by A. J. Smith
“What did you tell him?”
“I was vague,” answered Bjorn.
One of the adjoining doors opened, and the Sundered Wolf emerged. Daniel had washed, and was now clad in Sea Wolf leather, with his tattered green cloak fastened around his neck. His short, black hair was smoothed back, and he wore a few days’ worth of stubble. He had brown eyes, a large nose, and no visible blemishes on his skin. He looked different now he wasn’t flailing around, trying to cover himself, or being held against the wall by an angry Alpha Wolf.
“Can I sit down?” he asked, pulling the cork from a bottle of liquor and taking a swig.
I nodded. “What are you drinking?”
“Bjorn says it’s called grog,” he replied. “Not bad.”
The two spirit-masters and I, all of whom had drunk much ship grog in our time, raised our eyebrows. It was a nasty, flat liquor, brewed exclusively for its strength. Some duellists and sailors liked to get blind drunk on the stuff before battle. Others drunk it just to black out or go to sleep as quickly as possible, but no one drunk it for pleasure.
“Are you trying to get drunk?” I asked. “Or are you planning to pick a fight with someone?”
He frowned and shook his head, taking a seat under a porthole, and next to Lissa’s table. “I like alcohol,” he replied. “I find it takes the edge off existence.”
“You’re a very strange man,” observed Tomas. “But I suppose I should introduce myself. I’m Adeline’s spirit-master, Tomas Red Fang. And apparently you are a Sundered Wolf who came back from the dead, yes?”
Daniel took another drink. He then slumped and puffed out his cheeks, as if irritated by something. “Yes, I am,” he replied. “Though I wish we had not met under those circumstances. If Lissa and I had not seen that… fish-beast, she may still be alive, and you wouldn’t be focusing on the wrong thing.” He looked at me, almost as if he wanted me to know what he was thinking.
“What was written in the Wolf House?” I asked. “And why do I need to see it?”
Daniel smiled. “The why will become apparent,” he replied. “And history is better observed through a first-hand account.”
Tomas and Bjorn shared a doubtful look, before my spirit-master slowly shook his head. He then looked at me, as if to say I told you so. “One hundred and sixty years of scrolls, artefacts and heraldry are crammed into the hulls of a dozen ships. Whatever was written in the Wolf House won’t be read for a while.”
“Nevertheless,” replied Daniel, standing from Lissa’s body, “we shall find it.”
“How?” I asked, intrigued by the strange Eastron, but not willing to indulge him. “You are no Sea Wolf, and do not assume I trust you, however much you tempt me with talk of friendship and allies.”
He didn’t flinch from my stare. When he looked away, it was his choice and not because he was intimidated by me. He nodded at Tomas Red Fang. “Noble spirit-master, we are looking for a document, signed in the Bloody Halls, in the fifty-ninth year of the dark age.”
Tomas screwed up his face again, this time in confusion. “Signed by who?” he asked.
“Glad you asked,” replied Daniel. “By Robert Greenfire, First Fang of the Severed Hand, and Michael of the Mountain, Bear Tamer of the Starry Sky.”
My spirit-master relaxed his wrinkled face, and I saw curiosity intrude at the edges of his eyes. I knew the old man well, and sensed that the tilt of his head indicated he’d heard something that greatly interested him. Any concern he may have had over my behaviour was slowly eclipsed by the words of the Sundered Wolf
“What does that mean to you?” I asked Tomas.
“Michael of the Mountain,” he replied. “Many words are attributed to him. He wrote books on many subjects. The Eastron, the void, spirits. A few volumes found their way to the Wolf House. It is said that the Defiants of First Port have a collection of all of his written work. Something of a lore-master.”
“He visited the Severed Hand,” said Daniel. “A long time ago. He spoke privately with your First Fang, a man named Robert Greenfire. They signed something into law. You need to read it.”
I looked at Tomas and raised my eyebrows, wanting a more positive assessment.
“Okay,” said the old spirit-master. “I know the year it was written, I know who wrote it, and I know it was made law. Once I find the index scrolls, it shouldn’t take me more than an hour or two… if I have a dozen people to help me look.”
“I’m sure some of Driftwood’s crew would be glad to get out of their usual duties,” I said, nodding at the old man.
