by IGMS
He stood, transfixed, as Yi Qin clenched her jaw and set her will against his.
"You . . . cannot . . . banish . . . me . . ." he grated.
"No," she said. "But I can command you. Read the scroll, Captain. Kill the bird. Summon Kai Bing."
7. A Heart, Refused
She was so desperately cold.
The captain was strong-willed, as she had expected. The crew were still pressing against the protective sign at the top of the ladder. There was far too little blood left in her, far too little power.
She was so desperately tired.
It would have been easy to slump down on the deck, to let go of the wards and the bindings, to let herself slip into death. Yi Qin had never cared to do things which were easy.
The words forced themselves, one at a time, from Zheng Fei's dead mouth. When they were done, he bent, grimacing the whole time, struggling against the blood on his forehead, against the power that compelled him.
The bird chirped once as his hand closed tightly around it. Then its heart stilled.
Yi Qin closed her eyes.
She opened them again when a flash of pure and painful white forced itself through her eyelids. She let out a weary breath, and allowed her wards and bindings to fade.
"Kai Bing!" the Captain's voice was exultant. He had forgotten Yi Qin; his attention was only on the pale figure who stood on the wharf below.
"You dare?"
Her scorn was almost palpable.
"I would dare anything for your love! Just as I promised! And now we are reunited! We can sail the seas forever . . ."
"Do you really believe," Yi Qin said, her voice barely above a whisper, "that she wants you? Look at her, Zheng Fei. Look at her."
There was silence, then. The captain, broad-chested, standing on the deck; the fox-spirit, white and cold and imperious on the wharf.
Zheng Fei turned to his men.
"Bring her aboard," he said, quietly.
They moved as one, subject to his will, bursting towards the woman in white.
"You set your men on me like a pack of dogs?" she shrieked.
Light blazed, for a moment, pure and all-consuming. It stole Yi Qin's vision. When it returned, the crew had vanished. There were only the captain, the conjuror, and the fox-spirit.
"So. The conjuror was right. You never cared for me, Kai Bing."
The woman in white laughed, high and unkind.
"Cared for a filthy sea captain stinking of brine? What a fool! You were a plaything, Zheng Fei. An amusement, nothing more."
"I did not lie," Yi Qin said. The captain turned. "This is what fox-spirits do. They feast upon the hearts of men. And they laugh."
She could see it, on his face. They came, the emotions, one by one.
Understanding.
Sorrow.
Rage.
Zheng Fei turned back to the wharf.
"You did this to me!" he roared.
"You did it to yourself," Shou Kai Shou Bing Shou answered him. "You made the vow. And you must hold to it."
"She is wrong," Yi Qin said. "Any vow can be broken."
Zheng Fei's head bowed.
"I will rescind it," he said, his voice cracking.
"No!" Shou Kai Shou Bing Shou snarled. "I will not release you! You made a vow to me, and I hold you to it!"
"You were not the one who made the vow," Yi Qin said. "You cannot hold him here."
"Do not listen to her! Think of what we shared! Think of . . ."
"Be silent, spirit" Zheng Fei said.
"No! You cannot abandon me, Zeng Fei! You cannot . . ."
With a wordless, anguished cry, Zeng Fei took one great, nimble leap from the afterdeck, over the rail, down to the wharf. Had he been a man, his boots would have thudded onto the wood, the boards cracking under the impact. But he was only a ghost, substanceless.
But not impotent. The captain's spectral sword lashed out, impaling the fox-spirit where she stood. She wailed, falling back off the blade. There was no blood. Instead, light poured out of her. She clasped her pale hands over the tear in her existence.
"I commend my spirit," Zheng Fei said, quietly, "to the care of Mi Liao Ma Sing." He looked at Yi Qin. She held his gaze, just for a moment, then looked away, too weary to endure what his eyes showed.
Something rippled, and then there was a warm wind, for a moment, that came from the headland. Yi Qin thought she heard a voice that might have belonged to a goddess of the fourth rank. But it could have been her imagination.
And then: nothing. There was no ghost ship. Yi Qin found herself standing alone on the solid timbers of the wharf. The balance was restored. The borders were secure. She had succeeded.
