Dark Currents

  Amaranthe had felt nothing except warmth when she handled the fob, but she nodded for him to explain further.

  “Much, much stronger though.” Akstyr closed his eyes again. “Like the difference in light between a star and the sun.”

  “It’s a device?” Amaranthe asked. “Not a person?”

  “A Made artifact, yes.”

  “Is it what’s causing the problem with the water?” she asked.

  “I can’t tell what it is or does, just that it’s here.”

  Amaranthe turned to Sicarius and Books. “Thoughts?”

  “Nothing natural is causing the peculiarities with the wildlife,” Sicarius said.

  “Agreed,” Books said. “I don’t know much about magical devices—”

  “Made artifacts,” Akstyr said.

  “Right,” Books said. “I don’t know much about them, but it seems likely this is the source of our problems.”

  “Where is this artifact?” Maldynado was lounging against a tree, exchanging glowers with the heron. The bird seemed transfixed by the feathered plume jutting from his hat—angry that some fellow bird had died for fashion? “We’ll send Amaranthe in with her pistol to shoot it like she did the other one.”

  She sighed. She should not have shared the details of her brief incarceration in the gambling house.

  “I think,” Akstyr said, “it’s at the bottom of the lake.”

  “That sounds…problematic,” Amaranthe said. The steep walls of the valley, carved from glaciers long ago, probably extended below the water’s surface. She doubted this reservoir had many shallow spots.

  Maldynado stroked his chin. “How long can you hold your breath, boss?”

  “Even if it was a long time,” she said, “black powder doesn’t light underwater.”

  “What’s the plan?” Sicarius asked.

  Yes, time for action. “You, Basilard, and I will check the camp. Books, Akstyr, and Maldynado, I’m putting you on artifact-investigation duty.”

  “Investigating something at the bottom of a lake will be difficult,” Books said.

  “I agree,” she said. “That’s why I want your brain cogitating on how to do it.”

  Books lifted his chin. “I understand.”

  Maldynado snorted. “Books’s brain will probably tell him to give it a lecture.”

  Books sneered at him.

  “Books, you’re in charge of those two,” Amaranthe said. “Use them as you see fit.”

  His irritated expression turned speculative, and a faint smile crept onto his lips. “In charge, you say?”

  “Wait a minute.” Maldynado pushed away from his tree. “Books is in charge of me?”

  Amaranthe waved his objection away. “Akstyr, get them as close as you can to the artifact. Books will figure out a way to take a look at it. It’ll be dark in a couple of hours, so you better get moving. I probably needn’t say it, but stay out of sight. The soldiers are here to investigate the same thing we are, and they may have patrols around the lake. Patrols that would be happy to shoot outlaws foolish enough to cross their path.”

  The heron ruffled its wings, then flapped them and took off.

  CHAPTER 17

  A surprising amount of smoke thickened the air, hanging low amongst the ferns and evergreens. The soldiers were certainly not being discreet. The smoke stung Amaranthe’s eyes and tickled her nostrils. She blinked away the irritation and hung back, letting Sicarius and Basilard lead the way toward the camp. After her admonition to the others to be careful, she did not want to be the one to step on a twig and alert everyone to their approach. The last time she had been forced to fight enforcers with Sicarius at her side, it had gone poorly…for the enforcers. A victory against those she wanted as allies was no victory.

  Sicarius had offered to scout the camp on his own, but she wanted to see what the enforcers and soldiers were up to. Assuming they had the same goal she did, they had a day’s head start. What had they done with it?

  Ahead of her, Basilard and Sicarius stopped.

  Much smoke, Basilard signed.

  No cook fire, Sicarius signed back.

  Amaranthe had not realized he had learned Basilard’s hand code, nor had she seen him use it, but he did so now flawlessly. She crept up and joined them. They found a spur of high ground where they could gaze down upon the camp with copious trees in between for cover. On the pebbly shore, a huge bonfire burned, easily eight feet long. The two male enforcers tended it, tossing on more wood.

  Not a bonfire, Amaranthe realized. A funeral pyre.

