Percepliquis

CHAPTER 13

The tide had come in and Arista noticed most of the shore was gone. Waves slammed against the cliff edge, hammering the wall. Seawater sluiced in and out of the shaft they had come down, making a vague sucking sound with each roll out. The ship sat upright, the deck flat, and the whole thing rocked with each new set of waves, which lifted the stern.

Myron stood on the deck of the Harbinger, casting his eyes upward at the sails as Royce flew about on ropes, tying off the braces. Soaked to the bone, the monk created a puddle where he stood. His frock stuck to his skin, a bit of glowing seaweed was on his shoulder, and he had black sand in his hair and on his cheeks.

“All done, then?” Hadrian asked, tying the end of one of the lines Royce had dropped to him.

Myron nodded. “Well, mostly, but I thought…” He looked up once more. “I thought Royce might be willing to say a few words, since he knew him best.”

“Royce is a bit busy,” Hadrian replied.

Myron’s shoulders slumped.

“How about if I come? I knew him too.”

“Can I come?” Arista asked. She had been on deck coiling ropes and generally clearing the clutter. No one had asked her to. No one had asked her to do anything. Women were unexpected on board a ship and she did not think Wyatt knew what to do with her. She had tried helping Alric with building the raft for the anchor, but that had gone badly. Her brother noticeably winced each time she suggested something to Mauvin, Degan, or Magnus. After only an hour, she excused herself, saying she was not feeling well, and returned to the ship. She hoped Wyatt would have some use for her, but he only smiled and nodded politely as he passed.

“Of course,” Myron said eagerly, a smile brightening his face.

Arista jumped to her feet, feeling oddly relieved. Somehow she had expected Myron would exclude her as well. She regretted volunteering, as getting off the ship required wading in chest-deep water. It was very cold and took her breath away. Her robe billowed around her as she struggled to find traction in the ground below.

A strong wave struck her from behind and she started to fall face forward. Hadrian caught her by the elbow and held her up.

“Thank you. I thought I was going for a swim there,” she told him.

“Bad form on the wave’s part, sneaking up and attacking you from the back like that.”

“Not very chivalrous, was it?”

“Not at all-I’d complain.”

Myron moved ahead of them, splashing his way to a high point where the water was only a few inches deep. “He’s under here-at least, he used to be.” Myron looked about, concerned.

“I’m sure he still is,” Hadrian said.

“We’d best get started before he slips away,” Arista said as a wave’s retreat sucked her feet into the sand. “You start us off, Myron.”

“Dear Maribor, our eternal father, we are gathered here to say farewell to our brother Bernie. That’s his name, right?” Myron whispered.

Hadrian nodded.

“We ask that you remember him and see that he crosses the river to the land of the dawn.” He looked to Hadrian, motioning with his hand for him to speak.

“Ah…” Hadrian thought a moment. “Bernie wasn’t a good man, exactly. He was a thief, and a grave robber, and he tried to knife Royce once-”

Seeing Myron’s expression, Arista nudged Hadrian.

“But, um… he didn’t actually ever try to kill any of us. He was just doing his job, I guess. I suppose he was pretty good at it.” Hadrian stopped there, looking awkward.

“Would you like to say something?” Myron asked Arista.

“I didn’t know him.”

“At this point I don’t think he’d mind,” Myron said.

“Okay. I suppose.” She thought a second, then said, “Although none of us knew him well, I am certain Mr. Bernie had virtues as well as shortcomings, like any of us. He likely helped people, or showed courage in the face of adversity when others might not. He must have had some good in him; otherwise Maribor would not have sent one of his most compassionate and thoughtful servants here to ensure he had a proper passing.”

“Wow, that was much better than mine,” Hadrian whispered.

“Shh,” Arista said.

“And so, Lord,” Myron concluded with a bowed head, “we say farewell to Bernie. May the light of a new dawn rise upon his soul.” Then in a light voice Myron sang: Unto Maribor, I beseech thee Into the hands of god, I send thee Grant him peace, I beg thee Give him rest, I ask thee May the god of men watch over your journey.

“Is that it?” Hadrian asked.

“That’s it,” Myron replied. “Thank you both for coming and standing in the cold water.”

“Let’s get back. My feet are going numb,” Arista said, hopping through the surf.

“Your Highness?” Myron asked, chasing her. “I can’t help but ask. Who is the servant of Maribor you were speaking of?”

She looked at him, surprised. “You, of course.”

“Oh.”

When they got back, Alric and the rest were tying up their makeshift raft to the side of the Harbinger. Arista was impressed. The raft was eight feet square, lashed tight and caulked with pitch.

