Day 15. More Goat, Less Pirate

Chapter 36. 

   She was right about being able to use a weapon. 

   Queen Ynar had given Kit another bit of goma meat and then helped him to the armory, letting him lean on her but ultimately following his directions. By the time they reached the round room, lined with a variety of weaponry, the new goma was kicking Kit hard in the stomach and he felt like tearing chunks of stone from the floor or ripping the hair out of his head. There was only so much of the stuff you were supposed to have, and he was starting to realize that, whatever the future side effects of consuming both sild and goma at the same time, the immediate issues had to do with how much faster he could access the goma with the sild working through him. It was a boulder crashing down a hill, a momentous force that seemed to grow and build within him and as the Queen searched for a weapon Kit only wanted to go back and lift the gate to let the enemy in so he would have some place to put his rage. 

   Yes, it was pure rage. 

   “Much of it is in your mind,” said the Queen as she hefted a spear, testing its weight and spinning it in her fingers. “We can achieve much more than we think we can, my lord. Don’t become a devil so soon, please?”

   Kit stared at her through low brows, trying not to see her as a thing to fight and instead the only ally he had nearby. He unclenched his fists and slowed his breathing, trying to do the same for the waterfall pounding in his chest, the blood pumping through his heart with the force of a raging river. 

   “Bow or glaive?” asked the Queen, holding one of each at her side. 

   Kit began a growling reply but managed to hold himself back. He licked his lips before trying again, but the Queen shook her head and spoke first. 

   “You’re right,” she said. “Both is good.” 

  They hurried from the armory with Kit practically running, strength pushing his muscles to their limit. He no longer felt the arrow heads buried in his back, didn’t feel the wounds on his body and even though blood dripped into his right eye from a wound on his forehead, he could see with a dangerous haze of war. 

   The soldiers outside had broken through the outer door enough to make a move at lifting the heavy cross bar, and Kit sprinted forward with Bloodswill raised in a lunging stance, the wide edge of the blade pointed at one of the gaps in the door. 

   An arrow whizzed through the gap at him and struck his thigh but he did not slow. The gate was in the way and Kit stepped to the side to slash at the rope holding the counter weight. In a rush the iron bars pulled up into the ceiling on a groaning system of weights and balances, and Kit was at the door and thrusting his sword through. 

   Arrows shot past him into other holes in the door, as he thrust in and out of the gaps in the wood, taking any soldiers he could. He threw the cross beam out of the way and let the doors spill open, showing the dying soldiers falling away and those waiting on death rushing in. 

   Kit grinned and roared a monster roar, and plunged into the fray. He had no sense of danger, no sense of preservation of self, and though arrows flew around him, some from behind where the Queen was standing in the hall but far more from ahead were archers trained their bows on him, Kit hacked and cut away at the advancing troops, deserters and traitors all. 

   He felt the sild wear off first and that brought the pain, and then the goma began wearing off and Kit cried out for more, seeing that there were too many soldiers still coming. 

   A horn sounded across the courtyard and for a moment Kit had a burst of clarity and saw, riding toward them in the lamp lit dimness, a host of cavalry armed with pikes and lances, each of them in various states of silver armor, some with helms some without. The Highland Cavaliers of Midcharia. 

   “General Gyo,” said Queen Ynar, and Kit turned to see her, not even realizing she was next to him. 

   She held the glaive in both hands, the sharp blade end extended behind her, ready for large sweeps. Borneld’s soldiers came on and Kit and the Queen fought back to back, cutting and slicing and keeping all weapons from them, adding to the dead and wounded on the ground. 

   The Queen’s riders neared and cut through the last of the soldiers, sending those that saw the fighting for the foolish task that it was running for the shadows. 

   The lead horsemen leaped from his saddle with his pike in hand and came to stand before the Queen with a quick one finger salute pound over his chest. He wore no breastplate but had on gauntlets and armored boots, but was otherwise dressed in what must have been his night tunic. 

   “Your Highness, you are wounded.” 

   Queen Ynar put a friendly hand to the man’s face and gave him a nod. “No more wounded than he. Hurry, we must reach a place of safety for him to rest. More meat and he will surely find the madness he fears.”

   Kit heaved and slumped against his sword, finding that he was making the posture far too often that evening. He vomited on the ground and wiped the mess from his lips, trying to hold off the weakness again. 

   “Come, your lordship,” said the general, handing his pike to the Queen and helping Kit toward his horse. 

