Will Wight - Of Dawn and Darkness

Bliss stood with her back to Meia and Calder, watching the sky. “It’s coming again. Secure all hands.” She glanced back at Calder. “Isn’t that what you’re supposed to say?”

It wasn’t, but Calder was in no mood to correct her.

“Guild Head,” Meia repeated, even as the air over The Testament warped and began to twist. “Who controls the Optasia?”

Bliss looked back to the sky, watching space bend like folded glass. “I thought no one did, but that’s clearly not true, is it? Calder Marten, I suggest you turn the ship.”

He didn’t need her to tell him that. His Intent was already traveling to the Lyathatan, frantic and demanding, layered with the voice of Kelarac.

The Elder jerked the ship to starboard, sloshing waves of freezing water over the side and dousing Calder in a shocking storm of ice. The ship’s lines bound him in place, securing the rest of his crew at the same time. Bliss could no doubt take care of herself, and if Meia was pitched overboard, that would solve several problems at once.

But no ship was designed to leap sideways. The stress tore at the boards, springing leaks in a dozen places, lancing through The Testament like a hammer-blow. The bolts fastening the Lyathatan’s chains strained at the surrounding wood, beginning to pop and splinter.

Calder could fix everything, given raw materials and a little time, and he had greater concerns at the moment. As another scream from the dying Windwatcher split the air between the two ships, a bubble of force popped into existence over The Testament.

This close, it looked like a soap bubble, a transparent sphere of energy that warped and twisted everything seen through it. If he hadn’t dragged the ship to the side, an explosion like the one that had destroyed The Eternal would have uprooted his mast. It wouldn’t have been a lethal blow, but a crippling one. Calder would have to rely on the Lyathatan to take them anywhere , which was not a winning proposition over the long term.

More importantly, if they had lost their mast, they would have been delayed. Perhaps long enough to prevent them from rescuing the crew of The Eternal. Fortunately, Bliss’ warning had come in time.

The Head of the Blackwatch had one hand stretched out to point at the bubble, which popped a second later with a deceptively quiet, empty sound.

“How is this possible?” Meia asked, her voice harsh and demanding.

Bliss turned to her. “My Watchmen must be dead, and something else has taken control of the palace. I must immediately return to the Capital, because that is my job, and I will be taking Calder Marten with me. He is now a very valuable replacement part.”

Calder didn’t particularly like the sound of that.

“I see,” Meia said, nudging Calder with her foot. “Can he handle it?”

“It’s better than leaving the weapon in the hands of an enemy.”

“True.” The Consultant watched the wreckage of The Eternal, which lurched closer and closer as the Lyathatan pulled them over. “I propose a truce, Guild Head. It seems I need to visit the Capital after all.”

“Your Architects have not ordered you to the Capital.”

Meia sheathed both of her knives behind her back. “If they knew what I know, they would.”

When the Lyathatan reached Cheska Bennett’s ship, it first reached under the hull with its clawed hands and slowly lifted. Water poured out of the shattered vessel, the deck stabilized, and survivors in the water swam away from the monster in renewed panic. Most of them paddled desperately for The Testament, trying to escape the rise of the giant Elderspawn.

Calder made sure that rope ladders had been unfurled down the sides to meet them. Andel and Petal were on hand for first aid, and Calder himself was huddled under a blanket against the railing. He sipped on an alchemical concoction of Petal’s that was supposed to reduce the poison’s control over his body, but was primarily making him feel as though the whole world was upside down.

In the end, the Lyathatan was able to rescue both Guild Heads and three of Teach’s crew, none of whom had the strength to stand once they reached The Testament. Evidently surviving a shipwreck really took the wind from your sails. So to speak.

Cheska had a nasty cut over one eye, her breathing was shallow, and she didn’t look likely to wake any time soon. Petal was currently fussing over her, carefully lowering a glowing syringe to the woman’s throat.

The crew members were in varying states of panic or insensibility. Only Jarelys Teach seemed to have her wits about her, and she was still visibly exhausted and soaking wet.

By now, the screams of the Windwatcher had gone silent.

Calder’s crew took care of the survivors, but Calder himself kept his mind focused on the ship. The Lyathatan strode through the water ahead of them, carrying the remnants of The Eternal in its clawed hands. The Elder tugged their ship behind it, but considering the beating The Testament had taken, it was all Calder could do to hold his Vessel together.

He would have had an easier time if he could have left the remaining half of The Eternal behind, but he knew what that would do to Cheska. “A captain’s ship is his life. A Navigator’s ship is his soul.” That had once been a common saying, though the origin was long lost.

Every passenger cabin and half the hold was filled with cargo from The Eternal, from food stores to clothes to weapons. They’d salvaged everything they could, but now The Testament felt stuffed to the brim. Teach leaned against a trunk full of books with her eyes closed, arms resting on sacks of powdered soap. Foster sat cross-legged on a massive roll of blankets, tinkering with a cannon and muttering into his beard. And Bliss popped up from behind a cask like a prairie dog, glanced around, and slowly hid herself again.

The Guild Head slid from cask to crate to giant basket, weaving her way across the crowded deck like a child taking a game very seriously.

When her head rose out of a box next to him—he had no idea how she’d managed to get inside the box without him seeing, but he’d learned to stop asking pointless questions—he nodded to her.

“Good evening, Guild Head,” he said.

She turned to him, solemnly inclining her head from over the rim of the box. “Good evening, Calder Marten. Are you sick?”

He took a sip from the mug in his hands, which tasted like lemons and cinnamon and lightning. The world lurched around him, as though reality were trying to stand on its head, but by now he’d grown used to the effects of the alchemy. “Just tired. I was poisoned earlier, and now I’m holding the ship together.”

“I see.” She pointed to the blanket wrapped around his shoulders. “I’ve noticed that people often wrap blankets around the injured and the sick. Does it help somehow?”

“At least I won’t be tired, shaky, and cold.”

She rubbed her chin as she considered. “I see. I’ll remember that.”

The Guild Head started to lower her head back into the box, a clockwork toy rewinding itself, but Calder stopped her with an outstretched hand. He was actually going to touch her shoulder, but reminded himself at the last second that he might want to keep the hand.

“Bliss. Who attacked us?”

He’d been planning on waiting for Meia to disappear so that he could talk to Bliss without interruption, but that plan had worked entirely too well. Meia had vanished almost immediately after the survivors of The Eternal had been rescued, and he hadn’t seen her since. He would have sworn that she’d left, if there had been anywhere else for her to go. A cursory Reading of the ship didn’t reveal her, though he couldn’t spare much attention or Intent for a thorough search.