On board, Wyatt and Elden were pushing everything that could be moved from the bow to the stern. The back of the ship began to rock in earnest, making it hard to stand.

Once everyone was on board, Wyatt looked up as if to the heavens and shouted, “Loose the tops’l!”

She gasped as Royce pulled a line, then without hesitation ran across the yard to the far side and pulled another. The topsail fell open and Royce dropped to the masthead and, running along the top of the mainsail yard, tied off the sheets.

“Loose the mains’l!” Wyatt shouted, and Royce released the big sail. “Hands to the sheets!”

Hadrian and Elden, on opposite sides of the ship, pulled ropes connected to the lower corners of the sail, stretching it out taut.

“Hands to the braces! Back all sails!”

Elden and Hadrian grabbed hold of ropes attached to the ends of the yards and pulled, twisting them around so that they caught the wind on an angle, pushing the ship backward toward the sea. They looked to Wyatt, who waved them over until they had the right angle; then they tied off the braces.

“Everyone to the stern!” Wyatt called, and each of them moved to the back of the ship. The wind and the waves rocked them, and at times it seemed they were lifting, but the ship failed to move.

“The keel’s dug in,” Wyatt said, then sighed. “We’ll need to kedge off. Elden and Hadrian, hoist the anchor to the raft and lash it tight. Alric-forgive me, Your Majesty, but I need to use you like a deckhand and will be dispensing with formalities. I hope you understand. Please take Mauvin and launch the raft as soon as the anchor is on it. Now this is what you must remember: paddle out directly behind the ship. Any angle will reduce our traction. We want to pull the ship in perfect line with the keel. When you are out so far that the chain is fully extended, drop the anchor, then return to the ship as fast as you can.”

Alric nodded, and with Mauvin following, they climbed over the side of the ship. Using the pulleys attached to the main yard, Hadrian and Elden hoisted the anchor out over the raft, which bobbed and bucked in the surf. Alric and Mauvin straddled it, tying the anchor fast to the deck; both were sprayed and soaked by crashing waves. Hadrian handed paddles down, and with one on each side, the two worked to push the weighted craft out over the swells.

The chain played out through Wyatt’s own hands as he stood at the stern, carefully watching their progress. Alric and Mauvin appeared like two rats on a barrel lid when the chain went taut. Arista saw the flash of Mauvin’s blade, and the anchor went into the water, nearly flipping the raft.

“Hands to the capstan!” Wyatt called. “That’s everyone-except, of course, you, Your Highness.”

Arista sighed but was just as happy to stand at the stern rail and watch Alric and Mauvin, who were paddling back. They were moving much faster now that they had the swells pushing them.

In the center of the ship, poles were passed through the holes in the big wheel and everyone put their weight into pushing the capstan around. Arista could hear the rapid clank, clank, clank of the pawls as they took up the slack. Then the sound grew slower, the time between the clanks longer.

Everyone aside from her, including Wyatt, heaved on the capstan. Each pole had two people on it except for Elden’s. The giant commanded his own pole and his face was turning red from the strain. Arista heard a fearful creaking as the anchor and the ship fought each other.

“Show us the waves, Arista!” Wyatt called to her. “Put your arms up and drop them just before a wave is about to hit the ship!”

She nodded and looked out to sea. Alric and Mauvin were already coming alongside. She looked at the swells. They were in a lull, but she could see three humps in the distance rolling toward them like the slithering backs of serpents.

“It will be a minute,” she shouted back.

“Everyone rest,” Wyatt told them. “When you see her drop her arms, really put your back into it.”

Mauvin and Alric scrambled over the side, soaked and exhausted. They flung themselves down on the deck.

“No time to rest!” Wyatt shouted at them. “Find a spot on the poles.”

The swells were nearing and Arista raised her arms. “Get ready!”

They all braced themselves and took deep breaths.

The first swell rushed in and Arista dropped her arms, but she did so too late.

They heaved. There was a grinding sensation; then it stopped and the men fell, exhausted, hanging from the poles.

“I timed it wrong,” Arista shouted. “I was too late. Here comes another.” She raised her arms and they all braced again, with Mauvin and Alric finding places at the poles.

Arista watched the swell rushing at her. This time she lowered her arms while the wave was still a few feet away. By the time the men heaved, the rear of the ship was rising. There were a noticeable lurch and more grinding. This time she heard the sound of wood scraping and felt movement.

“One more!” she shouted, raising her arms and then dropping them almost as soon as they were up.

Once more the men pushed, the chain tightened, and the boat rose. This time a gust of wind managed to catch the topsail and the ship lurched dramatically. The bottom scraped and broke out of the sludge. They rocked smooth and free, drifting backward.

