Arya Herois knew one thing to be true and one thing only: the storm brewing on the seas was nothing natural. She had been part of the sea crew of Captain Florence’s ship for a little over two years now, and one thing she knew was what it was like when a big storm was brewing. She knew the scent of coming rain on a breeze and the chill that coming rain gave to the breeze. Sometimes, when it was a particularly big storm, there would be a sort of stillness in the air. A strange calm that almost didn’t belong with the gray skies and heavy clouds. It was always one or a combination of those things that Arya would see before the sky would break and rain would fall.
But today was not the same.
From the first moment she woke, Arya felt this sense of…not dread and not knowing exactly, but some odd combination of the two. Like this day would be the best and the worst. As she had dressed and then scrubbed the deck and now as she manned the oars, the feeling wouldn’t leave her. And though the sky had been a clear, pleasant blue before—with the sun beating down so heavily on them, even the breeze off of the ocean offered no solace—it was a deep, melancholic gray. Rain beat down on the Nightingale and her crew, torrential and unforgiving.
One man was perched on the highest part of the ship, staring through his looking glass and shouting orders down to the rest of them when he spotted a giant rock or a far off group of harpies flying about.
Arya could still remember the first time she’d seen that looking glass for the first time. How surprised she had been! She was born an orphan and had been housed, fed and clothed by the priestesses who still devoted themselves to the Great Goddess’s temple in a small village outside of Pendilor’s capital, so there were a great many things she had never seen before. That looking glass—golden and able to see at great distances when pulled and stretched—was one of them. The short-barreled gun tied to her waist with a stretch of red fabric was another. These things were crafted by Dwarves, according to Captain Florence.
Arya pushed and pulled at the oars in the rhythm she had grown used to over the last two years, her eyes narrowing at the sky. Her instincts were tugging at her again and if there was one thing Arya had learned in her life, it was that her instincts never led her astray. It was a Goddess given talent, the priestesses used to say. While she wasn’t so sure she’d call it that, she was sure that her knowing had never led her astray.
The air was too still. Not the still before a great storm where the world holds its breath for a moment. This was a still that rose the goosebumps on Arya arms. Even though the rain was beating down on them, there wasn’t nary a breeze. Every now and then, when there was a hint of wind, it was unnaturally cold. Too cold for the hot months of Lilunn that they were in now.
Such a breeze passed just as she thought of it, and the men around her shuddered and trembled, teeth clattering.
Something is wrong. Arya chanted that to herself over and over again, her eyes scanning the sky as if the answers would pour themselves forth.
“By the Goddess,” the lookout cried, and all attention turned to him.
“There are no gods here, just us,” Captain Florence called up to him. She had been seated on a wooden crate next to her Brigg, her second in command who was manning the wheel. She got up and stood directly under the scout, her head tilted back and staring. “What do you see?”
The scout only managed a stream of incoherent stutters, and Captain Florence made a sound of great displeasure.
“Spit it out, lad. We haven’t got all day.”
“Kraken.”
Fear’s icy cold fingers ran along Arya’s spine and it was all she could do not to shudder and panic like the men around her. Not because of the Kraken. She had been on a ship—a while ago when she was a teenager looking for any way to make a coin that didn’t include selling her body—where she had worked as a ship hand and they had come across a Kraken. The great beast with its long, grasping tentacles had scared her back then. Had made fear pool in her throat and chest. But she had helped the captain of that ship take down the beast and for Arya, once she had defeated something the first time, she no longer feared that thing.
The fear that plagued her was from that not quite dread, not quite knowing sense that had been with her all day. Something was coming—no, something was here—that wasn’t the Kraken.
Captain Florence was letting out a curse, her full lips pulling up into a displeased line, her dark eyebrows drawing together.
“That’s just fucking wonderful,” a crewman behind Arya griped. “We’ve got to have these supplies delivered to Empress Margravine by tomorrow morning and that Kraken’s standing in our way. She’ll have our heads.”
Arya shuddered a little now. The monarch who ruled the Empire—the largest human kingdom of the seven Allied kingdoms—was not known for her patience and she was most certainly not known for her benevolence. She had taken her own father’s head from his shoulders when he would not secure her place as heir to the throne. She doubted the Empress would grant them such a mercy, especially when what they were delivering was apparently particularly important.
