I watched her, struggling to understand.
“Sailors are the scum of the earth,” she said, “the lowest class in society, loathed by everyone. Islanders. Darkers. Ebony souls. Only these people sail the seas. No one cares if they disappear. No one cares if they die.”
So it was unlikely Tien left by boat. I glanced back up the hill. If the wizard was still here, she’d be up there somewhere. Unless there was a decaying cafe serving the best coffee in Nachi somewhere down here.
“The people in Taramlae hated me because they thought I was a sailor?” I asked.
I knew there was more to it than that. I knew that my pitch-black skin reminded them of their ancient foes, of everything they lost during and after the Great War. I couldn’t even blame them. The irony that here I was, the Demon Emperor reborn, was far from lost on me.
They had reason to hate.
They had reason to fear.
My soul was indeed stained.
But their hate fuelled my hate. I, too, lost everything in that war. My empire. My life. My memories. My heart, and the woman I loved.
The woman I loved?
That memory of a memory, the ghost of a recollection lost.
“Are we going to book passage to the islands?” asked Henka.
“Yes, but not yet.” I wanted to find the wizard before we left. “We’re going to rent a room.” Laughter burst from me. In spite of everything, I remained destitute. I had little to my name beyond the clothes I wore and the crude sword I took from the other Khraen. “I may have to sell the sword first,” I said. I wouldn’t get much for it, inferior work that it was.
“No need,” said Henka. “I have money. I’ve been taking it from those I kill. A little each time, but it’s been some years.”
She travelled light, a small pack with only a few changes of clothes, and the pouch with the tools she used to harvest bodies. I almost asked where she kept it, but luckily figured it out before I made an ass of myself. Of course she hid things in the cavity of her chest, where her heart should be. Where her heart would one day again reside.
One day. Was I lying to myself?
“I need to find somewhere that won’t change,” I said. “Somewhere I can memorize.”
A look of tension crossed her flawless features and was gone. “Memorize? Why?”
“I have a place I’m going to take you. It’s safe, but I need to have somewhere to return to so we don’t get trapped there. To do that, I need to—”
“Where?” Her eyes never left mine.
“It’s a castle in a floating mountain in some kind of hell.”
“How did you find it?”
“I stumbled across a portal demon in a wizard’s tower.”
She cursed and looked away. “Was anyone there, in the floating mountains?”
“No.” I don’t know why I lied, but I did. It was something in the way she snapped questions at me. Maybe I didn’t want her fretting about me learning demonology from a demon. Suddenly I was less sure about bringing her. Should I find some excuse to go alone? Should I surprise her, introduce her to Nhil without warning? I was damned sure she wouldn’t like that.
Staring out over the ocean, she said, “Why do you want to go?”
“I have souls stored in my Soul Stone now. I know summonings and I know bindings. I can make even a crude sword like this a dangerous, unbreakable weapon. Maybe I can even bind a demon to some clothes as armour.” I recalled the red armour, how it terrified me. I wasn’t ready to touch it, much less wear it.
“How long do you want to be there?”
The way she said that made me wonder if maybe she didn’t want to join me there after all. That would certainly make it easier to keep my secret. And I really did want to keep Nhil and the floating mountain a secret.
“I don’t know,” I said. “A couple of weeks. Maybe a month.”
Henka turned away from the ocean, once again faced me. “I’m sorry, I can’t go. With no people there, I won’t be able to maintain myself. After a month, I’d be a frightful sight indeed.”
Was that why she asked who was there?
“I’ll rot,” she continued. “Without blood I’ll be corpse cold in a day. I will not have you watch me fall apart.” She raised a hand to forestall my argument. An argument I had no intention of making. “I have a better idea. We’ll book passage to the islands, take a private cabin. I’ll tell everyone you don’t feel well and keep the room unchanging so you can come and go as you please. You won’t have to spend the entire time alone in that hell.” She smiled that shy smile, the corner of those perfect lips turning up, eyes all promise and heat. “You can return to me when you need release and distraction.”
