The Silent Guide, page 11
“What about the explosion?” Ralen asked, scanning for damage on their own vessel.
“Warning shot.” Fetch’s voice was grim. “Blew apart one of the empty fishing boats. Message is clear enough.”
Tabitha pointed to a pattern of flags being raised on their ship. “Captain Harwick is signaling. He’s preparing to depart.”
“With or without us.” Karishel’s face was set in hard lines as he assessed their options. “We need to reach the ship before those vessels cut off our access.”
“We won’t make it,” Ellie said, the tactical reality clear even as she hated admitting it. “They’re positioned to intercept any approach to the harbor mouth.”
A heavy silence fell over the group as they recognized the truth of her words. They were trapped in Greyshore, cut off from their ship and any hope of conventional escape.
“We should get back to the old woman,” Tabitha suggested. “Maybe she knows another way out.”
“What old woman?” Ellie asked, suddenly alert.
“The one who stayed behind.” Tabitha gestured toward a building on the far side of the square. “We found her in the inn. She told us about the evacuation, about how the villagers fled inland three days ago when strange things started happening.”
“You found someone, too?” Ralen asked.
“We did. We could go talk to her.”
They hurried across the square to the inn, a sturdy two-story building with a worn sign depicting a leaping fish. Inside, the common room stood frozen in time, with mugs of half-drunk ale on tables, the ashes of a fire long gone in the cold hearth, and chairs pushed back at odd angles as if their occupants had simply stood up mid-conversation and walked away.
The scent of stale beer and old smoke hung in the air, mingling with the musty odor of abandonment. Dust motes danced in the beams of light that filtered through the windows, settling on abandoned belongings—a forgotten cloak draped over a chair, a pipe still packed with tobacco, a child’s wooden toy resting on the mantel.
In the center of it all sat an elderly woman in a high-backed chair, her posture as straight as a sword even with her obvious age. Her hair was pure white, flowing loose around her shoulders like sea foam. Her eyes, milky with cataracts, somehow tracked their movement as they entered, her head turning unerringly toward each new arrival.
“You found others,” she said, her voice clear and strong despite her frail appearance. Her gnarled fingers continued to work at something in her lap—knitting needles clicking in a steady rhythm that seemed to anchor the uncanny stillness around them.
“We need to leave,” Karishel said to the woman without preamble. “Our ship is under attack.”
The old woman nodded, unperturbed. “The hunters have arrived. Earlier than I expected, but not before you found what you needed to find.”
“We haven’t found anything except an empty village.” Ellie stepped forward. The floorboards creaked beneath her feet, the sound unnaturally loud in the quiet room. “Who are you? Why did you stay when everyone else left?”
“Someone had to stay,” the woman replied, her needles never faltering in their rhythm. “To witness. To remember.” Her blind gaze seemed to focus on Ellie with uncomfortable precision. “The boundaries are thinning again, just as they did when I was a girl.”
“You’ve seen this before?” Tabitha asked.
“I was here when the fish swam backward in the bay, when birds fell from the sky mid-flight, when water flowed uphill.” The needles clicked faster. “I was here when heroes came to mend what was broken. The Arbiters, the Guild, and others whose names are no longer spoken.” Her head tilted slightly. “I knew someone would come again. The patterns demanded it.”
Ellie turned around and exchanged a glance with Ralen, who had positioned himself near the window, keeping watch on the harbor. His presence at her back felt reassuring in ways she couldn’t quite articulate—a steady anchor in the increasingly strange tide of events surrounding them.
“The patterns.” Ellie moved closer to the woman. On her lap, Ellie could now see that the knitting was forming an intricate design that seemed familiar somehow, reminiscent of the seals she’d seen beneath Busal City. “What patterns?”
“The ones written in the stars, in the tides, in the blood flowing through your veins,” she replied. Her fingers never stopped moving, needles clicking in rhythm like a heartbeat. “The ones you feel burning beneath your skin, child.”