Briggs looked over at the captain. He and Captain Florence were exactly alike. They matched each other, towering height for towering height, glimmering dark skin for glimmering dark skin. The only difference was his muscle was bulky and his face was serious where Captain Florence was slender and usually light-hearted.
“What are your orders?”
The woman frowned. “What other orders can I give? We—” a loud crash of the waves drowned out her voice, “—known for her benevolence. We have to go straight through. There’s no other choice.”
Briggs didn’t look happy about that order, but he also didn’t tell her she was wrong.
“We push on,” the captain called out, her voice steady over the increasingly agitated waves. “They say only the bravest of crews can take it on. Let us prove today that we are such a crew.”
The crewmen around her stirred, discomforted. A good number of the men with them today were not a part of the regular crew, and although Arya felt enough loyalty to Captain Florence for the woman giving her a stable job, these men did not feel the same. This was supposed to be a quick trip to the Empire and a quick trip back across the sea to Pendilor. Was two silver and fifty coppers worth going head to head with a Kraken?
Even though her back was turned and she didn’t seem to be paying any attention to them, she was no fool and without turning she said, “Your pay will be doubled.”
Any man who was previously undecided decided pretty quickly after that. Six silver was enough to feed a family of three for a month and a half. The men rowed with renewed enthusiasm. Arya went through the motions, her eyes fixated on the sky.
It was growing darker with each second that passed. Her eyebrows pulled together. A wind was staring to howl, nearly knocking the scout from his perch on the mast. What was more, Arya could swear she could hear something. A whisper on the wind is what it sounded like. It was odd. The wind hadn’t whispered to her since she was a child. And yet here it was now, murmuring something indistinct.
She had been convinced her memories of wind whispering from her childhood had been exaggerations she had come up with. She had grown up reading novels that described the wind as “whispering” in the hero’s ear, so it seemed natural that an imaginative child would believe the wind whispered to her, too. But now…she was not so sure.
… rises…King…will…
Behind her, one man called out to her. She had stopped rowing, she realized. She started back, ignoring the way he grumbled about women having no place as ship hands. She had already heard such insults a thousand and one times.
That had definitely been a voice. She was sure of it.
…awakened. Free…take…this world
“Oi, scout,” shouted Captain Florence. “Is the Kraken near?”
Arya titled her head to glance up at the man. He was staring through the telescope and, although she couldn’t see his face, the air around him seemed as if he was in disbelief. Something not good pooled in her stomach and she felt like she would be sick.
“It’s gone,” the scout finally said. His voice cracked a little.
“Gone?”
There was enough light shining on him that Arya could see his bulb in his throat bob as he swallowed hard.
“It was there. I saw its tentacles. Then it bobbed back ‘neath the sea. I can’t see it no more. I—I believe it’s gone, Captain.”
The ship was quiet with disease. Briggs cast a glanced over at his sister. Krakens didn’t just disappear. Not when there were ships nearby. Arya would have liked to think it was some kind of strategy. That the thing had dipped beneath the waves, waiting for them to get close enough before it struck. But Krakens were strong, not intelligent, and they used their overwhelming strength and their many tentacles to the advantage. They didn’t strategize.
Arya’s heart was beating a mile a minute in her chest. She would have liked to place her hand over her heart, to try to steady its rapid thrumming, but she didn’t want the man behind her—or any of the men here—to say more snide things than they already had. This feeling of unease was one she had felt before, years ago.
…awaken…Goddess…has work…you.
Behind her, one of the men let out a choked, gurgled sound. The sound was so unnatural and spine-chilling, everyone turned to see why he’d made such a noise. Something was protruding from the ship-hand’s chest. His eyes were wide and startled and blood was pouring from his mouth as he choked on the air he tried to breathe.
It was only after the object was pulled from the man’s chest and he fell to the deck, blood pooling around him, that Arya came to the numb realization that they were claws. Claws that were attached to the most hideous thing Arya had ever seen. It might have been a person once, it had to be. It looked human enough, or rather, it was human shaped. But it was graying like a long-dead corpse, its hair hanging limp around its shoulders. The skin around its eyes was cracked like a lake frozen over and struck with a Dwarf’s hammer.
