by Steve Rzasa
“My memory, yes, but never your beauty.”
She laughs and slaps my arm. Her laugh draws me in and I cannot avoid her eyes. In the scant light they are deep, dark as the sky at dusk, and her face is a pale blue, as is everything around us.
“You can’t hide them, you know. Your worries. Not from me.” She shifts her cloak, drawing it closer around her shoulders for warmth. Below us the sounds of revelry trail off as late night carousers amble to their homes, or their berthed vessels, singing sky chanties in slurred tones.
I try not to listen. Focus my senses on anything else—the music pounding in the distance, the shadowy palm fronds rustling, and the smell of pork roasting on a spit.
“Bowen.” She tugs my beard until we’re facing each other again. “Out with it.”
Sigh. “There’s no way to throw you off the scent of a secret.”
“No. You should know it well enough.”
“I do. Though with that faulty memory…”
“Bowen…”
“Very well. This relic. It’s—different from anything I’ve brought you before. It has power behind it.”
“So? Magic imbued only increases the worth of something like that.”
“Not like this. A friend of mine is convinced that it is only part of a whole, an item that serves a greater purpose.”
The last words have to be spit out. Greater purpose, indeed. Memories of my beloved flood me, always awkward when I am with Vesna. I see those corsairs, charred and burning on the mountain peak below as we sail off. Death and more death.
“You’re not jesting.”
“No. Not of this.”
“I take it you’re thus having second thoughts of our business arrangement.”
“With you it’s never just business.”
Her smile curves slyly. “What you and I are, Bowen, is a great mystery to me. Lovers, yes, and traders, yet we have no contact for months on end. No letters at all.”
“Not now, Vesna. The relic…?”
“What else did this friend tell you?”
“That there is a second relic, and possibly a third, that needs be combined with the first. Somesuch about darkness fleeing before light…”
She nods. “I see that adds a pressing weight to your conscience. You always were overburdened with such”
“And you are not.”
“No need to be cruel.”
“Not cruel. Truthful.”
She rolls onto her stomach. “We’ve made our bargain.”
“And more. But I’m asking for a reconsideration.”
“You never have before.”
I pull at my beard. “There’s something not right, Vesna. Something is wrong. Evan, my friend, he is correct. Surely you’ve heard rumors of troubles coming.”
She looks to the stars, her face aglow. It’s a thoughtful expression, one I’ve seen before as she runs the percentages involved in trade.
“Vesna…”
“Very well. More than rumors.” She frowns. “Do you remember Artullis?”
“Of course. Ugly as sin and twice my height. Has a trading post that’s five days’ sail west. That’s where you get your best beer.”
“Was. The place was sacked and burned, two weeks ago. They found him and his family slaughtered. Women and children. They were horribly burned, all of them. Some said goblins did it, others corsairs. But they were led by fire-summoners.”
She shoots me an apologetic look, and touches my hand. It feels like a hot coal against my cool skin. I cannot blame her for repeating such a tale, and the fear underneath. Summoners are either worshipped or feared. Those with the best control of their gifts are those who serve greater powers—or nefarious causes.
I do not want to be in either camp.
“There is darkness lurking at the edges, Bowen, but there always has been. It will never change in our lifetimes.”
“But nothing like this. Not relics that—can see into the depths of your soul.”
“If it causes you such pain, isn’t it better to be rid of it?” She kisses my cheek.
“Niall will never let me live it down if I embark on this mad quest.” I rub my face. The cold of my hand feels good.
“And I am loath to let you leave if you’re to renege on our business arrangement.” Vesna smiles.
“You assume I want to leave.”
“Do you?” Her lips brush against mine. The question is a bare whisper.
No. A thousand times no. I want nothing more than to banish the cold that is everywhere.
She pulls away from the kiss. We’re both gasping. “Bowen.”
“Yes?”
“Show me this relic of yours. Tomorrow.” She presses her mouth to mine. I’m lost in her.
Tomorrow. Yes.
THE FIFTEENTH CHAPTER
~
“NO!” NIALL KICKS AT THE mainmast. There’s no danger of it moving under his blow. “I’ll not have this quarrel again.”
