Tome of the Undergates

‘Well, if you check the charts, you’ll—’ He glanced at the boy, searching the shadows of his coat. ‘Where are the charts I gave you?’



‘Likely down in the hold below. I memorised them last night.’



‘You memorised sixty sea charts in the span of a few hours.’



‘Wizard.’ The boy tapped his temple. ‘If I can figure out how to turn a man into a puddle of liquid entrails, I can assuredly memorise a few crude drawings of an ocean.’ He smirked again. ‘Though I did enjoy the pictures of compasses and sea monsters on the charts. Your handiwork, Captain?’



‘Sebast’s.’ Argaol sighed. ‘Look, the Lord Emissary insists on you having the charts and I’m not one to deny him. I’ve been all over the sea and—’



‘You have,’ Dreadaeleon interrupted, ‘and that’s why you’re overseeing thirty-odd unwashed, hairy men in various states of greasiness and undress and I’m about to—’



‘Get your head eaten by a demon,’ Argaol finished.



Dreadaeleon’s grin vanished. ‘Quite.’



‘At any rate, Teji is the only island that possesses a desirable combination of attributes,’ Argaol continued. ‘In addition to being relatively close to Ktamgi and friendly to merchants, it’s also as close as one can possibly get to the more northern islands before entering Akaneed territory.’ He grimaced. ‘I’ll not send even you into those waters during breeding season.’



Lenk almost hesitated to ask; no creature that he knew of was ever particularly desirable company during any kind of breeding season. Kataria, however, asked for him.



‘What . . . is an Akaneed?’



‘Well, it’s like a giant, angry—’ He paused, smacking his lips. ‘You know, I shouldn’t even encourage you. If you stick to the plan and head for Ktamgi, then Teji, you won’t even encounter one, so there’s no sense in telling you what one looks like.’ He coughed, lowering his voice. ‘Not like you could do much against one, anyway.’



‘What?’



‘Nothing,’ he replied. ‘Any questions?’



‘What did you just say a moment ago?’



‘Any other questions?’



‘It occurs to me, Captain,’ Dreadaeleon mused, ‘that there are a dozen or so Reaching Isles, most of them likely possessing these white sands you speak of. If we get lost, how are we to know we’ve arrived on the right one?’



‘Decent point.’ Argaol cast a sideways glance at Kataria. ‘Ktamgi is the furthest Reach, so you’ll be looking for sands that are just a shade less white than her.’ He cleared his throat before she could respond. ‘Anything else?’



‘There yet remains,’ a voice spoke, slow and methodical, ‘one point of business.’



All other sounds were penitent before the voice of Miron Evenhands: gulls going silent, men pausing to swiftly look up before bowing their heads, and the great waves dying to a quiet, respectful murmur as the priest emerged from the companionway.



The wind, however, did not abate. As he strode towards the companions, his sleeves and cowl billowed behind him, white wings, stark and pure against the dawning gloom. His eyes glimmered like fading stars, his smile as easy and familiar as the sun.



It struck Lenk as only a brief, fleeting moth of a thought, but the Lord Emissary looked as though he hadn’t even been present for the carnage the previous day.



‘I would hope you aren’t planning to send my humble agents out before I can offer the proper benedictions, Captain,’ Miron said, reaching them. He appeared to be even taller today, threatening to challenge Gariath’s own impressive height.



‘I’m not one for lying to priests, Lord Emissary,’ Argaol replied, ‘so I’ll not tell you I was hoping to be rid of them as soon as possible, no.’



Miron ignored that, instead surveying the assembled with his unflinching gaze.



‘I hope the significance of this excursion has been impressed upon you all,’ he spoke softly, ‘not merely for the consequences that are to come from the Abysmyth’s holding of the tome, but also for those brave souls who have assembled here to pursue the beast.



‘Whether they worship Talanas,’ he glanced to Asper, ‘Silf,’ to Denaos, ‘the flow of magic itself,’ to Dreadaeleon, ‘Gods I’ve no wish to disrespect by uttering their names improperly,’ to Kataria, ‘forces beyond our own comprehension, ’ to a smugly smiling Gariath, ‘or . . .’



