Wielder's Curse

by Elle Cardy

  “But, Captain.” Finn was vulnerable to attack. Durne had to know that. They couldn’t do nothing. They couldn’t let this would-be assassin get away with attempted murder. And they couldn’t let the woman try again.

  “No going after the intruder,” Durne said. “No chasing ghosts. This is a command from your captain. Do you hear me, Jasmine?”

  Jasmine bowed her head, the pent-up frustration leaking from her like air from a ruined wineskin. “Aye.” She winced. “Aye, Captain.”

  He studied her. “Brusan will stay with Finn. Go get cleaned up. Then rest. There is nothing you can do.”

  Without a choice, Jasmine gave Finn’s hand a gentle squeeze. She leaned over and kissed his sweaty forehead. With the taste of salt on her lips, she left the infirmary.

  In the corner of the crew’s sleeping quarters, her hammock swayed with the gentle movement of the ship. She peeled off her soggy and bloodied clothes and threw on fresh ones, loosely tucking a clean shirt into a dry set of breeches. Having never had use for a comb, she raked her fingers through her short dark hair.

  Despite the captain’s direct orders, the hammock was the last place she wanted to be. There was no way in all the blue seas she’d be able to sleep while the assassin was out there. How could they do nothing as if nothing had happened?

  Durne had told her to rest, not sleep. She could rest anywhere on the ship.

  Turning her back on the crew’s sleeping quarters, she aimed for the upper decks.

  “There you are,” Aurelius said on the ladder between decks. “I’ve been looking for you.”

  Maybe she should’ve just climbed into her hammock. “What do you want?”

  “You promised,” the kid said.

  What was he on about?

  “To get me off the ship.”

  That again.

  “You’re not on duty anymore,” he said, “and there are spare rowboats now.”

  She was certain he hadn’t thought it through. Not fully. Oakheart was dangerous at the best of times but more so for wielders. How did he expect to survive in the rough town? She doubted Marcelo had given him enough coin for lodgings. Even if he had savings, it seemed unlikely it would be enough to live on for long, let alone to book passage out of town.

  “You want to escape Marcelo that much?” she asked.

  As if the old man had ears everywhere, the kid’s gaze shot up and down the dark passageway. In contained pockets down its length, lanterns flickered their citrine light against the bulkheads. When his attention returned, he nodded vigorously.

  While she’d never taken shore leave by choice, there was no rule she couldn’t. Since most of the crew thought of time spent away from the ship as a rest, technically she wouldn’t be disobeying orders...

  This was a bad idea in so many ways. But it was also an opportunity she couldn’t ignore. “A promise is a promise.”

  Chapter 5

  From the end of Oakheart’s pier, the Wielder’s Prize was a warm glow in the harbor against the night. Staring into the blackness, Jasmine caught a whiff of vision taint on the evening breeze. She looked away. This was no time for wayward visions to take over. A fleck of doubt attached itself to her, and she wondered if she was doing the right thing.

  Doubt was useless when she had no intention of returning to the ship without finding the assassin. With a forceful shove, she buried her uncertainty along with the vision. This was for Finn.

  With renewed resolve, she tied off the rowboat to a secure mooring.

  Oakheart lay on the easternmost point of the Marrish coastline, wedged between two mountain ranges. Its location was the perfect stop before sailing south to the Southern Isles, or north to Auslam and its sister city, Auslim. The Prize had anchored there countless times. Because of that, she should’ve known the town, but she didn’t. Brusan hadn’t allowed her to leave the ship. He’d said Oakheart was too rough. Even he hadn’t gone ashore. She’d had no reason or desire to question him. This had been one of her favorite ports of call because it meant she didn’t have to run errands. Now she wished she’d come ashore at least once so she’d have a better idea of what to expect.

  Apart from a handful of fishermen, there weren’t many folk around. The dark water lapped against the piles of the pier. The rancid stink of dead fish and old barnacles pervaded the air like a low-lying fog. She’d take that stench any day over the vision rot attempting to blow in.