“It is hardly a quarrel when the captain makes a decision and you argue his order.” Ariya perches on the starboard rail, wind blowing her hair in blond streams.
We are at anchor at Zadar. The breeze from the sea is heavenly, carrying with it the strong smell of salt. The sun beats down, blazing yellow against a blue sky unmarred by clouds. Our cloaks lay in a heap on the deck, unneeded, and tunic sleeves are rolled up. Beautiful weather for Zadar.
Nothing like the foul moods facing me.
Niall rants and paces as if an armada of corsairs sail in pursuit, his boots stomping the deck. His shoulder wound is stitched and he’s foregone the bandages. Ariya watches him, and me, unmoving, her wings bundled against her back. Luc sits on the aft rail and dangles his legs over the side, swinging them in the carefree manner only children can achieve. He watches the cloudships lift from the bay below and rise swift as eagles into the air, dripping seawater and dragging shadows as they pass.
Gridley lies curled at my feet, panting. He cocks his head when Niall thunders by, and gives me one of his looks: What ails this man?
“Ah, yes, forgive me dear Ariya,” Niall says. “I forgot our dear captain can make all decisions without regard to our getting paid.”
“That is not what I am doing, Niall, and you well know it.” I settle in for a long haul. When he gets in these moods it takes a dragon’s age to bring him down to land.
“Really? Is it so? Because it sounds to my ears as if you’ve decided against selling that relic.”
“I’m contemplating just such, yes. It’s far more important than silver.”
“Of course it is! It’s platinum.” Niall shakes his head, red hair tossing in the wind like storm-driven sails. “Claws and fangs, Bowen, we should sell the thing and be rid of it. I care not who has it. We can’t live on moldy bread alone!”
“We are hardly broke,” Ariya said. “Are our provisions rotted? Our wine casks empty? Our meat rancid?”
Niall quails, but only a touch, under her steely gaze. “No. I didn’t say—”
“It is what you meant. Insulting the captain.” Ariya makes the same face she reserves for disgust at Niall’s eating habits, which can only be described as slovenly.
“You need pay, too, Ariya, or will you just send good wishes and kisses home to your brood instead of silver?”
Ariya’s wings come up in a rush of air that rivals the west winds, and her back hunches. “My brood is my concern.”
“And my empty pockets are mine.” Niall slaps the mast, a heavy, meaty sound that echoes across the deck.
Luc glances our way, but for a moment, then returns his attention to the ships leaving the harbor.
“You’ve certainly incited a near mutiny, Captain Cord.” Vesna has thus far remained silent, smiling that bewitching smile of hers. Her arm drapes the rise-wheel, her fingers caressing the handles.
The combination makes it intensely difficult to concentrate. “I do not want it bandied about to some merchant who has no inkling of what he deals with. This is not a bauble f
or a dusty shelf. Sky’s edge, it was guarded by a golem!”
“And gold is guarded by dragons,” Niall snaps. “Doesn’t make it something for priests to fuss over.”
Vesna’s eyebrows shoot up at the mention of priests. “What kind of priests?”
“My friend Evan is a servant of the Most High, at the great library of Jasna Góra,” I say.
“Well. That adds all the more intrigue. Show me this relic,” she says. “Perhaps I can mediate this dispute.”
There shouldn’t be a dispute. I am captain, but Niall and Ariya are entitled to their say in decisions aboard Sleet, along with twenty percent each of our earnings. There’s not a doubt in which direction Vesna would push the mediation. That is to say, toward the greatest profit.
But arrangement between us or not, I gave her my word to see the relic. I’ve not broken a promise to her, ever. She means too much to me, has too firm a grasp on my heart.
The face of my beloved appears before me, lovely as the last I saw her. Would I could break the barriers erected by magic and have her here, whole and resurrected, at my side. Yet. My affection for Vesna Juric is strong enough to bring me to Zadar as often as I can spare.
How can a man’s heart beat for two women?
Come off it, Bowen. One of them is long dead. Ice clamps down on rank sentimentality.
