Buzzing cicadas filled the thick jungle with a blistering alarm. Gele raced through the brush and around the maze of trees. All he had as a guide was the spirit and the breeze. The wind coiled around her fingers as she pointed the path to the shore. Only a glimpse of the ship was given to him. He needed to see it for himself.
Sawyer had shaken Gele awake at the brink of dawn. There was a nightmare, he remembered, of the moon and a thousand other things. Sawyer said she saw them too, and more.
The moon breaking open like an egg, and its arms pulling the two seas together, suturing them as if we were maggots in an open wound. The spirit’s words hung over Gele, spinning and spinning. He looked at her and saw her playing with the air. Like his scarf, it flowed with such whimsy, even with raiders on the horizon. He could not feel it himself. It was not his gift. He only sensed the tingling on Sawyer’s fingertips. Everything else was hers. The wind, Gele doubted it could help at all. Sails could be misdirected, surely. But boats had oars, and gunpowder would kill him before a hurricane would slaughter the thieves. Then, if it was so futile, why did the spirits speak to her? She was the only one to know about the oncoming enemy, and now she could act upon that knowledge with a weapon on her own. I will not stand alone, Gele thought, only able to wear a small smile. And again, the question returned; what can a dancer do against a musket?
“It’s only a sloop,” Sawyer assured him, “a single mast and a few sails. Maybe it’s lost at sea. Hell, perhaps the crew is all dead. But that black flag screams to us that something wicked has come. And the nightmare and visions are saying the same thing.”
“Even if it was captained by ghosts, it means we cannot leave Vall for now.” Gele scoffed, “No, it was stupid to think we could have gone across the open ocean with no obstacles.”
Gele broke through the palm leaves and the purple brambles. With the breeze at his back, he felt near weightless, like he was caught in the apex of the Beckoning once again. The rejuvenation flushed out his fear and worry as he followed the spirit to the shore.
On the gravelly beach, Gele looked out towards the horizon. The morning sun was high now, and the ship still waited as a speck across the gray Sea of Shrouds. But the warlord was there, with her weapons in hand. The soothing sound of the waves kissing the sand was drowned out by Coan’s panicked breathing. Huffing, she leaned against a tree, shaking so fast her mask had nearly fallen off her face.
“Coan?” Gele whispered softly. Where’s Mysk? She was gasping, barely able to stand. Sweat washed over her skin. Her hand pressed hard on her mask, pushing it against her face. “Are you sick?”
“Get away!” In a second, the warlord shifted her stance. On shaking legs, she aimed her sword at Gele, rasping as she yelled. “Gele, you brought these invaders here, didn’t you!”
“No, I didn’t.” Gele gazed at the serrated teeth on the jawbone sword. His chest ached, scared to suffer the bite again. She’d kill me. . . I would be dead in an instant. . .
“Then why are you here?” Coan stepped forward, hissing frightened words. “Why are you on this beach?”
I cannot explain now. She would never believe me. Coan would strike if he looked away. He would be hunted if he ran. If he told the truth, she’d see it as an insane lie. “Mysk was looking for you,” he finally said.
“For what? I don’t need him. He does not need to be here.” Coan leaned her back against the tree and rested her hand against her chest. Panic still clung to her throat, suffocating her.
“Your brother is worried about you,” Gele stepped back.
“He always is,” Coan shambled away, “he knows where I’ll be. I need to prepare for these new invaders. Do not follow me, Gele of Melaopel.”
A rush of relief hit Gele as the warlord stumbled away into the jungle. Today I will not die. Pirates would not be so merciful. Resting on the beach, he sat and looked out towards the sea. Soon. Soon they would be here, and anything he could do would not be enough. A crew of thieves and murderers, how could he hope to match those odds? His dancing, even Sawyer’s guidance, none of it could equal a deep cut from steel or a hole punctured by lead. I may die here. Gele gulped. “I may die here,” he admitted aloud. “I know what is coming, and I can do nothing about it.”
“They will come, and you may die. But will you sit here on this beach and let them butcher you?” Sawyer sat next to him, looking at the same ship. “It’s small, really, only a sloop with several dozen men. And they have to come through that.” She pointed behind her to the thick jungle, where curtains of wood and leaves blurred together into a mess of moving color. “They will have to trudge through a maze, or they will have to burn it down. But, they will be unaware of you until you decide to strike. I am an admiral and a tactician and defending this island and its forests will be hard, but attacking Vall will be a trial for the pirates too. We will live through this, Gele. Have no fear. I am at your side.”
