The Bone Mask Trilogy: (An Epic Fantasy Boxed Set), page 58
“It would seem a risk.”
Flir opened her mouth but stopped. Ordering him would be simple enough. But was it the best way? “A different angle then? Can you discover how else, other than water, we might neutralise it? Or protect against it? Or detect it when hidden?”
“Well...” He tapped his fingertips together. “They all require the same thing, My Lady – learning how to make acor.”
“With different results.”
He nodded. “Would you have any I could examine, were I to agree?”
“I can arrange it.”
“Once I’ve finished helping with the beast, I will seek you out.”
“Visit the palace, I’ll leave word.”
He gave a short bow and turned to Holindo’s beckons.
Flir led Pevin from the tent and back along the glistening streets to a disused square. Once a staging area for the construction of ships, it had more recently been home to surprise markets, temporary dwellings set against crumbling walls and new ‘hound-races’, where children rode big dogs in a race around a makeshift course.
Apparently the nobility had been betting on the races and the Shield had been brought in to break it up.
But the recent upheaval put a stop to everything. She saw no traces of any organised racing, but then, how would she? The massive space had been cleared earlier, and was now crammed with murmuring bodies. Quiet faces stretched before her like a blinking horde. Only the usual Anaskari tan was tinted green, blue and pale in many places. The cries from babes, many resting on shoulders, crossed the giant square. One man chewed on a piece of lemon, face twisted. It would probably make no difference.
Poor bastards.
Sick as they were, being packed into an overflowing shipyard couldn’t help. Behind the walls, nothing like those of the Tier, crowds blocked the streets. Beyond the people who’d climbed the walls to sit atop them, smoke still poured into the grey sky from the burning corpses.
Most were hushed at being so close to the Storm Singers, though whispers still crossed the square.
Abrensi and Lavinia, impressive in blue robes with shining white star insignia, stood on a hastily erected platform. Protected by a row of Shield and Mascare, both on ground level and on the platform, the singers were talking, heads together.
“When will they begin?” Pevin asked.
“Soon I hope. Everyone trusts the Storm Singers, I’d say that’s the only reason we haven’t had real trouble from the people yet.”
“And will the song truly reach the homes beyond?”
“Abrensi has a powerful voice.”
“Of course. I seem to remember it from the storm.”
What no-one knew was what effect the song would have on so many. Would it be lessened due to the amount of people? The distance? Lavinia and Abrensi had tested the song but hardly on such a scale.
So far, they’d come up with nothing to magnify the reach of their song – and so multiple visits had been proposed. Again, the people of the Lower Tier had grumbled, but listened to Seto’s proclamation. Why wouldn’t they? If it worked, there was no reason not to attend and return. It meant survival.
Abrensi raised his hands for quiet.
Murmuring faded.
“Sweet citizens of Anaskar, attend to me. I am Abrensi Decena, First Storm Singer, and together with Lavinia Corlini, we will attempt to drive the wretched sickness out, to free you from such insidious bindings. It ought not to hurt, no. All you need do is be calm and listen to our wonderful song.”
He turned to Lavinia and together they started, the song soft at first. As it grew in volume, Flir picked Abrensi’s voice at a low register, holding steady, as Lavinia’s wove around him, nimble.
The tune was wordless but familiar. Of comfort, as if taken from her childhood, old songs from Renovar. When it swelled sighs rose from the crowd. Flir blinked back a tear. Hers was not the only face to taste salt.
The singing repeated its pattern. A child in the crowd straightened his shoulders and a smile spread across a woman’s face – off in the distance came a cry of joy, but mostly it was just a swelling of what Flir could only describe as a sense of safety and warmth.
She looked up as hope stirred in her chest. The sun didn’t pierce the clouds, but somehow, it would have been right if it had. The rain eased at least.
