Читать книгу Spellbreaker: Book 3 of the Spellwright Trilogy - Blake Charlton - Страница 11

How can one investigate a murder that hasn’t yet been committed? And how, exactly, should such an investigator proceed when she will become the murderer? Leandra wrestled with these questions while sailing to Keyway Island.

Navigating the eastern waters of the Bay of Standing Islands required great skill; the vertical islands were dense enough to obscure the horizon, tall enough to block many of the stars. Only natives could sail the stone labyrinth safely, and Leandra had taught only her most loyal captains the way to Keyway Island.

Presently on a mile-long stretch of open water, the catamaran was making good speed, but soon the sailors would have to close-reef the sails and paddle from the catamaran’s two hulls.

From her customary spot on the forward center deck, Leandra watched the moonlit water slide below. Her concentration was periodically broken by the disease flare she had ignited when misspelling the smuggler’s godspell. First had come a dull bellyache. Then her wrists and fingers began to throb. Fortunately she hadn’t developed a rash or needed to pee frequently; if things got that bad, she might have to start taking the hydromancer’s stress hormone to suppress her body’s attack on her textual aspects.

Most importantly, the divine aspects of her mind had not begun to expand her perception; that would threaten both her sanity and her ability to breathe. She prayed that her body would show her a little mercy, not that she deserved any. But if her two aspects, divine and human, could refrain from attacking each other for just a little longer, the present flare would prove a mild one.

Then Leandra realized that by using the godspell around her head, she already knew that in an hour’s time the majority of her future selves would still be anxious, achy, fatigued, and cranky. “Rot it all,” she muttered before taking a deep breath and trying to think clearly about the prophecy she had made using the godspell.

Now as before, she had no doubts. If she tried to run from this prophecy, everyone she knew would soon die. But if she did not run, she would have to choose between her own death and committing murder. If she tried again to misspell the godspell so that she saw farther than an hour into the future, the multiplicity of her future selves would drive her insane.

The only thing left to do was to investigate her murders. So … whom might she have to kill and why? She fingered a slim leather wallet she kept tied at her waist. Inside she kept enough needles and poison to kill without pain or mess.

When the time came would she kill the loved one or herself? Hard to say. There would be a great deal on the line, and she had never been one to balk at a necessary task. Then again, her body had been trying to kill her for thirty-three years. Maybe, out of pure spite, she’d beat it to its task. The thought made her smirk.

Then she realized that she was being dramatic, a bad habit. And she didn’t allow herself bad habits, only addictions, so … time to focus on investigation.

But, God-of-gods damn it, how?

As the Warden of Ixos, she had investigated dozens of murders thought to have been committed by neodemons or their devotees. Her parents had taught her how to do so, something of the family trade.

In most of her previous investigations, Leandra had discovered the guilty deities and converted or killed them. Several times the murders had gone unsolved. But she had been able to examine a corpse, gather evidence, interview witnesses. In her present situation, there wouldn’t be a corpse until she made one, and there damn well wouldn’t be any evidence or witnesses because she wouldn’t be so sloppy as to allow any.

There was, however, at least one analogy to her previous investigations. Instead of listing suspected killers, she could list suspected victims. So watching the moonlit waves slide under the catamaran’s center deck, Leandra considered everyone she loved.

It didn’t take very long.

For one thing, she had to consider only those she loved so much that murdering them would cause her the extreme agony that she had sensed through the prophetic text. For another thing, she didn’t love many people.

That realization made her smirk at the dark water and, by extension, at the idiocy of the universe.

So, anyway, her list of loved ones. First was her illustrious father, Lord Nicodemus Weal, Warden of Lorn, and—depending on whom you asked—the righteous Halcyon or the demonic Storm Petrel. If he discovered what she was concealing, Leandra might have a motive for patricide. But she doubted Nicodemus would ever discover her secrets, or if he did that he would react in a way that would require violence.

Second there was her draconic mother, Magistra Francesca DeVega, first Physician of the Clerical Order, Warden of Dral. If the true contents of Leandra’s heart were ever made plain, the one most likely to endanger Leandra would be her mother.

