Dead reckoning, p.2
Dead Reckoning, page 2
My muscles loosened and so did my grip. As I began to slide down the rope, Nicolette did the same down my arm. Her nails raked my flesh as she struggled to find purchase. Our palms collided and closed around each other just as my other hand once again tightened around the rope. I’m not sure which of my arms hurt worse. Below, the blue ocean roiled hungrily, ready to swallow us if we fell. I still hadn’t learned how to swim, and I didn’t know if Nicolette could either.
“Help!” she screamed upward, always the problem solver.
A dark figure appeared at the rail above. Rindge. The frightening one-man armory who’d given me a chilly welcome after my run-in with Thranax. If he’d wanted to be rid of me, he could’ve easily cut the rope and sent us plummeting to our doom.
With an evil smile, he grabbed our lifeline and began to pull.
Others soon joined him, and we picked up speed—a good thing, given the sweat slicking the place where my hand touched Nicolette’s. At the top, I heaved her upward into Tarik’s waiting grasp. One of the Mana’Olai sailors gripped me underneath my arms and heaved me onto the deck. Nicolette and I collapsed into each other and wound up sitting back-to-back, propping each other up, our hearts pounding and our chests heaving as the panic and fear leeched out of our bodies. Something silent but poignant passed between us and we burst out laughing, triumphant over our shared defiance of death. She shifted against me and nuzzled the top of her head against the side of my neck. I patted her hand, too spent for more.
I suspect we could’ve stayed that way for a good long while if a black cloud hadn’t darkened our door. “My Pa always taught me never to ignore a rich woman in distress,” Rindge said.
Nicolette stood and adjusted her crooked dress. Her years of life as a noble straightened her posture and steeled her tongue. “Put it on my tab.”
“Already have,” he said with a wink, his voice obnoxiously matter-of-fact. “You owe me for his life, too.”
“Get us moving again,” Lagash ordered from across the deck. In all the excitement I hadn’t noticed Ulysses cut the engine. “Gently, this time. I want to see how the book reacts. Vardallian, with me.”
The haphazard pile of dashing pirate clothing in the pilot box rose into the form of the first mate. Lori appeared at his side and helped him with the levers that deployed the pontoons and controlled the engine. He favored me with a weak nod and then stumbled against Lori’s side.
For a long while, the book did nothing. I stood beside Lagash in the forecastle as we sailed onward, our attentions locked to the journal as if it might attempt to escape at any moment. Though my back and shoulders ached and my palms burned, I didn’t dare leave the captain’s side. Aboard the Black Yonnix, his word was law.
At one point, Lori brought us flagons of fresh water and a plate of sliced fruit. Lagash caught me eyeing both. “Eat. Drink. You need it more than I do.” He wasn’t wrong. As I greedily ate and drank, Lori wrapped a poultice packed with healing herbs over my rope-burned hand and applied a balm to my scratched arm.
Lagash occasionally flipped through the journal’s pages, but nothing changed. I cursed my ancestor. What game was Lucifus playing? Why make this so difficult? What riches required such esoteric protections? It was like he hadn’t wanted his fortune to ever be discovered—a theory Grandfather and I had occasionally discussed. Thuroth had been of a mind that the journal was not exactly what it seemed. If only he’d known; he would have burned the thing, rather than treat it as our last connection to our fallen family.
Doubt took root in my mind as we sailed along and the journal remained stubbornly unchanged. What if we couldn’t figure out how to trigger the magic again? What if Lucifus—mischievous joker he clearly had been—had given us just a single opportunity to decipher his riddles and we’d already blown it? Or had the power of the journal’s enchantments withered over the centuries?
I shivered—not because of the weather, but at the thought that my own fate was tightly tied to Lucifus’s words lighting up once more. I doubted Lagash would toss me over the side immediately, but I was sure there would be no way he’d allow me to stay aboard. What would I do without the Black Yonnix? Brennik’s Reach wouldn’t welcome me back, not now that I was an outlaw, and Count L’Vaillee had surely put a price on my head. I had no idea what I would do without these pirates and our quest.
