Book IV, Chapter 7
* * *
Ryzhan
'I might be a fake sailor, Ib,' I confessed, staring down into my cup. The water was clear enough I could see the glass bottom, and through that, the lacquered table. All three had been brought into being by my magic, or the giant's power.
Ib metaphorically kept an eye of the horizon as it shifted, the table groaning when its elbow settled onto the wooden surface. 'Why's that, Ryz?' it grunted.
The glass made tinkling sounds as I tapped my fingers on its sides. I began to answer, then stopped, shaking my head with a smile.
'Something funny about my question?' Ib made a fist, for appearance's sake.
'Not at all. I've always found you kind of boring, actually. Dull, even.'
'That's because I don't have spikes,' it informed me in a loud whisper, shifting again so its arm brushed against mine. I glared at the thin, shallow cut it had left in my coat sleeve, that of the shirt beneath and my arm, then up at it.
Ib smiled blandly in response, its bladed arm returning to its base state, silently prompting me to go on.
'Your idea of practical jokes gets more dangerous every day,' I told it, remembering myself whole, so that my skin and the fabric of my clothes mended.
'You didn't talk like this before I had to resurrect you.'
It was hard to match flat looks with a faceless person. But when had practicality ever stopped me? 'You'd never admit that.'
'Admit what?'
I sighed. 'To answer your question - your first question -, I...' bringing the cup to my lips just long enough for a sip, I closed my eyes. I'd used to dream about having drinkable water always available, instead of having to scour my guts with saltwater just to trick my body that I wasn't thirsty. Sometimes, I got sick of remembering my thirst being quenched, and wanted something real. Long, lonely voyages could drive a young man to stupid pastimes. 'I do not make rotgut all day, despite knowing the many breeds of it, trust me.' I gestured at the table with the cup, not a drop flying past the rim. 'Nor do I pile this with roasts and sweetmeats fit to burst one's stomach. I used to think I would, if I got rich.'
'I understand, Ryzhan,' Ib said gravely. 'You were a poor, starving boy, yet you haven't embraced the greed of many who sail Midworld.'
I huffed at its not inaccurate description of my childhood, but still threw the contens of my cup at it, minding the glass. The grey being blurred, and somehow, I ended up the one drenched.
It made no sense. For one, water moving too fast for me to react would've been vapour; not to mention, there hadn't been that much in the cup. There couldn't have been. I felt like I'd been dunked into a tub, and one filled with ice water at that.
Remembering dry clothes, I went on. 'My point is, the dreams of yesteryear, once remembered, are no longer so bright or grand, wouldn't you say?'
'Aye, Ryzhan. Void knows, returning home brought me little joy.'
I nodded. 'Thus, I am no true sailor. I am miserly with my power, and I long for land. Land!' Throwing my head back, I laughed deep, from my belly. Many Midworlders only saw islands as temporary shelters, where they could ride out the fury of their true home, the ocean, before returning to it. Vhaarn, with a form-changing ship like hours, and powers like our crew possessed, some people would've never even sought land again. 'Some would say I've no stomach for journeys.' I tapped it, for emphasis. 'Landlubber guts,' I added, in a growling, snarling accent that somehow appeared in every other port.
'Be that as it may,' Ib replied mildly, 'I do not believe that makes you a false sailor, my friend.'
'No?' I asked, annoyed. 'Then how do you explain the fact we've been speeding towards nowhere for days?'
Ib stood up, rolling its shoulders. Its middle and lower arms bulged just as it flexed its upper ones, thick veins playing over what looked like rippling muscles under chrome skin. I smiled, despite my irritation. I'd heard of sculptors skilled enough to create lifelike statues, working stone to the point it was soft enough to resemble flesh, to such a degree as Ib's physical form did.
The Free Fleet had little to offer the world that wasn't awful. But they had created a thing of beauty in Ib, a person who had gone on to help others. I might've had qualms about its honesty or lack thereof, but it was no controlling, power-mad freak. It had shared what it could of its plans with me, and I understood the freedom it envisioned.
Unlike yesterday's dreams, this one did not look so hollow.
Ib waved a heavy hand. 'You're not the captain, Ryzhan, nor the helmsman.' The closest thing we had to the latter was the steamer itself. It had, loudly, told us that "I don't need to be groped to move, unlike your land-bound hides" and that had been that.
In a way, it was almost comforting. Not how cantankerous the tub was, but the fact we could keep going without Three to coax the ship into action. Thought it was some biting irony that the Burst had only become so independent after the ghost's disappearance. I'd have drawn a comparison to baby birds only learning to fly after being pushed out of the nest, but the ship was too damned ugly to be Three's child, and all the shapeshifting in the world couldn't change that.
'You helped set the course as much as you could,' Ib continued, 'but this is not the sort of journey you can rush.'
'I hadn't noticed. The unchanging horizon, it's distracting,' I explained.
Ib did not remark upon my bitterness. 'I understand you have needs, as grown men do. But I doubt Aina will be impressed if you show up before her too worn out to do anything. I say, pace yourself, and...are you pouting?'
I was actually incapable of that, despite the slander. 'Forget her! She and I will do whatever we'll do. If I cared about that and naught more, I'd be journeying towards the Clockwork Court and the Loom alone!'
I knew Ib was joking, but my temper, usually short, was being frayed thin by the continuous failure. Being one myself, I was used to that, but the result was the same.
And there was more truth in my words: according to my arcane sense and intuition, the nature of our journey, that was, one undertaken by a crew, meant we'd either all arrive at the same time or not at all. Had I been travelling by myself, I'd likely have been at the Court days ago. That was the shape of the matter.
My younger self would've been eager, if not happy, to cut loose what he'd have perceived as deadweight, but I knew better now. The practical advantages of being on a crew (one I shared with the Idea of Freedom, no less) aside, I also enjoyed the...companionship.
Which, in the case of a mage like me, might well have counted as a practical advantage, as well. Magic worked poorly without a balanced spirit, at least if you were human, and Ib and the captain certainly helped balance mine.
Even if I wanted to throw the latter overboard sometimes.
Ib held up a hand. 'Peace, Ryzhan. Everyone matters, I know.' It knew that better than most, I'd have wagered. 'Forgive the jibe, please. You're wound up so tight, I think you might keel over if you don't laugh.'
I snorted, but found little to contradict, there. For a while, I sat in silence, one leg crossed over the other, while Ib paced across the ship, now walking the deck, now leaping between the various spires rising from it. In motion, it reminded me of the downy-furred apes one might see on sweltering isles, whose bulk belied their agility as they moved through towering trees with more ease than even the greatest human acrobat.
Knowing it could hear me, I said, 'Mayhap we need another talk with the Mharra.' Vhaarn knew my captain had been trying to make up for uncertainty with enthusiasm when he'd charted our course, as if jitteriness could make up for a lack of conviction. Worse, I didn't think we were really working in concert: had we been, we'd have at least glimpsed the Clockwork Court on the horizon, even if it would've been far farther from us than apparent distance suggested.
As it were, we lacked even that encouragement.
'I agree,' Ib said gravely. 'We need to get the captain on board.'
'...the only reason,' I said with a hooded look at it, 'I'm not breaking this table over your head is because you didn't say that while we were leaving an island.'
'Nonsense. You love me.'
* * *
Mharra knew he hadn't been paying his crew, or the journey, as much attention as he should have, since their reunion. He knew the true reason, couldn't have missed them if he'd tried, but it all felt too...raw, to talk about yet. It was too soon.
'Well,' Mharra muttered to himself, 'it's not like we're getting anywhere. Plenty of time.'
The groan of metal under and around him - the steamer's insider shifting - sounded chiding. He tapped the floor with one boot and resumed his work on the construct taking up most of the table before him.
It was not the first time the stout man was grateful for Midworld's vastness, though usually, that took the form of relief at having enough places to hide from danger. He sympathised with Ryzhan when he recalled those moments.
Currently, he was glad the map he was making wasn't too expansive, because his arms were only so long, no matter that his talent let him work dead wood, water and stone and lifelike motion.
Mharra did not understand it, exactly. Not like he understood weather to the point of being able to predict it. Or like he understood people, at least enough to capture their attention with his shows. His talent was like the inner workings of his body, except that where he might find a physician to explain those in detail, he doubted there were many who could even tell what power he had.
And outside his crew, he doubted he'd trust most.
A waterspout rose, at the southwestern edge of the map, and the sensation of a wet hand and sleeve followed, though the water had actually slid harmlessly off Mharra. Being true to life was something he'd aimed for, when making the map, though he wasn't sure how much his talent took such wishes into account, or if it even could. Sometimes, it seemed like a living, thinking being. Other days...
He shook his head. The contraption had begun as an excuse to take his mind off things, but it had become...more. Not the first time such a thing had happened in his life, or that of one of his crew. Since a few hours ago, Mharra had reasoned, he'd be able to gain much selling such living maps - though not the means to make them, if he had a word to say. That would result in shameless imitation and lost offers, more than likely, or assassination attempts, in revenge for his maps' failures, or just because they were useful. And if it turned out his talent was needed to make them, Mharra was sure few would balk at enslaving or otherwise forcefully putting him to work.
No, the creation of the maps would stay a secret, if he could help it. But the fruits of his labour needed not be hoarded.
Mharra had begun by recreating places he had sailed and walk, and had been almost surprised to see how they stood in relation to each other - those that still remained, that was. But where he had thought his knowledge, his memory, dictated the shape of the map, it had surpassed his expecations.
That waterspout just now? Going by the scale, it had happened far past the horizon, in reality. The result of his talent looking out for him, more likely than not. Now, if only he could get that bastard of a power to be more open-
The door barely made a sound as it opened, and it was quickly swallowed by that of Ryzhan's footsteps and the clicking of his cane against the floor; those sounds were, in turn, lost in the thunder of Ib's motions, the giant's heavy tread only pausing when it shifted form to flow through the door, with a noise like a fierce waterfall.
Mharra plastered a smile on his face as he looked up. It wasn't difficult: Ryzhan had, lately, started looking like some maiden aunt's idea of a corsair prince, with that coat and cane and shiny boots; if the mage hadn't been so withdrawn and acidic, Mharra might've even be able to see where said women were coming from. If there were any.
But, at the moment, Ryzhan looked like he'd swallowed a lemon, rind at all, and maybe the monkey that had been trying to eat it, too. Mharra told himself that being able to spot this was a sign of their deep friendship, since it didn't differ much from the mage's usual sour look.