  As she helped Aurelius climb from the ladder to the pier, he staggered and stepped on her foot before he found solid ground. Jasmine bit her lip to stop herself from cursing.

  “Thank you again,” the kid said for the fifteenth time. “Is there anything I can do to repay you?”

  “Don’t draw attention.”

  Aurelius wagged his head like an eager puppy. “Of course. Of course. You’re not going back to the ship?”

  “I’m going to find that assassin.”

  The kid screwed up his face. “Is that a good idea?”

  Jasmine gave him a gentle push toward town.

  He took the cue, and they walked down the pier, the old wood squeaking and bouncing under foot. They passed a pair of fishermen with their lines in the water and bottles of rum beside them. The men eyed Jasmine and Aurelius.

  Aurelius whispered, “Oakheart is a big place. Do you have any idea where we might find this doomed assassin?”

  We? Jasmine took hold of his upper arm. “I will be going into the nest of Guardians.” She didn’t doubt she’d be able to find them. She could spot a wielder on sight. She offered him a dark grin. “You’re welcome to come.”

  Aurelius tried pulling away from her firm grip. “You can’t go there.”

  So, it was true. The Guardians had set up a post in Oakheart. Good to know she’d guessed right. “You don’t want me going because you think Marcelo has already told them about your misdeeds?”

  “No… Yes…” He shook his head.

  Jasmine released him and kept walking, stepping off the pier and turning toward the bright lights of the township. Two ships were moored at the main wharf where the lights were brightest. The Sirocco was a small trader with only two masts, yet she still sported a row of cannons down her sides. The other was the Ambrosia, which was about the same size as the Prize, but her hull was rounder, and she sat lower in the water. Men loaded and unloaded crates from both ships. Hawkers tried to sell goods to the sailors, and women tried to sell services.

  Brusan had once told her that Oakheart was a relatively new town. Little more than a hundred years old. A man named Peil had settled there and established a successful shipyard, producing quality ships. For a while, the little town had even competed against Ruskhor’s ships farther north. An impressive feat. Unfortunately, the shipbuilders got greedy and stripped the surrounding countryside bare of trees. When the timber ran out, and it cost too much to transport it from distant lands, Oakheart’s ship-building days ended. Now the town relied on trade brought in by ships restocking before heading on to other cities.

  Aurelius skipped to keep up. “You can’t go to the Guardians.”

  “Finn’s would-be assassin is one of them.”

  “Maybe, but probably not.”

  Jasmine kept walking.

  “Will you stop and listen?”

  She stopped. They’d reached a dirt path. An abandoned shack, tucked against a brambled cliff, had an unhealthy lean. The weeds and vines were all that kept it upright. The dead fish stink wasn’t as strong, at least. The shadows there pushed on the vision striving to get out.

  “You have your freedom. Take it.”

  Aurelius glared at her. “The Order doesn’t send assassins. Not like that. They prefer to silence wayward wielders. Maybe the girl came aboard the Prize before Finn endangered himself in town. You can’t know the timing for sure. She could’ve been after something else. Maybe Finn got in her way. Or, if she was after Finn for some obscure reason, maybe it wasn’t because of his stupidity in
town. My point is, you don’t know enough.”

  She hated that the kid was right. About all of it. Nothing was fit that night. With Finn hurt, the Beast back, and the visions threatening to overtake her at any moment, it was a struggle to think clearly. Everything in her was too eager to do something. Anything.

  She needed more answers, more clues, even a crumb that might prevent the assassin from striking again. Her thoughts led her again to the Order of Guardians. The girl was a wielder. A strong one, at that. It made sense she belonged to the Order, and if not, then the Order would know about her, or would want to know about her. Jasmine had nothing else to go on.

  It was a huge risk. The Guardians were dangerous. They’d done her and Finn a lot of damage. If they knew she was an abomination, if Marcelo had told them, then she was potentially about to walk into a trap that could end her. She would have to use her magic to hide, which in turn hid her magic. No one would be able to spot her as a powerful, if erratic, wielder by just looking at her. She could do this. For Finn.

