The wind continued to buffet him where he sat, a sense of urgency in its persistence. He was reminded of an anxious dog, tugging at the leg of its owners breeches to get their attention. Finally, snapping himself out of his focused reverie, Fox said out loud, “What?!”
There was no answer. He really hadn’t expected there to be. The wind had never truly spoken to him before, not with words. With feelings and sensations, absolutely. Normally, they were enough. He was content with his relationship with every wind and breeze that blew his way. But now, on the brink of destroying an entire, beautiful city, the lack of proper communication irritated Fox to no end. “I know you can’t talk to me,” he continued sharply, “but either show me what you want or leave me alone! I don’t know what to do, wind. Or ... Rhin.” His voice calmed a bit as he watched a small zephyr gathering dust nearby. “That’s your name, isn’t it? Rhin, the wind goddess. The youngest element child of Dream and Spirit.”
It was a bit like his prayers to Farran in the past, before he’d met the god in person. There was a feeling of foolishness, talking to something he couldn’t see. Not knowing whether it would listen to him or not. But, he found he needed someone to talk to, alone up here on the bridge. So he carried on, looking up at the wind-tossed sky. “Look, I’m grateful for everything you do for me. But ... I don’t know where to go next. I don’t know what else I’m meant to be learning. And now, I’m fighting what I’ve come to understand is ... something from your older sister. It’s beyond all of us, and it’s far beyond me. So, if there’s something I’m missing, please.” Fox closed his eyes, and whispered into the air, “Help me.”
For only a moment, the air around him fell perfectly still. The incessant tugging of breezes at his clothes ceased, and though he could hear the raging gale filling the city, Fox’s spot on the arboretum bridge was untouched. And then, in a howl of wind that was filled with emotion, Fox understood. Just like he had on the night when he’d been awoken suddenly with knowledge in his mind and the thrill of discovery pulsing in his veins, Fox knew what to do. The wind had simply been waiting to tell him about it.
He scrambled to his feet, the wind helping him along eagerly, and stood at the railing, facing the general direction of the front gates. He knew the pirate god was waiting for his command, and he could hear the Shavid drawing ever nearer. Throwing his arms wide, Fox shouted into the open air, “Now, Farran!”
∞∞∞
It was a race to make it to the front gates before the flooding overwhelmed the city. And, Fox quickly realized, it was much faster to travel through the streets than keep to the rooftops. Daggers in hand, he ran through Calibas, the wind helping him avoid danger whenever it could. He silently thanked Neil for their daily training as he went, fully aware that his body would never have been able to keep up this pace without it. He dodged through back alleyways and leapt over fallen debris that littered the roads. He managed to escape a small scrap with a cadre of Iron Order guards, and was feeling rather proud of himself when he was grabbed roughly from behind and thrown up against the side of the building, the wind knocked from his lungs. He looked up at his attacker, and found himself glaring into the eyes of Lady Virrix.
There was a snarl of delight on her face as she growled, “I’ve got you, you little vermin.”
Fox struggled against her hold, trying to force the wind between the two of them, but the woman was too strong for him. She seemed to be forcing the wind back with some power of her own as she bore down, pressing Fox harder into the wall. He bit back a yelp as she dug her fingers into his collarbone. They felt hot, as though she were holding back some sort of flame within them, like he’d seen so many of the city guard use already. He knew, without a doubt, that she would have no problem setting him aflame like a human torch.
“You stay put,” she snapped. With her free hand, she squeezed her hand into a fist, and opened it again to reveal a small, glowing orb. She spoke into it with a wicked grin. “Your Highness, I’ve found him. He was alone, but he’s been captured, sir.”
Vol Tyrr’s triumphant voice called back out of the globe. “You’ve done excellent work, my lady. Meet us by the gates, it’s time to put down these rabid dogs.”
“Your wish, My Liege,” said Lady Virrix, and she snuffed the globe out with another squeeze of her fist. Turning back to Fox, her eyes aflame with righteous fury now, she grinned even broader. “I suppose I’ll have to wait to kill you until my prince has his way. Pity.”
