by Jen Williams
‘What are you talking about?’ Xinian looked incredulous. ‘We must pursue the madwoman!’
‘That’s our job now,’ said Frith. ‘Do you not see? If the Red Echo goes off while we’re in Relios, or while we’re on her tail, you will be caught in it, Commander. The weapon kills mages, does it not?’
‘What will the rest of your mage idiots do without you?’ said Wydrin. ‘You need to survive this.’ She took her hand away from the wall. ‘Does this feel hotter than it did before?’
‘Ludicrous.’ Xinian glared at them both. ‘You truly expect me to put the future of my people in the hands of … whatever you two truly are?’
‘You have no choice, Commander,’ said Frith. ‘You are the future of your people. Reis is mad. Who else will lead them?’ He paused. ‘Think of Selsye. You have to get away from the Red Echo. We will stop it if we can. We have come a very long way to do so.’
Xinian looked from one to the other, an expression of horror on her face. ‘And if you can’t?’
‘Seriously,’ Wydrin stood up away from the wall, ‘does it feel like it’s getting hotter in here to anyone else?’
There was a terrible pause, during which the entire room shuddered. There was a thundering crack from somewhere far above them.
‘The wards.’ Xinian was already making for the door. ‘With no mages here to maintain the spells, this place will shortly be a working volcano once more.’
In the end Xinian agreed to leave in the carapacer, and Wydrin and Frith watched her go from the back of Feveroot, who had taken the form of the great manta ray again. Xinian flew up into a sky heavy with cloud, a tiny green insect against the grey, and then she was lost to view. She was going, she said, to collect Selsye, and they would figure out what to do from there. She hadn’t looked happy about it, but they were coming to the end of their options. Below them, the mage stronghold of Poledouris was collapsing in on itself, sending up plumes of black smoke and showers of red sparks. Frith wondered what priceless mage knowledge was being destroyed under a layer of molten rock.
Wydrin knelt on the demon’s back and placed her hand against one of the glowing red spots. Feveroot rippled as though he swam in an invisible ocean.
‘To the north then, demon,’ she said. ‘And you’d better get a wriggle on.’
The mark on her face was livid, her red hair plastered to her face with sweat. There was something in the way she sat that struck at Frith’s heart – she was holding herself up when she wanted to lie down. The demon slid through the air, heading up into the clouds until they were coated in a fine film of moisture. Frith saw Wydrin shiver, and then when he caught her eye, she grinned.
‘I know, I know, I look like a bag of shit warmed up. If Augusta was here, she’d send me off to my bunk with a flea in my ear.’ She shuddered again, and looked away from him. ‘No time for that though, princeling.’
74
The red growth on the back of the Banshee’s neck was so large now that it was forcing the pirate to walk with her head bowed. Following on behind her, Devinia found she could barely tear her eyes from it. The thing looked vital somehow, as though it were pulsing somewhere inside, preparing for a secret triumph only it knew about. She was, she realised, starting to think of the infection as some sort of separate entity. Ristanov’s hands, tied behind her back, were fuzzy red claws.
They were heading towards the top of another hill, edging closer to the centre of Euriale. Ephemeral and her husband had disappeared off into the woods to hunt, while Augusta was somewhere in the treeline to her right, poking around for anything that might resemble a medicinal herb. So far she hadn’t found anything useful, and she seemed to be taking it as a personal insult. From behind them they heard the occasional crash as the Dawning Man made its slow pursuit. Devinia wondered how many of the original crew were still alive, or if Kellan followed them alone now. It hardly seemed to matter.
The Banshee tripped and fell to her knees in the dirt, barking a harsh cry of mingled surprise and pain. She struggled for a moment, and then simply knelt with her head down, breath whistling through her nose and mouth.
Devinia watched, and when she didn’t get up, nudged her with her boot. ‘Keep moving, Ristanov.’
The Banshee tipped her head to one side as though her neck were boneless.
‘Why do you not kill me, Devinia the Grey?’
