Angry clicking and chittering filled Callam’s ears. Six of the dismembered Oceanstriders began to slither his way—a blessing, since his spell hadn’t actually done anything other than make him shiver. The beasts proved surprisingly nimble, their suckers allowing them traction on the slick wooden surface.

Not good enough. Too many continued to peck away at Merra, and she was certain to break soon.

Callam kicked off in her direction, his hands out, his mind disgusted by the idea of touching the slimy skin. He’d managed to travel less than a foot before a tendril finished climbing the hatch, shot out, and clipped right through the side of Merra’s ear.

Blood sprayed the deck. She screamed, her hands blazing red—a second more and she was sure to release her spell early.

Thankfully, a wave chose that moment to toss the boat, forcing Merra to brace herself or risk losing her footing. For his part, Callam slid, his eyes remaining fixed on Merra’s flame the whole time. Already, she was re-adjusting her aim toward the creatures surrounding her.

She’d given up on their plan.

If he didn’t manage to do some real magic, they would die. Another surge struck the boat and, having no time to lose, Callam allowed himself to fall. He hit the brown wood hard, yet barely noticed the jolt of pain as his shoulder bounced off the deck.

Jamming his hand into his bookbag, he shouted, “Infer Atrea Intus!” a second time. Again, the words came out, but the actual magic seemed to fizzle on his tongue.

Maybe I’ve to mold the spell into iambic perimeter?

Holding onto that spark of inspiration, he tried to muscle his way to a solution and immediately realized it would take far too long. He was no linguistics expert—Poet’s hand, he’d only learned to read the night prior. Still, whispers of meaning tickled at his subconscious, and he felt he was on the right track. The answer was within his reach, right outside the door of comprehension.

Suddenly, a simpler pattern began to form. He followed its guidance, slicing off vowels and rearranging letters, trying to mold the magic into his own. He had no delusion that it would work, but what else could he do? He poured himself into the words. Sang it with his soul. He begged the power to come out from him, and when that didn’t work, begged it to come to him.

“Infer Intus, Ater, Infer Intus!” he bellowed, his pulse racing. The phrase was the exact opposite of iambic pentameter.

Around him, time seemed to stop. Where before he’d shivered, now a deep chill shot through his body. Magic traveled with it. It touched the deepest parts of him, plucking at his heart strings. The tune struck, and gold light burst from Callam’s book bag, flooding the sloop in a blinding radiance. All living things in his vicinity became translucent—he could see a constellation of essence inside each of them. Invisible strands of dark ink swam between those galaxies, filling the interstitial spaces. Within the tendrils, the pigment coalesced into a dense tapestry of knots and threads connecting the beasts to one another and to their hive.

The energy in their pigment begged to be freed. To be his.

Directing his will toward the tentacle closest to him, he grasped the ink and ripped it apart. Black particles fluttered in the air for just a moment before streaming his way.

Time condensed, and Callam was thrown back to those terrible nights where he’d fought off beggars for a single blanket. A gasp escaped his lips, the breath whistling through his teeth. In front of him, he watched another of the Sootskins become lost to the sea, the boy’s cries muffled by the dark depths. The tendril Callam’s spell had targeted fell noiselessly to the deck—instantly, all its brethren went insane. Hate filled those beaks. They clamped open and shut in an off-harmony that bruised the ear.

Merra’s firelight gleamed on their backs as they swarmed in his direction, pulling and slinking themselves across the soaked floor with unexpected speed.

Finally, the echo of her spell cut through the din as she turned and blew the ceiling right off the ship.

Thousands of bubbles popped as Oceanstriders rose from the waves, congregating on the pieces of charred wood now floating in the ocean. Their joyful song pierced the skies.

The beasts believed their hunt had borne fruit.

And just like that, the sloop was free from most of the swarm. Swells built with each additional pop, nearly drowning what remained of the boat, but the majority of the spellworked hull held steady. Merra was already moving, her own dagger dicing up the tendrils headed Callam’s way.

Seconds later she was at his side, and the look on her face was now more caring than callous. Firm fingers pressed air into his chest, yet he was too numb to feel their touch on his skin.

