Blood Storm: The Books of Blood and Iron (27 page)

“I killed Ynara,” Aisa said.

“You rescued her,” Grandfather said. “If not for you, she would be a slave on land, a life worse than any death. Imeld and Markis will eventually come to see that. But for now, perhaps it is best that you stay away. Let me spread the power of the shape among our people.”

Aisa stared at him in disbelief. “After all this, you still think we should—”

“Of course.”

“But others will die!” Aisa cried.

“And if we do not regain the power, yet more will die.” He sighed, and bubbles floated about his head. “Nothing comes without sacrifice. The Nine and the Gardeners know that.”

“What is the point of being a Gardener if I have to sacrifice the ones I love?” she demanded. “Why should I do it?”

“Only you can answer that,” Grandfather said.

Aisa wiped at her eyes out of habit. “I need to catch the ship.”

“If you ever need the merfolk, take your mermaid shape and cry for us like the orca,” Grandfather told her. “We will hear you, and we will come.”

“How . . . how do I cry like an orca?”

“Every mer knows how. Shout your name as loud and high as you can. Shout it three times.”

Aisa did. To her surprise, she produced a high-pitched wail that spread in all directions. Grandfather nodded.

“We will see you again, granddaughter.” He embraced
her, and her forehead pushed into his shoulder so she felt the new pearls press her forehead. “We are proud of you, the mermaid who changed the world.”

Catching the ship was simple enough. Aisa found she could swim more than twice as fast as it sailed. Remembering how Ynara had done it—the fresh sorrow renewed itself at the thought—she propelled herself straight up with great sweeps of her tail and leaped gracefully into the air. But she had never done this before, and found she had pushed too hard. Instead of leaping up to the rail, she catapulted right over it and flopped gracelessly onto something hard that collapsed under her.

“Aisa!” Danr, still human and small, was there. He pulled her upright, or tried to. She couldn’t stand, and he wasn’t strong enough to hold her upright.

Something squirmed beneath her. It took a moment to work out that she had landed square on the golem. It rocked about, confused. Several sailors and Captain Greenstone came running across the rocking deck. Sails snapped and creaked overhead in a now-familiar song, and a fat orange sun was dipping into the ocean behind them.

“I was so worried!” Danr pulled her into a breathless embrace. “You have tattoos! Are you all right?”

“Yes and no,” she said. The golem tried to wriggle out from under her. She let go of Danr and flopped back onto it, causing it to crash back to the deck again. Words tumbled out of her and tears threatened again. “Oh, my Hamzu. Ynara and my grandmother are dead, and it is my doing.”

Danr’s large eyes went even wider and the blood drained from his face. “Dead? How?”

This time Greenstone picked her up as easily as a doll, and the golem jerked itself upright, managing to look annoyed even without facial features. “All right, all right,”
Greenstone said. “Let’s put you somewhere more comfortable, and we’ll get this sorted out.”

“Give me a moment, and I can walk,” Aisa said to her.

She concentrated, remembering her true shape, her birth shape. The power moved, and she felt herself start to change, but she was suddenly too tired. After three changes, a great deal of swimming, and all the awful things that had happened, the energy just wasn’t there.

Then Danr took her hand. A spark jolted her, and power rushed through every cell. She was drinking sunlight and feasting on stars. Her very bones tingled, and she felt strong enough to uproot trees and lift mountains. Danr inhaled sharply, but she barely noticed. She drank in more and more power. Her tail painlessly split and formed into legs. Her gills merged with her skin. Her body shortened. Awed, Greenstone set her down, and Aisa stood on the deck in her birth shape. The sailors all backed up.

“The Nine,” Danr panted. His face shone with sweat and he sank to one knee before her. For a moment, Aisa thought he was going to knock his head on the deck. Then she understood he was exhausted. She, meanwhile, felt ready to fly twice around the world.

“What happened?” Danr gasped.

“Grandfather Wyrm,” Aisa said. “He told us it would be easier to take power from someone who had changed shape. He was right. Are you hurt?”

“No.” He struggled to his feet, and this time Aisa helped him. He felt light as foam. “Just tired. And . . . Aisa, you’re naked.”

Aisa glanced down. Indeed she was. The fact should have sent her fleeing for cover in horrified embarrassment, but now . . . now that Ynara had died, it barely seemed worth noticing. One of the larger male sailors stripped off his shirt, and Aisa pulled it on as an impromptu tunic.

“Where are your tattoos?” Danr added. “They’ve disappeared.”

Aisa put a hand to her face. It was perfectly smooth again. Even the seed pearls had disappeared. A pang went through her. Would they come back when—if—she became a mermaid again?