She pulled Fox away from the wall, and slammed her knee hard into his stomach. As he doubled over in pain, Lady Virrix leaned down and whispered cruelly into his ear, “Just because I have to bring you in alive doesn’t mean I have to bring you in unbroken.” And she shoved him forward.
She didn’t need to keep hold of Fox as they went — each time he tried to make a break for it, either magically or using the skills Bartrum and Neil had taught him, he was intercepted. Lady Virrix seemed to be prepared for everything he might throw at her. She would appear at his side the instant he tried to grab for a blade, and rip it from his hand, or force him to slice himself with it instead. She kept his communication with the wind at bay, using some strange aura of her own. And, she was deadly fast. If ever Fox tried to simply run, she would trip him, throw him over her hip and to the ground, or simply grab him by the arm and twist his elbow into an agonizing hold behind his back.
And so, quickly learning that he could not run, Fox opted for talking instead.
“So,” he said, “you’ve pledged allegiance to Vol Tyrr, then? How does your Lord Gilvard feel about that?”
She snorted. “Gilvard is nothing more than a pawn. A fool who found the right magical tool at the right time. The General will be the true power in Calibas soon enough, anyone with eyes can see that.” She spoke of him with reverence bordering on awe, and a thought struck Fox.
“The Gilvard family is only being used for their World Seed, then? It has nothing to do with the fact that your precious general has fallen in love with the oldest daughter?”
“He’s not in love,” snapped Virrix at once, more bite in her voice than there had been before.
“Oh, right,” said Fox casually. “He’s just marrying her and planning on using her body to grow a magical child. I’m sure after that he’ll be done with her. No reason to carry on sharing a life ... or a bed.”
Fox didn’t see her move in front of him, only felt the sudden backhand slap and the splitting of his own lip and eyebrow. Both began to bleed at once, but he smiled into his own hand as he wiped his mouth clean. He was getting to her. He met her gaze as he brushed the blood from his eyebrow, forcing his face to show nothing but calm interest, though he was in considerable pain. There was power in words. The Shavid had taught him that, with their stories and songs. And now, Bartrum had taught Fox how to use those stories as a weapon.
“I guess I imagined the way he’s been looking at her all this time,” he continued dryly. “I suppose he had her locked away for other reasons, and not because he learned she might have a secret lover in the city.”
Lady Virrix seemed to grow taller in her anger as she stared him down, and she suddenly struck again, this time slamming her elbow into his nose, breaking it instantly. “His private matters are none of my concern!” she howled.
“Tell me,” said Fox, bent over again and watching the blood drain from his nose and splatter onto his boots, “were you already his mistress, or is that just an unspoken ambition of yours? Does he know how you actually feel?”
There was a clenching sensation around Fox’s chest, and the air slowly began to be pulled from his lungs until he couldn’t breathe. He glared up at the war mage, the edges of his vision going dark. Her hands were held out before her, wrenching the very life from his body without touching him. “She is inconsequential,” Virrix spat. “A means to an end. When she dies by my hand after that child is born, I will make sure that he does not miss her.”
Fox struggled to throw a retaliatory insult or curse at
her, but he couldn’t speak. He collapsed to one knee, fighting to keep his head up, before breaking down onto the flagstones of the city street. Motionless. Paralyzed, and suffocating.
Lady Virrix waited until the last moment, he was sure, to release Fox from her spell. It seemed to have tired her, or perhaps it was the rage. But she was shaking by the time Fox stood once more. Fox met her eyes for the briefest moment of rebellion, before hanging his head and stalking on in front of her again. He did not goad her for the rest of the journey. He’d gone too far, and death had been much too close a possibility. Now, he simply breathed deep and slow, trying to remain calm and tend to his wounds as they walked.
