Chapter 47
47
K ANTHE STOOD BEFORE the wingketch’s large windows and gazed beyond the last of the Scarp’s foothills. Ahead, a steamy landscape stretched to the glimmer of a distant sea. Yesterday, after their ship had reached the lower mountains, it had taken them another day to slowly sweep over the jagged range to reach the far side.
As he kept his post by the tall window, the final bell of Eventoll chimed throughout the ship. By now, the never-setting sun had fallen behind the peaks of the Hyrg Scarp. Shadows shrouded the lands of Malgard ahead. The expanse of rolling plains glowed with hot pools and boiling lakes, whose clay shores shone with acidic swirls of yellows, crimsons, and bright blues. Geysers spat in an unending spectacle of scalding water. Ponds exploded with great blasts of steamy air, before settling again.
“These lands are the home of Malkanian,” Rami mumbled at Kanthe’s shoulder. “The Klashean god of the fiery underworld, He who burns betrayers and traitors in eternal torment.”
Rami looked over at Kanthe, making it clear whom this lesson was for.
Kanthe turned away. He stared toward the other window across the wheelhouse. Aalia stood between Frell and Pratik. After the two imri had helped with the translation of the stolen prophetic pages, they had all come to a temporary truce, which allowed Rami and his sister more freedom. Still, both were escorted by hard-faced members of Llyra’s army.
Though, the risk of the two imri escaping was minimal.
And not just because we’re in the air.
Saekl—the Rhysian captain of the ketch—stood behind the ship’s maesterwheel, guiding their descent out of the mountains. Four of her sisterhood, all draped in bell-adorned braids, manned the curved helms on either side, working smaller maneuvering wheels and levers.
Little escaped the attention of these assassins.
Even now.
The youngest Rhysian, Cassta, met his gaze from the neighboring station. Her eyes shone with amusement. She had clearly overheard Rami’s brusque lecture on Klashean gods.
Kanthe grimaced and returned his attention to Malgard. The Quisl had dropped over the foothills, enough to see the scorching terrain was dotted by dense forests of skeletal trees, covered in thorns and gray-blue needles. Their branches twisted and writhed, as if the trees were trying to claw themselves free of this hostile land.
“What could possibly live down there?” Kanthe mumbled.
“Do not be fooled.” Rami’s arms were firmly crossed. “It is not just the terrain that is dangerous. Malgard teems with life.”
“Then why do any of your people make Malgard their home?”
Rami sighed and unlocked his arms and stepped closer. He pointed to the southeast, toward that distant glimmer of a blue sea. “The city of Qazen sits on the coast, where the land of Malgard fades into the Salted Wastes. A peninsula of alkali marshes and sunbaked flats. So blinding in their brilliance, it’s said they reflect the wisdom of the gods. It’s why Qazen is considered kissed by the heavens, blessed with seers and prophets.”
“And home to the emperor’s Augury,” Kanthe added.
Rami nodded with a huff. “He heads the city, ensconced in a grand villa at the sea’s edge. The Augury is but the latest in a long lineage of oracles, going back to the founding of the Klashe. Under each full moon, the Augury leads the other seers in a gilded caravan, traveling into Malgard to imbue and bathe themselves in its fumes. There, they drift into a fugue, allowing them to commune with the gods and return with great wisdom.”
A snort of derision rose behind them. “Charlatans,” Llyra stated firmly, puffing on a pipe. “The feckless lot of them. They’re far more swindlers and filchers than any thief.”
Rami’s small nod supported this assessment. Kanthe knew how much the prince and his sister resented the Augury’s hold on their father.
Drawn by the conversation, Frell and Pratik crossed to join them, followed by Aalia and her guard.
Frell stared toward the sliver of shining sea in the distance. “Do not be so quick to dismiss Qazen’s auguries. In my studies of prophecy, I’ve read of their revered talent. I combed through thousands of their divinations, going back millennia. Time has proven a vast majority of their predictions to be uncannily accurate. Many so detailed that it defies explanation.”
“Unless they’re truly touched by the gods,” Pratik added.
Aalia rolled her eyes. “Or simply touched.”
Frell waved the debate aside. “If circumstances were different, I would have liked to consult the Augury about the prophecy that threatens our world—and about the Vyk dyre Rha —but that is not what we came out here to seek.”
“The Sleeper,” Kanthe said.
Frell shifted toward Saekl. “Any estimation on when we’ll reach our goal, the site I marked on your ship’s map?”
Saekl leaned forward and cast her gaze to the north, well away from Qazen. “Another bell. Maybe longer. We’ve got some stiff headwinds to fight.”
Frell wrung his hands, clearly anxious. They were close to possibly discovering another of the bronze artifacts. Worry etched the alchymist’s face. The questions streaming behind his eyes were easy to read.
Is the Sleeper still there? Can we wake it? Will it agree to help us? And most importantly, will it have the knowledge to fill the gaps in Shiya’s fractured memory?
Kanthe added his own worries, glancing sidelong at Rami and Aalia.