*
I stood with Tasha Strong at the fore of Halfdan’s Revenge, marvelling at the huge fleet. No living Eastron had seen such a thing, nor would they again. Upon the Bright Coast was now a forest of sails, rising and falling on a gentle tide. It was a wooden city, as laden as any hold, though far more mobile. Perhaps the Old Bitch of the Sea would prefer this. She certainly didn’t like us exploring too far inland. Somewhere in the void, I imagined a young wolf-spirit emitting a contented growl.
“How are you sleeping?” asked Tasha.
“Erratically,” I replied, rubbing my eyes. “I know I have dreams, but they all disappear. Just like… love you can’t remember.”
She put a hand on my shoulder. “You’re doing well, Adeline, really, you are. No one else could do what you’re doing.” She paused, and made a strange grumbling sound. “But you don’t eat enough. An empty stomach has felled the greatest of Eastron.” She grinned. “Probably a few Pure Ones too.”
I kept my eyes on the enormous fleet, but tilted my head slightly. I wanted to give her a hug, but I didn’t move. I wanted to cry on her shoulder, but there were no tears in my eyes. I wondered how long I could pretend that I wasn’t losing my mind to a primal wolf-spirit, or at the very least, losing my empathy.
From behind us there was a cough, and the creak of footsteps on the wooden deck of the Revenge. We both turned and saw Siggy Blackeye, formerly the mistress of the Black Wave, approach us with her head bowed. She looked up, revealing bloodshot eyes and pallid skin. Since the loss of her ship and her captain, she’d been in seclusion aboard Owl’s Bane, with the other two survivors.
“May I speak to you, Adeline?” she asked. She was wearing new ship-leathers, but had no blade, and I detected a tremble in her right hand.
“Please,” I replied, motioning for her to join us.
“Shall I leave?” asked Tasha.
I left the question for Siggy to answer, in case she wanted to speak Sea Wolf to Sea Wolf. After a moment, she shook her head. “No, no, it’s fine. You can stay, Mistress Strong.”
Tasha smiled gratefully, and I sensed that she was becoming more comfortable amongst Sea Wolves.
“What would you like to talk about, Siggy?” I asked, attempting to show sympathy.
She came to stand against the railing, looking out over the fleet. “I’ve heard sailors whisper that I am cursed,” she replied. “Not to my face, but still I hear it. Cold Man died and the Dead Horse was destroyed. Then Jacob Hearth died and the Black Wave was destroyed.” She bowed her head again, wrestling with inner turmoil. “I survived both. Some force wants me to live, though all I live with is shame and regret.” She looked at me, holding back tears. “I want your permission to die, my lady Alpha Wolf. I should have died twice already, and I can no longer bear my curse.”
“Absolutely not,” snapped Tasha, putting a hand on Siggy’s shoulder. The Sea Wolf looked at the gentle Kneeling Wolf, clearly confused by the show of empathy. It was out of place amongst duellists of the Severed Hand, but remained a useful counterpoint to my own lack of emotion.
“You die when you die, Siggy,” I stated. “But I will not kill you, nor will I permit you to kill yourself. There are more fiendish curses than luck.”
She was in clear distress, with trembling hands and eyes pointed at the deck, but I didn’t understand why she wanted to die. She was as tough as any Sea Wolf, and had stayed alive through grit, good fortune, and an uncanny
survival instinct. Why was she in distress? She’d been tested and had overcome all challenges, except perhaps the fragility of her mind. She looked ready to collapse, and I guessed it had taken significant effort to struggle aboard Halfdan’s Revenge to talk to me.
“Siggy, look at me,” I barked. She flinched at my words, but did as I said. “I forbid you to die. You will stay by me. You will go where I go, and you will die when I die. Do you understand, Mistress Blackeye?”
She closed her eyes and screwed up her face, but nodded. I didn’t think she was afraid of me, but an edge of fear permeated her face nevertheless. If she could regain her strength, she’d be a valuable warrior to stand at my side, with much experience and no little sense.
“Though I do not like that you stand with me unarmed,” I continued. “You have a cutlass with a basket hilt, yes?”
“Yes,” she replied, keeping her eyes closed, but nodding again. “Cold Man gave it to me. I didn’t think to belt it on before I left Owl’s Bane.”
