Seven Blades in Black

by Sam Sykes

  I scratched an itch on my ass. “And did he tell you that before or after he said you were pretty?”

  “And what do you even care, Sal? Are you a defender of the nuls now? Protector of the weak and innocent?” The anger twisting his face subsided, gave way to that cruel scar of a smile. “Why didn’t you save them, then? Perhaps you could have.”

  He drew the next words out like a knife.

  “If you could fly.”

  My scars burned at those words. My feet felt like stone weights, shackled to the floor, keenly aware of just how heavy I felt. And so was he.

  But every boy, at one point, is fascinated by cruelty: how an ant twitches when you pull off its legs, how many stones it takes to kill a bird with an injured wing.

  It brings them joy. It makes them feel strong. It makes them want to feel it again. And again and again. I wasn’t going to give him that.

  But I knew plenty of boys who pretended to be men. I knew how to hurt them, too.

  “Well, shit, Kresh,” I said. “Seems like all I’d need to stop you would be to ask Vraki to tell you to sit down.”

  The smile dropped. His face screwed up.

  There’s three things a man loses when you hurt him.

  “What the fuck did you say to me?”

  The first is language. He drops whatever fancy words he knows, starts saying what’s really on his mind.

  “It’s been a few years, Kresh, but that’s not long enough for you not to bark when Vraki tells you to go.” I shot him a smile of my own. I hoped it hurt. “I mean, why are you here? Just had to see me?”

  “I’m here to kill you,” Kresh snarled. “Vraki asked me to—”

  “Vraki doesn’t ask. We both know that. Vraki told you to. And I bet you were just so happy to go scampering out.”

  “He knew you would try to stop him.”

  The second is poise. He stops standing up straight, he stops looking like he’s in control, and he starts looking upset.

  “And he sent you out to stop me? Or just to get you to stop humping his leg?”

  “I have been with him since the coup.” He narrowed his eyes. “Since we tried to restore the Imperium to the glory the Nul Emperor stole from it. He understood my value. You never did.”

  “Yeah, he trusted you once,” I replied. “And his plan to overthrow the Imperium got righteously fucked, from what I recall. Think there might be a correlation there?”

  “This time, it will succeed. This time, the Scraths are talking to him. He’s almost got enough power to open the door. Soon, he’ll return the Imperium to its glory!”

  And the third thing he loses is sense. And then you’ve got him.

  There it was.

  Men like to talk and boys don’t think about what they say. Get someone like Kresh who’s not quite either and you just might get something useful out of him. Vraki was going to finish what he started. I could use that.

  Kresh, though? I was done with him.

  “Vraki wants you dead,” he snarled. “And Vraki wants me to—”

  “He expects you to. He gives you a bone to bite, but it’s still one he wants bitten.” I winked. “If you’re good, maybe he’ll give you a belly rub when you get back.”

  “Shut your fucking mouth, Sal.”

  Thunder rumbled in the distance. The wind around him picked up.

  “Kresh, I couldn’t apologize even if I wanted to,” I said. “I’m on a ship in the middle of nowhere shrouded by magic. Do you honestly think you’d have been smart enough to find me if Vraki didn’t tell you where to go?”

  “I SAID—”

  You ever have a moment when an idea seemed funny one second and then really bad the next?

  “SHUT! UP!”

  I saw his eyes glow. I heard the Lady Merchant’s song. And then I felt the wind.

  First a mutter, then a howl, then a song unto itself. A melody of notes that made no sense: mist and froth from the river, leaves and grit from the shore, shattered planks and iron bars from the ships. They swirled around him in a maelstrom of refuse, a howling song with his shrieking rage as the chorus.

  Skymages aren’t great with control. Kresh, less than most. In another minute, he wouldn’t have to do anything; he’d have enough jagged debris to tear me apart just standing here.

  I didn’t see much harm in adding to it.

  I leveled the Cacophony at him, didn’t bother to aim, and pulled the trigger. The slug burst out, got caught in the whirlwind, and exploded in a blaze of blue light. Hoarfrost blossomed, scattered, became jagged shards of ice swirling about in the wind.

