Fiery Edge of Steel (Noon Onyx #2)

by Jill Archer

  “Faith and an anchor,” I said.

  Vodnik scowled. “They say Ebony was Grimasca’s anchor,” he croaked in the common tongue. I stared at him.

  “How do you know so much about Ebony and Grimasca?” I said, suddenly suspicious. Vodnik screeched a curt answer to Rafe.

  “He said the Shallows are less than a day’s row from the Elbow. Do we think we’re the first people to have passed through it on the way here?”

  There was another exchange between Vodnik and Rafe and Rafe continued.

  “We can stay the night. Tomorrow, Stillwater, the outpost gerefa, will take us out to the Meadow where the fishermen disappeared. We can start our hunt there.”

  As bucolic as “the Meadow” sounded, I couldn’t help wondering if we would end up disappearing there too . . .

  * * *

  The Shallows was a large triangular piece of land bordered by the Secernere, the Blandjan, and a low stone wall that ran for approximately half a mile between them. We’d come into the settlement from its back door on the Secernere. I gathered the fact that we’d arrived via Ebony’s Elbow gave us just as much, if not more, notoriety than the fact that we’d been sent by the Council “to help.”

  On the Blandjan side of the Shallows, there was a much larger pier, one that, while nothing like its counterparts in New Babylon, would have been sufficient for docking Cnawlece alongside. As I’d suspected, since Vodnik made his home here and his own waning magic would have killed off any vegetation long ago, the interior of the Shallows was completely devoid of the trees, moss, weeds, and reeds we’d seen so much of on the way here. Instead, the ground was either mud, standing water, dried wood chips, or some combination of all three. The settlers’ homes were small wooden huts that stood elevated on six-foot-high pilings. Front “doors” were made of cloth in various shades of mud-splattered olive, lichen, rust, and root. Often, laundry lines were hung across the fronts of the huts, and clothes (looking like they’d been sewn from the same cloth as the door curtains) hung on the lines to dry. It was going to take a while. Because the humidity here was even worse than it had been on the river.

  At least on the river, there’d been occasional breezes. Here, the air was still. The numerous puddles of standing water throughout the settlement acted like giant mirrors, reflecting the grim, dull, gray existence that I imagined was the settlers’ lives.

  No one else greeted us, which seemed strange, so I asked Rafe to ask one of the children where their parents were. I didn’t know whether to be relieved or worried when I found out most of the men were on the river fishing and most of the women were in the swamp tending gardens or gathering food. The rest were at Stone Pointe, an old giants’ house that had been built at the tip of the Shallows’ triangle.

  Stone Pointe was now Vodnik’s keep. It wasn’t quite a castle (the home I’d grown up in looked more like a true castle than this structure), but it looked like it had wanted to be one, like it might have been one, had it been allowed to grow old somewhere else. But instead it had grown old here, on soft muddy ground, in an area where most buildings’ life spans were half a man’s, if that.

  Stone Pointe was surrounded by a moat, but as I looked more closely, I thought it hadn’t been an intentional one. The keep was made of stone. Here and there I could see half-submerged window frames—open holes in the foundation that allowed a watery sludge to flow in and out, under, and all around the slowly sinking building. My guess was that the weight of the walls had caused them to sink into the mud. And, over time, with repeated flooding, what once may have been high ground became low ground. I imagined, after the first few floods, the early settlers might have even tried to dig this keep back out of the muck, an unfortunate practice that likely contributed to the building’s odd moat and all but guaranteed further flooding of the lower floors.

  The moat had two arms, both of which stretched to the Blandjan, but in opposite directions, one east, one west, nearly paralleling the course of the river a few acres away. Here, on the eastern Lethe, the thick, stagnant muck of the moat was just one hard rain away from being rushing white water. Someday, if the Lethe chose to spawn a new tributary for itself as it had at Second Branch, then the Shallows would likely be cut in half or completely submerged, the foundation of this old stone keep, and maybe even its people, lost forever.