A cheer rose and everyone was grinning. Wyatt ran back to the stern beside Arista and grabbed hold of the wheel. “That was lucky,” he said, sweat dripping from his forehead. “Great job, by the way.”

“Thanks.”

“Keep cranking! Let’s see if we can save the anchor.”

The men pushed the capstan around easily now. They quickly covered the distance Alric and Mauvin had paddled and passed it. Arista watched the cable swing down beneath them. There was a sudden lurch that staggered her; then she heard the rapid clanking of the pawls as the anchor came in.

“Man the braces!” Wyatt shouted. “Stand by to come about!”

Wyatt looked out at the swells and gave the wheel a hard spin. The ship turned. “Swing round the yards-starboard tack!”

Everyone else cleared out of the way as Hadrian, Elden, and Royce went to work twisting the yards and tying off. The ship turned its nose out to sea and the wind filled the sails, pushing it over to one side. “Tacks and sheets, catch that wind!”

Arista grabbed hold of the rail, frightened at the sudden speed the ship acquired and the disturbing tilt of the deck. Concerned that they were about to capsize, she watched apprehensively as the mast leaned and the ship rode on its side.

“There she goes!” Wyatt exclaimed with a great smile on his lips. “Fly, Harbinger, fly!” As if the ship heard him, the bow broke through a crest, dove forward, and hurdled the surface until it splashed down with a burst of spray. “Atta girl!”

Arista carried the hot cup with difficulty. She held it with both hands, but the deck refused to stay in one place for long and caused her to stagger. She approached Myron, who sat shivering with his back against the base of the mast.

“Here,” she said, kneeling down and holding out the steaming cup.

“For me?” he asked, and she nodded. He took the cup and sniffed. “It’s tea?” he said as if the drink were some kind of miracle. “It’s hot tea.”

“You seemed like you could use something warm to drink.”

Myron looked at her with an expression of such gratefulness she thought for a moment that he might cry. “I–I don’t know what to say.”

“It’s just tea, Myron. It wasn’t much work.”

“You had to get the stove going, and that must have been difficult. I wouldn’t know how to do that on board a ship.”

“I-ah, I didn’t use the stove.”

“But you had to boil the water… Oh,” he said, lowering his voice.

“Yeah, I used a little trick.” She wiggled her fingers.

He looked back down at the cup.

“If you don’t want it, that’s okay. I just thought-”

He lifted the cup and took a noisy sip. “It’s wonderful. Created by magic and made for me by a royal princess. This is the best tea I’ve ever had. Thank you.”

She laughed a bit and sat down before the lurching of the ship knocked her over. “Lately, I sometimes forget I am a princess. I haven’t thought of myself that way for a really long time.”

“Still, it is astoundingly thoughtful.”

“It’s what I can do,” she said. “I feel useless lately. The least I can do is cook. Problem is, I really don’t know how. But I can boil water like nobody’s business. I’d like to make a cup for Royce. Hadrian says he gets seasick and I always thought tea soothed the stomach, but he’s up in the rigging. Still, at the rate we’re traveling I don’t think it will be much longer before we land.”

Myron tilted the cup to his lips and sipped. “It tastes wonderful. You did an excellent job.”

She smirked at him. “You’d say that even if it was awful. I get the impression I could serve you dishwater and you’d act perfectly happy.”

He nodded. “That is true, only I wouldn’t be acting.”

She opened her mouth to protest, then stopped. “You really mean that, don’t you?”

He nodded and took another sip.

“It doesn’t take much to please you, does it, Myron?”

“Antun Bulard once wrote ‘When you expect nothing from the world-not the light of the sun, the wet of water, nor the air to breathe-everything is a wonder and every moment a gift.’ ”

“And you expect nothing from the world?”

He looked at her, puzzled. “I’m a monk.”

She smiled and nodded. “You need to teach me to be a monk. I expect too much. I want too much… things I can’t have.”

“Desire can be painful, but so can regret.”

“ That is the one thing I have too much of.”

“Sail!” Royce shouted from somewhere above them.

“Where?” Wyatt called from the wheel.

“Off the starboard bow, you’ll be able to see it in another minute.”

Arista and Myron got to their feet and moved to the rail. The dark prow of the Harbinger cut a white slice through the luminous green waves. Ahead, the city was much closer. Arista could see some detail in the buildings-windows, doorways, stairs, and domes.

“Which side is the starboard side?” she asked.

“The right side,” Myron told her. “ Starboard is derived from what they used to call the rudder-the sterobord-which was always on the right side of a ship, because most people are right handed. As a result, when docking, the one steering a ship always pulled up placing the opposite side of the ship next to the pier so it didn’t interfere with his paddling, or the rudder. And of course that side, the left side, was the port side. Or so Hill McDavin explained in Chronicles of Maritime Commerce and Trade Practices of the Kilnar Union.”

