The Last Sea God

by Ashley Capes

  “Let’s hope he’s awake,” Ain said before he knocked on the door.

  No response. Ain knocked again, a little louder this time – and now a voice echoed from within. “Who calls?”

  “It’s Pathfinder Ain, Usrahed. We need your advice.”

  Glass clinked and a moment later, the door opened. Usrahed squinted against the light, his bushy eyebrows wild, but his wrinkled face still broke into a smile. “Ain, so it is. Come inside.” He tottered his way back to a pile of cushions, lifting a bottle of spiced-wine and a glass as he did. “Who is your foreign friend?”

  “Wayrn is the envoy from Anaskar, a messenger of peace and something of a scholar.”

  “Ah.” The old man nodded. “I’ve heard them mention you. Well, sit and let me bestow my wisdom. What is it you need advice on? Because if it’s women, I thought you were already married, young Pathfinder.”

  “It’s not women,” Ain said. “It’s about the legend of green Plague-Men, do you know it?”

  He frowned over his drink a moment. “Hmmm.”

  “What about the Stones of Shali?” Wayrn asked.

  “Shali? Now her I remember,” he said. “She was the Goddess Among the Dunes; back when the clans worshipped various gods. Her full name was ‘Shali-Marineka’ and it was an old, old word for the way the night sky turned the dunes pale. It was said the curve of the dunes at night was her hip and waist where she slept in the sands.”

  “Poetic,” Wayrn said.

  “So it was then,” Usrahed replied.

  “And her Stones, what were they?” Ain asked.

  He tapped a finger against the rim of his glass a moment. “I think... yes, I remember that part too. Father used to tell this one when I was a lad.” He closed his eyes. “The stories said that Stones of Shali were two pieces. One of onyx and the other jasper; supposedly the shards were broken fragments from great swords wielded by the two Sky Gods, who would fight over the world. When their blades met, pieces broke off and it sent a mighty thunder echoing around the world, splitting apart the very mountains and the earth to the north. The legend used to be told to children as a way of explaining thunder, that thunder today was the faintest echoes of that first clash.”

  “And Shali collected the shards?” Ain guessed.

  “She did. She gave them to a great hero, who used them to try and unite the clans. It is said he perished in the Great Maw.”

  “Great Maw?” Wayrn asked.

  “A crater in the desert. It is a cursed place,” Ain said.

  Usrahed snorted. “No curse out there but the curse man takes with him, Ain. If the Stones do exist, they’re said to be at the bottom.”

  “What chances they still lie below?”

  “Ever heard of anyone climbing down to check?”

  He shook his head. No-one went there, despite the relative closeness to the Cloud.

  “How far is it?” Wayrn asked.

  “Half a day there and back; we might be able to rule it out quickly.” Ain shrugged. “Or even find the stones themselves, if they exist.”

  “I say we try it.”

  Ain nodded. He thanked Usrahed and the old man waved them off with a blessing of sorts, returning to his drink.

  Raila was more supportive of the idea than Ain had been expecting; she was pacing before the stronghold, hands on her hips. “I remember those legends... myths, perhaps. But nothing else has worked; you might as well try it. Take a small party, Ain, but remember your job isn’t to take foolish risks. The Cloud needs you.”

  “I understand,” he said. Yet he hesitated to get things underway himself, even as Wayrn hurried off to gather provisions.

  “Ain?”

  “I fear for Jedda and Majid.”

  Raila’s expression darkened from frustration to something much more sombre. “As do I. And maybe it is only that fear that makes me feel it has been far too long.”

  “Then let me search for them before I chase the legend of the Stones.”

  She regarded him a moment, then shook her head. “It is obviously too dangerous. It is very likely that more of those things will be coming. What if you run afoul of them beyond the Cloud? How will you protect your clan if you are days or weeks distant? What if you are captured or killed by whoever is out there, directing these things?”

  “Jedda and the others are probably in danger now and have been for weeks.”