Abrensi raised his voice and Lavinia matched him. It should have hurt her ears, but Flir simply stood. How far did their voices reach? When he called the Sea Beast from the walls, half the city must have heard it. He wasn’t singing as loud or urgently now, but a power lay within. It probably reached right to the harbour.
Would it heal them?
The song echoed in the shipyard and Lavinia slumped in Abrensi’s arms. Flir stepped forward, but no-one else had noticed. There were only smiling faces.
A voice soon rose over the din. “My Lord, how do we know we’re cured-is?”
Abrensi’s voice carried across the square, though he did not shout. “Do you not feel better?”
“I do, My Lord.” He sounded surprised.
“Then return tomorrow when we sing again my good fellow.”
“Does that mean I’m not fully cured-is?”
Other voices echoed the question. Abrensi, still supporting Lavinia, raised a hand. “Come back tomorrow at this time. Let us be certain. And spread the word. King Oseto has sent us to heal you.”
A cheer rose.
Pevin touched her arm at the elbow, using only the back of his hand – typical Renovar deference. He leant in to be heard over the crowd. “Dilar?”
“Don’t call me that.”
“Of course. I only wanted to ask whether the song...made you think of home?”
“You too?”
“Yes. I quite liked it.” His face didn’t seem all that pleased.
“You miss Renovar.”
“Today, yes.”
Flir gave him a look. “So why leave? Why come here with Vinezi and attack the city?”
“Lupo brought us.”
“Not Vinezi?”
“No – Vinezi joined us here. I think they knew each other.”
Flir pulled him behind the dais where it was quieter. “Why didn’t you say this before?”
He rubbed his arm. “I thought you knew. How does it make a difference? We know who was behind everything now.”
Flir shrugged. “It might have changed things. Why was Lupo – or Tantos – collecting Renovar to be his men? Is there someone both he and Vinezi knows back home?”
“Dilar, I think it would have made no difference. The Conclave sent us to sow trouble before the invasion and Lupo was happy to use us for that end, as was Vinezi, even if their goals seem to have differed.”
“Perhaps.”
“And you did everything you could for these people and their city in any event.”
“I can’t agree with you there.” She shrugged. “But finish what you were saying before. Why leave?”
“Because I wanted a different life. At home, I am a third son. My future is no future. Overlooked, unrequited. Barely educated, simply held in reserve. You know the life. With Lupo, I was someone whose decisions actually mattered. I even thought we were helping mistreated countrymen here in Anaskar.”
A noble family then. First son was the young lord, second went into the navy or army or sometimes a trade and third – a Servant of the Ice. Responsible for protecting the family home from the ice and snow. A slave to the whims of the white. “So quickly from discontent to aggression?”
He met her eyes and there was a hint of the Pevin who hadn’t known her as ‘dilar.’ “From desperation.”
“And now to devotion.”
His smile was faint. “Still you cannot trust me.”
“Can you accept that I’m no vessel?”
“No.”
“There then.” Flir clapped her hands together. “Now let’s do something useful. I’m going to look for Bel again.”
He followed her from the square with a nod.
Chapter 32
Ain stood beside the Anaskari King on the great wooden...marvel. Sands, how impossible it had become to concentrate on his task. The wind, the taste of salt on his tongue, the echo of birds with beaks that could half-swallow a child, the power, the vastness.
A ship.
A true sailing ship for the ocean.
He’d read about them, but no words properly described what he encountered and the creaking wooden beast was a tiny thing compared to the giant ocean. Members of the Shield and one of the Mascare stood close by, the heavy steel somehow stifling and yet comforting also.
Because the sea was vast.
An impossibility. How could something stretch so far? Glitter so, be so ceaseless? Such motion – constant motion. It was more powerful than the King’s instructions, louder than the cursing and orders from the first mate, whose rasp was the grinding of rock, it smothered the creak of rope and smooth wood.
And it swallowed the paths.
All of them.
He was sleepwalking, so beautiful was the respite.
