Chapter 28

Perun

The following morning, the sun crested the horizon, painting the sky in splashes of muted golds and pinks. Mags, fresh from her morning post-training bath, her hair still damp and tied up to dry, barely had time to catch her breath before a message came. A Ghost Hound, her face smeared with dirt and sweat, informed Mags that Skithbladnir would soon be docking in Perun.

The night before, sleep had been elusive. Mags had lain in her bed, eyes fixed on the ceiling of her cabin, the Daedalus Orb cradled in her hands. Its surface was smooth, simple. She had spent hours turning it over, searching the edges of her mind for something—anything—that would unlock its secrets. She had even crept down to the ship’s library, hoping some dusty tome might offer guidance, but had found nothing. Barely a relevant text. No mention of the orb in any of the few books she did explore. An intentional gap in the library’s knowledge, she suspected. A riddle without an answer, or at least one that she wasn’t meant to find so easily.

The ship’s deck was already bustling when Mags stepped out, the wind tugging at her loose linen shirt as she caught her first glimpse of Perun from afar. The sky-docks were a marvel of engineering—a web of platforms and walkways suspended high above the sprawling city, crisscrossed by airships of every size and design, each tethered to a variety of different skyfin. Floating whales, something that resembled a type of marlin, and even a few carp carrying smaller vessels. She had never seen anything like it. The sheer scale of the docks took her breath away, their edges vanishing into the distance. Below, the city of Perun stretched endlessly, its streets choked with buildings, some towering, some squat, all interwoven with bridges and canals that gleamed like veins of silver.

As Skithbladnir descended, the sounds of the docks rose to meet them—a cacophony of shouting dockworkers, the creak and groan of ships being loaded and unloaded, the clatter of metal against stone. The smell of the city—oil, smoke, and the tang of industry—hit her next, mingling with the sweet scent of flowers from the upper terraces that sprawled beneath the cerulean domed palace, which loomed over the entire skyline. Mags gripped the railing—so tight the blood drained from her knuckles—as she took it all in.

Behind her, a voice broke through the noise like a knife through cloth. “Is this your first time in Perun?”

Captain Frey Sarto had appeared silently. Her eyes, sharp and faintly glowing in the shadow of the ship’s main mast, were unreadable. She stepped from the shade into the golden light of the morning, her steps like a prowling predator. Mags shuddered in the woman’s presence. She couldn’t tell if what she was feeling was palpable or only in her head, but Sarto radiated a power. A pleasant smile was painted on to the woman’s face, a smile that didn’t touch her eyes.

Mags swallowed and nodded. “Yes, Lady Sarto. I’ve never seen anything like this.”

Sarto’s lips curled into a wider smile that held no warmth, but no malice either. “It can be overwhelming,” she said, her voice was as sweet as honey. “But don’t let the size of the city dishearten you. It can be a place of opportunity, if you know where to look. I’ve arranged for Calcabrina to escort you today—you’ll need a few essentials before we arrive in Wrifton.”

“I have no money, and would prefer to be in no one’s debt.” Particularly you, she added silently.

“It’s an investment. Brightwash Academy will provide all basic items, including uniform. However, there are unspoken expectations of what each student will bring themselves. I’ve provided the list to Calcabrina.”

Mags said nothing. She met the woman’s eyes, and despite wanting to immediately avert her gaze, kept them locked onto Sarto’s.

Sarto continued. “We depart tomorrow morning.” She tilted her head slightly. “Make sure you don’t get lost. Perun has swallowed many who wander its streets without care.”

Mags nodded, her heart beating a little faster. She grabbed onto the railing to steady herself, lowering her focus to her feet and the smooth grain of the airship’s deck. What’s happening to me? Her pulse quickly slowed. She looked up to find Sarto gone, having silently vanished as quickly as she had appeared.

image [https://i.imgur.com/7P7JEZo.png]

Soon enough, Calcabrina found her. The older girl’s hair was tied back, and she wore a loose-fitting tunic tucked into a pair of leather pants. A cloak sat on her shoulders, a light shade of gray and pinned in the front with a silver broach in the approximate shape of the Ghost Hound’s emblem.

