The sundering hours, p.35
The Sundering Hours, page 35
“Even better. Let’s hear it.”
She drew in a breath. Fine. She would accept the consequences of her indiscretion. But she didn’t have to look at him. The starry sky would do just as well.
“I used to dream that you would appear out of nowhere, explain it was all a big misunderstanding, then take me away from everything. Now here you are, and I can’t go with you.”
He reached for her hand, drawing her gaze back to his face.
“Then I’ll make it easier,” he said in a soft voice. “You no longer have a choice. I’m taking you captive.”
Her heart began to beat twice as fast.
Footsteps sounded outside the cabin door, followed by muffled voices. Keys jangled. Seherene and Caradoc both looked towards the door. Neither moved an inch.
“Who’s trying to enter your cabin after midnight?” he said in a low voice.
“Maybe they’re only passing by,” she whispered.
The voices spoke again, unintelligible. Someone coughed. The footsteps passed in front of the door and faded away. All was silent again. Caradoc went to the far wall and stood with an ear to it, listening to make certain they’d really gone. He glanced back.
“Are you armed?”
She nodded.
“Anyone from the crew show interest in you?”
“No. Nothing like that.”
“What about Blackwood?”
“I think he’s only interested in his relics and trinkets these days. He’s brought you up more than once. He’s heard about the Key. Seems almost desperate to talk to you about it.”
Caradoc frowned for a long moment, deep in thought. “I see. Well . . . in that case—”
He went to the door, threw it open, and strode out of the cabin.
“Isaac!”
She hurried forward, but by the time she reached the threshold he was already climbing the companionway to the main deck. She cried out to him again but he kept on as if he hadn’t heard her. She tightened her robe and followed, her cheeks burning with anger.
It was truly amazing how many emotions he could put her through within the span of a few minutes.
“Who are you?”
She heard the voice of the alarmed crewman before she saw him.
“Isaac Caradoc. I’m here at Mr. Blackwood’s request. Is he available?”
“How did you get on this ship?”
“Swam from the next one over. Is that him up there on the quarterdeck?”
The crewman glanced back at his fellow watch officer. “Fetch the master-at-arms.”
“That won’t be necessary, sir,” Seherene said, finally catching up and planting herself in front of Caradoc. “You’ll have to forgive my friend. I’m afraid he’s rather too fond of causing mischief, but he means no harm by it.”
“Not usually,” Caradoc added with a smile.
“My lady?”
Everyone turned to see Alistair Blackwood coming down from the quarterdeck.
“Is everything all right?” he asked.
Seherene opened her mouth to answer but nothing came out. How much should she explain? And should she lie rather than omit? It was an impossible decision to make in the span of a few moments. Knowing it was too late to salvage the situation, she shut her eyes for a moment in disbelief, then led her reply with a sigh of resignation.
“Mr. Blackwood, may I introduce Isaac Caradoc?”
She stepped out of the way as Blackwood came forward, an astonished frown on his pale face. “Mr. Caradoc?”
“Mr. Blackwood.” The Keyholder greeted him with a nod but kept both hands clasped firmly behind his back. Apparently, he was dead serious about not taking even a handshake from him. “I’m sorry for arriving so late, but as it appears that neither of us cares very much for sleep, I thought we might have our meeting now.”
He tugged at the fingerless glove on his left hand.
Seeing this, Seherene rushed to intervene. “But perhaps in the privacy of your cabin, Mr. Blackwood. I don’t think the entire crew needs to hear this conversation. Isn’t that right, Mr. Caradoc?”
“Oh, they’re perfectly welcome to hear it.”
He pulled the glove from his hand. Seherene glanced around nervously. What crew were present now pressed forward, looking on with interest at the mark on his palm gleaming gold in the lantern light. Blackwood’s eyes veritably sparkled as the Keyholder held it up in display.
“The Spider Key, as it’s known to some,” Caradoc said, “in all its marvelous and grotesque glory. The last of its kind in Eriaris, capable of inconceivable wonders.”