  “Looks like they had an eventful night,” she murmured, wondering if it had been wise to split her group.

  The female enforcer sergeant paced into view.

  “We should be in there with them.” The woman clenched her fists as she stalked about the pyre.

  “You’ve got to stay here, Sarge,” one man said. “Those monsters like women.”

  Basilard’s head jerked up.

  “They seemed to like the men fine too.” The sergeant jabbed her hand toward the funeral pyre.

  Amaranthe leaned forward, resting her hand on the papery bark of a birch. She wanted more information, but the woman paced back into a tent. The men at the fire said nothing. If there were others in the camp, they were in the tents or otherwise hidden from view.

  Sicarius signed, Go?

  Amaranthe exhaled slowly, tempted to watch longer or even approach. If there were only three people in there…

  She pointed at the camp and signed, Number?

  Sicarius’s eyes narrowed slightly. He probably sensed her scheming something.

  She smiled innocently.

  He flicked a finger for Basilard to go one way while he went the other. Amaranthe stayed by her tree and nibbled on a fingernail while she watched the enforcer men pile more wood onto the fire. The longer she watched, the more sure she became that she wanted to question the sergeant.

  Sicarius returned first. Three sleep in tents.

  Amaranthe had not seen him get close enough to check inside the tents. Actually, she had not seen him at all between the time he left and the time he returned. She held up six fingers, not sure if he had counted the woman.

  He nodded. Basilard checks… “lorry,” he mouthed. No signs in Basilard’s hunting code for steam machinery.

  A moment later, Basilard returned and informed them no one was on the road or in the vehicle.

  Amaranthe backed away from the camp so they could talk more freely. Irritated birds jabbered at each other in the trees. One dove at another for no reason—neither was carnivorous. The weaker shrieked and flew off, while the larger assumed a surly pose on a branch.

  “I want to talk to her,” Amaranthe said. “If there’s something dangerous in the dam, it’d be useful to know what before we walk in.” She recalled the three dead men, men she believed came from this very dam, and the huge gashes on their bodies. Monsters, the enforcer had said. More soul constructs crafted by a wizard or shaman? Or natural creatures twisted by the water’s power?

  “Is the dam a priority?” Sicarius asked.

  She caught her lip in her teeth. He had a good point. Destroying or nullifying that artifact in the lake had to be their main goal if it was responsible for fouling the water.

  “If something’s killing soldiers and city workers, I’m sure the emperor would appreciate us taking care of it,” she said.

  He sent men to hunt, Basilard signed. Yes?

  “Yes, but they may lack our unique skills,” Amaranthe said.

  Basilard looked at her skeptically. Sicarius simply looked at her.

  “Fine, fine,” she said. “The artifact is the priority. I still want to talk to the woman and find out what’s going on. Basilard, you recognized something when they were talking of monsters.”

  He hesitated, started to shake his head, but turned it into a shrug. He slashed two fingers in a claw-like motion. Amaranthe did not recognize the sign.

  She spread her hands. “I don’
t—”

  “Makarovi,” Sicarius said.

  The word sounded familiar. “Isn’t that some mythological creature of old?”

  Basilard shrugged again, an embarrassed flush reddening his cheeks.

  “They’re real,” Sicarius said.

  Basilard flicked him a surprised glance.

  “Real but rare,” Sicarius said. “Their habitat is in the drier eastern half of the mountains, especially up north where the Mangdorian tribes were pushed. Centuries ago, they were hunted relentlessly in the empire, and they’ve been absent here since.”

  “So, someone from Mangdoria brought them here?” Amaranthe asked.

  Basilard slashed his hand in a “no” sign and added: Too dangerous. Nobody could harness them.

  “A powerful practitioner could,” Sicarius said.

  That drew another “no” from Basilard. Not for a long trek. Shaman must sleep.

  “Let’s just worry about the fact that they’re here for now,” Amaranthe said. “And that they’re apparently so awful they were hunted close to extinction. What did they do exactly?”

