By this time Molly had recovered and walked a wide circle around Udbala, her right hand alight with fire and the left channeling a current of electricity, a dualmancy skill she’d acquired from one of Tom’s books. As she stuck out her left hand and attacked, crackling bolts leaping from her palm, Udbala jumped aside in a flash, turning away and running across the floor and straight up the wall, so fast she was nothing but a dark blur. Molly watched from the ground, poised with her eyes locked on Udbala as she streaked along the wall and up into the arc of the domed ceiling. As she ran, she swung her sling and rained flasks down on the courtyard. Molly ran for cover, ducking and jumping as blasts of glass and magic filled the air, hurting her eyes and ears and stinging her back as they chased her.
Unable to find shelter, Molly fired bolts over her head that struck the ceiling wildly, burning and scarring the beautiful paint and forcing Udbala to stop attacking and move away. It was then that Molly began to catch her stride, and her intuitive powers poured forth, amplified by the raw power of the genamite fragment. Without knowing exactly how, she turned around and her feet left the ground as she rose and flipped upside down, flying toward the ceiling and landing again, her hair hanging straight down from her head. Upside down she dashed across the underside of the dome and flicked a fireball from her right hand that nearly took off Udbala’s feet as she hopped away in surprise. The bomb blew a hole in the ceiling and revealed the dark, cloudy sky outside, lightning flickering in the distance. Without a second thought Molly threw another and another, turning the chase against Udbala. The olemancer still moved too fast, like a vanishing shadow. However, she soon had nowhere to run, and when one of Molly’s fireballs took the ceiling out from under her, Udbala fell, flying upward instead of down, high over the dome outside, where she slowed and hung in the air as the salt breeze caught her hair and robes, and gravity grabbed at her body, pulling her back down again. With a yelp, she crashed through the dome and fell to the courtyard inside, bringing down Molly and clouds of rubble with her. The top of the palace caved in like an eggshell, and then a momentary hush fell on the courtyard. A trickle of stone broke the silence as Udbala stood and shook her robes, climbing out of the debris and sweeping the room with her eyes, panting, bruised and bleeding.
Molly emerged from the dust like a bright star, her eyes and hair glowing white. Bands of heat rose from her shoulders and radiated from her hair like rays of sunlight. In her hands she held a luminous, metallic whip that hissed as she worked and crafted it in her hands from the raw magic spilling into her fingers and palms. When Udbala saw her and slung another vial of oil, Molly let slide the whip from her fingers and lashed the vial as it flew, breaking it open. With her free hand she conjured a shining disc to hover above her, strong as a shield but as translucent and phantasmal as fire. Crouching as the contents of the vial rained down all around her, Molly twirled the whip in her other hand and walked slowly and low to the ground, advancing on Udbala, who wound up her sling and tossed a cluster of round flasks. Molly felt an electric rush—panic—but in a fraction of a moment she began to defend herself. The flasks slowed down, all drifting through the air as casually as cat dander. Udbala slowed as well, her sling arm winding back sluggishly and the strained muscles in her face frozen in anticipation.
At first Molly believed she had been caught off guard by a clever illusion or hex; she winced, expecting some kind of sudden and unexpected pain to follow. Nothing happened. Opening her eyes, she looked back up at the flasks, still hanging in the air overhead. Then it occurred to Molly that she could move normally, even though Udbala could not. Hesitating only for another moment, Molly stretched back her right arm and lashed the air with her whip. Like the tongue of a frog it beat the hapless flying flasks, each of them slowly splitting in half. The oils from the flasks exploded beautifully into a shower of droplets that fell to the ground as Molly ran out of the way. The droplets fell faster and faster behind her, and as each touched the ground it set off a deadly explosion. The courtyard rattled with the violent blasts.
Another silence fell on the courtyard, and Udbala breathed heavily as she waited for the oily residue in the air to clear. Suddenly she was yanked backward by the neck, and a bright light bound her hands up against her chin. Molly held tight to the blazing white whip wrapped around Udbala’s throat. The olemancer struggled in surprise, looking over her shoulder and seeing Molly’s white eyes and wild hair, which floated on the air in the immense heat that electrified it.