Even if we’re successful, what then? With all of the Klashe hunting us, what will such a discovery win us? Without the support of the empire, where will we go?
It was one of the many reasons he had agreed to marry Aalia upon first landing in the Southern Klashe. They needed the cooperation and protection of the empire to be able to take advantage of any discovery out here.
Rami scowled at him. While much of the heat had dissipated from the prince, the two were far from friends. And any chance of regaining the empire’s trust and goodwill was even less likely.
A heavy silence fell over the gathering. The Quisl trembled as it coursed through the headwinds. The extended wings of the ketch occasionally jerked hard, bobbling the craft as it crossed heated updrafts. Still, they forged ahead. Leagues slowly passed under them. The pounding of Kanthe’s heart marked the tense passage of time.
The terrain below grew more inhospitable as they continued north. A huge geyser exploded directly before the large window, sending all of them stumbling back. Scalding water splashed against the glass and thrummed atop the balloon and deck overhead.
Saekl remained calm behind the wheel. “Gain us more air,” she ordered sharply to her crew. She looked at Kanthe’s group. “Be warned. The lands ahead appear to be more hot-tempered and capricious.”
Kanthe regained his footing, surprised to find Rami’s hand on his shoulder as his friend caught him. They returned together to the window. Kanthe saw that Saekl’s assessment had been too kind.
Shaded by the nearby mountains, the landscape was cloaked in darkness. Boiling pots of clay burped and spat. Rivers bubbled hotly everywhere. Even in the dusk of shadows, the rings of shimmering iridescence that framed each geyser shone brightly. Throughout it all, the dark thorny forests covered vast swaths, so dense it looked as if the woodlands were trying to hide the volatile landscape under their canopy. A few lone trees burned brightly out there, solitary torches in the dark.
Kanthe’s gaze followed one as they passed over it. The flames revealed the towering height of the forest. The trees were far taller than he had suspected from the air.
Rami noted his attention. “Naphtha pines.”
“Their green-black sap is incendiary,” Aalia added. “We use it as the main ingredient in the production of our imperium’s naphlaneum.”
Kanthe’s eyes widened. The entire Crown feared the scourge of the Klashe’s fiery gel. The craftsmanship to produce it remained a guarded secret. Naphlaneum’s flaming touch could burn through the hardest ironwood. Eat through skin and bone. Even water failed to douse its fire, only inflaming it further.
“How much farther?” Saekl called over to Cassta.
The slender Rhysian had shifted to a tilted table with a map tacked atop it. She clutched a compass in one hand and a pointed tool of measurement in the other. It seemed Cassta also served as the ketch’s navigator.
Without glancing away from her chart, she answered the captain. “Best I can tell. Half a league.”
“Heard,” Saekl responded.
Frell crossed toward Cassta. Kanthe followed, but not entirely due to his interest in navigation. With Cassta’s back to him, the leather of her breeches hugged her backside in a most comely manner.
Frell leaned next to her. “Can I see?”
She shifted slightly to the side. The map was marked up with circles, radiating lines, and scribbled notations. “The location you shared was not precise,” she explained.
“It leaves a lot of ground to cover. A square league, if my calculations are correct. It will take us some time to search through it all.”
Frell nodded. “Hopefully we’ll be able to spot some landmark from the air to guide us.”
Still, the alchymist didn’t sound hopeful.
Kanthe glanced toward the window as another geyser burst high. He certainly didn’t want to have to search that hostile terrain on foot.
He stared down at his toes.
Especially in these new boots.
They were crafted of the softest doeskin.
He glanced over at Rami.
A gift from a former friend.
A NOTHER BELL PASSED, then another, as the wingketch swept back and forth over the territory squared off on Cassta’s chart. With each pass, the terrain looked more tortured. The trees grew taller, the scalding geysers erupted higher, the boiling pots of mud became ponds, even lakes.
Kanthe paced between the windows and the map table.
He remembered Rhaif’s tale of the discovery of Shiya deep in the mines of Chalk. According to the former thief, she had been entombed in a copper egg far underground. If the Sleeper of Malgard was similarly buried, digging the bronze artifact free would be next to impossible, especially on their own.
He glanced to Aalia, who kept with her brother by the far window.
From the outset, Kanthe and the others knew their best chance of discovering the Sleeper lay in gaining the empire’s support, especially if a deep excavation was necessary.
That’s not happening now.
Still, Kanthe held out a sliver of hope. Rhaif had also described a great quake in the mine tunnels, as if Shiya’s awakening had shaken the area. He believed her copper egg might have been trying to force itself to the surface, but something went awry. Maybe from the corruption of the passing ages or simply the weight of all that stone.
Kanthe shifted closer to the window, studying the landscape below. If the Sleeper of Malgard was interred in a similar manner, perhaps there might be some evidence on the surface of such a forceful awakening deep underground.
As if conjured by this thought, a tall cliff rose ahead. It divided the land in two. The tablelands on top were riven with great cracks and fissures, several of them steaming. Huge boulders and shattered rocks filled the base of the precipice.
Kanthe hurried over to Saekl. “Get us higher.”