  “When our ancestors first pushed east and encountered them, the creatures killed many of our people,” Sicarius said. “Women in particular were targeted. After numerous gruesome deaths, Emperor Skatovar placed a bounty on them.”

  “Why did they target women?”

  “Unknown.” Sicarius looked to Basilard.

  He grimaced, face apologetic as he signed. Favorite prey. They eat female organs.

  “Great,” Amaranthe said. “I’ve always wanted to be some horrible creature’s culinary delicacy.”

  A branch snapped nearby. Sicarius disappeared. Basilard darted behind a shrub. Amaranthe ducked behind a knot of roots protruding a couple of feet above the ground. The earthy scent of moss filled her nostrils as she peeked over top.

  A soldier came into view, weaving between the trees. Performing a routine patrol or searching for the owners of the abandoned steam lorry? The scouts on the road must have reported back by now.

  He drew closer, head rotating from side to side. His hands gripped the rifle tightly. Yes, he anticipated trouble.

  Something brushed Amaranthe’s arm, surprising her. Sicarius had joined her behind the roots.

  He pointed to the soldier, whose back was to them as he moved past their position. Sicarius said nothing but she guessed his meaning: should he grab the man for questioning?

  “I want to talk to the woman,” Amaranthe breathed.

  Sicarius stared her in the eye, his gaze hard and unwavering.

  A dozen justifications floated through her mind, though she knew any one would sound like an excuse. They could probably get the same information from the soldier. It was curiosity that motivated her choice, nothing wiser. She lifted her chin in what she hoped was a regal commanding expression that proclaimed she had made her decision and would not rescind it.

  “If we question her and let her go,” Sicarius said, “she’ll report our presence to the soldiers. They’ll know exactly who is here.”

  She grimaced, realizing that meant he had not planned to let this soldier go after questioning. She doubted that meant tying the man up to release later.

  “The soldiers knowing we’re here is acceptable,” Amaranthe said. “In fact, it’s good. If nobody knows we’re here, nobody will know we’re the ones who save the city. I know you prefer stealth and secrecy for your work, but if we’re to…” She glanced at Basilard, mindful not to hint too much of Sicarius’s interests in front of anyone. “If we’re to earn exoneration from the emperor, it’s not enough to help the empire. We need Sespian to know we’re helping the empire, so the more people who know of our work, the better.”

  “Very well.” Sicarius did not appear happy, but then he never did.

  “How shall we arrange this?” Amaranthe rubbed her hands. “I can go in there, and you can cover me while I palaver, and—”

  “No.”

  She lifted her hands. “What are the odds of another team having blasting sticks to hurl at you?”

  “Wait by the water,” Sicarius said, apparently uninterested in estimating odds. “I’ll bring her to you.”

  “No violence,” she said.

  He snorted.

  “No permanent, scar-producing violence that will leave her disinclined to listen to me,” Amaranthe amended.

  Sicarius stalked away, ignoring Basilard who was signing to ask if he could help. Basilard lifted his eyebrows in her direction.

  “Do I ask for too much?” she asked.

  He pointed the direction Sicarius had gone and rocked his hand back and forth. Just too much for Sicarius then. Well, everyone thought that.

  “We better do as he says and wait by the water.” Amaranthe took a few steps that direction before noticing Basilard was not following. “Coming?”

  He signed: I stay. Help if he needs it.

  For a few heartbeats, Amaranthe watched him, noticing how he avoided her eyes. He didn’t want to be alone with her. Did he fear she would question him, and he would reveal things he did not want to share?

  “Basilard, if there’s something you know that might help us,” she said, “I hope you’ll consider telling me. If one of your people is working for whomever is behind all this…he’s already abandoned your tenets, right? By killing or creating devices that do the killing for him?”

  Basilard studied a particularly interesting fern at his feet.

  Amaranthe left him and made her way around the spur to the marshy zone that stretched along the lake. The sun had dropped behind the mountains, casting shade across the valley.

