The Sin in the Steel

by Ryan Van Loan

  I’d fought this battle several times already, so this time I was more prepared, if half addled. I kicked as hard as I could, cursing the sea with every jab, and when I broke the surface, I was ready. I grasped a chunk of board, hoisted myself onto it, and then fell so that I covered it completely with my body, making it look as if I floated in the water, facedown. I lay motionless, kissed the rough wood against my mouth, and drew a shallow breath. And waited. Time to toss the dice.

  “Blood and Bone! You’ve not a brain between you,” the Ghost Captain shrieked high above me. “I didn’t tell you to fire. Why did you fire?” There was a pause, as if he expected an answer, and then he laughed grimly. “By the Dead, were you trying to protect your father? I guess I can’t fault you for that, can I, my pets?” His laughter cut off. “You two—over the edge and pick up your fallen sister. I need what’s rattling around inside whatever’s left of her brains before it rattles itself out into the sea. Go.”

  Two splashes landed close enough to spray me with water and I tensed, waiting for their skeletal bite on my flesh.

  “No, not the Sin Eater,” he called down, bemused pride in his voice. “Honestly, you two. Her kind are useless to me, dead. The other’s the one we want.” The splashing near me faded as they moved farther away. “Aye, there you go. Our masters won’t be pleased when they find out you’ve killed the only Sin Eater this side of Port au’ Sheen, but finding the artifact should keep them from hurting you.

  “I jest, my pets—you know I’d never let anything happen to you.” He laughed. “But they are going to have to decide if they want me to keep a low profile or drag that Harbormaster bitch over here after all. A worry for another day.” He sighed and kept talking.

  “Just grab her, you two. I’d send a rope down, but we both know neither of you could grasp it, let alone tie it around her. Climb into the boat. Up you come, now. There you go,” he said, the smile loud in his voice. “I’ll have a cup of tea, shall I, and then I’ll turn your sister there and we’ll weigh anchor.” His voice receded as he turned away. “What a morning, I tell you.”

  I waited several minutes, letting the waves carry me and the board where they would. My limbs grew so numb from the cold that I began to shake until I was unable to hide it. When nothing came of my movement, I risked raising my head, and when nothing else happened, I sat up. The Ghost Captain’s ship rode high in the water a score of paces behind me. The waves had carried me the length of his ship and past, and when I looked ahead, I could see the island less than a few hundred paces away.

  Sliding off the board, I held it out in front of me so my upper body was above the waves, and began to kick. It was slow going, like kicking through molasses in winter, even as the frost began to leave my muscles. I kicked faster and harder, my skirts getting in the way, but the waves pushed me and I began to move along at a decent clip. The shore was just beginning to take shape in the sun’s first rays when I heard a high-pitched scream behind me that did more to warm me through than the swimming had done.

  “D-discov-vered what I d-did to your w-wheel? Eh, b-bastar-d?” My teeth chattered, but I didn’t care and I laughed as I thought of the Ghost Captain watching the wheel spin freely between his fists. I hoped it’d take him the better part of the day to fix his rudder. And by that time I’d be ready for him. I hadn’t meant to kill the Archaeologist—she’d been collateral damage—but with her dead and the Ghost Captain in possession of her knowledge, it did present an opportunity. A plan within a plan. I kicked for the shore with renewed vigor. I’m coming, Eld.

  41

  An undercurrent looped around the island, so by the time I reached the shallows, the Ghost Captain’s ship was around a bend and my sense of direction spun aimlessly in my brain, half frozen from the water and exhaustion. I kept kicking until my boot came down in soft, gritty sand, and when I stood up, I discovered the water was only knee-deep. I stumbled ashore, collapsing on the sand by the water’s edge and sucking in huge gulps of air.

  “You’ve got grit, young one,” a voice said in Imperial behind me. I spun around as fast as my sodden limbs would allow and saw an islander in dark leather trousers staring at me. He wore a white fur hide around his bare tanned shoulders; the fur matched his long braided locks. He smiled when he saw my expression and lifted a hand.