That was, I had to admit, a lot more appealing than spending a month with only Nhil for company. I stared up the hill at where all the pale-haired blue-eyed people lived. I wanted Tien. I wanted to punish her. But here, on the coast, the shards of my heart to the south called to me. What did I want more?
A single visit would cost two souls, one each way. How had I gone from loathing the Soul Stone and its burden, regretting and hating the cost of each use, to contemplating spending them for sex and companionship?
“Each time I use the portal demon it costs a soul,” I told her.
Henka examined me, head tilted. “Saltwater is hard on the dead. I will have to kill a few on our trip south to maintain myself.” She looked away, stared out to sea. “It’s what we are.”
What we are. A necromancer and a demonologist. Blood and souls. The hated of the world.
But when everyone hates you, either for the colour of your skin, or for a history you don’t remember, what was the point of fighting it? Guilt? Why not embrace the truth of what I was?
No. I had to be a better person than the man I had been. Why was it so difficult to stay focussed on that? Why did I so easily slip into behaviour most would call evil?
Most? I stifled a laugh.
What if that was me? What if I was evil? Could someone want to be better and still be evil? Did the attempt matter for anything?
I shook off the thoughts. The need to move grew in me. Here, on the southern edge of the continent, I felt many shards of my heart to the south, somewhere out in the ocean.
What if the wizards tossed fragments of my heart into the water? Come to think of it, why hadn’t they done that? Why didn’t they smash it to dust? What would happen then, would there be thousands and thousands of me, each with only the tiniest sliver of memory? The more I thought about it, the less sense it made. If the wizards had my heart, they could have kept it safe, kept it somewhere with no chance of it growing. With no life to feed off, the shard I took from the wizard’s tower hadn’t become a person. If the wizards just left the entire thing there, I’d still be dead.
“Why do you think the wizards shattered my heart?” I asked Henka.
“What do you mean?” As always, she accepted my sudden change in topics without question.
“Why break it? Why litter it about the world? Part was in a tower, imprisoned. Why not do that to the whole thing?”
She shrugged, the slightest twitch of a slim shoulder. “Maybe they never had the whole thing. Maybe they didn’t know what it was.”
“Who broke it then? Who scattered the pieces?”
“Perhaps it broke during the Great War. Maybe your followers or demons escaped with parts. Maybe the wizards only got that one shard.”
Did that make sense? It held together better than my original theory that the wizards were behind my every woe. What if they had no idea I’d returned? Even Tien assumed I was some minor demonologist.
“If my followers had parts of my heart, they would have taken better care. I could have been back thousands of years ago.”
“There was a war going on, a war they were losing. Perhaps there was a schism, some wanting your return, others happy with your demise.”
My own people? Certainly, the wizards and necromancers turned on me. Could I have been so terribl
e the demonologists turned on me as well? I had no memory of that one way or the other.
Something felt wrong. For reasons I couldn’t defend, could hardly verbalize, I felt like one person was responsible for my current state. But who, and why? What could anyone hope to gain by bringing me back? Were there still those out there who longed for the return of the old empire? Having seen the splendour of the abandoned villages and cities, I could understand that. But who would be old enough to remember my empire? I remembered Shalayn telling me that many of the high-ranking Guild members were immortal.
It hit me.
“A wizard did this,” I told Henka. “They’ve found something they want controlled. A demon. Or they want access to something only a demonologist can get to. Maybe something warded by demons. Maybe something like the floating mountains. Hell, maybe even that specific fortress. Something must have gone wrong with their plans though.”
“Could be,” agreed Henka. “But it doesn’t feel quite right.”
Damn. She was right again. What wizard would be so sloppy as to litter my heart about the world?
Henka took my hand in hers. Little trace of last night’s heat remained. She was insatiable in so many ways, an eternity of need. But aren’t we all? Doesn’t everyone want one more breath, one more meal?