“Fine.” I snap off the words more sharply than I intended. All eyes are upon me in a flash. Even Niall looks surprised, before he returns to scowling. “Luc? Bring the Bloodheart here.”
His legs stop their rhythm. He hops down from the rail. The bag is ever at his side. Even in sleep. Luc pauses next to me, and offers a quizzical expression. “I don’t know her.”
“I do. It’s well between us.” I pat his shoulder.
Vesna laughs softly. “I should say so, Captain Cord.”
Luc edges closer to Vesna and opens the mouth of the bag.
She gasps, quietly enough the wind bears it away. The Bloodheart glitters from the depths of the bag. She kneels, eye to eye with Luc. “May I …?”
Luc removes it, cradling the Bloodheart in both hands. The bag crumples to the deck. He exhales, and his eyes shut. Breathing slows. His grip tightens.
My hands tingle with cold. When I held the Bloodheart, the experience was … unsettling. All the senses riled, and the feeling of being pursued. The sheer strength of authority. Amazing.
What does Luc see?
Vesna gently rests her hands atop the Bloodheart. Nimble fingers inspect the etchings, and she stares at it intently, eyes narrowed to blue slits. She’s ruthless when appraising anything of value.
Her cry is loud enough to startle seagulls on the rigging into screeching flight. Gridley comes to his paws, hackles raised, and fires off a pair of sharp barks.
“Vesna? What’s wrong?” I’m at her side, on my knees, holding her arm. It shakes like the limb of the fever-afflicted. In an instant I am back in my home, holding my beloved Cassia in the throes of death.
Vesna gazes at nothing, pupils constricted. Her mouth is slack. Breaths come short and shallow. Her heart’s beat pulses in her wrist.
Luc’s face is placid, as if he’s asleep yet able to say, “He was such a kind man. Funny. Friendly. Why did he have to die? So warm, his skin. Too warm. Parched...”
Vesna screams, her face twisting in agony.
“No. Release her!” I tug Vesna’s hands off the Bloodheart. She collapses, sobbing until my tunic is damp through to my skin. I hold her near. “Steady, now. Be at peace.”
“I saw him—I saw Hector, my husband, when he was dying of the fever. Everything was as I remembered: the smell of acacia wood, the sting of smoke from the fireplace, the taste of mulled wine that I fed him. As if I were there again…” She breaks off in to a shudder.
“Steady.” I glare at Luc. “What have you done?”
“Nothing.” He tucks the Bloodheart into the bag. “It was already inside her. She showed the Bloodheart what hurts.”
Vesna stares at him. “There’s no anger, only sorrow.”
“So sad. I’m sorry.” Luc kisses her on the forehead. He walks to the rail, seemingly oblivious to all our consternation, and resumes his leg swinging.
Gridley nuzzles between me and Vesna, offering his support. He gains warm scratches on the back of the neck as a reward.
Niall’s voice is hoarse. “You see now? It’s a hex on us! Power or not, sell it to some other fool and be done with it.”
“That power is why we have to do what Evan said. We have to reunite it with the other relics. The Father’s Tear and the Everflame.”
“Vesna, talk sense to this madman!”
She shakes her head. “No. He’s right.”
Even odds as to whether Niall or I is the more surprised. We both gape like village boys covered in grime who’ve encountered a nobleman’s fair daughter.
“After I saw Hector’s death, something held me.” Vesna rubs her arms. “Something—someone—offered me comfort, Bowen. A voice told me all would be well.”
“That was just me, Vesna.”
“No. It called me ‘Veca.’ Only my sister called me that, before she died.”
Shivers crawl up my back. The ice grips my hand until it pains. I will it aside, rubbing my hands on my trousers.
“If your friend is a priest and a soulmage, and there’s the chance of turning away the darkness, it must be done.”
She might as well have sprouted antlers. “Are you mad? You’ve never been one to fawn over this Most High.”
“I know his banner only calls the true of heart. And I know the good his servants do.” Vesna points to Luc. “You were right. The thing he carries is no trinket.”
