The Way of the Black Beast (13 page)

She remembered the cold rain rattling the tiny battery room Tommy had been locked in. She had cut his chains, and he had smiled. But she picked up the chains and examined them. They were old and rusty like the ship. She looked at the boy's wrists and saw where prolonged binding had left its marks.

"Well, Tommy," she said, trying to figure out what still troubled her. "The Captain doesn't appear to be a friend to either of us. He tried to drown me and he keeps you locked up here." Malja bolted up as her thoughts connected. "Why didn't the mage-pirates kill you? Or, at least, take you with them? And Wuchev must've seen me make it across the deck. He knows now that I know something's going on. He'll be coming. He has to. But he doesn't want to cross outside, and his precious cargo ... there is no cargo."

With a scowl and a grunt, Tommy snatched the chains and threw them across the tiny room. He stepped in the opposite direction and, pushing a box out of the way, revealed an access hatch in the floor. He opened it, a rusty whine echoed around them like an aged alarm, and descended on a ladder.

Malja hesitated. Though he appeared to be little more than an abused boy, Tommy was a magician. However, being stuck on a ship in a raging storm left her with few alternatives. She sheathed Viper and climbed down.

The ladder ended in a narrow corridor. She caught sight of Tommy at the far end, opening a doorway. By the time she reached the door, he had stepped inside and stood on a wide platform overlooking the empty, cavernous cargo hold. Empty, except for a simple box at the center of the hold floor.

"What's in there?" she asked.

Tommy stared at it, his eyes blazing hatred.

"Is that what the mage-pirates wanted?" Malja shook her head. "No. Because there were no mage-rats."

A loud bang echoed in the hold and the entire ship groaned to the side. Tommy pointed to the rusting hull. Malja climbed down to the cargo hold's floor and inspected the hull. She knew nothing about ships, but even her untrained eye could see the ancient metal dying. The bang repeated and the metal whined as the storm battered the hull.

Squatting to Tommy's level, Malja looked him over and said, "Wuchev killed his crew, didn't he? He drugged us and killed them. That's why I slept through everything."

Tommy nodded. Not a moment's hesitation. He knew the answer. She wondered how he could be so clear when he was chained in the battery station — unless by some magical means he could spy on the world outside. But that sounded paranoid to her. Magic didn't work like that. At least, not any magic she had ever come across.

She stepped back from the boy, her heart pounding against her ribs as if Callib had rebuked her for some minor infraction, reminding her that this little boy would grow up to be a ruthless magician. From the corner of her eye, she saw the box. Something about the box had bothered the boy.

Moving closer, her stomach rolled as the ship took another trip along a steep wave. With her hand resting on the rough wooden lid, she gazed back at the boy. If he proved to be more magician than boy, then she would have to defend herself.
Can I really kill a child?
She wanted to say
no
without hesitation, but she didn't know. She understood that deep within her the capability to perform such a vile act existed if it turned out to be necessary. She just didn't know if the rest of her would protest.

She lifted the lid and gazed in the box. A robe. A ripped, dusty robe.

Malja looked back at Tommy. His face gave nothing away. Before she could say a word, Captain Wuchev stepped out of the shadows. He held a single-shot handgun. From the dented barrel to the chipped wood body, Malja figured he would be lucky if the gun fired without exploding, luckier if it came near its target.

"You're not being very cooperative," Wuchev said.

"Not really trying."

To Tommy, he gestured with the gun. "Come join us, little maggot." Tommy rushed to Malja's side. Wuchev glanced at the box. "Do you know how much that's worth?"

"Don't care," Malja said.

"People would give me everything they had just to look at it. I could stop running this ship. I could build a mansion, pay for guards and a few magicians to power the place. I could live like our great ancestors once did. All because a bunch of backwards Korstra zealots think that has spiritual powers. They really believe Korstra wore that. As if a brother god had need for mortal clothing. Kryssta forgive me for dealing with such heretics, but it's worth it."

In Wuchev's eyes, Malja saw more than sheer greed. "When I approached you, you couldn't turn me down without causing suspicions amongst the crew."

