by A. C. Cobble
The governor swallowed and hugged himself. “She is dead.”
“Is she?” chuckled the corsair. “I find it hard to believe that woman was killed, but if she was, you’ll find someone else. I am not totally ignorant, Governor. There are others who will pay us. Write to them, or I will seek them out myself.”
“There are no others,” snapped the governor.
“Perhaps we should contact your wife if she really is dead,” suggested the leader of the corsairs.
“You wouldn’t,” gasped Dalyrimple.
“Are you sure about this, Artemis?” one of the other men asked the leader. “We could kill this fool and be done with it. Head back into the Vendatt’s. Do a little honest pillaging, you know? Forget all of this… this madness.”
“Can you forget after what we’ve done?” hissed the leader.
“I can try,” muttered the man.
“Tie him up back in the shelter,” instructed the leader. “When he’s secure, let’s spread out and watch for the marines. They’ll search for him, I am sure, but they won’t find us here. Once they depart, we’ll see what debris we can make seaworthy and get off this island. When they find out we have the governor, his wife or someone else will pay up.”
“I told you my wife is dead!” cried the governor.
The pirate cackled. “Dead, alive, we can still reach her. I’ve watched her enough to know.”
“Go ahead and do it then,” sneered the governor. “Contact Hathia, you fool. Do it here in this circle.”
“Don’t think I won’t—”
“No!” interrupted the third pirate. “I don’t care how much gold you think we’ll get from ransoming the man. I’m done with this. I’m done with… with that. As soon as those marines depart, I say we kill him and flee.”
The leader of the pirates leapt off the altar, whipping a bolo knife from his side and slashing it across the throat of his companion. The governor and the second pirate stumbled away from the confrontation.
“What are you doing!” cried the second man, drawing his cutlass, his gaze darting between his leader and the governor.
The dead pirate fell to the earth, and the clearing fell into shadow as if a cloud had passed between it and the rising sun, but there were no clouds, and a brief, stabbing pain accompanied the darkness. In a moment, the light returned, and the pain faded.
“What did you do?” snapped the governor, one hand clutching his head.
Duke touched her arm, and when she looked, she saw in his face that he’d seen enough, felt enough. Whatever was happening within that macabre circle, they couldn’t allow it to continue.
“Leave the governor alive,” Duke whispered. “Is there…”
Sam shook her head. Softly, in the nobleman’s ear, she whispered, “I do not believe any of those men are true sorcerers, including the governor. The corsairs may have some knowledge but not enough to activate the power of this place. If they could, they would have already known the countess was dead. They could have… No, they’re no magical threat.”
Duke nodded and gripped his broadsword, and they both charged into the circle.
The pirates shrieked in surprise, but both of the men were armed, swords already in their hands. They raised their blades and rushed to meet Sam and Duke.
She drew the attack of the leader, the one with the short bolo knife. The weapon, already streaked with blood from the dead pirate, swept toward her face. Acting on instinct drilled into her for years by her mentor, Sam ducked and lashed out with a dagger.
The sinuous blade clipped the pirate’s leg, and the man screamed, jumping back.
Sam advanced, but the corsair switched into a defensive posture, settling his feet, ready to launch a counter attack if she overextended. She knew she was better trained. She could tell from his sloppy stance and the way he held his off-hand by his side, hovering near his injury, but this man had seen combat. Years of it. Training was one thing. Experience was another.
Sensing hesitation, the corsair lurched forward, perhaps thinking to use his size and strength to overwhelm her. She didn’t give him the chance.
He put his weight on his wounded leg, and she launched at him, meeting him halfway, darting to the side and forcing him to pivot. He grunted as his weight shifted on the injured leg. She closed, one dagger crashing against his bolo knife, the other slamming into his gut. She twisted it and yanked it out before falling back.
