The Sin in the Steel

by Ryan Van Loan

  The Ghost Captain marched right past the Shambles in front of me, with the Archaeologist on his arm, and I nearly choked as I dropped my gaze to my feet. His boots were loud in the rocky sand and I waited for them to stop, but they didn’t. I risked a glance and saw him looking over his left shoulder toward the part of the mob where Chan Sha and Eld were, but then he turned back to the Archaeologist and leaned down, whispering in her ear and then laughing loudly—had he told her a joke? Gods. I hated having to keep up one side of a conversation, let alone two.

  The Archaeologist glanced back toward the tent and the sea beyond, her neck moving more smoothly than most of the other Shambles. Likely because she’s still fresh. She started turning back to the Ghost Captain and our eyes met across the sand. Her pupils were light and watery and deep and I felt something grip me low in my stomach and pull hard. I did that. For a moment nothing happened and then her lips moved. Feral moans joined her like a dark chorus, falling upon us with the sun’s waning rays.

  “I’m glad you came!” The Ghost Captain’s voice pulled me back. He was facing me, standing beside the Archaeologist, book open in his hands. The glow illuminated his face in shades of blue. “I was really wrought up over the thought of you dying after that mishap. Sometimes my pets get overprotective despite my instructions,” he said. “The dead don’t bleed, by the way,” he added, pointing at Chan Sha. At her bandaged knee and the blood that had begun leaking down the side of her leg. The knee I’d shot.

  Damn.

  “I’m not sure that I need the spares, Buc, but you’ll be useful at any rate.”

  He was hard to hear over the hisses and moans of his minions. But even if he had been clear as a signal cannon over still waters, I wouldn’t have listened. He didn’t understand and he had to or this was all for naught.

  Stone. Slingshot. Back over shoulder. Four paces. Repeat. I dropped my hand to the pouch at my side, plucked a stone, drew my slingshot, and blew off the top half of the Archaeologist’s skull. It was the least I could do for her, given the circumstances. Chan Sha echoed my scream and slammed her axes into a Shambles’s throat. The blades wedged in the vertebrae, so the pirate ripped off one of the Shambles’s femurs and began bludgeoning another with it while Eld decapitated a third with one swing of his sword.

  I grabbed a stone and put another down, tearing away its worn bandanna along with half its face. The dead closed around us and a single Shambles filled my vision. Letting my slingshot dangle from my wrist, I slashed her across the face with my knife. The Shambles hissed at me, spraying black ichor, but otherwise seemed unimpressed by the blow. I flipped the knife and stabbed it in the throat; the Arawaíno’s pig-iron blade caught on the upper spine and I sawed viciously back and forth, rocking the Shambles’ face side to side, her remaining bleached hair turning dark with gore. And then the blade caught and when I pulled, her head fell backward, hanging by a piece of gristle while the rest of her fell limply to the sands.

  In just a few heartbeats we’d put down half a dozen Shambles, but my breath burned in my throat and my blade was too short. When I looked over my shoulder, I saw that Eld was barely doing better with a cutlass against four blades at once and Chan Sha was doing worse than either of us. We weren’t going to hold out another moment, let alone another minute. Chan Sha tripped and fell with a scream of pain and the dead man in front of her fell on top of her, clawing at her braids.

  “Enough!”

  Everything stopped.

  “Enough,” I repeated. I hadn’t expected everyone to come to a grinding halt. I could feel my pulse in my head and hear Eld breathing behind me. Chan Sha’s breathing was quieter, with the Shambles atop her, but still there. “There’s been a serious misunderstanding,” I said.

  The Ghost Captain stepped over the Archaeologist’s body with a look of regret and took a cup from one of the undead beside him. He sipped, holding his glowing book in the other hand.

  “Oh really? Do tell.”

  “Eld and I were sent by merchants to find out why their ships are disappearing,” I said. It was a struggle to keep my voice calm, my face smooth. The dead’s ichor stained my dress and every breath made my stomach clench. Beyond the stench I could feel their eyeless stares boring into me from every side. But panic would put the matchstick to powder and I had no wish to test the Dead Walker’s control over the Shambles. I’d seen how well that worked when they’d nearly blown me to smithereens.