“Pathfinder?” King Oseto’s expression was expectant. The sea breeze stirred his silvery hair. “Will it work? Can you feel any path?”
A lie was almost tempting, especially after the stunt the King played. Chuckling as he crossed the courtyard to stand over Ain, slumped on cold stone in his chains before the gallows. But Schan was alive and his survival depended, as did Ain’s own, on helping the Anaskari devil.
Instead, he told the truth. “I feel nothing. Only the sea.”
“Nothing?” King Oseto’s eyes burned.
“I haven’t felt a path since I set foot on this ship.”
The King turned to the Captain and delivered orders in Anaskari. The ship turned toward the jagged coast. Not too close, but the waves crashing against submerged rocks were not so distant anymore.
A small ‘beech’ as the King called it, mostly made of gravel and slick slabs of stone, lay beyond. The noon remained cool but there was enough sun to catch on something shiny, driven between the rocks on the ‘beech.’
Above, sails were being lowered and the ship slowed. Sailors rushed to organise a smaller boat by the railings on what the King called the ‘lower deck.’
“Why are we stopping here? So far from land? And there’s nothing there besides.”
“We’re going for a paddle.”
“What?”
“So many questions, Pathfinder Ain. You’re no longer satisfied with our arrangement?”
“That’s not why I’m asking. How can I help if I do not know what to look for?”
“Trust my methods. I don’t want you mistaking anything.” He gestured. “I believe our boat is ready. After you.”
A small group, the Mask and two of the Shield, along with a pair of sailors, led him to the boat. He climbed in, gripping the edge, and sat at the back while the rest arranged themselves, King Oseto in the front. Next, the boat was lowered by squeaking ropes and touched down on the water. The sailors set to rowing, pulling them away from the ship.
Ain trailed his hand in the water.
Even if the King was crazy for taking such a strange trip, at least the sea was all around. Close. Wondrous. Cold, but a joy. Such peace.
The sailor asked a question. King Oseto replied, making a wide, circular motion with his hand and the boat continued its progress.
“Are we going to land?” Ain asked.
“Can you feel anything now?”
“Nothing.”
The King motioned for the boat to change course. Still they rowed, never reaching land and getting closer to the rocks. The sailors switched with the Shield, after some fumbling with the big paddles they continued in a methodical manner, or so it seemed by their discussions, where the ship appeared to function as a marker, crossing parts of the sea before the small ‘beech.’ The sun crawled down the sky. Ain sipped at the water flask he’d been given and shifted on his seat. The wood had become stone.
The rowers switched again and Ain groaned.
But the sound died in his throat.
“Wait,” he cried. “I feel something.”
Something lurked beneath the water. Not a path exactly, but something had moved about before the ‘beech.’ Could it have been a fish? They had no feet to beat a path. And there was a sense of ‘power’ to the movement. It echoed. It was heavy with years. And decades. Centuries even, he couldn’t tell. Couldn’t trace it back. It was infinity. The pulse swirled and his stomach churned.
The King leant between the rowers. “Yes?”
“Beneath us – it’s passing. Go that way.” His stomach eased and he pointed toward land. The rowers complied. “Now to the left.”
The hideous echo of ages returned, as did the trouble in his gut. Ain waved the rowers on until it passed. His hand shot up and they turned again, grunting with the effort. Eventually they pinpointed a spot where the echo stopped. It didn’t extend in any direction except for back toward the ship and it pulsed harder than before.
“We’re directly above something,” he said.
The King slapped the edge of the boat, shouting in Anaskari. His face was a mixture of surprise and elation. He gestured to one of the sailors, who nodded, stood and removed his belt, knife and thin shirt. He then slipped into the water with a grimace and took a deep breath before diving down.
His kicking feet splashed the boat and Ain wiped salty water from his lips.
What was down there? The King tapped long fingers on his knee. Had he been able to, Ain didn’t doubt the man would be pacing. Ain glanced into the water. How long could the sailor hold his breath?