Ellie stiffened. The marks on her side pulsed as if in response to the woman’s words.
“How do you know about that?” she asked sharply.
“I know many things.” A smile creased the woman’s wrinkled face. “I know a man passed through here two months ago, seeking the lighthouse keeper who remembers what was forgotten. I know your ship is already preparing to flee without you.” She tilted her head, as if listening to something no one else could hear. “And I know there is another way out of Greyshore, if you’re willing to take it.”
“Another way?” Jonas asked hopefully.
The old woman nodded. “The smugglers’ cove. East along the shore, hidden behind the rocky headland. The village kept boats there during the trade wars, away from prying eyes.”
“We found it,” Fetch confirmed. “But all the boats are beached. It would take hours to drag one to water.”
“Not all. There is one still seaworthy, hidden beneath the old fishing nets and canvas. My son kept it ready, always.” Sadness briefly clouded her features. “He died last winter, but the boat remains.”
“Why tell us this?” Ellie’s father asked, suspicion evident in his tone. “Why help strangers flee when you yourself chose to stay?”
The old woman’s blind eyes seemed to focus directly on him. “Because someone must continue the pattern, Arbiter. Someone must find what your order has lost.”
Karishel flinched at her use of his title, a reaction so subtle that only Ellie, who knew him well, would have noticed.
“We don’t have much time,” Ralen said from his position by the window, his voice pulling Ellie’s attention back. “The ships are deploying smaller boats. They’ll reach the docks within minutes.”
“Then we should go.” Tabitha gathered her ever-present satchel of scrolls closer to her chest.
“You should come with us,” Ellie told the old woman, an unexpected surge of protectiveness rising within her. “It’s not safe here alone.”
“Nowhere’s safe anymore, child.” The old woman shook her head, her needles never slowing in their rhythmic pattern. “Might as well die in my own home as anywhere else.” She reached into a pocket of her shawl and withdrew a small object. “Found this after your friend left. Thought someone might come looking for him.”
She pressed a carved stone into Ellie’s palm—warm to the touch, as if it had absorbed the woman’s body heat over months of carrying it. One side bore a symbol that Ellie recognized from her earliest training with Zaren: the character for “choice” in the old language, though it also carried the connotation of “sacrifice.” The back was worn smooth except for faint scratches that might have been letters, or might have been nothing at all.
“Classic Zaren,” Ellie murmured, turning the stone over in her fingers. “Leaving cryptic messages when clear words would serve better.”
“Sometimes the clearest words are those we must find for ourselves,” the old woman replied. Her clouded gaze moved to the window, as if seeing through walls to the harbor beyond. “You should hurry. The hunters approach.”
They ran out of the inn, the woman’s directions guiding them through a maze of narrow alleys and hidden paths that wound eastward along the shore. Every few minutes, Ellie glanced back toward the harbor, where figures in dark clothing were now swarming the docks, methodically searching building by building. In the distance, the Stormwind’s Resolve was raising sail, Captain Harwick making good on his warning that he would save his ship and crew rather than wait for passengers who might never return.
“Can’t blame him,” Fetch muttered, following her gaze. “Captain’s first duty is to his vessel.”
“He’ll circle back for us if he can,” Jonas added. “Harwick’s not one to abandon his people.”
The rocky path grew steeper as they left the village proper, climbing up and around a jagged headland that thrust into the sea like a giant’s fist. The smugglers’ cove lay on the far side, hidden from both land and sea approaches by natural formations that had sheltered generations of Greyshore’s less law-abiding citizens.
Ralen moved ahead, scouting the path, his lean form disappearing around outcroppings, only to reappear moments later with hand signals indicating safety. Ellie found her eyes lingering on him longer than necessary, appreciating the fluid grace of his movements, the quiet competence that had become increasingly reassuring as their journey grew more perilous.
“He’s good,” her father commented quietly, catching her watching. “Arbiter training shows.”