The woman’s face was lost under a fibrous mat of red moss, only her eyes recognisable as the woman who had taken the Poison Chalice. They were wide and blue, as they had ever been, but now that Devinia looked closely she could see a tiny fleck of red in the white of her right eye. She wondered briefly what that felt like, and then hastily turned her mind in another direction.
‘Do you want to die, Ristanov?’
The Banshee made a peculiar gargling noise in the back of her throat. It took Devinia a few seconds to realise she was laughing.
‘I am already dead, you know this. It is hardly my choice now.’ She coughed and shook her head. ‘I did not think you would be the one keeping me alive. I slow you down, I take your water and what scraps of food you have. You wish me to suffer, yes? You want me to feel every inch of this … whatever this is.’
‘Because of you, my daughter was kidnapped. You stole my ship, and my first mate.’ And the island, she added silently. You took the discovery of that from me. ‘I have every right to want you to suffer, Ristanov.’
The Banshee shrugged, the growths on her back quivering with the movement. ‘If Kellan had had his way, your brat would already be dead, yes, or worse. We’re pirates. We are wolves, not lambs.’ She cleared her throat, and then sighed, as if all this talking was wearing her out. ‘Maybe it is the old woman who stills your blade. Even now, she looks for ways to save me.’ She grinned, and Devinia had to look away. It was like looking at a flayed head.
In truth, she didn’t know why she hadn’t killed the Banshee or even why she had brought her with them. If they had been at sea, or in a brawl in a tavern, she wouldn’t have hesitated. Was her revenge meaningless if she killed a woman who was half dead already? Or did she simply wish to watch her die inch by inch, glorying in her pain and misery?
‘Perhaps I think you will be useful, before the end.’
‘I can feel it moving inside me,’ said Ristanov, as if she hadn’t heard. ‘I can try not to think about it and it works for a little while, and then I feel it, uncoiling.’ She shuddered violently and fell into the dirt, her voice slurring. ‘Moving, moving, the Red King is coming, coming.’
Grimacing, Devinia went to the woman’s side, but by the time she knelt down, Ristanov had passed out again, her eyes rolling up to the whites. After a moment, Augusta appeared from between the trees, the old cloth she’d tied around her head soaked through with sweat.
‘Is she gone, then?’
Devinia shook her head.
‘She’s right, you know. You should kill the poor bitch. Graces take her, she can’t be long for this world anyway.’
‘You were listening?’
‘Mostly. I always said you were the coldest woman I ever met, Red, ever since you were a girl. Sharp and as cold as steel. But this is cruel, even for you.’
Devinia stood up, scowling. ‘Because of this excuse for a captain, Wydrin is lost on this island somewhere. Do I need to remind you of that? Or have you also forgotten all the people who died when she took the Poison Chalice?’ She thinned her lips, knowing she was lashing out at the wrong person but unable to stop the words. ‘I thought you cared about my daughter.’
Augusta rolled her eyes. ‘Oh, do shut your gob. You know very well that I love that aggravating little pain in the arse as though she were my own. At least Wydrin is more like her father than you, for which I am thankful. Imagine having to put up with two like you.’
From far behind them came the shuddering crash of another tree being pushed to one side. Devinia took a deep breath, feeling the tug on her poorly healed stomach wound.
‘And I’m glad
she’s more like you than me. I’m sorry, Augusta.’
‘Now, don’t you go getting soft on me, Red, I can only put up with so much bollocks on one trip.’ Augusta reached over and squeezed Devinia’s arm with her strong, blunt fingers. ‘What’s our plan, then?’
‘It looks like we’re stopping here for now.’ Devinia nudged Ristanov with her boot, but the woman was deeply asleep.
‘Aye, let’s wait for the two lovebirds to get back.’ Augusta sat heavily in the dirt and pulled the sweaty handkerchief from her head. ‘If they can’t find food with a troop of hungry lizards in tow then we really are up shit creek.’
Blood, hot and pounding and panicky. The irresistible movement of prey, the scent of fear in the air, sharp as a blade, and the sweet sense of closing in. Ephemeral took a sharp breath as she ran, savouring the taste of the hunt in the air, and then ahead of her Inky swept down from the canopy and drew her claws along the deer’s back. They fell together, Inky’s wings keeping her from landing in the dirt. The deer was dead before it hit the ground, the blow across its back severing it from life in some deep, unseen way.