“Ready?” Calcabrina asked, tossing Mags a lopsided grin as she pulled up her hood to cover the horns atop her head.

Mags managed a smile in return, though it felt as if it would slip from her face at any moment. Calcabrina didn’t wait for an answer before taking Mags by the hand and leading her toward the gangplank.

The moment they set foot on the sky-docks, the world around them exploded into motion. Mags had never seen so many people in her life. Dockworkers, merchants, sailors, and soldiers, all jostling for space, their voices rising in a chaotic symphony. The air was thick with heat and smells—oil from the ships, the stink of unwashed bodies, spices from food stalls set up between the ships’ moorings. The sheer press of humanity was staggering, a sea of bodies shifting like waves, pushing and pulling by some unseen tide.

As they made their way into the city proper, Mags clung to Calcabrina’s hand like it was her lifeline. She was strong, sure—especially after Malacoda’s grueling physical training—but this, this was something else entirely. Nothing prepared her for the sheer amount of people. The noise, the heat, the force of bustling crowds surging through hundreds of streets. Every single one of her senses felt assaulted, overwhelmed. No amount of strength could have prepared her for this. Her heart raced, and for a moment, she feared she might be swallowed up by the city itself, lost forever in its endless churn.

How does anyone actually live here? She thought.

Calcabrina pulled her through the crowd with ease, navigating the chaos with practiced confidence. She led Mags down narrow streets lined with towering buildings, their stone facades blackened by soot and streaked with grime. Overhead, banners fluttered from wrought-iron balconies, advertising wares in both Olenish and Common. Street vendors hawked their goods from rickety carts, shouting over the din in hoarse voices. The air was heavy with the scent of fried meats and strange fruits and vegetables, and it all mingled with an underlying, hot stench. Mags’ stomach growled despite the nausea swirling within her.

At one point, they were nearly crushed by a passing garuda-pulled carriage, its wheels rumbling over the smooth stone street that had clearly once been white but was now a dingy gray-brown. The carriage’s driver cracked a whip over the heads of the crowd, shouting and swearing. Mags barely had time to jump out of the way, only to be jostled by a group of workers carrying heavy crates on their shoulders. She stumbled, her foot catching on the street’s curb, but Calcabrina’s grip on her wrist was firm, pulling her upright before she could fall.

“Keep close,” Calcabrina called over her shoulder, her voice cutting through the noise. “Perun’s not a place for daydreaming. It’ll be better once we get away from the docks!”

Mags nodded. “Sorry about that! It’s a little overwhelming,” she said, though she doubted Calcabrina could hear her. Every step felt like a battle against the current, but slowly, she began to find a rhythm, falling in step behind Calcabrina as they pushed deeper into the city. The buildings seemed to grow taller, more imposing as they moved further from the docks. The streets narrowed, winding like rivers through a canyon of stone and iron, until the noise of the sky-docks faded into a distant hum and the streets widened again.

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Still, Mags’ mind whirled, spinning with the sheer magnitude of the city, the endless surge of people, the weight of it all pressing in on her. Though the streets further from the docks were less packed with people, there were still more bodies than she had ever seen in a single place at once. She had never felt so small, so out of place. She gripped Calcabrina’s hand tighter, determined not to let the city swallow her whole.

Calcabrina led Mags onto a tree-lined street with thinner crowds. Their first stop of the day was a clothier. The shop smelled of fresh linens and polished wood. The walls were lined with bolts of fabric in every imaginable color, the racks full of finely tailored garments that whispered of wealth. Finished articles hung on circular racks that filled the center of the shop.

Mags shifted awkwardly in front of the full-length mirror, tugging at the sleeves of the coat Calcabrina had handed her. It was stiff but well-made, its dark fabric lined with a subtle pattern of silver stitching depicting an intricate vine and leaf pattern.

