Witchbreaker (Dragon Apocalypse) (33 page)

Mako opened his massive jaws, his head tilting back so that his face effectively disappeared, leaving nothing but a gaping maw filled with rows of arrowhead teeth perched upon his shoulders. He closed his mouth and said, “I wasn’t born like this, you know.”

“You can’t pretend you didn’t spend a great deal of time studying your new mouth in the mirror,” she said, as she stretched her wings to their fullest extent. Light seeped through the flesh at its thinnest points, revealing dark veins.

“I don’t need to pretend,” said Mako. “I don’t look at myself in the mirror. Ever. The others may have gotten rewards from the Mer-King, but I’ve been given a curse.”

“It can’t all be bad,” said Sorrow. “You seem to be a lot stronger than a normal man. I’m under the impression you can stay underwater a long time as well.”

Mako shrugged. “Being strong and a good swimmer are normally things that girls find attractive. But girls stay far away from me. The few that do talk to me never stop staring at my teeth.”

“I’m not a good person to talk to about romantic frustrations,” said Sorrow, looking over her shoulder to study her back in the mirror. “I find the subject entirely uninteresting.”

“You aren’t interested in children?”

“In what way?” As she said this, the image of the head they’d found on the butcher block flashed into her mind.

“In having them.”

“Oh. No. I think not.”

“But you’re estranged from your father,” said Mako. “Don’t you want a family of your own?”

She chuckled. “For now, I’ll just keep borrowing yours.”

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

STORMCALLER

B
Y MIDNIGHT, THE
dock next to the
Circus
glowed as bright as noon from all the candles. Along the waterfront, crowds had gathered, singing in a language Sorrow didn’t understand.

At this point, all the Romers were awake and on deck. Mako seemed especially highly strung as he paced along the railing.

“Calm down,” Sage said as she stared into her spyglass. “There’s no point in getting worked up. I’ll see if anyone tries to board, but I don’t think anyone’s going to bother us. Listen to the music. This isn’t some battle anthem. It’s a hymn. They aren’t here to hurt us.”

“It’s still spooky,” Cinnamon said from her perch in the rigging. “Look at all the coffins.”

Sorrow had made note of them herself. The local mausoleums had apparently been emptied out. For all the living people in the crowd, there were just as many coffins, lids open, their skeletal contents lifted for a better view of the ship.

Poppy was balanced on the rail near the gangplank, steadying herself with a hand on the rigging. “If anyone tries to bring a coffin on board, I’m popping it to the moon.”

“This might be a good time to talk about Slate,” Jetsam said to Sorrow.

“Right,” said Sorrow. Then, addressing the rest of the Romers, “Slate and the others are bringing back a coffin.”

“I know,” said Sage. “They’re almost here. The crowds are slowing them down.”

“I see them too!” Jetsam cried out.

Sorrow’s eyes followed Jetsam’s pointing finger. She couldn’t make much sense of the jumble of humanity before her. Finally, she saw a coffin held higher than the others. She recognized the coffin she’d made, and watched as Slate and Brand pushed their way through the crowd to the dock. Each was holding up one end of the casket. Bigsby walked between them. He broke free as they neared the gangplank and rushed back aboard the ship.

“I thought I was going to be trampled to death,” he said, gasping.

Slate and Brand marched up the gangplank and laid the closed coffin carefully onto the deck. Brand glanced at Sorrow. “So,” he said. “You seem... popular.”

“How can you be sure they’re here to see me?”

“Because street venders are selling little winged dolls woven from marsh grass and cornhusks.” He produced one of the dolls from his pocket. The cornhusk wings had been dyed black with squid ink. “They’re saying the Death Angel has come to free them from their oppressors.”

Sorrow eyed the spires of the nearest church.

“Don’t,” said Brand.

“Give me one reason why I shouldn’t,” said Sorrow.

“Because if you lead this mob on a church-burning rampage, you’ll only be setting the stage for tragedy.”

“I’ll be helping to lift the colonial boot from their neck,” said Sorrow.

“Let’s say you spark a rebellion. Once news reaches the Silver City, the king will simply launch his navy to retake this town. Or maybe the Isle of Storm will hear about the rebellion and decide that now’s a good time to stage an invasion. Maybe you’ll get a thrill from watching these churches burn. Will you get an equal thrill when tens of thousands of people die from the war you trigger?”

Sorrow clenched her fists. “How am I at fault if there’s war? The blame falls upon the king who claimed land not his own in the first place! For too long in this world, we’ve accepted that might makes right. Is it not better to die free than to live in fear?”

“That philosophy is the foundation of my life,” said Gale. “But if these people long for freedom, they must seize it themselves. They have the power to set fire to a church or a jail. Instead, they light candles beseeching you to save them.”

“If I have the power to save them, shouldn’t I?”

“If you lead them to war tonight, are you willing to remain here for years to come to lead them into peace?” Gale asked. “Are you a builder? Or only a destroyer?”

Sorrow turned her back to the crowd. Her body felt like a spring that had been wound for fifteen years. Now was the time to release a lifetime of tension and achieve her first important victory against the church.

She took a deep breath, opening her hands, staring into them. She knew Brand had a point. The king would only send his navy. With all the wealth and worshippers commanded by the Church of the Book, any church she watched burn tonight would be rebuilt within a year. Leading these people might win a fleeting battle, but would do nothing toward winning her war.

“You’re right,” she said, tersely. “It’s not worth the price. Let’s depart for Raitingu before I change my mind.”

“Raitingu?” Rigger asked. “Why, exactly, are we going to the Isle of Storm?”

Slate answered. “This coffin holds the mortal remains of Lord Stark Tower. I feel it’s my duty to deliver them to the Temple of the Book.”

“Stark Tower?” Rigger asked. “The Witchbreaker? Are you sure?”