“And then what?” Gele asked.
“We take their ship and use it for ourselves.” Sawyer grew a grand smile. “Maybe we could even use the wind to fly there.”
“So we will be thieves ourselves?”
“I always was a thief,” Sawyer winked. “And we need it more than they do. Your canoe isn’t as seaworthy as we want it to be.”
“That’s true,” Gele sighed. “But we must survive in order to earn our prize. And we must warn the House. They need to know what is coming.”
On the march back, Sawyer stopped Gele to show him places he could hide or place traps. “A snare here or a pit of pointed sticks. Fuck, no, that wouldn’t work.” The wind bellowed as she smacked a tree truck, her hand flying through. “No way to know if they will pass through this spot. No roads or routes, only footpaths the people of Vall know. A stranger here could find a thousand different ways through this and get lost in every one.”
Gele nodded, growing more fearful. Please, just be an empty boat full of ghosts. His hands trembled a little, just enough that he could ignore it. Soon though, he may have to kill someone, and that made his stomach queasy and his skin prickle. Though, he felt safe next to Sawyer. She walked one step ahead of him, the breeze circling around, fanning out in all directions. The air was her legion of scouts, mapping the jungle and the way back to the House. It was impossible to get lost now, Gele hoped.
The House and the ashfield only fed Gele’s mounting concerns. The flat gray plain had none of the protections of the jungle, aside from the blooming greenery by the river. “No place to wage a war,” Sawyer assessed, “this place is already too scarred.”
Zassamurr and Massamurr opened the gates for Gele when he arrived. It was strange to watch the two children struggle with the barricade. But he was worn strictly by Mysk to never offer to help them. “They are always caring for it, the barricade. It’s their pride. Every week or so, the woodcutters have to deny their requests for another ring around the river, where they wish to have a garden.”
“Do you trust the two of them?” Sawyer asked as she entered. “They may be crucial if the pirates plan a siege.”
“They are children.” Gele glared at her. “How do you expect them to fight?”
“I was younger than them when I went out to sea,” Sawyer said. “Pirates will not care, so give everyone a weapon and make them all fighters. Especially when this village is so small and compact.”
“This isn’t my home. I cannot just thrust this upon everyone and tell them that otherwise, they will die. I need to find Mysk. He can help me.”
“Coan should be here then,” Sawyer scoffed. “She’s the warlord.”
“She isn't?” Gele looked around but saw no sign of her.
Gele found Mysk before he found his sister. The healer was helping one of the fishermen, wrapping his arm in cloth. His heart bounced in his chest, thinking of the ship and the nightmare—the Second Sea falling upon the earth, with the moon in tow. Obliteration, drowned or crushed. There was nothing he could do. “Mysk,” he said aloud, “ I need to talk to you.”
As he finished dressing the fisherman’s wound, he led Gele to the far corner of the House, where no one would hear them. “Is it my sister?”
“There was a ship on the horizon. Not from Rem, nor Galu, somewhere distant and dangerous. Coan saw it too.” Gele looked around, still searching for her. “I thought she would come here, but. . .”
“She would never come here,” Mysk shook his head. “Maybe she’s in Coan’s Cave, but if not. . .”
“I need to talk to her. Come with me,” Gele stressed his voice. He could not face the warlord by himself. She may not listen. She would not believe me about the spirit.
“I’ll go to the cave,” Mysk sighed. “But first, I need to warn everyone.”
The healer was swift but did not raise any alarms. He went to each of the elders, leaning in and whispering into their ears. Each one nodded and left their stations. “So have they come back, Rem?” One asked, and Mysk shook his head. There was a somber fear to their movements afterward. Some wept, like Kiqat the stone carver, when he was told that Coan had run off to hide again. Again? Gele could only watch as the old wrinkled man hurried off to the others. “Our grandfather,” Mysk explained as he marched to the next man. Kiqat stumbled, falling to his knees sobbing as a younger stone-cutter came to his side. “Not again,” Gele heard him pray, “do not make her go again,” Kiqat called out to Mysk, begging for Coan, but then he fell on his back and shivered. “Will there be more fires?” He asked the crowd coming to his aid. “Will the fires come back?”