Jogging to a stop, Ephemeral looked around as the other dragon-kin caught up. They were all fast and they all took to the hunt naturally, but Inky was still outpacing them. She is the leader of their pack, she thought, and then watched as they shredded the meat of the deer between their teeth, turning it to a red ruined thing in moments. She opened herself to the silvery touches of their minds and felt the satisfaction they took in the hot flesh slipping down their throats, hunger satiated.
‘What are you thinking?’
Terin slipped from behind the trees. He had been following them at his own pace. He was still recovering from using the cold summons, and his bare chest glistened with sweat.
‘I am thinking that they are not my sisters.’
‘Should they be?’
‘Of course not.’ She gestured to where they were gathered, snipping and snapping over bones. ‘Their minds are so bright, so interesting. They are so close to what I am, but also completely different. I do not have the right words to describe it to you. Are you certain that you cannot feel them at all? You are a seer. I thought that if anyone could, it might be you.’
Terin came over to her, smiling faintly. ‘I wish that I could, just so that I could share what fascinates you so.’
‘I wonder … if my father had not woken us with his human blood, perhaps I would be as they are. Pure, not confused. It might have been easier.’
‘The crab with the biggest pincers is always the tastiest.’ When she looked at him askance, he shrugged slightly. ‘A saying from the Frozen Steps. Nothing truly worth having is ever easy. But I am glad to hear you mention your father. I thought perhaps you had forgotten him.’
To her own surprise, Ephemeral felt her face grow hot. Terin was always provoking feelings she did not understand. Normally she enjoyed it. This did not feel so enjoyable.
‘Forget Sebastian? How could I do that?’ She took a breath, and separated her mind from the feeding dragon-kin behind her. ‘I do not know what you are referring to, husband.’
‘We came here to find him, but it seems you have found new family instead.’ His face was still, his blue eyes calm. For reasons she could not understand, this only made her face hotter.
‘I do not know where he is. Devinia the Red does not know, Augusta Grint does not know. I have exhausted the possibilities!’ Her hair had come loose from its braid. She began to tidy it up, not quite looking at Terin. When he did not speak again, she softened her voice. ‘I can’t sense him any more, Terin. Not here, not anywhere. I reach out for him and there is just a blank space. I thought perhaps that it was the dragon-kin, that they took up so much room in my head that I couldn’t see him because of it but …’ Her voice trailed off.
Terin rested his cold hand briefly on her arm. ‘Ephemeral. There is something you have not told me.’
Inky raised her head from the carnage and peered over at Ephemeral. She felt the faint questing of her mind, obviously curious as to why she was distressed, and Ephemeral gently pushed it to one side.
‘I had a dream. Before I got to the lagoon. It was just a dream. Sebastian spoke of them to me, and Wydrin Threefellows did too. They are not to be taken seriously. They are just pictures your mind paints while you sleep, to keep itself amused.’
Terin frowned. ‘This is a place of potent magic. I would be inclined to look carefully at any dreams I had in this place, especially if they felt important.’
Ephemeral looked away from him. She wanted to be hunting again, to be lost in the purity of the chase. Perhaps the Second had had a point after all. ‘In the dream, he was here on the island. He told me that I was safe now. And then when I wasn’t looking, he disappeared. I knew that he was gone, that I would never see him again.’ She briefly pressed her hand to her chest. ‘I knew it here. It was what I did to him, the last time we were together. We said goodbye in an alleyway, and when he was distracted for a moment I left.’ There was a tight feeling in her throat. She didn’t understand that either. ‘I thought it was the best thing to do. He was sad, and wanted to be away from that place. I didn’t want to give him a reason to stay.’
They were both quiet for a moment. The dragon-kin had made short work of the deer carcass, and were now nosing around for anything else that looked interesting; all save for Inky, who was watching them both closely.
‘What if that was the last time I saw him? I thought I had come to the end of my journey with him, but now I need him again. I did not know that would happen. I do not know why I need him.’
