Trin sniffed as she drew back her head and brushed away her hair. “I can’t. Fate’s bargain follows me, Bell.”
The air that escaped him was hot. He could feel it brewing in his chest. The anger, the worry, the frustration; all of it stirring together in his lungs, fueling the fire caught behind his ribs. She had used that argument too many times. He was sick of hearing it. He was sick of her using it as an excuse.
Bell shook his head. “Trin… you know that isn’t true. What you’ve done… you’re building it up in your head. Whatever evidence you see… it’s in your head.”
Trin’s mouth tightened. “Taehrn and me,” she said.
“No,” Bell said. “Don’t do that.”
“My father.”
“Please, Trin. Don’t list them. That’s all they are, a list.”
“It was a month after I met him in Rori that the Tyrant of Ternobahl named himself the Cleric of Gable.”
“And you think your words set him on that path? A month later, Trin. He must’ve had succession in his head for years before that. You can’t blame yourself for the Riots.”
“I killed a man with my own hands, Bell.” She sniffed again. Light reflected off the water glazing her eyes. “And I almost killed Jem, for no other reason than because I was scared and he was there at the wrong time. It’s getting worse, Bell. The death doesn’t just follow anymore.”
“You’re wrong, Trin. You’ve picked out all the things that reinforce your idea for no other reason than because you were looking for them.”
“Aren’t you listening to me? Do you want to know how Jem and I met? I almost butchering killed him. Moment I saw him, my first instinct was to nock an arrow and aim it at his chest. At a butchering child, Bell. At a godsdamned kid. I can’t go on like this. It’s like the harder I fight against my fate, the nearer it comes.”
“Because there is no Fate! Because you’ve made yourself paranoid over things that don’t exist.”
Trin wiped her eyes, her lower lip curling back to rest between her teeth. “No, Bell. That’s what you’ve never understood. I’m seeing these things because they’re real. I’m seeing these things because I’m right. Ask any priest. The gods exist. And Fate has chosen me for her plaything.”
“The gods aren’t like that, Trin.”
“And have you met one?” She cut him off before he could answer. “No, you haven’t. That’s right. But I have, Bell! And what about the courtesan with the baby? She made a deal with Fate, too! She told me that I had been sent to her by Fate. So, which of us is the expert here?”
“Me,” Bell said. “The priest. The one who’s spent his whole damned life studying religious books. The one who told you about the passage in Teachings of a Whore to begin with. The one who knows for a fact, that the only mention of either Fate or this god of Death you pretend you’ll become, isn’t mentioned anywhere but in that one, insignificant spot, in a book that’s now – literally – filled with shit.”
Trin laughed derisively. “She’s mentioned elsewhere, too. You know that. And what? You think the gods have put their whole life in a book?”
“No. I don’t. Which is why I think you should stop pretending like that page you’ve got is proof enough that Fate not only exists, but that she’s robbed you of your life.”
A moment passed in silence.
Trin met his gaze and shrugged. “Time will prove me right, Bell. I wish I was wrong, but I know I’m not. Doesn’t it make you nervous, Bell? She’s put me in the midst of an army… an army that you’re a part of!”
“That means nothing, Trin.”
“It means everything! I’m not wrong, Bell. It butchering scares me, but I know I’m not wrong.”
Bell’s mouth gaped. He blinked twice in quick succession. He searched her face for doubt, but there was none to be found. Grabbing his sword from the dirt, he stood and glared at her. There was so much he wanted to say, but none of it seemed right. She wouldn’t listen to reason, and if it kept going this way, he feared she might do something stupid. That she might actually kill herself, as the page suggested… She was a self-fulfilling prophecy, and no matter how hard he struggled to shake her free, he couldn’t break her conviction.
He shook his head one last time before losing his will to resist. “Good night, Trin,” he said and turned for his tent.
Her words were mumbled, but as he stalked away, they were clear as crystal.
“Be safe, Bell.”
He had trouble untying the strips which sealed his tent.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Loy had felt something three days before, a flash of energy gone as quickly as it had appeared. He had not bothered to tell Niece Kindrel, had not bothered to stop the ship. She still would not admit it, playing coy despite the evidence plain before him, but he knew he had been played for a fool. Somehow, she could dampen her aura, hiding her use of the birthright, and the implication was clear; he would only find gods who wanted to be found. But he did not care to find them any longer. He would find Just and that would be the end of it. Scryer Fate had guaranteed his success, so he had no worries.
Except for Kindrel. His blasted, vile niece continued to taunt him. He had returned to Lane’s dockside to find his possessions moved from Minnerva to the ship called Mystic’s Light, a wreck of a ship that Kindrel and the one named Quill sailed alone. A ship they sailed without a mainmast. Her arrogance was unfathomable. Did she think he was a dullard, that he would think nothing of such a major flaw? She must, otherwise she would have revealed herself by now, admitted her title and what she could do, instead of this absurd play she orchestrated. He could feel her smiling and laughing behind his back, as though he were a fool dancing to her rhythm, but he would not let a defiler such as her see his anger.
