by L. W. Jacobs
They’d been floating it for days now, Selwin and his two men often working day and night, shoreline passing by at the pace of the current, faster than a man’s walk if slower than a fast waft. But it passed day and night, for almost a quarter moon now, and Ella said they were barely out of Yatiland and into the Yershire. A few days back they had passed the bustling port of Hafeluss, along a milky-blue river Ella said lead to Seingard. Seingard, a place he had only ever heard stories of, as foreign to him as Worldsmouth itself.
And every port they stopped, people had heard of the rebellion at Ayugen, the battle at Gendrys. Heard of him. The man who dammed a river. Titan-killer. The Achuri menace. Savior of Ayugen. The names went on and on. His names.
The fame felt strange, unreal, so Tai threw himself into the training, into something he could understand and control.
And good thing, too, because Ella was throwing herself in just as hard as she had the first day, and Marea hadn’t slowed down in her wild attempt to impress a man who, as far as Tai could tell, was already quite fond of her.
Maybe because of it, because Ella was desperate and Marea love-sick and Tai needing an outlet, every day Avery remarked on how fast they were progressing, how it took normal initiates years to learn what they were learning.
“Well we’re not stilt-legged calves,” Tai said a day after Hafeluss, during a break in their morning session. “We’ve all overcome resonances, fought wars, killed Broken and worse.”
The words felt strange in the bright sun and gentle roll of the river, the morning warm enough to strip off their furs. Ella leaned into him with her eyes closed, breathing deep. She didn’t have the stamina she’d had before the battle at the docks, and the sessions left her exhausted. But the woman didn’t let exhaustion stop her.
“Still,” Avery said. “You’re all seeing as well as many do with the resonance, and Ella is close to getting a grasp on Fattie.”
Ella smiled at this, but Marea grinned. She’d taken to naming Avery’s revenants like she’d named Nauro’s. “Too bad she’s way behind on the leaderboard,” the girl said.
That was what she called the barrel top Avery chalked their scores on, with daily and cumulative scores. Tai grinned back. “Too bad you are, too.”
She was actually only four points behind him, which was a single test or two, but Marea gave him a false scowl. “I’ll defeat you yet, God-slayer.”
He false-scowled right back. “I am Tai Kulga, destroyer of worlds. The lighthairs must pay for their crimes.”
The girl was still cold to him outside of the training sessions, but something in her competitive spirit meant they got along when they were learning. It was a nice change from how things had been before. She probably still blamed him for her parents’ death and still hated everything they stood for, but at least they could laugh about something now.
“Speaking of which,” Ella said, her eyes still closed. “Avery, do you think Tai’s second revenant is seated well enough? Could we start getting rid of them and get him actual shamanic power?”
“I don’t see why not,” Avery said, “though you have to overcome the second revenant on your own to get the power. It can take years.”
Ella opened her eyes and smiled. “Oh, I think we can get it a done a little faster than that.”
They convened in the cramped cabin that night, Avery looking doubtful but promising no one would overhear as Ella briefed them all on what to do. Ydilwen had been mostly quiet since the battle on the docks—the revenant seemed to pick only the worst times to speak up—but Tai would still be happy to have him gone. What would shamanic power be like? Would he see revenants all the time?
Feynrick struck resonance first, a low buzz, then Marea, hers a whine almost too high to hear, quickly tuning her pitch to Feynrick’s. Avery came next, striking his higher brawler’s resonance, and three worked for a while to get them in tune. Tai had been a little hesitant about revealing the harmonic secrets to Avery, but Ella for once had been trusting, arguing he’d saved their lives, and the harmonies were something everyone deserved to know.
While they worked Tai searched inside. “Well, old friend,” he said quietly, like he’d spoken to Hake and Fisher and even Naveinya, “you ready to move on?”
Move on, Ydilwen’s voice came immediately. Is that what you think happens? That we live forever in some happy garden until a fresh host comes along?
“I don’t know what happens,” Tai said, “and I don’t care. You’re a parasite feeding on my uai and using lies to try to control me. You need to go.”
