Spirit of the Sea

by Keith Walter

  Grace’s eyes and mouth hardened. The regent didn’t know what the Union was really after, but she did. Unthinking, her eyes flickered to Charles, who seemed to be lost in thought himself. She had already rejected this offer once. “No,” she stated.

  “No?” the regent repeated, storm clouds building behind his eyes. “You are in no position to refuse. All I have to do is turn off my Alter Key—” he snapped his fingers for emphasis “—and you mother will be upon you. She will take what you have and then take you. There is no situation where you keep your cargo.”

  The air became heavy as the regent’s anger began to manifest. Grace stood firm, staring down the giant. “I will not let you have it,” she cried just below a yell.

  The regent stood suddenly. His tree trunk legs began a careful march toward the fool who would refuse him, crackles of magical power popping with each step. As he approached, his palms began to glow in anticipation of a real battle. Grace, so far from her real body, could not muster the same power as the regent and they both knew it. In response, she made no attempt to gather her strength, staring at the approaching storm with conviction.

  ◆◆◆

  Just before the regent’s shadow touched Grace, a third massive presence filled the room. Charles had begun to release the spells holding his power in check. He stepped between the giant and Grace as steam rose off his skin. “Enough,” the younger man stated.

  The regent reacted quickly, pointing a hand at the interloper. Charles found the air being pulled from his lungs, but as he released more and more seals, the regent’s magic dissipated. The regent, for his part, was honestly surprised. The man in front of him should be dead, but instead the magical energy rolling off him was getting stronger and stronger.

  Intrigued, the regent asked, “Who are you, child?”

  Once the regent formally addressed him, Charles ceased removing the spells. His body was already fighting to stay in one piece, but he had made his point. Taking a moment to reapply the greater spells, Charles looked the regent in the eye. “I am Charleton LunaNocta Gaspris, and I am what the Union is looking for.”

  Grace shouted, “You promised! You promised you wouldn’t.”

  Charles couldn’t take his eyes off the regent, but held an open palm backward to halt Grace’s advance. “I know, but you can’t expect me to let you fight a battle like this.”

  Charles could see the regent’s mind was racing. As a former loyalist, it was likely the regent was never fully trusted by the Union nobles. The Union nobles had almost certainly kept him in the dark from their greatest secrets. Even with the fortune of running the black market, he never would have been able to buy the answers to the greatest questions. Now here was a man who may be able to unlock those answers at last. The giant stuck out a bear-paw-sized hand to the younger fey, a clear and unmistakable rune formed on his palm. “Prove it,” he demanded.

  Charles noted the rune and formed the same on his own palm, much weaker than the regent’s as he continued to stifle his magic. Reaching out, he touched his rune to the giant’s, and the giant closed his fingers around Charles’s hand. “I told you, I am Charleton LunaNocta Gaspris.”

  The giant stared as his hand. It was a simple rune, the kind any noble knew and offered to an equal. So long as their hands touched, neither could lie. It was more for show than anything. Lying was beneath the dealings of nobility.

  “You are,” the giant breathed, “and you have a story to tell.” He squeezed slightly, feeling the smaller man’s bones groan in protest. He smirked at the completely uncaring look in the younger man’s eyes.

  “I do, though I think you’ll find it not to be very exciting,” Charles admitted. “In the town of Lodeen, at roughly ten past midnight, I killed the Ancient One and brought an end to the war. Months later, I was framed for a coup that never happened and an assassin attempted to kill me. I was saved by the intervention of General Alastair O’Hren, who died in the effort and whose reputation was forever sullied.”

  The regent couldn’t help the giddy giggle that escaped his lips. “You are not much of a storyteller,” he commented.

  “We are in a bit of a rush,” Charles reminded him.

  “Oh my, this is—” the giant had to suck in gusts of wind to keep up with his thundering heart “—this is a wonderful day. Indeed, this is even better than I hoped for.”