‘That sounds like family to me,’ said Terin. He took her hand, and squeezed it. ‘He is your father, Ephemeral. Sometimes we go on needing them, even when they are not there any more. I do not know what has happened to Sebastian, but we will go on looking for him, I know that. There must be answers on this island somewhere.’ He paused, looking at the dark red marks on the grass where the deer had been. ‘I also know that if we return to the camp with only full dragon-kin bellies to show for our hunt, we may all be on the menu.’
Ephemeral found herself smiling, despite the tightness of her jaw. He could always surprise smiles out of her.
‘Another hunt, then. A swift one, for we must keep ahead of our enemies,’ she agreed, reaching out for the dragon-kin minds again. ‘And we will control our appetites this time.’
75
When Sebastian awoke he was lying face down on cold marble. There was blood on his temple, sticky enough to briefly seal his eyebrow to the floor. He rolled over with a grunt to see Y’Gria and Oster in the midst of a heated argument, with Estenn standing off to one side. The lighting in the throne room was muted, and Y’Gria herself had regained some of her composure in what he was sure was a display of power for the human captives; her green hair was a sleek curtain down her back now, and there was no sign of the teeming tentacles. She stood, her long-fingered hands interlaced in front of her dress, her chin held high. In contrast, Oster was pacing in front of her like a caged animal, his fists bunched at his sides.
‘You will not lay hands – or other appendages – on him again. If you want my help, in any sense, you will do as I say.’
‘Do stop whining about your mortal, Oster. Can you not see we have a guest? And your creature is conscious again, no harm done.’
Sebastian climbed slowly to his feet, watching Estenn warily. The woman looked even wilder than when he’d last seen her, her black hair a tangled bush, her eyes wide and staring. This was what coming face to face with your gods did to you. She still had the sword at her waist, and there were a pair of hessian sacks by her feet. As he watched, one of them moved. Oster was already holding out a hand to him.
‘Sebastian, are you all right?’
He didn’t deign to give an answer. Instead he glared at Estenn. ‘What have you done? What have you done to the others?’
Estenn’s red lips peeled back from her mouth in a sneer. ‘I le
ft them for dead, as the godless deserve. They could not stand against me, and now I have the weapon that will destroy the mages.’
There was no obvious way out of the throne room. He could make a grab for the bags at her feet, and perhaps he would get there before she drew her sword or Y’Gria tossed him aside, but then he would have nowhere to go.
‘Isn’t it wonderful?’ said Y’Gria warmly. ‘This young woman is a true servant of the gods. She has brought us a weapon, made by their own hands, that will be the mages’ undoing.’
Sebastian kept his eyes on Estenn. ‘You will destroy Ede,’ he told her. ‘There will be nothing for you to return to but a smoking ruin.’
‘Your Ede, perhaps,’ she said. ‘That is the Ede that will end.’
Y’Gria raised a single finger. ‘I have decided that we must deal them the most devastating blow. The one that will hurt the most. We will take their most beloved city from them – the one where they raise their little mage children.’ Y’Gria turned directly to Estenn, a beatific smile lighting her face. ‘I will take you to Raistinia, my child, and we will tear their world apart.’ Quick as a snake, she turned back to Sebastian. ‘You will be kept out of our way.’ She shot a look at Oster. ‘Little brother, purely out of affection for you I will tolerate your … eccentricities, but you would do well to remember who your family are. Stand against me in this, and I will pull your favourite toy to bloody pieces.’
Oster looked as though he might say more, but Y’Gria was already turning away, sliding an arm around Estenn’s shoulders.
Feveroot flew low over the parched desert floor, the sleek black curves of his manta-ray form rippling faintly. The sky overhead was clear and the sun was a heavy weight on the top of Wydrin’s head, with even the breeze failing to alleviate the thumping behind her eyes. Periodically, she would touch the red mark on her cheek, marvelling at the heat that kissed her fingers. Frith stood near the head of the ray, looking out towards their destination, waiting for the thin blue line of the coast to show itself. Raistinia was a city on the sea, apparently.