He hesitated, blinking for the first time at Lenk. The young man blinked back, coughing.



‘Khetashe,’ he said. ‘The Wanderer.’



‘Oh.’ Miron bit his lower lip. ‘Really?’ He waved a hand, dismissing further conversation. ‘Regardless, a most momentous journey is about to be undertaken. For never before have so many gathered under a common cause since the House was first founded. And I hope—’



The Lord Emissary’s voice died for Lenk, fading into such pious rhetoric as could only be spoken by someone not about to be off to be killed. He was jerked aside by a dark hand, pulled away from the circle towards the railing and turned to face Argaol, the captain’s face grim.



‘Listen,’ he muttered, ‘you know I’m no blasphemer.’



‘Uh . . . yeah?’



‘As well you know I’m none too fond of you.’



‘Oh . . . yes.’



‘But I’d be no man of Zamanthras if I sent you off without encouraging you to a wiser course of action.’ He pointed down to the bobbing companion craft below. ‘I’m going to have the boys plant the sea charts in your cargo. There are a few islands safer than Ktamgi that you can land on out there.’



‘But Ktamgi is where—’



‘Don’t think I’m an idiot, boy, I know damn well what lies on Ktamgi.’ He sighed, resting a hand on the young man’s shoulder. ‘That’s entirely my point. There’s nothing to say you can’t just find a decent place to squat and wait out the six days before heading for Teji. Avoid the demon entirely, forget the tome and preserve your life.’



‘That’s a bit sentimental for a man who’s wished me dead before.’ Lenk quirked a brow.



‘And if you manage to die of your own idiocy, the world won’t miss one or six adventurers,’ Argaol replied. ‘But . . .’ He paused, clenching his teeth. ‘I didn’t sleep last night. I kept seeing Mossud in my mind, over and over, I kept seeing what became of him.’ His eyes were red-rimmed, heavy. ‘I wouldn’t wish that on anyone, much less one who has, I’ll admit, helped me in the past. We might have been sunk if not for you and your boys yesterday.’



Lenk was at odds with himself; his first instinct was to shove the captain’s hand away, to launch some smarmy retort and walk away strengthened by the power of the last word. His second instinct was to nod, thank the captain for his advice and discreetly pursue that course of action later.



He settled for the third and least satisfying instinct.



‘I don’t have a lot of options here, Captain,’ he said softly, so as not to be heard by his companions nearby. ‘I don’t have any shipping business, any farm, any shop or anything even resembling a decent life to go to if I don’t get paid from this.’



‘No amount of gold can be worth dying like Mossud did.’



‘It’s not the gold,’ Lenk spoke with a swiftness that surprised himself, ‘not just the gold, anyway. It’s also . . . the demon. I have . . . I have to go and find it. I have to kill it.’



‘You’re skirting dangerous thoughts there, boy.’ The captain grimaced. ‘You can just tell me without soiling yourself that you’re going to chase after this demon for the fun of it?’



Lenk opened his mouth to reply, but nothing even remotely less insane came to mind. Instead, he sighed, rolled his shoulders and offered a half-smile to the captain. Argaol, in response, stared for a brief, horrified moment.



‘I’ll only say it once more because I suspect you’ll change your mind when the truth of your situation sinks in, boy,’ he hissed. ‘When you see white, you turn the other way . . . quickly.’



Not sparing another moment for a conversation that was clearly already quite deranged, Argaol spun on his heel and stalked off towards his sailors.



‘What was that about?’



The young man did not start at the voice; he had felt her eyes on him since Argaol had dragged him off.



‘Well-wishing,’ he replied without turning.



‘Don’t insult me any further,’ Kataria growled.



‘You’re right, I’m sorry.’ Lenk sighed, his head drooping. ‘Argaol just had a few last words to spare me.’ He glanced up; Kataria was already at his side, staring out at the horizon. He followed her gaze. ‘Can you really see Ktamgi?’



‘Slightly.’ Her pupils dilated swiftly, encompassing her eyes for a moment as she sought out the island. ‘It’s distant, though. It’ll take a few days to get there in this wind.’



‘We’ve got our own wind.’



‘Mm.’