I took a step towards her. “You will wear it at all times whilst in my service. Go and get it. We have time before Tomas and Daniel find what was written. Go, now!”
She backed away from us, turned, and rushed towards a waiting rowboat. I’d given her a modicum of direction, but would have to her watch her closely, and guard against further despair. For my trouble, I received a warm smile from Tasha.
“We’ll keep her alive, won’t we?” said the Kneeling Wolf.
“She’ll have to do some of the work herself,” I replied. “But she’s tough.”
Siggy’s rowboat was one of hundreds gliding amongst the fleet, as final preparations were made. The harbour at Laughing Rock was now empty, with each ship anchored off the coast. Everything to be taken from the Severed Hand was already stowed aboard the transport ships, and there was no longer any reason for a Sea Wolf to go ashore.
From the rear of the fleet, pulling directly towards us, was a signal launch, much larger than the usual rowboats, and requiring six men to man the oars. I could see Tomas Red Fang at the bow, with Kieran Greenfire, and Daniel, the Sundered Wolf.
“Ooh, this is exciting,” said Tasha, clapping her hands at the approaching launch. “You should get some answers.”
As it laid alongside Halfdan’s Revenge, I saw that the boat was laden with more than sailors. Stowed at the rear was a large, wooden chest, and there was a clear expression of success on the face of my spirit-master. Quickly, the sailors stowed their oars, and the launch was secured to the Revenge. Tomas was first up the rope ladder, but the old man needed much help from Kieran Greenfire, before he could clamber over the railing and steady himself on the quarterdeck.
I strode towards him, with Tasha resuming her usual position, scurrying along behind me. “You found something,” I stated.
“Indeed,” replied Tomas, trying to catch his breath. “Give me a moment, the old bones aren’t used to all this climbing about in dusty holds.”
The slight form of Kieran Greenfire was next aboard, with Daniel in his green cloak close behind. Then, with the help of a block-and-tackle, the wooden chest was winched onto the quarterdeck. It was old and weathered, with heavy brass fittings, though there was no obvious keyhole or lock. As it was hefted in front of Tomas and I, a rusty plaque could be seen on the wood.
The old spirit-master took out a handkerchief and did his best to clean the plaque, before straightening. “It says, in rather florid engraving, that this was a gift to the First Fang, and the noble Sea Wolves of the Severed Hand. It was given by Michael of the Mountain in the fifty-ninth year of the dark age… to be used only by the Alpha Wolf. Though I doubt the Sea Wolves of that time knew who that was.”
*
Sailors hefted the chest below deck, as the rest of us assembled in Driftwood’s stateroom. I’d not signalled the High Captain, nor Jonas Grief, the master-at-arms, and the room was far less cramped. They had other duties that shouldn’t be interrupted. If Daniel’s words had merit, and his offer of friendship was a sincere one, it was worth pursuing, though not by the entire fleet. I desperately needed allies, but I wouldn’t risk the remaining Sea Wolves for them.
Tomas had an armful of scrolls, each bound in a leather case with iron fastenings. He unloaded them on the central table and, with Daniel’s help, began assembling a collection of dusty, old parchments. They settled on three or four, piling them in a particular order before us.
“Right,” began my spirit-master, “I have an interesting tale for you, Adeline. Over a hundred years old, and evidently long forgotten.”
Driftwood scoffed and took a seat next to Kieran Greenfire, though neither of them said anything. Evidently the short quartermaster had already seen something of what was found, and Kieran was far less scornful than his captain. Siggy sat by me, with Tasha relegated to waiting outside the stateroom. The only other Eastron in the room were Bjorn Coldfire, Driftwood’s spirit-master, and Daniel, the Sundered Wolf.
“In the fifty-ninth year of the dark age,” continued Tomas, “three years after the Years of Ice, Robert Greenfire wanted to make an apology to those wronged by the Sea Wolves. Not the Brethren, or the Pure Ones who suffered on Nibonay, but to Maven Bright, Velya Ice and David Fast Claw. All dead by this time.” He grasped the first scroll, and read from the parchment. “I, Robert Greenfire, First Fang of the Severed Hand, acknowledge that not all Eastron came as Invaders, and that treachery and violence was done to those who spoke against the Always King.”
Daniel poked his head around Tomas’s shoulder and pointed to the bottom of the parchment. “That bit is important,” said the Sundered Wolf.
