The sundering hours, p.26
The Sundering Hours, page 26
If his actions and choices meant there was more evil than good in his nature, wasn’t it better to accept it now? To cut ties before he could do any more harm? Or, if it wasn’t too late, could he do enough to atone for his wrongdoing and swing the balance in favor of goodness?
Whatever the answer, he knew he couldn’t keep ignoring it all—not the soul marking behind his eyelids, the ticking sound, or the Wickwire Watch. He couldn’t keep pretending they didn’t matter, or that he could simply refuse to ‘play the game’. The truth was that he didn’t have that luxury. He owed it to Caradoc—and to all the others—to do everything in his power to glean what advantages he could from them.
The soul marking wasn’t very helpful at the moment, but the ticking was at least of some benefit in that it would serve as a warning at the next Sundering Hour. The Wickwire Watch had the greatest potential of being useful . . . if only he could get its true owner to cooperate.
Every night of the past week, he had gone to a quiet corner of the ship and whispered the watch’s name to open it. Inside, the four rows of runes continued their strange dance, each one changing to a new shape at irregular intervals. On the opposite side was the view of the dead Otherworld. Being so far from the location where Ink had first opened the watch, the dark harbor town was no longer in sight, nor the black sea littered with fallen stars. The landscape was now a vast desert of ash. There were no signs of life at all, not a single tree or blade of grass. The only source of light was the same pale red glow he had seen before, just beyond the northern horizon.
Ink had begged the Mistress to appear, promising to do whatever else she asked of him, even congratulating her cleverness at devising the Sundering. Of course it made his stomach turn to say such things, but from what he knew of her, she was susceptible to flattery. Short of mentioning the scroll, there was nothing he wouldn’t say. But night after night, Ink would close the watch with a sigh and wrap it carefully in Fetch’s handkerchief again.
She would not appear.
It was almost eight o’clock by the time Ink went to the galley for dinner. He took two plates—one for himself and one for Seherene—then retreated to the animal stalls. Apart from Caradoc, the Entress had been the only other person not to join the others for meals, still insistent on maintaining a respectful distance. She continued to receive regular visitors, however, including Daniel and crew, who were eager to learn all she could tell them about the Mistress and the Spektors. Amos also made it a point to conduct a thorough sweep of the compartment daily, looking for the smallest indication of any more black vapor and making certain none of the animals had been replaced by Shades.
Upon entering, Ink saw that most of the animals had already settled into sleep. The chickens roosted on a set of rounded beams Skiff and Delia had fashioned. The horses dozed on their feet, both covered with a warm blanket. The lanterns burned at half their usual strength. But for the creaking timbers and occasional murmuring bawk from a hen, all was fairly quiet.
The only other sound was coming from Nyssa—a faint wheezing, accompanied by the rattle of mucus. The cow lay in her stall with her head on the ground. A watery substance leaked from her eyes and nose. Seherene sat beside her, resting a hand on her side.
“Oh, no,” Ink said. “Nyssa, old girl, what’s all this?”
“A respiratory infection, I’m afraid,” the Entress replied.
Ink set the dinner plates on a nearby stool, then knelt on the ground and stroked the cow’s head, who continued to stare listlessly past him.
“Is it serious?” he asked.
“Depends on the circumstances. It’s a stress-related illness, often seen when moving cattle to an unfamiliar place like this.”
“And you can’t just heal her with an enchantment?”
“Healing is used to mend things that are broken—flesh and bones and the like. Disease and infection are quite different challenges, which is why Entrians still have doctors and specialists. I’ve made her as comfortable as I can. Given her a few herbs that should help.” She reached for the creature’s face with a large rag and carefully wiped the runny fluid from her face. “It’ll just take a bit of time now. And keeping a close eye on her.”
“There now. You hear that?” Ink said to the cow. “You’ve got the best animal expert in the world looking after you. You’ll be as right as rain in a few days. You’ll see.”