  Charles found himself confused. He expected the regent would be glad to have gotten ahold of a valuable chip to use with the Union, but he was giggling like a kid who just found a new toy. “So what do you want to do now?” he asked.

  “Do you have it?” the regent asked suddenly, another giggle escaping. “The Union wants you like nothing I’ve ever seen. It would be so obvious,” he added in a ramble. Catching himself, Charles noted that the giant realized he had inadvertently let slip his own ignorance. Squelching his excitement, the regent addressed Charles grimly. “You have the weapon.”

  A light bulb went on in Charles’s head. The regent didn’t know what really happened. Barclay had mentioned the regent was a former loyalist. It made sense the Union nobles wouldn’t been keen on letting a potential turncoat in on the truth. This was why ignorance was such a taboo amongst the nobles. If you know what someone else doesn’t, you can take advantage.

  Charles had to choose his words carefully, as he was still bound by truth. “No, I no longer have the weapon.” At the regent’s thunderous glare, he added casually, “But I know where it is. The Union wants me dead precisely because I know too much. At this moment, the Union does not know where the weapon is, but I do. If you could provide us, all of us, passage out of here, I could let you in on the secret.”

  The regent’s eyes widened comically. He dropped the younger fey’s hand and turned to his throne, lost in thought. This was an opportunity of a lifetime. On one hand, it would be nothing for the regent to simply steal him, Charles knew. He was the Glorious General, but as far as the regent could tell, his magic was broken—and the regent had felt the uncontrolled outbursts acutely. He believed Charles held a well of power perhaps beyond his own, but couldn’t use it.

  Spinning on his heel, the regent addressed Charles again. “What happened to you?”

  He was taken aback by the question, and had to think quickly. The regent was likely to know if he lied anyway, but he had a little more wiggle room now. “The price of the weapon,” Charles admitted. “Should you ever get ahold of it, I’d advise you not to use it yourself.” Tilting his head to one side, Charles added, “I can guess what you’re thinking. Just grab me, and then either get the location out of me or hand me over and receive a prize from the Union. But be aware that I can let my power out before you get your people in my head, and it would surely kill me. I can guarantee you that if I die, no one else will be able to tell you where the weapon is.”

  ◆◆◆

  The regent watched as Grace and the remaining fey nodded in agreement. He didn’t like this Charleton knowing his mind, but it changed little. He didn’t need to have possession of the man to sell this group to the Union. And knowing what he knew now, he would have enough leverage to demand whatever he wanted. Of course, what he really wanted was to be free of this island exile. He wanted to punch the faces of the inner circle that sent him here. That was impossible with just his own power, but if he had the weapon, then no one could tell him to do anything ever again. He could become the inner circle, force those who exiled him to share a tiny room if he wanted, and fix all the idiotic actions throughout the territories.

  There was much to weigh.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN:

  Treason

  Talmer knew if he went to the lower decks, the lights would be on and he could walk around as he pleased. The converts had not witnessed his disheveled state, and they tended to give him a wide berth regardless. That they might be afraid of his might had brought a small moment of pleasure before. Now, he was numb. There was no smug satisfaction from having met the regent, who wanted him dead. There was no hop
e of a bonding with the beautiful blonde, who could have made all his dreams come true. There wasn’t even a chance of escape now, as surely the regent would hand everyone over to the Union.

  Just an hour ago, he had still believed his father’s name might mean something if they were caught. But now he had offended the regent, a fey so far beyond his father in rank that the Volgerett name might be besmirched forever. After closing the door to his state room he practically crumpled to the floor. Pulling his knees tighter to his chest, he tried distracting himself briefly. Sitting there, balancing on his heels and tailbone in the dark, Talmer found himself lost.

  There was only one window in his cabin, a round porthole, just over a foot in diameter. The window was frosted heavily, allowing light in but no ability to discern what was on the other side. Grace had done that for him. She knew he couldn’t stand the idea of others looking in, so his cabin was the only cabin with such a window. The storm was unable to reach into the harbor, but it still cast a gloomy glow through the glass.

