Across the Darkling Sea Page 12

  “Still, I’m always exhausted after a trip to Middelhaern, and the rough woven hammocks seem to conspire to keep me from any rest.”

  “So you live on Dreggs, then?” Ling asked, avoiding his question about sleep. She hadn’t slept in the hammock at all, of course. Had he asked about her sleep because he had noticed her absence?

  “Marique. And yes. Most of us do. Middelhaern’s an okay place for the common sort, but not too friendly to us.” He leaned in conspiratorially. “We make ’em nervous, I think,” he said, laughing.

  Did he mean warlocks specifically? Or was he including her in that collective “we”?

  “Also, no magic,” Ling said.

  Fariss laughed again, nodding agreeably. “Not a pleasant place, where you’re from. Not for my sort. We don’t do well when there’s no magic around.”

  Her parents had always said a person who relied on magic to do what your own hands could do was a fool. Ling wondered if Fariss was referring to the difficulty of having to do things manually that he would otherwise do with magic, or if he meant something deeper. Could warlocks live without magic, or were their very lives so intermingled in magic that they would die without it?

  Or maybe it was just more commentary on the attitudes of people without magic. Pushing aside his odd habit of seeming to fade in and out of this world, his stained lips and jeweled chin would make him stand out in Meuse or Middelhaern. Even if they didn’t realize he was specifically a warlock, they’d recognize the signs of magic when they saw it. She had no doubt how coldly the folk of Brielle would treat him.

  The stink he carried around with him wouldn’t help matters, either. What was that smell? It smelled somewhat rotted and somewhat fresh, but not a good sort of fresh. More like the sort of fresh that came from a freshly gutted rabbit.

  Ling nodded in agreement. “The people of Brielle don’t take kindly to magic.”

  “Not you, though.”

  Ling took a bite of the warm bread and shrugged. She’d asked Dreskin a similar question not too long before, and his answer rose to her lips. “Folks ought to be judged on who they are, not what.”

  Fariss smiled, the skin pulling around the purple stone wedged in his chin. She wondered if it hurt when he smiled. “Quite true. Quite true indeed. That’s not a very commonplace opinion from where you come from, though. Quite unusual.”

  He took another long sip of coffee, his eyes pinned to her as the steam from the cup rose between them. This was the look she’d written about in the grimoire last night. He looked at her as if he studied a corpse lying open on the table in front of him, tendons and muscles exposed as he poked and prodded. It wasn’t a look you’d give a living, breathing person.

  “What brings you to Marique, if you don’t mind me asking?”

  Ling chewed slowly, considering. The invitation to share was clear. No doubt he was only hoping to further his own agenda, to find something he could use later against her or maybe against Alyssum. But Ling had her own agenda, and she needed help. If anyone knew something that could help her, it was Fariss. He studied the same discipline as Grag. That made him potentially of great value to her, but it might also make him more dangerous. Witch had said she’d never seen anything quite like Ling before. Alyssum had recognized something about her but also seemed baffled. It seemed clear that the magics that had made her were rare. If she mentioned Grag’s name, would Fariss know who he was? Would it clue him in to what she was?

  “I am looking for someone. Someone I’ve not seen for many years.” She steeled herself against the risk she was about to take. She was scared, but she didn’t have a choice if she wanted to find Grag.

  “Ooh, how interesting!” Fariss crooned, clapping his hands together in excitement. “A mystery! I do love mysteries,” he said. “Who is this person? They must be a warlock if you travel to Marique to find them.”

  His manner was disconcerting. He was too friendly. Too jolly. Too observant. She felt like she was betraying herself with every word she said. Her mind flashed to Alyssum, her soft smile as she’d spoken to the guard before coming on board. The fact that she and Drake were lovers. Ling considered fleeing Fariss now, running to Drake, telling her everything and begging for help. Would she and Alyssum do it?

  But neither Drake nor Alyssum was Tovenveran. She stared at the amethyst in Fariss’s chin and spoke.