“Ah, yes,” replied Tomas. “I have given overtures of friendship to the Defiants of First Port, and to the People of Ice, but neither wanted to hear my words. The thoughts of Maven and Velya have turned to stubborn resolve amongst their people.”
Driftwood scoffed again. “What are we listening to?” he asked. “Old histories of old rebellions. Why do we need to hear this, and what’s in the fucking chest?”
“I wasn’t finished,” replied Tomas, tracing a finger along the very bottom of the parchment. “But the Bear Tamer of the Sundered Wolves, he who holds the legacy of David Fast Claw, agreed to speak with me in peace. Here is an account of our meeting in the Bloody Halls of the Wolf House.” Tomas smiled at me, turning to the second piece of parchment. “I’ll summarise. Michael of the Mountain came alone, appearing through the glass. He was an unimpressive man, though possessed of uncommon intellect, and considerable insight. The account details how he bowed before the First Fang, pledging friendship, but vowing to remain apart… until the Alpha Wolf howls.”
My eyes narrowed, and I looked at Daniel. The Sundered Wolf didn’t appear smug, or even particularly happy at this news. All I saw was a man who knew he was right. “What was signed into law?” I asked. “And what’s in the chest?”
Tomas fumbled through the third and fourth scrolls, looking for a particular passage. “Yes, here it is. It will henceforth be law, signed with the blood of the Sea Wolves, that the Alpha Wolf, whoever rises to that station, will be the leader of all the Wolves. Those who sail, those who kneel, and those who are sundered. For a fight, or for a retreat.” He put down the scroll and straightened, as best as his aged back would allow. “They’re pledged to you, Adeline, and you must accept their service. Robert Greenfire was a wise man, and he made this law.”
“How did he know?” I asked. “Michael of the Mountain, how did he know there would be an Alpha Wolf? Did he know of the Sunken God?”
Tomas shook his head. “Not mentioned, I’m afraid. But this was years before Mathias Blood and the Battle of the Depths.”
“What’s in the fucking chest?” repeated Captain Tynian Driftwood.
Tomas stepped back, allowing Daniel to take over. The man who’d come back from the dead reached down, and flung back the lid of the chest, before reaching within. He was careful with the artefact, cradling it in both arms, as if it held some special
significance for him. “This is called Anya’s Roar,” said the Sundered Wolf, showing us a large, twisted horn, with a brass mouthpiece and intricate carvings across its surface. “It is a very old talisman, with a phoenix spirit bound within. It is truly one of a kind, and was a mighty gift.”
“What does it do?” I asked. “And why did Michael of the Mountain give it to Robert Greenfire?”
Daniel cradled the old talisman, smiling as he smoothed his hands over its surface. It appeared to be made of wood, twisted into the shape of a horn, with one end tapering to the narrow mouthpiece, and the other flaring outwards. “You know of spirit-whistles?” asked the Sundered Wolf. “Well, this is a more powerful version. If blown by an Eastron with sufficient wyrd, it can take you through the void at great speed.” He grinned, glanced at Captain Driftwood. “You could reach the Starry Sky and the Sundered Wolves in a few days. If you had a vessel capable of sailing through the void.”
18
I’d taken time to deal with the rest of the fleet before addressing the issues currently being argued in Driftwood’s stateroom. Signals had moved quickly between all two hundred ships, and been acknowledged. The Sea Wolves were to set sail for Last Port, and leave the Severed Hand forever. All except Halfdan’s Revenge. Jonas Grief and Wilhelm Greenfire had requested a final meeting, and signalled their collective displeasure with what I planned to do, though I’d arranged no such meeting. I didn’t need the High Captain to question me, and I feared I’d lose my temper if faced with his stern disapproval. Luckily, this time everyone just did what I said, and all that was left of my people were preparing to make way south, into the Turtle Straits.
“Fuck off! You are not going to use Halfdan’s Revenge,” boomed Tynian Driftwood, his red, forked beard bristling. “Take Owl’s Bane or one of Charlie Vane’s tubs. But you’re not tearing apart my ship with a fucking talisman.”
“Your ship will be perfectly safe, captain,” replied Daniel. “It will be guided through the void sky by the fiery wings of a phoenix.”