Fireborn Champion (12 page)

The woman in the blond bun gave Iron a dour look. “Aw, the little guy’s in a sour mood. You not enjoying yourself, Sinner’s man?”

Another sailor, the portly man with stubby fingers and a soft belly that nearly spilled onto the table, turned to Iron and raised his glass. “No gin fer him! Poor thing’ll be tossing his guts out to the water gods. His silky stomach ain’t ready for none o’ the sailor’s saltwater, isn’t that right, priest boy?”

A third man joined in on the fun, all joints and bone draped by skin cracked and leathered. He wore a cap that came to the bridge of his beak of a nose. Wisps of hair curled from beneath his hat’s hem, fluttering in the wind. “Gil, don’t be so hard on the boy.”

At least one of them had an ounce of kindness left in them. Maybe the night wouldn’t be so bad.
 

“Get the cook,” the lanky one continued, waving his cup at Gil. “Maybe he can warm some milk!”

The table burst into laughter as Gil guffawed, clanking his cup against the man’s. “Good one, Thip, but you are the cook!”

Even Sander stifled a chuckle, although the glassy sheen in his eyes had turned to more of a glacial wall. A surging ball of anger and rage welled in Iron. It took all his strength not to leap from the table and dive into the waters. At least the monsters of the deep wouldn’t make his life so torturous. Maybe he could even swim back to Skaard. The cabin might still stand. He could live there.
 

A fire lit inside him. It washed away the mockery, the laughter, the dark eyes and dark hearts. One simple spell, and he could shut them all up. One simple spell, and they’d know not to mock him. He could do it. He could put them all in their place.

Except he couldn’t cast one thanks to his oath, and if he left, Sander would never release him from it. Iron would live and die knowing he held a god’s power within him but could never use it because he ran away when he should have stayed and fought.

Iron looked to Sander and clenched his fists. The Sinner’s magic welled inside him, hotter than usual. It begged for freedom from behind the chains holding it at bay.

As the Sinner slips me from death’s grasp, so shall I swear to keep my word. Dammit.

His words echoed in his thoughts, and his fists relaxed. He could not break the sacred vow. This world wanted darkness. This world begged for despair. So many souls had fallen. Hells, everyone thought the Six
dead
. No wonder kindness fled the people of Urum. It probably died with the wounds that caused the scars the crew bore.
 

The circle is broken. If he wanted to fix it, he must stand above them.

Iron glanced up, to a crowd still in the throws of laughter. If they weren’t looking at him directly, they flicked their stares sidelong at him.
 

A wide, toothy grin pulled his cheeks high. Laughter bellowed in his now open-mouthed grin. He lurched over the table and swiped his cup from Sander, coming to his feet. The man tried to stop Iron, but his master couldn’t find his balance even on calm waters.

Ayska reached for him with a sigh. “Iron, don’t—”

“To the captain and her crew! May the Sinner bless them with quick fingers and lustful hearts!” Iron threw his chin back and put the cup to his lips. Pine and spices stampeded his nostrils. He poured the gin down his throat.

The liquid hit his tongue like acid, and tears rolled down his cheeks. Still, he swallowed the noxious drink even though it went down like molten rock. His stomach was a baker’s oven, but he wouldn’t put the drink down until not a single drop of saltwater gin remained.

The last bead hit his lips with a biting sting. Iron slammed the cup onto the table. He wiped spit and gin from the corners of his lips and kicked his chair forward, turning from the crew. Laughter died as he strolled upstairs toward the stern. He didn’t so much as look back. He stared forward, rounding the captain’s cabin. He came to his familiar spot and collapsed, pressing his head onto the worn railing.

Snot dribbled from his nose. His stomach burbled and sloshed. He’d see the gin again any second. While he waited, he thought about the time he rode the thundersnow and how spreading his arms to the chaos and flying above the world had freed him from it.
 

Iron’s world slowly gained clarity and revealed a blanched sky and sigh of waves against hewn timbers. He stared between two railings at the low, pale clouds rolling to the horizon. They drifted toward that long and mysterious line like an endless field of waves flipped on their backs. They choked the sunlight, but weren’t the kind to carry rain, just melancholy.

