Fyrij snuggled into Vantra’s neck as the Loose Ducky passed the majestic cliffs of Tempest Island, chirping softly. She stroked his breast, knowing it might take days more for him to become comfortable zipping off on his own. Until then, she assumed he would plant himself on the shoulder of nearest being he trusted and stay there, expecting them to protect him from whatever may befall.
Still, she felt sad for him, that any trips he might have taken to collect pretty flowers and other special items would never happen. She rubbed her cheek against the top of his head, and he twittered at her, content.
Good. Both Light and Darkness had pressed him on the activation of the shields they placed on him, reminding him he needed to follow the steps they gave him, then conducted morning drills so his reactions would become automatic. Her little caroling hated the repetition, and his crossness about it slid off the syimlin like water, which made him even grumpier.
The burnt umber cliffs turned into gentle slopes dotted with trees and bushes, which led to beaches of golden sand tinged brighter pink and blue, separated by rocky outcroppings. Flatter areas of bright yellow-green rested between the shore and the deep emerald, foliage-laden hills, and the uniform size hinted at crops rather than wild growth, though, from that distance, she could not definitively tell with a naked eye.
One-man fishing vessels drifted between them and the wooden docks built just outside small settlements. All habitations had burly trees surrounding them, a way to block the buildings from the harshness of the winds—though the gusts had quieted since rounding Over the Top, an on-point name describing the northern tip of Tempest, and heading south.
“The bataka look fine,” Mera murmured, lowering the spyglass to re-tuck her flitty hair behind her ears. “No damage to the buildings, and I see people doing their everyday tasks.”
“We’ll see what’s up when we get closer to the Scar,” Tally said, staring at the shore with arms folded and foot tapping. She wore a headscarf that kept her tresses from her eyes, the neon shade of pink a sharp contrast against the softer grey atmosphere.
Vantra wanted to see the neon glow below the waves before islanders harvested the bacterial secretions for the brilliant dyes; both Mera and Tally said it was a beauteous sight on the darkest nights, and Windhaven had many a dark night.
They passed a slower vessel laden with gigantic crates, the Loose Ducky dwarfed by the immensity of the ship. More vessels sailed the lane, which she thought odd since they had only spotted a handful before they rounded the Top. Where had they all come from?
Several ran under the IBA flag, too. Janny had told them that the increased law presence made Dough grumpy, but not to worry, the Loose Ducky had a stellar reputation even if its crew did not. Her teasing tone did not hide her concern, and Vantra wondered what the IBA refused to share about the safety of the waterways.
“There are no docks at the Scar, are there?” The Lord of Pineapple asked. He had joined them on deck, curious as to what Mera and Tally expected to discover while perusing the shore for anything peculiar. He sat on the railing, cross-legged, loose strands from his braid playing with the light breeze as he idly studied the waters, humming at random intervals and then asking questions. The twins did not appear concerned about his inquisitiveness, but Vantra disliked the prying. He seemed to guess her reluctance to impart the information, and asked anyway, especially oddly specific ones about her mother. His curiosity about Sun’s high priestess had a tinge of darkness to them, which peeked out when he mentioned Ga Son before getting shoved back into the depths of his emotions.
He survived the Banquet. She did not blame him for hating what Sun and the long-ago Death had plotted, and assumed that explained his surliness concerning her connection to the Spiral Sun Temple. She tried not to take his disdain personally, but failed.
“Not that we’re aware,” Tally said. “The magic’s still potent, and no one wants to go ashore and deal with it.”
“Magic?” Kenosera asked. He and Yut-ta had joined the group, eager to see the shore as they sailed by.
“The Ebon Scar’s a blight on Tempest,” Mera said.
“The Scar once held the Batroscope,” LP informed him. “A wondrous invention by Weather’s acolytes, it monitored the winds and weather on the island, giving forecasts so both Tempest and Wistful knew what to expect within a yilsemma or so. The Beast tested his mephoric emblems on it, and the resulting clash of magics created blighted land incapable of life. The acolytes who built it met the Final Death, and no one has attempted another batroscope since.” He smiled, though it seemed wistful. “That forced Weather’s hand and prompted Ebelle to meddle in Talis’s magic.” He drew his fingers through the air, as if he could touch the particles of light. “Two forces he did not anticipate, and between them, they barred him from entering the isles.”
“The rock’s burnt black,” Mera said. “And you can still feel the Beast’s hand infusing the ground.”
“Death always leaves a mark.” LP shrugged. “How deep a one is left to the mantle’s wielder.”
The nonchalance pricked at Vantra like a briar. She knew, intimately, how scarring the memories of one’s demise could be, and added on top of a terrible Judgement, like what Kjaelle experienced, that mark might remain for the entirety of one’s existence. The casual dismissal of the emotional upheaval, despair, and wretched agony sat ill with her.
