by Jon Skovron
“I don’t know.” She opened and closed her hand, unable to put into words her longing to feel a weapon in her grasp. “I just…think about it a lot.”
He turned from the window to regard her for a moment. “Come with me.”
She followed him from the sparring hall into the courtyard. The night air quickly dried her sweat and sent a chill straight down her spine. He led her into the temple. The lamps were not kept burning at night, but the candles on the altar continued their flickering dance. By this light, she saw him gesture to the meditation mat in front of the altar. She knelt silently on the mat while he continued behind the altar and opened the same cabinet that Racklock had taken the cane from. Hope felt a ripple of fear when she saw that, but quickly admonished herself. Grandteacher Hurlo would never beat her simply for asking a question.
Instead of a cane, Hurlo took a sheathed sword from the cabinet. He held it reverently in two hands, parallel to the ground, as he brought it to the front of the altar and knelt in front of Hope. The sheath was black lacquered wood carved with inlaid gold designs. The handle was intercrossed with black-and-white fabric, while the hilt and pommel were gold.
He slowly pulled the sword from its sheath. As he did, the blade hummed softly.
“This sword is called the Song of Sorrows. It is one of the greatest swords ever made.” He moved the sword slowly through the air, and again the blade hummed.
Hope’s eyes were wide as she took in the cold, beautiful gleam of the blade. “Why does it make that sound?”
“It was forged by the biomancer Xunera Ray for Manay the True, back when biomancers and Vinchen still worked together for the good of the empire. The method of its creation has been lost, but it is said that the Song of Sorrows remembers every life it takes, and the sound you hear…” He swept the blade through the air again, faster this time, and the hum came louder, with a solemn, mournful air. “It is the loss it feels at every death.”
“Can a sword truly remember and feel?” asked Hope.
“I don’t know,” said Hurlo. “My teacher, Shilgo the Wise, believed so, although he also admitted to me, when I asked him, that he had no proof. All we know for certain is that there is no logical reason for it to make such a sound.” He sheathed the blade, and the hum abruptly cut off. “Now, you asked when you would learn to use a sword.” He held out the Song of Sorrows to Hope.
“I…can touch it?”
“Take it in your hands.”
She took the sword from him. It was much heavier than she expected.
“Hold it by the handle,” instructed Hurlo.
Hope shifted her hands to the black-and-white grip. The tip of the sword immediately sank to the ground.
“When you can hold this sword upright, we will begin your training with it.”
It seemed impossibly heavy, and Hope’s heart sank as low as the sword. “Yes, Grandteacher.”
“You doubt this is possible?”
She looked away, embarrassed. Vinchen warriors did not doubt themselves or their teacher. “It is very heavy, Grandteacher.”
“It is indeed. And it will take a long time for you to get strong enough. Years, I expect. But I promise you, Bleak Hope. When you are finally able to wield a blade such as this, you will be a fearsome warrior indeed.”
A fearsome warrior. Hope hardly thought it possible, but as she stared down at the sword in her hands, she knew that was exactly what she needed to become. No matter how long it took, or how difficult the journey.
* * *
After a few months, Hurlo realized that Bleak Hope was beginning to show signs of training, particularly in strength and muscle tone. To allay suspicion, he assigned her a strenuous regimen of morning chores that included as much manual labor as he could find. She moved ale barrels and repaired furniture. She stretched hides for the tanner, and even assisted the brother responsible for the smithy. Some days, when there was nothing else to be done, he would have her move a pile of rocks from one side of a building to the other.
Many of the brothers saw Hope’s increased task load as a sign that Hurlo had begun to dislike her as much as they did. He allowed them to think that. But not all the brothers were so easily fooled.
Hurlo was in the sparring hall alone one afternoon. The sunlight streamed in through the open sliding doors, casting the grandteacher in silhouette as he moved slowly and steadily with a heavy wooden sword, his breath perfectly in time with the motion. Hurlo saw no difference between sword training and meditation.