Long moments passed before the water stirred and the sailor broke the surface with a gasp.
He shook his head as he spoke to the King.
“He found nothing then?”
King Oseto frowned. “No, he’s telling me he cannot see well, but there looks like wreckage down there.”
“Of what?”
“My father’s ship.” He turned to the second sailor and motioned to the water. “Your Majesty.” The man removed his own belongings before joining the first diver. Oseto gave more instructions, spreading his hands to mimic a rectangular shape, and both men nodded before diving down again.
Twice more the men dived and resurfaced and twice more they received instructions from the King.
Finally, when the sailors reappeared a third time, they were smiling. In one man’s hands rested a sleek black box, steel hinges thick with rust. The pulse was more powerful now that the box was free of the water.
Once the King held it, he fell still. The boat bobbed and rocked when the sailors rejoined and yet he did not move. He only stared at the box, a tiny smile on his face.
“That is what you seek?” Ain asked. He would be free now, if the King kept his word. Unlikely as it was – and yet, he couldn’t go through another hanging – real or otherwise.
“It is.” He didn’t look up.
“And my part of the bargain is now fulfilled?”
“If what I seek is truly inside, then yes.”
Ain smothered a spark of hope. Be sure. No celebration until the city was miles behind. “Does it not open?”
“On the ship,” he said.
One of the sailors interrupted with what sounded like a curse. He pointed to the ship. A small red flag was flying up the mast and on the rail, the first mate waved twin flags of blood. The King straightened, snapping orders.
The Shield leapt to the seat and began rowing, leaving the shivering sailors and mask to huddle before Ain.
“What’s happening?” he called to King Oseto.
“Pirates. Thieves of the sea.”
Chapter 33
Seto barked orders to Captain Tirang and went directly below decks. The sway of the ship beneath his tread was familiar, but darkly so. Old memories threatened as he locked the door. He shoved each one of them down – the chill of water closing over his head, the rocks hurtling toward him, the rush of waves, all of them.
The Pathfinder he’d left in the custody of Mascare and Shield, who were to take Ain to his cabin. Or cell, really. Ain babbled about honouring a promise and Seto had thrown an assurance over his shoulder.
Through his porthole, he glared at the pirate; for the moment a small shape on the horizon, before crossing the cabin and laying the still-wet case on a table. He lit a lamp and drew his dagger, hefting the blade. Years. More. Decades had passed but now she was returned.
The knife tip came to rest between a rusted hinge. He thumped the heel of his hand on the pommel. Rusted steel snapped. Prying his fingers beneath the lid, he tore it free, final hinge squeaking.
“Chelona.” He breathed her name.
She lay inside, her face tinted green from years beneath the sea. Just like the other Greatmasks, a firm mouth and dark eyes looked up at him. But she was beautiful too and his hand trembled as he reached out. Cold when his fingertips grazed bone.
He lifted her and hesitated.
How many dives had he organised, in secret, for how many years? How many storms had his sailors survived now – and all for naught. For all those years he’d been searching in the wrong part of the tiny bay. The wreckage had drifted north west along the reef.
And more the fool his brother had been too, for attempting – at least during the first few years and afterwards only sporadically – the same dives. Seto laughed. How wonderful to defeat the man, now, after so long.
The dark secret of Casa Swordfish – the secret that was no secret in the First Tier – House without Greatmask. Hiding behind its ties to the Storm Singers, its disproportionate representation in ranks of the Shield. Its ties to Falco House.
A knock on his cabin door. “Your Majesty?” Old Snaps, the first mate. His voice was tight. “There’s more trouble.”
Seto placed Chelona within the steel box and inside the drawer of the writing desk. “Come in, Snaps.”
The man limped inside, his canvas shirt open at the neck. White hair curled across his chest, echoed in the white of his beard. His voice still boomed and he had no trouble remaining upright as he pointed above. “Another one, sire. To starboard.”