They stood for a moment. Lenk couldn’t help but notice as the breeze kicked up, sending the shict’s feathers playing about her face, caressing her skin with the locks of gold that whipped in the breeze. He clenched his teeth, making the same expression he did when he had once pulled an arrow out of his thigh.



‘Kat, let me—’



‘I’d rather not,’ she replied.



With that, she was gone, returned to her spot between Asper and Gariath. Lenk stared at her for a moment before forcing himself to turn away. His eyes could spare nothing for her now, he knew, not so much as a blink. He leaned out over the railing, squinting.



Odd, he thought, that Ktamgi, no more than a distant black dot, should be capable of looming.



Twelve



WAKE



The companion craft tore through the waves like an overeager child. Its canvas sails bubbled and giggled with the air fed into them, it slipped over wave and surf with a grace both enthusiastic and distinguished.



Lenk would remember to savour the imagery later.



For the moment, his world was one of wood. Fingers aching, he clung to the vessel’s railing, knees wobbling in nauseous rhythm with his churning stomach. His lunch rose up in protest for the sixteenth time, narrowly fought back by a tightening throat, as they cut over another wave. Near-faint, he was spared a violent uprising of jerked beef and fruit as a fist of froth struck him squarely in the face.



‘Fourth time that’s happened.’



Wet strands of silver obscuring his vision, Lenk scowled towards the prow. Kataria leaned on the edge, perfectly balanced, an obnoxious smile beaming in time with the oppressive sun.



‘Choke on it,’ Lenk snarled in reply.



‘You wouldn’t get wet so often if you didn’t put your face over the side,’ she chided. ‘Though, frankly, the concept of water being wet may be too much for me to expect you to grasp.’



‘If you’d like to clean up my mess after I spill it on the floor, be my guest.’ He cast a sneer at her, chiefly to hide his nauseous grimace. ‘Perhaps you could take a moment to roll around in it first.’



‘I didn’t even know you got seasick.’ The shict gave no indication she had even heard the insult as she tilted her head. ‘Where was this love of lurching when we were on the Riptide?’



‘Buried below deck,’ Lenk replied sharply. ‘Since I lack that privacy here, I have the distinct pleasure of hearing you while I—’



His sarcasm caught in his throat, overtaken by a stampede of half-digested meat. In one vile swoop, he tilted overboard.



‘If you’re feeling a bit fragile, I could ask Dreadaeleon to slow down,’ Kataria offered, none too gently.



‘I doubt he’ll listen.’



Their eyes slid towards the stern, narrowing upon the scrawny, coat-clad figure seated upon the sole bench. Legs folded, hands knitted in a gesture that looked painful to even consider attempting, Dreadaeleon’s eyes were shut tightly, lips quivering in a series of incomprehensible murmurs.



Above his head, the air shimmered and waxed, the sails billowing with every rapid twitch of his mouth. Behind him, the combined strength of Denaos and Gariath fought to control the rudder against the fury of the artificial wind. The rogue looked not at all pleased with the task; perhaps due to the proximity of the dragonman, perhaps due to the boy’s coat-tails whipping him about the face.



‘Fortunate that the companion vessel is small enough for him to move, isn’t it?’ Kataria spared a smile for the wizard. ‘I’d wager even the Abysmyth can’t swim so fast.’



‘Yeah . . . fortunate,’ Lenk grumbled, narrowly avoiding a rogue wave. ‘We’ll be food for it that much quicker.’ His cheeks bulged momentarily. ‘And here I am, courteously marinating in my own juices.’



‘If it bothers you that much, wake him up.’



‘You don’t know much about wizards, do you?’ Lenk cast a baleful glare at the youth. ‘He’s focusing at the moment. If he’s disturbed, something could go wrong.’



‘Such as?’



‘I woke him up one time while he was trying to keep a fire lit without wood.’ A sour frown creased Lenk’s face. ‘He got startled and I walked away with no hair anywhere, save on my head.’



Kataria blinked for a moment before her eyes widened.



‘You mean even—’



‘Yes.’



‘Sounds painful.’



‘It was,’ he replied. ‘Anyway, if you feel like being blasted by whatever he’s messing with, go right ahead. Maybe then I can be sick in peace.’



