*
El-i-miir thrust her head out over the railing and vomited. It was the constant rocking that did it. Days on board this Maker-forsaken riverboat had left her stomach in tatters. She could barely keep a meal down, let alone function. This was El-i-miir’s first time traveling by boat and would be her last if she had anything to do with it. She was exhausted. Every time she’d tried to sleep the boat lurched in one direction or the other.
‘El-i-miir,’ Seteal’s voice drifted over.
‘What?’ El-i-miir replied, rolling her eyes and turning to face the woman.
‘You got a minute?’
‘I’m still standing here, aren’t I?’ El-i-miir grumbled impatiently, her stomach churning furiously. ‘I’m sorry.’ She raised a hand before Seteal could speak. ‘That was uncalled for. I’m more than just a little seasick.’
Seteal’s eyes hit the deck. ‘I came to apologise.’
‘What?’ El-i-miir raised her eyebrows dubiously.
‘The way Far-a-mael has been treating the demon would be hard for anyone to take.’ Seteal shrugged. ‘It’s not your fault it upsets you. To be honest, I’m surprised it doesn’t bother me. It would’ve once. I don’t know what’s wrong with me lately.’
‘Um . . . thanks.’ El-i-miir shrugged and looked away. She was well aware of why Seteal wasn’t bothered by Ilgrin’s ill-treatment. ‘Forget about it.’
‘No, I mean it.’ Seteal frowned. ‘I’m sorry. I’ve said a few really horrible things to you and you didn’t deserve it. Especially with the way you looked after me when . . . when we were in Sitnic.’
‘It’s fine,’ El-i-miir snapped. ‘Look, I have to go lie down. I haven’t been getting any sleep. I’ll talk to you later.’ She hurried away. It was easier when Seteal hated her, the guilt brought on by the burden of knowing the truth then feeling less severe.
When El-i-miir reached her cramped quarters she slithered out of her clothes and into a nightdress. She took a step toward her bed, but stopped short. Something wasn’t right. El-i-miir turned around to examine the weavings of light all around her, but there was nothing out of the ordinary. Still, she couldn’t shake the sensation that something was wrong, kind of like the feeling one might get when something was missing, but they didn’t know what. El-i-miir’s eyes fell upon a little bird making himself comfortable atop the wardrobe.
‘Seeol,’ she gasped. ‘What’re you doing here?’
‘Ilgrin is sad.’
‘I don’t care,’ El-i-miir replied dismissively.
‘He’s not too different,’ Seeol’s head twitched about as he inspected the room. ‘He just looks silly.’
‘You’re just an owl.’ El-i-miir sighed. ‘I shouldn’t expect you to understand. ‘Why’re you here anyway?’
‘Ilgrin is sad.’
‘No.’ El-i-miir shook her head. ‘I mean, what’re you doing on the boat? You think we can help you? Seteal doesn’t know what she’s talking about. Elglair abilities cannot break the laws of possibility.’
‘Emquin said you can go and turn a horse into a people,’ the owl lowered his head dejectedly.
‘Emquin.’ El-i-miir tried out the unusual name. ‘Who’s that?’
‘My friend, but you eated her!’ Seeol shrieked passionately.
‘Oh, the horse.’ El-i-miir chuckled as she realised what the owl was going on about. ‘Horses can’t talk.’
‘Most can’t.’ Seeol nodded thoughtfully. ‘Darra can’t. But Emquin could. She was a person once, but a whisp cuddled her into a horse.’
El-i-miir frowned at the bird and stared at him for a long time. ‘I’m sure you’ve been mistaken.’
‘You eated her.’
El-i-miir hurried through the doorway, along the corridor and down the spiral staircase, her feet slapping noisily on the metal as she went. She reached the hold and stopped abruptly to stare at the imposing metal door. The silt lurked within.
‘Ilgrin,’ El-i-miir whispered after some hesitation. There was no response. ‘I have to speak with you.’ She rested her ear against the cold door. ‘Please.’ All was silent. El-i-miir found herself tracing a finger along the wheel on the door. It wouldn’t be too dangerous to go inside. The silt was chained to a bench. El-i-miir turned the wheel, jumping when it squeaked loudly. ‘Ilgrin,’ she repeated in a hushed voice. ‘I’m coming in to speak with you. Please . . . please don’t kill me.’
Clenching the wheel with both hands, El-i-miir turned it and was satisfied to hear a loud thud as the lock shifted. She was opening a very dangerous door to some very unfamiliar territory, but she took a deep breath and stepped across the threshold. The silt sat on the bench, his leathery wings crumpled against the walls to either side. His knees were tucked up under his chin and his arms were wrapped around them. His straight, bluish-black hair sat neatly above purple eyes that followed El-i-miir with suspicion, although without malice.
