Will Wight - Of Dawn and Darkness

The ocean shook with the wrath of a storm, but the Lyathatan neither faltered nor fumbled, dragging them forth as a team of dogs drags a sled. Calder mustered enough focus to wrap ropes around the entire crew, steadying them and ensuring he wouldn’t lose them overboard.

While he did, he considered the explosion behind them. At first, he wished he could extend his senses far enough to pick up some Intent, but he had to admit the truth to himself. He knew what had happened. Silverreach had been destroyed.

Whether Ach’magut had blown the town to pieces for secret reasons known only to the Elders, or whether something they’d done had led to the town’s collapse, Calder had no idea. But the Overseer had sent them away with an urge to flee only minutes before an explosion came from the direction of Silverreach. Either the town was gone, or they’d been deceived by the most coincidental earthquake of all time.

Calder knew which way he’d bet.

The night passed before the Lyathatan started to slow down, and Calder had enjoyed no sleep at all. He doubted anyone else had either. His bunk remained steady enough, though it was pitched at a fifteen degree angle thanks to the ship’s speed, and he was certainly exhausted. But the Great Elder’s words haunted him, prodding his consciousness like red-hot needles.

The throne will soon be empty, he’d said. And, Hail the Emperor of the world.

If there was ever anything to be excited about, inheriting the entire Empire would count. Calder spent the entire night turning the Elder’s intentions over in his mind, trying to find the angle. The hidden agenda. He knew beyond a doubt that Ach’magut had a plan, and a Great Elder wouldn’t care if that plan involved exalting Calder or crucifying him. One human life was simply irrelevant, on the Overseer’s scale.

So there was every possibility that the prophecy might doom him, which was how every folk tale of Elder prophecy usually ended. But one thing Calder never doubted: the Great Elder wouldn’t be wrong.

He might be playing Calder for the benefits of a game millennia in the playing, but he wouldn’t be wrong.

Which meant that Calder would get revenge for his father after all.

At the first glimmer of dawn, the Lyathatan finally slowed to a crawl, and Calder bolted from his bunk. He threw on some clothes, replaced his hat, and shot outside.

The crew was already waiting for him, and they looked worse than he did. Foster’s hair and beard had escaped his control entirely, hanging around him like an angry stormcloud. Petal leaned against the railing, holding her knees to her chest. Jerri paced back and forth, muttering, and Andel stared into the distance with his hat in his hand.

Urzaia, by contrast, beamed at the rest of them. “How wonderful is sleep after an adventure!” he said, and Foster glared.

When Calder emerged, they all turned to him. For a second, no one spoke, so Calder cleared his throat to break the silence. “So. I suspect we have a few things to talk about.”

Foster turned his glare to the Captain. “You think so? About what?”

Calder looked from him to Petal to Urzaia. “Jerri and Andel know my story already, and I’m sure you’ve picked up pieces of it. But in light of recent events, you deserve some…context.”

So Calder told them. He told them about his childhood, the sale of Imperial relics, his father’s arrest, his time with his mother and with the Blackwatch, and his own mistakes that had led to his banishment to the Navigators. To his father’s execution.

“I know the Emperor as well as anyone alive,” Calder said. “I’ve tracked his movements to get to relics, I’ve Read a relic or two myself, and I’ve even met the man. He doesn’t care about us. He’s so far distant he might as well be an Elder himself.”

He kept an eye on their faces as he spoke, looking for disgust or rejection. He was speaking blasphemy, essentially, but he had to know they could handle this much. What he saw pleased him. Andel’s face was a mask, Foster looked like he agreed, and Petal stared wide-eyed like a child hearing a story.

“When I was a child, I realized that the Empire needed to change. And it wouldn’t, as long as the Emperor remained in charge. Well…it looks like he won’t be there much longer. Now’s our chance to steer the Empire where we want to go, and if I get a chance, I intend to take the wheel.”

Foster snorted. “You can’t do a worse job than the old man.”

Urzaia, unsurprisingly, laughed. “Wherever you go, Captain, I will stand in front of you. You keep your promises, and the Emperor does not.”

“I want to stay here,” Petal whispered.

Jerri practically danced over to him, where she threw her arms around him. “This is perfect! Oh, light and life, I could never have imagined it…The Emperor has no official duties, the government works without him. He’s a figurehead with the absolute power to indulge his whims, so you won’t even have to do anything. Just…whatever you want!”

“I appreciate your faith in my ability to do nothing,” Calder said dryly, but he had to force back a smile.

It wasn’t time for celebration yet; the biggest obstacle of the day stood in front of him. One person had yet to respond.

Andel replaced his hat. “Don’t plan your coronation yet. Until the Emperor dies, if that can even happen, you’re just a young man past his ears in debt. And even if he does die, I doubt he considers Ach’magut’s recommendation reason enough to name you his heir.”

Calder deflated a little. Andel was essentially right; there was a long road between him and the throne.

But he’d get there. That, he never doubted.

The Consultants had lost the battle, no one disputed that. After they spent the rest of the day scouring the Gray Island, shaking as many Consultants as they could out of their holes, the Imperialist Guilds took to their ships flush with victory.

Even if the attack hadn’t worked out quite as they’d hoped, even if General Teach was wounded and in dire condition, even if many of the Consultants were still on the run, they’d won. The Gray Island was theirs.

And now the Consultants were fleeing.

They’d come out of a hidden harbor on a black ship with a twisting eye where the crow’s nest should be. Calder didn’t recognize the ship, but he recognized its kind: it was a Navigator’s Vessel, and not one belonging to the Guild. The Consultants had their own pet Navigator.

Not the first secret they’d kept from the other Guilds, he was sure.

The ship led them on a spirited chase, but in the end it was only one vessel, and they were more experienced on the Aion. Calder cornered it himself, and took it upon himself to address the Consultant refugees onboard.

Including, he was sure, the Gardener Shera.

Calder stepped up to the railing, raising the captain’s horn to his lips. “Ladies and gentlemen of the Consultant’s Guild, you may notice that we have you surrounded. We’re going to escort you back to the Capital, where—”

He’d intended to say, “Where you’ll be treated with all respect and courtesy,” but a pudgy green monster fluttered down from the rigging and interrupted him, in a resonant masculine voice that boomed out over the ocean. “SURROUNDED!”

Calder lowered the horn and muttered to Andel. “Cage it or shoot it, I don’t care which.”