1 ​Red Cloaks and Black Sails

Year 702YC, in the Year of the Church

THE HORNS PROTRUDING from Taver Wyn’s neck and spine glistened in the salty air. He grinned, feeling their silver tips lengthen.

He glanced back and up towards the woman who claimed to be his mother. Rade Wyn widened her stance on the rocks, ready to take his weight; she had tied the oiled hemp rope about her waist, securing the other end to a rock. She wore leather gloves to protect her hands, but despite talking and sometimes behaving as though she’d been reared in a palace, Rade was as rough and hard-wearing as stone.

Taver turned back to face the water. He wanted to be free of the rope, to exist on the edge of death. The rocks felt cold and rough beneath his bare feet. Waves thundered below, spitting spray. He wanted to challenge the ocean to a duel, to win. It was an inexplicable and euphoric feeling rising within him. It was also crazy, and he wondered if all his time spent with the undead had affected him. His so-called mother seemed to think so.

She shouted something at him; the words were lost amid the deafening whitecaps. Spray filled the air. He needed to work fast, the tide returning soon.

‘We need to get back,’ came her voice, the words then broken by the wind, ‘enough ... damn ... showing off.’

Feet pushing off from the rock face, he swung to his left on to a narrow ledge, the ocean engulfing the spot where he’d been. The water receded and he wasted no time swinging back.

Facing the waves, he leaned out and downward. Using a shortened spear, he worked the stalked barnacles free from the slick rock and into the net. The fattest were always in the hardest to reach spots. Rade insisted the ocean was treacherous, as though it had a mind of its own, and she was constantly warning him about being careful.

As he leapt to a new spot, the sea-battered rocks vanished beneath the waves. Yes, he felt the ocean’s malice. A rebelliousness rose inside of him as he thought of the water and its hunger for his blood. He felt a belligerence, a desire to dance with the waves, to defy them. Worst of all, he believed he could win. It was stupid, illogical, and despite knowing that, the feeling persisted. He felt his horns lengthen further, his heart thumping in his chest. It felt good to be alive.

He removed the rope, letting it drop.

Free, he leapt from rock to rock. Spear and net in hand, he hopped over the toothed face of a squat sea stack. The ocean surged through the gap, before retreating in a dark swirl of white froth, missing its target. It growled in frustration.

He leapt surefooted, pausing to dislodge the fattest of the expensive delicacies. The ocean sought him out time and again, vicious and hungry, and he felt a thrill rush through him as each time he survived. He slipped at one point, but regained his footing, laughing in delight. Yes, it was a great game, and he had no intention of losing.

Minutes later, he was shore side again. ‘I’m alright,’ he shouted up to her. He grabbed the rope, tying it back on, hoping she might not have noticed. Little chance of that.

When he got within range, Rade took the laden net, and clouted him across the head.

Ears ringing, he said, ‘Hey, what was that for?’ He massaged his head.

‘What was that about down there? Are you trying to kill yourself? Did you not listen to a word I said to you?’

‘I’m fine, aren’t I?’ After he had donned his tunic and cloak, they emptied the catch into a larger leather sack. Rade led the way up the stony path, shattered rock on either side. This was the northern side of Yalta Island. There were six in total, collectively known as the Aidaril Islands, remote and forgotten by the rest of the world.

‘Listen, Ral—’ she began, as they walked.

‘That’s not my name, Rade.’ For years, he’d ignored her, but that feeling within him made him defiant. Maybe it was his recent dance with death, but he felt a desire to fight, to keep fighting.

When they reached the narrow road of packed earth, which led to the fishing village of Vasara, they halted. Rade turned, and stared inland as she often did when they were out this way. Fifteen miles away. Taver knew she couldn’t see the towers, but everyone on Yalta knew where the Necropolis was. The village, about half the distance, lay in the same direction but it wasn’t Vasara she was glaring at.

‘You know,’ said Taver behind her, ‘I don’t know why you get so upset about that place. You’ve been staring in that direction a lot more the last few days. What’s going on?’

‘We should be getting back.’ However, she made no move, her gaze lost in the distance.

‘Look, they don’t do any harm I’ve seen. I mean, yes, virals are a bit creepy, but they’re the undead. They’re supposed to be, right? Anyhow, they’re nice when you get to know them. Besides, I learn stuff from them.’

She spun, her anger startling him, ‘Damn you! The Spectrum above curse you! What in Grim’s own hell were you playing at back there? Do you think you can become one of them? Is that it? Have they twisted you so much, you want to kill yourself? You can’t become like them, Ralan. One needs to be born undead, a product of the plagues. Keep it up and you’ll be just plain dead!’

‘I told you,’ he said through gritted teeth, ‘that is not my name.’ Become one of them? he thought. What is going on with her lately?

