Blood Storm: The Books of Blood and Iron

by Steven Harper

  Also taken aback, Kalessa said, “Lady, may I ask why …”

  “The beak itself was unimportant,” Pendra sighed. “It was what it symbolized.”

  “What it stood for,” murmured Tan.

  “What it meant,” finished Nu.

  “I do not under—” Kalessa began again.

  “You believe that the three of us direct your lives,” Nu interrupted.

  “You believe wrong,” continued Tan.

  “Observe,” finished Pendra.

  Nu opened her sack of seeds and put one in the palm of Tan’s hand. Pendra spat on it. In less than a moment, the seed sprouted into a small yellow marigold.

  “This plant, sweet and small, can be nothing but itself,” Nu said.

  “Its scent can chase away insects, and it is pleasing to the eye of the Kin and Fae alike,” said Tan.

  “Yet no amount of coaxing can make it live underwater or climb a trellis,” finished Pendra.

  “You are saying that you fail to control our lives at all?” Ranadar said.

  “So young and so simple,” Nu sighed again. “Everything is one or the other to you.”

  “Black or white,” said Tan.

  “In or out,” said Pendra. Was that a leer?

  “No, young one, that is not what I am saying,” said Nu. “We plant the rows.”

  “We choose the seeds.”

  “We pluck the weeds.”

  “But the plants still do as they must,” said Nu. “No amount of fertilizing could make you fall in love with a woman, Lord Ranadar, but we can plant young Talfi here in your row to encourage certain things to happen.”

  Talfi blinked. “You must have … planted me a long time ago.”

  “One does not become one of the Three without at least a little forethought,” Pendra agreed.

  “A pinch of planning,” said Tan.

  “A touch of caution,” said Nu.

  “And speaking of which, young Danr here wants to know about the squid beak,” continued Pendra. “You did meet a small boy named Joshuah on your way back from the cave.”

  As Talfi had done in the tavern, Pendra was making a statement, not a question, which meant no words pushed at the back of Danr’s throat and he could answer as he liked. That small thing made him feel enormously better toward her and more at ease. If only more people would talk to him this way.

  “I met Joshuah,” he said. “He seemed a nice kid.”

  “Joshuah will grow up to have a child,” Pendra told him, “and that child will have a child who will change the course of history on Erda just as you are doing now. If you had not killed the squid at our sister’s request, it would have devoured Joshuah when he went swimming in the ocean, and the future would have gone in a much more unsatisfactory direction. We asked our sister Death to have you intervene, and now the future will go where it should. We thank you.”

  “We give you gratitude,” said Tan.

  “We wish you well,” said Nu.

  “Oh.” Danr thought about that. He was beginning to understand now. Every action, every decision, every act, no matter how small, caused ripples throughout the world, twisting the future down a different path. Something as minor as swatting a fly or choosing which chicken to kill for supper could echo across centuries, but there was no way to predict what would happen or how things might come out differently if you let the fly live or decided on potato soup for supper instead. It made Danr himself feel small, like a minnow suddenly understanding the size of the ocean.

  “But we are not here to discuss Joshuah or even Talfi.” Pendra dropped the marigold, which vanished, and Danr wondered if that meant that somewhere, someone had died. He glanced at Death and her door, but Death merely continued rocking and knitting. “We are here because you have done us a service, and this service is worth a reward.”

  “A payment,” said Tan.

  “A balance,” corrected Nu.

  Pendra said, “So listen carefully. Only one being still understands the power of the shape.”

  “He was alive before the Sundering, and managed to keep his power,” said Ta.

  “Away from the trollwives and their dreadful spell,” finished Nu.

  Danr snapped to attention. “Who is that?”

  The Three said together, “His name is Grandfather Wyrm.”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  A drinking horn landed in front of Aisa. It wobbled as if it were soft. “Drink this,” said a distant voice.

  Aisa fumbled for the horn. She was dimly aware that a pair of hands were helping her. The contents of the horn were thick and warm and both bitter and sticky-sweet. Her stomach recoiled and she tried to spit it out, but the hands were firm and most of it went down her throat. It left behind a nasty aftertaste, and she tried to grab for some of the leftover bread to rid herself of it, but her hands wouldn’t obey her.