“Where’s Talfi?” she asked suddenly.

“Sleeping below,” Greenstone said. “Between worry and wyrms, he’s damn exhausted. You should probably sleep, too. You see that?” She pointed behind them. Dark, heavy clouds gathered in judgment on the horizon. “Gonna be a real titty-twister. We can stay just ahead of it if we hurry, but if you want sleep, get it quick. You hungry?”

“Starving,” Danr
said.

S
o you’re human now.” Captain Greenstone stared over the helm out to sea. “How’s it working?”

Danr self-consciously looked down at strange arms. He had rough trousers and a patched tunic from the ship’s stores that fit him decently enough, and even a pair of shoes that he felt every moment against his feet.

“I feel short,” he said, and his voice sounded too high in his own head. “And the sun doesn’t hurt, and I can’t see in the dark for much.”

“Hmm.” Greenstone adjusted the course. The
Slippery Fish
was dashing northeast along the Balsian coast, which put forested land on the ship’s left—port side, Danr corrected himself. The storm had been chasing them for the last day, but it pushed a wind ahead that sent the
Fish
scurrying along like a toy boat. Part of the storm stumbled on the continent behind them, which luckily slowed it down.

“We’ll be in the city before nightfall,” Greenstone predicted.

Another relief. They would fulfill Aisa’s deal with the harbormaster and he would get Ranadar out of that tank.
The harbormaster would start the end of slavery, which would thrill Aisa, and they could . . .

Danr swallowed. He still had to propose to Aisa!

“My debt to the Obsidia will be paid off,” Greenstone continued, “and I can get the Vik out of this city, storms or not.”

“Where are you going?” Danr asked, surprised at how much he was disappointed she was planning to leave. “Otrania?”

“Otrania’s a Fae city, and they don’t like Stane mongrels, so we’ll head down to the Flor Isles, or maybe Briat. When the storm season ends, maybe we’ll risk a spice run from Nik in Irbsa.”

Mongrel. Half-blood. Those words didn’t apply to him anymore. He looked down at his human hands again. They were so long and thin. He liked them.

As if reading his mind, Greenstone said, “You’re glad, are you?”

Danr had to answer, “Yeah. Who wouldn’t be?”

“Well, me, really.” She heaved the helm over, then hauled it back. The
Fish
responded with a creak.

“You?”

She avoided looking at him from under her heavy hat. “I was kind of hoping you’d find your way clear to help out. You’re a hero, with a big name. Half-bloods need other half-bloods to look up to.”

“I didn’t even know there
were
other half-bloods in the world until I met you,” Danr protested.

“Yeah, I know. I used to think I was the only one, too. That makes it easier for everyone to say there’s somethin’ wrong with us—and it makes it easy for us to believe it. Then we hate ourselves, and want to hide who we really are.”

Monster,
echoed a memory in Danr’s head.

“But if we have someone big, someone who does great things, like wield the Iron Axe, and that someone stands tall and says he’s proud to be a half-blood, other half-blood kids will believe they can be proud, too. They might come out of hiding and do more great things. And regular folk might start thinkin’ that half-bloods ain’t so bad.”

“I’m not that kind of man,” Danr replied. Her words stung more than a little. “That’s not me.”

“It
is
you,” she said in a strangely gentle voice. “Or it used to be. You wasn’t happy with your troll side, so you went on a quest to dump it. I get it. Still hurts the rest of us.”

“That’s not what I—” Danr started to say, but the words died in his throat. He couldn’t finish a lie.

He blinked. How could that be a lie? He had gone after the power of the shape to save Ranadar and to spare Aisa public condemnation, not because he wanted to reject—because he wanted to reject—

He wanted to reject.

Huh.

“I don’t like being famous,” he said too quickly. “I didn’t want to wield the Axe, either. I only did that to save my friends.”

“I know,” she sighed. “Kinda moot now anyway. I mean, can you change back?”

Not for the first time, he tried it, reaching inside himself to find his birth shape the way Aisa said she had done. Nothing. “Nope. I must be one of those people who can only change once. Grandfather Wyrm did say I only have one other shape.”

Really, it came as a relief. No more half-blood. No more fame. No more pointed fingers, no more people stampeding after him, no more royal receptions. Just him. An anvil
lifted off his back, and the wind threatened to carry him away.

“Then there’s no point in talking about it, handsome.” Greenstone pointed. “Well, we’re at Balsia, so you can rescue your elven friend. Good thing, too, with the storm behind us and company up ahead.”

