Submerged Page 23

  And suddenly, his hold released. She was free. She swam as she never had before, rising through the water like a bubble. Her arms ached, and her chest was tight with exertion. Beams of sunlight pierced the surface. She was almost there, but she hadn’t been able to take a proper breath. Her lungs burned. Darkness moved at the edges of her sight. She struggled, swimming as she never had before.

  Her head broke the water and she gulped breaths as if she’d never tasted air. Above her, she saw the mages peering over the edge. She raised the bracer, to let them see she’d succeeded, then began stroking toward the rocky shore. She wasn’t sure how long it would take her to walk back to the bluff from the beach, but she hoped they weren’t expecting her to climb. She was a diver, not a cliff bird.

  The water around her began to bubble and she righted herself. Was it Pen? A shimmering light surrounded her. It lifted her out of the water and she rode in its grasp to the top of the bluff. The light faded as she slid to the soft grass. Sorab rushed forward and embraced her. She hugged him, and noticed the bracer still tight on her arm. She wiggled it free and tossed it to the dark mage standing nearest.

  “Your trinket,” she said.

  The mage caught it. While she was gone, they’d gathered stones and built a firepit. Flames leaped from around the edges of a black pot. Together the mages chanted some words, then dropped the bracer into the pot. Light flared, sparks soared high into the air. She glanced back at the ocean. There, on top of the waves, she saw two silken wisps rising into the sky. They seemed to bow toward her before dissipating into the morning light. Somewhere in the distance, Aysu thought she heard a bellow of rage echoing across the water like the cry of a seabird.

  FATHOMS DEEP AND FATHOMS COLD

  A. Merc Rustad

  Tage lights a cigarette and watches the man in the scarlet fedora come nearer. Hat like that’s hard to miss. This one’s his contact. His heartbeat gets quick. The docks are loud, briny, thick with bodies. Storms scrape the horizon, kick up sharp winds. He can’t show desperation. It’ll get him killed or left stranded. Same difference.

  “Afternoon.” The man tips his hat. Long black duster hangs about a too-thin frame, but he don’t look weak. Dual revolvers rest on his hips. “I hear tell you’re looking for passage.”

  Tage grunts, shifts his weight for better balance. He didn’t expect another wizard. The twisty, rusted aura ’round the man is too fucked to be purely one Clan. It puts his guard up, fast. “Depends whereto.”

  The man smiles, charming. It never reaches his faded blue eyes. “We’re headed for Aldare. Whale Fall’s a good vessel, and we have room for a couple passengers who’ll work for it.” He speaks with a slow drawl. “You left a calling card with the barkeeper.”

  “I can work,” Tage says. He don’t have enough to pay even a modest fare. He ran, scarce a fortnight ago. Left everything behind. He ain’t got much experience, and when word gets out he’s VanDrake, a wizard from one of the most feared Clans, no crew will risk taking him on.

  The Clan thinks he’s dead. He keeps trying not to wish it, too.

  “You ever been on a submersible?” the man asks.

  “Not yet.”

  The man hooks his thumbs through his belt. He might’ve been eye-catching once. Sharp-boned face, shaved, with odd-shaped tattoos across one cheek that match his hair—black and gray. He looks Tage up and down, critical. “It’s cramped. Not much space, and no deck. Can you handle living in metal and glass for long days?”

  Tage ain’t sure. There’s nowhere to run in the sea. “What’ll the work be?”

  “Manual, easy enough.” The man’s gaze is iron-hard. “Do what you’re told and no magic. Clear?”

  Tage’s gut turns. Something’s wrong here—not just the threat. The man should be asking more questions. “Yeah.”

  “Good.” Suddenly, the man smiles again and proffers a hand. “I’m Marcus Grey.”

  “Tage. VanDrake.” Last test. If the other wizard balks, shows any sign he’s here to grab Tage, he’ll run. Or fight. Ends the same—he won’t be taken back to the Clan.

  Marcus Grey’s expression and body language don’t change. “May I welcome you aboard the Whale Fall, VanDrake?”

  Self-exile. He don’t want to see the ghost-memories of everything he’s lost, the ones that won’t let him rest. It’s Kane’s face, mostly. He got his brother killed and he can’t forget. It hurts too much to stay here.

  Tage takes a final drag on the cigarette, drops it, then crushes the butt under his boot heel. He takes Grey’s hand, shakes it once. “Yeah.”