"I do not care," a cold voice said, "for my amusements to be taken from me."
Yi Qin turned. She could feel her blood, sluggish and weak. She had lost so much that she wondered if she looked as pale as Shou Kai Shou Bing Shou. The fox-spirit stood there, her hands clasped over the wound in her midriff. Light still leaked from it.
"You are a child," Yi Qin said, trying to make her voice stern. "You see a thing you desire, and take it, heedless of all else. Children learn, in time, that this is not the way of the world."
"I am older than you can comprehend, little conjuror."
"Then it is time and past time you acquired some measure of wisdom. Do with me as you will, spirit. I am too weary to fight you, and even if I were not, I have no hope of defeating you. But no matter what you do to me, it will not bring back Zheng Fei. You will have to find other . . . amusements." She was too tired, even, to pour scorn into the word.
"I will not forget what you have done, conjuror. And I will not forgive it. There will be a price for this, one day. When it will amuse me most." There was a blur of whiteness, and then the fox-spirit was gone.
Yi Qin, weary to the core, leaned against one of the posts of the wharf. For a long time, she stared out at the sea, until the last light was gone, and there was no sea and no sky, just a vast, unified darkness at the edge of the world. Only then did she turn to face Pangxiao, with its wineshops and noodle houses, and all the promise of the world of the living. The world Zheng Fei had finally abandoned. The world Shou Kai Shou Bing Shou had never truly known, and never could.
Behind her, the bitter ocean wind rocked the fishing boats at their moorings, and blew salt spray across the network of wharves.
Foundling
by Christian K. Martinez
Artwork by James A. Owen
* * *
Evens' hobs set fire to the ship, and the Bad Men died.
He watched, rolling six tiny coins between his fingers, each one smaller than the iris of an eye.
It was bizarre that an army would pay its general to work, he thought, looking at the hob-gold in his hand. If he could call his crabby guard an army, that is, if they were even still alive.
The hobs were clever and keen, kind and mean, terrifying and absolute, foolishly wise. He hoped the Bad Men couldn't catch them, not like he could. He liked them, and there wasn't too much he liked anymore. Not since he'd started growing tall.
Evens waited for the Watcher to come, as the boy must. He didn't wait long. The never-'dult came flying in his arrogant way, with two zigs and a zag and a little hoot in the air, settling onto the ground with hands on his hips. He looked meaner than usual, in a sword cutting mood.
Watcher wasn't supposed to get afraid of the lost, not ever, but this one made him nervous. Evens could tell. It was just a sort of twitch, when big old men would be pacing and yelling, but Watcher wasn't used to being nervous. He didn't understand.
"Gonna get you gone, little Evens, little odds. Gonna take you away and make you say and pay and pay. I don't like this one bit. Not even one bit and less than that," Watcher whispered, ever-boy's eyes narrowing like little imitation daggers as he sneered -- nodding towards the ship. Little boys shouldn't sneer, even when they're tall, but sneering came naturally to him anyways.
"I don't like you an
ymore, Evens, so you've got to go away."
Evens, almost as tall as the Watcher himself now, was a lot calmer than most other boys when they'd been sent. He didn't fight, or scream, or hide till he slept and the Watcher killed him anyways. He didn't do anything but stare, and Watcher twitched again.
"Why?" Evens' voice was quiet. He'd never used it for anything but whispering hobs and shouting at pirates so it had no in between to it.
"You're growing up, almost growed already little mister general with the hobs and the bobs and his crazy crabby guard. Growed up and leading armies! I'm the only 'body gonna lead anybody, and anybody saying different's gonna go. The growed up leave. You're growing up," cocky words followed by crossed arms and a nod, shadow facing in the opposite direction like it had his back.
"So?"
The strut in Watcher almost faded at that. So? Who'd ask him something like that! Because, that's so, that's why! You grow up, you leave, and only he stayed forever. Those were the rules. Or at least that's what Evens saw in his face. Evens liked watching people. He was good at it.
Sometimes he could watch so hard that he almost heard them thinking, but not often. Watcher didn't bother to hide much at all, sneaky was he, but never subtle like a liar. It wasn't hard to read him. This time the twitch wasn't nerves.