  “Peace,” he whispered in a voice as gravelly as the beach around me. “I only came to see you reach the shore safely. You bested the Dead One on the decks of his ship,” he said, stumbling over the words “deck” and “ship.” “It was well done.”

  “Aye,” I said, gasping, still catching my breath. “Well, thanks. It was touch and go there for a bit.” I glanced up at him. “But you didn’t come down here to tell me that, did you?”

  “You see deep for one so young,” he whispered. “My name is Bar’ren,” he said in a louder tone. “Sha’amen of the Arawaíno.”

  “Sha’amen,” I said, pronouncing the word slowly. “Like a king?”

  “There are no kings amongst the Arawaíno,” he said. “We are a free people. But I … speak for the people.”

  “Aye, and you speak Imperial suspiciously well, for an Araw-whatever.”

  He laughed. “When I was a lad, a woman washed ashore after her ship was destroyed in a storm and the crew lost. She became part of our people for many years, until she longed to see her homeland and took to the seas once more.” He shrugged. “She taught me your language, to read and speak and write.”

  “Good on her,” I said. “So now what?”

  “I came to see what you intend. We wish our island to return to peace.” He glanced past me, to where the tops of the Ghost Captain’s ship’s sails were visible over the tree line, and his jaw clenched. “We’ve had enough of death to last a generation.”

  “Fair enough,” I muttered. “My friend? Is he alive?”

  “They both are,” he said. “We aren’t like some of the East Islanders who crave their brothers’ flesh.” He shuddered and drew his fur tighter around his shoulders. “They’re trying to fix their wide canoe as we speak.” He met my gaze. “What will you do now?”

  I pushed myself to my feet and staggered. He held out a hand to catch me, but I brushed it away. Never let them see weakness. And if they do, make them second-guess themselves.

  “I’m going to find them and we’ll sail away and leave your island in peace.” I looked over his shoulder, to where the jungle met the sand dunes, but didn’t see any hint of the other islanders who were surely watching. I remembered the sound their arrows had made, whistling overhead when we fought the Shambles, and tried not to imagine a volley launching out of the dark jungle to fill me like a pincushion. Bar’ren might not have a taste for human flesh, but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t fight to protect his people, and I was a foreigner. In many languages the word for “stranger” is synonymous with “enemy.”

  “If it helps,” I added, “when I sail, I sail to put an end to the Ghost Captain. The Dead One.”

  Bar’ren’s grey eyes studied mine and he nodded slowly. “Then you’ll need a canoe.”

  “Aye, that’s why I need to find my friend. Friends,” I amended, not wishing to confuse him by trying to explain my relationship to Chan Sha.

  “Their canoe is too broken,” he said. “They don’t see it, but they will eventually.”

  “Likely when they are a hundred paces out to sea,” I muttered. Suddenly I realized they didn’t know I was alive. Or that I had escaped.

  What would I do in their situation? Wrong question. What would Eld do? “Try to rescue me,” I whispered. Gods, I’m surprised he hasn’t tried already. “I need to go to them. Now. Don’t worry—I’ll find a way to plug that leaky tub and we’ll be off your shores by morning.”

  “Morning is come already,” Bar’ren said, pointing to the rising sun. He looked at me and the ghost of a smile crept across his features. “But the Arawaíno may be able to help.”

  “Help?”

  “If it hastens peace, if it ha
stens the Dead One’s demise?” He shrugged beneath his white fur. “Why would we not?” He pointed down the beach toward a break in the dunes. “There is a small stream. You will find a canoe waiting for you, with food and water for three. Strike out until the current catches you and then let it guide you around the island. When it begins to die off, you’ll see your friends on the beach.”

  “I can’t repay you…” I began.

  “No,” he agreed. “I do not think you owing Bar’ren a favor will be so bad for the Arawaíno.”

  I laughed hoarsely. “If you see me after today, Bar’ren, then something’s gone seriously fucking wrong.”

  He laughed with me and nodded. “Perhaps you speak true. What is your name, young one?”

  “Sambuciña Alhurra,” I said after drawing a breath. His smile died on his lips and I saw something flash across his eyes. “Do you know it?” Impossible.

  “No,” he said quickly. “But I think we may meet again one day, Sambuciña. In this world or the next.”