There was a split second of silence. As if no one could quite believe what they saw or thought they’d imagined the whole thing. And then that split second was gone and there was panic. Ship-hands abandoned their places at the oars, running for the best escape. Some tossed themselves into the seas in hopes of escape.
In the midst of the panic, the creature turned its gaze to Arya, who hadn’t abandoned her post like the others. Fear held her in place, kept her locked in the once human’s unseeing gaze. The thing crouched, baring rotted teeth.
Your sword…pick it up. You must…live.
That steeled Arya enough to reach for the sword tucked into her belt. It was a tiny piece of steel and its handle was still like new because she used it so little. There were rarely dangers on the seas and the dangers that befell Arya were ordinarily solved just fine with her fists, so she had never needed to use the thing.
The damn thing caught in its scabbard, and while she struggled to get it free, the creature pounded. Its cold, hard hands gripped her shoulders, fingernails digging into her flesh. Her head thudded against the cold, wet wood.
There were more shouts around her, but Arya scarcely heard it over the loud, inhuman screeching this creature made above her. Its cries were like those of a banshee, stalking the forests, caught in images of those who were fated to meet their end.
Arya twisted in the thing’s grasp, griping the hilt of her sword with determined hands and yanking it free of its scabbard. The once human opened its mouth unnaturally wide, unhinging its jaw with a sickening crack, and moved in to devour her.
She rose her free arm and its teeth caught on it, gripped around the metal plating Arya always wore. Normally it was used in fights with the men who thought she was a helpless woman who could be taken advantage of. The cold metal coupled with her weight always served to provide her with a good show when it was pressed on a man’s neck, his eyes wide with panic. She was never more grateful to it than she was at this moment, as the creatures jaw clamped down around it.
She could feel the creature’s teeth through the metal and she knew she had to act fast. She could tell the metal would not hold. This creature would bite down hard and take her arm—metal brace and all—with it.
The creature wasn’t smart, it seemed, because it wasn’t pressing any of its weight on her legs. So, Arya bunched her legs up to her chest and kicked. It yelped, flying backwards a good deal away.
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Arya didn’t pause. No sooner had the creature been flung back, she was on her feet, reaching for the gun at her belt. She watched it right itself, baring its teeth at her before it came charging again.
She shot. Once, twice, a third time, a fourth. But the damn thing kept coming. It fell back a step or two with the gunshots but it didn’t stop or so much as pause.
It was like a Lich. Except this creature had skin and wasn’t just made of bone. Arya had gone toe-to-toe with a Lich once—an encounter she might not have survived had it not been for the Mage that had accompanied her party—and she hoped to the Goddess that this thing was not the same.
It’s head, whispered the wind. Cut off it’s head.
Arya didn’t let herself think of how the voice on the wind was clearer now. She didn’t even let herself be bothered by the fact that the voice speaking to her was a woman. She zeroed in on the thing trying to grab at her, its jaw unhinged and hanging.
She dodged as it came down on her, gripped her sword with two hands, and swung with all the strength she had in her body.
Its head didn’t come completely off. It hung on its shoulders, limp and the creature growled, still reach for her. Arya screamed and swung again.
The creature stopped moving after that.
Arya was breathing heavily, staring at the thing with wide eyes. A small pool of blood formed around it. Not like the corpse of a person who had gotten their head cut off, but not like a Lich, either. Thank the gods.
The crew was still shouting. The sound of gunfire and panic filling the air and her ears. Arya, confused, looked up from the thing that had attacked her.
And froze.
There were more. Seven of the things were attacking the remaining crew. One of the once human creatures had its jaw unhinged as it devoured some man who was long past saving. The others were being held off by Captain Florence, Briggs, and a few other men who were brave enough to not jump ship. Or more scared of the sea than they were of these things.
“The Mage,” the captain was yelling as she shot at the creatures. “Where’s the Mage?”
Now that she thought about it, a Mage had boarded their ship. She had paid good coin to get to the Empire, so Captain Florence had let her on. She might have been some criminal, running from Pendilor in hopes of escaping King Azar’s wrath, but the captain hadn’t cared. Her job was to deliver things—sometimes incredibly shady things—to monarchs and nobles. Not to watch for who was a criminal and who wasn’t.
