Through Stone and Sea

Chapter 24

A whole day passed, and the sun had set.

Wynn climbed the boarding ramp of a two-masted Numan ship in Sea-Side's lower port. The ship would leave at dawn and round the point below Dhredze Seatt into Beranlômr Bay, for the short journey back to Calm Seatt. She dropped all three packs near the rail.

So much had happened since Wynn had left the guild. Only bits and pieces lingered in her exhausted mind. She tried to push even these aside, to gain a moment's respite from worries, mysteries, and guilt. But her thoughts slid back to the previous morning.

They had all stumbled from the tunnel's mouth, wet and exhausted, with dawn approaching. Chuillyon offered passage to Calm Seatt. He seemed the only one to openly acknowledge that the duchess's life had been saved by Chane's decision to flee and Wynn's hand in finishing the wraith.

But morning was not far off, and they headed quickly down the rocky shore toward the port.

Wynn had been forced to tell another lie, while asking Tristan to hold the ship another day. She had to get Chane inside as soon as possible and see to his hunger. Even a voyage belowdecks during the day wasn't possible yet. She'd used the same excuse of a skin reaction to harsh sunlight as they had with the wagon driver on the way to Dhredze Seatt.

No one questioned her weak explanation. The captain recognized Chane's efforts and did not press the matter. The duchess merely walked away toward the ship.

They hurried to the same inn Chane used during Shade's extended search for the sea tunnel. Falling through the door, he'd collapsed into dormancy just barely before the sun rose. Wynn set aside trying to find him blood and fell into a deep sleep herself.

This evening, she'd awoken to see Chane crack open the little room's door. He wore his cloak, with the hood pulled up. She'd sat up quickly.

"Where are you going?"

"I need … to purchase a new shirt … and some things for myself."

Wynn knew better, and that he didn't like to discuss it, but she wouldn't let it pass.

"I can get you some blood," she said, as if it were nothing extraordinary. "There might be a cold room or slaughterhouse here … before the meat is taken up to market."

"No," he answered. "I will see to it myself. Meet me on the ship."

"Give me moment to dress, and I'll come with you."

He slipped out and shut the door.

"Chane, wait!"

By the time she'd reached the common room and stepped outside with Shade, he was gone.

Chane was in a bad state. She'd seen hunger in his face after they'd breached the sea tunnel's many gates. It had only worsened from there. He'd faced down the wraith more than once, exchanging injuries with it that no one else could see—that no one else would've survived. He'd done it all on one urn of goat's blood she'd bought in Bay-Side.

That act had caused him embarrassment, resentment, or maybe both.

Now he wanted to find a butcher and see to his need on his own. She understood and simply returned to the room and gathered their things. He would find her later. He always found her.

Now, aboard the ship, Shade padded out across the deck. As Wynn followed, she spotted Captain Tristan by the forward dockside rail. She thought he was looking at her but noticed his gaze was too high. Wynn followed it.

The duchess stood near the stern. By the slight turn of her shoulders, she was looking past the southern tip of the Isle of Wrêdelîd, and out to the open ocean.

Wynn leaned over the rail and scanned the shore for Chane, but the water-front was empty of any tall humans. Left with Shade for company, she couldn't help glancing toward the duchess. It wasn't a good idea, but she went aft, slowing cautiously in approach.

"May I join you?" she asked.

The duchess didn't answer or even turn. Wynn settled on a storage trunk to the port side. Reine wasn't wearing a cloak. Tendrils of chestnut hair quivered in the evening breeze, lashing across her profile and vacant expression.

"What happened to the prince?" Wynn asked suddenly.

Impertinent, especially for her hand in his loss, but she couldn't help it. She already knew too much, as far as the duchess and her people were concerned. Yet her reasoning, her guesses about the youngest Âreskynna, needed confirmation in some small way.

"He went home," Reine whispered.

It wasn't an answer, but Wynn waited.

"Have you ever wondered how I know your premin?" Reine asked.

The sudden change of topic confused Wynn at first. "The royals have always had close ties to the guild."

"Closer than you think," Reine said, spite creeping into her voice. "I asked her to look into a certain matter … what might be known rather than rumored … concerning my new family. The Âreskynna told me what they knew, but it wasn't enough … not nearly enough for me. I sought help from the guild."

Wynn shifted to the trunk's edge, her fingers clutching the edge of its lid.

