But no matter how colorful the stories were, no matter how some of his tales had even Kaldora heaving with laughter, they weren’t the stories Fox wanted to hear. The story of how Donovan had made a small fortune by successfully bartering away scraps of the cheapest peasant fabric to an exceptionally spoiled and gullible prince was truly hilarious, but Fox longed to revisit the Gossamer Sea. He couldn’t wait until the next time he would be allowed to see part of Farran’s story, for he didn’t dare ask here. Not in such close quarters, with Kaldora and Topper watching. Fox would simply have to wait until they were back on the road.
✽ ✽ ✽
It happened exactly as Fox had predicted. Exactly seven turns after the storm had begun, the winds quieted. A weak winter sunlight fought its way through the clouds, and the Doffians began to emerge from their homes once more. Farran disappeared, making excuses about “running errands.” Topper dragged Fox away the moment they could go outside again, and the boys went to help clear some of the damage on the western end of town. It wasn’t until that night, as the candlemakers took their normal places at the pub table, that Kaldora finally addressed Fox.
“Alright then, little trapper,” she said. “Tell me about this Blessing of yours.”
A collective tension rippled around the table, like a breeze bending the reeds along a riverbank. Their companions seemed to be trying to act casual, as though they weren’t hanging onto every word. But glances were thrown up and down the table, and chewing slowed almost to a stop. Only Wick succeeded in his feigned nonchalance, continuing to steadily eat his way to the bottom of his dish of stew without so much as a skipped breath.
“The wind speaks to me,” said Fox simply. He didn’t bother to ask how she’d known, sure now that the snatches of conversation he thought he’d heard between Kaldora and Farran were real. “It’s a Shavid gift, and I am called one of the Windkissed. Born into the Shavid way of life, without a sha in my bloodline. It’s how I knew your blizzard was coming. And it’s how I know my father and his caravan will be buried alive by an avalanche if they travel home the way they mean to.”
Kaldora rested her chin on her folded hands, surveying Fox with something he almost thought was approval. Fox returned to his own supper, knowing well enough by now that Kaldora would speak when she chose to, and not a heartbeat before. “Fine,” she said at last. “If someone escorts you down into the mines, can you make your way south from there?”
“A natural instinct for direction comes with the Blessing,” Fox assured her.
“Very good. We will help you resupply as best we can, and will be waiting to receive you again on your way back. Is tomorrow morning early enough for your departure?”
“Yes ma’am,” answered Fox.
“Excellent,” said Kaldora.
“Your gift helps you speak to the wind, you said?” Wick still didn’t look up from his food as he spoke, instead appearing to casually address the entire table.
“It does,” said Fox.
“And this wind helps you track and hunt,” said Wick. “And your self-proclaimed sense of direction.”
Fox shrugged and scraped the dregs of his stew with a thick chunk of bread. “It doesn’t hurt,” he said. “I’ve been trained as a trapper all of my life, so I wouldn’t say it’s the only tool at my disposal.”
Now, Wick finally looked up. “But under the mountains, you’ll have none of those tools.” He and Fox locked eyes. And in the briefest moment where Fox opened his mouth to refute him, he realized that Wick was right. He closed his mouth again, and Wick returned to his food. “I’ll join you,” Wick said.
“Wick —” said Kaldora sharply, but her younger brother interrupted.
“Kal, he can’t make it on his own and we shouldn’t expect him to.”
“He won’t be on his own,” argued Kaldora. “His traveling companion Donovan will be going as well. And I can’t spare you.”
“Neither of them know the mines like we do. You may forget, I’ve been south before. I know the roads, under and over the mountains, and if you send them out there without a guide then the boy might as well be traveling alone.”
Not one of the candlemakers was even pretending not to listen anymore. All eyes were locked on the Flintstock siblings. Kaldora looked ready to split stone with her bare hands, while her brother’s face was placidly indifferent to her anger. Finally, Kaldora gave the smallest of nods, and the whole table relaxed.
“Could I —” began Topper eagerly.