  “And so might they already be lost to us, Ain.” Raila softened her tone and a touch of pity appeared in her eyes. “You may have to confront that possibility.”

  He shook his head. “I refuse.”

  “You are too important to the Cloud.”

  Ain took a deep breath. “Then is not visiting the Great Maw too great a risk also?”

  “You could return by nightfall.”

  “So could the walking corpses,” he countered.

  Raila gestured to the wall of unnatural cactus that had covered the stronghold, and which, so far, had proved impervious to everything that had been tried. “What if that grows, Ain? What if it envelops more homes? The wells, the oasis itself? True, the walkers may also return, but none of those possibilities means you can do nothing at all, which is what you seem to be suggesting.”

  “Elder, I—”

  “Listen to yourself. You cannot search for Jedda and Majid, and so you refuse to investigate something that may help us? You have not sounded quite so childish since you were a child.”

  Ain looked away, heat flushing his cheeks. “Forgive me, Elder.”

  “I will.”

  He met her steely gaze. “And I will search for the Stones of Shali; I simply fear it is... I don’t know. A slim hope. Isn’t the whole idea far-fetched? We’re searching for charms mentioned in children’s stories and abandoned religions.”

  “How much more believable is the notion of a man who can feel the paths of those who have gone before? Or the magic within bones of long-dead sea monsters? Or darklings? Yet all are true, Ain.”

  She was right, of course – about everything; yet he could not turn away from a lingering hope, the hope that somehow, Majid and Jedda were still alive out there somewhere. That they needed him. “Thank you, Elder,” he said. “I will do my best for the Cloud.”

  32. Seto

  Bones littered the damp basement in broken piles, as though a child had thrown a tantrum before fleeing – in this case, into the aqueducts below. For now, Seto had pulled his men out for their own protection, but soon enough someone would be heading after Vipera. Unless Danillo had already caught her, but the man was yet to return.

  Seto bent to lift one of the pieces, a femur, carved with vaguely familiar runes. He glanced up at Holindo. “I’ll need these taken back to the palace, immediately.”

  “Yes, sire.”

  Hopefully Bethana would be able to tell him something of the runes’ meaning or purpose, though he would need to question her once more first. One thing was clear, even without Enso’s death, whoever Vipera was, she was powerful. Ecsoli too, as evidenced by her Compelling. Yet how much of her power came from whatever form the scattered bones had originally taken? And how much did she already possess?

  Seto kept one piece in hand as he strode from Deylilah’s establishment into the cool night air, joined by his guard, who in turn surrounded his carriage on its way back to the palace. Once within, he sent servants to check with Lor in the aviary for any messages, and to bring Bethana to his private kitchen.

  “I feel the need to do something, even if it is only to prepare a meal,” he said, when he caught a glimpse of confusion on Giovan’s face.

  Attached to his rooms, it was a modest space with stove and oven, basin and benches. It did, however, boast a generous pantry, which he rummaged through while he waited, selecting salt, pepper, and from the icebox, the day’s catch – swordfish.

  By the time Bethana was shown into the room, her hands still bound, her feet able to manage only a shuffling walk, he already had the fish frying. Giovan motioned for one of
the guards to stay in the room and for the other to remain nearby. Prudent, but again, not necessary – it was as if Flir, or Holindo even, had taught Giovan how to mother his king.

  “Why am I here now?” Bethana asked.

  He chopped zucchini as he spoke. “I have changed my mind.”

  “About what exactly?” Her tone was wary.

  “How useful you are to me.”

  Bethana’s lips tightened. “You need me; you have admitted as much before.”

  “But I do not need someone who cannot be honest. You lied about who was behind the de-boning.” He pointed his knife at her. “One more chance, Bethana.”

  “I don’t know who it is.”

  “Perhaps. But you are sure it is Ecsoli. And more, you are certain it is one of your own.”

  She looked away.

  “This is your chance to reach that new life in Holvard.”

