Of Sea and Shadow (The Elder Empire: Sea Book 1) (7 page)

“We do. And you will learn to ride, as well as several other skills important to your future.”

“What future did you have in mind, exactly?” he asked hesitantly. His father’s idea of a future had always been ‘earning a fortune and retiring to our own private island,’ but Calder doubted his mother would see things quite the same way.

Idly, she touched the Blackwatch Crest embossed into the table. “Among the Guilds,” she said, as if it were the most natural thing possible. “You’re too old to find a place among the Consultants or the Champions, thank the Fates, but riding will be important if you find yourself with the Witnesses or the Greenwardens. You seem surprisingly well educated, despite Rojric’s influence, so you might enjoy a life with the Magisters.”

Working in one of the ten Imperial Guilds? He’d have more freedom in a prison cell. He turned up his smile like a quicklamp, resolved to change the subject before she decided his future for him. “Oh yes, Father made sure I was educated. I have read all the classics, and I’ve been told I could pass for a governor’s son.”

“Can you, now? I had no idea your tutors were so well-rounded.” She leaned back in her chair, pulling a knife out of her pocket. Without preamble, she began trimming her nails right there at the table. It was so contrary to how he had imagined her that he could scarcely reconcile the picture: the proper, well-to-do, Guild-trained Capital woman, sitting at her table trimming her nails with a hunting knife.

“In what year were the Greenwardens established?”

“The Greenwardens, then known as the Brothers of Peace, were originally founded to counteract the spread of weaponized alchemy and a sudden increase in the worship of Othaghor. They were established in the...eighth...century, and remain one of the most influential Imperial Guilds to this day.”

He brushed off his shoulder, as though he answered questions like this every day.

She nodded to him, conceding a point. “Very good. I’d only correct a few bits, here and there: they were originally known as the
Sisters
of Peace, as the first generation of Greenwardens were all women. They were meant to counteract the worship of Ach’magut,
not
Othaghor, established in the seventh century rather than the eighth, and they are among the
weakest
Guilds in terms of both political power and available capital.”

Alsa stowed her knife without looking at him, flushing in shame. The heat spread down almost to his shoulders before he managed to choke back his embarrassment.

One question. That was one question, and I could have answered it had she given me more time.

But she didn’t seem inclined to give him any more time at all. “It will be important for you to know the history of the Greenwardens should you choose to join them. Kameira are fascinating creatures, and you would work quite closely alongside them in the Greenwardens. In fact, Imperial history is a critical subject for any of the Guilds.”

“I’m not sure I see myself as a Guild man,” he said. “I had thought about boarding a ship for Izyria and connecting with my culture, perhaps as a sailor or a hunter.”

He tried his best to make those sound like viable career paths, and not boyhood dreams born of travelers’ stories.

Alsa went on as though he hadn’t spoken. “If you do want to pass as a governor’s son, for some reason, then you should familiarize yourself with the fundamental philosophers. Penmanship, too, is crucial in more professions than you would expect.”

Penmanship? He didn’t want to learn penmanship.

“Listen, Mother. I understand that you think Father was irresponsible in bringing me along on an…artifact retrieval...and you’re probably right. That’s inappropriate for a boy my age, and I understand that.” He understood that
she
thought so, and that was what mattered. “But I’m as intelligent as any rich Guild son, and I’m quicker, and I can think on my feet. I could do quite well outside the Guilds, because I can get along on the streets. In the real world, not the cozy drawing-rooms of the Magisters or the alchemists.”

Calder had taken that speech point-for-point from an angry rant his father often brought forth when he’d been drinking. Not word-for-word, of course, because he thought his mother would appreciate eloquence more than passion.

But he did believe it. The ten Guilds acted as though they were part of some private world, running the Empire while everyone else simply benefited from their expertise.
 

Let’s see how a Greenwarden does without money to buy his food. He won’t have the spine to steal a loaf of bread, not to mention the hands to do it without getting caught.

A voice in the back of his mind mentioned that the Greenwardens were supposedly all Soulbound, capable of healing wounds and miraculously restoring blighted crops. Even if they were kicked out of the Guild for some reason, they were unlikely to starve.