The Mage had been given the room next to Captain Florence’s. It was the second best room on the ship, a better room than even Briggs’. Arya had wondered, when their guest was directed to the room, how much she had paid for Captain Florence to be treating her so well. But she hadn’t seen the woman since they departed the capital. For the nine days they had been at sea, the Mage had stayed in her room. Not so much as taking a meal.
Even when Arya had glimpsed the Mage that first time, she hadn’t been able to see the woman’s face. She had only heard her voice and seen a long spill of silken black hair peeking from beneath her dark cloak.
Arya wanted to shout at Captain Florence that chopping off their heads was the way to defeat them. But she was also the only one close enough to the rooms to fetch the Mage. Creatures that weren’t smart ordinarily responded to noise and if she shouted, they would descend on her in an instant.
Her eyes met Captain Florence. She tilted her head toward the rooms where the Mage stayed and relief flickered across the captain’s face as she nodded.
Arya moved as fast as she was able. Her boot-clad feet tapped against the wood rapidly as she ran in the direction of the sleeping quarters. Without Briggs at the wheel, keeping the ship steady, it rocked and shifted with every breath of the tide and the unnatural storm beating down on them seemed determined to do them in. Waves crashed against the side of the Nightingale, sea water spraying onto the ship.
She narrowly avoided stacked crates as they fell toward her, crashing where she had been standing.
Arya had been ashamed of her past before. Although the priestesses had clothed and fed her, the temple often ran out of supplies. Especially when King Azar had raised the grain and harvest taxes and most of the food they grew in the temple’s gardens were forced to go to the king and his men. Arya, like many of the starving children back then, had taken to stealing. Being a fast runner was the result of her difficult childhood. It—and the ability to go days at a time without food or water—was the only thing she was glad for.
She ran as fast as she could, letting a curse slip out when her boots slicked against the wood that was wet with falling rain and the waves, nearly tripping her.
She found the door that Mage was staying in and pounded her fist against the door. She paused, waiting for it to open and when the Mage didn’t so much as call out to her, she realized that the damn thing must be spelled.
Of course it was. Most Mages were notorious for hating to be bothered. Arya had met more Mages since she had been hired on the Nightingale than she ever had in her whole life before, and they all spelled their rooms to block out noise.
That should have been obvious but in her panic, Arya hadn’t thought of it. She didn’t like that. She prided herself on being rational. On being able to think things through, even when the situation seemed impossible. Even when she was in extreme danger or stress.
She forced herself to calm down and pounded her fist heavily against the wood over and over again with all of her strength. The shabby door shook with the force of her blows. She wasn’t exactly familiar with the spell Mages used to block out noise, but she figured even if the Mage couldn’t hear her knocks, she would at least see the wood rattling.
Maybe she had because the door swung open all of a sudden, slamming against the wall. Arya was face-to-face with a cross Elven sorceress. The woman being an Elf would normally be enough to give Arya some pause because she had never seen one in person before.
But there was no time to dwell on the Mage’s ears or stare at her and determine if she was as beautiful as people said Elves were supposed to be.
“We’re being attacked,” she blurted. “Captain Florence and the others are in combat with seven…creatures.”
As if to prove her point, a loud gunshot rang out as well as a man’s scream before quickly being swallowed away by the wind, rain and crashing waves.
The Elven woman’s eyes widened. They were a shimmering, unnatural blue and with slit pupils. The Mages Arya had met all had slit pupils, too, so Arya was far less bothered seeing it this time than she had been the first time.
The woman moved with haste toward where the sound of struggle was coming from and Arya followed close behind. The wounds that creature had made on her were hurting more and more every second.
They made it to the ship’s deck. Breath was stolen from Arya’s lungs at the sight before her. There were more of the creatures. There had been seven before, but now the ship was flooded with them. Blood covered the clean wood that Arya had scrubbed down herself just that morning. The ship rocked and nearly through Arya off balance and the Elven Mage muttered something underneath her breath.
Arya held onto the side of the ship to right herself, her wounds protesting painfully as she did. Three of the once human creatures turned, gazing at Arya and the Mage.
“Gods,” Arya whispered with numb lips. “This… this isn’t right.”
Either the noise of gunshots and the remaining men fighting for their lives swallowed up her words or the Elven Mage wasn’t paying attention. Arya watched, feeling weak-kneed and oddly hollow, as the woman positioned herself.
