Forty-Seven The Drowning Wood

FORTY-SEVEN

The Drowning Wood

SAMUEL

M ary and I approached The Silver Serpent as sunset wrapped Renown in muffled orange light. Whistles piped in the distance, and somewhere to the north the boom of cannons sounded out in near flawless synchronicity.

I was dressed as a landsman today, with no hint of the captain in my practical, dark-green coat, open over a common waistcoat, shirt and neckerchief. Mary had dressed with equal modesty—a knitted shawl wound around her upper body, and she wore her hair under a felted hat with a broad yellow ribbon.

"They are only drills," I told her, and rapped on the door of the inn. It was three-storied and broad, but in some state of disrepair. Its pale-blue paint was peeling and sun-bleached closer to grey.

"That lot? I've got a good two dozen of them here—though believe me, if times weren't so hard, I wouldn't have a single one," the innwife said a few moments later in response to our inquiring after Mr. Pitten. "But they've gone out some time ago. Off to another isle for some heresy or another. Don't tell me a fine pair such as yourselves pay them mind?"

"We most assuredly do not," I replied. "Can you direct us to this island?"

After gleaning directions from the innwife, Mary and I set off once more. Thankfully the way took us directly out of town, across several bridges in the shadow of the east-facing sea wall and over patches of land, some more worthy than others to be called an island.

Finally, the wall ended at a large, antique watchtower, and we were afforded an unobstructed view of the western sea across a sweep of rock, winter-dulled scrub and plumes of spray.

One final bridge, this one wooden and creaky underfoot, took us to our destination. This was one of the few islands in the chain to support a tract of forest, all conifers rooted in soft sand, interspersed with rock and moss and beds of pungent needles. Ridges of snow still latticed the wood, but the breeze was warm.

"Fitting that the cult should come here," I commented as Mary and I stopped at the edge of the forest. A clear path roamed ahead, girded with moss and shifted stones.

Mary reached out to squeeze my fingers, just for a moment. Then she approached the nearest tree and laid her palm on the bark.

"They're at the western edge," she said, her eyes searching my face. "I can go without you, Sam."

I shook my head firmly and set off. After a step she caught up, and we proceeded side by side around the periphery of the forest. We moved quietly, not speaking, though there was little need for stealth. The island was full of the sound of waves, the dwindling cries of gulls, and the moan of the windblown trees.

When the latter yielded to the sound of singing, we slowed and continued more discreetly through the trees. The wash of the waves grew closer, and, ahead in the fading daylight, I saw the glint of water among the trees.

I slowed, sure I had wandered into the Other. But though it still inhabited the periphery of my vision, the forest was whole and real, and Mary's form was unchanged. This side of the island had simply flooded with the rising tides.

Harmonies drifted among the trees, interspersed with laughter and clapping.

"Eerie," Mary murmured as she tugged her skirts up through her belt and pulled off her shoes, which she began to shove into one pocket.

I watched the second shoe disappear, momentarily distracted. "Just how much can you fit in there?"

"A bottle of wine. An infant."

"You tried?"

"The wine, yes."

The sound of the Black Tide cultists' singing rose with the waves and the wind, and my eyes strayed back towards them. Lights pricked in the glowing gloom, a dance of flame amid shades of grey and lavender twilight.

By unspoken agreement, we set off again. The water grew deeper the closer we came, thick with drifting pine needles and twigs, and the occasional brush of what I hoped were fish. When it soaked even the hem of Mary's hiked skirts, we paused behind a large, stocky tree and peered through the gloaming.

Some thirty figures occupied a clearing at the edge of the forest, facing the west and the last vestiges of violet-orange sunlight. The tide was so high in places that some figures were submerged to their waists, while the body of the group moved about through knee-deep water. Some were fully clothed. Some had their trousers or skirts tucked up, while one man, his eyes dulled with drug, wandered nude through the shadowed trees, singing in a baritone so deep I felt its rumble in my skull. He bore a torch, and every so often a bit of oiled reed peeled away. Flaming, it drifted down onto the waves and extinguished.

By far the eeriest sight, however, was the ghisting. The cowled figure of the Midden Ghist was thinly manifest, spectral flesh cladding his harvested wooden statue in the center of the clearing. Evidently it had been placed on an unseen pedestal to keep it from the salty waves, and it presided over its worshippers with luminescent, sea-glass eyes. It had its familiar crown about its throat like a noose, and its arms clasped over its chest in a cadaver's repose.

Mary's fingers dug into my arm. "I know that ghisting," she hissed. Her voice shifted, drifting into Tane's lower register. "We saw its likeness in the halls of the Ess Noti."

"The Black Tide have been worshipping that ghisting for generations," I murmured. "It does not seem far-fetched to imagine the Ess Noti informed themselves about the creature and the cult."

"Informing themselves is one thing, carving a stone statue is another," Mary returned. "Tane could speak with it, but not every ghisting respects a Mother Ghisting as they should. Particularly the worshipped ones."

I made a sound of agreement, recalling Adalia Day's roots harrying us out of the Oruse.