“Erse has done her best to fix what the Beast broke,” Tally reminded him, defensive.
“And she’s done an admirable job. Few would have the verve and staunchness needed to eradicate his hand.” He paused, and his shoulders slumped. “But it wasn’t enough, was it? Mephoric emblems rise again.”
“And we’ll see them returned to the Void,” Mera promised, her words trailing off. She pushed skyward, sailing to the height of the crow’s nest, and facing the bow, set the spyglass to her eye. Tense moments later, she fell back down with a frown. “Ebestar Bay’s roped off. IBA’s strung tall orange buoys with matching chains along the lane.”
“So the Ducky won’t be able to get close?” Tally growled and whirled into a breath of wispy mist, heading for the wheelhouse.
“If it’s roped off, the IBA knows more about what’s going on than Ozrik said.” Vantra hated that the admiral kept information from them.
“Or this happened after we left Bask-ilisk.” Mera thumped the eyeglass on her thigh, annoyed. “The IBA knew about the gunk in the water at the competition; they took samples, after all. It makes sense that Ozrik would contact other admirals about the danger and give the IBA on Tempest the excuse they needed to prohibit access to the Scar.”
“Would you mind, if I look?” Vantra asked. The Light acolyte handed her the object, and she leaned over, peering ahead of the ship; sure enough, the floating orange objects with an IBA flag flapping from the top held three rows of chains that spanned as far as her glass could see, sparking with magic. They must intercept the land at some point, but the Loose Ducky sailed too far away to pinpoint the location.
A promontory marked the spot where the island curved inward, creating Ebestar Bay. Unable to see anything but water, she handed the glass back to Mera, who clucked her tongue against her front teeth.
“We’re too far away,” she complained.
“It’s interesting, they’re keeping us this far back,” LP said. “Fishing boats ply these waters, do they not?”
“Yes. Some of the best fishing along this coast is in Ebestar Bay because it’s shallow and has beautiful reefs. I wonder how much gossip we can get out of an upset fisherman or two. The companies that take tourists out might have a few things to say about being cut off from the more lucrative fishing sites.”
Vantra rubbed at her chest, unease flitting through her essence like a hummingbird uncertain which flower to sup from. Too much to puzzle over, too little information, and the Scar . . . something terrible resided there. Wisps of deadly darkness caressed her, a faint but noticeable Touch, something the newly made mephoric emblems aspired to but did not reach.
Mera slipped her arm around her shoulders, knocking her from the growing terror. “You’re sensitive to it,” she said in her kindest, grandmotherly tone.
“I—”
“Not a surprise,” LP said. “The Sun dwells within her, and is anathema to what the Scar holds.” A small smile parted his lips. “You and Tally surely sense the same.”
“Yes, but we’re used to it. This is our home, after all. We’ve been to the Scar numerous times.”
“Hmm. And does it feel different?”
“Different?” Mera stilled and eyed the waves, head cocked to the side. “Perceptive as always,” she murmured. “It’s darker.”
“The residual magic feeds off those who remain near,” LP said. “When that is islanders, it is calmer. When it is mercenaries? It is a darker thing.”
“It feeds off them?” Vantra asked, appalled. Why had Erse done nothing about it, if the Beast’s remnant power supped beings’ energy?
“The ferataka and vewtaka that ring it know about that,” Mera said. “They have a religious charge to keep an eye on the place. There’s always been a fear that the darkness the Beast fused into the land would return in monstrous form and destroy the island. The villages that surround it are the first defense—and they take that seriously.”
“Is that why the Revenants might have a headquarters there?” Kenosera asked. “This darkness?”
“Perhaps,” LP said. “Or their darker nature saw kindred within the burnt rock. I wonder if they use it as a testing ground for recruits, training them to act with rather than flee the darkness.”
Mera lifted her lip. Vantra did not blame her; her husband would need to pass those tests to clamber aboard a Revenant ship, and who knew what he had to change within him, to succeed.
“When did you start to feel it?” LP asked. She frowned; he already knew she sensed the touch of the Beast. She turned, then realized he spoke to Katta. Darkness eyed the waves, unblinking even though his hair danced into his eyes.
“A while back. It seeps below the surface of the seafloor, reaching outward. The plants and animals don’t appear affected, so it hasn’t started bubbling up to contaminate the water. Yet.”
She shuddered at the deeper, fatalistic tone.
“The IBA has roped off the lane to reach the Ebon Scar,” Mera said. “Tally went to ask Dough about it.” She motioned to the floating buoys off starboard, each jangling the chains as the waves waxed and waned. He nodded absently, and she, Kenosera and Yut-ta exchanged worried looks; what did he see, that they did not?