“More than that,” Ellie replied without thinking. “He’s…” She trailed off, unable to articulate exactly what made Ralen different from other trained fighters she’d known.
Her father’s face softened momentarily. “I know.” He spoke simply, the words carrying unexpected weight.
Before Ellie could respond, Ralen appeared at the top of the path, waving them forward. They climbed the last steep section, emerging onto a narrow ledge that offered their first view of the hidden cove below—a perfect half-moon of pebbled beach, sheltered on three sides by towering cliffs. Dozens of fishing boats had been hauled onto the shore, arranged in neat rows as if awaiting some future return.
“There.” Tabitha pointed to a pile of old nets and canvas at the far end of the beach. “That must be the hidden boat the old woman mentioned.”
They scrambled down to the cove, the loose stones shifting beneath their feet with each step. As they neared the heap of fishing gear, Ralen suddenly held up his hand in warning.
“We’re not alone.” His posture shifted subtly into a combat stance.
Ellie’s daggers were in her hands instantly, her senses extending outward as Zaren had taught her. She felt it then, the faintest ripple of fabricated energy, carefully controlled but unmistakable to someone with her abilities.
“Show yourself,” she called, positioning herself between the threat and her companions. “We know you’re there.”
For a long moment, nothing moved. Then the pile of nets shifted, and a figure emerged—not from behind the heap as Ellie had expected, but from within it, having been completely concealed by the seemingly ordinary fishing gear.
It was Kyrana, the Guild woman from the garden, her lute now strapped across her back.
“You found the cove quickly,” she observed, brushing sand from her clothing. “The old woman must have helped you.”
“You know her?” Ellie asked, not lowering her daggers.
“Everyone in Greyshore knows Mother Giles,” Kyrana replied. “She’s been here longer than the village itself, some say.” Her dark eyes assessed their group. “I see you’ve brought friends.”
“And you’ve been waiting for us.” Karishel’s voice was hard with suspicion. “Why?”
Kyrana ignored him, her attention fixed on Ellie. “Did she give you something? The old woman?”
Ellie’s hand moved instinctively to her pocket, where the carved stone rested. “Why do you care?”
“Because it might be what we’ve been looking for.” Kyrana’s composure slipped slightly to reveal genuine urgency. “A key to finding the First Song.”
“The Guild is searching for the First Song?” Tabitha asked, her interest overcoming caution.
“Not the Guild officially,” Kyrana admitted. “Garridan ordered us to go dark, to disappear completely. But some of us… disagreed with his approach.”
“You’re acting against the Guildmaster’s direct orders?” Karishel’s tone made it clear how serious such insubordination would be.
“I’m following a higher calling.” Kyrana’s gaze returned to Ellie. “The same one that drove your teacher to the lighthouse.”
A shout from the direction of the village interrupted them. Distant voices grew clearer as the hunters approached the cove.
“We don’t have time for this.” Ralen’s eyes met Ellie’s with silent urgency. “They’ve found our trail.”
“Help us or leave us,” Ellie told Kyrana, making a swift decision. “But decide now.”
Without waiting for a response, she moved to the pile of fishing gear and began pulling away layers of netting and canvas. Underneath lay a sleek vessel—smaller than the Stormwind’s Resolve but large enough for their group, its hull painted a deep blue that would blend with the open sea.
“The oars are hidden inside,” Kyrana said. “Under the floorboards.”
Together, they worked quickly to prepare the boat, dragging it toward the water’s edge over well-worn grooves in the pebbled beach. Jonas and Fetch, experienced sailors that they were, took charge of rigging the small sail while Karishel kept watch on the path leading down to the cove.
“They’re coming,” he reported. “Six of them, well-armed.”
“We need more time,” Jonas said as he was still securing lines. “Just a few minutes.”
Kyrana unslung the lute from her back. “I’ll buy you that time. Get ready to launch.”
