The Silent Guide, page 19
Chapter
Nineteen
Ellie couldn’t move.
The darkness pressed against her like wet wool, dense and suffocating, carrying with it the scent of old wood and brine—the unmistakable smell of a ship’s brig. She tried to blink, but the gesture brought no relief. This wasn’t natural darkness. The shadows had substance here, weight that pressed against her skin with calculated malice.
Memories crashed through her disorientation. The market with its impossible ceiling, the vendors all around her. And the Servants emerging from the crowd. The shadow that had wrapped around her ankle—not the formless darkness of night but something crafted, shaped by a Mimic’s will into solid absence.
She tested her bonds. Rough hemp rope, but there was something else woven through the fibers. Thin strands of sacharinst metal hummed with fabrication energy, creating a suppression field around her wrists. When she flexed, the wires tightened automatically, responding to pressure with calculated precision. Someone who understood her abilities had designed these restraints, someone who knew exactly how to contain her. She tested her Blade ability, pushing out, and found that while she could feel it, as well as the energy within her, she could also feel something resisting, as if it were actively working against her and what she was doing.
The floor beneath her was definitely ship’s timber—she could feel the familiar roll of ocean swells, hear the creak of rigging above. But this wasn’t like any vessel she’d traveled on before. The wood felt wrong, too smooth in places, too rough in others, as if different sections had been harvested from trees that grew in different centuries.
She tried to focus her power, searching for the familiar rhythm Ralen had taught her. Instead of the clean flow of power, she found nothing—a complete absence where her ability should be. The fabricated restraints weren’t just binding her physically; they were creating a null field that prevented her from accessing her power entirely.
“Still trying to fight?”
The voice emerged from the darkness without warning, carrying the particular accent of the northern territories. The elongated vowels and sharp consonants spoke of mountain cities and ice-bound harbors.
“Jerath.” The name tasted bitter on her tongue. “Have you been the one chasing me?”
“Chasing, or have I been guiding?”
That fit all too much with her own fear.
The darkness peeled back gradually, revealing him in stages—first his boots, worn but well-maintained, then his body clothed in robes that bore the Servants’ mark, and finally his face. He looked exactly as she remembered, with sharp features, intense eyes, and that particular way of holding himself that suggested coiled violence. She’d hoped he was dead after their last encounter, but here he was, very much alive and apparently thriving in his new role.
“You’re looking well,” he said. He studied her with the detached interest of a merchant evaluating goods. “The market vendors said you put up quite a fight. Three of my people needed healing afterward.”
“Should have brought more.”
He smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Perhaps. But overwhelming force would have drawn the Arbiters’ attention. We couldn’t have that, not when we’re so close to achieving what the Priest began.”
“The Priest is dead. I watched him die in the Shifting Sands.”
“Death and endings aren’t the same thing.” Jerath moved closer to the bars of her cell, his expression one of smug satisfaction. “The Priest understood that some transformations require sacrifice. His death weakened the barriers between what is and what could be. Now we just need to finish what he started.”
“What do you want?” She kept her voice steady.
“Power,” he said simply. “The same thing everyone wants, if they’re honest. But more specifically, I want what lies beneath Busal—access to the old seals, the ones that predate even the Inarak.”
“You’re wasting your time. Those seals can’t be broken.”
“Not broken, no. But they can be changed. Redirected. Even inverted. Turn them from barriers into conduits. The Priest showed us the way, even if he didn’t live to see it completed.” He leaned against the bars, casual in his confidence. “And you’re going to help me do it.”
“I won’t—”
“You won’t have a choice.” He turned away, gesturing to someone she couldn’t see. The darkness parted to reveal another cell across from hers, and Ellie’s heart sank. Inside, unconscious and bound similar to her, was a woman she didn’t recognize. “Mariel Thorne,” Jerath said. “Someone I thought you might know. She was asking questions at the market. Very clever woman. Too clever to leave free.”
“She has nothing to do with—”
“She has everything to do with this. The seals aren’t just barriers—they’re constructs of ancient power, balanced forces that maintain the separation between states of being. To change them requires understanding their nature. And dear Mariel is one of a few people who truly understand the old magics.”
The ship lurched suddenly, a sharp change in heading that sent her sliding against the wall.
“We’ll reach Busal’s outer waters in a few days,” Jerath said. “I suggest you prepare yourself. What comes next will require all your strength.”
He left, taking the light with him, plunging her back into absolute darkness. But now she wasn’t alone with just the sound of her own breathing. She could hear Mariel stirring in the other cell, a soft groan that suggested she was beginning to wake.
“Mariel?” Ellie whispered into the darkness. “Can you hear me?”
“Who?” Mariel’s voice was thick, confused. “Where…? The market. They came from nowhere.”
“My name is Ellie. I’m from Busal. And as far as I’m able to tell, we are on a ship and they’re taking us to where I’m from, or somewhere near it.”
Ellie heard chains rattling—different restraints than her own ropes.