Just then Leandra’s focus was crowded out by unwelcome memories of fourteen years past. The Goldensward War had brought empire and league to the brink of total war. Leandra and her mother had been in Port Mercy at the time. What had happened next … seeing her mother’s teeth like that … well … only by the thinnest of chances had mother and daughter survived each other. Leandra thought of her mother’s teeth and tried to shut out those memories.

Then with profound relief, Leandra remembered that her mother was in the South. Two months ago, Leandra had received a report from Dral that Francesca and her followers were in Warth—too far away to murder.

Odd. An hour previous, she had felt through the godspell that some of her future selves were relieved. Sensing an emotion before its experience was like hearing an echo before the shout.

Leandra looked away to the standing islands. At the waterline the bay had worn the limestone to pillars upon which the rocky islands balanced. Atop the larger islands stood jungle-covered ruins—walls and rock piles mostly. These were the remains of the ancient Lotus city of Sukrapor, destroyed by a long-ago war with the Sea People’s deities.

Leandra’s thoughts returned to her possible victims. There were other names she could add, but none seemed very likely to incite her to murder.There was an ancient woman who had taken care of her when she was a child. And there was Thaddeus, a scholar of the Cloud Culture and her long-ago lover … but she had little feeling left for him. In fact, she said a short prayer that, if she had to kill anybody, it would be him.

This thought made her, again, quirk a smile at the dark water and by extension the idiotic universe.

A thought occurred to her: She had been considering people presently in Chandralu, but every night ships from all six human kingdoms sailed into port. “Pass the word for Captain Holokai,” she said. Lieutenant Peleki, standing near the mast, echoed her call and the sailors repeated it down the ship. A moment later, Holokai presented himself.

The captain stood six and a half feet tall. Handsome if slightly too angular features, clean shaven head and face. But it was his complexion that was most remarkable; on his chest and face, he had fair skin that never tanned or burned. Yet his limbs and back were dark, almost gray.

Presently Holokai wore a lungi, bright red with a white fern pattern, tied in the style of the Sea People. In his right hand, he held a leimako—a stylized paddle, the blade of which was serrated with mako shark teeth. Among the Sea People, the leimako was a weapon restricted to great warriors and leaders. In Holokai’s hands, this particular leimako had unusual properties.

Holokai tried to regard Leandra with his usual casual smile, but his dark eyes betrayed a concern. He knew something strange had happened on the beach with the smuggler.

Leandra felt the fist of her emotions loosen in his presence as she had prophetically felt an hour previous—again an echo-before-the-shout emotion.

Looking at Holokai, Leandra realized that if she were honest with herself, truly honest, she had better add another name to the list of potential victims. “Captain, I have strange questions for you. Come closer.”

Frowning, Holokai did so. Privacy aboard a fighting catamaran was rare. Nearly every spoken word would be overheard and repeated by some sailor. Asking for a private conference would sow gossip among the crew. Not a good thing, but not an avoidable one either.

“Old friend …” Leandra whispered before trailing off. What, exactly, did one ask of a friend one might soon murder? “Screw it all,” she muttered. “Can you think of a reason why I might want to kill you sometime early tomorrow morning?”

Holokai snorted. “Hey, Lea,” he said in the rolling accent of the Inner Islands Sea People, “can you think of a reason why you wouldn’t want to kill me? Especially if we had another night—”

“Kai, I’m serious. From the smuggler’s prophetic text, I learned that tomorrow morning I’ll have to choose between killing someone I trust—” no need to say “love” around him “—or dying myself. So, why might I kill you tomorrow morning?”

Holokai’s smile fell. “You’re not fooling.”

“Not fooling.”

“Can’t you just run away—”

“There’s no running, no way to avoid it. It’d be a piss-poor prophecy if I could avoid it by drinking myself stupid. And, before you ask, I can’t sense more than an hour into the future again without going insane.” Leandra tried to soften her tone. “Look, Kai, something big has started. So, why might I have to kill you? I’m asking.”

Holokai looked to see if the lieutenant was listening then turned back to her. “No, Lea, not unless you changed your mind about …” He blushed slightly. “You know, my requisite to give the people of my island a son.”

