Sight Beyond Epik Sight: A Steampunk Fantasy Romp (Epik Fantasy Book 3)

by William Tyler Davis

  40

  The Names on the Wind

  “That’s no cloud,” Todder interrupted the methodical ebb and flow of Brendan’s commands and the rhythm of the crew carrying them out.

  The old captain was right. What had first seemed like a swirling mass of darkened cloud trailing the Grand Sovereign’s galleon split into all too familiar wraiths, at least twenty—ghostly gray and barely visible against the pale sky as they fanned out behind their maker’s ship.

  “You’ve got to be kidding me…”

  It wasn’t that Brendan lacked confidence in the trap he, Eddis, and Dora constructed. He just was lacking a plan to get this many wraiths into it. He scowled, fighting against the fear welling up inside him. What had Epik told him to do? To push his feelings aside, store them for later? The time to do just that was now.

  But no matter how he tried to push it aside, the fear kept welling up. He felt as green as Todder looked.

  “Evasive maneuvers,” he said, turning to Millie.

  “Already with you, skipper.” The girl shifted the wheel elegantly, bringing the ship into a shallow dive.

  “Okay,” he put a hand on the back of his neck, “we have to get them on our tail—exhaust them so they try to use the engine for energy.”

  “Right… You got it!”

  One ship against the monstrosity of the Grand Sovereign’s was one thing. One ship against over twenty wraiths and the monstrous galleon was, well, it felt like a suicide mission. Only there was no one back home to mail his things to.

  If only… If only the other part of Brendan’s plan was realized…

  “Skipper!” Ursa called from the crow’s nest. “Two ships closing from the east.”

  From the direction of Dune All-En, two wooden ships of similar design to the ashes the Phoenix had risen headed straight for them and into the fray.

  Speaking of suicide, Brendan thought, grimacing. This was his plan, but had he just doomed the men aboard them? The ships would be no match, nothing but a diversion for the wraiths and the cannons.

  The two ships, the Girl, and the Looker—it seemed their captains were just as bad at naming as Brendan once was— were the fastest of the four remaining… well, that was until Eddis had attached those propellers to the Phoenix.

  Brendan was already mourning as the ships passed, one on each side of the Phoenix, when Brendan noticed something odd—neither had a crew, or at least none he could see. Their decks were empty, saving small shadows.

  “Trace?” Brendan asked. The shadow went to work, somehow with the ability to pilot a wheel. But who commands the other ship?

  Brendan was puzzled— his own shadow was there beside him, a small blotch of faded black, the sun being high overhead. The shadow of the wheel turned as Millie maneuvered to port—the wraiths were all but on them now, close—closer than close.

  Something wasn’t right... And then he understood. What at first he failed to notice, where Millie’s shadow should be, there was no shadow at all.

  “Is that your shadow, over there?” he asked her.

  “Might be.” She smiled cheekily. With her head cocked to the side, eyeing a wraith attempting to bore into the steel of the blimp, Millie pulled the throttle back, adding plain-old-air to the blimp and caused the ship to brake momentarily and begin to sink.

  Not to be outdone, the Girl was going through paces. The two of them, Millie and her shadow, were competing.

  “We’re going to win,” Brendan announced, confidence building in his chest. “We’re going to win.”

  He stored the new feeling away with the fear.

  Epik watched, terrified, as the wraiths closed in on the ships. The wisps came together into formations, the majority of which stuck to the Phoenix, but at least ten split off and pursued the other two ships, neither as nimble as their sister.

  Yet, somehow, they did the job.

  The first airship dove toward the mountains, pulling up just in the nick of time—its gondola sideswiped a craggy outcrop just under the flat peak, but it seemed to come away unscathed. The wraiths vanished into the snow only to reappear seconds later and resume the attack. The airship slowed as it climbed. Somehow, the wraiths were slower, too. But they caught up. And no maneuver was going to help. They ripped through the envelope, and the blimp, leaking air, plunged between mountains and disappeared from Epik’s view.