  “Regardless,” she said, sounding more brazen than she felt.

  Aurelius’ skin had a drawn look about it, like pale leather being pulled too tight, and he seemed to hold himself in, his arms close against his body, and his shoulders hunched.

  He was afraid. No, the kid was a coward.

  He licked his lips. “I can show you where you can find the Guardians.”

  She studied his face, looking for deceit, and found none. What reason did he have to help her? The kid had as much reason to avoid the Guardians as she did. Her opinion of him went up half a notch. She’d do him a favor if she let him go on his merry way.

  “Just point me in the right direction,” she said. “I’ll work it out from there.”

  Aurelius glanced around at the surrounding shadows. “You can hide us? Both of us?”

  Jasmine narrowed her eyes.

  “If you can hide us, I can take you right there.”

  “Why would you do that?” That half notch was in danger of slipping. The kid didn’t do favors, which meant he was up to something.

  Aurelius took a deep breath that seemed to loosen his tight body. He stood straight. “Because they never treated me right.”

  In that simple statement, she could see his pain. It bloomed across his skin like a rash. It was all too familiar, and it scratched at the thin scab of her own wounds, making her shy from its keen edge. This was a pain she didn’t wish on anyone.

  Jasmine touched his arm and wielded. “It’s done.”

  Aurelius looked down at himself as if that could confirm his invisibility.

  She almost laughed. “You can still see yourself, but others can’t.”

  Breaking the connection, he jogged over to a broken sheet of glass against the wooden shack. He picked it up and gazed at it in the moonlight. “I can see my reflection.”

  “Again, while hidden, you can still see yourself. Also, I need to stay in physical contact with you to maintain the illusion.” She could probably make him fully hidden without having to touch him, but her power had already begun to drain. She was too far from her talisman to be wasteful. She reached out and touched him again.

  “Nice power. Wish I had that one.”

  “Just lead the way.”

  By the time the dirt road turned to cobble, Jasmine needed a rest. Hiding them both was taking a lot out of her. She slipped into a dark alley and let go of Aurelius and her magic. She sank to a discarded crate and wiped sweat from her brow.

  They had entered the busier part of town where the charcoal-burnt brick buildings crowded against each other and the smell of the sea had been overtaken by the smells of cooking fires, alcohol, and refuse. She didn’t like what she saw. Slaves. Lots of them. All of them were wielders, too. Their power whispered around them, or dribbled, or slicked weakly across their features. She didn’t see a wielder who wasn’t a slave and who didn’t wear a collar.

  Apparently, the collar was what tagged the wielders. Because none of them fought back, Jasmine suspected the collar also controlled them. They were no better than dogs, beaten and underfed. She’d heard of the practice but hadn’t seen it. Wielders weren’t common, yet in Oakheart every fifth local seemed to own one.

  A man at the end of the street pulled on a rope attached to a boy’s collar. The slave couldn’t have been more than ten years old. He was so scrawny his legs were like sticks, and so filthy it was difficult to tell the color of his skin.

  “You no-good pile of dung,” the man yelled and backhanded the boy, sending him sailing off his feet and into a bundle of old wicker left in the gutter. What little power the slave boy had, fractured across his body like light caught in a gem.

  The surrounding crowd did nothing more than step aside. Without any sense of horror in their expressions, they acted as if nothing out of the ordinary was happening. Worse — some sniggered as they lingered to watch.

  When the boy tried to scramble away from another assault, the man pulled on the leash. The slave fell, and his owner dragged him across the cobbles as if he were nothing more than garbage.

  The boy’s wails woke something in Jasmine. For most of her life she’d been beaten. She knew the sting of a backhand, the misery of a split lip and swollen eyes. She’d tasted her own blood when punched in the mouth and felt the agony of bruises that ran deeper than skin. And she’d sworn it would never happen again.

  She rose.

  Aurelius’ hand stayed her. “Don’t.”

  “I can’t allow it.” She shrugged him off, but before she could leave the alley, a force knocked her against the stone wall and held her there. Aurelius. He hadn’t used magic. He’d used his body. The kid had some fire in him after all.