The front gates were in absolute chaos when they arrived. Already, guards up on the walls were fighting against a rising tide, and the Shavid had charmed several more into simply standing aside, gazing in wonder at glowing illusions. From high above, commoners and city folk and courtiers alike were pelting the Iron Order with everything they could, from small daggers to chunks of stone. The war mages and city guard ignored them, focusing instead on fighting their way to the Shavid, who were not making it easy. Those who were not focused on the parapets had drawn swords and bows, fighting to keep the advancing military back.
And, weaving through it all, the green light was growing ever brighter. It seemed that Evie had finally lost her own battle with the Limbwalker. Roots and vines had reached the entrance of the city, breaking through more walls and ground with every passing moment, and they were fighting on the side of Calibas’s small army. Even Fox knew as he approached ... the battle was won. The Shavid would not be able to withstand it. He needed to break free, before it was too late, and execute the plan that the wind had whispered to him.
But, that option seemed far less likely as Lady Virrix grabbed him by the neck once more and shouted over the fray, her voice suddenly magically amplified. “You Shavid traitors! We have your boy! Drop your weapons if you ever hope to have him returned to you.”
All eyes in the surrounding area turned their way. The Shavid looked defeated, the Iron Order triumphant. And General Vol Tyrr looked downright giddy as he separated himself from the crowd and strutted over to them, Lord Gilvard trailing miserably in his wake. The riots had not been kind to Gilvard. It seemed his people were far more angry with him than he’d realized, or cared to think about. He was covered in mud, and his fine clothes were torn to shreds. Gone was his cocky attitude, and the sense of power that usually accompanied his stance. Instead, he kept his head low and walked several paces behind the General at all times.
“Realized you’re just a pawn then, have you?” asked Fox before he could stop himself. But Virrix did not strike him this time. She simply forced him to march closer, until the group of four was standing at the heart of the wide entrance courtyard. All around them, the wind continued to howl, but it seemed to be eager to carry their voices to all, Shavid or not. Everyone watched as Fox was released, and Vol Tyrr began pacing around him like a hungry wolf, sizing up its prey.
“So,” he purred, but Fox knew the whole assembled crowd could hear him perfectly. “I’ve been hearing quite a bit about you from our little tree friend.” He reached out, and a small tendril obediently wrapped itself around his wrist like a tamed snake. “We knew the Shavid had brought some strange power here with them, but you. You have exceeded our expectations. Friend of the gods? The pirate god’s companion?” He chuckled darkly. “So where is he then? This broken god of yours.” Fox’s surprise must have shown in his face, because Vol Tyrr laughed again. “Oh yes, we know all about him. And you, Windkissed Cartomancer.”
A ripple of shock swept through those assembled who recognized the title. There were not many, but those who did were clearly amazed. They began to whisper to one another, but Fox was too focused on Vol Tyrr to try and listen in. He stared the General down, jaw set, refusing to answer.
“Funny thing about divine creatures,” said Vol Tyrr. “Some of them can see all sorts of secrets when you touch them. And seeing into the mind of another god ... well, let’s just say there’s quite a bit we know now. About his family?”
The air was suddenly filled with the heavy scent of saltwater as Farran appeared at Fox’s side. He looked angrier than Fox had ever seen him, in person or in visions of the pirate’s past. He could tell that Farran wanted to lash out, but was restraining himself. And Fox could guess why. The god was still not fully restored, and everything he had in him was going toward the water he controlled on the ramparts and throughout the city. He was saving everything he had for the final flood, as soon as Fox gave the all clear.
Instead, Farran growled at the General. “You will not touch her.”
“Oh?” said Vol Tyrr, smiling evilly. “Which one is that. Your lost lover? Or your daughter?”
There was a sudden blinding pain over Fox’s eye. He grunted and clapped his hand to his head. “What daughter?” he asked Farran out of the side of his mouth. Something about it felt important. There was something he was forgetting ... someone. And she mattered terribly.
“She is none of your concern,” Farran said. But it wasn’t clear if he was speaking to Fox or Vol Tyrr.
“But she is,” said Vol Tyrr, his grin stretching even broader now. “Why bother having powerful children with a mortal, when I know just where to find a Godkin?”