‘It’s the name I damn well gave you, when I gave birth to you.’

‘Not the one I chose though, is it?’ She could call herself his mother, but he knew the truth. He’d chosen his name when he was only a year old. It had felt right, like a new start.

She paused, studying him a while before adding, ‘All I ask is that you listen to me. I am your mother, no matter how much you deny it. I know you hate me. I see it every day when you look at me, but things are the way they are. We only have each other.’

Taver stepped closer to her, and by her flinch, knew she saw the anger in his eyes. It was burning a hole in his chest as though a fire had erupted at his core. ‘Don’t lie to me, Rade! I remember her face. Cold and grey, her dead eyes staring down at me. I remember you, stood over both of us. You picked me up. I remember you are not my mother, because I remember her. I remember her face and it was not yours.’

He’d never gone so far before, never spoken of it, but the belligerence he’d felt on the rocks refused to relent. It flooded through him, but instead of the ocean, the challenge he felt this time was from her. He intended to win this fight like every other.

Rade’s face lost all colour. ‘How could you ... I mean ... okay, yes, she died after giving birth to you, but it’s not that simple. There’s so much I’ve never told you. You and I are not who you think we are. There are hidden truths.’

‘I recall every detail. Do you know what that’s like? To remember being in the womb? Of course, not. I know enough to know it’s not normal to remember the sound of my mother’s heartbeat, of her singing to me when I was in her belly. I remember feeling warm, secure. I felt loved. Something I’ve never felt from you.’

She staggered back as if from a series of blows. ‘I’ve raised you as my own,’ she mumbled, voice shaking. ‘Nothing you say will change how I feel. In every way it matters, I am your mother ... and in ways you can’t understand.’

The anger in him faded, and guilt for hurting her filled the gap quicker than any waves. It wasn’t that he didn’t care about her, but something inside him told him he wasn’t normal. As if the horns weren’t a clue to begin with. ‘Those are a deformity,’ she had suggested once, ‘like someone born with extra fingers or toes. Don’t think about them, and never let anyone see them.’ Something in her tone, however, had told him she knew a lot more. Rade and her secrets. It was one of the things that angered him about her.

He stared down at his feet, and said, ‘Viral’s, they do healing and stuff like that. They could help me, you know, to forget it all.’ Is that what I want? he wondered. Rade had been good to him, he supposed. She’d given him a home, a life, and now a means to earn a living. He’d never be rich, and it was a dangerous job, but he’d manage. He was damn good at it and he liked the freedom, the danger.

‘Is that why you insisted on going up to that place?’ she demanded. ‘Did they promise to help you? They’re liars, the lot of them. You cannot trust anything the viral undead tell you. Especially their foul leader.’

A year earlier, a viral named Beezer, had claimed to sense power within Taver. While they never forced the living to attend their school, Beezer had invited him. After several weeks of contemplation, and innumerable arguments with Rade, Taver had accepted. As one of the living, he could come and go as he pleased.

He shook his head. ‘You should cut them some slack.’

‘Not what I’ve heard you say in the past.’

True, he’d not always thought well of them. Then again, he’d spent years listening to her version of it all. All had changed when he’d gone to the Necropolis. ‘I’ve a friend there now, anyway. Now, don’t start shouting. She’s undead, but I like her, you see? I’m not asking you for permission, Rade. Just letting you know about her.’

She lost all expression. He knew she was enraged, which often left her serene on the outside. Inside, she would be white-hot. Yes, he’d gone too far, and not for the first time. She’ll get over it, he thought, knowing she wouldn’t, but lies helped. ‘She knows about, well, you know ... about them,’ he continued, trying to repair the damage. ‘She doesn’t care what I look like. She thinks the horns make me look fierce.’

Rade shook her head, and looked away.

‘Her name is, Tezcat Licolo.’

She tossed the leather sack filled with their catch at his feet. ‘Pick it up. We’ll discuss this at home, after supper. You’re cooking.’

‘There’s nothing to talk about. She’s my friend.’

‘Pick it up, and let’s get going.’

He ignored the sack. ‘I wasn’t in any danger out there. I got us the fattest ones. Why can’t you be happy I did a good job? I earned us more money, didn’t I? Isn’t that the whole point of this?’

‘When you work with me on the rocks,’ she snapped, ‘you do exactly what I say, when I say it. Those are the rules. You agreed to them.’

‘You know where these go to, don’t you?’ He kicked at the sack. ‘Virals eat seafood. All sorts, fish and seaweed, everything. I happen to know Mage Lyrin loves barnacles. I’ve seen them eat too, and sure, it isn’t pretty, but something in it sustains them. Most of these will end up at the Necrop. You’re feeding the undead, but it doesn’t bother you if coin is involved. You’re a hypocrite.’ There I go again, he thought, making it worse. Why couldn’t she let him have a friend? What matter if she was undead? They were people. Yes, rotting a bit on the outside, but that was often just the older ones.