  “A warlock I met a number of years ago. He only passed through, but he was kind to me. He gave me a small gift, and I’ve always wanted to thank him for it.” The lie flowed from her mouth the way the honey flowed across the warm bread in her hands. She hadn’t known she was going to lie until she’d heard the words fall from her lips. She was surprised at how natural it all sounded. “He was like you, a…what do you call it? Tovenveran.”

  “Ah, you’ve done your homework, then, to know of Tovenveran.” He fingered the amethyst wedged in his chin, and Ling wondered at its purpose. It was large and faceted so it would catch the light from almost any direction.

  “There are many of us, you know. Not as many as there once were, to be sure, but even if you narrow it down to only the Tovenveran, there are enough of us that we don’t all know one another. Warlocks are a secretive bunch, but perhaps I know him. Do you have a name?” Fariss asked.

  Ling took a deep breath and plunged forward. “His name is Grag. That’s all I know about him.” She watched Fariss carefully, looking for any indication he knew Grag or that he suddenly knew what she was. His eyes floated up and to the left in thought, but his expression suggested that he was doing nothing more than that. She allowed a small amount of tension to bleed off, loosening her shoulders just slightly.

  “Grag…” Fariss took another sip of coffee. “Does not sound familiar. You are certain he lives on Marique? Many of us do, but certainly not all.”

  “I’m not certain. I just hoped...” She’d hoped what? That he would be waiting for her when she arrived? Smiling and ready to unmake her? Her cheeks colored in shame at her naïveté. This entire trip was nothing but childish fancy.

  She clasped her hands in her lap and stared down at them in embarrassment. “No, I’m not certain he lives there. I’d hoped...hoped I’d just find him when I got there.”

  Fariss was silent, and Ling didn’t dare look at him. She felt certain he was laughing at her.

  “Well, Marique is a very large place, and warlocks often don’t want to be found. Trade secrets and everything, you understand.”

  “I understand. It was silly to hope I could find him there.”

  “Oh no, you misunderstand. It’s unlikely you will find him by wandering around the place, but you will likely find him in the Registrary. Your instinct was good—Marique is your best shot at finding him, no matter where he is.”

  Ling looked up at him. He met her eyes calmly, with no malice, no suspicion. She didn’t trust him. She couldn’t, not after what she’d heard, not with alarm bells clamoring in her head every time she saw the man. But for the first time since she’d started off on this mad quest, she felt a small bud of hope form inside of her. Her book said Witch had mentioned the Registrary, but she hadn’t explained what it was or how it could possibly help. Maybe this journey wasn’t so hopeless after all.

  “The Registrary? What is that?”

  “We all have to Sign when we pass through Wijzigan, which is a test of sorts, to prove we are capable of taking the title of warlock.” He began pushing one of his sleeves back, exposing a forearm.

  “It’s not like signing your name on a piece of paper,” he continued. A blackened glyph stood out in a raised ridge from his flesh. It was well healed; the brand had clearly happened ages ago. “Once Signed, the entry is kept up to date no matter where we go—the sigil makes certain of that. If he carries the title of warlock, they’ll have record of him there.”

  Ling smiled; she couldn’t help herself. Excitement sizzled through her, and if she’d been alone, she’d likely have jumped up and down with the energy of it.

  Fari
ss’s eyes were wide, a gentle smile curving his dark lips. His expression reminded her of what the book had said about him, how he’d looked when he’d mentioned how badly he wanted to capture a sirené, and her joy at his words dampened abruptly.

  “What is this war you mentioned yesterday?” she asked. “Is it with the Mari?”

  His eyes took on a vague, unfocused look, and he reached out one hand, running a finger along the side of her face from ear to chin. “No politics aboard the Courser. Captain’s orders.”

  The movement caused the smell of him to wash over her, and she jumped to her feet, moving away from him.

  His eyes snapped into focus. “Oh, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean anything by it. You are just so young, so full of…energy. No need to worry yourself about it.” He smiled. “I’ll take you to the Registrary. It’s not easy to find, but it’s not all that far from port.”