Wuchev sneered. "They already were on edge because I wouldn't allow them in here. If I turned away easy money like you ... well, I'll tell you something, though — I never thought you'd make it across the deck in this storm. You're reputation is well earned."

"The storm," Malja said, another point clicking in her brain. "No mage-rats. You conjured it."

"Remarkable, isn't it?" he said and lifted his shirt with his free hand. A design like seven blades spinning in the wind tattooed his stomach. "Spent my whole life working on only the one spell. Takes a lot out of me, that's why I kept the one crewman alive. I needed a partner."

"So, what now?"

Wuchev sauntered back and forth in front of the box, waving the gun in lazy motions. His pleasure at holding somebody in his power filled the air with an arrogant stench. His eyes twitched and searched with paranoid fervor — mad from magic. "Now, my pretty dear, I'm going to—"

The hull screamed as a long crack formed near the floor. Water spewed into the air like a fountain gone berserk. Wuchev jumped, and Malja took full advantage of the precious seconds afforded her. She hurdled the box and blocked Wuchev's arm as he tried to aim. The gun fired into the air, flame licking out of the damaged barrel, and the burnt smell swirled around them. He spun away from Malja and attempted a few jabs, but she far exceeded his limited skills. She feinted to the side and punched him hard on the temple. His eyes rolled back and he dropped to the floor.

To Malja's surprise, Tommy also had taken advantage of Wuchev's initial distraction. While she had been disarming the foolish Captain, Tommy had snatched the robe. He stood on the edge of the shadowed hold as water blanketed the floor.

"Wait," she called, and despite his worried expression, he did not run away.

Malja bent down and shouldered Wuchev. As the frigid water rushed around her feet, she stood and groaned like the old ship. He was lighter than she had expected but still a burden. She looked at Tommy's questioning face and said, "If I don't have to kill, I won't."
I'm glad I don't have to kill you.

Tommy led the way through the hold and into the narrow corridors. Wuchev's head dragged on the walls, but Malja had enough trouble lugging the fool to worry about his forehead getting cut up. Water followed them, and when they reached the first set of stairs, Malja could feel the little heat left being sucked away by the ravenous sea.

Stepping out onto the main deck, sheets of rain covered them. The waves had become mere foothills in the sea, and the wind had eased back to a strong breeze, but the storm had not abated. Wuchev could get the thing going but he couldn't control it.

Malja placed Wuchev on the deck, resting against the door frame. With reverence, Tommy approached the port railing. He held the robe over the side. He dropped it into the sea. Walking back, he wore a solemn grin. Behind him, light blue painted the horizon as dawn approached, promising a warm sun and a pleasant day.

The ship took a long time to sink. There was no rush. With Tommy's help, Malja lowered a lifeboat into the water after laying Captain Wuchev inside. She searched the cabins for the young crewman, called out for him, but she never found him and he never answered.

Later, when the storm had vanished into the distant horizon and the ship had disappeared into the sea's darkness, Malja rowed under the soothing morning light. Tommy stood in the boat for a while, displaying excellent balance.

That's when Wuchev let out an enraged roar and swiped Tommy's legs. The boy splashed into the ocean as Wuchev lunged for Malja. Malja fell back, posted her foot in the air, and caught Wuchev in the gut. His eyes bulged as the air in his lungs forcibly shot out of his mouth. She tossed him overboard.

Tommy scratched and clawed at the edge of the lifeboat. Malja rushed over and reached for him — his skin paling and his body shivering in the cold water. As she pulled him up, Wuchev splashed to the surface and latched onto the boy. He punched the boy's ribs. He grabbed at the boy's hair. Madness painted his face as he tried anything to break that boy's grip.

"I'll drown you, maggot!"

Malja swung her leg over the side and pressed her foot against Wuchev's head. She looked straight at Tommy and said, "I promise you, I won't let go." Pulling on Tommy and pushing on Wuchev, she started to separate the two.

Wuchev screamed, but Malja did not stop. "I'm sorry," he blubbered. "I'm sorry. Don't let me die. I'll take it all back. I didn't mean to hurt anybody. I wasn't going to drown the boy."