“No,” said Kaldora, and there was a finality in her voice that no one would dare argue with. And then, to Wick, “You will take them there and see them back, safely and quickly. But when you return, I am working you harder than you’ve ever been worked. You will make up for the lost time, agreed?”
With a smile and an mock-imperial nod, Wick swiped one last hunk of bread from the center of the table and stood. It was only after he’d left the public house altogether that Fox realized he might have saved both siblings the trouble of arguing. He was traveling with a god, after all. What better guide did he need?
But even as he thought it, Fox remembered something he’d read in his book, Asynthum. Something about how many gods were only truly strong in their own area of expertise. Gods had specialties, just like any merchant or waresman. And how much help would a pirate god truly be so far from the ships and open waters?
✽ ✽ ✽
Kaldora made sure they had everything they’d need for a journey under the mountain. She supplied them with fresh candles and lanterns; tinder; raw, glowing chunks of blue lymnstone ore. She gave them wrapped packets of salted meat, then sent everyone straight to bed. Farran had reappeared with packages of his own, but joined Kaldora in ushering Fox off to bed when he tried to ask what they were.
That night, Topper didn’t speak much. He went to bed sullenly but obediently, and Fox was sure he was pouting over not being allowed to join them. The next morning, after a hearty breakfast of boiled eborill eggs and winter mushrooms, Topper briefly shook hands with both Fox and Farran, and then excused himself, saying, “Off to my chores then.” And he darted out of the house, disappearing around a corner before the rest of them had even set foot outside the door.
Wick was waiting for them three levels up, perched on a boulder just outside one of the entrances to the mine. As Farran introduced himself and the two men started to get acquainted, Kaldora pulled Fox aside and handed him a leather pouch. Curious, Fox opened it. Tucked neatly inside was a set of new arrows. Their heads and shafts were black, and there was something strange about their fletching. Where other arrows were fletched with feathers, these were stone. A thin, iridescent and semi-transparent stone that Fox had never seen. He pulled one of the arrows from its home and balanced it delicately on one finger. It was weighted perfectly, and Fox was amazed at the intricacy of the design. These were more than arrows, they were flawless sculptures. Carefully, lovingly, Fox slipped the arrow back into its leather pouch and looked to Kaldora for explanation.
When Topper’s adopted mother spoke, it was with a low and quiet urgency Fox had never heard in her voice. “There are things that live in the Beneath that will not take kindly to your being there,” she murmured. “Travel well, and travel fast. Make no more noise than you must, and do not give them a reason to think ill of your presence.” And then, she squeezed his shoulder in an almost affectionate manner, nodded farewell to her brother, and made her way back down the mountain path.
Fox turned to the men waiting for him. “Lead on,” he said to Wick.
He followed the candlemaker through the stone crevice, with Farran at his heels. They passed briefly through an active division of the mine, teeming with workers and the ringing melody of metal on stone. But all too soon, they left it behind, exchanging the noise of hard labor for the empty, echoing beat of their own footsteps. Lantern lights faded, and only the shimmering veins of ore lit their way.
It was like descending into the very skeleton of the mountain. Abandoned minin
g structures and equipment seemed to grow right out of the stone like stalagmites. Great gaping shadows marked the entrances to other paths, other roads to the gods only knew where. And Fox realized as they walked that Wick had been right. He could not feel the wind. Fox tucked his arms tight around himself as he walked, resisting the urge to reach out and grab a grown-up’s hand like a frightened child.
And they walked, all three in a row, down into the heart of a world where Fox felt crippled, deaf, and blind. And inexplicably afraid.
✽ ✽ ✽
There was an unsettling quiet about the mining roads. It was as though darkness and starlight had been frozen in time, with the black twisting shadows of rock stretching in all directions, sprinkled with countless strains of glittering ore. Sound was all at once echoed and swallowed, with each footstep resounding ten times louder than normal before immediately being lost in the stone.