“Let’s go find a ship,” she said. “We’ll get to the bottom of this in the islands.”
And turn my back on vengeance? What if Tien wasn’t even here? All I had was the word of one terrified young woman. Would I lead Henka off on some prolonged hunt just so I could kill this wizard? How would I explain that, without telling her about Shalayn? No. I wanted my heart more. The wizard could wait. My vengeance could wait. I’d find her. I had all the time in the world.
“There are many pieces to the south,” I said. “A large one in PalTaq, I think.”
“We’ll work our way south, island to island. PalTaq will be our last stop. Before we get there, you need to know as much as you can. The palace will be dangerous.”
She was, as always, correct.
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
Boats, crammed tight in the docks, moved together with each swell of the ocean, groaning like old lovers. Brown skinned men and women hustled about, shoulders stooped under sacks of grain and other assorted sundries. Everywhere I looked I saw goods being removed from ships and loaded onto wagons drawn by short but sturdy oxen to be hauled up the steep hill. Apparently, nothing went south beyond what supplies the crew needed to make the voyage.
Steaming mountains of ox shit, circled by swarms of fat flies glistening rainbows of green and blue in the sun, littered the docks. Teams of children scampered about, shovelling it into wheelbarrows. I seriously doubted ox shit was something worth collecting in my empire. With fire elementals supplying light and heat for every purpose, what use would it be beyond fertilizer? Even then, earth elementalists could likely solve that issue without stooping to hauling shit everywhere.
Filthy wizards with their filthy chaos magic and their filthy little kingdom.
The docks stank. Rotting fish. Sweating men and women. Decaying grains and damp wood. The harbour was raucous with life, people pushing and shoving, voices raised to be heard over the yelling of everyone else doing the same thing. So much brown skin. Not a blond-haired pink person to be seen. Even the harbour master was a deep mahogany.
I loved it. I loved the stink. I loved the chaos. I loved these people, the way they saw me, the way they stared with awe and moved from my path instead of glaring and spitting.
“That one,” said Henka, pointing out a ship. “It’s already loaded. She’ll be leaving soon.”
I studied the massive carrack, fat-bellied and low in the water. Three masts carried sails of stained cotton, but she also bore banks of oars should the winds die. The sheets hung slack, moving sluggishly in the ocean breeze. The crude figurehead, carved in wood and sloppily painted, portrayed a mermaid with breasts large enough to make swimming impossible. Men and women crawled over the vessel like a plague of locusts, small and dark. By my best guess, she had a crew of thirty souls and most were already aboard. A few still worked at loading supplies up the gangplank. A man, the darkest I’d yet seen, though still paler than I, stood at the railing. He barked orders in a harsh and booming voice, an unlit cigar clamped between his teeth. He was huge, easily six and a half feet tall, barrel-chested and bow-legged. A thick black beard, braided and plaited in what looked to be gold, hung to his belt.
“Come,” said Henka.
Releasing my hand, she led me up the gangplank, sailors parting before us. I’m not sure who drew more attention, Henka, gloriously beautiful and the only pale-skinned person down here, or me. The captain watched us, face expressionless.
“Captain,” said Henka, dipping a quick bow as we reached him.
“Off my fucking ship.”
“We require passage south,” she said, unperturbed.
“No. Off.” Pulling the cigar from his mouth he gestured at the gangplank with the much-chewed and soggy end.
“We will pay well. Very well. We need a cabin and we are not to be disturbed.”
He turned dark eyes, haloed in blood-shot yellow, in my direction. “The boy is a long way from home.”
Anger bristled in me at the casual dismissal. Boy. If this man had any idea who he addressed he’d grovel on the deck.
“And that’s where we’re returning,” said Henka, calm as death.
“And you, boy?” said the Captain. “Does this pale-skinned cunt speak for you?”
Rage pulsed through me. “You would be wise to show her some respect,” I ground out.
“Fuck wise. Off my fucking ship before I have you thrown off.” He eyed me, judging my reaction with a jaundiced eye. “Boy.”