The man gaped at her, his jaw working silently. He looked down at his feet where his blood was already pooling on the sand. Then, he looked around the circle, his eyes widening in terror. He tried to scream, but no sound came from his throat. Staggering, he moved toward the path that led to the circle, pure panic evident in his every step. He staggered, trying to run, but after three steps, his strength failed him, and he stumbled onto his knees then fell to his face.
Darkness flooded the clearing, and the sharp spike of pain lanced into her skull again like the worst hangover compressed into the space of a breath. A second stab of agony immediately followed it. She blinked, recovery coming slowly and then quickly. She looked in panic to where Duke had engaged the second pirate.
He was rubbing his forehead, a scowl on his lips.
“What the frozen hell was that?” he gasped. In front of him, the second pirate’s body was crumpled, his head half a dozen paces away. “It’s like every time someone dies…”
Sam and Duke both looked to the governor.
“What?” he cried. “Why are you looking at me? I saw those pirates slip into the jungle and I ran after, thinking I could see where they were going and cry for help, but then they ambushed and threatened me. They dragged me here and… What is this place?”
“They said… they knew you,” accused Duke.
“Of course they know me,” snarled Dalyrimple. “Everyone within one hundred leagues of Archtan Atoll knows me. What happened here? I think they meant to ransom me back to my wife, and if not her, maybe to you.”
Sam frowned.
“I-I don’t think…” Duke glanced at her then back to the governor. “That’s not what they were…”
“They told me there was someone else who’d pay my ransom,” argued the governor. “Who else would that be but you?”
Duke stared at the governor, speechless.
“What is this place?” Dalyrimple continued, looking around and giving a visible shudder. “These bodies, they must be the sailors the corsairs captured when they took a prize, but why have they done this? Are they sacrificing these men? They acted like no one could hear us scream from here. Do you think they put some sort of hex on this place?”
Duke ran a hand over his hair, clearly frustrated.
“Yes, I do,” said Sam quietly. She studied the governor, and he turned to look at her, only curiosity in his face. She glanced at Duke, “Whoever fashioned this circle had a great deal of strength. They’d have to power to contain any energies within this space. Inside of this circle, a true sorcerer could kill us easily if we were unprepared.”
Duke blinked at her uncertainly.
She flicked her eyes toward the governor.
“Easily?” he asked.
She nodded. “If these corsairs had been real practitioners of dark magic, we would not have survived.”
Duke grunted and glared at the governor.
“This is why Oliver brought you along, isn’t it?” guessed the governor. “You are a priestess, as he claimed. A special sort, though, am I right? You know about this… this stuff. Tell us what is this place. What was happening here?”
She looked back at the man and shrugged.
“Am I wrong?” asked the governor, turning to Duke. “I’ve never seen anything like this. If the girl isn’t the sort of priestess we need, then we need to find some expert, someone who can investigate this and tell us what was going on. Do you think we could send a message to the Church and request their assistance? One thing is certain, whatever was going on here was bad — evil, even. We must ge
t to the bottom of it.”
“Yes,” murmured Duke, looking around the clearing at the dozen flayed bodies hanging around them. He shuddered then turned back to the governor. “It was evil, and we need to get to the bottom of it.”
The Cartographer IX
Oliver sat across from Sam at the table. In between them sat a decanter of gin, two glasses that had been emptied and refilled several times now, and a golden circle formed of two serpents, each eating the other’s tail.
“I’ve never actually seen one,” said Sam, “but there’s no question. It’s an ouroboros. A real one.”
“What does it do?” asked Oliver.
“It’s a sorcerous talisman,” explained Sam. “It represents balance. Life and death, darkness and light, locked in a continual struggle where one consumes the other and the other consumes the one. It’s reputed to give a sorcerer protection when contacting spirits in the underworld. The spirits cannot take the sorcerer because the practitioner has one foot in the underworld and one foot here. It roots the user in both worlds. Understand?”