My confusion gives way to resolve. She sees it. The Bloodheart has helped her see its purpose. Whatever good it can do, it will not be achieved pawning it like an old charm.
Niall flings his hands skyward. His sigh is akin to a cannon’s blast. “Maniacs. All of you.”
Ariya flexes her wings and steps down from the rail. “I too share her convictions, Captain. It is best not to trifle with the powers of Old. Golems aside.” The corner of her mouth quirks into a smile.
“Thank you, Ariya. Niall?”
He grumbles phrases in ancient Vulpex that would make Skaarl the reptiloid bartender shield his ears, if he had any. But he offers a hand in truce. “You know I’ll follow you to whatever lunacy you have in mind.”
“And I will make sure you receive some remuneration for expenses,” Vesna says. “It’s the least I can do.”
I kiss her. “Thank you for your trust.”
She tugs at my beard. “Just don’t get yourself lost to me among—” She frowns. “To whence are you bound, anyway?”
I grin at Niall and Ariya. “Cloud Reef.”
“As I said. Madness.” Niall shakes his head. “I need another ale.”
“I look forward to revisiting the legends of my youth.” Ariya elbows Niall. He barks, not unlike Gridley, and takes a swipe at her, but she’s already flown up to the rigging.
Luc waves to me. “Is it the Cloud Reef I’ve heard stories of from traders?”
“One and the only, lad.” I pat Gridley. “Nervous?”
“No.” Luc smiles. “I’ve always wanted to meet dragons.”
THE SIXTEENTH CHAPTER
~
Strathern
Zadar.
That’s where the helpful sailors of Bristol-on-Sky have sent me with their information. I hate it here. Such indulgence, frivolity, wastefulness of both food and time.
Time is too precious to spend on nothing.
There’s no sign of Bowen Cord’s cutter, Sleet. Not in the water below or at the docks of the islets that comprise the city. Sparks dance along my arm. It’s no surprise, given the head start he maintains. Gone all the way back to Bristol-on-Sky only to discover my quarry was several days south.
I threw an old man off the edge there. He was the dockmaster, the one with the whip. Wouldn’t sha
re the information he doubtless had, the fool, and dared challenge me.
I see his eyes and mouth wide with shock as he shrinks to a tiny dot, falling to deep dark sea below. The splash is a mere blink.
Amazing how much more cooperative the town’s sailors were after that.
~
Kolovare’s. All manner of scum and criminals languish here. They’re driven inside by the same warm rains that prompt me to cover with the hood of my cloak. No layabouts on the white sandy beach today, with the exception of the men and women too drunk to roust themselves out from under the tenuous awnings of the palm leaves. I reckon a shove off the edge into the warm waters far below would snap them awake.
What a dump this is. I shake off the cloak, flinging raindrops every which way. The crowd to a man glances our direction. I smile but make no announcement of our arrival. The dozen men in king’s armor bearing fusils suffice where a trumpet is not available.
My lieutenant is stiff as a board, yet manages to lean close enough to whisper, “The lass by the bar is the owner, by our information. Vesna Juric. Widow.”
She’s a lovely woman. Long black hair swirls as she turns our way. She freezes, a momentary hesitance, and brings a smooth smile to her face. “Greetings, gentlemen. Do make yourself comfortable. What brings you here? Whatever pleasures you want, we can certainly provide.”
My smile is no longer fake. Such a charming presence, and such grace about her. A far cry from the prostitutes I frequent. “Good day, madam. My name is Strathern, and I am on an errand of vital importance for His Majesty, the king of Northamber.”
Vesna Juric raises an eyebrow. Most conversation in the tavern ceases, with ears no doubt angled her way. “Oh? You seem a long way off from Northamber. Come for warmer climes and companionship, no doubt.”
Laughter rumbles around us, drowning out the patter of rain on the roof. Glad we can amuse these dolts. “Perhaps you can be of service, my lady. I seek Captain Bowen Cord.”
That hesitance again. I see it in the tightening of skin about her eyes, the set of her jaw. Fleeting as a sparrow darting among the trees. My sister and I chased them all the time, every spring, laughing foolishly.