Foaming white capped the waves rippling the sea’s glassy tabletop, but unlike his time just beyond Skaard’s dark shores, these waves didn’t browbeat the ship. Thank the Sinner, they were of a nicer breed.
 

Iron’s heartbeat pounded against his temples, or maybe his brain had swollen so much from the saltwater gin it decided to self-evict from its fool of a landlord. He squeezed his eyes shut and took a deep breath. His cheek luxuriated in a pool of his drool that left a sticky residue as he wiped it from his lips.
 

Sander snored in obnoxious, broken trumpets on a nearby crate. His chin pointed to the sky, and his wide mouth threatened to catch anything a mischievous gull might deposit in it. The cup brimming with gin the night before hung on the hook of his finger and twisted with the gentle up and down rocking of the ship.

Iron flexed his eyelids while he shielded his eyes against a diffuse sun that added unwanted spice to his headache. He pinched his temples and sat upright. A flagon at his side gurgled as his hand pressed into the bladder. Iron uncorked the drink and sniffed. The odorless scent betrayed the water inside. He tipped the flagon back and guzzled greedily. The cool liquid rolled down his throat and filled his belly, calming the echo of fire from that vile gin. At least his master had the foresight to grab his apprentice water before passing out.

“They’re not as bad as they seem,” Ayska said.

Iron’s veins constricted, and he spewed a mouthful of water against the railing. He whipped around to find Ayska reclining on a case paled by sunlight and fastened with fraying ropes. The arrow of her pink tongue passed over her lips as she leaned on her elbows and flicked a dagger in her hand. Iron swallowed, his eyes fixed on the blade.
 

The captain smirked and started using the weapon’s tip to clean her nails. He scooted back against the railing and watched her work. Cursed woman. She toyed with him like a snow leopard toys with a field rat with nowhere to go.

Iron crossed his arms and raised his chin. “Come here to gloat at my expense? I drank the gin and shared your meal. I took your crew’s barbs and with a smile to boot.”

“They only did that because they like you. They were testing you.”

“Testing me? You people are insane.”

Ayska chortled and flipped one of her thick braids behind her shoulder. Even in the overcast skies, her hair glimmered like she’d dusted it with diamonds. “That’s truer than you know. Yeah, they were testing you to see how you’d react. My crew trusts me, but they had to see for themselves what kind of man you are. Good news is you passed the test. They’ll let you stay.”

“Let me?” Iron’s brows pinched together. “And if I hadn’t passed their little test you would’ve thrown us overboard?”

“Either that or seen how you liked the taste of steel. Life on the sea isn’t a walk through fresh snows, and our mission dictates we only allow certain guests an extended stay aboard the ship.”

Iron had to smile. He pressed the heel of his palm against his brow and shook. “Insane. Totally insane. This mission of yours…” His eyes flicked to her slave brands. Should he press the conversation? Fuck it. “Names on a list, you said. They were the ones who enslaved you. Elof enslaved that, ah, Thip fellow? And so you killed Elof for what he’d done to a free man.”

“Many free men, women and children. So, a strange boy from the wilds of Skaard named after metal does knows the flesh trade.”

“You know where I’m from?”

She motioned toward Sander. “His tongue flapped like a flag in a typhoon after a few swigs of gin. Mine probably would’ve too if I’d been without a good drink so many winters. And in Skaard of all places. That’s all they do is drink there. That’s the only thing to do in that wasteland. He told me all about you, Iron.”

Iron’s teeth clamped together. Sander made him take a Sinner’s Oath, but a few drops of gin and his master was ready to tattoo his face with every secret he’d ever heard.
 

Ayska still had a playful gleam in her eyes. Iron flashed a wooden smile and cocked his head. “Oh, he did, did he? Why don’t you tell me what he told you, and I’ll let you know if it was truth or the ranting of a senile hermit with a little girl’s liver.”

A silvery giggle spilled from her lips. “You’re not as ignorant as you look. I guess for now, you’ll still be shrouded in mystery to me. Careful though, I tend to get what I want.”

“I promise we have nothing to give you.”

“Everyone has something of value.” She pulled Caspran’s coin from her bosom and flipped it, catching it in her open palm. “It’s not always gold. I know you’ve got some kind of treasure, and I’m certain the Loyal Father brought you to me for a reason. The gods always have good reasons for the gifts they give us.”
 