Kataria chose to hold her tongue as his head bowed back beneath the railing. An expression that lingered uncertainly between lamentful and resentful played upon her face as she stared at him. There was a quiet comfort in his lurching, she thought, not without a modicum of distaste for the idea. She could see him now, vulnerable, as she had not seen him for ages. She could stare at him now without agitating him.



Without him screaming at me.



His head snapped up suddenly, his gaze fixing on her with a cold intensity. She resisted the urge to jump, even as he narrowed his eyes at her, as though he had heard her thoughts. In an instant, whatever malice lurked behind his glare dissipated, replaced by something hovering between meekness and resentment.



‘So,’ he whispered softly, ‘this will sound rather odd to hear.’



She quirked a brow.



‘And, rest assured, it’s not that easy to say, but . . .’ His eyes flitted to the side, indicating a lock of silver that had been coated in a thick brown substance. ‘Would you mind terribly?’



The other brow went up, eyes widening as she realised his request.



‘Mind?’ she asked. ‘Yes, of course I mind, and more than a little of it is quite terrible.’



He blinked at her. ‘But can you do it anyway?’



‘Yeah.’ She sighed, doffing her gloves. ‘Just don’t get any on me.’



With a roll of her eyes, she slid behind him just as his head went back over the railing. Gingerly, she knitted her fingers into his hair and pulled it back gently, holding it out of his face as he sent a wave of brown cascading from his maw.



It occurred to her, with no small amount of grimacing, that she shouldn’t be looking so intently, much less smiling so broadly, at the sight of his liquid corkscrews. His sickness was a comfort to her, however; perhaps it was simply morbid amusement at his suffering, perhaps it was simply pleasant to feel needed once more. Either way, she could not turn away nor banish the smile from her face as he let out a gurgling sound, choking on pleas for mercy to his own innards.



She resolved to be disgusted with herself later.



‘This is nice, isn’t it?’



‘Nice,’ he repeated, gasping. His head tilted upwards slightly. ‘I’m vomiting up my intended last meal so that I’ll be nice and lean before something out there in the wide, blue sea of death decides to devour me.’ He shuddered. ‘Yes, this is very nice.’



‘What I mean is,’ she continued, ‘this is like how things used to be.’



‘That’s odd, I don’t remember this part.’



‘Just shut up and listen for a moment.’ Her ears twitched for emphasis. ‘What do you hear?’



‘I really don’t think—’



‘Wind and water,’ she speared his sentence with a smile, ‘nothing more.’ From behind her, a shrill voice rose to an alien crescendo. ‘Well, wind, water and Dread, anyway.’ She leaned closer, skewering him a little further on her grin. ‘But that’s all there is. There’s no screaming, no dying. It’s just the sound of the world. Do you even remember when we were last able to hear this?’



He raised his head from the sea, casting a glimpse over his shoulder. Despite the sopping strings of hair clinging to his face and the brown streak creeping from the corner of his mouth, some hint of a smile shone through, like the merest sliver of sunlight through a boarded-up window. With a sigh, the first sigh, she noted, not to brim with resentment, he turned away.



‘I’m not sure I’d put it in those words,’ he said, ‘but I do remember a time less red . . . and brown.’ He made a choking sound as he bit back a meaty uprising. ‘I suppose if we could have such things all the time, though, they wouldn’t mean anything.’



‘Not necessarily.’



‘Hm?’



‘Well, given the circumstances, you think we might . . .’ She let the thought dangle off her tongue, hanging ominously in the air over his head.



‘Run away?’



‘Yeah.’



‘The thought had occurred to me.’ His second sigh bore not even a hint of contentment. ‘What of you? You seemed eager enough to go chasing the Abysmyth last night.’



‘Well, I wasn’t about to be shown up by you,’ she retorted, less hotly than she thought she ought to. ‘But I’ve had time to think on it.’



‘And now you want to run?’



‘Not really,’ she spoke evenly. ‘I’m merely putting it forth as a possibility. It doesn’t matter much to me.’



‘Doesn’t matter,’ Lenk repeated. She could hear his brow furrowing. ‘How does it not matter? Have you not figured out that we’re all going to die?’