Without knowing why, Fox was suddenly just as furious as Farran. His head was screaming in agony, but he ignored it and spat at the General’s feet. “So, what did you even want me for?” he asked. “If you’ve got this grand plan?”
“One can never have too many swords to wield,” said Vol Tyrr simply. “It’s why I gravitated toward this idiot,” he added, gesturing over his shoulder at Lord Gilvard. “He was already collecting strange magic and powerful mages like trophies. All I had to do was re-purpose them. And voila!” He spread his arms wide and spun in a slow circle, taking in all of Calibas. “Divine magical plant at my command. Beautiful bride-to-be. Powerful army of war mages, to be utilized as I see fit. Oh, and now all of you, and the many wonderful curiosities you and your loved ones have to offer.”
Out of the corner of his eye, Fox could see Lady Virrix visibly stiffen. Her fingers were twitching, and a new part of the plan began to build in Fox’s mind. He started talking quickly, trying to seize on the woman’s building fury, this time with a new target other than himself.
“It’s a shame you had to use a noble or a god’s child to build your bloodlines,” said Fox casually, ignoring the second burst of pain as he mentioned Farran’s daughter. “Seems to me that a perfectly strong mage would have done the trick better.”
“Bah, commonborn mages do nothing for me. They’re worthless as mates. No position, no real power, just tricks. But this,” the General said, petting the plant tendril fondly, “has so much potential for greatness.”
There was an audible crack of knuckles as Lady Virrix clenched her fists in barely-concealed fury. And Fox, sensing that the time was right, went in for the final blow.
“Only if it has a caretaker,” he said casually. “You must know by now that without the proper gardener, tending to it, it will overrun even your demands. It’s in its nature. If you want it to truly protect you, and always be by your side, it needs a successor.”
There were whispers on the breeze now, and they seemed to be coming from the plant roots themselves. All around them, tiny leaves rustled in agreement, and the chant of “Gardener! Gardener!” began to fill the air. Tremors began to shake the earth beneath them again, and more tendrils and vines began to burst from the ground at their feet, entangling their ankles, searching.
Farran seemed to have caught on to the plan, because he said loudly, “What? No volunteers?”
With a shriek of rage, Lady Virrix threw her head back, and shouted at the sky, “I demand to be chosen! I demand to guard the World Seed!”
Instantly, the cuttings began to swarm her, gripping her legs and wrapping themselves around her arms. In the ensuing dist
racted panic that swept the area, Fox reached into an inner pocket of his vest, gratefully finding a vial that hadn’t been shattered by the war mage’s earlier assault. He pulled it free, gazing momentarily at its swirling black contents: ink. Ink that he had made. The wind began to pick up around him once more, confirming his choice, and he turned his head to Farran with a grin. “Bring your waves of destruction crashing down on this city. And don’t hold back!”
Farran raised his hands to oblige, and there was a great shudder as a tidal wave burst forth from the city walls and began drowning the courtyard. There was a heartbeat before the wave crashed in on the Shavid that Fox met their gazes. They weren’t looking at him with fear, or betrayal in their eyes, even as the waters that would drown them came flowing in. Many of them instead looked on in pride, and Fox knew that they, too, would have willingly sacrificed themselves to save the world. Knowing for certain that he’d made the right choice, Fox threw his vial of ink to the ground, where it shattered on the flagstones. And then, hands out, Fox did what he was always meant to do: created a map.
Veins of ink rapidly spread from him, through every corner of the city. More ink than there possibly could have been in the bottle. It painted lines on every surface, etching itself like strange runes in the streets and streets and the sides of buildings. And, as the water hit the ground, it did not simply overwhelm the city. It only followed the lines. The flood swept up enemy after enemy, while leaving the Shavid and the commoners alone. It carved unnatural paths along streets where Fox knew more Iron Order were laying in wait, and devastated them. It smothered every exposed plant with its brine, tearing the roots free and sweeping them along in the deluge.
Inkspice (The Mapweaver Chronicles Book 2) Page 25