  The triumphant wraiths doubled back for the Phoenix.

  The other airship was having more luck. Its pilot must be more experienced, Epik thought. The ship flew through the air with the greatest of ease. Its gondola, the spitting image of a wooden navy destroyer, swung side to side beneath the blimp. The wraiths missed their target over and over. They couldn’t seem to hover or slow. It was attack or nothing.

  They chose attack.

  When they finally managed to get the ship down, the wraiths were mere vapor, barely visible. Still, they, too, went back for the Phoenix.

  Epik wondered if a shadow could be hurt in a fall. But there was no time to worry. While the Phoenix had its way with the wraiths that had followed it, the others reformed with their kin. They drew closer to the ship, growing to a mass that once again darkened the sky.

  The Grand Sovereign was pleased… And only moments later, less so.

  Brendan realized this wasn’t going to work. The trap, it’s too small, too weak.

  The wraiths stole the energy from the airship; it began to slow.

  The Grand Sovereign’s galleon was on them, cannons booming. The Phoenix began to take fire. Louder and louder, the cannons echoed in Brendan’s ears. Cannonballs whistled past. Flak exploded in the air around them, and it was only a matter of time before a critical hit would force the Phoenix down.

  Brendan made for the rear of the ship. He unclasped his safety line, and he climbed down the rigging, unsure what he planned to do. He just knew he had to try something—anything.

  The wraiths swirled toward him, mixing with the billowing smoke from the engine. They attempted to grab ahold and throw him from the ship.

  Brendan reached for the trap. One finger, then two, then he found a hold and clung to it tightly. He wished it would work, that it would suck all the wraiths inside, that it would change them back to their true selves.

  He wished it with all his heart and might, and some part of him found the feelings he’d repressed through this day—the anger, the fear, the happiness, the love, everything he had and more. Those feelings bound with whatever magic was left inside of him, and the trap opened, flooding the world around it with a purplish light.

  Whether from flak, cannon fire, or something else entirely, the world was silent. Then Brendan’s ears rang, softly at first. It grew louder and louder until he thought his head might burst.

  Suddenly, it stopped.

  He opened his eyes—because when your head’s about to burst, he found, you close them. A light breeze swirled serenely against his cheek. He could hear again.

  Below him, the world was a mix of deep evergreen and white. He hazarded a look around. There were no wraiths to be found. Only blue skies.

  Brendan climbed the ropes up to the stern, feeling strange, empty of magic. A hand caught his wrist, then another, and then another. Five, six hands, all tugged at his forearm.

  “Can we help you up, sir?” asked a small boy with an accent. There were a dozen just like him, a handful of girls, and one older lad.

  “I’ve got it, thanks.”

  Brendan climbed aboard, smiling. His magic wasn’t gone, not really. While it was no longer locked inside him, it was still in the world, and now he could see it.

  41

  The Magic U Give

  What Brendan’s airship had done, Epik wasn’t sure. But the enormous cloud of wraiths was gone, sucked somewhere inside it, leaving the Phoenix the last thing standing, or rather, flying against the Grand Sovereign’s galleon.

  The evil wizard made a futile attempt to hide his frustrations. He knew as well as Epik did that Brendan’s airsh
ip was far superior to his magical contraption in the sky. The galleon relied on his magic to stay aloft. It required his concentration. The Phoenix used some other type of magic entirely.

  The Phoenix rounded on them and fired, its cannons pulverizing the hull. The galleon shook violently with each blow. And though Epik shook with each, he wasn’t shaking. He’d rather go down with this ship than see it fly any closer to Dune All-En.

  But the Grand Sovereign wasn’t one to tuck his tail and run. He spat. Probably venom, Epik thought. The galleon came about and flew parallel to the Phoenix. Epik knew exactly what the Grand Sovereign was trying to do.

  With vacant eyes, and still wrapped in the spell, the troops set out the ropes and tethers needed to swing aboard the Phoenix. Their dull faces told Epik all he needed to know. They were like Todder, only different. But what was the difference, really? Todder had magic buried deep within him, these poor soldiers did not.