The Mage took a position of her feet shoulder-width apart, her hands held out in front of her. She muttered something in a language Arya didn’t understand and one that she hadn’t heard before. Lightning poured from her palms, the bolts striking the creatures in a show of light so bright, Arya had to put a hand over her eyes to shield them.
The brightness was brief, though, and when Arya looked again, the once human creatures were dead. The scent of burned flesh hung in the air and even as her stomach turned at the smell, she couldn’t stop gaping.
This Mage had taken down three of those things with a single spell. Her mind raced over her fight with that single creature, how she had barely survived and how her body would take weeks to heal if they survived this. And yet there the Elven woman stood, her back ramrod straight with bursts of lightning crackling in her palms.
This was her second time seeing magic performed. The first was when she was a child and she barely remembered that. But she couldn’t even be excited over it. Not with the chilling realization that those once human creatures this Mage had struck with her bolts were once ship hands. They had been running and screaming from the creatures before she had left and now they were one of them.
Fear raced through her. Were these thing contagious? One of them had bitten her during their scuffle and she was certain its teeth had pierced through the metal arm brace. She felt fine, though. She didn’t feel like she would turn…
She looked into the unseeing faces of men who she had once rowed the ship with, scrubbed the deck with and hated for their crude words and disregard of her skill. There was no hint of mocking malice in their eyes anymore. Only a chilling hunger that could only be sated with the lives of the living.
The Elven woman was holding her own well against the creatures, but even with her skill, after a few moments of being down, the things righted themselves and started for her again.
“Their heads,” Arya shouted over a crash of thunder. “Aim for their heads.”
She did. She threw a bolt of fire so hot, Arya could feel it even though she was a good distance away and it hit one of the former ship-hands square in the head. Arya’s stomach turned at the sight of his head exploding.
When he stayed down, the Mage gave Arya the most irritated of looks. “You might have told me that sooner.”
Arya bit back her irritation. Not necessarily at this haughty woman, but also at herself. Where was her typically cool head? Why was she panicking? Why was the pit in her stomach—the pit that told her she was in great danger—only growing larger and larger even as the Mage, Captain Florence, Briggs and the remaining ship-hands took out the rest of the creatures?
…rising …cannot stop it, the wind whispered.
Arya rubbed at her ear as if that would stop her from hearing the voice. She hadn’t heard this voice in nearly a decade and yet here it was again, talking to her after so long.
Above you, it said. Above you, Arya.
Arya looked at the skies. The foreboding that had been swirling inside her since this morning sung through her body with such ferocity, she vibrated with it.
No, she was vibrating. She was trembling. Shaking in her boots like a knight undertaking his first solo quest to prove himself worthy in the Blackwood. Shaking like a foot soldier on the front lines who knows he’s going to die.
Up in the sky, there was a great eye watching them. It shone through the clouds, its irises glowing like the embers of a flame. There was such evil in its gaze, such mal intent. Arya had this feeling as its gaze swept over her, that she was a bug staring in the face of a god. These damned creatures with their crazed minds and decaying bodies, was nothing compared to this thing. She would rather face an army of these creatures than to spend a second facing the thing that Eye belonged to.
She would have liked to have shouted a warning at the Mage. To tell her it was there. But somehow, she got the feeling that would have been a death sentence. Somehow, she got the feeling that if the Mage turned her attention to that Eye and tried to fight it, they would all die. They were mere worms under its gaze, under its power.
Something groaned. Arya forced her gaze away from the Eye as hands—gnarled and bony with its flesh falling off—gripped the edge of the boat and tried to climb aboard.
This time, she did shout, alerting the others to what was happening.
“Gods save us,” a man whimpered. “They keep coming. There are endless amounts of them and not enough of us left here. Even with the Mage. We’ll die.”
Arya swung at the thing as it climbed with both hands, sucking in a pained breath. Its head tumbled into the ocean first and its body followed. It wasn’t alone, though. Others were crawling up from the waves.
“If we die, then we die fighters. Not cowards,” said Captain Florence.
“Speak for yourself. I plan on leaving this alive,” the Mage said drily. She gripped a creature that had gotten close enough by its head. The blue of her eyes grew brighter as she poured her mana into its head. Its skull exploded. Arya gagged. “I have a meeting of utmost importance. I don’t plan on missing it.” She brushed a bit of blood of her cheek and a bit of brain from her shoulder.