  Mercator had told us earlier this semester that Vodnik had established the Shallows in 1593, over four centuries ago. But this keep looked even older than that. I tipped my head back to gaze at the crumbling stone leviathan that must have been the settlers’ first home.

  How many floors of this keep had sunk by 1593? How many times had it flooded since? How many times had it been rebuilt? How many men had it taken? Had anyone died doing it? Who had drowned here? Been born here? Married here? Loved . . . lost . . . cried . . . plotted revenge . . . granted forgiveness?

  I stared at it, thinking that this hulking, half-whole, inanimate chimera was the unbeating heart of the Shallows—and probably the key to understanding its people. They’d built their settlement in the shadow of a giant’s house. My guess was the Hyrkes of the Shallows would stay until Stone Pointe washed away.

  We walked across the small wooden bridge (it was really little more than a few dozen boards held together with dried vines) that had been constructed over the moat. While crossing, I peered at the bubbly sludge on either side. Could things live in there? If so, it must be like swimming in quicksand. Stone Pointe grew bigger. I heard the clomping of footsteps, duller sounding than they’d been on the pier, as Fara, Virtus, and Russ crossed behind me. Rafe and Ari were in front, following Vodnik. The children waited until we were across and then they scampered over in twos and threes, scattering around us as we clustered in a group in front of the keep’s entrance.

  Vodnik sent one of the children into the keep. A few moments later a young woman emerged. She was much cleaner than the mud-caked child who’d gone to fetch her. In fact, she looked bleached, almost anemic. Despite that, and the lean circumstances of the settlement she lived in, she looked well fed and had a fragile beauty that seemed at home here in the swamps. She reminded me of pearlescent featherfoil, the floating river plant with translucent stems and small white flowers that we’d seen so much of on our way here. The woman wore a shapeless dress and her thin, chamomile-colored hair was held back by a plain leather tie. She smiled at us, but it was strained and uneasy. She had no signature, but even I could sense something wasn’t quite right. She stood away and apart from us, and from Vodnik.

  And that’s when I realized she was pregnant. That’s why she wasn’t coming any closer.

  I forced myself to relax. Obviously, she knew to stay back. The people of the Shallows wouldn’t have survived this long if they didn’t know to keep their breeding females away from waning magic users. Vodnik and Rafe exchanged a few words in Avian. Rafe nodded in understanding and approached the young woman, uttering a series of squawks. Despite the language barrier, even I could understand Rafe’s message: Beware! The woman, looked at Ari and then at me, her face a mixture of morbid curiosity and trepidation. Ari glanced over at me, concerned, I supposed, about how I was taking this less than warm welcome. He needn’t have worried. It was a reaction I now expected in one out of every three introductions. Further and more importantly, Vodnik’s next words, a stuttering introduction of the girl in our language, had my mind skipping ahead like a gramophone needle over an analog disc record.

  “This is my inamorata, Zella,” Vodnik said, motioning to the fair-haired, pregnant woman.

  Huh, I thought, now that’s information that wasn’t in the case file.

  Zella Rust, the woman who’d written the second demon complaint—the one that had stopped a mere hairsbreadth away from accusing Vodnik outright of murdering her eight-year-old sister—was Vodnik’s lover. I stared at her bulging belly in horror wondering if the child had a Hyrke father . . . or if Luck had “gifted” her with a drakon child for lying with Vodnik. Hadn’t Fara said it was
usually only the inamoratas of greater demons that were “favored” that way? I hoped so! And I imagined Zella did too since there were no Mederies within a few thousand miles of this place . . .

  Chapter 21

  We were given huts to sleep in. I gathered that, due to the unfortunate disappearance of the fishermen earlier in the spring, there were more than enough. They were as sparse on the inside as they looked from the outside, but at least their thatched roofs would keep the rain off at night. Delgato was given into the care of Meghan Brun, the outpost cearian or nurse. Meghan looked slightly older and less wary of us than Vodnik’s other followers had. I’d thought that a good thing since she was on my list of people to speak with. (Both her and Thomas Stillwater, the outpost gerefa, or lawman, had been listed as possible witnesses in my now-lost case file.) On the whole, I thought our introduction and immersion into this strange place had gone well. It was a feeling I tried to ignore. Past experience made me realize that acknowledging good fortune in the midst of an assignment usually resulted in reversing it.