The captain frowned at him, clearly not one to take orders.
Frell shifted around Saekl. “Why, Kanthe?”
He pointed to the stretch of cliffs. He explained about the quake that had accompanied Shiya’s awakening.
“Could that be what we’re seeing here?” he pressed. “Signs of the same?”
Frell took a deep breath, squinting below. “Whatever shook this corner of Malgard, it happened ages ago. Century-old trees have rooted over those boulders and dug deep into the cliffs. And look at the white scale caked around the steaming vents on top. It would take many centuries to build to that thickness.”
Kanthe couldn’t argue but tried anyway. “Maybe this Sleeper tried to wake long ago and got stuck.”
Frell cast him a dubious look.
Still, Saekl heeded Kanthe’s earlier request and fired up the ship’s forges. The Quisl lifted its prow, and the ketch crested higher, sailing over the cliffs. She tucked the starboard wing enough to send them into a wide circle.
To better study the tablelands under them, Kanthe rested a palm on the glass and leaned over the curved window.
Saekl continued to wind them higher, opening the view wider.
Frell suddenly flinched and dropped his hand next to Kanthe’s. The alchymist leaned on the glass, peering intently below.
“Do you see something?” Kanthe asked.
“Maybe. A pattern.”
“Of what?”
Frell tried to point, but his finger hit the glass. “The cracks,” he blurted out, both frustrated and excited. “All the rifts and fissures. They radiate out from one section of the cliff over there.”
Kanthe scrunched his brows and searched below. Once it was brought to his attention, the pattern was obvious. He followed the spread of cracks to a piece of cliff that had shattered apart, as if the storm god, Tytan, had struck it with His mighty ax.
“You… You’re right,” Kanthe stammered out.
Frell pushed off the glass and rushed to Saekl. He pointed below. “Can you get us down there?”
She frowned at him, plainly insulted that Frell should question her abilities. Still, she turned and barked orders to her crew. The ketch swung around and sailed toward the broken section of the cliff face.
“There’s a clearing near its base,” Frell gushed. “The ground looks solid enough.”
Kanthe stared below. The clearing was no more than a small gap between a dense fringe of thorny forest and a series of bubbling clay pots. All around, geysers spat and sprayed to some rhythm known only to the gods. Ponds steamed, and a small lake burped out a bubble the size of their ship.
“Can you land there?” Frell asked the captain.
This time, Saekl didn’t frown. The descent would prove challenging. She simply grabbed the wheel and spoke quietly to her crew, perhaps afraid Malgard’s resident god—Malkanian—might overhear their plans to trespass. The Quisl circled slowly. A geyser burst under the ship, jolting it hard. Saekl ignored it and continued downward. Once near the tree line, she ordered the ketch’s two wings to be retracted and reefed.
Tense breaths later, the ship landed with a hard bump.
They were greeted by another belch from the lake.
“Well done,” Frell whispered.
Everyone gathered by the windows. They all stared toward the tall cliff. Its face looked fragile, riven by many cracks. Sharp-edged boulders formed a massive rubble pile at its base. Up top, a boiling river spilled over the edge, but its waters turned to steam before ever touching ground.
Still, they all saw it.
Past the boulders and steam, a huge fracture cut into the cliff, its depths vanishing into the darkness.
“You want us to go in there, don’t you?” Kanthe asked Frell.
“We must.”
Kanthe’s gut clenched. “It’s already late. Mayhap we should all get a good night’s sleep and start out in the morning.”
Frell remained silent, clearly considering this option.
Rami dashed it. “We cannot wait. Malgard already knows we’re here.”
Kanthe glanced back at the prince. Rami’s gaze was not on the cliffs, but on the neighboring ponds and lakes. Kanthe swallowed and looked in that direction, too. He saw no threat for several breaths, but when he did, he fell back.
He had first thought they were just pearlescent sprays of water hanging in the air. They had certainly been cast high, forcefully jettisoning from the lakes and ponds by the waters’ blasts and burps. Once airborne, the creatures spread wide luminescent bells, which grew ever brighter as they drifted through the air. From the undersides of the bells, long frills of fine hairs draped and waved, stretching longer than Kanthe’s arms.
Those bells contracted and expanded, propelling the creatures through the air. They spun and danced, casting their frills wider. With each breath, more and more were expelled from the waters surrounding the ship. Clouds of them soon glowed and swam everywhere. A few landed on the hard clay, pulsing like shimmering iridescent hearts. Their frills floated and trembled higher, forming a shining corona around them.
Despite their seemingly aimless paths, their malignant intent was clear. The glimmering cloud inexorably wafted in the direction of the wingketch.
“What are they?” Kanthe whispered.
“Lycheens,” Rami answered.
Aalia explained the danger. “A touch of those threads cuts through skin and burns with a paralytic fire. Too many strikes of those threads can kill.”
“What do they want?” he asked, dismayed and appalled.
Her answer did not reassure. “To feast on the iron in our blood.”
Kanthe swung toward Frell. “Maybe we should reconsider this path. I mean, do we really need this Sleeper of Malgard?”