“No, I haven’t changed my mind. We both know my disease prevents my helping you there. Our agreement stands. But is there a reason I should change my mind? Should I doubt my trust in you?”

“No, Lea.” His eyes searched her face. “No.”

Leandra frowned. Did he seem just slightly guilty? Or would anyone feel a bit jumpy if so questioned? “Is there something you want to tell me, Kai?”

“Lea … no …”

She remained silent, which was in her opinion the best way to wring out a confession.

He stared at her a bit longer, the blush growing across his pale cheeks.

“Do you,” she asked calmly, “have any reason to be displeased with me?”

“Oh, no … No, no,” He said quickly. In daylight, his face would be red as a hibiscus blossom.

At last Leandra took pity. Loud enough for the lieutenant to hear, she asked, “How long would it take you to search for new ships in the bay or ships that will enter the Cerulean Strait by tomorrow morning? I need to know if I might expect anyone new in Chandralu.”

He looked westward. “I’d need to cover about a hundred miles or so to be certain. But sixty miles should give us a good enough idea, and I’ve been feeling strong lately, so …” His gaze went soft as his mind became a calculus of winds and tides. “Considering it all, that should give us a pretty good idea of who’s gonna tie up to the docks tomorrow. You give me five hours, maybe six, I’ll get it done.”

“Your speed is always impressive.”

He spoke softly. “Maybe I’ll impress you with more than speed later, hey?”

Leandra rolled her eyes. “If you can get it done, Captain.”

“Lea, there’s one more thing?”

“Oh?”

“I wasn’t going to say nothing, but since you’re telling me all this, maybe it’s a night for strange things to happen.”

Leandra tapped her index fingers together in the Sea Culture gesture for “Get on with it then.”

“So I thought I saw something flying between the standing islands behind us.”

“Flying?”

He scratched his chin. “Sounds strange, hey? I’d say it was a pelican but it seemed too big, too fast. Thing is, it’s not a deity. I would have sensed that. And I’m not even sure I did see it. Maybe just jumpy, you know?”

Scowling, Leandra looked aft at the standing islands in their wake. She saw only moonlit rock and vegetation. “You’re sure there’s no ship following us to Keyway? Now would be a very, very bad time to be discovered.”

“I’m sure.”

“All right. Before you go searching for new ships, double back along our wake to make sure no one’s following.”

He paused. “Lea, you get us into trouble?”

“No.”

“How bad?”

“I said I didn’t get us into trouble.”

“As bad as when that mercenary elephant god turned neodemon?”

“That was barely a skirmish.”

“We only got out of his camp alive because his lieutenant went insane, and they still ambushed me at the shore.”

Leandra rolled her eyes. “You recovered from the crushed pelvis the very next day.”

“So we’re in hotter water now? How hot? As bad as the jellyfish neodemon or the mosquito goddess?”

Leandra suppressed a shudder. “We got out of those scrapes alive,” she said, though in truth, many in their party had not. “Kai, you’re fretting again. Let me do that. We’re not in trouble now, but we will be if you don’t follow your orders.”

He stared into her eyes a moment longer but turned away. “Hey Peleki, take us in to Keyway Island. I’ll meet you there. You got the shark’s lei.” He tossed the leimako to the lieutenant, who caught the shark toothed oar and nodded. “Yes, Captain.”

With that, Holokai flashed a smile at Leandra and dove off the center deck and into the dark water without a splash.

As Leandra watched her old friend swim away, she held a hand over her belly. The pain from the flare was getting worse. Sometimes her disease would double her over with pain, puff up her face and joints like rising bread. Then she’d have to take the disgusting stress hormone the hydromancers made with their aqueous runes. That would stop the human aspects of her body from attacking her textual aspects, but the drug’s other effects were horrible. She hated her body for its civil wars, her disease.

Leandra wondered again if, in one day’s time, she might kill the human half of herself. That might count as murdering someone she loved. Perhaps the textual half of her would live on. That thought withered her smile. She would hate to become like her mother. And, anyway, to kill only the human half of herself wouldn’t be possible.

