“I remembered your name, Meia,” he said, and his voice came out reasonably human this time.
“You should, since you abducted me. That’s a new crime for you, isn’t it?”
“As the offender, yes. I’ve been the victim of abductions, however temporary, more times than I would like to admit.”
“That should give you some sympathy for my position.” The cold edge of bronze pressed harder under his chin, and he couldn’t ignore the Intent that leaked out from the weapon.
The man begs for mercy, but mercy is not called for, so the blade draws his blood.
Agitated and drunk, the soldiers attack, but they do not know their opponent. The blade draws their blood.
The child of death and unnatural life lets out a howl, shrieking as it wraps its fleshy tentacles around the woman’s leg. Bronze flashes, and the blade draws its blood.
Over and over, Calder Read the history of violence. The visions came with the weight of endlessness, as though he could dig forever and always unearth some older death at the end of this assassin’s blade. Intent and significance hung heavy in the bronze, such that it took everything he had to shut them out.
So heavy that the weapon almost seemed to have a mind of its own. It wasn’t Awakened, he would have sensed that, but it was only one technicality away. He was afraid he might Awaken it with a stray thought.
Awakening would change the physical shape of the blade, likely resulting in his throat slit. As that was the exact situation he was currently endeavoring to avoid, he corralled his mind as tightly as possible.
“…for the Island,” Meia finished, waiting on his response.
The Reading hadn’t taken long, relatively speaking, but long enough that he’d missed whatever the Consultant had tried to say. He gave her a smile before realizing that even that much movement brought a flare of pain from the dagger’s tip. He gave up smiling.
“I apologize, Consultant Meia, I was distracted by your weapon. Would you mind repeating that? Please?” He had no choice but to pray to the Unknown God that she found it easier to persuade him than to throw his body overboard. She could sail the ship, with enough motivation. As long as the Lyathatan beneath the ship remained quiet, The Testament would function as well as anything else on the water. It would be a bit undermanned, but he was certain Meia would find her way around that minor obstacle.
Her hand on the knife flexed, muscles unnaturally bulging and shifting. Veins stood out blue against her pale skin, and her nails extended half an inch. Orange eyes flared.
But she gathered herself with a visible effort, and no strain or anger dyed her voice when she spoke. “This ship will return to the Gray Island immediately, where you will deposit me and surrender yourselves to the Consultant’s Guild. You will not be killed, nor even harmed, only detained and questioned. Gently. You will remain a prisoner, but a safe one, if you cooperate now and set course for the Island.”
“Attractive,” Calder said. “I can see what happens if I don’t oblige.” He could feel blood leaking out around her weapon’s tip.
“I’d prefer it if you did.”
“Very well. I give you my word of honor that I will sail back to the Gray Island without resistance. Furthermore, I will not harm you, and I will remand myself into the custody of the Consultant Architects upon our arrival.”
Meia withdrew her dagger, and her eyes faded to blue. It was a disturbing sight. She let up pressure on his chest, leaving only a throbbing ache, and stood. “You’ve made things much easier for all of us, Captain Marten. It would have been a waste to kill you when you can make the journey so much faster.”
We’re being very polite to each other for a couple of liars, Calder thought. For one thing, he harbored no illusions about what would happen to him if he returned to the headquarters of the Consultant’s Guild. He’d just launched an attack on their Island, during which—due to no fault of his—most of the landscape was destroyed. On top of that, a Consultant assassin had pursued him for the last several months. He couldn’t imagine they would let an outstanding contract go, if only for the pride of their Guild.
Meia was certainly lying about his treatment…which was just as well, because he had no intentions of returning.
Foster and his bloody beard stumbled over, watching the retreating Consultant’s back carefully. “She’s a polite one, but you shouldn’t take her lightly. Play it quiet for now.”
“Where’s Andel?” Calder asked.
“Play it quiet for now,” Foster insisted. “You’re ignoring me, and that makes me edgy.”
Calder sat up glanced over the deck. No one but Foster and the Consultant. “Is he okay?”
“You’re still ignoring me, and I’m starting to sweat. I’m thinking you’re going to try something, Captain, which would be a bad idea. Captain. Captain.”
With a wince, Calder hauled himself to his feet. He knew it was going to hurt, and it did—a lance of pain shot up from his bandaged leg. As he climbed to a standing position, he shot his Intent down into the ship.
The ship has only a dim sense of who travels within it, besides the Soulbound, who flares like a beacon in The Testament’s awareness. Two ordinary humans walk on the deck, near the Soulbound captain. Two more ride below. The smaller one is tucked away in the corner of a passenger cabin, while the larger waits in the hold.
“Why is he in the hold?” Calder asked.
“He, uh…” Foster squinted in the distance and scratched his gray-bearded chin, avoiding Calder’s gaze. “He thought the Consultant might be hungry.”
Calder braced himself against the mast as though trying to push it over. He’d lost Urzaia and Jerri both—the second memory burned hot—and now what crew remained had given in to the demands of an enemy. Petal he could understand; she was crouched in her room, distracting herself with alchemy. He’d expect nothing less. But Foster would oppose anyone given the slightest excuse. And Andel? Calder would have thought the Quartermaster would go to his grave before he surrendered.
Meia had retreated to a polite distance, keeping her eyes on the sea, and it occurred to Calder that she was being respectful. Giving the Captain a moment with his crew member. An assassin should know better than to lower her guard.
“…you’ve got that look, Calder, and it’s not going to lead us anywhere wise. You hearing me?”
Calder focused once again on the Intent bound into his ship, the power that fused each dark green board together into a smooth whole. His mind slid down below the hull, to the bolts that anchored the first links of two ancient chains.
The chains were invested to restrain an Elder, to restrict its powers and bend them to the will of the ship’s captain. They connected to a pair of manacles, which wrapped around a monster’s wrists.
With a thought, Calder ordered the Lyathatan to rise.
Next to the ship, the water darkened and swelled. A head the size of a longboat crested the waves, its deep blue scales glistening in the sun. Six black eyes emerged in two rows of three, gills on its neck flapping in the air. It opened a shark’s mouth and hissed, revealing endless legions of jagged teeth. Webbed spines flared up on its back. Its torso was like a man’s, covered in the pale skin of a fish’s belly, and its muscular arms ended in taloned hands.
The sea was more than deep enough to submerge the Lyathatan completely, but it stood as though the waves were only waist-high. Calder had never clearly seen its legs, but from what he’d glimpsed, they looked like a combination of human legs and a pair of fish tails. Like some sort of bizarre, Elder-spawned echo of a mermaid.