chapter seven.
The Fall of a Grisha
I WANTED NOTHING MORE THAN TO PULL THE copy of the Istorii Sankt'ya from my pocket and spend an hour studying the illustration of Sankt Ilya, but Tamar was already waiting to escort Alina and me to her quarters.
Sturmhond's schooner wasn't at all like the sturdy merchant ship that had carried Alina, Mal and I to Novyi Zem or the clunky whaler we'd just left behind. It was sleek, heavily armed, and beautifully built. Tamar told us that he'd captured the schooner from a Zemeni pirate who was picking off Ravkan ships near the ports of the southern coast.
Sturmhond had liked the vessel so much that he'd taken it for his own flagship and renamed it Volkvolny, Wolf of the Waves. Wolves. Sturmhond. The red dog on the ship's flag. At least I knew why the crew was always howling and yapping.
Every inch of space on the schooner was put to use. The crew slept on the gun deck. In case of engagement, their hammocks could be quickly stowed and the cannon slotted into place. I'd been right about the fact that, with Corporalki on board, there was no need for an Otkazat'sya surgeon.
The doctor's quarters and supply room had been turned into Tamar's berth. The cabin was tiny, with barely enough room for three hammocks and a chest. The walls were lined with cupboards full of unused ointments and salves, arsenic powder, and tinctures of lead antimony.
I balanced carefully in one of the hammocks, my feet resting on the floor, acutely conscious of the red book tucked inside my coat as I watched Tamar throw open the lid of her trunk and begin divesting herself of weapons: the brace of pistols that crossed her chest, two slender axes from her belt, a dagger from her boot, and another from the sheath secured around her thighs. She was a walking armory.
"I feel sorry for your alls friend," she said as she pulled what looked like a sock full of ball bearings from one of her pockets. It hit the bottom of the chest with a loud thunk.
"Why?" Alina asked, "My brother snores like a drunk bear." Alina laughed, "Mal snores, too."
"Then they can perform a duet." she disappeared and then returned a moment later with a bucket. "The Tidemakers filled the rain barrels," she said. "Feel free to wash if you like."
Fresh water was usually a luxury aboard ships, but I supposed that with Grisha in the crew, there would be no need to ration it. She ducked her head in the bucket and ruffled her short dark hair.
"He's handsome, the tracker." Alina rolled her eyes. "You don't say." Tamar gave a single laugh, "Not my type, but handsome." Alina's brows shot up.
Alina shook away her surprise. "There are Kerch in Sturmhond's crew. Aren't they superstitious about having a girl onboard?"
"Sturmhond does things his own way," Tamar replied. "And they don't... bother you?" Tamar grinned, her white teeth flashing against her bronze skin. She tapped the gleaming shark's tooth hanging around her neck, and I realized it was an amplifier. "No," she said simply.
"Ah," Alina said, cheeks turning pink. Faster than I could blink, she pulled two knives from her sleeve. "This comes in handy, too," she said.
"However do you choose?" Alina breathed faintly. "Depends on my mood." Then she flipped the knives over in her hand and offered them to Alina and me. "Sturmhond's given orders that you two are to be left alone, but do know how to take care of yourselves."
Alina and I nodded. I didn't walk around with thirty knives hidden about my person, but I wasn't completely incompetent. She dunked her head again, then said. "They're throwing dice above deck, and I'm ready for my ration. You can come if you like."
Alina and I glanced at each other. I didn't care much for gambling or rum, but I was still tempted. My whole body was crackling with the feeling of using my power against the Nichevo'ya. I was restless and positively famished for the first time in weeks, and evidently, Alina felt the same way.
But I shook my head and said, "No Thanks." Tamar shrugged her shoulders, "Suit yourself. I have debts to collect. Privyet wagered we wouldn't be coming back. I swear he looked like a mourner at a funeral when we came over that rail."
"He bet you'd be killed?" I said, aghast. She laughed. "I don't blame him. To go up against the Darkling and his Grisha? Everyone knew it was suicide. The crew ended up drawing straws to see who got stuck with the honor."
"And you and your brother are just unlucky?" I asked. "Us?" Tamar paused in the doorway. Her hair was damp, and the lamplight glinted off her Heartrender's grin. "We didn't draw anything," she said as she stepped through the door. "We volunteered."
❂♕
Alina didn't have a chance to talk to Mal alone until late that night. We'd been invited to dine with Sturmhond in his quarters, and it had been a strange supper. The meal was served by the steward, and a servant of impeccable manners, who was several years older than anyone else on this ship.
We ate better than we had in weeks: fresh bread, roasted haddock, pickled radishes, and sweet iced wine that set our heads spinning after just a few sips. My appetite was fierce, as it always was after I'd used my power, but Mal and Alina ate little and said less until Sturmhond mentioned the shipment of arms he was bringing back to Ravka.
Mal then seemed to perk up and they spent the rest of that meal talking about guns, grenades, and exciting ways to make things explode. Alina and I couldn't seem to pay attention. As they yammered on about the repeating rifles used on the Zemeni frontier, all I could think about were the scales in my pocket and what I intended to do with them.