  You’d probably have called me a moron for adding knife-long blades of ice to his debris, but if you could have seen what I saw, you’d know better.

  I could barely see him through the whirlwind of debris, a singular shriek at the center of that screaming mess, but I got a glimpse of him, just a hint of pale flesh turning an even paler shade of blue.

  She might offer us all separate deals, but the Lady Merchant’s magic comes from the same place. All schools affect each other. Which is why a Skymage’s wind, especially a tempestuous one like the kind Kresh conjured, could aggravate a spell like Hoarfrost and turn it from a collection of shards to a freezing wind.

  I saw his skin turn blue. I smiled, checked the Cacophony’s chamber. Discordance’s gleam greeted me. All I had to do was keep clear of him long enough for his wind to freeze himself. Then I could shatter him like a cheap wineglass. All I had to do was keep clear of his debris long enough and hope nothing else happened to—

  “Shoot! Shoot him now!”

  I should have fucking known.

  You’d think a bunch of assassins wouldn’t go shouting what they were about to do before they did it. Necla stood at the edge of the roof, pointing up at the Skymage. Ashmouths appeared behind him, raising bows high and firing into Kresh’s maelstrom.

  “Reinforcements, is it?” Kresh’s scream was one with the wind’s, both of their howls tearing through the sky. “I thought you kept the code, Sal. Are we not civilized?”

  The winds slowed a little.

  The assassins, encouraged, fired again.

  I ran.

  I knew what happened next.

  “OCUMANI OTH RETHAR!”

  After a moment’s stillness, he exploded. The Lady Merchant’s song reached a crescendo in the background. A great gust of wind swept out from him in a massive blast. Grit, grime, jagged ice blades, iron shrapnel, shredded planks, and who the fuck knew what else exploded across the ship’s roof in a hailstorm of shit.

  I heard their bodies explode, bones fracturing as timber drove through them, skin splitting as shrapnel ripped them apart. I saw their blood paint the sky, red droplets exploding out of them, hovering in the air for a moment before being sucked back into the whirlwind.

  I never saw the timber coming.

  Not until it struck me in the back.

  Not until it knocked me off the roof and into the sky, where the wind howled in my ears.

  And the river came rushing up to meet me.

  TWENTY-SIX

  THE WEARY MOTHER

  No one dies without regrets.

  No matter what opera tells you, a death without wishing things had gone differently just means you were never really hoping for anything good in the first place. And when you die, you wish you had done what you always hoped for.

  If you’re lucky, you have the standard ones: you wish you had more money, more sex, more fun. If you’re unlucky, you have the bad ones: you wish you hadn’t left her; you wish you hadn’t trusted him; you wish you were sharing your last breath with more than an empty room and an empty bottle.

  And if you’re me…

  Please.

  You’re flailing beneath a river.

  Please. Not like this.

  Struggling to hold on to your gun as you scramble for the surface, struggling to keep air in your lungs and thoughts out of your head.

  If I have to die…

  Tal
king in your head to anyone who might be listening.

  Let me take them with me.

  I broke the surface with a gasp and a spray of froth as the Weary Mother made its way lazily down the river, heedless of the violence erupting on its roof.

  It wasn’t moving fast at least. I could still reach it. I could feel the Cacophony in my hand, burning angrily at only getting to fire one shot before I had been knocked off. I didn’t want to disappoint him.

  And I had just started swimming toward the boat when I heard the voice.

  “Hel… lo,” a soft, singing voice came from below.

  I felt fingers wrap around my ankle.

  “Dis… tress?”

  I felt something pull.

  “Help.”

  I disappeared beneath the water. I looked down and, through the darkness of the river, I saw her looking up at me.

  The Kelpbride, her arms a tangle of weeds and thorns, had her fingers wrapped around my leg. Her face, beautiful and feminine, hair floating as fronds, looked up at me with a gentle smile as she pulled me under.

  “Help,” she whispered.

  “Help, help, help…” Her voice echoed.