Slate drew the ebony sword from the scabbard on his back. The howls of the damned gibbered around him. “I’m reasonably sure.”

“That is so windswept!” Poppy said, jumping down and running up to stare at the blade.

“Windswept?” asked Slate.

“It means amazing, or wonderful,” said Jetsam.

“Can I hold it?” Poppy asked.

“I don’t think that’s wise,” said Slate as he slid the blade back into the scabbard. “Carrying the sword is a great responsibility. For now, its burden must be mine alone.”

“Still, wow, we’ve got a magic sword and a quest to travel to a legendary temple,” said Poppy. “This is just like the stories!”

Rigger cleared his throat. “Excuse me, but may I be the voice of reason and point out that Raitingu is an insanely dangerous place for us to visit?”

“When has that ever stopped us?” asked Jetsam.

“Our biggest advantage at sea is Ma’s ability to control winds,” said Rigger. “Maybe you’re unaware the priestesses who serve Tempest are known as stormcallers? They not only control wind, they also command rain and lightning.”

“And we control kicking butts,” said Jetsam. “Let them try to mess with us.”

“What about Levi?” Rigger asked.

That brought looks of concern to the faces of all the Romers.

“What about Levi?” asked Sorrow. “He was helpful when his hurricane came to our rescue north of Skell.”

“If we meet him near Raitingu, he’ll be defending the island,” said Rigger. “Are we really going to go there and possibly fight our own brother?”

Gale walked toward the wheel. “If we face Levi in battle, it’s because of choices he made, not us.” She took the wheel in hand. “In the meantime, we’re sailors. We go where the owner of the ship commands. So, Brand, what say you?”

“Sorry, Rigger,” said Brand. “Going to Raitingu makes sense to me as well.”

“Why? To bury some dead knight?”

“No. Because my father had business contacts there. I know several of them from a trip I took with my father when I was a teenager. Going there gives me a chance to make my case to them that my father’s economic empire should belong to me and Bigsby, not that gold-digger living in his mansion.”

“I thought you didn’t want to run your father’s business,” said Sorrow. “I thought you were happy to start a new life where you could make your own fame and fortune.”

“I am,” said Brand. “But that doesn’t mean I want some woman I don’t even know to enjoy the fruits of my father’s labor. She can’t do what she’s done to me and not expect to face the most horrible revenge I can dream of.”

“You’re going to kill her?” asked Sorrow.

“I’m going to sue her,” said Brand. “There are hundreds of lawyers in the Silver City who would like a piece of the Cooper fortune. With a few letters and the testimony of my father’s business partners, I’m going to wage a legal battle against my stepmother that will strip her of every last moon. She wants to use the law against me? Two people can play at this game.”

“I didn’t know you had a vengeful streak,” said Sorrow. “I like it.”

W
EEKS LATER, EIGHTY
miles out from Raitingu, the sea grew rough and choppy. Jetsam had been training Sorrow with daily practice flights since they left port, but the winds were so strong this morning that she kept being forced back into the rigging.

Jetsam stood in the ropes next her. She shouted, “It’s getting too dangerous. We should just go back down.”

“Oh?” He grinned. “You only want to fly in good weather?”

“Could you fly in this?”

“Sort of. It’s more like body surfing, only the waves are invisible. Once the wind gets this bad, you ride where it takes you.”

“When your mother wakes up, will she calm things down?”

“Maybe a little. But we’re close to the city of Kaikou, at the mouth of the Ookawa river. That’s where the cloud giants’ hurricane ships anchor when they need to take on supplies. They slow their winds when they’re over the city, but even at their lowest speed it’s like being caught in a tropical storm.”

“Hurricane ships?” Sorrow said. “Do you think Levi will be there?”

“Maybe.”

“I didn’t really get to talk to him much, but he seemed nice enough. How did he wind up getting involved with the Storm Guard?”

“It’s really more a matter of getting involved with a cloud giantess. Tempest forces all the cloud giants to serve in his military, even though they’re by nature gentle creatures. But when you live on clouds, and the dragon who has absolute control over clouds asks you to do something, you do it.”

Cold rain began to spatter against Sorrow’s wings. Worse, Sorrow had gotten used to Gale keeping the ship reasonable steady. Up here in the rigging, the pitching and swaying of the ship left her stomach lurching.

“It might be time to go below deck,” she said.

“Aw, it’s just a little water,” said Jetsam. “I need to stay on watch until Sage wakes up, but you go on down.”

Sorrow climbed carefully to the deck. The rigging grew increasingly slick as the rain set in with a vengeance. She wasn’t completely vulnerable to the elements. Bigsby had modified the cloak he’d made for her. It didn’t fit over her wings, but it served as a hooded shawl that protected her shoulders and head. Still, even with her head covered, her body was quickly drenched. She saw Rigger at the wheel, standing beneath a canopy made of a loose sail stretched between taut ropes that shielded him from the rain.

He shrugged as he watched her shivering and said, “There’s room for two.”

She tried to shield herself with her wings as she traversed the rolling deck, but the wetter they got the colder she felt. Her teeth were chattering by the time she made it under the canopy.

“Who says you don’t have sense enough to come in from the rain?” Rigger said.

She studied his face, unable to tell if she was being insulted. Though Rigger was only two years older than Jetsam, his thin face was marked by worry lines. He held out a steel flask. “Take a swig of this to warm yourself.”

“I don’t drink alcohol.”

“It’s only tea. I can’t keep it in a cup or it would slosh out.”

She took the flask, grateful for the warmth as she wrapped her fingers around it. She took a sip and nearly spit it out. It was unbearably bitter. “What is that?” she managed to ask despite the numbness spreading across her tongue.

“Just tea. A few cloves as well.”

“It doesn’t taste like tea.”