But I only replied, “He’s wonderful.” He was going to be. I was going to make damned sure of it. I walked hastily up the plank, wobbling a little bit, and gripped the ship’s railing. Cornwall. We only had to sail to Cornwall. Less than three hundred miles; surely they would fly by. Magnus’s hand brushed my back to steady me, and I practically jumped.
“What’s the matter?” Magnus looked rather surprised. “I thought we were friends.”
I can’t let you go. His last words to me, and he wondered why I was nervous? Did I not understand men at all?
Blackwood stumbled up the walkway, cursing under his breath. Magnus couldn’t resist. “You’ll get your sea legs yet, Blacky.”
“Tell me you’re not taking us to Strangewayes’s.” Blackwood didn’t bother to conceal his hostility. Unfortunately, that was the sort of thing Magnus relished.
“I would, but I hate to lie to you.” Magnus clapped Blackwood on the shoulder. “Just think. We’ll be as close as we ever were.” Blackwood looked as though he might commit murder. Granted, that was as close as they’d ever been.
“Howel. Blackwood.” A man dressed in the blue coat of a naval officer approached us. His long brown hair was tied back from his face. The only thing that marked him as a sorcerer was the stave by his hip. “Captain Ambrose, of Her Majesty’s navy. So. We’re to sail to Cornwall on the Order’s business? Then there’s no time to lose.”
The salt breeze chilled me as I clung to the railing and stared into the waves lapping against the side of the ship. The world tilted with every lurch. Everything I’d read in stories suggested that sailing was supposed to be relaxing, filled with lemonade and laughing people in attractive outfits. Frankly, I thought I was going to vomit up everything I’d eaten this morning, and maybe everything I’d ever eaten after that.
Behind me, men climbed the ropes, adjusted the sails, and kept a lookout high above. There were seven sorcerers aboard, excluding Blackwood and myself. Several of them hovered near, what was it, the crow’s nest? They watched the coastline and the open sea, in case Nemneris, the Water Spider, attacked.
“I don’t care if there is a party of Ancients waiting for us when we land,” Blackwood muttered as he came up next to me. “I will be so bloody happy to get off this ship.” His handsome face was tinged as green as I felt.
“We’re land creatures, I’d say. How is Magnus doing so well?” I sighed as, speak of the devil, Magnus clapped his hands and called attention to himself. We all watched as he flew up, up to the, ah, oh hell, some other mast and fixed a line of rope, then somersaulted back down to land on the deck. He accepted the men’s cheers the way a cat laps up cream.
“Some people are good at everything,” Blackwood said darkly. “At least this war is pleasant for one of us.” He launched himself off across the deck to speak with Ambrose, who was arguing with the helmsman.
I looked back into the water, my spirits sinking. I felt rather useless here. While I knew that was to be expected, seeing as how I was not and never had been a sailor, it still made me feel ridiculous.
Of course, being aboard this ship wasn’t the sole source of my unhappy thoughts. When I’d tried so desperately to be commended, I hadn’t considered what it would mean for the country. Now that I had taken the place of their prophesied one, I had increased the danger and offered the men and women of England no real protection in return. Scanning the coastline, I thought of all the people to whom I’d given hope…and how cruelly those hopes would be dashed.
Enough. I’d come to Cornwall to find the answer to our problems; there was no going home without it. I took Porridge in hand and twirled a spell to distract myself from my thoughts.
The magic stretched over my skin, radiating out from the core of me to my arm all the way along my stave. With a few twists, the water crashing along the ship’s side formed into white-capped dolphins. One of them gave a playful spin through the air before plunging back into the deep.
“Impressive,” said Magnus, appearing beside me. He leaned against the railing, as casual as ever.
“Any sign of Nemneris?” Thoughts of the Water Spider shoved my nervousness around Magnus out of my mind. Mostly.
Magnus’s cocky smile died.
“She doesn’t usually come out this far from shore.” He pointed toward the coast, a smudged line of green and gray in the distance. “That’s where she sets her traps. She weaves an underwater web, you see, that snares unsuspecting ships. After that, all she has to do is smash the unfortunate vessel, and…eat her prizes.” His hand went down to an item upon his belt, a carved wooden charm in the shape of a star. Perhaps it was a favor from Miss Winslow.