Calcabrina circled her like a hawk, eyes sharp and critical. “Not bad,” she said, tugging at the hem. “This will need to be shortened, though. You’ll trip over it as is.” She waved a hand to the tailor, who nodded and knelt to make quick marks with a stick of chalk. “Try the next one on. And don’t forget, Brightwash will provide uniforms and special traditional garb for while you’re attending, but you’ll need street clothes for when you’re off-campus.”

Mags pulled off the coat and reached for the next garment—an emerald-green tunic, simple but elegant. She slipped it over her head, marveling at the softness of the fabric. She had never owned anything like this. Back in Solstice, her clothes had been hand-me-downs from some of the other local women, patched and faded. Here, Calcabrina picked out outfits with ease, pieces of clothing that made Mags feel like she was dressing for another life entirely.

As the tailor took measurements and fussed over alterations, Calcabrina handed over several crisp, paper notes to the owner of the shop—Imperial Marks. Mags tried not to think about how much gold the slips of stamped paper represented, but her mind couldn’t help drifting there. The amount could probably have fed the orphanage for months.

In the countryside, everyone opted for gold over the bank-provided imperial currency, which of course represented real gold. The concept of the Imperial Mark gave many of the people of Solstice heartburn. Cold hard coin is something you can trust, Pavao, the owner of Pod Starim had once said. That paper is only worth as much as the faith ya put in it, and I ain’t much of a prayin’ man.

“All set?” Calcabrina asked, raising an eyebrow.

Mags nodded, still feeling slightly dazed by the whirlwind of purchases. “Yeah, I think so.”

“Good,” Calcabrina said, giving a quick smile. “We’ve got a few more stops before we’re done.” She turned to the shop’s owner, handing the woman an additional Mark, “We will need the tailoring done on an expedited basis. We are leaving the city first thing tomorrow morning.”

The woman scanned the Mark before glancing up at Calcabrina with a polite smile, “Everything will be ready for you to retrieve later this afternoon.”

They left the shop, the streets of Perun as bustling and chaotic as ever. They stopped at several other stores along the way, each time Mags finding herself wide-eyed at the sheer variety of goods on display. A pair of rune-lined gloves at one shop particularly caught her attention. Calcabrina picked them up, testing their weight.

“These are for Artificery,” she explained, handing them to Mags. “You’ll be practicing that at Brightwash. Not required, but trust me—having a pair will make your life easier.”

Mags turned the gloves over in her hands, the runes glinting faintly in the sunlight. They felt like standard, sturdy work gloves.

“Well, try them on,” Calcabrina said with mock impatience. “We don’t have all day.”

At another store, Calcabrina purchased a fine set of leatherbound field journals. Mags had never owned anything so fine. Except for Mithra, of course. Loose parchment was rare enough to not necessitate everyday use. The soft, buttery leather smelled rich and inviting, and the crisp, blank pages begged to be filled. Mags could hardly believe she would be expected to use something so nice and expensive to take mundane notes in.

“There’s a building at the end of this street that hosts a marketplace. Some of the cafes are to die for!” Calcabrina said over her shoulder as she led Mags down a new street. Mags followed closely behind, carrying several large bags in both hands, full of their day’s purchases.

Mags had entirely lost any sense of where they had gone and where they were, relative to the sky-docks or otherwise. The building hosting the market took up most of the city block, full of lines of stalls advertising fresh food of both Olenish and foreign variety. The place was packed with people, all squeezing past each other to get to one stall or another, reaching over each other to receive their orders or pay a vendor. Mags took it all in. She felt as though she’d finally adjusted to seeing so many people in one place, and was able to move through the first aisle without issue, eyeing the delights that sat behind glass windows.

But then, in the midst of it all, Mags found herself alone. One moment she had been following Calcabrina, and the next, she was separated by the tide of bodies. Calcabrina?

She had ended up near the outside of the marketplace. She spun in place, scanning the crowd for her friend, but instead, her eyes caught something else, just outside the windows that lined the outer wall of the marketplace—a shadow slipping around the corner of a narrow alley. It was fleeting, almost imperceptible, but something about the movement made her blood run cold.

A Maldrath? In Perun?

