“You can’t just ask him his name?”
“He’s the strong silent type. Very, very silent.”
By now, the flapping shape that had followed Infidel caught up, lighting on the branch beside her. It was a creature I’d never seen before, with the body, legs, and ears of a hound-dog, but with wings, big webbed claws and a long, ungainly beak like a pelican. The overall appearance was comical, but also unnerving, for the creature’s form was ever shifting, with the margin around his neck and chest where feathers transitioned into fur ebbing and flowing in slow, rippling waves.
“That’s your, uh, man-dog?” asked Sorrow. “The shape-shifter? Menagerie?”
“Yeah,” said Infidel. “This morning I found him on deck chewing on a freshly killed pelican. His face was coated with the blood. I was going to leave him at the ship, but when I jumped into the air to fly here, he turned into this and gave chase.”
“Maybe the pelican blood gave him a new form?” Sorrow said.
“Maybe. But he also sucked my blood when he was a tick, so why didn’t he change back into a human?”
“I’m not an authority on blood magic,” said Sorrow. “But, I can see the auras of living things, and this creature has not even the faintest hint of a human aura. It doesn’t possess the spiritual template to change into a man.”
“Whatever,” Infidel said. “Humans are vastly overrated in my book. I hope Menagerie gets better, but for now you have to admit it’s kind of cool that I have a flying dog.”
Sorrow shrugged and looked back into the cabin. “That’s a very positive attitude. It would be equally accurate to say that you merely have the affection of an exceptionally ugly bird.”
“There’s no need to be nasty,” said Infidel.
“Is there not?” said Sorrow. “I entered into this deal foolishly, I admit. The citizens of Commonground aren’t famous for their honesty. There was something about your aura that led me to trust you. Most dishonest people have feeble and dirty auras. Yours was bright and clear; I thought that in this city of sin, I’d somehow stumbled upon a true innocent. Yet, rather than finding the organized collection of books and maps I thought I was purchasing, I find only rotting litter.”
Infidel stepped gingerly onto the deck. “I didn’t cheat you,” she said, ducking into the cabin, motioning for Sorrow to follow.
Sorrow glanced at me and said, “Don’t move,” then followed.
Menagerie lingered behind, perched on the branch, staring at me, his head tilted.
Though I couldn’t move my physical form, I tried to speak. A ghost voice tore from my ghost throat and echoed in my ghost ears, though the morning air was silent save for the chirping of birds and the distant stir of the waves.
“Menagerie!” I called to the dog-bird. “Can you hear me? Can you hear me?”
The dog furrowed his brow as it loped onto the deck. Its head became almost fully hound as it took the time to sniff me, then flowed back toward pelican as it sat on its haunches and looked up at my face.
“Can you hear me? Say something,” I said.
He didn’t say anything.
“Speak!” I said.
Nothing.
“Roll over!” I said, feeling bad that I was treating a man who had once been a brilliant mercenary as if he had only the intelligence to do canine tricks.
He kept staring. Did he not hear me? Did his dog form not understand that command? What other commands could I try? I couldn’t tell him to heel or fetch since I was immobile. Telling him to sit was pointless since he was already sitting.
“Shake?” I said, rather tentatively since I couldn’t move my arms.
Menagerie raised his right front leg with its webbed bird’s foot. With his hound dog eyes, he looked positively heartbroken when I left him hanging.
CHAPTER FIVE
SORROW WOULD SOON KNOW MY NAME
“B
Y THE SACRED
quill,” gasped Infidel as she dragged my sea-chest out onto the deck. The thing was five feet long, three feet tall and wide, solidly constructed and stuffed to the brim. I’m surprised she could move it without her old powers. She collapsed against the railing and wiped her brow. “That wasn’t fun.”
“I’m learning not to believe everything I hear in Commonground,” Sorrow said as she, too, emerged from the cabin.
“Look, don’t get distracted by all the ruined books,” said Infidel. “The real treasure’s in this box.”