A pensive air engulfed my companion as well. Lagash slouched deeper and deeper as we waited, as if weighed down by the possibility of failure. He paged idly through the journal, pausing to examine blocks of text that caught his interest. I considered translating for him, but the silence between us felt intentional and impenetrable. We’d wait for the journal to shift the scene.
The sun hung low in the sky when the Black Yonnix bounced. It reminded me of being inside a carriage that hit a bump in the road.
“The journal is warm,” Lagash said reverently.
He flipped back to the first page. Lucifus’s hidden message burned brightly once more.
In this way, my ancestor introduced us to the journey we’d undertake and the pair of trials we’d need to overcome on our way to his vault. We read what we could in the time we were given, sailed onward to reach a stretch of ocean we had not yet angered, read some more, and then repeated the whole process.
It took a week. By the end of it, we’d nearly exhausted the ship’s stores and the crew’s patience. I spent the time as Lagash’s shadow, ready and waiting for my next moment to prove my worth. In a way, I think we both required the reassurance of the other. We’d face down this frightening ancient magic together, because how else could we have done it?
Lucifus’s message ended a quarter of the way through the journal. He assured us that there would be more if we proved our mettle in his three trials, although even Davanon was stymied by the question of how a book was going to assess our worth. And Lucifus ended his first instructions with an ominous warning.
What you seek blessed me with fame and fortune, but I locked it away for a very good reason: those who once owned it will kill to possess it once more.
— PARLEY —
Just as I’d hoped,” Losa declared.
Vardallian studied her from the bath. The woman’s hard façade had finally cracked. Just visible through the gap waited a desperate woman clinging to the first ray of light she’d seen in ages.
But what could the infamous Black Queen, ruler of the most powerful nation on the continent, possibly have been so afraid of? Vardallian toyed with the idea that he might have been better off locked in her dungeon.
“Get dressed,” she commanded, “and then meet me in the corridor.” She stormed out of the room without waiting for acknowledgment.
Vardallian watched the door for a moment, then ran his eyes along the walls. One way in, one way out. Escape wasn’t an option. But if I were given the opportunity to flee, would I? A negative answer slapped him right in the face. With a deep sigh he dunked his head under the luxurious bath one last time, savoring the warmth. I’ve always been too rutting curious for my own good. While under, he glanced down at the rune on his chest. Still there.
That curiosity spurred him up and out of the bath. A greedy chill lapped upward into his feet from the cold stone floor, setting him hopping from foot to foot as he dressed. The linen shirt and pants left for him were made of the softest fabric he’d ever felt. A pair of plain leather shoes slipped on easily and protected his pained feet. After one last longing glance at the warm bath, he turned and exited the cavern.
Losa met him in the adjoining tunnel, whirling into motion as soon as he crossed the threshold. Vardallian followed, as he knew was expected. Captain Lagash had often treated him similarly. Perhaps it was an Imperial thing.
The narrow, craggy tunnel outside reminded Vardallian of the path to Lucifus’s second trial. His mind wandered back in time toward a bout of melancholy reminiscence—and then pulled up sharply at the realization he hadn’t seen a single guard in quite a while. Losa was not a woman he would ever dare to cross—even with the wide-open shot at her back she’d decided to present—but that lack of burly royal protection felt significant.
Either she trusts me, he thought, or she’s not at all afraid of me.
The tunnel sloped gently upward. At the far end, narrow beams of light sliced around the uneven edges and between the cracked panels of a wooden door, lighting their way. So it’s back to the surface, then. That was a relief. Vardallian had spent enough of his life in dark holes.
“Do you remember what the sun looks like, boyo?” Ulysses would have teased. Vardallian worried that he didn’t, or that its long absence from his life had left him somehow allergic. His skin prickled in response.
Losa flung the door open with one hand, flooding the tunnel with bright midday sun. Vardallian raised an arm to shield his overwhelmed eyes, but he did not burst into flames or break out in hives. That bath had been wonderful, but the sunshine was even better. He smiled as he followed the Black Queen outside, excited to bask in the feeling.
