Chapter 17
One month passed and we tried six more times to connect to the First Dark, each attempt leaving me more drained than the last.
Today marked our sixth failure. I collapsed onto the frozen ground, gasping for air as the darkness receded from my vision. My limbs felt like lead, my head pounding with the echoes of a thousand whispers that had nearly consumed me.
"That's enough," Zoya said firmly, helping me to my feet. "You need to rest."
I nodded weakly, too exhausted to argue.
Each attempt followed the same pattern. I'd reach for the First Dark, feel it responding, stretching toward me like curious fingers.
Then, just as connection seemed inevitable, something would snap.
The void would rush in too fast, too hungry, and I'd have to pull back before it swallowed me completely.
"Three days," Tor rumbled, his massive frame blocking the biting wind. "Three days before we try again."
I wanted to protest but couldn't find the strength.
The walk back to the ship felt impossibly long, my feet dragging through the gray dust of this dead realm.
Cypher watched from the bow as we approached, his copper eyes tracking my stumbling progress.
I looked away, refusing to acknowledge the concern there. His worry meant nothing to me now.
That night, like every night after an attempt, I dreamed of the Engine. It hung suspended in perfect darkness, a silvery, raw cut crystal that rotated slowly, containing what looked like a universe of stars within its translucent surface. It called to me. So close, yet unreachable.
I woke up gasping, sheets tangled around my legs, the echo of whispers still ringing in my ears.
These whispers had become familiar companions over the weeks, the voices of those lost to the void.
At first, they had terrified me—these fragments of consciousness drifting eternally through darkness.
Now I understood them better. They weren't malevolent, just lost. Trapped. I pitied them.
"Another dream?" Kora asked from her bunk, her voice thick with sleep.
"Always the same one," I replied, pushing my sweat-dampened hair from my face. "The Engine, spinning in darkness."
"Do you think it means something? That you keep seeing it so clearly?"
"I don't know. Maybe." I swung my legs over the side of the bunk, wincing as my bare feet touched the cold floor. "But it doesn't matter if I can't actually reach it."
Morning came too quickly. I dragged myself to the galley, where Tor had already set up our daily game of Knuckler. The intricate patterns of colored marbles had become a welcome distraction over the past weeks.
"Ready to lose again?" he asked with open amusement.
"In your dreams," I laughed, though we both knew he'd win. He always did. Still, I was improving. Yesterday I'd managed to capture three of his marbles before he decimated my defenses.
The game stretched through breakfast, with Zoya and Knives offering commentary and terrible advice from the sidelines. I focused entirely on the game, grateful for anything that kept my mind off the First Dark and its whispers.
Later, I helped Vic in his workshop, carefully copying his diagrams of the communication device he was refining. The delicate work required complete concentration, another blessed reprieve from my thoughts.
"Your precision has improved," he noted as he examined my drawings.
"I had a good teacher," I replied, managing a small smile.
Midday brought my now-regular self-defense training with Knives on the main deck. Apparently I was a 'sitting duck' without someone to shield me, and that needed to change. The weight of the blade felt awkward in my hands as I attempted to follow her precise instructions.
"You're still holding it like it's going to bite you," she sighed, adjusting my grip for the thousandth time. "It's an extension of your arm, not a venomous snake."
"Could have fooled me," I muttered, narrowly avoiding slicing off my own foot as I attempted a basic parry.
Kora sat cross-legged nearby, not even trying to hide her laughter. "You look like Click when he's gotten into the wine barrels."
"Thank you for that helpful observation," I said dryly. "Are you just going to sit there and mock me, or are you going to join in?"
"Mocking is much more entertaining," she replied, but stood anyway, accepting the practice sword Knives offered her.
We trained until our arms ached and sweat plastered our hair to our foreheads, despite the realm's perpetual chill.
I caught sight of Jask watching from the shadows of the mast, his eyes fixed on Kora with such naked longing that I almost felt a twinge of sympathy.
Almost. He had made his choices, just as Cypher had.
As we finished training, Cypher emerged from below deck.
Our eyes met briefly before I turned away, focusing too intently on cleaning my practice blade.
I'd spoken perhaps twenty sentences to him in the past month, all of them curt and necessary, about the attempts to reach the First Dark, about ship operations, nothing more.