“I was referring to the stories I’d heard of your strength,” said Sorrow. “I’d been told you were as strong as a score of men, but even one man could have gotten that sea-chest out of the cabin with less effort. I’d also heard that swords bounced off your skin, but your face certainly doesn’t lend much credence to that claim.”
“Oh,” said Infidel, sliding her fingers along the thin brown scabs that lay upon her cheeks. “My powers, uh, only kick in when I’m fighting. I don’t waste magic on moving furniture.”
“I see,” said Sorrow, kneeling in front of the chest. She contemplated the big brass lock on the front. “Do you have the key?”
“Sorry,” Infidel said, shaking her head. She grabbed the Gloryhammer. “Stand back and I’ll knock the lock off.”
“That won’t be needed. If you’re willing to damage the lock to open the chest, there’s no need for me to respect its integrity.”
She grasped the padlock, squishing it between her fingers like a ball of clay. She twisted the metal and tugged it away from the chest, stretching it like taffy until it snapped.
“Looks like you’ve got some inhuman strength of your own there,” said Infidel.
“Nonsense,” said Sorrow. “My strength is unremarkable. As a materialist, I comprehend ordinary matter in a way that your untrained eyes cannot. You believe the illusion that the material world is made of solid objects. I can see through this illusion.”
“You sound like Zetetic,” said Infidel. “In Greatshadow’s lair, we encountered a room carved from false matter. It had no fixed form or color. He said this was the original state of all matter.”
“I sound nothing like Zetetic,” said Sorrow. “Though I never met the man, Deceivers believe all of reality to be a shared fiction, lacking objective truth. I don’t dispute the reality of the material world; indeed, I study it and understand it. The key concept is that the things we think of as solid objects are composed of much tinier particles. If you could shrink to the size of a flea, the smooth surface of this lock would be revealed as a rugged landscape of boulders. Shrink to the size of a dust mote, and you would find that the boulders are built of individual grains. If you could become so small as to be invisible, you would find that these grains cling to one another like damp sand. Even a child on the beach can sculpt and mold damp sand using only their bare hands.”
“But that lock wasn’t made of sand,” said Infidel.
Sorrow shrugged. “My analogy is difficult for the uninitiated to follow. The true nature of matter is so counterintuitive that our language lacks words to accurately describe it.” She pulled her cloak back, revealing the scalp full of nails. “Even I couldn’t learn the truth through mere language. I had to have reality driven into my brain directly. Every nail in my skull is made from a pure material form. These have been placed in contact with the portion of my mind that perceives the corresponding substance. The copper nail gives me command over copper, which was the primary component of this brass lock.”
Infidel grimaced when she saw Sorrow’s scalp. I was a little queasy myself, since the wooden nail that had been infected this morning was now even worse. Dark veins ran from the wound, which was now an ugly bruise, almost black, fading to lighter hues of amber at the edges.
“Most metals are simple,” said Sorrow. “In their natural state they hold a faint echo of the primal spirit of Krag, the dragon of earth, but this spirit is driven out in the smelting process. Thus, they have no will to resist my magic. I recently expanded my repertoire to include wood. It’s been a thousand years since Verdant, the primal dragon of the forest, last spread his spirit into trees, but even so, as once-living material, wood possesses a cellular memory that can fight my manipulations. It’s exhausting in both body and spirit to make use of it. However, it’s worth the price I pay, since wood can be imbued with a persistent animating spirit, unlike iron or copper.”
Infidel’s brow wrinkled. “I’m not sure I’m following you. Are you saying
anyone
could bang a nail into her head and gain your powers?”
“With the right nail, in exactly the right place, to precisely the right depth,” she said. “But not anyone. Only women are able to master the art. Feminine prowess in magic is a threat to the male assumption of superiority. Thus, the patriarchal powers-that-be label me a witch and a heretic. So be it. I wear their slurs as a badge of honor.”
Infidel grinned. “I know where you’re coming from. I hated it at first when people called me ‘Infidel.’ Now I’ve come to like it. I guess it was your enemies who named you Sorrow?”