Ib, on the other hand, was expressionless, its flat face as smooth and unchanging as its chromed hide. It seemed to fill the room, looming over its other occupants in a way that had little to do with its size. The subtle pressure deepened as it crossed its arms.
'We need to talk, boss.' The grey being's basso didn't disturb a drop of water on the surface of the map, even though Mharra could've sworn he felt it in his bones. Ib was being considerate, he supposed. Might as well return the favour.
'I'd applaud you for taking the first step,' Mharra replied, 'but my hands are quite full.'
Ryzhan's mouth, until then set in a grim line, was twisted by a frown. He tapped his cane on the tiles (for effect, Mharra guessed, for he took no steps forward) and said, 'Captain, please. Won't you clear the table? We must speak of...what?' the mage asked after having trailed off upon seeing Mharra's vehement gestures. 'What is it?'
This time, the captain's smile came easier. 'My friends - you see before yourselves the future of Midworld navigation.'
He explained the process of creation - what he understood of it, though even then, calling it an explanation would've been generous - and shared his plans with them. Nothing certain; just possibilities they might look into, at some point.
Ryzhan was as sceptical and blunt as he'd expected. 'Sir, you realise that even if you're right - even if the maps show dangers imperceivable to one's senses if used on vessels you are sailing on - that will only incentivise people to kidnap you, right? You're not going to get...work contracts, you're going to be kidnapped and chained up in some navigation room.'
Mharra waved him off. 'The most likely option. But I'm trying to stay optimistic here, Ryzhan.' He looked from one crewmember to the other, and added, 'Wouldn't you say we need more of that, these days?'
'What we need is-' Ryzhan sighed, closed his eyes. 'Very well. Let's say they do hire you. Vhaarn knows Midworld has enough people there has to be a chance of running into the sort of people you hope for, at some point.' It was believed by some that Midworld's endless expanse was dotted with every possible type of environment and culture, though anyone who could check hadn't shared their findings, if there were any. 'But what prompted this...burst of altruism?' The mage's voice grew sardonic as he went on. 'I distinctly remember letting some people drown instead of taking them to another island by force. Are you going to invite yourself onto the vessels of people who don't mind some risk, Mharra?'
'Of course not - that would be a waste of time!' Mharra's eyes twinkled, though his voice was hardly joking. ''Tis not like I'm immortal, Ryz.' For what actors sometimes referred to as a "beat" (the span of time it would take to beat a drum or similar instrument), he let the words hang, then meaningfully set his eyes on Ib. 'To my knowledge.'
The giant's shrug would've been barely perceptible, on a man. As it were, it didn't need to shift its shoulders to emphasise the gesture. 'It could be done,' it admitted, 'should you wish it. We have the means. On that note, though, captain...' the table didn't creak under Ib's elbow as it leaned forward, though that had more to do with the ship's power over its insides than the strength of the metal itself. 'Why would you want to work for others? We can make anything we need, trust me; and do not take this the wrong way, but a day's work under an employer's eyes is not like our shows. It's drudgery, more often than not.'
Mharra refrained from rolling his eyes - with the effort Ib spoke of putting in. 'Imagine that I am aware of how the world works. I did sail on my own before I scooped you misfits up, remember?'
'Nevertheless, Mharra, it's odd to hear you wanting to sign up for such a dull endeavour,' Ib said, sounding puzzled. That was, the captain knew, a tactic, more likely than not. Few things could escape the grey being's cosmic perception, and Mharra could not hide any of them. Which meant Ib was trying to make him think - its usual reason for asking people questions, or otherwise prodding them. 'Perhaps you're losing your edge.' A flicker of motion across the giant's face, aimed at Ryzhan. The mage scowled, but made no reply. Some new inside joke?
'Aye, yes, I'm getting old,' Mharra wheezed out the last word. 'Fine. Do you really want to know what lit a fire under me?'
'I hope not a matchstick - the steamer gets heated about scorch marks.'
Stalwartly ignoring Ryzhan, the captain said, 'I do not, in fact, wish to be immortal, Ib. At least, I don't think I do. Not yet.' What would be the point? An eternity to contemplate his failure? He'd rather, well. 'But think of the future. Your timeless gaze sees all that might come, no? And beyond.'
'Captain, being told your future doesn't mean it will come to pass.'
'I didn't say it would,' Mharra replied smoothly. 'But if we fail to get anything done, I'd rather be remembered as having brought one good thing into this world, than not at all.' His voice dropped. 'Or be remembered to have failed by you two. And...'
They protested at that, of course. How could they not? He was their captain. But he wouldn't change his mind, not when it came to this.
The argument was followed by a silence more uncomfortable than awkward. It was Ryzhan who broke it. 'Enough of this,' he breathed, briefly closing his eyes, then opening them to meet Mharra's. 'Is that why you've been so off-balance?' he asked softly. 'Captain - Ib and I spoke. You heard it when you woke up, after we got back. We must,' he tapped the tabletop with a finger, 'be united in purpose, or we won't get anywhere.'
'And isn't that poetic...'
'Aye, I don't care much for it either,' Ryzhan admitted. 'I've never been able to stand depending on others - no offence.' None was taken. They knew where he was coming from. 'But truly, captain, if you're not going to cooperate, we might as well disband this crew and go our separate ways.'
'Not that such a thing would help,' Ib quickly chimed in, as if to dissuade the mage from encouraging anyone to do such a thing. Had they rehearsed that? No, likely not, by Ryzhan's scowl. The giant must've been feeling pessimistic, to disagree like that out loud, when they were together. 'We would not gain anything from separation. No one, elsewhere or when, would.'
Mharra had heard its explanations, if they could be called that, the oblique references to its plans, and while it tickled his ego to know so much depended on his crew, he'd also rather have had people prepared and inclined to deal with such things doing so.
But that was just an idle wish. Midworld only granted those the way a sardonic trickster would, when it did so at all, and not many of the alternate worlds Ib had described sounded kinder. Sometimes, the right people just weren't in the right place at the right time. Others had to become better, in the stead of said people, and do what had to be done.
Tides. Look at him, stepping up to save everyone's hides. Maybe that was where the ridiculous idea with the maps was coming from, too. Old, buried guilt resurfacing. Not that he'd ever felt much guilty at leaving people to their chosen fates. Dismayed or surprised they'd be that stupid, or hopeless, maybe.
Must've been the guilt about losing Three and having done little to find him so far. It was more palatable than accepting he was delusional; he'd already got sick of that back when he'd been made to face his memories.
'Then we just have to soldier on, don't we,' Ryzhan stated more than asked. To the table, it looked like from where Mharra was sitting. Or the floor. But knowing how practical the man was, he was probably addressing both at once.
Not feeling quite as efficient, Mharra spoke to his crew one at a time. 'And that we will,' he assured Ryzhan. Oh, the mage would grit his teeth and stubbornly trudge on to whatever the end of this path was. But he wouldn't do it happily, and maybe not ready to give his full attention to whatever matters awaited him there. From what Ib had insinuated, that way lay disaster.
Which meant he and the giant had to make sure the mage was always feeling cheerful, but appropriately dutiful and focused.
Mharra surreptitiously checked the steamer's railing through the window behind him. Pretty long fall...
'Is something the matter outside, captain?'
'I'm not there,' he answered, then forged on, before the puzzled Ryzhan could ask something else. 'I say, we best put our cards on the table, no?'
He was half expecting Ib to pull a thick deck out of nowhere, as a prop to punctuate the line, but it did nothing. Mharra glumly wondered if that was a subtle confirmation that managing Ryzhan would mostly fall to him, and looked out the window again.
'Sir, what is-'
'As I was saying,' Mharra went on, 'we have to be honest with each other.' Funny, the way he could feel so tense and deflated at the same time, as if his shoulders were going to remain set forever, but with insides so empty it was a wonder he didn't collapse in on himself. 'I believe we've had a discussion or two like this, Xar-Ryzhan.'
The mage didn't dignify that with a reply. 'As you say, captain. Shall you go first?'
Mharra did not.
* * *
Ryzhan's hands were folded atop his cane as he finished speaking, his head turned to behold the tides. Low but fierce, they made the bubbling grey sea resemble metal being handled by a blacksmith; it was difficult to see where they ended and the heavy clouds began.
Mharra was not so green as to point out such obvious portents; things like that were magnets for irony, divine or cosmic, depending on one's mindset (and the second invited more of the first, often in the form of lightning bolts spelling out that the gods were very much real). Instead, he asked, 'Besides Ib - and me, now - have you spoken to anyone else of this Serene Rest, Ryzhan?'
The mage turned his head to look at him, his usually bright green eyes seeming as dark as bottle-glass, for a moment. 'When and how, captain?' he bit out. 'Even if I'd found someone willing to listen to that drivel-'
'But you claimed it was serious about what it said.'
'Aye, but that doesn't make it any less absurd.' The mage looked torn between a huff and an eyeroll, but settled on neither; how he usually dealt with unpalatable choices, in microcosm. If only he could borrow his head in the sand about what was coming, his eyes silently said. 'I will, of course, as soon as we cross paths with people hungry for tales.'
Mharra drew a leg up, grasping the knee with both hands as he balanced on his chair. 'Do you truly have to do that? Even if it somehow finds out you broke your promise to it and, for argument's sake, tracks us down...so what? Ib,' he pointed at said giant, 'could rip it into shreds crush those into diamonds.' Granted, that would be some tacky jewellery, even discounting the baggage, but it would be dramatic. The showman within Mharra stood up straighter at the notion. 'Couldn't you?'
'I could,' Ib replied with that tone that meant it probably wouldn't, for reasons that'd made sense later. 'Ryzhan needn't trouble himself with what may happen.'
In other words, they'd better make sure Ryzhan only worried about certain doom, or Ib would sock Mharra (him and the mage too, maybe) a good one.
Understandable. Not that it meant the captain liked it.
'Indeed,' Mharra agreed, then asked Ryzhan, 'Are you sure that is what's bothering you?' At the mage's questioning, defensive look (he was probably going to say he wasn't a liar anymore, and tack on a complaint or twelve), he quickly added, 'I mean, you seemed fairly upset when you went over those...grey folk.' He coughed lightly. 'And the simulacrum.'
'The puppets were...' Ryzhan, thumb pressed against index and middle fingers, stopped, shook his head. 'The people that island hollowed out might be restored, one day, but it will not be by my power. I cannot remember the way they used to be, because I've never truly known them as they once were. I could only remember other people, but that would overwrite their selves. Just as twisted as what Serene Rest itself did.'
That sounded interesting. 'For argument's sake,' Mharra began casually, 'could you overwrite mine?'