   Kit did not resist, only finding the strength to not cry out at the pain that soared through him. He did his best to climb onto the saddle, but realized that the cavalier was doing most of the work. Once he was up and leaning against the animal’s powerful neck, the Queen sprang up behind him and took the reins. 

   “We have secured the barracks,” said the General from the ground. “Our herbalist is there, he did not want to sleep alone, and now I see he might have been visited by a vision.” 

   The man shouted commands to two of the cavaliers nearby and the men brought their horses around to flank the Queen. 

   “Wait,” cried Kit, as loud and sharp as he could. His voice was mush but he did his best. “Secure the citadel,” he said. “Make sure no one leaves. I would have a trial to determine who is responsible. Find Ulrig, he will help you. And find Rogo, he is loyal.” 

   Then, Kit found he could no longer speak and gave the rest of his strength to holding onto the saddle. The Queen shouted to the horse and they galloped off across the courtyard toward the guest wings of the Citadel. Kit’s vision turned black, his hearing faded, and the last thing he remembered was the smell of the animal running beneath him and his fading grip on the leather saddle. 

Chapter 37. 

   It rose from the sea like the finger of a giant, long and slender and as dark as a shadow, not just blocking out all light but absorbing it. Then there was another rising beside it, and then three more, and Valia realized they were fingers after all and it was a hand, and the giant shadow fingers flexed and moved, rotating at the end of the hand and going back down into the sea. 

   She watched from the shore, infinitesimal and insignificant, as common and unseen as the grains of sand she stood upon. The hand rose from the waves again and she realized as a second hand followed, as shadowy and dark as the first, that it must have been leagues out into the sea for such was the size of the hands.

   Then a head rose from the sea line as well, dwarfing the hands in magnitude and within the darkness of the shape, a curious mix of shadow and form, Valia could see constellations, deep within the color void of the head space. Little flickering stars, perhaps an entire cosmos and as she watched and stared at the thing rising from the depths, she realized that she couldn’t even understand what she was seeing, a being made from cosmic shadow, rising from the ocean she stood before, existing within the same realm. 

   She began screaming then, and it was either her own voice or that of Alett that woke her. 

   Valia sat before the fire with a blanket over her shoulders and a cup of warm milk in her hands. The dream was slipping from her as she watched the flames, and Alett sat next to her rubbing Valia’s arm as if it would help. Valia didn’t push the girl away even though she just wished to sit alone by the fire. 

   The sun was just beginning to peek up over the horizon far in the west, casting long yellow beams of light across the sandy landscape around them, breaking through the broken windows of the pirate church. 

   “There’s a ship on the water, docked not far away to the south,” said one of the soldiers as he entered the broken building. “We can’t tell if it’s new or old.” 

 Valia looked at the man for a moment and then looked back to the flames, sipping on her milk more to keep it from going to waste than because she wished to drink it. 

   “Let us take a look,” said Oren, but Luc spoke quickly, cutting him off. 

   “No use. If there are pirates there we are caught, if not, there is no point in wasting an excursion.” 

   Valia looked across the fire to where the man sat. His face was worn and haggard as though he hadn’t slept all night. With what Meino said, she assumed it was possible. 

   Oren chewed on the Spokesman’s words for a moment before nodding. “Alright then, everyone up and going, we should travel as much ground as we can today, we’re on foot so the going will be slower.”

  The men moved into order and soon Valia was the only one sitting at the fire. Even Alett and Luc left to help pack the horses. 

   The dream had seemed so real. She woke up screaming with Alett leaning over her calling her name, and when she finally realized where she was and that the great star being was just an image in her mind, she was able to settle down and the servant girl led her to the fire, likely the only medicine she could think of in the moment. She sat there at the fire till the dawn broke and spoke few words when Oren or the other soldiers asked about her. 

   “We’re ready, m’lady,” said Hal, coming to stand next to the fire. He knelt and gathered coals in a warmer to keep until the noon meal, and then pushed sand over the rest of the fire. It was built on stone in a damp moldy church, on a rocky sandy stretch of land in the middle of two oceans, but Hal felt the need to put out the fire anyway. Habits were hard to break. 

   The youth reached out and extended Valia a hand, the fingers and wrist wrapped in white bandages, some of the damage he had taken since they left the Citadel. The boy was strong, and Valia let herself take his hand and be hoisted to her feet. She gathered the blanket around her shoulders despite the warm breeze of the morning, and followed him outside the ruined church to where the rest of the company had gathered. 