“No,” he replied, picking up the decanter of gin and refilling their glasses again. “I don’t understand a damn thing about any of this. Can I trust you to keep the… the ouroboros, to turn it over to the proper department at the Church?”
“I am the proper department,” claimed Sam, sitting back and accepting her glass from Oliver. “My mentor has taught me to recognize signs, to distinguish real sorcery from the parlor tricks. What we saw this morning was real, I know that, but as to what it was designed to do… I can only speculate.”
“What is your guess, then?” he pressed.
She shuddered. “I need to speak with my mentor to be sure. He faced real sorcery before when it was practiced last in Enhover. He’ll know better than I what that circle was meant to accomplish.”
“Tell me what you think,” instructed Oliver. “I understand you’re not certain, but give me some idea of what we’re facing.”
Closing her eyes, Sam said, “I believe the circle in the clearing was formed to trap souls, souls of the recently departed before they could make their way into the underworld. The sorcerer held them there, within the circle, building power until they were ready to use it. It’s a guess only, but I believe that purpose was to commune with an incredibly powerful underworld spirit known as Ca-Mi-He — the lord of the underworld if there is such a thing. The souls’ release could grant the sorcerer vast power and vast penetration into the murky depths of the other side. Perhaps they were also used as bargaining chips, given to Ca-Mi-He somehow in exchange for… something? There is much I simply do not know.”
Oliver grimaced. “Yesterday, you told me of an object, or objects, that had been tainted by this Ca-Mi-He, right? Could the ouroboros be that object?”
“No,” replied Sam, opening her eyes and looking over the golden circlet. “This is old, ancient even, and I do not sense the taint of the underworld upon it. It’s likely the sorcerer used this as protection during the rite, but the ouroboros was a tool, not an end they were trying to accomplish.”
“The sorcerer…” mumbled Oliver.
“Sorceress,” interjected Sam. “I hate to speculate so much on something so important, but I believe Countess Dalyrimple is the sorceress who fashioned that circle. With the power she gained from sacrificing the prisoners on the altar, she was able to contact Ca-Mi-He, and the spirit tainted some object — a dagger I believe. She carried that object in the box we found in the apothecary. She brought that dagger in secrecy to Enhover where she met with Merchant Robertson in an attempt to hide it from someone. It could have been a rival sorcerer or even my mentor, but I think a rival is most likely. Their ritual went awry, or it was interrupted by the rival. Either way, Countess Dalyrimple died. The apothecary could have been killed before the ritual began or after to cover the tracks of whoever was involved. I believe the rival sorcerer somehow co-opted Robertson’s man who assassinated him and then came after us. The assassin was killed in the attempt, tying up that loose end and leaving no clue as to who the rival was and where they went with the dagger.”
Oliver hissed in frustration. “It makes sense, but it leaves us nowhere. The trail goes back to Enhover? How are we ever going to reach the end of this?”
Sam looked at him. “There is one person who may know.”
“Dalyrimple,” he growled.
“The man was quick on his feet and he offered a plausible story, but… how much of it do you believe?”
“Little,” answered Oliver, standing and beginning to pace across the room. “This is close to him, too close for him not to know what is happening. He’s involved, but I don’t know if we have enough to prove it. An earl, a governor, we can’t simply accuse him of sorcery and think that’s enough. We need something solid to tie him to this.”
“He’s not the sorcerer we seek,” remarked Sam, her hands clenched tightly together. “I know that does not make your position any easier, but it’s the truth. He knows more than he’s telling us, but he’s not the one who fashioned that circle and trapped the souls. He doesn’t have the knowledge.”
“You’re certain?” asked Oliver.
“He nearly touched the ouroboros with his bare hands,” reminded Sam. “When we found it, he reached for it. Unprepared, without additional bindings to life, it very well may have killed him. One foot in this world, one foot in the other. Which one would he end up in when he released the artifact? It could be either. Not to mention, the pirates died within that circle. Three souls to power it. If Governor Dalyrimple was a sorcerer with the knowledge to fashion that circle and the skill to use it, that would have been the end of us. He could have used that strength to kill us.”