Narrowed eyes. 'Sir? I don't-'
'Say, to before the Free Fleet visit. So I don't mope around anymore. Could you?'
Ryzhan looked more offended at every word, but schooled his features before answering. 'Assuming your little miracles didn't interfere with my magic - and I don't understand your tricks enough to be sure they wouldn't - I'd only be able to restore your mood from that time. But the memories would quickly get rid of that.' The mage's voice became cooler. 'Unless you wanted me to remember your entire self from then, so that you'd forget; but even so, you'd still learn, know, that Three is lost. You might be less despondent, but you'd be more confused.' He chuckled darkly. 'Assuming Ib didn't paint the hull with my entrails for trying to do any of that.'
'Powdered bone is easier to work with, actually,' the giant remarked.
'Fascinating.'
As they bantered, Mharra spent a few moments congratulating himself for getting Ryzhan to admit he wasn't, wouldn't become, some thief of selves. The fact he could was alarming enough - though, like the mage himself had pointed out, Ib's presence precluded any magical nonsense of that sort -, but knowing he wouldn't do it was reassuring.
And if they ever had to bluff their way out of something, threatening people that they'd be remembered as others was at least unique, as such things went. Mharra could see someone more focused on power and control remaking Midworld in their image, with Ryzha's magic, or at least a caster with said ability at their side.
It was good that he knew testing Ryzhan's temper was a way to distract him from his brooding.
The captain cleared his throat. 'And...her? It? You alternated while taking about it.'
Ryzhan's nod was curt. 'Aye. In truth, I know it was only false matter shaped and moved to resemble flesh and thought. But whenever I looked at it, I saw her.' At Mharra's flat expression, he hurriedly added, 'You know what I mean. I remembered...if I'd seen Aina before, had we been reunited, I don't think I'd have been so...off-balanced, by that creature.'
'Didn't sound distracted to me,' Mharra muttered, remembering Ryzhan's confrontation with Serene Rest's puppets following the end of his show. 'But worry not. I'm sure we'll see her soon.'
Ryzhan's answering grin was brittle, sharp; humourless. 'One way or another...'
Mharra chose not to comment.
* * *
As the captain had expected, his crew chided him like he was only now entering manhood and testing his boundaries and they were his mother.
'You know better than to lose control of your wits,' Ryzhan said tightly, while Ib managed a flat glare with no eyes or anything else. And people had said he had it on the troupe for no reason. 'Especially around people you know wish you ill - seriously, captain?'
'Watch it,' Mharra said flatly. 'Firstly, I could not have truly endangered myself or the ship - whatever its stance on us, you think the steamer wants its shell marred? Secondly,' he placed an elbow on the table, pointing at Ryzhan, 'don't think I don't recognise your tone. You're about to say I'm too unreliable, or incompetent, or something of the sort, to be left alone.'
Ryzhan was too controlled for his face to redden in moments like this, but the captain could practically hear him grinding his teeth. 'Prove me wrong, then. What would've happened if the ship had been unable to help you, for some reason or another? Would we have come back to a bloated corpse bobbing in the water?'
'Well,' Mharra looked aside, 'I certainly wouldn't be having this discussion...apologies. I wouldn't be getting lectured now.'
Ryzhan bit back a sharp retort. 'Would you even have mentioned it if we hadn't decided to be honest with each other? And now that you have, what are you doing? Complaining about this perceived uselessness of yours instead of making sure this gaffe could never happen again.'
'If we hadn't decided to be honest with each other,' Mharra echoed, 'would you have brought up your little deal with Serene Rest? Ever? Or would you have gone on to quietly talk about it with whoever you met, out of sight and earshot?'
'I wouldn't have-that wouldn't have threatened the crew,' Ryzhan protested. 'Don't try to turn this around-'
'Wouldn't it have? If some poor fools sent on their way to that island returned for revenge, what would you do? Sic Ib on them until the waters run red?' Before the mage could retort, Mharra added, 'Remember we let you stay on the ship when you offered nothing but secrets. If those pursuers for imagination had been real, if they'd happened upon us, what would you have said?'
Ryzhan stared at him for a few moments, then forced a laugh. 'Whataboutisms. Offer, eh? I'd say I've offered more than enough, in recompense, since we began sailing together. And not just through my magic - who confronted the steamer when it was grieving and half-feral, Mharra? You?'
'The point,' the captain said softly, 'is that what might have happened did not, and so, talking about it is as pointless as talking about what may happen, someday. You heard Ib.' The breath he drew was ragged, as was his voice when he spoke. 'Perceived uselessness, Ryzhan? No, I'd say factual. What can I do you two can't surpass? Mope and fail?'
'Mope, I'll grant,' the mage replied sardonically, though his eyes softened. 'Captain, we're past the point where we have to worry about our material wellbeing. Well past. What you can do, physically, is not the point. This isn't one of those slave-labourer vessels that are more floating prisons than anything. You are here for us-' At Mharra's laugh, one of the corners of his mouth curved downwards. 'You think you'll get anywhere close to Three, thinking like this?'
'Blackmail is a blunt tool, Ryzhan.'
'How about this, then: if you keep dragging us down and have this ship moving like a lily pad in a lake, I'll personally trash you with that tacky hat of yours.'
'Threats, now?'
'They're called promises.' Ryzhan sniffed, then turned to Ib. The grey being sat quiet, observing, seemingly. 'Nothing to add? Don't tell me you've gone mute.'
'A request that could be easily fulfilled,' Ib said drily, 'if I were. Ryzhan, my purpose in this exchange is being achieved by my presence.'
'And what is that?'
'I witness.' It held up a blunt-fingered hand that could've closed over a man's head with place to spare. 'I record - not on paper or vellum or stone, but in my thoughts.'
'An archive of truth if there ever was one,' Ryzhan commented, tone ironic, but Ib nodded as if flattered, a rough suggestion of a grin on its face.
'Just so. My friends,' its voice grew more serious. 'This had to happen, and I don't just mean your talk. Our journeys - we had to grow apart in order to grow, apart; had we stayed together, we would have achieved even less than we have so far.'
'Less than nothing? That would be quite the sight,' Ryzhan remarked.
'Indeed, Ryz. But not a novel one for you, I think; you've seen your self-esteem often enough.' Glancing aside from the spluttering mage, it told Mharra, 'We must all walk our paths, captain, but there are beings and forces that would waylay us, force us off them. I am not being metaphorical when I was events would conspire to make you fail without me to guide you.'
Mharra's smile was wide, insincere. 'As things stand, though, we are free to walk our assigned paths.'
'Exactly,' Ib agreed, tone only betraying a hint of sadness. 'I would rather everyone was free, but...' Its great shoulders heaved. A despondent shrug, maybe, or an inhalation. Ib's breath, when it decided to draw it (usually, to put breathing people at ease), was not always audible. 'There is much to say about liberty, here, and in the layers beneath, above and beyond. Some see freedom as the power to do as they wish with themselves and their works; others, as the right to do so with others and the fruits of those people's labour. I know many who believe in the second kind of freedom. They are moving their pieces, now.'
All were quiet, for nearly a minute, following that. Then Mharra spoke, SOFTLY.
'So you move yours, in turn.'
Not just mine, the giant thought but did not say. It was immaterial that Mendax and its allies had designs for its crewmates as well: theirs and Ib's coincided, so what was the point of letting them know there was more than one being of obscure purposes nudging them along?
Ib answered, 'I am a guide, not a master of chess or puppets. A...shepherd.'
'Baah,' Ryzhan deadpanned.
'That was hilarious,' Ib lied, just as flatly. 'Friends, you must know by now, that if I could take everyone's suffering onto my shoulders, I would. But that is not how creation works.' It lowered its hand, said, 'Captain, I had to make you confront your doubts. I am happy you managed, and that you even chose to help another soul, in the meantime.'
Mharra scoffed. 'If I'd managed, I wouldn't be pouting like an idiot now.'
'Wouldn't you? Sir, a brave man does not face his fear once before remaining courageous forever. A confident man does not overcome his doubts once and for all. Only a mad one does. One mad with arrogance, that is.'
'Thank you for endorsing my sanity, then,' Mharra replied lightly. 'But tell me: when you planned to make me take a good, long look at myself, did you know I'd end up making a fool of myself among the pleasure fleet?'
'That could've passed,' the giant answered, 'but it did not. Although, it is not without a silver lining.'
'Oh?'
Ib nodded. 'You have grown closer to the Burst.' It laughed roughly. 'As much as anyone can. Calling it an unhinged tool would be true in several ways-'
The giant smoothly stood and kept its footing as its chair disappeared into the floor, which began warping and bubbling. The heat, which would've made vapour of any other crewmember, was kept isolated, focused on the giant, by the ship's will.
Ib laughed. 'It's just jealous I do more for the crew than it does.' Turning to Mharra once more, it said, 'Sir, with some luck, you and this Tekkhar boy you've helped will cross paths once more. Who knows? He might even fill the hole in your heart, in his own way.'
Mharra gave it an incredulous look. 'Ib,' he said carefully, 'I don't know if you ate a rotten wreck or what, but he's not even close to being a man. I didn't and don't intend to shape him into a, a-I'm not that desperate.'
Ib waved a hand. 'That could've gone better. I'll leave the awkward phrasing for Ryzhan, from now on.'
'You tin-skinned bastard-'
'As I was saying,' Ib went on, casually placing a hand on the mage's head, who visibly fumed under it, 'in his own way, captain. We know you've never had much luck with family, neither the one you were born to nor those you were pushed to begin. Would you turn a found son away? Or, say Tekhar meets you again as a grown man. You could be like...brothers.'
Perhaps it was the paranoia caused by recent events, but Mharra did not like the way Ib talked, like the captain was going to end up sailing alone at some point. What was the point of the crew reuniting after a forced separation if they drifted apart by choice? But no, that was a tyrant's thinking. He was a captain, not a despot, and he could not order his crew to waste their lives around him if they wanted to be elsewhere.
Besides, they'd probably beat him half to death if he tried.
No, that was the loneliness he'd only recently left behind talking. Had he not begun sailing alone, even being grateful for the solitude?
He asked them about their plans following the end of this journey, wishing to hear what they would do.
Ryzhan shrugged, twirling his cane with one hand. 'I will keep travelling, of course, captain. Keep learning. Aina will, hopefully, come along, but that is for her to decide. I do not intend to drag you into any dangerous travels, but I, we, could certainly return to this ship in-between journeys. If you'll have us.'
'All that exists is my home,' Ib answered, 'and you will find me whenever you go. We will not drift apart, captain.'