Iron looked Ayska straight in her eyes. “So this test was all about trust. You’re here trying to trick secrets from me so you probably still don’t really trust my master and I. But why should we trust you? We’re your captives on this ship, heading gods only know where on a sea I’ve never sailed. You could be carting us to Eloia for the king and we’d never know until too late.”

Her dagger flashed before her hardened eyes before she buried its tip in the crate. “I would never help that heretic pig. If High King Sol wants you, it means I need you even more. Everyone knows he fears something on Urum…maybe someone. How about a deal?” Her hard eyes returned to their playful glimmer. “Or better yet, a wager? If you win, I tell you where we’re going. If I win, you tell me why Brother Caspran’s looking for you and your master.”

“I’m a Sinner’s man. You think I don’t know a rigged wager? I’m not going to play your game.”

Ayska opened her mouth, but he snorted and turned away. “No, no game. In games of chance, the cards are stacked in the house’s favor, and at the moment, I’m in your house, Ayska Masrari.”

“You over think, Iron. Life demands chances made in the moment. Maybe one day you’ll see that, and we’ll play a little game.” She looked to the sea and smiled. “Sander says you’ve lived your life buried in snows and scrolls. You’ll see soon enough the real world demands gambles made in the space between two heartbeats with no thought or care to yellowed parchments and dull books.” With a sigh, she stood, leaning on the rail. “You want to know where we’re going? I’m taking you to a special place, a place where you and your master will be safe. We call it Spineshell, but that wasn’t always it’s name. Whatever it was once called was forgotten when the Third Sun rose.”

His headache calmed beneath the rush of excitement electrifying his blood. “Alp ruins? They really do exist?”

“For those of us brave enough to find them.” Ayska looked to the side, her dark eyes drinking Iron. A braid fell, swinging by her jaw. “Sander says you’ve come to stop the High King. Do you really want to kill him?”

Did he? Iron didn’t have any idea. Until the day before, he’d only ever heard of him as the Good King of Eloia. Sander must have fed her lines to keep her from gnawing at the truth. Better feed her another crumb. “I don’t even know him. But…”
 

Iron shook his head. Sol and his cult worshipped the Serpent, the god who claimed he could raise a new Sun without the Six. In the lands the king ruled, the man lingered on every mind, watched from every shadow. “If he’s trying to destroy the Six, we’ll try and find a way to stop him.”

“You sound about as convincing as a moon maiden telling her third patron how much her heart is his. What is your real goal then, if not to kill Sol?” Her lips tightened into a white line. She plucked the dagger from the crate and rolled a fingertip over the edge of the blade while her eyes fixed on him. “Why did I save you if you don’t even want to stop him?”

Iron glanced at Sander. The man’s snores could have raised the dead. Sander forced a Sinner’s Oath from Iron that sealed his magic. Iron never vowed to hide his visions.

“Wolves came to us in the lower reaches and drove us from our home. I…I know they were more than wolves. They looked at me like men and spoke Common. Can you believe that?”

“There’re many monsters in Urum much stranger than talking wolves.”

“They slaughtered a pale doe right in front of me.” Why was he telling her this? Iron barely knew her and definitely didn’t trust her, yet the words spilled out like a thundersnow. “But before they killed her, the doe told me the circle is broken, and that the Serpent would come for me. I don’t know what it means, I just—” He laughed and rubbed the back of his neck. “I’m lost. I only know Sol wants me and that some circle is broken that shouldn’t be. Sander thinks I’m mad. Maybe I am.”
 

Ayska didn’t have a quip ready for him. He stared at the deck, remembering the brutal slaughter of such a pure creature and the woman’s voice. Gods, he
knew
that voice.

“What do you think?” he finally asked, looking up.

“The circle is broken.” She stared at him, her normally rich skin a shade lighter. “You’re sure that’s what you heard?”

Iron nodded. A lump traveled down Ayska’s throat, and she looked to the horizon. “The circle is broken, and only blood and fire seals it. Forgive us, oh beloved sons and daughters, for hope requires sacrifice.”

“What?”
 

“It’s a passage from the
Father’s Lament
. My father, he, ah, obsessed over the book.” The cheery blush of her cheeks paled as her smile flattened. “It’s the opening sentence. No one knows what it really means because the book didn’t speak any more of it.”