Leandra turned her thoughts to other people she might have to kill. Having sent Holokai to search for those just coming into the city, she should also consider those just now coming into her affection.

“Huh,” Leandra said in surprise as she added another name to the list. “Lieutenant, pass the word for Dhrun.”

Lieutenant Peleki sent the command down the ship. While she waited, Leandra considered the white half-moon and its watery reflection amid the standing islands.

When she was six years old, her father had taken her from Lorn to Ixos for the first time. Their first night in Chandralu, looking up from the Floating City, a young Leandra asked her father why all three moons had followed them across the ocean. He laughed and tried to explain about the moons being so far away that they looked the same from anywhere. She hadn’t believed him.

“My lady,” a voice said behind her.

Leandra turned to see that Dhrun had changed her manifestation; the divinity complex was now a tall, fair-skinned, athletic woman. This was the incarnation of a Cloud Culture goddess of victory. She had been known as Nika before fusing with Dhrun, a male Lotus Culture neodemon of wrestling, and his avatar Dhrunarman, the winner of last year’s wrestling tournament. The resulting trinity had taken its most powerful incarnation’s name even though it rarely manifested that incarnation.

In her Nika manifestation, Dhrun wore the same black lungi and scale armor vest that she had on the beach; however, these vestments now covered shapely hips, two small breasts, and four muscular but distinctly feminine arms. Her eyes were wide, long lashed, very dark.

When composing her divinity complex, Dhrun had chosen not to light an aura around her body to announce her divinity; her four arms achieved the same feat without increasing her visibility during more covert activities.

Presently Dhrun bowed her head and pressed her hand to her heart in the custom of the Cloud Culture. Absently, Leandra realized that Holokai’s crew, all of whom were Sea People, would find Dhrun an excellent sailing companion given that she was of all three cultures and could help the ship fulfill the Trinity Mandate, which required all official Ixonian endeavors to involve at least one member of each of the archipelago’s three cultures.

“My friend,” Leandra said while pressing her own hand to her heart, “would you step closer?”

Dhrun did so, curiosity plain on her face.

“You have been in my service for a year now?” Leandra asked.

“A little less.”

“And how do you find it?”

“It suits me well.”

“Is there any reason why you would be dissatisfied?”

Dhrun’s smile never wavered. “I should like a little more time in the wrestling arena. A goddess does like to be worshiped, after all. And I am second in your esteem after Holokai. I should like to be first; given my requisites, I am a bit competitive.”

“I’ve already warned you about baiting Holokai.”

Dhrun smiled. “I thought you hated how much your parents pun.”

“Pun?”

“Baiting Holokai, given his … other incarnation. I thought you were punning.”

“Oh Creator, no, not intentionally. I mean that I can’t have you and Holokai fighting.”

“Why do you doubt my satisfaction in your service?”

Leandra considered the goddess’s face. “You are the only neodemon I’ve ever known who converted herself.”

Dhrun’s smile brightened. “Ah, my conversion. It wasn’t easy, you know, breaking into your bedroom chamber like that.”

“If it were easy, I suppose you wouldn’t have done it.”

“I wouldn’t have,” she agreed before stepping beside Leandra. With her lower arms, Dhrun took Leandra by the elbow and led her to the portside hull, where they could better watch the whitemoon’s reflection. Walking made Leandra’s knees ache, but now they stood together like two friends. It was a comforting feeling.

Just then Leandra realized that many of her future selves felt almost nothing, or bursts of nonsensical emotion. She tensed, wondering what strange catastrophe would happen in the next hour. Some magical attack? Maybe her disease flare would worsen and expand her perception to a maddening degree? Or maybe … Suddenly she laughed.

“What is it, my lady?” Dhrun asked.

“An hour from now, I will likely be asleep and dreaming. I can feel it. It’s a strange sensation.”

The goddess frowned.

Leandra continued in a more serious tone, “We were talking about your conversion, its suspicious nature.”

Dhrun snorted. “You’re suspicious only because, when you finally discovered me in your bedroom, you had to admit that I looked better in your blue Lornish dress than you do.”