  “Aye?” I arched an eyebrow, not quite believing him, but I didn’t ask the real question looming in my mind. “Well, if we do, I won’t forget my debt. The boat’s that way?” I asked, pointing. He nodded and I inclined my head. “Then I’ll be off. Thank you, Bar’ren, Speaker of the Arawaíno.” I ignored the itching between my shoulder blades as I walked away, my boots sinking into the wet sand. Why’d you lie? How do you know my name? Questions for another day. I had to find Eld before he did something stupid, or worse, courageous. Courageously stupid. It’d be just like him.

  * * *

  The canoe and a pair of oars lay just out of the water, at the end of a path carved through the sand, so I could push it easily into the stream and out to sea. As I drew closer, I saw, in the bottom of the boat, a number of the big tree nuts and several hides of water. There was a bundle lying on the rear seat, which turned out to be a rough slip of a dress made of reeds and a pair of thong sandals. It didn’t take more than a glance at my sodden and torn dress, stained in places with blood and ichor, to decide it was time for a change of clothes.

  I stripped down to nothing and sat in the water, running fingers through my hair, letting the stream wash me clean, before standing up. My eye throbbed, but the salt had helped sanitize it and it’d already begun to scab over, so I didn’t mess with it. I reached into the canoe and shed my old clothes for new. The dress I thought would be scratchy, but it actually had a pleasant feel against my skin. Short, true, but I didn’t think anyone this far from Imperial civilization would be shocked to see my wrists, let alone my forearms. My boots were harder to give up; it’s hard to find a good pair of boots that fit as well as these had, but they were warped now, twisted by sea, sun, and sand. So I slipped the sandals on and stepped into the canoe. It rocked gently back and forth in the sand as I settled down on the seat, taking stock of my situation.

  My feet kicked a small sack beneath the seat. When I opened it, a grin split my face. Lying atop a pile of small round stones was a knife. I drew it out, watching the sun play off its pig-iron blade. I owe you one, Bar’ren. I had to hide the knife inside the top of the dress, just below my armpit, due to the sleeves barely reaching my elbows, but it worked.

  Feeling a new woman from the quick wash and change of clothes, I used the oar to inch the canoe along the sand and into the water. The stream did the rest and with a few sure, deep strokes, I was propelled out to sea. Just as I reached a depth where I could no longer touch bottom with the paddle, I felt the current take hold, sending me out and around the island.

  The sun was warm on my skin and I felt as if I’d awoken from a fever dream, my illness broken. I was weak, but on the mend. And I’ll need to mend fast. It’s not over yet. My smile hardened. The mysterious island, Ciris’s artifact, and the Ghost Captain still awaited me.

  “You won’t have to wait long,” I said aloud, stabbing the oar into the water. “I’m coming, you bastards.”

  42

  I came around a sharp cut in the island and saw two figures hunched over a hulking shape in the sand at the same time I felt the current slip away. One of the figures straightened, the sun’s light reflecting off their alabaster forearms, and something twisted inside me. Biting down on the lump in my throat, I thrust my oar deep into the water and began paddling toward shore. As I drew closer, I saw Eld feverishly working to jam an ill-shaped hunk of driftwood into a hole in the upturned hull. His newfound tricorne lay cast off at his feet.

  Chan Sha watched idly, leaning against the hull. A long splinter danced between the fingers of her outstretched hand, scoring the hull with every stroke as she went back and forth so quickly that the sun-bleached wood was little more than a blur.

  Both were engrossed in their tasks and the crashing waves hid my approach, so I was able to beach the canoe a dozen paces away and climb out without either noticing me. Then Chan Sha glanced up and her eyes widened, flicking to Eld and then back to me.

  “Well, you’re as alive as the last time I saw you,” the pirate said, keeping the splinter moving between her fingers for another moment before pushing herself up from the boat. “You shove a blade up the Ghost Captain’s arse or just go for a lovely row on the water?”

  “Buc?” Eld spun around with a jolt that sent the piece of driftwood flying through the air. He was striding toward me before the wood landed in the sand; his smile lit his face up brighter than the sunlight did. “Thank the Gods! Buc, what happened?”