‘Pick up the sack, Ral,’ ordered Rade in a low and dangerous tone.

This wasn’t going well at all. Tezcat was a good friend, and he wasn’t about to let Rade come between them. ‘Yeah,’ he said. ‘Fine, I’ll pick it up, when you use my name. Is it so difficult?’ He folded his arms and ground his teeth, knowing it would irritate her. Like his father, or so she claimed. Not that he’d know. He figured she made up everything about his father anyhow. Always sounded too plausible, which meant more lies.

She bristled. ‘Isn’t it enough I feed and clothe you? I’ve taught you how to provide for yourself.’

‘I can work at the school, can’t I?’

‘It’s not a school,’ she snapped. ‘It’s a nest of putrid, tottering, nattering corpses. They delve into dark powers, which will destroy this world. Magic is desperation, and it is dangerous. Haven’t I told you often enough?’

‘What would you know about it?’ There were only two types of magic. Viralic power belonged to the undead. Those few living who could use its opposite, known as spectralic magic, were fewer and weaker. Most of those attended the Necropolis as Aidari students, just like Taver.

‘Enough to know you need to stay away from them.’

‘They teach other stuff too. They’re just trying to exist, like the rest of us.’

Rade shook her head. ‘You want to bring a viral trollop into our family. I will not allow it. You will break off your friendship with her. It’s unnatural!’

Taver bit back a curse, fighting to keep control. Screeching at each other never led to anything good. ‘I wouldn’t call this a family.’ Perhaps it was unfair, but hearing her call Tezcat names was too much.

‘I forbid you to attend that place. You will stay close to me from now on, and do as I say. The undead are off limits to you. In fact, I’ve decided to take you away from these islands altogether. I realise I should have done so years ago. I never thought it would get to this point.’

‘Why do you hate them so much? What did they ever do to you?’

She took a few steps towards him. ‘You don’t know. You can’t understand, Ralan. Like I said, there is much I need to explain to you.’

‘Then tell me now,’ he snapped. ‘You never tell me anything. You just promise to—’ Movement, in the distance caught his attention.

Thirty-odd large dromons with black sails flanked the island. Small figures moved about on the decks in red cloaks, with the odd glint of armour.

‘Who,’ he asked in a whisper, ‘are they? What’s going on?’ His heart thundered in his chest as he realised those ships weren’t arriving for a trip to the local market.

When he glanced back at Rade, he saw her regarding him with an odd expression. Sadness or regret?

It was then, he realised something. ‘You know what this is about, don’t you? It’s why you’re so eager to get back home.’ Living together in their small stone hut, he’d come to know her expressions, even the blank ones. It was impossible for her to hide anything for long. ‘No one visits Yalta, not ever. Maybe a few boats from Nafra or Necra, but never imperial ships. They only go to Elfar.’ That was the westernmost island, and even then, it would be a lone vessel and not dozens. ‘Those look like imperial soldiers ... but they don’t wear red. No one wears red.’

‘You’re observant,’ she said, as it began to rain, the drops heavy. ‘I’m impressed. No, they’re not imperial soldiers. At least, not anymore. They have a new name to go with their new colour. I chose the red myself. After all, blood signifies life. They are Exemplars, and they obey me.’ She glanced up at the darkening sky with a frown.

He backed away from her. ‘What have you gone and done?’ She had always been vague about her past, but he’d understood her, and had accepted her as a guardian if not a mother. Sure, they butted heads a lot, but this? He realised he knew nothing at all about this woman.

‘All things come to an end.’ She paused, gauging his reaction. ‘Including the undead, a truth you will come to accept, to understand. I will explain it to you, all of it, when you are prepared to listen. I have always been patient with you, haven’t I? Now, we should return home and have our supper. Events will take care of themselves.’

Her words didn’t sound real, and he wondered if he’d heard right. Something made him turn towards the village.

‘Ralan ...’ she said, before uttering a deep sigh, ‘oh, very well, Taver, if you insist. Trust me, this is all for the best. I’m doing this for you. You must remain close to me as things are going to get dangerous. I will protect you. I’m the only one who can.’

‘And what happens to everyone else?’ he whispered. Smoke rose from Vasara in twin columns, thick and black. Those were not the only ships, nor the first. Others had arrived, perhaps to all the islands. He thought he heard screams, faint and distant. It might have been his imagination, or the wind.

‘Cat!’ he cried, and raced for the village. The sack lay forgotten in the dirt, beside a woman who called herself his mother, but never could be.