Mharra nodded, not truly reassured. Then, a thought struck him. 'I wonder why the talking box we sail on is being so quiet. Is it meant to witness, too?'
'Nay, it's just a cranky sod.' Ib chuckled. 'Get it? Crank. Because it has-'
'I'm sure it does, Ib,' Mharra said. 'I'm sure it does.' He stroked his heard. 'What about your adventure, then? You seemed very intent on taking care of whatever business you had wherever you went. So, how went your affair?'
Ib groaned. 'Do not call it that.'
* * *
By the time the glum giant finished recounting its story, its crewmates were not managing to hide their smirks in their beards. Or trying to.
'What are you two smirking at?' Ib demanded.
'Nothing,' they lied. In unison, obviously. How could they otherwise, when they were in cahoots?
Ib narrowed its eyes, growing two just for this purpose. 'You think I misunderstood Ashe's advances. No, I saw them for what they were. Whhy do you think I kept spurning her? If I let her get under my skin, she'd go all in.'
'...I believe you, Ib,' Ryzhan said gravely, elbowing Mharra. Was that why they'd moved to sit together?
The captain's face was blank as he regarded the mage, but Ib was not blind to their intrigues. It knew exactly what they were thinking. 'In any case,' it rumbled, 'I was moved by her gesture at the end-'
'Were you?'
'Bloody void, captain - you know what I mean.' Ib unmade its eyes, sighed. 'It was nice of her people to...try to make amends. It showed they were not the worthless, dogmatic pawns you would expect in such a situation.' It smiled, slightly. 'It showed there is yet hope to be found in the most unlikely places, even from people unguided out of the pits they've dug for themselves.'
At this, the other two grew more serious, which Ib was thankful for. Ashe was enough of a handful without people talking about her when she wasn't even there.
Were Ib a more superstitious sort (or less aware of the macrocosm), it might have entertained the idea of the dragoness popping out of nowhere when mentioned, like some beings could. Most inclined to do that were insubstantial and often tied to specific places and phrases, however; those who were not usually had reasons of their own to appear suddenly, and the dragon, to Ib's knowledge, had none.
So she would stay on her island and take care of her affa-business, until the time came.
'And you're sure that much will hinge on me, Ib?'
The giant did not stir from where it was seated on the deck. Even so, it had no problem meeting the mage's eyes, and did so as it morphed its head while twisting its neck all the way around. 'Rejoice. Some would give anything to have so many people depend on them, if only so they could blackmail them, or brag about it later.'
They had left Mharra's cabin behind a few hours ago, not having anything to discuss for the time being. Nothing official, that was, and brooding annoyed fewer people when they were doing it apart. Ib was beginning to think Ryzhan's book, when he wrote one, was going to be called The Deep Thoughts Of People On A Boat, or some such.
It would be a good tactic to make people expecting a comedy to buy. Like that employed by the fellow who called an icy island green and a green one icy.
Ryzhan's smile was sickly. 'I'm sure that will do wonders for my ego.' His stomach, though, was turning at the thought of what failure would entail.
Ib placed a heavy hand on his shoulder, and, between its weight and his worries, the mage's knees nearly buckled. Quickly, Ib let go, going for another way to reassure him. 'Remember, Ryzhan: if - when - all are brought together, some will be unable or unwilling to remember properly. That will not do. You will bring back what they forgot or wished they could, or you will remember it yourself, after taking it from them. All that has come of creation must be presented, just like its unity and its potential, if we are to break this Dream.'
Ryzhan did not like the sound of that, but Ib couldn't have cared less, unless it kept him from doing what he must. Managing his feelings, in that regard, was much more important than said feeling in of themselves.
Ib couldn't give half a damn if this all ended with Ryzhan despising it with every fibre of his being, as long as he did his part. Duty was a cold comfort - certainly not one that would make the loss of a friend easier to bear - but it was a comfort.
Ryzhan nodded, half to himself, and said, 'This dead man of yours, Ib-'
'Not mine,' it corrected. 'I have spoken to you of him, but that does not make him something of mine any more than looking at the sea grants you ownership of it.' Indeed, Ib could not say the things, people or events from its stories about the rest of creation belonged to it. Some of them had been caused by or for freedom's sake, but ownership, as a concept, had little but rivalry to do with Ib.
'In any case,' the mage replied. 'The...preparations he has been put through, I wouldn't exchange anything I've suffered for. No matter how often I've wished for a different life.' His eyes were questioning, but not disbelieving. 'You are certain Mendax and its ilk made sure he would go through all you've told me?' He laughed, a hollow, humourless sound. 'I am glad I only have to deal with you, as far as such things go.'
Ib said nothing.
Tapping his cane against the deck a few times, Ryzhan, keeping his eyes down, continued, 'I know you've said contact with other...worlds, with the ones not intended to host him for the time being, would only distract him and stunt his growth, but I wish I could tell him to be strong. That it will get better.'
Ib's chuckle was like everything in an armoury toppling at once. 'And this comes from the goodness of your heart, friend?'
'Obviously - but telling him not to bugger everything up for everyone can't hurt.'
'He does not know know so much depends on him yet,' Ib replied patiently. 'Time might flow at the same rate in most cosmoses, but that doesn't mean everything happens at once when you look at multiple realities.'
'But after?'
'After, you might talk to him at your own leisure. Provided you make contact.'
'You think we could stand each other?'
'If you can't, seat each other,' Ib cautioned. 'But find a table first.'
The flat look Ryzhan gave it, followed by a sigh as he turned to leave, was exactly what it had hoped for. Even so, it was too humble to smirk.
Outwardly.
Ib had just risen to its feet when the deck bulged under it, with such force and speed any mundane being would've been launched out of sight. Power flowing through it, Ib looked down at the ship with mild disapproval.
'Come, now. What was that even for?'
It knew the answers the steamer would give, if needled enough. That it was ridiculous to keep sailing across an empty stretch of ocean; that they were too distracted to enjoy even that sailing; that Ib's disparaging comments about being more important to the crew than the Burst were slander.
(It, in the giant's opinion, was just jealous Ib actually possessed a sense of humour. But there were no cures for that.)
The steamer did not respond with words, or even mentally transmitted emotions or images. The former was rare, with Ib, but the latter two wee usually the forms of communication it chose, if only because they were more efficient than most of the alternatives.
And, though hearing the steamer talk was not exactly something Ib wanted, it said, 'I must admit, Burst, it is passing strange that you have chosen to keep the name our captain bestowed upon you when he found you.'
This time, it did use words. Sent to Ib's mind, but better than silence, even though its silent voice grated. [What in the depths is that supposed to mean, shell? I am no traitor to the crew, nor some child to whinge about such matters.]
'You don't have to convince me,' Ib replied. It was not being dishonest, entirely. 'But I was more talking about how you have taken to sporting the hue of dark brass, more often than anything else.'
[...Hmph. You are not wrong, shell. Maybe I should rename myself the Burning Burst. Or the Ahead Of Steam. Get it? Because I have surpassed such means of generating power. Or...]
* * *
Aina had not spoken to her hosts since her arrival to the Clockwork Court, or during her visits to the Loom some called the Weaving or Woven House. Not directly.
Even so, her experience with the creature she shared her flesh and thoughts with prepared her for most uncanny things. It was the fact that the Clockwork King and Weaver Queen were so...impersonal, she thought, that made conversing with them a pain. It wasn't difficult, exactly, but it was ertainly awkward.
Some inhuman beings at least had the decency to make a face or some other embodiment of themselves, so you wouldn't spend the meeting talking at air like a madman. But the Monarchs had dismissed such things as unnecessary, when speaking to her, because "you see deeper than most, guest."
If she hadn't known they did create avatars for speaking with other people (whose sight was narrower, she supposed), she wouldn't have felt peeved looking at nothing.
The King and Queen had come far from the immortal but humanlike minds who had brought their cosmos to ruin in their attempts to prove the superiority of their respective philosophy. That they had found enough common ground afterwards to both marry and help others instead of seeing them as raw materials or pawn was...inspiring. So why couldn't they make an effort to give her something to look at while talking?
The Clockwork King and Weaver Queen's true selves resided in that outer layer of creation, where the Ideas who were both the bedrock of existence and the sun that cast the shadows called reality dwelled. They were alien beings who only mimicked the humanity they'd shed for others' sake, in Aina's opinion.
'Your stay is nearing its end, guest.' The King's voice wasn't the thunderous boom some might have expected, though his half of the audience room, brass and filled with pistons and gears, shook with his words, moved by unnatural force. 'The child from your past returns, now a man.'
Aina stood up straighter, hands clasped behind her back. Her claws, shaped into being by her other's willfulness, dug into her palms to scrape against bone, but she'd long grown used to such pain. 'You said I could remain until you finished studying what you could about me. Is that at an end? Because I do not see how Ryzhan coming here is related to it, unless he's visiting to give you some insight.'
'Allow me to explain,' the Weaver Queen chimed in from the other half of the room, which was pale and bumpy like some mushrooms' insides, and veined with deep purple. Said dark lines pulsed as if pumping thick blood in and out of a hidden heart. Her voice was a smooth contralto at the moment, slightly raspy, like that of a woman used to drink and pipe smoke.
It put Aina more at ease than the girlish voice she'd used in one of their previous talks, it had to be said.
'What my husband meant,' the Queen said, 'is that you will find you no longer have a reason or desire to be here, after you speak with him once more.'
Aina rolled her eyes. 'I know I must seem like some distressed damsel to you, Your Majesties, but I will not die without a man coming to save me. The dress is to hide the tendrils, really. And the talons.' One of the reasons she'd stayed here was because the Court and House were some of the closest things Midworld as a whole had to landmarks: well-know places that could be sought with some success. When Ryzhan returned so they could clear the air, it was better to be somewhere he could find his way to within a mortal lifetime.
Not to mention, the King and Queen had helped her control herself, to an extent. An extent greater than what she'd have achieved alone, at least, and without her hurting another thinking, living being while training herself to keep the monster in check.
She told the two as much, and added, 'If you indeed have nothing left to glean from observing me, and wish me gone, I will take my leave - but I would rather remain here until I can truly keep myself in check.'
There was no reply. But Aina knew she was to go. She had learned long ago, back in her girlhood. As the machines fell silent, and the fleshy mass stopped moving, she turned on her heel and left.
Mendax, she reflected as she walked the hall to her rooms, had departed without his usual dramatic flair, or even an explanation for why it was leaving, much less a goodbye.
She could, in fact, remember when he had left, or how.