  “We were to investigate only,” I added. I had to spend my words like a miser: too much and I’d give him enough information to see the lies I was painting … too little and he’d kill us all before he grasped the importance of what I was saying. I hadn’t kneecapped Chan Sha and tiptoed through the undead to bring us directly under his thumb only to be squashed now like an ant.

  “Say I believe you,” he said, handing the cup back to a Shambles and letting another straighten his black jacket. “You attacked my brethren in port and tried to kill me thrice now. Why, if you’re not Ciris’s agents?”

  “You’re looking at the same information, just drawing the wrong conclusions.”

  “You expect me to believe that?”

  “I don’t.” I shook my head. “That’s why I brought along proof. You think Ciris is here. And you’re right. Eld,” I said, keeping my eyes on the man in front of the tent. Chan Sha screamed when she fell in front of me. “And this is my proof.”

  “A washed-out cripple?” His lips curled.

  “No, Chan Sha, the famed pirate. And a Sin Eater—priestess of Ciris. She’s the one who’s been after you and the artifact.”

  “Chan Sha?” He mouthed her name again and nodded, weighing the information. “Perhaps. Yes, I think so. Ingenious.” He smiled, mouth spread wide across his face. “I might actually let you leave alive, if that’s true.” He glanced at my feet. “Do you desire the artifact, Sin Eater?”

  Chan Sha glared up at me, anger warring with the pain on her face. “I do,” she growled.

  “Then we agree on something.”

  Her head snapped back around. “What lies are these, Dead Walker?”

  “Your kind always spits that as an epithet, but few are chosen to command the dead, Sin Eater. It is an honor.”

  “It is an abomination.”

  “Ah, but having a lifeless God in your head is not?” His laugh was dry and crackling. “We can spar all morning, but if that dead voice wants the artifact, then I suggest you come forward.” The dead moved around us, every moan and hiss disappearing into an eerie silence as they formed a corridor between us and the Ghost Captain.

  “Now,” he commanded, all humor gone.

  I stepped around Chan Sha, keeping the ichor-stained knife in my hand. Eld stopped to help her up and she cursed him even as she leaned on his shoulder and followed after. They were better actors than I’d given them credit for, but then again, I don’t think she was acting. I kept my eyes on the Ghost Captain as I walked down the aisle. I’m not sure it’s possible to look commanding in a torn dress made of dried rushes. Not with my bones showing through from the last two weeks and my hair knotted on one side and fuzzy from lack of shaving on the other. And then there was my age to consider.

  But.

  When I was younger—young enough that I still depended on my sister to survive—I saw a woman hanged. I don’t know what crime she was convicted of, but I remember thinking it wasn’t her first and wouldn’t have been her last, if not for the noose. She had one eye blacked beneath the soot on her face and a split lip, but she’d taken the stairs as stately as any queen mounting her throne. When she put her head through the loop of rope, it seemed like she was allowing the executioner the honor of crowning her.

  She swung in the end. Aye, and kicked, too, like the rest. But she died like a queen and the streets were loud with her death for weeks after. I’d taken the lesson to heart. If she didn’t give up at the end, I wasn’t going to let a little grime and hard days bend my knee either.

  The Dead Walker’s eyes w
idened when I reached him. It was just a brief motion and then his self-serving smile slid back in place, but I’d seen it first and it was easier to meet his smile with my own. He wagged a finger at me. “You should have told me the other night, Buc. On the ship. I would have taken her then.”

  “I would have if I thought it that simple,” I said. I heard Eld and Chan Sha catch up to me. “You could have just told the Goddess where the artifact was and been done with this farce months ago,” I added.

  “I would have,” he said. His smile crept into a grin. “If I thought it that simple.” He shifted his attention behind me and fingered the tuft left over from where I’d sliced his goatee away. “I don’t think you’ll be able to make the journey unassisted, Sin Eater,” he said.

