Witchbreaker (Dragon Apocalypse)

by James Maxey

  “I take it from the uniform you’ve found work on a new ship? Was your family able to remain together?”

  “Yep and yep. You’ll never guess who we’re working for now.”

  “Brand Cooper,” she said.

  “You’re a better guesser than I gave you credit for.”

  “I happen to know that Brand recently came into some money, and a ship was one of the things he mentioned buying. Your mother must have mixed feelings about working for him.”

  “Nah. Ma’s fine. It’s Mako who’s pitching a fit.”

  “And Brand’s going back to the Silver City?”

  “Yep.”

  “Might he be interested in taking on passengers?”

  “I can’t answer for him, but I know Ma wants you back on board.”

  “Really? Why?”

  Jetsam shrugged. “I just heard her telling Sage that there’s never a witch around when you need one.”

  “What do they need a witch for?”

  “Who knows? But come on back to the ship. Everyone’s asleep, but I’ll wake Brand and let him know I’m bringing you aboard.”

  “We’re most grateful,” said Sorrow. “Where’s your ship?”

  “Right here!” Jetsam pointed to a clipper docked next to the Black Swan. The name on the bow was Circus. The figurehead beneath the bowsprit was a buxom woman painted to look like a clown. “Used to belong to some wealthy gambler. Well, wealthy before he came to Commonground. When he tried to skip town on his debts, the Black Swan sent her enforcers after him. They were kind of messy. It smelled like hell when we came aboard. We’ve spent our whole first day cleaning up dried blood and worse from all the nooks and crannies.”

  Jetsam led them up the gangplank. The timbers creaked as Sorrow slithered onto deck. The ship smelled strongly of soap, with only a hint of rotting meat. Yet even that masked whiff made her stomach growl. She’d not had a thing to eat since she’d been sick at the Knight’s Castle, and she was now undeniably famished. When she realized it was the scent of putrefied human remains triggering her hunger, her appetite fled once more.

  Jetsam led them to the aftcastle and softly rapped on the door. They waited in silence for a moment; just as he was about to knock again, the door creaked open and Brand looked out. Sorrow’s eyebrows shot up.

  “You’ve cut your hair!” she said.

  Brand ran his hands along his closely cropped scalp. With his long locks gone, he looked older. His face seemed squarer, less feminine. “I’m a businessman now. I figured I should clean up a little.” His eyes focused on Sorrow. She could see his whole body tense up.

  “Let’s play fortune teller,” she said. “I can tell you what you’re about to ask.”

  “What happened to your legs?”

  “You said it too fast.”

  “But—”

  She held up her hand. “It’s a long story.”

  He looked at Slate. “Is he part of the story?”

  “This is Slate,” said Sorrow. “He’s agreed to help me find Avaris.”

  Brand wiped the sleep from his eyes, then silently contemplated Slate. “Does he... I mean...”

  “Can we talk privately?” Sorrow asked. “We’d like to book passage to the Silver City, and I dislike discussing money in public.”

  “Come in,” said Brand.

  “I’ll be out in just a moment,” Sorrow said to Slate and Jetsam.

  She slithered into Brand’s cabin. It was pitch black when he closed the door. There was a soft click and the room filled with light. Blinking, she saw that Brand was now sitting on his bunk, holding a small open locket in his hands. The pearl-sized glorystone inside produced enough light to rival a large lantern.

  “The big guy looks like he’s survived his injuries well enough,” Brand said. “I guess the next question is, who is he? Or maybe, what is he?”

  “Excellent questions,” said Sorrow. “He has no memories. At least, no memories of a personal nature.”

  “Is it safe for him to be on board?”

  “Why wouldn’t it be?”

  “Buck naked, he beat a dragon half to death with its own jawbone. I hesitate to think what he might do now that you’ve armed him.”

  “He seems friendly enough. And the fact I made his armor means I can keep him on a short leash. All I need to do is touch him and I can cause the armor to fuse into a single piece, trapping him. I’m surprised you’re worried. You’ve never struck me as possessing an excess of caution.”

