Chapter 23 Misery
Later that day, I returned to the ship to fetch clean bandages and a jug of fresh water from the pit. Echo said he needed them, but I suspected it was just to give me something to do.
And so, I gathered the supplies, slipped them into a gunny sack, and left the pit, feeling useless and lost. I paused in the companionway, however, where the door to the great cabin was ajar.
“Oh, Ensign Blue,” said Worley. “Are you looking for the captain?”
“Just fetching supplies,” I said.
“Would you like to come in?” he asked.
“To the captain’s cabin?”
“Yes,” he said. “He has some books for you.”
I already had read three. Bending the Runes: Essays in Alchemical Layering, A Protracted History of Naval Magik, and Spells for an Above-Average Midshipmage. Riveting page-turners, one and all.
“Come in. Come in.”
I shouldn’t have, but I did, carefully stepping into the most sacred place on such a ship as this.
The desk littered with maps, the journal with the strange set of runes, a sideboard set with a wine service of silver and gold.
Linens pressed and folded on an embroidered chair.
Mullioned windows scrubbed so clean that I could actually see through them.
“Let me see where he’s put them now…”
As regal as it was, it wasn’t for me. I could never be a ship’s captain. Far too much responsibility. I could barely command my own life, let alone a hundred others.
“How is Mr. Fahr?” Worley asked, shuffling papers and opening drawers.
Dying.
“On the mend,” I said, and I tried to smile.
“Good. Good. And Bilgetown? My stars, that must have been terrifying.”
“It wasn’t. Just sad.”
He turned to look at me, eyes curiously bright.
“Is it whales? I’ve heard they roam the seas by lines attached to whales. Like an ox-drawn carriage, but with whales.”
“I…should be getting back to shore.”
“He hides all his valuable books with a veil,” he said. “Such a suspicious man, but then again, when you’ve lived such a life— Ah, here!”
And he pulled out a huge, dusty album, pushed it into my arms.
Bonavanczek: Brotherhood of Benevolence, by Stephanus Bonavanczek IV, Crown Prince of Oversea and All the Countries of the Northhelm.
“It has illustrations,” said Worley. “And I know how much you love to sketch.”
I took it with more than a little wonder.
“Was this written by the king?” I asked.
“When he was but a crown prince, forty years ago or thereabouts. He’s much older now, I’ve heard.”
“I wouldn’t know.”
“Nor would I. I’ve never met him or seen him, to be sure. He’s lost two sons to the Rhi’Ahr now, hasn’t he? It’s impressive that there hasn’t been an all-out war staged earlier. He’s sure to be an impressive man, running all of Oversea as he does. I’d give my birds to meet him in person.”
“Ensign Renn?”
The captain swept by, smelling of salt and sweat and well-oiled wood.
Fog.
“Sir,” I said.
Fog. I knew I shouldn’t be in his cabin.
“She was asking about your books,” said the steward.
“Mr. Worley said—” I bit my tongue. It sounded pathetic and small, like I was making excuses. “I was fetching supplies for the doctor.”
“Medical supplies.” He threw his waistcoat over the chair and grabbed the bottle instead. His gold-shot eyes darted to the book in my hands. “In my cabin.”
“No, sir, he…”
Worley blinked at me.
“I…”
I marshalled my bones.
“I shouldn’t be in your cabin uninvited,” I said. “That’s bad form. I’ll go.”
“Stay.”
“It’s fine, sir. I’ll—”
“Stay.”
Suns, my poor, confounded heart.
“A second glass, Mr. Worley.”
“Sir, it’s too early.”
Thanavar said nothing.
“Yes, sir,” said the steward. “Right away, sir.”
It was on his desk before I knew it.
“And prepare one of your birds.” He poured two glasses, full. “We’re heading to Port Corvallan. We should be there in three days’ time.”
“Port Corvallan. Three days, sir. Aye, sir.”
The steward scurried to the doors but turned back.
“Will you be seeking an audience with the Court of Sand, sir?”
“I will, Mr. Worley.”
“Aye, sir. I’ll fetch a bird, sir.”
And with that, he was gone.
Thanavar slid me a glass across the desk.
“Sit, Aro’el.”
I did, laying the genealogy book across my knees.
“Drink.”