As she spoke, Infidel repeatedly scratched the scabs on her face. It was almost impossible to look at Sorrow’s scalp, with its festering wound and stubbled hair, and not feel itchy. If my own hands hadn’t been paralyzed, I would have been scratching my coconut dome.
Sorrow frowned. “I thought it was impolite in Commonground to inquire about the pasts of others.”
Infidel shrugged. “Yeah, it is. But I’m curious. From your accent, you must be from the Silver Isles. Most girls there get named something churchy, like Faith, Hope, or Innocent. Sorrow isn’t a name I’ve heard before.”
“My father was especially, as you say, ‘churchy.’” Sorrow looked down at the mass of copper in her hands. She’d wadded it up into a tight ball. “Have you heard of Judge Adamant Stern?”
Infidel raised an eyebrow. “The commander of the Judgment Fleet? The guy who hanged his own mother?”
Sorrow nodded. “You know of him.”
“Who doesn’t?”
“Indeed. His story is well known. As his daughter, I have witnessed the aspects of his personality that brought him infamy first hand. An accusation was made that his mother was a weaver... a witch. He had her head shaved, but found no nails. He did, however, find scars. My grandmother claimed these were childhood cuts and scrapes, but the letter of the law was that if her head were not free of blemish, she was to be hanged. I was nine years old at the time. My grandmother was everything to me. My mother had died giving birth to me... This is why my father named me Sorrow.”
“Harsh,” said Infidel.
“He never once showed me kindness. He barely spoke to me, allowing my grandmother to raise me as if I were her own daughter. After he hanged her, he left me in the care of the family maid to raise me as he pursued his career upon the seas. What he didn’t know was that our maid was truly a weaver. She gave me my first nail, of silver. Not long after, she was discovered. She was tortured to death and confessed to converting me to the dark arts. But this I learned second-hand, since I was on a boat to the Isle of Grass by the time her head was being shaved by my father.”
“The Isle of Grass? The
Freewind
was attacked by Skelling’s earlier tonight.”
“This far south?”
“Yeah. About a hundred of them. They used furry white pythons for attack dogs.”
“Snow-wyrms. Despite their reptilian characteristics, they’re actually a relative of otters. But why would they venture so far from home?”
“They said some witch named Purity had kidnapped their women and they’d come here to find her.”
Sorrow’s mouth fell open. Then her eyes narrowed as she said, skeptically, “So you know of my past. I would prefer you confront me directly with your questions rather than take such an oblique approach to your queries.”
“What the hell are you talking about?” asked Infidel. “Wait? Are you Purity?”
“Don’t be stupid.” Sorrow rolled her eyes. “Purity was a weaver of great renown. It’s said that her magic kept her alive for two hundred years.”
“Hmm,” said Infidel, studying Sorrow closely. “Your age
is
kind of hard to pin down.”
Sorrow frowned. “If you must know, I’m only twenty-two. The left half of my body withered when I unsuccessfully tried to master bone-weaving. Unfortunately, I mistakenly inserted the bone into the portion of my brain meant to command wood. I’ve paid a terrible price for this failure.”
“Tough break,” said Infidel. “So, you’re not a two-hundred-year-old witch. But from your reaction to her name, I’m guessing you know her.”
“No,” said Sorrow. “I know only her legend. She was originally a maiden dwelling on the north shore of the Silver Isle, until she was kidnapped by Skellings. She was brutally raped during her time in captivity, but eventually a drunken Skelling carelessly placed his sword by her bed as he prepared to abuse her. She killed him and a dozen other men on her escape. She nearly died upon the high seas in an open boat she’d stolen, until she was rescued by a mysterious old woman with strange powers. This was the legendary witch Avaris; she took Purity under her wing and taught her all the arts of weaving. Purity returned to the northlands with her newfound powers, intending to exact revenge upon the entire race.”
“Avaris? I’ve heard that name before. The Black Swan supposedly learned to travel through time with her help.”