  * * *

  The Whale Fall ain’t even docked. Tage squints against the salt spray whitening the wharves. Waves shatter against piers, rock the ships at anchor. He’s so close to the furthest pier edge, one step and he’d be in the sea. He leans hard against the barnacle-crusted post.

  Beside him, Marcus Grey holds his fedora down with one hand, shields his eyes with the other. Wind scratches their coats, bites with ice.

  Tage shivers. He’s soaked through. Has to shout above the storm. “Where’s your boat?”

  Grey leans into the wind, teeth bared in delight. “She’ll be here. Hold steady.”

  Water froths, peels aside, and blackened steel rises from the ocean, well away from the dock. Tage can’t see more than the front of the Whale Fall. He almost steps back off the wood planking.

  The vessel’s long, arrow-shaped with a domed front made of shadow-darkened glass. Sharp fins line the top like a razored spine. Under the water, he glimpses pale light: circular windows dotting the sides. Even distanced, he feels the hum of unfamiliar power in his bones. Tage ain’t sure the ship’s alive, but it’s close.

  A skiff jumps against the waves, zips right toward them. Unmanned. It bumps against the pier, holds steady. A thin cable connects it somewhere near the middle of the submersible’s bulk.

  “Last chance to refuse,” Grey shouts.

  Wind gusts hair into Tage’s face and salt-stings his eyes. Escape. He tastes it, metallic in the air, sees it in the dark frame and magic-wrapped glass.

  He swings down next to Grey in the skiff. Reeled in, the tiny boat skims through the choppy waters. Tage grips the edges until his fingers numb. There’s a narrow ladder curling rib-like down the Whale Fall’s side. Grey climbs, quick, wet duster slapping his sides. Tage follows.

  Inside it’s too warm. They enter a small chamber, smooth walls and a ceiling higher than he expected. He can stand without hunching. The smell hits him. Dry air laced with sweat, metal. All ’round him the ship’s wards brush his senses, solid and … safe. He expects hostility, pain. But the Whale Fall feels like a home.

  Unexpected, Tage wants to run. He don’t deserve to feel safe again.

  “Put your weapons here.” Grey touches one wall, a panel pops open. A small locker. Blue-green light rings the ceiling, thin piping he don’t recognize. No flames. “No one will touch your effects.”

  Tage eyes the other wizard. Grey’s magic still ain’t distilled into something he can pinpoint. It itches his nape, constant. He notices his clothes are drying fast.

  Grey grins. “We’re surrounded by an ocean. I don’t need wet crew dripping in the halls.”

  Above them, a hatch snaps closed and Grey spins the lock. Air hisses, then the hatch is sealed. Tage puts the pistols and two knives in the locker. Don’t take off the charms ’round his wrists, or the boot knives.

  Grey only lifts an eyebrow. “If you harm anyone on this vessel without my permission, VanDrake, I’ll give you to the sea.”

  Tage narrows his eyes. Long as no one gives him reason to hurt ’em, he won’t. He’s an enforcer. He’s used to threats. He nods once, shows he understands.

  A narrow hallway leads them to another room, this one with windows. Tage blinks. Some mirrored trick or illusion on the glass lets him see the full length of the Whale Fall, prow to tail.

  “I can sense everything inside and out on this ship,” Grey says. “But I like to give t
he men a good view, too.”

  Tage gives Grey a sidelong glance. He shifts, can’t entirely dismiss the way the wizard’s damp clothes cling against his body.

  Engines hum, propellers turn. They begin sinking. He grabs the wall, his stomach near his throat. The storm-tossed waters turn from slate to deeper blue, then black. Downwards. Lights snap on against the Whale Fall’s sides, illuminate the deeps.

  The turbulence eases.

  Tage touches the glass. It sparks with a rust-tinged magic bite, but it don’t hurt him.

  “I’ve warded the whole ship,” Grey says. “I won’t say it was easy, or gets easier with each voyage, but it’s what I live for.” The madness ain’t faded from his eyes. “To traverse the ocean deeps, where no man can live. …It’s like walking among the stars of Heaven.”

  More like Hell, in the dark, where there’s nothing alive.

  “Giving your usual poetic spiel to the unwary, Mr. Grey?”

  Tage turns, sharp. He keeps his back straight, don’t drop hand to his pistol. Realizes too late he’s already locked it away.