“Hadrian said you could do stuff like that-but until you see it, it’s hard to believe. It’s amazing that you can remember so many things.”

“Everyone has talents. It’s like magic, I guess.”

“Yes,” she said, nodding slowly. “I suppose it is.”

“Look,” Myron told her, pointing.

She spotted dark sails coming out of the dim light. They were far larger than their own-big sweeping triangles of black canvas with a white mark emblazoned on them. The design was a symbol of slashes that looked vaguely like a skull.

“Everyone get down!” Wyatt shouted. “Royce, tell me if they change course toward us!”

Arista and Myron lay down on the deck but continued to peer out at the approaching vessel. The hull came into view as if out of a green fog. It too was black and glistened with the ocean’s spray, looking like smoked glass. With the underside reflecting the unholy glow of the sea, the ship appeared ominous. It looked as if it were something not of their world at all.

A light flashed from the top of the masts.

“They are signaling us,” Royce called down.

“Damn,” Wyatt said. “That’s going to be a problem.”

“She’s changing course toward us.”

“Hands to the braces!” Wyatt shouted as he spun the wheel and the Harbinger turned away from the oncoming ship. “They’re onto us now.”

Arista heard a faint shout across the water and she could see movement; small dark figures loped across the deck. As she saw them, a chill ran through her. Like anyone, she had heard tales of the Ba Ran Ghazel-the sea goblins. They were the stuff of legends. Nora, Arista’s nursemaid, had told her fairy stories at bedtime. Most often the tales were about greedy dwarves that kidnapped spoiled princesses, who were always saved by a dashing prince in the end. But sometimes, she spoke about the Ghazel. No prince ever saved a princess from them, no matter how dashing. The Ghazel were vile creatures of the dark, inhuman monsters, the children of a malevolent god. Nora’s tales of the Ghazel always included villages burned, warriors killed, and children taken-not to be ransomed but to be feasted on. The Ghazel always ate their victims.

When Arista was sitting in her bed, wrapped in blankets, surrounded by pillows, and safe in the warmth and light of a crackling fireplace, Nora’s tales were fun. She always imagined dwarves as nasty little men and fairies as tiny winged girls, but the Ghazel she could never conjure entirely-even in the vast imaginings of her childish mind. They were always as they appeared now: distant threatening shadows exhibiting fast jerky movements that no human could make. Nora had always begun her stories the same way: “Not all of this story is true, but enough is…” Looking out at the ship, and the dark figures on the deck, Arista wondered if Nora had realized just how true they were.

The Harbinger pivoted under Wyatt’s deft hand, sheering away to the left. Arista and Myron lost sight of the Ghazel ship. They ran back to the stern, where Wyatt stood holding the wheel with one hand while looking back over his shoulder. The Ghazel ship had matched their tack and was coming up on their stern.

“Everyone to the lee side!”

“Oh, now which side is that?” Arista asked Myron.

“Opposite of windward, ah-right now it is the starboard side.”

“What in Maribor’s name is wrong with left and right?”

As soon as they reached the starboard rail, she knew why Wyatt had ordered them there. As he cranked the wheel, the wind pressed the Harbinger’s sails and bent the ship over on its beam, forcing it dangerously close to capsizing. The starboard side rose higher and higher.

Arista wrapped her arms around the rail to keep from sliding and Myron did the same. Farther up the deck, Magnus looked terrified as he clutched the side, his feet skidding and slipping on the wet boards. If the ship had flown before, it was doing something unheard of now. They no longer dipped and rose, but like a bar of soap running across a washboard, they hammered the crests as they went. The ship felt like a stone being skipped across a lake.

“Ha-ha!” Wyatt jeered, the wind ripping the words from his mouth so that she barely heard him. “Match that with your overweight trow!”

She watched Wyatt, with his feet in place against the stock, his arms holding the wheel, hugging it to his chest like a lover, his hair blowing, the spray bathing him. He wore a grin and she was not certain whether she should be happy or concerned. The rest of them hung on in desperation as the race sent them across the luminous sea.

Arista noticed the pain in her arm lessening, the ship righting itself, their speed dropping. She glanced at Wyatt and saw a look of concern.

“They’re stealing our wind,” he grumbled.

“How are they doing that?” Alric asked.

“They are putting us in their wind shadow, moving their ship in line with ours, blocking it-depriving us. Hands to the braces! Starboard tack!”