Flir opened her mouth but stopped. Ordering him would be simple enough. But was it the best way? “A different angle then? Can you discover how else, other than water, we might neutralise it? Or protect against it? Or detect it when hidden?”
“Well...” He tapped his fingertips together. “They all require the same thing, My Lady – learning how to make acor.”
“With different results.”
He nodded. “Would you have any I could examine, were I to agree?”
“I can arrange it.”
“Once I’ve finished helping with the beast, I will seek you out.”
“Visit the palace, I’ll leave word.”
He gave a short bow and turned to Holindo’s beckons.
Flir led Pevin from the tent and back along the glistening streets to a disused square. Once a staging area for the construction of ships, it had more recently been home to surprise markets, temporary dwellings set against crumbling walls and new ‘hound-races’, where children rode big dogs in a race around a makeshift course.
Apparently the nobility had been betting on the races and the Shield had been brought in to break it up.
But the recent upheaval put a stop to everything. She saw no traces of any organised racing, but then, how would she? The massive space had been cleared earlier, and was now crammed with murmuring bodies. Quiet faces stretched before her like a blinking horde. Only the usual Anaskari tan was tinted green, blue and pale in many places. The cries from babes, many resting on shoulders, crossed the giant square. One man chewed on a piece of lemon, face twisted. It would probably make no difference.
Poor bastards.
Sick as they were, being packed into an overflowing shipyard couldn’t help. Behind the walls, nothing like those of the Tier, crowds blocked the streets. Beyond the people who’d climbed the walls to sit atop them, smoke still poured into the grey sky from the burning corpses.
Most were hushed at being so close to the Storm Singers, though whispers still crossed the square.
Abrensi and Lavinia, impressive in blue robes with shining white star insignia, stood on a hastily erected platform. Protected by a row of Shield and Mascare, both on ground level and on the platform, the singers were talking, heads together.
“When will they begin?” Pevin asked.
“Soon I hope. Everyone trusts the Storm Singers, I’d say that’s the only reason we haven’t had real trouble from the people yet.”
“And will the song truly reach the homes beyond?”
“Abrensi has a powerful voice.”
“Of course. I seem to remember it from the storm.”
What no-one knew was what effect the song would have on so many. Would it be lessened due to the amount of people? The distance? Lavinia and Abrensi had tested the song but hardly on such a scale.
So far, they’d come up with nothing to magnify the reach of their song – and so multiple visits had been proposed. Again, the people of the Lower Tier had grumbled, but listened to Seto’s proclamation. Why wouldn’t they? If it worked, there was no reason not to attend and return. It meant survival.
Abrensi raised his hands for quiet.
Murmuring faded.
“Sweet citizens of Anaskar, attend to me. I am Abrensi Decena, First Storm Singer, and together with Lavinia Corlini, we will attempt to drive the wretched sickness out, to free you from such insidious bindings. It ought not to hurt, no. All you need do is be calm and listen to our wonderful song.”
He turned to Lavinia and together they started, the song soft at first. As it grew in volume, Flir picked Abrensi’s voice at a low register, holding steady, as Lavinia’s wove around him, nimble.
The tune was wordless but familiar. Of comfort, as if taken from her childhood, old songs from Renovar. When it swelled sighs rose from the crowd. Flir blinked back a tear. Hers was not the only face to taste salt.
The singing repeated its pattern. A child in the crowd straightened his shoulders and a smile spread across a woman’s face – off in the distance came a cry of joy, but mostly it was just a swelling of what Flir could only describe as a sense of safety and warmth.
She looked up as hope stirred in her chest. The sun didn’t pierce the clouds, but somehow, it would have been right if it had. The rain eased at least.
Abrensi raised his voice and Lavinia matched him. It should have hurt her ears, but Flir simply stood. How far did their voices reach? When he called the Sea Beast from the walls, half the city must have heard it. He wasn’t singing as loud or urgently now, but a power lay within. It probably reached right to the harbour.