What lies have I ever told you? The harmonies had synced now, and Tai could feel the synergy, the coordinated buzz rattling his bones.
“That you’re Ydilwen, for one thing,” Tai said over the buzz. “That you have anything other than noble intentions in feeding off me.”
I am Ydilwen. I told you to visit my mother’s house in Yatiport. I could have proved it, but you refused.
“Yes,” Tai said, willing the thing gone. He was done with this voice. “And I will refuse you everything you ask, because you are not Ydilwen.”
And this is why you need me. You act like you owe the people you’ve killed nothing. That you can kill them whenever it suits you. What do you think death is like? That we just fade away? Join the ancestors?
“I don’t know,” Tai said, feeling an edge of frustration, “and I don’t care.” In the background Ella said something about it not working, had Marea adjust her tone down to a melancholy harmony.
And that is why you need me. Because we don’t just fade away, especially the ones you kill. We stay here, are stuck here, slowly starving unless we get a host.
“Then give it up,” Tai said. “Let go.”
You think it’s easy to let go of your deepest hopes and dreams? Of the widowed mother you were supporting in Yatiport? Of all the hopes you had to find your wife’s revenant? How would you feel about Ella if you died today? At peace?
That caught Tai off guard. The resonant harmony was thrumming through him, and yet Ydilwen felt as real as ever. “I—don’t know. I’d miss her, I guess.”
Yes, you would. You would pine for her. You would want to see her, to talk to her. Do anything for more time with her. And that alone would keep you from truly dying, would lock you into the hell of being a revenant. Not to mention what would happen to your friends and your city, once someone else takes Semeca’s power.
The horror of it struck him. Life on the streets had taken away his fear of death, but he’d never thought about what it would be like to stay here, to see everything, but not be able to touch it. Not talk to Ella or Aelya again. Not keep the Councilate from taking back everything they’d fought for.
That’s right. And every person you kill has lovers and aspirations just like yours, so they are all doomed to come back to this hell. Ollen. The shaman who attacked you. The others in my cell. Me. All the people you killed in the rebellion—all revenants now. All doomed to suffer because they were in your way.
Ella had switched harmonies again, but the air in the cabin was suddenly too hot, too close around him. Tai stood. “I have to go.”
Her eyes widened. “Tai, wait!”
She reached for him but he pushed out and pounded down the stairs, needing to get out, the walls closing in on him.
He paced to the edge of barge, blood beating hot in his ears. The air was blessedly cool, slush of the river peaceful in the blue of the setting star. He took a deep breath.
I am still here. And the more people you kill, the more you doom to my fate.
“Shut up!” Tai shouted to the night.
Ella cleared her throat. “So,” she said carefully, the others in the cramped cabin avoiding his eyes since she’d brought him back. “That didn’t seem to go so well. Maybe you weren’t totally ready to get rid of it?”
Tai hated this. Hated the feeling of powerlessness, hated the hold Ydilwen had over him. He’d defeated Naveinya after all, one of the most powerful revenants the ni
nespears knew. And yet—
“I am ready to get rid of him,” Tai said. “I just can’t.”
A silence followed that, and he hated admitting it, but it was true.
Avery cleared his throat. “Well. That was all very interesting. But I can get rid of him for you, Tai.”
“He just won’t get the resonance,” Ella said. Somewhere outside his frustration Tai could tell Ella was upset her harmonies hadn’t worked, but they didn’t always work.
Especially on people who aren’t ready to get rid of their spirit guides. Isn’t that right?
“Shut up,” Tai muttered, then nodded at Avery. “Good. Do it.”
The shamanic way was a lot faster and easier—all Tai felt was a cool slice, like someone sliding an icicle along his neck, and then nothing.
Tai looked up. “Is he gone?”
“Is it gone,” Ella corrected. He didn’t need mindsight to tell she was worried. Thought he’d started believing in the revenant. Felt like she’d failed.
And it hurt his pride, but was she wrong?
“It’s gone,” Avery said. “A healthy revenant, too. But then I guess that shouldn’t be a surprise, given your native amount of uai.”
