Even after it was said and done, Digs was evidently so surprised Hoartrap had actually done it that he almost skewered him anyway when the warlock began to take a cautious step backward. Giving Diggelby a withering glare, Hoartrap said, “If you will excuse me, Pasha, I have an oath to fulfill? Regarding a certain mortal-eating monster you demanded I save?”
“Of course,” said Digs, no longer meeting Hoartrap’s gaze as he struggled to sheathe his blade. His hand was quavering too violently for him to get it in right away, which made Purna all the more impressed that he’d held it together as long as he had. “Wish it hadn’t come to all this, you know, I… well, you didn’t leave me much… choice?”
Hoartrap was already gone, though, limping away—he seemed to be feeling his broken leg, now, if far less than any other mortal would. He went to the prone, heaving form of the horned wolf, where the pulsating, eye-covered ichor had spread over the creature’s entire head, emitting a cold grey light that throbbed in time with the fox fire. Then Nemi took a deep, shivering breath, and without sparing a word of thanks for her saviors stumbled over to the side of her animal, burying her face and arms in its furry flank. Hoartrap made a point of ignoring her as he rolled up the sleeves of his robe and knelt over the mess he’d made of the animal’s face. Not wanting to see whatever came next, Purna turned to Diggelby… only to find him laid flat out on his back, staring up at the will-o’-the-wisps that rose through the branches of the rowan tree.
“Damn, Digs,” said Purna, sitting down beside him and patting his shoulder. He was soaked in a cold sweat, and gave a faint moan at her touch. “Hey, you okay?”
“I… I did it,” he gasped. “I wanted to, I did, but I was so scared, Purna, I was so scared I couldn’t move, I just stayed behind that log, and watched… watched him… back in Myura, you and Maroto were locked up in that closet, but Din and Hassan and I, we all saw what he did to those Imperial officers… and I promised myself that night, I said, Diggelby, that is the one person—no, the one thing—the one thing in the Star you are never, ever going to cross. And I did, didn’t I? And now he’s going to get us, isn’t he?”
“He swore an oath not to, Digs,” said Purna, starting to get the shaky legs herself now, too. “He can’t ever get us, not now. Because you saved us. Because when the real shit happened? Diggelby jack move. You saw I was in trouble, and you swept in to the rescue.”
“I… I’m sorry,” said Diggelby, closing his eyes before saying the rest. “It was you, of course it was you… but? But it was also that… that poor dog!”
Dog? What dog? There was only… Diggelby gave a wet whimper, covering his face with a gloved hand, and Purna smiled sadly, giving her friend a squeeze on the knee, even as she shook her head. “One woman’s wolf is another witch’s pup, huh? And you saved it, too, Digs.”
She hoped that last was true, though she couldn’t imagine even a monster of the horned wolf’s stature surviving whatever it was Hoartrap had done to it, even if the living ooze had only been suffocating it and nothing worse… Yeesh. No thanks.
Purna lay back in the cool dirt beside Digs, the rowan branches spread out above them to net the crescent moon. Odd to find one of these distinctive trees growing in the lowlands, she’d thought they only sprouted in the high country. She and Digs watched the fox fire floating through the black latticework above them, the bulbs of light winking as they wove through the boughs like gigantic lightning bugs. And one by one the will-o’-the-wisps began to go out entirely, some brushing into the branches and popping like bubbles and others just fading away, but before the last orb went dark and left them in the soft moonlight it illuminated one of the tree’s star-shaped blossoms, blossoms that should only bloom in the late spring instead of winter, however unusually warm it may be…
And seeing that flower reminded Purna of how when she was a child who would climb trees from dawn to dusk, her aunt and uncle had taught her that she must be respectful when scaling a rowan, and never use a knife to cut or carve its branches. They claimed there was magic in these trees, and that the older generations had called them Gate-ash because their every blossom and their every berry contained a tiny star, proof that they had their roots in the First Dark yet spread their limbs toward the heavens, as all mortal things must.