Evens ran, ran fast as he could and maybe even flew, all the way to the hanging trees past the dead horse pond and the tomahawk hill. Watcher caught him anyways and Evens started fading. Fading fast as a flash out of the tattered-lands that never were, till they were a lost-before and he was found-after. Clutching at the little coins his hobs had given him, he didn't care.
Evan didn't like the way the mountains smelled from the yellow bus, like mulched fruit and hopeless trees and, strangely, just a little bit like greed. That rubbed together scent that came from coins. He hated it so much he almost bit his lip in a fidget before taking a deep breath. Good.
He tried not to fidget these days. Sister Martha told him not to and she reminded him of the faeries, from before; so he listened to her more than most 'dults. She had that way of saying things without words, like the faeries, though it never felt like magic. Not like -- no. Don't think of the lost place, he reminded himself. Don't do it.
Don't fidget, don't see the glow worms or the curebones or the hobs, don't mumble, don't punch first, don't climb things, don't spit on the table, wear shoes, listen to the Sisters and don't ever, ever think of the Never. The list rattled off in Evan's mind. He ignored the pink and berry colored worms wiggling outside his window, they were faint, more like traces of monsters than the actual things. He convinced himself he didn't see them, closed his ears to the hob-whispers that followed them and stared at the black plastic of the seat in front of him. Black as certain flags that might fly above certain ships, or of certain capes that might cover certain backs, but he wouldn't think of things like that. Not today. Or no, could he? Bad guys were okay to think about, just not Bad Men. All boys thought of bad guys, though he hadn't in weeks. It was the smell of greed, he figured. Which was a strange thing to smell in the mountains, things didn't smell like they should here-found. Not all the time, at least.
He nodded to himself, playing with the spare change in his pocket and barely noticing the glances from his classmates. Or what amounted to barely for him, so that he only knew there were five sets of eyes, four of them belonging to the older boys and one to that girl Carol who was always upset.
They were just glances, though, nothing else. And they'd stay that way. They saw him standing over Bradley, the bully's face red and bruised as it hit the desk. Don't punch first, Evan thought, but even if you turn the other cheek -- punch last.
He was the last one off the bus at Apple Hill. Carol lingered almost as long, pretending to play with the single braid of hair that dangled from the side of her blond head, twirling it around her fingers in little loops like she was making rope. Carol would have made a good Weaver. Weavers were always making ropes, the Bad Men were too, but he couldn't think of her like that. She was too delicate, for an evil girl, for an evil anything. The Bad Men were rough. They made coarse, heavy, ropes and Carol's hair was nothing like that. It was, nice. Yes. That was the word. Nice. Though he wasn't sure why.
". . . Evan?" said somebody, Carol, pulling him out of the thought. She was looking at him, he was standing there. Stupidly. Awkwardly. He tried puffing his chest out like a lost -- no. No. He lifted his chin up just a little bit, like the bishop-men 'dults and tried to look proud, but she was ignoring him already, jerking her head in a pointing. They'd been lagging behind when he spaced out and now he could see them maybe fifteen feet away from them, standing in two straight lines; one for boys and one for girls.
Sister Martha cleared her throat, gesturing for Evan and Carol to join the class in that nun-way that didn't have much to do with movement at all. The class sniggered, stopped. This was Evan, they thought. You should be careful of Evan, after how he did Bradley in for nothing at all. Not that it had been nothing. He'd been insulting Carol and some other girl in the class and Evan didn't like that sort of thing. You don't pick on girls. Nobody seemed to remember it though, except the girls themselves, and they kept quiet about it. Don't stand out was one of their rules, probably. If they kept rules like he did.
Evan stepped up to the back of the boy's line, avoiding the elbow thrown his way without really thinking about it. No hard feelings, their malice was a little thing, like babies learning how to hate. He could do it harder with his little toe, if he wanted, but he didn't. It wasn't their fault.
They'd never learned to be all together as boys, didn't have anything to make them. He was different, unknown, almost dangerous like a -- oh. No. That couldn't be. He leaned forward, whispering. Carol looked at him sideways around her hair, she did that a lot. Sister Martha was talking about the history of Apple Hill as the class walked. She wasn't looking back.