“What are you going to do?” Ellie asked, surprised by the woman’s sudden decision to help.
“What the Guild does best,” she replied with a faint smile. “Create confusion.” She turned to go, then hesitated. “The lighthouse keeper remembers fragments of the First Song. Not enough to restore the seals, but enough to point the way. Tell Zaren… tell him to look beyond the patterns to what shapes them.”
Before Ellie could ask what she meant, Kyrana vanished up the path, her movements swift and silent as she disappeared among the rocks.
“Can we trust her?” Tabitha asked, clutching her scrolls protectively.
“We don’t have much choice,” Ralen answered, helping her into the boat. His hand lingered on Tabitha’s arm longer than strictly necessary, a brief moment of reassurance that spoke volumes in its simplicity. When he turned to offer the same assistance to Ellie, their fingers intertwined for a heartbeat, his palm warm against hers. Their eyes met, and something passed between them—unspoken yet perfectly clear. “Ready?” he asked softly.
“Ready,” she confirmed, the word carrying more meaning than its simple syllables suggested.
They pushed the boat into the shallows, climbing aboard as the first shouts echoed down from the cliffs above—then sudden silence, followed by a strange, haunting melody that rippled through the air. Kyrana’s lute, Ellie realized, though the sound carried power unlike any ordinary music.
“What is she doing?” Jonas whispered, pausing in his work with the sail.
“Buying us time,” Ellie replied, feeling the faint echo of fabricated energy in the music. “Now row!”
They pulled away from shore, the boat cutting through the gentle swells with surprising speed. As they rounded the headland, Ellie looked back one last time at the cove and the village beyond. Strange lights flickered between buildings—not fire, but something else, something that bent and warped what it touched.
“What’s happening?” Tabitha asked, her voice hushed.
“I don’t know,” Ellie admitted. “But I think we just became part of something much bigger than finding Zaren.”
Then again, hadn’t she always been?
Chapter
Twelve
The silhouette of the Stormwind’s Resolve emerged through the morning mist as their boat approached. Each stroke of the oars brought them closer to safety—or at least what passed for it these days.
“There she is.” Jonas’s tired face broke into a relieved smile. “Told you Captain Harwick wouldn’t abandon us.”
Ellie nodded, too exhausted to form a proper reply. The escape from Greyshore had drained what little energy she had left, and the marks on her side pulsed with cold fire, feeding on her fatigue. She’d caught Ralen looking at those marks with quiet concern, though he’d said nothing.
As they drew closer to the ship, she could make out Captain Harwick at the stern, spyglass in hand, studying the eastern horizon with evident anxiety.
“They’ve spotted something. Something that worries them.”
Their boat finally reached the ship’s side, where rope ladders had already been lowered in anticipation. Fetch went first, followed by Tabitha, who needed help securing her satchel as she climbed. Ellie waited until the others had started up before taking one last look at Greyshore—the empty village with its too-perfect houses and the eerie silence that hung over it like a shroud.
A sudden wave of dizziness struck as she grasped the ladder. Her vision swam, the corruption marks flaring with icy pain that traveled up her neck and into her jaw. She gritted her teeth and began to climb, each movement a conscious effort as her body protested the strain of recent events.
Halfway up, her left hand slipped, fingers suddenly numb and unresponsive. For a heart-stopping moment, she hung by one hand, the dark water below seeming to reach up for her. Then strong hands grasped her wrist, and she looked up to find Ralen leaning far over the railing, his face tight with concern.
“I’ve got you.” He pulled.
With his help, she made it over the rail and onto the deck, where she leaned against the solid wood, trying to catch her breath and quiet the burning cold that raced through her veins. The corruption was reacting to something—growing stronger, more aggressive.
“Captain.” She steadied herself as Harwick approached. “What’s happening?”
The weathered sailor pointed eastward. “Storm on the horizon, and not a natural one. Started forming just before dawn, faster than anything I’ve seen in thirty years at sea.”