Nyssa answered with low, deep-throated groan which sounded nothing short of a miserable sigh.
“Aw, come on. What kind of attitude is that? Things could always be worse, you know.” Ink sat back on his heels and glanced at Seherene. “You actually plan on sleeping down here?”
“It’s better than lying awake and worrying about her from afar.”
Ink scoffed. “Even that would be a whole lot more than my granddad ever did. I came down with a fever once, a few years back. He got upset with me. Said we were too busy for sickness. That we still had a dozen infirmaries to visit before the first big snowfall and I was being selfish, not to mention lazy.”
Seherene frowned. “That’s awful.”
“Yeah,” Ink said, hauling himself to his feet. “That’s my granddad.”
He picked up one of the plates and seated himself across from her with his back against a large bag of oats.
“I’ve been meaning to ask,” Seherene said. “Have the others been able to help you in your search? I know it would’ve been far more dangerous for them to go around asking questions than it was for me, but on Riverfall they could have covered a lot more ground.”
Ink tore off a large bite of bread and only half chewed it before answering. “I had the same thought myself. Thing is . . . I never told ‘em.”
“What? You never told them about your parents? They never asked you?”
“Oh, they asked. But I told ‘em it was none of their business. Like you said, it was too dangerous for ‘em to go looking, and still is. So there’s no point saying anything about it.”
“But they’re your friends. They care about you. They would want to know—if only to keep you from bearing the burden alone. All this time, I assumed they knew. I almost said something to Margaret about it the other day!”
“They’ve got enough to worry about. And I don’t mean to add any more to that great big pile of problems. ‘Specially not now. I wouldn’t have even told you if I’d known about all your troubles. So let’s just forget it, all right?”
“Ink—”
“It’s probably too late now, anyway. It was a stupid thing to even hope for.”
“That’s enough!”
The tone of her voice cut him short, if for no other reason than he’d suddenly heard a bit of her mother in it. There was a touch of anger in her eyes.
“You are not to give up hope,” she said, looking hard at him. “I will not allow it. It is far too precious, especially in times like these. Besides that, being your friend means it has become my hope as well. And if you kill even the smallest piece of it in you, it will also die in me.”
Her anger had turned to sorrow, and Ink’s heart filled instantly with regret.
“All right,” he answered, sounding more begrudging than he felt. “I won’t give it up, even though I probably ought to. But you won’t tell any of the others, will you?”
“Of course not. It’s not for me to tell. But you should at least consider it. If something was bothering any of them, and if you thought you could help in the smallest way—even with only a few comforting words—wouldn’t you want to know about it?”
Ink twisted his mouth. “I suppose so.”
“And there is something else to bear in mind. We’re headed towards the Eastern Isles. That should raise your hopes. I don’t imagine you and your grandfather ever took your search in that direction.”
“No.”
“Then this will be unexplored territory. We must both keep our eyes and ears open. Beyond that, you may remember that I sent notices to several places in the East Country asking for news of Samuel and Elizabeth Revore. For all we know, an answer may already be on the way, if it hasn’t arrived already.”
“But that’s no good to us. No one’s gonna be posting any letters to our ship.”
“I identified additional parties to receive any messages on the subject in case I was traveling. Pallaton was one, unfortunately, but we can depend upon the assistant librarian of Mastmarner to be more reliable.”
“What, Ezra? He’s been helping you?”
“Yes. I hope that’s all right.”
Ink was astonished. Ezra help to find his parents? But of course! He was the best candidate by far! The name Mr. Revore had fallen from his own lips in the vision! And even if he couldn’t remember the visitor from so long ago, there was every possibility that Mavie would! Why hadn’t he thought of it before? This was hope indeed!