“Jerath…” Mariel said. “Yes, I remember now. Servant. He’s dangerous in the way true believers always are.”
“I’m not able to get out of this. I keep thinking I can disrupt the fabrication—”
“Disrupt? You are a Blade, then?”
“Yes.” It was easier to acknowledge that she was a Blade than to try to explain what else she might be, even if Ellie had any idea what that was. At this point, she still wasn’t entirely certain what she was supposed to be, or what it was that she could be.
“Good,” Mariel said. “Maybe that can help. I’ve known others with that ability. And maybe we can see if there is a way to use it. I’m not sure how, nor whether there is going to be much we can do. Knowing the Servants, they will have a way to restrict what you can do.”
The ship rolled through a larger swell, and Ellie used the motion to test her bonds again. The sacharinst wire was responding to her attempts, but not in the way she’d expected. Instead of just tightening, it was learning her patterns, adapting to her escape attempts.
“How do we get out?” Ellie asked.
“We don’t, not through force. The wire’s fabricated. Adaptive fabrication, if I’m not mistaken. These restraints are designed to counter exactly what we’re capable of. But…” Mariel paused, and Ellie heard her shifting position. “Jerath made a mistake bringing us together. He sees us as two separate problems to manage. He doesn’t understand that knowledge of the old powers and ability manipulation can work in harmony.”
“What do you mean?”
“You were a Blade, right?” Ellie nodded. “Your skill disrupts patterns, yes?”
“That and something else.”
“Good. Then consider this: Every fabrication, including these restraints, operates on specific principles. Frequency, amplitude—all quantifiable, all adjustable. If I can identify the precise frequency these wires are operating at, can you adjust your abilities to match it?”
Ellie had never thought of her powers in such precise terms before. Ralen had taught her about frequencies, but always in the context of combat, of disruption. This was different. This was about harmony, synchronization.
“I can try.”
“Good. Give me a moment to work out the patterns. In the meantime, tell me what Jerath said about Busal’s seals.”
Ellie let the woman work. And while she did, she focused on cycling her own Blade ability, using the techniques she had learned and had only recently come to feel a certain comfort with. She didn’t add the Kindling. At this point, the only part of her ability that really would be beneficial, she thought, would be the Blade ability. That was how she was going to be able to break free from the fabrications that were holding her.
As she cycled, she felt more and more of that power flowing. More and more of it seemed to work through her, and more and more of it seemed as if it were trying to pose a challenge for her. Every time she thought she managed to get somewhere, she felt some part of that resisting once again.
It irritated her.
She began to focus her ability, adjusting the rhythm incrementally. Too slow at first—she could feel the wires beginning to respond. Then too fast—they tightened painfully. But gradually, she found the sweet spot, that precise frequency where her power and the fabrication aligned.
The wires began to vibrate.
“That’s it!” Mariel encouraged. “Hold that frequency. Don’t try to break them. Let the harmonic do the work.”
Slowly, far too slowly for Ellie’s liking, she could feel the vibration, and she was reminded of what Aliason had told her about listening to the song. Maybe that was what this was really about—finding a way to understand her power. She pushed a bit of the Kindling into it. It was almost as if she felt how she needed to handle it, that she was aware of how she could augment it so that when she did, there was a slight rupture.
Ellie’s hands came free, numb and tingling but mobile. She quickly worked on the ropes around her ankles, regular hemp that parted easily without the sacharinst reinforcement.
“I’m free,” she whispered.
“Excellent. Now, can you get to my cell? These chains have a different frequency. Twenty-three cycles, if my calculations are correct.”
The darkness was still absolute, but Ellie could navigate by sound. She felt along the walls, rough wood that had been treated with something that made it resistant to fabrication—another precaution against prisoners like them.
The door to her cell was locked, of course, but it was a mechanical lock rather than a fabricated one. Jerath’s paranoia about ability users had led him to rely on conventional security. It took her precious minutes to pick it with a splinter of wood, her lock-picking skills rusty from disuse.
The corridor beyond was lit by fabricated lights that glowed with a sickly green luminescence. She could hear activity above—footsteps, voices, the sounds of a crew at work. They were truly on a ship, then, not some Servant stronghold designed to feel like one.
Mariel’s cell was directly across from hers. The older woman was chained to the wall with manacles that looked ancient, covered in scripts that hurt to look at directly.
“Pre-Inarak binding chains,” Mariel said, her expression grim. “They’re using archaeological relics as restraints.”
Ellie examined the locks, which were beyond her picking skills. The mechanisms were partially fabricated, partially mechanical, a hybrid that would take specialized tools to open.
“I might be able to do the same thing here,” she said.
She started cycling her Blade ability, adding just a hint of the Kindling to it. When she did, she slowly, gradually, began to feel a soft vibration of power, a pattern that began to build. It was subtle, but increasingly, she thought she recognized what it was. More than that, she thought she recognized how it worked.