“Have you ever seen her up close before?” I asked.
“Not yet,” he replied. “But she always leaves a few survivors. Maybe to let the tales circulate.”
“Perhaps she’d let us draw straws,” I said.
Magnus laughed, sounding as he had several months before, when we’d been real friends. Before the ward collapsed and the war came crashing down on us. Before that night in my room, when he’d whispered in my ear, held me against his body, pressed his lips to mine. Apparently some things were more easily forgotten than others.
Blushing, I looked about for my escape.
“Did I say something wrong?” Magnus asked.
“It’s nothing.”
“Howel.” But that was as far as it went. Blackwood walked carefully over to us, still looking peaked and wretched.
“We’re sailing closer to shore. Ambrose says we should move to the rowboat in ten minutes.”
“You’ll be on dry land again soon, Blacky. Here.” Magnus picked up an empty bucket and shoved it into Blackwood’s hands. “Just in case.” Then he walked away, whistling.
“I don’t know what we’ve done to deserve this,” Blackwood growled.
Soon the three of us were aboard a rowboat being lowered into the sea. The wind had picked up, lashing the waves into white-capped frenzy. The sorcerers and sailors watched us from above as the boat met the water, jolting violently. I bit my lip as I caught the sides, steadying myself.
“We’ll provide cover if something should happen,” Ambrose called.
Marvelously reassuring. I sat at the front of the boat while Magnus and Blackwood took the rear. Magnus’s jacket was off, his sleeves rolled to his elbows. Blackwood kept his coat on. He wouldn’t even take off his hat.
Magnus skimmed his stave along the top of the water, and a single wave picked us up and carried us toward shore. The ship grew smaller in the distance. They’d patrol the coast, then come back to this spot in two days’ time. We’d have to make it back for the rendezvous, no matter what. The last thing any of us wanted was to have to trek across the country to get back to London. The roads were extremely dangerous now, more so than ever before.
We rode swiftly to the shore, where Magnus and Blackwood leaped out and dragged the boat up the beach. The waves crashed around us, pearly foam breaking upon the dark sand. Ahead of us, the cliffs waited, shrouded in mist. Getting out of the boat, I studied the craggy rock formations. We’d arrived near a sea cave at low tide—Merlin’s Cave, if I recalled correctly. Tintagel was heavy with Arthurian lore. I’d wanted to see this place ever since my aunt told me the stories when I was a little girl. This was supposedly the cave where Merlin had found Arthur as a baby. I peered inside. The place was covered in barnacles and algae, the scent of brine and salt so strong I nearly gagged. The toes of my boots grew damp at once, and the bottom of my skirt trailed in the water as I looked up to the top of the cliff.
“How do you suppose normal people go up and down these things?” Magnus mused as he struck his stave in several points around his feet. “Climb?”
“How very dull,” I said with a smile. As one, we rose upon columns of air, and I had to force myself not to look down at the shore and the boat as they grew smaller and smaller. I kept my ankles straight, wobbling only a bit as we reached the top.
The area aro
und us lay covered in dense fog. To the left, stone rubble dotted a grassy field. The outline of a large building was visible among the weed-choked wreckage.
“What’s that?” Magnus followed my gaze.
“The ruins of Tintagel Castle,” I said sadly. This was supposed to be where Arthur’s home had once stood. To think Ralph Strangewayes had made his house in such a storied place. Magnus slid his pack from his shoulders and onto the ground, opening it and retrieving a map with a well-thumbed, weathered appearance.
“We’re here,” he said, pointing at the edge of the coastline. “Strangewayes’s house is supposed to be five miles inland to the east.” Not the worst walk ever, but we’d likely have to make camp; the sun was already heading toward the sea, and no one wanted to be stumbling around here in the dark. “You’re certain the house is still there, Howel?”
“Mostly,” I admitted. Whitechurch had drawn up a water glass to find the location and make sure something was there before Blackwood and I left. Thankfully, Strangewayes had been famous enough that his house used to be a popular tourist destination. As such, its location was listed upon maps. In the scrying glass, we’d found an area shrouded completely in mist, so thick it was difficult to see through. But there’d been the outline of a building, enough to send us out here.