  “I come from the Ghost Captain,” I said slowly, letting my tongue stick to the roof of my mouth. Eld’s smile slipped and Chan Sha muttered a curse. “May he be fucked for eternity,” I said normally. “I thought about planting a blade in him, but I didn’t want you to feel left out, so I decided to come back and collect you first. But I’m still alive and my tongue retains its usual razor’s edge.”

  Chan Sha cursed again, louder this time.

  “Buc.” Eld’s eyes flashed, but his smile returned, belying the look he gave me. “You are the biggest pain in the arse a man’s ever been saddled with.”

  “A boil of epic proportions,” I agreed.

  Reaching me, he pulled me into a rough embrace. “I was worried that you’d gone to your death,” he said over my head. I could smell the salt and sweat on him and beneath that, a smell that was Eld. Something loosened inside me even as he stepped back to inspect me again.

  Chan Sha pointed at me with the wooden splinter. “I’m interested to hear how you slipped out of that bastard’s rotting grasp again.”

  “Not as easily as I would have liked,” I admitted. “The Dead Walker mistook who I was. Or at least what I was.”

  “Aye?” she snorted. “And what is that?”

  “A Sin Eater.”

  I saw Eld stiffen at my words, but I could barely keep the laughter from my lips. “Aye, one of Ciris’s mages. Turns out he’s been searching the seas, looking for one to pair with the Archaeologist.”

  “Fuck me sideways.”

  “Archaeologist?” Eld glanced back and forth between us. “What’s she saying, Buc?”

  “You heard her,” I said. I felt a chill in me that I kept buried deep. She knows. Ghost Captain. Sin Eater. Archaeologist. It was an awful lot for a mere pirate to ken, great captain or no. Show me a criminal who cares beyond their crime and gold, and I’ll show you something that skinned a shark to swim in deep waters. But what kind of shark? “She wants to be fucked sideways.” I shrugged. “You’re the only one with the equipment to do that properly, Eld.”

  “Gods’ balls.”

  “No, yours,” I corrected him.

  “You know that humor as a defense mechanism is rather obvious,” Chan Sha growled, taking a step in my direction.

  “What do you know about the Archaeologist and the Ghost Captain?” I asked, ignoring the jibe.

  “Buc,” Eld whispered, his mouth barely moving, “there’s something you need to know.”

  “You found her on board his ship, didn’t you? What did the Arch
aeologist tell you?” Chan Sha asked.

  “You tell me yours and I’ll tell you mine,” I promised. Maybe. “What, exactly, happened to your ship? Your crew?”

  She sank down onto the sand and wrapped her arms around her knees. When she spoke, her voice was bitter and guileless. “We couldn’t reach the doors that led below. I tried to cut a path to the lifeboats, but the dead kept coming. I only lived because Agnes carved space with a cutlass in each hand and two others hoisted me like a paper doll above their heads and tossed me over the railing.” She whispered something that sounded like “loyalty” and looked away from us. “They knew I’d go down with the ship. But they went down while I floated away, watching my ship burn.”

  “I’m sorry,” I said. Eld’s head jerked and I shot him a look. What? I can’t be sorry? I was sorry. Sorry for the flames. Sorry she hadn’t still been on the ship. But sorry was there. “You knew though, didn’t you?” I asked. She looked sharply at me. “That the Ghost Captain couldn’t be defeated?”

  “I’m not a fool. I did the odds long ago. There’s always a chance, of course; his mortars misfire or a lucky volley hulls him at the waterline. But if he closes?” She shook her braids. “The dead don’t tire and they can’t be killed. Bone against flesh, bone wins. Fucking Dead Gods and their dark magics.” Chan Sha’s breath came fast and hard. “You heard my story; now let’s hear yours.”

  “Not much of a story—you fell off your boat and wound up here. Same story as ours.” I pointed to Eld. “Besides, you didn’t tell me what you know of the Archaeologist and the Ghost Captain. I’ll make you a deal, though,” I said, not bothering to disguise my smile. “You swim over to yonder ship and dance with the dead, and the Archaeologist will whisper all manner of things in your ear.”