Would it heal them?
The song echoed in the shipyard and Lavinia slumped in Abrensi’s arms. Flir stepped forward, but no-one else had noticed. There were only smiling faces.
A voice soon rose over the din. “My Lord, how do we know we’re cured-is?”
Abrensi’s voice carried across the square, though he did not shout. “Do you not feel better?”
“I do, My Lord.” He sounded surprised.
“Then return tomorrow when we sing again my good fellow.”
“Does that mean I’m not fully cured-is?”
Other voices echoed the question. Abrensi, still supporting Lavinia, raised a hand. “Come back tomorrow at this time. Let us be certain. And spread the word. King Oseto has sent us to heal you.”
A cheer rose.
Pevin touched her arm at the elbow, using only the back of his hand – typical Renovar deference. He leant in to be heard over the crowd. “Dilar?”
“Don’t call me that.”
“Of course. I only wanted to ask whether the song...made you think of home?”
“You too?”
“Yes. I quite liked it.” His face didn’t seem all that pleased.
“You miss Renovar.”
“Today, yes.”
Flir gave him a look. “So why leave? Why come here with Vinezi and attack the city?”
“Lupo brought us.”
“Not Vinezi?”
“No – Vinezi joined us here. I think they knew each other.”
Flir pulled him behind the dais where it was quieter. “Why didn’t you say this before?”
He rubbed his arm. “I thought you knew. How does it make a difference? We know who was behind everything now.”
Flir shrugged. “It might have changed things. Why was Lupo – or Tantos – collecting Renovar to be his men? Is there someone both he and Vinezi knows back home?”
“Dilar, I think it would have made no difference. The Conclave sent us to sow trouble before the invasion and Lupo was happy to use us for that end, as was Vinezi, even if their goals seem to have differed.”
“Perhaps.”
“And you did everything you could for these people and their city in any event.”
“I can’t agree with you there.” She shrugged. “But finish what you were saying before. Why leave?”
“Because I wanted a different life. At home, I am a third son. My future is no future. Overlooked, unrequited. Barely educated, simply held in reserve. You know the life. With Lupo, I was someone whose decisions actually mattered. I even thought we were helping mistreated countrymen here in Anaskar.”
A noble family then. First son was the young lord, second went into the navy or army or sometimes a trade and third – a Servant of the Ice. Responsible for protecting the family home from the ice and snow. A slave to the whims of the white. “So quickly from discontent to aggression?”
He met her eyes and there was a hint of the Pevin who hadn’t known her as ‘dilar.’ “From desperation.”
“And now to devotion.”
His smile was faint. “Still you cannot trust me.”
“Can you accept that I’m no vessel?”
“No.”
“There then.” Flir clapped her hands together. “Now let’s do something useful. I’m going to look for Bel again.”
He followed her from the square with a nod.
Chapter 32
Ain stood beside the Anaskari King on the great wooden...marvel. Sands, how impossible it had become to concentrate on his task. The wind, the taste of salt on his tongue, the echo of birds with beaks that could half-swallow a child, the power, the vastness.
A ship.
A true sailing ship for the ocean.
He’d read about them, but no words properly described what he encountered and the creaking wooden beast was a tiny thing compared to the giant ocean. Members of the Shield and one of the Mascare stood close by, the heavy steel somehow stifling and yet comforting also.
Because the sea was vast.
An impossibility. How could something stretch so far? Glitter so, be so ceaseless? Such motion – constant motion. It was more powerful than the King’s instructions, louder than the cursing and orders from the first mate, whose rasp was the grinding of rock, it smothered the creak of rope and smooth wood.
And it swallowed the paths.
All of them.
He was sleepwalking, so beautiful was the respite.
“Pathfinder?” King Oseto’s expression was expectant. The sea breeze stirred his silvery hair. “Will it work? Can you feel any path?”