“May I spar with you, Grandteacher?” Racklock stood with his thick shoulders filling the doorway. He held a wooden sword in his hand.
“You may,” said Hurlo as he finished his final form. He came to stillness, his sword held upright before him, and allowed himself one last peaceful breath. Then he angled his body to face Racklock. “Come.”
Racklock moved in swiftly with an overhead blow, but Hurlo knocked it aside, the wooden swords giving a sharp clack as they met.
Hurlo smiled. “Always trying to catch me off guard with that first blow.”
“One day it will work, Grandteacher,” said Racklock. “That is when I will know that my time has come to lead the order.” He swung again.
Hurlo parried again. “And what will you do, that you are so eager to lead the order?”
Racklock executed a series of attacks, all of which Hurlo blocked or dodged. “I will take us out of exile on this cold rock. I will make us once again a respected and feared order in the empire.”
“If respect and fear is what you desire, you have that already from your own brothers,” said Hurlo.
Racklock attacked again, striking as he said, “I also want power. And renown.”
“Power, I can understand,” said Hurlo, blocking each strike. “All men crave power, if only to protect what they cherish. But renown? That will bring you nothing but unhappiness.”
“That is easy for you to say, Hurlo the Cunning. Your place among the great stories is assured. I wonder, though, do you keep us all here so that none of us have the opportunity to eclipse you?”
Hurlo’s gaze hardened and he switched to the offensive, delivering a succession of blows that Racklock was barely able to counter. “You know why it is we remain here. As long as we are at cross-purpose with the emperor, our only options are self-exile or insurrection. Would you have us clash directly with the emperor and his biomancers? That would tear the empire apart.”
Racklock struck back harder. “Or we could join them. The world has changed, old man. We must change as well, or perish.”
Hurlo smiled mischievously. “You do not think we are changing?”
They traded a few more blows without speaking. The crack of wood on wood echoed through the training hall.
“You have been punishing the girl hard with work lately,” said Racklock. “The others think it is because you dislike her. But I know different, Grandteacher.”
“A heavy load in the hands forgets a heavy load in the heart,” said Hurlo. “I believe she finds peace in the work.”
“You have grown soft in your old age.”
“I have grown kind,” said Hurlo. “There is a difference.”
Racklock stepped back from Hurlo and lowered his sword. “You have some other plan at work, Hurlo the Cunning. And it has something to do with that girl.”
“You are right,” said Hurlo. “That plan is the rehabilitation of my soul.”
* * *
Hurlo had always been one to speak from the heart. Many times, he would say things and not know that they were true until he said them. His famous cunning came in part from his ability to surprise even himself. So when he told Racklock that Bleak Hope was the rehabilitation of his soul, he had not considered it at all before then. And yet, the moment he spoke it, he knew it to be true.
That night, he took her down to the rocky shoreline. The wind howled fiercely, pulling at their black robes as they stood on the narrow spit of gray sand in slippered feet. Before them, hard waves
crashed against the ragged black rocks that lay half-submerged in the dark water.
“It is so cold, Grandteacher!” Bleak Hope’s arms hugged her torso, and her entire body shivered. Her blue eyes were so comically wide that Hurlo laughed.
“Yes, child, it is. And why is that?”
Hope’s pale brow furrowed. “What do you mean, Grandteacher?”
“Why is it so cold here, now, in this place?”
“Oh, because it is winter and we are in the Southern Isles, which are the coldest in the empire.”
“Correct. And what would happen if we traveled north by boat?”
“It would get slowly warmer?”
“Yes. Your studies are coming along well. Now, if we were to travel by boat, how would we know which way is north?”
“By the sun, which rises in the east and sets in the west.”
“What if we were to travel by night?” He gestured up at the black-and-purple sky.
“I…don’t know, Grandteacher.”
“By the stars. Have you not read that astronomy book?”
“I have not yet,” admitted Hope. “I thought it was…unimportant. What difference do the stars make to us down here?”
