The Raven
Niven followed Cat on a western path around the island. They’d retreated to the beach and kept to the shore where bodies tumbled in the storm-tossed surf. Clumps of dried grass would act as cover should the Bazira pursue them, Cat had told him. He’d nodded, as if that would save them and she marched as if she knew where she was going, but Niven felt the hopelessness of it all soak him deep as surely as the rain had.
The beach curved and the three Bazira barques became visible out to sea, anchored and bobbing on choppy swells. A small, makeshift dock was just visible some several hundred spans to the north. Half a dozen dinghies were tied there. The shrubbery and forest that made up most of the island’s interior left only a narrow strip of beach on this side and Niven saw shapes moving within the foliage.
Cat held out her hand and crouched low behind a stand of grass. Niven followed suit and nearly sliced his thigh open with his borrowed sword.
The two watched as a line of Bazira emerged from the forest, heading north, away from he and Cat. It looked as if they were marching up and out of the island. Niven saw a red-haired woman among them, but no sign of Ilior or Ori, nor Selena or Sebastian. He was about to ask Cat what they were supposed to do next—there were at least fifty Bazira among the crowd at the dock—when the hairs on the back of his neck stood on end. Beside him, Cat rubbed her arms and they both looked around. She clutched Niven’s wounded arm but he hardly felt it.
Niven’s heart clanged madly in his chest, as one hundred Zak’reth, with softly glowing blades and yellow pinprick eyes, silently chugged along the edge of the forest. The full moon was released from its cloud cover long enough for Niven to see the intricate detail on the warriors’ masks: snarling dragons, screaming sea hawks, and jagged rows of teeth in the gaping maws of sharks…all done in stark detail that made their phantom silence all the more disorienting.
“Where did they come from? What are they?”
Cat hushed him. After the last of the warriors had passed them she tugged his sleeve. “Come on.”
Niven swallowed. “Wouldn’t it be safer to wait here?”
“Aye,” Cat said. “But I want to see this.”
They slunk along the shore and watched as the Zak’reth clashed with the Bazira some paces down the beach. Steel clashed with burning steel, and ice sizzled against the Zak’reth’s enchanted armor that was as hot to the touch as their blades. The Bazira were outnumbered by half, and Niven watched as the red-haired woman, followed by a small contingent of Bazira, broke off fighting and headed for the docks.
“There…” Niven pointed.
“I see her. Let’s go.”
The pair slipped past the battle that raged along the beach, keeping close to the water—but never touching it. Niven was sure one of the strange Zak’reth was going to turn its yellow eyes on them and that would be the end. He had gotten lucky against a Bazira who’d had his back turned; his death would be a foregone conclusion should he have to take arms against a Zak’reth. But the warriors were intent on the Bazira. If any noticed him and Cat creeping along in the pre-dawn darkness, they paid no mind. The Bazira left them alone as well; they had their hands full enough.
The island curved around and Niven saw the little dock was hardly more than a few broken planks and a post where the skiffs were lashed. The sky was lightening in the east; Niven saw the red-haired woman was beautiful but the storm had taken its toll and she resembled a water-logged cat. She and eight Bazira were hurriedly climbing into the boat. He felt a moment’s disgust break through the ever-present fear. The Bazira were outnumbered and dying in great wails of pain and singed flesh, and she was leaving them to save her own skin. If any saw her…
Cat must have seen the same thing for she rose from her crouch and shouted to the Bazira. “Oi! Here! She leaves you to fight and die while she escapes!”
Some Bazira turned to see and were killed immediately for their lapse in caution. Others were more careful and Niven saw their strained faces darken further. Some broke off and made a run for the skiffs. The red-haired woman’s eyes widened in fury.
“Kill them!” the woman ordered her men, jabbing her finger at Niven and Cat as the skiff shoved off. “Or Bacchus will hear of your treachery!”
A few of the dark clerics moved to obey at once, others hesitated.
“Priest Bacchus will know of your treachery, Jude, if you run away in cowardice,” one said as her skiff pulled away from the shore.
This seemed to give the woman pause but then a shudder wracked the beach. Niven thought it the storm had come back but when he looked eastward, he saw a small, rambling shack on a mound of dirt collapse to rubble. The island beneath it caved in and everyone at the dock watched as a cloud of dust rose and was quickly snuffed by the rain. The icy frost that Bacchus had laid over the island melted away in the meridian heat, warming the air, and seeming to relieve it of a heavy foulness.
