Of Sea and Shadow (The Elder Empire: Sea Book 1) (12 page)

Despite his attempts to ignore it, anger still seethed in Calder’s chest. Was Andel really trying to provoke him?

“Continue,” Calder said tightly.

“I am setting all of that aside right now. Let’s assume that Jyrine was completely justified in keeping secrets, and that her loyalty is beyond question.”

“Yes. Let’s assume that.”

“Then we’re left with a few things to consider. First, why did the Consultant take Jyrine captive? For that matter, why did an assassin capture anyone at all?”

It was a good question, but not a new one. “We’ve run down that road already, Andel.”

“All right, then let’s move past the Consultant’s intentions. What are the actual results of her actions? She has someone to interrogate, so we can assume that she’ll know everything about our capabilities.”

Calder tried very hard not to picture Jerri’s interrogation.

“And you are left in the position of wanting to recover your wife, more than anything else. More than delivering the passenger. More than getting paid. More, even, than arriving safely at our destination. One way or another, that means that you will be trying to
speak
with Shera. True so far?”

“True enough,” Calder admitted. He hadn’t thought of it in so many words, but all of his plans for Shera the Consultant involved capturing her, or else tricking her into spilling Jerri’s location.

“If she had not captured Jyrine, would you care about talking with her?”

With an assassin? He wouldn’t want to get within earshot of the woman.

“No, I would not.”

“Instead, how would you deal with this woman?”

Calder considered for a moment, letting
The Testament
drift of its own accord out onto the relatively clear ocean. The Lyathatan had begun to sink back into sleep.

“Avoid her if at all possible,” Calder said at last. “I’d try to dock somewhere she didn’t expect, stay somewhere she wouldn’t think to check, move the crew as a whole instead of splitting up, so we weren’t vulnerable. If that didn’t work, I’d try to trap her. Pretend we thought we were safe, and have Urzaia and Foster ambush her.”

Andel nodded, still seated. “And now, instead of doing what the trained assassin
least
expects, we’re going exactly where she wants us to go.”

Realization settled on Calder’s shoulders like a sack of bricks. Andel was right. They were playing right into the enemy’s hands, which he would never have done if Jerri weren’t in danger.

But...they had to. This was the only way to find Jerri.

“That,” Andel said, “is how you’re going to get us all killed.”

For the next few minutes, with Andel sitting next to him, Calder steered in relative quiet. The wind flapped in the sails, and the waves still lapped against the hull. Behind him, Naberius and Tristania chatted about something. The clink of iron told him that Foster was working downstairs, and a snatch of some Izyrian battle-song meant that Urzaia had begun working on dinner.

Calder’s thoughts ran in circles. He didn’t want to
put
the crew in danger, but he didn’t want to
leave
Jerri in danger. He was making no progress when he finally sighed and looked down at Andel.

“You’re right, Andel. I’ll think about it.”
 

“We’ve got a little time. Assuming you don’t drive us straight into a reef, we’re not likely to die tonight.”

From up in the crow’s nest, a deafening masculine voice bellowed out, “DIE TONIGHT.”

Then a black shadow bobbed down, fluttering across the red-gold sky until Shuffles landed on Calder’s shoulder. It turned its scowling black eyes to Calder, wiggling its tentacles.

In case he didn’t hear it the first time, it shouted, “DIE TONIGHT” one more time, straight into his ear.

Andel jumped to his feet, placing the white hat on his head. In volume no less than the Elderspawn, he announced, “Danger! All hands on deck! All hands on deck! That means you too, Petal!”

Foster was already climbing up to the crow’s nest, musket and powder horn in hand. Urzaia strode up to the bow, a black hatchet in each hand. Petal snuck up the ladder carrying a crate of bottles, a rat curled up on top of them like a sleeping cat.

Naberius marched over, wearing his red suit again and resting on hand on his pistol. Tristania followed him, staring through her bandages into the waters.

“What danger?” Naberius asked. “What do you see?”

“Nothing,” Calder said. The Aion Sea seemed to be playing nice, for the moment.

“Then why—”

Andel jerked a thumb at Calder’s shoulder. “The Elderspawn only wakes up from a nap if it thinks we’re all going to die.”