They emerged beside a brick patio. A cool breeze filled the air with brine. Vardallian’s empty stomach drew his attention to a bowl of fruit and decanter of wine set between a pair of glasses on a wooden table set on the patio. Beyond, the brick gave way to a stretch of the rocky sand common to northern beaches, a staunch barrier against the lapping tide. And beyond that…
“What in Yuin’s name…?”
Losa handed him a telescoping spyglass she’d kept in her pocket. “The matter at hand.”
He raised the lens to his eye and pointed the other end at the distant kaleidoscope of light dancing above the sea. Magnified, the view reminded him of bubbles growing and then popping atop a pint of frothy ale.
But he’d never seen grog that contained other worlds.
As he watched, a patch of jungle appeared, expanded, and then faded into blue sky. A fiery volcano then briefly took its place, lower and slightly to the left. He raked the spyglass back and forth, taking it all in. A vast, moonlit prairie. A swirling, pink and purple realm of what must have been pure energy. An orange skyscape tinged red by ethereal clouds. Sometimes there were creatures—often beautiful, occasionally horrific, always alien. His attention lingered on an ethereal woman with fawn-like features and very little in the way of clothing—and then his heart caught in his throat when he spotted an eight-eyed version of what looked like a thul bear staring right back at him.
He knew what he was looking at. He’d been there. “The Dreaming Lands,” he muttered.
And just like that, the Black Queen’s interest in him made perfect sense.
“Look lower,” she instructed.
A quick flick of the spyglass provided a view of a small fleet of ships floating on the sea beneath the chaos. He counted a dozen or so galleons and perhaps twice as many smaller vessels. All flew the crimson and gold of the Imperial Navy.
“Those ships carry the most robust musicians in all of Deos,” Losa told him. “Their playing is the only thing keeping the window ways from opening permanently. The Fae want something in my possession—and my sisters conspire to give it to them, so that they might undermine my authority and take my empire for themselves.”
Vardallian swallowed hard. “Is it me they want?”
Losa’s laughter rang out like a bell. “No, you silly boy. I have hidden an important piece of a long dead Fae god somewhere in Deos.”
That explanation did nothing to calm Vardallian’s nerves. “And you think Lucifus’s ship can stop this attack?”
She turned to face him, her tired eyes searching his face. “Can it? My musicians can’t play forever.”
“If the Lullaby can’t do it, nothing can.” Or so he had to say, lest she slit his throat and move on to other options. Truth be told, he had no idea if the power within that ship could be of any meaningful assistance here.
“I share your trepidation, Vardallian, but your ancestor’s long-lost treasure is the best of a litany of questionable options.” She nodded toward the table. “Have a drink and keep talking.”
— CHAPTER TWO —
The journal had provided us with the location of the Lucifus’s three trials. The first two could be completed in any order, but my ancestor had made very clear that the third should be saved for last. That was all well and good, as that last one was also the farthest away. We’d identified the closest of the first two and charted a course, but the Black Yonnix wasn’t ready to embark on such a journey without a stop at port. We’d exhausted the ship’s stores, and certain elements of the crew had become especially vocal about the lack of alcohol.
“We need it for our sacred rituals,” I heard Apo claim at one point. No one refuted him.
And so, we sailed for Haershore, the Black Yonnix’s mysterious home port. Lori had accidentally mentioned the place to me when I’d first boarded. I’d heard no mention of it since. Though I was not a part of the discussion myself, there was no mistaking the contentious tone of the leadership meeting in Lagash’s quarters prior to the announcement of our destination. I swear they must have heard Rindge’s vehement and obscene insistence on protecting the place all the way back in Brennik’s Reach.
When it was over, Ulysses emerged on his own to communicate the decision. “Show’s over, you nosy dogs!” he called out to all of us who’d gathered outside. He paused, clutching his side in obvious pain. The wounds he’d suffered at the tip of L’Vaillee’s sword still slowed him down. “Stations, friends. We sail for Haershore! If you’re one of our number who’s not visited before, hear this: mind your manners in our home or you’ll rue the day you ever set foot aboard our vessel. Now, heave to!”