Gele turned back to tell him no. The wind will put them out. The pirates will not touch the House. But as he went, Mysk grabbed his arm. “Do not tell him about the ashfield nor what is really coming.” The healer stared right into his eyes and squeezed his grip. “He still can’t look beyond the barricades. He thinks she burns herself every time she goes out on patrol. He saw her scars once and did not speak for months.”
“But. . .”
“I told him a storm was coming to Vall and to help the young ones with preparations. Everyone else got the truth. He is my grandfather, but I don’t know how to help him. I cannot heal what happened so long ago. I have tried to talk to him, to bring solace. . .”
“And?”
“I could not help at all. That’s why we need her. We need Coan.” Mysk called for him to follow. The gatekeepers let him through, and he shared the secret with them too.
“We’ll sharpen sticks and check the walls,” Zassamurr declared, the girl steadfast and ready. “Then we’ll prepare traps for the brush and the ditches and boil saps for flinging over the barricade. Massamurr and I know that’s what our forebears did last time.”
“Good,” Mysk muttered, “be ready and ask others to help. We are one House against the sea’s new storm.”
The path to Coan’s Cave was quick and silent. They took a straight route, avoiding the spring and cutting through the lush jungle as if it was one long tunnel. Sawyer walked atop the tree tops, feeling the air as it spread out across the island. If the thieves came to the shallows, the spirit would know before they hit the shore. Still, the price of the power brought a quivering to Gele’s stomach. Her nightmare—Sawyer must have seen a nightmare, not a vision of the future—drilled in his head with each step. And more importantly, where did the power come from, the Second Sea? Vall itself? Never had he heard of land giving gifts to the people, at least, not in this fashion. When myths could not explain the peculiar, all that remained was only the wildest speculation.
And then all his questions were halted by the sight of the crying hill. The vines clung to the rock face, the eyes blank and tired. The mouth was waiting for them, and Mysk hurried inside, screaming for his sister. What will I say to her? That question replaced his quandaries about ghosts and the gales. Would he spill the truth about his partner, or would that only anger the warlord?
“She isn’t here,” Mysk spoke out as if a spearhead had pierced his heart. The words rang out as empty echoes in the hollowed-out stone. The only allies here were the paintings on the walls, and they were already enwrapped in their own war. “She’s at the temple then,” the healer leaned back against the mural and laughed. “That’s where she always goes.”
“The temple?” Gele looked at the sea monsters. The same was on the roots of the dead tree. The moon will break and bring the two worlds together. It sounded too ominous to really believe. Would Shuran worry? Would Emned? Would Admiral Sawyer Jean if she had not seen it herself? What about Coan or Nab, or the pirates from the spirit’s past? Would they fight the rush of all-consuming tides as they became smothered? Gele nearly retched. His head pounded with questions, and it made him lost. “What is under the dead tree?” He focused on one thing, the rotting trunk with bark that was in a constant storm of spinning colors. Like the Second Sea if it had always stayed in bloom.
“A place I will not go,” Mysk said sternly. “It’s a burial ground, Vall’s tomb. The storytellers claim it is older than our masks, maybe even older than the island itself. I do not know. But I will not go in there. I can’t.” His voice shook. Though, if he was panicked or sorrowful, he did not show it.
“Will there be a siren down there too?” Sawyer whispered to herself. She was watching the paintings of sea monsters, so fixated she seemed to have sunken into the mural too.
“You are Coan’s brother. You’re the only one who can talk to her.”
“The House needs her, maybe more than it ever has,” Mysk agreed. “But before, it had only been a few marauders or raiders, never a ship of such size. Another attack from Rem would mean the end of our people.”
“Then we need to talk to Coan,” Gele pleaded. “She was shaking on the beach and ran away when she saw me. She thinks I brought them here. They’re pirates, thieves from a faraway land. You need to convince her that I am not a threat, that we can defend ourselves.”
“I cannot go into the temple. I will not go into that sea of corpses.” Terror struck him, a stare swept away by a sight Gele had never seen. The tunnel under the dead tree, the temple where he had nearly died. Now he knew what it meant. Mysk’s voice went cold, each word creeping out with sundered dread. “I will see them again, those I could not heal. Those who died of wounds in battle, the ones who starved to death or fell to sickness. The infants who did not get to live and the mothers who died with them. I cannot see their faces, Gele!” A frail scream spat out of his mouth. Mysk took a long breath and sat down on the floor. “It cannot be me. It is not my place. I have my worries, and they’re all buried down there. It is a tomb, a healer’s scorn. Please, don’t make me go.”