A lie was almost tempting, especially after the stunt the King played. Chuckling as he crossed the courtyard to stand over Ain, slumped on cold stone in his chains before the gallows. But Schan was alive and his survival depended, as did Ain’s own, on helping the Anaskari devil.
Instead, he told the truth. “I feel nothing. Only the sea.”
“Nothing?” King Oseto’s eyes burned.
“I haven’t felt a path since I set foot on this ship.”
The King turned to the Captain and delivered orders in Anaskari. The ship turned toward the jagged coast. Not too close, but the waves crashing against submerged rocks were not so distant anymore.
A small ‘beech’ as the King called it, mostly made of gravel and slick slabs of stone, lay beyond. The noon remained cool but there was enough sun to catch on something shiny, driven between the rocks on the ‘beech.’
Above, sails were being lowered and the ship slowed. Sailors rushed to organise a smaller boat by the railings on what the King called the ‘lower deck.’
“Why are we stopping here? So far from land? And there’s nothing there besides.”
“We’re going for a paddle.”
“What?”
“So many questions, Pathfinder Ain. You’re no longer satisfied with our arrangement?”
“That’s not why I’m asking. How can I help if I do not know what to look for?”
“Trust my methods. I don’t want you mistaking anything.” He gestured. “I believe our boat is ready. After you.”
A small group, the Mask and two of the Shield, along with a pair of sailors, led him to the boat. He climbed in, gripping the edge, and sat at the back while the rest arranged themselves, King Oseto in the front. Next, the boat was lowered by squeaking ropes and touched down on the water. The sailors set to rowing, pulling them away from the ship.
Ain trailed his hand in the water.
Even if the King was crazy for taking such a strange trip, at least the sea was all around. Close. Wondrous. Cold, but a joy. Such peace.
The sailor asked a question. King Oseto replied, making a wide, circular motion with his hand and the boat continued its progress.
“Are we going to land?” Ain asked.
“Can you feel anything now?”
“Nothing.”
The King motioned for the boat to change course. Still they rowed, never reaching land and getting closer to the rocks. The sailors switched with the Shield, after some fumbling with the big paddles they continued in a methodical manner, or so it seemed by their discussions, where the ship appeared to function as a marker, crossing parts of the sea before the small ‘beech.’ The sun crawled down the sky. Ain sipped at the water flask he’d been given and shifted on his seat. The wood had become stone.
The rowers switched again and Ain groaned.
But the sound died in his throat.
“Wait,” he cried. “I feel something.”
Something lurked beneath the water. Not a path exactly, but something had moved about before the ‘beech.’ Could it have been a fish? They had no feet to beat a path. And there was a sense of ‘power’ to the movement. It echoed. It was heavy with years. And decades. Centuries even, he couldn’t tell. Couldn’t trace it back. It was infinity. The pulse swirled and his stomach churned.
The King leant between the rowers. “Yes?”
“Beneath us – it’s passing. Go that way.” His stomach eased and he pointed toward land. The rowers complied. “Now to the left.”
The hideous echo of ages returned, as did the trouble in his gut. Ain waved the rowers on until it passed. His hand shot up and they turned again, grunting with the effort. Eventually they pinpointed a spot where the echo stopped. It didn’t extend in any direction except for back toward the ship and it pulsed harder than before.
“We’re directly above something,” he said.
The King slapped the edge of the boat, shouting in Anaskari. His face was a mixture of surprise and elation. He gestured to one of the sailors, who nodded, stood and removed his belt, knife and thin shirt. He then slipped into the water with a grimace and took a deep breath before diving down.
His kicking feet splashed the boat and Ain wiped salty water from his lips.
What was down there? The King tapped long fingers on his knee. Had he been able to, Ain didn’t doubt the man would be pacing. Ain glanced into the water. How long could the sailor hold his breath?