“How did you do that?” Udbala gasped and froze in panic. “I was certain I’d killed you.”
“You’re beaten,” said Molly. “Let us leave.”
“It is not possible to move like that.” Udbala was still in shock. She couldn’t have known Molly carried a fragment of genamite stone, though. “I have tried. I know it cannot be done—”
“Listen!” Molly exclaimed, squeezing Udbala’s neck in the hot coils of the whip. “Let us go!”
“Enough!” Udbala choked out the word. “I cannot stop you. Corvessa was a fool to think I could. You … a sorceress of such promise. I cannot fight you and Jack Darcy at the same time, and he will destroy this city if I do not stop him. I must drive him out of Bombay. Your capture means nothing if everything I’m defending for my people is lost. Release me and go, but—”
“But what?” Molly demanded.
“Take pity on my people. Stop him. Stop them all. The Metal Man and the Eight.”
Molly let go and backed away as Udbala held her throat and breathed normally, squinting in discomfort. “I will do all I can, but I will not risk anything more than is necessary. I do not promise anything.” The whip of light in her hands fizzled and faded away, her hair fell around her shoulders and her body’s luminescent aura dimmed.
“So be it,” said Udbala hoarsely. “Yali!” she called, looking into the shadows by the southwest corridor. A second growl came from the darkness, and out walked a monstrous thing that looked like a lion or a tiger, but was as large as a rhinoceros. Its two fierce eyes were opened wide, making it appear mad and wild, and from its feline jaws there protruded a pair of mighty elephant’s tusks that swung back and forth as it bobbed its head and lumbered forward.
“Protect these people and show them where The Roatán Butterfly rests in the bay,” Udbala told Yali. “Then, I want you to hunt down those wolves trespassing in my city. Do you understand?” The beast panted and grunted excitedly, opening and shutting its jaws and pawing the floor.
“Thank you,” said Molly dryly as she turned and gestured to her friends, still hiding from sight. “Are you sure you cannot use our help while we are still here?”
“No, I should think it is best that we fight for ourselves. After all, if a woman cannot remove her own irons, she should expect to wear them again.”
“I understand,” said Molly.
“The gods be with you if this is the way it must be,” said Udbala. With a worried and pained expression she watched as those who had been captives left the palace, Yali leading the way.
Molly and her friends followed close behind Yali as they fled the palace and backtracked through the streets of Bombay. The beast prowled feverishly for Blood Moons, its big eyes snapping left and right as it walked, its head held low to the ground. Molly did her best to keep up with the others, but her legs ached and cramped, giving her no moment of relief. With one arm she held her stomach, thoughts of her child driving away all others. Ine stayed by her side as they jogged behind Geoffrey, Leon and Chera. Every time Yali met a band of werewolves, it gave a roar and blew fire out its nostrils as it plowed through them and tossed them into the air like a pitchfork on four legs. Leon joined in the action, swinging his blade with no restraint, Chera supporting him with her pistols.
Yali was easily attracted to the faintest ruckus caused by Jack’s men, and several times changed course to go out of its way to find and thrash some werewolves. However, eventually it brought the friends to the waterfront and directed them to The Roatán Butterfly
, sniffing the air for werewolf prey as it did, keeping itself focused despite burning buildings falling and cannon fire bursting over the bay and rooftops. Upon reaching the pier where the ship lay tethered and waiting, Yali set its rear end down heavily and looked at Molly and the others impatiently, as if waiting for them to board and leave so it could see to the more pressing matter at hand. With a grunt it shook its head and panted, staring at Molly with its intimidating eyes.
“Thank you very much.” Molly did not know if the beast understood, but she patted it on the neck just in case and followed her companions out onto the pier. “Let’s hurry now!” she called to them.
“… Says the goose waddling in last,” Chera called back, making a face and smiling.
As Geoffrey and Ine helped her up the wobbly gangway, Molly rolled her eyes. “Chera, I want you to act as my quartermaster if you please. You’re more qualified than any, and I do not have the energy to navigate us out of here at the moment.” Sighing heavily Molly sat down on the main deck as everyone ran about, readying the ship for its flight.