“Then who else can convince her? Kiqat is riddled with sorrow. You cannot see the temple. Does she not have anyone else here? If I go, she will kill me. Who, Mysk, who?”
The healer pointed to the iron sword resting on the hook on the wall. “You, Gele, please. You know who these pirates are. Coan, she does not know the House as I do. She is a loner. Her home is here. She knows that sword, Vall’s last weapon, more than she knows anyone else.”
“I cannot hold a sword,” Gele clenched his teeth. Gunpowder and steel, the two-hundred members of the House may die. “I am no warrior.”
“Be a warrior, or you will never speak to Coan. You defeated the Prince of Galu. Even when I was a boy, he was the strongest on Galu. And you defeated him, unarmed! You are a warrior in everything but name!” Mysk rested his hands on Gele’s shoulders, his nails digging in, nearly drawing blood. “Or you can still run away to those far-off places you wished to see. Leave us and run. I’m scared, Gele. I don’t know what to do.”
“Neither do I,” Gele was close to running, but his legs would not move. He nearly turned to Sawyer, but then he thought of Galu. My choice, he thought to himself as he sank into memories that were not his. There he felt a sword in his hand and a legion of enemies before him. Once he left Galu, the open ocean was there, with a world to see and infinite directions. Was he wrong? All that existed was forward and all the barriers placed before him. I cannot run away, not here. This is the price of exploring the world. This is what I can do. “Mysk, if I go to see Coan, you should go back to the House. They need you.”
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“And what will you do?”
“I will be a warrior, or whatever I need to be,” Gele grabbed the iron sword, wrapping his fingers around it. It was heavier than he thought. The iron was littered with scratches, and the blade was chipped. The dancer and the pirate are closer to becoming one. Gele clutched his bold blue scarf. “I will fight with Coan to stop the invaders. I will bring your sister home.”
“Thank you, Gele. I should not have asked you of this, but that temple, I dream of it every night. And her? She’s there every day.” Mysk followed him out of the crying cave. “When you overheated in the spring, I never saw her so worried for someone, not in a long time. Don’t be mistaken. She may still try to kill you.” Finally, he laughed. “And even more so, you are heading into the heart of the island, but careful not to fall under the spell of its luster.”
“I plan on coming back alive,” Gele said. “I’d rather drop the sword and run than try anything brave.”
“Good,” Mysk chuckled. “I will wait for you two back at the House. And thank you, I’m sorry that I cannot go.”
Sawyer led the way through the thicket. Gele trailed behind, slashing at thin branches with his blade, trying to get used to the weight. I hate it, he realized. It was nothing like dancing. The sword was cumbersome and crude. Maybe, if he spent years with it, he could learn to love it. Yet, the Beckoning had given him such bliss, and he believed there was no way to do such a strenuous dance with a blade. The sword is not me. Yet, he did not want to die, so he took it anyway.
The owls above and the spiders in the brush spectated with caution. The hairless cats and iguanas scurried away as he passed. Even the plants bent away as he slashed at them. Afraid of me or afraid of the ship? Or both? No, Gele learned as he came in sight of the dead tree, flashing a cobalt blue, the same as his scarf. It glowed, the light latching on it like fire. The carvings of soldiers and sea monsters stayed interlocked in an endless struggle, warning Gele as they sank into the shine.
“Sawyer,” Gele whispered aloud, partly talking to himself, “lend me your instincts. I cannot swing this sword on my own.”
“You didn’t even have to ask,” she stretched the fingers on her mangled hand and then rested them on the empty scabbard on her belt. “But, this isn’t something we tried before. You may not be able to learn as fast as you think. Borrowed instincts, borrowed skill, borrowed sword, can you really fight using just those things?”
“I have not abandoned my dance,” Gele assured her. “That is at the heart of it all. But the blade, it needs to stop her own sword before it cuts me in two. That’s the plan.”
Sawyer glanced up at the temple, the luster reflecting in her eyes. The chill of the ice congealing on the doorway fought against the gusts twirling around her. “The pirates will not wait for us to be ready. We need to go now.” Then, she turned to Gele and flicked a gust at him, rustling his hair. “We’ll make it. I promise you that. Otherwise, Emned will kill me twice over.”