“Right. Well. Just don’t stick it back on me.”
“I won’t,” Avery said. “Can’t, actually. No one really understands why, but a revenant can’t attach to the same host twice. It’s why thralling takes so long, because you can’t put the revenant back in the host you took it from.”
“And they never repeat personas,” Marea said. “Of all the people we helped overcome in Ella’s school, no one ever heard the same voice twice.”
Well that was a relief. Even if Tai felt like a total idiot for not being able to defeat a simple revenant by himself. Ydwilwen was gone, and he wasn’t coming back.
“It’s okay,” Ella said, laying a hand on him. “This happens to lots of people. It must have just—picked an effective voice.”
“It must have,” he said, not wanting to think about it. “How long before the next one comes up? A couple days?”
“At most,” Avery said. “Given your uai stream, maybe less than that.”
“And with that,” Ella said, reaching for the lantern, “I suggest we call it a night.”
Marea and Avery stood up—the two usually went out for some privacy, after everyone else turned in. That was good. Life was short—let them enjoy it.
Ella snuffed the lantern and lay down next to him, snuggling in close, but sleep wouldn’t come. Ydilwen was gone, but his words still rattled in the darkness.
How would you feel about Ella if you died today? You would pine for her. And every person you kill has lovers and aspirations just like yours, so they are all doomed to come back to this hell. Every person.
And you still act like you owe them nothing.
39
The barge pulled in to Fenschurch the next morning, Tai feeling groggy and out of sorts from a night of no sleep. Ella, Avery, and Marea stepped out into town to buy provisions—anything to improve Selwin’s youngest son’s endless pots of saltless porridge—but he stayed back in the cabin. The further north they traveled the more his hair stuck out, and with his height and scar combined, he didn’t want to risk anyone guessing who he was.
Especially with the number of white-hulled Councilate ships and white-coated Councilate soldiers he saw out the cabin door. The docks were crawling with them, reminding him of the day he’d overcome his Hake-revenant, pushing a legion of white-coated soldiers down Ayugen’s docks on the back of an unstoppable uai wave. He had no such wave now, not even a revenant to overcome.
And would he be able to, when the revenant did wake up?
“Milkweed,” Feynrick said from the other corner of the cabin, leaned against the wall with his fur blankets heaped over his knees. “What’s got ye mopey?”
Tai rolled his shoulders. “I’m not mopey. I’m just—thinking.”
“Like I said,” the grizzled Yatiman said, blowing on a cinder he held with a smoker’s tongs. “Mopey.”
He touched the cinder to his pipe and inhaled, sage crackling, then exhaled in a cloud of fragrant smoke. He held the pipe out. “Want some?”
Tai had never smoked before—no money for it, then no time. But you know what? “Sure,” Tai said, taking the pipe. Lumo smoked like a chimney, and he always seemed peaceful.
Tai drew a breath, sage crackling, then instantly started coughing, puffs of smoke leaving his mouth.
Feynrick cracked up—of course he did—and took the pipe back. “Just hold it in your mouth, lad,” he said, once Tai had recovered. “Enjoy the flavor. Selwin’s like to take all morning arguing prices for a tug up the Oxheart. Might as well pass the time.”
There were probably a million other things Tai could be doing, like practicing shamanic sight or watching the docks for clues about what they were going into, but he took the pipe back, tried again and managed not to cough. The smoke was actually kind of pleasant, rolling out of his mouth.
They passed the pipe in silence a while, watching the sun rise—it’d been rising earlier and earlier, the further north they traveled—then Feynrick exhaled a cloud and said. “Now. What’s got ye mopey?”
Tai drew a long breath and added his cloud to Feynrick’s, feeling more relaxed than he had since the waystone. “My revenant,” he said. “The one Avery cut out. Ydilwen.”
Feynrick nodded. “Seemed like a piss-barker.”
Tai laughed at the word. Were all Yati curses based on dogs? “He was a piss-barker. And then not being able to get rid of him last night—” He shook his head.
