Chương 35: Chapter 34 – High Seas, High Stakes

Bracken sat in the crow's nest with a grimoire in his lap. Above him, the sky was stained more purple than blue, the sun fast plunging into the sea. He could scarcely hear the crew working below, mostly just the sound of waves splashing against the hull and the groaning of wood. It should have been peaceful, the perfect place to sit and read. Only, every time he tried, his eyes glazed over and slid off the page, his thoughts wandering.

Part of the problem was the constant queasiness twisting his guts, gripping his throat. Not seasickness, he'd never had trouble with that. Just guilt, spreading through him like poisoned blood from an infected wound. No matter how the others tried to absolve him, it was still his ego that had damned them. He'd cost them the lives they knew and given them nothing in return. Now, he was going to betray his family too. He sighed, leaning his head back. Ridiculous.

He sounded just like Passage fresh out of a sermon the day after a scam gone wrong. All consequences and shame. That was fine for Passage, but it wasn't Bracken's way. He shook his head, blinked hard, and flipped open the book again. A failed plan didn't mean giving up, it meant making a new plan. They would start fresh, and when they did, he meant to steer them right. The text was spidery and thin, messily penned in handwritten scrawl.

He re-read the same section he'd already been through three times that afternoon, hoping to find some hidden kernel of wisdom in the pages. Some of it made sense, aligning with what he knew of Stained and their powers. Some of it was… abstract. It was less an instructional text than a series of journal entries by someone who sounded halfway Planemad, entire pages scribbled over and blotted out between legible sections. It comes naturally, the saturation. The soul hungers for Fera, it remembers the touch.

Already I Call it, no mere Touched. I have ignited the core and burned the paths. Soon, I will feed my body to the flames and be remade. I will walk Caldr's halls and know his secrets for myself. …. It was a mistake to let the fire spread so fast across my soul. Caldr's power is jealous and hungry. It burned away the surface and with it my ambitions. The House of War will not open with but one key. …. If I could do it all again, I would stake my claim with greater care.

The lands of Wrath are too contested, too many raging souls. Even megindyr beasts piss upon the burning soil here and think themselves my equals. I am no king but still I burn. Bracken pinched the bridge of his nose and turned the page. There were a dozen sections just like it. He couldn't work out if the writer had been compiling entries from the writings of others, or if they were just so lost in their own ravings that they couldn't keep their own timeline straight. The other sections used many of the same terms.

Touching, Calling, Saturation, Paths, and Houses. As best he could tell, none of the writers in that particular volume had made it past Drifter, though the terminology was so inconsistent that he couldn't be certain that was the tier they really meant. Still, it had helped solidify some of what he understood the steps to be. A mortal became a Stained when they first took on a Plane's power. At the lowest tier of power, they were called Touched or Stained.

Once the power saturated their soul, whatever that meant, they became a Caller. Then once their body was remade somehow, they became a Forged. He couldn't be sure what Paths meant. Some of the writers talked about them like roads inside the Planes, others like something that was part of their body, and neither type was clear or consistent. Worse still were the mention of Houses. He couldn't decide if they were metaphorical, or if literal houses and castles appeared inside the Planes to represent certain ideas.

He let out a deep sigh and tried to order his thinking. None of it would matter if he couldn't find a way to Stain himself to begin with. Bracken let his mind wander back to the same daydream he'd been trying to push from his head all day. He didn't have to go searching for a way to Stain himself, or his friends. He was sailing towards one at that very moment. All he needed to do was use it, whatever the treasure was, instead of handing it to Tallow.

Surely, no matter how strong he was, five Stained could topple the man if he was taken by surprise. Bracken dug his fingernails into his wrist, swearing quietly at himself. That was exactly the sort of thinking that would get them all killed. No more mad gambles. They'd flee, save up, and buy some pills or potions from one of the guilds. It would take time, maybe years, but they could each purchase the Stain of their choosing. If he'd been less arrogant, more rational, he'd have suggested that from the beginning.

Maybe he'd have joined his family's business for real, instead of under this doomed charade. A knock at the side of the crow's nest roused him from his thoughts and he looked up to see Lio peering over the side.

"Make way," Lio said, climbing into the wooden bucket. Bracken tucked the book into his coat. He stood to make room for Lio and the two of them leaned against the railing, looking west towards the setting sun. It was halfway drowned now, stars already dotting the eastern sky.

"Hope I'm not interrupting," Lio said after a few minutes.

"One of the perks of the job, getting to watch the sunset up here."

"Not at all," lied Bracken. There weren't a lot of polite ways to say he'd been up there specifically to avoid spending time with the brother he was actively planning to betray. The pair of them remained quiet for some time. They'd never been that close. Lio had been the apprentice and heir apparent since before Bracken was born, and Bracken had done his best to get away from his family since he'd first learned to walk. It left them with little to talk about. The narrative has been taken without permission.

Report any sightings.

"Far too pretty to be a grave, don't you think?" Lio asked.

"A grave?" Bracken echoed. He blinked, wondering for a moment if that had been meant as a threat.

"Maerun's grave," Lio explained.

"Story goes that the Teeth were once a single island, but they broke apart in the War of Ascendance about seven, maybe eight hundred years ago. Maerun was the Aldaryn of Seldun before Fisher. Sailors like to say that Stillwake is where Maerun died and the entire lake is her grave." Bracken nodded silently, his thoughts finding traction again in his head. He knew the story, of course. Everyone did.

Natives to the Teeth were still called Tyrathi despite the nation of Tyrath not having existed in any real sense for centuries. He just hadn't thought about the story in years. Every island in the Teeth probably had a similar local legend, each one naming itself the place of a decisive battle.

