Keelin rolled onto his feet and approached the bones. He shrugged.
“I thought you said this thing would find him.”
“Powerful magics mixed with lost technology.” He gave a bitter laugh. “Apparently it was designed to find a person and then bend the world to bring them here.” Elaina hit him hard on the arm, and he hissed in pain.
“You should know better than to play with magic, Stillwater,” she growled. “Was he already like this?”
Keelin nodded. “I think so. Maybe that’s why the machine, um, broke. Prin was already dead.”
“You sure it’s him?”
With a shrug, Keelin sank down onto the floor. He stared at the bones. He’d spent almost half his life searching for Arbiter Prin. He’d dedicated so much of his time and his resources into his vengeance, and now, right at the end, it had been snatched away from him. He felt empty, hollowed out and numb. Emotions warred within him, but they were all muted by the loss he felt so strongly. He’d lost his purpose.
“Been a long time coming.” Elaina sank down beside him. “Hatred of that man has kept you focused for so long. Must be like losing a friend, almost, eh?”
“He was never my friend.”
“Wasn’t talking about the man. I was talking about the hatred.”
“I can still hate him.”
Elaina sighed. “It’ll fade. It’s hard to keep a grudge against the dead. At some point you realise there ain’t nothing left to hate, and then it’s gone.”
She was right. Keelin didn’t want to admit it, but Elaina was right. He wanted to keep hating Prin, but the truth of it was, he couldn’t. The moment he’d realised the Arbiter was dead, that vengeance would never be his, Keelin had nothing left to give the man.
“I’ve spent most of my life chasing this bastard,” he said. “I hid it from everyone, but I was always searching for him. I’ve risked myself, my ship, and my crew, time and time again. I’ve lost good men in chasing down leads and they never even knew why. I’ve lost another two just getting here, and what for? A pile of old bones.”
Keelin felt tears stinging his eyes, and he wiped them away on the sleeve of his jacket.
“I think you mean you risked my ship,” Elaina said with a friendly shove.
Keelin laughed, but the mirth died in his throat.
“Ain’t gonna say you’ve done right,” Elaina said. “Mostly because you ain’t done right. Folk followed you and you led them into danger, got some of them killed even. Well, fuck. You’ve only gone and done what every captain has. The thing is though, are you gonna sit here and whine about it? Maybe get a few others killed because of it? Or are you going to get up off your arse and get your crew out of this haunted fucking city?”
Keelin let out a bark of bitter laughter. “To what end? I’ve lived every day for the past… I don’t know, longer than I can remember. All to the end of hunting down this… this corpse. I don’t…”
“Well that’s a load of shit. If all you wanted was this, you wouldn’t have saved all those people from Sev’relain. You set up a new town with Morrass.”
“All to get his charts.”
“What about my da? You convinced him to side with Morrass. That weren’t for the charts. Probably made getting them harder. What about that stunt ya pulled with the slavers guild? Was that for the charts?”
Keelin shook his head.
“So now you have to make a decision. Sit here and wallow over the not-so-recent death of the man you hated, or pick yaself up and apply the energy ya spent hunting him into something else. It just so happens I reckon we could use that energy in making Morrass’ dream for the isles work.”
Elaina stood and dusted herself off.
“Thing is, Stillwater, I intend to be queen of the isles, and I’d rather have you at my side than that slimy fuck Drake.”
Keelin considered the possibility. Sitting on a throne, in charge of a kingdom. Didn’t sound too appealing. Though sitting next to Elaina did. There was just one problem with the picture – Keelin didn’t want to betray his fellow captain. He actually quite liked Drake, and he believed in what they were trying to accomplish.
One thing was certain though – Elaina was right. Sitting around moping wasn’t about to solve their most immediate problem, and that was getting back to the ship without losing anyone else. His grief could wait.
Keelin stood and picked up a large rock shaken loose by the machine’s death throes. He approached the scorched remains, and for a long time he stood there, staring down at the blackened bones of the man who had been his focus for so long. Then Keelin raised the rock and brought it down on Prin’s skull.
Chapter 43 - The Phoenix
Aimi squinted, holding her torch high. She still couldn’t see all the way to the ceiling, and she couldn’t see the source of the scratching. Smithe had insisted the noise was just rats running about in the walls. Aimi wasn’t so sure. There was still that crawling feeling between her shoulders that said they were being watched.
“Found some steps,” Jotin said. “They lead down.”
The rest of the expedition crowded around the small doorway and peered down into the dark. Aimi kept her torch held high, determined to find the source of her discomfort.
“Go on then,” Smithe said. “Down ya go.”
“Fuck that, Smithe,” Jotin whined.
“You forgetting who’s in charge again?”
“I don’t give a fuck if that bastard soul-sucker Reowyn himself is in charge. There ain’t no fucking way I’m going down there. Place is creepy enough already without adding being trapped underground.”
“If you’re so set on seeing what’s down there, why don’t you go?” Jolan chimed in.
“Fine,” Smithe growled. The surly quartermaster snatched a torch from Jotin and tossed it down the steps. Aimi heard it bounce once, twice, and a third time, followed by oppressive silence.
“Maybe we should get out of here,” Smithe said.
“Reckon you might be right, mate,” Jotin said.
Aimi glanced down the stairway. Just twelve steps down, the torched rested on level ground. At least, it looked level – it was fairly hard to tell with all the movement.
“What is that?” she said, squinting at the shifting floor.
“Bugs,” Alfer said. “Might be best we give this one up. I’ve got a bad feeling about this.”
Beside them, Jotin turned away from the stairwell. “Fuck!” he screamed.
Aimi slapped him on the arm for shrieking in her ear, then froze when she saw what Jotin was looking at. A lone figure stood in one of the praying squares, its features hidden in the darkness. Whoever it was, they were too short to be Kebble.
“Who the fuck are you?” demanded Smithe, taking a single step forward.
The figure tilted its head slightly, and Aimi caught sight of a tail of hair tied behind it. “Feather?” She stepped past Smithe. “Feather, is that you?”
The figure moved into the torchlight, its feet silent on the stone floor. Feather looked weary, his face smeared with blood and his eyes distant. His clothes were ripped in places and red gashes showed through the holes. Wherever the boy had been, he’d obviously been through a lot.
Aimi started to rush forwards but was yanked back by Smithe just as Feather leapt at her, slashing with claw-like hands. She stumbled, thrown off balance by the quartermaster, who let go of her and stepped in to meet Feather. The two grappled, and Smithe howled in pain as Feather’s fingers dug into his arms.
Feather was hissing and spitting like the evil cat that lived aboard The Phoenix, and Smithe was struggling just to stop the smaller man clawing his eyes out. Alfer and Jolan rushed forwards and each grabbed hold of one of Feather’s arms, pulling him off the quartermaster.
“Fuck!” Smithe yelled, waving his bleeding arms. “Lad, I don’t know what’s in your hold, but you’re gonna wish ya didn’t come back.”