  “You have to allow it,” he hissed. “This town punishes anyone who interferes with another person’s wielder.” He pulled away, staring at the wall over her left shoulder. “And it seems they don’t forget crimes.”

  The wall was littered with faded wanted posters. Their dry paper crackled in the breeze. Testaments to Aurelius’ truth.

  To do nothing was wrong. So very wrong.

  What choice did she have? She couldn’t save everyone, and she was there for a reason. To save Finn.

  The slave owner dragged his slave away. When they disappeared around the next corner, the wailing faded behind the general hubbub of the town. Jasmine still wanted to follow them. She didn’t move. Aurelius relaxed his hold on her and sank into a crouch against the wall. She contemplated joining him.

  A familiar shape among the posters caught the corner of her eye. None of the posters were new. All were yellowed with age. She hunted for whatever had drawn her attention.

  There, a torn page with ragged edges, partially hidden by other posters. A square angular face with a thick dark beard. Mean, angry eyes. She knew those eyes. That face had changed over time, losing its angles to pudge, but the eyes, if not the anger, had remained the same. It was Brusan. Without a doubt.

  This was why Brusan hadn’t wanted to go ashore, or even to be seen on deck, and probably why he kept his face shaved. He was a wanted man. She had known he had a dark past, but not the details. The only detail he’d shared was that Kahld had saved him from the gallows. He’d never said how he’d earned the noose. The poster shed no more light on it either. He was wanted. Alive or dead. No explanations.

  “We shouldn’t stay exposed like this,” the kid murmured and tugged on her arm.

  Jasmine tucked the wanted poster into a pocket. She let the kid guide her deeper into the alley where he insisted she hide them again. So much for the chance to rest. Once out of sight, she did as he asked, and they continued through the miserable town.

  A man without a speck of dirt stood out from the raggedy townsfolk in the street. A green symbol of a quill had been sewn into the upper left breast of his fine white robes. His beard was trimmed, his hair combed, and his brow seemed permanently stitched together. Power swirled about him like a sq
uall. His power was nothing in magnitude to Kahld’s storm, but it had a similar sleet-gray color to it.

  “I’d bet a day’s rations that man is a Guardian,” she whispered to Aurelius.

  “Because of his clothes?”

  “Because he has no collar. In the very least he’s an untagged wielder.”

  “He just looks like a man of learning to me. How are you able to recognize wielders by looking at them?”

  Jasmine pulled Aurelius closer. “We’ll follow him. Maybe he’ll lead us to the assassin.” She was grasping for the mere whisper of hope, no matter how unlikely. If the scholar didn’t lead her to the assassin, then she would need to reveal herself and force the man to tell her what he knew about the woman. A dangerous alternative, but she might not have a choice.

  “Do we have to?”

  She couldn’t say she was a fan of the kid’s whining tone. “You’re free to go.”

  As her fingers loosened around his arm, he grabbed her hand, forcing her to maintain her hold. “Not here. Not now.”

  His change of heart was understandable. He might’ve started to get a clue that his escape route of choice may not have been a good one. It seemed Marcelo and the threat of punishment was preferable to this slave town.

  “Then keep up.”

  As they passed a rowdy inn, two drunks crashed out the doorway and scuffled in the dirt. A flood of patrons followed them, slopping beers as they went. On the second-floor balcony, revelers leaned out over the low railing to cheer the fight below. Jasmine’s grip on Aurelius tightened, and she swerved to take a wide berth of the brawl.

  In the crowd, a man with a crooked nose and fat lip looked Jasmine in the eye and leered. She swore. If he could see her, then her magic had slipped. She hadn’t even realized. This was not the place for her magic to fail.

  She couldn’t remain visible. The scholar they followed was strong enough to sense magic on a person. She didn’t know if he had that skill, but it seemed likely. It would fit her luck too. She couldn’t just blink them invisible in front of that many people either. It would only alert them and the Guardian to untagged wielders.