“It’s brilliant!” Ink said with a smile. “He’s bound to know! To find out, I mean. And we’re sure to head for Mastmarner just as soon as we get Caradoc out of this mess!” He glanced down at his plate, feeling his face practically glow with joy. It soon faded as his thoughts lingered on the Keyholder. “Speaking of Caradoc, I’ve been thinking . . . maybe we ought to put a trace enchantment on him. Give him that same ring I was wearing. That way, when he disappears again, we can keep track of how far he’s gone across the Veil.”
Seherene reached into her pocket and pulled out the silver band. A wistful look filled her eyes as she gazed at it.
“We had one once,” she said in a soft voice. “Trace included.”
“You did?”
She nodded. “As much as we wanted to, we couldn’t stay at Mastmarner forever. We had work to do. Duties to fulfill. So when the time came for us to leave, we needed a way to keep in contact. I put a trace on the ring I was wearing, a gift from my father, so that even if we were miles away we would feel one another’s presence and be drawn together again. And since I couldn’t risk being caught with an enchantment which bound me to a Cassrian, Isaac agreed to wear it for us both. At least until there was no longer any need to be apart.”
Ink couldn’t recall having seen Caradoc with a ring. “What happened to it?”
“I’d been wondering that myself until recently. A time came when I could no longer sense the trace. Without an explanation, I could only assume he’d removed it. That it no longer meant anything to him. But that was far from the truth. A few days before he was to sail for Damiras with the others, he was attacked by a pair of Spektors near an inn. He managed to expel them, but the effort left him so weak he fell unconscious afterwards. He woke the next day in an infirmary. From what the doctor said, another man had found him and brought him in for care, then decided to take the ring for his pains before he left.” She held up the silver band to examine it closer. “It looked a lot like this one. So much that I almost thought it the same ring at first glance. But as for giving him another, I’m afraid it wouldn’t trace him through the Veil. Enchantments don’t extend to Otherworlds. They can’t even be detected through shrouds and shields. And besides that, I doubt Isaac would willingly wear it. He doesn’t like the extra attention as it is.”
“That’s true. This morning he told Simon that if he asked how he was holding up one more time, he’d throw him overboard.”
Seherene smiled as she returned the ring to her pocket. “That doesn’t surprise me. Still, it was clever of you to have thought of such a thing. I wish more people were so inventive.”
“Aw, I ain’t so special, really. There’s plenty out there like me. You just know ‘em as thieves and charlatans.”
“Oh, so that’s the problem? They’re all behind bars?”
Ink shrugged. “Only the amateurs.”
She laughed, heartily enough that her eyes sparkled. He was sure the room became twice as bright. He smiled, then took another bite of bread and chewed thoughtfully.
“You said you could sense when he wasn’t wearing the ring. But how? The trace was on him, not you.”
“It’s a side effect of wearing the enchantment longer than a few weeks. It can begin to work both ways—an advantage with Isaac and a liability with you, which is why I never mentioned it before.”
Ink’s eyes raced across the floor in thought. “So that’s what happened. That morning on Fenmire, Caradoc and me were walking close to the beach, and I had this odd feeling you were nearby. Once I had a glimpse of the camp, I even knew which tent you were in.” He looked down at his hand, as if he still wore the ring. “And there was something else. After a while, I started to forget it was on my finger. I thought I’d just gotten used to it at first. But it felt different than that. I don’t know how to explain it exactly. Maybe I’m just daft, is all.”
The Entress pressed her lips together ruefully. “You don’t miss a trick, do you, Mr. Featherfield?”
“Why? Whatcha mean? I was right?”
“You were. In addition to the trace I infused a bewilderment enchantment. Not very strong. Just enough, as you said, to make you forget it when your eyes were elsewhere. In case you ever began to doubt our bargain and had second thoughts about keeping it.”
“Bewilderment? I ain’t never heard of that one.”
“It affects the memory. Those who specialize in it can cause full-blown amnesia in some cases, but that is very rare.”