  “What—?” she began. And then the world snapped back into focus with a nearly audible ping. Her senses leaped into crisp hyperalertness. Light speared her eyes with diamond-tipped arrows. She felt every splinter in the chair beneath her and on the table that pressed her forearms. She smelled the pungent sweat and thick smoke and dying meat and rancid butter and tiny bread crumbs and spilled ale and old wine. The cacophony of voices in the tavern crashed against her ears in an ocean wave. But most of all, her mind was clear, absolutely clear. She wouldn’t need sleep for a month, and every thought she’d ever had rushed through her mind in even, orderly patterns for her simple perusal. Yes, she loved Danr. Yes, it was foolish of her to keep things back from him. Yes, she’d been an idiot not to tell him about her fears and visions, since that stopped them both from finding a solution.

  And Sharlee was an enemy who had drugged her drink and persuaded her to spill these secrets as easily as they had spilled drink down their throats. Fury tried to grip her, but it withered away beneath the harsh light of such clarity. Why hadn’t Aisa seen it before? Too much self-pity, she supposed. Rolk and Vik! She glared at the drinking horn, then up at the woman who had helped her drink it.

  “What is this?” she demanded.

  “Kafre,” the woman said. “It’s frightful expensive, and if you drink enough, you’ll see clear to the end of time. Your friend gave it to me and said you’d need it.”

  Aisa had never heard of it, which meant the stuff was rare. It also meant Sharlee had the money to pay for it. She had not presented herself as wealthy, which further meant she had deliberately hidden her wealth from Aisa. Why? Aisa doubted any answer would make her happy. “What was in the first drink she gave me?”

  “No idea. Ain’t never seen anyone get drunk that fast on so little, though.”

  “How long have I been here?”

  “Three hours, give or take. Your friend paid extra, said to give you the kafre if you weren’t awake in four hours, but we need the table. This ain’t no inn.”

  The betrayal stabbed Aisa like a stone dagger. All this time, Aisa had thought Sharlee was a good friend. She got to rock-steady feet and strode for the door. This would not stand. She would find Sharlee and confront her, with a knife, if necessary.

  Her crystal-clear mind told her she should first get Kalessa. When seeking revenge, far better to have a sympathetic orc with a magic sword behind you. Still, she had to pass by the slave market on her way back to the rooming house, and there was no harm in checking the place on the way to see if Sharlee was there, or if anyone there knew where she was likely to be.

  It was perhaps an hour before sunset when Aisa reached the slave market, and the kafre was wearing off, leaving her shaky and a little light-headed. The market was still open—it never truly closed—and she scanned the stalls and sheds for a familiar face, either Sharlee’s or someone else who knew her. As the kafre receded, the anger returned, simmering in a slow boil. Aisa turned the conversation over in her head, searching for a clue to what Sharlee had been looking for, but all Aisa had talked about was her misgivings about Danr’s fame and the visions of the past that haunted her,
and they were not particularly valuable, not even as blackmail. Was Sharlee planning to make public her identity as one of the Heroes of the Twist? No. Sharlee had known about that before the drugs and the kafre. So what did—

  Aisa turned a corner and almost ran into the tank. It was made of wood with a glass front, and perhaps eight feet tall. A ladder was bolted to the side. Murky water swirled around a form within. For a moment, Aisa’s heart stopped and climbed into her throat. Her entire body thrummed like a harp string. Within the filthy water swam a mermaid.

  Her form was barely visible through the pebbled glass and cloudy water, but her tail managed to gleam a little. Her long hair tumbled about her head as she swam helplessly in a series of figure eights about the tank. Aisa couldn’t make out her features—everything was too blurry—but it was definitely one of the merfolk.

  Aisa put both hands to her mouth. What was a mermaid doing in the slave market? The answer came on the heels of the question—obviously she had been somehow enslaved and was coming up for sale. Aisa’s stomach tightened. Merfolk couldn’t serve as slaves in the normal sense. They couldn’t labor in a field or serve in a house. The only role they could play was ornamental. Or as the owner’s concubine.