Long moments passed before the water stirred and the sailor broke the surface with a gasp.
He shook his head as he spoke to the King.
“He found nothing then?”
King Oseto frowned. “No, he’s telling me he cannot see well, but there looks like wreckage down there.”
“Of what?”
“My father’s ship.” He turned to the second sailor and motioned to the water. “Your Majesty.” The man removed his own belongings before joining the first diver. Oseto gave more instructions, spreading his hands to mimic a rectangular shape, and both men nodded before diving down again.
Twice more the men dived and resurfaced and twice more they received instructions from the King.
Finally, when the sailors reappeared a third time, they were smiling. In one man’s hands rested a sleek black box, steel hinges thick with rust. The pulse was more powerful now that the box was free of the water.
Once the King held it, he fell still. The boat bobbed and rocked when the sailors rejoined and yet he did not move. He only stared at the box, a tiny smile on his face.
“That is what you seek?” Ain asked. He would be free now, if the King kept his word. Unlikely as it was – and yet, he couldn’t go through another hanging – real or otherwise.
“It is.” He didn’t look up.
“And my part of the bargain is now fulfilled?”
“If what I seek is truly inside, then yes.”
Ain smothered a spark of hope. Be sure. No celebration until the city was miles behind. “Does it not open?”
“On the ship,” he said.
One of the sailors interrupted with what sounded like a curse. He pointed to the ship. A small red flag was flying up the mast and on the rail, the first mate waved twin flags of blood. The King straightened, snapping orders.
The Shield leapt to the seat and began rowing, leaving the shivering sailors and mask to huddle before Ain.
“What’s happening?” he called to King Oseto.
“Pirates. Thieves of the sea.”
Chapter 33
Seto barked orders to Captain Tirang and went directly below decks. The sway of the ship beneath his tread was familiar, but darkly so. Old memories threatened as he locked the door. He shoved each one of them down – the chill of water closing over his head, the rocks hurtling toward him, the rush of waves, all of them.
The Pathfinder he’d left in the custody of Mascare and Shield, who were to take Ain to his cabin. Or cell, really. Ain babbled about honouring a promise and Seto had thrown an assurance over his shoulder.
Through his porthole, he glared at the pirate; for the moment a small shape on the horizon, before crossing the cabin and laying the still-wet case on a table. He lit a lamp and drew his dagger, hefting the blade. Years. More. Decades had passed but now she was returned.
The knife tip came to rest between a rusted hinge. He thumped the heel of his hand on the pommel. Rusted steel snapped. Prying his fingers beneath the lid, he tore it free, final hinge squeaking.
“Chelona.” He breathed her name.
She lay inside, her face tinted green from years beneath the sea. Just like the other Greatmasks, a firm mouth and dark eyes looked up at him. But she was beautiful too and his hand trembled as he reached out. Cold when his fingertips grazed bone.
He lifted her and hesitated.
How many dives had he organised, in secret, for how many years? How many storms had his sailors survived now – and all for naught. For all those years he’d been searching in the wrong part of the tiny bay. The wreckage had drifted north west along the reef.
And more the fool his brother had been too, for attempting – at least during the first few years and afterwards only sporadically – the same dives. Seto laughed. How wonderful to defeat the man, now, after so long.
The dark secret of Casa Swordfish – the secret that was no secret in the First Tier – House without Greatmask. Hiding behind its ties to the Storm Singers, its disproportionate representation in ranks of the Shield. Its ties to Falco House.
A knock on his cabin door. “Your Majesty?” Old Snaps, the first mate. His voice was tight. “There’s more trouble.”
Seto placed Chelona within the steel box and inside the drawer of the writing desk. “Come in, Snaps.”
The man limped inside, his canvas shirt open at the neck. White hair curled across his chest, echoed in the white of his beard. His voice still boomed and he had no trouble remaining upright as he pointed above. “Another one, sire. To starboard.”
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