The ship was nearly flat now, allowing Hadrian and Elden to run. They cast off ropes and pulled the yard around again, the big sail flapping as Wyatt turned the ship to catch the wind from the other side. Overhead, Royce moved among the top lines, working the upper sail.

“Haul those sheets in!” They caught the wind once more and the ship set off again. “All hands to port!”

Arista was ahead of him, already running across the deck to renew her grip on the rail. She knew what was coming this time and got her feet planted securely before the side of the ship rose. Beyond the stern, she could see the following ship already turning to mimic their action, the great black sails with the skull-like symbols flapping loose as they came around. They were much closer now. She could clearly see the creatures crawling across the deck, climbing ropes. Dozens of them had gathered near the bow. It frightened her to see them move. They skidded along on all fours like spiders-a shipload of huge black tarantulas-so tightly packed they climbed over each other just to move about.

The Harbinger skipped the waves again, racing directly at the city, but it was no use. The following ship, with its larger bank of sails, was still eating up the distance between them and moved to cut their wind again.

“Elden, Hadrian!” Wyatt called. “I will be going about, but when I do, I will then change my mind and go back to my previous tack, do you understand? The moment you get my signal, run the jib up to port.”

Hadrian looked at Elden, who was nodding. “Show him, Elden. This has to go perfectly or we’re dead in the water. Also, get Alric and Mauvin on the lines. More hands will make this easier. The moment we are back on tack and under way, drop the jib. Let’s see how good their crew is. They have the advantage of more canvas, so let’s turn that against them. With all that sail, it will take them longer to recover, and if they don’t pull back in time, they will stall.”

“Your Highness,” he said, addressing Arista, “I will need to be facing forward to time this just right, so you need to be my eyes astern. I need you to watch the Ghazel ship and tell me the moment you see them starting to come around, got that?”

“Yes,” she replied, nodding in case her feeble voice was lost in the wind.

“Then get forward and hang on.”

She nodded again and began crawling to the front of the ship, moving hand over hand along the rail.

“Stand by to come about!” Wyatt shouted.

He waited. She watched as the Ghazel ship once more glided over, aligning itself, eclipsing their wind. Wyatt flexed his fingers on the wheel and took a deep breath. He even closed his eyes for a moment, perhaps saying a silent prayer; then he stiffened his back and turned the wheel hard over.

The ship sheered back to port. “Tacks and sheets!”

Elden and Hadrian went to work once more, and Mauvin and Alric followed their directions, pulling the yards round. Arista focused her gaze on the Ghazel ship behind them. She could feel the Harbinger shifting, sensed it slowing underneath her as it started to lose the wind.

“They’re turning!” she shouted as she saw the Ghazel coming about. The tiny spiders scattered across their deck in sudden fury. They were not just trying to match their turn; they were trying to beat them to it.

Wyatt did nothing.

“They’re turning,” she yelled again.

“I heard you,” he said. “We need to wait for them to be fully committed.”

Arista gripped the rail with nervous hands, feeling the ship moving slower and slower.

“Avast!” he finally shouted. “Back all braces! Raise the jib!”

The ship still had some wind, still some forward motion to it, and when Wyatt turned the wheel, it responded. The jib out front had the angle and caught what was left of the wind, turning the bow. A wave caught them dead on and broke, washing the deck, but the ship held true. The sails caught the wind and filled. Elden hauled down the jib as once more the Harbinger flew.

Behind them, the Ghazel realized their mistake but were too late. They tried to mimic the turn and she watched as their sails went slack.

Wyatt looked behind them. “They’re lost, stalled in the eye of the wind,” he declared, grinning, his chest heaving with excitement. “It will take them several minutes to catch it again. By then we will-”

“Sail!” Royce shouted. “Starboard bow!”

Wyatt’s grin melted as his head turned. Ahead of them appeared a ship that looked nearly identical to the one behind. It flashed a light and behind them the other Ghazel ship replied.

Wyatt looked fore and aft and she could see the story written clearly in lines of fear on his face. Through great skill, and a bit of luck, they had barely managed to avoid one ship. They would not fare well against two.

“Sail! Port bow!” Royce shouted, and she could see Wyatt visibly slump against the wheel as if struck from behind.

Wyatt lay off the wheel and let the ship slow and level off. There was no need to hasten their approach. Everyone on board looked to him.

“What now?” Alric asked, coming aft.

Wyatt did not reply. He just turned his head, looking back and forth at the ships. His forehead glistened. He bit his lip, and Arista noticed his left hand starting to shake.

“We’re out of options, aren’t we?” Alric asked.

“This ship doesn’t even have nets to impede boarders,” Wyatt replied.

“How will they attack?” Hadrian asked. “Will they board?”

“Eventually, yes, but first they will clear the deck with arrows.”