So Gele went, the open doorway of stone swallowing him as the dead tree’s colors twitched and spun, shifting to a vermillion, bright as blood. The roots surrounded him, holding up at the tunnel walls as he descended. The passageway was tall and narrow, enough for him to walk upright, but still, the walls closed in on him. Could they crush him? He was an invader. Inside the temple, doubly so. A brisk cold walked across his skin, scraping against his nerves as he shivered. Never had he felt frost on his skin, only from Sawyer’s past. The scar on his chest ached. Packed dirt walls only crept towards him. Could they crush him? He tried to ignore the thought as he went deeper. Though, the twinge of fear followed, no matter how many times he swatted it down. Coan will be there at the bottom, where the tomb lies. Gele focused on only that. It did nothing. The cold grew fierce now. Ice coated the walls like curtains. Icicles conquered the ceiling. Could they crush him? Chinks of frost the size of pebbles rained down as he entered the heart of Vall. After one sharp turn, a void greeted him. It was blinding, forcing Gele to succumb and searing his sight.
The harsh penetrating smell hit him first. Lusciously sweet, it guided him to a tranquil nothingness, where an abyss or a sanctuary could be waiting. Sinister chills dug into his skin. Even Chorllow had never been so cold! His heart expected the sea, either the one he knew or the one he feared. Something whispered, like waves smacking stone and kissing the ground. But then it could have also been the rummaging of a creature, heartbeats, or groans. The spirit at his side dreaded the Siren, her anxious thoughts bleeding into his own. When his eyes adjusted, Gele found Vall.
The first people to greet him slept with their eyes half-open, floating naked in a bath of amber and light. The orange stone formed the walls, ceiling, and floor of the chamber, and bodies were resting together—only a few inches apart—along the whole cavern. Even as it split into a network of corridors, the dead followed, building the tomb. They wore no paint or masks, their wounds sewn shut and their hair combed. Axes, fishing rods, and swords laid at their sides. Infants had been swaddled in blankets, and one child had an alligator next to him. The walls shimmered as if the sun slept here too. And as Gele touched the stone, he could feel freezing air coming off it, faint and wispy. The catacombs are breathing.
Gele knelt down, examining the floor. There seemed to be no bottom, the amber like a deep-water trench. “So many, you cannot tell where it began.” The light mimicked the ocean’s darkness, for the flood of brightness made the layers upon layers of corpses murky and opaque. Each one glowed like a hall of burning candles. Souls still dwelled here, shackled to the island rather than the Second Sea. Tree roots cut into the amber, spreading and growing as if it was just as potent as soil.
“Veins?” Sawyer tried to make sense of it. She reached out to try and phase her hands through the solid sap and ice, but her fingers pressed against it. “In all the sailor’s tales and magician’s lies, I have never heard of such a thing as a colony of souls trapped in the earth. There have been haunted houses, ghost ships, and pirates latching onto dancers. Even at Wilkin’s Port, we bury our dead, and nothing such as this exists.” She looked upon a man next to a giant iron cleaver. “The amber, it must preserve them. It’s like they are trapped in ice. What if, while dead, they can still wake up?”
“Yesterday, they showed you the two seas colliding and drowning us all. Everything was wiped away, erased as if it was never born. Did they show you this?”
“Hands grew out from the ground,” Sawyer said, “I could feel the water, the trees, the animals. Everything here is connected, Gele. Maybe we are too. Everything but the Second Sea that was out of reach.”
“But still, it showed you obliteration.” There was only a thin wall between life and death. If there was a way, the corpses could easily swim through the stone and rejoin the living. Though, the Second Sea is the same. A world of windows that separate us all. Generations upon generations of people encased in amber from the same sap harvested from the trees above. “Vall is the island, and the people are Vall.” Gele now understood it, seeing this place. Though, a strange dread dwelled in his chest as he looked the dead in the eyes. This is not my place. I am an invader.
“Where would Coan be?” Sawyer stared down the various tunnels, each one diving down deep into the earth, some even spiraling like coils. “All this gold and treasure, where is our warlord?” The breeze Sawyer summoned did not obey her here. It fanned out, sliding into the solid sap like a sword returning to its sheath. “A borrowed power, not to be flaunted to the lender,” Sawyer tsked.