  The thought of one of the free, powerful mermaids stranded in some wealthy man’s fishpond or, worse, dragged into his bed made Aisa physically ill, and the awful lunch she had eaten with Sharlee threatened to come up. She forced herself to keep control and instead approached one of the workmen attending the tank. It was a man she knew slightly, and he nodded when she greeted him, her face carefully blank.

  “When did this one come in?” she asked.

  “Just now,” he said. “It’s going up for sale at a special auction at the Gold Keep.”

  “The Gold Keep?”

  “Yeah. The prince is having a party, and the auction is going to be the entertainment. Just announced. Very hoity-toity.”

  “A party.” Aisa couldn’t seem to stop echoing the man. The party he meant was being thrown in Danr’s honor. Aisa’s thoughts and heart raced in tandem.

  “I … should see to her.” Aisa put a hand on one of the ladder rungs.

  The workman stopped her. “Sorry. No one’s allowed to touch it. Extra valuable.”

  The words made Aisa’s blood boil. “Then why is she kept in filthy water?”

  “It’s hard to dip all that water out and replace it. They foul their water fast, you know?” The workman hawked and spat. “Nasty things.”

  “They’re Kin,” Aisa said. “Related to us humans, just like the fairies and sprites are related to the elves.”

  “Sure, sure.” The man shrugged. “I have to feed it. You want to watch?”

  Before Aisa could respond, the workman climbed up the ladder with a bucket. From it he took a fish, which he held over the water. The mermaid leaped out of the water and snatched it from his hand. She also tried to grab his arm, clearly intent on dragging him into the tank, but the workman yanked himself away in time.

  Aisa gasped. Even caught in midair above filthy water, the mermaid was a breathtaking sight. She was strong and sleek, with long brown hair. A mask of blue-and-black tattoos covered her face. Her breasts were bare, and the man goggled at them before the mermaid splashed back into the water. That, Aisa realized, was the reason he had forced the mermaid to jump for the fish rather than just dropping it into the tank.

  As the filthy water closed over the mermaid’s head, the world … shifted. Aisa could not explain how, but everything became slightly different. It was as if she had spent her life seeing the entire world as a tangled garden and then suddenly seen it as a collection of individual seeds and plants. The mermaid was an important and powerful piece of that garden, and if she was moved to a new place, the entire garden would change. And if she did not move, the garden would wilt and die. But, oddly, the mermaid’s new position in the garden was more dangerous to her. If she moved, she would probably die. If she did not move, the world would careen into chaos.

  The sensation vanished. For a moment, Aisa thought she saw a face, a woman’s face, in the swirling filth of the water. Then it was gone.

  Aisa blinked. What was wrong with her? She saw visions of battle and now visions of … gardens. Her mind was falling apart. She set her mouth and hurried away. Regardless of her many fears, she had to save the mermaid, and for that, she would need Danr’s help. His and Ranadar’s.

  • • •

  “Grandfather Wyrm,” Danr repeated softly. “He’s a bad one.”

  “The biggest and most powerful of wyrms,” Kalessa added. Her greenish complexion had gone pale. “His breath poisons armies. He knocks down mountains. He swallows ships.”

  “And he is nothing but a myth,” Ranadar scoffed. “My nursemaid told me stories of him.”

  “What stories will nursemaids one day tell about Danr the troll boy?” asked Nu.

  “Or of Aisa the escaped slave?” asked Tan.

  “Or of Talfi the undying boy and Kalessa the warrior orc and Ranadar the traitor elf?” Pendra finished tiredly. “Myths all begin somewhere. As we have good reason to know.”

  Danr considered this for a long moment. “Grandfather Wyrm can tell us about Shape magic?”

  “He was a great magician who was already ancient by the time of the Sundering,” Nu said.

  “He knows everything about shapes,” Tan said.

  “He will tell you what you want to know,” Pendra sighed. “If …”

  “Why is there always an if?” Kalessa sighed.

  “Nothing worth having comes easily,” Nu said.

