Chapter 3
The first two weeks in the Gallery taught me that everything I thought I knew about void travel was wrong.
Sailing on a skiff was like riding a raft down a river.
You could feel the current, could adjust your course with rough pushes and pulls.
But sailing on The Night-Piercer was like being part of something alive.
The ship moved through the darkness smoothly, her wings catching currents I could sense but the others needed instruments to detect.
Cypher kept me busy. Every day he'd drag me to the navigation station and make me identify the nearest portals, guess the strength of passing currents, and predict shifts in the void's fabric. At first I failed more often than I succeeded, my instincts unreliable and wild.
"You're thinking too much," he said, after I'd gotten three readings wrong in a row. "Stop trying to analyze what you feel. Just feel it."
"I hope you understand how unhelpful that is."
He adjusted something on the astrolabe, comparing its reading to what I'd sensed. "Rifts don't navigate with their minds. They navigate with something deeper. Instinct. Connection. Whatever you want to call it."
I closed my eyes, trying again. The void pressed against my awareness like water against skin. I could feel the currents moving through it, could sense the distant pull of portals like lighthouses in fog.
"There," I said, pointing slightly to port. "A portal. Maybe seventy-six hours sail at our current speed."
Cypher checked the astrolabe, and something that might have been approval flickered across his face. "Better. You're ten hours off, but better."
"Ten hours is a lot."
"Ten hours is nothing in the Deep Gallery.
Most navigators would be off by days." He made a note in the ship's log.
"Keep practicing. By the time we reach the zone near Nytheris, I need you to be accurate to within a second.
" He started to leave, then paused. "You're doing well. For someone untrained."
It was the closest thing to a compliment he'd given me.
Kora adapted to ship life faster than I did.
She took to the rigging like she'd been born to it, her air magic giving her an edge when working with the wings.
By the end of the first week, Knives had her helping with sail adjustments and small repairs, but the second week they trusted her completely on her own.
"I think I'm in love," Kora said one evening as we ate dinner in the galley. The crew ate together, crowded around a long table in a room that smelled like spices and salt. "With this ship. With freedom. With everything."
"Don't let Jask hear you say that," Zoya said with a grin. "He might get jealous."
Kora's face flushed. "I have no idea what you're talking about."
"Sure you don't." Zoya nudged Knives, who sat beside her. "Did you see them during watch rotation last night? Jask was teaching her combat moves."
"Very close combat moves," Knives added, her green eyes dancing.
"We were training," Kora protested, but her blush deepened.
I'd noticed the way Jask looked at Kora, and the way Kora found excuses to be near him, despite claiming he was too brooding for her taste. He was handsome enough, with his dark hair and eyes. A bit sallow under the eyes, as if he hadn't slept in months. But I could see why he'd caught Kora's eye.
"Leave her alone," Tor said, though he was smiling as he and Omri played what looked like a game that involved marbles. "Young love is beautiful."
"I'm going to murder all of you," Kora muttered.
The crew had accepted us faster than I'd expected, treating us less like passengers and more like temporary members. Only Omri remained quiet, though I got the sense that was just his nature rather than active dislike.
Cypher entered the galley, and the atmosphere shifted subtly. Not tense, exactly, but more focused. He grabbed a plate of food and sat at the head of the table, and I was struck by how naturally the crew oriented toward him. He was their center, their anchor.
Cypher nodded to Omri, who scooted a drink his way, then his gaze found me. “Scavenger, you're taking third watch tonight. Zoya will walk you through the basics of helm control."
My stomach dropped. "The helm?"
"You need to learn. If something happens to me or Zoya, someone needs to know how to keep this ship on course." He took a bite of bread. "Don't look so terrified. Zoya's an excellent teacher."
"I'm not terrified." Yes I was.
"No?" One eyebrow rose, and I could have sworn I saw amusement in those copper eyes. "Could have fooled me."
Across the table, Vic coughed to hide a laugh.
Third watch started too early. I reported to the helm to find Zoya waiting, bundled in her void mantle against the Gallery's cold.
It looked like a leather coat, reaching her ankles, but the leather sparkled, the little flecks of anchor crystal catching the glow of the crystal torches.
I wondered if hers was illegal like mine.
"Ready to learn, rookie?" she asked.
"No," I said quickly. She cut her eyes at me and I sighed. "Aye, ready and waiting."
The helm was more complex than I'd expected, a wooden wheel connected to a series of gears and pulleys, with control levers on either side that adjusted the wings' pitch and angle.
The astrolabe sat in a brass housing to the left, its rings slowly rotating as it tracked our position.
It functioned similarly to those used on the seas, only these were made with anchor crystals, and could feel the fabric of the Gallery rather than the turn of the planet.
Zoya walked me through each control, explaining how the ship responded to adjustments, how to read the pressure gauges and void-depth indicators. Then she stepped back and let me take the helm.