"I learned nothing more than what the royal family told me," the duchess continued quietly. "Lady Tärtgyth, your premin, found only hints that a marriage was arranged between a ‘lord of the waves' and a forgotten female ancestor of King Hräthgar."

Wynn's mind was already filled with previous assumptions.

"You know that name?" the duchess asked.

"Yes … Hräthgar is attributed with uniting territorial factions in what later became the Numan Lands. Supposedly, he became the founder and first king of Malourné. It's said that event marked the beginning of the Common Era, as measured on our calendar from the Lhoin'na. But how far back was this ancestor who married a—"

"A lord of the waves?" Reine cut in. "What a veiled reference to a Dunidæ, even from history."

That quizzical reply, sharply edged, didn't need a response. Even Wynn had never understood where the name Âreskynna—the Kin of the Ocean Waves—had come from. Not until she'd seen Freädherich.

"No one knows when she, this ancestor, lived," Reine went on. "Perhaps even in the time of the sages' Forgotten History … during or before the war. I pity her, whoever she was, being used for such an alliance … and I hate her for the legacy she left to Frey."

Wynn understood the pity, but the hate would gain nothing.

"For all your learning, you couldn't understand such things," Reine added.

Oh, yes, Wynn could, though she wouldn't say so to this woman. She had lost three friends, each oppressed by a heritage they hadn't asked for. But she also wondered …

Why did the unique in this world always seem to suffer the most?

"But …" she began, struggling in hesitation. "But why Frey? Or do others of the royal family face this same affliction?"

Reine gripped the aft rail with both hands, taking long, hard breaths.

"They all suffer, but each generation, one is worse. That one feels it most … and can never be allowed to take the throne. Do you know of Hrädwyn, King Leofwin's sister?"

Wynn nodded. "Yes, she succumbed to illness when she was young."

"No!" Reine snapped. "She drowned herself … in that pool … after nine years of imprisonment."

Wynn looked to the open ocean, suddenly as chilled as she'd been upon emerging from the tunnel. All she could think of was a prince's desperate, pale features.

"Caught betwixt and between," Reine went on, "unsettled on land and longing for the sea, that sickness drives … that one … to greater desperation than the others. The tides began to change … him. I thought he had drowned that night, when he vanished from our boat. Something made him return to shore, where Hammer-Stag found him."

Wynn knew why in watching Reine—watching Frey's one reason to fight his heritage, his affliction … his taint, so much worse than Wynn's own.

"Cinder-Shard came to me soon after," Reine continued. "Even Frey's deceased aunt wasn't the first Âreskynna whom the Stonewalkers had taken in … though none before Frey had ever lived long enough to leave. But while alive, they were still necessary … to maintain a hold on some ancient blood-bound alliance! I stayed with Frey during the tides, especially the highest. I would've stayed always if my prolonged absence under the people's suspicions would not have cast further doubts upon the family. And each year, Frey's changes grew worse before they passed."

She finally turned, and Wynn fell victim to Reine's gaze.

"The terror of your wraith … and the Dunidæ's persistence … forced his change too far!"

Reine's voice broke. Though tears ran down her face, they didn't match the cold anger in her features.

Wynn sat silenced, her thoughts filled with memories of half-breeds. So rare, even unique, yet they'd all come into her life. All had appeared within this generation, after a millennium, and in these new days of history.

Magiere … half mortal, half vampire, some would say, though it wasn't accurate.

Leesil … half human, half elf, a wanderer outside of all peoples.

Chap … part Fay, though physically pure majay-hì, equally an outcast of eternity.

Then there was Shade, descended of a Fay-born father and majay-hì mother.

And now a prince of Wynn's own land whom all had thought dead.

Why now? What did it mean? And how much ruin had she brought down upon the last?

"I'm sorry," she whispered.

Reine merely returned to staring across the water, until the wind dried all of her tears.

"What now, sage?" she asked. "For such a price … what have you gained?"

How could Wynn answer? Swirling questions wrapped in secrets hidden beneath myths already overwhelmed her. One place in the world had lain hidden for centuries in plain sight. Another had been lost beyond remembering. And a traitor, remembered by only a few who wished to forget him, had gained a worshipper in the dark among the honored dead.

First Glade … Bäalâle Seatt … Thallûhearag … Ore-Locks …

"It's too much to consider," Wynn finally said. "More answers must be found."

And she had to face it all without the texts.

Reine shook her head. "In the few years since Frey's ‘death,' we learned nothing more concerning the family's heritage, though Lady Tärtgyth Sykion has kept watch for anything to help me … to help Frey."