Fox kept close behind Wick. So close, in fact, that he had to be careful not to tread on the candlemaker’s heels. But he couldn’t help himself; he could feel the mountain closing in all around him. He could sense something ancient and alive, something trying to speak to him. And he felt that if he could only listen hard enough, he might be able to understand. But here, without the wind to whisper the world’s secrets to him, Fox was no more than a frightened child trying not to get lost in the magnificent, terrifying beauty of the Beneath.
And he knew that the adults could feel it, too. He could sense it in the way neither of them spoke unless they had to. The way Wick always had one hand on the sword at his waist, and the way Farran gripped his carved staff. The group moved quickly, with an air of silent urgency about their pace. For more than half a day, they traveled in almost complete silence. Down winding, wooden stairs built by miners long ago. Through deserted caverns littered with the remnants of past mining communities. Scraps of old living quarters and public halls that made Fox wonder what had driven the miners of Doff out of the caves and onto the mountainside.
And then, he heard it. Something behind them on the underground roads. Something following them. Fox saw Wick’s hand tighten on his sword hilt. Something was scurrying through the tunnels, not far behind them. Fox could feel both men tensing up, the same way they might if they were preparing for a morning sparring practice. It was a familiar sensation, and Fox felt his own muscles humming with taut awareness, ready to spring into action if necessary. But none of them turned back just yet. They kept their pace as their path twisted, taking them from a tight stone tunnel to an open hall. Let whatever was following them think they were an unwary prey; but Fox was a hunter. His eyes darted through the grand cavern, marking everything from the distance to the nearest ledge, to the location of the five tunnel openings he could make out in the faint glow of the lymnstone. They seemed to be crossing over an abandoned mining shaft, with carved pits and jagged pathways twisting deep below them before disappearing into the total darkness.
It happened all in an instant. Something shifted behind them, causing a shower of stone rubble to cascade across the stone floor and bounce down into the yawning mouth of cavern far beneath them. As one, the travelers whipped around, and without even realizing it, Fox had put one of his new black arrows to the string of his bow and drawn, holding steady with the point of his arrow straight at the source of the disturbance. On one side Wick had drawn his sword, of the same black stone as Fox’s arrows. And on the other, Farran gripped his staff in one hand while he produced a handful of glowing lymnstone powder in the other. And with one quick, powerful breath, Farran scattered the blue powder into the darkness, where it clung to the air and the stone, illuminating their follower. A small someone with a mop of blond hair, and freckles visible even in the dim blue glow.
Topper had his hands raised over his head in a gesture of surrender. “Don’t shoot?”
✽ ✽ ✽
Wick was beyond livid. Fox could never have imagined how much Wick could resemble his older sister, but in his fury he radiated just as much of a coldly murderous air as Kaldora ever did. As Fox and Farran set up a rudimentary camp, Wick berated Topper in heated whispers, just out of earshot. Every so often, Fox could see Topper try to argue, only to have his adopted uncle box him about the ears.
They’d descended a bit into the cavern before setting up camp, with Wick dragging Topper by his cloak the whole way. Now, tucked into an empty pocket of stone behind a towering scaffold, Farran and Fox settled in to watch the argument from a distance.
“He’s lucky I didn’t shoot him,” said Fox quietly as he sat atop his bedroll, munching on a slab of slightly stale bread.
“After the beating he’s going to get when Kaldora gets hold of him again?” said Farran. “He might wish you had.”
Finally, a seething Wick and a very disgruntled Topper returned to their little campsite. Topper plopped down as far away from the group as he could while still being included in the conversation, and Wick said, “We can’t turn back at this point, we’ll lose too much time. The troublemaker will have to come with us.” He glared at his nephew, who glared right back. “I only wanted to help,” Topper grumbled, arms crossed defiantly.
“Oh, and what help might you be, Great Master Explorer?” asked Wick, each word dripping with unconstrained sarcasm.
Topper shrugged uncomfortably and said, in an almost embarrassed voice, “Fox saved my life.”