  We were invited to dine at Stone Pointe. Meghan gave us all clean clothes and let us wash up in the med shack. The water in the wooden tub was cold, but the soap was more than welcome and I sat there shivering and scrubbing, just grateful to finally be getting the smell of the river off my skin and out of my hair. Getting it out of my nose and memory would take at least as long as it took to get back to New Babylon, perhaps a lifetime.

  I toweled off and put on the loose linen pants and long-sleeved tunic that Meghan had left, glancing at Delgato out of the corner of my eye. He was sleeping peacefully on the cot farthest from the door. I tied a thin leather cord around my tunic as a belt, tied my hair back with another, and walked over to him. I leaned down and put my hand on his chest. Nothing. I couldn’t even feel a whiff of his signature. When would he wake up? I’d only slept for three days. But then again, the hellcnight had only nicked my neck, whereas it had severely bitten Delgato.

  When I emerged from the med shack, Ari was waiting for me. He’d cleaned up as well and now wore the same earthly colored pants and tunic that I did. His tunic wasn’t belted, though, and his shoulder-length chestnut-colored hair was unbound. After the hellcnight’s attack, he’d let his beard grow out. His chin and cheeks were now completely obscured by a full, black beard.

  His signature softened when he saw me and he offered me an elbow. Together, we walked from the med shack to an area near the center of the Shallows, a large cleared patch of ground where a campfire had been lit in the shadow of the stone keep. I’d been told that this was where Vodnik and his followers ate every night, so long as the weather didn’t drive everyone inside. It certainly wouldn’t tonight, although there were hints that another storm like the one we’d seen only two nights ago might be on its way.

  To the west, the inky silhouettes of the shaggy swamp trees swayed against the iridescent amethyst hue of early nightfall. To the north, black human shapes gathered around the crisp, crackling orange red light of the fire. Specks of black, gray, and silver ash floated in lazy circles amidst a swirling haze of smoke. I couldn’t help thinking that I was looking at a scene that had repeated itself for over four hundred years. Surely, if Vodnik was capable of killing his own people, scenes of simple communal domestic tranquility such as the one I was watching would be impossible. Right?

  “Noon,” Ari said, stopping me before we reached the campfire, or the area within which anyone might overhear us. “If it comes to it, I can execute Vodnik for you.”

  He might just as well have splashed freezing cold water in my face.

  I sputtered. “We don’t even know that Vodnik’s guilty.”

  Ari gave me a tight smile. His signature receded. I recognized the signs. He was going to say something I wouldn’t like.

  “How likely is it that Grimasca killed those fishermen and that girl?”

  I frowned. It was impossible to miss the sarcasm in Ari’s voice. “What about the fact that we were attacked—twice—on the way here by hellcnights? Don’t you think that’s a little too coincidental?”

  “Hellcnights exist. I’m not saying they don’t. I’m just saying I don’t think their legendary leader exists. Or ever did. I think Grimasca is a bedtime story mothers made up,” he said.

  “Rafe said Grimasca was the one demon you never wanted to meet, the one demon you’d be deeply afraid of.”

  Ari’s patient, slightly patronizing expression transformed into one of slight disbelief and mild humor, with just the slightest hint of jealousy. “You’d take Raphael Sinclair’s advice about a demon over mine?”

  “Maybe they drowned or got lost,” I said. I didn’t really believe it, but I felt we had to consider every possibility.

  Ari raised his brows. “How likely is it that a group of fifteen men, born and raised here in the swamps, all drowned or got lost?”

  “Very,” I argued. “What if they stumbled into quicksand or stepped into a newly formed tributary that was covered with weeds and reeds?”

  “Then how do you explain the butcher knife and the silver spice box that was found where the fishermen disappeared?”

  I frowned in confusion. “If you think those items are vital clues, why do you think Vodnik is the demon who’s responsible for the disappearances?”