We headed along the rocky path, the sea at our backs. As we made our way deeper into the countryside, the mist sat heavily on my clothes, chilling me. It felt as though the mist were touching us, as though it were sentient. As though it wanted to keep us.
“I’m just glad the Spider didn’t turn up,” Magnus muttered.
“She doesn’t come up the cliffs, does she?” I asked.
“You never know.” His expression hardened.
“Are you all right?”
“Do you always talk this much when you’re on a quest, Howel?” I’d never heard him sound snappish before. He cleared his throat. “Forgive me. It’s just—”
“Quiet.” Blackwood stopped in his tracks and slowly took out his stave. On instinct, I grabbed Porridge from its sheath as well. “Do you hear that?” His green eyes narrowed as he surveyed the terrain.
“No,” I said, then instantly shut up. The world about us seemed to be holding its breath. No birdsong, no breeze. Only dead silence.
I could feel it, the movement of something in the mist. Something incredibly wrong. Blackwood warded a blade on his stave; I saw the dim yellow outline of it.
“Get down!” he shouted as a Familiar with eight horrid legs and gnashing fangs attacked.
I exploded in blue flame, throwing a fireball at the monster. It dodged far too nimbly and sprang into the air with its legs splayed wide. Magnus and I rolled out of its way as it landed, jaws clicking.
This was one of Nemneris’s lice. I’d seen them before, but only from the safety of a water glass in Agrippa’s library. Their bloated abdomens and eight legs were spiderlike, while their pale, grotesque torsos, bald heads, and arms were almost human. This monster had gnashing pincers where a mouth should have been. A long, gooey stream of venom dripped from its fangs.
The louse screeched as it leaped for Blackwood. He weaved and slashed with his blade. A plume of black blood gushed from the creature’s leg, and it retreated a few steps, clicking in pain.
Magnus slammed down his stave and sent a shock wave through the earth, throwing the beast off-balance while I fired again. This time my magic found its mark, and the Familiar shriveled as the flames consumed it, the eight legs curling into its body. There was a grotesque popping noise as its black eyes exploded, gushing viscous ooze. The acrid smell of its death burned my throat.
“Howel, look out!” Magnus barreled into me, shoving me roughly to the ground. Another louse leaped out of the mist, landing on top of Magnus. My movements were too slow, too sluggish.
“Hold on!” Blackwood shot warded force at the thing and got it in the chest. It tumbled off Magnus, who lurched to his feet, clutching a bleeding arm. But he was alive. Thank God.
I twirled a spell I’d designed before, a blend of my sorcerer and magician powers. The earth formed a great hand to drag the monster down, but the Familiar scrambled out of its grip too fast. Damn it all.
Magnus lifted his stave…and collapsed onto his back. His head lolled to the side, his body limp. The Familiar raced forward, pincers clicking with glee. I screamed, trying desperately to think of another spell.
Something sliced out of the fog, slamming directly into the Familiar’s head. The louse jerked backward as black ichor sprayed over the ground. The beast twitched once and became still, its hideous face cleaved neatly in two by an ax. I hurried to Magnus and knelt by his side.
“Who’s there?” Blackwood called, whirling around. A small boy, no older than twelve or thirteen, approached out of the mist. He was clad in worn trousers and a threadbare vest, a cap atop his head. The boy looked to Magnus, who was groaning in pain.
Magnus. His arm sported two swollen puncture wounds, hot and already throbbing with infection. The Familiar had poisoned him.
“No,” I whispered, thinking fast. Were there healing spells or medicines I’d brought with me? What had I learned from Fenswick about slowing poison? There was no bloody time to lose.
“If we don’t treat it, he’ll die.” The boy echoed my frantic thoughts. He yanked his ax out of the monster’s skull. It came away with a wet sound, like pulling a knife from a pumpkin. “We’d best leave. They hunt in packs.” The boy wiped the ax blade on the grass. “Follow me.” He motioned to us to follow, and Blackwood and I each took one of Magnus’s arms. We hoisted him to his feet and pulled him along between us.