* * *
Ryzhan
'I might be a fake sailor, Ib,' I confessed, staring down into my cup. The water was clear enough I could see the glass bottom, and through that, the lacquered table. All three had been brought into being by my magic, or the giant's power.
Ib metaphorically kept an eye of the horizon as it shifted, the table groaning when its elbow settled onto the wooden surface. 'Why's that, Ryz?' it grunted.
The glass made tinkling sounds as I tapped my fingers on its sides. I began to answer, then stopped, shaking my head with a smile.
'Something funny about my question?' Ib made a fist, for appearance's sake.
'Not at all. I've always found you kind of boring, actually. Dull, even.'
'That's because I don't have spikes,' it informed me in a loud whisper, shifting again so its arm brushed against mine. I glared at the thin, shallow cut it had left in my coat sleeve, that of the shirt beneath and my arm, then up at it.
Ib smiled blandly in response, its bladed arm returning to its base state, silently prompting me to go on.
'Your idea of practical jokes gets more dangerous every day,' I told it, remembering myself whole, so that my skin and the fabric of my clothes mended.
'You didn't talk like this before I had to resurrect you.'
It was hard to match flat looks with a faceless person. But when had practicality ever stopped me? 'You'd never admit that.'
'Admit what?'
I sighed. 'To answer your question - your first question -, I...' bringing the cup to my lips just long enough for a sip, I closed my eyes. I'd used to dream about having drinkable water always available, instead of having to scour my guts with saltwater just to trick my body that I wasn't thirsty. Sometimes, I got sick of remembering my thirst being quenched, and wanted something real. Long, lonely voyages could drive a young man to stupid pastimes. 'I do not make rotgut all day, despite knowing the many breeds of it, trust me.' I gestured at the table with the cup, not a drop flying past the rim. 'Nor do I pile this with roasts and sweetmeats fit to burst one's stomach. I used to think I would, if I got rich.'
'I understand, Ryzhan,' Ib said gravely. 'You were a poor, starving boy, yet you haven't embraced the greed of many who sail Midworld.'
I huffed at its not inaccurate description of my childhood, but still threw the contens of my cup at it, minding the glass. The grey being blurred, and somehow, I ended up the one drenched.
It made no sense. For one, water moving too fast for me to react would've been vapour; not to mention, there hadn't been that much in the cup. There couldn't have been. I felt like I'd been dunked into a tub, and one filled with ice water at that.
Remembering dry clothes, I went on. 'My point is, the dreams of yesteryear, once remembered, are no longer so bright or grand, wouldn't you say?'
'Aye, Ryzhan. Void knows, returning home brought me little joy.'
I nodded. 'Thus, I am no true sailor. I am miserly with my power, and I long for land. Land!' Throwing my head back, I laughed deep, from my belly. Many Midworlders only saw islands as temporary shelters, where they could ride out the fury of their true home, the ocean, before returning to it. Vhaarn, with a form-changing ship like hours, and powers like our crew possessed, some people would've never even sought land again. 'Some would say I've no stomach for journeys.' I tapped it, for emphasis. 'Landlubber guts,' I added, in a growling, snarling accent that somehow appeared in every other port.
'Be that as it may,' Ib replied mildly, 'I do not believe that makes you a false sailor, my friend.'
'No?' I asked, annoyed. 'Then how do you explain the fact we've been speeding towards nowhere for days?'
Ib stood up, rolling its shoulders. Its middle and lower arms bulged just as it flexed its upper ones, thick veins playing over what looked like rippling muscles under chrome skin. I smiled, despite my irritation. I'd heard of sculptors skilled enough to create lifelike statues, working stone to the point it was soft enough to resemble flesh, to such a degree as Ib's physical form did.
The Free Fleet had little to offer the world that wasn't awful. But they had created a thing of beauty in Ib, a person who had gone on to help others. I might've had qualms about its honesty or lack thereof, but it was no controlling, power-mad freak. It had shared what it could of its plans with me, and I understood the freedom it envisioned.
Unlike yesterday's dreams, this one did not look so hollow.
Ib waved a heavy hand. 'You're not the captain, Ryzhan, nor the helmsman.' The closest thing we had to the latter was the steamer itself. It had, loudly, told us that "I don't need to be groped to move, unlike your land-bound hides" and that had been that.
In a way, it was almost comforting. Not how cantankerous the tub was, but the fact we could keep going without Three to coax the ship into action. Thought it was some biting irony that the Burst had only become so independent after the ghost's disappearance. I'd have drawn a comparison to baby birds only learning to fly after being pushed out of the nest, but the ship was too damned ugly to be Three's child, and all the shapeshifting in the world couldn't change that.
'You helped set the course as much as you could,' Ib continued, 'but this is not the sort of journey you can rush.'
'I hadn't noticed. The unchanging horizon, it's distracting,' I explained.
Ib did not remark upon my bitterness. 'I understand you have needs, as grown men do. But I doubt Aina will be impressed if you show up before her too worn out to do anything. I say, pace yourself, and...are you pouting?'
I was actually incapable of that, despite the slander. 'Forget her! She and I will do whatever we'll do. If I cared about that and naught more, I'd be journeying towards the Clockwork Court and the Loom alone!'
I knew Ib was joking, but my temper, usually short, was being frayed thin by the continuous failure. Being one myself, I was used to that, but the result was the same.
And there was more truth in my words: according to my arcane sense and intuition, the nature of our journey, that was, one undertaken by a crew, meant we'd either all arrive at the same time or not at all. Had I been travelling by myself, I'd likely have been at the Court days ago. That was the shape of the matter.
My younger self would've been eager, if not happy, to cut loose what he'd have perceived as deadweight, but I knew better now. The practical advantages of being on a crew (one I shared with the Idea of Freedom, no less) aside, I also enjoyed the...companionship.
Which, in the case of a mage like me, might well have counted as a practical advantage, as well. Magic worked poorly without a balanced spirit, at least if you were human, and Ib and the captain certainly helped balance mine.
Even if I wanted to throw the latter overboard sometimes.
Ib held up a hand. 'Peace, Ryzhan. Everyone matters, I know.' It knew that better than most, I'd have wagered. 'Forgive the jibe, please. You're wound up so tight, I think you might keel over if you don't laugh.'
I snorted, but found little to contradict, there. For a while, I sat in silence, one leg crossed over the other, while Ib paced across the ship, now walking the deck, now leaping between the various spires rising from it. In motion, it reminded me of the downy-furred apes one might see on sweltering isles, whose bulk belied their agility as they moved through towering trees with more ease than even the greatest human acrobat.
Knowing it could hear me, I said, 'Mayhap we need another talk with the Mharra.' Vhaarn knew my captain had been trying to make up for uncertainty with enthusiasm when he'd charted our course, as if jitteriness could make up for a lack of conviction. Worse, I didn't think we were really working in concert: had we been, we'd have at least glimpsed the Clockwork Court on the horizon, even if it would've been far farther from us than apparent distance suggested.
As it were, we lacked even that encouragement.
'I agree,' Ib said gravely. 'We need to get the captain on board.'
'...the only reason,' I said with a hooded look at it, 'I'm not breaking this table over your head is because you didn't say that while we were leaving an island.'
'Nonsense. You love me.'
* * *
Mharra knew he hadn't been paying his crew, or the journey, as much attention as he should have, since their reunion. He knew the true reason, couldn't have missed them if he'd tried, but it all felt too...raw, to talk about yet. It was too soon.
'Well,' Mharra muttered to himself, 'it's not like we're getting anywhere. Plenty of time.'
The groan of metal under and around him - the steamer's insider shifting - sounded chiding. He tapped the floor with one boot and resumed his work on the construct taking up most of the table before him.
It was not the first time the stout man was grateful for Midworld's vastness, though usually, that took the form of relief at having enough places to hide from danger. He sympathised with Ryzhan when he recalled those moments.
Currently, he was glad the map he was making wasn't too expansive, because his arms were only so long, no matter that his talent let him work dead wood, water and stone and lifelike motion.
Mharra did not understand it, exactly. Not like he understood weather to the point of being able to predict it. Or like he understood people, at least enough to capture their attention with his shows. His talent was like the inner workings of his body, except that where he might find a physician to explain those in detail, he doubted there were many who could even tell what power he had.
And outside his crew, he doubted he'd trust most.
A waterspout rose, at the southwestern edge of the map, and the sensation of a wet hand and sleeve followed, though the water had actually slid harmlessly off Mharra. Being true to life was something he'd aimed for, when making the map, though he wasn't sure how much his talent took such wishes into account, or if it even could. Sometimes, it seemed like a living, thinking being. Other days...
He shook his head. The contraption had begun as an excuse to take his mind off things, but it had become...more. Not the first time such a thing had happened in his life, or that of one of his crew. Since a few hours ago, Mharra had reasoned, he'd be able to gain much selling such living maps - though not the means to make them, if he had a word to say. That would result in shameless imitation and lost offers, more than likely, or assassination attempts, in revenge for his maps' failures, or just because they were useful. And if it turned out his talent was needed to make them, Mharra was sure few would balk at enslaving or otherwise forcefully putting him to work.
No, the creation of the maps would stay a secret, if he could help it. But the fruits of his labour needed not be hoarded.
Mharra had begun by recreating places he had sailed and walk, and had been almost surprised to see how they stood in relation to each other - those that still remained, that was. But where he had thought his knowledge, his memory, dictated the shape of the map, it had surpassed his expecations.
That waterspout just now? Going by the scale, it had happened far past the horizon, in reality. The result of his talent looking out for him, more likely than not. Now, if only he could get that bastard of a power to be more open-
The door barely made a sound as it opened, and it was quickly swallowed by that of Ryzhan's footsteps and the clicking of his cane against the floor; those sounds were, in turn, lost in the thunder of Ib's motions, the giant's heavy tread only pausing when it shifted form to flow through the door, with a noise like a fierce waterfall.
Mharra plastered a smile on his face as he looked up. It wasn't difficult: Ryzhan had, lately, started looking like some maiden aunt's idea of a corsair prince, with that coat and cane and shiny boots; if the mage hadn't been so withdrawn and acidic, Mharra might've even be able to see where said women were coming from. If there were any.
But, at the moment, Ryzhan looked like he'd swallowed a lemon, rind at all, and maybe the monkey that had been trying to eat it, too. Mharra told himself that being able to spot this was a sign of their deep friendship, since it didn't differ much from the mage's usual sour look.
Ib, on the other hand, was expressionless, its flat face as smooth and unchanging as its chromed hide. It seemed to fill the room, looming over its other occupants in a way that had little to do with its size. The subtle pressure deepened as it crossed its arms.