He shoved that voice away.

Alsa looked as though she was having a great deal of trouble restraining her laughter. “The real world, you say? I see. And you think I don’t live in the real world, do you? Is that what your Father said?” There was an edge to her humor now.

Come to think of it, his father hadn’t ever listed Alsa among those Guild privileged who leaned on their fortunes.

“Father spoke most highly of you,” Calder lied, “and I’m sure you’re an excellent Watchman. Watchwoman. Watchlady.”

“Watchman. The founder of our order was a woman, and she took the name ‘Watchman’ upon herself because she ‘Didn’t want to set herself above her male counterparts by flaunting her superior gender.’ That’s a quote from her biography, which you will know after your courses in Imperial history.”

That was an incredibly useless bit of trivia, and he thought about pointing that out, but there was still an edge to her voice that he couldn’t quite place. Best to put out the fires. “Be that as it may, you have to admit that a Guild lifestyle is somewhat...insular.” ‘Insular’ was a word he had learned from the news-sheets last week, and he was determined to use it as much as possible. “Wouldn’t I be better trained if I continued to take on the broad world as it is, facing all its dangers with eyes wide open?”

While he spoke, Alsa had walked over to her mantelpiece, drawing the tip of her finger along one of her mounted pistols as though checking for dust. “You would say you’ve lived a dangerous lifestyle, then?”

Too late he realized that saying his life had been dangerous might be calling his father irresponsible or abusive. “I had Father to look out for me, of course. But I have faced my share of dangers.”

She pulled the pistol down, cocked it, and pointed it at him.

“How would you face this one, then?” she asked.

He didn’t believe she would pull the trigger, not really, but staring down the barrel of a gun still turned his backbone to dust.

Unconsciously, he raised his hands like a hostage during a stickup. “I would do my best to avoid situations like this.”

Alsa nodded, expression serious. “Very wise. And if, despite every precaution, you found yourself in this scenario? What would you do then?”

He tried to look as confident as possible without lowering his hands. “I do have other talents, you know.”

“Please elaborate.”

Now
he had her. Laymen tended to be superstitious about Readers, ascribing them abilities they did not actually possess. When the Emperor flaunted his overwhelming powers publicly, it went a long way toward establishing Readers as superhuman.

They were not, of course. Only the Emperor could display that level of obscene control, levitating wagons or creating doors in blank walls. But most people did not know that.

Calder cast his glance around him for something he could use, spying a small decorative pillow on the edge of his chair. He picked it up, smiling.

“If I were so inclined, I could invest this with enough Intent to stop a pistol-shot. If I had some more time and the proper equipment, I could even Awaken it, but that...” He shuddered theatrically. “Who knows what powers that could unleash?”

Alsa’s eyes widened. “Really? You could make this pillow bulletproof?”

She lowered her pistol and moved a few steps closer, running a hand along the pillow. “This right here? Without changing a thing?”

He had her. “I would need a little time, of course, but in an actual situation of—”

She pushed the pillow against his chest, pressed the barrel of her pistol against it, and squeezed the trigger.

A noise burst in his ears as though a horse had kicked him on either side of the head, and a flare of light and smoke blinded him. The cloud of gun smoke filled his nose, choking him, and for a moment he was torn between a gasp and a hacking cough. He was afraid it came out more like a wail.

He was shot! She’d shot him! His own mother!

Desperately he shoved the pillow out of his lap, scrambling to locate the wound. If it was a gut-shot, he might live until they got him to a doctor, but he would need something to staunch the bleeding. The pillow! He shouldn’t have dropped it after all, now where...

It occurred to him after a few seconds that he was not actually wounded, and that his mother was giggling.

He flushed again, until he was afraid that the whole top half of his body glowed bright red. “Unloaded, of course.”

Alsa slowly got the laughter under control. “What? Oh, no, all the weapons in my house are loaded.”

She bent over, plucked a misshapen lead ball from the floor, and tossed it into his lap.

He examined the pillow, but other than a small black smudge from the barrel, it was pristine. “Then...how...”