  I saw more of them, rising up from the gloom. Each one in the shape of a beautiful young girl, their hands reaching out for me as they swam toward me. One by one, their eyes turned toward me. One by one, their hands reached for me. One by one, their mouths split open to reveal broad, thorny teeth.

  “Help,” the one holding me whispered.

  Honey, you asked for it.

  I kicked her square in the face, smashing that pretty porcelain under the heel of my boot. She let out a sound more confused than pained as I pulled away and started swimming. I broke the surface again, saw the Mother floating away nearby, and started swimming, drawing in cold gasps through the mist. She was moving quick, but I could make it. I could get aboard and—

  “Help.”

  Arms appeared around my throat, pulling me down.

  “Help.”

  Arms coiled around my waist, hauling me deeper.

  “Help.”

  Three of them wrapped around me, dragging me below once again. And just before I vanished beneath the surface, I heard one more voice.

  “Look out, Sal!”

  I saw the arc of a bright light as it flew through the mist, plummeted into the water behind me, and disappeared along with me as I was dragged under.

  And then I heard the explosion.

  The light erupted in the gloomy waves, a burst of flame that roared too bright to be smothered by the water. Fire swept out through the waves, spitting out steam as it reached out with sticky, tarry fingers to grasp at the Kelpbrides. Their screams rivaled its cackling flames as the fires lapped at their flesh, unwilling to go out even beneath the water. In a twisting, flaming shriek, they released me and tore off beneath the waves, desperately trying to put out the fires that wouldn’t die.

  I kicked my way back to the surface, broke it with a gasp of ragged air. I heard a splash from my right. A few scraps of wood bound together bobbed in the water. A long rope led from the bundle, across the water, to the deck of the Weary Mother. At the railing, I saw them, a flash of blue coat and dark hair in the gray mist. Together, they grunted, hauling me toward the ship.

  And it wasn’t the first time I wondered if Cavric and Liette would have been so eager to save me if they knew the pain I’d cause them.

  I grabbed on to the wood, kicked my way forward as they pulled me to the edge of the ship and hauled me out of the water. Cavric held me down as Liette used the edge of a knife to scrape fiery tar from my shoulders and toss it back into the water.

  The Righteous Fires of Indisputable Whatever. That fucking bomb she was going on about. If I hadn’t been wearing my scarf, it would have eaten me, too, like it did the Kelpbrides.

  If there isn’t a word for people you’re glad to see and also kind of want to punch in the genitals, Cavric or Liette is a good place to start.

  I pulled sopping hair from my eyes. I looked up at him, his nose that wasn’t quite straight and his eyes that didn’t belong on a soldier. And she stared down at me, every ounce of ire and anger ebbed away and replaced by fear. Together, they helped me to my feet.

  They hadn’t left.

  “The fuck have you two been?”

  I suppose, considering all that, I might have sounded a tad ungrateful. Liette didn’t seem particularly bothered, though, as she inspected me for damage.

  “Interrogations were suddenly concluded by the presence of an unknown disturbance.” Liette glanced skyward, toward the sound of ruckus. “Then unknown, at any rate. I anticipated that the Ashmouths would not begrudge me the acquisition of these.” She patted a satchel at her hip, the bombs jutting out from inside. “Dare I ask what’s been going on?”

  The answer came as another Ashmouth plummeted down to crash into the water. And, like his terrified scream, it was a confusing answer that didn’t tell her much.

  “You want the long version or the short version?” I asked.

  “I want whichever version that sees us getting off this ship alive,” Cavric replied.

  “Then let’s just not talk.”

  I hurried to the end of the lower deck, found a ladder heading upward. Above, I could see torrents of wind flinging debris, shredded metal, and the occasional carcass overboard. Kresh’s golden mane whipped about as he flew circles around the ship’s roof, arrows flying in pursuit of him.

  Ashmouths, it was said, were so canny and clever they could blend in with any culture, speak any language, disappear into any society. It was not said, however, that they were smart enough to figure out that shooting at a guy who moves quick as the wind was a stupid idea. They were used to clean shots from afar, knives in the dark, poison in wineglasses; this kind of fight was beyond them, beyond anyone, really.