“We’re going to PalTaq,” said Henka as if the Captain hadn’t spoken.
He blinked, examining me, and then turned his attention back to Henka. Some of his certainty seemed to have shrunk and crawled away. “No one goes there.”
“He does,” she said, nodding at me. “He’s going home.”
“Home.” There was something wistful in the way he said that, but I had no idea what it meant to him. “It’s haunted.” He looked over her shoulder, staring at the hill, at the sprawled city of Nachi, but not really seeing it. “It’s death.”
“Captain,” said Henka, drawing his attention back to her. She showed him a pouch full of gold, careful to keep her body between it and the rest of the crew. “This again when we reach the islands.”
“Maybe I’ll toss you overboard once we’re at sea,” he mused, eyeing the gold.
“Maybe. But look at his skin,” she said. “When is the last time you saw skin like that?”
Eyes narrowed, he looked me up and down. “A stained-soul. Black deeds writ in flesh. I’ve only heard stories.” He lifted a hand like he was going to touch my arm to confirm the reality of me but let it drop. “I thought… It’s not possible. They’re all dead.”
“Not all,” said Henka.
“Just a boy,” said the Captain, speaking as if I wasn’t right there in front of him.
I forced myself to remain silent.
Henka tossed him the pouch of gold and he snatched it out of the air.
“We’ll take a private cabin,” she said. “No one is to disturb us. Khraen will remain there for much of the voyage.”
The Captain’s breath caught. “Khraen?”
“Khraen,” repeated Henka.
Tucking the pouch of gold into his shirt, he turned and shouted at a nearby crewman to show us to a private berth.
“Welcome to the Habnikaav,” he said.
Habnikaav. That name sent shivers through me. It was an ancient name, important to me. Hadn’t I dreamed about a ship? But this wasn’t her. My Habnikaav had been a colossal warship, twenty times the size of this vessel, demons bound to every plank and trunnel. She’d been the queen of all the ocean, the greatest ship ever built. The wizards sank her. They’d pay for tha
t too.
An omen, no doubt.
“It’s a good name,” I told the Captain.
“Named after the Empire’s flagship,” he answered.
“Which was named after the demon bound to her hull.”
Chewing on his cigar he stomped away, shoulders hunched, muttering under his breath.
A youth of maybe eighteen years approached us. His face, pocked by acne and weathered by a life at sea, displayed raw curiosity. Under a mop of curly brown hair, eyes, dark as night, widened as he approached. Henka, as always, was stunning in her form fitting dress. And her porcelain skin stood out more here than anywhere. But in spite of her unearthly beauty, he only had eyes for me. Upon reaching us, he stopped. Unlike the Captain, he did reach out and touch the exposed flesh of my arm. Scraping at me with a fingernail, he then checked to see if any of the black came off.
“You finished?” I asked.
Swallowing nervously, he nodded.
“Show us to our berth, please,” said Henka.
Finally noticing her, he blinked, nodded again, and led us below decks without a word.
Descending thick steps of heavy oak swollen with damp, we found ourselves in a long hall. The sun pouring down the steps at both ends provided the only light. Closely spaced doors lined the walls.
“Guest berths,” said the boy. “All empty. Always empty.”
He pushed at a door and it didn’t budge. Throwing his shoulder against it several times, he managed to wedge it open far enough we could squeeze in.
“I’ll get oil for the hinges,” he said, waiting in the hall, happy to do nothing while we examined the cramped quarters.
It was small, more like a closet than a room. A single filthy portal let in a brown stain of sunlight giving the room a leprous pallor. A single cot, big enough for two only if you piled one of top of the other, sagged against the far wall. The mattress, mouldering and concave, looked ready for a cleansing fire. Thick spider webs, heavy with dust, clogged every corner. Corpses of beetles and gods knew what other insects crunched beneath our boots.
Black Stone Heart (The Obsidian Path Book 1) Page 29