He’s dead, Niven thought. Selena did it. She killed him and now her wound will close. If she survived the collapse… Let the god be merciful to her, at long last.
Jude watched the collapse and a flicker of relief passed over her features. It broadened into a smile as she took in the scene behind them.
The battle had ended and the victorious Zak’reth silently marched towards them. Niven’s relief turned into numb fear—there was no telling if the warriors would discriminate between those left alive on the beach. The Bazira who remained slogged through the surf, pushing past the dead to try to get at the skiff. Cat hauled Niven away, to the far edge of the shore as the Zak’reth—all one hundred as not a man was lost—tromped past them.
The Bazira called out, cried out, went down with burning blades in their back as Jude and her eight guards rowed away.
“Someone must relay to the Vicar all that has happened tonight, and as I regretfully inform him of our Reverent Bacchus’s demise,” she called to them, a sanctimonious expression on her face as she stood tall among her men. “I will not omit your great sacrifice. You will not be forgotten.”
Niven noticed Cat had readied a throwing knife and he was beset by a dark hope that she would wipe the smug smile off Jude’s face with it. But the sun broke the eastern horizon and the first strong rays of light colored the sky pink beneath fat gray clouds that would not move away. The little lights behind the Zak’reth helmets flickered and went out, and the warriors themselves disintegrated into nothing as the sunlight passed through them.
Cat didn’t throw her knife—the skiff was too far out now—but took hold of Niven’s arm and dragged him behind her. Five Bazira remained, but they were all plunging through the surf in a vain effort to catch the skiff. The water around their legs was fouled and stank of rot, and Niven watched with pity as the men seemed to weaken quickly. They fell to their knees and some plunged face first into the sea, as if they’d fallen asleep. They did not rise again.
The beach was empty. Silent. Dawn’s light—watery and gray—spilled over the gritty sand. Jude’s skiff reached the first Bazira brigantine, and Niven watched as its crew readied for sail.
“Is it over?” he asked Cat.
“I don’t know. Let’s go see.”
She started to lead them to the interior of the island when two shapes emerged. She readied her cutlass again and Niven’s heart gave yet another shudder of fear. A phantom glided toward them, with black pits for eyes and a filmy white dress, stained and dirtied…
“Ori,” Cat said with relief and then spat a curse. “And Sebastian Vaas.” She hefted her cutlass. “To answer your question, Niven, it’s not over.”
The black-sailed ship was sailing away. It was too far to tell for sure, but Sebastian knew that woman, Jude, was on it.
She will report to Zolin and I’ll spend the rest of my life looking over my shoulder and jumping at shadows.
He turned back to the small assemblage on the beach. Niven had moved to stand near Ori, and regarded him warily. The adherent held a Bazira cutlass awkwardly in one hand, likely because no one yet told him he could put it down.
Cat was there. Her hair was no longer orange but black, and though it was cropped short—hacked off, if one were being truthful—he had envision it long and silken, curling over the bodice of a fine dress.
“Greetings, Lady Rathbone. Fancy seeing you here.”
Cat moved in front of Niven and Ori, as if Sebastian were going to burst into a murderous rage at any moment and slaughter them all.
“Where is Ilior?” Cat asked. “Where’s Selena?”
“I don’t know. I never saw either of them.”
The dubious stares that met him spoke volumes.
Sebastian sighed. Here we go. “Where’s my ship?”
“Here. Safe.” Cat said. “Though I don’t know if you could call it yours any longer.”
Niven flinched. “Cat…”
A white hot flash of anger suffused Sebastian. “You have a plan, do you? Let’s hear it, now that you can speak. A fine trick, that. What’d you use? A lamb’s tongue? And Helm and Cook died for your ruse? Never mind. I killed seven of yours, you took two of mine. Have I got it right?”
Cat licked her lips and shifted her feet. “There is a bounty on your head. Thousands of gold.”
“And you’re the bounty hunter, Eleanor,” Sebastian said. “Or is it Cat? No, neither. I know of you. Most call you the Raven. You’ve been dogging me for years, so say the rumors, but I never thought you were real.” His lips curled in a sneer. “I guess I was wrong.”