And then…
Above them, a bell rang—shift change, from the sound of responding footsteps. They had perhaps minutes before someone came to check on them.
Ellie closed her eyes, focusing on the rhythm she’d already established. Seventeen point three cycles, steady as a heartbeat. Then, carefully, she began to layer a second rhythm on top of it. The two patterns fought each other at first, her ability trying to sync them into a single frequency.
She had to keep focused. There was no point in waiting. No point in lingering. She continued her cycling, building gradually, letting that energy continue to rise in an intensity, and then…
Then everything trembled.
She felt the way that power burst, and then the chains began to sing, as if they were resonating with her powers.
Then they clattered, falling to the floor in an impossibly loud sound.
Footsteps on the stairs, coming fast. Multiple sets, coordinated movement that spoke of trained fighters rather than regular sailors.
“Back to the cells,” Ellie hissed. “Pretend we’re still bound.”
They dove back into their respective cells, Ellie wrapping the broken ropes around her wrists to create the illusion of restraint. Mariel did the same with her chains, holding them closed with her hands.
Three figures appeared in the corridor—Servants, but not the robed kind from the market. These wore leather armor reinforced with metal plates at vital points, and carried weapons that hummed with fabricated energy.
“Thought I heard something,” one said. He scanned the cells.
“Check them,” another ordered.
The first Servant approached Ellie’s cell, peering through the bars. She kept her head down, breathing steadily, the broken ropes hidden by the angle of her body.
“This one’s still secure.”
They moved to Mariel’s cell. The older woman had positioned herself perfectly, the chains appearing intact from a distance, from what Ellie could see by the light from the open door. But as the Servant leaned closer, examining the restraints, his eyes widened.
“The scripts are—”
Ellie moved. She burst from her cell, her power already active. Her fist connected with the first Servant’s temple. Using the Kindling like that caused power to flare and her strength to surge. He dropped without a sound.
The second Servant was already moving, his weapon—a blade wreathed in shadow—sweeping toward her throat. She ducked, feeling the chill of the darkness pass overhead, and drove her elbow into his solar plexus.
The third had time to shout a warning before Mariel hit him with her chains, the pre-Inarak metal swung with surprising strength. He staggered, and Ellie finished him with a strike to the neck.
“So much for stealth,” Mariel said. She dropped the chains.
“We were never going to sneak off a ship full of Servants,” Ellie replied. She was already moving to strip the unconscious guards of useful items. “But now we know the crew size, the ship’s layout, and”—she held up a ring of keys taken from the second Servant—“we have options.”
Ellie wasn’t exactly sure what those options were, but if she could continue to mingle both her Blade ability and the Kindling, then maybe they would be able to deal with what they might have to face.
Chapter
Twenty
The ship was larger than Ellie had initially assumed. As they moved through the lower corridors, she began to piece together its layout—a modified merchant vessel, perhaps sixty feet in length, with additional compartments that shouldn’t exist in a ship of this class. The Servants had been busy with their renovations.
They found an arsenal first, locked behind a door marked with warning scripts in three languages. The keys from the guard opened it, revealing racks of weapons that ranged from conventional steel to things she didn’t recognize.
“Fabricated weapons,” Mariel said. She examined a crossbow that seemed to be strung with solidified moonlight. “And old ones. These aren’t Servant creations—they’re collecting artifacts.”
Ellie selected two long knives, testing their balance. They were plain steel, unenhanced, but of exceptional quality. The weight felt right in her hands, familiar after years of training with similar blades.
“Why would Jerath be collecting artifacts?” she asked, securing the knives in improvised sheaths made from torn cloth.
“Power, obviously, but there’s more to it.” Mariel picked up a small orb that swirled with internal light. “These are all weapons designed to channel ancient powers. The kind of things the Guild usually confiscates and destroys.”
“He’s planning something bigger than just breaking Busal’s seals.”
“Or he needs them to break the seals. If they’re as old as he claims, conventional methods might not work.”
A bell rang above them—not the shift-change bell but something more urgent. Three short rings, pause, three more.
“Maybe they’ve found the guards,” Ellie said.
“Or they’ve found we’re gone,” Mariel said. “Either way, we need to move. Can you sense how many are aboard?”
Ellie focused her awareness, using her Blade ability. The ship’s treated wood interfered with her sensing, but she could make out concentrations of power—nodes where multiple ability users had gathered.
“Twenty, maybe twenty-five. Most are on deck now, responding to the alarm. But there’s something else…” She frowned, pushing her senses harder. “There’s a concentration of power near the bow. Stronger than the others, but different.”
Inarak… or could it be fae?
They left the arsenal, taking only what they could easily carry and use. The corridors were empty now, the crew having responded to the alarm above. It made movement easier but also meant they’d face organized resistance when they finally had to surface.
They found stairs leading up but also down, deeper into the hold.
“What’s below us?” Mariel asked.
“Storage, usually. But…” Ellie extended her awareness downward. “There’s something down there. Power, but contained. Dormant.”