  Ari exhaled and looked away. I could tell from his stance and signature that he wasn’t any more certain of his theory than I’d been of mine. Which was to say, we’d each formed a gut opinion about which demon was responsible based on the evidence so far. It just happened to be that we each thought a different demon did it.

  Finally, Ari sighed and met my gaze. “I think Vodnik found the butcher knife and the spice box near the Elbow and planted them in the Meadow for Stillwater to find. I think he’s lying. I think he knows that Zella suspects him and he’s desperate to pin the blame on another demon.”

  “Vodnik has been the outpost lord here for four hundred years, Ari. That’s over thirteen generations of harmonious living thrown away because . . . why? What’s his motive? Why kill those fishermen? And why an eight-year-old girl? It doesn’t make sense.”

  Ari paused, considering my words. Then he shrugged. “Maybe he just needed fewer mouths to feed. You know what they say about lying? ‘The best lies are the truth in disguise.’ Vodnik said, ‘The Demon of Hunger found his way to the Shallows and took many.’ Maybe he wasn’t lying when he said that. But, if so, he meant the mythical Grimasca, not the real one.”

  It was my turn to pause and consider. Ari’s arguments were as convincing as mine. I realized the worst thing that could happen in this investigation would be to speak to everyone, investigate the Meadow, turn out every shack in the Shallows, and the Stone Pointe keep, and find nothing. Nothing else to go on but the evidence we currently had. My choice would then be to execute a potentially innocent outpost lord or leave these people with their possibly murderous patron.

  I made a sound of disgust, knowing we wouldn’t solve anything tonight. But there was one more thing I had to say.

  “Ari . . .” I said slowly, “I couldn’t be more grateful for your presence here. But I’m Primoris and I’m going to make the final decision. And . . .” I looked over at the purple sky, wondering why it had to look so pretty when we were talking about something so ugly. I looked back at Ari and stared him straight in the eyes. “I don’t want you covering for me the way you did with Jezebeth’s execution. Whatever needs to be done . . . I’ll do it.”

  We stared at each other for a few minutes. Then he nodded and kissed my forehead.

  “Know what they’re roasting for dinner tonight?”

  I shook my head.

  “River slugs.” And then he laughed and pulled me in the direction of Vodnik, his followers, and the fire.

  * * *

  Thankfully, even in the Shallows where food was extraordinarily scarce, there was more on the menu than just river slugs. There was also bloodfish, bonemeal grits, and stewed swamp greens. I don’t know what
Burr or Alba would have made of it all. It was hard to complain when these people so willingly shared their food with us.

  The campfire was lined with huge logs that had been pulled from the swamp so long ago the bark had been worn down to a shiny smooth surface. I estimated that there were a little over a hundred and fifty people gathered around the site. A core group of about twenty congregated around the fire and the rest ate on logs, blankets, or just while standing, in groups of threes and fours all around the edges. It looked like the outer groups were families, catching up with one another after being apart for the day.

  Their cooing, warbling, whistling, and trilling were infinitely preferable to the dry clacking and wet snuffling sounds the rogare demons made at night, but I did wonder what they were all talking about. It wasn’t like they were complaining about the Lethe commuter ferries or the amount of work that was still waiting for them back at the office. But then again, none of them had that frazzled, harried, one-beat-short-of-a-heart-attack look that most New Babylonians had either. Maybe we were all on our way to an early grave and it was just a matter of how we wanted to accomplish it.

  After choking down a bowl of swamp greens and a few bites of bloodfish, I suggested that Ari keep Vodnik occupied so that I could speak with some of his followers. He agreed and I walked over to where Rafe stood to enlist his help. Even if some of these people spoke the common tongue, it was clear that Avian was their preferred language.

  “What are they all saying?” I said without preamble when I reached Rafe. “You never translate anything they say verbatim. I want to know what they’re talking about.”

  Rafe looked at me quizzically. He always seemed to be evaluating me. Shouldn’t it be the other way around?

  “Do you think it would help your investigation?”