“Truly?” Blackwood asked eagerly. “And . . . of what manner are these wonders?”
“First, that it grants power to subdue the Spektors—which are very much real and which you may hope to God you never encounter.”
Blackwood clutched his handkerchief to his chest, staring intently at the Key. “Yes. I have heard of such creatures. In fact, I own several curios which are said to repel them. Though they are yet to be tested.”
“Be assured, sir. No item made by man can overcome a spirit. Not even if it contains enchantments from every Entrian on earth.”
A hint of worry crept into Blackwood’s awe.
“The second wonder,” Caradoc continued, “is that it can unlock passages between worlds.”
At this, the onlooking crew began to whisper and murmur amongst themselves. Now, Seherene saw, they were not only curious, but becoming fearful and suspicious as well.
“Between worlds?” Blackwood echoed.
“Isaac,” Seherene said, putting a hand on his arm. “Perhaps we’ve shared enough with Mr. Blackwood for now.”
“These passageways,” Blackwood said in excitement, “once they’ve been opened, does it then become possible for one to . . . pass through them?”
“Yes. There are limitations to such travel, of course, but it offers the potential to visit hundreds of worlds. Thousands. To experience things you could never dream of and will never forget.”
“It makes man a god!” one of the sailors said.
Blackwood brought his scarlet handkerchief to his brow and licked his lips. “It seems you carry a thing of priceless value. Not to be parted with for all the titles and riches in Eriaris.”
Caradoc smiled bitterly. “You would think so. But in truth, Mr. Blackwood, I would pay as much to be rid of it. There’s no denying its great worth and value, as you’ve pointed out, but I’ve not yet told of the cost to carry it. This open wound here on my hand—that’s only a glimpse of the price that must be paid. When you begin to understand how the Key takes hold of you, wraps itself around your heart and soul, dictates how you will live your life and even how it will end, then you begin to curse the day you ever set eyes on the thing.” He took a step closer. “It can’t be taken by force. If you cut off my hand or put a sword through me, you stop the flow of blood to it, and it dies. Loses all power. It can only be given away. And this is its most devious trick, for it means conferring a death sentence on another, with years of pain and fear along the way. Such a gift I will never bestow on anyone. Not even you, sir.”
Caradoc’s purpose was now clear. He had revealed the Key’s secrets solely to show Alistair Blackwood something he couldn’t have. Perhaps the only thing. Blackwood realized it as well, for a fierce look of blood-chilling rage flashed in his eyes. Seherene let her hands fall to her sides, preparing to cast a shield enchantment at the first sign of violence.
A noise of shouting and screaming suddenly turned everyone’s attention to the Chain Breaker. Gunshots followed. The two ships were now close enough that Skiff and Ink could be seen running along the port side gunwale, while Jeremy stood at the bow firing a rifle down into the water. Ink waved his arms at the Grackle and shouted, but no one could make out the words.
The black-garbed sailors raced to the starboard side and looked down.
“Merciful God!”
“What is that?”
“Open fire, men!”
They pulled pistols from their belts and fired into the sea. Others ran to fetch rifles. Another rang the ship’s bell to signal the alarm. Blackwood rushed to the side of the ship and looked down. Seherene quickly followed.
There were creatures below—long, black, sinuous bodies which slithered through the water, churning it to foam. They were like no sea animal she had ever seen. Much larger and thicker than any snake or eel, at least fifty feet in length, and each with a spiny, corrugated dorsal fin. It was hard to make out any other feature except for brief glimpses of a yellow gleam just below the surface, which she guessed were eyes.
The next moment, a fierce wind rose without warning. Some of the crew toppled to the deck. Others bent low against it or clung to whatever they could. Seherene clutched at the shroud netting and hung on as the waves began to swell and toss the ships. Clouds swirled overhead, spilling cold sheets of rain. It was as though a hurricane had appeared out of nowhere.