“When you read it, you will learn about the constellations. Pictures in the sky that never change. There.” He pointed up to a five-point cluster. “That is the Fist of Selk the Brave. And there.” He pointed to a small cluster of stars with a thin line of stars trailing behind it. “That is the Great Serpent. And there.” He pointed to a large cluster of stars. “That is the Kraken.” He turned back to her. “Learn these shapes. Memorize them. They will help guide you on your way.”
“Us, Grandteacher,” corrected Hope. “You mean they will help guide us.”
“Of course,” said Hurlo.
Hope stared up at the dark, twinkling sky for a while. Hurlo could tell she was working something out for herself, so he waited.
“I have seen a symbol, Grandteacher. A black oval with eight trailing lines. It looks like a squid or kraken. The captain who brought me here. He said it was the symbol of the biomancers.”
“He is correct,” Hurlo said quietly.
Hope nodded, still staring up at the sky. “What are the biomancers, Grandteacher? They are mentioned frequently in histories of the empire, yet it is never clear who they are exactly. Are they sorcerers? Or holy men?”
“They are scientists, of a sort. Mystics of biology. They can take living creatures and change them.”
“Change them how?”
“Make them bigger or smaller. For example, mole rats used to be tiny things no bigger than mice, once upon a time. Did you know that?”
Hope shook her head.
“A biomancer may make a living thing grow, or decay, or make it into something else completely.”
“Are biomancers good or bad?”
“They serve the emperor, for good or bad.”
“Don’t the Vinchen serve the emperor?” asked Hope.
“We serve the empire. That is why we live and train far from the palace and its corrupting influence and power. A single emperor may be flawed or cruel. But the empire is bigger than one man. And it is always worth fighting for. Perhaps when the time comes, you will be the one to correct its course.”
Hope looked at him then. Her gaze had softened over the months of their training. But now it looked again as it did that night Toa brought her to him. “A biomancer killed my parents and everyone in my village.”
“I know,” said Hurlo.
“Is it wrong that I want to kill a servant of the emperor?”
“What does the Vinchen code say about vengeance?”
Bleak Hope closed her eyes, as if reading it on the backs of her eyelids. “Vengeance is one of the most sacred duties of a warrior. It may be swift or slow, but it must be done with honor. When a warrior confronts his offender, he must give his name and ask the offender for his. The warrior must state clearly his reason for vengeance and allow the offender the chance to arm himself. The only true vengeance is the death of the offender. If the warrior fails in this, better that he die than live in such dishonor.”
“Will you abide by this code?” asked Hurlo.
The wind lashed at Hope’s hair as she stood with her eyes still closed. “Yes, Grandteacher.”
“Then you have your answer.”
6
After a month of raiding lacy yachts along the coast, word started to spread of Sadie the Pirate Queen. The yachts got scarce and imperial patrols started to appear. The naval ships were large and slow compared to the Savage Wind, so they were easy to avoid. But now Sadie and her crew needed to find new targets.
“There’s merchant ships,” Missing Finn said doubtfully one night. He and Sadie sat at the bow, watching the sun set red on the horizon and passing a bottle back and forth.
“Yeah, big old cargo ships,” Sadie said eagerly. “That’ll be easy.”
“Easy to catch,” said Finn. “But where are we going to put their cargo? Besides, to get to those ships, we have to stop hugging the coast and head out into deeper waters. And that’s where the imp navy can get us.”
“Alright. So aren’t there smaller cargo ships? Ones that come in close?”
“Further north we might have some luck. A lot of luxury items come through Radiant Harbor in Hollow Falls. But I don’t know those waters as well. Who knows what else we’ll find that way.”
“It was boldness that got us this far,” said Sadie. “It’s boldness that will take us further.”