I didn’t, but he downed his in one go, reached for the bottle again, and began to pour.
“Thank you for assisting with Devanhan,” he said after a moment.
I smiled sadly.
“He’s going to be a great king,” I said, desperate to convince myself that, one day, he’d take the throne and begin to rebuild our helm. “He’s loved every moment on these decks.”
Thanavar glanced up at me, something like hope swimming in the depths that were his eyes.
“He said this?”
“He did,” I said. “Many times. He’d have chosen no other life than to sail with you and the Touchstone and her marvelous, magikal crew. No comfort, no throne, could ever compete.”
He sat back, his body sinking into his chair like a sail without wind, and stared into his glass.
“We have a word in Rhi’Ahr,” he said quietly.
“Kel’yion. It is more concept than thing.
More than family and dearer than friend.
Someone who is a part of your very heart.
Someone you would die for and, harder yet, someone for whom you would live.
I am a blessed man, for I have had two. The Touchstone and Devanhan Fahr. ”
I swallowed, pretending it was only the wine.
“For ten years, Dev has been a kel’yion for me, and I for him. He is the best, the brightest soul in this wretched helm. In fact, he is its only hope, and he is dying.”
My own heart was breaking now, for Dev, for Thanavar, and for the remarkable ship who carried us all.
“My ship is dying, Aro’el,” he said. “And my kel’yion is dying. And so, I have no recourse but to bargain with thieves and witches in order to save one.”
“The Court of Sand?”
He nodded. “The only way to join them is to kill one and take their place. Thieves and murderers, the lot of them.”
He paused his glass, eyes heavy, cheeks gaunt.
“To save Devanhan Fahr, I must lose the Touchstone,” he said. “But to save the Touchstone, I will lose Devanhan Fahr.”
He blinked slowly.
“A man’s heart has only so much room.”
Hels, he was killing me.
I sat back, gripping the glass and lost in the contents.
This man, this enigmatic, compelling, powerful man, was as confounding as anyone I’d ever known.
As a Rhi’Ahr, he’d abandoned his people to serve the Northern king and risked his life every day to restore the failing Dreadwall.
He loved his crew, his first mate, and his ship with equal fervor, and he dared bargain with the terrifying Court of Sand.
He challenged me with every breath—his relentless mind and mastery of rune drew me like riptides, but fog me, if his heart wasn’t deeper, more mysterious still.
Fog me to the Dreadwall and back.
“How far is Port Corvallan?” I asked.
“Two days east northeast.”
“Two days? But you told Worley—”
“Two days.”
I took a large gulp now, not caring that I had taken much rum earlier that day.
“He won’t make two days,” I said.
“I know. War will break out across this world, and it will be my fault.”
“But it was Ten Polley from Bilgetown.”
“Even so. After we send Dev’s body to the Old Sand, I shall return to Bilgetown and sink her hard.
I will find this Ten Polley, and I will quarter him and hang his pieces from the Touchstone’s yards.
I will scour the wreckage of that pathetic barge city and drown every survivor I find.
Every man, woman, and child, until Bilgetown is nothing more than a footnote in the history. ”
The little girl with the big eyes. Her doll stashed beneath my bunk.
“But that will not stop the war or bring Devanhan Fahr back, will it?” he asked.
I gulped the wine again. I prayed he didn’t see my hand tremble.
He leaned back and cast his gaze out the port window, put his boots up on the desk. So lean, so lithe, so like a great cat. My skin burned at every movement of his body, and I fought to keep my eyes elsewhere.
“Your mother was a greenmage, yes?”
“She was.”
“And you have none of it?”
“I didn’t care much for my mother, so I didn’t attend her magik.”
“Your father?”
“I know nothing about him. He left before I was five.”
Forge, how long had I wanted to kill the captain? Now, I was drinking with him like an equal, discussing hopes and dreams and the heartache of life. But I had to be careful. He was still Rhi’Ahr in a world at war, in the cross-tides of everything, one swift away from treason.
“Tell me, then, Aro’el. What drew you to the service of magik?”
However, he was so unlike anything or anyone I’d ever known, and I found myself yearning to untangle him. But I knew that, in doing so, I might begin to untangle myself, and those were dangerous waters, indeed.