“Give me a hand with the anchor,” Leon said to Ine and Geoffrey as he braced himself against the capstan and gave it a heave.
“Captain Goose!” Chera called from the helm. “Have you any tricks that might help us escape?”
“As a matter of fact, I do,” said Molly, getting to her feet. Catching her balance, she shut her eyes and began to chant, flaring out her palms by her sides and then raising her arms slowly. As she did, a watery veil appeared just above the crow’s nest and spread out like a rippling blanket. It grew and stretched the length of the ship and then fell daintily over the masts, sails and deck, passing through every solid thing like a ghost. “We are out of sight, for now,” said Molly, opening her eyes and sitting back down, resting her arms in her lap and watching the fighting in the distance as Chera steered the ship away from the pier. All were quiet, holding their breath as they skirted unseen across the paths of navy ships hurrying to the aid of Bombay.
Silent flashes of lightning lit the storm clouds hanging over the coast, their thunder drowned out by the boom of cannons and magic. Along the waterfront, windows coughed smoke and ash. Palm trees cracked and whined as they burned and fell to the ground. The screams of terrified people, barking of werewolves, shouts of soldiers, the cries of the wounded and other horrible songs of war played on and on. A great shriek came from the sky over The Howl. Golden bursts of light followed in the wake of destruction wrought on the ship by the winged beast Garuda.
On the main deck of The Howl, or what was left of it, Jack Darcy paced along the starboard railing, sizing up his opponents and making hurried decisions about how to bring each of them down before they damaged his ship beyond repair. His usual confidence was not with him that night. Both fear and bloodlust tugged at his brain, pulling him one way and then another. He did not know his precious genamite had been taken and that his life was suffering for it.
While some of Jack’s crew ran about the main deck preparing shore boats to strike Bombay, others rushed back and forth between the gun deck and the ammunition stores. In the middle of the turmoil Morgan Shaw walked calmly down the crew deck to his cabin. Opening the door, he quietly went to his bed and knelt down, pulling a pair of boots out from under it and putting his hand inside. He felt nothing inside the left boot, so he tried the right. There! He knew it was in the toe of one of his boots. He plucked a chunk of jade from its old hiding place. The stone was something Thomas had given him long ago in an attempt to teach him the art of Manus Magia. Morgan hadn’t learned much, which is why he had never tried to use it. However, there was one spell Thomas had mentioned that Morgan intended to try now. In fact it was a spell Thomas had told him not to use without having the proper discipline and practice to use it, because the spell was exceptionally strong. Morgan did not know what to expect as he left his room, walking slowly and patiently back down the corridor and climbing the stairs to the main deck. All he expected was what Thomas had warned him about, and that was exactly what Morgan hoped for.
Jack was busy repelling a handful of Bureau soldiers when Morgan appeared on the main deck. In his hand he clasped the jade tightly, so tightly that the color was leaving his knuckles. Stiffly and with a lump in his throat, he approached Jack, who was swinging his wicked sword like a lunatic, cutting his enemies to bits. Jack was not transformed; he was too weak, but his screams and stature were just as intimidating as fangs or claws. As Morgan came close, Jack finished off his last foe and turned in surprise.
“What the devil are you doing up here?” Jack demanded. His robin’s egg eyes opened wide, and his brow furrowed. When Morgan did not answer him, Jack turned to face him and repeated the question. “Your orders are to be on the gun deck! I asked you what you think you are doing here!”
“Damn you for what you did,” said Morgan quietly, such that Jack did not hear him clearly. Under his breath Morgan whispered the first incantation. “Manus magia …” His right arm hummed with an electric current of magic that made the veins under his skin glow bright green. It took everything he had to keep the energy inside, and his arm convulsed wildly.
“What’s that?” yelled Jack, staring hard at Morgan, who walked right up to the old Blood Moon and stopped half an arm’s length away. “What are you doing, Mr. Shaw? Answer me! Get away!” Jack swung his blade recklessly, distrusting and confused.