Nicolette and I traded a nervous glance as the crew burst into action around us. She’d borrowed a dress and a pair of boots from Lori, then tossed her old ball gown over the side. We’d become inseparable, two newcomers to a way of life neither of us fully understood, pulled into each other’s orbit by the force of our collective anxiety. The seemingly endless list of new things we had to learn and adjust to in order to survive life at sea weren’t so nerve-wracking as long as we faced them together.
Tehenessey Blue, who’d been putting more effort into his chaperone duties since Davanon had threatened to skin him and turn him into a hat after our earlier misadventure, pulled us aside. “Normally no one visits Haershore until the captain declares them trustworthy,” he explained. “That usually takes a few years. Most of the crew have never been.”
“So they just get left behind somewhere when the Black Yonnix visits her home port?” Nicolette asked.
“Easlinder. Wouldn’t be surprised if we make a stop there at some point soon too.”
A question scratched the back of my mind. “Have you been to Haershore?”
The marii frowned and stomped off in a huff.
“Here’s the gist of it, friends,” Ulysses said as he sauntered up behind us. Though he’d spent most of our trip below, recovering from his injuries under Lori’s watchful eye, he still looked pale and moved lethargically. “Haershore is a very special place the Black Yonnix couldn’t do without. Although its natural defenses are formidable, our wise captain has decided that its secrets are best reserved for a chosen few—and the captain does all the choosing.”
“Sounds paranoid,” Nicolette said, crossing her arms.
The first mate grinned. “Think about it this way: what became of young Kensey here when the wrong people discovered he’s the scion of a storied pirate family infamous for its secret treasure hoard?”
“So we sail with the wrong people?” she snapped quickly.
“Yes,” he said with a crooked bow, clearly favoring his injured side, “but you do so for the right reasons!” He tipped his hat and melted into the chaos of the ship.
The remaining few days at sea felt different. The ship, and everyone aboard, seemed to buzz. For the first time, the old timers and the newcomers separated themselves into distinct groups: one unsure about allowing visitors into their home, the other bubbling with excitement over their first trip to Lagash’s secret lair. Ulysses flitted between the two like a water bug with a missing leg, a surprising emissary of calm.
I decided to consult Lori on Haershore while tending to my duties in the galley.
“If I tell you too much, it’ll ruin the surprise,” she said with a wink as she wiped down a table.
I paused in my sweeping. “I just don’t want to do the wrong thing. Ulysses was clear that there are rules.”
She giggled. “You’re a good man, Kensey Vardallian. Just be yourself and you’ll live up to the invitation.”
I couldn’t bring myself to explain that it wasn’t my honor I worried about—it was my apparently innate ability to make mistakes despite my good intentions. My confidence hadn’t recovered from what had happened with my grandfather, or with Rensalier. Perhaps it still hasn’t.
The next morning, Tarik waved me up to the forecastle.
“There she is,” the squat old pirate said. There was no mistaking the reverence in his voice.
I followed his gaze to a spire of rock jutting out of the horizon as if trying to poke the sun. At that distance, our destination didn’t look like anything special—nor did it seem particularly well-hidden, what with all that open ocean around it. The Black Yonnix’s approach would be obvious to anyone looking.
Tarik sipped his tea and shook off my concerns with a knowing wink. “Our home’s not as defenseless as she first looks.”
“Where I come from, our sailors call the place M’buat’lo: the Devil’s Finger,” Apo added, approaching with his own steaming cup of tea. He and Tarik shook hands to say good morning, and then he continued. “In Easlinder, it’s Murderer’s Rock. Nefazo say it as L’enfilleton: the Shark’s Tooth.”
“Are there actual sharks?” I asked, worried about what could happen if we opened the book for too long.
“Even they fear this place,” Apo said happily.
“We’ve encouraged the legends, of course,” Tarik added. “Sailors be a superstitious lot to start with. A few tales told in a pub go a long way. Further, now that we have a minstrel in our midst.”