'We need to talk, boss.' The grey being's basso didn't disturb a drop of water on the surface of the map, even though Mharra could've sworn he felt it in his bones. Ib was being considerate, he supposed. Might as well return the favour.
'I'd applaud you for taking the first step,' Mharra replied, 'but my hands are quite full.'
Ryzhan's mouth, until then set in a grim line, was twisted by a frown. He tapped his cane on the tiles (for effect, Mharra guessed, for he took no steps forward) and said, 'Captain, please. Won't you clear the table? We must speak of...what?' the mage asked after having trailed off upon seeing Mharra's vehement gestures. 'What is it?'
This time, the captain's smile came easier. 'My friends - you see before yourselves the future of Midworld navigation.'
He explained the process of creation - what he understood of it, though even then, calling it an explanation would've been generous - and shared his plans with them. Nothing certain; just possibilities they might look into, at some point.
Ryzhan was as sceptical and blunt as he'd expected. 'Sir, you realise that even if you're right - even if the maps show dangers imperceivable to one's senses if used on vessels you are sailing on - that will only incentivise people to kidnap you, right? You're not going to get...work contracts, you're going to be kidnapped and chained up in some navigation room.'
Mharra waved him off. 'The most likely option. But I'm trying to stay optimistic here, Ryzhan.' He looked from one crewmember to the other, and added, 'Wouldn't you say we need more of that, these days?'
'What we need is-' Ryzhan sighed, closed his eyes. 'Very well. Let's say they do hire you. Vhaarn knows Midworld has enough people there has to be a chance of running into the sort of people you hope for, at some point.' It was believed by some that Midworld's endless expanse was dotted with every possible type of environment and culture, though anyone who could check hadn't shared their findings, if there were any. 'But what prompted this...burst of altruism?' The mage's voice grew sardonic as he went on. 'I distinctly remember letting some people drown instead of taking them to another island by force. Are you going to invite yourself onto the vessels of people who don't mind some risk, Mharra?'
'Of course not - that would be a waste of time!' Mharra's eyes twinkled, though his voice was hardly joking. ''Tis not like I'm immortal, Ryz.' For what actors sometimes referred to as a "beat" (the span of time it would take to beat a drum or similar instrument), he let the words hang, then meaningfully set his eyes on Ib. 'To my knowledge.'
The giant's shrug would've been barely perceptible, on a man. As it were, it didn't need to shift its shoulders to emphasise the gesture. 'It could be done,' it admitted, 'should you wish it. We have the means. On that note, though, captain...' the table didn't creak under Ib's elbow as it leaned forward, though that had more to do with the ship's power over its insides than the strength of the metal itself. 'Why would you want to work for others? We can make anything we need, trust me; and do not take this the wrong way, but a day's work under an employer's eyes is not like our shows. It's drudgery, more often than not.'
Mharra refrained from rolling his eyes - with the effort Ib spoke of putting in. 'Imagine that I am aware of how the world works. I did sail on my own before I scooped you misfits up, remember?'
'Nevertheless, Mharra, it's odd to hear you wanting to sign up for such a dull endeavour,' Ib said, sounding puzzled. That was, the captain knew, a tactic, more likely than not. Few things could escape the grey being's cosmic perception, and Mharra could not hide any of them. Which meant Ib was trying to make him think - its usual reason for asking people questions, or otherwise prodding them. 'Perhaps you're losing your edge.' A flicker of motion across the giant's face, aimed at Ryzhan. The mage scowled, but made no reply. Some new inside joke?
'Aye, yes, I'm getting old,' Mharra wheezed out the last word. 'Fine. Do you really want to know what lit a fire under me?'
'I hope not a matchstick - the steamer gets heated about scorch marks.'
Stalwartly ignoring Ryzhan, the captain said, 'I do not, in fact, wish to be immortal, Ib. At least, I don't think I do. Not yet.' What would be the point? An eternity to contemplate his failure? He'd rather, well. 'But think of the future. Your timeless gaze sees all that might come, no? And beyond.'
'Captain, being told your future doesn't mean it will come to pass.'
'I didn't say it would,' Mharra replied smoothly. 'But if we fail to get anything done, I'd rather be remembered as having brought one good thing into this world, than not at all.' His voice dropped. 'Or be remembered to have failed by you two. And...'
They protested at that, of course. How could they not? He was their captain. But he wouldn't change his mind, not when it came to this.
The argument was followed by a silence more uncomfortable than awkward. It was Ryzhan who broke it. 'Enough of this,' he breathed, briefly closing his eyes, then opening them to meet Mharra's. 'Is that why you've been so off-balance?' he asked softly. 'Captain - Ib and I spoke. You heard it when you woke up, after we got back. We must,' he tapped the tabletop with a finger, 'be united in purpose, or we won't get anywhere.'
'And isn't that poetic...'
'Aye, I don't care much for it either,' Ryzhan admitted. 'I've never been able to stand depending on others - no offence.' None was taken. They knew where he was coming from. 'But truly, captain, if you're not going to cooperate, we might as well disband this crew and go our separate ways.'
'Not that such a thing would help,' Ib quickly chimed in, as if to dissuade the mage from encouraging anyone to do such a thing. Had they rehearsed that? No, likely not, by Ryzhan's scowl. The giant must've been feeling pessimistic, to disagree like that out loud, when they were together. 'We would not gain anything from separation. No one, elsewhere or when, would.'
Mharra had heard its explanations, if they could be called that, the oblique references to its plans, and while it tickled his ego to know so much depended on his crew, he'd also rather have had people prepared and inclined to deal with such things doing so.
But that was just an idle wish. Midworld only granted those the way a sardonic trickster would, when it did so at all, and not many of the alternate worlds Ib had described sounded kinder. Sometimes, the right people just weren't in the right place at the right time. Others had to become better, in the stead of said people, and do what had to be done.
Tides. Look at him, stepping up to save everyone's hides. Maybe that was where the ridiculous idea with the maps was coming from, too. Old, buried guilt resurfacing. Not that he'd ever felt much guilty at leaving people to their chosen fates. Dismayed or surprised they'd be that stupid, or hopeless, maybe.
Must've been the guilt about losing Three and having done little to find him so far. It was more palatable than accepting he was delusional; he'd already got sick of that back when he'd been made to face his memories.
'Then we just have to soldier on, don't we,' Ryzhan stated more than asked. To the table, it looked like from where Mharra was sitting. Or the floor. But knowing how practical the man was, he was probably addressing both at once.
Not feeling quite as efficient, Mharra spoke to his crew one at a time. 'And that we will,' he assured Ryzhan. Oh, the mage would grit his teeth and stubbornly trudge on to whatever the end of this path was. But he wouldn't do it happily, and maybe not ready to give his full attention to whatever matters awaited him there. From what Ib had insinuated, that way lay disaster.
Which meant he and the giant had to make sure the mage was always feeling cheerful, but appropriately dutiful and focused.
Mharra surreptitiously checked the steamer's railing through the window behind him. Pretty long fall...
'Is something the matter outside, captain?'
'I'm not there,' he answered, then forged on, before the puzzled Ryzhan could ask something else. 'I say, we best put our cards on the table, no?'
He was half expecting Ib to pull a thick deck out of nowhere, as a prop to punctuate the line, but it did nothing. Mharra glumly wondered if that was a subtle confirmation that managing Ryzhan would mostly fall to him, and looked out the window again.
'Sir, what is-'
'As I was saying,' Mharra went on, 'we have to be honest with each other.' Funny, the way he could feel so tense and deflated at the same time, as if his shoulders were going to remain set forever, but with insides so empty it was a wonder he didn't collapse in on himself. 'I believe we've had a discussion or two like this, Xar-Ryzhan.'
The mage didn't dignify that with a reply. 'As you say, captain. Shall you go first?'
Mharra did not.
* * *
Ryzhan's hands were folded atop his cane as he finished speaking, his head turned to behold the tides. Low but fierce, they made the bubbling grey sea resemble metal being handled by a blacksmith; it was difficult to see where they ended and the heavy clouds began.
Mharra was not so green as to point out such obvious portents; things like that were magnets for irony, divine or cosmic, depending on one's mindset (and the second invited more of the first, often in the form of lightning bolts spelling out that the gods were very much real). Instead, he asked, 'Besides Ib - and me, now - have you spoken to anyone else of this Serene Rest, Ryzhan?'
The mage turned his head to look at him, his usually bright green eyes seeming as dark as bottle-glass, for a moment. 'When and how, captain?' he bit out. 'Even if I'd found someone willing to listen to that drivel-'
'But you claimed it was serious about what it said.'
'Aye, but that doesn't make it any less absurd.' The mage looked torn between a huff and an eyeroll, but settled on neither; how he usually dealt with unpalatable choices, in microcosm. If only he could borrow his head in the sand about what was coming, his eyes silently said. 'I will, of course, as soon as we cross paths with people hungry for tales.'
Mharra drew a leg up, grasping the knee with both hands as he balanced on his chair. 'Do you truly have to do that? Even if it somehow finds out you broke your promise to it and, for argument's sake, tracks us down...so what? Ib,' he pointed at said giant, 'could rip it into shreds crush those into diamonds.' Granted, that would be some tacky jewellery, even discounting the baggage, but it would be dramatic. The showman within Mharra stood up straighter at the notion. 'Couldn't you?'
'I could,' Ib replied with that tone that meant it probably wouldn't, for reasons that'd made sense later. 'Ryzhan needn't trouble himself with what may happen.'
In other words, they'd better make sure Ryzhan only worried about certain doom, or Ib would sock Mharra (him and the mage too, maybe) a good one.
Understandable. Not that it meant the captain liked it.
'Indeed,' Mharra agreed, then asked Ryzhan, 'Are you sure that is what's bothering you?' At the mage's questioning, defensive look (he was probably going to say he wasn't a liar anymore, and tack on a complaint or twelve), he quickly added, 'I mean, you seemed fairly upset when you went over those...grey folk.' He coughed lightly. 'And the simulacrum.'
'The puppets were...' Ryzhan, thumb pressed against index and middle fingers, stopped, shook his head. 'The people that island hollowed out might be restored, one day, but it will not be by my power. I cannot remember the way they used to be, because I've never truly known them as they once were. I could only remember other people, but that would overwrite their selves. Just as twisted as what Serene Rest itself did.'
That sounded interesting. 'For argument's sake,' Mharra began casually, 'could you overwrite mine?'