Upon seeing the conditions in which Ilgrin was being held, El-i-miir lost her confidence and started to back away.
‘Don’t be scared,’ he said, his voice strained.
‘Why didn’t you answer me when I called through before?’
‘I’m tired,’ he replied softly. ‘I’m just so tired. What do you want?’
‘I . . . it’s Seeol.’ El-i-miir laughed dismissively. ‘He speaks such silly nonsense, doesn’t he?’
‘I suppose.’ Ilgrin shrugged and looked away.
‘It’s just that . . . he said something about your horse.’ El-i-miir hesitated, fearing how the silt might react. ‘He said she was like him . . . that she was different.’
‘Emquin was different,’ Ilgrin confirmed, rising to his feet to loom over El-i-miir, forcing her to take a step back. ‘I was honoured to call her my friend, but she wasn’t anything like Seeol.’
‘Oh, thank Maker,’ El-i-miir exhaled in relief.
‘She wasn’t like Seeol,’ Ilgrin repeated. ‘She was like us.’
‘What?’ El-i-miir choked out.
‘Emquin was as human as you.’ Ilgrin frowned regretfully. ‘She was from the borderlands and was changed by a whisp.’
‘But . . . ’ El-i-miir’s jaw worked. ‘But that means . . .’
‘You ate somebody,’ Ilgrin finished for her.
‘Oh, Maker,’ El-i-miir put a hand over her stomach and gagged. ‘I’m going to be sick.’
‘Not in my cell,’ Ilgrin cringed and moved to push E-i-miir out the door.
There was a loud cracking sound. Together, Ilgrin and El-i-miir followed the sound to its source. Ilgrin had been chained to the bench, but the bench had only been attached to the wall by a single bolt. As he’d stepped forward to push El-i-miir out of the way the bolt had cracked out of the wall and the bench hit the ground. The chain that’d been looped around it slid away and Ilgrin was no longer a prisoner.
El-i-miir looked into the silt’s eyes and he into hers, both of them frozen in disbelief, neither quite sure of what to do next. El-i-miir reacted first, throwing herself over the threshold and slamming her weight against the door.
‘Hey!’ a crewman shouted as he ran across the hold, dropping a bucket of horse-feed as he went. A second man looked up at the sound and began racing toward the scene.
El-i-miir screamed as the door exploded open, her strength useless against the demon within. She hit the ground hard, turning in time to catch a glimpse of Ilgrin’s expression of desperation before the crewmen hit the door and put their weight against it.
‘What in Maker’s name is that thing?’ one of them cried out.
Rather than answering, El-i-miir too put her weight against the door. Despite the three of them working together, their efforts were not enough and the door moved against them. ‘I can’t hold it,’ one of the crewmen grunted. Ilgrin thrust open the door with a victorious shout, sending the three of them stumbling backward. He stepped into the hold and stretched out his intimidating wings.
‘What’s going on here?’ Seteal asked, appearing halfway down
the spiral staircase. Of course, when she spotted the silt, the question was no longer relevant.
Ilgrin turned toward the sound of Seteal’s voice and hesitated, perhaps remembering the part he’d played in her fate. The hesitation was enough. El-i-miir closed her eyes and steadied her breathing, urging the Ways to submit to her.
The world was a litany of lights that snaked across the room, tracing the paths the crewmen had taken across the hold. Some were old and faded, whilst others still burned bright. Ilgrin’s aura glowed purple, green and red as panic and desperation suffocated his better judgement. He launched himself across the room, racing for sweet freedom. But it was too late. El-i-miir opened her hand and strands of translucency penetrated Ilgrin’s aura. The colourless strings whipped through the air, visible only by the warping of anything seen through them.
Ilgrin stopped just strides from a very pale and wide-eyed Seteal. El-i-miir focused on sending portions of her own consciousness through the strands and into Ilgrin’s being. A moment later she was able to see Seteal from two perspectives, one across the room and the other right before her. The two images were superimposed in such a way that it would confuse anyone not trained in how to interpret them. El-i-miir swallowed nervously as she folded Ilgrin’s wings behind their back. She felt the inhuman strength carried within the silt’s muscles and Ilgrin shuddered in horror.
His expression blank, El-i-miir walked the silt back to his cell. She stepped him inside and he shut the door. Seteal wasted no time in hurrying down the remaining steps, rushing across the room and spinning the wheel. Only then did El-i-miir release Ilgrin’s Way. A shout of frustration came from within the small cell as Ilgrin banged his fist against the door.
‘There’s a demon on board.’ One of the crewmen stood transfixed. ‘For the love of Maker . . . a demon!’
‘What do you think you’re doing?’ Seteal levelled El-i-miir beneath a reproving stare. ‘Have you forgotten what that thing is capable of?’