Yet I felt his gaze on me constantly. He was increasingly more brooding. Angry, sometimes. Mostly just... sad and withdrawn, locked in his quarters reading through the codex.
Too bad. My heart still ached when I thought about what might have been between us, but sorry couldn't mend what he'd broken. Trust, once shattered, couldn't be glued back together with pretty words or longing glances.
That evening, as had become our routine, Zoya and I shared tea in a quiet corner of the deck, watching the strange stars of this dead realm emerge one by one.
"You know," she said after a comfortable silence, "for someone who's failing repeatedly at a crucial mission, you seem... better."
I raised an eyebrow. "Better than what?"
"Than before. When you first found out what Cypher did." She blew across her steaming mug. "You're not as brittle now."
I considered this. "I suppose I've found my footing. Made peace with what I can and can't control."
"And with the whispers?" she asked carefully. She was the only one I'd fully confided in about the voices from the void.
"They're just... there." I shrugged, unsure how to explain. "Like background noise. Sometimes I think they're trying to tell me something important, but it's like hearing a conversation underwater."
She nodded thoughtfully. "Maybe that's the key. Not fighting them, but listening."
"Maybe." I sipped my tea, letting the warmth spread through me. "I'll try again in three days. Tor's orders."
"Tor's orders," she agreed with a small smile. "He's appointed himself your personal physician, you know. Keeps track of how much you eat, how you sleep."
"I've noticed." It was hard to miss the extra portions that mysteriously appeared on my plate, or the way he casually steered me toward my quarters when I'd been awake too long.
Later that night, I found myself wandering the ship when sleep proved elusive.
The corridor was dimly lit by crystal lamps set to their lowest setting.
I paused outside Cypher's cabin, hearing the soft scratch of a quill on parchment.
He was still awake, probably poring over his maps and calculations, planning for a future that seemed increasingly out of reach.
For a moment—just a moment—my hand hovered near the door. Then I let it fall and continued walking. Some distances couldn't be crossed with a simple knock.
Three days later, we tried again. This time, something changed.
As I stood at the edge of the frozen ocean, the First Anchor warm against my skin, I remembered Zoya's words. Maybe the key was listening, not fighting.
I closed my eyes and began the breathing pattern—three quick inhales, three long exhales—but instead of trying to command the darkness, I opened myself to it. Invited it in, like an old friend.
The whispers came as they always did, rising from a distant murmur to a surrounding chorus. But this time, instead of trying to block them out, I focused on them. I tried to understand.
And for the briefest moment, I did. One voice, clearer than the others, spoke words that resonated through my very soul: "The bridge must be built from both sides."
The bridge must be built from both sides.
Those words haunted me for days afterward. I spent hours in my bunk staring at the ceiling, trying to decipher their meaning. Was the First Dark itself speaking to me? Or was it something else, some fragment of ancient knowledge drifting through the void?
Whatever the answer, I felt closer to understanding than I had in weeks. A week after that breakthrough, I woke to chaos. The sound jolted me from sleep—a terrible metallic screech followed by a thunderous crack that shook the entire ship. I bolted upright, heart hammering.
"What the—" Kora was already on her feet, grabbing her coat.
Another crash, and then the unmistakable whine of crystal engines powering up.
Not our engines.
"We need to get topside," I said, fumbling for my boots.
We raced through the corridor, nearly colliding with Jask as he emerged from his quarters, sword already in hand. The ship lurched beneath us, sending us stumbling against the wall.
"What's happening?" I demanded.
"Don't know." His face was grim as he steadied himself. "But it's not good."
We burst onto the deck and froze. The pale morning light revealed a ship hovering above the frozen ocean, its hull gleaming with polished steel and brass fittings.
Massive anchor crystals pulsed along its underside, the glow reflecting off the ice below.
It was at least twice the size of The Night-Piercer, bristling with weapons.
But it was the emblem emblazoned on its side that made my blood run cold.
A raven perched on a pike. Gideon Pike's personal insignia.
"The Reckoning," Zoya breathed beside me, having appeared from nowhere. "How did he find us?"
Cypher stood at the bow, rigid as stone. The rest of the crew scrambled to battle stations, Tor already charging the ship's meager defensive arrays.