  Except me.

  But even I couldn’t handle it by myself.

  It wouldn’t occur to me until much later, after many drinks and many more regrets, that I hadn’t even hesitated to jump on the ladder and let Cavric follow me. I had him at my back without even thinking that he might put a bullet in it. Maybe I was getting lazy. Maybe I was getting desperate.

  “A nul with a fancy mask is still just a nul!”

  Or maybe I really, really wanted to kill this guy.

  I glanced up, saw Kresh’s form flash across the sky, his blade a black blur as he flew past a smokestack. The metal groaned as he cut clean through, sending a ton of steel and gasping smoke clattering down over the edge, barreling toward me.

  Something snatched my boot, jerked me down. I let out a cry that was lost as the smokestack crashed against the side of the hull where I had just been, rebounded off, and vanished into the water.

  I glanced down. Cavric looked up, his hand around my boot, and grunted.

  “Careful.”

  “No shit.” I shot him a smile for a reason I didn’t know, tapped my boot. “May I?”

  He released my foot and I started climbing again. There’d be time for gratitude later. Assuming we were still alive, anyway.

  I clambered onto the roof and found the carnage that greeted me. The metal of the roof had been shredded into twisted patches. One smokestack had been severed, another caved in. And amid these all, scattered like black flowers on thorny vines, lay the Ashmouths: impaled on twisted spikes of iron, smashed through the walls of smokestacks, or just bent and crushed and left upon the roof like withered petals.

  And over the macabre garden, Kresh flew, cackling. His breath was rasping and heavy, but it didn’t stop his laughter. His eyes were wild and wide with delight. He was happy amid the carnage and destruction, his breath coming short with his laughter.

  He was using too much magic.

  This was it. I could see him weakening, his flight getting sloppier. I saw my opportunity.

  And he saw me.

  “CACOPHONY!”

  He twisted in the air, eyes settling on me, the white-haired w
oman standing on the roof. He took his blade up, a cry on his lips as he flew straight at me. I fumbled for my gun, tried to point up toward him, to squeeze off a shot as he came barreling toward me. But my hands were too unsteady, my grip too unsure.

  And he was just too fast.

  His sword punched through my chest. My eyes went wide. I stood, frozen on his blade for a long moment, before a trail of blood wept down my mouth. My stare stuck open, my body shuddered as I coughed, a torrent of red falling from my mouth.

  Kresh’s eyes were aflame with delight. His smile was so broad it nearly split his skull apart. He laughed, almost in disbelief of his own fortune, as he jerked his sword free.

  And I slumped to the roof, unmoving and breathless.

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  THE WEARY MOTHER

  My blood pooled beneath my corpse. My body lay motionless on the roof, one more carcass among many. Red poured out of my body through a great, twisted gash in the center of my chest as Kresh cackled and capered above my body.

  It was a real bad way to die. Painful. Slow.

  Made me glad it hadn’t happened to me.

  “You see now, Cacophony?” he shrieked, drawing back a foot to kick my corpse. “You see what happens when you challenge Vraki?”

  He anticipated a hard rattle of bone against his foot. What he got, however, was nearly swept onto his ass as his boot passed clean through my corpse. He blinked, tried again, found only empty air where there should have been flesh. Squinting, he put his foot down in the puddle of blood.

  And when he drew it back, it came clean.

  He looked up toward the smokestacks, saw Necla crouched behind it, his eyes glowing faintly purple, the Lady’s song a whisper on the air. He looked down toward my corpse as the illusion vanished in a puff of mist. Then he looked to the edge of the boat, where I stood.

  His eyes locked on me with a look of… of…

  You ever act like you’re going to throw a ball for a dog but you don’t actually throw it?

  Like that, except more murderous.

  “CHEAT!”

  His voice came breathless. The winds picked up, carrying him off his feet, pulling him into the air, the eye of a storm unto himself.