Purna remembered how few shits she had given about any of that mumbo-jumbo, how bad a niece she must have been for her aunt and uncle, always raising hell, stealing and getting into fights. Tasting that familiar tea back in the Procuress’s shop—before things had gotten all super intense and scary—had reminded Purna that for as hard as she had convinced herself she was miserable and deserved better than what her family could give her, she had left behind many happy memories as well as sad ones. They had tried so hard to understand their wild niece, and she had pushed them away… but just as she was feeling all nostalgic (and guilty all over again for running off with their rugs), she remembered they had apparently put a hit out on her, so there was no call getting all misty on their account. Messed up a person as she was, she’d done them a favor by not only running away but also doing it in such a way that they would never miss her, if they had any sense at all. Instead of putting a price on her head they should have chalked it up as a loss and thanked her for her consideration, but expecting a word of thanks from anyone in this cold, cold world was like looking for light in the First Dark.
“Thank you both,” said a voice that sounded a lot more confident than it had a little earlier, but not so cocky as it had the first time they’d heard it. It was a nice balance, and Purna and Digs both sat up to once more face Nemi of the Bitter Sighs in the pure moonlight of the Haunted Forest. The witch leaned on her walking stick, looking even more run-down than Purna felt. “Myrkur will recover, or so the Touch claims. We owe you our lives.”
“Well, you owe us a song, at least,” said Digs. “And… and maybe I could pet your wolf, once it’s better?”
“Certainly,” said Nemi, rubbing the dark marks just above her heavy necklace that probably matched the ones on Purna’s throat. “I never thought to meet folk who would risk their lives to help a sorcerer and a horned wolf, so I am sure your song is just as—”
“Shitty shitty fuck fuck!” Purna scrambled to her feet, unable to believe what a jerk she was—granted, she’d had an epic distraction, but that was no excuse to plop down on her duff and think back about old times when her friends were still missing, and presumably in trouble. “Songs soon, Nemi, most definitely, but they’ll have to wait until we’ve found Sullen.”
“What’s a Sullen?” asked Nemi. Then they heard Hoartrap give a hoot of surprise, and a silhouette broke from the shadowy yews on the far side into the moonlit clearing, the bloodied man staggering forward with a spear held limply in one hand… and then he wobbled, and fell face-first in the dead leaves.
“That’s a Sullen,” said Digs. “Or what’s left of one.”
“Oh sugar,” said Nemi, standing a little straighter and staring off into the darkness. “I fear I’ve misplaced one of those, too.”
CHAPTER
27
Sullen was the sort of lad who’d had some dreams in his day, both awake and asleep, but if he lived another fifty years he’d never have one as long and terrible as this. Ancestors attacking him in a lake that wasn’t really a lake, kissing Keun-ju and being rumbled by his mom, then saved by Hoartrap, everyone dying, snakes turning into mud and a horned wolf stealing his heart, and finally wandering through a moonlit forest with Grandfather.
That part wasn’t so bad, actually—though not as exciting as the Keun-ju bits—and he wished he could remember more of it. The old man’s legs were working again, but at the expense of his tongue. You’d think a silent Fa would be no Fa at all, but it was almost perfect, the two of them together again, not having to say a word after all they’d been through together. He didn’t want to wake up, because as the Bright Watcher lifted the cobalt curtain of the night Grandfather began to come apart in wisps of saam smoke, until a
ll that was left was the old man’s hand in his, lending his grandson strength even at the cost of his own.
And then Sullen woke up. And everything hurt. He’d heard people say that before, after a tumble, but those people had no idea what they were talking about. This was unbelievably bad, one ache and cut after another piping in as he blinked in the sharp sunlight, a shadow looming over him like Old Black come to take him home. A hand shaded his eyes for him, and he saw Keun-ju sitting on the forest floor beside him. He had a veil firmly in place again but was otherwise as exposed as Sullen had ever seen him outside of the Thaoan bathhouse, the boy as shy about going shirtless as Sullen was prone to strip down to just his skirt when it got a touch above freezing and the sun was out. Then Sullen saw why his coat was off, and tried to sit up only to have the world slip out from under him and send the back of his head cracking into the ground.