  “Things have changed a lot in the last day. I own a ship now. I have responsibilities. I don’t want to do anything to place my crew in danger.”

  “Slate won’t be a danger to them. But I have to wonder about you.”

  “Me?”

  “You buy a ship, then conveniently hire the woman who’s the object of your unrequited love as your captain?”

  “Gale’s experienced. And, on a purely economic level, hiring the Romers is a bargain. When Rigger’s on deck, he’s like twenty men working, but only one mouth to feed.”

  “So you admit you’re exploiting Rigger. What about Gale?”

  “What about Gale? Her family needed a ship. I needed a crew.”

  “You’ve placed yourself in a position of power over her,” said Sorrow, crossing her arms. “You now feed and clothe her and her entire family. If you invite her back into your bed, can she refuse you?”

  “I should be insulted that you think I’m some sort of manipulative pseudo-rapist, but I’m more bugged that you think so little of Gale. She’s not a whore who’s going to crawl into my bed because I throw a few coins her way.”

  “You crawled into her bed when the tables were turned.”

  He raised his eyebrows. “You think I was sleeping with her because she used to be my boss?”

  Sorrow shrugged. “Not many men wind up involved with women old enough to be their mothers.”

  “But the reverse is so common it barely merits mention,” he said. “My father has wed three times, each time to a younger woman. His latest wife is only two years older than me.”

  “This is one of the things I despise about the world,” said Sorrow. “There cannot be equality in such a marriage.”

  “Equality is a vastly overrated commodity. I didn’t enter into a relationship with Gale because I thought she would be my equal. I expected her to be my superior. I wasn’t disappointed. The things I learned in her bed opened my eyes to –”

  Sorrow raised her hand. “Stop. I really don’t want to know. I will point out, however, that a woman who sought out lovers to increase her experience would be shamed and branded a slut. As a man, you’re free to openly boast of your experience.”

  “I suppose it’s a bit of a double standard,” said Brand. “But it’s all behind me. I’m changing my ways now that I’ve found the only woman who could ever complete me.”

  Sorrow stared at him, wondering if he was trying to fool her, wondering even more if he was fooling himself.

  He shook his head. “How the hell did this conversation become about me? You’re turning into a giant snake and this isn’t the main topic of discussion?”

  “What’s there to discuss? I’ve lost control over some aspects of my magic. Regaining control is my immediate priority. The next person who might be able to help me is Equity Tremblepoint, who resides in the Silver City. Will you give us passage there?”

  “Of course,” he said. He furrowed his brow. “Tremblepoint? Like the playwright?”

  “Am I the only person who’s never heard of him?”

  “I don’t think Equity Tremblepoint is a him. I think she’s a she. Maybe.”

  “You’re not sure?”

  “I’ve seen her, or maybe him, in a couple of plays. In a Midwinter’s Fantasy, Equity played the Fairy Queen. But in Brightmoon the Eighth, she played the king. Amazing performances in each role, by the way.”

  “If she’s adept at playing both genders, perhaps she can give Bigsby a few tips,” said Sorrow, though she ins
tantly regretted the words. It was cruel to mock a person who was genuinely mad.

  “Maybe,” said Brand, clearly taking no offense. He stretched his arms and yawned. “It’s still a long ways until dawn. We can let Slate bunk with the boys. With your, uh, different configuration, I’m not sure you’ll fit anywhere but the cargo hold.”

  “I won’t be choosy,” she said. “I’m sorry if I sounded scolding earlier. I know you’re a good person at heart.”

  “That goes both ways. For a person with a head full of nails, you’re nowhere near as mean as you look.”

  Sorrow glanced down at her tail. “My head is now the least frightening part of my body. I hope my appearance won’t prove alarming for the younger Romers.”

  Brand chuckled. “The Romers used to routinely take shortcuts through the Sea of Wine. From what Gale told me, nearly getting chewed by Rott on their last trip was one of their less eventful journeys. I don’t think any of the Romers are that easy to shock.”