Reine turned, and in two quick steps, she hung over Wynn, her voice a harsh threatening whisper.

"And you will do the same!"

A snarl rose in the dark. Shade closed, head low and jowls quivering in warning.

Reine's gaze never left Wynn, and Wynn quickly waved Shade off.

"You will keep watch for anything to help," Reine went on. "Whatever you do, wherever you seek, this as well as your silence is what your life depends on. You owe your people … you owe my husband … you owe me!"

Reine walked away, never looking down as she passed Shade.

Wynn sat in the dark, listening for the sound of Chane's footsteps.

The following night, Wynn walked through the gates of the Guild of Sagecraft with Chane and Shade.

She'd sat up late the night before upon the ship, waiting for Chane, but then she grew tired and went to a cabin that Captain Tristan had assigned. It wasn't until the next day that she learned Chane had finally arrived at the ship just before dawn. Perhaps it had taken longer for him to find blood than she'd imagined.

At least he'd arrived and taken cover on board before the ship sailed.

Now … they were back in Calm Seatt, back at the guild.

The guild courtyard was empty, but by now her superiors might have heard she was returning. If they hadn't, at the moment she had little desire to tell them herself. High-Tower would want a word with her—and she with him concerning the second codex. He would be more than relieved that she was leaving again soon, and less than pleased that she would expect more funding.

Shade trotted straight to the door of the southeast dormitory. By the time Wynn shut the door of her old room, Shade had bounded onto the bed and dropped in a huff.

"Don't get too comfortable," she said. "We're not staying long."

She'd barely leaned the staff in the corner as Chane set their packs by her desk, when someone knocked at her door.

Wynn almost groaned. Someone had spotted them and told High-Tower or Sykion. She wasn't ready to face either but opened the door just the same.

A young man stood in the passage wearing the midnight blue robe of the Order of Metaology. He thrust out something flat, wrapped in plain brown paper.

"I was ordered to place this directly in your hands," he said, already turning to leave.

Wynn took the package. There were no markings upon it, and she leaned out the door.

"Wait … ordered by whom?"

The messenger had already rounded the passage's far end and gone down the stairs. Wynn stepped back and shut the door. Considering the messenger's robe color, she wondered if this was something from Premin Hawes, head of Metaologers. But that didn't make any sense.

"What is it?" Chane asked.

"I don't know."

The flat, flexing square hadn't been bound with twine, but every edge of the paper wrap was sealed with glue. Its contents were completely enclosed. With no name or hint of the sender, she carefully tore one corner until she could unwrap it safely.

Inside, atop a folded parchment sheet, was a note—from Domin il'Sänke.

Wynn wrinkled her nose at this poor humor.

In the brief days she'd been gone, he couldn't have returned home, let alone sent this all the way back. He must have left it before he departed, with instructions for its delivery if and when she returned. Wynn unfolded the parchment, and there was il'Sänke's scrawl upon it.

Wynn recognized some phrases. But the impact of what she read, yet didn't understand, overwhelmed everything but her academic nature. She knew nothing of Suman poetry, let alone whatever ancient forms it took on. Likely the translation had broken much of its structure.

"This here … and that," Chane said, pointing at the parchment. "Those are close to phrases you already translated."

Wynn hadn't even realized he was reading over her shoulder.

Compared to what she'd worked out, incorrectly or not, il'Sänke had revealed much more. She'd have to check her journals, but his translation appeared to be all of what she'd blindly copied from Chane's scroll. Even il'Sänke had stumbled over the few phrases she'd first shown him. He must have worked furiously trying to finish the rest before he left.

"Eternals bless you!" Wynn whispered.

After all she'd been through, all the damage she'd done, she desperately needed something of worth … something to guide her next steps. Certain phrases upon the parchment began to nag her—like ants in her skull searching erratically for something she'd forgotten… .

Something right before her—something she unconsciously hadn't wanted to recognize.

"What are the five corners?" Chane asked. "It is a lead phrase, connected to the thirteen Children. You told me they divided … and here are five cryptic entries."

"Destinations," Wynn whispered absently.

Chane was silent for a long moment.

"Why?" he asked. "Your white undead and her companions took the orb into the Pock Peaks. Where did the others go? I cannot even tell which one of these nonsense lines relates to her or that place."

And Wynn scanned each line again.

… the fourth took seclusion in exalted and weeping stone.