"You don't think I'm a pirate, do you? Or like a thief, or a murderer? A Bad Man? Because I'm not. You can trust me, 'kay? Double trust me twice and all, done swear it." The old way of speaking crept up a lot. It was why he didn't talk so much.
"Uh, errr. Okay . . . weirdo, I mean, I mean! Okay Evan, you're not a pirate. Now shuddup, shuddup please?" the boy mumbled, trying not to turn his head back and look like he was talking, though he did a bit anyways, near the end.
"Weirdo? You guys call me that sometimes. Is that like a nickname? That's fine then if it is. I like those, those are good. You can call me Weirdo. I like it, jumping, skipping, dancing like it. 'Kay?"
The boy didn't say anything, so Evan figured it was, though he didn't know what weirdo meant. He didn't remember much of the before before with mother and things except there hadn't been guns or lightbulbs yet, but he remembered a little. Weirdo? Sounded like a wyrd, like the wise.
So they figured him clever? He could be clever. He could be wise. He'd always been that and that was good, like nicknames were good. Nicknames were playing with words. Playing was what you did to be together. Maybe he'd call the boy and be his friend. He didn't have friends here. Not like Jumper, or Nobbins, or Carter and Dose. Not even like Watcher and the hobs. He was just on his own and that was dangerous.
Evan's brow wrinkled, a little angry at himself. He'd been really dumb, now that he thought of it, the other boys probably did think of him like a Bad Man. He hadn't played with them the way they knew and they didn't know how he liked to play, lost boy games and wrestling. They didn't fight to a bloody nose for fun, not them. It made sense.
Hurting Bradley was like a gunshot not like a yo-yo. Scary.
He'd thought he was acting like Watcher, which was a good way to act with boys, but everyone knew the Watcher was your friend, till he wasn't. They didn't know Evan from when he was Evens, didn't know him at all. All they'd seen was the bad things, but they were wrong. He wasn't no Bad Man, and he'd show 'em. Without thinking he puffed his chest out, rolled his gait a little. Carol seemed to like looking at him like that, she al
ways paid extra attention. This time she nearly tripped. Girls were strange.
As they got closer to the brick and stick buildings on the edge of the parking lot, he started listening to Sister Martha again. Teachers liked that, especially nuns.
"Everyone remember their tents and sleeping bags? Over there between the buildings and the rest of the forest is where we'll be camping tonight, after the tour. First ones to finish setting their tents up on their own will get first go at the cider. And believe me, children, the cider here is delicious. But that's later, first we'll be --"
Evan's tent was made up mostly of a half missing, rusty frame and some canvas, but he was still done first. The Apple Hill 'dult helping the boys shook it doubtfully, surprised when it stayed up on its own. It earned him a woodsman's grunt of approval before moving on. Evan liked him.
Sister Martha came over to him right after, shuffling in her habit and bearing the promised cup of cider. He shook his head, wanted to turn away, but that'd end with a ruler for sure.
"Don't think refusing the cider will make the other children like you better, dear. Give them time, they'll grow used to your, your strangeness. It's a little cold out and it really is delightful," she said to him, in a low voice, pressing the tiny foam cup at his fingers like she was soothing a wild dog. 'Dults were like that sometimes. He shook his head again.
"Thank you, ma'am, but I don't like cider," he lied, and scurried off. He had things to do.
When someone's tent was about to fall, he caught the shifting pole, or tapped a loose spike into the ground. He helped Carol with hers twice, though the second time he could have sworn she'd undone what he already fixed. She blushed when he pointed it out with a patient smile. He'd picked that smile up from the bishop-man at the orphanage, when he was first Found. Six months ago. Seemed longer.
As it got almost dark the glow worms he was ignoring started to thicken at the edge of the woods, tiny cure bones and other, wilder things peered from tree branches and out from under the dirt. During the day he'd barely seen any, not like the gangs he'd gotten used to on the drive through the mountains. But this, this was like being back in the before, almost. He couldn't ignore this many.