  THE CARGO HOLD was mostly empty save for a few barrels and large sacks of grain in the corner. Jetsam turned the space into a makeshift bedroom by supplying pillows and blankets, along with a jug of fresh water and a basin.

  “Not fancy,” he said.

  “It’s fine,” she said.

  Slate was already in the bunkroom shared by Mako, Rigger, and Jetsam. It had only three bunks, but one of them was always on duty, so no one was inconvenienced.

  Jetsam closed the door, leaving Sorrow alone. She was weary down to the center of her bones. She quickly shed her glass armor. The suit fit her like a second skin, but the hard edges chaffed beneath her armpits and especially around her hips, where her human flesh turned dark gray before blending with the ink-black scales.

  She ran her fingers along the band of transitional flesh. The chafed, scraped skin that her armor had rubbed proved to be a surprising source of encouragement. The raw flesh formed a rough band around her belly, providing a visible limit of where her human skin had ended when she’d first donned the armor. While wearing the suit, she’d been paranoid that her itching midsection might be changing further. Fortunately, however, the scales had not advanced. Had she halted the changes by refraining from further use of her powers?

  She poured water in the basin and washed herself. She was especially careful around her face. There was a knot on her temple that felt like an egg under her skin where Slate had clocked her. She wondered how long it would be before the swelling went down.

  Once she was cleansed of jungle grime and sweat, she lowered herself to the blankets. She normally slept on her back, but this was all but impossible now. She crossed her arms beneath her head, wondering if she would ever get to sleep like this.

  She soon had her answer, as the sound of waves lapping against the hull lulled her into slumber. She’d not even had to extinguish the lantern Jetsam had left behind.

  Her eyes snapped open. She lay perfectly still, listening.

  Scritch. Scritch. Scritch.

  The sound was coming from behind the sacks stacked in the corner.

  Scritch. Scritch. Scritch.

  She knew it was rats. She had no particular fear of rats, nor was she overly fond of them. Under ordinary circumstances, she might have thrown a shoe in the direction of the noise, scared off the pest, then gone back to sleep.

  Of course, she no longer had shoes.

  She rose, her head nearly touching the beams. The noise stopped suddenly as her shadow shifted across the wall. She held her breath, waiting. She felt paralyzed. It wasn’t fear that stilled her, however, but something else. Not for the first time, she had the sensation that there was a second intelligence within her body, and it was now exerting its will.

  Scritch.

  Her ears precisely fixed the sound of the rat clawing into the sack. Her body whipped forward. In less than a second she arced over the sacks and shot down, arms outstretched. The rat jumped as her fingers brushed its fur.

  Mindlessly, she crammed the squealing rat between her jaws and snapped its head off. The hot blood filling her mouth sent a wash of electric ecstasy through the length of her body. She swallowed the head whole, the whiskers still twitching, then crammed the rat into her mouth, pushing, shoving, crushing the bloodied flesh between her teeth. She wanted to scream, but couldn’t, as her throat was distended by the rat’s torso. She wanted to vomit, but swallowed instead, then swallowed again, and again, until the rat’s slender tail slipped between her lips.

  As she shoved the last of the rat into her mouth, she once more gained control of her hands. She held them before her face and found them covered with blood and fur and feces.

  Despite the horror, she continued to swallow.

  She raced back to the basin to wash the blood from her hands. As she loomed above it, she could see herself from the shoulders up, reflected in the water. Her neck was bulging and contracting, swollen so that it distended out past her chin. Her clavicles felt as if they would break as the mass in her throat pressed outward. She still couldn’t breathe.

  With one last gulp, the rat cleared her windpipe and she filled her lungs. She started to scream, but clamped her hands over her mouth, stifling her cries. She couldn’t bear the thought of anyone rushing into the hold and finding her in this condition.

  She plunged her face into the wash basin, scrubbing it roughly, then rubbed her hands in the water until they felt raw. She was acutely aware of the hot lump now swelling her stomach. She grabbed the pitcher and poured water into her mouth, but didn’t dare swallow the foul hair and ooze that it washed off her tongue and teeth. She spat out gray sludge, then rinsed again.

  At length, there was no more water, and nothing left to scrub off.