“Fire?”

“No,” Wyatt replied. “They have us. We’re boxed in, overwhelmed. They will want the ship.”

“Do we have to surrender?” Alric asked.

“Ghazel don’t take prisoners,” Hadrian told him. “They don’t even have a word in their language for surrender.”

“What do we do, then?” the king asked.

“We don’t really have a lot of options, Your Majesty,” Wyatt told him. “Those ships hold sixty, maybe as many as a hundred Ghazel each, and we don’t even have a means of shooting back. Their archers will drive us into the cabin; then they will grapple on and come aboard uncontested. At that point they could lock us in and sail us to their port.”

“Which they will do,” Hadrian added. “Then they will drag us into a ring and… and, well, you get the idea. No sense in spoiling the surprise.”

“I hate ships!” Magnus growled. “Infernal things. There’s nowhere to go. Nowhere to hide.”

“We’re going to… die?” Gaunt asked, stunned. “I–I can’t die. I’m going to be emperor.”

“Yeah, well, we all had plans, didn’t we?” Hadrian said.

“I didn’t,” Royce said, climbing down from the rigging. Arista noted a modest smile on his lips. “I don’t think I’ll be joining you in the cabin. I don’t mind a game of arrow dodging.”

“Actually only Arista and Myron should go in the cabin,” Hadrian said. “The rest of us will remain on deck. We’ll need shields-anything of wood about an inch thick will do, or metal even thinner. Trilons don’t have much penetration power. We can also use the mast as cover.”

Arista looked out at the approaching ships, coming at angles to intercept them. The Ba Ran Ghazel were coming and there would be no rescue by a dashing prince- the Ghazel always ate their victims.

“Not this time,” she told herself, and letting go of the rail, she walked forward. She stepped around Wyatt at the wheel and passed through the group of men in the waist.

“Arista?” Hadrian called. “You should get in the cabin.”

She looked out at the water.

“Mr. Deminthal,” she shouted, “take hold of that wheel. Everyone else… hang on to something.”

Taking a breath, Arista calmed herself and reached out into the dark-into the energy that lay around them, above and below. She could feel the depths of the ocean, the weight of the water, the floor of the sea, the fish, the seaweed, the glowing algae. She felt the breeze and grabbed it tight.

The wind, which had been a constant presence since they had climbed out of the shaft to the beach, abruptly died. The sails drooped; the incessant quiver and clank of pulleys and ropes halted. Not a breath remained and the world became silent. Even the waves perished. The ships stopped as the sea became as tranquil as a bathtub. The silence was deafening.

Then across the water the hush was broken by Ghazel voices. She could hear them, like the barks and howls of dogs. She felt them too. She felt everything and held it all in her grip.

She raised her hand, holding her fingertips lightly.

Fire? she thought. She had played that note before. She knew just how to do it. But as enticing as the thought of three flaming pyres against the water was, the light would alert the shore.

Wind? She could sense that chord. It was powerful. She could shatter the ships. No. Too unwieldy, like trying to pick up a coin with mittens.

Water? Yes! It was everywhere. She twisted three fingers in the air and the world responded with movement.

The sea swirled.

Currents formed, churning, building, rotating, and spinning. The three Ghazel ships began to rotate, revolving as if they were toy boats in a tub she had flicked with a finger.

Whirlpools formed.

Beneath the goblin ships, circles appeared-large swirling funnels of spinning water. Faster and faster they moved, the centers giving way, dropping lower as the speed of the rotation increased. They widened, spreading out, and grew in strength. Even the Harbinger began to rock noticeably as the maelstroms reached out to pull on the strength of the whole sea.

The barks of the Ghazel became cries and screams as the ships continued to spin. A crack issued across the water as a mast snapped. Then another, and another, poles the size of tree trunks popped like twigs. The Ghazel shrieked and wailed, their voices blurring into one note, which Arista also held.

The sheer enormity of the power she worked was incredible. It was so easy and all at her command. Everything-every droplet, every breath, every heartbeat-it was all hers. She felt them, touched them, played with them. It was irresistible, like scratching a terrible itch. She let the power run. It was so big, so potent. She did not just control the power; she was the power, and it was her. She whirled, she frothed, and she wanted to run, to spin and grow. Like a ball sent off a hill, she felt the building momentum. It excited her and she loved the motion-the freedom! She felt herself letting go, giving herself to it, spreading out and becoming a part of the symphony she played-so grand-so beautiful. All she wanted was to blend with the whole, to become-

Stop it!

The idea was a discord. An off note. A broken thread.

Stop it! Pull back!

A distant voice called to her, struggling to be heard over the crescendo of the music she played.

Regain control!