The ship felt different from this position, less like a vessel I was riding in and more like a living thing I was guiding. I could feel the currents pushing against the hull, and could sense the ship's desire to drift off course.
"Small corrections," Zoya said. "Don't overcorrect or you'll start a wobble."
I made a tiny adjustment to the left, and the ship responded smoothly. A thrill ran through me.
"Good. Now check your depth gauge. What's it reading?"
I glanced at the instrument. "Three hundred and twelve relative to the nearest current."
"And it should be?"
"Three hundred."
"So?"
I adjusted the pitch control, and felt the ship rise slightly. The gauge crept back toward three hundred.
"Perfect," Zoya said. "You're a natural."
We sailed in silence for a while, the Gallery stretching endlessly around us. Distant portals glowed like colored stars in shades of blue, green, amber, red. Some pulsed with steady, slow rhythms, others flickered erratically.
"Can I ask you something?" I said finally.
"Sure."
"What's Cypher's story? How long have you been with him?"
Zoya leaned against the rail, considering her response.
"I've been on this crew for six years. Joined when I was nineteen and stupid enough to think I could handle the Deep Gallery.
Cypher saved my life on my first run, pulled me out of a collapsed portal that should have killed me. I've stayed ever since."
"And the others?"
"Omri's been here the longest. He was crew for Cypher's late captain before staying on with Cypher. Jask joined about eight years ago, Knives and Tor about the same time as me. Vic's the newest, besides you two, only been with us three years."
"You're all loyal to him."
"He's earned it. Cypher's hard, but he's fair. He asks a lot of his crew, but never more than he asks of himself. And he's kept us alive through situations that should have killed us a dozen times over." She glanced at me. "Why do you ask?"
"I'm trying to figure him out. He's so..." I gestured vaguely, at a complete loss for how to describe someone like him.
She laughed. "That he is. But he has his reasons." Zoya's expression was sympathetic. "Give him time. He's not as cold as he pretends to be."
Every interaction with Cypher felt like hitting a stone wall. He never gave more than was absolutely necessary, never showed vulnerability or warmth. But I supposed I didn't know him well enough yet. If this crew trusted him, I would too.
As we sailed, I was content to stare into the far distance of the Gallery, trying to imagine how many more portals existed out there beyond our reach.
Sometimes, if I stared long enough, I could almost convince myself that I saw movement in the dark.
Not ships or creatures, but bigger things, or maybe just the slow shifting of the void itself, like some ancient animal turning in its sleep.
The first wayfarers must have been mad, launching themselves into the unknown with nothing but crude skiffs. No charts. No experience. Just the darkness, and the promise that somewhere out there, new worlds waited.
Some called the Gallery a realm in its own right. Others mused that it was only a tributary, a tiny offshoot of something much bigger. The thought of larger Galleries, nested inside each other, rivers within rivers, made my stomach twist uneasily.
Cypher emerged from below deck hours later, a steaming mug in his hands. He climbed the stairs to the helm deck and nodded to Zoya. "How's she doing?"
"Better than we expected. She's got good instincts." Zoya stretched. "I'm going to grab some sleep. You've got this?"
"I've got this." He nodded, dismissing her.
She left, and suddenly I was alone with Cypher. The silence stretched between us, broken only by the creak of the ship and the whisper of currents against the hull.
"You're doing well," he said finally. "With the navigation training."
"Thank you."
"Don't thank me yet. We're only two weeks in. Things will get harder."
Of course they would. I adjusted our heading minutely, keeping us on the course Zoya had shown me. Cypher moved to stand beside me at the rail, looking out into the darkness. This close, I could smell him—leather, pipe smoke and soft herbal tea.
"Why did you agree to this job?" I asked. "Gideon said you usually turn down work like this."
He shrugged. "I needed the money."
"Everyone needs money."
He was quiet for so long I thought he wasn't going to answer. "I have debts. Obligations. Things I need to settle."
"That's not an answer."
"It's the only answer you're getting." He took a sip from his mug. "Some advice? Don't get attached to this crew. Don't get attached to me. When this job is done, we'll go our separate ways. That's how this works."
I leveled a glare at him. "I'm not a child. I know how business relationships work."
"Do you? You're looking for a hero. A captain who's noble and good.
You want someone to protect you and make everything alright for your family.
" He turned to face me fully. "I'm not that person.
I'm an opportunist who takes jobs for money.
I'll get you to Nytheris and back because that's what I'm being paid to do.
But don't mistake professional competence for something more.
We aren't friends, and neither are my crew your friends. "
"And you supposedly deduced my needs, wants and intentions in two weeks?" He was awfully presumptuous, and irritating, I realized.
He laughed softly. "I know that look in your eyes, scavenger.
I've seen it before, on people who didn't survive to regret their misconceptions.
" He put his mug on the rail. "You want some advice that will actually keep you alive?
Learn to trust your instincts. Stop second-guessing yourself.
And stop trying to figure me out, because you won't like what you find. "