Mags’ heartbeat quickened. Had her eyes deceived her? After years of hunting and slaying the monsters, she had an eye for spotting their presence. It was rare to see them so close to a human settlement. Even in Solstice, a stray Shade had wandered into the town only on a handful of occasions. But in a city as large as Perun? . . . Mags could see how easily a single lesser Maldrath could go unnoticed.

Without thinking, Mags left the marketplace and moved toward the alley, pushing through a moving crowd to get there. The sounds of the city faded as she stepped into the narrow passage, her footsteps echoing against the stone walls that almost seemed to lean towards each other.

The alley was empty. Silent save for the faint sound of dripping water from some undiscernible source.

She crept forward, keeping her breathing steady, every muscle tensed. She had no weapon. If it was a Shade, she had no chance of fighting it head on. But her curiosity—and something else, something deep within her—drove her on. If she had been correct, and this was a Maldrath, she would need to find another way to contain it or otherwise safely lead it to Calcabrina. The Bonesinger would be able to easily dispatch the Maldrath.

Suddenly, from the shadows, movement. Not a Shade. Three men, ragged and rough-looking, stepped out from the recesses of the alley, their eyes glinting with malice.

“Well, look what we have here,” one of them sneered, eyeing her bags. “A little bird wandered too far from the nest.”

“Hand over those bags,” another thug growled, stepping closer. “And don’t make this harder than it needs to be, babe.”

Mags froze, her mind racing. She could feel the weight of the bags in her hands, full of the things Calcabrina had bought for her. The things she needed for Brightwash. She wasn’t just going to hand them over. And even if she did, who was to say the men would leave it at that. But she was cornered. And Outnumbered.

“No,” Mags said, her voice firm.

The first man’s face twisted into a snarl. “You’ve got a smart mouth, kid. Let’s see if you’re still talking when we’re done with you.”

Mags’ heart raced, her body trembling as the two men closed in. She was trapped. Panic surged through her, but then something else stirred—something deeper. An ember, buried inside her, flickered to life. Like a second heart pulsing alongside her own.

She felt it before she knew what was happening. The faint power entering her body as aether was drawn from the ambient energy around her. It rushed into her, filling her veins with heat, with power. It was like fire, burning away the fear, leaving only clarity.

The first man lunged, reaching for her. Mags moved without thinking, her body surging with unnatural speed. She ducked beneath his grasp and, with all her strength, drove her fist into his face.

The man’s head snapped back, his body lifting off the ground as if struck by a giant. He flew through the air, turning head-over-foot, before crashing into a pile of garbage and refuse with a sickening thud. Mags staggered back, her hand throbbing with pain—sharp, unbearable pain. She looked down, her fingers bent at odd angles and her hand was already swelling and bruised, broken from the force of the blow.

The other two men, wide-eyed with terror, took one look at their fallen companion and bolted, sprinting down the alley and disappearing into the street beyond.

Mags stood there, gasping for breath. Whatever power she had drawn into her body had fled her, leaving her there, hand burning. I can’t stay here. She grabbed her bags with her good hand and stumbled back toward the street she had entered the alley from. She passed by the man she had punched, who lay crumbled in the destroyed refuse. He quietly groaned, but showed no sign of moving any time soon. Mags was relieved. Regardless of the situation, she had no intent to kill the man.

She barely made it a few steps into the bustling street before Calcabrina appeared, her face pale with worry. She carried more bags in one hand and held a pastry in a piece of wax paper in the other.

“Mags!” she exclaimed, rushing to her side. “Thank goodness, I found you. One moment you were there and then I turned around and you were gone.” Her eyes narrowed in concern when she saw Mags’ face, before wandering down to her hand and widening in surprise. “What happened? You—your hand!”

Mags tried to speak, but the pain was too much. Calcabrina didn’t wait for an explanation. She wrapped an arm around Mags’ shoulders, guiding her through the crowd. “We need to get you back to the ship. Scarmiglione will take a look. He’ll know what to do. Come on. You’ll be okay.”

Mags nodded, her mind still spinning, the memory of power still humming faintly in her veins.