Oliver frowned. “So, despite our strong suspicions, we cannot actually prove he’s involved in sorcery. We have nothing to show he violated the law, not Church or Crown law.”
“Nothing we can prove in front of a judge…” remarked Sam, her eyes looking up to meet his. “It was no accident the man found that clearing. He knew what he was looking for.”
He glanced at her and shook his head. “I’m a duke, the son of the king.”
“You make your own law,” suggested Sam.
“The Congress of Lords makes the law,” retorted Oliver, “along with my father and the administration. The lords protect their own, and they’ll be ripping down the walls of their chamber if they hear we arrested one of their members without cause.”
“We’re in a Company colony, not in Enhover,” replied Sam. “Can’t you—”
“We need more!” exclaimed Oliver. “We need to prove this man is guilty of… something. Our feelings aren’t enough.”
She sat back, crossing her arms back across her chest.
“We need more,” he insisted.
“I know you don’t understand what we saw on that island,” replied Sam quietly. “I know the name Ca-Mi-He means nothing to you. But you saw enough, and you understand enough. What we’re up against is evil, Duke. Pure evil. The murders in Harwick, the captured sailors… human sacrifice! Duke, we may not be able to prove it in front of a judge, but you and I both know that Governor Dalyrimple is neck deep in this. Crown, Company, Church — some things are beyond those laws. You feel like you have obligations to uphold order, to abide by the rules of those institutions, but we both have a fundamental obligation to do what is right. Duke, if you cannot, I will.”
“Following the law is right,” hissed Oliver. “If I, my family, were to bend it to our will, where does that leave Enhover? Enhover thrives because even my father is subject to the law of the land. Chaos exists if we throw away the rules we’ve spent hundreds of years developing. In Enhover and her colonies, the rule of law stands, Sam.”
“The rule of law,” she snorted. “What do the spirits of the underworld care for your laws?”
He stared at her, watching her determined stare, the set of her jaw. She meant it, he saw. Whatever he decided, she had no intention of leaving Archt
an Atoll without putting Governor Dalyrimple in chains or a grave.
“We will go speak to him now,” declared Oliver, “but, Sam, I will lead the discussion. You will do as I say, and if I say we need more evidence on the man, then we need more.”
She offered him a curt nod, and he turned to the door. He paused and then collected the basket-hilted broadsword he’d left leaning in the corner. Strapping it on, he led them toward the governor’s office.
“That’s preposterous!” shouted Governor Dalyrimple. The man towered above his desk, red-faced. His hands clenched and unclenched. He glared across the wooden surface at Sam and Duke. He bellowed, “If you weren’t the son of the king, I’d challenge you, boy! We’d settle this out in the courtyard with steel. I will not have you besmirching my name or that of my wife.”
The door behind them was thrown open, and Oliver glanced back to see Captain Haines rushing inside. “What—”
“This little pup is accusing me of being a-a sorcerer!” screamed the governor. “From what you told me, Oliver, my wife was killed as part of some dark ritual in Enhover! What do you think, was that some sorcery I did? Do you think I killed my own wife across the world?”
The duke shifted in his chair. The confrontation was not going as planned.
“Hold on. Hold on,” said Captain Haines, stepping beside the desk, placing himself in between Oliver and the enraged governor. “I’m sure it’s not like…” The captain frowned at Oliver. “Wait. Are you really accusing him of what he says?”
“There is a sorcerer on this island,” declared Oliver. “I have no doubt of it. What we saw in Farawk was proof enough, and the countess was involved.”
“What did you see?” questioned Captain Haines. “I went to look but it was destroyed. Burned. Nothing but charred bone and… and that altar.”
“We destroyed it because we had to,” said Sam quietly. “That abomination was too dangerous to leave unguarded where anyone could stumble into it.”