  The glow was mesmerizing. The longer he stared, the more it began playing tricks. The circle of a window seemed to dip down in a straight line, forming the shape of a keyhole. He tried to pull his knees in tighter, but there was nowhere for them to go. He was back in his father’s armoire, trapped and staring at the only thing his eyes could see. He was going to die here, just as his father promised all those years ago.

  It was still better than the nothingness Grace had subjected him to. A voice tried to remind him that she’d done it to save him, to keep him from the regent’s punishment, but he bit his cheek until the voice went silent. Wherever she had put him, there were no dimensions. He had been weightless, perhaps like trying to swim in outer space. But at least the stars could be seen from space. In that weightless emptiness, there was no light of any kind, a perfect blackness that made him wonder if he was dead. He could feel his body, but not hear his own cries or the rush of blood in his ears when he started to panic.

  That place was the perfect hell, he decided—to be aware, but to lose everything he valued in life. A darker voice wondered how hard she had worked on such a place, perhaps meant to torture her victims before consuming their hopeless bodies. He hated the dark. He knew it stemmed from that armoire, and so did she. When he’d shared his deepest secrets, he had felt a profound sense of relief. She hadn’t judged him then, so he thought, but she had clearly remembered.

  Talmer wanted to go downstairs, to walk in the light, but he couldn’t move. One thing he hadn’t told Grace was that he went back to that armoire. When he had messed up the love spells on his first study partner, after she turned from a proper young woman into an unstable, violent mess who tried to kill him, he had spent a weekend at home recovering from his wounds. The educational facility had stopped her, eventually brought her mind back, and he had been lucky that she had been unable to remember who cast the spells. She had apologized to him while he was recovering, and he couldn’t stand it. When the servants had been sent away that evening, he clawed his way to the armoire and stayed inside the entire night.

  He still remembered the terror as he closed those great doors behind him. He felt the shame burn away under that terror. The terror was so perfect and encompassing, nothing else could stand beside it. In a way, it became his focus. The years went on and he found there was nothing, no shame or pang of conscience, that the armoire could not steal away from his mind. He found himself committing more and more shameful acts to stay ahead, becoming addicted to that thing he hated above all else.

  The armoire was hundreds of miles away now, but he needed it more than ever. He needed the terror to steal away his despair, his pain, and his shame. He needed to clear his mind of everything but the fear, so that when he left he would be free to do whatever it took to get out of this.

  So he stared at the frosted window in his cabin, letting the similarities in as best he could. He almost smiled when he felt his spine begin to tremble. His breathing became labored, and tears formed in his eyes. “You will die in there,” he whispered. “You are a failure, and you do not deserve the blood I have given you. But I will give you this one chance. If you can rewrite that page down to the smallest detail, you will know how to open the door.”

  Talmer was surprised how much his voice sounded like his father’s. He let the fear wash over him. His father’s words held more power than the old man had in his damn body. “Can you open this door?” he whispered, louder.

  “Can you, child?” he found himself yelling. And without thinking, he was standing, staring hard at the cabin door. “Answer me!”

  Talmer reached for the door handle. His hand trembled as his fingers fit into the recessed space. His entire body was sweating, to the point he could no longer tell if he was crying. The latch felt like it weighed thousands of pounds. With a great wrenching pull, he tore the handle completely off the door. Stunned, he watched the door slowly swing open and send cold waves of fresh air over his soaking skin. He smiled, his mind clear. Taking one last look at the broken handle before chucking it into the room, he whispered, “Yes.”

  Stepping into the night air, he surveyed the dock with what limited sight the moon and stars provided. He couldn’t hope to escape on shore. He had no doubt Wolfe Island had eyes everywhere. Were he not hidden by the key, surely sitting in the bridge, he had no doubt the regent’s lackeys would be descending upon him. Thankfully, he was hidden. And while the others were out gallivanting with their doom, he was free to find another way.