“And it’s in a good mood this time,” Calder added. “That means it’s nearby.”

On his chiseled actor’s face, Naberius’ expression of confusion looked like it had come off of a classical painting:
Portrait of a Hero in Distress,
perhaps.

Distantly, a storm of glowing, sulfur-yellow clouds began to gather on the dark eastern horizon. They pulled together, like threads of shining unnatural mist.

“Name an Elder, and he appears,” Calder muttered.

“Wormcloud,” Andel announced, and the crew all made some sound in acknowledgement.

Naberius cleared his throat. “What in the Emperor’s name is a ‘worm cloud?’”

There was no point in trying to outrun a wormcloud—it would only follow them—so Calder steered straight for it. “If I’m not mistaken, Naberius, you’re about to find out.”

~~~

When the worms began to rain from the sky, the crew of
The Testament
was ready.

Calder kept his three-cornered hat on and his cutlass in hand, waiting for the worms to drop onto the deck. They landed with a splat, little fat grubs the size of a man’s foot, with a single needle on their heads. Yellow light, exactly matching the unnatural cloud overhead, rippled inside their squishy bodies. They squeaked while squirming across the deck, searching for the nearest source of warm blood.

He slashed one in half, spilling its luminescent yellow fluid over the deck. He crushed another under his boot, and sent a mental pulse to the ship that made the railing surge up, tossing a third worm into the sea.

“Three!” he called.

Petal moved from worm to worm with a rubber-bulb dropper, planting a single drop of acid on the back of each creature. She spoke weakly as she moved. “Four...five...six...”

“Five!” Andel announced, kicking a worm over the edge.

Urzaia did not wear a hat. He stood with a hatchet in each hand, pacing the deck with eyes on the sky. When a worm fell anywhere close to him, one of his blades left a black blur, and two squishy halves fell to the wood. “I believe that makes eleven!” he yelled, splattered with drops of luminous blood.

A musket cracked overhead, and one of the worms exploded into goo. It had been distressingly close to Calder’s face.

He winced back, glaring up at the crow’s nest. “Seriously, Duster? Get down here and use your boots like an ordinary human being.”

Foster lifted his second musket, tracking another worm. “Sorry, Captain. Every problem is best solved with firepower.”

For the first time in over a week, Calder finally let himself relax. Wormclouds weren’t the friendliest things in the world, but they were among the least harmful hazards of the Aion. Over the years, he’d begun to look forward to the break.

Naberius and Tristania, by contrast, were standing back-to-back on the same cask. The Silent One held a reversed broom, and was using the wooden haft to crush any worms that got too close. The Chronicler held a pistol in each shaking hand, though at least he wasn’t firing and reloading as fast as he could, like Foster.

“Is this an attack?” Naberius asked, his voice higher-pitched than normal.

Calder swept a worm from his hat and then impaled it with his cutlass. “Twelve! And no, Naberius, this is the Aion.”

“I’ve heard that Wormclouds stem from Kthanikahr,” Andel said, as he casually strolled over a pair of worms, popping them. “That when the Emperor struck him down, the Great Elder personally blighted the weather.”

Calder thought about it for a moment. “That would make sense, I suppose. Wormclouds. The Worm Lord. But I thought Kthanikahr’s tomb was in northern Izyria. Thirteen.”

“Sixteen. And how should I know where the Great Elders died? If only there were a member of the Blackwatch around, so that we could ask him.”

Calder gestured to his own expression. “I may be smiling, but don’t think that means you’re funny.”

Petal perked up. “I can make it so that you laugh...instead...”

“No thank you, Petal, the smiling is quite enough for now.”

Naberius kicked a worm off the barrel, but at least he hadn’t shot anyone yet. “So these worms are...harmless?”

“Oh no, not at all,” Calder answered. “They have a poisonous bite that increases your body temperature. The infected, without exception, hurl themselves into the sea within minutes.”

The Chronicler glanced up nervously. “Does that help?”

Calder let his awareness drift down through the ship, along the chains that bound the Lyathatan, until he was Reading the awareness of the Elderspawn itself.

Glowing worms swirl in the water, moving in a swarm. Each individual has a row of razor-sharp teeth in its circular mouth, and their hunger presses against the Lyathatan’s skin like volcanic heat. Any one of them is thicker than the mast of the ship above, and long enough to wrap the Lyathatan completely in its coils.