Wick didn’t respond, but his face softened. After a few moments he said, “We’ll stay here for a half turn or so, then carry on. Everyone should get some rest, but sleep light.” His eyes flickered down into the darkness of the mines below, but he said nothing else. Instead, he shifted his bedroll to the other side of the camp, where Topper sat.
As usual, Farran volunteered to keep watch. They lit no fire that night, everyone instead taking their meal from the supplies of bread and smoked meat. It was darker here, with all but the smallest chunks of ore having been harvested eons ago. Fox could almost see the history of the mines etched in the stone, and he itched to ask questions about the Beneath. But Kaldora’s parting words echoed in his head like a distant song, and there was a part of him that was sure he didn’t want to know after all.
He tossed and turned long after Topper and Wick were asleep. He could see Farran’s watchful silhouette perched on the edge of their campsite, feet dangling over the ledge. When Fox was certain that sleep had completely eluded him, he slipped silently from his bedding and went to join the pirate god, perching himself carefully on the edge of the stone and wrapping one arm around a scaffold support beam.
It was Farran who spoke first, in a low and quiet voice that barely stretched past their own ears. “There are things that live in the deep seas. Things that even the gods live in fear of.”
“And in the deep mountains?” asked Fox, his own voice just as low.
“There is a rumor among sailors,” Farran continued, as though he hadn’t heard, “that simply speaking of these terrors summons them from the very depths of the ocean. From the darkest places.” And then he turned, and even in the semi-dark Fox could feel the god’s eyes locking with his. “We never mention their names within the cradle of the sea. It is only in port that we can speak of the monsters beneath the waves. And even there, in the warmth of tavern firelights and doxy’s beds, we can never truly be free of the fear.”
Farran didn’t need to say more. His message was painfully clear: don’t ask, don’t speak of it. Whether he had sensed the curiosity in Fox’s thoughts, or simply felt his keenness for knowledge, Fox did not know. But he swallowed back the hundreds of questions making his throat hum. He would save them for aboveground, and sunlight. Instead, he said pointedly,
“About the sea, then?”
There was something of a smile in Farran’s voice as he said, “I suppose there’s time for a bit of a story.” He placed a cold and slightly trembling finger gently between Fox’s eyes once more. “Now then. Where were we?”
Chapter Twenty-One
Captain Worthright
The deck of the Laila was dark and silent. Bobbing along behind it was the rowboat decoy, brilliantly lit and looking remarkably like a distant ship. To anyone watching from the naval convoy, it would simply look as though the ship that had been drifting peacefully in its wake for the past few days was falling behind. Docking perhaps, or changing course. Nothing at all sinister. Nothing to warrant alarm. They had no way of knowing that a hundred armed and ready pirates were anchored in the lines and decking of the shadow of a ship steadily gaining on them.
Farran and Edwin were at the bow, crouched in the deepest of shadows. They could feel a handful of sailors standing a way off, waiting for their cue. And Edwin sat, eyes clenched tight, struggling to do his part. An earnest sweat soaked his brow and hair, and he breathed deep and even, as if trying to fill and empty the sails with his lungs. After several minutes, however, he growled in frustration and pounded his fists into his own thighs. “I can’t do it, Tal!” he whispered urgently. “I can’t just make them slow down, that’s a kind of sorcery I never —”
“Yes you can,” said Farran, fiercely but quietly. “I have seen your work with carpentry, and it is more than pure skill. There is magic in your craft, a great deal of it! You may not know how to use it yet, but this you can do!” He put a brotherly hand out and grasped Edwin’s shoulder. “Reach out to the ships. Command them to slow. The wood will listen to you. Trust your own instincts. Trust me!”
As Edwin closed his eyes once more, Farran squeezed his shoulder ever so slightly. A comforting, reaffirming gesture, but with a little something more. He knew that Edwin could be a great carpenter mage one day; his raw, uncut skills were unparalleled. But now, in this moment, the captain’s son needed a bit of a push. And so, with the barest hint of godly magic he could muster, Farran lent out just a spark of his power.
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