The boy led us back to the ruins of the castle, dodging over the piles of rubble and moss-covered stones. Entering what had been the castle’s outer wall, he uncovered a cellar door that led belowground. The boy pulled the door open with a loud creak and waved us ahead.
We were following an ax-wielding stranger underground, where the air smelled stale and damp, but all I cared about was Magnus’s racing pulse as I helped lower him inside, my cheek pressed against his neck. Carefully, Blackwood and I laid him onto the muddy ground.
Lit candles had been wedged into the rocky walls. Once the boy closed the door, the only natural light came from a crack in the rock ceiling. Blackwood had to duck to avoid hitting his head as I knelt beside Magnus to watch the boy at work.
The boy stripped Magnus’s coat off and ripped his shirt open, exposing his chest. I nearly turned away from the immodesty of it but checked myself. Magnus was dying, for God’s sake. I remained focused on his face.
“Who are you? How do you know what to do?” Blackwood’s voice echoed in the cavern.
The boy didn’t answer. Instead, he took a knife and cut into the wounds on Magnus’s arm. Clear liquid welled out of the bites. The boy took a deep breath, then sucked at the marks, spitting the poison onto the wall.
“Can you do that?” I asked, stricken with horror.
The boy pulled his cap off his head. Wild bright red curls tumbled down. With the addition of the hair, the boy’s entire appearance changed. His lips seemed fuller, the tilt of his eyes more feminine. This was a young woman, not a little boy. She looked at me; there was a hard knowledge in her gaze. “Aye. If you’d like, pass me that bag.” She nodded at a leather pouch by my side. “Then go above and keep watch. There’s precious little else you can do.”
The lilt of her voice sounded northern, Scottish perhaps. I passed her the bag while Magnus began to wail and claw at the air.
“No, get away. He might still be alive!” He spoke to invisible phantoms. Foam flecked the corners of his mouth. His whole body went rigid, and he began to seize violently.
“Magnus!” I tried to touch him, but the girl struck my hand.
“Go now!” she cried. Blackwood threw the door open, pulling me after him. I could only listen to Magnus’s delirious screams and sobs.
Blackwood and I sat at the edge of the cavern, our staves in hand.
My knees would not stop shaking, and I looked to the sky above. The light had purpled, and the sun had reached the lip of the horizon. My teeth began chattering, which had nothing to do with the night’s oncoming chill.
“He’ll be fine.” Blackwood sat on the balls of his feet, ready to spring into action. “Magnus has far too much absurd luck for it all to run out now.” But he sounded unsure. Blackwood stood and walked forward, cautiously checking the open area around us. I could feel it, though. The Familiars had moved on. The air didn’t seem so very still and awful now.
Slowly, Magnus’s screams began to die down. Please, God. Let that be a good sign.
“The Familiar should have bit me, not him.” I rolled Porridge in my hands, tracing my fingers along the carved ivy leaves that decorated the stave’s length. The faintest trace of blue light shimmered in one of the tendrils.
“Don’t start thinking like that.” Blackwood sat beside me again.
We listened to the roar of the waves far below us. I dug the toe of my boot into the soft earth, drawing arrows and circles. There was no hell quite like waiting.
“I know you wish we hadn’t come here,” I said at last, unable to bear the silence.
Blackwood shrugged, a strangely casual motion for him. “We weren’t any use in London. We might find something here, at least.”
My thoughts turned to what Whitechurch had said, about how I couldn’t stand to feel useless. Blackwood definitely had a similar drive. What else would compel him to rise and train every morning in his obsidian room before the sky was light? I gazed at the carvings on my stave, and then looked at his. Identical in every way. “Sometimes I think we’re quite the same.”
“Yes.” The faintest hint of a smile graced his lips. He took Porridge from me for one moment and traced his fingers along some of the carvings. The hair along my neck stood on end. It felt oddly intimate.
“All right. Come in,” the girl called at last.
We crawled back inside to find Magnus lying with a jacket rolled up beneath his head as a makeshift pillow. His arm was bandaged, and he appeared to be resting. His chest, now covered, rose and fell evenly with his breathing. He smiled weakly when Blackwood and I entered.
A Poison Dark and Drowning (Kingdom on Fire, Book Two) Page 5