“When you’re bragging, make sure you know who you’re talking to.”

Calder placed his hand against the pillow and focused his mind, Reading it.

His mother’s voice smothered his mind,
You cannot be punctured. Every one of your fibers is a cord of steel. You only have to stop one shot. You cannot be punctured.

She had actually invested the pillow with enough Intent to stop a bullet? With that brief of a touch?

Calder straightened himself, striving to look as dignified as he could with a burning face. And without looking his mother in the eye. “You’re a Reader yourself, then.”

Alsa folded her arms, still holding the smoking gun. “I’m surprised your father didn’t tell you. What did you think I did for the Blackwatch?”

He had imagined her as a clerk or some kind of administrator, but he wasn’t about to say that out loud.

“You’re very fortunate,” Alsa went on, her voice softening. “Readers are very much in demand among all the Guilds. You speak well for your age, you’re obviously perceptive and intelligent, and if your talent is anything like mine...well, when I was only a little older than you, I had Guilds lining up to bid for me. Literally bidding.”

“That doesn’t sound so bad,” he admitted.

“There’s quite a bit of variety in the ten Guilds. I’m sure you’ll find a place where you fit in.” She straightened and set the pistol back on the table, presumably to be reloaded later. “In the meantime, I’ll have a tutor here for you before the end of the week.”

His eyes rose to the other display of weaponry, the pair of swords lying below the tusk. “Will he teach me to use those, too?”

In the first genuine sign of affection she’d given him since he stepped into this house, she placed a hand on his head. “You’ll learn all three of them, son. But he won’t be teaching you.”

He looked up at her, confused.

“I will.”

In the space of a day, he had traded thieving lessons with his father for fencing lessons with his mother. His father was still missing, and Rojric’s absence was like a burning hole in his chest. He would have to find a way to bring all three of them together.

He was a Reader; he could do it.

He could do anything.

C
HAPTER
F
IVE

Calder had spent so long cleaning out the cabin for his passengers that it felt strange to be using it himself. Everything was tucked neatly away instead of lying conveniently within reach, and even the chest at the foot of his bunk had been rearranged and organized.

He dipped his sponge in the bucket of soapy water, then scrubbed at his bare chest. Jyrine had taken the time for a full bath at her parents’ house that afternoon, but Calder hadn’t gotten the same chance. He sponged himself off while cloth ruffled behind him: the sounds of her changing for bed.

“We could still make it out of the bay,” Jerri said lightly.

“It’ll be easier if we wait until dawn.” He leaned to one side as she reached past him for her hairbrush. At first, it had been difficult to move around each other in such a confined space, but now they were both used to it.

“If we move out of the bay and into the Aion, the Lyathatan can keep us anchored, and we’ll be farther out of the reach of any attackers. The longer we sit here, the greater the risk.”

Calder stood in a wide basin, squeezing the sponge over his head to unleash a waterfall of soap and water. “I’m tired, Jerri. You’re tired. Andel’s tired. Even the Witnesses are tired. If I make the Lyathatan drag us out of the bay—” he paused for a moment to dump fresh water on his head— “then he’s likely to leave us there. I’ll be the first captain to have his
literal
ship mutiny on him.”

Soft, regular strokes came from behind him: Jerri brushing out her hair. “You’ll persuade it. I have every confidence in you.”

Calder shook out his hair, wiping water from his eyes with one hand before he reached for a towel. “Besides, we won’t be any safer until we get to deep water. Even normal ships can sail the shallow Aion; they won’t even have to go through the inconvenience of hiring a Navigator. If we’re not going any farther than the shallows, we might as well stay here.”

“We’d still have more warning if someone comes.”

He sighed and stepped past her, pulling on a pair of soft shorts. He’d learned in his mother’s house that Heartlanders wore such shorts to bed, and he’d quickly grown used to them. “You really expect the assassins tonight, then?”

Jerri sat on the bed with her legs curled under her, wearing a simple white nightgown. She pulled the brush through her unbraided hair one stroke at a time. The pose exposed more of her tattoos: lines of script crawling up her left ankle, emerging over her shoulder and sneaking up her neck.