  The dock was makeshift, in a most magical sense. The trees lining the edge, the walkways to the ship, all grew or withered at the direction of someone onshore. This dock could become whatever shape best suited the regent’s needs. Talmer had no doubt the trees could create incredible shapes of intricate beauty should the regent look to flatter a guest. He had no doubt they would crush unwelcome visitors. If he had any chance of getting out of here, he’d need to be fast and efficient.

  About a hundred yards from Grace, three medium-sized sailboats were tied close to the shore. Talmer knew little of the workings of large ships like Grace, but he had sailed once or twice in his youth. He was no expert, certainly not capable of sailing through the anger of Alignak, but here his unique affinity came in especially handy. He could command the wind. By creating gusts of incredible speed and unnatural density, he could hit or even cut his enemies. That didn’t mean he could calm the winds of the storm, but in smaller areas, he could nearly take a sail and ship into the air. He wouldn’t have to do much navigating at all as long as he could force the boat whatever direction he wished.

  His eyes followed the thick walkway back to the docks, but there would be no point trying to run. The moment he stepped upon the dock, the regent’s guards would know something was amiss. He squinted, trying to get a better gauge on how far away the sailboats were. If they were just a hundred yards away, if his eyes were not deceived, he could perhaps reach them in a single leap.

  Another benefit of wind affinity was a keen ability to control one’s direction and descent in the air. He could make out no odd visual tricks between Grace and the shore, and he smiled. So long as his jump was close, he’d have no trouble landing. There was still the living dock to contend with, but already he was forming a plan.

  There was just the question of where to go once he broke back into the storm. Assuming he could keep the ship upright, he was still miles from the nearest shoreline. The boat wouldn’t be able to move as quickly as Grace, and surely the Entregon would find him on the water before he got far. A wicked smirk pulled at the corner of his mouth. The Entregon, of all things, would be his escape. She would want to kill him, he knew, unless he could offer something even more valuable. And he knew just where to find that something.

  Talmer retraced his walk to the kitchen, a pathway he had labored over so long he could have walked it with his eyes closed. The converts were below, staying out of sight at the captain’s behest. In moments, the darkened kitchen loomed in front of him
. Ignoring the pang of defeat and remorse that sprung to his mind, he flicked the light and took it all in. When the call had come to get on deck, he had made sure to scrub any traces of his runes and spells. It was just as he left it when he still had hope of bonding with Grace. That hope was gone now, though his focus remained on Grace’s heart.

  A weapon, that’s what she really was. That’s what the greatest Spirits of the Sea were. Those on the right side of history were remembered for their efforts in the war, for their dominance in capturing the loyalists. But the loyalists had their champions, as well, great monsters spoken of in whispers—beings said to have once stood prow to prow with the Entregon. When the loyalists forces were decimated, those monsters had no choice but to surrender. The Union did not accept surrender, not really. Those monsters that refused to fight for the Union were dragged ashore where their powers were weakened, and they were torn apart piece by piece.

  As it turned out, the magic-infused hull of those monsters was particularly well suited to withstanding attacks. They were repurposed into shields and machines of war. They were cut and forged into vast metallic prisons, prisons so strong even a noble could not break out. And then, the real treasure was the heart. Even torn from its body, the heart retained its ability to absorb and withstand immense magical power. These hearts were pounded into weapons of mass destruction. In the hands of a noble, these great weapons amplified the power of the user two-fold, and allowed for the casting of spells that could shake the very earth.

  Grace would hate to know she was going to become the cause of death and destruction, Talmer realized. For just a moment, he hesitated. This was the kind of thing his father would do, the kind of thing he said he would get out from under. But if he didn’t, there would be no future, no chance to become the man he wanted to be. Closing his eyes, Talmer remembered the armoire, the piercing light that filtered through the keyhole, and the numbing terror it provided. There was no other way. Not bothering to peel the panel off quietly, Talmer dug his fingers into the metal of the upper oven and tore the panel out. He stared again at the heart, which was glowing with red lines just as he remembered it.