Danr followed her pointing finger. Coming toward them was a pair of ships. Both flew the flag of the city of Balsia.

“That’s the
Golden Wyrm
,” Greenstone said. “Prince’s ship. The other one belongs to the harbormaster.” She hawked and spat.

Harebones, the first mate, rushed up. “What now, Captain? They’re approaching fast.”

“They flying a battle flag?” she asked.

“Just Balsian colors, ma’am.”

“Then drop sail and see what they want. Keep everyone alert, but I don’t want a fight. We’re way outnumbered.”

“I’ve met Prince Karsten,” Danr told her. “He’s not a bad guy.”

“In my experience, nobility’s nice only when they need to be.”

Aisa came up on deck. “What is wrong?”

“Guests,” Captain Greenstone said. “I told Harebones to get out the good china.”

“But hide the silver,” Aisa murmured.

Danr shook his head. “How you can joke at—”

“Listen.” She took his arm and drew him aside. “It looks that everything is about to move very fast. I should speak with you first.”

He eyed the approaching ships. A longboat dropped from each. “Looks like we have a few minutes. Where’s Talfi?”

“Sleeping below. The golem is watching him again.” The two of them were standing at the gunwale, with
Greenstone still at the helm some distance behind them. Aisa looked out over the strip of sea toward the land, her expression hard. Danr tensed.

“What is it?” he asked.

“When I was with the merfolk,” she said, “I . . . learned many things. Things I need to discuss. With you.”

The boats rowed closer. Danr shifted uneasily in his new, smaller body. It was still strange to look straight into her face instead of down into it. “All right. What did you want to talk about?”

She paused for a long moment. “I am so weak. I do not know where to begin.”

“Anywhere you want,” he said. “But you’d better hurry.”

“I . . .” A strange look crossed her face. It seemed to Danr that she started to find her nerve, then abruptly lost it. “Danr, will you marry me?”

And he had to answer the truth. “Of course I will. I love you. And—hey! I was supposed to ask you!”

She smiled. “We half-bloods were never ones for rules.”

The words slapped him. Half-blood. Aisa was a half-blood, too, even if she didn’t look like one. It hadn’t really hit him until that moment. Could two half-bloods come together and make a whole?

“My turn,” he said. “Will
you
marry
me
?”

“Yes, my love. One time or a hundred. As many times as you ask.”

It was exactly right. He kissed her now, his long fingers entwining her hair. She sighed and kissed him back. They shared this quiet moment, with the boats rowing toward them and the storm building behind them.

“Is that what you wanted to talk about?” he asked when they parted.

Again, she hesitated. Something else was in her eyes, something powerful, but he had no idea what it was. Then
she looked away, and whatever it was disappeared. She said, “That is all, yes. I was . . . so nervous and I wanted to know. Before everything happens.”

He paused. Was she telling the entire truth? He had the feeling she wasn’t, but he didn’t want to ruin this soft, quiet moment with an accusation. So he only said, “Hmm. Then it’s a good thing you proposed now.”

“And a good thing you said yes,” she said with a flash of her usual sarcasm, and Danr couldn’t help but smile.

Already the pair of longboats had reached the
Slippery Fish.
In short order, two groups of men swarmed aboard. Some wore the pale blue and white outfits of acolytes of Bosha, and others wore dark blue military uniforms with a gold wyrm insignia. This time, however, they didn’t take over the ship. Instead a man who Danr assumed had a high rank demanded, “Where’s the golem?”

“Guest quarters, with the boy who can’t die,” Greenstone said. “Pleased to meet you, too.”

The high-ranker nodded toward two men, who hurried below.

“What are they doing?” Danr demanded, tense now.

“Guarding his door so the golem won’t come up and let the Obsidia know what’s going on,” said Prince Karsten, climbing onto the deck. Everyone bowed. The harbormaster, in his crisp blue robes, clambered up behind him, fumbling with his blue dolphin-topped staff.

“You believe physically trapping the golem in that cabin will lead the Obsidia to believe nothing is wrong?” Aisa said. “I can see why your mother is reluctant to let you out to play.”

“Aisa!” said Danr, shocked.

“And where’s Danr?” Harbormaster Willem asked in his deep voice.

“That’s me,” Danr said, and wondered if Willem would extend his ring again. “I’ve changed a little.”

Willem glanced at him dismissively, then turned and stared. His fingers went white around the dolphin staff, and a look of awe stole over his face. “No,” he whispered. “You couldn’t have.”

“Why not?” Aisa asked. “Did you think we would die in the attempt like all the others?”

“Frankly, I did.” Still looking shocked, Willem reached out to touch Danr’s hair. Danr pulled away.