Malja raised her foot and for a second, Wuchev smiled as if he had won. With her teeth clenched and her top lip lifted in a snarl, she slammed her heel into his nose, breaking it with a gush of blood, and sending him into the water. His muted screams were strong enough to come through the water for longer than she had expected. She yanked Tommy aboard, and without pause, returned to the oars.

Tommy looked at her, his eyes shimmering with such a blend of emotion, Malja couldn't tell what he thought. She stared right back at him, unwavering, not giving him an alternative but to deal with his thoughts. She saw fear in those eyes. And anger. And newborn freedom. She thought she saw tremors of the magician within him. And she knew he saw the monster within her.

But he stepped over to her. He sat at her knees. And he rested his head against her leg.

Tumus joined her, snapping Malja from her memories. Malja couldn't decide if that was any better. They were quiet at first. Malja wished she would leave and chose to scan the trees rather than risk inviting conversation. She tried to clear her mind, but Tommy's eyes would not leave her. She even tried to think about Gregor's attacker, but doing so with Tumus right there left Malja feeling wrong as if she had defiled his memory a little. She hoped Tumus would give up, but such hopes were dashed as Tumus cleared her throat.

She began with some dull talk about Fawbry, the cooling weather, and horses. Malja answered in as few words as possible. She knew Tumus was building up the courage to say something and just had to wait it out.

At length, Tumus said, "What do you know about the Chi-Chun? Other than the superstitious nonsense Fawbry spouts."

"Not much."

"Well, let me teach you some things."

"No, thanks. Don't mean to be offensive, but I don't really care what you believe. Korstra, Kryssta — all that religious stuff never served me well."

"Then I feel sadness for you," Tumus said with honest pity in her voice. "Listen, though, please. I'm not seeking a convert. I do think what I have to say is important for you and our task — it's about Cole Watts."

Though Malja did not look away from the woods, her skin prickled. "I'm listening."

"Thank you," Tumus said. "First, you must see that those who follow Korstra and those who follow Kryssta were not always enemies. Long ago, the brother gods ruled as one, and the world lived in glorious peace. All existed in perfect balance. All was as it should be. Trouble came along with Elatria — an exquisite princess. Some say a goddess as well. The brothers each fell in love with her and each sought to win her over the other. But they are gods and immortal. The world suffered under their endless battle. Until one day, Korstra made a bold and gracious gesture. To save the world, he would give up Elatria and dominion over half the people, and in exchange he called upon Kryssta to do the same."

"Split control of the world and nobody gets the girl. Nobody's happy, but their pain is equal."

"Exactly. But Kryssta betrayed Korstra and stole Elatria away. What neither god knew was that they had formed Elatria themselves. And so she required both of their love to exist. Without Korstra, she perished. Now, Fawbry will no doubt tell you this was all Korstra's fault, but —"

"What does any of this have to do with Cole Watts?"

Tumus smiled as if pitying a naïve child. "Elatria's death brought about the Devastation."

Malja shook her head. "I don't believe that."

"It doesn't matter if you believe or not. It is true. Elatria died, and the Devastation came, erasing most of the world and reshaping the rest. Korstra wept at this loss, but he still had control over half the remaining souls. That included the magicians. Korstra looked down and saw a man drowning in Dead Lake. He pulled together all the matter he could grab quickly and transformed that man into a conduit — a godlike creature, but a damned one, who would someday aid in Korstra's return to power, yet never enjoy peaceful bliss."

"Barris Mont?"

"Yes."

"Are you saying that through Barris Mont a brother god has sent us on a mission to find Cole Watts?"

"Patience. I'm almost finished. Korstra promised there would be signs to tell his followers if the brother god taking control was him or Kryssta. One of these signs, one that tells us Kryssta is coming, is called the Rising of the Dead. Don't listen to Fawbry. We don't think corpses will come back to life. That is nonsense. We circle Dead Lake so that Korstra can speak to us through Barris Mont at any time. But as for the dead — well, what do you know of science?"