  Ling hesitated. The warning bells still rang in her head, but she could see no malice in his expression, and she needed help to find the Registrary. And if she failed there, she may need his help in a different way.

  She settled back beside him, a bit further away than before. “Would you? That would be so wonderful.”

  They finished breakfast in idle chitchat, Ling eating as quickly as she could without seeming rude. She would have liked to not eat at all, the food tasting like ash when mingled with her nervousness, but she wouldn’t do anything to raise his interest any further. She took her leave as quickly as she dared, seeking out Captain Drake to see if someone might show her around the engine room and show her how that paddle contraption worked.

  It was fascinating to see, though she didn’t understand any of it. The room was louder than anything she’d ever heard before and was thick with smoke. A wheel device fed a steady stream of coal into a wide-open maw that burned hotter than any forge she’d ever seen. White smoke burst out of various holes scattered around the room, and things moved up and down, back and forth, and spun madly. Somehow all this chaotic movement is what caused the paddles to work and the ship to move.

  All this because there was no wind on the Mare Tenebrarum. She wondered at that, too. Was there no wind because there was no light?

  The engine, as they called it, was a Tovenveran creation, though not by Fariss and his ilk. Fariss’s particular focus within the Tovenveran discipline involved biology, not machinery, she’d learned. He had created the biolumesce, as she had heard the night before, but the mechanical contraption had come from the mind of another.

  She asked about the boatsmyn who’d stuck his finger in one of the bowls, and her guide paled and attempted to sidestep the question. She pressed him, and finally he told her that the man had only dipped his finger in briefly out of curiosity. Despite the brevity of his contact with the stuff, his flesh had seemed to melt away. Beginning with the finger he’d dipped, it spread up his forearm so fast his body didn’t even have time to bleed. The things hadn’t even left bone behind.

  Fariss had hacked the man’s arm off at the elbow, just above where it seemed to be melting away, and tossed the stub into the sea. He’d raged at the man, at the crew, at the captain, saying that if that hand had been allowed to touch anyone else on board, the entire crew would have been lost.

  Ling giggled a bit as she heard the story, believing it to be ridiculous. But her guide claimed he had seen the entire thing with his own eyes, and the fear on his face convinced her of his story’s truth. He swore it on the life of his mother, but his terror was all the proof she needed.

  “Just what does Fariss do?”

  The man shrugged. “He studies things. Livin’ or dead. Knows everything there is to know about every type of creature, too. He cuts ’em up, figures out how they work.”

  “Cuts them up?”

  “Just what I’ve heard,” the boatsmyn said. “Not from him, mind you, but the others, that’s what they say. They don’t like him much.”

  “The other boatsmyn?”

  “Aye, the boatsmyn. But the warlocks, too. They don’t like him—they’re all afraid of him.”

  Her belly churned with fear and unease. Who was this man that his own people feared him?

  “And what of Alyssum? Does she fear him too?” Ling had not seen Alyssum since she’d overheard her with Captain Drake. The boatsmyn had been showing signs of increasing discomfort with her questioning, and at this one, he excused himself abruptly, citing some task or another that needed doing.

  Magical and political currents churned around her, but she knew little more about them now than she had when she’d first stepped aboard this ship. Fariss cut things up and studied their guts and how they worked. His desire to capture a sirené made more sense in that light. She’d thought he’d meant studying their behavior, but his comments had a much darker connotation given this new information.

  She shuddered to imagine him taking the creatures apart piece by piece to see what made them work. She had no fondness for them, certainly. Those teeth left no doubt that they would kill and eat anyone on board this ship given the chance. But dissection seemed cruel even for a creature such as that. They were just doing what nature asked of them, after all. No different from any other predator.

  Fariss’s smell, though. It was so much like that of a freshly gutted kill. Could a person spend so much time working in the guts of other living things that they started to smell like them?