“It does look better on you,” Leandra grumbled, enjoying the banter. It was nice having another woman to talk to, even if Dhrun wasn’t always a woman. “Won’t you tell me why you decided to arrange your own conversion? You were a successful neodemon. You could have avoided detection for years.”

Dhrun only smiled. “Didn’t we agree that we would never discuss what came before?”

“Your crimes were that great?”

The goddess’s smile faltered by a degree. “That would be telling.”

Leandra laughed. “I will give you more time in the wrestling arena if you can answer a rather difficult question.”

“You know I can’t resist a challenge.”

“Why would I want to kill you tomorrow morning?”

“Because you realized that the green Spirish dress also looks better on me?”

Leandra smiled but then looked directly into Dhrun’s eyes.

“Oh,” the goddess said, “you are serious?”

“I am.”

Farther aft, the lieutenant called for the sails to be brought down and for all sailors to take up positions along the hulls to paddle into Keyway Island.

Dhrun cleared her throat. “You speak like one who has received a prophecy.”

“Through the godspell I bought from the smuggler.”

“I don’t mean to doubt you, but is it a … strong prophecy?”

“I inherited my mother’s ability to comprehend the possibilities of the future. I do not have her gift for seeing the landscape of time, but I am a good enough judge. I foresaw that I cannot escape the choice between killing someone I love sometime early tomorrow morning or dying myself. Hence, goddess, my challenge to you.”

Dhrun nodded. “Then … I suppose you might dispose of me if my death would advance our cause significantly—say by eviscerating me to make one of those godspells you are buying from the smuggler.”

“Well played,” Leandra said softly. “Here I thought I was interrogating you. You know, for a young divinity, you are impressively shrewd.”

“Oh the boys are young, but Nika—like most everything in the Cloud Culture—has been around forever. I was first incarnated when the Cloud People were still a seafaring tribe on the western Spirish coast. I have some hazy memories of the Spirish tribes destroying our cities and exiling us to the sea. There were decades of wandering before we fought the outer islands away from the Lotus People.”

“Maybe you should stop playing with the boys so much and write some of it down, for posterity.”

“There’s no glory in posterity. Victory begets posterity, not the other way around. But to answer your question, my lady, if you were to kill me tomorrow, it would be to deconstruct me and sell some part of my text to that smuggler we just met.”

Leandra met the goddess’s eyes. “You know I am dealing with the smuggler to discover how to stop his kind.”

“My lady, I am two thirds a wrestler,” Dhrun said. As she spoke the arm interlaced with Leandra’s became thicker, hairier.

When Leandra looked up at Dhrun’s face, the divinity had manifested Dhrunarman: dark eyes, strong jaw covered by a scrim of a youthful beard. Dhrun’s voice, so suddenly male, was low. “Learning an illegal hold helps one escape it, but it also increases the temptation to use it.”

“Dhru, do you think me that ruthless?”

He looked at her with a young man’s face but through the eyes of an ancient soul. “Most divinity complexes I’ve encountered are a fixed mixture of the beings that fused to create them. There are very few who, like me, can shift within the bounds of our incarnations. Would you agree?”

Leandra said that she would.

“When you can change so fast—from male to female, from young to old—you can see how fast everyone else changes but doesn’t realize it simply because the color of their hair or skin or what’s between their legs is constant. It seems to me that every soul—human or divine—is far more flexible than it ever supposes.”

Leandra paused to think about this and looked aft. She was supposed to be watching for whatever Holokai might have seen flying between the Standing Islands. Seeing nothing but moonlit limestone, she turned back to divinity complex.

“So, you think that under the right circumstances—perhaps if deconstructing you would benefit our cause—I could become that ruthless?”

Dhrun took both of her shoulders in his upper hands and looked into her eyes. “I know what our cause means to you. I know how much you have suffered.” He paused. “And, given how much I believe in our cause, part of me hopes that, if it would mean victory, you would be that cold and calculating. So if I may, I’ll turn the question around: Do you think you could be that ruthless?”

Leandra made her expression as blank as her heart felt.

Slowly, he nodded. “I thought so.”