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“Don’t die on me, lackwit. We Sootskins stick together.”

~~~

Something soft and wet licked at Callam’s forehead, and for a moment he thought the Chapelward had finally acceded to his childhood demands that they adopt a dog. A frayed texture challenged that belief, and he groggily realized that a stiff rag was being applied to his forehead. Not too carefully, either—warm salt water kept stinging his eyes.

“... Merra?” he tried to whisper, but his voice cracked. Trying again, he mumbled, “W…ater.” Siela had told him of high deserts with sandscrits that scorched the skin, and right now his throat felt like one.

“No, silly, I’m Rianne,” a girl giggled, her high-pitch marking her as well under thirteen. “Here!” she said, and a moment later the water from a ladle mercifully wet his lips. Part of him wanted to lie there forever, drinking his fill until his head stopped pounding, yet he found himself struggling to sit up.

We had a deal!

To recruit an unbound so young was unconscionable, and Callam refused to stay silent. He quickly scanned his surroundings; he was resting on a small bed in a wide room laden with rugs and children’s toys. A desk played king in one corner, ruling over half the free space with its impressive roll-top and dovetail drawers. At the foot of the bed, a brunette girl no older than eight balanced a large metal bucket with a spout on her lap. To her right, Merra lounged in a bedside armchair, her nose in a book. By all accounts, she looked sound asleep.

That would not do.

“Lying witch!” he shouted, though it came out as barely more than a croak.

With a start, the Cinderthief awoke. “Which what…? I’ll have the…” she said, then yawned as she became aware of her surroundings. “Callam. I didn’t realize you were awake.”

“Sis! Sis, I watered him just like you said! Just like my plants!”

Sis? For a second the words hung in the air, and Callam had to really focus his throbbing head to comprehend them. The toys, the watering can and rags… Oh.

Merra, Cinderthief of the Sootskins, was a doting older sister.

So it's not a violation, he thought, crashing back down onto the pillow. Good. Sleep teased the corner of his lids once again, and within moments he was drifting off,

“We’ve still to discuss your favors owed.”

Snapping his eyes back open, Callam found his voice. “If not for me, you’d have lost all your crew.” Anger colored his tone; he was in no mood to play games.

“Sootskin are replaceable.”

“... and their leader more so.” Memories from the night he’d spent cowering from the pennypawner’s kicks flooded his mind, fueling his anger. This time, he managed to shove himself up to a sitting position with ease.

Only then did he notice the smile playing across her lips. “Relax. I think we can both agree your debts are paid in full.”

Callam stayed quiet at that, slouching as his weariness sunk back in. This wasn’t exactly how he’d planned to earn his freedom tonight, but he’d take it. He’d even managed to cast his first spell.

“Merra,” he said finally. “Where are my pants?”

~~~~

Niles could handle everything about the carriage but the stench. For the past few days, he'd been trapped inside a jailor's wagon with twenty other Ruddites as they made their way to the southern mines. Metal dug into his hands and feet, and a heavy, uncomfortable chain looped around his waist. Yet Niles didn’t mind the constraints—he understood this was all part of the gods’ plan.

The smell though? That, he couldn’t stand. Would it have killed these wretched men to shower before their imprisonment?

“Steady…” he heard the horse-master shout through the iron door, then felt the carriage jolt to a stop a moment later. Around him, boys rustled and moaned, not an intelligent expression among them. These were broken men, he’d realized. Hopeless men who had not yet recognized the importance of accepting the Prophet's gift into their hearts.

Not Niles though. He was no heretic. He'd done as the Endless demanded, and when he'd failed, he'd accepted his fate. If only Phiry understood...

When news of his punishment had reached Phiry’s ears, she’d raged against their parents for forcing him to chase such a wild dream. As twins, he'd always felt that they should be aligned in their vision, yet her actions when he’d been branded a Ruddite had been distasteful to say the least. She’d refused to accept that this was his path.

“Single file,” the man opening the carriage door demanded. Thin and straight-backed, he had a no-nonsense look to him that Niles could admire. He was not the type of man to tolerate fools.

One by one, Ruddites of the lowest castes were paraded down several ramps, then herded through a set of maw-like caverns lit by bioluminescent plants and wall-mounted torches. At the end of a particularly narrow cave, they were greeted by the mine master, a tall, thick-armed fellow with a head so smooth it could have passed for a stone in the right lighting.

“Ruddites,” the man shouted. “Today is the first of many hard days to come. I won't lie to you. Mining is man's work—and of those here, I see scant few men. Each day, you are to wake at five. Prayer and penance last until dawn, then the first shift begins. Meals are served at midday, and six. Between then, we dig. Each of you is bound to a fifteen-year tenure. Work hard, and you may shave years off that term. Supplies are here," the man said, gesturing to a bucket full of tools. "We start now."

A click later, Niles felt the spellworked manacles around his feet unlock. Ruddites shuffled forward all around him, grabbing picks and bags, their shoulders slumped and eyes distant.

“How quickly men break when faced with adversity,” he whispered to himself. His mother had said that once, when their warden had been too weak to do what had to be done to an unbound thief.

Niles would show no such weakness—nor would he lose hope or give up. He was one of the Fated and knew his future was already written.

Only a coward cries wolf when he has a flock to lead.