  “You wound me, Captain.” There’s a smile in Grey’s voice. “I did warn Mr. VanDrake what life aboard this ship was like.”

  A woman in an immaculate white smoking jacket and high black boots strolls towards them, flanked by two crewmen. Big, broad, hair as white as her coat, the captain projects authority, calm. She ain’t one to trifle with.

  Tage nods, polite. “Captain.”

  Captain Norris’s sharp gaze sweeps Tage head to toe. It’s got none of the suggestiveness Grey’s looks do. “Another wizard, Mr. Grey?”

  Tage glances at Grey, who shrugs one shoulder.

  “Very well. You will follow Mr. Grey’s orders to earn your passage.” The captain offers a hand. “Might I welcome you aboard, Mr. VanDrake?”

  Tage shakes Norris’s hand, still tense.

  The captain turns. “We dive to fifteen fathoms, and then continue deep across the sea.”

  The trio leave Tage and Grey alone.

  “This way,” Grey says. Down the hall again, into another shallow room. Brass-rimmed circular windows dot the wall. These don’t show the full vessel, just the sea’s darkness. “This is the port observation pod. It’s got a fine view, if you fancy.”

  Grey leads him through all of Whale Fall: the bridge, the tiny crew bunks, the engines, the galley, one observation pod that smells of tobacco smoke. “If you want to smoke, you do it here and only here,” Grey says.

  They arrive back at the tiny cabin Tage has been given. A narrow bunk built into the wall, a chest, nothing more. It’s enough.

  “We run on engine power for a while,” Grey says. He leans against the door, left open. “I’ve a few volumes of nautical research, if you like dry reading. Savatori has cards or dice. You can always ask Alton, the ship’s cabin boy, if you want anything else.”

  Tage nods. “So what do you do?”

  Grey’s teeth show. “I’ll show you.”

  Behind the bridge there’s a ladder that leads up to a small domed chamber hidden among the sharp fins atop the ship. The air smells of dried sweat and leather. Tage squints. His nape tenses. Too easy to get jumped in the dark.

  “Watch,” Grey says, and the darkness changes, shifts. Takes a moment before Tage realizes the walls have slid back. They’re in a glass bubble, nothing but the sea above and all around them.

  Tage’s breath catches. The submersible is descending at a slow incline, lights wrapping the ship in faint luminescence. Sleek fish flit past, a silver band in the soft headlamp’s glow. The edges of rock formations shimmer with crabs and clams, and he spots a school of multi-colored fish dancing around long strands of kelp that float like ghosts.

  Grey lays a hand against the glass. “This is what makes it worth it. Our cargo manifest, the jobs we take. It’s mercurial. Necessary. This is what reminds me there are beautiful things in the world.” He rests his forehead on his arm. “It’s the closest I feel to home.”

  Tage glances sharp at Grey. He didn’t expect that—the other wizard sounds lonely. Adrift, like him.

  “Where you from?” Tage asks.

  “Originally? Aldare, but I’ve not called that home in a long time.”

  A manta ray glides past them. Tage cranes his neck, watches the winged fish sail through the water graceful as an angel. His throat tightens. He wishes Kane were here. His brother would’ve loved everything about the submersible. Would’ve asked all the questions Tage can’t think of.

  “You look like you need a drink,” Grey says.

  In the galley, Alton the cabin boy sets two wooden mugs on the narrow table. Can’t be more than fourteen. Pale, sandy-haired, bright-eyed.

  Grey catches Alton’s elbow and offers a wry smile. “Get the cook’s old brandy, and grab a mug for yourself. New hands need to be properly christened!”

  The kid grins, scuttles off. Tage don’t miss the admiring glances Alton casts at Grey over his shoulder.

  Grey sobers soon as the kid is out of sight. “I won’t ask who you lost.”

  Tage opens his mouth, the words dried in his throat. Sharp pain scrapes behind his eyes, salty. He glares and clenches his hands on his knees. Grey looks at him—Tage never did find the line between pity and sympathy. Neither will bring his brother back.

  “May the one you lost rest well until the Heavens return.” Grey touches his knuckles against his chest and then spreads his hand, palm up.

  The gesture throws Tage. That a stranger would care don’t make sense. He looks away.

  Alton returns. Grey takes the bottle, pours them each a brandy. He passes one to the kid.

