“Then the issue is not about what you can do, but how much control you have over it. You can learn control.”
“Are you certain? The vanyesh played with magic and almost destroyed the world. I could be better at it than they were.”
“They’re all dead.”
Jorim looked down. “Maybe I will be, too.”
Anaeda cocked her head. “Is that it?”
“Look at me, Anaeda. I had the radiance of the sun pouring out through me. My flesh is coming off. My eyes have changed. My hair is white. I’ve aged a generation or two.”
“Jorim, you have two issues you are dealing with here, and somehow you’ve decided there’s one solution that will handle both. But it’s not the best solution.”
“I’m not certain I understand you.”
She sighed. “Let’s look at the first one. You fear you’re dying, or that magic might kill you. Your skin is peeling, but let me ask you, does it hurt?”
“What?”
“Does your skin hurt the way a bad sunburn does?”
He shook his head. “No.”
“No bloody lesions?”
“No.”
“And the skin is healthy beneath?”
Jorim shrugged and rubbed a patch bare on his left wrist. “It seems to be.”
“You said your eyes have changed. Perhaps the rest of you has, too.” She smiled. “You know the tales of gods taking the form of men to walk among us. Who knows what the transformation is like?”
“That’s not reassuring.” Jorim frowned. “But I’ll accept, for the moment, that I might not be dying.”
“Well, also accept that if you were, your use of magic might reverse your slide.”
“Yes, and drinking will cure a hangover-until it kills you.”
“This brings us to your second problem.” Anaeda picked at a fingernail. “You’re afraid of using magic because you know you can do serious harm. But as I said before, that is just a matter of control.”
“What if I can’t control it?”
“You can. You just have to learn how.”
“What if I fail?”
“No, Jorim, I’m not giving you that out. You’re an Anturasi. You’ve never been given a challenge you did not meet. Your grandfather may not have handed you this one, but you will meet it. It is not in your nature to fail.”
He arched an eyebrow. “You hook me with my vanity. Very good, Captain. But maybe this is a challenge I will let pass.”
“Why?”
Jorim opened his hands and looked down at the lanternlight dancing over the water surrounding his island. “Would you want to be a god?”
She thought for a moment, then shook her head. “No, it’s not a mantle I would accept.”
“Then why should I?”
“Because, Jorim, you may be like the Empress Cyrsa. You may be late come to your true talent.”
Jorim waved that idea away. “I’ve had my talent since I was born. I’m an Anturasi and am a cartographer and explorer. It’s all I’ve ever been and all I ever wanted to be.”
“And that has nothing to do with your talent.” Anaeda smiled. “Don’t I remember you telling me that your mother is a bhotcai? Her talent is for dealing with plants.”
“Yes.”
“Then why would the Anturasi talent run any more strongly in your veins than her talent? Could it be that you just chose to develop your cartography skills, but the other talent is there, too? Remember, the plants thrived when you shone on them.”
“And animals died.”
“And how many of those same sorts of animals have you killed in your explorations so you would have samples to study? Perhaps your emerging talent, your god-talent, amplifies what you already have.”
Jorim closed his eyes. The things she was saying made sense, but he didn’t want them to. If she was right, then he was a god, or was becoming a god, which meant the power he had handled before was a fraction of what he might handle in the future. The results could be a disaster.
Especially if you do not learn to control that power.
“Captain, this is not idle speculation, and not something borne of this incident.”
“No, it’s not. You’ll recall that I told you that Borosan Gryst is my cousin. He’s skilled at tinkering with things. It’s the Gryst talent. My mother, on the other hand, comes from a family of mariners. While I am a ship’s captain and work hard at it, I also know how things work and how to fix them. This is why, during your time in the dark here, I have been able to maintain the chronometer, which allowed you to calculate longitude.”
“I had forgotten about that.”
“And your negligence has been noted in my log. There will be consequences for that, Master Anturasi.”
Jorim shook his head. “You’re rejecting my argument that I’m no longer under your command?”
“God or no god, I am responsible for you, Jorim. Not only are you a valuable asset for my fleet and mission, but you are a friend.”
“So, being a ship’s captain is like being a god?”
“Not at all.” She smiled. “Gods are limited by their aspects.”
“Yes, I guess they are. Their aspects, or their fears.”
“I’ve been checking. Tetcomchoa knows no fear.”
Jorim scratched at his forehead and more dead skin fell away. Before he could comment, Nauana came through the doorway, holding Shimik. The Fennych’s fur had gone completely white.
Anaeda looked at the Amentzutl sorceress. “He may be at a point to listen to reason.”
“Thank you, Captain.” Nauana set the Fenn down and Shimik sat, clutching his legs to his chest. “Has she convinced you to emerge, Tetcomchoa?”
“More like she’s convinced me there is no purpose in hiding anymore. I…” He raised his arms toward her, then slowly let them drop away. “If Tetcomchoa knows no fear, then I am not Tetcomchoa.”
Nauana smiled quickly, then shook her head. “The translation was not clear. It is not that Tetcomchoa knows no fear, it is that he does not show it.”
Jorim snorted. “Well, hiding down here for… however long it’s been, that’s a pretty good show of fear.”
“It has not been seen as such, my lord.” Nauana smiled. “You are the snake, and you have been shedding your skin. All have heard; all rejoice.”
“All except Shimik.”
At the sound of his name, the Fenn’s head came up. “Jrima smart again?”
Anaeda looked down at the Fenn. “The best we’re going to get for a while.”
“And it will get better.” Jorim brushed his arms off and watched a blizzard of dried flesh fall away.
Nauana nodded. “It must. You are to begin a series of purification rituals.”
“Why?”
“News of your transformation has reached the highest circles.” She pressed her hands together at her breastbone. “When you are ready, you will meet the Witch-King, and through him you will receive the remainder of that which you left behind when you last walked among us.”
Chapter Thirty-two
23rd day, Month of the Dragon, Year of the Rat
10th Year of Imperial Prince Cyron’s Court
163rd Year of the Komyr Dynasty
737th year since the Cataclysm
Kunjiqui, Anturasixan
Nirati was certain she’d never seen her grandfather so happy before, and this scared her. She’d seen him pleased in the past-by a new discovery or, more usually, someone else’s misfortune. Often enough, Qiro had even been the cause of that misfortune. She’d even seen him tenderly pleased, as when she had brought him a picture or a sweetcake-things she had done as a child.
But no matter the cause of his pleasure, it had always been an adult pleasure-self-satisfied and controlled. Now, however, he exhibited a boyish glee that bordered on madness. In fact, she was fairly certain that he had become unhinged. This realization, which had been growing in her mind as Nelesquin had given Qiro more and more work, shook her to the core. Qiro had always been constant and strong. While he could be impulsive-especially when meting out punishment-decorum had established some boundaries beyond which he did not stray.
She looked at him, sitting there on a muddy flat at low tide, mud caking him and streaking his hair and beard. He reached down with a filthy hand, scooped up mud, spat in it, mixed it up, and shaped it into strange little creatures. He added new mudmen to the crews on the little boats he’d shaped from reeds.