  She propped a foot on a bird-poop-stained rock at the water’s edge. Ducks stared at her as they paddled past, eyes glowing. Amaranthe had to admit, she could think of places she would rather spend time alone. She wondered if not drinking the water would be enough to keep them safe, or if the artifact’s powers permeated the land and the air about the lake too. The thought of waking up for watch and stumbling upon an aggressive Sicarius, eyes glowing, was the stuff of nightmares.

  She shook the idea from her mind and windmilled her arms to loosen tense muscles. She redid her bun, smoothed her fatigues, and brushed mud from her boots. The sergeant’s opinion should not matter, but Amaranthe did not want to appear like some vagrant booted from the force due to sloth and dishevelment.

  Reeds rustled behind her.

  Amaranthe whirled and pulled her short sword free.

  A three-foot-long lizard hurtled toward her. Green eyes burned brightly in its dark, scaled face. Its maw gaped open as it ran, rows of needle sharp fangs glistening.

  Amaranthe lunged to the side and thrust her blade downward. Steel pierced leathery hide and pinned the lizard at the neck. It thrashed with surprising power. Leaving her sword, she skittered back to avoid its whipping razor-edged tail.

  She evaded it, but her heel sunk into mud. Thick muck snared her boot, and she lost her balance. She went down with an ungraceful splash. Muddy water washed over her clothing and splattered her cheeks.

  The lizard flailed one last time and lay still. Amaranthe glared at it.

  Three figures walked out of the trees. Basilard, Sicarius, and the enforcer woman. Though Sicarius’s knives were sheathed, a long thin cut at the woman’s throat dripped blood. Her cold dark eyes could have been carved from obsidian. Sicarius gripped her arm, and she remained quiet, but the tendons standing out along her neck suggested she would be happy to lunge at Amaranthe and complete the task the lizard had failed at.

  Struggling to maintain dignity, Amaranthe shambled out of the mud and onto solid ground. Caked in grime, with clumps of wet hair hanging in her eyes, she doubted her appearance impressed the woman. For once, she was relieved Sicarius let nothing of his thoughts show on his face. Oh, well. Carry on.

  “Good afternoon,” Amaranthe said, her tone light and—she hoped—non-threatening. “How are you, Sergeant? Good? Good.” She pried her sword free from the dead lizard. “I wa
s just catching a spot of dinner. Say, Basilard, are these lizards good eating? Wait, scratch that. It’s probably not healthy to ingest magically altered animals.”

  The enforcer woman’s nostrils flared at the mention of magic. Or maybe they were flaring at the entire situation.

  “What do you want?” she demanded. The name tag sewn on her uniform jacket read: YARA.

  “To help,” Amaranthe said.

  “I know who you are.”

  “And does that preclude a belief that we could be helpful?”

  “Yes!” the woman roared.

  “Ah. That’ll make this conversation difficult then.”

  “You’re criminals,” Yara growled, shoulders hunched. “You tried to assassinate the emperor, and this—” she whipped her head toward Sicarius, “—beast has killed dozens—hundreds!—of soldiers and enforcers. How can you stand here with him? What payment could he give you to betray the empire and your co-workers?”

  The words surprised Amaranthe to silence, not because the woman loathed Sicarius—that was expected—but because Yara knew her by sight, knew about the emperor’s kidnapping, and apparently knew Amaranthe’s history as an enforcer. The kidnapping had been in the newspapers, but Amaranthe’s previous employment had not been mentioned. No doubt, it would besmirch the reputation of the force.

  “I may work in the farmlands,” Yara said, “but we hear what happens in the city. I know what you did to Corporal Wholt and his men.”

  Amaranthe winced. The weeks that had passed since that incident had done little to dull her guilt. Even if Yara believed Amaranthe and the others were up here to help, which was doubtful given the fury emanating from her, she would not forgive Amaranthe for that night. Not with Sicarius standing behind her.

  “Why don’t you tell me about the beasts you’re dealing with?” Amaranthe asked. Best to change the subject and get the woman’s mind on work. “Are they what killed your men? Are they the makarovi?”

  Yara’s nostrils flared again. “They’re in the dam. Go see for yourself.”