  “To our new crewmate, Mr. Tage VanDrake. Long life and health to you—and may you always stay on the ocean’s good will.” Grey tosses back his drink.

  Why not. Tage drains his mug.

  * * *

  A day passes. Tage checks for any loosened bolts along the ballast tanks. Wrench in his hand’s like a club. Still, it’s work and he don’t have to think. Marcus Grey comes to check on him, nods in approval at the job done, Tage feels good. Ain’t lost that want for appreciation.

  “What Clan are you from?” he asks. The odd sensation any time he’s near Grey unsettles him. He needs to know.

  “Originally VanMere.” A Clan renowned for its fascination with and power of illusions. As if to prove it, he twists his hands and cups the life-like image of a fire dragon, the symbol from which the VanDrake Clan took its name. The palm-sized dragon hisses at Tage; its teeth look all-too sharp. Tage is impressed.

  Marcus tosses the dragon into the air and it slithers into the ballast tank and vanishes. “That was a long time ago. You know how invasive magic is.”

  It’s in blood and seed, the whole body. The magic spreads through sex: wizards taking the uninfected and turning them. Ain’t always consensual. Wizards need other wizard lovers to keep the magic strong, replenished. The magic can also be taken: pulled through skin and breath. It’s agonizing, messy, deadly. Takes a skilled wizard to channel another’s power and use it as their own without killing their partner. Tage’s handler, Bonnie Frost, is one such woman. She did it to him rarely, but he sometimes has nightmares about the pain.

  “So happens, I had a few too many partners who weren’t VanMere. Including VanDrake wizards.” Marcus winks. “Over the years, it changes a man.” He rubs a thumb along the steel-plated wall. “I call claim to no Clan anymore.”

  Tage’s fingers twitch. He used to hunt rogues. How’s he any better, now?

  Unexpected, Marcus laughs. He streaks his hair back with one hand. “Clanless doesn’t mean rogue, Tage. The VanMere Clan disowned me. Not the other way around.”

  “Clans don’t let anyone go.” Kane’s dead because of that. Because of him. He clenches his fists before he chokes on guilt, on tears he ain’t shed.

  Marcus eyes him up and down again. “Hell’s saddle, you’re a piece of work. I forget how hard they break you in.”

  He tenses, throa
t tight. He ain’t broken.

  No, he fought to keep Kane safe. Except he pressed too hard, and Kane ran, joined a murderous rogue to escape. A malfunctioning portal killed Kane and the rogue. Alive one moment, dead the next. Nothing Tage could do to stop it.

  Tage needs air, needs it bad. He turns, stumbles into the hall. He’s so alone it hurts. Knife-wounds and crushed bones don’t bring pain like this. He wants it to stop. All around, the water presses at him. The sea is forever, massive. It’ll crush him. He needs out.

  A hand claps his shoulder. “Breathe, mate.”

  He jerks away, turns.

  Marcus lifts his arms, non-threatening, and steps back. “Easy there, easy. You’re pressure sick. Happens to some on first dive. Breathe slow, it’ll pass.”

  Tage leans back against the wall, fists clenched. Focuses on what’s real: his coat. It’s his pride. He’s been VanDrake for ten years, since he was fourteen. Heavy, supple leather presses against his shoulders and spine, grounds him. Air in his lungs is enough. The panic ebbs.

  Tage sucks in a shaky breath, then another. The ocean don’t feel as close, now. The submersible’s shielded, safe. He won’t drown. He nods once, not trusting his voice.

  Marcus offers a wry, honest smile. “Good. Just rest. It gets better, one way or another.”

  * * *

  Third day into the journey, Marcus swings by his cabin after evening mess. “How you doing?”

  Tage is reading one of the books Savatori lent him—a pulp novel about pirates. He’s not impressed. Pirates ain’t nearly that civilized in his experience. He sets the book down. “Fine.”

  Marcus leans on the doorframe. His shirt’s unbuttoned, and he ain’t wearing his hat. Looks relaxed. “Glad to hear. We’ll be in Aldare by midday tomorrow. We’ve just entered the Trench of Heaven.”

  “The what?”

  Marcus grins. “Norris dubbed it. It’s a rift cut deep between bedrock. Total blackness. I think she meant it as a joke. Still, it’s a direct path and still waters for a dozen leagues or so. Couple hours and we’ll start purging the ballast tanks and rising towards the shallows.”