Feynrick paused, about to take a puff. “Took me forty-two years to get rid of Gleesfen, and you’re complaining about having yer voice a week?” He pulled on the pipe, sun’s rays catching in the smoke through the open door.
“It’s just—I’ve gotten rid of voices before. I understand what they’re doing, and usually I can see through whatever they’re trying to get me to believe. Hake wanted me to feel guilty for not saving his life. Fisher did the same thing, and Naveinya was trying to convince me I was unfit to lead. But Ydilwen?”
Feynrick nodded, watching him.
“Ydilwen wants me to make it up to everyone I’ve ever killed,” Tai said, though that didn’t feel right either.
Feynrick repacked the bowl and passed him the pipe, soapstone warm from the sage. “So he’s using guilt too. Sounds like a pattern.”
Tai drew in smoke. “Maybe. But it’s more like—he wants me to stop killing. Like he’s trying to convince me that being a revenant is hell, and everyone I kill goes there.”
“Wouldn’t that be nice,” Feynrick said, “if you didn’t have to kill. But that’s what this world is. Ye kill millet for breakfast. Pigs for dinner. Whitecoats in battle. We all got to make our peace with it, whether it’s ancestors or afterlife or not believing any of it. Maybe that’s yer problem. Ye don’t really believe in the Achuri ancestor bit, do ye?”
Tai shook his head, handing the pipe back. “I can’t. That’s all belief, which is fine if you don’t know something. But we know about the revenants now, and we’re learning more every day. They’re not ancestors. Just like they’re not saints either, or whatever you call them.”
“Genitors,” Feynrick said in a wash of smoke. “And it don’t matter that much, what they are or aren’t. You kill someone, you’re making orphans and widows and grieving parents and lonesome friends. That’s just what it is, and there ain’t many of us strong enough to take that full-weight and keep fighting. S’why so many soldiers drink, I guess.”
“Or smoke?” Tai asked, knowing Ella would say something about the stink when she got back.
Feynrick snorted. “Sage? That’s like comparing bittermelong to mavenstym. This ain’t nothing but a way to kill some time.”
Voices sounded on the deck below, unfamiliar. Tai tensed. He had Selwin and his sons’ voices memorized by now. Was it the Councilate? Had the captain figured out who he
was, and tipped them off?
Feynrick nodded at him, the old warrior sitting up straighter. “Use your mindsight.”
Tai did, hating how often he still forgot he had the resonance, and peered through the walls. He found three minds close: one was Selwin, one his son, and one a stranger, thinking in Yersh. His thoughts—it seemed to be male anyway—were a wash of impatience and fear and images of a leather satchel and pale stone chambers open to the breeze, a city cut through with rivers.
“Worldsmouth,” Tai said, speaking low, trying to focus in on the new mind. Selwin’s was always a clamor of negative thoughts and long figures estimating his profits. “A—messenger of some kind. Booking passage, I think.”
“Messenger,” Feynrick said, pipe forgotten. “The kind that speaks with a sword?”
Tai looked harder, thinking again he needed to spend more time learning mindsight. Maybe Avery knew something of it. “I don’t know, it’s hard to tell. I can only ever see what they’re thinking about right now, which is mostly doubting whether Selwin’s is the right ship to take or not.”
Feynrick eyed him a moment longer, then settled back. “Going to put a hitch in your little practice sessions, having someone else along.”
Tai shifted uncomfortably. It would put a hitch in a lot of things—like his ability to even leave the cabin, for fear of being recognized. “Maybe we can practice in here.”
“And maybe this messenger is just looking to make some quick change wherever there’s trouble. Always a pack of ‘em, following the Councilate’s wars. Plenty of money to be made, fighting or cocking or stealing what’s left after the army’s done. Running messages. Could be harmless.” Feynrick held out the pipe. “Smoke?”
Tai stood. “No. I think it’s time for a talk with Captain Selwin.”
40
“Shatters you want?” Selwin cursed, when Tai found him haggling over prices on a sack of millet.
“I want this ship to ourselves,” Tai said, turning so his back faced the bustling docks. “How much do you need?”