While the crew scattered to deal with the new crisis, a shrill whistle pierced through the noise. Seherene caught sight of Ink standing on the far quarterdeck with two fingers in his mouth and waving a lantern with his other hand. She peered through the darkness, trying to focus on him. He was looking straight back at her and shouting. She let go of the netting and tried to cast a shield, but in the chaos of the high winds, gunshots, and spray of the sea dashing across the deck, she couldn’t focus.
Ink shouted again. She shook her head and raised a hand, urging him to cry even louder. She could barely see him now, the slashing rain growing heavier by the second. He climbed onto the gunwale, clutching tight to the lines, took a deep breath, and shouted again.
“Ticking!”
Her heart sank with dread.
“No,” she said, then whirled back, blinking water from her eyes.
Caradoc was gone. A trace of whirling black vapor hung over the spot where he’d been standing, then disappeared.
“No!”
The gale winds carried her cry away.
Chapter 24
This Is the One
The wind and rain swirled around the Chain Breaker with such force that Ink slipped from the gunwale and fell to the deck. The sails thrashed and strained on the masts. The main topgallant tore away from the lines, reducing itself to ribbons. Skiff raced over and pulled Ink to his feet, then helped him down to the main deck. Blackwood’s ship was no longer in sight, though it was now only a stone’s throw away.
Suddenly, the air went still, and the noise of the deafening storm was diminished to a distant howling. The rain stopped. The sails went limp. Ink began to wonder if Seherene had managed a shield enchantment—until Skiff looked with horror over the starboard side.
“Oh, God help us,” she said.
There it was. The translucent ghost ship of bones and crimson sails, the hellish red glow from the portholes visible even through the swirling wall of foam and water. A strange noise of brays and shrieks suddenly became apparent, coming from somewhere down below. Jeremy ran towards them, rifle in hand.
“What’s that noise?” Ink asked.
“The animals,” Jeremy replied. “They’re in a panic.”
“They’re not the only ones. What do we do?” Skiff cried.
Boom.
It was the sound of a cannon shot. They looked out just in time to see the projectile hurtle through the spiraling storm and towards the phantom ship. It passed straight through—the vessel no more substantial than a beam of moonlight—and vanished into the darkness beyond. Ink raced to the gunwale and glanced down. He could just see the end of a smoking cannon two decks below. He raised his eyes to the ship, straining to make out the crew. The main deck was empty.
“Where are they?” he wondered aloud.
A crack of thunder sounded from above. Ink felt the hairs rise along both arms, and he turned quickly back.
Five Spektors stood along the port side of the ship, from the bow to the quarterdeck. Pallaton was first among them. Beside him stood Eamon.
A noise of rushing footsteps came from the companionway. Margaret and Daniel appeared, followed closely by Delia and Jasper. They started in horror at the unwelcome visitors, then instinctively drew back towards Ink and the others. They were all in their nightclothes.
“Sweet mercy!” Jasper squeaked in a high-pitched voice. “This can’t be real!”
“Steady, mate,” Daniel said.
Delia clutched at the folds of her nightgown and ventured a step towards the gruesome creatures. “What do you want?” The demand came on a shaking voice. She threw her shoulders back, trying to steel herself. “If you’ve come only to . . . to gloat and extol yourselves with more dramatic speeches, we’ve had quite enough of those!”
Pallaton strode towards them. Ink and the others drew further back and closer together, those with weapons raising them in defense even though it wouldn’t do any good. Delia stiffened but remained where she stood, even as the Spektor stopped in front of her. A line of black saliva dripped from his mouth.
“Believe me,” Pallaton answered, his terrible hollow voice sending chills down Ink’s spine. “I have no wish to spend time in such miserable company. This will only take a moment. Eamon . . .”
He curled an emaciated finger, beckoning to the Spektor behind him. Eamon’s barbed chains clanked with every step forward, his icy gaze fixed firmly on his grandson.
Ink’s mouth went dry.
Oh, no. This was it. He was about to be exposed, all his sins and treacheries laid bare. The Wickwire Watch. The Naming Rite. The soul marking behind his eyes. No. This couldn’t happen now. Not like this. They would never forgive him. Never.