  Bethana lowered her voice. “You are right; I believe it can only be Ecsoli. I did not want to accept the possibility.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I hand-picked whoever it was.” She cursed in the old tongue. “It was one of my own, no other Ecsoli would ‘de-bone’, as you have termed it.”

  “And you are sure of that fact because such de-boning is the very crime those of your command committed in order to be relegated to House Nemo.”

  “Yes.”

  He flipped the fish and it sizzled in the pan. “Now that is the honesty I expect.”

  “How did you know?” she asked.

  He moved to the bag he had placed on a nearby bench and retrieved the femur, handing it over. Her eyes widened; she traced the names with her finger.

  “What does it say?” Giovan asked.

  “It is an epitaph and a name – my name,” Bethana said. She dropped the bone.

  “There are others,” Seto said. “Many bear your name but also the names of others from your House.”

  “Whoever it is...” She shook her head. “I went to the prisons myself, over months I selected them all. We travelled the very world together, fought together. I still can hardly believe any would do this to their own companions.”

  “Yet someone has.” Seto lifted the pan from the heat. “You must have suspicions, doubts.”

  “Even if I do, my guess will likely fly wide of the mark. Who survived the invasion? Who fled? Who snuck back onto the ships for Ecsoli? There are too many possibilities.”

  Seto began serving onto two plates, the scent of the fish rising to meet him as he did. He added the zucchini, then sprinkled salt and pepper quite liberally before sliding one plate toward Bethana. With his free hand, Seto motioned for Giovan to unbind her. The man did so with a slight frown, but did not comment. Bethana took a mouthful, her expression one of surprise.

  After taking a bite himself, Seto shrugged. “I have done better; I have overlooked the lemon. In any event, there are more bones. They were being used as towers to amplify power as you said, all are marked with runes for names. Yet many runes I cannot fathom.”

  “I am no Carver but I will try,” she said.

  “Good.”

  After the meal, he led Bethana and their escort to one of several studies included in his quarters, where men were still laying out bones. There was enough for two dozen skeletons, though not a single skull had remained in the basement, and some pieces were fully carved into other shapes, rather than simply being carven. It was clear that Vipera had been de-boning for some time, and that it was possible not all corpses had been Ecsoli.

  Seto lit additional lamps while Bethana strode around the large mahogany table that sat in the centre of the room. She touched some bones, only looking at others, her expression dark. At times, she muttered to herself beneath her breath.

  “Does it not seem someone from House Nemo with carving experience is a likely candidate?” he asked after a time.

  “Yes. Only none of us had that training. We were all trained to become Os-Bellator,” she said. When he raised an eyebrow, she added, “Bones of War.”

  “Then someone in a past life?”

  “No.”

  “Perhaps a woman? One called Vipera?”

  Bethana frowned. “No-one in the House used that name. Is that who it is?”

  “I believe so.” He regarded her again. “Are you certain no woman under your command had carving experience?”

  Bethana was firm. “No. I once asked, for I wanted to create something, but no-one came forward. And some of these runes look ancient, even to me.”

  “Then Vipera has help,” Seto said.

  “I believe so.”

  “But from who?” Giovan asked. “Who among those Ecsoli who invaded, would know runes old enough to seem ancient even to Bethana here?”

  A chill slipt between Seto’s shoulder blades.

  Do not seek me.

  The four words written in Enso’s blood. And the Perfume Rat’s own words before his death: she will kill me and then kill you. The ‘she’ the man had referred to was not the one who called herself Vipera – it was Vipera’s master.

  And she could be no-one else.

  Chelona.

  33. Seto

  Seto waited as Danillo examined the bones one at a time, Argeon glowing a soft blue as the Lord Protector circled the table. The study had long-since emptied of all others, leaving a new quiet, save for the occasional clunk of bone, and a whirlwind of doubts and fears in Seto’s mind.

  When Danillo finally stopped it was to seek one of the leather-backed chairs, a piece of bone in hand. “This is all becoming more dangerous even than I first thought,” he said. “And I have to wonder why this young woman took the skulls? How much more potent a magic has she carried away with her?”