There are hundreds in the water.

The Lyathatan bares its own teeth, opening its spirit. Let these lesser worms, these pathetic parasites born in a world of weakness, feel its contempt. Let them feel the malice, the hunger, the hatred of centuries. They may be able to shred humans to pieces, but there’s no advantage in that. One might as well brag about swatting fleas, or crushing blades of grass.

The worms are all but mindless, knowing nothing but the need to feed.

They still know enough to keep their distance, waiting for prey to fall outside of the Lyathatan’s reach.

“No,” Calder said at last. “It doesn’t help.”

Naberius was obviously confused, but Andel took over. “We have an accomplished alchemist onboard, with an antidote prepared. There is a gap of several minutes between when you are stung and when you start trying to throw yourself overboard. And the worms themselves are slow, stupid, and easy to kill.”

“EASY TO KILL,” Shuffles chuckled. It swooped down on a worm, scooping the treat up with its tentacles and returning to a perch where it could enjoy its snack.

“Twenty-six!” Urzaia yelled. “Do not worry, Naberius. There are worse dangers than these in the Aion Sea. This is simply a fun game.”

Naberius recovered his composure and hopped off his cask, crushing a worm beneath him. “In that case, thirty-one.”

Petal pointed a finger at him, accusing. “Cheater!”

He shrugged. “She’s my Silent One. Surely our scores should count together.”

“From terrified to cheating in five seconds,” Andel said. “You adapt quickly, Chronicler.”

“I realized that you were right. Mild peril like this should not shake my composure. Particularly not considering what lies ahead.”

Calder looked up, mentally ordering his Vessel to sweep a handful of worms away from him with a length of rope. “Now, there’s an interesting subject. What
does
lie ahead, Naberius?”

Naberius stayed silent for a few seconds, the odd worm still falling to the deck behind him, and then nodded. “We’re close enough that I believe it’s safe to tell you. We travel to the island where Nakothi herself was buried. The island was warped by her influence, until it resembles little more than a corpse itself. I have only visited the place once in person, but we were set upon by...monstrosities.” He shuddered, though Calder was sure he had faked the gesture. “Children of the Dead Mother. Hideous beasts that haunt my nightmares even now.

“Mark my words. What we see on the island will make this ‘worm cloud’ seem like a pleasant spring rain. You will all earn your fees then.’

C
HAPTER
E
IGHT

Certain objects share the mysterious powers of Elders or Kameira. These are usually made from remnants of the creature’s body—a sword made from a Nightwyrm’s claw, for instance, or a pendant made from Lyathatan scales. These items have mysterious and anomalous effects, and should be treated with caution.

However, when such objects are Awakened, a mysterious phenomenon can be observed.

Under specific conditions, a human being can be bound to these powerful objects
during
the Awakening procedure. Afterwards, that person can draw on that item as a source of power.

We call such people Soulbound, and such objects Vessels.

I believe that somewhere in this process lies the key to traveling the Aion Sea.

-From the research journal of the first Navigator

Twelve years ago

Calder had been living with his mother for more than a year now, and for most of that time she had worked on some secret project.

His questions, aimed both at his tutors and at Alsa herself, revealed very little.

“It’s a secret project,” his mother told him. “If I told you the details, it wouldn’t be very secret, would it?”

Artur was even less forthcoming. “As you know, the Emperor formed the Blackwatch to turn the power of the Elders against them. Such knowledge is known to drive strong men insane. I would think three times before asking too many questions, and then three times again.”

Vorus, of course, said nothing at all.

He’d gotten most of his information from the odd comment his mother left lying behind her as she went to work.

“Bring me my jacket, would you? The breeze off the bay is biting.”

“Don’t head down to the harbor today, Calder. It’s supposed to be dangerous.”

“Whichever Guild you choose, make sure it’s not the Navigators. They’re con men at best, pirates at worst.”

The facts came in dribbles, months apart, but Calder and Jyrine kept their ears sharpened to catch each one.