Eamon halted in front of him, then passed his silver-eyed gaze across the rest of the Colonists. Jasper clutched at Daniel’s arm. Jeremy lowered his rifle. Ink tried to swallow the lump in his throat, preparing for the worst.
But Eamon moved on, passing him by. He paused briefly in front of Jasper, then Daniel, narrowing his eyes as he went. To Margaret he flashed a cruel smirk, and Ink thought he saw a flash of anger in her eyes. When the Spektor came to Skiff, he stopped again. The young woman’s eyes were as wide as saucers.
Eamon lifted his thin gray hand and held it between them. On his open palm lay a small mound of what appeared to be ashes. Skiff shook her head and took a step back.
“No.”
“Stand still.”
“No!”
“Don’t touch her!” Jeremy shouted, raising his rifle again.
The black vapor floating around Eamon’s shoulders shot towards the weapon, lifted it into the air, and hurled it over the side of the ship. The Spektor’s eyes remained on the young woman, who had now backed into the gunwale.
“Leave her alone!” Margaret cried in a voice of command. “She has nothing to do with you!”
Eamon came closer to Skiff, his silver eyes shining. “If that is true, declare it to them, and we can forgo this little test. If it is not . . . you will stand still.”
Skiff glanced at the others. Daniel frowned.
“Well, come on, Skiff! Tell him to bog off!”
She blinked a tear from her eye but didn’t answer. Eamon raised his free hand and pushed his thumb into the mound of ashes. Skiff leaned away, then shut her eyes as he raised his thumb and swept it across the middle of her forehead in one quick motion. Pallaton moved closer and peered down at her.
Ink stood just near enough to see what happened. As soon as the ashes touched her skin, a small rune-like symbol appeared on her brow, pale and glittering. It looked very much like a soul marking.
“This is the one,” Eamon pronounced.
Pallaton stepped closer to Skiff with a contemptuous sneer, nodding like a man all-too-pleased with himself. “We were curious why your ship had changed course so drastically. You were clever enough to escape our notice the first time but a fool to think you could hide from us forever. And now your very presence here reveals your intentions.” He glanced up at the rest of the Colonists. “Be assured, it will fail. Nothing in the world can stand between the Broken One and his fate. No place on earth holds his salvation. And should you continue to trust this girl and heed her advice, you will all die.”
“Liar.”
Skiff’s response was barely above a whisper but filled with angry resolve. In answer, Pallaton grabbed her by the throat and hauled her into the air. Daniel pulled a dagger from his belt, rushed forward, and plunged it into Pallaton’s side. As the Spektor had made himself physically solid, the blade did not pass through but remained there. He gave no sign of pain, but with his free hand he grabbed Daniel by the collar and hurled him clear across the deck. The others began to move forward, eager to help them both, but with a toss of his skeletal hand Eamon sent out a shockwave of black vapor which knocked them all to the ground.
Skiff strained, pulling at Pallaton’s hand.
“God . . .” she choked. “God . . .”
He turned his silver eyes back to her. “What was that? Speak up now.”
She sucked in a wheezing breath like half a sob, then gave the effort all her energy.
“God sees what man cannot!”
Ink’s mouth dropped open. It was the phrase from the Keyholder Book. With a snarl, Pallaton let go of her and drew back his hand as though he’d been burned. She fell to the deck on her side and remained there, gasping for breath. Margaret and Jeremy both hurried to help her. Ink got to his feet and narrowed his eyes at the Spektors.
“You sad, pathetic prats!” he cried. “Got to do what your Mistress says? Can’t think for yourselves?”
Eamon smirked at his fellow Spektors. “Careful. He’s finding his courage again. In moments like these, he’s liable to start singing.”
“Least I ain’t half so pitiful as you!” Ink shot back. “Bullying helpless people like that!”
Pallaton looked hard at him, then slowly pulled Daniel’s dagger out of his side. The blade dripped with black blood. “Go on, boy. Go on mocking what you cannot begin to understand. Like a child waving a toy sword at shadows in the distance, not knowing they are really giants, coming ever closer to destroy his world.”