Narrowed eyes. 'Sir? I don't-'
'Say, to before the Free Fleet visit. So I don't mope around anymore. Could you?'
Ryzhan looked more offended at every word, but schooled his features before answering. 'Assuming your little miracles didn't interfere with my magic - and I don't understand your tricks enough to be sure they wouldn't - I'd only be able to restore your mood from that time. But the memories would quickly get rid of that.' The mage's voice became cooler. 'Unless you wanted me to remember your entire self from then, so that you'd forget; but even so, you'd still learn, know, that Three is lost. You might be less despondent, but you'd be more confused.' He chuckled darkly. 'Assuming Ib didn't paint the hull with my entrails for trying to do any of that.'
'Powdered bone is easier to work with, actually,' the giant remarked.
'Fascinating.'
As they bantered, Mharra spent a few moments congratulating himself for getting Ryzhan to admit he wasn't, wouldn't become, some thief of selves. The fact he could was alarming enough - though, like the mage himself had pointed out, Ib's presence precluded any magical nonsense of that sort -, but knowing he wouldn't do it was reassuring.
And if they ever had to bluff their way out of something, threatening people that they'd be remembered as others was at least unique, as such things went. Mharra could see someone more focused on power and control remaking Midworld in their image, with Ryzha's magic, or at least a caster with said ability at their side.
It was good that he knew testing Ryzhan's temper was a way to distract him from his brooding.
The captain cleared his throat. 'And...her? It? You alternated while taking about it.'
Ryzhan's nod was curt. 'Aye. In truth, I know it was only false matter shaped and moved to resemble flesh and thought. But whenever I looked at it, I saw her.' At Mharra's flat expression, he hurriedly added, 'You know what I mean. I remembered...if I'd seen Aina before, had we been reunited, I don't think I'd have been so...off-balanced, by that creature.'
'Didn't sound distracted to me,' Mharra muttered, remembering Ryzhan's confrontation with Serene Rest's puppets following the end of his show. 'But worry not. I'm sure we'll see her soon.'
Ryzhan's answering grin was brittle, sharp; humourless. 'One way or another...'
Mharra chose not to comment.
* * *
As the captain had expected, his crew chided him like he was only now entering manhood and testing his boundaries and they were his mother.
'You know better than to lose control of your wits,' Ryzhan said tightly, while Ib managed a flat glare with no eyes or anything else. And people had said he had it on the troupe for no reason. 'Especially around people you know wish you ill - seriously, captain?'
'Watch it,' Mharra said flatly. 'Firstly, I could not have truly endangered myself or the ship - whatever its stance on us, you think the steamer wants its shell marred? Secondly,' he placed an elbow on the table, pointing at Ryzhan, 'don't think I don't recognise your tone. You're about to say I'm too unreliable, or incompetent, or something of the sort, to be left alone.'
Ryzhan was too controlled for his face to redden in moments like this, but the captain could practically hear him grinding his teeth. 'Prove me wrong, then. What would've happened if the ship had been unable to help you, for some reason or another? Would we have come back to a bloated corpse bobbing in the water?'
'Well,' Mharra looked aside, 'I certainly wouldn't be having this discussion...apologies. I wouldn't be getting lectured now.'
Ryzhan bit back a sharp retort. 'Would you even have mentioned it if we hadn't decided to be honest with each other? And now that you have, what are you doing? Complaining about this perceived uselessness of yours instead of making sure this gaffe could never happen again.'
'If we hadn't decided to be honest with each other,' Mharra echoed, 'would you have brought up your little deal with Serene Rest? Ever? Or would you have gone on to quietly talk about it with whoever you met, out of sight and earshot?'
'I wouldn't have-that wouldn't have threatened the crew,' Ryzhan protested. 'Don't try to turn this around-'
'Wouldn't it have? If some poor fools sent on their way to that island returned for revenge, what would you do? Sic Ib on them until the waters run red?' Before the mage could retort, Mharra added, 'Remember we let you stay on the ship when you offered nothing but secrets. If those pursuers for imagination had been real, if they'd happened upon us, what would you have said?'
Ryzhan stared at him for a few moments, then forced a laugh. 'Whataboutisms. Offer, eh? I'd say I've offered more than enough, in recompense, since we began sailing together. And not just through my magic - who confronted the steamer when it was grieving and half-feral, Mharra? You?'
'The point,' the captain said softly, 'is that what might have happened did not, and so, talking about it is as pointless as talking about what may happen, someday. You heard Ib.' The breath he drew was ragged, as was his voice when he spoke. 'Perceived uselessness, Ryzhan? No, I'd say factual. What can I do you two can't surpass? Mope and fail?'
'Mope, I'll grant,' the mage replied sardonically, though his eyes softened. 'Captain, we're past the point where we have to worry about our material wellbeing. Well past. What you can do, physically, is not the point. This isn't one of those slave-labourer vessels that are more floating prisons than anything. You are here for us-' At Mharra's laugh, one of the corners of his mouth curved downwards. 'You think you'll get anywhere close to Three, thinking like this?'
'Blackmail is a blunt tool, Ryzhan.'
'How about this, then: if you keep dragging us down and have this ship moving like a lily pad in a lake, I'll personally trash you with that tacky hat of yours.'
'Threats, now?'
'They're called promises.' Ryzhan sniffed, then turned to Ib. The grey being sat quiet, observing, seemingly. 'Nothing to add? Don't tell me you've gone mute.'
'A request that could be easily fulfilled,' Ib said drily, 'if I were. Ryzhan, my purpose in this exchange is being achieved by my presence.'
'And what is that?'
'I witness.' It held up a blunt-fingered hand that could've closed over a man's head with place to spare. 'I record - not on paper or vellum or stone, but in my thoughts.'
'An archive of truth if there ever was one,' Ryzhan commented, tone ironic, but Ib nodded as if flattered, a rough suggestion of a grin on its face.
'Just so. My friends,' its voice grew more serious. 'This had to happen, and I don't just mean your talk. Our journeys - we had to grow apart in order to grow, apart; had we stayed together, we would have achieved even less than we have so far.'
'Less than nothing? That would be quite the sight,' Ryzhan remarked.
'Indeed, Ryz. But not a novel one for you, I think; you've seen your self-esteem often enough.' Glancing aside from the spluttering mage, it told Mharra, 'We must all walk our paths, captain, but there are beings and forces that would waylay us, force us off them. I am not being metaphorical when I was events would conspire to make you fail without me to guide you.'
Mharra's smile was wide, insincere. 'As things stand, though, we are free to walk our assigned paths.'
'Exactly,' Ib agreed, tone only betraying a hint of sadness. 'I would rather everyone was free, but...' Its great shoulders heaved. A despondent shrug, maybe, or an inhalation. Ib's breath, when it decided to draw it (usually, to put breathing people at ease), was not always audible. 'There is much to say about liberty, here, and in the layers beneath, above and beyond. Some see freedom as the power to do as they wish with themselves and their works; others, as the right to do so with others and the fruits of those people's labour. I know many who believe in the second kind of freedom. They are moving their pieces, now.'
All were quiet, for nearly a minute, following that. Then Mharra spoke, SOFTLY.
'So you move yours, in turn.'
Not just mine, the giant thought but did not say. It was immaterial that Mendax and its allies had designs for its crewmates as well: theirs and Ib's coincided, so what was the point of letting them know there was more than one being of obscure purposes nudging them along?
Ib answered, 'I am a guide, not a master of chess or puppets. A...shepherd.'
'Baah,' Ryzhan deadpanned.
'That was hilarious,' Ib lied, just as flatly. 'Friends, you must know by now, that if I could take everyone's suffering onto my shoulders, I would. But that is not how creation works.' It lowered its hand, said, 'Captain, I had to make you confront your doubts. I am happy you managed, and that you even chose to help another soul, in the meantime.'
Mharra scoffed. 'If I'd managed, I wouldn't be pouting like an idiot now.'
'Wouldn't you? Sir, a brave man does not face his fear once before remaining courageous forever. A confident man does not overcome his doubts once and for all. Only a mad one does. One mad with arrogance, that is.'
'Thank you for endorsing my sanity, then,' Mharra replied lightly. 'But tell me: when you planned to make me take a good, long look at myself, did you know I'd end up making a fool of myself among the pleasure fleet?'
'That could've passed,' the giant answered, 'but it did not. Although, it is not without a silver lining.'
'Oh?'
Ib nodded. 'You have grown closer to the Burst.' It laughed roughly. 'As much as anyone can. Calling it an unhinged tool would be true in several ways-'
The giant smoothly stood and kept its footing as its chair disappeared into the floor, which began warping and bubbling. The heat, which would've made vapour of any other crewmember, was kept isolated, focused on the giant, by the ship's will.
Ib laughed. 'It's just jealous I do more for the crew than it does.' Turning to Mharra once more, it said, 'Sir, with some luck, you and this Tekkhar boy you've helped will cross paths once more. Who knows? He might even fill the hole in your heart, in his own way.'
Mharra gave it an incredulous look. 'Ib,' he said carefully, 'I don't know if you ate a rotten wreck or what, but he's not even close to being a man. I didn't and don't intend to shape him into a, a-I'm not that desperate.'
Ib waved a hand. 'That could've gone better. I'll leave the awkward phrasing for Ryzhan, from now on.'
'You tin-skinned bastard-'
'As I was saying,' Ib went on, casually placing a hand on the mage's head, who visibly fumed under it, 'in his own way, captain. We know you've never had much luck with family, neither the one you were born to nor those you were pushed to begin. Would you turn a found son away? Or, say Tekhar meets you again as a grown man. You could be like...brothers.'
Perhaps it was the paranoia caused by recent events, but Mharra did not like the way Ib talked, like the captain was going to end up sailing alone at some point. What was the point of the crew reuniting after a forced separation if they drifted apart by choice? But no, that was a tyrant's thinking. He was a captain, not a despot, and he could not order his crew to waste their lives around him if they wanted to be elsewhere.
Besides, they'd probably beat him half to death if he tried.
No, that was the loneliness he'd only recently left behind talking. Had he not begun sailing alone, even being grateful for the solitude?
He asked them about their plans following the end of this journey, wishing to hear what they would do.
Ryzhan shrugged, twirling his cane with one hand. 'I will keep travelling, of course, captain. Keep learning. Aina will, hopefully, come along, but that is for her to decide. I do not intend to drag you into any dangerous travels, but I, we, could certainly return to this ship in-between journeys. If you'll have us.'
'All that exists is my home,' Ib answered, 'and you will find me whenever you go. We will not drift apart, captain.'