They made their way up the coast the next day. The morning was tense, what with the uniform military barracks of Keystown looming to the east, and large imperial frigates lurking along the horizon to the west. But they had a favorable wind and made good time. By the afternoon, they had cleared the thickest concentration of imperial power and made it north to Hollow Falls, a peaceful, wealthy region where the lacies lived on sprawling estates in glorious mansions. Most of the homes were set too far back from the water to see, but every now and then, one was built right on the water. Sadie couldn’t resist pulling out her spyglass and having a closer look at the turrets that jutted out over the water.
“Wouldn’t mind having a view like that in my home,” said Missing Finn from his usual post at the helm. “Sunsets must be real nice from there.”
Sadie collapsed her spyglass and shrugged. “They look nice from here, too. I was looking to see if there was anything worth stealing in them.”
“Is there?”
“Sure, but there’s bars on everything. And the way it hangs out over the water, it would be a trick to even get to them.”
“Probably household guards, too,” said Finn.
“True. We need more modest targets than that for now.”
They reached Radiant Harbor by nightfall. Rather than dock in the harbor, they anchored in a small, concealed inlet just north.
“Thought you said you didn’t know these waters,” said Sadie.
“I said I didn’t know them as well,” replied Missing Finn. “I’ve sailed on some ships that had goods to unload in Hollow Falls but didn’t want any imp harbor inspections.”
The next morning, Avery Birdhouse spotted a merchant ship only slightly larger than the Savage Wind heading north from Radiant Bay.
“Weigh anchor and set sail,” said Sadie. “We’ll keep at a distance till we get a bit further from the harbor.”
The ship continued to head north along the coast until it reached the top of New Laven, then it changed course to north-northeast.
“She’s heading out into open waters,” said Missing Finn. “Better close soon, or we’ll be vulnerable to the imp frigates. Wouldn’t take more than a few of those cannons to sink this boat.”
“Let out the jib!” called Sadie, who had been learning the proper names of sails from Finn.
Spinner unfurled the front sail. It snapped taut and the ship picked up speed.
Sadie watched the merchant ship with her spyglass. “T
hey let out their jib, too. Looks like they’ve made us.”
Finn grinned. “Should we give chase, Captain Sadie?”
“Oh, yes, Missing Finn.”
They chased the merchant ship for nearly an hour, going so far out to sea that New Laven was only a dark smudge on the horizon. But even though the two ships were around the same size, the merchant ship was weighed down with cargo. Bit by bit, the Savage Wind gained on them until they were close enough to grapple. What they found on that ship was not the hysterical lacies they were accustomed to, but hardened sailors armed with knives, clubs, and pikes of their own.
“Finally.” Sadie drew her cutlass. “A decent fight. Missing Finn, I leave the ship to you. Red, stay in the cabin. Everyone else with me.”
It was short and ugly. Wergishaw lay about him with his club, cracking heads and kneecaps. Avery Birdhouse, a knife in each hand, darted in and out as he went for soft spots like necks, bellies, and groins. Bull Mackey hacked off hands and the tops of heads with his ax. Spinner ran them through with his pike. And in the center of it all, Sadie swung her cutlass again and again. No matter how hardened those merchant sailors might be, they were still no match for a bunch of wags from Paradise Circle, Hammer Point, and Silverback.
“You’ll hang for this!” screamed the captain, a short man with a red face and a wispy beard. Bull Mackey and Spinner had found him hiding in the cargo hold and dragged him before Sadie.
“That so?” asked Sadie.
“These spices are bound for Stonepeak! For the emperor himself!”
“The emperor, you say?” Sadie looked impressed. “Well, then, do me a favor and give your emperor a message from Sadie the Pirate Queen.” She looked at Bull Mackey and Spinner. “Hold him down.”
The two grinned at each other as they stretched him out on the deck. He thrashed desperately, but couldn’t get loose.
Sadie straddled him and began to hike up her skirts.
“What in hells are you doing?” demanded the captain.
“Here’s my message to the emperor.” Sadie squatted and pissed all over the captain, while he cursed, and her crew howled with laughter.