I pulled her after me into the shadow of my tree, farther into concealment. "This connection sits ill with me. I need to speak with my uncle… the loyalties of all Black Tide cultists are suspect."

Mary began to nod, but froze. Leaning back out around the tree, she peered through the darkness. "That's Lieutenant Adler! The one who attempted to recruit me."

Following her gaze, I found the offending man dressed in common garb and leaning against one of the trees and staring out at the ocean with drug-hazed eyes.

"He shames himself," I muttered, neglecting to mention how the sight of him made rage coil in my chest. "Himself and the entire service."

The lieutenant's presence was more than shameful, however. It meant the Black Tide had devotees among the Navy, and, where an officer went, many common sailors and soldiers would follow. The Black Tide had never been outwardly violent—save towards the mages submitted to their ministrations—but any connection to military power sat ill in my mind.

I said as much to Mary, my voice so low that I had to repeat myself.

"I dislike that Adler is the one who approached you," I added, the words far too mild. "Perhaps it is no coincidence to find him here."

"Or perhaps he is simply more unorthodox than his peers," Mary pointed out. "Regardless, I refuse to be afraid of the Black Tide."

The image of Mary, held down and blinded by chanting cultists, momentarily assaulted me. It was no vision, but it was still clear enough to make my mouth dry. "Do you see anyone else you recognize?"

"Enisca."

"Pardon me?"

I twisted to follow Mary's gaze. There, in the shadow of another tree, Enisca Alamay watched us. She raised a hand, gesturing for quiet with the Usti's three-fingered tap to the lips, then she approached.

"What are you doing here?" Mary asked the spy in a whisper.

Ms. Alamay wore trousers and a long coat, loose about the waist. Her hair was hidden under a kerchief, and I caught the scent of pine sap and salt.

"How long have you been watching them?" I added.

"Since I saw the first group leave town with the ghisting. I have counted over one hundred devotees coming and going, and have heard them speak of others joining them in the next weeks."

"Why are you watching them?" Mary pressed.

"The Ess Noti naturally have a particular interest in the Black Tide Cult," Alamay explained. "Surely you understand why."

Mary and I exchanged a glance.

"What of their ghisting?" I asked. I was still disinclined to trust Alamay with anything beyond the necessities, and the connections between the cult and the Ess Noti did little to settle me. "Do the Ess Noti know of him?"

Alamay stood straighter in the shelter of our tree, her eyes lingering on the cultists. "Yes, though I know nothing myself. A cultist tried to recruit me in Renown and it seemed prudent to investigate. You recognized someone? I saw you pointing."

Mary identified Adler, though the night was growing closer and the figures harder to distinguish. The water too continued to rise and the forest to flood, inching towards its full depth. Waves crept up around the carved robes of the Midden Ghist.

We fell silent as several torchbearers began to leave, wading out of the ever-deepening water. Firelight flickered on rivulets behind them, and the trunks of the trees cast long, eerie shadows through the drowning wood.

Mary shifted back, Alamay retreated into the shelter of another tree and I crouched as they came closer.

Voices came, soft and conspiratorial, but amplified by the water.

"…such honors," a young male voice insisted, his tone one of admiration. "I shall of course play my part."

A woman replied, her voice deep, mature and calm. Her words did not carry as the young man's did, but his response came to us again.

"If it must be so," he said, sounding less enthusiastic now. "A matter of course."

A vision swam towards me from the shadows, tapping against my defenses like sea snakes against a hull. I inched onto the divide between the human world and the Other.

The vision rushed forward, filling my senses. I saw the young man full of shards, bleeding to death in the shattered gun deck of a ship. I saw him spend a night of awkward but sincere passion with a young woman, and the pride in her eyes as he left her on the docks. I saw him mere moments ago, trailing his fingers through the waters of the rising tide in the Midden Ghist's glow.

I also foresaw the rest of the cult dispersing and passing this very tree moments from now. They would bring the ghisting with them, and he would certainly sense Tane.

"We need to go." I beckoned, and, in wordless agreement, we departed.

We did not stop until we reached drier, more elevated regions of the forest. The little wold was quiet around us, once again full of the simple, constant sounds of washing water and wind through bent pines.

I found the forest night distinctly unsettling, surrounded by such layers of shadow. Alamay seemed to share my sentiment, keeping close watch on the trees, but Mary was at ease.

"What did you see?" Alamay asked me. "In the Other?"

"That young man is going to die." I delivered the truth with solemnity. "Aboard ship, in the coming battle. Little else of consequence."

Alamay shrugged. "He is a sailor. Many will die."

"Unfortunately so. In any case, I must speak with my uncle. Even if the Midden Ghist's connection to the Ess Noti is irrelevant, the cult should not be allowed to gather in such numbers."

"What are they harming?" Alamay asked, her question sounding genuine.

"It is a matter of principle," I replied and shoved my hands into the pockets of my coat. Despite its warmth, the water had chilled me to the bone. "Now, let us retire. Perhaps there will be clarity with the new day."