Mharra nodded, not truly reassured. Then, a thought struck him. 'I wonder why the talking box we sail on is being so quiet. Is it meant to witness, too?'
'Nay, it's just a cranky sod.' Ib chuckled. 'Get it? Crank. Because it has-'
'I'm sure it does, Ib,' Mharra said. 'I'm sure it does.' He stroked his heard. 'What about your adventure, then? You seemed very intent on taking care of whatever business you had wherever you went. So, how went your affair?'
Ib groaned. 'Do not call it that.'
* * *
By the time the glum giant finished recounting its story, its crewmates were not managing to hide their smirks in their beards. Or trying to.
'What are you two smirking at?' Ib demanded.
'Nothing,' they lied. In unison, obviously. How could they otherwise, when they were in cahoots?
Ib narrowed its eyes, growing two just for this purpose. 'You think I misunderstood Ashe's advances. No, I saw them for what they were. Whhy do you think I kept spurning her? If I let her get under my skin, she'd go all in.'
'...I believe you, Ib,' Ryzhan said gravely, elbowing Mharra. Was that why they'd moved to sit together?
The captain's face was blank as he regarded the mage, but Ib was not blind to their intrigues. It knew exactly what they were thinking. 'In any case,' it rumbled, 'I was moved by her gesture at the end-'
'Were you?'
'Bloody void, captain - you know what I mean.' Ib unmade its eyes, sighed. 'It was nice of her people to...try to make amends. It showed they were not the worthless, dogmatic pawns you would expect in such a situation.' It smiled, slightly. 'It showed there is yet hope to be found in the most unlikely places, even from people unguided out of the pits they've dug for themselves.'
At this, the other two grew more serious, which Ib was thankful for. Ashe was enough of a handful without people talking about her when she wasn't even there.
Were Ib a more superstitious sort (or less aware of the macrocosm), it might have entertained the idea of the dragoness popping out of nowhere when mentioned, like some beings could. Most inclined to do that were insubstantial and often tied to specific places and phrases, however; those who were not usually had reasons of their own to appear suddenly, and the dragon, to Ib's knowledge, had none.
So she would stay on her island and take care of her affa-business, until the time came.
'And you're sure that much will hinge on me, Ib?'
The giant did not stir from where it was seated on the deck. Even so, it had no problem meeting the mage's eyes, and did so as it morphed its head while twisting its neck all the way around. 'Rejoice. Some would give anything to have so many people depend on them, if only so they could blackmail them, or brag about it later.'
They had left Mharra's cabin behind a few hours ago, not having anything to discuss for the time being. Nothing official, that was, and brooding annoyed fewer people when they were doing it apart. Ib was beginning to think Ryzhan's book, when he wrote one, was going to be called The Deep Thoughts Of People On A Boat, or some such.
It would be a good tactic to make people expecting a comedy to buy. Like that employed by the fellow who called an icy island green and a green one icy.
Ryzhan's smile was sickly. 'I'm sure that will do wonders for my ego.' His stomach, though, was turning at the thought of what failure would entail.
Ib placed a heavy hand on his shoulder, and, between its weight and his worries, the mage's knees nearly buckled. Quickly, Ib let go, going for another way to reassure him. 'Remember, Ryzhan: if - when - all are brought together, some will be unable or unwilling to remember properly. That will not do. You will bring back what they forgot or wished they could, or you will remember it yourself, after taking it from them. All that has come of creation must be presented, just like its unity and its potential, if we are to break this Dream.'
Ryzhan did not like the sound of that, but Ib couldn't have cared less, unless it kept him from doing what he must. Managing his feelings, in that regard, was much more important than said feeling in of themselves.
Ib couldn't give half a damn if this all ended with Ryzhan despising it with every fibre of his being, as long as he did his part. Duty was a cold comfort - certainly not one that would make the loss of a friend easier to bear - but it was a comfort.
Ryzhan nodded, half to himself, and said, 'This dead man of yours, Ib-'
'Not mine,' it corrected. 'I have spoken to you of him, but that does not make him something of mine any more than looking at the sea grants you ownership of it.' Indeed, Ib could not say the things, people or events from its stories about the rest of creation belonged to it. Some of them had been caused by or for freedom's sake, but ownership, as a concept, had little but rivalry to do with Ib.
'In any case,' the mage replied. 'The...preparations he has been put through, I wouldn't exchange anything I've suffered for. No matter how often I've wished for a different life.' His eyes were questioning, but not disbelieving. 'You are certain Mendax and its ilk made sure he would go through all you've told me?' He laughed, a hollow, humourless sound. 'I am glad I only have to deal with you, as far as such things go.'
Ib said nothing.
Tapping his cane against the deck a few times, Ryzhan, keeping his eyes down, continued, 'I know you've said contact with other...worlds, with the ones not intended to host him for the time being, would only distract him and stunt his growth, but I wish I could tell him to be strong. That it will get better.'
Ib's chuckle was like everything in an armoury toppling at once. 'And this comes from the goodness of your heart, friend?'
'Obviously - but telling him not to bugger everything up for everyone can't hurt.'
'He does not know know so much depends on him yet,' Ib replied patiently. 'Time might flow at the same rate in most cosmoses, but that doesn't mean everything happens at once when you look at multiple realities.'
'But after?'
'After, you might talk to him at your own leisure. Provided you make contact.'
'You think we could stand each other?'
'If you can't, seat each other,' Ib cautioned. 'But find a table first.'
The flat look Ryzhan gave it, followed by a sigh as he turned to leave, was exactly what it had hoped for. Even so, it was too humble to smirk.
Outwardly.
Ib had just risen to its feet when the deck bulged under it, with such force and speed any mundane being would've been launched out of sight. Power flowing through it, Ib looked down at the ship with mild disapproval.
'Come, now. What was that even for?'
It knew the answers the steamer would give, if needled enough. That it was ridiculous to keep sailing across an empty stretch of ocean; that they were too distracted to enjoy even that sailing; that Ib's disparaging comments about being more important to the crew than the Burst were slander.
(It, in the giant's opinion, was just jealous Ib actually possessed a sense of humour. But there were no cures for that.)
The steamer did not respond with words, or even mentally transmitted emotions or images. The former was rare, with Ib, but the latter two wee usually the forms of communication it chose, if only because they were more efficient than most of the alternatives.
And, though hearing the steamer talk was not exactly something Ib wanted, it said, 'I must admit, Burst, it is passing strange that you have chosen to keep the name our captain bestowed upon you when he found you.'
This time, it did use words. Sent to Ib's mind, but better than silence, even though its silent voice grated. [What in the depths is that supposed to mean, shell? I am no traitor to the crew, nor some child to whinge about such matters.]
'You don't have to convince me,' Ib replied. It was not being dishonest, entirely. 'But I was more talking about how you have taken to sporting the hue of dark brass, more often than anything else.'
[...Hmph. You are not wrong, shell. Maybe I should rename myself the Burning Burst. Or the Ahead Of Steam. Get it? Because I have surpassed such means of generating power. Or...]
* * *
Aina had not spoken to her hosts since her arrival to the Clockwork Court, or during her visits to the Loom some called the Weaving or Woven House. Not directly.
Even so, her experience with the creature she shared her flesh and thoughts with prepared her for most uncanny things. It was the fact that the Clockwork King and Weaver Queen were so...impersonal, she thought, that made conversing with them a pain. It wasn't difficult, exactly, but it was ertainly awkward.
Some inhuman beings at least had the decency to make a face or some other embodiment of themselves, so you wouldn't spend the meeting talking at air like a madman. But the Monarchs had dismissed such things as unnecessary, when speaking to her, because "you see deeper than most, guest."
If she hadn't known they did create avatars for speaking with other people (whose sight was narrower, she supposed), she wouldn't have felt peeved looking at nothing.
The King and Queen had come far from the immortal but humanlike minds who had brought their cosmos to ruin in their attempts to prove the superiority of their respective philosophy. That they had found enough common ground afterwards to both marry and help others instead of seeing them as raw materials or pawn was...inspiring. So why couldn't they make an effort to give her something to look at while talking?
The Clockwork King and Weaver Queen's true selves resided in that outer layer of creation, where the Ideas who were both the bedrock of existence and the sun that cast the shadows called reality dwelled. They were alien beings who only mimicked the humanity they'd shed for others' sake, in Aina's opinion.
'Your stay is nearing its end, guest.' The King's voice wasn't the thunderous boom some might have expected, though his half of the audience room, brass and filled with pistons and gears, shook with his words, moved by unnatural force. 'The child from your past returns, now a man.'
Aina stood up straighter, hands clasped behind her back. Her claws, shaped into being by her other's willfulness, dug into her palms to scrape against bone, but she'd long grown used to such pain. 'You said I could remain until you finished studying what you could about me. Is that at an end? Because I do not see how Ryzhan coming here is related to it, unless he's visiting to give you some insight.'
'Allow me to explain,' the Weaver Queen chimed in from the other half of the room, which was pale and bumpy like some mushrooms' insides, and veined with deep purple. Said dark lines pulsed as if pumping thick blood in and out of a hidden heart. Her voice was a smooth contralto at the moment, slightly raspy, like that of a woman used to drink and pipe smoke.
It put Aina more at ease than the girlish voice she'd used in one of their previous talks, it had to be said.
'What my husband meant,' the Queen said, 'is that you will find you no longer have a reason or desire to be here, after you speak with him once more.'
Aina rolled her eyes. 'I know I must seem like some distressed damsel to you, Your Majesties, but I will not die without a man coming to save me. The dress is to hide the tendrils, really. And the talons.' One of the reasons she'd stayed here was because the Court and House were some of the closest things Midworld as a whole had to landmarks: well-know places that could be sought with some success. When Ryzhan returned so they could clear the air, it was better to be somewhere he could find his way to within a mortal lifetime.
Not to mention, the King and Queen had helped her control herself, to an extent. An extent greater than what she'd have achieved alone, at least, and without her hurting another thinking, living being while training herself to keep the monster in check.
She told the two as much, and added, 'If you indeed have nothing left to glean from observing me, and wish me gone, I will take my leave - but I would rather remain here until I can truly keep myself in check.'
There was no reply. But Aina knew she was to go. She had learned long ago, back in her girlhood. As the machines fell silent, and the fleshy mass stopped moving, she turned on her heel and left.
Mendax, she reflected as she walked the hall to her rooms, had departed without his usual dramatic flair, or even an explanation for why it was leaving, much less a goodbye.
She could, in fact, remember when he had left, or how.
Statistics: Posted by Strigoi Grey — 2025-02-14 01:44pm