Will Wight - Of Dawn and Darkness

Calder wished he knew.

But there was a second Intent, opposing the first, that emanated from Nine. Something edged, and cold, and a little morbid, like a condemned convict’s manic laughter as the noose tightens around his neck.

The shadows on the haft of the hammer crawled like a nest of snakes.

Only a few seconds after he’d drawn his hammer, Nine let out a tightly controlled shout. And a hundred lashes of shadow whipped out from his upraised palm, each snapping into the center of a flame like frogs’ tongues taking flies. The sky darkened noticeably under the canopy of shadow for a second, as though the sun had blinked, and then the shadows retracted. The hammer was just a hammer again, and Nine tucked it away into his belt.

Most of the flames had simply vanished. The temperature dropped into the sudden chill of a spring breeze, the light darkening from the white of a flare to typical afternoon brightness. Only five or six chunks of fire remained, bleeding sparks and wobbling drunkenly like an injured horse.

Nine scratched the stubble on his jaw, looking up at the fire. “Huh. Thought I got ‘em all.”

A silent shriek sounded in Calder’s mind, desperate and pitiful at once, like a child with a papercut. He managed to shout a wordless warning before the unseen force retaliated.

The floating shapes of flame struck Nine like half a dozen bolts of orange-white lightning.

The Champion ignited. He roared, pain and anger and shock all mixed into one cry. The heat from his body flared again, sending another wave of heat passing over Calder.

Andel ran for the barrel of seawater they kept at hand for scrubbing the deck, but Calder had a faster plan. He dropped to one knee, pressing his hand against the deck.

A rope shot out from a coil nearby, wrapping itself around the burning Champion. He grabbed on, no doubt intending to tear the thick strand apart, but Calder was faster. With a mental effort, he used the rope to hurl Nine over the railing and into the sea.

The flames blazed brighter on Nine’s body as he soared through the air, but he landed with a heavy splash. Calder had no way of telling if the man was alive or dead, or if he would have the presence of mind to stay afloat, but it was better than watching him burn to death.

Eight shouted at the sight, and for the first time, he took his gaze entirely off of his prisoner. He stared at the geometric flames in the sky, slowly removing the shield from his back.

The fiery lights returned to their dance, spiraling around one another in a slow orbit. Either they didn’t see Eight as much of a threat compared to his partner, or he hadn’t attracted their attention, but they seemed to ignore him.

Wind spiraled around the shield, carrying with it the icy bite of winter.

In seconds, frost coated the shield, and snow swirled around Eight’s entire body. The few remaining flames froze in their tracks; once again, the hostile Intent in the atmosphere congealed. The invisible eye had returned, watching the Champion.

When the fires struck again, just as they had with Nine, Eight was ready for them.

The lights crashed down like orange lightning, but the bald, pale man was even faster. His shield blurred, and six sprays of campfire sparks shot out from him like geysers.

He’d swatted all of the flames from midair at the same time. Faster than Calder’s eyes could process, he’d struck at least six times.

So this is a Champion, he thought. He wondered how much it would take to hire one for his crew, but quickly dismissed the thought. If he couldn’t even afford to dig himself out of debt, how could he support a warrior like this?

The sparks fell to the deck, taking with them the heat and the unnaturally bright light. In fact, the air on deck was still being cooled by the blizzard Eight carried on his shield.

Before Calder, Jerri, or Andel could say a word, Eight had already stripped his Vessel off his arm and tossed it down. Without a second’s hesitation, he ran to the railing, obviously prepared to vault over.

Calder couldn’t help a certain sense of smug self-satisfaction, seeing that. He’d actually thought faster than the Champion.

Under Calder’s control, the rope ladder drifted up the side of the ship, carrying Nine’s body. The burned, one-eyed man smiled weakly. “Why’d you do that, Captain? I had ‘em.”

His head lolled as he passed out, and Eight grabbed him before he could fall back into the sea. He threw his partner over his shoulder like a sack of grain, turning to Calder.

“He needs rest,” Eight said. Calder expected him to finish the statement, but he never did.

Jerri ushered him forward, toward the cabin where Andel usually slept. “Lay him down here. Andel won’t mind sleeping below for a while, will you, Andel? We have two passenger cabins down there, though they’re a little cramped at the moment.”

“My ship is always open to you,” Andel said, adjusting his collar. As frustrating as it was to hear Andel refer to The Testament as his ship, it was still gratifying to imagine him below, tucked in among the cargo.

Eight hadn’t even waited for Jerri to finish speaking. He kicked the door open, laying Nine down on a bunk. Jerri rushed down the ladder for some wine, and Andel headed into the cabin to see to his belongings.

They left Calder on deck, which he didn’t mind. He needed a moment.

His hands trembled with excitement, and he opened and closed his fists, trying to work out the excess energy. A strange expression had been carved onto his face, and he couldn’t tell if it was a smile or a rictus of fear. His stomach roiled, almost as though he were seasick, and his thoughts moved too fast for him to catch up.

From the appearance of the dancing lights to Eight carrying Nine inside, not three minutes had passed. Calder had endured too many emotions in too short a time to even understand them all.

A voice rumbed up from the cage in the center of the deck. “That was well done.”

Calder looked to the sixth passenger, whom he’d all but forgotten in the excitement. Urzaia still lay on his back, hands folded under his head like a pillow, eyes closed. He looked like a man enjoying a relaxing nap.

“Did we wake you?” Calder asked, voice dry.

Without opening his eyes, the prisoner grinned, flashing his perfect teeth. “The sparks are not Kameira or Elder, but something born of the Aion. They have order. Patterns. They like to…straighten things that are crooked. It is said they are drawn to lost ships, and they will guide you toward right paths.”

Uneasy, Calder glanced at the seamless deck of his ship, where orange embers were still dying. “They were here to help us?”

The big man shrugged, shoulders brushing against the bottom of his cage. “Have seen ships they helped before. Burned, black skeletons of ships that drift on the water. If they could not protect themselves from the fire, they died. But hey! They are not lost anymore!”

He laughed, and Calder chuckled along with him. He couldn’t help it; the bound man seemed to invite cheer.

As Sister Ulinda had once said, “A smiling man is a friend to all.”

“But enough about the fires,” Urzaia said, suddenly sitting up. He looked Calder in the eye, smile never fading. “I said you did well. You saved that man, the one who pretends his name is Nine. He may have survived the burns, but he would have spent a long time healing. It will not take so long, now. He owes you.”

Even though it was coming from a man in a cage, at least someone noticed what Calder had done. “It’s my ship, isn’t it? I’m responsible for what happens here.”

Urzaia tapped his knuckles against the inside of his cage bars. “You react quickly. That is good, on the Aion Sea. Make decisions quickly, act quickly, and you will be a good Captain. If you listen to your crew, and not to the Emperor.” Urzaia made a disgusted face, as though he’d bitten into something sour. “He makes so many decisions for the Guilds, but he does not care about us.”