebastian had ever heard it. ‘I knew her because we are the same. That creature that so terrified the people of this city – that is what I am.’
Sebastian fastened the last of his belts, giving himself time to think. Wydrin had told him this, of course – a professional liar herself, she was always one to see through to the truth of others.
‘What you are saying, Oster, is that you are a god,’ he said quietly. ‘Do you understand that?’
Oster turned around and looked at him. ‘Of course I do. Do you take me for some sort of human idiot?’ Then he added, ‘That shirt suits you well.’
Sebastian blinked, and shook his head. ‘How can that be, Oster? Gods don’t just turn up wandering about in the woods.’
The young man shrugged. ‘They do if they come through the Eye and find no one to greet them. I thought that when I found the Spinner everything would make sense again, but now he’s gone, and I am in a place already populated with my kind.’ He stood up. ‘Much of what has happened makes little sense, but I do know that I should not be here. Each time has its own gods, and when they perish, new gods are formed.’
‘A cycle,’ agreed Sebastian. ‘The Spinner spoke of a cycle. And you were the start of it, but he was killed before it could be completed.’
‘The gods who are here already, if they find me, if they find out what I am, Sebastian –’ Oster shook his head. ‘Tempers, as I said. My ancestors are known for them.’
It felt strange to hear his name spoken with Oster’s newly softened voice. ‘You are a dragon, don’t forget that.’ Sebastian took a slow breath and forced a smile on his lips. Perhaps Oster wasn’t the only one who needed to confront who he was. ‘And those of us with dragon blood are hardly defenceless.’
46
The Dragon’s Maw inched away from the main waterway and down the side channel, its sister ships following on after, and, behind them, the looming presence of the Dawning Man.
Devinia watched from the deck as Terin leaned heavily on her shoulder, the sun beating down mercilessly on them both. She had over the last few days unwittingly become his carer, while Augusta rushed around trying to help those crew members brought low by the red moss. Devinia kept the cool water coming, helped him to walk when he was too weak to do so, and brought him up to the deck when the Banshee summoned him. The guards still followed them around, but they were less watchful, more concerned with their own problems. An opportunity would present itself soon, Devinia was sure of it, even if it meant that the entire crew of the Dragon’s Maw would have to drop dead, and that was looking more and more likely.
‘Follow it east,’ said Terin, his voice wavering. ‘It will bear east, and lead us to the lagoon.’
The Banshee shot him a single look, saying nothing, and then barked a series of orders to her crew. Oars flicked and dragged through the water, severing the sunlight into golden shards.
‘How much further?’ asked Devinia in a low voice.
‘Another day, perhaps.’ Terin paused, before adding, ‘They move more slowly because of the creature they bring with them. They would be wisest to leave it behind.’
Devinia chuckled, a bitter taste in her mouth. ‘It can smash ships, and it’s made of gold. Good luck convincing any pirate to leave that thing alone.’ She paused. The waterway had grown significantly narrower, and the ships were sliding into single formation. ‘What do you think it is, truly?’
Terin turned to look at her. His face was gaunt, his hair hanging in matted strings. ‘The man called Kellan spoke a lot, in the cabin. Not to me, but to spirits, I believe – spirits of a history that is long gone. The Dawning Man is a remnant of that forgotten time, and Kellan is feeding it his soul to give it life again.’ Catching Devinia’s incredulous look, he shrugged the tiniest amount. ‘I come from a land of ghosts and magic, my friend. This place is no different. A people called the Skalds built things similar to the Dawning Man, beings of rock powered by a force they didn’t understand.’
‘My daughter spoke of such things. She’s always been liable to tell tall stories, so I took much of it with a pinch of salt. Now, however …’ Devinia glanced back over her shoulder. Behind them, the Dawning Man followed on, an impossible thing painted in gold and burning red. She turned back to Terin. ‘Will the lagoon really save them?’
‘Oh yes,’ said Terin. ‘I am certain that your salvation waits for you there.’
‘No, you must go back!’
Ephemeral turned around, glaring at the trees that pressed in behind her. She couldn’t see them, but then she didn’t need to. They were keeping just out of sight, but their minds were shimmering presences all around – a song sung in silver. She waited for a moment, hoping that she would hear their retreat, but there was nothing.
‘You can’t come where I am going. You should wait where you were hatched. I’m sure your m
other will be back soon.’ Ephemeral turned and walked on, stomping through the thick undergrowth, and almost immediately she could hear the patter of their clawed feet following on behind her – they were quiet, but by no means silent. They hadn’t learned that skill just yet, and it seemed there was no one to teach them.
Straightening her shoulders, Ephemeral put them firmly from her mind, closing down her link to the silvery web that was everywhere in this place, and marched forward. She pictured Terin – dear, sweet Terin – who would be almost at the lagoon by now. His life was in the hands of people she neither knew nor trusted, and worse than that, she had asked him to do it.
Quickening her step, she forced herself to remember their binding ceremony. Narhl marriages always took place on a full moon, and it had been a particularly beautiful night. They had journeyed to a distant cliff, the frozen lands stretching away beneath them in silver and black and white, and then the Narhl King himself had built a swirling cone of ice around them, hiding them away from the world. They stayed within the cone together all night, alone, until the first watery rays of the dawn had melted the ice away, revealing them as man and wife. Ephemeral remembered how the ice had filled with a deepening glow as the sun rose, how Terin’s smiling face had been painted with its light, and she had felt more at home than she had ever felt, even as the cold pinched and seared her skin. That was what she must remember now. Terin was her home and her responsibility – not these new, directionless lives.
Something nudged at her leg, and she looked down to see the dragon-kin she had briefly carried in her pack staring up at her. They were growing fast, already so much bigger than they had been. The stunted nubbins on their shoulders were taking shape, uncurling. Wings, thought Ephemeral, a tightness in her throat. Just like Mother. It was also a reminder that she could, if she wished, fly away from them.