  “Journey? It’s a few hundred paces.” Chan Sha’s voice was hoarse, but even. “I can manage that at least.”

  “It’s a little more than that,” he said. “Head up the hill”—he gestured—“there is a rope ladder hanging off the larboard side.” He tapped his head. “Luckily, our dear Archaeologist’s memories are still with me. Once there, you’ll need to scale the ship and head across the fissure between the bow and aft. It’s the only way to reach the captain’s chamber.”

  I looked up the hillside. It was rocky and steep where it wasn’t covered in thick undergrowth. I couldn’t see the rope ladder, but I could see numerous fissures running through the wreckage. “You think you can manage that with a busted leg?” I asked.

  “You broke a bone or two—that doesn’t heal in a few hours, girl. But I’ll have to manage, won’t I?” she asked. Her green eyes burned in the morning sun. I won’t lie; it was a relief when she turned her gaze on the Ghost Captain. There was a fire in them that hadn’t been there before. From her, or from her Goddess? “What then?”

  “I’ve not been in the room, but one of the Archaeologist’s servants was. In the corner across from the bunk, in an alcove built into the ship’s planking, there’s an altar made of black obsidian.” He gestured with his book. “According to her, it will come to life when it senses your presence. Then you must place your palm on the altar.”

  “I put my palm to the altar and that’s it?” Chan Sha asked.

  “I think so. Gods’ bones, I don’t know; the Archaeologist wasn’t fool enough to try it. Ask your Goddess.” The Ghost Captain’s youthful features twisted and I could see he hated not knowing. A feeling I could appreciate. “Complete the ritual and the artifact will be yours. But you must take care, as the ship is well and truly rotted and the rear of the cabin is open to the elements. One misstep and you could fall through every deck and end up in who knows how many fathoms of water. Or dashed on the rocks.”

  “You’re right,” I said. Everyone turned to look at me. “She’s not going to be able to do it on her own. Not with that leg broken at the knee.”

  “What?” Chan Sha sneered as she stood straight, wincing without Eld’s support. This hadn’t been part of the plan—at least not the one I’d told her about. “Are you offering to go with me?”

  “Hardly.” I didn’t try to hide my smile. “I’m simply suggesting you won’t make it on your own. Our friendly Captain”—I nodded to the Dead Walker—“has countless willing servants. Perhaps they can help?”

  “I’ll be damned if—”

  “Will you do it, Sin Eater?” the Ghost Captain cut Chan Sha off. “Will you take the artifact?”

  I kept my face still as my shoulder blades tightened. Would she accept it? Ever since I’d broken her knee, I’d been doing my level best to keep her off-kilter, to nudge her toward the path I needed her to walk. Still, I wasn’t sure she could make it on her own, but if she could, I didn’t want her up there alone with a piece of her God that might make her magnitudes more powerful than before. A few undead might not do much, but they might give her pause. And a pause was all I needed.

  “Why?” she asked. “The girl was right.… You could have told us at any time and we would have come. You knew we were searching for it and yet only now do you want me to reclaim the artifact. Why?”

  “Because this war has gone on for far too long. Our Gods weren’t able to make peace when they came here, but perhaps their servants can. Take the artifact back to your Goddess and give her our peace offering.”

  “Peace?” Chan Sha’s laughter drowned out the crashing surf. “When has there ever been hope of that, mage?”

  The Dead Walker shook his head. “Would you believe anything I told you?” Something flitted across her features and he snorted. “I thought not. We’ve fought for millennia, Sin Eater. Trust died long ago. But perhaps this offering can change that. Otherwise, what is our future but mutual destruction? So, trust or no, will you do it?”

  “Aye. Yes.”

  Some of the knots loosened in my back, quickly replaced by others. Was that her talking, or her Goddess? Did that matter? Too many questions and not enough answers, but the first part of my plan was right on the money. I hadn’t been sure how much control the Ghost Captain had over his undead, but I figured if we got close enough for him to recognize us, he’d hold them off. If only to gloat, but give me a sliver of an opening and I’ll drive a wedge into it. And Chan Sha made one hell of a wedge. She was a fool to believe him … if she really did believe him. I was more inclined to believe that whatever was up in that rotting ship, her Goddess wanted it badly enough to risk her life.