Now this was interesting, in no small part because the ring wasn’t the only object he’d often forgotten. There was also the Wickwire Watch. How many times had he been surprised to find it still in his pocket? Or left it lying in his bedsheets while he went off to do chores? Thankfully, no one had ever found it there. But what a clever way to obscure its true nature, even from those who might have already discovered it.
Clever and devious.
His thoughts returned to the trace enchantment, and a particular detail which had been torturing him since he’d learned the truth about the ring.
“I s’pose,” he began with reluctance, “the others have asked how you found me in that mining camp near Harroway.”
“They have.”
“And I s’pose . . . you told ‘em.”
She nodded. “I felt they had a right to know.”
Ink hung his head. “Then I guess . . . they know it was my fault Jo and Wen got caught. I was wearing the thing when we went to Ban-Geren to look for ‘em.”
“It wasn’t your fault at all. It was the after-images at Mastmarner that tipped us off. Because of them, we counted on the Colonists heading east. I arrived a full day before you did. I’d even located the Plumsleys before you and I talked there. So it was pure coincidence. You bear none of the blame, and no one would say otherwise.”
Ink nodded, not in agreement, but to appease her concern. He knew the truth. There wouldn’t have been any after-images had they not gone to Mastmarner. And they wouldn’t have gone had they not needed to know why the Spektors were after him.
Footsteps sounded at the door. They looked up to see Caradoc standing at the threshold.
“Ah,” he said, “so here we all are.”
Ink couldn’t help but glance at Seherene again. A hint of sorrow touched her expression as she gazed at the Keyholder, but her eyes somehow shone brighter.
“Here we are,” she replied. “You look like you’ve come with purpose.”
“No more than the usual desire to be useful—hey, Nyssa, what’s this now?” He crossed to the other side of the morose cow, sat beside her, and stroked her neck as he inspected her face. “Respiratory infection?”
Ink raised his eyebrows. “You’re an animal expert, too?”
“Far from it. But if you hang around long enough with the best wildlife biologist in the country, you pick up a few things.”
“Well, I don’t know who this ‘best’ person might be,” Seherene said, “but I’m glad that even an adequate biologist can be of some service.”
Nyssa gave out another low groan, then raised her head with some effort and moved to rest it again on the Entress’s knee.
“Oh, you sweet girl,” she said, melting a little as she stroked her head.
Ink smiled. “There now! If that ain’t a vote of confidence, I don’t know what is.”
“Thanks for proving my point, Nyssa,” Caradoc said, patting her shoulder. “You always were my favorite cow—if a bit drizzly at the moment.” He picked up the rag and leaned forward to wipe the animal’s face.
“Does anyone happen to know how old she is?” Seherene asked.
“About five years, I think,” he replied.
“Has she had any calves?”
“One that we know of. Didn’t survive long, unfortunately.”
“Maybe there’ll be other cows on this island we’re heading to,” Ink said. “Maybe she can have another chance at it.”
Seherene didn’t look convinced. “Perhaps. But it’s not very likely past the fourth year. At that age most cows are . . . well, I don’t like to say it right in front of her.”
“What?” Ink said, slightly horrified. “Four years is all they get? That’s it?”
“They can live up to twenty if allowed. But with no more calves or milk to give, there’s no profit, and that’s what counts to farmers and ranchers.”
Caradoc dipped the rag into a nearby bucket of water and resumed cleaning Nyssa’s face. “Then it’s a good thing we’re neither of those. You got stuck with a bunch of outlaws, old girl, who happen not to care about profit. Our business is staying alive. That goes for you, too. Understand? You’ve got another fifteen years at least. We’re holding you to that.”
His voice had quieted by the last few words, tempered by a sudden wave of grief and worry that Ink also saw reflected in Seherene’s face, and which he felt himself. For all they knew, Caradoc could hope for no better than fifteen days. Seherene reached out and laid a hand on his arm. He covered it with his own and cleared his throat.
“I imagine you have it in mind to stay the night with her?”
“I do.”
“And won’t be persuaded to let someone else take the watch?”