“Then we must pick a path and hope we do not get lost here forever.” Gele looked ahead, and the amber glistened so much that sometimes it made the clinging ice look like mirrors. The people trapped in the amber began to meld into single sight, so many that no single person was distinguished. Like the spirits above, no soul glows brighter than another in the Second Sea. It was as if he was walking inside it, but the water was orange instead of green. There were oceans wherever he went; the gray Sea of Shrouds, the blue and black waters of Sawyer’s memories, the silver beaches of Galu, the purple jungles of Vall, the clear sweat on his skin during the Beckoning, and now here. I am always drowning. No. I am always swimming. The world has many colors, and so do I. The sword was heavy in his hand. All the dead were looking at him. “Be a warrior,” Mysk said. Gele tugged on his scarf. All I want to wear is blue, nothing else. Gele halted. The empty paths felt like bindings, like he was in that dark room again. I may not love what I see if there are new colors, ones I have never seen before. They pulled on him, threatening to rip him apart. If the Second Sea collided with the earth, everything would die. The iron sword felt so easy to hold then if the alternative was annihilation. What will Gele of Melaopel be when he knows that he is safe from nothingness? The eyes of the dead watched him, an invader of this realm of the dead. He needed to keep going. Coan was close. Gele walked straight ahead, down the first tunnel he saw. The hair on his chest stood up, and he traced the scars Nab and Coan gifted to him with his fingers.
As he walked down a spiraling tunnel, sharp dread crawled down his spine. At the bottom, what is at the bottom? He froze, his legs turning to stone. Would Shuran keep going down, as she did when she found the dead sea monster on the beach? And Emned, his mind turned to the head dancer. Her eyes had the gift to see souls. What would she see down here? And then, Sawyer? He already knew what vexed her. The phantom’s mangled hand tapped against the amber. A torrent of wispy memories struck her like a storm of arrows. Hell. The rituals. The chimera that I am. It all toiled inside her, festering at a single belligerent fear.
“Every magician or alchemist who ever lived would see this as a treasure beyond belief. Whatever anomaly this is, if any mage, bar the most pious few, found this, a day later all these souls would be fed to brass spikes and copper wires.” Sawyer felt the gills on her sides. “Gele, the power here, it is like the Second Sea turned to stone. It should not be possible, but the sap, it congealed all these people into an island. If I were to guess, that has more potency than a million raw sacrifices.” Her mouth stood agape as she tried to find the words. Her fingers trapped against the amber faster and faster. “It’s enough to turn a man into a god, to turn a chimera into a harpy, it. . .” She stepped back, shaking. “It could bring the Second Sea down, I would guess. And there are mages far more wicked than myself. I cannot even fathom what they would do if they took this for themselves and erased an entire lineage of people. I am just a thief, not a scholar or real wizard. Please, please let me be wrong about this.”
Even while deep underground, the air was still as fresh as it was outside. Forking paths pushed Gele to go left or right, up or down. Do not become lost, the dead faces seemed to whisper as the walls breathed. And then, the air turned stale and still. An opening widened, and Gele walked into a hollowed cavern. Black stone made up the walls, with a wide pillar at the center. Around it, masks clung to the sides like fruits on a vine. Each one was secluded from the bodies that once wore them. And against the drab basalt, the masks’ display of clashing shapes and colors made Gele feel as if he was back at the House. As he approached, he saw slabs of wood, carves with runes he could barely read—a variant of the mermaid language. From what he could glean, they were instructions, histories, and guides for all the names and all the mantles a child could choose. These are sacred. I should not be reading them. It was where everyone on Vall was born.
Gele kept walking. Down and down he went. It was all he could do. Erased, fed to a ship just off the shore. Either that or washed away by the Second Sea. Inside the walls, surrounded by a legion of naked corpses, watching him and possibly aware of his fate.
A shrill shout cut into him, dragging him from his daze. Gele blinked. He was at the end of the tunnel, with a wall of rock halting him. Three miners sat before the void of black basalt. With stone tools, they bored away at it, lengthening the cavern strike by strike. The Temple is still growing. No, of course, it is. Gele lowered his sword, as the youngest of the three pointed a hammer at him. She stepped around him, wary of the invader. The older two, a middle-aged man and woman, called out “daughter,” and the girl ceased.
“I am looking for Coan,” Gele said. And all they replied with was “rightmost tunnel, back at the start. That is where the victims of Rem’s war and the famines are buried.”
