Of Sea and Shadow (The Elder Empire: Sea Book 1) (21 page)

From Alsa’s expression, Calder thought she would rather punch the Witness than answer him, but her words were polite. “Some of us will certainly make it. Some certainly will not.”

He nodded as though that were the answer he expected, his hand hovering over the various candles like a produce merchant selecting the ripest fruit. “With those odds in mind, I believe I may have a solution.”

Some of the Watchmen around him froze. Calder hadn’t realized they were paying such close attention, but it seemed the entire room held its breath in anticipation of his solution. Outside, the Children howled like a foul wind.

“Explain if you will, Witness,” Alsa said in a tight voice.

“As you know, I served for many years in the Imperial Palace. My primary duties involved finances, but living around the Emperor, you find yourself exposed to certain truths. Especially as a Reader. There were techniques he designed that worked against the spawn of certain Great Elders, and failed against others.”

Naberius finally seized on one of the whole candles, though it seemed outwardly the same as all the others. Calder knew that wasn’t the case—he would have memories stored in that wax, weeks or even months of experience, waiting to be released until the candle was lit.

But he closed his eyes as he gripped the candle, tilting his head with the air of a man savoring a sensation. Calder thought he understood. Even if he could not relive his memories perfectly without burning the candles, the man was still a Reader, and the memory storage was essentially a function of human Intent. He would be able to Read certain details with a touch.

The Chronicler spoke as if from the depths of a dream. “In my contact with the Heart of Nakothi, I saw some...missing pieces. At last, I understood the nature of the Children. I should be able to speak their language, if you will.”

Of all the people gathered, Foster was the one to speak up, though he kept his eyes on the gun in his hands. “If there’s a point in there, Chronicler, you’d best get to it. I don’t fancy meeting the Emperor again so soon.”

Naberius shot a glance to Calder, and anger flashed across his countenance. “This would be so much easier if I
had
the Heart, but I’ll work with what I have. The Children understand only death and rebirth. They want, they need, they
crave
to introduce the living to the sort of deadly remaking that they’ve already experienced. And they will only go away...” he placed the candle back in its housing and shut the case. “...if they believe they have succeeded. I can deceive them.”

The room was silent for a moment before Alsa spat out, “What does that
mean
, Naberius?”

He offered her a dazzling smile that seemed completely out of sync with the scene around him. “That I will handle it. Tristania.”

The Silent One took his case of candles, and Naberius rose from his seat. Without another word, the two of them walked toward the wall. Tristania’s hair stuck out from her bandages, and her shredded and bloodied coat drifted along behind. Both of them walk with a limp, reaching out and steadying the other as they walked. Calder hadn’t seen it before, but even Naberius’ wound had been treated, his calf wrapped with a white bandage. As they limped away, blood soaked through the cloth.

Andel adjusted his hat and deliberately turned away from the two Witnesses. “They’re dead,” he said. “What’s the real plan?”

Alsa nodded and looked up at the surrounding Watchman. “Everyone gather as many weapons as you can. Mobile wounded support one another. Keep the injured to the center, with the crew of
The Testament.
If you’re in fighting condition, you’re on the outside. We’re going out the gate in five minutes, so be with us or stay and face Nakothi in person.”

A few of the Blackwatch raised their iron nails in a sort of salute and hurried off to carry out her orders.

For his part, Calder kept watching the Witnesses. He had no reason to trust Naberius, but the man did seem confident about his solution. And no one knew better than Calder the sorts of desperate plans you could come up with after Reading a bit of obscure information.

The Chronicler was speaking with his Silent One as they walked. Tristania turned as though surprised, and for the first time Calder saw her speak. At least, the bandages around her lips moved. They were too far away for him to hear, and he found himself unconsciously following, using an unloaded musket as a crutch.

He couldn’t deny a certain curiosity; if Naberius really knew some piece of Reading that could keep an army of Elderspawn from their gates, then that was something Calder wanted to learn. And he found himself wondering what Tristania would sound like. There was something enticing about hearing the voice of someone who never spoke.