   “Good,” said Captain Oren, clapping his hands together and rubbing his scraggly cheeks. He could do with a shave, thought Valia idly. “We are not disheartened, not yet,” said the man. “This journey is about the destination, reaching the goal and securing the Spokesmen’s gate. That is our prime objective. Though we did not know what exactly, we did know there would be dangers along the way. We have seen some of those and we are expecting to see more. Keep your spirits high and your wits sharp. We will reach the end, I have no doubt.” 

   No one spoke though Valia could see a few mouths twitching among the soldiers. They were close to unrest, she could feel it, and if they continued to lose more men to whatever physical or elemental dangers they came across, Valia thought the rest would turn and go back home, accepting a deserter's life. 

   “Onward!” commanded Captain Oren, and he walked south, leading his horse across the rocky sand. 

   By the middle of the day Valia had shaken off the fear of the dream and by the time they began moving again after eating their meager meal she was laughing once more with Alett talking about places in the continent that the girl wished to travel. 

   “I’ve always wanted to see the Southern Eyes,” said Alett, clasping her hands together in an impossibly wistful manner. 

   “You know they’re just a bunch of islands?” asked Valia. 

   “Have you seen them?” asked the girl. 

   Valia shook her head. “No, but I’ve spoken to some who have. The islands that are close enough have bridges hanging between them, and the ones that are too far can only be reached by boat. They have great winds there too that whip around the islands, and some small watercraft are fixed with sails and clever steersmen can nearly fly around the islands with such speed and agility that you would think they were powered by magic and not the wind.” 

   “Maybe it is magic,” dreamed the girl. 

   “There is no magic,” corrected Valia. “Just an expression.” 

   “What about the goat meat?” asked Alett. 

   “Poisonous beans,” said Ben.

   The women looked at him, walking ahead of them a little sideways so he could look back and interrupt their conversation. The boy smiled and gave a weak little wave of apology. 

   “It’s bean crops in the North, that if we eat them we’ll–”

   “Go mad,” finished Alett. “Yes I know, thank you very much. But it seems like magic. You can eat the meat and grow strong or fast or smart?”

   The boy shrugged. “Just beans,” he said. 

   Alett glared at him until he looked away and Valia did her best to keep from laughing. “I don’t care,” went on the girl peeling her eyes away from Ben with force, “to see the northern plains. Fields of beans and corn and hay? No mountains, no valleys, no forests, just farming as far as you can see?” 

   Valia nodded, though she didn’t quite agree. “I think it would be interesting to see how it is all done, where the goats are kept and how they cure the meat.” 

   “But it’s just farmland and factories,” said the girl. “We can go to any textile mill or tapestry shop in Taro Myule when we return and I will show you how interesting it is. The same process over and over.” 

   “How much experience do you have there?” 

   Alett shrugged and screwed her face up into one better suited for thinking. “My father worked in one when he was a boy, before moving to the citadel to work for the king. We went and visited a few times to see old friends of his. Smelled terrible, I can say that.” 

   Valia had smelt the district from afar and thought that she could understand what the girl was saying without having to be directly there. 

   “Another ship!” cried one of the forerunners. 

   Valia peered through the marching soldiers to see the large shape out in the water, rocking just barely this way and that, showing that it was anchored and not moored. 

   The first ship they had come across was a ruined hulk of wood, in worse shape than the church they had slept in. It was the skeleton of a ship, the flesh and skin had been stripped off it, and as Valia thought of the metaphor she remembered the cosmic giant from her dream and was thankful when they passed it. 

   But the second ship they came upon seemed less deserted for though it was hard to discern from the distance, there seemed to be some semblance of movement out on the decks. And in the rigging. The sails were up but flags flew, black and marked with a white symbol that must have been a run. It certainly wasn’t the skull and swords that Valia was expecting from a pirate. 

   “On the rigging!” said one of the men, confirming what Valia thought she had seen. 

   Oren called for a halt and removed his field glass from his bag, lifting the tool to his eye and stretching it out. As he looked, the Spokesmen continued on, leading their horses with peerless determination. 

   The Captain noticed their advance and called them back with more than a little consternation in his words. 

   The men stopped and looked back. “If they mean us harm, we stand no chance,” said Luc, repeating what he had said that morning. “If there is no one or if they cannot reach us, then we must continue on. There is no value in stopping.” 

   “Are we in such a hurry?” asked the Captain. 

   “I fear we are,” answered the Spokesmen, and the two of them walked on. 

    Valia could see the Captain sigh visibly and then he followed as well, giving the other soldiers no choice but to follow. 

   Before the hour was up they came parallel with the anchored ship and Valia could clearly see men on the deck at the prow, staring out at them. 