She didn’t want to listen; she didn’t like the sound. It clashed with the melody.

You’re killing them!

Of course I’m killing them. That is the whole point.

The Ghazel are gone. That is not who you are killing! Stop!

No. I can’t.

You can!

I won’t. I don’t want to. It’s too wonderful to stop, too incredible. I have to keep going. I love it so-

Arista woke with a wrenching headache. It was so painful her eyes hurt just from opening. She was in the cabin, lying on the bed where they had found Bernie. A lantern hanging from a hook on the ceiling swayed back and forth, casting shadows that sloshed from one wall to the next.

She turned her head and pain swelled behind her eyes. “Ow,” she whispered.

Arista raised a hand and found a bandage wrapped around her head. There was stiffness at the back of her head where the bandage pulled at her hair. Drawing her hand away, she found blood on her fingertips.

“Are you all right?” Myron asked. He sat beside her on a little stool and took her hand in his.

“What happened?” she asked. “My head is killing me.”

“Excuse me a moment,” the monk said, and opened the door to the deck. “She’s awake,” he called.

Immediately, Hadrian and Alric entered, ducking inside and dodging the lantern. “Are you all right?”

“Why does everyone keep asking me that? And yes, I’m fine… mostly. But my head hurts.” She sat up slowly.

Hadrian looked pained. “I’m sorry about that.”

She narrowed her eyes at him, which made her head hurt even more. “You hit me?”

He nodded.

“Why?”

“He had to,” Alric put in, his expression grave. “You-you lost control, or something.”

“What do you mean?”

Arista saw him glance toward the doorway. “What is it? What happened?”

She stood up, weaving a bit, her head still not right, and she felt tired to the point of being groggy. Hadrian extended a hand and steadied her. She ducked her head, careful to avoid banging it against the doorframe, and stepped out onto the deck.

“Oh dear Maribor!” she gasped.

The Harbinger was in shambles. The mast was gone; all that remained was a splintered stump. The beams of the deck were warped. One board was cracked to the point of splintering, and on the starboard side near the bow there was a gaping hole that revealed the hull below. The topsail was gone, along with the topsail yard, but the mainsail lay across the bow, torn and tattered. The railing on the port side was missing as well, sheared away.

“ I did this?” she asked, shocked. “Oh my-is anyone…” She looked around, searching for faces-Gaunt, Magnus, Mauvin, Alric, Hadrian…“Where’s Royce, Wyatt, and Elden?”

“They’re okay. They’re working on the ship. Everyone’s okay,” Alric told her. “Thanks to Hadrian. We tried talking to you, shaking you. Wyatt even poured water over your head. You just stood there mumbling and fiddling with your fingers while the ship came apart.”

Mauvin was smiling at her and nodding. On his forehead a deep cut stood out, and his cheek was red and blotchy.

“Did I do that?”

“Actually a flying pulley did that. I was just too stupid to duck.” He was still smiling at her, but there was something behind it-something terrible-something she had never seen on Mauvin’s face before: fear-fear of her.

She sat down where she was, feeling the strength melt out of her legs. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered.

“It’s all right,” her brother told her, again with apprehension in his voice. They made a circle around her, but no one came near.

“I’m sorry,” she repeated. Her eyes filled with tears and she let them run down her cheeks. “I just wanted…” Her voice gave up on her and she began to weep.

“There’s nothing to be sorry for,” Hadrian said. He came forward and knelt beside her. “You saved us. The Ghazel are gone.”

“Yeah,” Mauvin said. “Scariest thing I’ve ever seen. It was like-like what they said Esrahaddon could do, only he never did. It was-”

“It was what we needed,” Hadrian broke in over him. “If she hadn’t, we’d all be dead now, and trust me, it would have been a very unpleasant death. Thank you, Your Highness.”

She looked up at Hadrian. He appeared blurry through her watering eyes. He was smiling. She wiped her face and peered at him again carefully. She studied his eyes.

“What?” he asked.

“Nothing,” she said.

His hand reached out and brushed her cheeks dry. “What?” he asked again.

“I–I don’t want-” She hesitated and took a breath. “I just don’t want people to be afraid of me.”

“That arrow’s already flown,” Degan Gaunt said.

“Shut it, Gaunt,” Alric snapped.

“Look at me,” Hadrian told her, and putting his hand under her chin, he gently lifted it. He took her hands in his. “Do I look frightened?”

“No,” she said. “But… maybe you should be.”

“You’re tired.”

“I am-I’m really very tired.”

“We’re going to be drifting here for a bit, so why don’t you lie down and get some rest? I’m sure things will look better when you wake up.”

She nodded and her head felt like a boulder rocking on her shoulders.