“Grandfather Wyrm made fascinating conversation,” said Aisa. “We would love to introduce you someday.”

“Look, we really need to get to shore,” Danr said.

“I know,” Karsten said. “The Obsidia have the elf and the orc you befriended.”

Danr’s heart jumped. “Did you rescue them?”

“We tried,” the prince said. “But the Obsidia reminded us that elves are slavers and orcs are barbarians, and neither of them are citizens of Balsia, so what happens to them is no concern of the crown’s.”

“You are saying it is not a crime in Balsia to kidnap an elf or an orc?” Aisa said in disbelief.

“That’s exactly right. And we still owe the Obsidia all that money.”

Danr ground his teeth. Hector had chosen his hostages well.

“At any rate,” Karsten continued, “you came back with this power, and we need to decide what to do with it.”

Danr shot a nervous glance up the coast to the city. Ranadar was in there at the Obsidia house, and the water was rising. The storm continued to build on the horizon behind them. Anvil-topped clouds turned gray.

“Do with it?” Aisa echoed. “We’ll complete our deal with the harbormaster, of course. He said if we gave him
the power of the shape, he would . . .” She trailed off and looked at the prince. Danr tried not to bite his lip. Prince Karsten might know about their journey to find the power of the shape, but he might not know—or approve of—their deal with the harbormaster. An end to slavery in Balsia would create a major upheaval in Balsia, and Danr didn’t think the prince would enjoy this idea.

“The harbormaster said he would help us,” Aisa finished lamely.

Willem straightened his blue and white robes, pretending to take no notice of Aisa’s words.

It suddenly occurred to Danr that the harbormaster was friends with the Obsidia, and the Obsidia were slave dealers. If the harbormaster abolished slavery, his friends would be ruined. Abolition would also dry up countless millions in taxes and tariffs for the temple of Bosha. Harbormaster Willem had said he was worried the Obsidia would misuse the power of the shape, and that was why he wanted Aisa and Danr to bring it to him and only him, but the more Danr thought of it, the weaker that argument seemed. Unless . . .

Danr followed this line of thought. The Obsidia were sitting on a small army of golems and at least one dwarf who could make them. If slavery was abolished in Balsia, golem servants would gain enormous value. A golem factory would become nearly priceless, especially if someone, someone like a wealthy high priest, knew ahead of time that he should build a stock of golems. A priest with the space and the money for a new golem factory.

Golems were made of clay, by dwarfs. And a line of trolls had been hauling cartloads of clay toward the temple of Bosha. Those very trolls made it clear they expected to see a great many dwarfs at the temple as well.

When Harbormaster Willem promised to end slavery, just who was he hoping to help?

Danr closed his right eye and looked at the harbormaster. He appeared just as he did the last time Danr had examined him, all lines and edges. “Are you working with the Obsidia to end slavery,” he asked bluntly, “so you can replace it with a golem market that you alone control?”

Aisa gasped. Prince Karsten folded his arms hard, his expression unreadable. The harbormaster turned hard gray eyes on Danr. “Impertinent and rude! Just what I’d expect from . . . from . . .”

“A filthy half-blood?” Danr fixed him harder with his single eye. “You gave a pretty speech before the prince about love and acceptance, but you hate half-bloods. You hate all Stane.”

“Nonsense! All creatures are Bosha’s—”

“Another lie,” Danr spat. “I see it. You and the Obsidia are good friends, and you cooked up a plan. You pushed the prince into letting the Stane enter the city with big talk about troll tolerance and sanitary sewers, but what you really wanted was dwarfs. Dwarfs make golems. They make golems in your own factory. They’re making golems for you as we speak. Your men stink of clay! You meant to end slavery long before you made a deal with Aisa, and you wanted to replace it with an army of golems that only you and your temple could produce.”

“Neat, orderly golems,” Aisa put in. “Tidy. No chaos.”

“Drivel from a simpleton!” the harbormaster cried. “Your Highness, are you going to let him—”

“Speak?” Karsten said. “Yes. We’ll definitely let him speak.”

“But your friends the Obsidia objected, didn’t they?” Danr drilled relentlessly ahead. “They were already hurting because the elves stopped buying slaves, and
they
wanted to produce the golems themselves. You found yourself in a difficult place. You had the space for a golem factory, an army of workers who will keep a secret, and the power to end slavery, but all the dwarfs worked for the Obsidia. What to do? Except the Obsidia wanted something else: the power of the shape. They want it more than gold or golems. So you made a deal—they could have the power of the shape in exchange for the dwarfs.”