Salan butted his back, and he broke from his reverie. The vulf curled around his legs and he slid his fingers through the long hair, his attention still on the water. “The Scar has always been a blight on Death’s mantle, but it, like the Sunderlands, cannot revert to what it once was, no matter how I wish it. This . . . is more.”
“You can’t blame yourself,” LP reminded him. “He wanted this land obliterated. You, in all your power, are not Death nor the ruler of the Evenacht. The evening lands heed the call of Death’s mantle, not your own.”
“It answers to me more often than you believe.”
Tally swirled into view, annoyed and unwilling to hide it. “The IBA patrols say that Admiral Shelta ordered the barricade. They’re here to make sure no one violates it. I’m certain they know why, but refused to say.”
Mera hmphed. “I’m sure Shelta gave strict orders. She’s not one the average sailor crosses. Timos has stories—”
The vulf barked and pulled away; Kjaelle trotted up to ruffle his cheeks. He nuzzled hers in turn, then wound his way through Vesh and Greyshen’s legs before returning to Katta.
“Don’t let the IBA see you,” Katta said. “I don’t want them to know we’re nosing around. The barrier has spells, so I’ll drop you off beyond it. When you want to return, pray, and I’ll retrieve you.” He turned, his visage as unemotional as a statue. “If you see, hear, feel, anything wrong other than the obvious, don’t chance an encounter. Not yet. We don’t want the enemy alerted to our interest before we discover their intent, or have the opportunity to find out what happened to Gedall.” He held out his hand, and Kjaelle grasped it.
The shield he placed around her sent squirrelly shivers through Vantra’s essence; power backed it, but she sensed something far more nasty waiting below, ready to protect in a vicious way. He gave the same to Vesh and Greyshen; none of the three appeared concerned about the precaution. They must realize, Darkness believed the danger exceeded their capability, didn’t they? Should they not worry?
“Good luck,” Mera said.
“Or good hunt?” Kjaelle smiled, patting her arm. “Keeping Qira entertained will be more work.”
“That’s what Joella and Resa are for.” Tally raised an eyebrow. “If we went all weepy, he’d accuse us of grandmother-guilt, which would be true, but still. If Joella and Resa do it, he meekly sinks into the blankets.”
Vantra had witnessed that once, and she did not envy the syimlin as he huddled down and wrapped the covers around his shoulders, mournful over boredom, while both of his snuffling friends wore identical, distressed expressions. How many others of the Light-blessed had the power of guilt to pound sense into Light?
“I think I’ll join you,” LP said, unfurling so his legs dangled off the sea-facing side of the railing. “There is something of this sensation I wish to explore. I believe I’ve felt it before, but can’t place where, when.”
“Caution applies to you, too,” Katta said.
“When am I reckless?” He pushed off and disappeared before he fell much beyond the deck.
“If he’s that concerned, how paranoid should we be?” Greyshen asked. Katta half-laughed as Tally huffed a large sigh.
“I suppose it’s for the best. If we saw Gedall—”
“The Scar doesn’t need the reminder of violence,” Katta agreed. The annoyed twins pursed their lips in unison, and his smile widened. Salan whuffled and padded to the two, who ruffled his fur while he batted his tail against the deck’s boards.
“Keep an eye on him, eh?” Katta said before the three acolytes disappeared in greyish purple Darkness ribbons.
Kenosera glanced at Yut-ta, licked his lips, then cleared his throat. “Are we supposed to feel something?”
The syimlin shook his head. “No, for two reasons. The Touch we speak of is Death’s Hand, and neither of you are ghosts. The living are less sensitive to deathly dealings, even if they live day by day towards it. And neither of you use magic. There are subtleties to the sensation only those who cast spells can sense. It’s why, even on its best days, the Scar’s considered a dangerous spot. Stray magic can attack those unaware, and they end up as greddels.”
Both shuddered at the mention of the wisps left behind when a ghost met the Final Death. Nothing more than wispy energy and hunger, they sucked the life out of beings and always thirsted for more. Vantra prayed those they encountered in Greenglimmer were the last they had to deal with, but had the sinking suspicion the trajectory of Laken’s Redemption ran right through even more of them.
Katta stretched with a sigh. “When they return, I’ll let you know. Until then, I’m taking a nap.” He dropped his hands as Fyrij twittered at him and launched from Vantra’s shoulder to his. He grinned. “You want a nap, too? It’s going to be busy in Windhaven, so might as well get some rest before we dock.” With that, he took himself below, Fyrij twittering at him in a conversational tone.
One glance at the twins, and Vantra decided busy was a polite term for reckoning.