Their body paint stood out amongst the shimmering orange walls, Gele realized on the climb back. “People are made of clay,” he remembered Mysk saying. And here, all the people stuck behind the orange window melded together. Gele could not easily see them as individuals anymore, just a single field—identical to how seafoam builds the ocean or how clay builds a mountain. This will be me when I go to the Second Sea, he thought, reciting an old childish rhyme.
A faint cry told him that he was now going the right way. Soft sobs echoed off the walls, clattering against the amber. Louder, little words found themselves nestled in the squeaks. “Mother,” the word hit Gele like a sharp jolt. The tunnel twisted through a web of roots that cast shadows over the corpses. They were so thin here—skin draped over bones. Sunken eyes stared at him, their lips cracked and faces festered with sores. Their ribs poked out of their chests. And their arms and legs were no thicker than twigs. “Famine,” Gele remembered the miner saying. He lowered his head, trying not to look them in the eyes. Though, they were under his feet as well.
Further on, the willowy bodies had turned to butchered ones. It was near impossible to sew up the wounds. Broken swords floated in the amber besides fingers and the hands, while the arms still laid at the corpse’s side. Some had a head reattached to the neck. Others did not. A massive hole—lead ball at the center of the crater—still rested in an old man’s stomach. Some blast had split a girl’s skull in half. Gele gagged when he saw it. The noise his throat made silenced the sobbing. Farther up the tunnel, Coan knelt before a woman in the amber. The corpse had been split into so many different pieces, blown apart with flesh and bone ruptured and mutilated. Her face was broken, half a skull and half a ravaged smile.
“Get out!” Coan screamed, her voice—scratchy and hoarse—booming off the walls. The sound boomed, so loud it echoed over and over. “Get out! Get out! Get out! Get out!” All the while, Coan stood with a limp stance, trembling. The overlapping swirls of her green and purple body paint hypnotized Gele for a second, a hundred whirlpools taking over her skin. It hid all her scars. Everything was silenced under the paint. Only the mask remained, eyes so wide, a chasm with no end. “Get out of here now, invader!” Coan screamed again, the resounding fervor deafening Gele as it bounced off the walls. The jawbone sword swung at him, the warlord closing the distance in a single bound. The eyes of the mask seemed to spin as she advanced. Underneath, her real eyes were stained red from tears.
Sawyer! His instincts launched the sword up as flashes of steel biting steel poured into his mind. The Admiral’s reflexes were nowhere near as capable with hands that never swung a sword. But as the iron sword crashed against the jawbone, he survived the first bout.
“Mysk said to find you!” Gele yelled in a panic. The blades bounced off each other again. Cartwheeling to the side and lunging back, his dance carried him away. “Mysk said he could not come here, so he sent me!” Iron flakes chipped off his sword as Coan brought her own weapon down on him. She isn’t using her flint axe, he noticed. She’s trying to scare me off, not kill me.
Gele rolled back to dodge the next swing. He trusted his muscles more than the iron in his hands. Yet, each time he moved, Coan pursued, matching his speed perfectly. The tip of his blade parried the bone sword. And he did so the next time she swung. The rhythm came to him then, and the sword melted and molded with the dance he already had. Sawyer’s memories became a muse, and now he began to imitate the pirate as the weapon whirled around him. All the while, the temple watched him with broken faces and dead glares.
“Did he see it?” Coan asked as she stepped back, standing her ground. “Did Mysk see the ship? Has he ever seen the invaders that had come to Vall? Do you, Gele, know how close we have come to extinction? Go, Gele, leave and go back to Galu. You’ll die if you stay.”
“What about you?” Gele lifted the sword. I will not leave. The Second Sea will drown the world. I’ll die anyway.
“I am the warlord, the last soldier on Vall,” Coan pointed at the people floating around her. “I have given everything up for my home. Every day I come here to read what Coan has left me, to pray to ancestors that never respond. I am all that stands between the invaders and Vall’s children. You need to leave, or else you will die with us.”
“What makes you so sure Vall will die?” Gele wanted to scream, tell her about Sawyer, the visions, everything. But would she believe it?