  “Then it matters not how you get there.” His fingers danced across the book, and two of the nearest Shambles, head and shoulders taller than Eld, stepped forward with grating, crunching sounds of bone on bone and grasped Chan Sha by either arm and began walking away. “They will see you there safely.”

  “Like damn they will,” Chan Sha growled. Her good leg kicked uselessly, a hand above the ground while her bad did little more than wobble. The Shambles on her right, a mass of muscle piled on muscle under a thin jacket that was peeling in parts, revealing decaying flesh, glanced down but didn’t stop. The other, hidden by a cloak that nonetheless couldn’t hide an equally large frame, didn’t even glance down. “Dead Walker!”

  “I won’t gamble my hopes on your whims, Sin Eater. I’ll not see them dashed to pieces on the rocks with what’s left of your brains. So kick if you must, but make sure you don’t kick too hard.” Her oath made him laugh. As the two monsters bore her away, she managed to fix him with a glare and the laughter died in his throat. She nodded and turned to face forward, somehow conveying the feeling that the Shambles were escorting, rather than carrying, her.

  “The bitch has got style, I’ll say that for her,” I said.

  “Aye, she does that,” Eld agreed.

  48

  The Ghost Captain tucked his book into a pocket in his black oilskin jacket and clapped his hands together. “Well, that’s started.” He glanced back and forth between us. “You know you don’t have to wear those scraps anymore, right? My pets can’t smell you, but I can see you, so it matters little. Unless you like the smell of rotting death?”

  Eld and I shed our borrowed garments as fast as we could; Eld scratched at his scalp after chucking the moldy hat.

  “Okay,” I said, fighting the impulse to scratch my arms where the Shambles’s shirt had touched my flesh, “how about you let us in on whatever the catch is, now that she’s gone?”

  “Buc, Buc.” He shook his head. “There’s no catch. I meant every word I said.”

  “I’ll just bet you did,” I muttered.

  “What else did you mean, that you left unsaid?” Eld asked. “You’re nervous.” He took a step forward, brushing his hair back out of his eyes, and shook his head. “No, you’re scared. Holding it at bay, I’ll give you that. But scared. Why?”

  Gods, save me from honest men. If I was a scalpel, then Eld was a bone saw. If all diplomats were as blunt as him, then wars, alliances, and treaties would be the work of hours, not days or weeks. Then again, there’d likely be far fewer of the latter if all spoke their truths as baldly as Eld did, instead
of hiding their meaning in the shades of ink drying on the page. I opened my mouth to smooth things over, but the Ghost Captain answered before I could begin. Men.

  “You don’t understand,” he said slowly. “My Gods are dead.” I snorted and his eyes flashed. “Dead, but their teachings are no less prescient. They guide us from beyond the grave. Even a casual pupil will soon realize that they came to us out of dire need: the War. A war that had lasted for a millennia between them and Ciris. When there were a thousand upon a thousand of Ciris. It only ended when both Gods, old and new, left the heavens and embraced mortality.”

  “Ended?” Eld asked.

  “So we thought,” he said. He struck his thigh with a fist. “Then Ciris awoke, no longer strong in numbers, but alive just the same, where our Gods are not. She was fragmented, but as her followers have begun to draw those fragments back together, a new strategy has emerged. It’s clear she believes the War can still be won and none of our envoys have been able to reason with her. Not since she was parted with the only piece of her that holds any hope of peace. The artifact,” he finished with a nod.

  “Aye, but what is the artifact?”

  “A … piece of her.” He threw his hands up in the air. “I don’t have the words. I’m not old enough to be trusted with a free hand in the Archives.” My ears pricked up at that. Archives sounded like books. Forbidden books. “But the Eldest has said that it is Ciris’s … conscience. Stolen away by one of her own—a high priest who thought by removing it he was ensuring her victory, because without it, she will never surrender.”