Morgan held out his right arm, opened his lips and spoke his last words: “Manus Deus.”
“No!” Jack screamed, stumbling backward. The air between them became still and quiet.
Morgan’s arm lit up so brightly that neither of them could see, and in the next moment the deck of The Howl and everything on it was blown away in a violent flash that stole the breath of every soul that bore witness. The little piece of jade spent every ounce of its magical potential in one, single, earth-shattering blast. It happened so fast Morgan felt nothing at all as he watched Jack Darcy’s terrified face shredding away like paper before his eyes. From the decks of their ships, the Bureau soldiers clapped their hands over their ears and watched as The Howl’s main mast lifted up like a rocket and then smashed into the remnants of the quarterdeck. Bodies all along the railing fell into the great warship’s guts as it caved in on itself and an eruption of bright green fire and smoke rose up from inside.
As The Roatán Butterfly flew over the waves and the ships in the bay shrank away, Chera began to sing. Only Geoffrey recognized the words. They belonged to a poem written by Beatrice Eschroer. As stories proclaimed, she was a beautiful Haitian slave who killed her master, Justice Thorn, to save the life of her lover, a young slave named Yawo.
After he was caught stealing, Yawo was tried and sentenced to hang by Justice Thorn, who was his master also. Fearing for Yawo’s life, Beatrice poisoned Thorn’s dinner wine. When the Thorn family suspected Yawo of being the master’s killer, Beatrice had no choice but to help Yawo leave the island in secret one night on a ship bound for parts unknown. She knew without a doubt she would never see him again.
That same night, by lamplight, she wrote an ode to their love in a sugar field on the Thorn plantation. When she finished, Beatrice took a single seed—unassuming yet deadly—from a crab’s eye vine and ate it. Early the following morning when the other slaves found Beatrice and her poem, they kept it hidden from the field bosses. They sang Beatrice’s song just as Chera did while The Roatán Butterfly vanished into the night, in a tempo slow and hopeful.
Find me lying in the sugar, my love
Bring me, bring me the morning sun
Faintly, I see your face tonight
Chase me, as I forever do run
For you I’ll wait in the valley, my love
Call me, call me back o’er the tide
Sadly, shed I my blood tonight
Weakly, as I forever do hide
Fly we, fly we away, my love
Sing me, sing me the way to Heaven
Sweetly, make we our vows tonight
Molly lay against the main mast and stared out over the water past the ships, past Bombay, into the distance. When Ine walked by, Molly looked at Thomas’s sword, Brother, hanging on Ine’s hip. It was the last real remnant of him, except for the one growing inside Molly’s belly. Gently she rubbed her hands over her rounded stomach and closed her eyes, humming along with Chera, for she could think of no other tune. As the rumble of war grew quiet, Molly rocked back and forth, feeling at peace for the first time in four months. She wished she could be sitting under the warm June sun, but she was content to wait for it a little longer.
*
On a morning in July, The Roatán Butterfly landed in Mombasa, and Molly awoke from a pleasant night’s rest, rolling over to tell Thomas good morning. When she tried to put an arm over him, her hand felt only the empty blankets next to her. Only after opening her eyes did she realize she was lying by herself, exactly the way she’d gone to sleep the night before. How strange she felt, though. She wouldn’t have made her mistake if she hadn’t had that feeling—the feeling that Thomas was alive. It had been such a long time since she’d last sensed his presence. It was weak, but nagging, like a word that hides from the tongue while the mind tries to remember where it last left it. Drowsy but feeling well, she got out of bed, wrestling herself into something she wasn’t used to wearing, a dress. Five months of growth and her stomach did not agree with her blouses or her bodices anymore. Bodices were absolutely out of the question. Molly sorely missed them; they complimented her figure so well—her old figure. Thomas used to stare so longingly at her when she wore them. Molly frowned as she fussed with her hair in the mirror. She couldn’t help but feel large and awkward. How in the world had she gotten any bigger on the austere diet of scraps she and the others had lived on for the past month? On the edge of her bed she rocked unsteadily as she tried to put on her boots, feeling exhausted already.
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