  “Indeed. What do they tell you?” Seto asked, gesturing to the bones on the table with his chin.

  “That whoever carved them knows facets to the art long lost here in Anaskar – things that even Argeon is slow to recall.”

  “But he can understand?”

  “In time, I think he will more fully. Most are what we surmised; to bolster power. Many are curses on the Nemo, and were left perhaps as messages. There is considerable vitriol there.”

  “Then Vipera was certainly part of House Nemo.”

  “I believe so.” He lifted the piece he held. “Here is the one that Argeon has explained to me – the runes here are for ‘sun’ and ‘dryness’ or ‘drought’.”

  “Drought? To what end? Protection?”

  “Or causing?”

  “But why cause a drought? If it was being used as a weapon, the effects would hardly be immediate.”

  “Perhaps it is one part of a larger scheme? I will know more in time, Argeon is at work. There is one of my ancestors that I will soon have access to that can tell us more.”

  “That’s something,” Seto said.

  “Yet still the most troublesome question – who has given this Ecsoli such knowledge and power? No simple masks worn by regular Ecsoli would know what Argeon is now uncovering. It would have to be an ancient mask, yet Argeon senses none like he himself and it perplexes him. There is a vast power, that much even I have sensed, someone or something lurks behind Vipera.”

  “I see.” Seto moved to another chair with a sigh. It was time to share what he suspected. But if he did, could he reveal the whole of his actions? For he was to blame for everything that Chelona had done and would do, there was no denying such a fact. “Do you know where she is?”

  Danillo tossed the bone back onto the table. “She hides herself somehow, still. I nearly had her in the Lower Tier but the trail closed.”

  “Danillo, I have a theory that I hesitate to share but which I think we all must face.”

  The man leant forward in his chair. “Go on, Seto.”

  Seto exhaled. How much to reveal? “We were never able to discover where Chelona’s spirit settled, if it did at all, after she left the mask.” Of course, the idea that she merely ‘left the mask’ was still a necessary half-truth f
or now, and the circumstances around how – and around Seto’s deceit, were best left unexplored. Yet he often wondered, did Danillo think upon it often? For the Lord Protector had to realise, if Chelona could ‘leave’ the mask, could not his own daughter be freed from Argeon somehow? Perhaps the man had come to the logical conclusion – based on the misinformation Seto had given – that a spirit without a body was not a life.

  “A troubling thought.”

  And it was hardly the whole truth yet Seto was well-accustomed to the guilt by now, he was too much of a coward to reveal everything about events in Cera Tower. “Agreed. She could easily be behind this.”

  Danillo exhaled heavily. “To what end?”

  “Impossible to say but do we need to know why in order to suspect and to plan for the possibility?”

  “No, but I do fear there are little effective steps we can take in order to prepare, beyond a sense of heightened readiness, without knowing her motives.”

  “We have you.”

  “Take some comfort, in that,” he said. “But remember also what happens to the ship when caught between storm and reef.”

  “We will find a way to protect Anaskar from such a fate,” Seto said. “The first order of which will be to find Vipera.”

  Danillo nodded. “Give me until dawn to learn more about her altars and to rest. Then we will find a way to strike back.”

  “Take the time you need,” Seto said as he stood. “I will check on Lavinia’s progress.”

  “You must rest sooner or later, too, Your Majesty.”

  “So I must,” he said as he left the study, heading down the short corridor and then exiting his chambers by the Ways; it would be quicker. The dark passages between rooms were lit only in places, but he knew his way well enough to reach the corridor near the Storm Singer’s quarters swiftly enough.

  He brushed webs from his hair as he exited from beneath a tapestry, letting the section of wall slide shut behind him, and then he was nodding to the guard on his way in to Lavinia’s rooms. They were sparsely furnished, and most surfaces bore instruments, lutes, lyres and silver bells. Despite the late hour, humming drifted from beyond the door to the dining area. A soothing sound, yet it came with an underlying tension. Seto hesitated, hand on the door – what if the song were dangerous?