  “Or quickly,” Tan said.

  “Or without a struggle,” Pendra murmured. “Grandfather Wyrm. He lives at the Key, which is in the center of the Nine Isles. The Key, in fact, lies directly over the spot where young Talfi gave up his life to destroy the Iron Axe and was created during the Sundering.”

  “It has become a place of transition,” said Nu.

  “Neither earth nor air,” said Tan.

  “Neither fire nor water,” finished Pendra. “Only people who walk between worlds, such as half-bloods, can survive there.”

  “So I can go there,” Danr said breathlessly. Maybe being a half-blood wasn’t entirely a curse.

  “It’s almost as if you were fated,” Pendra agreed blandly.

  “Predetermined,” Nu added.

  “Set up,” Ta said.

  Pendra passed a hand over her face. “When you arrive, you must persuade Grandfather Wyrm to give you his secrets, or he will devour you alive. He likes to start with the toes.”

  “I heard it’s the fingers,” said Nu in a casual voice that chilled Danr’s blood.

  “It’s the head,” said Tan waspishly.

  “You’re not helping,” Death pointed out from her rocking chair.

  “How do we—I—persuade a thousand-year-old wyrm to give us anything,” Danr said, straightening his backbone, “let alone the secret to shape magic?”

  “Fortunately,” Death said, “Grandfather Wyrm has a penchant for squid ink.”

  “Squid ink?” Danr said stupidly.

  Death held out the smelly pouch. “I did say it was a gift for someone else.”

  • • •

  With a number of horrified expressions, Talfi carefully squeezed the squid ink from the sac through a funnel and into a bottle supplied by the long-suffering Mrs. Farley while Danr looked on anxiously. They were upstairs, in the room Talfi shared with Ranadar. Danr often envied the fact that Talfi had someone to share a room with. It was very difficult and lonely to sleep by himself when Aisa was only one door down the hall.

  “Don’t spill any,” he warned.

  “Do it yourself if you’re worried,” Talfi said. “This is disgusting. Like wringing out cold fish guts.”

  “My hands are too big.” Danr splayed them. “Maybe when I’m human, things will be different.”

  Kalessa put her elbows on the table and arched auburn eyebrows. “Exactly how are we go
ing to go find Grandfather Wyrm? We are in storm season, and Grandfather Wyrm lives in the center of the Iron Sea. That is where storms come from.”

  Danr looked down at the stream of ink funneling into the bottle. “Storm season will pass,” he said. “And when it does—”

  The door to the common room burst open and Aisa rushed in. Danr jerked around, already worried and tense. What was wrong? Was she hurt? Was she—

  “We have to help,” she blurted out. “And we have to hurry!”

  “Who?” Danr said. “How? What’s the matter?”

  Aisa took Danr’s arm and tried to tow him toward the door. He couldn’t remember when he had seen her so agitated. “What is it?” he demanded again.

  “Aren’t you listening? They—”

  “I’m listening,” Danr was forced to interrupt. “You aren’t being very clear.”

  “They have a mermaid for sale!” Aisa was all but jumping up and down, her usually calm face filled with an urgency and need that unsettled Danr and made him want to break whatever was causing her pain.

  “Who has a mermaid?” Ranadar asked. “You must start at the beginning.”

  “We’ll help, Aisa,” Danr said. “Just tell us.”

  Aisa looked up and into his eyes. For a moment the entire world stopped. He felt the love within her like a flock of butterflies waiting to burst forth like a thousand tiny rainbows. Then she looked away and the moment was gone. He knew why. Hector, however evil a man he might have been, was right. And Danr was so tired of being neither human nor troll, yes, he was. But he had a solution. He only needed to find Grandfather Wyrm and learn how—if—he could become human. For her. For both of them.

  “The slave market,” Aisa said tersely. “They’ve captured a mermaid, and they’re selling her at the prince’s party tonight. We have to free her. We have to.”

  “Why?” Ranadar said, puzzled. “How is she different from any other slave? We don’t need to—” He fell silent when he realized that Aisa, Danr, and Talfi were all glaring at him.