“I wanted to be a mirrormage,” I said finally.
He smiled, but it was gone before I could blink.
“Ah, yes,” he said. “You told me on the water.”
“I did,” I said. “I want to be a mirrormage, like you.”
“Why?”
I couldn’t speak; my throat had grown tight. Damnations, my chin was quivering, and my eyes stung like salt.
“All my life, I wanted to be a bird,” I choked out.
“I wanted to fly away and never come back. I wanted to soar on the winds and laugh in the storms. I wanted to live on the sea and in the sky and not the land, never the land. And it’s still what I want.
I never want to be with people ever, ever again. ”
Hels’ hooks. Tears.
I wiped my cheeks, and this time, his smile was warm and sad.
“A mirrormage, it is, then. I will teach you, once this is over.”
He swirled the contents of his cup, stared into it for a long moment before raising it.
“To misery,” he said.
“To misery,” I said.
And we drank.
There was a pile of books on the floor beneath the window, and he raised a hand to hover over them. The pile toppled as one slid out, rising to meet his grasp. He moved around his desk, leaned against it in front of me, and held it out.
I took it.
“But it’s in Rhi’Ahr,” I said.
“Cy fwthilu,” he said, and the text began to shimmer. “Say it.”
“Cy fwthilu,” I breathed. “Oh.”
Legend Has It: Chronicles of Nethersea by Ellianthys Moonforth.
“You may have a part to play in this great game,” he said. “Now that I know you have the bones. Besides, you’ve said you are willing.”
The only way to survive in Thanavar’s game…
“You have the power,” he said. “And the chimeric is yours to control. Therefore, Lindurithain is yours as well.”
Was this really a game? And if so, was he playing me? How would I know? And what if I wanted to play?
“You said you were a resource,” he said. “But what if you had all the resources in the world, all the books, all the chimeric? Would that be enough to satisfy a runechaser like yourself?”
He leaned forward, and my skin warmed at his nearness. I wanted to close my eyes and let it burn.
“If you were a bird, would you guard the island with your life, learning and growing in magik ’til the end of your days?”
And suddenly, I knew that’s exactly what he had done for ten years after the Abolition, until the Rhi’Ahr ships came. Alone, with nothing but books and magik for company.
I looked up and met his eyes. They called me like the ocean, deep and dark and swirling with currents. They were worlds unto themselves.
“If the Court of Sand could save Dev, yes,” I breathed. “Yes, I would.”
He turned his face as if studying the spines of his books, but I knew him better now. The runes were spinning as plans took shape.
“You are as brave as a warrior,” he said quietly. “Perhaps it was the Sister Moons who brought you to our decks.”
“Then I thank them,” I said. “I’ve lived more since you pulled me out of the sea than I have in all my life before. I may die horribly and soon, but I wouldn’t trade these days for anything.”
“Well,” he said, his lips twitching. “You may not die…horribly.”
Almost a joke.
“I thought you were a better liar than that,” I said.
His eyes softened.
“I shall try harder next time,” he said. “Honor Aro’el ithna’illyon.”
It sounded so beautiful rolling off his tongue.
“Much better than ‘wretched woman from a lost frigate,’” I said.
“Well…”
“I know, I know,” I said. “The frigate is still lost.”
He smiled easily this time as he reached for the bottle, and my heart skipped a beat. What was it about smiles now? I’d lived my life without them and been just fine. I was getting so soft.
There was a rap at the door, and Worley peered in.
“All hands preparing to board, sir,” he said.
“Including Mr. Fahr?”
“Aye, sir. He’s on a skiff with the doctor and Mr. Oakum.” He held up his basket. “And I have a swift, sir.”
“Very good. Dismissed, Aro’el. Thank you for the conversation.”
I rose to my feet, gripping the books in my arms, one weighty, one not.
“How do you say king?” I asked. “In Rhi’Ahr.”
“Bryn’nyd.”
“Bryn’nyd,” I repeated.
“We shall speak again when you get to page five hundred and thirty-five.”
I looked down. Unlike the Bonavanczek genealogy, Legend Has It appeared to be twenty pages at most.
I slipped out of the room to my berth in the galley and cracked the cover.
I was on page five hundred and thirty-four when Devanhan Fahr died.