Did "exalted" mean "honored"? Was "weeping stone" like wet walls … natural columns … ages of mineral deposits built upon the erected bodies of the honored dead? Was it a reference to the Stonewalkers' underworld? Then Wynn remembered Leesil's tales of what had happened in the orb's cavern.

High in the Pock Peaks, the orb had rested over the cavern's molten depths. Rising heat warmed the place enough that perpetual snow and ice above seeped downward—"weeping" along the cavern walls. When Magiere had mistakenly opened the orb, Leesil claimed all the moisture in the cavern began raining inward toward the orb's burning light.

Could "exalted" merely be a metaphor for a high and lofty place?

But what of … swallowing the Wave in perpetual thirst …

Wynn scanned again. Her eyes caught the words that il'Sänke had capitalized. Those had to be vocative nouns. Among them were five that made her think upon the domin's lecture in a seminar she'd overheard.

Each of the Elements was represented three ways, according to the three Aspects of Existence. Spirit was also known as Essence and …

Tree … Flame … Wind … Wave … Mountain …

There were five places hinted at by reference to the Elements, but that fourth kept sticking in her head.

… swallowing the Wave … like an orb consuming a cavern's dripping moisture.

She connected the physical Aspects in the poem to their corresponding mental … intellectual terms of the Elements.

Spirit … Fire … Air … Water … Earth …

Wynn felt a wave of drowning fatigue as she stared at the first lines—to hide in five corners the anchors amid Existence, which had once lived amid the Void.

These were not just destinations, and she knew why the Children had "divided."

Wynn sank upon the bed's edge next to Shade and began to cry.

Chane knelt before her, his pale face filled with concern. He touched her hands still holding the parchment.

"What is wrong?" he asked.

She couldn't take another burden like this. The weight was too much.

"Five … not one," she answered weakly. "Not just the destinations … there are five orbs."

Chane's brow wrinkled. He carefully slipped the parchment from her fingers, his eyes shifting back and forth as he read it again.

"What are they?" he finally asked. "What are they for?"

Wynn slowly shook her head and couldn't even guess. The orbs must be something the Ancient Enemy had once coveted, perhaps used to some purpose in the great war or before it. The only line that made any sense was the last, its ending reference having a far different meaning.

In the depths of the Mountain beneath the seat of a lord's song.

Il'Sänke had worked out the written ancient Sumanese word for "seat" and found it had been misspelled with a doubled ending consonant—as in "seatt." And "a lord's song" was an old Suman tribal ululation for a leader, but the word was spoken differently by context versus the way it was written. When spoken, it gave the name of a lost place.

In the depths of the Mountain beneath … Bäalâle Seatt.

Another thread, another chain, pulled Wynn toward that place, where Thallûhearag's treachery had claimed uncountable lives. Beneath a long-lost seatt lay another orb, the one of "the Mountain" … the one of Earth.

Shade rose up, rumbling. Wynn tiredly raised a hand to quiet the dog.

The wall's stone beside the door began to bulge.

"Chane!"

She tried to lunge off the bed for her staff in the corner, her mind filled with one screaming thought. It can't be happening … it can't be… .

A black hulk took shape, and Chane shoved her back toward the bed's head. He jerked out his broken sword as Shade leaped over the footboard, circling in on the invader's far side.

Wynn clutched Chane's side, ready to push him out of the way … but she stopped and stared at … not at the wraith.

Ore-Locks stood glowering before the wall.

Dressed in a dark cloak and a plain black hauberk with no steel-tipped scales, he still had two wide battle daggers lashed to the front of his belt.

Wynn was about to order him out and alert anyone nearby. Then her attention caught on what he held in each hand.

One sword was longer, narrower of blade, while the other was short and wide, suitable to his own kind. Both had the mottled gray sheen of the finest dwarven steel. Wynn knew where she'd seen them—in Sliver's forge room.

"Why are you here?" Chane rasped.

He tensed, raising his tipless blade as the dwarf held up the longer sword. Ore-Locks snapped his arm straight, opening his grip in the last instant.

The sword clattered at Chane's feet.

"What is the meaning of this?" he demanded.

"My barter," Ore-Locks growled, and looked to Wynn. "I know where you go next, and I come with you."

Wynn went mute in the room's silence. Somehow, he'd known what she would do next. She was going to find Bäalâle Seatt. And this worshipper of the worst of the traitors intended to follow her to the bones of his cursed ancestor.

Wynn stood there, staring into Ore-Locks's hard, black-pellet irises.