Arya lopped the head off of a former pirate’s head—she could tell by the way it was dressed—but other kept coming, climbing up the the sides and up the bow. And she was pretty sure she couldn’t swing the sword anymore. Her injuries were becoming a hindrance. It had taken her three weak swing to lop the former pirate’s head off.
Her eyes strayed over to the Eye again. It watched them, watching the Mage with particular malice. The fiery shade of the Eye grew brighter.
…going to attack, said the wind. He’s going to kill the Mage. She’s putting up too much of a fight.
Arya didn’t know what she should think of the wind whispering to her. Was it madness? Was it something with mal-intent that loved her not? She couldn’t tell. But still, it seemed as if it was helping her for now. As if it were on their side.
So she launched herself at the Mage, pushing her over and away from where the Eye had been focusing. The Elven Mage spewed some kind of curse that would have made all the ship-hands sputter in surprise right as lance of fire shot down from the sky, hitting the spot where she had just been standing.
Although she had managed to get the Mage out of the Eye’s line of sight, she wasn’t fast enough to protect herself fully from the blast. The force surrounding the lance of fire knocked into her, throwing her back. The back of her head smacked against a fallen crate and stars gathered around her eyes.
She had to get up. She had to stand. Lying her like this was a death sentence. If one of those things turned to her, she had to defend herself. But her body felt as if it were soldered to the ground.
She fought for her consciousness, fought to stay awake. If she fell asleep, it would be over for her. She was lucky one of those things hadn’t noticed her as it was. That they hadn’t been drawn to the sound of her smashing against the crate.
Child, it’s time for you to claim your destiny. I chose you long ago, when you were just a baby. It’s time for you to fulfill your purpose, to become what you were always meant to be.
The wind. Was the voice always that clear?
Look at me, daughter. See me. Take my hand and claim your power.
Although it was hard, Arya trusted the voice enough to peel her eyes opened. Pain lanced behind her eyes and she hissed, shutting them tightly before forcing them back open again.
For a moment, she thought she was hallucinating, or that she had died already because Magdellana, the Great Goddess Herself, was standing before her. Her form was shimmering and see through, as if she could disappear at any moment but Arya recognized the woman hovering over her.
She had seen this face in the temples she had grown up in. Had watched priestesses fall to their knees before those statues to pray. Her skin wasn’t the cold, gray marble she was used to, but it was a deep brown a shade or two lighter than Arya’s own skin. Her hair flowed around her head like a cloud, and her face was exactly how it was portrayed on the statues; round and kind with unfathomable eyes and immortal beauty.
More beautiful than even an Elf.
Arya watched, dumbfounded, as Magdellana stretched out her hand, her gaze pleading.
Please, child, take my hand. We don’t have much time. I cannot remain in your sphere for long. Quickly. If you do not, nothing can be done to save you or the people here.
As the Goddess spoke, the Eye turned its gaze, as if it had sensed Her. It fixated its gaze on Arya and then it blinked, its iris temporarily disappearing and leaving the sky devoid of its presence before it appeared again. Arya could tell when it sensed the Goddess. She could feel it. She could feel its distaste, its outrage… its fear.
The Goddess’s face tightened with panic. Quickly, she urged, stretching out her hand. Take my hand quickly.
She was still convinced she must have hit her head and hard. Hard enough that she was seeing the Great Goddess floating above her. But still, she lifted her arms—with no small effort—and stretched out a hand that trembled with the exertion of her task.
The Eye’s iris glowed brighter. But Arya’s hand was caught in the Goddess’s. Light spilled from where their hands met and…exploded. Like stars colliding. Warmth flooded Arya’s hands and her body suddenly didn’t feel so heavy anymore. The pain in her shoulder, in her arm and back ebbed.
The light from their joined hands—the light that was filling her body—filled the ship. She could tell by the panicked gasps of ship hands and by the way the Elven woman shouted something in Elven in her surprise.
As quickly as the light had come, it was suddenly gone. Consciousness started to leave her and Arya could not longer keep her eyes open, no matter how she struggled. Even as she knew she wouldn’t be safe, even as she knew she had to protect herself, to help Captain Florence and the remaining crew.
The Goddess began to fade away, murmuring a few last words as she went.
I welcome you, my Champion. My Daughter of Light.