Many days ago, he had moved into the ship’s hold, and now, that was where he remained, sitting alone amongst salted fish and empty rafters. He only resurfaced for meals and to use the latrine, but it was growing difficult to stay here. He suspected some kind of bug or fungus infested this room, for his skin had broken into a rash that itched incessantly. He had refused to go to Niece Kindrel for aid. He would make her come to him, as was proper between a Third and Second. It did not matter that she was a full-fledged god, she was still a defiler who had shamed him at every turn and she deserved no deference. But the itching, it had become as insufferable as she, and he could not endure it much longer. He would have to return to the deck and face her soon.
Would it not be better that way? I can challenge her lies and shame her for a change. Finding bloody nails when he pulled his hand from beneath his tunic, he made his decision. Any excuse to leave this room. Any at all.
Standing, his whole body flared, from foot to collar, as if an entire colony of ants had shifted at once. Loy shouted his frustration. This was her fault as well, if she had simply been open from the beginning he would not be in this wretched state. But it made him wonder; how much had Kindrel kept from him? Though he had never heard of the god Sailor, it must certainly be a god’s title, which meant Kindrel was powerful. There were very few gods in Lendal, and as much as he hated her, his Niece might be an asset. He knew little of Just, let alone this Shadow whose identity he must discern. There was no other choice, he must confront her.
But first he would deal with the itching. He had a technique for deterring mice, but it had not worked on whatever creature infested his clothing, which led him to believe the rash was caused by some kind of spore. Healing had soothed the rash, but not the cause, and the itch had returned promptly. His next idea was to drown the things, and if that didn’t work, he would be forced to take more extreme measures.
Loy left the hold and ascended the steps to the main deck. The mainmast, or rather the remains of the mainmast, was the first thing he saw, pocked by splintered crevices that marked the path of axe heads. Without lines, mast, and crew the ship seemed barren. Kindrel stood on the quarterdeck, manning the helm with Quill beside and a foot behind her, his arms folded
behind his back.
“Hoist outer jib,” she ordered, without urgency or doubt. “Brace round forward.”
“Aye,” Quill nodded, equally as casual. But neither moved, both simply stood there, staring across an empty ship into the sails of the foremast. He knew she was using the birthright to sail the ship, but was unable to see it, and though their faces were blank, he could tell they mocked him for it.
One annoyance at a time, he reminded himself. Finding a coiled rope, he tied one end to his waist and another to the port rail, checking the sturdiness of the banister before choosing his location.
“Loy? What are you doing?”
Standing on the balustrade, he turned to her voice. “I’ve tried everything I can think of,” he shouted. “I’m going to drown the demons!”
Kindrel gaped at him like he had gone mad, and maybe he had, but he could think after he had stopped the damned itching. Loy thrust a hand into a pant leg to stifle a writhing twitch.
Kindrel dropped the wheel as she sprinted to the main deck and grabbed the rope, pulling him back onto deck. He barely managed to land on his feet.
“Gods, are you wearing linen?” she asked. “Quill! Some silks.”
Quill bowed and darted below decks, leaving no one to steer, but the wheel continued turning, maneuvering the river without problems.
Loy glared at her “What is wrong with linen?” he asked.
“It is made from flax and thus decaying on your skin. I warned you that we were entering the rot.”
“No. It is you,” Loy accused. “This is another trick. It is you, you have done this to me. Admit it. You are using the birthright and hiding it, just as you have done all along, just as you are doing, even now, to pilot this ship.”
Loy scraped at his collar bone, exposing the red hives.
“Gods, it’s everywhere,” Kindrel murmured. She stared at him a moment then, “No, well yes, I have been hiding my magic, but the rash you’ve got isn’t my doing. It’s the clothes. We are in the rot. It destroys everything men take from the earth. Here, let me help you.”
Loy jerked back as her hands reached to grab him, but he was not fast enough. She grabbed his collar, then his hair, holding his head in place. A soothing calm resonated from her hands, stopping the itch. The rash disappeared and his mind calmed. When the last hive left his toes, she did not remove her hands.
“I should have been more explicit in my warning,” she said. “I forget how little you know of the Trellish Peninsula.”
“This was not a trick?”
“Of course not, I might withhold what’s mine, but I wouldn’t torture you.” Kindrel closed one eye, and the corner of her lip curled, but she said nothing more.
Loy glanced to the surrounding countryside. It looked the same as the rest of this squalid land. Except, thinking back, there had been fewer villages ever since they had crossed the border into this country called Lock… and that was when the itching had begun.
“What… How… What is it?”
Quill returned, carrying silken pantaloons and a woolen cloak. He handed them to Loy.
“Put these on first,” Kindrel said. For a wonder, her voice was not snide, nor was it pitying. She sounded genuine. “Then we will speak.” She took her hand from his face and the itch returned.
She was right, the burning only touched where the clothes did. How could he have missed it?
As he accepted the garb, Kindrel waved him toward the aft cabin, the cabin she had taken for herself. “You can change in there.”
Loy nodded and entered her quarters, pulling off his clothing. The itch faded with each piece and he was thankful. But he did not understand. Kindrel was not a kind person, but a defiler, who lived outside of custom. Why was she being so polite?