‘No, I . . . ’ El-i-miir shook her head, devastated by her own stupidity. She was more sensible than that! How could she have allowed herself to trust the silt so far? ‘Seeol said something and I had to find out. I didn’t think.’
‘Clearly.’ Seteal pushed herself away from the door, as the crewmen departed, undoubtedly in a hurry to report what they’d seen to Captain Waxnah. ‘Well, I’m not going to waste my breath reprimanding you. When Far-a-mael finds out, you’ll be lucky if you come out alive.’
With that, Seteal left the hold and headed upstairs. El-i-miir watched her leave before putting a hand to her throat. Seteal had just spoken to her from a position of authority. How had that happened? And more importantly, when had it happened? Every single decision El-i-miir had made lately resulted in Seteal seeming increasingly sensible and El-i-miir increasingly juvenile. Had Far-a-mael noticed it? He’d probably instigated it. El-i-miir was toward the end of her studies so she didn’t need as much one on one time with the old man, but still she hadn’t had a single lesson with him since Seteal had joined them. Not one. Was she being replaced? No, it was worse--she was being cast aside. El-i-miir’s training had once been Far-a-mael’s proudest ambition. Now she was only in the way.
‘If you don’t want to be treated like a fool, stop acting one,’ she murmured, wiping away tears and straightening her dress. When she looked up, Far-a-mael was standing at the base of the steps. ‘Gil’rei!’
‘You foolish girl.’ Far-a-mael strode across the room and slapped her across the face. ‘You’re both an embarrassment to me and to yourself. That stupid child upstairs has more sense than you. Do you understand? You . . . a young woman born of wealth, raised with every possible advantage imaginable and the opportunity to train beneath the most powerful gil ever to grace the cleff in which I discovered you. You, with an Elglair education are a greater embarrassment to me than that empty-headed carpenter’s daughter.’ Spittle flew from Far-a-mael’s mouth as he shouted in El-i-miir’s face, his anger far surpassing anything she’d seen from him before.
‘But, Gil’rei--’
‘Shut up!’ Far-a-mael clapped a hand around El-i-miir’s throat, but seemed to think better of it and pulled away. ‘I do not want to hear you. I do not want to see you. Torrid, I don’t even want to catch a whiff of your perfume for the remainder of this trip.’
‘Yes, Gil’rei.’ El-i-miir lowered her eyes, but Far-a-mael hadn’t finished.
‘That creature in there--’ He jabbed a finger toward the door. ‘--has the strength to kill everyone on board this boat without stopping to catch its breath.’ He put his face close to El-i-miir’s, having lowered his voice abruptly. ‘You do not want to be responsible for Seteal’s death. Let me impress upon you, if nothing else, that if you ruin this for our people I’ll see you are sent to Vish’el’Tei to die after you’ve been tortured to within an inch of your piteous life. You’ll cry out to see your own blood long before your last breath will give you peace. Have I made myself clear?’
‘Very,’ El-i-miir squeaked. She’d never heard of a crime being so heavily punished, but was under no illusions that Far-a-mael was without the power to follow through on his threat.
‘Good,’ the gil murmured, turning away. ‘Waxnah threatened to kick us off at the final town before Cold Wood. I’ve had to double my payment. You can explain the additional expenditure to High Elder Gez-reil.’ El-i-miir quivered like a leaf but otherwise remained stuck to the spot. ‘Well?’ Far-a-mael barked. ‘Get out of my sight.’
As if someone had pushed her from behind, El-i-miir charged up stairs and into her room. At first she didn’t realise what the sound was. But before long she recognised it. The long, guttural cries were not those of a human. The sound penetrated the riverboat, no place being a suitable refuge from it. With the crew aware of his presence, Far-a-mael had lost any need to keep Ilgrin quiet . . . and the silt was too strong. El-i-miir knew what was happening, but climbed into bed and threw the covers over her head. She couldn’t know precisely what horrors Far-a-mael was inflicting on the silt, but they were likely both mentally and physically draining. Weakened captives behaved themselves.
El-i-miir rolled over and closed her eyes. She knew Ilgrin was innocent, even if he was a silt. He was a good man. She shuddered at the realisation. On a rational level she knew it was true, but emotionally . . . he was still a demon. El-i-miir was weak. She was a coward. Seteal had been taken against her will, raped, beaten and still she stood strong, holding closely to her values and beliefs. Seteal always followed her heart and did what she knew was right. El-i-miir hid beneath her blankets and cowered like a beaten dog. If she were anything like Seteal, she’d have set Ilgrin free, to torrid with the consequences. But she was not Seteal. She was a scared little girl, diligently obeying the commands of her superiors.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHANGING MINDS