  Epik reached out, hoping his father, Epiman, would be near. But Epiman hadn’t been on the other airships, and there was no other magical being close at hand.

  Could his father really still be in Dune All-En? At his desk when the fate of the realm was decided here in the sky?

  Father? Epik thought.

  Are we there yet? The soft voice, half Gabby half Epiman, replied.

  Are we where?

  At the end… Remember, I said when the time comes you can call on me? Is it that time?

  I think, maybe. Yes, Epik thought back. The wraiths are gone, the Grand Sovereign’s ship is damaged. Now it seems like a last-ditch effort. He’s planning to board Brendan’s ship.

  Ah, I see. Close enough, I guess.

  I thought maybe you’d be on one of those other ships, but then I saw Trace. How did he—

  I gifted your shadow some of my magic. Gifted the other shadow some as well.

  How?

  Never mind that…

  Do you… is there a plan? Epik asked.

  A quasi-plan—a rough outline. His father’s thoughts were smiling. For the life of him, Epik couldn’t understand why.

  And?

  The plan? Oh, the plan is what it’s always been. The plan’s to rely on you, son. I trust you to do the right thing.

  What if I don’t know—

  You know.

  Epik felt his father’s presence even before it took hold inside of him. Are you spirit casting? Is that how? You plan to act through me? Isn’t that dangerous? Couldn’t you—

  Lose my magic to you? Epik, that’s what I was trying to say. I’m gifting magic to you… And I trust you to finish this.

  The presence of his father left him. The magic remained. Epik could feel it like a strong pulse in the back of his mind.

  The danger of spirit casting was to lose part of your soul. But what if it happened the other way? What if the Grand Sovereign had taken what wasn’t his?

  And there was the answer he’d been searching for all along. The Grand Sovereign had stolen pieces of the souls of the men he commanded, and he used that part to make them all extensions of himself.

  If only Epik could rectify that…

  On the train, Todder was cured by his magic, just enough to mend the soul—just enough to protect it.

  It seemed so simple, so easy—

  So small.

  Alongside the Phoenix, the men swung over and boarded. Their swords and crossbows flew as they engaged Brendan’s crew in combat.

  A moment later, the ships locked on to each other with the sound of scraping metal. But they weren’t the only things locked. The troops were locked in combat, and with a spell, Millie locked the wheel of the Phoenix in position. Side by side, the ships flew.

  Millie brandished her wand, sending troops to the ground with stunning spells. Brendan, sword in hand, protected a huddle of children. Gerdy fended off soldiers using a combination of her makeshift wand and her skills at street fighting. Myra ducked behind her, but even she was doing her part. Whenever an enemy soldier got anywhere near her, they blew away.

  Mye has magic, Epik reminded himself.

  The time was now. The only question Epik had left was: did he have enough magic for all of them? But wasn’t this why Ashah had given him her powers—why his father had done the same… All for this moment.

  Epik closed his eyes. He reached out and found each person, one by one, plugging the breach in their soul with a pinch of magic.

  And by the time the Grand Sovereign realized what was happening, it was already too late. He’d lost control of his minions. They gave up his fight. Laid down their weapons.

  “No! You fools!” he cried. The old wizard locked his black irises on Epik. “What have you done? I need your magic, now!”

  And this was where Epik needed to have had a better plan. He realized, a fraction of a second too late, that he had no magic to give. He had no magic at all.

  He was at the Grand Sovereign’s mercy. Kavya, Catarina—they all were at the Grand Sovereign’s mercy.

  Maybe we’re doomed after all. Without the magic, the whispered thought couldn’t make itself known to Kavya.

  “The girl,” the Grand Sovereign snarled. He held his hand out expectantly—either expecting one of the troops to hand her over or Catarina to do it.

  None of them did. Both Catarina and Kavya were free. This time, Catarina held her sister, not with a death grip, but to protect her.

  “I will strike you both down if I have to.” The Grand Sovereign raised and pointed his ringed finger at them menacingly. “You’re powerless, all three of you, I sense it. Unlike you, I always have a reserve.”