  She leaned against the door to be certain it would not open. After a moment, a spasm ran the length of her body, and she began to weep.

  SHE WAS STILL awake many hours later when there was a knock on the door.

  “I’m not decent,” she whispered. “Come back later.”

  “It’s Gale,” said the voice on the other side. “Open up.”

  “I’ll be out in a little while,” said Sorrow.

  To her consternation, Gale tried to open the door.

  “Can’t I have a little privacy?” she asked, throwing her weight against the wood so that it only opened a crack.

  “Privacy is exactly why we must talk now,” said Gale, her voice little more than a whisper through the gap. “Jetsam just went to bed. Mako has gone to the crow’s nest. Everyone else is asleep. This is a conversation that must not be overheard by prying ears.”

  Sorrow sighed. “Fine. Just give me thirty seconds.”

  “Agreed.”

  Sorrow grabbed a blanket and wrapped it around herself. Her belly still seemed grossly distorted, but perhaps it was only her imagination. She said, “Enter.”

  When the door opened, she discovered that Gale wasn’t alone. Sage Romer was with her, dragging the wooden figurehead that had once decorated the Freewind. Sage was Gale’s oldest daughter, a serious-minded fifteen-year-old who shared her mother’s curly black hair and athletic build. She was a talented clairvoyant, and Sorrow had witnessed her ability to boss around her older brothers with the same forcefulness as her mother.

  Gale closed the door behind her. Sage placed the figurehead against the wall, then removed the spyglass she carried in a holster on her hip. She stared into the spyglass even though the end was capped, then announced, “Jetsam’s sound asleep. Mako’s focused on the Maelstrom, probably hoping Sandy will come above deck. Poppy’s awake, but she’s reading that book about knights. We’re clear.”

  “You can see in any room?” Sorrow asked. She wondered if Sage could possibly have seen what had happened earlier. Were they here to discuss the danger she posed to their family?

  Sage nodded. “I do my best not to invade the privacy of others. Alas, some of my siblings don’t feel the same way.”

  “Jetsam eavesdrops at every opportunity,” said Gale. “Mako can hea
r things much better than an ordinary man. It’s difficult to keep secrets from them.”

  “What secret do you think I need to keep?” Sorrow asked.

  “You?” Gale asked. “I imagine that is between you and your conscience.”

  “Jetsam warned us about your condition,” said Sage. “I don’t see how you could keep it secret if you wanted.”

  “Then what—”

  “Can we trust that nothing we say will leave this room?” asked Gale.

  “You have my word,” said Sorrow.

  Gale motioned toward the figurehead. “This is all that’s left of the Freewind. I’ve saved it not because I’m sentimental. I rescued it because my mother’s soul is trapped inside.”

  Sorrow looked at the wood. “I fear you’re mistaken. I would see an aura.”

  “I see the aura,” said Sage. “But it would be concealed from you. When grandmother’s soul was bound to the ship, steps were taken to conceal her spirit from Rott’s gaze. Otherwise, the Freewind couldn’t sail the Sea of Wine unmolested. This same spell of concealment hides her from the gaze of other magically aware individuals such as yourself.”

  “Okay,” said Sorrow. “What do you need me to do?”

  “We can’t leave her trapped in this figurehead,” said Gale. “Before, my mother’s ghost could roam the Freewind. Watching her family carry on was her own personal heaven. Now the magic that sustained her has been damaged. We don’t know if she can see us or hear us. If she’s withering away, deaf and dumb, she may be in her own private hell.”

  “How long has your mother been dead?” Sorrow asked, tracing the lines of the figurehead’s face.

  “Eighteen years,” said Gale.

  “Are you certain her soul is still in the wood? Souls don’t last forever in the material world. They’re like the residual heat from a fireplace. Once the fire dies out, the heat may linger a long time in the stones, but it isn’t eternal.”

  “I know this,” said Gale. “But mother’s soul drew power from the Sea of Wine every time we crossed it. The Sea of Wine embodies the dreams and myths of all Wanderers. It sustains our souls for all eternity.”