On this side of the log wall, someone had set up a set of rickety stairs scarcely better than a ladder, leading up to a platform. The Blackwatch would have used this short tower to see over the wall, keeping a lookout when the island seemed too quiet. Tristania and Naberius helped each other up the steps now, limping pathetically until they reached the top.

Calder stood at the bottom, eyeing the stairs.

There is no way I’m doing that,
he thought. Walking out here on a slashed leg was one thing, but he wasn’t about to attempt stairs.

Naberius leaned over the side, and Tristania joined him, looking down at the Children of Nakothi below. The wall shook with the impact of dead fists, claws and fingers and other, stranger appendages reaching through the gaps in the logs. Calder took one prudent step back.

The Chronicler said something, and Tristania laughed.

This time, Calder heard it. Her voice was high, clear, surprisingly young, and weary. As though she laughed because she was too tired to do anything else.

While the Silent One still leaned over the wall, Naberius pulled out one of his Dalton Foster original pistols. He pressed the barrel to the back of Tristania’s head.

She turned slowly, not alarmed, and Calder shouted a startled warning. His hand scrambled to his own pistol, but he got tangled in the musket he was using for a crutch. He had some vague thought of shooting Naberius before he could pull the trigger.

But he was too late.

The shot was swallowed up in the din the Children caused, no louder than their screams. Tristania’s body shuddered and slumped against the wall.

Naberius stood there for a moment, the palms of his hands pressing against her shoulders. Calder couldn’t exactly see what he was doing, but he could feel the flow of great Intent even at this distance.

Then Naberius reached down, grabbing his Silent One by the legs, and flipping her body over the wall.

The Children of the Dead Mother went silent.

Finally, Calder leveled his pistol, pointing straight at the back of Naberius’ blue suit. “Throw your weapons down!” he demanded, his voice harsh in his own ears.

Back in the main shelter, the Blackwatch had raised a cheer. They would have heard the monsters growing silent.

With his back still turned, Naberius raised both hands. “I’m no threat to you, Captain. I just saved your life.”

Calder couldn’t find the words to name the questions that ran through his head, the pain he felt for a silent woman he barely knew. All he said was, “Why?”

Naberius slowly turned, his face a mask. “We still have a job to do.”

“Why
her?”

The Chronicler frowned. “Would
you
have followed me up here? Trusted my word when I told you to look down?”

Calder’s heart flared up with rage, and he thumbed back the hammer of his weapon. “Why don’t you turn back around, Naberius? Look over the side. Trust me.”

A dark hand rested on Calder’s arm, and he turned to see Andel standing there in his white suit. “Not the time, Captain.”

As always, Andel was the voice of reason. But that didn’t fit—Andel Petronus was the eternal voice of mercy, the defender of innocents. Calder usually had to talk him
out
of avenging the helpless.

“Even you, Andel?”

The Quartermaster’s grip tightened on his arm, and Calder finally lowered his pistol.

“You should listen
because
it’s coming from me, sir,” Andel said forcefully. “We need to get out of here.”

Calder took a deep breath and shoved his emotions down deep. Everything he still felt—his fear, his relief at being alive, his sickness at failing to capture Shera again, his grief. He stuffed it down, forcing his mind back to the job.

The Children were quiet for now, but that didn’t mean he wanted to spend a second longer on the island than he had to.

“Ten thousand goldmarks,” he said to Naberius, his voice cold.