“I’m all right, I am,” Keun-ju said from somewhere far above in the swirling haze, and he actually sounded okay, despite how he looked. “Well… no, I’m not, and I doubt I ever will be again. But I am alive, and so are you.”
When he could finally focus on Keun-ju again without having the earth twirl beneath him, he made himself look, though it hurt so much to see what he’d caused. It must hurt Keun-ju so very much worse, though, and the least Sullen could do was not shy away from his handiwork. If only he hadn’t warned his mother out of the way when he’d thrown his sun-knife, she never would have had the chance to do this.
“This isn’t your fault, Sullen,” said Keun-ju, sounding like he wanted to believe that every bit as much as Sullen did. “Trust me, I’d rather live with one than be buried with both.”
Sullen’s eyes filled with tears but he would not look away. A wound would have been one thing, even a grievous one, but the utter absence of Keun-ju’s right arm filled Sullen with such sorrow he could not even speak. It was so… wrong. Keun-ju sat on the ground at Sullen’s side, and from his waist all the way up to the top of the silk straps he used to smooth down the swell of his breasts he looked fine, he looked himself… and then his arm was just gone, with no bandages or anything, the naked shoulder abruptly terminating in a raw stump covered in a sickening yellow crust. Sullen must have revealed his dismay, because glancing down, Keun-ju shuddered, too.
“I know, it makes it seem even worse, doesn’t it?” he said, sounding weirdly nonchalant about his missing fucking arm. “But it’s not infected or anything, that’s all just some sort of mystical egg yolk. At first I thought Purna and Diggelby were pranking me again, but all I can smell is spoiled quiche, so they may be right. It’s supposedly the specialty of the new witch they found.”
“Eh?” Apparently Sullen’s dreams paled in comparison to what had happened after… after… he closed his eyes, feeling like he had the worst hangover of his life, one so bad he hadn’t even experienced it before. It was coming back in painful bursts, and not knowing where else to start, he said, “But this is real and you’re alive, right? You’re not dead?”
“I feel somewhere in between, at present, though Diggelby foraged some insects that have me upright, at least,” said Keun-ju, which explained why he sounded a little loopy. “But I wouldn’t have made it through the night without my dear friend going in search of aid, and the help of comrades both old and new.”
“What about everyone else? Are they… all right?”
“You took it worse than anyone,” said Keun-ju, as though Sullen was the one who’d lost a fucking arm. It was so hard to reconcile the tender concern of the handsome man with the smarmy snot who had insulted Sullen to his face right after the First Battle of the Lark’s Tongue.
“Other than you, you mean,” said Sullen mournfully, wishing it had been his shoulder that had caught the blade.
“Well, yes, I meant other than me,” said Keun-ju, trying to smile, but Sullen saw that beyond whatever bugs he’d taken and however much the witchcraft had lessened his pain, the Immaculate was hurt so much more than he was letting on. Sullen vowed that no matter how much it pained him, he would get back on his feet and over his wounds with all due haste, so they could focus on Keun-ju and his loss. He just had to focus on sitting up without fainting first.
“I know you will find this hard to believe, but you don’t look so great, either,” said Keun-ju. “When you went to find help for me you very nearly bled to death, and you’ve been asleep for days. I thought… they weren’t sure if you would awake. But you have, and yes, everyone else is fine, except for poor Princess.”
“I remember that,” said Sullen, though he wished he didn’t, the dying pony screaming in his aching skull. “Everyone’s fine?”
“Just about,” said Keun-ju. “But I do have some good news and some bad news for you, what sort do you like to hear first?”
“Good news,” Sullen said firmly.
“So predictable,” said Keun-ju, but Sullen was warming to the Immaculate’s teasing. “The good news is Hoartrap and Nemi have established an uneasy alliance, and together they claim they can take us all to Maroto, no magic posts or compasses required.”
“That’s good,” said Sullen, “since we lost ’em both.”
“You lost the post, but I kept the compass,” said Keun-ju. “I had it in my pocket when those swamp creatures attacked. That’s how Hoartrap was able to reach us so swiftly—before giving it to Purna he imbued it with something that would let him locate wherever the compass was in all the Star. Good thing we didn’t throw it away like somebody suggested.”