Did I dare claim a powerful amplifier for myself? I had taken the sea whip's life— that meant its power belonged to me. But if the scales functioned like Morozova's antlers, why had it been given to me? Why not to someone more useful like Alina?
I could give the scales to one of Sturmhond's Heartrenders, maybe even Tolya, to try to take control of him the way the Darkling had once taken control of Alina. I might be able to force the privateer to sail us back to Novyi Zem. But I had to admit that wasn't what I wanted.
I took another sip of wine. I needed to talk to Alina. To distract myself, I cataloged the trappings of Sturmhond's cabin. Everything was gleaming wood and polished brass. The desk was littered with charts, the pieces of a dismembered sextant, and strange drawings of what looked like the hinged wing of a mechanical bird. The table glittered with Kerch porcelain and crystal.
The wine bore labels in a language I didn't recognize. All plunder, I realized. Sturmhond had done well for himself. As for the captain, I took the opportunity to really look at him for the first time. He was probably four or five years older than I was, and there was something very odd about his face.
His chin was overly pointy. His eyes were a muddy green, his hair a peculiar shade of red. His nose looked like it had been broken and badly set several times. At one point, he caught me studying him, and I could have sworn he turned his face away from the light.
When we finally left Sturmhond's cabin, it was midnight. I herded Mal and Alina above deck to a secluded spot by the ship's prow. I knew there were men on watch in the foretop above us all, but they didn't seem to mind.
"I like him," Mal was saying, a little unsteady on his feet from the wine. Alina steadied him, "I mean, he talks too much, and he'd probably steal the buttons from your boots, but he's not a bad guy, and he seems to know a lot about—"
"Would you shut up?" Alina whispered, "I want to show you something." Mal peered at her blearily. "No need to be rude." She ignored him and pulled a red book out of her pocket.
The Istorii Sankt'ya. When had she gotten hold of it? "Look," she said, holding the page open and casting a glow over Sankt Ilya's exultant face. Mal went still. "The stag," he said. "And Rusayle." Alina watched him examine the illustration and saw the moment that realization struck. "Saints," he breathed, "There's a third."
❂♕
Sankt Ilya stood barefoot on the shore of a dark sea. He wore the ragged remnants of a purple robe, his arms outstretched, his palms turned upward. His face had the blissful, placid expression Saints always seemed to wear in paintings, usually before they were murdered in some horrific way.
Around his neck, he wore an iron collar that had once been connected to the heavy fetters around his wrists by thick chains. Now the chains hung broken by his sides. Behind Sankt Ilya, a sinuous black serpent splashed in the waves. A white stag lay at his feet, gazing out at us with dark, steady eyes.
But neither of these creatures held our attention. Mountains crowded the background behind the Saint's left shoulder, and there, barely visible in the distance, a bird circled a towering stone arch. Mal's fingers traced its long tail feathers, rendered in white and the same pale gold that illuminated Sankt Ilya's halo.
"It can't be," he said. "The stag was real. So was the sea whip." Alina said lowly. "But this is... different."
He was right. The firebird didn't belong to one story but to a thousand. It was at the heart of every Ravkan myth, the inspiration for countless plays and ballads, novels, and operas. Ravka borders were said to have been sketched by the firebird's flight. Its rivers ran with the firebird's tears. Its capital was said to have been founded where a firebird's feather fell to earth.
A young warrior had picked up the feather and carried it into battle. No army had been able to stand against him, and he became the first king of Ravka. Or so the legend went. The firebird was Ravka. It was not meant to be brought down by a tracker's arrow, its bones were meant for something greater. For Alina.
"Sankt Ilya," Mal said. "Ilya Morozova." Mal furrowed his brows, "A Grisha Saint?" I touched the tip of my fingers to the page, to the sea whip, to the two fetters on Morozova's wrists as Alina said, "Three amplifiers. Three creatures. And we have two of them."
Mal gave his head a firm shake, probably trying to clear away the haze of wine. Abruptly, he took the book from Alina's hand and shut it. For a second, the two just stared at each other. He then turned his attention to me and handed the book back.
"What are we supposed to do with this?" he said. He almost sounded angry. "Mal, Sturmhond has Fabrikators in his crew. He thinks Freya should use the scales... and I think he might be right."
Mal's head snapped back to Alina. "What?" I swallowed, this isn't good. I opened my mouth before Alina could explain, "The stag's power isn't enough. Not to fight the Darkling. Not to destroy the Fold."
"And your answer is a second amplifier?" Alina shot Mal a grim look. "For now."
"For now?" He ran a hand through his hair. "Saints," he swore. "You two are mad, you hear me? Absolutely mad." Alina sucked in a breath as Mal continued to rant, "You want me to hunt the firebird."
"The illustration—" Alina started. "It's just a picture, Alina," he whispered furiously. "It's a drawing by some dead monk."