“I have seen Vall bleed since I took my name,” Coan rushed at Gele, quickly and suddenly. “When Rem came they scorched the land. They slaughtered my people in the flames. Can you see them, Gele? Can you see the ashes inside the sap?” She swung her axe, slicing a lock of Gele’s hair instead of ripping open his neck. Gele rolled back. Coan stood there, waiting for him. The corpses anticipated the next move with hollow stares. “My mother was murdered by the thunder and ripped apart by the metal. When I was a baby, I wanted her name. All I have now is this place. Gele, you need to leave, go back to Galu, you will die. Take the children and leave. They can have this, they can have me, but Vall must not bleed its last drops.”
“Let me fight with you,” Gele said. “I can help. You will not lose your home!”
“We already lost our home!” Coan screamed until her lungs were empty. Every corpse in the tomb spoke in her voice as her cry reverberated off the surface and whatever dwelled underneath. Gasping, she pointed behind Gele, where the thin bodies dwelled. “All our farms were taken by the battle. For a whole year, we starved! Mysk, he watched them all die. I. . .” She reached under her mask to wipe her eyes and nose. “Coan was in her cave, eating whatever she could find in the swamps. And meanwhile, at the House, there was no food at all. Babies born dead, mothers dying anyways. Some killed each other in their sleep. Others walked into the jungle and never returned. My brother, my people, they saw it all. I could not help anyone. How does a soldier fight hunger? How does a little girl save her dying people?
“After so many died, after years of slow healing, it happened again. A blight took our food and a storm wiped it away. The illness and fevers were unkind to us. It killed more and more each week. ‘Coan, Coan, help us.’ That’s all they said as Mysk took their pain away. They wanted me to do it. I was the warlord! ‘Coan, kill me please,’ my people cried as I ran away! As we all starved again, the invaders came, coming to wipe us out! Only a few scavengers from Rem, but how many men could an eleven-year-old girl kill? Gele, it was because of them I did not starve to death. I defeated them all and saved my people, as the fevers killed more and more.”
Coan flew at Gele, and their swords collided with a resounding crash! A roar emitted from behind her mask. “I only took this name because I thought it would save my friends and family! And here they are, silent amidst my prayers and fears! All except my brother, and now, the ship will take him too! Vall will bleed, soul by soul, the temple will fill until there is only one person left in this land! That needs to be me. Everyone else needs to run! Run and never look back!” Her sword lashed out faster than Gele could react. A vicious clang wailed as the bone blade chewed into the iron. Reflexes commandeered the man and the spirit. Sawyer leaped in front of Gele while he jumped away. The warlord cut through both of them. A waterfall came over Gele, smothering him as the iron creaked and then snapped. But the jawbone never bit into him.
A rush of wind flew through the cave. With her hand, Sawyer caught the serrated teeth before they tore into Gele. The Admiral, amazed, looked back at her partner. She emitted a blinding light, a gleam that flushed out the quiet glow of the amber. Borrowing their power, Gele realized. No, the amber made this happen. They wanted Coan to see Sawyer. All she did was run to grab the sword. Gusts fell through his hair and through Coan’s. The warlord stepped back, stumbling. “Who. . .”
“Admiral Sawyer Jean, the Salt Wench, a beast of the seas,” Sawyer said, but Coan did not seem to hear.
It’s not like Emned. Gele rested his hand on the spirit’s shoulder. “Her name is Admiral Sawyer Jean,” Gele said as he tossed the broken sword onto the ground. “Her soul is bound to mine, and she knows of the ship coming to Vall. These pirates, we can fight them. We can help save Vall. But, only if you let us. You are the warlord. Until that ship is gone, we can be your soldiers.”
“A spirit. . .” Coan dropped her sword. “Is this why you came to Vall?” Her voice fumed. “Did you come to steal from our temple?”
“No, I did not lie to you.” Gele lowered his head. “Please, I promise you, I will follow you, Coan, but you need to let me leave once the fighting is over.”
“Two soldiers and a ghost are not enough.” Her fingers traced old scars hidden under a web of purple and green paint. “You know our enemy. Can we run?”
“No,” Gele said. He touched the brass bangles on his wrist. Magic will arrive with gunpowder, like wicked lovers. “Sawyer had a vision of the Second Sea falling atop of Vall and drowning the world with it. I don’t know if that will happen. For now, it only dwells in our nightmares.”
“They will want the temple, the spirits. They will want my people. All the other invaders did.” Coan clenched her fists. “The House has more than one wall, more than one pillar. We will need to fight together. Not just you and I, but all of Vall. We must raise an army. I need to choose between dragging my people into my own nightmares or letting myself become a witness to Vall’s demise.”