“Yeah, well, I bet he just wanted an easy way to find us, after the trouble he went through before, tracking down my uncle. So I was right about his having a shady reason for giving it to us.”
“It’s nice when we’re both right, isn’t it?” said Keun-ju. “And I don’t doubt he has ulterior motives for bringing us to Maroto, either, but we don’t have much choice—Ji-hyeon’s in trouble, and the rest of the Star, too, of course, but if we can get to your uncle, we may be able to help our general win the war against Jex Toth. They… the monsters of the Sunken Kingdom…” Keun-ju looked like he couldn’t make up his mind whether he wanted to be scared, sad, or angry. Maybe all three at once. “They attacked the Immaculate Isles, and so Ji-hyeon led the Cobalt Company through the Lark’s Tongue Gate, to Othean, to help defend our homeland from the invasion.”
“She… she led the Company through a Gate? To a war with monsters?” Thinking of their fearless, wonderful Ji-hyeon in such peril made Sullen feel like he might throw up a nest of snakes himself. “That’s some serious bad news, Keun-ju.”
“Ah, that wasn’t the bad news,” said Keun-ju. “The good news was that Hoartrap and Nemi will help us find your uncle, remember? Hoartrap believes Maroto has already begun reconnaissance for the counterattack against Jex Toth, and if we find him we may discover a way to strike the enemy from within.”
“What?” Sullen closed his eyes again, because the world seemed poised to start spinning again. “Never mind, we can go over it all later. So if that’s all good news, somehow, then what the heck is the bad news?”
“It… it’s about your mom.”
“Oh.” Sullen braced himself, his hands tightening to fists. One of them was wrapped around something round and hard, and glancing down at his side he saw a vaguely familiar black spear gripped in his fist, the steel blade near his bare foot glittering like onyx.
“You really didn’t want to let it go, so rather than risk breaking a finger to get it away from you I told them to let you risk nicking a toe,” said Keun-ju. “I assumed if you did it might stir that thick head of yours.”
“My mom,” said Sullen, because intriguing as this mysterious new spear definitely looked there was something a lot more important going on. Nothing was more vital than family, either the ones you’re stuck with or the ones you choose. He remembered the sound her body had made when Hoartrap had kicked her into that tree, and he knew, yes he did, but he still had to hear it. “She’s dead, isn’t she?”
“Oh no,” said Keun-ju, placing his palm on Sullen’s shoulder. “She’s alive. But I don’t think she likes me very much.”
“That’s okay,” said Sullen, finally letting go of the spear, flexing his aching fingers, and then reaching up to take Keun-ju’s only remaining hand in his own. “You’re in good company there.”
“I hope I always am,” said Keun-ju. “And once she meets Ji-hyeon she’ll see that I’m not so bad after all.”
It hurt to laugh, but then it hurt even if he didn’t, so laugh Sullen did, and only stopped when Keun-ju knelt down and softly kissed him. It didn’t make the world stop spinning, but at least it let him enjoy the ride. Keun-ju squeezed Sullen’s hand in his, and breaking off their sweet reprieve from their pain, sat back up. It looked harder than it probably used to be, Keun-ju’s balance thrown off-kilter by more than just the bugs, and there was something about the look in the sweet man’s eyes that made Sullen realize he was holding something else back, some deep, raw pain or fear or both that went beyond even the amputation of his arm. And because that was something else they had in common, Sullen thought he could guess what it was.
“I’m worried about Ji-hyeon, too,” said Sullen, feeling himself get choked up at the thought of her out there in the Isles, facing down whatever unspeakable army the Burnished Chain had called forth from Jex Toth. But there was something else tightening Sullen’s throat, an old guilt for what all their lives might have looked like, if Ji-hyeon and Keun-ju hadn’t been swept up in the Ballad of Sullen Sourluck—they would be together, at least, and Keun-ju wouldn’t have lost his sword arm. “And… and I should have said this before, Keun-ju… and I don’t know where this will all end, but yeah: I obviously… Um.”
A Blade of Black Steel Page 57