"But what if it's more? The Darkling said Morozova's amplifiers were different, that they were meant to be used together." I said. "So now you two are taking advice from murders?"
Alina shook her head, "No, but—" Mal scoffed, "Did you make any other plans with the Darkling while you were holed up together belowdecks?" now this part was directed at me.
Alina stepped in front of Mal, "Stop it." she said but he ignored her. I shot Mal a dark look, "We weren't holed up together," I said sharply. "He was just trying to get under Genya's skin."
"Well it worked," He gripped the ship's railing, "And now, she's left you to rot in your loneliness, Freya." he hissed, "Stop it, Mal!" Alina shouted.
I stiffened. I heard the echo of the Darkling's voice. I know the truth in your heart. The loneliness. The growing knowledge of your own differences. The ache of it. I pushed it aside and glared at Mal, "You may be right," I swallowed, "But you have no right to shove that bullshit right back in my face." I hissed and turned on my heels and stormed off.
Alina called after me but I ignored her. Tears polled my eyes and before long I was back in the small cabin.
❂♕
I didn't know if I was eager or simply afraid I'd lose my nerve, but I ignored the late hour and went to Sturmhond that night. The privateer greeted my request with his usual good cheer, and I returned to the deck alone, without Alina and Mal to wait beneath the mizzenmast.
A few minutes later, the captain appeared, a Materalki in tow. With her hair in braids and yawning like a sleepy child, she didn't look very impressive, but if Sturmhond said she was his best Fabrikator, I had to take him at his word.
Tolya and Tamar trailed behind, carrying lanterns to help the Fabrikator at her work. If we survived whatever came next, everyone aboard the Volkvolny would know about the second amplifier. I didn't like it, but there was nothing to be done about it.
"Evening all," said Sturmhond, slapping his hands together, seemingly oblivious to my somber mood. "Perfect night for tearing a hole in the universe, no?" I scowled at him and slipped the scales from my pocket. I'd rinsed them in a bucket of seawater, and they gleamed golden in the lamplight.
"Do you know what to do?" I asked the Fabrikators. She had me show her the back of my hand. I handed the scales to the Fabrikator, "Are you sure this is a good idea?" she asked. She was gnawing on her lip so aggressively, I thought she might draw blood.
"Of course not," said Sturmhond. "Anything worth doing always starts as a bad idea." The Fabrikator took hold of one of the scales and rested it against my wrist, then took another and settled it on my other wrist.
She bent to work. I felt the heat first, radiating from the scales as their edges began to come apart and then re-form. One after another, they melded together, fusing into an overlapping row as the fetter grew around my wrist. The Fabrikator worked in silence, her hands moving infinitesimal degrees. Tolya and Tamar kept the lamps steady, their faces so still and solemn they might have been icons themselves.
Even Sturmhond had gone quiet. Finally, the two ends of the cuffs were nearly touching and only one scale remained. The Fabrikator had one scale remaining in her palm.
She put it onto my wrists and in seconds it was done. Sturmhond peered at the glittering cuff of scales. "Huh," he murmured. "I thought the end of the world would be more exciting."
"Stand back," I said. The group shuffled over to the rail. "You too," I told Sturmhond. Reluctantly, he complied. I saw Privyet peeing at me from his place by the wheel.
I took a deep breath. I had to be careful. I wiped my damp palms on my coat and spread my arms. In an instant, power surged through me. And arcs of water came up from both sides of the ship, cascading into the ship and rocking it uneasily. The crewmen steadied themselves and from the corner of my eye, I saw Alina and Mal rushing up the ladder.
Mal stared at me in shock from beside Alina, but I paid him no mind. The water continued to rise from the sea, arching over the ship. Alina shouted to me, but my body was thrumming with immense power, and I almost felt out of control of myself.
The water broke above, dumping it onto the ship before I could so much as register it. Hands reached out to me. I couldn't see anything, "Freya!" the voice shouted, "It's me Alina, you have to snap out of it."
My eyes shot open. The ship was swaying, rocking as the water piled back into the sea. Alina's hands were on my shoulders, shaking me. She was drenched in water, hair hanging in her face, "Saints, Freya." she breathed.
"What?" I asked, genuinely baffled. "The fucking ship almost got tipped over, that's what," Sturmhond said, coming up beside Alina.
I blinked once, twice then looked down to the scales on my wrist, "I didn't realize—" I started, "how strong they were," Alina finished.
I clenched my jaw before looking around, everyone was drenched in seawater. There were even fish aboard the Volkvolny now. "I—"
Sturmhond lifted his hand, "It's no problem really," he said. "I've dealt with worse." I nodded and shifted my feet. I was the only one who didn't get wet.
Suddenly I felt like I could just laugh. Alina noticed and nudged me with her elbow, "I would have done the same thing." she whispered.
Instead of hiding it this time, I laughed.
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『Authors note』
I'm not that happy with how this chapter turned out but we're just gonna go with it! Mal is kinda a dick, to be honest.