“Now, wait just a moment,” Niven began but no one paid him any mind.
Sebastian fought to keep his control and realized he had no weapon to speak of, should Cat pose a serious threat, and he was too injured to take her bare-handed. Then Ori moved around Cat to stand beside him.
“This long, terrible night is over,” she said softly. “We must find our friends who live and bury any who do not.” She laid her hand on Sebastian’s arm. “He saved my life,” she told Cat. “Now is not the time for a reckoning. I will not permit it.”
Cat narrowed her eyes as if considering this, and Sebastian clenched his teeth at the presumption that his fate was in her hands.
“The Storm is mine,” he seethed. “Never doubt that. It’s also the only way you’re getting off this island. You can try to swim for it through dead merkind-infested waters, but the crew won’t take you anywhere without my say-so. Or you can come with me and try to find Selena. Up to you.”
He didn’t wait another second, but turned and strode along the beach, brushing dirt off his long black coat. The sun was starting to emerge in the east, bathing the sky in a faint pink light. Ori moved to walk with him. There was dirt in the sockets of her eyes. He concentrated on that particular little horror so as not to feel how her gesture touched him, and to cool the hot flush of anger that suffused him at the thought of Cat trying to take his ship.
I’ll kill Cat first, so help me…
Something bit him, deep and hard in the back of his upper arm. For half a heartbeat where he knew only a deep pressure, and then pain followed. He looked down and saw a throwing knife protruding from his flesh.
“What in the bloody fuck…?”
He turned. Cat was there, a cutlass in one hand and another throwing knife in the other. Niven stood beside her, his mouth hung open like a door with a broken hinge. His wide eyes looked between Sebastian and Cat.
“I didn’t have to miss,” Cat said. “I want you alive.” She lifted the second throwing knife. “Come quietly, Sebastian Vaas. The time for reckoning is now.”
Sebastian yanked the knife from his arm and smattering of blood stained the sand below. He’d been injured so often, he hardly felt the pain. But he pretended he did.
The knife dangled from his fingers, and he dropped to one knee, his head bowed.
“No,” Cat said, “I’ve fallen for that before. Not again. I—”
Sebastian flipped the knife in his palm and hurled in one smooth motion. Cat flinched away and while she did, the assassin rolled forward, and snatched the cutlass out of Niven’s fingers. Cat recovered and threw her other knife, followed by a quick slash with her own sword. Sebastian blocked the thrown knife and then her strike, twisting his wrist down and around. Her sword was wrenched from her fingers and then Sebastian was on top of her, pinning her to the ground.
He held her jaw in one hand, pressing down hard, while reaching back so that the point of his cutlass rested on her cheek. A drop of bright red blood welled from underneath.
“Help me!” Cat screamed, though her words came out sounding pushed together for his hand on her jaw. “Fools! He’s Bloody Bastian!”
Sebastian didn’t look at Niven or Ori. He didn’t need to. He could feel their stillness, their shock.
The bounty hunter named Cat, also known as the Raven, writhed and screamed.
“He said you changed! Marcus Bailey… Grunt. He said you weren’t the same cold-blooded killer. Lies!” She turned her panicked eyes to Niven and Ori. “Watch now! Godsdamn you, if you won’t help me then bear witness. He’ll kill me and you’ll realize I was right all along. All along!”
“I’m not going to kill you,” Sebastian told her, “but the Storm is mine. I can’t allow anyone to think they can take her from me. Not ever. And I can’t have you shadowing me anymore. Your days as a bounty hunter are over.”
He closed his eyes for a moment. “I’m sorry,” he said and then released her jaw as if he were letting her go. Instead, with one deft flick of his wrist, he slashed her left eye clean out.
Cat’s gaping mouth made a labored gasping sound, her one remaining eye staring wide, full of shock and pain and horror.
Sebastian had seen the same look in the eyes of so many of his victims as Bloody Bastian. Disgusted, he turned, tucked the cutlass into his belt, and walked down the beach without looking back. Cat sucked in a breath and then her screams chased after him in the thick, rain-choked air, accompanied by Niven’s whimpered mewlings of shock.
Above, the sun was rising, the sky lightened, but the storm lingered, gathering again for one last tempest.