  Ling shuddered as she made her way back toward the deck of the ship, clutching the grimoire tightly against her chest.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Despite the enforced boredom of the journey, the remaining days passed quickly, if not comfortably. The constant clang of the engine and ever-present stench of smoke gave Ling a headache, and she quickly lost her fascination with the lack of daylight. It felt as if every tiny bit of her body craved it. Her eyes longed to see beyond the bow of the ship, her skin desperately missed the touch of the sun, and her soul, whatever she had of one, felt desiccated from the lack of it. Humans were creatures of the light. She may not herself be human, but she was crafted from one, and she’d inherited that desire from Evelyn.

  She kept to herself as much as possible. She missed her family horribly, and part of her longed for conversation. But though she could find no cause for it, she feared everyone on this ship. She feared the political currents she could feel but did not understand. She feared the intense way Fariss looked at her when he spoke. She even feared Captain Drake’s open and friendly smile. Everywhere she looked, sinister shadows loomed.

  So she hid in the small nook beneath Drake’s window. She studied the book obsessively, reading and rereading every word. She told herself that she was looking for any tiny detail she might have missed that would help her on her journey or that might reveal something about Grag. But the truth was far more complicated.

  It was the parts about Evelyn’s loved ones that she reread the most. Her descriptions of Laera’s face as she’d told Hanner to torture her. Rudy’s rigid agony, Shera’s cold indifference, and the look of her father bent and broken. She would read those words over and over again until she was wracked with sobs, hands plastered to her face in search of tears that never fell.

  In those days, she discovered there was no relief in weeping without tears. Her hatred for what Grag had done grew heavier and darker with every passing day.

  Her fear of giving everyone more reason to wonder about her was the only thing great enough to push her out of her safe nook, but even then, she only left to visit the kitchens and the privy.

  She tried to avoid Fariss by creeping along the deck and peeking around corners before stepping around them. She needed his help and would not risk putting him off with rudeness, but he somehow always managed to be wherever she was, no matter how unpredictable or sneaky she tried to be.

  Two days before they were to arrive in Marique, the Mare Tenebrarum ended. It was one of the oddest experiences of her life. The division between the dark and the light was as clean as sliced bread, and was someth
ing none of Ling’s memories could have prepared her for. On one side was absolute darkness, on the other, the brilliant light of a noon sun.

  After so many days spent encased in darkness, the normal light of a clear day was blinding. She’d been making her way back to her nook when they passed over, and the bright sunlight caught her so off guard, she dropped to her knees in fright. She realized quickly what had happened, but kept to her knees out of necessity. She was just as blinded by the sudden light as they left the Mare Tenebrarum as she had been by the sudden dark sailing into it. She buried her face into the crook of one arm while she waited for her eyes to adjust to the glare. When they finally did, the view left her stunned and speechless.

  The brilliant pink water stretched from horizon to horizon. The splash of color where the sea touched the bright blue sky was the most beautiful thing Ling had ever seen. She wished for paint and canvas to paint the vista before her. She had neither, so instead of fleeing back to her hidey-hole, she lingered on deck, arms resting on the railing, feet dangling over the edge, and stared for hours.

  The weight of grief that had enveloped her vanished with the darkness. The sun, warm with the heat of summer, burned it away as effectively as it had the shadows. The lights vanished, the bowls of biolumesce stopped churning, the engines silenced, and billowing sails once again drove the Courser forward.

  To the west, early indications of their approach to Marique were visible in the form of rocks jutting up from water so smooth it looked like pink-hued glass. Most were rocky spires that stretched to the sky like Witch’s arthritic fingers, so steep and rocky only birds could visit there. Some of them were flat and so small it would take only minutes for a person to walk across. All of them were so thickly covered in blooming vines that the outcroppings themselves appeared to be purple, or red, or orange, depending on the flowers that bloomed on them.

  Ling’s eyes and soul drank in the beauty, starved as they’d been during the long days spent in darkness. Birds flitted from island to island and swooped low over the deck looking for food. They screamed their displeasure when they found none, the sound filling Ling with joy despite the clear frustration of the birds. Shadows flitted about beneath the boat, and off-duty boatsmyn took turns lounging on the deck with poles dangling over the sides into the water below, catching enough to feed the entire ship with fresh fish.