She wants something, he decided, but Loy could handle that; quid-pro-quo was as much a Lendish custom as Newfield’s monthly races. But what does she want? Holding up his old clothes, he opened the door to find Quill and Kindrel waiting for him.
“Better?” Kindrel asked.
“Yes,” Loy said, and then grudgingly, and a little later than was proper, added, “thank you.” He offered the old clothing to Kindrel.
“Keep them, they will be fine once we leave the rot.” Loy glanced at his clothes, they were starting to itch his hand, so he let them drop to the floor. He did not want to keep them, he would rather burn them.
“What is this place?” Loy asked.
Quill bowed and took a step back. “Excuse me, I shall return to the helm.”
“You can stay if you’d like, husband,” Kindrel said.
Quill gaped, his eyebrows rising.
“No,” Kindrel continued. “You were right. We should not have hidden anything. We thought that Nikom would saddle us with a madman like the one before, but we were wrong.”
“How can you be certain?” Quill whispered, though Loy could hear him perfectly.
“I am not a madman,” Loy argued. “I am a proper Lendish godling, unlike some I could point to.”
“See?” Kindrel said, waving both hands to Loy, like one would point to a misbehaved dog. “Look at him. He knows almost nothing.”
“I know plenty,” Loy bristled.
Kindrel regarded him ponderously, then, “No, Loy, forgive me, but you do not.”
Refusing to endure her uncivil tongue, Loy spun to return to his hold. His legs froze mid-step. He could not move. He made to shout, but a pocket of air stuck his tongue to the roof of his mouth, gagging him.
“No, Loy,” Kindrel said calmly. “You will not walk away from me this time. We will speak and you will be the better for it. Too much of the trouble between us is due to your ignorance, and your father’s warnings no longer matter. He can suckle on a rotten fish head, because I don’t care anymore. I’m not going back to Lendal anyway.”
Without warning, Loy’s legs lifted into the air, and his body turned to face her. The woman did not even have the decency to be embarrassed. For a Third to use the birthright on a Second? Blood and heat rushed to Loy’s cheeks. The gag vanished, but the bonds which held his arms did not. He took a moment to swallow and compose himself.
“Let go of me,” he warned, soft and deadly.
“Loy, I could hold you here forever and you’d never break free. Please, just listen to me, so that we can be done with this nonsense.”
Despite her words, the bonds vanished and his movement returned.
“Listen to her, boy,” Quill said. “She is trying to help you.”
The only response Loy offered him was a glare. He was about ready to sink this ship and everyone on it… and yet, Niece Kindrel was offering him exactly what he desired; answers about this godsforsaken land.
“You will tell me everything?” Loy asked.
“Yes,” she said.
“Anything?”
Again, “Yes.”
Loy paused. If her speech was nothing but show, it was very convincing, except that she had as much as admitted to lying to him since the first day. He wanted to hear her words, but how could he trust them? He decided to ask a question to which he already knew the answer.
“You are the god Sailor?”
“I am.”
“And what does that mean?”
Shrugging, Kindrel spread her hands. “I do not really know. It is more a feeling, and a skill. I like to sail, it is what I do and have done ever since I discovered it. An aspect is not always a role, it is just something… something you do, Loy.”
Loy pointed to Quill. “And him?”
“He is my husband, we have been married, what now? Six hundred years?”
“Around that, yes,” Quill answered, scratching his chin. “We married when I turned twenty-three, but I forget my exact age.”
“He is godkind?”
Quill scowled at Loy’s inflection.
“Yes,” Kindrel said. “First a priest and then a god. His title is Navigator.”
“And what of the rest of your crew?”
“
A few of them are our children or grandchildren, but most are just mortals who love to sail as much as we.”
It was something he could believe, Minnerva’s crew had seemed entirely too cold during their journey. He had never been on a ship before, but he’d also never heard of men and women who worked without speaking, or playing at dice and cards when not at task. They had seemed too suspicious and bizarre from the first day. But even so, this was not information he cared about. He was more interested in knowing what she could do, and what she knew of this creature Fate had asked Loy to investigate; this creature in Just’s shadow. Loy paused, taking the time to choose a question that would get to the heart of her deceit.
“You…” Loy started. His eyes flicked back and forth between them. “You can hide your auras.”
“Yes,” Kindrel said. “Auras…” Her fluted sleeves swung as she searched for her words. “…are a strange thing. Before the Mother’s Temple fell, most did not even know of them. Sensing them, and perquisition, was a First Generation secret, known only by a few, but when the killings started, Just and Tyrena… uh, Mason, taught it to those they could trust. Hiding auras was something that came later. You have to understand though, we hid them not to fool you, but because we were uncertain of Nikom’s motives in sending you.”
“Why would you doubt Order?” Loy asked.
“Because,” she said, pointing to Loy’s old clothing, “your father did that. He made the rot and then he gave up his aspect as Farmer. I had thought him finally returned to sense when he asked me to take our family to Lendal, but then he burned all of the ships like a crazed lunatic, spouting nonsense about Order. It was bad enough what he did here, with the rot, but when he thought to assign the roles, we could no longer accept his ideas.”
Death's Merchant: Common Among Gods - Book One Page 37