"Right, no, yeah. Too pretty for a grave by far." Lio nodded his agreement and lapsed again into silence. Bracken was about to excuse himself, ready to find a bunk to hide in when Lio said, "I wanted to say thanks, by the way."

"What for?" Bracken asked, already sure the answer would only make him feel worse.

"For coming on the voyage. I know it's only a short trip, but there's a lot at stake and I appreciate the moral support. Father would have liked to lead it himself, but he's busy dealing with creditors and negotiations, trying to buy time for us to finalise the contract with the Wardens."

"Creditors?" Bracken asked before he could stop himself. Not all knowledge was worth having. Lio glanced sideways at him, brow furrowed.

"It's nothing to worry about, really. But you've a right to know, if you're going to work with father and me. This venture, it's big. It's going to make us rich, I've no doubts about that. But Father had to invest just about everything we had to make it possible. We've taken out loans, mortgaged the warehouse and two of the ships. It's probably why he's been so hard on you lately. The stress of it all is getting to him, to both of us. But I'm glad you're here for the final leg of it."

Lio may as well have punched him in the stomach. Bracken gritted his teeth and kept his eyes on the horizon. The last rays of sunlight were stretched above the water like the fingers of a drowning god. Ahead the waters had begun to chop, the wind turning against them.

"What are we actually picking up in Flotsam, Lio?" Bracken asked.

"What could you and Father possibly be importing that could be worth risking the entire business on a deal with the Wardens?" Lio shook his head.

"We're not picking anything up in Flotsam. It's a cover. We'll make the actual pick up on the return trip. It's a potion, of sorts. But we can't have people knowing about where it comes from just yet, and it only keeps its potency for a few days once it's been harvested." Bracken could have wept. Worse at every turn. How were they supposed to steal the shipment if they weren't even going to pick it up until after stopping in Flotsam?

They'd have even less time and fewer opportunities the closer they got to Greymere.

"Pick it up from where?" he asked.

"Secret," Lio tapped the side of his nose with a grin.

"Don't look so grim. This deal goes well, a year from now you could be captain of your own ship with your friends down there on the crew. You're always going on about how you want to go adventuring, right? This is how we make it happen. And if it makes you feel better, I mean to bring you with me for the pickup. I think you'll get a kick out of it." Lio's voice trailed off towards the end, the last words a quiet mumble. He squinted at the waves, the water starting to froth and churn ahead of the ship.

Water splashed the hull, spray flying high into the air. Bracken glanced over the side and saw that the crew had grown wary. They looked at the waters mistrustfully, most keeping their distance from the sides of the ship.

"Shit," Lio muttered, face pale and lined. He was eight years Bracken's senior, but in the moment, he seemed much older.

"Batten down the hatches, man the oars!" Lio roared orders down at the men as weather turned faster, clouds painting themselves across the heavens without warning.

"What's happening?" Bracken asked, feeling young and out of his depth.

"Get your friends and get below deck. Keep that blade close," Lio ordered, a captain not a brother.

"Lio, that's not an answer!" Bracken shouted, his brother already halfway down the rigging. Bracken clambered over the railing, knuckles white as he held tight to keep from falling, the ship rocked by the sudden temper of an angry sea.

"Hollows," Lio cried out.

"Fucking Hollows!" Bracken stopped; arms looped through the rigging to look over the deck for his friends. Sable was on her own, crouched near the entrance to the hold, watching the crew swarm across the deck warily. Passage was on the upper deck, hammer already in hand, looking over the side. Ressa and Torvin, he could not see. They must have been below deck already. The crew brought down the sail, the wind swirling from every direction rendered it useless.

A wave, larger than the rest, rose from nowhere, tilting the ship towards its side. Bracken nearly fell, caught by surprise. Thankfully, his leg snagged in a rope, and he managed to hang on as the next wave broke against the side of the ship. Water sprayed, brutally cold, and splashed across the deck. The last of the day's light was drowned, the sky bruised green and black as rain began to fall. Bracken knew fear then. The marrow in his bones froze and his breath misted, crystals of ice in his lungs.

The next wave crashed across the deck at the same time as Bracken reached it, clambering off the bottom of the rigging. Water, foaming and white, frothed past his ankle and spilled into his boot. He almost slipped. Around him others started shouting, Lio barking order after order while his men fought against the sudden storm. Then came the next wave, ten feet tall. It crested beside the ship, splashed against its side and washed more frigid foam across the deck.

With the crash of water came the thud of flesh against wood. Bracken clutched the mast and turned towards the sound; afraid someone may have fallen. What he saw was worse. A corpse, pale and swollen and given half to rot was folded over the railing. Molluscs clung to its flesh, and bone peaked through bloodless wounds, peeled back from the nibbling of creatures from deep beneath the waves. He tried to swear but the curse became a whimper, and the corpse began to move.

The lake may not have been Maerun's grave, but it was filled with corpses just the same. Clumsy and stiff, but seemingly unaffected by the storm, the corpse dragged itself over the railing. One of the crew dashed towards it, swinging a truncheon at its face. The skull caved in, and the creature toppled backwards into the black.

"Bracken, get below deck!" Lio roared from the upper deck, sword held aloft. Another wave crashed into the ship with the sound of meaty thuds. The lake spat three more Hollow corpses from the depths. They threw themselves against the ship, the creatures themselves were eerily silent but for the sound of flesh meeting wood. A fourth washed right onto the deck, sitting up from the froth and foam a metre from where Bracken stood. It faced him, staring with eyeless sockets, and lunged.