  It was true—the Grand Sovereign held the only magic left on the ship.

  What’s going on over there? Gerdy’s voice pierced Epik’s mind.

  I need you over here, now, Epik thought.

  Why do you need me? she asked. How can I help?

  We’re out of magic.

  Out of…

  From the other ship, Gerdy, then Myra, then Todder dove over the rails of both ships, rolling onto the deck of the galleon, a motley crew of heroes, but they were Epik’s heroes.

  The Grand Sovereign, seeing he was outnumbered, seeing every person on the Phoenix now fought for the other side, sneered, and it may as well have been a wave goodbye.

  Instead of striking Catarina down, he used his magic to transport the galleon. Just as he’d done from the coliseum to the castle in King’s Way, he teleported the entire ship halfway across the realm. And Gerdy was back home again, back in Dune All-En. They were all back home in Dune All-En. Well, except for Kavya and Catarina who’d never known the city.

  The monstrosity of a ship hung in midair just over the bay. Large enough and close enough for all of the city to see. Gerdy heard either gasps from onlookers or short gusts of wind—it was difficult to distinguish which was which. But both were out of place.

  The day was calm, the sky clear, the waters tranquil below them.

  In a weird way, the ending was fitting. It felt right for it to end where they began. Todder, Epik, Myra, and Gerdy—the delegation Epiman had formed.

  Then, of course, the servants, Catarina and Kavya. If only the one with the orange eyes was here, too, Gerdy thought. But then, Gerdy thought she knew exactly where those eyes were. She’d caught a flicker of them back at the witches’ cottage.

  And finally, there was the Grand Sovereign, smiling nastily on the deck. He held all the cards.

  He stared at the castle with longing.

  Was it revenge against his son or something else that drew him?

  Gerdy thought all of these things. And she wondered how—how did she, Myra, and Todder end up as the only few left with magic? In a spectrum from the former to the latter, the least trained to most inept.

  Gerdy held the splinter of jousting lance up and pointed it at the Grand Sovereign.

  “Son,” the old man whispered, “isn’t it finally time you join us?”

  He wasn’t paying attention to Gerdy. Now was her chance. Sh
e hurled a strength spell toward him, fully expecting the Grand Sovereign be blown off the ship.

  Nothing happened.

  Again she tried, less expectant, and again nothing happened.

  He turned and laughed coldly.

  “Your spells do what I allow them to do,” the Grand Sovereign mocked her. “At my castle, they hurled me against a wall. But that was when the timing was right. I wanted you to think your magic was a match for mine. Now,” he shrugged, “not so much.”

  Gerdy tried again. It wasn’t working. Nothing she did was working. Again, she wondered how had it come to this—Epik powerless, Myra untrained, unwilling to accept her power, Todder, well, he was Todder. And Gerdy’s own magic had faded, giving her nothing but piss-poor results.

  Give, that was it—that was what they needed to do.

  The night Catarina’s soul was restored, her memory was as well. Partially. The words the yellow eyed girl had said hardly made sense to her, making Gerdy unsure if she could still trust Cat.

  The whole night was a jumble of mixed emotions where Catarina said things like ‘he used my own magic against me’ and ‘I have to do as he commands.’

  Of course, they had spoken about magic before—specifically, Catarina’s blood magic and how it worked. That night she told Gerdy her own blood bound her to the Grand Sovereign. She had signed a pact without knowing what it meant.

  ‘Trust me’ she kept saying—and the funny thing about those words were how much they made the opposite true.

  Gerdy wanted to save Catarina that day, but it was Cat who told her not to try. And later, it was Cat who had turned on her own sister.

  Could Gerdy really trust her? Perhaps she didn’t have to…

  The pact with the Grand Sovereign had made a certain sense until today—today when Dora had pulled Gerdy aside. As if reading from a script, her eyes flickering orange, she told Gerdy this: “Your magic may never be used against you, not really. It can only be made to appear that way.”