That Elder-spawned worm
smiled
. “Lead the way, Captain.”

~~~

By the time they reached
The Testament,
there wasn’t a single Elderspawn in sight. Calder could sense the Lyathatan drifting beneath the island, dreaming incomprehensible dreams. He had already issued orders to have the hold emptied to fit all the Watchmen aboard. They would go hungry for a few days, and they would be forced to rely on the nearest island for resupply, but at least no one would be here waiting for the Children to return.

He was overseeing the removal of a case of dried fish when his mother walked up to him, holding out a hand.
 

“Spyglass,” she said.

Without a word, he pulled his spyglass out of his coat and handed it to her.

She raised the glass to her eye. After a moment she let out a breath of relief, and her arms dropped limply to her sides. “Light and life, they’re
early
. Bless them. Looks like you get your ship back after all.”

He took the spyglass from her and took a look at the horizon himself. After a moment of searching he saw what she had: a ship approaching from the west. And not just any ship. A ship sailing on a wake of fire, with blazing red sails.

The Eternal.
The ship of Cheska Bennett, Guild Head of the Navigators.

“You said you were forced to work with Cheska. I didn’t know you meant this closely.”

“How do you think we got out here in the first place?” Alsa turned to a pair of Watchmen who had just added a cask to the growing pile of cargo on the beach. “Change of plans, gentlemen. Get it all back on the ship.”

The two Blackwatch members didn’t say anything, but Calder sensed sudden despair radiating from them as they eyed the pile of crates and barrels.

Urzaia marched up to Calder, his eye on the horizon as though he could see
The Eternal
approaching with his naked eyes. He hadn’t said a word since his fight with the Consultants, and his face was uncharacteristically grim.

“I have failed you again, Captain.”

Calder turned to him, surprised. “Urzaia, if not for you, I would be dead. Maybe all of us. You have nothing to apologize for.”

The big man shook his head, his fists clenched. “I heard her. They have killed Jyrine, and I could not avenge her.”

“That’s not your responsibility, Urzaia.” Calder wondered if it was anyone’s responsibility. Jerri had kept her own secrets, made her own choices. If they’d landed her in an execution on the Gray Island, that wasn’t
his
fault.

But worry burned in his gut as though he’d swallowed coals.

“Captain, I do not mean to argue, but that isn’t true. I am only strong, and I could not save her. If I can’t avenge her, then what
can
I do?”

He heard the despair in the other man’s voice, a depth of grief comparable to his own. Urzaia had spent years with Jerri. He must see the protection of the crew, the whole crew, as his responsibility. How must it hurt to feel like you’d failed everyone under your charge?

On second thought, Calder realized he knew exactly what that felt like.

Urzaia took a deep breath, starting again. “Good thing I will have another chance.”

Calder hated to destroy the man’s hopes, but he had to be honest. “They have what they wanted. We won’t see her again.”

“I must correct you. I have tasted the blood of the yellow-haired woman.” He drew in another deep breath through his nose, like a bloodhound tasting a scent. “I can follow her as far as she runs.”

A moment ago Calder had been thinking about giving up the chase.

But that was when he’d thought it was impossible.

Hope kindled in his chest, and he took a step closer to the Soulbound. “Are you sure?”

“I am sure of nothing. But yes, I can find her.”

Suddenly delighted, Calder clapped the man on the back. “What can’t you do, Urzaia?”

“I only have a few gifts, but I use them well.” He gave Calder a wide, gap-toothed smile. “Do not worry, Captain. She can’t hide from me.”

C
HAPTER
T
HIRTEEN

An axe used to split wood for years, for instance, will naturally become invested with a measurable amount of Intent. It will excel at splitting wood.

Now, if a Reader decides to Awaken this particular axe, the tool itself will
yearn
to split wood. It gains a rudimentary consciousness related to its task. Most importantly,
it can use its own store of Intent to accomplish its goal
. An Awakened object will no longer gain new Intent, but it will become able to use whatever it has already collected.

This is a critical, even disturbing, point.

Readers often spend months or years studying an object to be Awakened. If you do not understand an object’s Intent, you don’t understand its goals. If you do not understand its goals, you will not understand its eventual powers.

-Artur Belfry, Imperial Witness

 
Taken from a letter to his pupil, Calder Marten (fourteen years of age)

Eleven years ago

Over the next few months, Calder and Jerri gathered the information they would need to break into Candle Bay Imperial Prison, retrieve Rojric Marten, and leave. Preferably without getting caught.

They perused textbooks, searched local records for partial blueprints, and even sat outside the prison for hours, watching to see if they could catch a glimpse of Rojric in the window.