“Com’on,” he said, pulling her to her feet. She wavered and he slipped an arm around her waist and escorted her back into the cabin, where Myron had the bed ready.

“Myron will watch over you,” Hadrian assured Arista as he tucked the blankets tightly around her. “Get some sleep.”

“Thank you.”

He brushed her wet hair from her eyes. “It’s the least I can do for my hero,” he said.

She walked swiftly up the Grand Mar, the broad avenue beautifully lined with flowering trees. The rose-colored petals flew and swirled, carpeting the ground, scenting the air, and creating a blizzard in spring.

It was festival day, and blue and green flags were everywhere. They flew over houses and waved in the hands of passersby. People clogged the streets. Wandering minstrels filled the air with music and song. Drums announced another parade, this one a procession of elephants followed by chariots, prancing horses, dancing women, and proud soldiers. Stall keepers called to the crowd, handing out cakes, nuts, confections, and fermented drinks called Trembles, made from the sweet blossoms of the trees. Young girls rushed from door to door, delivering small bouquets of flowers in the imperial colors. Noblemen on their chariots wore their bright-colored tunics; gold bracelets flashed in the afternoon sun. Older women stood on balconies, waving colored scarves and shouting words impossible to hear. Boys who dodged and slipped through the crowd carried baskets and sold trinkets. You could get three copper pins for three piths, or five for a keng. There was always a contest to collect the largest variety of pins before the day was out.

It was a beautiful day.

She hurried past the rivers of people into Imperial Square. To her right stood the stone rotunda of the Cenzarium and to the left the more brutish columned facade of the blocked Hall of Teshlor. Before her, at the terminus of the boulevard, rose the great golden-domed imperial palace-the seat of the emperor of the world. She walked past the Ulurium Fountain, across the Memorial Green, to the very steps of the palace-not a single guard was on duty. No one noticed. Everyone was too busy celebrating. That was part of the plan that Venlin had laid well.

She entered the marbled hall, so cool, so elegant, and scented with incense that made her think of tropical trees and mountaintops. The palace was a marvel, large, beautiful, and so sturdy it was hard to imagine what she knew was happening.

She reached the long gallery, the arcade of storied columns, each topped with three lions looking down from their noble perch at all who passed that way.

Yolric was waiting for her.

The old man leaned heavily on his staff. His long white beard was a matted mess. “So you have come,” he greeted her. “But I knew you would. I knew someone would. I could have guessed it would be you.”

“This is wrong. You of all people should see that!”

Yolric shook his head. “Wrong, right-these words have no meanings except in the minds of men. They are but illusions. There is only what is and what isn’t, what has been and what will be.”

“I am here to define that value for you.”

“I know you are. I could have predicted it. My suspicions, it would seem, have weight. This is the second time now. It has taken a long time to find, but there is a pattern to the world. Wobble it and it corrects, which should be impossible; chaos should beget chaos. Order should be only one possibility and drowned by all the other permutations. But if it corrects again, if order prevails, then there can be only one answer. There is another force at work-an invisible hand-and I think I know what that force is.”

“I don’t have time to discuss this theory of yours again.”

“Nor do I have need of you. As I said, I have finally worked it out. You see, the legends are true.”

She was irritated with him; he barred her path but did not attack. He merely babbled on about unimportant theories. This was no time for metaphysical debates about the nature of existence, chaos versus order, or the values of good and evil. She needed to get by him, but Yolric was the one person she could not hope to defeat. She could not take the chance of instigating a battle if it could be avoided. “Do you side with Venlin or not?”

“Side with the Bishop? No.”

She felt a massive sense of relief.

“Will you help me? Together we could stop him. Together we can save the emperor. Save the empire.”

“I wouldn’t need your help to do that.”

“So you will let it happen?”

“Of course.”

“Why?”

“I need the wobble. One does not a pattern make. I need to see if it will correct again and, perhaps, how. I must find the fingerprint, the tracks that I can trace to the source. The legends are true-I know that now, but I still want to see his face.”

“I don’t know what you are talking about!”

“I know you don’t. You couldn’t.”

“Are you going to try and stop me or not?”

“The wobble, my boy. I never touch it once I have it going. You go, do what you must. I am only here now to watch. To see if I can catch a glimpse at the face behind the invisible hand.”

She was confused, baffled by Yolric’s unconcerned attitude, but it did not matter; what did was that he would not interfere. Her greatest obstacle was gone. Now it was just between her and Venlin.

“Goodbye, then, old master, for I fear I shall never see you again.”

“No, you won’t. I would wish you luck, but I do not believe it exists. Still, I suspect you have better than mere luck on your side-you have the invisible hand.”