   “Black Jan,” said one of the men, pointing up to the ship and black flag that Valia had seen before. 

   Closer up she could tell that the white symbol on the fabric was that of a woman’s side profile, her hair done up in a fashionable style, she had a bone skull for a face rather than skin. It was somewhat crude, but the design was obvious from where she walked on the land. 

   “Pirates,” whispered others, and Valia felt a chill run through her. 

   Then, there were shouts ahead and a group of four men stepped out from behind a pile of rocks brandishing swords and wearing no shirts among them but colorful tattered pants each of them. A monkey hopped on one man’s shoulder and Valia thought the image was one out of a children’s story. 

   The Spokesmen walked up to them and stopped, and the pirates held their ground but did not attack. Valia slowed her walking but approached cautiously still, eager to hear the discourse. She let the other soldiers get closer, standing between the pirates and her. 

   “There is no fight here,” Meino was saying. “We are cursed, all of us. You see these hands? The Spires of the Sea have visited our party and brought us upon this quest to reach the final cove. Do not hold us back.” 

   The pirates stepped back at the man’s words, as though what he said held some terrible weight to them. One of them gestured with his sword at Luc’s hands, waving the tip of the weapon in a dramatic fashion. “I see your curse, but not the rest of them, how am I to believe you?” 

   He spoke with the strangest accent Valia had ever heard, his words broken and sometimes running into each other. 

   Luc shook his head. “They are recently cursed,” he said. “What do you know of the Serpent of Death? What do you know of the Moonless Black? You would question the poison in my veins, pirate?” 

   He stepped forward and the pirates stepped back and in that motion Valia knew he had them. 

   Out of the corner of her eye Valia saw Hyg walking forward, leaving his horse behind. He was rubbing his hands together and bobbing his head as though hearing music playing in his head alone. He stopped before the pirates, much closer than Luc and Meino were standing, and held up his hands, blackened nearly up to the elbows. “It’s spreading, ye culls,” said the bard, dipping his words to match their accent. “I can’t fill my fingers one bit and sometimes when I sleep I try to scratch out my eyes for what we see in the curse is–” 

   “Aye, aye, ye’ve done enough!” cried the lead pirate and he turned and moved back away, stepping wide to the side to give all the soldiers a big berth. “Have ye no food to give us?” he asked as the soldiers continued on, none of them speaking to break the illusion. 

  “All cursed,” said Oren, dragging the syllables as if he were sick. 

   The pirates waved them off and the monkey followed the motion, and then Valia was past the rock pile and continuing on. She waited a while before handing the reins of her horse to Alett and hurrying up to where the Spokesmen walked, Hyg at their sides. 

   “It’s a curse?” Valia asked. 

   Luc and Meino both looked at her without much adjustment to their faces, but Hyg lolled his tongue to the side and rolled his eyes back into his head. “It’s a curse,” he said with a deathly rasp, holding up his black hands. 

   “It can’t spread,” said Meino with obvious annoyance. “Your friend here is an actor it seems, and while I cannot stand most of his antics, this did seem to give us a bit of an edge on those superstitious louts.” 

   Valia reached out and touched Hyg’s arm, brushing her fingers through the darkness. They came away sticky and wet. “Tar?” she asked. 

   “Ink, my dear,” said the bard with a theatrical grin. He raised his voice to song, “The strongest sword or the deftest pen, whichever tool shall this day win?” He grinned at them all and clapped his hands, spraying droplets of black ink everywhere. 

   “All those things you said?” Valia asked Luc. “The Serpent of Death and Sea Spires and Moonless Dark. What was all that?” 

   “Moonless Black,” corrected the man. “They’re all sea superstitions, old pirate tales. The sea is open and wide and you can lose your mind without difficulty if you spend too long on the waves. And those stories pass down and onward and become more and more as the generations go on. It just takes a little reading and understanding of history to use them as weapons.” 

   “What are your black hands from?” she asked. 

   The fingers of Luc’s hand hanging at his side rubbed together, as though smoothing over a piece of cloth. Whether he was doing it on purpose or without thinking, Valia couldn’t tell. 

   “The relic,” answered the man quietly. “It was just our fingertips at first, as though we had touched a stove too hot or dipped our fingers in ink wells as Hyg has done. The years grew and so did the stain.” 

   His voice trailed off and his fingers folded to a fist, not tightly, but closed enough. 

   “Does it hurt?” Valia asked, instantly disliking how weak her question sounded. 

   Both Spokesmen shook their heads. “Pain fades over time,” Luc said. “After a long enough time, you don’t feel anything at all.”